The verdant Banks no other Prints retain,But where young Lovers, and young Loves have lain.ForLovehas nothing here to do,But to be wanton, soft and gay,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.
The verdant Banks no other Prints retain,But where young Lovers, and young Loves have lain.ForLovehas nothing here to do,But to be wanton, soft and gay,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.
IV.
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,WhereLoveinvents a thousand Plays,Where Lovers act ten thousand Joys:Nature has taught each little Bird,A soft Example to afford;They Bill and Look, and Sing and Love,And Charm the Air, and Charm the Grove;Whilst underneath the RavishtSwainis 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.
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,WhereLoveinvents a thousand Plays,Where Lovers act ten thousand Joys:Nature has taught each little Bird,A soft Example to afford;They Bill and Look, and Sing and Love,And Charm the Air, and Charm the Grove;Whilst underneath the RavishtSwainis 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.
V.
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 onlyLove,fondLovefinds entrance here;}The Notes of Birds, the Murmuring Boughs,When gentle Winds glide through the Glades,Soft Sighs of Love, and soft 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 prevailsBut yielding owns herLoveabove her Reasonings,Is all is heard: Silence and shade the rest.Which best withLove,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.
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 onlyLove,fondLovefinds entrance here;}The Notes of Birds, the Murmuring Boughs,When gentle Winds glide through the Glades,Soft Sighs of Love, and soft 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 prevailsBut yielding owns herLoveabove her Reasonings,Is all is heard: Silence and shade the rest.Which best withLove,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.
Recesses Dark, and Grotto's all conspire,To favourLoveand 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 propagateLove'sgreat design,}And render the Appointments all Divine.}After long toyl, 'tis here the Lover reapsTransporting softnesses beyond his hopes;'Tis here fair Eyes, all languishing impartThe secrets of the fond inclining Heart;Fine Hands and Arms for tender Pressings made,InLove'sdear business always are imploy'd:The soft Inchantments of the Tongue,That does all other Eloquence controul,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:AndIo Peansthrough the Woods do ring,From new fletch'd God, in Songs all Ravishing.Oh my dearLysidas!my faithful Friend,Would I cou'd here with all my Pleasures end:'Twas Heaven! 'twas Extaxsie! each minute broughtNew 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 saw the trembling dis-appointed Maid,With charming angry Eyes my fault upbraid,While Love and Spight no kind Excuse affords,My Rage and Softness was above dull Words,And my Misfortune only was exprest,By Signing out my Soul into her Brest:A thousand times I breath'dAminta'sname,Aminta!call'd! but that increas'd my flame.And as the Tide of Love flow'd in, so fastMy Low, my Ebbing Vigor out did hast.But 'twas not long, thus idly, and undoneI lay, before vast Seas came rowling on,Spring-tides of Joy, that the rich neighboring 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 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, bless 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;}Amintadid with me to the blest Bower repair.}Beneath a Beechy Shade, a flowry Bed,OfficiousCupid'sfor 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 hereAmintady'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 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 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.Lovehad not left for me one Bliss in store,Since myAmintayou'd dispence no more.—Thence to a silent Desert I advance,And call'd theDesert of Remembrance;A solitude upon a Mountain plac'd,All gloomy round, and wonderous high and vast,From whenceLove'sIsland all appears in view,And distant Prospects renders near and true;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 withAminta'sLove;(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 upwards fly,And loose the Sight of this dull World with Joy.
Recesses Dark, and Grotto's all conspire,To favourLoveand 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 propagateLove'sgreat design,}And render the Appointments all Divine.}After long toyl, 'tis here the Lover reapsTransporting softnesses beyond his hopes;'Tis here fair Eyes, all languishing impartThe secrets of the fond inclining Heart;Fine Hands and Arms for tender Pressings made,InLove'sdear business always are imploy'd:The soft Inchantments of the Tongue,That does all other Eloquence controul,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:AndIo Peansthrough the Woods do ring,From new fletch'd God, in Songs all Ravishing.
