The Land of Love :: :: University of Virginia Library

She blows the youthful Lover's Flame,
And promises a sure Repose;
Whilst with a Treason void of Shame,
His fancy'd Bliss she overthrows.
Her Language is all soft and fair;
But her hid Sense is nought 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 downright Perj'ry all.
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 most divinely fair, her Eyes are sweet,
And ev'ry Glance to please she does employ;
With such Address she does all People treat,
That none are weary of her Flattery.
She comforts still the most afflicted Hearts,
And makes the Proud vain of his fancy'd Arts.

Among the num'rous Crowd who daily came
T'admire the Princess, and to sooth 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 Hope in him was downright Impudence;
Yet he 'gainst Reason's Arguments made War,
And vainly swore his Love did merit her;
Boldly attempted, daringly address'd,
And with unblushing Confidence his Flame confess'd.

The other was a bashful Youth, who made
His Passion his Devotion, not his Trade.

No fond Opiniator, who a Price
Sets on his Titles, Equipage, or Eyes;
But one that had a thousand Charms in Store,
Yet did not understand his conqu'ring Pow'r.

The Princess with a kind Address receives
The Strangers, and to both new Courage gives.
She animates the Haughty to proceed,
And does in these smooth Words his Fancy feed.

One skill'd in all the Arts to please the Fair,
Should be above the Sense of dull Despair;
Time and Respect remove all Obstacles,
And constant Love arrives at Miracles.
Go on, young noble Warrior; then, go on;
A Town that's long besieg'd, must needs be won.

Then turning to the other, Sir, said she,
Were the bright Beauty you adore like me,
Your silent awful Passion more would move,
Than all the bold and forward Arts of Love.
A Heart the softest Composition forms,
And sooner yields by Treaties, than by Storms.
A Look, a Sigh, a Tear, is understood,
And makes more warm Disorders in the Blood;
Has more engaging tender Eloquence,
Than all the Industry of artful Sense.
So falling Drops, by their soft Force alone,
Insinuate kind Impressions on the Stone.

To me she said, and smiling as she spoke,
Lysander, you with Love have Reason took:
Continue so, and from Aminta's Heart
Expect what Love and Beauty can impart.

I knew she flatter'd; yet I could not chuse
But please my self, and credit the Abuse.
Her charming Words that Night repos'd me more
Than 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 Land repair.
In our Pursuit, Respect, dissatisfy'd,
Did the unpolitick Adventure chide.
Return, unheedy Youth, cry'd he, return;
Let my Advice approaching Danger warn;
Renounce thy Purpose, and thy Haste decline,
Or thou wilt ruin all Love's great Design.
Amaz'd I stood, unwilling to obey,
Could not return, durst not pursue my Way;
Whilst Love, who thought himself concern'd as Guide
In this Design, thus to Respect reply'd.