O Happy Age of Gold, not because the Rivers ran with Milk, and Honey dropt from the Woods: not because the Fields produced the Fruits untouch'd with the Plow, and Serpents wander'd without Wrath and Venom; not because the black Cloud had not yet spread abroad its Veil, but the Heaven, which now glows with Heat, and freezes with Cold, smil'd with Light and Serenity in an eternal Spring; Page  39 nor the foreign Pine, as yet carry'd War and Merchandise to distant Shores; but only, because that empty Name without a Substance, that Idol of Error and Hypo∣crisy, which by the mad Vulgar was after∣wards call'd Honour, which they made the Tyrant of our Nature, had not yet mingled its Disquietude amongst the sweet Endear∣ments of the amorous Train, and its hard Laws were not yet known to Souls accustom'd to Liberty: but only that Golden happy Law, which Nature made, if it pleases, 'tis Lawful. Then amongst the Flowers and Streams, the little Loves led up their jocund Dances, without their Bows, and without their Torches: The Shepherds and Nymphs sate together, mingling Whispers with their pretty Discourses; and with their Whispers Kisses closely tenacious. The naked Maid display'd her blooming Roses, which she now keeps conceal'd beneath the Veil; and the Apples of her Breast now bitter, and distasteful; and often in a Fountain or a Lake, the loveful amorous Boy beheld himself wan∣tonly playing with the Maid he lov'd. Thou, Honour, first didst stop the Spring of Pleasures, denying Water to the thirst of Love: thou first didst teach lovely Eyes Page  41 to stand reserv'd within themselves, and keep their Beauty from all others secret: you first wove into a Net those Hairs, that were before scatter'd loosely to the Wind: you made sweet amorous Behaviour copy and dis∣dainful: you gave Words a Bridle, and to Steps an Art; Honour, 'tis thy doing, that, what was once the Gift of Love, is now the Theft. Our Pains and our Complaints are thy egregious Effects. But now, great Master of Love and Nature, thou Conquer∣our of Kings, what does thou do within these cloister'd Woods, which can't contain thy Grandeur? go hence and disturb the Repose of the Illustrious and Powerful, and suffer us neglected humble Company, to live without thee after the manner of the An∣cient Race of Men. Let us love, for the Life of Man has no Truce with Years, and is still consuming; let us love, for the Sun dies, and is born again; our short Light sets from us, and Sleep brings on eternal Night.