Oh my dearLysidas!my faithful Friend,Would I cou'd here with all my Pleasures end:'Twas Heaven! 'twas Extaxsie! each minute broughtNew 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 saw the trembling dis-appointed Maid,With charming angry Eyes my fault upbraid,While Love and Spight no kind Excuse affords,My Rage and Softness was above dull Words,And my Misfortune only was exprest,By Signing out my Soul into her Brest:A thousand times I breath'dAminta'sname,Aminta!call'd! but that increas'd my flame.And as the Tide of Love flow'd in, so fastMy Low, my Ebbing Vigor out did hast.But 'twas not long, thus idly, and undoneI lay, before vast Seas came rowling on,Spring-tides of Joy, that the rich neighboring 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 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, bless 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;}Amintadid with me to the blest Bower repair.}Beneath a Beechy Shade, a flowry Bed,OfficiousCupid'sfor 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 hereAmintady'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 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 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.Lovehad not left for me one Bliss in store,Since myAmintayou'd dispence no more.—Thence to a silent Desert I advance,And call'd theDesert of Remembrance;A solitude upon a Mountain plac'd,All gloomy round, and wonderous high and vast,From whenceLove'sIsland all appears in view,And distant Prospects renders near and true;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 withAminta'sLove;(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 upwards fly,And loose the Sight of this dull World with Joy.
YourLysander.
PAGE.The Golden Age, a Paraphrase on a Translation out ofFrench138A Farewell toCelladonon his going intoIreland144On a Juniper-Tree cut down to make Busks148On the Death of Mr.Greenhillthe famous Painter151A Ballad on Mr.J. H.toAmoret,asking why I was so sad153Our Caball156The willing Mistress, a Song163Love Arm'd, a Song163The Complaint, a Song164The Invitation, a Song165A Song165To Mr.Creech (under the name ofDaphnis)on his Excellent Translation ofLucretius166To Mrs.W.on her excellent Verses (writ in praise of some I had made on the late Earl ofRochester)written in a fit of sickness171The sense of a Letter sent me, made into Verse, to a New Tune173The Return173On a Copy of Verses made in a Dream and sent to me in a Morning before I was awake174To my LadyMorlandatTunbridge175Song toCeres,in the wavering Nymph or madAmyntas177A Song in the same Play by the wavering Nymph177The Disappointment178On a Locket of Hair wove in a True-lovers Knot given me by SirR. O.182The Dream, a Song183A Letter to a Brother of the Pen in Tribulation185The Reflexion, a Song186A Song toPesiblesTune188A Song on her loving two Equally set by Capt.Pack189The Counsel, a Song set by the same hand190The Surprise, a Song set by Mr.Farmer191A Song192The Invitation, a Song to a NewScotchTune192Sylvio'sComplaint, a Song to a fineScotchTune193In Imitation ofHorace195ToLysanderwho made some Verses on a Discourse of Loves Fire196A Dialogue for an entertainment at Court betweenDamonandSylvia198On Mr.J. H.In a fit of sickness200ToLysanderon some Verses he writ, and asking more for his Heart than 'twas worth202To the Honourable LordHoward,on his Comedy called the NewUtopia204ToLysanderat the Musick meeting207An Ode to Love208Love Reveng'd, a Song209A Song to a NewScotchTune210The Caball at Nickey Nackeys211A Paraphrase on the eleventh Ode out of the first Book ofHorace212A Translation212A Paraphrase on[OE]nonetoParis213A Voyage to the Isle of Love223
FINIS.
