π1r π1v
An oval portrait, presumably of the author. Below is a label with the author’s name signed in longhand.

Mrs. Behn.


Several Occasions:

With a
to the
Iſland of Love.

By Mrs. A. Behn

Printed for R. Tonſon and J. Tonſon, at Gray’s-Inn-
next Gray’s-Inn Lane, and at the Judges-
at Chancery Lane end near
Fleetſtreet. 16841684.

A1v A2r

To The Right Honourable, James, Earl of Salisbury, Viscount Cramborn, and Baron of Islington.

My Lord,

Who ſhould one celibrate with Verſe and Song, but the Great, the Noble and the Brave? where dedicate an Iſle of Love, but to the Gay, the Soft and Young? and who amongſt Men can lay better claim to theſe A2 than A2v than Your Lordſhip? who like the Sun new riſen with the early Day, looks round the World and ſees nothing it cannot claim an intereſt in (for what cannot Wit, Beauty, Wealth and Honour claim?) The violent ſtorms of Sedition and Rebellion are huſh’d and calm’d; black Treaſon is retir’d to its old abode, the dark Abyſs of Hell; the myſterious Riddles of Politick Knaves and Fools, which ſo long amuſed and troubled the World’s repoſe, are luckily unfolded; and Your Lordſhip is ſaluted at Your firſt coming forth, Your firſt ſetting out for the glorious and happy Race of Life, by a Nation all glad, gay and ſmiling; and you have nothing before you but a raviſhing proſpect of eternal Joys, and everlaſting inviting Pleaſures, and all that Love and Fortune can beſtow on their darling Youth, attend You in the noble perſuit; and nothing can prevent Your being the moſt happy of her Favourites, but a too eager flight, a two ſwift ſpeed o’er the charming flowry Meads and Plains that lie in view, between Your ſetting out and the end of Your glorious Chaſe. A long and illuſtrious race of Nobility has attended Your A3r Your great Name, but none I believe ever came into the World with Your Lordſhip’s advantages; amongſt which, my Lord, ’tis not the leaſt that You have the glory to be truly Loyal, and to be adorn’d with thoſe excellent Principles, which render Nobility ſo abſolutely worth the Veneration which is paid ’em; ’tis thoſe, my Lord, and not the Title that make it truly great: Grandeur in any other ſerves but to point ’em out more particularly to the World, and ſhew their Faults with the greater magnitude, and render ’em more liable to contempt and that Reward which juſtly perſues Ingratitude; nor is it, my Lord, the many unhappy Examples this Age has produc’d that has deter’d you from herding with the buſie Unfortunates, and bringing Your powerfull aid to their deteſtable cauſe, but a noble Honeſty in Your Nature, a Generoſity in Your Soul. That even part of Your Education had the good fortune not to be able to corrupt; no Opinion cou’d byaſs You, no Precedent debauch You; though all the fanſied Glories of Power were promiſ’d You, though all the Contempt thrown on good and brave Men, all the ſubtileA3 tile A3v tile Arguments of the old Serpent, were us’d againſt the beſt of Kings and his illuſtrious Succeſſour, ſtill You were unmov’d; Your young ſtout Heart with a Gallantry and Force unuſual reſiſted and defied the gilded Bait, laugh’d at the induſtrious Politicks of the buſie Wiſe, and ſtubbornly Loyal, contemn’d the Counſels of the Grave. Go on, my Lord, advance in Noble reſolution, grow up in ſtrength of Loyalty, ſettle it about Your Soul, root it there like the firſt Principles of Religion, which nothing ever throughly defaces, and which in ſpight of even Reaſon the Soul retains, whatever little Debaucheries the Tongue may commit; You that are great are born the Bulwarks of ſacred Majeſty, its defence againſt all the ſtorms of Fate, the Safety of the People in the Supporters of the Throne; and ſure none that ever obey’d the Laws of God and the Dictates of Honour even paid thoſe Duties to a Sovereign that more truly merited the Defence and Adorations of his People than this of ours; and tis a bleſſing (ſince we are oblig’d to render it to the worſt of Tyrant Kingſ) that we have one who A4r who ſo well juſtifies that intire Love and Submiſſion we ought to pay him. You, my Lord, are one whom Thouſands of good Men look up to with wondrous Veneration and Joy, when ’tis ſaid Your Lordſhip amongſt Your other Vertues is Loyal too, a true Tory! ( a word of Honour now, the Royal Cauſe has ſanctified it, ) and though Your Lordſhip needs no encouragement to a good that rewards it ſelf, yet I am confident You are not onely rank’d in the eſteem of the beſt of Monarchs, but we ſhall behold you as one of our Preſervers, and all England as one of its great Patrons, when Ages that ſhall come ſhall find Your noble Name inroll’d amongſt the Friends to Monarchy in an Age of ſo villainous Corruption: Yes, my Lord, they will find it there and bleſs You. ’Tis this, my Lord, with every other Grace and Noble Vertue that adorns You, and gives the World ſuch promiſes of Wonders in You, that makes me ambitious to be the firſt in the Croud of Your Admirers, that ſhall have the honour to celibrate Your great Name. Be pleaſed then, my Lord, to accept this Little Piece, which lazy MinutesA4 nutes A4v nutes begot and hard Fate has oblig’d me to bring forth into the cenſuring World, to which if any thing can reconcile it, ’twill be the glory it has to bear Your Noble Name in the front, and to be Patronized by ſo great and good a Man: Permit but my Zeal for Your Lordſhip to attone for the reſt of my Faults, and Your Lordſhip will extremely oblige,

My Lord


Your Lordſhip’s moſt Humble, and moſt Obedient Servant, A. Behn.

To A5r

To Mrs. Behn, on the Publishing Her Poems.


Long has Wit’s injur’d Empire been oppreſt

By Rhiming Fools, this Nations common Jeſt,

And ſunk beneath the weight of heavy stafes,

In Tory Ballads and Whig Epitaphs;

The Ogs and Doegs reign’d, nay Baxter’s zeal,

Has not been wanting too in writing Ill;

Yet ſtill in ſpight of what the dull can doe,

’Tis here aſserted and adorn’d by you.

This Book come forth, their credit muſt decay,

Ill Spirits vaniſh at th’approach of day:

And A5v

And juſtly we before your envy’d feet,

There where our Hearts are due our Pens ſubmit;

Ne’er to reſume the baffled things again,

Unleſs in Songs of Triumph to thy Name;

Which are outdone by every Verſe of thine,

Where thy own Fame does with more luſtre ſhine,

Than all that we can give who in thy Praiſes join

Fair as the face of Heaven, when no thick Cloud

Or darkning Storm the glorious proſpect ſhroud;

In all its beauteous parts ſhines thy bright ſtyle,

And beyond Humane Wit commednnds thy ſkill;

With all the thought and vigour of our Sex

The moving ſoftneſs of your own you mix.

The Queen of Beauty and the God of Wars

Imbracing lie in thy due temper’d Verſe,

Venus her ſweetneſs and the force of Mars.

Thus thy luxuriant Muſe her pleaſure takes,

As God of old in Eden’s bliſsfull walks;

The Beauties of her new Creation view’d,

Full of content She ſees that it is good.

Come then you inſpir’d Swains and join your Verſe,

Though all in vain to add a Fame to hers;

But then your Song will beſt Apollo pleaſe,

When it is fraight with this his Favourite’s praiſe.

Declare how when her learned Harp ſhe ſtrung,

Our joyfull Iſland with the Muſick rung;

Deſcending Graces left their Heavenly ſeat,

To take their place in every Line ſhe writ;

Where ſweeteſt Charms as in her Perſon ſmile,

Her Face’s Beauty’s copy’d in her ſtyle.

Say how as ſhe did her juſt ſkill improve

In the beſt Art and in ſoft Tales of Love.

Some A6r

Some well ſung Paſſion with ſucceſs ſhe crown’d,

The melting Virgins languiſh’d at the ſound.

And envying Swains durſt not the Pipe inſpire,

They’d nothing then to doe but to admire.

Shepherds and Nymphs, to Pan direct your Prayer,

If peradventure he your Vows will hear,

To make you ſing, and make you look like her.

But, Nymphs and Swains, your hopes are all in vain,

For ſuch bright Eyes, and ſuch a tunefull Pen.

How many of her Sex ſpend half their days,

To catch ſome Fool by managing a Face?

But ſhe ſecure of charming has confin’d

Her wiſer care t’adorn and dreſs the Mind.

Beauty may fade, but everlaſting Verſe

Exempts the better portion from the Hearſe.

The matchleſs Wit and Fancy of the Fair,

Which moves our envy and our Sons deſpair.

Long they ſhall live a monument of her Fame,

And to Eternity extend her Name;

While After-times deſervedly approve

The choiceſt object of this Ages Love.

For when they reade, gheſſing how far ſhe charm’d,

With that bright Body with ſuch Wit inform’d;

They will give heed and credit to our Verſe,

When we the Wonders of her Face rehearſe.

J. Cooper.

To A6v

To Astræa, on her Poems.

Tis not enough to reade and to admire,

Thy ſacred Verſe does nobler thoughts inſpire,

Striking on every breaſt Poetick fire:

The God of Wit attends with chearfull Rays,

Warming the dulleſt Statue into praiſe.

Hail then, delight of Heaven and pride of Earth,

Bleſt by each Muſe at thy auſpicious birth;

Soft Love and Majeſty have fram’d thy Mind,

To ſhew the Beauties of both Sexes join’d:

Thy Lines may challenge, like young David’s face,

A Female Sweetneſs and a Manly Grace;

Thy tender notions in looſe numbers flow,

With a ſtrange power to charm where e’er they go:

And when in ſtronger ſounds thy voice we hear,

At all the ſkilfull points you arm’d appear.

Which way ſo’er thou doſt thy ſelf expreſs,

We find thy Beauty out in every dreſs;

Such work ſo gently wrought, ſo ſtrongly fine,

Cannot be wrought by hands all Maſculine.

In vain proud Man weak Woman wou’d controul,

No Man can argue now againſt a Woman’s Soul.

J. C.

To A7r

To the excellent Madam Behn, on her Poems.

’Twas vain for Man the Laurels to perſue,

(E’en from the God of Wit bright Daphne flew)

Man, Whoſe courſe compound damps the Muſes fire,

It does but touch our Earth and ſoon expire;

While in the ſofter kind th’Ætherial flame,

Spreads and rejoices as from Heaven it came:

This Greece in Sappho, in Orinda knew

Our Iſle; though they were but low types to you;

But the faint dawn to your illuſtrious day,

To make us patient of your brighter Ray.

Oft may we ſee ſome wretched ſtory told;

In ductile ſenſe ſpread thin as leaves of Gold.

You have ingroſt th’ineſtimable Mine;

Which in well poliſht Numbers you refine,

While ſtill the ſolid Maſs ſhines thick in every Line.

Yet neither ſex do you ſurpaſs alone,

Both in your Verſe are in their glory ſhown,

Both Phœbus and Minerva are your own.

While in the ſofteſt dreſs you Wit diſpenſe,

With all the Nerves of Reaſon and of Senſe.

In mingled Beauties we at once may trace

A Female Sweetneſs and a Manly Grace.

No wonder ’tis the Delphian God of old

Wou’d have his Oracles by Women told.

But oh! who e’er ſo ſweetly could repeat

Soft lays of Love, and youths delightfull heat?

If Love’s Miſfortunes be your mournfull Theme,

No dying Swan on fair Cayſter’s ſtream,

Expires A7v

Expires ſo ſweet, though with his numerous Moan,

The fading Banks and ſuffering Mountains groan.

If you the gentle Paſſions wou’d inſpire,

With what reſiſtleſs Charms you breathe deſire?

No Heart ſo ſavage, ſo relentleſs none,

As can the ſweet Captivity diſown:

Ah, needs muſt ſhe th’unwary Soul ſurpriſe,

Whoſe Pen ſheds Flames as dangerous as her Eyes.

J. Adams.

To the Authour, on her Voyage to the Iſland of Love.

To ſpeak of thee no Muſe will I invoke,

Thou onely canſt inſpire what ſhou’d be ſpoke;

For all their wealth the Nine have given to thee,

Thy rich and flowing ſtream has left them dry:

Cupid may throw away his uſeleſs Darts,

Thou’ſt lent him one will maſſacre more Hearts

Than all his ſtore, thy Pen diſarms us ſo,

We yield our ſelves to the firſt beauteous Foe;

The eaſie ſoftneſs of thy thoughts ſurpriſe,

And this new way Love ſteals into our Eyes;

Thy gliding Verſe comes on us unawares,

No rumbling Metaphors alarm our Ears,

And puts us in a poſture of defence;

We are undone and never know from whence.

So A8r

So to th’Aſſyrian Camp the Angel flew,

And in the ſilent Night his Millions ſlew.

Thou leadſt us by the Soul amongſt thy Loves,

And bindſt us all in thy inchanting Groves;

Each languiſhes for thy Aminta’s Charms,

Sighs for thy fanſied Raptures in her Armes,

Sees her in all that killing poſture laid,

When Love and fond Reſpect guarded the ſleeping Maid,

Perſues her to the very Bower of Bliſs,

Times all the wrecking joys and thinks ’em his;

In the ſame Trance with the young pair we lie,

And in their amorous Ecſtaſies we die.

You Nymphs, who deaf to Love’s ſoft lays have been,

Reade here, and ſuck the ſweet deſtruction in:

Smooth is the ſtream and clear is every thought,

And yet you cannot ſee with what you’re caught;

Or elſe ſo very pleaſing is the Bait,

With careleſs heed you play and leap at it:

She poiſons all the Floud with ſuch an art,

That the dear Philter trickles to the Heart,

With ſuch bewitching pleaſure that each ſup

Has all the joys of life in every drop.

I ſee the Banks with Love-ſick Virgins ſtrow’d,

Their Boſoms heav’d with the young fluttering God;

Oh, how they pant and ſtruggle with their pain!

Yet cannot wiſh their former health again:

Within their Breaſts thy warmth and ſpirit glows,

And in their Eyes thy ſtreaming ſoftneſs flows;

Thy Raptures are transfus’d through every vein,

And thy bleſt hour in all their heads does reign;

The Ice that chills the Soul thou doſt remove,

And meltſt it into tenderneſs and Love;

The A8v

The flints about their Hearts dance to thy lays,

Till the quick motion ſets ’em on a Blaze.

Orpheus and you the ſtones do both inſpire,

But onely you out of thoſe flints ſtrike fire,

Not with a ſudden Spark, a ſhort liv’d Blaze,

Like Womens Paſſions in our Gilting days;

But what you fire burns with a conſtant flame,

Like what you write, and always is the ſame.

Riſe all ye weeping Youth, riſe and appear,

Whom gloomy Fate has damn’d to black Deſpair;

Start from the ground and throw your Mourning by,

Loves great Sultana ſays you ſhall not die:

The diſmal dark half year is over paſt,

The Sea is op’d, the Sun ſhines out at laſt,

And Trading’s free, the ſtorms are huſht as death,

Or happy Lovers raviſht out of breath;

And liſten to Aſtræa’s Harmony,

Such power has elevated Poetry.

T. C.

To the Lovely Witty Aſtræa, on her Excellent Poems.

Oh, wonder of thy Sex! Where can we ſee,

Beauty and Knowledge join’d except in thee?

Such pains took Nature with your Heav’nly Face,

Form’d it for Love, and moulded every Grace;

I doubted b1r

I doubted firſt and fear’d that you had been

Unfiniſh’d left like other She’s within:

I ſee the folly of that fear, and find

Your Face is not more beauteous than your Mind:

Whoe’er beheld you with a Heart unmov’d,

That ſent not ſighs, and ſaid within he lov’d?

I gaz’d and found, a then, unknown delight,

Life in your looks, and Death to leave the ſight.

What joys, new Worlds of joys has he poſseſt,

That gain’d the ſought-for welcome of your Breaſt?

Your Wit wou’d recommend the homelieſt Face,

Your Beauty make the dulleſt Humour pleaſe;

But where they both thus gloriouſly are join’d,

All Men ſubmit, you reign in every Mind.

What Paſſions does your Poetry impart?

It ſhews th’unfathom’d thing a Woman’s Heart,

Tells what Love is, his Nature and his Art,

Diſplays the ſeveral Scenes of Hopes and Fears,

Love’s Smiles, his Sighs, his Laughings and his Tears.

Each Lover here may reade his different Fate,

His Miſtreſs kindneſs or her ſcornfull hate.

Come all whom the blind God has led aſtray,

Here the bewildred Youth is ſhew’d his way:

Guided by this he may yet love and find

Eaſe in his Heart, and reaſon in his Mind.

Thus ſweetly once the charming W――lr ſtrove

In Heavenly ſounds to gain his hopeleſs Love:

All the World liſtned but his ſcornfull Fair,

Pride ſtopt her ears to whom he bent his prayer.

Much happier you that can’t deſire in vain,

But what you wiſh as ſoon as wiſh’d obtain.

Upon b1v

Upon theſe and other Excellent Works of the Incomparable Aſtræa.

Ye bold Magicians in Philoſophy,

That vainly think (next the Almighty three)

The brighteſt Cherubin in all the Hierarchy

Will leave that Glorious Sphere

And to your wild inchantments will appear;

To the fond ſummons of fantaſtick Charms,

As Barbarous and inexplicable Terms:

As thoſe the trembling Sorcerer dreads,

When he the Magick Circle treads:

And as he walks the Myſtick rounds,

And mutters the deteſted ſounds,

The Stygian fiends exalt their wrathfull heads;

And all ye bearded Drudges of the Schools,

That ſweat in vain to mend predeſtin’d fools,

With ſenſeleſs Jargon and perplexing Rules;

Behold and with amazement ſtand,

Behold a bluſh with ſhame and wonder too,

What Divine Nature can in Woman doe.

Behold if you can ſee in all this fertile Land

Such an Anointed head, ſuch an inſpired hand.


Reſt on in peace, ye bleſſed Spirits, reſt,

With Imperial bliſs for ever bleſt:

Upon your ſacred Urn ſhe ſcorns to tread,

Or rob the Learned Monuments of the dead:

Nor need her Muſe a foreign aid implore

In her own tunefull breaſt there’s wonderous ſtore.

Had b2r

Had ſhe but flouriſht in theſe times of old,

When Mortals were amongſt the Gods inrolld,

She had not now as Woman been Ador’d,

But with Diviner ſacrifice Implor’d;

Temples and Altars had preſerv’d her name

And ſhe her ſelf been thought Immortal as her fame.


Curſt be the balefull Tongue that dares abuſe

The rightfull off-ſpring of her Godlike Muſe:

And doubly Curſt be he that thinks her Pen

Can be inſtructed by the beſt of men.

The times to come, (as ſurely ſhe will live,

As many Ages as are paſt,

As long as Learning, Senſe, or wit ſurvive,

As long as the firſt principles of Bodies laſt.)

The future Ages may perhaps believe

One ſoft and tender Arm cou’d ne’er atchieve

The wonderous deeds that ſhe has done

So hard a prize her Conqu’ring Muſe has won.

But we that live in the great Propheteſſes days

Can we enough proclaim her praiſe,

We that experience every hour

The bleſt effects of her Miraculous power?

To the ſweet Mcuſick of her charming tongue,

In numerous Crowds the raviſht hearers throng:

And even a Herd of Beaſts as wild as they

That did the Thracian Lyre obey,

Forget their Madneſs and attend her ſong.

The tunefull Shepherds on the dangerous rocks

Forſake their Kinds and leave their bleating Flocks,

And throw their tender Reeds away,

As ſoon as e’er her ſofter Pipe begins to play.

(b)2 No b2v

No barren ſubject no unfertile ſoil

Can prove ungratefull to her Muſes Toil,

Warm’d with the Heavenly influence of her Brain,

Upon the dry and ſandy plain,

On craggy Mountains cover’d o’er with Snow,

The blooming Roſe and fragrant Jes’min grow:

When in her powerfull Poetick hand,

She waves the myſtick wand,

Streight from the hardeſt Rocks the ſweeteſt numbers flow.


Hail bright Urania! Erato hail!

Melpomene, Polymnia, Euterpe, hail!

And all ye bleſſed powers that inſpire

The Heaven-born Soul with intellectual fire;

Pardon my humble and unhallow’d Muſe,

If ſhe too great a veneration uſe,

And proſtrate at your beſt lov’d Darling’s feet

Your holy Fane with ſacred honour greet:

Her more than Pythian Oracles are ſo divine,

You ſure not onely virtually are

Within the glorious Shrine,

But you your very ſelves muſt needs be there.

The Delian Prophet did at firſt ordain,

That even the mighty Nine ſhould reign,

In diſtant Empires of different Clime;

And if in her triumphant Throne,

She rules thoſe learned Regions alone,

The fam’d Pyerides are out-done by her omnipotent Rhime.

In proper Cells her large capacious Brain

The images of all things does contain,

As bright almoſt as were th’Ideas laid,

In the laſt model e’er the World was made.

And b3r

And though her vaſt conceptions are ſo ſtrong,

The powerfull eloquence of her charming tongue

Does, clear as the reſiſtleſs beams of day,

To our enlightned Souls the noble thoughts convey;

Well choſen, well appointed, every word

Does its full force and natural grace afford;

And though in her rich treaſury,

Confuſ’d like Elements great Numbers lie,

When they their mixture and proportion take,

What beauteous forms of every kind they make!

Such was the Language God himſelf infus’d,

And ſuch the ſtyle our great Forefather us’d,

From one large ſtock the various ſounds he fram’d,

And every Species of the vaſt Creation nam’d.

While moſt of our dull Sex have trod

In beaten paths of one continued Road,

Her ſkilfull and well manag’d Muſe

Does all the art and ſtrength of different paces uſe:

For though ſometimes with ſlackned force,

She wiſely ſtops her fleeteſt courſe,

That ſlow but ſtrong Majeſtick pace

Shews her the ſwifteſt ſteed of all the choſen Race.


Well has ſhe ſung the learned Daphnis praiſe,

And crown’d his Temples with immortal Bays;

And all that reade him muſt indeed confeſs,

Th’effects of ſuch a cauſe could not be leſs.

For ne’er was (at the firſt bold heat begun)

So hard and ſwift a Race of glory run,

But yet her ſweeter Muſe did for him more,

Than he himſelf or all Apollo’s ſons before;

(b)3 For b3v

For ſhou’d th’ inſatiate luſt of time,

Root out the memory of his ſacred Rhime.

The poliſh’d armour in that ſingle Page

Wou’d all the tyranny and rage

Of Fire and Sword defie,

For Daphnis can’t but with Aſtræa die.

And who can dark oblivion fear,

That is co-eval with her mighty Works and Her?

Ah learned Chymiſt, ’tis ſhe onely can

By her almighty arm,

Within the pretious ſalt collect,

The true eſſential form,

And can againſt the power of death protect

Not onely Herbs and Trees, but raiſe the buried Man.


Wretched OEnone’s inauſpicious fate,

That ſhe was born ſo ſoon, or her bleſt Muſe ſo late!

Cou’d the poor Virgin have like her complain’d,

She ſoon her perjur’d Lover had regain’d,

In ſpight of all the fair Seducers tears,

In ſpight of all her Vows and Prayers;

Such tender accents through his Soul had ran,

As wou’d have pierc’d the hardeſt heart of Man.

At every Line the fugitive had ſwore

By all the Gods, by all the Powers divine,

My dear OEnone, I’ll be ever thine,

And ne’er behold the flattering Grecian more.

How does it pleaſe the learned Roman’s Ghoſt

(The ſweeteſt that th’ Elyſian Field can boaſt)

To ſee his noble thoughts ſo well expreſt,

So tenderly in a rough Language dreſt;

Had b4r

Had ſhe there liv’d, and he her Genius known,

So ſoft, ſo charming, and ſo like his own,

One of his Works had unattempted been,

And Ovid ne’er in mournfull Verſe been ſeen;

Then the great Cæſar to the Scythian plain,

From Rome’s gay Court had baniſh’d him in vain,

Her plenteous Muſe had all his wants ſupplied,

And he had flouriſh’d in exalted pride:

No barbarous Getans had deprav’d his tongue,

For he had onely liſtned to her Song,

Not as an exile, but proſcrib’d by choice,

Pleaſ’d with her Form, and raviſh’d with her voice.

His laſt and deareſt part of Life,

Free from noiſe and glorious ſtrife,

He there had ſpent within her ſofter Armes,

And ſoon forgot the Royal Julia’s charmes.


Long may ſhe ſcourge this mad rebellious Age,

And ſtem the torrent of Fanatick rage,

That once had almoſt overwhelm’d the Stage.

O’er all the Land the dire contagion ſpread,

And e’en Apollo’s Sons apoſtate fled:

But while that ſpurious race imploy’d their parts

In ſtudying ſtrategems and ſubtile arts,

To alienate their Prince’s Subjects hearts,

Her Loyal Muſe ſtill tun’d her loudeſt ſtrings,

To ſing the praiſes of the beſt of Kings.

And, O ye ſacred and immortal Gods,

From the bleſt Manſions of your bright aboads,

To the firſt Chaos let us all be hurld,

E’er ſuch vile wretches ſhould reform the World,

(b)4 That b4v

That in all villany ſo far excell,

If they in ſulphurous flames muſt onely dwell,

The Curſed Caitiffs hardly merit Hell.

Were not thoſe vile Achitophels ſo lov’d,

(The blind, the ſenſeleſs and deluded Crowd)

Did they but half his Royal Vertues know,

But half the bleſſings which to him they owe,

His long forbearance to provoking times,

And God-like mercy to the worſt of crimes:

Thoſe murmuring Shimei’s, even they alone,

Cou’d they beſtow a greater than his own,

Wou’d from a Cottage raiſe him to a Throne.


See, ye dull Scriblers of this frantick Age,

That load the Preſs, and ſo o’erwhelm the Stage,

That e’en the nobleſt art that e’er was known,

As great as an Egyptian Plague is grown:

Behold, ye ſcrawling Locuſts, what ye’ve done,

What a dire judgement is brought down,

By your curſt Dogrel Rhimes upon the Town;

On Fools and Rebels hangs an equal Fate,

And both may now repent too late,

For the great Charter of your Wit as well as Trade is gone.

Once more the fam’d Aſtræa’s come;

’Tis ſhe pronounc’d the fatal doom,

And has reſtor’d it to the rightfull Heirs,

Since Knowledge firſt in Paradiſe was theirs.


Never was Soul and Body better joyn’d,

A Manſion worthy of ſo bleſt a Mind;

See but the Shadow of her beauteous face,

The pretious minitures of every Grace,

There b5r

There one may ſtill ſuch Charms behold,

That as Idolaters of old,

The works of their own hands ador’d,

And Gods which they themſelves had made implor’d;

Jove might again deſcend below,

And, with her Wit and Beauty charm’d, to his own Image bow.

But oh, the irrevocable doom of Nature’s Laws!

How ſoon the brighteſt Scene of Beauty drawſ!

Alas, what’s all the glittering Pride

Of the poor periſhing Creatures of a day,

With what a violent and impetuous Tide,

E’er their flow’d in their glories ebb away?

The Pearl, the Diamond and Saphire muſt

Be blended with the common Pebbles duſt,

And even Aſtræa with all her ſacred ſtore,

Be wreckt on Death’s inevitable Shore,

Her Face ne’er ſeen and her dear Voice be heard no more.

And wiſely therefore e’er it was too late,

She has reverſ’d the ſad Decrees of Fate,

And in deep Characters of immortal Wit,

So large a memorandum’s writ,

That the bleſt memory of her deathleſs Name

Shall ſtand recorded in the Book of Fame;

When Towns inter’d in their own aſhes lie,

And Chronicles of Empires die,

When Monuments like Men want Tombs to tell

Where the remains of the vaſt ruines fell.

To the excellent Aſtræa.

We all can well admire, few well can praiſe

Where ſo great merit does the Subject raiſe:

To b5v

To write our Thoughts alike from dulneſs free,

On this hand, as on that from flattery;

He who wou’d handſomly the Medium hit,

Muſt have no little of Aſtræa’s Wit.

Let others in the noble Task engage,

Call you the Phœnix, wonder of the Age,

The Glory of your Sex, the Shame of ours,

Crown you with Garlands of Rhetorick Flowers;

For me, alas, I nothing can deſign,

To render your ſoft Numbers more divine,

Than by compariſon with theſe of mine:

As beauteous paintings are ſet off by ſhades,

And ſome fair Ladies by their dowdy Maids;

Yet after all, forgive me if I name

One Fault where, Madam, you are much to blame,

To wound with Beauty’s fighting on the ſquare,

But to o’ercome with Wit too is not fair;

’Tis like the poiſon’d Indian Arrows found,

For thus you’re ſure to kill where once you wound.

J. W.

To Madam A. Behn on the publication of her Poems.

When the ſad news was ſpread,

The bright, the fair Orinda’s dead,

We ſigh’d, we mourn’d, we wept, we griev’d,

And fondly with our ſelves conceiv’d,

A loſs ſo great could never be retreiv’d.

The b6r

The Ruddy Warriour laid his Truncheon by,

Sheath’d his bright ſword, and glorious Arms forgot,

The ſounds of Triumph, braggs of Victory,

Raiſ’d in his Breaſt no emulative thought;

For pond’ring on the common Lot,

Where is, ſaid He the Diff’rence in the Grave,

Betwixt the Coward and the Brave?

Since She, alas, whoſe inſpir’d Muſe ſhould tell

To unborn Ages how the Hero fell,

From the Impoveriſht Ignorant World is fled,

T’inhance the mighty mighty Number of the dead.


The trembling Lover broke his tuneleſs Lute,

And ſaid be thou for ever mute:

Mute as the ſilent ſhade of night,

Whither Orinda’s gone,

Thy muſicks beſt inſtructreſs and thy muſicks ſong;

She that could make

Thy inarticulated ſtrings to ſpeak,

In language ſoft as young deſires,

In language chaſte as Veſtal fires;

But ſhe hath ta’n her Everlaſting flight:

Ah! cruel Death,

How ſhort’s the date of Learned breath!

No ſooner do’s the blooming Roſe,

Dreſt freſh and gay,

In the embroy’dries of her Native May,

Her odorous ſweets expoſe,

But with thy fatal knife,

The fragrant flow’r is crop’t from off the ſtalk of life.

III. b6v


Come, ye Stoicks, come away,

You that boaſt an Apathy,

And view our Golgotha;

See how the mourning Virgins all around,

With Tributary Tears bedew the ſacred ground;

And tell me tell me where’s the Eye

That can be dry,

Unleſs in hopes (nor are ſuch hopes in vain)

Their univerſal cry,

Should mount the vaulted ſky,

And of the Gods obtain,

A young ſucceeding Phœnix might ariſe

From Orinda’s ſpicy obſequies.

In Heaven the voice was heard,

Heaven does the Virgins prayer’s regard;

And none that dwells on high,

If once the beauteous Aſk, the beauteous can deny.


’Tis done, ’tis done, th’imperial grant is paſt,

We have our wiſh at laſt,

And now no more with ſorrow be it ſaid,

Orinda’s dead;

Since in her ſeat Aſtræa does Appear,

The God of Wit hath choſen her,

To bear Orinda’s and his Character.

The Laurel Chaplet ſeems to grow

On her more gracefull Brow;

And in her hand

Look how ſhe waves his ſacred Wand:

Loves b7r

Loves Quiver’s tyde

In an Azure Mantle by her ſide,

And with more gentle Arts

Than he who owns the Aureal darts,

At once ſhe wounds, and heals our hearts.


Hark how the gladded Nymphs rejoyce,

And with a gracefull voice,

Commend Apollo’s Choice.

The gladded Nymphs their Guardian Angel greet,

And chearfully her name repeat,

And chearfully admire and praise,

The Loyal muſick of her layes;

Whilſt they ſecurely ſit,

Beneath the banners of her wit,

And ſcorn th’ill-manner’d Ignorance of thoſe,

Whoſe Stock’s ſo poor they cannot raiſe

To their dull Muſe one ſubſidy of praiſe,

Unleſs they’re dubb’d the Sexes foes,

Theſe ſquibbs of ſenſe themſelves expoſe.

Or if with ſtolen light

They ſhine one night,

The next their earth-born Lineage ſhows,

They periſh in their ſlime,

And but to name them, wou’d defile Aſtræa’s Rhime.


But you that would be truely wiſe,

And vertues fair Idea prize;

You that would improve

In harmleſs Arts of not indecent Love:

Arts that Romes fam’d Maſter never taught,

Or in the Shops of fortune’s bought.

Would b7v

Would you know what Wit doth mean,

Pleaſant wit yet not obſcene,

The ſeveral garbs that Humours wear,

The dull, the brisk, the jealous, the ſevere?

