HONOUR.

FondLovethy pretty Flatteries cease,That feeble Hope you give;Unless 'twould make my happiness,In vain, dear Boy; in vain you strive,It cannot keep my tortur'd Heart alive.

II.

Tho' thou shou'dst give me all the Joys,Luxurious Monarch's do possess,WithoutAminta'tis but empty noise,Dull and insipid happiness;And you in vain invite me to a Feast,Where myAmintacannot be a Guest.

III.

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;ForLove,whilst he profanes your Deity,Be Charm'd and Pleas'd with all your necessary vanity.

IV.

But give me leave, whose Soul's inspir'd,With sacred, but desparing 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 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 myAmintablows it higher,And distance strengthens my desire;I Faint with wishing, since I wish in vain;Either be gone, fondLove,or let me dye,Hopeless desire admits no other remedy.Here 'twas the height ofCrueltyI prov'd,By absence from the sacred Maid I lov'd:And here had dy'd, but that Love found a way,Some letters fromAmintato convey,Which all the tender marks of pity gave,And hope enough to make me wish to Live.FromDuty, 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 impatent Lovers hast I flew,To the vast Blessing Love had set in view,But oh I foundAmintain a place,Where never any Lover happy was!

Here 'twas the height ofCrueltyI prov'd,By absence from the sacred Maid I lov'd:And here had dy'd, but that Love found a way,Some letters fromAmintato convey,Which all the tender marks of pity gave,And hope enough to make me wish to Live.FromDuty, 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 impatent Lovers hast I flew,To the vast Blessing Love had set in view,But oh I foundAmintain 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,Lovein the Heart, Revenge in the desire:Combates, Duels, Challenges,Is the discourse, and all the business there.Respect of Blood, nor sacred friendship tyes;Can reconcile the Civil War,Rage, Horror, Death, and wild despair,Are still Rencounter'd, and still practised 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.Amintatoo, 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'ere 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 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'dLoves-Officethan hisCourt,}Made for eternalBus'ness, not hisSport,}Lovesaw my pain, and found my rage grew high,And led me off, to lodge atJealousie.

'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.Amintatoo, 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'ere 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 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'dLoves-Officethan hisCourt,}Made for eternalBus'ness, not hisSport,}Lovesaw my pain, and found my rage grew high,And led me off, to lodge atJealousie.

A Palace that is more uneasy far,Then those of cruelty and absence are,There constant show'rs of Hail and Rains do flow,Continual Murmuring Winds around 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.}I here transported and impatient growAnd 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 uneasy way.}

II.

A thousand Serpents gnaw the Heart;A thousand Visions fill the Eyes,And 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.Restless and wild, ranging each Field and Grove;I meet the Author of my painful Love;But still surrounded with a numerous TrainOf Lovers, whomLovetaught 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 that I did not only Jealous grow,Of all I saw; but all I fancy'd too.

Restless and wild, ranging each Field and Grove;I meet the Author of my painful Love;But still surrounded with a numerous TrainOf Lovers, whomLovetaught 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 that I did not only Jealous grow,Of all I saw; but all I fancy'd too.

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 allInto 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 withAmintalaid?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.

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 Boughs?Oh happy confidents of her Amours,How vainly do I wish my Fortune blest as Yours.

III.

Oh happy Brooks, oh happy Rivulets,And Springs that in a thousand Windings move;Upon your Banks how oftAmintasits,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 reflecting pass,Glide o're the lovely Image of her Face;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.

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.

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.

II.

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 hear;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.

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 CareServes 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;MyRivalsnow are banish'd by degrees,}And with 'em all my Fears and Jealousies;}And all advanc'd, as if design'd to please.}

My differing Passions thus, did never cease,Till they had touch'd her Soul with tenderness;MyRivalsnow are banish'd by degrees,}And with 'em all my Fears and Jealousies;}And all advanc'd, as if design'd to please.}

In this vast Isle a famousCitystands,Who for its Beauty all the rest Commands,Built to delight the wondering Gazers Eyes,Of all the World the greatMetropolis.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 their vast force; as lesser Lights are hid,When the fierce God of Day his Beauties spread.The wondering World forGodsdidKingsadore,TillLOVEconfirm'd 'em Mortal by his Pow'r;And inLoves Court, do with their Vassals live,Without orHomage, orPrerogative:Which the youngGod, not only Blind must show,But as Defective in his Judgment too.