My Lord,
This Epistle Dedicatory which humbly lays this Little Volume at your Lordships feet, and begs a Protection there, is rather an Address than a Dedication; to which a great many hands have subscrib'd, it Presenting your Lordship a Garland whose Flowers are cull'd by several Judgments in which I claim the least part; whose sole Ambition is this way to congratulate your Lordships new Addition of Honour, that of the Most Noble Order of theThistle, an Honour which preced's that of theGarter, having been supported by a long Race of Kings, and only fell with the most Illustrious of Queens, whose memory (which ought to be Establish'd, in all hearts can not be better preserv'd,) than by reviving this so Ancient Order; well has His Majesty chosen its Noble Champions, among whom none merits more the Glory of that Royal Favor than your Lordship: whose Loyalty to His Sacred Person and interest through all the adversities of Fate, has begot you so perfect a veneration in all hearts, and is so peculiarly the Innate vertue of your Great mind; a virtue not shewn by unreasonable fits when it shall serve an end, (a false Bravery for a while when least needful, and thrown off when put to useful Tryal; like those who weighing Advantages by Probabilities only, and fancying the future to out-poyse the present, cast there their Anchor of Hope,) but a virtue built on so sure and steady Basis's of Honour, as nothing can move or shake; the Royal Interest being so greatly indeed the Property of Nobility, and so much even above life and Fortune: Especially when to support a Monarch so truly just, so wise and great; a Monarch whom God Almighty Grant long to Reign over Us, and still to be serv'd by men of Principles so truly Brave, as those that shine in your Lordship.Pardon, my Lord, this Digression and the meanness of this Present, which to a Person of your Lordships great and weighty Employments in the world may seem Improper, if I did not know that the most Glorious of States-men must sometimes unbend from Great Affairs, and seek a diversion in trivial Entertainments; Though Poetry will Justle for the Preeminency of all others, and I know is not the least in the Esteem of your Lordship, who is so admirable a Judge of it, if any thing here may be found worthy the Patronage it Implores, 'twill be a sufficient Honour to,
This Epistle Dedicatory which humbly lays this Little Volume at your Lordships feet, and begs a Protection there, is rather an Address than a Dedication; to which a great many hands have subscrib'd, it Presenting your Lordship a Garland whose Flowers are cull'd by several Judgments in which I claim the least part; whose sole Ambition is this way to congratulate your Lordships new Addition of Honour, that of the Most Noble Order of theThistle, an Honour which preced's that of theGarter, having been supported by a long Race of Kings, and only fell with the most Illustrious of Queens, whose memory (which ought to be Establish'd, in all hearts can not be better preserv'd,) than by reviving this so Ancient Order; well has His Majesty chosen its Noble Champions, among whom none merits more the Glory of that Royal Favor than your Lordship: whose Loyalty to His Sacred Person and interest through all the adversities of Fate, has begot you so perfect a veneration in all hearts, and is so peculiarly the Innate vertue of your Great mind; a virtue not shewn by unreasonable fits when it shall serve an end, (a false Bravery for a while when least needful, and thrown off when put to useful Tryal; like those who weighing Advantages by Probabilities only, and fancying the future to out-poyse the present, cast there their Anchor of Hope,) but a virtue built on so sure and steady Basis's of Honour, as nothing can move or shake; the Royal Interest being so greatly indeed the Property of Nobility, and so much even above life and Fortune: Especially when to support a Monarch so truly just, so wise and great; a Monarch whom God Almighty Grant long to Reign over Us, and still to be serv'd by men of Principles so truly Brave, as those that shine in your Lordship.
Pardon, my Lord, this Digression and the meanness of this Present, which to a Person of your Lordships great and weighty Employments in the world may seem Improper, if I did not know that the most Glorious of States-men must sometimes unbend from Great Affairs, and seek a diversion in trivial Entertainments; Though Poetry will Justle for the Preeminency of all others, and I know is not the least in the Esteem of your Lordship, who is so admirable a Judge of it, if any thing here may be found worthy the Patronage it Implores, 'twill be a sufficient Honour to,
My Lord,Your Lordships most humble,most oblig'd,and obedient Servant,A. BEHN.
Hail, BeauteousProphetess, in whom alone,Of all your sex Heav'ns master-piece is shewn.For wondrous skill it argues, wondrous care,Where two such Stars in firm conjunction are,A Brain so Glorious, and a Face so fair.Two Goddesses in your composure joyn'd,}Nothing but Goddess cou'd, you're so refin'd,}BrightVenusBody gave,MinervaMind.}How soft and fine your manly numbers flow,Soft as your Lips, and smooth as is your brow.Gentle as Air, bright as the Noon-days Sky,Clear as your skin, and charming as your Eye.No craggy Precipice the Prospect spoyles,The Eye no tedious barren plain beguiles.But, likeThessalianFeilds your Volumes are,}Rapture and charms o're all the soyl appear,}Astreaand her verse areTempeevery where.}Ah, more than Woman! more than man she is,AsPhæbusbright; she's too, asPhæbuswise.The Muses to our sex perverse and coyAstreado's familiarly enjoy.She do's their veiled Glorys understand,And what we court with pain, with ease command.Their charming secrets they expanded lay,Reserv'd to us, to her they all display.Upon her Pen await those learned Nine.}She ne're but like the Phosph'rus draws a line,}As soon as toucht her subjects clearly shine.}The femal Laurels were obscur'd till now,And they deserv'd the Shades in which they grew:ButDaphneat your call return's her flight,Looks boldly up and dares the God of light.If weOrindato your works compare,}They uncouth, like her countrys soyle, appear,}Mean as its Pesants, as its Mountains bare:}Sapphotasts strongly of the sex, is weak and poor,}At second hand she russet Laurels wore,}Yours are your own, a rich and verdant store.}If Loves the Theme, you out-doOvid'sArt,}Loves God himself can't subtiller skill impart,}Softer than's plumes, more piercing than his Dart.}IfPastoralbe her Song, she glads the SwainsWith Livelier notes, with spritelier smiles the plains.More gayly than the Springs she decks the BowrsAnd breaths a secondMayto Fields and Flowrs.If e're the golden Age again returnAnd flash in shining Beames from's Iron Urn,That Age not as it was before shall be,But as th' Idea is refin'd by thee.That seems the common; thines the Elixir, Gold,So pure is thine, and so allay'd the old.Happy, ye Bards, by fairAstreaprais'd,If you'r alive, to brighter life you're rais'd;For cherisht by her Beams you'll loftyer grow,You must your former learned selves out-do,Thô you'd the parts ofThirsisand ofStrephontoo.Hail, mighty Prophetess! by whom we seeOmnipotence almost in Poetry:Your flame can give to GravesPrometheanfire,AndGreenhill'sclay with living paint inspire;For like some Mystick wand with awful EyesYou wave your Pen, and lo the dead Arise.
