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159
The LOVER Militant.
Militat omnis amans, & habet sua castra Cupido:
Attice, crede mihi; militat omnis amans.
Attice, crede mihi; militat omnis amans.
Trust me, Dear Friend, the Parallel will hold.
In Both their Camps alike succeed the Young:
Love Courts the Gay, and Vict'ry Crowns the Strong.
The Old in vain their Useless Weapons weild,
Fumblers in Bed, and Cripples in the Field.
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And None should dare to Woo, who cannot War.
With Frequent Duty, and with Watching spent,
(The Lover at the Door, the Soldier at the Tent)
On their cold Posts Both lie whole whole Nights Awake;
And often, long and toilsome Marches make.
O'er Hills, through Floods, in Cruel Frost and Snow,
They seek a Mistress, or Pursue a Foe.
No Distance tires, no Hazard can Affright;
The Danger serves but to Provoke the Fight.
In hostile Camps the Chiefs employ their Spies:
And Lovers watch their Rival Lovers Eyes.
Forts are Approach'd by Mine, or Took by Storm:
Ladies Won — Sword in Hand, or else in Form.
Your active Partisans, in Ambush laid,
Surpriz'd in Sleep their Enemies invade:
(As by Finesse the GREEKS did once Destroy
The Troops that RHESUS brought to Succour TROY.
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While the dull Husband snores, the Wife engage.
Yet sometimes Both Defeated of their Aim,
Repuls'd by Guards, Retire with Loss, and Shame.
Doubtful alike's the Fate of Arms and Love:
The Vanquish'd oft, at last, the Victors prove.
Disgrace befalls as well the Great as Small;
And Those scarce Rise, you'd swear could never Fall.
Let None then Think that Love's a Sport for Boys,
He must Drudge hard, Who gains its utmost Joys.
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