Midst this Gay Court a famous Temple stands,Old as the Universe which it commands;For mightyLovea sacred being had,}Whilst yet 'twasChaos, e're the World was made,}And nothing was compos'd without his Aid.}AgreeingAttomsby his pow'r were hurl'd,AndLoveandHarmonycompos'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.}All Nations hither bring rich offerings,And 'tis endow'd with Gifts of Love-sick Kings.Upon an Altar (whose unbounded storeHas 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 theGod!with every Beauty form'd,Of Smiling Youth, but Naked, unadorn'd.His painted Wings displaid: His Bow laid by,(For hereLoveneeds 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 thisMottostood,}Behold the Pow'r that Conquers every GOD.}The Temple Gates are open Night and Day,Love'sVotaries at all hours Devotions pay,A Priest ofHymengives attendance near,But very rarely shows his Function here,For Priest cou'd ne'r the 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.ButLove'ssoft Votaries no such injuries fear,No pamper'dLevitsare in Pension here;Here are no fatted Lambs to Sacrifice,}No Oyl, fine Flower, or Wines of mighty price,}The subtil Holy Cheats to Gormandize.}Love'ssoft 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 has 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 might 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 youngGodwe 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 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'dLove'sgreat design,I took her Burning Victim: and she mine.Thus,Lysidas, without constraint or Art,I reign'd theMonarchofAminta'sHeart;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.}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.ForLove'slastMysterywas 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 theBow'r of Bliss.That Bow'r that does eternal Pleasures yield,WherePsychefirst theGod of Lovebeheld:But oh, in entering this so blest abode,All Gay and Pleas'd as a TriumphingGod,I new unlook'd for difficulties meet,Encount'ringHonourat the sacred Gate.

Honour's a mighty Phantom! which aroundThe sacred Bower does still appear;All Day it haunts the hallow'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 ofLove.

II.

But as a God he's Worshipt here,By all the lovely, young, and fair,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.

III.

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;Unskill'd in Love; in Virtue, or in Truth,Preach'd thy false Notions first, aud so debaucht our Youth.

IV.

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, uneasy 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 all the Pow'r ofNon-sencehe 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 saw my Griefs, and to my rescue came,Where on his Bosom, thus I did complain.

This Goblin here—the lovely Maid Alarms,And snatch'd her, even from my Trembling Arms,With all the Pow'r ofNon-sencehe 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 saw my Griefs, and to my rescue came,Where on his Bosom, thus I did complain.

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, whereIs all that softness gone?Your tender Voice and Eyes did wear,When first I was undone.Oh whether are your Sighs and Kisses fled?Where are those clasping Arms,That left me oft with Pleasures dead,With their Excess of Charms?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!Lovelaughing spread his Wings and mounting flies,}As swift as Lightning through the yielding Skies,}WhereHonourbore away the Trembling Prize.}There at her Feet theLittle Charmerfalls,And to his Aid his powerful softness calls:Assailsher with his Tears, his Sighs and Crys,Th' unfailing Language of his Tongue and Eyes.Return, said he,return oh fickle Maid,Who solid Joys abandon'st for a shade;urn and behold the Slaughter of thy Eyes;See—the Heart-broken Youth all dying lyes.Why dost thou follow this Phantastick spright?This faithlessIgnis Fatuusof 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'll 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 scantedHonourcannot give,Starve not those Charms that were for pleasure made,Nor unpossest let the rich Treasure fade.When time comes on;Honourthat 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 falseHerofly,He's Honour with the Young, but with the old necessity.—Thus said theGod!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 toLysander,quickly let's be gone,I am resolv'd to Love, and be undone;I must not, cannot, Loveat cheaper rate,Loveis the word, Lysanderand my fate.Thus to my ArmsLovebrought the trembling Maid;Who on my Bosom sighing, softly, said:Take, charming Victor—what you must—subdue—'TisLove—and not Aminta gives it you,Lovethat 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 metRespectupon the way,But not as heretofore with Meen and GraceAll 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;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.YoungLovesattend and here supply all want,In secret Pleasures I'm no confident.Respecthere left me: and He scarce was gone,But I perceiv'd a Woman hasting on,Naked she came; all lovely, and her HairWas loosely flying in the wanton Air:Lovetold me 'twasOccasion, and if IThe swift pac'd Maid shou'd pass neglected by,My Love, my Hopes, and Industry were vain,For she but rarely e're returned again.I stopt her speed, and did implore her Aid,Which granted, sheAmintadid perswadeInto thePalace of true Joysto hast,And thither 'twas, we both arriv'd at last.OhLysidas, no Mortal Sense affords,No Wit, no Eloquence can furnish WordsFit for the soft Discription of theBower;SomeLove-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 theBower 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;That where Words fail, you may with thought supply,If ever any lov'd like me, or were so blest as I.

Lovelaughing spread his Wings and mounting flies,}As swift as Lightning through the yielding Skies,}WhereHonourbore away the Trembling Prize.}There at her Feet theLittle Charmerfalls,And to his Aid his powerful softness calls:Assailsher with his Tears, his Sighs and Crys,Th' unfailing Language of his Tongue and Eyes.

Return, said he,return oh fickle Maid,Who solid Joys abandon'st for a shade;urn and behold the Slaughter of thy Eyes;See—the Heart-broken Youth all dying lyes.Why dost thou follow this Phantastick spright?This faithlessIgnis Fatuusof 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'll 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 scantedHonourcannot give,Starve not those Charms that were for pleasure made,Nor unpossest let the rich Treasure fade.When time comes on;Honourthat 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 falseHerofly,He's Honour with the Young, but with the old necessity.

—Thus said theGod!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 toLysander,quickly let's be gone,I am resolv'd to Love, and be undone;I must not, cannot, Loveat cheaper rate,Loveis the word, Lysanderand my fate.

Thus to my ArmsLovebrought the trembling Maid;Who on my Bosom sighing, softly, said:Take, charming Victor—what you must—subdue—'TisLove—and not Aminta gives it you,Lovethat 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 metRespectupon the way,But not as heretofore with Meen and GraceAll 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;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.YoungLovesattend and here supply all want,In secret Pleasures I'm no confident.

Respecthere left me: and He scarce was gone,But I perceiv'd a Woman hasting on,Naked she came; all lovely, and her HairWas loosely flying in the wanton Air:Lovetold me 'twasOccasion, and if IThe swift pac'd Maid shou'd pass neglected by,My Love, my Hopes, and Industry were vain,For she but rarely e're returned again.I stopt her speed, and did implore her Aid,Which granted, sheAmintadid perswadeInto thePalace of true Joysto hast,And thither 'twas, we both arriv'd at last.OhLysidas, no Mortal Sense affords,No Wit, no Eloquence can furnish WordsFit for the soft Discription of theBower;SomeLove-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 theBower 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;That where Words fail, you may with thought supply,If ever any lov'd like me, or were so blest as I.

'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 everlastingMay.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.

Fountains, wandering Brooks soft rills,That o're the wanton Pebbles play;And all the Woods with tender murmuring fills,Inspiring Love, inciting Joy;(The sole, the solemn business of the day)Through all the Groves, the Glades and thickets run,And nothing see butLoveon all their Banks along;A thousand Flowers of different kinds,The neighbouring Meads adorn;Whose sweetness snatcht by flying Winds,O're all theBow'rof Bliss is born;Whether all things in nature strive to bring,All that is soft, all that is ravishing.

III.

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