Hail, BeauteousProphetess, in whom alone,Of all your sex Heav'ns master-piece is shewn.For wondrous skill it argues, wondrous care,Where two such Stars in firm conjunction are,A Brain so Glorious, and a Face so fair.Two Goddesses in your composure joyn'd,}Nothing but Goddess cou'd, you're so refin'd,}BrightVenusBody gave,MinervaMind.}
How soft and fine your manly numbers flow,Soft as your Lips, and smooth as is your brow.Gentle as Air, bright as the Noon-days Sky,Clear as your skin, and charming as your Eye.No craggy Precipice the Prospect spoyles,The Eye no tedious barren plain beguiles.But, likeThessalianFeilds your Volumes are,}Rapture and charms o're all the soyl appear,}Astreaand her verse areTempeevery where.}
Ah, more than Woman! more than man she is,AsPhæbusbright; she's too, asPhæbuswise.The Muses to our sex perverse and coyAstreado's familiarly enjoy.She do's their veiled Glorys understand,And what we court with pain, with ease command.Their charming secrets they expanded lay,Reserv'd to us, to her they all display.Upon her Pen await those learned Nine.}She ne're but like the Phosph'rus draws a line,}As soon as toucht her subjects clearly shine.}
The femal Laurels were obscur'd till now,And they deserv'd the Shades in which they grew:ButDaphneat your call return's her flight,Looks boldly up and dares the God of light.If weOrindato your works compare,}They uncouth, like her countrys soyle, appear,}Mean as its Pesants, as its Mountains bare:}Sapphotasts strongly of the sex, is weak and poor,}At second hand she russet Laurels wore,}Yours are your own, a rich and verdant store.}If Loves the Theme, you out-doOvid'sArt,}Loves God himself can't subtiller skill impart,}Softer than's plumes, more piercing than his Dart.}
IfPastoralbe her Song, she glads the SwainsWith Livelier notes, with spritelier smiles the plains.More gayly than the Springs she decks the BowrsAnd breaths a secondMayto Fields and Flowrs.If e're the golden Age again returnAnd flash in shining Beames from's Iron Urn,That Age not as it was before shall be,But as th' Idea is refin'd by thee.That seems the common; thines the Elixir, Gold,So pure is thine, and so allay'd the old.
Happy, ye Bards, by fairAstreaprais'd,If you'r alive, to brighter life you're rais'd;For cherisht by her Beams you'll loftyer grow,You must your former learned selves out-do,Thô you'd the parts ofThirsisand ofStrephontoo.Hail, mighty Prophetess! by whom we seeOmnipotence almost in Poetry:Your flame can give to GravesPrometheanfire,AndGreenhill'sclay with living paint inspire;For like some Mystick wand with awful EyesYou wave your Pen, and lo the dead Arise.
Kendrick.