Wou’d you the pattern ſee

Of ſpotleſs and untainted Loyalty,

Deck’t in every gracefull word

That language can afford;

Tropes and Figures, Raptures and Conceits that ly,

Diſperſt in all the pleaſant Fields of poeſie?

Reade you then Aſtræa’s lines,

’Tis in thoſe new diſcover’d Mines,

Those golden Quarries that this Ore is found

With which in Worlds as yet unknown Aſtræa ſhall be crown’d.


And you th’Advent’rous ſons of fame,

You that would ſleep in honours bed

With glorious Trophies garniſhed;

You that with living labours ſtrive

Your dying Aſhes to ſurvive;

Pay your Tributes to Aſtræa’s name

Her Works can ſpare you immortality,

For ſure her Works ſhall never dye.

Pyramids muſt fall and Mauſolean Monuments decay,

Marble Tombs ſhall crumble into duſt,

Noiſie Wonders of a ſhort liv’d day,

That muſt in time yield up their Truſt;

And had e’er this been periſht quite

Ith’ ruines of Eternal night,

Had no kind Pen like her’s,

In powerfull numbers powerfull verſe,

Too b8r

Too potent for the gripes of Avaritious fate,

To theſe our ages loſt declar’d their priſtine State.


But time it ſelf, bright Nymph, ſhall never Conquer thee,

For when the Globe of vaſt Eternity;

Turns up the wrong-ſide of the World,

And all things are to their firſt Chaos hurl’d,

Thy laſting praiſe in thy own lines inroll’d,

With Roman and with the Britiſh Names ſhall Equal honour hold.

And ſurely none ’midſt the Poetick Quire,

But juſtly will admire

The Trophies of thy wit,

Sublime and gay as e’er were yet

In Charming Numbers writ.

Or Virgil’s Shade or Ovid’s Ghoſt,

Of Ages paſt the pride and boaſt;

Or Cowley (firſt of ourſ) refuſe

That thou ſhouldſt be Companion of their Muſe.

And if ’twere lawfull to ſuppoſe

(As where’s the Crime or Incongruity)

Thoſe awfull Souls concern’d can be

At any ſublunary thing,

Alas, I fear they’ll grieve to ſee,

That whilſt I ſing,

And ſtrive to praiſe, I but diſparage thee.

By F. N. W.

To b8v

To Madam Behn, on her Poems.

When th’ Almighty Powers th’ Univerſe had fram’d,

And Man as King, the leſſer World was nam’d,

The Glorious Conſult ſoon his joys did bleſs,

And ſent him Woman his chief happineſs.

She by an after-birth Heaven did refine,

And gave her Beauty with a Soul divine;

She with delight was Natures chiefeſt pride,

Dearer to Man than all the World beſide;

Her ſoft embraces charm’d his Manly Soul,

And ſofter Words his Roughneſs did controul:

So thou, great Sappho, with thy charming Verſe,

Doſt here the Soul of Poetry rehearſe;

From your ſweet Lips ſuch pleaſant Raptures fell,

As if the Graces ſtrove which ſhou’d excell.

Th’admiring World when firſt your Lute you ſtrung,

Became all raviſht with th’immortal Song;

So ſoft and gracefull Love in you is ſeen,

As if the Muſes had deſign’d you Queen.

For thee, thou great Britannia of our Land,

How does thy Praiſe our tunefull Feet command?

With what great influence do thy Verſes move?

How haſt thou ſhewn the various ſenſe of Love?

Admir’d by us, and bleſt by all above,

To you all tribute’s due, and I can raiſe

No glory but by ſpeaking in your praiſe.

Go on and bleſs us dayly with your Pen,

And we ſhall oft return thee thanks again.

H. Watſon.

B1r 1

Poems Upon Several Occasions.

The Golden Age.

A Paraphrase on a Translation out of French.


Bleſt Age! when ev’ry Purling Stream

Ran undiſturb’d and clear,

When no ſcorn’d Shepherds on your Banks were ſeen,

Tortur’d by Love, by Jealouſie, or Fear;

When an Eternal Spring dreſt ev’ry Bough,

And Bloſſoms fell, by new ones diſpoſſseſt;

Theſe their kind Shade affording all below,

And thoſe a Bed where all below might reſt.

B The B1v 2

The Groves appear’d all dreſt with Wreaths of Flowers,

And from their Leaves dropt Aromatick Showers,

Whoſe fragrant Heads in Myſtick Twines above,

Exchang’d their Sweets, and mix’d with thousand Kiſſes,

As if the willing Branches ſtrove

To beautifie and ſhade the Grove

Where the young wanton Gods of Love

Offer their Nobleſt Sacrific of Bliſſes.


Calm was the Air, no Winds blew fierce and loud,

The Skie was dark’ned with no ſullen Cloud;

But all the Heav’ns laugh’d with continued Light,

And ſcatter’d round their Rays ſerenely bright.

No other Murmurs fill’d the Ear

But what the Streams and Rivers purl’d,

When Silver Waves o’er Shining Pebbles curl’d;

Or when young Zephirs fan’d the Gentle Breeze,

Gath’ring freſh Sweets from Balmy Flow’rs and Trees;

Then B2r 3

Then bore ’em on their Wings to perfume all the Air:

While to their ſoft and tender Play,

The Gray-Plum’d Natives of the Shades

Unwearied ſing till Love invades,

Then Bill, then ſing agen, while Love and Muſick makes the Day.


The ſtubborn Plough had then,

Made no rude Rapes upon the Virgin Earth;

Who yeilded of her own accord her plentious Birth,

Without the Aids of men;

As if within her Teeming Womb,

All Nature, and all Sexes lay,

Whence new Creations every day

Into the happy World did come:

The Roſes fill’d with Morning Dew,

Bent down their loaded heads,

T’Adorn the careleſs Shepherds Graſſy Beds

While ſtill young opening Buds each moment grew

B2 And B2v 4

And as thoſe withered, dreſt his ſhaded Couch a new;

Beneath who’s boughs the Snakes ſecurely dwelt,

Not doing harm, nor harm from others felt;

With whom the Nymphs did Innocently play,

No ſpightful Venom in the wantons lay;

But to the touch were Soft, and to the ſight were Gay.


Then no rough ſound of Wars Alarms,

Had taught the World the needleſs uſe of Arms:

Monarchs were uncreated then,

Thoſe Arbitrary Rulers over men;

Kings that made Laws, firſt broke ’em, and the Gods

By teaching us Religion firſt, firſt ſet the World at Odds:

Till then Ambition was not known,

That Poyſon to Content, Bane to Repoſe;

Each Swain was Lord o’er his own will alone,

His B3r 5

His Innocence Religion was, and Laws.

Nor needed any troubleſome defence

Againſt his Neighbours Inſolence.

Flocks, Herds, and every neceſſary good

Which bounteous Nature had deſign’d for Food,

Whoſe kind increaſe o’er-ſpread the Meads and Plaines,

Was then a common Sacrifice to all th’agreeing Swaines.


Right and Property were words ſince made,

When Power taught Mankind to invade:

When Pride and Avarice became a Trade;

Carri’d on by diſcord, noiſe and wars,

For which they barter’d wounds and ſcarrs;

And to Inhaunce the Merchandize, miſcall’d it, Fame,

And Rapes, Invaſions, Tyrannies,

Was gaining of a Glorious Name:

Stiling their ſalvage ſlaughters, Victories;

Honour, the Error and the Cheat

Of the Ill-natur’d Buſ’ey Great,

B3 Non B3v 6

Nonſence, invented by the Proud,

Fond Idol of the ſlaviſh Crowd,

Thou wert not known in thoſe bleſt days

Thy Poyſon was not mixt with our unbounded Joyes;

Then it was glory to purſue delight,

And that was lawful all, that Pleaſure did invite,

Then ’twas the Amorous world injoy’d its Reign;

And Tyrant Honour ſtrove t’ uſurp in Vain.


The flowry Meads the Rivers and the Groves,

Were fill’d with little Gay-wing’d Loves:

That ever ſmil’d and danc’d and Play’d,

And now the woods, and now the ſtreames invade

And where they came all things were gay and glad:

When in the Myrtle Groves the Lovers ſat

Oppreſt with a too fervent heat;

A Thouſand Cupids fann’d their wings a loft,

And B4r 7

And through the Boughs the yielded Ayre would waft:

Whoſe parting Leaves diſcovered all below,

And every God his own ſoft power admir’d,

And ſmil’d and fann’d, and ſometimes bent his Bow;

Where e’er he ſaw a Shepherd uninſpir’d.

The Nymphs were free, no nice, no coy diſdain,

Deny’d their Joyes, or gave the Lover pain;

The yielding Maid but kind Reſiſtance makes;

Trembling and bluſhing are not marks of ſhame,

But the Effect of kindling Flame:

Which from the ſighing burning Swain ſhe takes,

While ſhe with tears all ſoft, and down-caſteyes,

Permits the Charming Conqueror to win the prize.

B4 VII. B4v 8


The Lovers thus, thus uncontroul’d did meet,

Thus all their Joyes and Vows of Love repeat:

Joyes which were everlaſting, ever new

And every Vow inviolably true:

Not kept in fear of Gods, no fond Religious cauſe,

Nor in Obedience to the duller Laws.

Thoſe Fopperies of the Gown were then not known,

Thoſe vain thoſe Politick Curbs to keep man in,

Who by a fond miſtake Created that a Sin;

Which freeborn we, by right of Nature claim our own.

Who but the Learned and dull moral Fool

Could gravely have forſeen, man ought to live by Rule?


Oh curſed Honour! thou who firſt didſt damn,

A Woman to the Sin of ſhame;

Honour! B5r 9

Honour! that rob’st us of our Guſt,

Honour! that hindred mankind firſt,

At Loves Eternal Spring to ſquench his amorous thirſt.

Honour! who firſt taught lovely Eyes the art,

To wound, and not to cure the heart:

With Love to invite, but to forbid with Awe,

And to themſelves preſcribe a Cruel Law;

To Veil ’em from the Lookers on,

When they are ſure the ſlave’s undone,

And all the Charmingſt part of Beauty hid;

Soft Looks, conſenting Wiſhes, all deny’d.

It gathers up the flowing Hair,

That looſely plaid with wanton Air.

The Envious Net, and ſtinted order hold,

The lovely Curls of Jet and ſhining Gold,

No more neglected on the Shoulders hurl’d:

Now dreſt to Tempt, not gratify the World,

Thou Miſer Honour hord’st the ſacred ſtore,

And ſtarv’st thy ſelf to keep thy Votaries poor.

IX B5v 10


Honour! that put’ſt our words that ſhould be free

Into a ſet Formality.

Thou baſe Debaucher of the generous heart,

That teacheſt all our Looks and Actions Art;

What Love deſign’d a ſacred Gift,

What Nature made to be poſſeſt,

Miſtaken Honour, made a Theft,

For Glorious Love ſhould be confeſt:

For when confin’d, all the poor Lover gains,

Is broken Sighs, pale Looks, Complaints, & Pains.

Thou Foe to Pleaſure, Nature’s worſt Diſeaſe,

Thou Tyrant over mighty Kings,

What mak’st thou here in Shepheards Cottages;

Why troubleſt thou, the quiet Shades & Springs

Be gone, and make thy Fam’d reſort

To Princes Pallaces;

Go Deal and Chaffer in the Trading Court,

That buſie Market for Phantaſtick Things;

Be gone and interrupt the ſhort Retreat,

Of the Illuſtrious and the Great;

Go break the Polititians ſle ep,

Dis B6r 11

Diſturb the Gay Ambitious Fool,

That longs for Scepters, Crowns, and Rule,

Which not his Title, nor his Wit can keep;

But let the humble honeſt Swain go on,

In the bleſt Paths of the firſt rate of man;

That neareſt were to Gods Alli’d,

And form’d for love alone, diſdain’d all other Pride


Be gone! and let the Golden age again,

Aſſume its Glorious Reign;

Let the young wiſhing Maid confeſs,

What all your Arts would keep conceal’d:

The Myſtery will be reveal’d,

And ſhe in vain denies, whilſt we can gueſs,

She only ſhows the Jilt to teach man how,

To turn the falſe Artillery on the Cunning Foe.

Thou empty Viſion hence, be gone,

And let the peaceful Swain love on;

The ſwift pac’d hours of life ſoon ſteal away:

Stint not yee Gods his ſhort liv’d Joy.

The Spring decays, but when the Winter’s gone,

The Trees and Flowers a new comes on

The B6v 12

The Sun may ſet, but when the night is fled,

And gloomy darkneſs does retire,

He riſes from his Watry Bed:

All Glorious, Gay, all dreſt in Amorous Fire.

But Sylvia when your Beauties fade,

When the freſh Roſes on your Cheeks ſhall die,

Like Flowers that wither in the Shade,

Eternally they will forgotten lye,

And no kind Spring their ſweetneſs will ſupply.

When Snow ſhall on thoſe lovely Treſſes lye

And your fair Eyes no more ſhall give us pain,

But ſhoot their pointleſs Darts in vain.

What will your duller honour ſignifie?

Go boaſt it then! and ſee what numerous Store

Of Lovers, will your Ruin’d Shrine Adore.

Then let us Sylvia yet be wiſe,

And the Gay haſty minutes prize:

The Sun and Spring receive but our ſhort Light,

Once ſett, a ſleep brings an Eternal Night.

A B7r 13

A Farewel to Celladon, On his Going into Ireland.


Farewell the Great, the Brave and Good,

By all admir’d and underſtood;

For all thy vertues ſo extenſive are,

Writ in ſo noble and ſo plain a Character,

That they inſtruct humanity what to do,

How to reward and imitate ’em too,

The mighty Ceſar found and knew,

The Value of a Swain ſo true:

And early call’d the Induſtrious Youth from Groves

Where unambitiouſly he lay,

And knew no greater Joyes, nor Power then Loves;

Which all the day

The careleſs and delighted Celladon Improves;

So B7v 14

So the firſt man in Paradice was laid,

So bleſt beneath his own dear fragrant ſhade,

Till falſe Ambition made him range,

So the Almighty call’d him forth,

And though for Empire he did Eden change;

Leſs Charming ’twas, and far leſs worth.


Yet he obeyes and leaves the peaceful Plains,

The weeping Nymphs, and ſighing Swains,

Obeys the mighty voice of Jove.

The Dictates of his Loyalty purſues,

Buſ’neſs Debauches all his hours of Love;

Buſ’neſs, whoſe hurry, noiſe and news

Even Natures ſelf ſubdues;

Changes her beſt and firſt ſimplicity,

Her ſoft, her eaſie quietude

Into mean Arts of cunning Policy,

The Grave and Drudging Coxcomb to Delude

Say, mighty Celladon, oh tell me why,

Thou doſt thy nobler thoughts imploy

In bus’neſs, which alone was made

To teach the reſtleſs Stateſman how to Trade

In B8r 15

In dark Cabals for Miſchief and Deſign,

But n’ere was meant a Curſe to Souls like thine.

Buſineſs the Check to Mirth and Wit,

Buſineſs the Rival of the Fair,

The Bane to Friendſhip, and the Lucky Hit,

Onely to thoſe that languiſh in Diſpair;

Leave then that wretched troubleſome Eſtate

To him to whom forgetful Heaven,

Has no one other vertue given,

But dropt down the unfortunate,

To Toyl, be Dull, and to be Great.


But thou whoſe nobler Soul was fram’d,

For Glorious and Luxurious Eaſe,

By Wit adorn’d, by Love inflam’d;

For every Grace, and Beauty Fam’d,

Form’d for delight, deſign’d to pleaſe,

Give Give a look to every Joy,

That youth and laviſh Fortune can invent,

Nor let Ambition, that falſe God, deſtroy

Both Heaven and Natures firſt intent.

But oh in vain is all I ſay,

Both B8v 16

And you alas muſt go,

The Mighty Cæſar to obey,

And none ſo fit as you.

From all the Envying Croud he calls you forth

He knows your Loyalty, and knows your worth;

He’s try’d it oft, and put it to the Teſt,

It grew in Zeal even whilſt it was oppreſt,

The great, the Godlike Celladon,

Unlike the baſe Examples of the times,

Cou’d never be Corrupted, never won,

To ſtain his honeſt blood with Rebel Crimes.

Fearleſs unmov’d he ſtood amidſt the tainted Crowd,

And juſtify’d and own’d his Loyalty aloud.


Hybernia hail! Hail happy Iſle,

Be glad, and let all Nature ſmile.

Ye Meads and Plains ſend forth your Gayeſt Flowers;

Ye Groves and every Purling Spring,

Where Lovers ſigh, and Birds do ſing,

Be glad and gay, for Celladon is yours;

He comes, he comes to grace your Plains.

To C1r 17

To Charm the Nymphs, and bleſs the Swains,

Ecchoes repeat his Glorious Name

To all the Neighbouring Woods and Hills;

Ye Feather’d Quire chant forth his Fame,

Ye Fountains, Brooks, and Wand’ring Rills,

That through the Meadows in Meanders run,

Tell all your Flowry Brinks, the generous Swain is come.


Divert him all ye pretty Solitudes,

And give his Life ſome ſoftning Interludes:

That when his weari’d mind would be,

From Noiſe and Rigid Buſ’neſs free;

He may upon your Moſſey Beds lye down,

Where all is Gloomy, all is Shade,

With ſome dear Shee, whom Nature made,

To be poſſeſt by him alone;

Where the ſoft tale of Love She breathes,

Mixt with the ruſhing of the wind-blown leaves,

The different Notes of Cheerful Birds,

And diſtant Bleating of the Herds:

Is Muſick far more raviſhing and ſweet,

Then all the Artful Sounds that pleaſe the noiſey Great.

C VII. C1v 18


Mix thus your Toiles of Life with Joyes,

And for the publick good, prolong your days:

Inſtruct the World, the great Example prove,

Of Honour, Friendſhip, Loyalty, and Love.

And when your buſier hours are done,

And you with Damon ſit alone;

Damon the honeſt, brave and young;

Whom we muſt Celebrate where you are sung.

For you (by Sacred Friendſhip ty’d,)

Love nor Fate can nere divide;

When your agreeing thoughts ſhall backward run,

Surveying all the Conqueſts you have won,

The Swaines you ’ave left, the ſighing Maids undone;

Try if you can a fatal proſpect take,

Think if you can a ſoft Idea make:

Of what we are, now you are gone,

Of what we feel for Celladon.


’Tis Celladon the witty and the gay,

That bleſt the Night, and cheer’d the world all Day:

’Tis C2r 19

’Tis Celladon, to whom our Vows belong,

And Celladon the Subject of our Song.

For whom the Nymphs would dreſs, the Swains rejoice,

The praiſe of theſe, of thoſe the choice;

And if our Joyes were rais’d to this Exceſs,

Our Pleaſures by thy preſence made ſo great:

Some pittying God help thee to gueſs,

(What Fancy cannot well Expreſs.)

Our Languiſhments by thy Retreat,

Pitty our Swaines, pitty our Virgins more,

And let that pitty haſte thee to our ſhore;

And whilſt on happy diſtant Coaſts you are,

Afford us all your ſighs, and Ceſar all your care.

On a Juniper-Tree, cut down to make Buſks.

Whilſt happy I Triumphant ſtood,

The Pride and Glory of the Wood;

My Aromatick Boughs and Fruit,

Did with all other Trees diſpute.

C2 Had C2v 20

Had right by Nature to excel,

In pleaſing both the taſt and ſmell:

But to the touch I muſt confeſs,

Bore an Ungrateful Sullenneſs.

My Wealth, like baſhful Virgins, I

Yielded with ſome Reluctancy;

For which my vallue ſhould be more,

Not giving eaſily my ſtore.

My verdant Branches all the year

Did an Eternal Beauty wear;

Did ever young and gay appear.

Nor needed any tribute pay,

For bounties from the God of Day:

Nor do I hold Supremacy,

(In all the Wood) o’er every Tree.

But even thoſe too of my own Race,

That grow not in this happy placee.

But that in which I glory moſt,

And do my ſelf with Reaſon boaſt,

Beneath my ſhade the other day,

Young Philocles and Cloris lay,

Upon C3r 21

Upon my Root ſhe lean’d her head,

And where I grew, he made their Bed:

Whilſt I the Canopy more largely ſpread.

Their trembling Limbs did gently preſs,

The kind ſupporting yielding Graſs:

Ne’er half ſo bleſt as now, to bear

A Swain ſo Young, a Nimph ſo fair:

My Grateful Shade I kindly lent,

And every aiding Bough I bent.

So low, as ſometimes had the bliſſe,

To rob the Shepherd of a kiſs,

Whilſt he in Pleaſures far above

The Sence of that degree of Love:

Permitted every ſtealth I made,

Unjealous of his Rival Shade.

I ſaw ’em kindle to deſire,

Whilſt with ſoft ſighs they blew the fire:

Saw the approaches of their joy,

He growing more fierce, and ſhe leſs Coy,

Saw how they mingled melting Rays,

Exchanging Love a thouſand ways.

Kind was the force on every ſide,

Her new deſire ſhe could not hide:

Nor wou’d the Shepherd be deny’d.

C3 Impatient C3v 22

Impatient he waits no conſent

But what ſhe gave by Languiſhment,

The bleſſed Minute he purſu’d;

And now tranſported in his Arms,

Yeilds to the Conqueror all her Charmes,

His panting Breaſt, to hers now join’d,

They feaſt on Raptures unconfin’d;

Vaſt and Luxuriant, ſuch as prove

The Immortality of Love.

For who but a Divinitie,

Could mingle Souls to that Degree;

And melt ’em into Extaſie.

Now like the Phenix, both Expire,

While from the Aſhes of their fire,

Sprung up a new, and ſoft deſire.

Like Charmers, thrice they did invoke,

The God! and thrice new vigor took.

Nor had the Myſterie ended there,

But Cloris reaſſum’d her fear,

And chid the Swain, for having preſt,

What ſhe alas wou’d not reſiſt:

Whilſt he in whom Loves ſacred flame,

Before and after was the ſame,

Fondly C4r 23

Fondly implor’d ſhe wou’d forget

A fault, which he wou’d yet repeat.

From Active Joyes with ſome they hast,

To a Reflexion on the paſt;

A thouſand times my Covert bleſs,

That did ſecure their Happineſs:

Their Gratitude to every Tree

They pay, but moſt to happy me;

The Shepherdeſs my Bark careſt,

Whilſt he my Root, Love’s Pillow, kiſt;

And did with ſighs, their Fate deplore,

Since I muſt ſhelter them no more;

And if before my Joyes were ſuch,

In having heard, and ſeen too much,

My Grief muſt be as great and high,

When all abandon’d I ſhall be,

Doom’d to a ſilent Deſtinie.

No more the Charming ſtrife to hear,

The Shepherds Vows, the Virgins fear:

No more a joyful looker on,

Whilſt Loves ſoft Battel’s loſt and won.

With grief I bow’d my murmering Head,

And all my Chriſtal Dew I ſhed.

C4 Which C4v 24

Which did in Cloris Pity move,

(Cloris whoſe Soul is made of Love;)

She cut me down, and did tranſlate,

My being to a happier ſtate.

No Martyr for Religion di’d

With half that Unconſidering Pride;

My top was on that Altar laid,

Where Love his ſofteſt Offerings paid:

And was as fragrant Incenſe burn’d,

My body into Busks was turn’d:

Where I ſtill guard the Sacred Store,

And of Loves Temple keep the Door.

On the Death of Mr. Grinhil, the Famous Painter.


What doleful crys are theſe that fright my ſence,

Sad as the Groans of dying Innocence?

The C5r 25

The killing Accents now more near Aproach,

And the Infectious Sound,

Spreads and Inlarges all around;

And does all Hearts with Grief and Wonder touch.

The famous Grinhil dead! even he,

That cou’d to us give Immortalitie;

Is to the Eternal ſilent Groves withdrawn,

Thoſe ſullen Groves of Everlaſting Dawn;

Youthful as Flowers, ſcarce blown, whoſe opening Leaves,

A wound’rous and a fragrant Proſpect gives,

Of what it’s Elder Beauties wou’d diſplay,

When they ſhould flouriſh up to ripning May.

Witty as Poets, warm’d with Love and Wine,

Yet ſtill ſpar’d Heaven and his Friend,

For both to him were Sacred and Divine:

Nor could he this no more then that offend.

Fixt as a Martyr where he friendſhip paid,

And Generous as a God,

Diſtributing his Bounties all abroad;

And ſoft and gentle as a Love-ſick Maid.

II. C5v 26


Great Maſter of the Nobleſt Myſterie,

That ever happy Knowledge did inſpire;

Sacred as that of Poetry,

And which the wond’ring World does equally admire.

Great Natures work we do contemn,

When on his Glorious Births we meditate:

The Face and Eies, more Darts receiv’d from him,

Then all the Charms ſhe can create.

The Difference is, his Beauties do beget

In the inamour’d Soul a Vertuous Heat:

While Natures Groſſer Pieces move,

In the courſe road of Common Love:

So bold, yet ſoft, his touches were;

So round each part’s ſo ſweet and fair.

That as his Pencil mov’d men thought it preſt,

The Lively imitating riſing Breaſt,

Which yield like Clouds, where little Angels reſt:

The Limbs all eaſy as his Temper was;

Strong as his Mind, and manly too;

Large as his Soul his fancy was, and new

And from himſelf he copyed every Grace,

For C6r 27

For he had all that cou’d adorn a Face,

All that cou’d either Sex ſubdue.


Each Excellence he had that Youth has in its Pride,

And all Experienc’d Age cou’d teach,

At once the vigorous fire of this,

And every vertue which that cou’d Expreſs.

In all the heights that both could reach;

And yet alas, in this Perfection di’d.

Dropt like a Bloſſom with the Northern blaſt,

(When all the ſcatter’d Leaves abroad were caſt;)

As quick as if his fate had been in haſt;

So have I ſeen an unfixt Star,

Out-ſhine the reſt of all the Numerous Train,

As bright as that which Guides the Marriner,

Dart ſwiftly from its darken’d Sphere:

And nere ſhall ſight the World again.


Ah why ſhou’d ſo much knowledge die!

Or with his laſt kind breath,

Why C6v 28

Why cou’d he not to ſome one friend bequeath

The Mighty Legacie!

But ’twas a knowledge given to him alone,

That his eternis’d Name might be

Admir’d to all Poſteritie,

By all to whom his grateful Name was known.

Come all ye ſofter Beauties, come;

Bring Wreaths of Flowers to deck his tomb;

Mixt with the diſmal Cypreſs and the Yew,

For he ſtill gave your Charmes their due:

And from the injuries of Age and Time,

Preſerv’d the ſweetneſs of your Prime:

And beſt knew how t’adore that Sweetneſs too;

Bring all your Mournfull Tributes here,

And let your Eyes a ſilent ſorrow wear,

Till every Virgin for a while become;

Sad as his Fate, and like his Picture’s Dumb.

A C7r 29

A Ballad on Mr. J.H. to Amoret, aſking why I was ſo ſad.

My Amoret, ſince you muſt know,

The Grief you ſay my Eyes do ſhow:

Survey my Heart, where you ſhall find,

More Love then for your ſelf confin’d.

And though you chide, you’l Pity too,

A Paſſion which even Rivals you.

Amyntas on a Holy-day

As fine as any Lord of May,

Amongſt the Nimphs, and jolly Swaines,

That feed their Flocks upon the Plaines:

Met in a Grove beneath whoſe ſhade,

A Match of Dancing they had made.

His Caſſock was of Green, as trim

As Graſs upon a River brim;

Untoucht or ſullied with a ſpot,

Unpreſt by either Lamb or Goat:

And C7v 30

And with the Air it looſely play’d,

With every motion that he made.

His Sleeves a-many Ribbons ties,

Where one might read Love-Myſteries:

As if that way he wou’d impart,

To all, the Sentiments of his Heart,

Whoſe Paſſions by thoſe Colours known,

He with a Charming Pride wou’d own.

His Bonnet with the ſame was Ti’d,

A Silver Scrip hung by his Side:

His Buskins garniſht A-la-mode,

Were grac’d by every ſtep he Trod;

Like Panna, Majeſty he took,

And like Apollo when he ſpoke.

His Hook a Wreath of Flowers Braid,

The Preſent of ſome Love-ſick Maid.

Who all the morning had beſtow’d,

And to her Fancy now compoſ’d:

Which freſher ſeem’d when near that place,

To whom the Giver Captive was.

His C8r 31

His Eyes their beſt Attracts put on,

Deſigning ſome ſhould be undone;

For he could at his pleaſure move,

The Nymphs he lik’d to fall in Love:

Yet ſo he order’d every Glance,

That ſtill they ſeem’d but Wounds of Chance.

He well cou’d feign an Innocence,

And taught his Silence Eloquence;

Each Smile he uſ’d, had got the force,

To Conquer more than ſoft Diſcourſe:

Which when it ſerv’d his Ends he’d uſe,

And ſubtilly thro’ a heart infuſe.

His Wit was ſuch it cou’d controul

The Reſolutions of a Soul;

That a Religious Vow had made,

By Love it nere wou’d be betra’d:

For when he ſpoke he well cou’d prove

Their Errors who diſpute with Love.

With all theſe Charms he did Addreſs

Himſelf to every Shepherdeſs:

Until C8v 32

Until the Bag-pipes which did play,

Began the Bus’neſs of the day;

And in the taking forth to Dance,

The Lovely Swain became my Chance.

To whom much Paſſion he did Vow,

And much his Eyes and Sighs did ſhow;

And both imploy’d with ſo much Art,

I ſtrove in vain to guard my Heart;

And ere the Night our Revels croſt,

I was intirely won and loſt.

Let me adviſe thee, Amoret,

Fly from the Baits that he has ſet

In every grace; which will betray

All Beauties that but look that way:

But thou haſt Charms that will ſecure

A Captive in this Conquerour.

Our D1r 33

Our Cabal.

Come, my fair Cloris, come away,

Haſt thou forgot ’tis Holyday?

And lovely Silvia too make haſte,

The Sun is up, the day does waſte:

Do’ſt thou not hear the Muſick loud,

Mix’d with the murmur of the Crowd?

How can thy active Feet be ſtill,

And hear the Bagpipes chearful Trill?

Mr. V. U.

Urania’s dreſt as fine and gay,

As if ſhe meant t’out-ſhine the day;

Or certain that no Victories

Were to be gain’d but by her Eyes;

Her Garment’s white, her Garniture

The ſpringing Beauties of the Year,

Which are in ſuch nice Order plac’d,

That Nature is by Art diſgrac’d:

Her natural Curling Ebon Hair,

Does looſly wanton in the Air.

D Mr. D1v 34

Mr. G.V.

With her the young Alexis came,

Whoſe Eyes dare only ſpeak his Flame:

Charming he is, as fair can be,

Charming without Effeminacy;

Only his Eyes are languiſhing,

Caus’d by the Pain he feels within;

Yet thou wilt ſay that Languiſhment

Is a peculiar Ornament.

Deck’d up he is with Pride and Care,

All Rich and Gay, to pleaſe his Fair:

The price of Flocks h’ has made a Prey

To th’ Uſual Vanity of this day.

My dear Brother J.C.

After them Damon Piping came,

Who laughs at Cupid and his Flame;

Swears, if the Boy ſhould him approach,

He’d burn his Wings with his own Torch:

But he’s too young for Love t’invade,

Though for him languish many a Maid.

His D2r 35

His lovely Ayr, his chearful Face,

Adorn’d with many a Youthful Grace,

Beget more Sighs then if with Arts

He ſhould deſign to conquer Hearts:

The Swains as well as Nymphs ſubmit

To’s Charms of Beauty and of Wit.

He’ll ſing, he’ll dance, he’ll pipe and play,

And wanton out a Summers day;

And whereſoever Damon be,

He’s ſtill the Soul o’th’ Companie.

My dear Amoret, Mris. B.

Next Amoret, the true Delight

Of all that do approach her ſight:

The Sun in all its Courſe ne’er met

Ought Fair or Sweet like Amoret.

Alone ſhe came, her Eyes declin’d,

In which you’l read her troubled Mind;

Yes, Silvia, for ſhe’l not deny

She loves, as well as thou and I.

’Tis Philocles, that Proud Ingrate,

That pays her Paſſion back with Hate;

D2 Whilſt D2v 36

Whilſt ſhe does all but him deſpiſe,

And clouds the luſtre of her Eyes:

But once to her he did addreſs,

And dying Paſſion too expreſs;

But ſoon the Amorous Heat was laid,

He ſoon forgot the Vows he’d made;

Whilſt ſhe in every Silent Grove,

Bewails her eaſie Faith and Love.

Numbers of Swains do her adore,

But ſhe has vow’d to love no more.

Mr. J. B.

Next Jolly Thirſis came along,

With many Beauties in a Throng.

Mr. Je. B.

With whom the young Amyntas came,

The Author of my Sighs and Flame:

For I’ll confeſs that Truth to you,

Which every Look of mine can ſhow.

Ah how unlike the reſt he appears!

With Majeſty above his years!

His D3r 37

His Eyes ſo much of Sweetneſs dreſs,

Such Wit, ſuch Vigour too expreſs;

That ’twou’d a wonder be to ſay,

I’ve ſeen the Youth, and brought my Heart away.

Ah Cloris! Thou that never wert

In danger yet to loſe a Heart,

Guard it ſeverely now, for he

Will ſtartle all thy Conſtancy:

For if by chance thou do’ſt eſcape

Unwounded by his Lovely Shape,

Tempt not thy Ruine, leſt his Eyes

Joyn with his Tongue to win the Prize:

Such Softneſs in his Language dwells,

And Tales of Love ſo well he tells,

Should’ſt thou attend their Harmony,

Thou’dſt be Undone, as well as I;

For ſure no Nymph was ever free,

That could Amyntas hear and ſee.

Mr. N. R. V.

With him the lovely Philocleſs,

His Beauty heightned by his Dreſs,

If any thing can add a Grace

To ſuch a Shape, and ſuch a Face,

D3 Whoſe D3v 38

Whoſe Natural Ornaments impart

Enough without the help of Art.

His Shoulders cover’d with a Hair,

The Sun-Beams are not half ſo fair;

Of which the Virgins Bracelets make,

And wear for Philocleſs’s ſake:

His Beauty ſuch, that one would ſwear

His Face did never take the Air.

On’s Cheeks the bluſhing Roſes ſhow,

The reſt like whiteſt Daiſies grow:

His Lips, no Berries of the Field,

No Cherries, ſuch a Red do yield.

His Eyes all Love, Soft’ning Smile;

And when he ſpeaks, he ſighs the while:

His Baſhful Grace, with Bluſhes too,

Gains more then Confidence can do.

With all theſe Charms he does invade

The Heart, which when he has betray’d,

He ſlights the Trophies he has won,

And weeps for thoſe he has Undone;

As if he never did intend

His Charms for ſo ſevere an End.

And all poor Amoret can Gain,

Is pitty from the Lovely Swain:

And D4r 39

And if Inconſtancy can ſeem

Agreeable, ’tis ſo in him.

And when he meets Reproach for it,

He does excuſe it with his Wit.

Mr. E. B. and Mrs. F M.

Next hand in hand the ſmilling Pair,

Martillo, and the Lovely Fair:

A Bright-Ey’d Phillis, who they ſay,

Ne’er knew what Love was till to day:

Long has the Gen’rous Youth in vain

Implor’d ſome Pity for his Pain.

Early abroad he would be ſeen,

To wait her coming on the Green,

To be the firſt that t’her ſhould pay

The tribute of the New-born Day;

Preſents her Bracelets with their Names,

And Hooks carv’d out with Hearts and Flames.

And when a ſtragling Lamb he ſaw,

And ſhe not by to give it Law,

The pretty Fugitive he’d deck

With Wreaths of Flowers around its Neck;

D4 And D4v 40

And gave her ev’ry mark of Love,

Before he could her Pity move.

But now the Youth no more appears

Clouded with Jealouſies and Fears:

Nor yet dares Phillis ſofter Brow

Wear Unconcern, or Coldneſs now;

But makes him juſt and kind Returns;

And as He does, ſo now She burns.

Mr. J. H.

Next Lyſidas, that haughty Swain,

With many Beauties in a Train,

All ſighing for the Swain, whilſt he

Barely returns Civility.

Yet once to each much Love he Vowd,

And ſtrange Fantaſtique Paſſion ſhow’d.

Poor Doris, and Lucinda too,

And many more whom thou doſt know,

Who had not power his Charms to ſhun,

Too late do find themſelves Undone.

His Eyes are Black, and do tranſcend

All Fancy e’er can comprehend;

And D5r 41

And yet no Softneſs in ’em move,

They kill with Fierceneſs, not with Love:

Yet he can dreſs ’em when he liſt,

With Sweetneſs none can e’er reſiſt.

His Tongue no Amorous Parley makes,

But with his Looks alone he ſpeaks.

And though he languiſh yet he’l hide,

That grateful knowledge with his Pride;

And thinks his Liberty is loſt,

Not in the Conqueſt, but the Boaſt.

Nor will but Love enough impart,

To gain and to ſecure a heart:

Of which no ſooner he is ſure,

And that its Wounds are paſt all Cure.

But for New Victories he prepares,

And leaves the Old to its Deſpairs:

Succeſs his Boldneſs does renew,

And Boldneſs helps him Conquer too.

He having gain’d more hearts then all,

Th’ reſt of the Paſtoral Cabal.

Mr. D5v 42

Mr. Ed. Bed.

With him Philander, who nere paid

A Sigh or Tear to any Maid:

So innocent and young he is,

He cannot gueſs what Paſſion is.

But all the Love he ever knew,

On Lycidas he does beſtow:

Who pays his Tenderneſs again,

Too Amorous for a Swain to a Swain.

A ſofter Youth was never ſeen,

His Beauty Maid; but Man, his Mein:

And much more gay than all the reſt;

And but Alexis fineſt Dreſs’d.

His Eyes towards Lycidas ſtill turn,

As ſympathiſing Flowers to the Sun:

Whilſt Lycidas whoſe Eyes diſpenſe

No leſs a grateful Influence,

Improves his Beauty, which ſtill freſher grows:

Who would not under two ſuch Suns as thoſe?

Cloris you ſigh, what Amorous grown?

Pan grant you keep your heart at home:

For I have often heard you Vow,

If D6r 43

If any cou’d your heart ſubdue,

Though Lycidas you nere had ſeen,

It muſt be him, or one like him:

Alas I cannot yet forget,

How we have with Amyntas ſat

Beneath the Boughs for Summer made,

Our heated Flocks and Us to ſhade:

Where thou wou’dſt wond’rous Stories tell,

Of this Agreeable Infidel.

By what Devices, Charms and Arts,

He uſ’d to gain and keep his Hearts:

And whilſt his Falſehood we wou’d Blame,

Thou woud’st commend and praiſe the ſame.

And did no greater pleaſure take,

Then when of Lycidas we ſpake;

By this and many Sighs we know,

Thou’rt ſenſible of Loving too.

Come Cloris, come along with us,

And try thy power with Lycidas;

See if that Vertue which you prize,

Be proof againſt thoſe Conquering Eyes.

That Heart that can no Love admit,

Will hardly ſtand his ſhock of Wit;

Come D6v 44

Come deck thee then in all that’s fine,

Perhaps the Conqueſt may be thine;

They all attend, let’s haſt to do,

What Love and Muſick calls us to.


The Willing Miſtriſs.

Amyntas led me to a Grove,

Where all the Trees did ſhade us;

The Sun it ſelf, though it had Strove,

It could not have betray’d us:

The place ſecur’d from humane Eyes,

No other fear allows,

But when the Winds that gently riſe,

Doe Kiſs the yeilding Boughs.

Down there we ſatt upon the Moſs,

And did begin to play

A Thouſand Amorous Tricks, to paſs

The heat of all the day.

D7r 45

A many Kiſſes he did give:

And I return’d the ſame

Which made me willing to receive

That which I dare not name.

His Charming Eyes no Aid requir’d

To tell their ſoftning Tale;

On her that was already fir’d,

’Twas Eaſy to prevaile.

He did but Kiſs and Claſp me round,

Whilſt thoſe his thoughts Expreſt:

And lay’d me gently on the Ground;

Ah who can gueſs the reſt?


Love Arm’d.

Love in Fantaſtique Triumph ſatt,

Whilſt Bleeding Hearts a round him flow’d,

For whom Freſh paines he did Create,

And ſtrange Tyranick power he ſhow’d;

D7v 46

From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire,

Which round about, in ſport he hurl’d;

But ’twas from mine, he took deſire,

Enough to undo the Amorous World.

From me he took his ſighs and tears,

From thee his Pride and Crueltie;

From me his Languiſhments and Feares,

And every Killing Dart from thee;

Thus thou and I, the God have arm’d,

And ſett him up a Deity;

But my poor Heart alone is harm’d,

Whilſt thine the Victor is, and free.


The Complaint.

Amyntas that true hearted Swaine,

Upon a Rivers Banck was lay’d,

Where to the Pittying ſtreames he did Complaine

On Silvia that falſe Charming Maid.

While ſhee was ſtill regardleſs of his paine.

Ah! D8r 47

Ah! Charming Silvia, would he cry;

And what he ſaid, the Echoes wou’d reply:

Be kind or elſe I dy, Ech: — I dy

Be kind or elſe I dy: Ech: — I dy.

Thoſe ſmiles and Kiſſes which you give,

Remember Sylvia are my due;

And all the Joyes my Rivall does receive,

He raviſhes from me not you:

Ah Silvia! can I live and this believe?

Inſenſibles are toucht to ſee

My Languiſhments, and ſeem to pitty me:

Which I demand of thee: Ech— of thee

Which I demand of thee Ech: — of thee.

Set by Mr. Baniſter.


The Invitation.

Damon I cannot blame your will,

’Twas Chance and not Deſign did kill;

For D8v 48

For whilſt you did prepare your Charmes,

On purpoſe Silvia to ſubdue:

I met the Arrows as they flew,

And ſav’d her from their harms.

Alas ſhe cannot make returnes,

Who for a Swaine already Burnes;

A Shepherd whom ſhe does Careſs:

With all the ſofteſt marks of Love,

And ’tis in vaine thou ſeek’ſt to move,

The cruel Shepherdeſs.

Content thee with this Victory,

Think me as faire and young as ſhe:

I’le make thee Garlands all the day,

And in the Groves we’l ſit and ſing;

I’le Crown thee with the pride o’ th’ Spring,

When thou art Lord of May.


When Jemmy firſt began to Love,

He was the Gayeſt Swaine

That ever yet a Flock had drove,

Or danc’t upon the Plaine.

Twas E1r 49

T’was then that I, weys me poor Heart,

My Freedom threw away;

And finding ſweets in every ſmart,

I cou’d not ſay him nay.

And ever when he talkt of Love,

He wou’d his Eyes decline;

And every ſigh, a Heart would move,

Gued Faith and why not mine?

He’d preſs my hand, and Kiſs it oft,

In ſilence ſpoke his Flame.

And whilſt he treated me thus ſoft,

I wiſht him more to Blame.

Sometimes to feed my Flocks with him,

My Jemmy wou’d Invite me:

Where he the Gayeſt Songs wou’d ſing,

On purpoſe to delight me.

And Jemmy every Grace diſplayed,

Which were enough I trow,

To conquer any Princely Maid,

So did he me I vow.

E But E1v 50

But now for Jemmy muſt I mourn,

Who to the Warrs muſt go;

His Sheephook to a Sword muſt turne:

Alack what ſhall I do?

His Bag-pipe into War-like Sounds,

Muſt now Exchanged bee:

Inſtead of Braceletts, fearful Wounds;

Then what becomes of me?

To Mr. Creech (under the Name of Daphnis on his Excellent Tranſlation of Lucretius.

Thou great Young Man! Permit amongſt the Crowd

Of thoſe that ſing thy mighty Praiſes lowd,

My humble Muſe to bring its Tribute too.

Inſpir’d by thy vaſt flight of Verſe,

Methinks I ſhould ſome wondrous thing rehearſe,

Worthy Divine Lucretius, and Diviner Thou.

E2r 51

But I of Feebler Seeds deſign’d,

Whilſt the ſlow moving Atomes ſtrove,

With careleſs heed to form my Mind:

Compos’d it all of Softer Love.

In gentle Numbers all my Songs are Dreſt,

And when I would thy Glories ſing,

What in ſtrong manly Verſe I would expreſs,

Turns all to Womanniſh Tenderneſs within.

Whilſt that which Admiration does inſpire,

In other Souls, kindles in mine a Fire.

Let them admire thee on ―― Whilſt I this newer way

Pay thee yet more than they:

For more I owe, ſince thou haſt taught me more,

Then all the mighty Bards that went before.

Others long ſince have Pal’d the vaſt delight;

In duller Greek and Latin ſatisfy’d the Appetite:

But I unlearn’d in Schools, diſdain that mine

Should treated be at any Feaſt but thine.

Till now, I curſt my Birth, my Education,

And more the ſcanted Cuſtomes of the Nation:

Permitting not the Female Sex to tread,

The Mighty Paths of Learned Heroes dead.

The God-like Virgil, and great Homers Verſe,

Like Divine Myſteries are conceal’d from us.

E2 We E2v 52

We are forbid all grateful Theams,

No raviſhing thoughts approach our Ear,

The Fulſom Gingle of the times,

Is all we are allow’d to underſtand or hear.

But as of old, when men unthinking lay,

Ere Gods were worſhipt, or ere Laws were fram’d

The wiſer Bard that taught ’em firſt t’ obey,

Was next to what he taught, ador’d and fam’d;

Gentler they grew, their words and manners chang’d,

And ſalvage now no more the Woods they rang’d.

So thou by this Tranſlation doſt advance

Our Knowledg from the State of Ignorance,

And equals us to Man! Ah how can we,

Enough Adore, or Sacrifice enough to thee.

The Myſtick Terms of Rough Philoſophy,

Thou doſt ſo plain and eaſily expreſs;

Yet Deck’ſt them in ſo ſoft and gay a Dreſs:

So intelligent to each Capacity,

That they at once Inſtruct and Charm the Senſe,

With heights of Fancy, heights of Eloquence;

And E3r 53

And Reaſon over all Unfetter’d plays,

Wanton and undiſturb’d as Summers Breeze;

That gliding murmurs o’re the Trees:

And no hard Notion meets or ſtops its way.

It Pierces, Conquers and Compels,

Beyond poor Feeble Faith’s dull Oracles.

Faith the deſpairing Souls content,

Faith the Laſt Shift of Routed Argument.

Hail Sacred Wadham! whom the Muſes Grace

And from the Reſt of all the Reverend Pile;

Of Noble Pallaces, deſign’d thy Space:

Where they in ſoft retreat might dwell.

They bleſt thy Fabrick, and ſaid――Do thou,

Our Darling Sons contain,

We thee our Sacred Nurſery Ordain,

They ſaid and bleſt, and it was ſo.

And if of old the Fanes of Silvian Gods,

Were worſhipt as Divine Aboads;

If Courts are held as Sacred Things,

For being the Awful Seats of Kings,

What Veneration ſhould be paid,

To thee that haſt ſuch wondrous Poets made.

E3 To E3v 54

To Gods for fear, Devotion was deſign’d,

And Safety made us bow to Majeſty;

Poets by Nature Aw and Charm the Mind,

Are born not made by dull Religion or Neceſſity.

The Learned Thirſis did to thee belong,

Who Athens Plague has ſo divinely Sung.

Thirſis to wit, as ſacred friendſhip true,

Paid Mighty Cowley’s Memory its due.

Thirſis who whilſt a greater Plague did reign,

Then that which Athens did Depopulate:

Scattering Rebellious Fury o’re the Plain,

That threatn’d Ruine to the Church and State,

Unmov’d he ſtood, and fear’d no Threats of Fate.

That Loyal Champion for the Church & Crown,

That Noble Ornament of the Sacred Gown,

Still did his Soveraign’s Cauſe Eſpouſe,

And was above the Thanks of the mad Senatehouſe.

Strephon the Great, whom laſt you ſent abroad,

Who Writ, and Lov’d, & Lookt like any God;

For whom the Muſes mourn, the Love-ſick Maids

Are Languiſhing in Melancholly Shades.

E4r 55

The Cupids flag their Wings, their Bows untie,

And uſeleſs Quivers hang neglected by,

And ſcatter’d Arrows all around ’em lye.

By murmuring Brooks the careleſs Deities are laid,

Weeping their rifled power now Noble Strephon’s Dead.

Ah Sacred Wadham! ſhould’ſt thou never own

But this delight of all Mankind and thine;

For Ages paſt of Dulneſs, this alone,

This Charming Hero would Attone.

And make thee Glorious to ſucceeding time;

But thou like Natures ſelf diſdain’ſt to be,

Stinted to Singularity.

Even as faſt as ſhe thou doſt produce,

And over all the Sacred Myſtery infuſe.

No ſooner was fam’d Strephon’s Glory ſet,

Strephon the Soft, the Lovely and the Great;

But Daphnis riſes like the Morning-Star,

That guides the Wandring Traveller from afar.

Daphnis whom every Grace, and Muſe inſpires,

E4 Scarce E4v 56

Scarce Strephons Raviſhing Poetick Fires

So kindly warm, or ſo divinely Cheer.

Advance Young Daphnis, as thou haſt begun,

So let thy Mighty Race be run.

Thou in thy large Poetick Chace,

Begin’ſt where others end the Race.

If now thy Grateful Numbers are ſo ſtrong,

If they ſo early can ſuch Graces ſhow,

Like Beauty ſo ſurprizing, when ſo Young,

What Daphnis will thy Riper Judgement do,

When thy Unbounded Verſe in their own Streams ſhall flow!

What Wonder will they not produce,

When thy Immortal Fancy’s looſe;

Unfetter’d, Unconfin’d by any other Muſe!

Advance Young Daphnis then, and mayſt thou prove

Still Sacred in thy Poetry and Love.

May all the Groves with Daphnis Songs be bleſt,

Whilſt every Bark is with thy Diſticks dreſt.

May Timerous Maids learn how to Love from thence

And the Glad Shepherd Arts of Eloquence.

And when to Solitude thou woud’ſt Retreat,

May their tun’d Pipes thy Welcome celebrate.

And E5r 57

And all the Nymphs ſtrow Garlands at thy Feet.

May all the Purling Streams that murmuring paſs,

The Shady Groves and Banks of Flowers,

The kind repoſing Beds of Graſs,

Contribute to their Softer Hours.

Mayſt thou thy Muſe and Miſtreſs there Careſs,

And may one heighten to ’thers Happineſs.

And whilſt thou ſo divinely doſt Converſe,

We are content to know and to admire thee in thy Sacred Verſe.

To Mrs. W. On her Excellent Verſes (Writ in Praiſe of ſome I had made on the Earl of Rocheſter) Written in a Fit of Sickneſs.

Enough kind Heaven! to purpoſe I have liv’d

And all my Sighs & Languiſhments ſurviv’d.

My Stars in vain their ſullen influence have ſhed,

Round my till now Unlucky Head:

I pardon all the Silent Hours I’ve griev’d,

My Weary Nights, and Melancholy Days;

When E5v 58

When no Kind Power my Pain Reliev’d,

I loſe you all, you ſad Remembrancers,

I loſe you all in New-born Joys,

Joys that will diſſipate my Falling Tears.

The Mighty Soul of Rocheſter’s reviv’d,

Enough Kind Heaven to purpoſe I have liv’d,

I ſaw the Lovely Phantom, no Diſguiſe,

Veil’d the bleſt Viſion from my Eyes,

’Twas all o’re Rocheſter that pleas’d and did ſurprize.

Sad as the Grave I ſat by Glimmering Light,

Such as attends Departing Souls by Night.

Penſive as abſent Lovers left alone,

Or my poor Dove, when his Fond Mate was gone.

Silent as Groves when only Whiſpering Gales,

Sigh through the Ruſhing Leaves,

As ſoftly as a Baſhful Shepherd Breaths,

To his Lov’d Nymph his Amorous Tales.

So dull I was, ſcarce Thought a Subject found,

Dull as the Light that gloom’d around;

When lo the Mighty Spirit appear’d,

All Gay, all Charming to my ſight;

My Drooping Soul it Rais’d and Cheer’d,

And caſt about a Dazling Light.

In E6r 59

In every Part there did appear,

The Great, the God-like Rocheſter,

His Softneſs all, his Sweetneſs everywhere.

It did advance, and with a Generous Look,

To me Addreſt, to worthleſs me it ſpoke:

With the ſame wonted Grace my Muſe it prais’d,

With the ſame Goodneſs did my Faults Correct:

And Careful of the Fame himſelf firſt rais’d,

Obligingly it School’d my looſe Neglect.

The ſoft, the moving Accents ſoon I knew

The gentle Voice made up of Harmony;

Through the Known Paths of my glad Soul it flew;

I knew it ſtraight, it could no others be,

’Twas not Alied but very very he.

So the All-Raviſht Swain that hears

The wondrous Muſick of the Sphears,

For ever does the grateful Sound retain,

Whilſt all his Oaten Pipes and Reeds.

The Rural Muſick of the Groves and Meads,

Strive to divert him from the Heavenly Song in vain.

He hates their harſh and Untun’d Lays,

Which now no more his Soul and Fancy raiſe.

But E6v 60

But if one Note of the remembred Air

He chance again to hear,

He ſtarts, and in a tranſport cries,――’Tis there.

He knows it all by that one little taſte,

And by that grateful Hint remembers all the reſt.

Great, Good, and Excellent, by what new way

Shall I my humble Tribute pay,

For this vaſt Glory you my Muſe have done,

For this great Condeſcention ſhown!

So Gods of old ſometimes laid by

Their Awful Trains of Majeſty,

And chang’d ev’n Heav’n a while for Groves and Plains,

And to their Fellow-Gods preferr’d the lowly Swains.

And Beds of Flow’rs would oft compare

To thoſe of Downey Clouds, or yielding Air;

At Purling Streams would drink in homely Shells;

Put off the God, to Revel it in Woods and Shepherds Cells;

Would liſten to their Ruſtick Songs, and ſhow

Such Divine Goodneſs in Commending too,

Whilſt the tranſported Swain the Honour pays

With humble Adoration, humble Praiſe.

The E7r 61

The Sence of a Letter ſent me, made into Verſe; To a New Tnune.


In vain I have labour’d the Victor to prove

Of a Heart that can ne’er give Admittance to Love:

So hard to be won,

That nothing ſo young,

Could e’er have reſiſted a Paſſion ſo long.


But nothing I left unattempted or ſaid,

To ſoften the Heart of the Pityleſs Maid;

Yet ſtill ſhe was ſhy,

And would bluſhing deny,

Whilſt her willinger Eyes gave her Language the Lye.


When before the Impregnable Fort I lay down,

I reſolv’d or to die, or to Purchaſe Rnown,

But E7v 62

But how vain was the Boaſt!

All the Glory I loſt,

And now vanquiſh’d and ſham’d I’ve quitted my Poſt.

The Return.


Amyntas whilſt you

Have an Art to ſubdue,

And can conquer a Heart with a Look or a Smile,

You Pityleſs grow,

And no Faith will allow;

’Tis the Glory you ſeek when you rifle the Spoil.


Your ſoft warring Eyes,

When prepar’d for the Prize,

Can laugh at the Aids of my feeble Diſdain;

You can humble the Foe,

And ſoon make her to know

Tho’ ſhe arms her with Pride, her Efforts are but vain.

III. E8r 63


But Shepherd beware,

Though a Victor you are;

A Tyrant was never ſecure in his Throne;

Whilſt proudly you aim

New Conqueſts to gain,

Some hard hearted Nymph may return you your own.

On a Copy of Verſes made in a Dream, and ſent to me in a Morning before I was Awake.

Amyntas, if your Wit in Dreams

Can furniſh you with Theams,

What muſt it do when your Soul looks abroad,

Quick’nd with Agitations of the Sence,

And diſpoſſeſt of Sleeps dull heavy Load,

When ev’ry Syllable has Eloquence?

And if by Chance ſuch Wounds you make,

And in your Sleep ſuch welcome Miſchiefs do;

What E8v 64

What are your Pow’rs when you’re awake,

Directed by Deſign and Reaſon too?

I ſlept, as duller Mortals uſe,

Without the Muſick of a Thought,

When by a gentle Breath, ſoft as thy Muſe,

Thy Name to my glad Ear was brought:

Amyntas! cry’d the Page――And at the Sound,

My liſt’ning Soul unuſual Pleaſure found.

So the Harmonious Spheres ſurprize,

Whilſt the All-Raviſh’d Shepherd gazes round,

And wonders whence the Charms ſhould riſe,

That can at once both pleaſe and wound.

Whilſt trembling I unript the Seal

Of what you’d ſent,

My Heart with an Impatient Zeal,

Without my Eyes, would needs reveal

Its Bus’neſs and Intent.

But ſo beyond the Sence they were

Of ev’ry ſcribling Lovers common Art,

That now I find an equal ſhare

Of Love and Admiration in my Heart.

And while I read, in vain I ſtrove

To hide the Pleaſure which I took;

Bellario F1r 65

Bellario ſaw in ev’ry Look

My ſmiling Joy and bluſhing Love.

Soft ev’ry word, eaſie each Line, and true;

Briſk, witty, manly, ſtrong and gay;

The Thoughts are tender all, and new,

And Fancy ev’ry where does gently play.

Amyntas if you thus go on,

Like an unwearied Conqueror day and night,

The World at laſt muſt be undone.

You do not only kill at ſight,

But like a Parthian in your flight.

Whether you Rally or Retreat,

You ſtill have Arrows for Defeat.

To my Lady Morland at Tunbrige.

As when a Conqu’rour does in Triumph come,

And proudly leads the vanquiſh’d Captives home,

The Joyful People croud in ev’ry Street,

And with loud ſhouts of Praiſe the Victor greet;

F While F1v 66

While ſome whom Chance or Fortune kept away,

Deſire at leaſt the Story of the Day;

How brave the Prince, how gay the Chariot was,

How beautiful he look’d, with what a Grace;

Whether upon his Head he Plumes did wear;

Or if a Wreath of Bays adorn’d his Hair:

They hear ’tis wondrous fine, and long much more

To ſee the Hero then they did before.

So when the Marvels by Report I knew,

Of how much Beauty, Cloris, dwelt in you;

How many Slaves your Conqu’ring Eyes had won,

And how the gazing Crown admiring throng:

I wiſh’d to ſee, and much a Lover grew

Of ſo much Beauty, though my Rivals too.

I came and ſaw, and bleſt my Deſtiny;

I found it Juſt you ſhould out-Rival me.

’Twas at the Altar, where more Hearts were giv’n

To you that day, then were addreſs’d to Heav’n.

The Rev’rend Man whoſe Age and Myſtery

Had rendred Youth and Beauty Vanity,

By fatal Chance caſting his Eyes your way,

Miſtook the duller Bnuſ’neſs of the Day,

Forgot the Goſpel, and began to Pray.

Whilſt F2r 67

Whilſt the Enamour’d Crowd that near you preſt,

Receiving Darts which none could e’er reſiſt,

Neglected the Miſtake o’th’ Love-ſick Prieſt.

Ev’n my Devotion, Cloris, you betray’d,

And I to Heaven no other Petition made,

But that you might all other Nymphs out-do

In Cruelty as well as Beauty too.

I call’d Amyntas Faithleſs Swain before,

But now I find ’tis Juſt he ſhould Adore.

Not to love you, a wonder ſure would be,

Greater then all his Perjuries to me.

And whilſt I Blame him, I Excuſe him too;

Who would not venture Heav’n to purchaſe you?

But Charming Cloris, you too meanly prize

The more deſerving Glories of your Eyes,

If you permit him on an Amorous ſcore,

To be your Slave, who was my Slave before.

He oft has Fetters worn, and can with eaſe

Admit ’em or diſmiſs ’em when he pleaſe.

A Virgin-Heart you merit, that ne’er found

It could receive, till from your Eyes, the Wound;

A Heart that nothing but your Force can fear,

And own a Soul as Great as you are Fair.

Song F2v 68

Song to Ceres.

In the Wavering Nymph, or Mad Amyntas.


Ceres, Great Goddeſs of the bounteous Year,

Who load’st the Teeming Earth with Gold and Grain,

Bleſſing the Labours of th’ Induſtrious Swain,

And to their Plaints inclin’ſt thy gracious Ear:

Behold two fair Cicilian Lovers lie

Proſtrate before thy Deity;

Imploring thou wilt grant the Juſt Deſires

Of two Chaſte Hearts that burn with equal Fires.


Amyntas he, brave, generous and young;

Whom yet no Vice his Youth has e’er betray’d:

And Chaſte Urania is the Lovely Maid;

His Daughter who has ſerv’d thy Altars long,

As thy High Prieſt: A Dowry he demands

As the young Amorous Shepherds hands:

F3r 69

Say, gentle Goddeſs, what the Youth muſt give,

E’er the Bright Maid he can from thee receive.

Song in the ſame Play, by the Wavering Nymph.

Pan grant that I may never prove

So great a Slave to fall in love,

And to an Unknown Deity

Reſign my happy Liberty:

I love to ſee the Amorous Swains

Unto my Scorn their Hearts reſign:

With Pride I ſee the Meads and Plains

Throng’d all with Slaves, and they all mine:

Whilſt I the whining Fools deſpiſe,

That pay their Homage to my Eyes.

The F3v 70

The Diſappointment.


One day the Amorous Lyſander,

By an impatient Paſſion ſway’d,

Surpriz’d fair Cloris, that lov’d Maid,

Who could defend her ſelf no longer.

All things did with his Love conſpire;

The gilded Planet of the Day,

In his gay Chariot drawn by Fire,

Was now deſcending to the Sea,

And left no Light to guide the World,

But what from Cloris Brighter Eyes was hurld.


In a lone Thicket made for Love,

Silent as yielding Maids Conſent,

She with a Charming Languiſhment,

Permits his Force, yet gently ſtrove;

Her Hands his Boſom ſoftly meet,

But not to put him back deſign’d,

Rather to draw ’em on inclin’d:

Whil F4r 71

Whilſt he lay trembling at her Feet,

Reſiſtance ’tis in vain to ſhow;

She wants the pow’r to ſay—Ah! What d’ ye do?


Her Bright Eyes ſweet, and yet ſevere,

Where Love and Shame confuſ’dly ſtrive,

Freſh Vigor to Lyſander give;

And breathing faintly in his Ear,

She cry’d— Ceaſe, Ceaſe—your vain Deſire,

Or I’ll call out――What would you do?

My Dearer Honour ev’n to You

I cannot, muſt not give――Retire,

Or take this Life, whoſe chiefeſt part

I gave you with the Conqueſt of my Heart.


But he as much unus’d to Fear,

As he was capable of Love,

The bleſſed minutes to improve,

Kiſſes her Mouth, her Neck, her Hair;

Each Touch her new Deſire Alarms,

His burning trembling Hand he preſt

Upon her ſwelling Snowy Breſt,

F4 While F4v 72

While ſhe lay panting in his Arms.

All her Unguarded Beauties lie

The Spoils and Trophies ofrthe Enemy.


And now without Reſpect or Fear,

He ſeeks the Object of his Vows,

(His Love no Modeſty allows)

By ſwift degrees advancing――where

His daring Hand that Altar ſeiz’d,

Where Gods of Love do ſacirrifice:

That Awful Throne, that Paradice

Where Rage is calm’d, and Anger pleas’d;

That Fountain where Delight ſtill flows,

And gives the Univerſal World Repoſe.


Her Balmy Lips incountring his,

Their Bodies, as their Souls, are joyn’d;

Where both in Tranſports Unconfin’d

Extend themſelves upon the Moſs.

Cloris half dead and breathleſs lay;

Her ſoft Eyes caſt a Humid Light,

Such as divides the Day and Night;

Or F5r 73

Or falling Stars, whoſe Fires decay:

And now no ſigns of Life ſhe ſhows,

But what in ſhort-breath’d Sighs returns & goes.


He ſaw how at her Length ſhe lay;

He ſaw her riſing Boſom bare;

Her looſe thin Robes, through which appeatr

A Shape deſign’d for Love and Play;

Abandon’d by her Pride and Shame.

She does her ſofteſt Joys diſpence,

Off’ring her Virgin-Innocence

A Victim to Loves Sacred Flame;

While the o’er-Raviſh’d Shepherd lies

Unable to perform the Sacrifice.


Ready to taſte a thouſand Joys,

The too tranſported hapleſs Swain

Found the vaſt Pleaſure turn’d to Pain;

Pleaſure which too much Love deſtroys:

The willing Garments by he laid,

And Heaven all open’d to his view,

Mad to poſſſeſs, himſelf he threw

On F5v 74

On the Defenceleſs Lovely Maid.

But Oh what envying God conſpires

To ſnatch his Power, yet leave him the Deſire!


Nature’s Support, (without whoſe Aid

She can no Humane Being give)

It ſelf now wants the Art to live;

Faintneſs its ſlack’ned Nerves invade:

In vain th’ inraged Youth eſſay’d

To call its fleeting Vigor back,

No motion ’twill from Motion take;

Exceſs of Love his Love betray’d:

In vain he Toils, in vain Commands;

The Inſenſible fell weeping in his Hand.


In this ſo Amorous Cruel Strife,

Where Love and Fate were too ſevere,

The poor Lyſander in deſpair

Renounc’d his Reaſon with his Life:

Now all the briſk and active Fire

That ſhould the Nobler Part inflame,

Serv’d to increaſe his Rage and Shame,

And F6r 75

And left no Spark for New Deſire:

Not all her Naked Charms cou’d move

Or calm that Rage that had debauch’d his Love.


Cloris returning from the Trance

Which Love and ſoft Deſire had bred,

Her timerous Hand ſhe gently laid

(Or guided by Deſign or Chance)

Upon that Fabulous Priapas,

That Potent God, as Poets feign;

But never did young Shepherdeſs,

Gath’ring of Fern upon the Plain,

More nimbly draw her Fingers back,

Finding beneath the verdant Leaves a Snake:


Than Cloris her fair Hand withdrew,

Finding that God of her Deſires

Diſarm’d of all his Awful Fires,

And Cold as Flow’rs bath’d in the Morning- Dew.

Who can the Nymph’s Confuſion gueſs?

The Blood forſook the hinder Place,

And ſtrew’d with Bluſhes all her Face,

Which F6v 76

Which both Diſdain and Shame expreſt:

And from Lyſander’s Arms ſhe fled,

Leaving him fainting on the Gloomy Bed.


Like Lightning through the Grove ſhe hies,

Or Daphne from the Delphick God,

No Print upon the graſſey Road

She leaves, t’ inſtruct Purſuing Eyes.

The Wind that wanton’d in her Hair,

And with her Ruffled Garments plaid,

Diſcover’d in the Flying Maid

All that the Gods e’er made, if Fair.

So Venus, when her Love was ſlain,

With Fear and Haſte flew o’er the Fatal Plain.


The Nymph’s Reſentments none but I

Can well Imagine or Condole:

But none can gueſs Lyſander’s Soul,

But thoſe who ſway’d his Deſtiny.

His ſilent Griefs ſwell up to Storms,

And not one God his Fury ſpares;

He curs’d his Birth, his Fate, his Stars;

But F7r 77

But more the Shepherdeſs’s Charms,

Whoſe ſoft bewitching Influence

Had Damn’d him to the Hell of Impotence.

On a Locket of Hair Wove in a True- Loves Knot, given me by Sir R.O.

What means this Knot, in Myſtick Order Ty’d,

And which no Humane Knowledge can divide?

Not the Great Conqu’rours Sword can this undo

Whoſe very Beauty would divert the Blow.

Bright Relique! Shrouded in a Shrine of Gold!

Leſs Myſt’ry made a Deity of Old.

Fair Charmer! Tell me by what pow’rful Spell

You into this Confuſed Order fell?

If Magick could be wrought on things Divine,

Some Amorous Sybil did thy Form deſign

In ſome ſoft hour, which the Prophetick Maid

In Nobler Myſteries of Love employ’d,

Wrought thee a Hieroglyphick, to expreſs

The wanton God in all his Tenderneſs;

Thus F7v 78

Thus ſhaded, and thus all adorn’d with Charms,

Harmleſs, Unfletch’d, without Offenſive Arms,

He us’d of Old in ſhady Groves to Play,

E’er Swains broke Vows, or Nymphs were vain and coy,

Or Love himſelf had Wings to fly away.

Or was it (his Almighty Pow’r to prove)

Deſign’d a Quiver for the God of Love?

And all theſe ſhining Hairs which th’inſpir’d Maid

Has with ſuch ſtrange Myſterious Fancy laid,

Are meant his Shafts; the ſubt’leſt ſureſt Darts

That ever Conqu’red or Secur’d his Hearts;

Darts that ſuch tender Paſſions do convey,

Not the young Wounder is more ſoft than they.

’Tis ſo; the Riddle I at laſt have learn’d:

But found it when I was too far concern’d.

The Dream.

A Song.


The Grove was gloomy all around,

Murm’ring the Streams did paſs,

Where fond Aſtrea laid her down

Upon a Bed of Graſs.

I F8r

I ſlept and ſaw a piteous ſight,

Cupid a weeping lay,

Till both his little Stars of Light

Had wept themſelves away.


Methought I aſk’d him why he cry’d,

My Pity led me on:

All ſighing the ſad Boy reply’d,

Alas I am undone!

As I beneath yon Myrtles lay,

Down by Diana’s Springs,

Amyntas ſtole my Bow away,

And Pinion’d both my Wings.


Alas! cry’d I, ’twas then thy Darts

Wherewith he wounded me:

Thou Mighty Deity of Hearts,

He ſtole his Pow’r from thee.

Revenge thee, if a God thou be,

Upon the Amorous Swain;

I’ll ſet thy Wings at Liberty,

And thou ſhalt fly again.

IV. F8v 80


And for this Service on my Part,

All I implore of thee,

Is, That thou’t wound Amyntas Heart,

And make him die for me.

His Silken Fetters I Unty’d,

And the gay Wings diſplay’d;

Which gently fann’d, he mounts and cry’d,

Farewel fond eaſie Maid.


At this I bluſh’d, and angry grew

I ſhould a God believe;

And waking found my Dream too true,

Alas I was a Slave.

A Letter to a Brother of the Pen in Tribulation.

Poor Damon! Art thou caught? Is’t ev’n ſo?

Art thou become a Tabernacler So he called a Sweating-Tub. too?

Where G1r 81

Where ſure thou doſt not mean to Preach or Pray,

Unleſs it be the clean contrary way:

This holy Lent. time I little thought thy ſin

Deſerv’d a Tub to do its Pennance in.

O how you’ll for th’ Ægyptian Fleſh-pots wiſh,

When you’r half-famiſh’d with your Lenten-diſh,

Your Almonds, Currans, Biſkets hard and dry,

Food that will Soul and Body mortifie:

Damn’d Penetential Drink, that will infuſe

Dull Principles into thy Grateful Muſe.

—Pox on’t that you muſt needs be fooling now,

Juſt when the Wits had greateſt I wanted a Prologue to a Play. need of you.

Was Summer then ſo long a coming on,

That you muſt make an Artificial one?

Much good may’t do thee; but ’tis thought thy Brain

E’er long will wiſh for cooler Days again.

For Honeſty no more will I engage:

I durſt have ſworn thou’dſt had the Puſillage.

Thy Looks the whole Cabal have cheated too;

But thou wilt ſay, moſt of the Wits do ſo.

Is this thy He pretended to Retire to Write. writing Plays? who thought thy Wit

An Interlude of Whoring would admit?

G To G1v 82

To Poetry no more thou’lt be inclin’d,

Unleſs in Verſe to damn all Woman-kind:

And ’tis but Juſt thou ſhouldſt in Rancor grow

Againſt that Sex that has Confin’d thee ſo.

All things in Nature now are Briſk and Gay

At the Approaches of the Blooming May:

The new-fletch’d Birds do in our Arbors ſing

A Thouſand Airs to welcome in the Spring;

Whilſt ev’ry Swain is like a Bridegroom dreſt,

And ev’ry Nymph as going to a Feaſt:

The Meadows now their flowry Garments wear,

And ev’ry Grove does in its Pride appear:

Whilſt thou poor Damon in cloſe Rooms art pent,

Where hardly thy own Breath can find a vent.

Yet that too is a Heaven, compar’d to th’ Task

Of Codling every Morning in a Caſk.

Now I could curſe this Female, but I know,

She needs it not, that thus cou’d handle you.

Beſides, that Vengeance does to thee belong,

And ’twere Injuſtice to diſarm thy Tongue.

Curſe then, dear Swain, that all the Youth may hear,

And from thy dire Miſhap be taught to fear.

Curſe till thou haſt undone the Race, and all

That did contribute to thy Spring and Fall.

G2r 83

The Reflection: A Song.


Poor Loſt Serena, to Bemoan

The Rigor of her Fate,

High’d to a Rivers-ſide alone,

Upon whoſe Brinks ſhe ſat.

Her Eyes, as if they would have ſpar’d,

The Language of her Tongue,

In Silent Tears a while declar’d

The Senſe of all her wrong.


But they alas too feeble were,

Her Grief was ſwoln too high

To be Expreſt in Sighs and Tears;

She muſt or ſpeak or dye.

And thus at laſt ſhe did complain,

Is this the Faith, ſaid ſhe,

Which thou alloweſt me, Cruel Swain,

For that I gave to thee?

G2 III. G2v 84


Heaven knows with how much Innocence

I did my Soul Incline

To thy Soft Charmes of Eloquence,

And gave thee what was mine.

I had not one Reſerve in Store,

But at thy Feet I lay’d

Thoſe Arms that Conquer’d heretofore,

Tho’ now thy Trophies made.


Thy Eyes in Silence told their Tale

Of Love in ſuch a way,

That ’twas as eaſie to Prevail,

As after to Betray.

And when you ſpoke my Liſtning Soul,

Was on the Flattery Hung:

And I was loſt without Controul,

Such Muſick grac’d thy Tongue.


Alas how long in vain you ſtrove

My coldneſs to divert!

How G3r 85

How long beſieg’d it round with Love,

Before you won the Heart.

What Arts you uſ’d, what Preſents made,

What Songs, what Letters writ:

And left no Charm that cou’d invade,

Or with your Eyes or Wit.


Till by ſuch Obligations Preſt,

By ſuch dear Perjuries won:

I heedleſly Reſign’d the reſt,

And quickly was undone.

For as my Kindling Flames increaſe,

Yours glimeringly decay:

The Rifled Joys no more can Pleaſe,

That once oblig’d your Stay.


Witneſs ye Springs, ye Meads and Groves,

Who oft were conſcious made

To all our Hours and Vows of Love;

Witneſs how I’m Betray’d.

Trees drop your Leaves, be Gay no more,

Ye Rivers waſte and drye:

Whilſt on your Melancholy Shore,

I lay me down and dye.

Song. G3v 86


To Peſibles Tune.


Twas when the Fields were gay,

The Groves and every Tree:

Juſt when the God of Day,

Grown weary of his Sway,

Deſcended to the Sea,

And Gloomy Light around did all the World ſurvey,

’Twas then the Hapleſs Swain,

Amyntas, to Complain

Of Silvia’s cold Diſdain,

Retir’d to Silent Shades;

Where by a Rivers Side,

His Tears did ſwell the Tide,

As he upon the Brink was lay’d.


Ye Gods, he often cry’d,

Why did your Powers deſign

In G4r 87

In Silvia ſo much Pride,

Such Falſhood to beſide.

With Beauty ſo Divine?

Why ſhould ſo much of Hell with ſo much Heaven joyn?

Be witneſs every Shade,

How oft the lovely Maid

Her tender Vows has paid;

Yet with the ſelf-ſame Breath,

With which ſo oft before,

And ſolemnly ſhe ſwore,

Pronounce now Amyntas Death.


But Charming Nymph beware,

Whilſt I your Victim die,

Some One, my Perjur’d Fair,

Revenging my Deſpair,

Will prove as falſe to thee;

Which yet my wandring Ghoſt wou’d look more pale to ſee.

For I ſhall break my Tomb,

And nightly as I rome,

Shall to my Silvia come,

And ſhow the Piteous Sight;

G4 My G4v 88

My bleeding Boſom too,

Which wounds were given by you;

Then vaniſh in the Shades of Night.


On her Loving Two Equally. Set by Captain Pack.


How ſtrongly does my Paſſion flow,

Divided equally ’twixt two?

Damon had ne’er ſubdu’d my Heart,

Had not Alexis took his part;

Nor cou’d Alexis pow’rful prove,

Without my Damons Aid, to gain my Love.


When my Alexis preſent is,

Then I for Damon ſigh and mourn;

But when Alexis I do miſs,

Damon gains nothing but my Scorn.

But G5r 89

But if it chance they are both by,

For both alike I languiſh, ſigh, and die.


Cure then, thou mighty winged God,

This reſtleſs Feaver in my Blood;

One Golden-Pointed Dart take back:

But which, O Cupid, wilt thou take?

If Damons, all my Hopes are croſt;

Or that of my Alexis, I am loſt.

The Counſel.

A Song.

Set by Captain Pack.


Apox upon this needleſs Scorn:

Sylvia for ſhame the Cheat give o’er:

The End to which the Fair are botrn,

Is not to keep their Charms in ſtore:

But laviſhly diſpoſe in haſte

Of Joys which none but Youth improve;

Joys G5v 90

Joys which decay when Beauty’s paſt;

And who, when Beauty’s paſt, will love?


When Age thoſe Glories ſhall deface,

Revenging all your cold Diſdain;

And Sylvia ſhall neglected paſs,

By every once-admiring Swain;

And we no more ſhall Homage pay:

When you in vain too late ſhall burn,

If Love increaſe, and Youth decay,

Ah Sylvia! who will make Return?


Then haſte, my Sylvia, to the Grove,

Where all the Sweets of May conſpire

To teach us ev’ry Art of Love,

And raiſe our Joys of Pleaſure higher:

Where while embracing we ſhall lie

Looſly in Shades on Beds of Flow’rs,

The duller World while we defie,

Years will be Minutes, Ages Hours.

Song. G6r 91


The Surprize. Set by Mr. Farmer.


Phillis, whoſe Heart was Unconfin’d,

And free as Flow’rs on Meads and Plains,

None boaſted of her being Kind,

’Mong’ſt all the languiſhing and amorous Swains.

No Sighs or Tears the Nymph cou’d move,

To pity or return their Love.


Till on a time the hapleſs Maid

Retir’d to ſhun the Heat o’th’ Day

Into a Grove, beneath whoſe ſhade

Strephon the careleſs Shepherd ſleeping lay:

But O ſuch Charms the Youth adorn,

Love is reveng’d for all her Scorn.

III. G6v 92


Her Cheeks with Bluſhes cover’d were,

And tender Sighs her Boſom warm,

A Softneſs in her Eyes appear;

Unuſual Pain ſhe feels from ev’ry Charm:

To Woods and Ecchoes now ſhe cries,

For Modeſty to ſpeak denies.



Ah! what can mean that eager Joy

Tranſports my Heart when you appear?

Ah Strephon! you my Thoughts imploy

In all that’s Charming, all that’s Dear.

When you your pleaſing Story tell,

A Softneſs does invade each Part,

And I with Bluſhes own I feel

Something too tender at my Heart.


At your approach my Bluſhes riſe,

And I at once both wiſh and fear;

My wounded Soul mounts to my Eyes,

As it would prattle Stories there.

Take, G7r 93

Take, take that Heart that needs muſt go;

But, Shepherd, ſee it kindly us’d:

For who ſuch Preſents will beſtow,

If this, alas! ſhould be abus’d?

The Invitation: A Song.

To a New Scotch Tune.


Come my Phillis let us improve

Both our Joyes of Equal Love:

While we in yonder Shady Grove,

Count Minutes by our Kiſſes.

See the Flowers how ſweetly they ſpread,

And each Reſigns his Gawdy Head,

To make for us a Fragrant Bed,

To practice o’er New Bliſſes.


The Sun it ſelf with Love does conſpire,

And ſends abroad his ardent Fire,

And kindly ſeems to bid us retire,

And G7v 94

And ſhade us from his Glory;

Then come, my Phillis, do not fear;

All that your Swain deſires there,

Is by thoſe Eyes a new to ſwear

How much he does adore ye.


Phillis, in vain you ſhed thoſe Tears;

Why do you bluſh? Oh ſpeak your Fearſ!

There’s none but your Amyntas hears:

What means this pretty Paſſion?

Can you fear your Favours will cloy

Thoſe that the Bleſſing does enjoy?

Ah no! ſuch needleſs Thoughts deſtroy:

This Nicety’s out of Faſhion.


When thou haſt done, by Pan I ſwear,

Thou wilt unto my Eyes appear

A thouſand times more Charming and Fair,

Then thou wert to my firſt Deſire:

That Smile was kind, and now thou’rt wiſe,

To throw away this Coy Diſguiſe,

And by the vigour of thy Eyes,

Declare thy Youth and Fire.

Silvio’s G8r 95

Silvio’s Complaint: A Song,

To a Fine Scotch Tune.


In the Blooming Time o’th’ year,

In the Royal Month of May:

Au the Heaves were glad and clear,

Au the Earth was Freſh and Gay.

A Noble Youth but all Forlorn,

Lig’d Sighing by a Spring:

’Twere better I’s was nere Born,

Ere wiſht to be a King.


Then from his Starry Eyne,

Muckle Showers of Chriſtal Fell:

To bedew the Roſes Fine,

That on his Cheeks did dwell.

And G8v 96

And ever ’twixt his Sighs he’d cry,

How Bonny a Lad I’d been,

Had I, weys me, nere Aim’d high,

Or wiſht to be a King.


With Dying Clowdy Looks,

Au the Fields and Groves he kens:

Au the Gleeding Murmuring Brooks,

(Noo his Unambitious Friends)

Tol which he eance with Mickle Cheer

His Bleating Flocks woud bring:

And crys, woud God I’d dy’d here,

Ere wiſht to be a King.


How oft in Yonder Mead,

Cover’d ore with Painted Flowers:

Au the Dancing Youth I’ve led,

Where we paſt our Blether Hours.

In Yonder Shade, in Yonder Grove,

How Bleſt the Nymphs have been:

Ere I for Pow’r Debaucht Love,

Or wiſht to be a King.

V. Not H1r 97


Not add the Arcadian Swains,

In their Pride and Glory Clad:

Not au the Spacious Plains,

Ere coud Boaſt a Bleether Lad.

When ere I Pip’d, or Danc’d, or Ran,

Or leapt, or whirl’d the Sling:

The Flowry Wreaths I ſtill won,

And wiſht to be a King,


But Curſt be yon Tall Oak,

And Old Thirſis be accurſt:

There I firſt my peace forſook,

There I learnt Ambition firſt.

Such Glorious Songs of Hero’s Crown’d,

The Reſtleſs Swain woud Sing:

My Soul unknown deſires found,

And Languiſht to be King.


Ye Garlands wither now,

Fickle Glories vaniſh all:

H Ye H1v 98

Ye Wreaths that deckt my Brow,

To the ground neglected fall.

No more my ſweet Repoſe moleſt,

Nor to my Fancies bring

The Golden Dreams of being Bleſt

With Titles of a King.


Ye Noble Youths beware,

Shun Ambitious powerful Tales:

Diſtructive, Falſe, and Fair,

Like the Oceans Flattering Gales.

See how my Youth and Glories lye,

Like Blaſted Flowers i’th’ Spring:

My Fame Renown and all dye,

For wiſhing to be King.

In Imitation of Horace.


What mean thoſe Amorous Curles of Jet?

For what heart-Raviſht Maid

Doſt H2r 99

Doſt thou thy Hair in order ſet,

Thy Wanton Treſſes Braid?

And thy vaſt Store of Beauties open lay,

That the deluded Fancy leads aſtray.


For pitty hide thy Starry eyes,

Whoſe Languiſhments deſtroy:

And look not on the Slave that dyes

With an Exceſs of Joy.

Defend thy Coral Lips, thy Amber Breath;

To taſte theſe Sweets lets in a Certain Death.


Forbear, fond Charming Youth, forbear,

Thy words of Melting Love:

Thy Eyes thy Language well may ſpare,

One Dart enough can move.

And ſhe that hears thy voice and ſees thy Eyes

With too much Pleaſure, too much Softneſs dies


Ceaſe, Ceaſe, with Sighs to warm my Soul,

Or preſs me with thy Hand:

H2 Who H2v 100

Who can the kindling fire controul,

The tender force withſtand?

Thy Sighs and Touches like wing’d Lightning fly,

And are the Gods of Loves Artillery.

To Lyſander, who made ſome Verſes on a Diſcourſe of Loves Fire.


In vain, dear Youth, you ſay you love,

And yet my Marks of Paſſion blame;

Since Jealouſie alone can prove,

The ſureſt Witneſs of my Flame:

And ſhe who without that, a Love can vow,

Believe me, Shepherd, does not merit you.


Then give me leave to doubt, that Fire

I kindle, may another warm:

A Face that cannot move Deſire,

May ſerve at leaſt to end the Charm:

Love elſe were Witchcraft, that on malice bent,

Denies ye Joys, or makes ye Impotent.

Tis H3r 101


’Tis true, when Cities are on fire,

Men never wait for Chriſtal Springs;

But to the Neighb’ring Pools retire;

Which neareſt, beſt Aſſiſtance brings;

And ſerves as well to quench the raging Flame,

As if from God-delighting Streams it came.


A Fancy ſtrong may do the Feat

Yet this to Love a Riddle is,

And ſhows that Paſſion but a Cheat;

Which Men but with their Tongues Confeſs.

For ’tis a Maxime in Loves learned School,

Who blows the Fire, the flame can only Rule.


Though Honour does your Wiſh deny,

Honour! the Foe to your Repoſe;

Yet ’tis more Noble far to dye,

Then break Loves known and Sacred Laws:

H3 What H3v 102

What Lover wou’d purſue a ſingle Game,

That cou’d amongſt the Fair deal out his flame?


Since then Lyſander you deſire,

Amynta only to adore;

Take in no Partners to your Fire,

For who well Loves, that Loves one more?

And if ſuch Rivals in your Heart I find,

Tis in My Power to die, but not be kind.

A Dialogue for an Entertainment at Court, between Damon and Sylvia.


Ah Sylvia! if I ſtill purſue,

Whilſt you in vain your Scorn improve;

What wonders might your Eies not do:

If they would dreſs themſelves in Love.

Sylvia. H4r 103


Shepherd you urge my Love in vain,

For I can ne’er Reward your pain;

A Slave each Smile of mine can win,

And all my ſoftning Darts,

When e’er I pleaſe, can bring me in

A Thouſand Yeilding Hearts.


Yet if thoſe Slaves you treat with Cruelty,

’Tis an Inglorious Victory;

And thoſe unhappy Swaines you ſo ſubdue,

May Learn at laſt to ſcorn, as well as you;

Your Beauty though the Gods deſign’d

Shou’d be Ador’d by all below;

Yet if you want a Godlike Pittying Mind,

Our Adoration ſoon will colder grow:

’Tis Pitty makes a Deity,

Ah Silvia! daine to pitty me,

And I will worſhip none but thee.

H4 Silvia. H4v 104


Perhaps I may your Councel take,

And Pitty, tho’ not Love, for Damons ſake;

Love is a Flame my Heart ne’er knew,

Nor knows how to begin to burn for you.


Ah Sylvia who’s the happy Swain,

For whom that Glory you ordain!

Has Strephon, Pithius, Hilus, more

Of Youth, of Love, or Flocks a greater ſtore?

My flame purſues you too, with that Addreſs,

Which they want Paſſion to Profeſs:

Ah then make ſome Returns my Charming Shepherdeſs.


Too Faithful Shepherd I will try my Heart,

And if I can will give you part.


Oh that was like your ſelf expreſt,

Give me but part, and I will ſteal the reſt.

Silvia. H5r 105


Take care Young Swain you treat it well,

If you wou’d have it in your Boſom dwell;

Now let us to the Shades Retreat,

Where all the Nymphs and Shepherds meet.


And give me there your leave my Pride to ſhow,

For having but the hopes of Conquering you;

Where all the Swaines ſhall Paſſion learn of me:

And all the Nymphs to bleſs like thee.


Where every Grace I will beſtow,

And every Look and Smile, ſhall ſhow

How much above the reſt I vallue you.


And I thoſe Bleſſings will improve;

By conſtant Faith, and Tender Love.

A Chorus of Satyrs and Nymphs made by another hand:
On H5v 106

On Mr. J.H. In a Fit of Sickneſs.


If when the God of Day retires,

The Pride of all the Spring decays and dies:

Wanting thoſe Life-begetting Fires

From whence they draw their Excellencies;

Each little Flower hangs down its Gawdy Head,

Loſing the Luſter which it did Retain;

No longer will its fragrant face be ſpread,

But Languiſhes into a Bud again:

So with the Sighing Crowd it fares

Since you Amyntas, have your Eies withdrawn,

Ours Loſe themſelves in Silent Tears,

Our days are Melancholy Dawn;

The Groves are Unfrequented now,

The Shady Walks are all Forlorn;

Who ſtill were throng to gaze on you:

With Nymphs, whom your Retirement has undone.

II.Our H6r 107


Our Bag-pipes now away are flung,

Our Flocks a Wandering go;

Garlands neglected, on the Boughs are hung,

That us’d to adorn each Chearful Brow,

Forſaken looks the enameld May:

And all its wealth Uncourted dies;

Each little Bird forgets its wonted Lay,

That Sung Good Morrow to the welcome Day.

Or rather to thy Lovely Eies.

The Cooling Streams do backward glide:

Since on their Banks they ſaw not thee,

Loſing the Order of their Tide,

And Murmuring chide thy Cruelty:

Then haſt to loſe themſelves i’th’ Angry Sea.


Thus every thing in its Degree,

Thy ſaid Retreat Deplore;

Haſt then Amyntas, and Reſtore;

The whole Worlds Loſs in thee.

For like an Eaſtern Monarch, when you go,

(If ſuch a Fate the World muſt know)

A H6v 108

A Beautious and a Numerous Hoſt

Of Love-ſick Maids, will wait upon thy Ghoſt;

And Death that Secret will Reveal,

Which Pride and Shame did here Conceal;

Live then thou Lovelyeſt of the Plaines,

Thou Beauty of the Envying Swaines;

Whoſe Charms even Death it ſelf wou’d court,

And of his Solemn Buſineſs make a Sport.


In Pitty to each Sighing Maid,

Revive, come forth, be Gay and Glad;

Let the Young God of Love implore,

In Pity lend him Darts,

For when thy Charming Eies ſhall ſhoot no more;

He’ll loſe his Title of the God of Hearts.

In Pity to Aſtrea live,

Aſtrea, whom from all the Sighing Throng,

You did your oft-won Garlands give:

For which ſhe paid you back in Grateful Song:

Astrea, who did ſtill the Glory boaſt,

To be ador’d by thee, and to adore thee moſt.


With Pride ſhe ſaw her Rivals Sigh and Pine,

And vainly cry’d, The lovely Youth is mine!

By H7r 109

By all thy Charms I do Conjure thee, live;

By all the Joys thou canſt receive, and give:

By each Receſs and Shade where thou and I,

Loves Secrets did Unfold;

And did the dull Unloving World defy:

Whilſt each the Hearts fond Story told.

If all theſe Conjurations nought Prevail,

Not Prayers or Sighs, or Tears avail,

But Heaven has Deſtin’d we Depriv’d muſt be,

Of ſo much Youth, Wit, Beauty, and of Thee;

I will the Deaf and Angry Powers defie,

Curſe thy Deceaſe, Bleſs thee, and with thee die.

To Lyſander, on ſome Verſes he writ, and asking more for his Heart then ’twas worth.


Take back that Heart, you with ſuch Caution give,

Take the fond valu’d Trifle back;

I hate Love-Merchants that a Trade wou’d drive;

And meanly cunning Bargains make.

II. I H7v 110


I care not how the buſy Market goes,

And ſcorn to Chaffer for a price:

Love does one Staple Rate on all impoſe,

Nor leaves it to the Traders Choice.


A Heart requires a Heart Unfeign’d and True,

Though Subt’ly you advance the Price,

And aſk a Rate that Simple Love ne’er knew:

And the free Trade Monopolize.


An Humble Slave the Buyer muſt become,

She muſt not bate a Look or Glance,

You will have all, or you’ll have none;

See how Loves Market you inhaunce.


Is’t not enough, I gave you Heart for Heart,

But I muſt add my Lips and Eies;

I muſt no friendly Smile or Kiſs impart;

But you muſt Dun me with Advice.

VI.And H8r 111


And every Hour ſtill more unjuſt you grow,

Thoſe Freedoms you my life deny,

You to Adraſte are oblig’d to ſhow,

And give her all my Rifled Joy.


Without Controul ſhe gazes on that Face,

And all the happy Envyed Night,

In the pleas’d Circle of your fond imbrace:

Shée takes away the Lovers Right.


From me ſhe Raviſhes thoſe ſilent hours,

That are by Sacred Love my due;

Whilſt I in vain accuſe the angry Powers,

That make me hopeleſs Love purſue.


Adraſtes Ears with that dear Voice are bleſt,

That Charms my Soul at every Sound,

And with thoſe Love-Inchanting Touches preſt:

Which I ne’er felt without a Wound.

X. She H8v 112


She has thee all: whilſt I with ſilent Greif,

The Fragments of the Softneſs feel,

Yet dare not blame the happy licenc’d Thief:

That does my Dear-bought Pleaſures ſteal.


Whilſt like a Glimering Taper ſtill I burn,

And waſte my ſelf in my own flame,

Adraste takes the welcome rich Return:

And leaves me all the hopeleſs Pain.


Be juſt, my lovely Swain, and do not take

Freedoms you’ll not to me allow;

Or give Amynta ſo much Freedom back:

That ſhe may Rove as well as you.


Let us then love upon the honeſt Square,

Since Intereſt neither have deſign’d,

For the ſly Gameſter, who ne’er plays me fair,

Muſt Trick for Trick expect to find.

I1r 113

To the Honourable Edward Howard, on his Comedy called The New Utopia,


Beyond the Merit of the Age,

You have adorn’d the Stage;

So from rude Farce, to Comick Order brought,

Each Action, and each Thought;

To ſo Sublime a Method, as yet none

(But Mighty Ben alone)

Cou’d e’er arive, and he at diſtance too;

Were he alive he muſt reſign to you:

You have out-done what e’er he writ,

In this laſt great Example of your Wit.

Your Solymour does his Moroſe deſtroy,

And your Black Page undoes his Barbers Boy,

All his Collegiate Ladies muſt retire,

While we thy braver Heroins do admire.

I This I1v 114

This new Utopia rais’d by thee,

Shall ſtand a Structure to be wondered at,

And men ſhall cry, thiſ―― thiſ―― is he

Who that Poetick City did create:

Of which Moor only did the Model draw,

You did Compleat that little World, and gave it Law.


If you too great a Proſpect doe allow

To thoſe whom Ignorance does at diſtance Seat,

’Tis not to ſay, the Object is leſs great,

But they want ſight to apprehend it ſo:

The ancient Poets in their times,

When thro’ the Peopl’d Streets they ſung their Rhimes,

Found ſmall applauſe; they ſung but ſtill were poor;

Repeated Wit enough at every door.

T’have made ’em demy Godſ! but ’twou’d not do,

Till Ages more refin’d eſteem’d ’em ſo.

The Modern Poets have with like Succeſs,

Quitted the Stage, and Sallyed from the Preſs.

Great Johnſon ſcarce a Play brought forth,

But Monſter-like it frighted at its Birth:

Yet I2r 115

Yet he continued ſtill to write,

And ſtill his Satyr did more ſharply bite.

He writ tho certain of his Doom,

Knowing his Pow’r in Comedy:

To pleaſe a wiſer Age to come:

And though he Weapons wore to Juſtify

The reaſons of his Pen; he cou’d not bring,

Dull Souls to Senſe by Satyr, nor by Cudgelling.


In vain the Errors of the Times,

You ſtrive by wholeſom Precepts to Confute,

Not all your Pow’r in Proſe or Rhimes,

Can finiſh the Diſpute:

’Twixt thoſe that damn, and thoſe that do admire:

The heat of your Poetick fire.

Your Soul of Thought you may imploy

A Nobler way,

Then in revenge upon a Multitude,

Whoſe Ignorance only makes ’em rude.

Shou’d you that Juſtice do,

You muſt for ever bid adieu,

To Poetry divine,

And ev’ry Muſe o’th’ Nine:

I2 For I2v 116

For Malice then with Ignorance would join,

And ſo undo the World and You:

So raviſh from us that delight,

Of ſeeing the Wonders which you Write:

And all your Glories unadmir’d muſt lye,

As Veſtal Beauties are Intomb’d before they dye.


Conſider and Conſult your Wit,

Deſpiſe thoſe Ills you muſt indure:

And raiſe your Scorne as great as it,

Be Confident and then Secure.

And let your rich-fraught Pen,

Adventure out agen;

Maugre the Stormes that do opoſe its courſe,

Stormes that deſtroy without remorſe:

It may new Worlds deſcry,

Which Peopl’d from thy Brain may know

More than the Univerſe beſides can ſhow:

More Arts of Love, and more of Gallantry.

Write on! and let not after Ages ſay,

The Whiſtle or rude Hiſs cou’d lay

T I3r 117

Thy mighty Spright of Poetry,

Which but the Fools and Guilty fly;

Who dare not in thy Mirror ſee

Their own Deformity:

Where thou in two, the World doſt Character,

Since moſt of Men Sir Graves, or Peacocks are.


And ſhall that Muſe that did ere while,

Chant forth the Glories of the Britiſh Iſle,

Shall ſhee who lowder was than Fame;

Now uſeleſs lie, and tame?