I Have receiv'd your melancholy Epistle, with the Account of your Voyage to theIsland of Love; of your Adventures there, and the Relation of the death of yourAminta: At which you shall forgive me if I tell you I am neither surpris'd nor griev'd, but hope to see you the next Campagne, as absolutely reduc'd to reason as myself. When Love, that has so long deprived you of Glory, shall give you no more Sighs but at the short remembrances of past Pleasures; and that after you have heard my Account of the Voyage I made to the same place, with my more lucky one back again, (for I, since I saw you, have been an Adventurer) you will by my Example become of my Opinion, (notwithstanding your dismal Tales of Death and the eternal Shades,) which is, that if there be nothing that will lay me in my Tomb till Love brings me thither, I shall live to Eternity.
I must confess 'tis a great Inducement to Love, and a happy Advance to an Amour, to be handsom, finely shap'd, and to have a great deal of Wit; these are Charms that subdue the Hearts of all the Fair: And one sees but very few Ladies, that can resist these good Qualities, especially in an Age so gallant as ours, yet all this is nothing if Fortune do not smile: And I have seen a Man handsom, well shap'd, and of a great deal of Wit, with the advantage of a thousand happy Adventures, yet finds himself in the end, fitter for an Hospital than the Elevation of Fortune: And the Women are not contented we should give them as much Love as they give us, (which is butreasonable,) but they would compel us all to Present and Treat 'em lavishly, till a Man hath consumed both Estate and Body in their Service. How many do we see, that are wretched Examples of this Truth, and who have nothing of all they enjoyed remaining with 'em, but a poorIdæaof past Pleasures, when rather the Injury the Jilt has done 'em, ought to be eternally present with 'em. Heaven keep me from being a Woman's Property. There are Cullies enough besides you or I,Lysander.
One would think now, That I, who can talk thus Learnedly and Gravely, had never been any of the number of those wretched, whining, sighing, dying Fops, I speak of, never been jilted and cozen'd of both my Heart and Reason; but let me tell those that think so, they are mistaken, and that all this Wisdom and Discretion, I now seem replenish'd with, I have as dearly bought as any keeping Fool of 'em all. I was Li'd and flattered into Wit, jilted and cozen'd into Prudence, and, by ten thousand broken Vows and perjured Oaths, reduced to Sense again; and can laugh at all my past Follies now.
After I have told you this, you may guess at a great part of my Story; which, in short, is this: I would needs make a Voyage, as you did, to this fortunate Isle, and accompanyed with abundance of young Heirs, Cadets, Coxcombs, Wits, Blockheads, and Politicians, with a whole Cargo of Cullies all, nameless and numberless we Landed on the Inchanted Ground; the first I saw, and lik'd, was charmingSilvia; you believe I thought her fair as Angels; young, as the Spring, and sweet as all the Flowers the blooming Fields produce; that when she blush'd, the Ruddy Morning open'd, the Rose-buds blew, and all the Pinks and Dazies spread; that when she sigh'd or breath'd,Arabia'sSpices, driven by gentle Winds, perfum'd all around; that when she look'd on me, all Heaven was open'd in her Azure Eyes, from whence Love shot a thousand pointed Darts, and wounded me allover; that when she spoke, the Musick of the Spheres, all that was ravishing in Harmony, blest the Adoring Listener; that when she walk'd,Venusin the Mirtle Grove when she advanced to meet her lov'dAdonis, assuming all the Grace young Loves cou'd give, had not so much of Majesty asSilvia: In fine, she did deserve, and I compared her to all the Fopperies, the Suns, the Stars, the Coral, and the Pearl, the Roses and Lillies, Angels Spheres, and Goddesses, fond Lovers dress their Idols in. For she was all, fancy and fine imagination could adorn her with, at least, the gazing Puppy thought so. 'Twas such I saw and lov'd; but knowing I did Adore, I made my humble Court, and she, by all my trembling, sighings, pantings, the going and returning of my Blood, found all my Weakness and her own Power; and using all the Arts of her Sex, both to ingage and secure me, play'd all the Woman over: She wou'd be scornful and kind by turns, as she saw convenient, This to check my Presumption and too easy hope; That to preserve me from the brink of despair. Thus was I tost in the Blanket of Love, sometimes up, and sometimes down, as her Wit and Humour was in or out of tune, all which I watch'd, and waited like a Dog, that still the oftner kick'd wou'd fawn the more.
Oh, 'tis an excellent Art this managing of a Coxcomb, the Serpent first taught it our GrandamEve: andAdamwas the first kind Cully: E're since they have kept their Empire over Men, and we have, e're since, been Slaves. But I, the most submissive of the whole Creation, was long in gaining Grace; she used me as she meant to keep me, Fool enough for her Purpose. She saw me young enough to do her Service, handsom enough to do her Credit, and Fortune enough to please her Vanity and Interest: She therefore suffer'd me to Love, and Bow among the Crowd, and fill her Train. She gave me hope enough to secure me too, but gave me nothing else, tillshe saw me languish to that degree, she feared, to lose the Glory of my Services, by my death; only this Pleasure kept me alive, to see her treat all my Rivals with the greatest Rigour imaginable, and to me all sweetness, exposing their foibles; and having taken Notice of my Languishment, she suffered me Freedoms that wholly Ravish'd me, and gave me hopes I shou'd not be long a dying for all she cou'd give.
But, since I have a great deal to say of my Adventures in passing out of thisIsland of Love: I will be as brief as I can in what arrived to me on the Place; and tell you, That after Ten thousand Vows of eternal Love on both sides, I had the Joy, not only to be believ'd and lov'd, but to have her put herself into my Possession, far from all my Rivals: Where, for some time I lived with this charming Maid, in all the Raptures of Pleasure, Youth, Beauty, and Love could create. Eternally we loved, and lived together, no day nor night separated us, no Frowns interrupted our Smiles, no Clouds our Sun-shine; the Island was all perpetual Spring, still flowery and green, in Bowers, in Shades, by purling Springs and Fountains, we past our hours, unwearied and uninterrupted. I cannot express to you the happy Life I led, during this blessed Tranquility of Love, whileSilviastill was pleased and still was gay. We walked all day together in the Groves, and entertained ourselves with a thousand Stories of Love; we laught at the foolish World, who could not make their Felicity without Crowds and Noise: We pitied Kings in Courts in this Retirement, so well we liked our Solitude; till on a day, (blest be that joyful day, though then 'twas most accurst,) I say upon that day, I know not by what accident I was parted from my Charmer, and left her all alone, but in my absence, there incountred her a Woman extremely ugly, and who was however very nice and peevish, inconstant in her temper, and no one place could continue her: The finest things in the World were troublesom to her, and she wasShagreen at every thing; her Name isIndifference; she is a Person of very great Power in this Island, (though possibly you never incountred her there,) and those that follow her, depart from theIsle of Lovewithout any great pains. She broughtSilviato the Lake of Disgust, whether, in persuing her (at my return,) I found her, ready to take Boat to have past quite away, and where there are but too many to transport those Passengers, who followIndifferenceover the Lake ofDisgust. I saw this disagreeable Creature too, but she appeared too ugly for me to approach her, but forcingSilviaback, I returned again to the Palace ofTrue Pleasure, where some days after there arrived to me a Misfortune, of which, I believed I should never have seen an end. I foundSilviainviron'd round with new Lovers, still adoring and pleasing her a thousand ways, and though none of 'em were so rich, so young, or so handsom as I, she nevertheless failed not to treat 'em with all the Smiles and Caresses 'twas possible to imagin; when I complain'd of this, she would satisfy my fears with so many Vows and Imprecations, that I would believe her, and think myself unreasonable, but when she would be absent whole days, in a hundred places, she would find such probable Excuse, and lye with such a Grace, no mortal cou'd have accused her, so that all the whole Island took notice that I was a baffled Cuckold, before I could believe she would deceive me, so heartily she damn'd herself: Through all the Groves I was the pointed Coxcomb, laught at aloud, and knew not where the jest lay; but thought myself as secure in the Innocence of my deceiving fair one, as the first hour I Charmed her, and like a keeping Cully, lavish'd out my Fortune, my plenteous Fortune, to make her fine to Cuckold me. 'Sdeath! how I scorn the Follies of my Dotage; and am resolv'd to persue Love for the future, in such a manner as it shall never cost me a Sigh: This shall be my method.
A Constancy in Love I'll prise,And be to Beauty true:And doat on all the lovely Eyes,That are but fair and new.OnClorisCharms to day I'll feed,To morrowDaphnemove;For brightLucindanext I'll bleed,And still be true to Love.But Glory only and RenownMy serious hours shall charm;My Nobler Minutes those shall Crown,My looser hours, my Flame.All the Fatigues of Love I'll hate,AndPhillis'snew CharmsThat hopeless Fire shall dissipate,My Heart forCloewarms.The easie Nymph I once enjoy'dNeglected now shall pass,Possession, that has Love destroy'dShall make me pitiless.In vain she now attracts and mourns,Her moving Power is gone,Too late (when once enjoy'd,) she burns,And yeilding, is undone.My Friend, the little charming BoyConforms to my desires,And 'tis but to augment my JoyHe pains me with his Fires;All that's in happy Love I'll tast,And rifle all his store,And for one Joy, that will not last,He brings a thousand more.