Shee who late made the Amazons ſo Great,

And ſhee who Conquered Scythia too;

(Which Alexander ne’re coud do)

Will you permitt her to retreat?

Silence will like Submiſſion ſhow:

And give Advantage to the Foe!

Undaunted let her once gain appear,

And let her lowdly Sing in every Ear:

Then like thy Miſtris Eyes, who have the ſkill,

Both to preſerve aand kill;

ToSo thou at once maiſt be revengd on thoſe

That are thy Foes.

I3 And I3v 118

And on thy Friends ſuch Obligations lay,

As nothing but the Deed; the Doer can repay.

To Lyſander at the Muſick- Meeting.

It was too much, ye Gods, to ſee and hear;

Receiving wounds both from the Eye and Ear:

One Charme might have ſecur’d a Victory,

Both, rais’d the Pleaſure even to Extaſie:

So Raviſht Lovers in each others Armes,

Faint with exceſs of Joy, exceſs of Charmes:

Had I but gaz’d and fed my greedy Eyes,

Perhaps you’d pleas’d no farther than ſurprize.

That Heav’nly Form might Admiration move,

But, not without the Muſick, charm’d with Love

At leaſt ſo quick the Conqueſt had not been;

You ſtorm’d without, and Harmony within:

Nor cou’d I liſten to the ſound alone,

But I alas muſt look—and was undone:

I4r 119

I ſaw the Softneſs that compos’d your Face,

While your Attention heightend every Grace:

Your Mouth all full of Sweetneſs and Content,

And your fine killing Eyes of Languiſhment:

Your Boſom now and than a ſigh wou’d move,

(For Muſick has the ſame effects with Love.)

Your Body eaſey and all tempting lay,

Inſpiring wiſhes which the Eyes betray,

In all that have the fate to glance that way:

A carleſs and a lovely Negligence,

Did a new Charm to every Limb diſpence:

So look young Angels, Liſtening to the ſound,

When the Tun’d Spheres Glad all the Heav’ns around:

So Raptur’d lie amidſt the wondering Crowd,

So Charmingly Extended on a Cloud.

When from ſo many ways Loves Arrows storm,

Who can the heedleſs Heart defend from harm?

Beauty and Muſick muſt the Soul diſarme:

Since Harmony, like Fire to Wax, does fit

The ſoftned Heart Impreſſions to admit:

As the briſk ſounds of Warr the Courage move,

Muſick prepares and warms the Soul to Love.

I4 But I4v 120

But when the kindling Sparks ſuch Fuel meet,

No wonder if the Flame inſpir’d be great.

An Ode to Love.


Dull Love no more thy Senceleſs Arrows prize,

Damn thy Gay Quiver, break thy Bow;

’Tis only young Lyſanders Eyes,

That all the Arts of Wounding know.


A Pox of Fooliſh Politicks in Love,

A wiſe delay in Warr the Foe may harme:

By Lazy Siege while you to Conqueſt move;

His fiercer Beautys vanquiſh by a Storme.


Some wounded God, to be reveng’d on thee,

The Charming Youth form’d in a lucky houre,

Dreſt him in all that fond Divinity,

That has out-Rivall’d thee, a God, in Pow’r.

IV.Or I5r 121


Or elſe while thou ſupinely laid

Baſking beneath ſom Mirtle ſhade,

In careleſs ſleepe, or tir’d with play,

When all thy Shafts did ſcatterd ly;

Th’unguarded Spoyles he bore away,

And Arm’d himſelf with the Artillery.


The Sweetneſs from thy Eyes he took,

The Charming Dimples ftrom thy Mouth,

That wonderous Softneſs when you ſpoke;

And all thy Everlaſting Youth.


Thy bow, thy Quiver, and thy Darts:

Even of thy Painted Wings has rifled thee,

To bear him from his Conquer’d broken Hearts,

To the next Fair and Yeilding She.

Love I5v 122

Love Reveng’d, A Song.


Celinda who did Love Diſdain,

For whom had languiſht many a Swain;

Leading her Bleating Flock to drink,

She ſpy’d upon the Rivers Brink

A Youth, whoſe Eyes did well declare,

How much he lov’d, but lov’d not her.


At firſt ſhe Laught, but gaz’d the while,

And ſoon ſhe leſſen’d to a Smile;

Thence to Surprize and Wonder came,

Her Breaſt to heave, her Heart to flame:

Then cry’d ſhe out, Now, now I prove,

Thou art a God, Almighty Love.


She would have ſpoke, but ſhame deny’d,

And bid her firſt conſult her Pride;

But I6r 123

But ſoon ſhe found that Aid was gone;

For Love alas had left her none:

Oh how ſhe burns, but ’tis too late,

For in her Eyes ſhe reads her Fate.


To a New Scotch Tune.


Young Jemmy was a Lad,

Of Royal Birth and Breeding,

With ev’ry Beauty Clad:

And ev’ry Grace Exceeding;

A face and ſhape ſo wondrous fine,

So Charming ev’ry part;

That every Laſs upon the Green:

For Jemmy had a Heart.


In Jemmy’s Powerful Eyes,

Young Gods of Love are playing,

And I6v 124

And on his Face there lies

A Thouſand Smiles betraying.

But Oh he dances with a Grace,

None like him e’er was ſeen;

No God that ever fancy’d was,

Has ſo Divine a Miene.


To Jemmy ev’ry Swaine

Did lowly doff his Bonnet;

And every Nymph would ſtrain,

To praiſe him in her Sonnet:

The Pride of all the Youths he was,

The Glory of the Groves,

The Joy of ev’ry tender Laſs:

The Theam of all our Loves.


But Oh Unlucky Fate,

A Curſe upon Ambition:

The Buſie Fopps of State

Have ruin’d his Condition.

For Glittering Hopes he’as left the Shade,

His Peaceful Hours are gone:

By I7r 125

By flattering Knaves and Fools betray’d,

Poor Jemmy is undone.

The Cabal at Nickey Nackeys.


A pox of the Statesman that’s witty,

Who watches and Plots all the Sleepleſs Night:

For Seditious Harangues, to the Whiggs of the City;

And Maliciouſly turns a Traytor in Spight.

Let him Wear and Torment his lean Carrion:

To bring his Sham-Plots about,

Till at laſt King Biſhop and Barron,

For the Publick Good he have quite rooted out.


But we that are no Polliticians,

But Rogues that are Impudent, Barefac’d and Great,

Boldly head the Rude Rable in times of Sedition;

And bear all down before us, in Church & in State.

Your I7v 126

Your Impudence is the beſt State-Trick;

And he that by Law meanes to rule,

Let his Hiſtory with ours be related;

And tho’ we are the Knaves, we know who’s the Fool.

A Paraphraſe on the Eleventh Ode Out of the firſt Book of Horace.

Dear Silvia let’s no farther ſtrive,

To know how long we have to Live;

Let Buſy Gown-men ſearch to know

Their Fates above, while we

Contemplate Beauties greater Power below,

Whoſe only Smiles give Immortality;

But who ſeeks Fortune in a Star,

Aims at a Diſtance much too far,

She’s more inconſtant than they are.

What though this year muſt be our laſt,

Faſter than Time our Joys let’s haſt;

Nor think of Ills to come, or paſt.

Give me but Love and Wine, I’ll ne’er

Complain my Deſtiny’s ſevere.

Since I8r 127

Since Life bears ſo uncertain Date,

With Pleaſure we’ll attend our Fate,

And Chearfully go meet it at the Gate.

The Brave and Witty know no Fear or Sorrow,

Let us enjoy to day, we’ll dye to Morrow.

A Tranſlation.


Lydia, Lovely Maid, more fair

Than Milk or whiteſt Lilies are,

Than Poliſht Indian Iv’ry ſhows,

Or the fair unbluſhing Roſe.


Open, Maid, thy Locks, that hold

Wealth more bright than ſhining Gold,

Over thy white ſhoulders laid,

Spread thy Locks, my Charming Maid.


Lydia, ope’ thy ſtarry Eyes,

Shew the Beds where Cupid lies,

Open, Maid, thy Roſie-Cheeks,

Red as Sun-declining ſtreaks.

IV I8v 128


Shew thy Coral Lips, my Love,

Kiſs me ſofter than the Dove,

Till my Raviſht Soul does lie

Panting in an Ecſtaſie.


Oh hold――and do not pierce my Heart,

Which beats, as life wou’d thence depart,

Hide thy Breaſts that ſwell and riſe,

Hide ’em from my wiſhing Eyes.


Shut thy Boſome, white as Snow,

Whence Arabian perfumes flow;

Hide it from my Raptur’d Touch,

I have gaz’d―― and kiſt too much.


Cruel Maid――on Malice bent,

Seeſt thou not my Languiſhment?

Lydia!――Oh I faint!――I die!

With thy Beauties Luxury.

A Para- K1r 129

A Paraphrase On Ovid’s Epiſtle of Oenone to Paris.

The Argument.

Hecuba, being with Child of Paris, dream’d ſhe was delivered of a Firebrand: Priam, conſulting the Prophets, was anſwer’d the Child ſhou’d be the Destruction of Troy, wherefore Priam commanded it ſhould be deliver’d to wild Beaſts as ſoon as born; but Hecuba conveys it ſecretly to Mount Ida, there to be foſter’d by the Shepherds, where he falls in love with the Nymph Œnone, but at laſt being known and own’d, he ſails into Greece, and carries Helen to Troy, which Œnone underſtanding, writes him this Epiſtle.

To thee, dear Paris, Lord of my Deſires,

Once tender Partner of my ſofteſt Fires;

To thee I write, mine, while a Shepherd’s Swain,

But now a Prince, that Title you diſdain.

K Oh K1v 130

Oh fatal Pomp, that cou’d ſo ſoon divide

What Love, and all our ſacred Vows had ty’d!

What God, our Love induſtrious to prevent,

Curſt thee with power, and ruin’d my Content?

Greatneſs, which does at beſt but ill agree

With Love, ſuch Diſtance ſets ’twixt Thee and Me.

Whilſt thou a Prince, and I a Shepherdeſs,

My raging Paſſion can have no redreſs.

Wou’d God, when firſt I ſaw thee, thou hadſt been

This Great, this Cruel, Celebrated thing.

That without hope I might have gaz’d and bow’d,

And mixt my Adorations with the Crowd;

Unwounded then I had eſcap’d thoſe Eyes,

Thoſe lovely Authors of my Miſeries.

Not that leſs Charms their fatal pow’r had dreſt,

But Fear and Awe my Love had then ſuppreſt:

My unambitious Heart no Flame had known,

But what Devotion pays to Gods alone.

I might have wondr’d, and have wiſht that He,

Whom Heaven ſhou’d make me love, might look like Thee.

More in a ſilly Nymph had been a ſin,

This had the height of my Preſumption been.

But K2r 131

But thou a Flock didſt feed on Ida’s Plain,

And hadſt no Title, but The lovely Swain.

A Title! which more Virgin Hearts has won,

Than that of being own’d King Priam’s Son.

Whilſt me a harmleſs Neighbouring Cotager

You ſaw, and did above the reſt prefer.

You ſaw! and at firſt ſight you lov’d me too,

Nor cou’d I hide the wounds receiv’d from you.

Me all the Village Herdſmen ſtrove to gain,

For me the Shepherds ſigh’d and ſu’d in vain,

Thou hadſt my heart, and they my cold diſdain.

Not all their Offerings, Garlands, and firſt born

Of their lov’d Ewes, cou’d bribe my Native ſcorn.

My Love, like hidden Treaſure long conceal’d,

Cou’d onely where ’twas deſtin’d, be reveal’d.

And yet now long my Maiden bluſhes ſtrove

Not to betray my eaſie now-born Love.

But at thy ſight the kindling Fire wou’d riſe,

And I, unskill’d, declare it at my Eyes.

But oh the Joy! the mighty Ecſtaſie

Poſſeſt thy Soul at this Diſcovery.

K2 Speech- K2v 132

Speechleſs, and panting at my feet you lay,

And ſhort breath’d Sighs told what you cou’d not ſay.

A thouſand times my hand with Kiſſes preſt,

And look’d ſuch Darts, as none cou’d e’er reſiſt.

Silent we gaz’d, and as my Eyes met thine,

New Joy fill’d theirs, new Love and ſhame fill’d mine!

You ſaw the Fears my kind diſorder ſhow’d

And breaking Silence Faith anew you vow’d!

Heavens, how you ſwore by every Pow’r Divine

You wou’d be ever true! be ever mine!

Each God, a ſacred witneſs you invoke,

And wiſh’d their Curſe when e’er theſe Vows you broke.

Quick to my Heart each perjur’d Accent ran,

Which I took in, believ’d, and was undone.

Vows are Love’s poyſon’d Arrows, and the heart

So wounded, rarely finds a Cure from Art.

At leaſt this heart which Fate has deſtin’d yours,

This heart unpractis’d in Love’s myſtick pow’rs,

For I am ſoft and young as April Flowers.

Now uncontroll’d we meet, uncheck’d improve

Each happier Minute in new Joys of Love!

Soft K3r 133

Soft were our hours! and laviſhly the Day

We gave intirely up to Love, and Play.

Oft to the cooling Groves our Flocks we led,

And ſeated on ſome ſhaded, flowery Bed,

Watch’d the united Wantons as they fed.

And all the Day my liſt’ning Soul I hung

Upon the charming Muſick of thy Tongue,

And never thought the bleſſed hours too long.

No Swain, no God like thee cou’d ever move,

Or had ſo ſoft an Art in whiſp’ring Love,

No wonder for thou art Ally’d to Jove!

And when you pip’d, or ſung, or danc’d, or ſpoke,

The God appear’d in every Grace, and Look.

Pride of the Swains, and Glory of the Shades,

The Grief, and Joy of all the Love-ſick Maids.

Thus whilſt all hearts you rul’d without Controul,

I reign’d the abſolute Monarch of your Soul.

Each Beach my Name yet bears, carv’d out by thee,

Paris, and his Œnone fill each Tree;

And as they grow, the Letters larger ſpread,

Grow ſtill a witneſs of my Wrongs when dead!

K3 Cloſe K3v 134

Cloſe by a ſilent ſilver Brook there grows

A Poplar, under whoſe dear gloomy Boughs

A thouſand times we have exchang’d our Vows!

Oh may’ſt thou grow! t’ an endleſs date of Years!

Who on thy Bark this fatal Record bears;

When Paris to Œnone proves untrue,

Back Xanthus Streams ſhall to their Fountains flow.

Turn! turn your Tides! back to your Fountains run!

Thy perjur’d Swain from all his Faith is gone!

Curſt be that day, may Fate appoint the hour,

As Ominous in his black Kalendar;

When Venus, Pallas, and the Wife of Jove

Deſcended to thee in the Mirtle Grove,

In ſhining Chariots drawn by winged Clouds:

Naked they came, no Veil their Beauty ſhrouds;

But every Charm, and Grace expos’d to view,

Left Heav’n to be ſurvey’d, and judg’d by you.

To bribe thy voice Juno wou’d Crowns beſtow,

Pallas more gratefully wou’d dreſs thy Brow

With Wreaths of Wit! Venus propos’d the choice

Of all the faireſt Greeks! and had thy Voice.

Crowns K4r 135

Crowns, and more glorious Wreaths thou didſt deſpiſe,

And promis’d Beauty more than Empire prize!

This when you told, Gods! what a killing fear

Did over all my ſhivering Limbs appear?

And I preſag’d ſome ominous Change was near!

The Bluſhes left my Cheeks, from every part

The Bloud ran ſwift to guard my fainting heart.

You in my Eyes the glimmering Light perceiv’d

Of parting Life, and on my pale Lips breath’d

Such Vows, as all my Terrors undeceiv’d.

But ſoon the envying Gods diſturb’d our Joy,

Declar’d thee Great! and all my Bliſs deſtroy!

And now the Fleet is Anchor’d in the Bay,

That muſt to Troy the glorious Youth convey.

Heavenſ! how you look’d! and what a Godlike Grace

At their firſt Homage beautify’d your Face!

Yet this no Wonder, or Amazement brought,

You ſtill a Monarch were in Soul, and thought!

Nor cou’d I tell which moſt the News augments,

Your Joys of Pow’r, or parting Diſcontents.

You kiſt the Tears which down my Cheeks did glide,

And mingled yours with the ſoft falling Tide,

K4 And K4v 136

And ’twixt your Sighs a thouſand times you ſaid,

Ceaſe my Œnone! Ceaſe my charming Maid!

If Paris lives his Native Troy to ſee,

My lovely Nymph, thou ſhalt a Princeſs be!

But my Prophetick Fears no Faith allow’d,

My breaking Heart reſiſted all you vow’d.

Ah muſt we part, I cry’d! that killing word

No farther Language cou’d to Grief afford.

Trembling, I fell upon thy panting Breaſt,

Which was with equal Love, and Grief oppreſt,

Whilſt ſighs and looks, all dying ſpoke the reſt.

About thy Neck my feeble Arms I caſt,

Not Vines, nor Ivy circle Elms ſo faſt.

To ſtay, what dear Excuſes didſt thou frame,

And fanſiedſt Tempeſts when the Seas were calm?

How oft the Winds contrary feign’d to be,

When they, alas, were onely ſo to me!

How oft new Vows of laſting Faith you ſwore,

And ’twixt your Kiſſes all the old run o’er?

But now the wiſely Grave, who Love deſpiſe,

(Themſelves paſt hope) do buſily adviſe.

Whiſper K5r 137

Whiſper Renown, and Glory in thy Ear,

Language which Lovers fright, and Swains ne’er hear.

For Troy they cry! theſe Shepherds Weeds lay down,

Change Crooks for Scepters! Garlands for a Crown!

But ſure that Crown does far leſs eaſie ſit,

Than Wreaths of Flow’rs, leſs innocent and ſweet.

Nor can thy Beds of State ſo gratefull be,

As thoſe of Moſs, and new faln Leaves with me!

Now tow’rds the Beach we go, and all the way

The Groves, the Fern, dark Woods, and ſprings ſurvey;

That were ſo often conſcious to the Rites

Of ſacred Love, in our dear ſtoln Delights.

With Eyes all languiſhing, each place you view,

And ſighing cry, Adieu, dear Shades, Adieu!

Then ’twas thy Soul e’en doubted which to doe,

Refuſe a Crown, or thoſe dear Shades forego!

Glory and Love! the great diſpute purſu’d,

But the falſe Idol ſoon the God ſubdu’d.

And now on Board you go, and all the Sails

Are looſned, to receive the flying Gales.

Whilſt K5v 138

Whilſt I, half dead on the forſaken Strand,

Beheld thee ſighing on the Deck to ſtand,

Wafting a thouſand Kiſſes from thy Hand.

And whilſt I cou’d the leſſening Veſſel ſee,

I gaz’d, and ſent a thouſand Sighs to thee!

And all the Sea-born Nereids implore

Quick to return thee to our Ruſtick ſhore.

Now like a Ghoſt I glide through ev’ry Grove,

Silent, and ſad as Death, about I rove,

And viſit all our Treaſuries of Love!

This Shade th’account of thouſand Joys does hide,

As many more this murmuring Rivers ſide,

Where the dear Graſs, ſtill ſacred, does retain

The print, where thee and I ſo oft have lain.

Upon this Oak thy Pipe, and Garland’s plac’d,

That Sicamore is with thy Sheep-hook grac’d.

Here feed thy Flock, once lov’d though now thy ſcorn,

Like me forſaken, and like me forlorn!

A Rock there is, from whence I cou’d ſurvey

From far the blewiſh Shore, and diſtant Sea,

Whoſe hanging top with toyl I climb’d each day,

With K6r 139

With greedy View the proſpect I ran o’er,

To ſee what wiſh’d for ſhips approach’d our ſhore.

One day all hopeleſs on its point I ſtood,

And ſaw a Veſſel bounding o’er the Flood,

And as it nearer drew, I cou’d diſcern

Rich Purple Sails, Silk Cords, and Golden Stern;

Upon the Deck a Canopy was ſpread

Of Antique work in Gold and Silver made,

Which mix’d with Sun beams dazling Light diſplay’d.

But oh! beneath this glorious Scene of State

(Curſt be the ſight) a fatal Beauty ſate.

And fondly you were on her Boſome lay’d,

Whilſt with your perjur’d Lips her Fingers play’d;

Wantonly curl’d and dally’d with that hair,

Of which, as ſacred Charms, I Bracelets wear.

Oh! hadſt thou ſeen me then in that mad ſtate,

So ruin’d, ſo deſign’d for Death and Fate,

Fix’d on a Rock, whoſe horrid Precipice

In hollow Murmurs wars with Angry Seas;

Whilſt the bleak Winds aloft my Garments bear,

Ruffling my careleſs and diſhevel’d hair,

I look’d like the ſad Statue of Deſpair.

With K6v 140

With out-ſtretch’d voice I cry’d, and all around

The Rocks and Hills my dire complaints reſound.

I rent my Garments, tore my flattering Face,

Whoſe falſe deluding Charms my Ruine was.

Mad as the Seas in Storms, I breathe Deſpair,

Or Winds let looſe in unreſiſting Air.

Raging and Frantick through the Woods I fly,

And Paris! lovely, faithleſs Paris cry.

But when the Echos found thy Name again,

I change to new variety of Pain.

For that dear name ſuch tenderneſs inſpires,

And turns all Paſſion to Loves ſofter Fires:

With tears I fall to kind Complaints again,

So Tempeſts are allay’d by Show’rs of Rain.

Say, lovely Youth, why wou’dſt thou thus betray

My eaſie Faith, and lead my heart aſtray?

I might ſome humble Shepherd’s Choice have been,

Had I that Tongue ne’er heard, thoſe Eyes ne’er ſeen.

And in ſome homely Cott, in low Repoſe,

Liv’d undiſturb’d with broken Vows and Oaths:

All day by ſhaded Springs my Flocks have kept,

And in ſome honeſt Arms at night have ſlept.

Then K7r 141

Then unupbraided with my wrongs thou’dſt been

Safe in the Joys of the fair Grecian Queen:

What Stars do rule the Great? no ſooner you

Became a Prince, but you were Perjur’d too.

Are Crowns and Falſhoods then conſiſtent thingſ?

And muſt they all be faithleſs who are Kings?

The Gods be prais’d that I was humbly born,

Even thô it renders me my Paris ſcorn.

For I had rather this way wretched prove,

Than be a Queen and faithleſs in my Love.

Not my fair Rival wou’d I wiſh to be,

To come prophan’d by others Joys to thee.

A ſpotleſs Maid into thy Arms I brought,

Untouch’d in Fame, ev’n Innocent in thought.

Whilſt ſhe with Love has treated many a Gueſt,

And brings thee but the leavings of a Feaſt:

With Theſeus from her Country made Eſcape,

Whilſt ſhe miſcall’d the willing Flight, a Rape.

So now from Atreus Son, with thee is fled,

And ſtill the Rape hides the Adult’rous Deed.

And is it thus Great Ladies keep intire

That Vertue they ſo boaſt, and you admire?

Is K7v 142

Is this a Trick of Courts, can Raviſhment

Serve for a poor Evaſion of Conſent?

Hard ſhift to ſave that Honour priz’d ſo high,

Whilſt the mean Fraud’s the greater Infamy.

How much more happy are we Rural Maids,

Who know no other Palaces than Shades?

Who wiſh no Title to inſlave the Crowd,

Leſt they ſhou’d babble all our Crimes aloud.

No Arts our Good to ſhew, our Ill to hide,

Nor know to cover faults of Love with Pride.

I lov’d, and all Love’s Dictates did purſue,

And never thought it cou’d be Sin with you.

To Gods, and Man, I did my Love proclaim;

For one ſoft hour with thee, my charming Swain,

Wou’d Recompence an Age to come of Shame,

Cou’d it as well but ſatiſfie my Fame.

But oh! thoſe tender hours are fled and loſt,

And I no more of Fame, or Thee can boaſt!

’Twas thou wert Honour, Glory, all to me:

Till Swains had learn’d the Vice of Perjury,

No yielding Maids were charg’d with Infamy.

’Tis K8r 143

’Tis falſe and broken Vows make Love a Sin,

Hads thou been true, We innocent had been.

But thou leſs faith than Autumn leaves do’ſt ſhow,

Which ev’ry Blaſt bears from their native Bough.

Leſs Weight, leſs Conſtancy, in thee is born,

Than in the ſlender mildew’d Ears of Corn.

Oft when you Garlands wove to deck my hair,

Where myſtick Pinks, and Dazies mingled were,

You ſwore ’twas fitter Diadems to bear:

And when with eager Kiſſes preſt my hand,

Have ſaid, How well a Scepter ’twou’d command!

And when I danc’d upon the Flow’ry Green,

With charming, wiſhing Eyes ſurvey my Mien,

And cry! the Gods deſign’d thee for a Queen!

Why then for Helen doſt thou me forſake?

Can a poor empty Name ſuch difference make?

Beſides if Love can be a Sin, thine’s one,

To Menelaus Helen does belong.

Be Juſt, reſtore her back, She’s none of thine,

And, charming Paris, thou art onely mine.

’Tis no Ambitious Flame that makes me ſue

To be again belov’d, and bleſt by you;

No K8v 144

No vain deſire of being ally’d t’ a King,

Love is the onely Dowry I can bring,

And tender Love is all I ask again.

Whilſt on her dang’rous Smiles fierce War muſt wait

With Fire and Vengeance at your Palace gate,

Rouze your ſoft Slumbers with their rough Alarms,

And rudely ſnatch you from her faithleſs Arms:

Turn then, fair Fugitive, e’er ’tis too late,

E’er thy miſtaken Love procures thy Fate;

E’er a wrong’d Husband does thy Death deſign,

And pierce that dear, that faithleſs Heart of thine.


A Voyage to the Iſle of Love.

An Account from Liſander to Lyſidas his Friend.

At laſt dear Lyſidas, I’l ſet thee Free,

From the diſorders of Uncertainty;

Doubt’s the worſt Torment of a generous Mind,

Who ever ſearching what it cannot find,

Is roving ſtill from wearied thought to thought,

And to no ſettled Calmneſs can be brought:

B The B1v 2

The Cowards Ill, who dares not meet his Fate,

And ever doubting to be Fortunate,

Falls to that Wretchedneſs his fears Create.

I ſhould have dy’d ſilent, as Flowers decay,

Had not thy Friendſhip ſtopt me on my way,

That friendſhip which our Infant hearts inſpir’d,

E’re them Ambition or falſe Love had fir’d:

Friendſhip! which ſtill enlarg’d with years and ſenſe

Till it arriv’d to perfect Excellence;

Friendſhip! Mans nobleſt bus’neſs! without whom

The out-caſt Life finds nothing it can own,

But Dully dyes unknowing and unknown,

Our ſearching thought ſerves only to impart

It’s new gain’d knowledge to anothers Heart;

The truly wiſe, and great, by friendſhip grow,

That, beſt inſtruct ’em how they ſhould be ſo,

That, only ſees the Error of the Mind,

Which by its ſoft reproach becomes Refin’d;

Friend B2r 3

Friendſhip! which even Loves mighty power controuls.

When that but touches; this Exchanges Souls.

The remedy of Grief, the ſafe retreat

Of the ſcorn’d Lover, and declining great.

This ſacred tye between thy ſelf and me,

Not to be alter’d by my Deſtiny;

This tye, which equal to my new deſires

Preſerv’d it ſelf amidſt Loves ſofter Fires,

Obliges me, (without reſerve) ’t impart

To Lycidas the ſtory of my Heart;

Tho’ ’twill increaſe its preſent languiſhment,

To call to its remembrance paſt content

So drowning Men near to their native ſhore

(From whence they parted near to viſit more)

Look back and ſigh, and from that laſt Adieu,

Suffer more pain then in their Death they do,

That grief, which I in ſilent Calms have born,

It will renew, and rowſe into a Storm.

B2 The B2v 4

The Truce.

With you unhappy Eyes that firſt let in

To my fond Heart the raging Fire,

With you a Truce I will begin,

Let all your Clouds, let all your Show’rs retire,

And for a while become ſerene,

And you my conſtant riſing Sighs forbear,

To mix your ſelves with flying Air,

But utter Words, among that may expreſs,

The vaſt degrees of Joy and Wretchedneſs.

And you my Soul! forget the diſmal hour,

When dead and cold Aminta lay,

And no kind God, no pittying Power

The haſty fleeting Life would ſtay;

Forget the Mad, the Raving pain

That ſeiz’d Thee at a ſight ſo new,

When not the Wind let looſe, nor raging Main

Was ſo deſtructive and ſo wild as thou?

For- B3r 5

Forget thou ſaw’ſt the lovely yielding Maid,

Dead in thy trembling Arms

Juſt in the Raviſhing hour, when all her Charms

A willing Victim to thy Love was laid,

Forget that all is fled thou didſt Adore,

And never, never, ſhall return to bleſs Thee more.

Twelve times the Moon has borrow’d Rays; that Night

Might favour Lovers ſtealths by Glimmering Light:

Since I imbarqu’d on the inconſtant Seas

With people of all Ages and Degrees,

All well diſpos’d and abſolutely bent,

To viſit a far Country call’d Content.

The Sails were hoiſted, and the Streamers ſpread,

And chearfully we cut the yielding Floud;

Calm was the Sea, and peaceful every Wind,

As if the Gods had with our Wiſhes joyn’d

To make us proſperous; All the whiſpering Air

Like Lovers Joys, was ſoft, and falſly fair.

B3 The B3v 6

The ruffling Winds were huſh’d in wanton ſleep,

And all the Waves were ſilenc’d in the deep:

No threatning Cloud, no angry Curl was found,

But bright, ſerene, and ſmooth, ’twas all around:

But yet believe falſe Iris if ſhe weep,

Or Amorous Layis will her promiſe keep,

Before the Sea, that Flatters with a Calm,

Will ceaſe to ruin with a riſing Storm,

For now the Winds are rows’d, the Hemiſphere

Grows black, and frights the hardy Mariner,

The Billows all into Diſ-order hurl’d,

As if they meant to bury all the World;

And leaſt the Gods on us ſhould pity take,

They ſeem’d againſt them too, a War to make.

Now each affrighted to his Cabin Flyes,

And with Repentance Load the angry Skyes;

Diſtracted Prayers they all to Heaven Addreſs,

While Heaven beſt knows, they think of nothing leſs;

To B4r 7

To quit their Intereſt in the World’s their fear,

Not whether,――but to go,――is all their Care,

And while to Heav’n, their differing crimes they mount,

Their vaſt diſ-orders doubles the account;

All pray, and promiſe fair, proteſt and weep,

And make thoſe Vows, they want the pow’r to keep,

But ſure with ſome, the angry Gods were pleas’d;

For by degrees their Rage and Thunder ceas’d:

In the rude War no more the Winds engage,

And the deſtructive Waves were tir’d with their own Rage;

Like a young Raviſher, that has won the day,

O’re-toil’d and Panting, Calm and Breathleſs lay,

While ſo much Vigour in the Incounter’s loſt,

They want the pow’r a ſecond Rape to Boaſt

The Sun in Glory daignes again t’ appear;

But we who had no Senſe, but that of fear,

Cou’d ſcarce believe, and leſſen our diſpair.

B4 Yet B4v 8

Yet each from his imagin’d Grave gets out,

And with ſtill doubting Eyes looks round about.

Confirm’d they all from Prayer to Praiſes haſt,

And ſoon forgot the ſenſe of dangers paſt;

And now from the recruited Top-maſt ſpy’d,

An Iſland that diſcover’d Nature’s Pride:

To which was added, all that Art could do

To make it Tempting and Inviting too;

All wondering Gaz’d upon the happy place,

But none knew either where, or what it was:

Some thought, th’ Inacceſſible Land ’t had been,

And others that Inchantment they had ſeen,

At laſt came forth a Man, who long before

Had made a Voyage to that fatal ſhoar,

Who with his Eyes declin’d, as if diſmaid,

At ſight of what he dreaded: Thus he ſaid,

This B5r 9

This is the Coaſt of Africa,

Where all things ſweetly move;

This is the Calm Atlantick Sea,

And that the Iſle of Love;

To which all Mortals Tribute pay,

Old, Young, the Rich and Poor;

Kings do their awful Laws obey,

And Shepherds do Adore.

There’s none its forces can reſiſt,

Or its Decrees Evince,

It Conquers where, and whom it liſt,

The Cottager and Prince.

In entering here, the King reſigns,

The Robe and Crown he wore;

The Slave new Fetters gladly joyns

To thoſe he dragg’d before.

All B5v 10

All thither come, early or late,

Directed by deſire,

Not Glory can divert their fate,

Nor quench the Amorous fire.

The Enterances on every ſide,

Th’ Attracts and Beauties Guard,

The Graces with a wanton Pride,

By turn ſecure the Ward.

The God of Love has lent ’em Darts,

With which they gently Greet,

The heedleſs undefended Hearts

That paſs the fatal Gate.

None e’re eſcapt the welcom’d blow,

Which ner’e is ſent in vain;

They Kiſs the Shaft, and Bleſs the Foe,

That gives the pleaſing Pain.

Thus B6r 11

Thus whilſt we did this grateful ſtory learn,

We came ſo near the Shoar, as to diſcern

The Place and Objects, which did ſtill appear

More Raviſhing, approaching ’em more near.

There the vaſt Sea, with a ſmooth calmneſs flows,

As are the Smiles on happy Lovers Brows:

As peaceably as Rivulets it glides,

Imbracing ſtill the ſhaded Iſlands ſides;

And with ſoft Murmurs on the Margent flows,

As if to Nature it deſign’d Repoſe;

Whoſe Muſick ſtill is anſwer’d by the Breeze,

That gently plays with the ſoft rufl’d Trees.

Fragrant and Flowry all the Banks appear

Whoſe mixt diſ-orders more delightful were,

Then if they had been plac’d with Artful care,

The Cowſlip, Lilly, Roſe and Jeſamine,

The Daffodil, the Pink and Eglintine,

Whoſe gawdy ſtore continues all the year,

Makes but the meaneſt of the Wonders here.

Here B6v 12

Here the young Charmers walk the Banks a-long,

Here all the Graces and the Beauties throng.

But what did moſt my Admiration draw,

Was that the Old and Ugly there I ſaw,

Who with their Apiſh Poſtures, void of ſhame

Still practice Youth, and talk of Darts and Flame

I laught to ſee a Lady out of date,

A worn out Beauty, once of the firſt rate;

With youthful Dreſs, and more fantaſtick Prate,

Setting her wither’d Face in thouſand forms,

And thinks the while ſhe Dreſſes it in charms;

Diſturbing with her Court : the buſier throng

Ever Addreſſing to the Gay and Young;

There an old Batter’d Fop, you might behold,

Laviſh his Love, Diſcretion, and his Gold

On a fair ſhe, that has a Trick in Art,

To cheat him of his Politicks and Heart;

Whilſt he that Jilts the Nation ore and ore,

Wants ſenſe to find it in the ſubtiller W-re.

Thus B7r 13

The Man that on this Iſle before had been,

Finding me ſo admire at what I’d ſeen;

Thus ſaid to me.――

Love’s Power.

Love when he Shoots abroad his Darts,

Regards not where they light:

The Aged to the Youthful Hearts,

At random they unite.

The ſoft un-bearded Youth, who never found

The Charms in any Blooming Face,

From one of Fifty takes the Wound;

And eagerly perſues the cunning Chaſe:

While ſhe an Arted Youth puts on;

Softens her Voice, and languiſhes her Eyes;

Affects the Dreſs, the Mean, the Tone.

Aſſumes the noyſy Wit, and ceaſes to be Wiſe;

The B7v 14

The tender Maid to the Rough Warrier yields;

Unfrighted at his Wounds and Scars,

Purſues him through the Camps and Fields,

And Courts the ſtory of his dangerous Wars,

With Pleaſure hears his Scapes, and does not fail,

To pay him with a Joy for every Tale.

The fair young Bigot, full of Love and Prayer,

Doats on the lewd and careleſs Libertine;

The thinking States-man fumbles with the Player,

And dearly buys the (barely wiſhing) Sin.

The Peer with ſome mean Damſel of the trade,

Expenſive, common, ugly and decay’d:

The gay young Squire, on the blouz’d Landry Maid.

All things in Heaven, in Earth, and Sea,

Love give his Laws unto;

Tho’ under different Objects, they

Alike obey, and bow;

Some- B8r 15

Sometimes to be reveng’d on thoſe,

Whoſe Beauty makes ’em proudly nice,

He does a Flame on them impoſe,

To ſome unworthy choice.

Thus rarely equal Hearts in Love you’l find,

Which makes ’em ſtill preſent the God as Blind.

Whilſt thus he ſpake, my wondering Eyes were ſtaid

With a profound attention on a Maid!

Upon whoſe Smiles the Graces did a-wait,

And all the Beauties round about her ſate;

Officious Cupid’s do her Eyes obey,

Sharpning their Darts from every Conquering Ray:

Some from her Smiles they point with ſoft deſires,

Whilſt others from her Motion take their Fires:

Some the Imbroider’d Vail and Train do bear,

And ſome around her fan the gentle Air,

Whilſt others flying, ſcatter fragrant Show’rs,

And ſtrow the paths ſhe tread with painted flow’rs

The reſt are all imploy’d to dreſs her Bow’rs;

While B8v 16

While ſhe does all, the ſmiling Gods carreſs,

And they new Attributes receive from each Addreſs.

The Character.

Such Charms of Youth, ſuch Raviſhment

Through all her Form appear’d,

As if in her Creation Nature meant,

She ſhou’d a-lone be ador’d and fear’d:

Her Eyes all ſweet, and languiſhingly move,

Yet ſo, as if with pity Beauty ſtrove,

This to decline, and that to charm with Love.

A chearful Modeſty adorn’d her Face,

And baſhful Bluſhes ſpread her ſmiling Cheeks;

Witty her Air; ſoft every Grace,

And ’tis eternal Muſick when ſhe ſpeaks,

From which young liſtening Gods the Accents take

And when they wou’d a perfect Conqueſt make,

Teach their young favourite Lover ſo to ſpeak.

Hers C1r 17


Her Neck, on which all careleſs fell her Hair,

Her half diſcover’d riſing Boſome bare,

Were beyond Nature form’d; all Heavenly fair.

Tempting her dreſs, looſe with the Wind it flew,

Diſcovering Charms that wou’d alone ſubdue,

Her ſoft white ſlender Hands whoſe touches wou’d

Beget deſire even in an awful God;

Long Winter’d Age to tenderneſs wou’d move,

And in his Frozen Blood, bloom a new ſpring of Love.

All theſe at once my Raviſht Senſes charm’d,

And with unuſual Fires my Boſome warm’d.

Thus my fixt Eyes purſu’d the lovely Maid,

Till they had loſt her in the envied Glade;

Yet ſtill I gaz’d, as if I ſtill had view’d

The Object, which my new deſires purſu’d.

C Loſt C1v 18

Loſt while I ſtood; againſt my Will, my ſight

Conducted me unto a new delight.

Twelve little Boats were from the Banks unty’d,

And towards our Veſſel ſail’d with wondrous Pride,

With wreathes of Flowers and Garlands they were dreſt,

Their Cordage all of Silk and Gold conſiſt,

Their Sails of ſilver’d Lawn, and Tinſel were,

Which wantonly were ruffled in the Air.

As many little Cupids gayly clad,

Did Row each Boat, nor other guides they had.

A thouſand Zephires Fann’d the moving Fleet,

Which mixing with the Flow’rs became more ſweet,

And by repeated Kiſs did aſſume

From them a ſcent that did the Air perfume.

So near us this delightful Fleet was come,

We cou’d diſtinguiſh what the Cupid’s ſung,

Which oft with charming Notes they did repeat,

With Voices ſuch as I ſhall ne’re forget.

You C2r 19

You that do ſeek with Amorous deſires,

To taſt the Pleaſures of the Life below,

Land on this Iſland, and renew your Fires,

For without Love, there is no joy, you know.

Then all the Cupids waiting no Commands,

With ſoft inviting Smiles preſent their Hands,

And in that ſilent Motion ſeem’d to ſay,

You ought to follow, when Love leads the way.

Made with delight, and all tranſported too,

I quitted Reaſon, and reſolv’d to go;

For that bright charming Beauty I had ſeen,

And burnt with ſtrange deſire to ſee agen,

Fill’d with new hope, I laught at Reaſons force,

And towards the Iſland, bent my eager Courſe;

The Zephires at that inſtant lent their Aid,

And I into Loves Fleet was ſoon convey’d,

And by a thouſand Friendſhips did receive,

Welcomes which none but God’s of Love could give.

C2 Many C2v 20

Many poſſesſt with my Curioſity,

Tho’ not inſpir’d like me, yet follow’d me,

And many ſtaid behind, and laught at us:

And in a ſcoffing tone reproacht us thus,

Farewel Adventurers, go ſearch the Joy,

Which mighty Love inſpires, and you ſhall find

The treatment of the wond’rous Monarch Boy,

In’s Airy Caſtle always ſoft and kind.

We on the fragrant Beds of Roſes laid,

And lull’d with Muſick which the Zephires made,

When with the Amorous ſilken Sails they plaid.

Rather did them as wanting Wit account,

Then we in this affair did Judgment want,

With Smiles of pity only anſwer’d them,

Whilſt they return’d us pitying ones again.

Now to the wiſht for Shoar, with ſpeed we high;

Vain with our Fate, and eager of our Joy,

And C3r

And as upon the Beech we landed were,

An awful Woman did to us repair.

Goddeſs of Prudence! who with grave advice,

Counſels the heedleſs Stranger to be Wiſe;

She guards this Shoar, and Paſſage does forbid,

But now blind Senſe her Face from us had hid;

We paſs’d and diſ-obey’d the heavenly Voice,

Which few e’er do, but in this fatal place.

Now with impatient haſt, (but long in vain)

I ſeek the Charming Author of my Pain,

And haunt the Woods, the Groves, and ev’ry Plain.

I ask each Chryſtal Spring, each murmuring Brook,

Who ſaw my fair, or knows which way ſhe took?

I ask the Eccho’s, when they heard her Name?

But they cou’d nothing but my Moans proclaim;

My Sighs, the fleeting Winds far off do bear,

My Charmer, coud no ſoft complaining hear:

At laſt, where all was ſhade, where all was Gay;

On a Brooks Brink, which purling paſt away,

Aſleep the lovely Maid extended lay;

C3 Of C3v 22

Of different Flowers, the Cupids made her Bed,

And Roſey Pillows, did ſupport her Head;

With what tranſported Joy my Soul was fill’d,

When I, the Object of my wiſh beheld,

My greedy View each lovely part ſurvey’d;

On her white Hand, her Bluſhing Cheek was laid

Half hid in Roſes; yet did ſo appear

As if with thoſe, the Lillys mingled were;

Her thin looſe Robe did all her ſhape betray,

(Her wondrous ſhape that negligently lay)

And every Tempting Beauty did reveal,

But what young baſhful Maids wou’d ſtill conceal;

Impatient I, more apt to hope than fear,

Approacht the Heav’nly ſleeping Maid more near;

The place, my flame, and all her Charms invite

To taſt the ſacred Joys of ſtoln delight.

The Grove was ſilent, and no Creature by,

But the young ſmiling God of Love and I;

But as before the awful ſhrine, I kneel’d,

Where Loves great Myſtery was to be reveal’d,

C4r 23

A Man from out the Groves receſs appears,

Who all my boaſted Vigor turn’d to fears,

He ſlackt my Courage by a kind ſurprize,

And aw’d me with th’Majeſty of his Eyes;

I bow’d, and bluſht, and trembling did retire,

And wonder’d at the Pow’r that checkt my fire;

So excellent a Mean, ſo good a Grace,

So grave a Look, ſuch a commanding Face;

In modeſt Speech, as might well ſubdue,

Youth’s native wildneſs; yet ’twas gracious too.

A little Cupid waiting by my ſide.

(Who was preſented to me for a guide,)

Beholding me decline, the Sleeping Maid,

To gaze on this Intruder,――Thus he ſaid.

C4 Re- C4v 24



Him whom you ſee ſo awful and ſevere,

Is call’d Reſpect, the Eldeſt Son of Love;

Eſteem his Mother is; who every where

Is the beſt Advocate to all the fair,

And knows the moſt obliging Arts to move:

Him you muſt ſtill carreſs, and by his Grace,

You’l conquer all the Beauties of the Place;

To gain him ’tis not Words will do,

His Rhetorick is the Bluſh and Bow.


He even requires that you ſhou’d ſilent be,

And underſtand no Language but from Eyes,

Or Sighs, the ſoft Complaints on Cruelty;

Which ſooneſt move the Heart they wou’d ſurprize:

They C5r 25

They like the Fire in Limbecks gently move,

What words (too hot and fierce) deſtroy;

Theſe by degrees infuſe a laſting Love;

Whilſt thoſe do ſoon burn out the ſhort blaz’d Joy.

Theſe the all gaining Youth requires,

And bears to Ladies Hearts the Lambent Fires;

And He that wou’d againſt deſpair be proof,

Can never keep him Company enough.

Inſtructed thus, I did my ſteps direct,

Towards the neceſſary Grave Reſpect,

Whom I ſoon won to favour my deſign,

To which young Love his promis’d aid did joyn.

This wak’t Aminta, who with trembling fear,

Wonder’d to ſee a ſtranger enter’d there;

With timorous Eyes the Grove ſhe does ſurvey,

Where are my Loves ſhe crys! all fled away?

And left me in this gloomy ſhade alone?

And with a Man! Alas, I am undone.

Then C5v 26

Then ſtrove to fly; but I all proſtrate lay,

And graſping faſt her Robe, oblig’d her ſtay;

Ceaſe lovely Charming Maid, Oh ceaſe to fear,

I faintly cry’d,――There is no Satyr, near;

I am of humane Race, whom Beauty Aws,

And born an humble Slave to all her Laws;

Beſides we’re not alone within the Grove,

Behold Reſpect, and the young God of Love

How can you fear the Man who with theſe two,

In any Shade or hour approaches you?

Thus by degrees her Courage took its place;

And uſual Bluſhes dreſt again her Face,

Then with a Charming Air, her Hand ſhe gave,

She bade me riſe, and ſaid ſhe did believe.

And now my Converſation does permit;

But oh the entertainment of her Wit,

Beyond her Beauty did my Soul ſurprize,

Her Tongue had Charms more pow’rful than her Eyes!

Ah C6r 27

Ah Lyſidas, hadſt thou a liſt’ner been

To what ſhe ſaid; tho’ her thou ne’re had’ſt ſeen,

Without that Senſe, thou hadſt a Captive been.

Gueſs at my Fate,――but after having ſpoke,

Many indifferent things: Her leave ſhe took.

The Night approach’t, and now with Thoughts oppreſt,

I minded neither where, nor when to Reſt,

When my Conductor Love! whom I purſu’d,

Led to a Palace call’d Inquietude,


A Neighbouring Villa which derives its name,

From the rude ſullen Miſtreſs of the ſame;

A Woman of a ſtrange deform’d Aſpect;

Peeviſhly penſive, fond of her neglect;

She never in one poſture does remain,

Now leans, lyes down, then on her Feet again;

Some- C6v 28

Sometimes with Snails ſhe keeps a lazy pace,

And ſometimes runs like Furies in a Chaſe;

She ſeldom ſhuts her watchful Eyes to ſleep,

Which pale and languid does her Viſage keep;

Her looſe neglected Hair diſorder’d grows;

Which undeſign’d her Fingers diſcompoſe;

Still out of Humour, and deprav’d in Senſe,

And Contradictive as Impertinence;

Diſtruſtful as falſe States-men, and as nice

In Plots, Intrigues, Intelligence and Spies.

To her we did our Duty pay, but ſhe

Made no returns to our Civility.

Thence to my Bed; where reſt in vain I ſought,

For pratling Love ſtill entertain’d my thought,

And to my Mind, a thouſand Fancies brought:

Aminta’s Charms and Pow’rful Attractions,

From whence I grew to make theſe ſoft Reflections.

The C7r 29

The Reflection.


What differing Paſſions from what once I felt,

My yielding Heart do melt,

And all my Blood as in a Feaver burns,

Yet ſhivering Cold by turns,

What new variety of hopes and fears?

What ſuddain fits of Smiles and Tears?

Hope! Why doſt thou ſometimes my Soul imploy

With Proſpects of approaching Joy?

Why doſt thou make me pleas’d and vain,

And quite forget laſt minutes pain?

What Sleep wou’d calm, Aminta keeps awake;

And I all Night ſoft Vows and Wiſhes make.

When C7v 30

When to the Gods I would my Prayers addreſs,

And ſue to be forgiven,

Aminta’s name, I still express,

And Love is all that I confeſs,

Love and Aminta! Ever out Rival Heaven!


Books give me no content at all;

Unleſs ſoft Cowly entertain my Mind,

Then every pair in Love I find;

Lyſander him, Aminta her, I call:

Till the bewitching Fewel raiſe the fire;

Which was deſign’d but to divert,

Then to cool Shades I ragingly retire,

To eaſe my hopeleſs panting Heart,

Yet thereto every thing begets deſire.

Each flowry Bed, and every loanly Grove,

Inſpires new Wiſhes, new impatient Love.

Thus C8r 31

Thus all the Night in vain I ſought repoſe,

And early with the Sun next day, I roſe;

Still more impatient grew my new deſires,

To ſee again the Author of my Fires,

Love leads me forth, to little Cares Little Arts to please. we paſs,

Where Love inſtructed me Aminta was;

Far from Inquietude this Village ſtands,

And for its Beauty all the reſt commands;

In all the Iſle of Love, not one appears,

So raviſhingly Gay as Little Cares.

Little Cares, or Little Arts to pleaſe.


Thither all the Amorous Youth repair,

To ſee the Objects of their Vows;

No Jealouſies approach ’em there;

They Banish Dullneſs and Deſpair;

And only Gayety and Mirth allow.

The C8v 32

The Houſes cover’d o’re with flow’rs appear,

Like fragrant Arbours all the year,

Where all the dear, the live-long day,

In Muſick, Songs, and Balls is paſt away:

All things are form’d for pleaſure and delight,

Which finiſh not but with the Light;

But when the Sun returns again,

They hold with that bright God an equal Reign.


There no Reproaches dwell; that Vice

Is baniſht with the Coy and Nice.

The Froward there learn Complyance;

There the Dull Wiſe his Gravity forſakes,

The Old diſpoſe themſelves to Dance,

And Melancholy wakens from his Trance,

And againſt Nature ſprightly Humour takes.

The formal States-man does his Int’reſt quit,

And learns to talk of Love and Wit;

There D1r 33

There the Philoſopher ſpeaks Senſe,

Such as his Miſtreſs Eyes inſpire;

Forgets his learned Eloquence,

Nor now compares his Flame to his own Chimick fire.


The Miſer there opens his Golden heaps,

And at Love’s Altar, offers the rich Prize;

His needleſs fears of want does now deſpiſe,

And as a laviſh Heir, he Treats and Reaps

The Bleſſings that attend his grateful Sacrifice.

Even the Fluttering Coxcomb there

Does leſs ridiculous appear:

For in the Crowd ſome one unlucky Face,

With ſome particular Grimmas,

Has the ill fate his Heart to gain,

Which gives him juſt the Senſe to know his pain;

Whence he becomes leſs talkative and vain.

D There D1v 34

There ’tis the Muſes dwell! that ſacred Nine,

Who teach the inlarged Soul to prove,

No Arts or Sciences Divine,

But thoſe inſpir’d by Them and Love!

Gay Converſation, Feaſt, and Maſquerades,

Agreeable Cabals, and Serinades;

Eternal Muſick, Gladneſs, Smiles and Sport,

Make all the bus’neſs of this Little Court.

At my approach new Fires my Boſom warm;

New vigor I receive from every Charm:

I found invention with my Love increaſe;

And both inſtruct me with new Arts to pleaſe;

New Gallantrys I ſought to entertain,

And had the Joy to find ’em not in vain;

All the Extravagance of Youth I ſhow,

And pay’d to Age the Dotage I ſhall owe;

All a beginning Paſſion can conceive,

What beauty Merits, or fond Love can give.

With D2r 35

With diligence I wait Aminta’s look,

And her decrees from Frowns or Smiles I took,

To my new fixt reſolves, no ſtop I found,

My Flame was uncontroul’d and knew no bound;

Unlimited Expences every day

On what I thought ſhe lik’d, I threw away:

My Coaches, and my Liverys, rich and new,

In all this Court, none made better a ſhow.

Aminta here was unconfin’d and free,

And all a well-born Maid cou’d render me

She gave: My early Viſits does allow,

And more ingagingly receives me now,

Her ſtill increaſing Charms, Her ſoft Addreſs,

A Partial Lover cannot well Expreſs,

Her Beautys with my flame each hour increaſe.

’Twas here my Soul more true content receiv’d,

Then all the Duller hours of Life I’d liv’d.

――But with the envying Night I ſtill repair

To Inquietude; none lodge at little Care.

D2 The D2v 36

The haſty Minutes ſummon me away,

While parting pains ſurmount paſt hours of Joy,

And Nights large Reckoning over-pays the day.

The God of Sleep his wonted Aid denys;

Lends no repoſe, or to my Heart or Eyes:

Only one hour of Reſt, the breaking Morning brought,

In which this happy Dream Aſſail’d my Thought,

The Dream.

All Trembling in my Arms Aminta lay,

Defending of the Bliſs, I ſtrove to take;

Raiſing my Rapture by her kind delay,

Her force ſo charming was and weak.

The ſoft reſiſtance did betray the Grant,

While I preſt on the Heaven of my deſires;

Her riſing Breaſts with nimbler Motions Pant;

Her dying Eyes aſſume new Fires.

Now D3r 37

Now to the height of languiſhment ſhe grows,

And ſtill her looks new Charms put on;

—Now the laſt Myſtery of Love ſhe knows,

We Sigh, and Kiſſ: I wak’d, and all was done.

’Twas but a Dream, yet by my Heart I knew,

Which ſtill was Panting, part of it was true:

Oh how I ſtrove the reſt to have believ’d;

Aſham’d and Angry to be undeceiv’d!

But now Love calls me forth; and ſcarce allows

A Moment to the Gods to pay my Vows:

He all Devotion has in diſ-eſteem,

But that which we too fondly render him:

Love dreſt me for the day; and both repair,

With an impatient haſt to Little Care;

Where many days m’advantage I purſu’d,

But Night returns me to Inquietude;

There ſuffer’d all that abſent Lovers griev’d,

And only knew by what I felt I liv’d;

D3 A D3v 38

A thouſand little Fears afflict my Heart,

And all its former order quite ſubvert;

The Beauty’s which all day my hope imploy’d,

Seem now too excellent to be enjoy’d.

I number all my Rivals over now,

Then Raving Mad with Jealouſie I grow,

Which does my Flame to that vaſt height increaſe;

That here I found, I lov’d to an Exceſs:

Theſe wild Diſtractions every Night increaſe,

But day ſtill reconciles me into Peace;

And I forget amidſt their ſoft Delights,

The un-imagin’d torment of the Nights.

’Twas thus a while I liv’d at little Care,

Without advance of Favour or of fear,

When fair Aminta from that Court departs,

And all her Lovers leave with broken Hearts,

On me alone ſhe does the Grace confer,

In a Permiſſion I ſhou’d wait on her.

Oh with what eager Joy I did obey!

Joy, which for fear it ſhou’d my Flame betray,

I D4r 39

I Veil’d with Compliſance; which Lovers Eyes

Might find tranſported through the feign’d diſguiſe;

But hers were unconcern’d; or wou’d not ſee,

The Trophies of their new gain’d Victory:

Aminta now to Good Reception goes;

A place which more of Entertainment ſhows

Then State or Greatneſs; where th’ Inhabitants,

Are Civil to the height of Compliſance;

They Treat all Perſons with a chearful Grace,

And ſhow ’em all the pleaſures of the Place;

By whoſe Example bright Aminta too,

Confirm’d her ſelf, and more obliging grew.

Her Smiles and Air more Gracious now appear;

And her Victorious Eyes more ſweetneſs wear:

The wonderous Majeſty that dreſt her Brow,

Becomes leſs Awful, but more Charming now:

Her Pride abating does my Courage warm,

And promiſes ſucceſs from every Charm.

She now permits my Eyes, with timorous Fears,

To tell her of the Wounds ſhe’as made by hers,

D4 Againſt D4v 40

Againſt her Will my Sighs ſhe does approve,

And ſeems well pleas’d to think they come from Love.

Nothing oppos’d it ſelf to my delight,

But abſence from Aminta every Night.

But love, who recompences when he pleaſe,

And has for every Cruelty an eaſe;

Who like to bounteous Heaven, aſſigns a ſhare

Of future Bliſs to thoſe that ſuffer here:

Led me to hope! A City fair and large,

Built with much Beauty, and Adorn’d with Charge.


Tis wonderous Populous from the exceſs,

Of Perſons from all parts that thither preſſ:

One ſide of this magnifick City ſtands,

On a foundation of unfaithful Sands;

Which oftentimes the glorious Load deſtroys,

Which long deſigning was with Pomp and Noiſe;

The D5r 41

The other Parts well founded neat and ſtrong,

Leſs Beautiful, leſs Buſineſs, and leſs Throng.

’Tis built upon a Rivers Bank, who’s clear

And Murmuring Glide, delights the Eye and Ear.

The River of Pretension.

This River’s call’d Pretension; and its ſource

T’ a bordering Mountain owes, from whence with force,

It ſpreads into the Arms of that calm ſpace,

Where the proud City dayly ſees her face;

’Tis treacherouſly ſmooth and falſly fair,

Inviting, but undoing to come near;

’Gainſt which the Houſes there find no defence,

But ſuffer undermining Violence;

Who while they ſtand, no Palaces do ſeem,

In all their Glorious Pomp to equal them.

This D5v 42

This River’s Famous for the fatal Wrecks,

Of Perſons moſt Illuſtrious of both Sex,

Who to her Boſom with ſoft Whiſpers drew,

Then baſely ſmil’d to ſee their Ruin too.

’Tis there ſo many Monarchs periſht have,

And ſeeking Fame alone have found a Grave.

’Twas thither I was tempted too, and love

Maliciouſly wou’d needs my Conduct prove;

Which Paſſion now to ſuch a paſs had brought,

It gave admittance to the weakeſt thought,

And with a full carreer to this falſe Bay

I ran. But met Precaution in my way.

With whom Reſpect was, who thus gravely ſaid,

Pretenſion is a River you muſt Dread:

Fond Youth decline thy fatal Reſolution,

Here unavoidably thou meets Confuſion;

Thou fly’ſt with too much haſt to certain Fate,

Follow my Counſel, and be Fortunate.

Aſhamd D6r 43

Aſham’d, all Bluſhing I decline my Eyes,

Yet Bow’d and Thank’d Reſpect for his advice.

From the bewitching River ſtraight I hy’d,

And hurried to the Cities fartheſt ſide.

Where lives the Mighty Princeſs Hope? to whom

The whole Iſle as their oracle do come;

Tho’ little Truth remains in what ſhe ſays,

Yet all adore her Voice, and her Wiſe Conduct praiſe.

The Princeſs Hope.


She blows the Youthful Lovers flame,

And promiſes a ſure repoſe;

Whilſt with a Treaſon void of ſhame,

His fancy’d Happineſs o’re-throws.

Her D6v 44

Her Language is all ſoft and fair,

But her hid Senſe is naught but Air,

And can no ſolid reaſon bear;

As often as ſhe ſpeaks,

Her faithleſs Word ſhe breaks;

Great in Pretenſion, in Performance ſmall,

And when ſhe Swears ’tis Perjury all.

Her Promiſes like thoſe of Princes are,

Made in Neceſſity and War,

Cancell’d without remorſe, at eaſe,

In the voluptuous time of Peace.


Theſe are her qualities; but yet

She has a Perſon full of Charms,

Her Smiles are able to beget

Forgiveneſs for her other harms;

She’s D7r 45

She’s moſt divinely ſhap’d, her Eyes are ſweet,

And every Glance to pleaſe ſhe does employ,

With ſuch addreſs, ſhe does all perſons treat,

As none are weary of her flattery,

She ſtill conſoles the moſt afflicted Hearts,

And makes the Proud vain of his fancy’d Arts.

Amongſt the reſt of thoſe who dayly came,

T’ admire this Princeſs, and oblige their flame,

(Conducted thither by a falſe report,

That Happineſs reſided in her Court)

Two young ſucceſsleſs Lovers did reſort:

One, ſo above his Aim had made pretence,

That even to Hope, for him, was Impudence;

Yet he ’gainſt Reaſons Arguments makes War,

And vainly Swore, his Love did merit her.

Boldly Attempted, daringly Addreſt,

And with unblushing Confidence his flame confeſt.

The other was a Bashful Youth, who made

His Paſſion his Devotion, not his Trade;

No D7v 46

No fond opiniater, who a price,

Sets on his Titles, Equipage, or Eyes,

But one that had a thouſand Charms in ſtore,

Yet did not uunderſtand his Conquering Pow’r:

This Princeſs with a kind Addreſs receives

Theſe Strangers; and to both new Courage gives.

She animates the haughty to go on!

Say―― A Town long beſieg’d muſt needs be won.

Time and Reſpect remove all obſtacles,

And obſtinate Love, arrives at Miracles.

Were ſhe the Heir to an illuſtrious Crown,

Thoſe Charms, that haughty meen, that fam’d renown,

That wond’rous skill you do in Verſe profeſs,

That great diſdain of common Miſtreſſes;

Can when you pleaſe with aid of Billet Deux,

The Royal Virgin to your Arms ſubdue,

One skilld in all the Arts to pleaſe the fair,

Shou’d be above the Senſe of dull deſpair:

Go on young noble Warrier then go on,

Though all the fair are by that Love undone.

Then D8r 47

Then turning to the other: Sir, ſaid ſhe,

Were the bright Beauty you Adore like me,

Your ſilent awful Paſſion more wou’d move,

Than all the bold and forward Arts of Love.

A Heart the ſofteſt compoſition forms,

And ſooner yields by treaty, then by ſtorms;

A Look, a Sigh, a Tear, is underſtood,

And makes more warm diſ-orders in the Blood,

Has more ingaging tender Eloquence,

Then all the induſtry of Artful Senſe,

So falling drops with their ſoft force alone,

Insinuate kind impreſſions in obdurate ſtone.

But that which moſt my pity did imploy,

Was a young Hero, full of Smiles and Joy.

A noble Youth to whom indulgent Heaven,

Had more of Glory then of Virtue given;

Conducted thither by a Politick throng,

The Rabble Shouting as he paſt along,

Whilſt he, vain with the beaſtly Din they make,

(Which were the ſame, if Bears were going to ſtake)

Ad- D8v 48

Addreſſes to this faithleſs Flatterer;

Who in return, calls him, young God of War!

The Cities Champion! and his Countries Hope,

The Peoples Darling, and Religious Prop.

Scepters and Crowns does to his view expoſe;

And all the Fancied pow’r of Empire ſhows.

In vain the Viſion he wou’d dis-believe,

In ſpight of Senſe ſhe does his Soul deceive:

He Credits all! nor ask’s which way or how,

The dazling Circle ſhall ſurround his Brow;

Implicitly attends the flattering Song,

Gives her his eaſy Faith, and is undone.

For with one turn of State the Frenzy’s heal’d,

The Blind recover and the Cheats reveal’d.

Whilſt all his Charms of Youth and Beauty lies,

The kind reproach of pitying Enemies.

To me ſhe ſaid, and ſmiling as ſhe ſpoke,

Liſander, you with Love, have Reaſon took,

Continue ſo, and from Aminta’s Heart,

Expect what Love and Beauty can impart.

I E1r 49

I knew ſhe flatter’d, yet I cou’d not chooſe

But pleaſe my Self, and credit the Abuſe;

Her charming Words that Night repos’d me more,

Then all the grateful Dreams I’d had before.

Next day I roſe, and early with the Sun:

Love guided me to Declaration,

A pleaſant City built with Artful Care,

To which the Lovers of the Iſle repair.

In our purſuit Reſpect diſſatisfy’d,

Did the unreaſonable Adventure chide;

Return unheedy Youth cry’d he, return!

Let my advice th’ approaching danger warn:

Renounce thy Purpoſe and thy haſte decline,

Or thou wilt ruine all Loves great deſign;

Amaz’d I ſtood, and unreſolv’d t’ obey,

Cou’d not return, durſt not purſue my way;

Whilſt love who thought himſelf concern’d as Guide,

I’th’ Criminal Adventure. Thus reply’d:

E Love’s E1v 50

Love’s Reſentment.

Muſt we eternal Martyrdom purſue?

Muſt we ſtill Love, and always ſuffer too?

Muſt we continue ſtill to dye,

And ne’r declare the cruel Cauſe;

Whilſt the fair Murdreſs asks not why,

But triumphs in her rigorous Laws;

And grows more mighty in diſdain,

More Peeviſh, Humorous, Proud and Vain;

The more we languiſh by our Pain?

And when we Vow, Implore, and Pray,

Shall the Inhumane cruel fair,

Only with nice diſdain the ſufferer pay?

Conſult her Pride alone in the affair,

And coldly cry――In time perhaps I may――

Conſider and redreſs the Youth’s deſpair;

And when ſhe wou’d a Period put to’s Fate,

Alas, her cruel Mercy comes too late!

But E2r 51

But wiſe Respect obligingly reply’d,

Amintas Cruelty you need not dread,

Your Paſſion by your Eyes will ſoon be known,

Without this haſt to Declaration;

’Tis I will guide you where you ſtill ſhall find,

Aminta in beſt Humour and moſt kind.

Strong were his Arguments; his Reaſonings prove

Too pow’rful for the angry God of Love.

Who by degrees t’ his native ſoftneſs came,

Yields to Reſpect and owns his haſte a blame.

Both vow obedience to his judging Wit,

And to his graver Conduct both ſubmit,

Who now invites us to a Reverend place,

An ancient Town, whoſe Governor he was.

Impregnable, with Baſtions fortify’d,

Guarded with fair built Walls on every ſide,

The top of which the Eye cou’d ſcarce diſcern,

So ſtrong as well ſecur’d the Rich concern;

Silence with Modeſty and Secreſy,

Have all committed to their Cuſtody.

E2 Si- E2v 52

Silence to every queſtion ask’d, reply

With apt Grimaſſes of the Face and Eyes;

Her Finger on her Mouth; and as you’ve ſeen,

Her Picture, Handſom, with fantaſtick mean,

Her every Motion her Commands expreſs,

But ſeldom any the hid Soul confeſs.

The Virgin Modeſty is wond’rous fair,

A baſhful Motion, and a bluſhing Air;

With un-aſſur’d regard her Eyes do move,

Untaught by affectation or Self-love;

Her Robes not gaudy were, nor looſely ty’d,

But even concealing more then need be hid.

For Secreſie, one rarely ſees her Face,

Whoſe lone Apartment is ſome Dark receſs;

From whence unleſs ſome great affairs oblige,

She finds it difficult to diſ-ingage;

Her voice is low, but ſubtilly quick her Ears,

And anſwers ſtill by ſigns to what ſhe hears;

—Led by Reſpect we did an entrance get,

Not ſaying any thing, who ere we met.

The E3r 53

The City of Discretion.

The Houſes there, retir’d in Gardens are,

And all is done with little noiſe,

One ſeldom ſees Aſſemblies there,

Or publick ſhows for Grief or Joys.

One rarely walks but in the Night,

And moſt endeavour to avoid the Light.

There the whole World their bus’neſs carry,

Without or confident, or Secretary:

One ſtill is under great conſtraint,

Muſt always ſuffer, but ne’r make complaint,

’Tis there the dumb and ſilent languiſhes,

Are predic’d, which ſo well explain the Heart:

Which without ſpeaking can ſo much expreſs,

And ſecrets to the Soul the neareſt way impart;

Language which prettily perſwades belief;

Who’s ſilent Eloquence obliges Joy or Grief.

E3 This E3v 54

This City’s called Diſcretion, being the name

Of her that is Lieutenant of the ſame,

And Siſter to Reſpect; a Lady who

Seldom obtains a Conqueſt at firſt view;

But in repeated Viſits one ſhall find,

Sufficient Charms of Beauty and of Mind:

Her vigorous piercing Eyes can when they pleaſe,

Make themſelves lov’d, and underſtood with Eaſe.

Not too ſevere, but yet reſerv’d and wiſe,

And her Addreſs is full of ſubtilties;

Which upon all occaſions ſerves her turn;

T’ expreſs her Kindneſs, and to hide her ſcorn;

Diſſimulations Arts, ſhe uſeful holds,

And in good manners ſets ’em down for rules.

Twas here Aminta liv’d, and here I paid

My conſtant viſits to the lovely Maid.

With mighty force upon my Soul I ſtrove,

To hide the Sent’ments of my raging Love.

All that I ſpoke did but indifferent ſeem,

Or went no higher than a great eſteem.

But E4r 55

But ’twas not long my Paſſion I conceal’d,

My flame in ſpight of me, it ſelf reveal’d.

The ſilent Confeſſion.

And tho’ I do not ſpeak, alas,

My Eyes, and Sighs too much do ſay!

And pale and languiſhing my Face,

The torments of my Soul betray;

They the ſad ſtory do unfold,

Love cannot his own ſecrets hold;

And though Fear ty’s my Tongue; Reſpect my Eyes,

Yet ſomething will diſcloſe the pain;

Which breaking out throw’s all diſguiſe;

Reproaches her with Cruelties;

Which ſhe augments by new diſdain;

—Where e’re ſhe be, I ſtill am there;

What-ere ſhe do, I that prefer;

In ſpight of all my ſtrength, at her approach,

I tremble with a ſight or touch;

E4 Pale- E4v 56

Paleneſs or Bluſhes does my Face ſurprize,

If mine by chance meet her encountering Eyes;

Twas thus ſhe learn’d my Weakneſs, and her Pow’r;

And knew too well ſhe was my Conqueror.

And now――

Her Eyes no more their wonted Smiles afford,

But grew more fierce, the more they were ador’d;

The marks of her eſteem which heretofore

Rais’d my aſpiring flame, oblige no more;

She calls up all her Pride to her defence;

And as a Crime condemns my juſt pretence;

Me from her preſence does in Fury chaſe;

No ſupplications can my doom reverſe;

And vainly certain of her Victory,

Retir’d into the Den of Cruelty.

The E5r 57

The Den of Cruelty.

A den where Tygers make the paſſage good,

And all attempting Lovers make their Food;

I’th’ hollow of a mighty Rock ’tis plac’d,

Which by the angry Sea is ſtill imbrac’d:

Whoſe frightful ſurface conſtant Tempeſt wears,

Which ſtrikes the bold Adventurers with Fears.

The Elements their rudeſt Winds ſend out,

Which blow continual coldneſs round about.

Upon the Rock eternal Winters dwells,

Which weeps away in dropping Iſicles;

The barren hardneſs meets no fruitful Ray,

Nor bears it Iſſue to the God of day;

All bleek and cale, th’ unſhady proſpect lies,

And nothing grateful meets the melancholy Eyes.

To this dire place Aminta goes, whilſt I,

Begg’d her with Prayers and Tears to paſs it by;

All E5v 58

All dying on the Ground my ſelf I caſt,

And with my Arms her flying Feet imbrac’d;

But ſhe from the kind force with Fury flung,

And on an old deformed Woman hung.

A Woman frightful, with a horrid Frown,

And o’re her angry Eyes, her Brows hung down:

One ſingle Look of hers, fails not t’ impart,

A terror and deſpair to every Heart:

She fills the Univerſe with diſcontents,

And Torments for poor Lovers ſtill invents.

This is the mighty Tyrant Cruelty,

Who with the God of Love is ſtill at enmity;

She keeps a glorious Train, and glorious Court,

And thither Youth and Beauty ſtill reſort:

But oh my Soul form’d for Loves ſofter Sport,

Cou’d not endure the Rigor of her Court!

Which her firſt rude Addreſs did ſo affright,

That I all Trembling haſted from her Sight,

Leaving the unconcern’d and cruel Maid,

And on a Rivers Bank my ſelf all fainting laid;

Which E6r 59

Which River from the obdurate Rock proceeds,

And caſt’s it ſelf i’th’ Melancholy Meads.

The River of Deſpair.

Its Torrent has no other ſource,

But Tears from dying Lovers Eyes;

Which mixt with Sighs precipitates its courſe;

Softning the ſenſleſs Rocks in gliding by;

Whoſe doleful Murmurs have ſuch Eloquence;

That even the neighbouring Trees and flow’rs have pitying ſenſe;

And Cruelty alone knows in what ſort,

Againſt the moving ſound to make defence,

Who laughs at all deſpair and Death as ſport.

A diſmal Wood the Rivers Bank do bear,

Securing even the day from entering there;

The E6v 60

The Suns bright Rays a paſſage cannot find,

Whoſe Boughs make conſtant War againſt the Wind;

Yet though their Leaves glimmers a ſullen Light;

Which renders all below more terrible than Night,

And ſhows upon the Bark of every Tree,

Sad ſtories carv’d of Love and Cruelty;

The Grove is fill’d with Sighs, with Crys, and Groans

Reproaches and Complaints in dying Moans;

The Neighbouring Eccho’s nothing do repeat,

But what the Soul ſends forth with ſad regret;

And all things there no other Murmurs make,

But what from Language full of death they take,

’Twas in this place diſpairing ere to free

Aminta from the Arms of Cruelty,

That I deſign’d to render up my Breath,

And charge the cruel Charmer with my Death.

The E7r 61

The Resolve.

Now my fair Tyrant I deſpiſe your Pow’r;

’Tis Death, not you becomes my Conqueror;

This eaſy Trophy which your ſcorn,

Led bleeding by your Chariot-ſide;

Your haughty Victory to adorn,

Has broke the Fetters of your Pride,

Death takes his quarrel now in hand,

And laughs at all your Eyes can do;

His pow’r thy Beauty can withſtand,

Not all your Smiles can the grim victor bow.

He’ll hold no Parley with your Wit,

Nor underſtands your wanton play,

Not all your Arts can force him to ſubmit,

Not all your Charms can teach him to obey,

Your youth nor Beauty can inſpire,

His frozen Heart with Love’s perſwaſive fire;

Alas, you cannot warm him to one ſoft deſire;

Oh E7v 62

Oh mighty Death that art above,

The pow’r of Beauty or of Love!

Thus ſullen with my Fate ſometimes I grew,

And then a fit of ſoftneſs wou’d enſue,

Then weep, and on my Knees implore my Fair,

And ſpeak as if Aminta preſent were.

The Question.

Say my fair Charmer, muſt I fall,

A Victim to your Cruelty?

And muſt I ſuffer as a Criminal?

Is it to Love offence enough to dye?

Is this the recompence at laſt,

Of all the reſtleſs hours I’ve paſt?

How oft my Awe, and my Reſpect,

Have fed your Pride and Scorn?

How have I ſuffer’d your neglect,

Too mighty to be born?

How E8r 63

How have I ſtrove to hide that flame

You ſeem’d to diſ-approve?

How careful to avoid the name

Of Tenderneſs or Love?

Leaſt at that Word ſome guilty Bluſh ſhou’d own,

What your bright Eyes forbad me to make known.

Thus fill’d with neighbouring Eccho’s with my Cry,

Did nothing but reproach, complain and dye:

One day――

All hopeleſs on the Rivers Brink I ſtood,

Reſolv’d to plunge into the Rapid Floud,

That Floud that eaſes Lovers in deſpair,

And puts an end to all their raging care:

’Tis hither thoſe betray’d by Beauty come,

And from this kinder ſtream receive their doom;

Here Birds of Ominous preſages Neſt,

Securing the forlorn Inhabitants from reſt:

Here E8v 64

Here Mid-night-Owls, night-Crows, and Ravens dwell,

Filling the Air with Melancholy Yell:

Here ſwims a thouſand Swans, whoſe doleful moan

Sing dying Lovers Requiems with their own:

I gaz’d around, and many Lovers view’d,

Gaſtly and pale, who my deſign purſu’d;

But moſt inſpir’d by ſome new hope, or won

To finiſh ſomething they had left undone;

Some grand Important bus’neſs of their Love,

Did from the fatal precipice remove:

For me, no Reaſon my deſigns diſſwade,

Till Love all Breathleſs haſted to my Aid;

With force m’ unfixing Feet he kindly graſpt,

And tenderly reproacht my deſperate haſt,

Reproach’d my Courage, and condemn’d my Wit,

That meanly cou’d t’ a Womans ſcorn ſubmit,

That cou’d to feed her Pride, and make her vain,

Deſtroy an Age of Life, for a ſhort date of pain:

He F1r 65

He wou’d have left me here, but that I made,

So many friendſhips as did ſoon perſwade,

The yielding Boy, who Smil’d, reſolv’d and ſtaid,

He rais’d my Head, and did again renew,

His Flatteries, and all the Arts he knew:

To call my Courage to its wonted place.

What cry’d he――(ſweetly Angry) ſhall a Face

Arm’d with the weak reſiſtance of a Frown,

Force us to lay our Claims and Titles down?

Shall Cruelty a peeviſh Woman prove,

Too ſtrong to be overcome by Youth and Love?

No! rally all thy Vigor, all thy Charms,

And force her from the cruel Tyrants Arms;

Come, once more try th’ incens’d Maid to appeaſe,

Death’s in our pow’r to graſp when ere we pleaſe;

He ſaid―― And I the heavenly voice attend,

Whilſt towards the Rock our haſty ſteps we bend,

Before the Gates with all our forces lye,

Reſolv’d to Conquer, or reſolv’d to dye;

F In F1v 66

In vain Love all his feeble Engines rears,

His ſoft Artillery of Sighs and Tears,

Were all in vain――againſt the Winds were ſent,

For ſhe was proof ’gainſt them and languiſhment:

Repeated Vows and Prayers mov’d no Remorſe,

And ’twas to Death alone I had Recourſe:

Love in my Anguiſh bore a mighty part,

He pityed, but he cou’d not eaſe my Heart:

A thouſand ſeveral ways he had aſſay’d,

To touch the Heart of this obdurate Maid;

Rebated all his Arrow’s ſtill return,

For ſhe was fortify’d with Pride and Scorn.

The uſeleſs Weapons now away he flung,

Neglected lay his Ivory Bow unſtrung,

His gentle Azure Wings were all unprun’d,

And the gay Plumes a fading Tinct aſſum’d;

Which down his ſnowy ſides extended lay,

And now no more in wanton Motions play.

He bluſht to think he had not left one dart,

Of force enough to wound Aminta’s Heart;

He F2r 67

He bluſht to think ſhe ſhou’d her freedom boaſt,

Whilſt mine from the firſt Dart he ſent was loſt:

Thus tir’d with our Complaints; (whilſt no relief,

Reſcu’d the fleeting Soul, from killing Grief)

We ſaw a Maid approach, who’s lovely Face,

Diſdain’d the Beauties of the common race:

Soft were her Eyes, where unfeign’d Sorrow dwelt,

And on her Cheeks in pitying Show’rs they melt;

Soft was her Voice, and tenderly it ſtrook,

The eager liſtening Soul, when e’re ſhe ſpoke;

And what did yet my Courage more augment,

She wore this ſadneſs for my languiſhment.

And ſighing ſaid, ah Gods! have you

Beheld this dying Youth, and never found,

A pity for a Heart ſo true?

Which dyes adoring her that gave the Wound,

His Youth, his Paſſion, and his Conſtancy,

Merits ye God’s a kinder Deſtiny.

F2 With F2v 68

With pleaſure I attended what ſhe ſaid,

And wonder’d at the friendſhip of the Maid.

Of love I ask’d her name? who anſwer’d me,

’Twas Pity: Enemy to Cruelty:

Who often came endeavouring to abate,

The Languiſhments of the unfortunate;

And ſaid, if ſhe wou’d take my injur’d part,

She ſoon wou’d ſoften fair Aminta’s Heart;

For ſhe knows all the ſubtilleſt Arts to move,

And teach the timorous Virgin how to love.

With Joy I heard, and my Addreſs apply’d,

To gain the Beauteous Pity to my Side:

Nothing I left untold that might perſwade,

The liſtening Virgin to afford her aid.

Told her my Paſſions, Sorrows, Pains and Fears,

And whilſt I ſpoke, confirm’d ’em with my Tears;

All which with down-caſt Eyes ſhe did attend,

And bluſhing ſaid, my Tale had made a Friend;

I bow’d and thankt her with a chearful look,

Which being return’d by hers, her leave ſhe took:

Now F3r 69

Now to Aminta all in haſte ſhe hyes,

Whom ſhe aſſail’d with ſorrow in her Eyes,

And a ſad ſtory of my Miſeries.

Which ſhe with ſo much tenderneſs expreſt,

As forc’d ſome Sighs from the fair Charmers Breaſt;

The ſubtil Pity found ſhe ſhould prevail,

And oft repeats th’ inſinuating Tale,

And does inſenſibly the Maid betray,

Where Love and I, Panting and Trembling lay;

Where ſhe beheld th’ effects of her diſdain,

And in my languid Face ſhe read my Pain.

Down her fair Cheeks ſome pitying drops did glide;

Which cou’d not be reſtrain’d by feebler Pride;

Againſt my anguiſh ſhe had no defence,

Such Charms had grief, my Tears ſuch Eloquence;

My Sighs and Murmurs ſhe began t’ approve,

And liſten’d to the ſtory of my love.

With tenderneſs, ſhe did my Sufferings hear,

And even my Reproaches now cou’d bear:

F3 At F3v 70

At laſt my trembling Hand in hers ſhe took,

And with a charming Bluſh, theſe Words ſhe ſpoke:


Faithful Liſander, I your Vows approve,

And can no longer hide,

My Senſe of all your ſuffering Love,

With the thin Veil of Pride.


’Twas long in Vain that Pity did aſſail,

My cold and ſtubborn Heart;

Ere on th’ inſenſible ſhe cou’d prevail,

To render any Part.

III. F4r 71


To her for all the tenderneſs,

Which in my Eyes you find,

You muſt your gratitude expreſs,

’Tis Pity only makes me kind.



Live then Liſander, ſince I muſt confeſs,

In ſpight of all my native modeſty,

I cannot wiſh that you ſhou’d Love me leſs,

Live then and hope the Circling Sun may ſee,

In his ſwift courſe a grateful change in me,

And that in time your Paſſion may receive,

All you dare take, and all a Maid may give.

Oh Lyſidas, I cannot here relate,

The Senſe of Joy ſhe did in me create;

F4 The F4v 72

The ſudden Bleſſing overcame me ſo,

It almoſt finiſht, what Grief fail’d to do;

I wanted Courage for the ſoft ſurprize,

And waited re-enforcements from her Eyes:

At laſt with Tranſports which I cou’d not hide,

Raiſing my ſelf from off the ground, I cry’d.

The Transport.

Rejoyce! my new made happy Soul, Rejoyce!

Bleſs the dear Minute, bleſs the Heav’nly voice,

That has revok’t thy fatal doom;

Rejoyce! Aminta leads thee from the Tomb.

Baniſh the anxious thoughts of dying hours,

Forget the ſhades and melancholy Bow’rs,

Thy Eyes ſo oft bedew’d with falling ſhow’rs;

Baniſh all Thoughts that do remain,

Of Sighing Days and Nights of Pain,

When on neglected Beds of Moſs thou’ſt lain:

Oh F5r 73

Oh happy Youth! Aminta bids thee live;

Thank not the ſullen God’s or defer Stars,

Since from her Hand thou doſt the Prize receive;

Hers be the Service, as the bounty hers;

For all that Life muſt dedicated be,

To the fair God-like Maid that gave it Thee.

Now Lyſidas, behold my happy State;

Behold me Bleſt, behold me Fortunate,

And from the height of languiſhing deſpair,

Rais’d to the Glory of Aminta’s care:

And this one moment of my Heaven of Joy,

Did the remembrance of paſt Griefs deſtroy:

And Pity ceas’d not here; but with new Eloquence,

Obliges the shy Maid to viſit Confidence.

Con- F5v 74


A Lady lovely, with a charming Meen,

Gay, frank, and open, and an Air ſerene;

In every Look ſhe does her Soul impart,

With eaſe one reads the Sent’ments of her Heart;

Her Humour generous, and her Language free,

And all her Converſation graceful Liberty:

Her Villa is Youth’s general Rendezvous,

Where in delightful Gardens, winding Groves,

The happy Lovers dwell with ſecreſie,

Un-interrupted by fond Jealouſie:

’Tis there with Innocence, they do and ſay

A thouſand things, to paſs the ſhort-liv’d day:

There free from cenſuring Spies, they entertain,

And pleaſures taſt, un-intermixt with pain.

’Tis there we ſee, what moſt we do adore,

And yet we languiſh to diſcover more.

Hard F6r 75

Hard fate of Lovers, who are ne’er content,

In an Eſtate ſo Bleſt and Innocent.

But ſtill preſs forward, urg’d by ſoft deſires,

To Joys that oft extinguiſhes their Fires;

In this degree I found a happineſs,

Which nought but wiſhing more cou’d render leſs,

I ſaw Aminta here without controul,

And told her all the Secrets of my Soul;

Whilſt ſhe t’ expreſs her height of Amity,

Communicated all her Thoughts to me.

The Reflection.

Oh with what Pleaſure did I paſs away,

The too ſwift courſe of the delightful day!

What Joys I found in being a Slave,

To every Conquering Smile ſhe gave,

Whoſe F6v 76

Whoſe every ſweetneſs wou’d inſpire,

The Cinick and the Fool with Love;

Alas, I needed no more Fire,

Who did its height already prove:

Ah my Aminta! had I been content,

With this degree of Raviſhment,

With the neer ſatisfy’d delight I took,

Only to prattle Love, to ſigh and look,

With the dull Bartering Kiſs for Kiſs,

And never aim’d at higher Bliſs,

With all the ſtealths forgetful Lovers make,

When they their Little Covenants break:

To theſe ſad ſhades of Death I’d not been hurl’d,

And thou mightſt ſtill have bleſt the drooping World;

But though my Pleaſure were thus vaſt and high,

Yet Loves inſatiate Luxury,

Still wiſh’d, reveal’d the unknown Myſtery.

But ſtill Love importun’d, nor cou’d I reſt,

So often, and impatiently he preſt,

That F7r 77

That I the lovely Virgin wou’d invite,

To the ſo worſhipp’d Temple of Delight.

By all the Lovers Arts I ſtrove to move,

And watch the ſofteſt Minutes of her Love,

Which againſt all my Vows and Prayers were proof.

Alas ſhe lov’d, but did not love enough:

And I cou’d no returns but Anger get,

Her Heart was not intirely conquer’d yet;

For liking, I miſtook her Complyſance,

And that for Love; when ’twas her Confidence.

But ’twas not long my Sighs I did imploy,

Before ſhe rais’d me to the height of Joy.

And all my Fears and Torments to remove,

Yields I ſhall lead her to the Court of Love.

Here Lyſidas thou thinks me ſure and bleſt,

Which Recompence for all my paſt unreſt;

But fortun’d ſmil’d the eaſier to betray,

She’s leſs inconſtant than a Lover’s Joy:

For whilſt our Chariot Wheels out-ſtript the Wind,

Leaving all thought of Mortal Cares behind.

Whilſt F7v 78

Whilſt we ſate gazing full of new ſurprize,

Exchanging Souls from eithers darting Eyes,

We encounter’d One who ſeem’d of great Command,

Who ſeiz’d the Reins with an all-pow’rful hand:

Awful his looks, but rude in his Addreſs,

And his Authority roughly did expreſs;

His violent Hands he on Aminta laid,

And out of mine ſnatch’d the dear trembling Maid;

So ſuddenly as hinder’d my defence,

And ſhe cou’d only ſay in parting thence.

Forgive Liſander what by force I do,

Since nothing elſe can raviſh me from you;

Make no reſiſtance, I obey Devoir. Duty.

Who values not thy Tears, thy Force or Prayer,

Retain thy Faith and Love Aminta ſtill,

Since ſhe abandons thee againſt her Will.

Im- F8r 79

Immoveable I remain’d with this ſurprize,

Nor durſt reply ſo much as with my Eyes.

I ſaw her go, but was of Senſe bereav’d,

And only knew from what I heard, I liv’d;

Yes, yes, I heard her laſt Commands, and thence

By violent degrees retriev’d my Senſe.

Ye Gods in this your Mercy was ſevere,

You might have spar’d the uſeleſs favour here.

But the firſt Thoughts my Reaſon did conceive,

Were to purſue the injurious Fugitive.

Raving, that way I did my haſte direct,

But once more met the Reverend Reſpect,

From whom I ſtrove my ſelf to diſ-ingage,

And faign’d a calmneſs to diſguiſe my Rage.

In vain was all the Cheat, he ſoon perceiv’d,

Spight of my Smiles, how much, and why I griev’d;

Saw my deſpairs, and what I meant to do,

And begg’d I wou’d the raſh Deſign forego;

A thouſand dangers he did repreſent,

T’ win me from the deſperate attempt.

I F8v 80

I ever found his Counſel juſt and good,

And now reſolv’d it ſhou’d not be withſtood;

Thus he ore-came my Rage, but did not free,

My Soul from Griefs more painful Tyranny;

Grief tho’ more ſoft, did not leſs cruel prove,

Madneſs is eaſier far then hopeleſs Love.

I parted thus, but knew not what to do;

Nor where I went; nor did I care to know;

With folded Arms, with weeping Eyes declin’d,

I ſearch the unknown ſhade, I cou’d not find,

And mixt my conſtant Sighs with flying Wind.

By ſlow unſteady ſteps the Paths I trace,

Which undeſign’d conduct me to a place

Fit for a Soul diſtreſt; obſcur’d with ſhade,

Lonely and fit for Love and Sorrow made;

The Murmuring Boughs themſelves together twiſt,

And ’twou’d allow to Grief her ſelf ſome reſt,

Inviron’d ’tis with lofty Mountains round,

From whence the Eccho’s, Sighs, and Crys rebound;

Here G1r 81

Here in the midſt and thickeſt of the Wood,

Cover’d with bending Shades a Caſtle ſtood,

Where Abſence that dejected Maid remains,

Who nothing but her Sorrow entertains.


Her mourning languid Eyes are rarely ſhown,

Unleſs to thoſe afflicted like her own;

Her lone Apartment all obſcure as Night,

Diſcover’d only by a glimmering Light:

Weeping ſhe ſate her Face with Grief diſmaid,

Which all its natural ſweetneſs has decaid;

Yet in deſpight of Grief there does appear,

The ruin’d Monuments of what was fair,

E’r cruel Love and Grief had took poſſeſſion there

Theſe made her old without the aid of Years;

Worn out, and faint with lingring hopes and fears,

She ſeldom anſwers ought but with her Tears.

G No G1v 82

No Train attends, ſhe only is obey’d

By Melancholy, that ſoft, ſilent Maid:

A Maid that fits her Humour every way,

With whom ſhe paſſes all the tedious day:

No other object can her Mind content,

She Feeds and Flatters all her languiſhment;

The noiſy Streams that from high Mountains fall;

And water all the Neighbouring flowry Vale:

The Murmurs of the Rivulets that glide,

Againſt the bending Seges on the ſide;

Of mournful Birds the ſad and tuneful Noats,

The Bleats of ſtraggling Lambs, and new yean’d Goats:

The diſtant Pipe of ſome lone Mountain Swain,

Who to his injur’d Paſſion fits his ſtrain;

In all the Harmony, her Soul can entertain.

On a ſtrict league of Friendſhip we agree,

For I was ſad, and as forlorn as ſhe;

To all her Humours, I conform my own,

Together Sigh, together Weep, and Moan;

Like G2r 83

Like her to Woods and Fountains I retreat,

And urge the pitying Eccho’s to repeat

My tale of Love, and at each Period ſound

Aminta’s name, and bear it all around,

Whilſt liſtening Voices do the charm reply,

And loſt in mixing Air, together dye.

There minutes like dull days creep ſlowly on,

And every day I drag an Age along;

The coming hours cou’d no more pleaſures haſt,

Than thoſe ſo inſupportably I’d paſt.

I rav’d, I wept, I wiſht, but all in vain,

The diſtant Maid, nor ſaw, nor eas’d my pain;

With my ſad tale, each tender Bark I fill,

This――ſoft complaints, and that—my Ravings tell;

This bears vain Curſes on my cruel fate,

And Bleſſings on the Charming Virgin, that

The Willow by the lonely Spring that grows,

And o’re the Stream bends his forſaken Boughs.

I call Liſander, they like him I find,

Murmur and ruffl’d are with every Wind.

G2 G2v 84

On the young ſpringing Beech that’s ſtraight and tall,

I Carve her name, and that Aminta call;

But where I ſee an Oak that Climbs above,

The reſt, and grows the Monſter of the Grove;

Whoſe pow’rful Arms when aiding Winds do blow,

Daſh all the tender twining Shades below,

And even in Calms maliciouſly do ſpread,

That naught beneath can thrive, imbrace or breed;

Whoſe miſchiefs far exceed his fancy’d good,

Honour I call him: Tyrant of the Wood.

Thus rove from Thought to Thought without relief:

A change ’tis true; but ’tis from Grief to Grief;

Which when above my ſilence they prevail,

With Love I’m froward, on my Fortune rail,

And to the Winds breathe my neglected Tale.

To G3r 85

To Love.


Fond Love thy pretty Flatteries ceaſe,

That feeble Hope you give;

Unleſs ’twoud make my happineſs,

In vain dear Boy; in vain you ſtrive,

It cannot keep my tortur’d Heart alive.


Tho’ thou ſhou’dſt give me all the Joys,

Luxurious Monarch’s do poſſeſs,

Without Aminta ’tis but empty noiſe,

Dull and inſipid happineſs;

And you in vain invite me to a Feast,

Where my Aminta cannot be a Gueſt.

G3 III. G3v 86


Ye glorious Trifles, I renounce ye all,

Since ſhe no part of all your ſplendour makes

Let the Dull unconcern’d obey your call,

Let the gay Fop, who his Pert Courtſhip takes;

For Love, whilſt he Profanes your Deity,

Be Charm’d and Pleas’d with all your neceſſary vanity.


But give me leave, whoſe Soul’s inſpir’d,

With ſacred, but deſpairing Love.

To dye from all your noiſe retir’d,

And Buried lie within this ſilent Grove.

For whilſt I Live, my Soul’s a prey,

To inſignificant deſires,

Whilſt thou fond God of Love and Play,

With all thy Darts, with all thy uſeleſs Fires,

With G4r 87

With all thy wanton flatteries cannot charm,

Nor yet the frozen-hearted Virgin warm.


Others by abſence Cure their fire,

Me it inrages more with pain;

Each thought of my Aminta blows it higher,

And diſtance ſtrengthens my deſire;

I Faint with wiſhing, ſince I wiſh in vain;

Either be gone fond Love, or let me dye,

Hopeleſs deſire admits no other remedy.

Here ’twas the height of Cruelty I prov’d,

By abſence from the ſacred Maid I lov’d:

And here had dy’d, but that Love found a way,

Some Letters from Aminta to convey,

Which all the tender marks of pity gave,

And hope enough to make me wiſh to Live.

G4 From G4v 88

From Duty, now the lovely Maid is freed,

And calls me from my lonely ſolitude:

Whoſe cruel Memory in a Moments ſpace,

The thoughts of coming Pleaſures quite deface;

With an impatient Lovers haſt I flew,

To the vaſt Bleſſing Love had ſet in view,

But oh I found Aminta in a place,

Where never any Lover happy was!


Rivals; ’tis call’d, a Village where

The Inhabitants in Fury ſtill appear;

Malicious paleneſs, or a generous red,

O’r every angry face is ſpread,

Their Eyes are either ſmiling with diſdain,

Or fiercely glow with raging Fire.

Gloomy and ſullen with diſſembl’d pain,

Love in the Heart, Revenge in the deſire:

Combates, Duels, Challenges,

Is the diſcourſe, and all the busneß there.

A. G5r 89

Reſpect of Blood, nor ſacred friendſhip tyes;

Can reconcile the Civil War,

Rage, Horror, Death, and wild deſpair,

Are ſtill Rencounter’d, and ſtill practis’d there.

’Twas here the lovely cruel Maid I found,

Incompaſs’d with a thouſand Lovers round;

At my approach I ſaw their Bluſhes riſe,

And they regarded me with angry Eyes.

Aminta too, or elſe my Fancy ’twas,

Receiv’d me with a ſhy and cold Addreſs,

—I cou’d not ſpeak—but Sigh’d, retir’d and Bow’d;

With pain I heard her Talk and Laugh aloud,

And deal her Freedoms to the greedy Crowd.

I Curſt her Smiles, and envy’d every look,

And Swore it was too kind, what e’re ſhe ſpoke;

Condemn’d her Air, rail’d on her ſoft Addreſs,

And vow’d her Eyes did her falſe Heart confeſs,

And vainly wiſht their Charming Beauties leſs.

A Secret hatred in my Soul I bear,

Againſt theſe objects of my new deſpair;

I G5v 90

I waited all the day, and all in vain;

Not one lone minute ſnatcht, to eaſe my pain;

Her Lovers went and came in ſuch a ſort,

It rather ſeem’d Loves-Office than his Court,

Made for eternal Bus’neſs, not his Sport.

Love ſaw my pain, and found my rage grew high,

And led me off, to lodge at Jealouſie.



Apalace that is more un-eaſy far,

Then thoſe of cruelty and abſence are,

There conſtant ſhow’rs of Hail and Rains do flow,

Continual Murmuring Winds a-round do blow,

Eternal Thunder rowling in the Air,

And thick dark hanging Clouds the day obſcure;

Whoſe ſullen dawn all Objects multiplies,

And render things that are not, to the Eyes.

Fantoms appear by the dull gloomy light,

That with ſuch ſubtil Art delude the ſight,

That one can ſee no Object true or right.

G6r 91

I here tranſported and impatient grow

And all things out of order do;

Haſty and peeviſh every thing I ſay,

Suſpicion and diſtruſt’s my Paſſions ſway,

And bend all Nature that un-eaſy way.


A thouſand Serpents gnaw the Heart;

A thouſand Viſions fill the Eyes,

Annd Deaf to all that can relief impart,

We hate the Counſel of the Wiſe,

And Senſe like Tales of Lunaticks deſpiſe:

Faithleſs, as Couzen’d Maids, by Men undone,

And obſtinate as new Religion,

As full of Error, and falſe Notion too,

As Dangerous, and as Politick;

As Humerous as a Beauty without Wit;

As Vain and Fancyful in all we do:

—Thus Wreck the Soul, as if it did conceal,

Love Secrets which by torturing ’two’d reveal.

Reſt- G6v 92

Reſtleſs and wild, ranging each Field and Grove;

I meet the Author of my painful Love;

But ſtill ſurrounded with a numerous Train

Of Lovers, whom Love taught to Sigh and Fawn,

At my approach, my Soul all Trembling flies,

And tells its ſoft Reſentment at my Eyes:

My Face all pale, my ſteps unſteady fall,

And faint Confuſion ſpreads it ſelf o’re all.

I liſten to each low breath’d Word ſhe ſays,

And the returns the happy Anſwerer pays:

When catching half the Senſe, the reſt Invent,

And turn it ſtill to what will moſt Torment;

If any thing by Whiſpers ſhe impart,

’Tis Mortal, ’tis a Dagger at my Heart;

And every Smile, each Motion, Geſture, Sign,

In favour of ſome Lover I explain:

When I am abſent, in ſome Rivals Arms,

I Fancy ſhe diſtributes all her Charms,

And if alone I find her, ſighing cry,

Some happier Lover ſhe expects than I.

So G7r 93

So that I did not only Jealous grow,

Of all I ſaw; but all I fancy’d too.

The Complaint.


Oft in my Jealous Tranſports I wou’d cry,

Ye happy ſhades, ye happy Bow’rs,

Why ſpeaks ſhe tenderer things to you than me?

Why does ſhe Smile, carreſs and praiſe your Flowers?

Why Sighs ſhe (opening Buds) her Secrets all

Into your fragrant Leaves?

Why does ſhe to her Aid your ſweetneſs call,

Yet take leſs from you than ſhe gives?

Why on your Beds muſt you be happy made,

And be together with Aminta laid?

You from her Hands and Lips may Kisses take,

And never meet Reproaches from her Pride;

A thouſand Raviſhing ſtealths may make,

And even into her ſofter Boſome glide.

And there expire! Oh happy Rival flowers,

How vainly do I wiſh my Fate like that of Yours?

II. G7v 94


Tell me ye ſilent Groves, whoſe Gloom invites,

The lovely Charmer to your Solitudes?

Tell me for whom ſhe languiſhes and ſighs?

For whom ſhe feels her ſoft Inquietudes?

Name me the Youth for whom ſhe makes her Vows,

For she has breath’d it oft amongſt your liſtening

Oh happy confidents of her Amours, (Boughs?

How vainly do I wiſh my Fortune bleſt as Yours.


Oh happy Brooks, oh happy Rivulets,

And Springs that in a thouſand Windings move;

Upon your Banks how oft Aminta ſits,

And prattles to you all her Tale of Love:

Whilſt your ſmooth ſurface little Circles bears,

From the Impreſſions of her falling Tears,

And as you wantonly reflectng paſs,

Glide o’re the lovely Image of her Face;

And G8r 95

And ſanctifies your ſtream, which as you run,

You Boaſt in Murmurs to the Banks along.

Dear ſtreams! to whom ſhe gives her ſofteſt hours,

How vainly do I wiſh my happineſs like yours.

Sometimes I rail’d again, and wou’d upbraid,

Reproachfully, the charming fickle Maid:

Sometimes I vow’d to do’t no more,

But one, vain, ſhort-liv’d hour,

Wou’d Perjure all I’d Sworn before,

And Damn my fancy’d Pow’r.

Sometimes the ſullen fit wou’d laſt,

A teadious live-long day:

But when the wrecking hours were paſt,

With what Impatience wou’d I haſt,

And let her Feet weep my neglect away.

Quarrels are the Reſerves Love keeps in ſtore,

To aid his Flames and make ’em burn the more.

The G8v 96

The Penitent


With Rigor Arm your ſelf, (I cry’d)

It is but juſt and fit;

I merit all this Treatment from your Pride,

All the reproaches of your Wit;

Put on the cruel Tyrant as you will,

But know, my tender Heart adores you ſtill.


And yet that Heart has Murmur’d too,

And been ſo inſolent to let you know,

It did complain, and rave, and rail’d at you;

Yet all the while by every God I ſwear,

By every pitying Pow’r the wretched here;

By all thoſe Charms that diſ-ingage,

My Soul from the extreams of Rage;

By all the Arts you have to ſave and kill,

My faithful tender Heart adores you ſtill.

III. H1r 97


But oh you ſhou’d excuſe my ſoft complaint,

Even my wild Ravings too prefer,

I ſigh, I burn, I weep, I faint,

And vent my Paſſions to the Air;

Whilſt all my Torment, all my Care

Serves but to make you put new Graces on,

You Laugh, and Rally my deſpair,

Which to my Rivals renders you more fair;

And but the more confirms my being undone:

Sport with my Pain as gayly as you will,

My fond, my tender Heart adores you ſtill.

My differing Paſſions thus, did never ceaſe,

Till they had touch’d her Soul with tenderneſs;

My Rivals now are baniſh’d by degrees,

And with ’em all my Fears and Jealouſies;

And all advanc’d, as if deſign’d to pleaſe.

H The H1v 98

The City of Love.

In this vaſt Iſle a famous City ſtands,

Who for its Beauty all the reſt Commands,

Built to delight the wondering Gazers Eyes,

Of all the World the great Metropolis.

Call’d by Love’s name: and here the Charming God,

When he retires to Pleaſure, makes abode;

’Tis here both Art and Nature ſtrive to ſhow,

What Pride, Expence, and Luxury, can do,

To make it Raviſhing and Awful too:

All Nations hourly thither do reſort,

To add a ſplendour to this glorious Court;

The Young, the Old, the Witty, and the Wiſe,

The Fair, the Ugly, Laviſh, and Preciſe;

Cowards and Braves, the Modeſt, and the Lowd,

Promiſcuouſly are blended in the Crowd.

From diſtant Shoars young Kings their Courts remove,

To pay their Homage to the God of Love.

Where all their ſacred awful Majeſty,

Their boaſted and their fond Divinity;

Looſe H2r 99

Looſe their vaſt force; as leſſer Lights are hid,

When the fierce God of Day his Beauties ſpread,

The wondering World for Gods did Kings adore,

Till Love confirm’d’ em Mortal by his Pow’r;

And in Loves Court, do with their Vaſſals live,

Without or Homage, or Prerogative:

Which the young God, not only Blind muſt ſhow,

But as Defective in his Judgement too.

Love’s Temple.

Midſt this Gay Court a famous Temple ſtands,

Old as the Univerſe which it commands;

For mighty Love a ſacred being had,

Whilſt yet ’twas Chaos, e’re the World was made,

And nothing was compos’d without his Aid.

Agreeing Attoms by his pow’r were hurl’d,

And Love and Harmony compos’d the World.

’Tis rich, ’tis ſolemn all! Divine yet Gay!

From the Jemm’d Roof the dazling Lights diſplay,

And all below inform without the Aids of day.

H2 All H2v 100

All Nations hither bring rich offerings,

And ’tis endow’d with Gifts of Love-ſick Kings.

Upon an Altar (whoſe un-bounded ſtore,

Has made the Rifled Univerſe ſo poor,

Adorn’d with all the Treaſure of the Seas,

More than the Sun in his vaſt courſe ſurveys)

Was plac’d the God! with every Beauty form d,

Of Smiling Youth, but Naked, un-adorn’d.

His painted Wings diſplaid: His Bow laid by,

(For here Love needs not his Artillery.)

One of his little Hands aloft he bore,

And graſp’d a wounded Heart that burnt all o’re,

Towards which he lookt with lovely Laughing Eyes:

As pleas’d and vain, with the fond Sacrifice,

The other pointing downward ſeem’d to ſay,

Here at my Feet your grateful Victims lay,

Whilſt in a Golden Tablet o’re his Head,

In Diamond Characters this Motto ſtood,

Behold the Pow’r that Conquers every God.

The H3r 101

The Temple Gates are open Night and Day,

Love’s Votaries at all hours Devotions pay,

A Prieſt of Hymen gives attendance near,

But very rarely ſhows his Function here,

For Prieſt cou’d ne’r Marriage-cheat improve,

Were there no other Laws, but thoſe of Love!

A Slavery generous Heav’n did ne’r deſign,

Nor did its firſt lov’d Race of men confine;

A Trick, that Prieſt, whom Avarice cunning made,

Did firſt contrive, then ſacred did perſwade,

That on their numerous and unlucky Race,

They might their baſe got Wealth ſecurely place.

Curſe――cou’d they not their own looſe Race inthral’

But they muſt ſpread the infection over all:

That Race, whoſe Brutal heat was grown ſo wild,

That even the Sacred Porches they defil’d;

And Raviſht all that for Devotion came,

Their Function, nor the Place reſtrains their flame.

But Love’s ſoft Votaries no ſuch injuries fear,

No pamper’d Levits are in Penſion here;

H3 Here H3v 102

Here are no fatted Lambs to Sacrifice,

No Oyl, fine Flower, or Wines of mighty price,

The ſubtle Holy Cheats to Gormandize.

Love’s ſoft Religion knows no Tricks nor Arts,

All the Attoning Offerings here are Hearts.

The Myſtery’s ſilent, without noyſe or ſhow,

In which the Holy Man had nought to do,

The Lover is both Prieſt and Victim too.

Hither with little force I did perſwade,

My lovely timorouſly yielding Maid,

Implor’d we mmight together Sacrifice,

And ſhe agrees with Bluſhing down-caſt Eyes;

’Twas then we both our Hearts an Offering made,

Which at the Feet of the young God we laid,

With equal Flames they Burnt; with equal Joy,

But with a Fire that neither did deſtroy;

Soft was its Force and Sympathy with them,

Diſpers’d it ſelf through every trembling Limb;

We cou’d not hide our tender new ſurprize,

We languiſht and confeſt it with our Eyes;

Thus H4r 103

Thus gaz’d we――when the Sacrifice perform’d,

We found our Hearts entire — but ſtill they burn,

But by a Bleſſed change in taking back,

The lovely Virgin did her Heart miſtake:

Her baſhful Eyes favour’d Love’s great deſign

I took her Burning Victim: and ſhe mine.

Thus Lyſidas without conſtraint or Art,

I reign’d the Monarch of Aminta’s Heart;

My great, my happy Title ſhe allows,

And makes me Lord of all her tender Vows,

All my paſt Griefs in coming Joys were drown’d,

And with eternal Pleaſure I was Crown’d;

My Bleſſed hours in the extream of Joy,

With my ſoft Languiſher I ſtill imploy;

When I am Gay, Love Revels in her Eyes,

When ſad――there the young God all panting lies.

A thouſand freedoms now ſhe does impart,

Shows all her tenderneſs diſ-rob’d of Art,

But oh this cou’d not ſatisfy my Heart.

H4 A H4v 104

A thouſand Anguiſhes that ſtill contains,

It ſighs, and heaves, and pants with pleaſing pains.

We look, and Kiſs, and Preſs with new deſire,

Whilſt every touch Blows the unuſual Fire.

For Love’s laſt Myſtery was yet conceal’d,

Which both ſtill languiſht for, both wiſht reveal’d:

Which I preſt on ―― and faintly ſhe deny’d,

With all the weak efforts of dying Pride,

Which ſtruggled long for Empire in her Soul,

Where it was wont to rule without controul.

But Conquering Love had got poſſeſſion now,

And open’d every Sally to the Foe:

And to ſecure my doubting happineſs,

Permits me to conduct her to the Bow’r of Bliſſ.

That Bow’r that does eternal Pleaſures yield,

Where Pſyche firſt the God of Love beheld:

But oh, in entering this ſo bleſt abode,

All Gay and Pleas’d as a Triumphing God,

I new unlook’d for difficulties meet,

Encountring Honour at the ſacred Gate.

Ho H5r 105



Honour’s a mighty Phantom! which around

The ſacred Bower does ſtill appear;

All Day it haunts the hollow’d ground,

And hinders Lovers entering there.

It rarely ever takes its flight,

But in the ſecret ſhades of night.

Silence and gloom the charm can ſooneſt end,

And are the luckyeſt hours to lay the Fiend,

Then ’tis the Viſion only will remove,

With Incantations of ſoft Vows of Love.


But as a God he’s Worſhipt here,

By all the lovely, young, and fair,

Who H5v 106

Who all their kind deſires controul,

And plays the Tyrant o’re the Soul:

His chiefeſt Attributes, are Pride and Spight,

His pow’r, is robbing Lovers of delight,

An Enemy to Humane kind,

But moſt to Youth ſevere;

As Age ill-natur’d, and as ignorance Blind,

Boaſting, and Baffled too, as Cowards are;

Fond in opinion, obſtinately Wiſe,

Fills the whole World with bus’neſs and with noiſe.


Where wert thou born? from what didſt thou begin?

And what ſtrange Witchcraft brought thy Maxims in?

What hardy Fool firſt taught thee to the Crowd?

Or who the Duller Slaves that firſt believ’d?

Some Woman ſure, ill-natur’d, old, and proud,

Too ugly ever to have been deceiv’d;

Un- H6r 107

Unskill’d in Love; in Virtue, or in Truth,

Preach’d thy falſe Notions firſt, and ſo debaucht our Youth.


And as in other Sectuaries you find,

His Votaries moſt conſiſt of Womankind,

Who Throng t’ adore the neceſſary Evil,

But moſt for fear, as Indians do the Devil.

Peeviſh, un-eaſy all; for in Revenge,

Love ſhoots ’em with a thouſand Darts.

They feel, but not confeſs the change;

Their falſe Devotion cannot ſave their Hearts.

Thus while the Idol Honour they obey,

Swift time comes on, and blooming Charms decay,

And Ruin’d Beauty does too late the Cheat betray.

This Goblin here――the lovely Maid Alarms,

And ſnatch’d her, even from my Trembling Arms,

With H6v 108

With all the Pow’r of Non-ſence he commands,

Which ſhe for mighty Reaſon underſtands.

Aminta fly, he crys! fly heedleſs Maid,

For if thou enter’ſt this Bewitching ſhade,

Thy Flame, Content, and Lover, all are loſt,

And thou no more of Him, or Fame ſhall boaſt,

The charming Pleaſure ſoon the Youth will cloy,

And what thou wouldſt preſerve, that will deſtroy.

Oh hardy Maid by too much Love undone,

Where are thy Modeſty, and Bluſhes gone?

Where’s all that Virtue made thee ſo Ador’d?

For Beauty ſtript of Virtue, grows abhorr’d:

Dyes like a flower whoſe ſcent quick Poyſon gives,

Though every gawdy Glory paints its leaves:

Oh fly, fond Maid, fly that falſe happineſs,

That will attend Thee in the Bower of Bliſs

Thus ſpoke the Phantom, while the liſtening Maid,

Took in the fatal Councel; and obey’d:

Frighted ſhe flys, even from the Temple door,

And left me fainting on the ſacred floor:

Love H7r 109

Love ſaw my Griefs, and to my reſcue came,

Where on his Boſom, thus I did complain.

The Loss.

Weep, weep Lysander, for the lovely Maid,

To whom thy ſacred Vows were paid;

Regardleſs of thy Love, thy Youth, thy Vows,

The Dull Advice of Honour now purſues;

Oh ſay my lovely Charmer, where

Is all that ſoftneſs gone?

Your tender Voice and Eyes did were,

When firſt I was undone.

Oh whether are your Sight and Kiſſes fled?

Where are thoſe claſping Arms,

That left me oft with Pleaſures dead,

With their Exceſs of Charms?

Where H7v 110

Where is the Killing Language of thy Tongue,

That did the Raviſht Soul surprize?

Where is that tender Rhetorick gone,

That flow’d ſo ſoftly in thy Eyes?

That did thy heavenly face ſo ſweetly dreſs,

That did thy wonderous Soul ſo well expreſs?

All fled with Honour on a Phantom loſt;

Where Youth’s vaſt ſtore muſt periſh unpoſſeſt.

Ah my dear Boy thy loſs with me bemoan,

The lovely Fugitive is with Honour gone!

Love laughing ſpread his Wings and mounting flies,

As ſwift as Lightning through the yielding Skies,

Where Honour bore away the Trembling Prize.

There at her Feet the Little Charmer falls,

And to his Aid his powerful ſoftneſs calls:

Aſſails her with his Tears, his Sighs and Crys,

Th’unfailing Language of his Tongue and Eyes.

Return H8r III

Return, ſaid he, return oh fickle Maid,

Who ſolid Joys abandon’ſt for a ſhade;

Turn and behold the Slaughter of thy Eyes;

See――the Heart-broken Youth all dying lyes.

Why doſt thou follow this Phantaſtick ſpright?

This faithleſs Ignis Fatuus of the Light?

This Foe to Youth, and Beauties worſt Diſeaſe,

Tyrant of Wit, of Pleaſure, and of Eaſe;

Of all ſubſtantial Harms he Author is,

But never pays us back one ſolid Bliſs.

――You’l urge, your Fame is worth a thouſand Joys;

Deluded Maid, truſt not to empty noiſe,

A ſound, that for a poor Eſteem to gain,

Damns thy whole Life t’ uneaſyneſs and pain.

Miſtaken Virgin, that which pleaſes me

I cannot by another taſt and ſee;

And what’s the complementing of the World to thee?

No, no, return with me, and there receive,

What poor, what ſcanted Honour cannot give,

Starve H8v 112

Starve not thoſe Charms that were for pleaſure made,

Nor unpoſſest let the rich Treaſure fade.

When time comes on; Honour that empty word,

Will leave thee then fore-ſlighted Age to guard,

Honour as other faithleſs Lovers are.

Is only dealing with the young and fair;

Approaching Age makes the falſe Hero fly,

He’s Honour with the Young, but with the old neceſſity.

–Thus ſaid the God! and all the while he ſpoke,

Her Heart new Fire, her Eyes new ſoftneſs took.

Now crys, I yield, I yield the Victory!

Lead on young Charming Boy, I follow thee;

Lead to Lyſander, quickly let’s be gone,

I am reſolv’d to Love, and be undone;

I muſt not, cannot, Love at cheaper rate,

Love is the word, Lyſander and my fate.

Thus to my Arms Love brought the trembling Maid;

Who on my Boſom ſighing, ſoftly, ſaid:

I1r 113

Take charming Victor — what you muſt — ſubdue—

’Tis Love— and not Aminta gives it you,

Love that o’re all, and every part does reign,

And I ſhou’d plead — and ſtruggle — but in vain;

Take what a yielding Virgin—can beſtow,

I am — diſ-arm’d — of all reſistance now.――

Then down her Cheeks a tender ſhower did glide,

The Trophies of my Victory, Joy and Pride:

She yields ye Gods (I cry’d) and in my Arms,

Gives up the wonderous Treaſure of her Charms.

――Tranſported to the Bower of Bliſs we high,

But once more met Reſpect upon the way,

But not as heretofore with Meen and Grace,

All formal, but a gay and ſmiling Face;

A different ſort of Air his looks now wears,

Galljard and Joyful every part appears.

And thus he ſaid――

Go happy Lovers, perfect the deſires,

That fill two Hearts that burn with equal Fires;

I Re- I1v 114

Receive the mighty Recompence at laſt,

Of all the Anxious hours you’ve paſt,

Enter the Bower where endleſs Pleaſures flow,

Young Joys, new Raptures all the year,

Reſpect has nothing now to do,

He always leaves the Lover here.

Young Loves attend and here ſupply all want,

In ſecret Pleaſures I’m no confident.

Reſpect here left me: and He ſcarce was gone,

But I perceiv’d a Woman haſting on,

Naked ſhe came; all lovely, and her Hair,

Was looſely flying in the wanton Air:

Love told me’twas Occaſion, and if I,

The ſwift pac’d Maid ſhou’d paſs neglected by.

My Love, my Hopes, and Induſtry were vain,

For ſhe but rarely e’re return’d again.

I ſtopt her ſpeed, and did implore her Aid,

Which granted, ſhe Aminta did perſwade.

Into the Palace of true Joys, to haſt,

And thither ’twas, we both arriv’d at laſt.

Oh I2r 115

Oh Lyſidas, no Mortal Senſe affords,

No Wit, no Eloquence can furniſh Words;

Fit for the ſoft Diſcription of the Bower,

Some Love-bleſt God in the Triumphing hour,

Can only gueſs, can only ſay what ’tis;

Yet even that God but faintly wou’d expreſs,

Th’ unbounded pleaſures of the Bower of Bliſſ.

A ſlight, a poor Idea may be given,

Like that we fancy when we paint a Heav’n,

As ſolid Chriſtal, Diamonds, ſhining Gold,

May fancy Light, that is not to be told.

To vulgar Senſes, Love like Heaven ſhou’d be

(To make it more Ador’d) a Myſtery:

Eternal Powers! when ere I ſing of Love,

And the unworthy Song immortal prove;

To pleaſe my wandering Ghoſt when I am Dead,

Let none but Lovers the ſoft ſtories read;

Praiſe from the Wits and Braves I’le not implore;

Liſten ye Lovers all, I ask no more;

I2 That I2v 116

That where Words fail, you may with thought ſupply,

If ever any lov’d like me, or were ſo bleſt as I.

The Proſpect and Bower of Bliſs.


Tis all eternal Spring around,

And all the Trees with fragrant flowers are Crown’d;

No Clouds, no miſty Showers obſcure the Light,

But all is calm, ſerene and gay,

The Heavens are dreſt with a perpetual bright,

And all the Earth with everlaſting May.

Each minute blows the Roſe and Jeſamine,

And twines with new-born Eglantine,

Each minute new Diſcoveries bring;

Of ſomething ſweet, of ſomething raviſhing.

II. I3r 117


Fountains, wandering Brooks, ſoft rills,

That o’re the wanton Pebbles play;

And all the Woods with tender murmuring fills,

Inſpiring my Love inciting Joy;

(The ſole, the ſolemn buſineſs of the day)

Through all the Groves, the Glades and thickets run,

And nothing ſee but Love on all their Banks along;

A thouſand Flowers of different kinds,

The neighbouring Meads adorn;

Whoſe ſweetneſs ſnatcht by flying Winds,

O’re all the Bow’r of Bliſs is born;

Whether all things in nature ſtrive to bring,

All that is ſoft, all that is raviſhing.


The verdant Banks no other Prints retain,

But where young Lovers, and young Loves have lain

For Love has nothing here to do,

But to be wanton, ſoft and gay,

I3 And I3v 118

And give a laviſh looſe to joy.

His emptyed Quiver, and his Bow,

In flowry Wreaths with roſy Garlands Crown’d,

In Myrtle ſhades are hung,

As Conquerors when the Victories won,

Diſpoſe their glorious Trophies all around.

Soft Winds and Eccho’s that do haunt each Grove,

Still whiſper, and repeat no other Songs than Love.

Which round about the ſacred Bower they ſing,

Where every thing arrives that’s ſweet and raviſhing.


A thouſand gloomy Walks the Bower contains,

Sacred all to mighty Love;

A thouſand winding turns where Pleaſure reigns;

Obſcur’d from day by twining Boughs above,

Where Love invents a thouſand Plays,

Where Lovers act ten thouſand Joys:

Nature has taught each little Bird,

A ſoft Example to afford;

They I4r 119

They Bill and Look, and Sing and Love,

And Charm the Air, and Charm the Grove;

Whilſt underneath the Raviſht Swain is lying,

Gazing, Sighing, Preſſing, Dying;

Still with new deſire warm’d,

Still with new Joy, new Rapture charm’d;

Amongſt the green ſoft Rivulets do paſs,

In winding Streams half hid in Flowers and Graſs,

Who Purl and Murmur as they glide along,

And mix their Muſick with the Shepherds Pipe and Song,

Which Eccho’s through the ſacred Bower repeat,

Where every thing arrives that’s raviſhing and ſweet.


The Virgin here ſhows no diſdain,

Nor does the Shepherd Sigh in vain,

This knows no Cruelty, nor that no Pain:

No Youth complains upon his rigorous fair;

No injur’d Maid upon her perjur’d dear,

’Tis only Love, fond Love finds entrance here;

I4 The I4v 120

The Notes of Birds, the Murmuring Boughs,

When gentle Winds glide through the Glades,

Soft Sighs of Love, and oft breath’d Vows,

The tender Whiſperings of the yielding Maids,

Daſhing Fountains, Purling Springs,

The ſhort breath’d crys from faint reſiſtance ſent.

(Crys which no aid deſires or brings)

The ſoft effects of Fear and Languiſhment;

The little ſtruggling of the fair,

The trembling force of the young Conqueror,

The tender Arguments he brings,

The pretty Non-ſence with which ſhe aſſails,

Which as ſhe ſpeaks, ſhe hopes it nought prevails.

But yielding owns her Love above her Reaſonings,

Is all is heard: Silence and ſhade the reſt.

Which beſt with Love, which beſt with Joys conſiſt,

All which young Eccho’s through the Bower does ſing,

Where every thing is heard, that’s ſweet and raviſhing.

VI. I5r 121


Receſſes Dark, and Grotto’s all conſpire,

To favour Love and ſoft deſire;

Shades, Springs, and Fountains flowry Beds,

To Joys invites, to Pleaſure leads,

To Pleaſure which all Humane thought exceeds.

Heav’n, Earth, and Sea, here all combine,

To propagate Love’s great deſign,

And render the Appointments all Divine.

After long toyl, ’tis here the Lover reaps,

Tranſporting ſoftneſſes beyond his hopes;

’Tis here fair Eyes, all languiſhing impart

The ſecrets of the fond inclining Heart;

Fine Hands and Arms for tender Preſſings made,

In Love’s dear buſineſs always are imploy’d:

The ſoft Inchantments of the Tongue,

That does all other Eloquence controul,

Is I5v 122

Is breath’d with broken Sighs among,

Into the Raviſh’d Shepherds Soul,

Whilſt all is taken, all is given,

That can compleat a Lovers Heav’n:

And Io Peans through the Woods do ring,

From new fletch’d God, in Songs all Raviſhing.

Oh my dear Lyſidas! my faithful Friend,

Woud I cou’d here with all my Pleaſures end:

’Twas Heaven! ’twas Extaſie! each minute brought

New Raptures to my Senſes, Soul and Thought;

Each Look, each Touch, my Raviſht fancy charm’d

Each Accent of her Voice my Blood Alarm’d;

I pant with every Glance, faint with a Kiſs,

Oh Judge my Tranſports then in higher Bliſs.

A while all Dead, between her Arms I lay,

Unable to poſſeſs the conquer’d Joys;

But by degrees my Soul its ſenſe retriev’d;

Shame and Confuſion let me know I liv’d.

I I6r 123

I ſaw the trembling diſ-appointed Maid,

With charming angry Eyes my fault up-braid,

While Love and Spight no kind Excuſe affords,

My Rage and Softneſs was above dull Words,

And my Misfortune only was expreſt,

By Sighing out my Soul into her Breſt:

A thouſand times I breath’d Aminta’s name,

Aminta! call’d! but that increas’d my flame.

And as the Tide of Love flow’d in, ſo faſt

My Low, my Ebbing Vigor out did haſt.

But ’twas not long, thus idly, and undone

I lay, before vaſt Seas came rowling on,

Spring-tides of Joy, that the rich neighbouring ſhoar

And down the fragrant Banks it proudly bore,

O’re-flow’d and raviſht all great Natures ſtore.

Swoln to Luxurious heights, no bounds it knows,

But wantonly it Triumphs where it flows.

Some God inform Thee of my bleſt Eſtate,

But all their Powers divert thee from my Fate.

’Twas I6v 124

’Twas thus we liv’d the wonder of the Groves,

Fam’d for our Love, our mutual conſtant Loves.

Young Amorous Hero’s at her Feet did fall,

Deſpair’d and dy’d, whilſt I was Lord of All;

Her Empire o’re my Soul each moment grew,

New Charms each minute did appear in view,

And each appointment Raviſhing and New.

Fonder each hour my tender Heart became,

And that which us’d t’ allay, increas’d my Flame.

But on a day, oh may no chearful Ray,

Of the Sun’s Light, blesſs that ſucceeding day!

May the black hours from the account be torn,

May no fair thing upon thy day be born!

May fate and Hell appoint thee for their own,

May no good deed be in thy Circle done!

May Rapes, Conſpiricies and Murders ſtay,

Till thou com’ſt on, and hatch em in thy day!

――’Twas on this day all Joyful Gay and Fair,

Fond as deſire, and wanton as the Air;

Aminta did with me to the bleſt Bower repair.

Be- I7r 125

Beneath a Beechy Shade, a flowry Bed,

Officious Cupid’s for our Pleaſure ſpred,

Where never did the Charmer ere impart,

More Joy, more Rapture to my raviſht Heart:

’Twas all the firſt; ’twas all beginning Fire!

’Twas all new Love! new Pleaſure! new Deſire!

――Here ſtop my Soul――

Stop thy carreer of Vanity and Pride,

And only ſay, — ’Twas here Aminta dy’d:

The fleeting Soul as quickly diſ-appears,

As leaves blown off with Winds, or falling Stars;

And Life its flight aſſum’d with ſuch a pace;

It took no farewel of her lovely Face.

The Fugitive not one Beauty did ſurprize,

It ſcarce took time to languiſh in her Eyes,

But on my Boſom bow’d her charming Head;

And ſighing, theſe ſurprizing words ſhe ſaid:

Joy of my Soul, my faithful tender Youth,

Lord of my Vows, and Miracle of Truth:

Thou I7v 110126

Thou ſoft obliger —: of thy Sex the beſt,

Thou bleſſing too Extream to be poſſeſt;

The Angry God, deſigning we muſt part,

Do render back the Treaſure of thy Heart;

When in ſome new fair Breaſt, it finds a room,

And I ſhall ly — neglected — in my Tomb――

Remember — oh remember — the fair ſhe,

Can never love thee, darling Youth, like me.

Then with a Sigh ſhe ſunk into my Breſt,

While her fair Eyes, her laſt farewel expreſt;

To aiding God’s I cry’d; but they were Deaf,

And no kind pow’r afforded me relief:

I call her name, I weep, I rave and faint,

And none but Eccho’s anſwer my Complaint;

I Kiſs and Bathe her ſtiffening Face with Tears,

Preſs it to mine, as cold and pale as her’s;

The fading Roſes of her Lips I preſs,

But no kind Word the ſilenc’d Pratlers will confeſs;

Her lovely Eyes I kiſs, and call upon,

But all their wonted anſwering Rhetorick’s gone.

Her I8r 111127

Her charming little Hands in vain I ask,

Thoſe little Hands no more my Neck ſhall graſp;

No more about my Face her Fingers play,

Nor brede my Hair, or the vain Curls diſplay,

No more her Tongue beguiling Stories tell,

Whoſe wonderous Wit cou’d grace a Tale ſo well;

All, all is fled, to Death’s cold Manſion gone,

And I am left benighted and undone,

And every day my Fate is haſting on.

From the inchanting Bower I madly fly,

That Bower that now no more affords me Joy.

Love had not left for me one Bliſs in ſtore,

Since my Aminta cou’d diſpence no more.

――Thence to a ſilent Deſert I advance,

And call’d the Deſert of Remembrance;

A ſolitude upon a Mountain plac’d,

All gloomy round, and wonderous high and vaſt,

From whence Love’s Iſland all appears in view,

And diſtant Proſpects renders near and true;

Each I8v 128

Each Bank, each Bower, each dear inviting Shade,

That to our Sacred Loves was conſcious made.

Each flowry Bed, each Thicket and each Grove,

Where I have lain Charm’d with Aminta’s Love.

(Where e’re ſhe chear’d the day, and bleſt the Night)

Eternally are preſent to my Sight.

Where e’re I turn, the Landskip does confeſs,

Something that calls to mind paſt happineſs.

This Lyſidas, this is my wretched ſtate,

’Tis here I languiſh, and attend my Fate.

But e’re I go, ’twou’d wonderous Pleaſure be,

(If ſuch a thing can e’re arrive to me)

To find ſome Pity (Lyſidas) from thee.

Then I ſhou’d take the Wing, and upward fly,

And looſe the Sight of this dull World with Joy.

Your Lyſander.