A Constancy in Love I'll prise,And be to Beauty true:And doat on all the lovely Eyes,That are but fair and new.OnClorisCharms to day I'll feed,To morrowDaphnemove;For brightLucindanext I'll bleed,And still be true to Love.
But Glory only and RenownMy serious hours shall charm;My Nobler Minutes those shall Crown,My looser hours, my Flame.All the Fatigues of Love I'll hate,AndPhillis'snew CharmsThat hopeless Fire shall dissipate,My Heart forCloewarms.
The easie Nymph I once enjoy'dNeglected now shall pass,Possession, that has Love destroy'dShall make me pitiless.In vain she now attracts and mourns,Her moving Power is gone,Too late (when once enjoy'd,) she burns,And yeilding, is undone.
My Friend, the little charming BoyConforms to my desires,And 'tis but to augment my JoyHe pains me with his Fires;All that's in happy Love I'll tast,And rifle all his store,And for one Joy, that will not last,He brings a thousand more.
Perhaps, my Friend, at this Account of my Humor you may smile, but with a reasonable consideration you willcommend it, at least, though you are not so wise as to persue my Dictates. Yet I know you will be diverted with my Adventures; though there be no love in 'em that can resemble 'em to yours. Take then the History of my Heart, which I assure you, boasts itself of the Conquests it has made.
A thousand Martyrs I have made,All sacrific'd to my desire;A thousand Beauties have betray'd,That languish in resistless Fire.The untam'd Heart to hand I brought,And fixt the wild and wandring Thought.I never vow'd nor sigh'd in vainBut both, thô false, were well receiv'd.The Fair are pleas'd to give us pain,And what they wish is soon believ'd.And thô I talk'd of Wounds and Smart,Loves Pleasures only toucht my Heart.Alone the Glory and the SpoilI always Laughing bore away;The Triumphs, without Pain or Toil,Without the Hell, the Heav'n of Joy.And while I thus at random roveDespise the Fools that whine for Love.
A thousand Martyrs I have made,All sacrific'd to my desire;A thousand Beauties have betray'd,That languish in resistless Fire.The untam'd Heart to hand I brought,And fixt the wild and wandring Thought.
I never vow'd nor sigh'd in vainBut both, thô false, were well receiv'd.The Fair are pleas'd to give us pain,And what they wish is soon believ'd.And thô I talk'd of Wounds and Smart,Loves Pleasures only toucht my Heart.
Alone the Glory and the SpoilI always Laughing bore away;The Triumphs, without Pain or Toil,Without the Hell, the Heav'n of Joy.And while I thus at random roveDespise the Fools that whine for Love.
I was a great while, (like you,) before I forgot the remembrance of my first Languishments, and I almost thought (by an excess of Melancholy,) that the end of my Misfortunes were with my Life at hand: Yet still like a fond Slave, willing to drag my Fetters on, I hop'd she would find Arguments to convince me she was not false; and in that Humor, fear'd only I should not be handsomly and neatly jilted. Could she but have dissembled well, I had been still her Cully. Could she have play'd her Game with discretion, but, vain of her Conquest, she boasted it to all the World, and I alone wasthe kind keeping Blockhead, to whom 'twas unperceived, so well she swore me into belief of her Truth to me. Till one day, lying under a solitary Shade, with my sad Thoughts fixt on my declining Happiness, and almost drown'd in Tears, I saw a Woman drest in glorious Garments, all loose and flowing with the wind, scouring the Fields and Groves with such a pace, asVenus, when she heard her lov'd Youth was slain, hasted to behold her ruin. She past me, as I lay, with an unexpressible swiftness, and spoke as she run, with a loud Voice. At her first approach, I felt a strange trembling at my Heart without knowing the reason, and found at last this Woman wasFame. Yet I was not able to tell from whence proceeded my Inquietude. When her Words made me but too well understand the Cause: The fatal Subject of what she cry'd, in passing by me, were these: