The art of love :: :: University of Virginia Library

The art of love

In Imitation of Ovid De Arte Amandi. With a Preface containing the Life of Ovid. By W. King

King, William (1663-1712)

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THE ART of LOVE:

In Imitation of Ovid De Arte Amandi.

I. [PART I.]

Whoever knows not what it is to Love,
Let him but read these Verses, and improve.
Swift Ships are rul'd by Art, and Oars, and Sails:
Skill guides our Chariots, Wit o'er Love prevails.

Automedon with Reins let loose could fly,
Tiphys with Argo's Ship cut Waves and Sky.
In Love Affairs I'm Charioteer of Truth,
And surest Pilot to incautious Youth.
Love's hot, unruly, eager to enjoy;
But then consider he is but a Boy.
Chiron with pleasing Harp Achilles tam'd,
And his rough Manners with soft Musick fram'd.
Tho' he'd in Council storm, in Battle rage,
He bore a secret Reverence for Age.
Chiron's Command with strict Obedience ties
The Sinewy Arm by which brave Hector dies.

That was His Task, but fiercer Love is mine:
They both are Boys, and sprung from Race Divine.
The stiff-neck'd Bull does to the Yoke submit,
And the most fiery Courser champs the Bitt:
So Love shall yield. I own I've been his Slave,
But conquer'd where my Enemy was brave:
And now he darts his Flames without a Wound,
And all his whistling Arrows die in Sound.
Nor will I raise my Fame by hidden Art,
In what I teach sound Reason shall have part:
For Nature's Passion cannot be destroy'd,
But moves in Virtue's Path when well imploy'd.

Yet still 'twill be convenient to remove
The Tyranny and Plagues of Vulgar Love.
May Infant Chastity, grave Matrons Pride,
A Parents Wish, and Blushes of a Bride,
Protect this Work, so guard it, that no Rhyme
In Syllable or Thought may vent a Crime.
The Soldier that Love's Armor would defy
Will find his greatest Courage is to fly:
When Beauty's amorous Glances Parley beat,
The only Conquest then is to retreat:
But if the Treacherous Fair pretend to yield,
'Tis present Death unless you quit the Field.

Whilst Youth and Vanity would make you range,
Think on some Beauty may prevent your Change.
But such by falling Skies are never caught,
No Happiness is found but what is sought.
The Huntsman learns where Does trip o'er the Lawn,
And where the foaming Boar secures his Brawn.
The Fowlers Low-Bell robs the Lark of Sleep,
And they who hope for Fish must search the Deep:
And he that Fuel seeks for chast Desire
Must search where Virtue may that Flame inspire.
To foreign Parts there is no need to roam;
The Blessing may be met with nearer home.

From India some, others from neighbouring France
Bring tawny Skins, and Puppets that can Dance.
The Seat of British Empire does contain
Beauties that o'er the conquer'd Globe will reign.
As fruitful Fields with Plenty bless the Sight,
And as the Milky Way adorns the Night:
So That does with those graceful Nymphs abound,
Whose Dove-like Softness is with Roses crown'd.
There tend'rest Blooms inviting Softness spread,
Whilst by their smallest Twine the Captive's led.
There Youth advanc'd in Majesty does shine,
Fit to be Mother to a Race Divine.

No Age in Matrons, no Decay appears;
By Prudence only there you guess at Years.

Sometimes you'll see these Beauties seek the Shade
By lofty Trees in Royal Gardens made;
Or at St. James's where a Noble Care
Makes all things pleasing like himself appear:
Or Kensington sweet Air and blest Retreat
Of Him, that owns a Sovereign, tho' Most Great.

Sometimes in wilder Groves by Chariots drawn
They view the noble Stag and tripping Fawn.

On Hide-Park's Circles if you chance to gaze,
The Lights revolving strike you with amaze.

To Bath and Tunbridge they sometimes retreat,
With Waters to dispel the parching Heat;
But Youth with Reason there may oft admire
That which may raise in him a nobler Fire;
Until the Fair relieves the Torment he endures,
Caus'd at that Water which all others cures.

Sometimes at Marriage Rites you may espy,
Their Charms protected by a Mother's Eye,

Where to Blest Musick they in Dances move,
With Innocence and Grace commanding Love.
But yearly when that solemn Night returns,
When grateful Incense on the Altar burns,
For closing the most glorious Day e'er seen,
That first gave light to Happy Britain's Queen;
Then is the time for Noble Youth to try
To make his choice with a judicious Eye.
Not Truth of foreign Realms, not Fables told
Of Nymphs ador'd, and Goddesses of old,
Equal those Beauties who that Circle frame;
A Subject fit for never-dying Fame:
Whose Gold, Pearl, Diamonds all around 'em thrown,
Yet still can add no Lustre to their own.

But when their Queen does to the Senate go,
And they make up the Grandeur of the Show;
Then guard your Hearts ye Makers of our Laws,
For fear the Judge be forc'd to plead his Cause;
Lest the submissive part should fall to you,
And they who Suppliants help be forc'd to sue.
Then may their yielding Hearts Compassion take,
And grant your Wishes for your Country's sake.
Ease to their Beauties Wounds may Goodness give,
And since you make all happy, let you live.

Sometimes these Beauties on New-market Plains,
Ruling their gentle Pads with Silken Reins,
Behold the Conflicts of the generous Steeds
Sprung from true Blood, and well-attested Breeds.

There Youth may justly with discerning Eye
Through riding Amazonian Habit spy
That which his swiftest Courser cannot fly.

It is no treach'rous or base piece of Art
T'approve the Side with which the Fair takes part:
For equal Passion equal Minds will strike,
Either in Commendation or Dislike.
For when two Fencers ready stand to fight,
And we're Spectators of the bloody Sight,
Our nimble Passion Love has soon design'd
The Man to whom we must and will be kind.
We think the other is not fit to win:
This is our Conqueror e'er the Fight begin.

If Danger dares approach him, how we start!
Our frighted Blood runs trembling to our Heart:
He takes the Wounds, but we endure the Smart.
And Nature by such Instances does prove,
That we fear most for that which most we love.
Therefore if Chance should make her Saddle slide,
Or any thing should slip, or be unty'd,
Oh think it not a too officious Care
With Eagerness to run and help the Fair.
We offer small things to the Powers above:
'Tis not our Merit that obtains their Love.

So when Eliza, whose propitious Days
Revolving Heav'n does seem again to raise;
Whose Ruling Genius shew'd a Master-stroke
In every thing she did, and all she spoke;
Was stepping o'er a Passage which the Rain
Had fill'd, and seem'd as stepping back again;
Young Rawleigh scorn'd to see his Queen retreat,
And threw his Velvet Cloak beneath her Feet.
The Queen approv'd the Thought, and made him Great.

Mark when the Queen her Thanks Divine would give
Midst Acclamations, that She Long may Live;

To whom kind Heaven the Blessing has bestow'd,
To let her Arms succeed for Europe's Good.
No Tyranny throughout the Triumph reigns,
Nor are the Captives drag'd with ponderous Chains:
But all declares the British Subjects Ease,
And that their War is for their Neighbours Peace.

Then whilst the Pomp of Majesty proceeds
With stately Steps, and Eight well chosen Steeds,
From every Palace Beauties may be seen,
That will acknowledge none but Her for Queen.
Then if kind Chance a lovely Maid has thrown
Next to a Youth with Graces like her own,
Much she would learn, and many Questions ask:
The Answers are the Lover's pleasing Task.

“Is that the Man who made the French to fly?
“What Place is Blenheim? Is the Danube nigh?
“Where was't that He with Sword victorious stood,
“And made their trembling Squadrons chuse the Flood?
“What is the Gold adorns this Royal State?
“Is it not hammer'd all from Vigo's Plate?
“Don't it require a most prodigious Care
“To manage Treasures in the height of War?
“Must he not be of calmest Truth possest
“Presides o'er Councils of the Royal Breast?
“E'nt a Sea-fight the dismal'st Scene of War?
“Pray, Sir, were ever you at Gibraltar?
“Has not the Emperor got some Envoy here?
“Won't Danish, Swedish, Prussian Lords appear?
“Who represents the Line of Hannover?

“Don't the States General assist 'em all?
“Wou'd we not be in Danger, shou'd they fall?
“If Savoy's Duke and Prince Eugene could meet.
“In this Solemnity, 'twould be complete.
“Think you that Barcelona could have stood
“Without the hazard of our noblest Blood?
“At Ramellies what Ensigns did you get?
“Did many Towns in Flanders then submit?
“Was it the Conqueror's Business to destroy,
“Or was he met by all of them with Joy?
“Oh could my Wish but Fame Eternal give,
“The Lawrels on those Brows should ever live!

The British Worth in nothing need despair,
When it has such Assistance from the Fair.
As Virtue merits, it expects Regard;
And Valour flies where Beauty's the Reward.

II. Part II.

In Love Affairs the Theatre has part,
That wise and most instructing Scene of Art,
Where Vice is punish'd with a just Reward,
And Virtue meets with sutable Regard;

Where mutual Love and Friendship sind Return,
But treacherous Insolence is hist with Scorn,
And Love's unlawful Wiles in Torment burn.
This without Blushes whilst a Virgin sees
Upon some brave Spectator Love may seize,
Who, till she sends it, never can have Ease.

As Things that were the best at first
By their Corruption grow the worst;
The Modern Stage takes Liberties
Unseen by our Forefathers Eyes.
As Bees from Hive, from Mole-hill Ants;
So swarm the Females and Gallants,

All crowding to the Comedy,
For to be seen, and not to see.
But tho' these Females are to blame,
Yet still they have some native Shame:
They all are silent till they're ask'd,
And ev'n their Impudence is mask'd:
For Nature would be modest still,
And there's Reluctancy in Will.

Sporting and Plays had harmless been,
And might by any one be seen,
Till Romulus began to spoil 'em,
Who kept a Palace, call'd Asylum;
Where Bastards, Pimps, and Thieves and Panders,
Were listed all to be Commanders,

But then the Rascals were so poor,
They could not change a Rogue for Whore;
And neighbouring Jades resolv'd to tarry,
Rather than with such Scrubs they'd marry,
But for to cheat them, and be Wiv'd,
They knavishly a Farce contriv'd.
No guilded Pillars there were seen,
Nor was the Cloth they trod on Green.
No Ghosts came from the Cellar crying,
Nor Angels from the Garret flying.
The House was made of Sticks and Bushes,
And all the Floor was strew'd with Rushes:
The Seats were rais'd with Turf and Sods,
Whence Heroes might be view'd and Gods.

Paris and Helen was the Play,
And how both of 'em ran away.
Romulus bad his Varlets go
Invite the Sabines to his Show.
Unto this Opera no Rate is;
They all were free to come in gratis:
And they, as Girls will seldom miss
A Merry Meeting, came to this.
There was much wishing, sighing, thinking,
Not without whispering and winking.
Their Pipes had then no shaking Touch:
Their Song and Dance were like the Dutch:
The whole Performance was by Men,
Because they had no Eunuchs then.

But whilst the Musick briskly play'd,
Romulus at his Cue display'd
The Sign for each Man to his Maid.
Huzza! they cry; then seize: Some tremble
In real fact, tho' most dissemble.
Some are attempting an Escape,
And others softly cry a Rape;
Whilst some bawl out that they had rather
Than Twenty Pound lose an old Father.
Some look extremely Pale, and others Red;
Some wish they'd ne'er been born, or now were Dead,
And others fairly wish themselves a-bed.

Some Rant, Tear, Run; whilst some sit still,
To shew they're ravish'd much against their Will.
Thus Rome began, and now at last,
After so many Ages past,
Their Rapes and Lewdness without Shame;
Their Vice and Villany's the same.

Ill be their Fate who would corrupt the Stage,
And spoil the True Corrector of the Age.

III. Part III.

Now learn those Arts which teach you to obtain
Those Beauties which you see divinely reign.

Tho' they by Nature are transcendent bright,
And would be seen ev'n thro' the Gloom of Night;
Yet they their greatest Lustre still display
In the Meridian pitch of calmest Day.
'Tis then we Purple view, and costly Gem,
And with more Admiration gaze on them.
Faults seek the Dark, they who by Moon-light woo,
May find their Fair one as inconstant too.

When Modesty supported is by Truth,
There is a Boldness that becomes your Youth.

In gentle Sounds disclose a Lover's Care,
'Tis better than your Sighing and Despair.
Birds may abhor their Groves, the Flocks the Plain,
The Hare grown bold may face the Dogs again,
When Beauty don't in Virtue's Arms rejoice,
Since Harmony in Love is Nature's Voice.
But harden'd Impudence sometimes will try
At things which Justice cannot but deny.
Then what that says is Insolence and Pride,
Is Prudence with firm Honour for its Guide.

The Ladies Counsels often are betray'd
By trusting Secrets to a servile Maid,

The whole Intrigues of whose insidious Brain
Are Base, and only terminate in Gain.
Let them take care of too diffusive Mirth,
Suspicions thence, and thence Attempts take Birth.
Had Ilium been with Gravity imploy'd,
By Sinon's Craft it had not been destroy'd.
A vulgar Air, mean Songs, and free Discourse,
With sly Insinuations, may prove worse
To tender Females than the Trojan Horse.

Take care how you from Virtue stray;
For Scandal follows the same Way,
And more than Truth it will devise.
Old Poets did delight in Lies,
Which modern ones now call Surprize.
Some say that Myrrha lov'd her Father,
That Byblis lik'd her Brother rather.
And in such Tales Old Greece did glory,
Amongst the which pray take this Story.
Crete was an Isle whose fruitful Nations
Swarm'd with an Hundred Corporations,
And there upon Mount Ida stood
A venerable spacious Wood,
Within whose Center was a Grove
Immortaliz'd by Birth of Jove:

In Vales below a Bull was fed,
Whom all the Kine obey'd as Head.
Betwixt his Horns a Tuft of Black did grow,
But all the rest of him was Driven Snow.
Our Tale to Truth does not confine us.
At the same time one Justice Minos,
That liv'd hard by, was married lately;
And that his Bride might show more stately,
When through her Pedigree he run,
Found she was Daughter to the Sun.
Her Name Pasiphae was hight,
And as her Father, she was bright.
This Lady took up an odd Fancy,
That with this Bull she fain wou'd Dance ye.

She'd mow him Grass, and cut down Boughs,
On which his Stateliness might browse.
Whilst thus she Hedges breaks and climbs,
Sure Minos must have happy Times!
She never car'd for going fine,
She'd rather trudge among the Kine.
Then at her Toilet she wou'd say,
“Methinks I look Bizarr to day.
“Sure my Glass lies, I'm not so fair:
“Oh were this Face o'ergrown with Hair!
“I never was for Top-knots born;
“My Favourites shou'd each be Horn.
“But now I'm liker to a Sow
“Than what I wish to be, a Cow.
“What wou'd I give that I cou'd Lough!

“My Bull-y cares for none of those
“That are afraid to spoil their Clothes:
“Did he but love me, he'd not fail
“To take me with my Draggle-tail.
Then Tears wou'd fall, and then she'd run,
As wou'd the Devil upon Dun.
When she some handsom Cow did spy,
She'd scan her form with jealous Eye.
Say, “How she frisks it o'er the Plain,
“Runs on, and then turns back again!
“She seems a Bear resolv'd to prance,
“Or a She-Ass that tries to dance.
“In vain she thinks her self so fine:
“She can't please Bull-y; for he's mine.

“But 'tis Revenge alone asswages
“My Envy when the Passion rages.
“Here, Rascal, quickly yoke that Cow,
“And see the shrivel'd Carrion plough.
“But second Counsel's best: she dies:
“I'll make immediate Sacrifice,
“And with the Victim feast my Eyes.
“'Tis thus my Rivals I'll remove,
“Who interpose 'twixt me and what I love.
“Io in Egypt's worship'd now,
“Since Jove transform'd her to a Cow.
“'Twas on a Bull Europa came
“To that blest Land which bears her Name.

“Who knows what Fate's ordain'd for me
“The languishing Pasiphae,
“Had I a Bull as kind as she?

When Madness rages with unusual Fire,
'Tis not in Nature's power to quench Desire;
Then Vice transforms Man's Reason into Beast,
And so the Monster's made the Poet's Jest.

IV. Part IV.

Let Youth avoid the noxious Heat of Wine:
Bacchus to Cupid bears an ill design.

The Grape, when scatter'd on the Wings of Love,
So clogs the Down, the Feathers cannot move.
The Boy, who otherwise would fleeting stray,
Reels, tumbles, lies, and is enforc'd to stay.
Then Courage rises, when the Spirit's fir'd,
And rages to possess the thing desir'd:
Care vanishes through the exalted Blood,
And Sorrow passes in the Purple Flood;
Laughter proceeds, nor can he want a Soul,
Whose Thoughts in fancy'd Heaps of Plenty roll.
Uncommon Freedom lets the Lips impart
Plain simple Truth from a dissembling Heart.

Then to some wanton Passion he must run,
Which his discreeter Hours would gladly shun;
Where he the time in thoughtless Ease may pass,
And write his Billet Doux upon the Glass;
Whilst sinking Eyes with Languishment profess
Follies his Tongue refuses to confess.
Then his Good-nature will take t'other Sup,
If she'll first kiss, that he may kiss the Cup.
Then something nice and costly he could eat,
Supposing still that she will carve the Meat.

But if a Brother or a Husband's by,
Whom the ill-natur'd World may call a Spy,
He thinks it not below him to pretend
The Open-heartedness of a true Friend;
Gives him Respect surpassing his Degree:
The Person that is meant by all is she.
'Tis thought the safest way to hide a Passion,
And therefore call'd the Friendship now in fashion.
By secret Signs and Ænigmatick Stealth
She is the Toast belongs to ev'ry Health:

And all the Lover's Business is to keep
His Thoughts from Anger, and his Eyes from Sleep.
He'll laugh ye, dance ye, sing ye, vault, look gay,
Aud ruffle all the Ladies in his Play.
But still the Gentleman's extremely fine,
There's nothing apish in him but the Wine.

Many a Mortal has been bit
By marrying in a drunken Fit.
To lay this Matter plain before ye,
Pray hearken whilst I tell my Story.

It happen'd about Break of Day
Gnossis a Girl had lost her way,
And wander'd up and down the Strand,
Whereabouts now York-Buildings stand:
And half awake she roar'd as bad
As if she'd really been mad;
Unlac'd her Bodice, and her Gown
And Petticoats hung dangling down:
Her Shoes were slipt, her Ankles bare,
And all around her flew her Yellow Hair.
Oh cruel Theseus! can you go,
And leave your little Gnossis so?
You in your Skull' did promise Carriage,
And gave me Proofs of future Marriage;

But then last Night away did creep,
And basely left me fast asleep.
Then she is falling in a Fit;
But don't grow uglier one bit.
The Flood of Tears rather supplies
The native Rheum about her Eyes.
The Bubbies then are beat again:
Women in Passion feel no Pain.
What will become of me! Oh what
Will come of me! oh tell me that!
Bacco was Drawer at the Sun,
And had his Belly like his Tun:
For Blubber Lips and Cheeks all bloated,
And frizled Pate, the Youth was noted.

He, as his Custom was, got drunk,
And then went stroling for a Punk.
Six Links and Lanthorns, 'cause 'twas dark yet,
He prest from Covent-Garden Market:
Then his next Captives were the Waits,
Who play'd lest he should break their Pates.
But as along in State he passes,
He met a Fellow driving Asses:
For there are several Folks whose Trade is
To milk 'em for consumptive Ladies.
Nothing would serve but get astride,
And the old Bell-man too must ride.
What with their houting shouting Yell,
The Scene had something in't of Hell.

And who should all this Rabble meet,
But Gnossy drabling in the Street.
The Fright destroy'd her Speech and Colour,
And all remembrance of her Skuller.
Her Conduct thrice bad her be flying:
Her Fears thrice hinder'd her from trying.
Like Bullrushes on side of Brook,
Or Aspin Leaves, her Joints all shook.
Bacco cry'd out, “I'm come, my Dear,
“I'll soon disperse all Thoughts of Fear:
“Nothing but Joys shall revel here.
Then hugging her in brawny Arm,
“Protested she should have no Harm,

“But rather would assure her He
“Rejoyc'd in Opportunity
“Of meeting such a one as she:
“And that encircled all around
“With Glass and Candles many a Pound,
“She should with Bells command the Bar,
“And call her Rooms Sun, Moon, and Star:
“That the Good Company were met,
“And should not want a Wedding Treat.
In short they marry'd, and both made ye,
He a Free Landlord, she a Kind Landlady.

The Spartan Lords their Villains would invite
To an Excess of Drink in Childrens sight.
The Parent thus their Innocence would save,
And to the Load of Wine condemn the Slave.

V. Part V.

The Season must be mark'd for nice Address:
A Grant ill-tim'd will make the Favour less.
Not the wise Gard'ner more Discretion needs
To manage tender Plants and hopeful Seeds,

To know when Rain, when Warmth must guard his Flow'rs,
Than Lovers do to watch their most auspicious Hours.
As the judicious Pilot views from far
The Influences of each rising Star,
Where Signs of future Calms or Storms appear,
When fitting to be bold, and when to fear;
So Love's Attendant by long Art descries
The Rise of growing Passion from the Eyes.
Love has its Festival as well as Fast,
Nor does its Carnival for ever last.
What was a Visit, now is to intrude;
What's civil now to morrow will be rude.

Small Signs denote great things: The happy Man
That can retrieve a Glove, or falling Fan,
With grateful Joy the Benefit receives,
Whilst with desponding Care his Rival grieves.

Whene'er it may seem proper you should write,
Let Ovid the prevailing Words endite:
By How, by Duke, by Mulgrave then be taught,
And Dryden's equal Numbers tune your Thought.
Submissive Voice and Words do best agree
To their hard Fortune who must Suppliants be.
It was by Speech like this Great Priam won
Achilles Soul, and so obtain'd his Son.

Hope is an useful Goddess in your Case,
And will encrease your Speed in Cupid's Race.
Tho' in its Promises it fails sometimes,
Yet with fresh Resolution still it climbs.
Tho' much is lost at Play, yet Hope at last
Drives on, and meets with some successful Cast.
Why then make haste; on Paper ting'd with Gold
By Quill of Dove thy Love-sick Tale unfold.
Move sprightly, knowing 'tis for Life you push:
Your Letter will not, tho' your self might blush.

'Tis no ignoble Maxim I would teach
The British Youth: To study Rules of Speech,
That governs Cities, that enacts our Laws,
Gives secret Strength to Justice in a Cause,
To that the Crowd, the Judge, the Senate yield:
'Gainst that ev'n Beauty can't maintain the Field.
Conceal your Art, and let your Words appear
Common, not vulgar; not too plain, tho' clear.
Show not your Eloquence at the first sight;
But from your Shade rise by Degrees of Light.
Dress Thoughts as if Love's Silence first was broke,
And wounded Heart with trembling Passion spoke.

Suppose that your first Letter is sent back;
Yet she may yield upon the next Attack.
If not; by Art a Diamond rough in hew
Shall brighten up all glorious to the view.
Soft Water-Drops the Marble will destroy,
And Ten Years Siege prove Conqueror of Troy.

Suppose sh' has read, but then no Answer gave:
It is sufficient she admits her Slave.
Write on; for time the Freedom may obtain
Of having mutual Love sent back again.

Perhaps she writes, but 'tis to bid you cease,
And that your Lines but discompose her Peace.
This is a Stratagem of Cupid's War:
She'd, like a Parthian, wound you from afar,
And by this Art your Constancy wou'd try:
She's nearest much when seeming thus to fly.
Pursue the fair Disdain thro' every Place
That with her Presence she vouchsafes to grace.
If to the Play she goes, be there and see
How Love rewarded makes the Comedy.

Fly to the Park, if thither she'd retire;
Perhaps some gentle Breeze may fan the Fire.
But if to Court, then follow, where you'll find
Majestick Truth with sacred Hymen join'd.

It is in vain some study to profess
Their Inclination by too nice a Dress,
As not content with Manly Cleanliness.
Mien, Shape, or Manner no addition needs:
There's something careless that all Art exceeds.
Adonis from his lonely Solitudes,
Rough Theseus landing from the Briny Floods,
Hippolytus fresh hunting from the Woods,

O'er Heroines of Race Divine prevail'd,
Where powder'd Wig and Snuff-Box might have fail'd.

No Youth that's wise will to his Figure trust,
As if so fine to be accosted first.
Distress must ask, and gratefully receive:
'Tis Heav'n and Beauty's Honour they can give.
There's some have thought that looking pale and wan,
With a Submission that is less than Man,

Might gain their End; but sunk in the Attempt,
And found, that which they merited, Contempt.

Gain but Admittance, half your Story's told:
There's nothing then remains but to be bold.
Venus and Fortune will assist your Claim,
And Cupid dart the Breast at which you aim.
No need of studied Speech, or skillful Rules:
Love has an Eloquence beyond the Schools;
Where softest Words and Accents will be found
All flowing in to form the charming Sound.

Of her you love bright Images you'll raise:
When just, they are not Flattery, but Praise.
What can be said too much of what is good,
Since an Immortal Fame is Virtue's Food.

For Nine Years space Egypt had fruitless stood,
Without the aid of Nile's prolifick Flood,
When Thrasius said, “That Blessing to regain
“The Gods require a Stranger should be slain.

“Be thou the Man (the fierce Busiris cries:)
“I'll make th'Adviser his own Sacrifice,
“Nor can he blame the Voice by which he dies.
Perillus, first and last of's Trade,
For Phallaris a Bull had made:
With Fire beneath, and Water hot,
He put the Brasier in the Pot,
And gave him, like an honest Fellow,
Precedence in his Bull to bellow.
The Tyrants both did right: No Law more just
Than he that Thinks of Ill should Feel it first.

Curst be their Arts, unstudied be their Trade,
Who Female Truth by Falshood would invade;
That can betray a Friend or Kinsman's Names,
And by that Covert hide unlawful Flames:
Whose eager Passion finds its sure Relief,
When terminating in another's Grief:
Careless hereafter what they promise now,
To the Æolian Winds commit their Vow;
Then cite th'Example of the faithless Jove,
Who laughs, they say, at Perjury in Love.

They think they have a thousand ways to please,
Ten Thousand more to rob the Mind of Ease.
For as the Earth in various Birth abounds,
Their Humour dances in fantastick Rounds;
Like Proteus, can be Lyon, River, Bear,
A Tree, or any thing that's fram'd of Air.
Thus they lay Snares, thus they set off their Bait
With all the fine Allurements of Deceit.
But they who through this Course of Mischief run
Will find that Fraud is various; Virtue one.

Achilles, a Gigantick Boy,
Was wanted at the Siege of Troy:
His Country's Danger did require him,
And all the Generals dld desire him:
For Discord, you must know, had thrown
An Apple where 'twas two to one,
But if a stir was made about it,
Two of the three must go without it:
And so it was; for Paris gave it
To Venus, who resolv'd to have it.
(The Story here would be too long;
But you may find it in the Song.)
Venus, although not over virtuous,
Yet still designing to be courteous,
Resolv'd for to procure the Varlet
A flaming and triumphant Harlot;

First stol'n by one she would not stay with,
Then married to be run away with.
Her Paris carried to his Mother,
And thence in Greece arose that Pother,
Of which old Homer, Virgil, Dante,
And Chaucer make us such a Cant.

It was a just and noble Cause,
The Breach of hospitable Laws:
Tho' done to one, yet common Grief
Made All unite to seek Relief.
But when they sought the Country round,
There's no Achilles could be found.
His Mother was afraid t'have lost him,
And therefore thus she did accost him:

“My pretty Dear, let me persuade ye
“This once for to become a Lady.
“This Petticoat and Mantua take,
“And wear this Nightrail for my sake.
“I've made your Knots all of the smallest,
“Because you're something of the tallest.
“I'd have you never go unlac'd,
“For fear of spoiling of your Wast.
“Now languish on me—scorn me now—
“Smile—Frown—Run—Laugh—I see 'twill do.
“You'd perfect all you now begin,
“Only for poking out your Chin.
Him thus instructed soon she sends
To Lycomede, and there pretends
It was a Daughter of a Friend's,
Who grown full large by Country Feeding,
Was sent to her to mend her Breeding.

Her self had now no Child, nor no Man
To trust but him, poor lonely Woman!
That might reward him well hereafter,
If he would use her as his Daughter.
In choice of Names, as Iris, Cloe,
Psyche and Phillis, she took Zoe.
Th'Old Man receiv'd her, and exprest
Much Kindness for his topping Guest;
Show'd her his Girls, said whilst she'd stay,
His Zoe should be us'd as they.
At first there much Reserv'dness past;
But when Acquaintance grew at last,
They'd jest, and ev'ry one wou'd shew
Her Works, which she could never do.
One said her Fingers were most fitting
For the most fidling Work of Knitting.

Then one her Wedding-bed would make,
And All must help her for Love's sake.
Zoe undrest in Night-gown tawdry
With clumsy Fist must work Embroidery;
Whilst others try her greasy Clunches
With stoning Currants in whole Bunches.
But there was one call'd Dedamy
Mistrusted something by the by,
And sighing, thus one Night she said,
Why, Zoe, mayn't we go to Bed?
Soon as you please, good Mistress Ded.
The fleeting Months soon roll about;
Time came when Murder all must out.

Zoe, for fear of the Old Man,
Into the Army quickly ran,
And sav'd the slitting of his Nose
By timely changing of Her Clothes.

Thus whilst we Glory's Dictates shun,
Into the Snares of Vice we run:
And he that should his Country serve,
And Beauty by his Worth deserve,
In Female Softness wanton stays,
And what he should adore, betrays.

VI. Part VI.

But now, O happy Youth, thy Prize is found,
And all thy Wishes with Success are crown'd.
Not Io Pœans, when Apollo's prais'd;
Not Trophies to victorious Grecians rais'd;

Not Acclamations of exalted Rome
To welcome Peace with their Augustus home;
Can more delight a Brave and Generous Mind,
Than it must you to see a Beauty kind.
The Bays to me with Gratitude you'll give,
Like Hesiod and like Homer make me live.
Thus Pelops on triumphant Chariot brought
Hippodamy with his Life's Danger bought.
Thus prosperous Jason, rich with Golden Fleece,
On Argos Vocal Timber sail'd to Greece.
But stay, fond Youth, the Danger is not past:
You're not arriv'd in Port, nor Anchor cast.
From you my Art may still more Bays deserve,
If what by me you gain'd, by me you shall preserve.

Nor than the Conquest is the Glory less
To fix the Throne on that which you possess.
Now, Erato, divinest, softest Muse,
Whose Name and Office both do Love infuse,
Assist my Great Design: If Venus Son,
That Vagabond, would from his Mother run,
And then with soaring Wings, and Body light,
Thro' the vast World's Extent would take his flight;
By artful Bonds let me secure his Stay,
And make his universal Power obey.
Whilst I my Art would thus improve,
And fondly thought to shackle Love,
Two Neighbours that were standing by,
Tormented both with Jealousy,
Told me it was in vain to try.

When one began his Tale, as thus:
Perhaps you've heard of Dædalus,
When Minos would have made him stay,
How through the Clouds he found his Way.
He was a Workman wise and good,
Building was what he understood.
Like to the House where we act Plays,
He made a turning winding Maze,
Fitting to harbour Acts of Sin,
And put a Whore and Bastard in.
“I've done your Work, and now my Trust is,
“Good, Sir, that you will do me Justice.
“'Tis true I hither fled for Murther;
“Let my Misfortunes go no further:

“Some End all Punishments should have.
“Birth to the Wretch my Country gave,
“Let it afford me now a Grave.
“Dismiss my Son, at least, if rather
“You'd keep the Boy, dismiss his Father,
This he might say, and more, or so;
But Minos would not let him go.
At this he was enrag'd, and cry'd,
“It is in Danger Wit is try'd:
“Minos possesses Earth and Sea;
“The Sky and Fire are left for me.
“Pardon my fond Attempt, Great Jove,
“If I approach your Seats above.

“It is Necessity that draws
“A new-invented Rule for Narure's Laws.
Thus he began: Full many a Feather
With Twine of Thred he stitch'd together:
(Abundance more than are enough
To make your Wife and mine a Muff.)
Thus he frames Wings, and nothing lacks
To fix the whole, but melted Wax:
That was the Work of the young Boy
Pleas'd at the Fancy of the Toy;
Not guessing e'er he was much older
He should have one upon each Shoulder.

To whom his Father: “Here's the Ship
“By which we must from Minos slip.
“Child, follow me just as I fly on,
“And keep your Eye fix'd on Orion:
“I'll be your Guide, and never fear,
“Conducted by a Father's Care:
“The Virgin and Bootes shun.
“Take heed lest you approach the Sun;
“His flaming Influence will be felt,
“And the diffusive Wax will melt.
“The Sea by rising Fogs discover,
“O'er that be sure you never hover.

“It would be difficult to drag
“Your wetted Pinions, should they flag.
“Between them both the Sky is fair,
“No Winds or Hurricanes are there,
“But you may fan the fleeting Air.
Thus speaking, he with Whipcord Strings
Fastens, and then extends the Wings:
And when the Youth's completely drest,
Just as the Eagle from her Nest
By gentle Flights her Eaglet tries
To dare the Sun, and mount the Skies;
The Father so his Boy prepares,
Not without Kiss and falling Tears.

In a large Plain a Rising Height
Gives some assistance to their Flight.
With a quick Spring and fluttering Noise
They in the Sky their Bodies poise.
Back on his Son the Father looks,
Praising his swift and even Strokes.
Now dreadless, with bold Art supply'd,
He does on Airy Billows ride,
And soar with an ambitious Pride.
Mortals, who by the limpid Flood
With patient Angle long have stood,
On the smooth Waters shining Face
See the amazing Creatures pass,
Look up astonish'd, whilst the Reed
Drops from the Hand whose Sense is dead.

Roll'd by the Winds impetuous Haste
They Samos now and Naxos past,
Paros, and Delos blest Abode
And Parent of the Clarian God.
Lebinthus on their Right Hand lies,
And sweet Calydne's Groves arise,
And fam'd Astypalæa's Fens
Breeds Shoals of Fish in owsy Dens;
When the unwary Boy, whose growing Years
Ne'er knew the worth of cautious Fears,
Mounts an Æthereal Hill, whence he might spy
The lofty Regions of a brighter Sky,
Far from his Father's Call and Aid
His Wings in glittering Fire display'd,

Whose ambient Heat their Plume involves,
And all their liquid Bands dissolves.
He sees his loosned Pinions drop;
On naked Arms lies all his Hope.
From the vast concave Precipice he finds
A swift Destruction sinking with the Winds.
Beneath him lies a gaping Deep,
Whose Womb is equally as steep.
Then Father! Father! he'd have cry'd:
Tempests the trembling Sounds divide,
Whilst dismal Fear contracts his Breath,
And the rough Wave completes his Death.

My Son! my Son! long might the Father cry:
There is no Track to seek him in the Sky.
By floating Wings his Body found
Is cover'd with the neighbouring Ground.
His Art, tho' not successful, has its Fame,
And the Icarian Seas preserve his Name.
If Men from Minos could escape,
And into Birds transform their Shape,
And there was nothing that could hold 'em,
Provided Feathers might be sold 'em;
The Thought from Madness surely springs
To fix a God that's born with Wings.

Quoth t'other Man, Sir, if you'll tarry,
I'll tell you a Tale of my Boy Harry
Would make a Man afraid to marry.
This Boy does oft from Paper white
In Miniature produce a Kite.
With tender Hands the Wood he bends,
On which the Body he extends:
Paste made of Flow'r with Water mix'd
Is the Cement by which 'tis fix'd:
Then Scissars from the Maid he'll borrow,
With Promise of return to morrow.
With those he Paper nicely cuts,
Which on the sides for Wings he puts.
The Tail, that's an essential part,
He manages with equal Art;
With Paper Shreds at distance ty'd,
As not too near, nor yet too wide,

Which he to fitting Length extends,
Till with a Tuft the Fabrick ends.
Next Packthred of the evenest Twine,
Or sometimes Silk he'll to it join,
Which by the Guidance of his Hand
Its Rise or Downfal may command;
Or carry Messengers to see
If all above in order be.
Then wanton Zephyrs fan it till it rise,
And through Æthereal Rills ploughs up the Azure Skies.
Sometimes in silent Shade of Night
He'll make it shine with wondrous Light
By Lanthorn with transparent Folds,
Which flaming Wax in Safety holds.
This glittering with mysterious Rays
Does all the Neighbourhood amaze.

Then comes the Conjurer o'the Place,
With Legs asquint and crooked Face,
Who with his Spying Pole from far
Pronounces it a Blazing Star:
That Wheat shall fall, and Oats be dear,
And Barley shall not spring that Year:
That Murrain shall infect all Kine,
And Measles will destroy the Swine:
That Fair Maids Sweethearts shall fall dead
Before they lose their Maidenhead;
And Widows shall be forc'd to tarry
A Month at least before they marry.
But whilst the Fool his Thought enjoys,
The whole Contrivance was my Boy's.
Now, mark me, 'twas from such like things
The Poets fram'd out Cupid's Wings.

If a Child's Nature thus can soar,
And all this lies within his Pow'r,
His Mother surely can do more.
Pray tell me what is to be done,
If she'll with Cuckold-makers run.
No watchful Care of jealous Eye
Can hinder, if Escape she'll try:
The Kite will to her Carrion fly.

Where native Modesty the Mind secures
The Husband has no need of Locks and Doors;
The specious Comet fram'd by Jealousy
Will prove Delusion all, and all a Lie.

VII. Part VII.

Not all the Herbs by sage Medea found,
Not Marsan Drugs, tho' mixt with Magick Sound,
Not Philtres study'd by Thessalian Art,
Can fix the Mind, and Constancy impart.

Could these prevail, Jason had felt their Charms;
Ulysses still had dy'd in Circe's Arms.
Continue lovely, if you'll be belov'd:
Virtue from Virtue's Bands is ne'er remov'd.
Like Nireus beautiful, like Hylas gay;
By Time the blooming Outside will decay.
See Hyacinth again of Form bereft,
And only Thorns upon the Rose-tree left.
Then lay up Stores of Learning and of Wit,
Whose Fame shall scorn the Acherontick Pit,

And whilst those fleeting Shadows vainly fly,
Adorn the better part which cannot die.
Ulysses had no Magick in his Face;
But then his Eloquence had charming Grace,
Such as could force it self to be believ'd,
And all the watry Goddesses deceiv'd:
To whom Calypso from her widow'd Shore
Sends him these Sighs which furious Tempests bore.
“Your Passage often I by Art delay'd,
“Oblig'd you more the more to be betray'd.
“Here you have often on this rolling Sand
“Describ'd your Scene of War with slender Wand.

“Here's Troy, and this Circumference its Walls:
“Here Simois gently in the Ocean falls:
“Here lies my Camp: These are the spacious Fields
“Where to this Sword the crafty Dolon yields.
“This of Sithonian Rhesus is the Tent.
“On with the pleasing Tale your Language went,
“When a Tenth Wave did with one Flash destroy
“The Platform of Imaginary Troy.
“By Fear like this I would enforce your Stay,
“To see what Names the Waters toss'd away.
“I took you cast up helpless by the Sea:
“Thousands of happy Hours you pass'd with me;
“No mention made of Old Penelope.

“On Adamant our Wrongs we all engrave,
“But write our Benefits upon the Wave.
“Why then be gone, the Seas uncertain trust;
“As I found you, so may you find them just.
“Dying Calypso must be left behind,
“And all your Vows be wasted with the Wind!
Fond are the Hopes he should be constant now,
Who to his tend'rest part had broke his Vow.
By artful Charms the Mistress strives in vain
The loose inconstant Wanderer to gain.
Shame is her Entrance, and her End is Pain.

VIII. Part VIII.

Indulgence soon takes with a Noble Mind:
Who can be harsh that sees another kind?

Most times the greatest Art is to comply
In granting that which Justice might deny.
We form our tender Plants by soft Degrees,
And from a warping Stem raise stately Trees.
To cut th'opposing Waves we strive in vain;
But if we rise with 'em, and fall again,
The wish'd-for Land with Ease we may attain.
Such Complaisance will a rough Humour bend,
And yielding to one Failure save a Friend.
Mildness and Temper have a Force Divine
To make ev'n Passion with their Nature join.

The Hawk we hate, as living still in Arms,
And Wolves assiduous in the Shepherds Harms.
The sociable Swallow has no Fears:
Upon our Tow'rs the Dove her Nest prepares,
And both of them live free from Human Snares.
Far from loud Rage and ecchoing Noise of Fights
The softest Love in gentle Sound delights.
Smooth Mirth, bright Smiles, calm Peace, and flowing Joy,
Are the Companions of the Paphian Boy:
Such as when Hymen first his Mantle spred
All o'er the sacred Down which made the Bridal Bed.

These Blandishments keep Love upon the Wing,
His Presence fresh, and always in the Spring.
This makes a Prospect endless to the view,
With Light that rises still, and still is new.
At your approach find ev'ry thing serene,
Like Paphos honour'd by the Cyprian Queen,
Who brings along her Daughter Harmony,
With Muses sprang from Jove and Graces Three.
Birds shot by you, Fish by your Angle caught,
The Golden Apples from Hesperia brought,
The blushing Peach, the fragrant Nectareens,
Laid in fresh Beds of Flowers and scented Greens,
Fair Lillies strow'd with bloody Mulberries,
Or Grapes whose Juice made Bacchus reach the Skies,

May oftentimes a grateful Present make,
Not for the Value, but the Giver's sake.
Perhaps she may at vacant Hours peruse
The happy Product of your easy Muse.
Far from Intrigue and Scandal be your Verse;
But Praise of Virgin Modesty rehearse:
Mausolus by his Consort Deify'd:
How for Admetus blest Alcestis dy'd.
Since Overbury's Wife no Poets seem
T'have chose a wiser or a nobler Theme.

You'd help a Neighbour, would a Friend prefer,
Pardon a Servant, let all come from her.
Thus what you grant if she must recommend,
'Twill make a mutual Gift and double Friend.
So when pale Want is craving at the Door,
We send our Favourite Son to help the Poor;
Pleas'd with their grateful Pray'rs that he may live,
And find what heavenly Pleasure 'tis to Give.
Praise all her Actions, think her Dress is fine;
Embroideries with Gold, Pearl, Diamonds joyn:
Your Wealth does best, when plac'd on Beauty, shine.
If she in Tabby Waves encircled be,
Think Amphitrite rises from the Sea.

If by her the Purpureal Velvet's worn,
Think that she rises like the Blush of Morn;
And when her Silks afar from Indus come,
Wrought in Chinese, or in the Persian Loom,
Think that she then like Pallas is array'd,
By whose mysterious Art the Wheel was made.
Each Day admire her different graceful Air,
In which she winds her bright and flowing Hair.
With her when Dancing let your Genius fly,
When in her Song the Note expires, then die.
If in the Autumn when the wasting Year
Its Plenty shows, that soon must disappear;
When swelling Grape and Peach with lovely hue,
And Pear and Apple, fresh with fragrant Dew,

By tempting Look and Taste perhaps invite
That which we seldom rule, our Appetite;
When noxious Heat, and sudden Cold divides
The Time o'er which bale Influence presides;
Her feverish Blood should Pulse unusual find,
Or vapr'ous Damps of Spleen should sink her Mind;
Then is the Time to shew a Lover's Cares:
Sometimes enlarge her Hopes, contract her Fears.
Give the salubrious Draughts with your own Hand:
Persuasion has the force of a Command.

Watch and attend; then your Reward will prove,
When she recovers, full Increase of Love.

Far from this Love is haughty Pride,
Which antient Fables best deride:
Women imperious, void of Shame,
And careless of their Lovers Fame,
Who of tyrannick Follies boast,
Tormenting him that loves them most.

When Hercules by Labours done
Had prov'd himself to be Jove's Son;
By Peace which he to Earth had given,
Deserv'd to have his Rest in Heaven;
Envy, that strives to be unjust,
Resolv'd to mortify him first;

And that he should enamour'd be
On a proud Jilt call'd Omphale,
Who should his Heroship expose
By spinning Hemp in Womens Clothes.
Her Mind she did vouchsafe one day
Thus to her Lover to display:
“Come quickly, Sir, off with this Skin:
“Think you I'll let a Tanner in?
“If you of Lions talk, or Boars,
“You certainly turn out of Doors.
“Your Club's abundantly too thick
“For one shall move a Fiddle-stick.
“What should you do with all those Arrows?
“I will have nothing kill'd but Sparrows.
“Heccy, this Day you may remember;
“For you shall see a Lady's Chamber.

“Let me be rightly understood:
“What I intend is for your Good.
“In Bodice I design to lace ye,
“And so among my Maids I'll place ye.
“When you're genteeler grown, and thinner,
“May be I'll call you up to Dinner,
“With Arms so brawny, Fists so red
“You'll scrub the Rooms, or make the Bed.
“You can't stick Pins, or frizze my Hair.
“Bless me! you've nothing of an Air.
“You'll ne'er come up to working Point:
“Your Fingers all seem out of joynt.
“Then besides, Heccy, I must tell ye
“An idle Hand has empty Belly:
“Therefore this Morning I'll begin,
“Try how your Clumsiness will spin.

“You are my Shadow, do you see:
“Your Hope, your Thought, your Wish shall be
“Invented and control'd by me.
“Look up whene'er I laugh; look down
“With trembling Horror, if I frown.
“Say as I say: Servants can't lie.
“Your Truth is my Propriety.
“Nay, you should be to Torture brought,
“Were I but jealous you transgrest in Thought;
“Or if from Jove your single Wish should crave
“The Fate of not continuing still my Slave.
“There is no Lover that is wise
“Pretends to win at Cards or Dice.

“'Tis for his Mistress all is thrown:
“Th'ill Fortune his, the good her own.
“Melanion whilom lovely Youth,
“Fam'd for his Valour and his Truth,
“Whom ev'ry Beauty did adorn
“Fresh as Aurora's blushing Morn,
“Into the horrid Woods is run,
“Where he ne'er sees the Ray of Sun,
“Nor to his Palace dares return,
“Where he for Psyche's Love did burn,
“And found Correction at her Hands
“For disobeying just Commands;

“But must his silent Penance do
“For once not buckling of her Shoe:
“A good Example, Child, for you.
“Which shews you when we have our Fool
“We've Policy enough to rule.
“I might have made you such a Fellow,
“As should have carry'd my Umbrello,
“Or bore a Flambeau by my Chair,
“And bad the Mob not come too near;
“Or lay the Cloth, or wait at Table;
“Nay been a Helper in the Stable.
“To my Commands Obedience pay
“At Dead of Night, or Break of Day.

100

“Speed is your Province; if 'tis I
“That bid you run, you ought to fly.
“He that Love's nimble Passion feels
“Will soon outstrip my Chariot Wheels.
“Thro' Dog-star's Heat he'll tripping go,
“Nor leaves he Print upon the Snow.
“The Wind it self to him is slow.
“He that in Cupid's Wars would fight,
“Grief, Winter, dirty Roads, and Night,
“A Bed of Earth midst Showers of Rain,
“After no Supper; are his Gain.

101

“Bright Phœbus took Admetus Pay,
“And in a little Cottage lay:
“All this he did for fear of Jove;
“And who would not do more for Love?
“If Entrance is by Locks deny'd,
“Then thro' the Roof or Window slide,
“Leander each Night swam the Seas,
“That he might thereby Hero please.
“Perhaps I may be pleas'd to see
“Your Life in danger, when for me.
“You'll find my Servants in a Row;
“Remember then you make your Bow;
“For they are your Superiors now.

102

“No matter if you do engage
“My Porter, Woman, favourite Page,
“My Dog, my Parrot, Monkey, Black,
“Or any thing that does partake
“Of that Admittance which you lack.
“But after all you mayn't prevail,
“And your most glittering Hopes may fail.
“For Ceres does not always yield
“The Crop entrusted to the Field.
“Fair Gales may bring you to a Coast
“Where you'll by hidden Rocks be lost.
“Love is tenacious of its Joys,
“Gives small Reward for great Imploys;

103

“But has as many Griefs in store
“As Shells by Neptune cast on Shore.
“As Athos Hares, as Hybla Bees,
“Olives on the Palladian Trees.
“And when his angry Arrows fall
“They're not found ting'd with common Gall.
“You're told I'm not at home 'tis true;
“I may be there, but not for you;
“And I may let you see it too.
“Perhaps I bad you come at Night:
“If the Door's shut, stay till 'tis light.
“Perhaps my Maid shall bid you go:
“A thing she knows you dare not do.

104

“Your Rival shall Admission gain,
“And laugh to see his Foe in pain.
“All this and more you must endure,
“If you from me expect a Cure.
“'Tis fitting I should search the Wound,
“Lest all your Danger be not found.

When easy Fondness meets with Woman's Pride,
Nothing which that can ask must be deny'd.
He that enjoy'd the Names of Great and Brave
Is pleas'd to seem a Female and a Slave.
The Hero number'd with the Gods before
Is so debas'd as to be Man no more.

105

IX. Part IX.

Not by the Sail with which you put to Sea
Can you where Thetis swells conducted be,
To the same Port you'll different Passage find,
And fill your Sheets ev'n with contrarious Wind.

106

You nurst the Fawn, now grown Stag wondrous big,
And sleep beneath the Shade you knew a Twig.
The bubbling Spring, increas'd by Floods and Rain,
Rolls with impetuous Stream, and foams the Main:
So Love augments in just Degrees; at length
By nutrimental Fires it gains its Strength.
Daily till Midnight let kind Looks or Song,
Or Tales of Love, the pleasing Hours prolong.
No Weariness upon their Bliss attends
Whom Marriage Vows have render'd more than Friends.
So Philomels of equal Mates possest,
With a Congenial Heat, and downy Rest,
And Care incessant, hover o'er their Nest.

107

Hence from their Eggs (small Worlds whence all things spring)
Produce a Race by Nature taught to sing;
Who ne'er to this harmonious Air had come,
Had their Parental Love stray'd far from home.
By a short Absence mutual Joys increase.
'Tis from the Toils of War we value Peace.
When Jove a while the fruitful Show'r restrains,
The Field on his return a brighter Verdure gains.
So let not Grief too much disturb those Hearts,
Which for a while the War or Business parts.
'Twas hard to let Protesilaus go,
Who did his Death by Oracles foreknow.

108

Ulysses made indeed a tedious Stay,
His twenty Winters Absence was Delay;
But Happiness revives with his Return,
And Hymen's Altars with fresh Incense burn:
Tales of His Ship, Her Web, they both recount;
Pleas'd that their Wedlock Faith all Dangers could surmount.

Make thou speed back; haste to her longing Arms:
She may have real, or impending Harms.
There are no Minutes in a Lover's Fears:
They measure all their time by Months and Years.

Poets are always Virtue's Friends,
'Tis what their Muse still recommends:

109

But then the fatal Track it shows
Where devious Vice through Trouble goes.

They tell us, How a Husband's Care
Neglected, leaves a Wife too Fair
In hands of a young Spark call'd Paris;
And how the beauteous Trust miscarries.
With Kindness he receives the Youth,
Whose modest Looks might promise Truth:
Then gives him Opportunity
To throw the specious Vizard by.
The Man had things to be adjusted,
With which the Wife should not be trusted;
And whilst he gave himself the Loose
Left her at home to keep the House.

110

When Helen saw his Back was turn'd,
The Devil a bit the Gipsy mourn'd.
Says she, “'Tis his Fault to be gone;
“It sha'n't be mine to lie alone.
“A vacant Pillow's such a Jest,
“That with it I could never rest.
“He ne'er consider'd his own Danger,
“To leave me with a handsom Stranger.
“Wolves would give good account of Sheep
“Left to their Vigilance to keep.
“Pray who, except 'twere Geese, or Widgeons,
“Wou'd hire a Hawk to guard their Pidgeons?
“Supposing then it might be said
“That Menelaus now were dead:

111

“A pretty Figure I should make
“To go in Mourning for his sake.
“She that in Widow's Garb appears,
“Especially when at my Years,
“May seem to be at her last Prayers.
“But I'll still have my Heart divided
“'Twixt one to lose, and one provided.
“He that is gone, is gone: less Fear
“Of wanting him that I have here.

The Sequel was the Fire of Troy
Brought to Destruction by this Boy.

112

They tell us, How a Wife provok'd,
And to a Brutish Husband yok'd,
Who by distracting Passion led
Scorns all her Charms, and flies her Bed,
When on her Rival she has seiz'd,
Seems with a secret Horror pleas'd.
They then describe her like some Boar
Plunging his Tusk in Mastiff's Gore;
Or Lioness, whose ravish'd Whelp
Roars for his Mother's furious Help;
Or Basilisk when rows'd, whose Breath,
Teeth, Sting, and Eye-balls, all are Death;
Like Franticks struck by Magick Rod
Of some despis'd avenging God:

113

Make her through Blood for Vengeance run,
Like Progne sacrifice her Son,
And like Medea dart those Fires
By which Creusa's Ghost expires.
Then let her with exalted Rage
Her Grief with the same Crimes asswage,
To heighthen and improve the Curse:
Because he's bad, they make her worse.
So Tyndaris dissolves in Tears,
When first she of Chryseis hears;
But when Lyrnessis Captive's led,
And ravish'd to defile her Bed,

114

Her Patience lessens by degrees;
But when at last she Priameis sees,
Revenge does to Ægystus fly for Ease;
In his adulterous Arms does Plots disclose,
Which fill Mycenæ with stupendous Woes,
And Parricide and Hell around her throws.

Ye Heavenly Powers the Female Truth preserve,
And let it not from Native Goodness swerve;
And let no wanton Toys become the Cause
Why Men should break Hymen's eternal Laws;
But let such Fables and such Crimes remain
Only as Fictions of the Poets Brain.
Yet Marks Set up to shun those dangerous Shelves
On which deprav'd Mankind might wreck themselves.

115

X. Part X.

At first the Stars, the Air, the Earth and Deep
Lay all confus'd in One unorder'd Heap.
Till Love Eternal did each Being strike
With Voice Divine to march and seek its Like.

116

Then Seeds of Heav'ns, then Air of vaporous Sound,
Then fertile Earth circled with Waters round;
On which the Bird, the Beast, the Fish might move,
All center'd in that universal Love.
Then Man was fram'd with Soul of Godlike Ray,
And had a nobler Share of Love than They.
To him was Woman crown'd with Virtue given,
The most immediate Work and Care of Heaven.

Whilst thus my darling Thoughts in Raptures sung,
Apollo to my sight in Vision sprung.
His Lyre with golden Strings his Touch commands,
And Wreaths of Laurel flourish in his Hands.

117

Says he, “You Bard that of Love's Precepts treat,
“Your Art at Delphos you will best complete.
“There's a short Maxim prais'd when understood,
“Useful in Practice, and divinely good,
“Let each Man know himself: Strive to excel:
“The Pleasure of the Blest is doing well.
“'Tis Wisdom to display the ruling Grace.
“Some Men are happy in a charming Face:
“Know it, but be not vain. Some Manly show
“By the exploded Gun and nervous Bow.
“There let them prove their Skill, perhaps some Heart
“May find that ev'ry Shot is Cupid's Dart.

118

“The prudent Lover, if his Talent lies
“In Eloquence, e'nt talkative, but wise;
“So mixes Words delicious to the Ear,
“That all must be persuaded who can hear.
“He that can sing, let him with pleasing Sound,
“Tho' 'tis an Air that is not mortal, Wound.
“Let not a Poet my own Art refuse:
“I'll come and bring Assistance to his Muse.

But never by ill means your Fortune push,
Nor raise your Credit by another's Blush.
The secret Rites of Ceres none profane,
Nor tell what Gods in Samo-Thracia reign.

119

'Tis Virtue by grave Silence to conceal
What Talk without Discretion would reveal.
For Fault like this now Tantalus does lie
In midst of Fruits and Water, starv'd and dry.
But Cytherea's Modesty requires
Most Care to cover all her lambent Fires.

Love has a pleasing Turn makes that seem best,
Of which our lawful Wishes are possest.
Andromeda, of Lybick Hue and Blood,
Was chain'd a Prey to Monster's of the Flood:
Wing'd Perseus saw her Beauty thro' that Cloud.

120

Andromache had large Majestick Charms;
Therefore was fittest Grace to Godlike Hector's Arms.
Beauties in smaller Airs bear like Commands,
And wondrous Magick acts by slend'rest Wands.
Some like Cybele bear a Mother's Sway,
Whilst Infant Gods and Heroines obey.
Some rule like Stars by Guidance of their Eyes,
And others please when like Minerva wife.
Love will from Heav'n, Art, Nature, Fancy raise
Something that may exalt its Consort's Praise.

121

There will be little Jealousies,
By which Love's Art its Subjects tries.
They think it languishes with Rest,
But rises like the Palm, opprest.
And as too much Prosperity
Often makes way for Luxury,
Till we by turn of Fortune taught
Have Wisdom by Experience bought:
So when the hoary Ashes grow
Around Love's Coals, 'tis time to blow:
And then its Crastiness is shown
To raise your Cares to hide its own;

122

And have you by a Rival crost,
Only in hopes you mayn't be lost.
Sometimes they say that you are faulty,
And that they know where you were naughty;
And then perhaps your Eyes they'd tear,
Or else dilacerate your Hair,
Not so much for Revenge as Fear.
But she perhaps too far may run,
And do what she wou'd have you shun,
Of which there's a Poetick Story
That, if you please I'll lay before you.

123

Old Juno made her Jove comply
For fear, not asking when or why,
Unto a certain sort of matter,
Marrying her Son unto his Daughter:
And so to bed the Couple went,
Not with their own, but Friends Consent.
This Vulcan was a Smith, they tell us,
That first invented Tongs and Bellows:
For Breath and Fingers did their Works;
(We'd Fingers long before we'd Forks.)
Which made his Hands both hard and brawny,
When wash'd, of Colour Orange-Tawny.

124

His whole Complexion was a Sallow,
Where Black had not destroy'd the Yellow.
One Foot was clump'd, which was the stronger,
T'other was spiny, tho' much longer;
So both to the Proportion come
Of the Forefinger and the Thumb.
In short the whole of him was nasty,
Ill-natur'd, vain, imperious, hasty:
Deformity alike took place
Both in his Manners and his Face.

125

Venus had perfect Shape and Size;
But then she was not over wise:
For sometimes she her Knee is Crimping
To imitate th'Old Man in Limping.
Sometimes his dirty Paws she scorns,
Whilst her fair Fingers show his Horns.
But Mars the Bully of the Place is,
The chiefest Spark in her good Graces.
At first they're shy, at last grow bolder,
And Conjugal Affection colder.
They car'd not what was said or done,
Till Impudence defy'd the Sun.
Vulcan was told of this; Quoth he,
Is there such Roguery! I'll see!

126

He then an Iron Net prepar'd,
Which he to the Bed's Tester rear'd;
Which, when a Pully gave a Snap,
Would fall, and make a Cuckold's Trap.
All those he plac'd in the Best Room,
Then feign'd that he must go from home;
For he at Lemnos Forges had,
And none but he to mind the Trade.

Love was too eager to beware
Of falling into any Snare.
They went to bed, and so were caught,
And then they of Repentance thought.
The Show being ready to begin,
Vulcan would call his Neighbours in.

127

Jove should be there that does make bold
With Juno, that notorious Scold.
Neptune first Bargeman on the Water,
Thetis the Oyster-woman's Daughter.
Pluto that Chimny-sweeping Sloven,
With Proserpine hot from her Oven;
And Mercury that's sharp and cunning
In stealing Customs and in Running;
And Dy the Midwife, tho' a Virgin;
And Æsculapius the Surgeon;
Apollo, who might be Physician,
Or serve 'em else for a Musician.
The Piper Pan to play her up,
And Bacchus with his Chirping Cup;
And Hercules should bring his Club in
To give the Rogue a lusty Drubbing;
And all the Cupids should be by
To see their Mother's Infamy.

128

One Momus cry'd, “You're hugely pleas'd;
“I hope your Mind will soon be eas'd:
“For when so publickly you find it,
“People you know will little mind it.
“They love to tell what no one knows,
“And they themselves only suppose.
“T'en't every one that can afford
“To be a Cuckold on Record;
“Nor should he be a Cuckold styl'd,
“That once or so has been beguil'd;
“Unless he makes it Demonstration,
“Then puts it in some Proclamation
“With general Voice of all the Nation.
The Company were come, when Vulcan hopping
And for his Key in Left-side Pocket groping,
Cries, 'Tis but opening of that Door
To prove my self a Cuckold, her a Whore.

129

They all desir'd his Leave that they might go;
They were not curious of so vile a Show:
Persons concern'd might one another see,
And they'd believe since Witnesses were Three.
And they, thus prov'd to be such foolish Elves,
Might Hear, Try, Judge, and e'en condemn themselves.
Discretion covers that which it would blame,
Until some secret Blush and hidden Shame
Have cur'd the Fault without the Noise of Fame.

130

The Work is done, and now let Ovid have
Some Gratitude attending on his Grave;
Th'aspiring Palm, the verdant Laurel strow,
And Sweets of Myrtle Wreaths around it throw.
In Physick's Art as Podalirius skill'd,
Nestor in Court, Achilles in the Field;
As Ajax had in single Combat Force,
And as Automedon best rul'd the Horse;
As Chalcas vers'd in Prophecies from Jove;
So Ovid has the Mastership of Love.
The Poet's Honour will be much the less
Than that which by his means you may possess
In choice of Beauty's lasting Happiness.

131

But when the Amazonian quits the Field,
Let this be wrote on the triumphant Shield,
That she by Ovid's Art was brought to yield.

When Ovid's Thoughts in British Style you see,
Which mayn't so sounding as the Roman be;
Yet then Admittance grant: 'Tis Fame to me.

132

XI. Part XI.

I who the Art of War to Danaans gave,
Will make Penthesilea's Force as Brave:
That both becoming glorious to the Sight,
With equal Arms may hold a dubious Fight.

133

What tho' 'twas Vulcan fram'd Achilles Shield?
My Amazonian Darts shall make him yield.
A Myrtle Crown with Victory attends
Those who are Cupid's and Dione's Friends.
When Beauty has so many Arms in store,
(Some Men will say) why should you give it more?
Tell me who, when Penelope appears
With Constancy maintain'd for twenty Years;
Who can the Fair Laodamia see
In her Lord's Arms expire as well as he;

134

Can view Alcestis, who with Joy removes
From Earth, instead of him she so much loves;
Can hear of bright Evadne, who in Fires
For her lov'd Capaneus prepar'd, expires;
When Virtue has it self a Female Name,
So Truth, so Goodness, Piety, and Fame;
Would headstrong fight, and would not conquer'd be,
Or stoop to so much Generosity?
'Tis not with Sword, or Fire, or Strength of Bow
That Female Warriors to their Battle go:
They have no Stratagem, or subtile Wile;
Their Native Innocence can ne'er beguile:

135

The Fox's various Maze, Bear's cruel Den
They leave to Fierceness and the Craft of Men.
'Twas Jason that transfer'd his broken Vows
From kind Medea to another Spouse:
Theseus left Gnossis on the Sands to be
Prey to the Birds, or Monsters of the Sea:
Demophoon Nine times recall'd, forbore
Return, and let his Phillis name the Shore.
Æneas wrackt, and hospitably us'd,
Fam'd for his Piety, yet still refus'd
To stay where lov'd, but left the dangerous Sword
By which she dy'd to whom he broke his Word.
Piteous Examples! worthy better Fate,
If my Instructions had not come too late:

136

For then their Art and Prudence had retain'd
What first victorious Rays of Beauty gain'd.
Whilst thus I thought, not without Grief to find
Defenceless Virtue meet with Fate unkind,
Bright Cytherea's sacred Voice did reach
My tingling Ears, and thus she bad me teach:
“What had the harmless Maid deserv'd from thee?
“Thou hast given Weapons to her Enemy;
“Whilst in the Field she must defenceless stand
“With want of Skill, and more unable Hand.
“Stesichorus, who would no Subject find
“But Harm to Maids, was by the Gods struck blind.
“But when his Song did with their Glories rise,
“He had his own restor'd, to praise their Eyes.

137

“Be rul'd by me, and Arms defensive give;
“'Tis by the Ladies Favours you must live.
She then one Mystick Leaf with Berries four
(Pluckt from her Myrtle Crown) bad me with speed devour.
I find the Pow'r inspir'd, through purer Sky
My Breath dissolves in Verse to make young Lovers die.
Here Modesty and Innocence shall learn
How they may Truth from flattering Speech discern
But come with speed: Lose not the flying Day.
See how the crowding Waves roll down away,
And neither, tho' at Love's Command, will stay.

138

These Waves and Time we never can recal,
But as the Minutes pass must lose 'em all.
Nor like what's past are Days succeeding good,
But slide with Warmth decay'd and thicker Blood.
Flora, altho' a Goddess, yet does fear
The Change that grows with the declining Year;
Whilst glistering Snakes, by casting off their Skin,
Fresh Courage gain, and Life renew'd begin.
The Eagles cast their Bills, the Stag its Horn;
But Beauty to that Blessing is not born.

139

Thus Nature prompts its use to forward Love,
Grac'd by Examples of the Powers above.
Endymion pierc'd the Chast Diana's Heart,
And cool Aurora felt Love's fiery Dart.

140

XII. Part XII.

A person of some Quality
Happen'd, they say, in Love to be
With one who held him by delay,
Would neither say him No nor Ay,
Nor would she have him go his way.
This Lady thought it best to send
For some experienc'd Trusty Friend,

141

To whom she might her Mind impart
T'unchain her own, and bind his Heart.
A Tyre-woman by Occupation,
A useful and a choice Vocation.
She Saw all, Heard all, never idle;
Her Fingers, or her Tongue would fiddle;
Diverting with a kind of Wit,
Aiming at all would sometimes hit;
Tho' in her sort of rambling way
She many a serious Truth would say.
Thus in much Talk among the rest
The Oracle it self exprest.

“I've heard some cry, Well I profess
“There's nothing to be gain'd by Dress.
“They might as well say that a Field
“Uncultivated, yet would yield

142

“As good a Crop as that which Skill
“With utmost Diligence should Till.
“Our Vintage would be very fine,
“If no body should prune their Vine!
“Good Shape and Air it is confest
“Is given to such as Heaven has blest;
“But all Folks have not the same Graces,
“There is distinction in our Faces.
“There was a time I'd not repine
“For any thing amiss in mine,
“Which, tho' I say it, still seems fair;
“Thanks to my Art as well as Care.
“Our Grandmothers, they tell us, wore
“Their Fardingale and their Bandore,
“Their Pinners, Forehead-cloth, and Ruff,
“Content with their own Cloth and Stuff;

143

“With Hats upon their Pates like Hives,
“Things might become such Soldiers Wives;
“Thought their own Faces still would last 'em
“In the same Mould which Nature cast 'em.
“Dark Paper Buildings then stood thick;
“No Palaces of Stone or Brick:
“And then, alas! were no Exchanges:
“But see how Time and Fashion changes!
“I hate Old Things and Age. I see,
“Thank Heav'n, Times good enough for me.

144

“Your Goldsmiths now are mighty neat:
“I love the Air of Lombard-street.
“What e'er a Ship from India brings,
“Pearls, Diamonds, Silks, are pretty things.
“The Cabinet, the Screen, the Fan
“Please me extremely, if Japan:
“And all affects me still the more,
“They had none of them heretofore.
“When you're unmarry'd, never load ye
“With Jewels, they may incommode ye.
“Lovers mayn't dare approach; but mostly
“They'll fear when marry'd you'll be costly.
“Fine Rings and Lockets best are try'd
“When given to you as a Bride.

145

“In the mean time you shew your Sense
“By going fine at small Expence.
“Sometimes your Hair you upwards furl,
“Sometimes lay down in Favourite Curl.
“All must through twenty Fidlings pass,
“Which none can teach you but your Glass.
“Sometimes they must dishevel'd lie
“On Neck of polish'd Ivory.
“Sometimes with Strings of Pearl they're fix'd,
“And the united Beauty mix'd;

146

“Or when you won't their Grace unfold,
“Secure them with a Bar of Gold,
“Humour and Fashions change each Day;
“Not Birds in Forrests, Flow'rs in May
“Would sooner number'd be than they.
“There is a sort of Negligence,
“Which some esteem as Excellence.
“Your Art with so much Art to hide,
“That nothing of it be descry'd;
“To make your careless Tresses flow
“With so much Air, that none should know
“Whether they had been comb'd or no.

147

“But in this so neglected Hair
“Many a Heart has found its Snare.
“Nature indeed has kindly sent
“Us many things; more we invent:
“Little enough, as I may say,
“To keep our Beauty from Decay.
“As Leaves that with fierce Winds engage,
“Our curling Tresses fall with Age.
“But then by German Herbs we find
“Colour, for Locks to Grey inclin'd.
“Sometimes we purchase Hair; and why?
“Is not all that our own we buy?

148

“You buy it publickly, say they:
“Why tell us that, when we don't pay.
“Of French Pommades the Town is full:
“Praise Heav'n, no want of Spanish Wool.
“Let them look flusht, let them look dead,
“That can't afford the White and Red.
“In Covent Garden you buy Posies,
“There we our Lillies and our Roses.
“Who would a charming Eyebrow lack,
“Who can get any thing that's Black.
“Let not these Boxes open lie:
“Some Folks are too much given to pry.

149

“Art not dissembl'd would disgrace
“The purchas'd Beauties of our Face:
“This if such Persons should discover,
“'Twould rather lose than gain a Lover.
“Who is there now but understands
“Searcloths to flea the Face or Hands.
“Tho' the Idea's not so taking,
“And the Skin seems but odd in making,
“Yet when 'twill with fresh Lustre shine,
“Her Spark will tell you 'tis Divine.

150

“That Picture there your Eye does strike:
“It is the Work of Great Vandike,
“Which by a Roman would be sainted:
“What was't but Canvas till 'twas painted?
“There's several things should not be known:
“O'er these there is a Curtain drawn,
“'Till 'tis their Season to be shown.
“Your Door on fit Occasions keep
“Fast shut: Who knows but you're asleep?

151

“When our Teeth, Colour, Hair, and Eyes,
“And what else at the Toilet lies,
“Are all put on, we're said to rise.
“There was a Lady whom I knew,
“That must be nameless 'cause 'tis true,
“Who had the dismallest Mischance
“I've heard of since I was in France.
“I do protest the Thoughts of it
“Have almost put me in a Fit.
“Old Lady Meanwell's Chamber Door,
“Just on the Stairs of the first Floor,
“Stood open: And pray who should come,
“But Know all flouncing in the Room?

152

“No single Hair upon her Head:
“I thought she would have fell down Dead.
“At last she found a Cap of Hair,
“Which she put on with such an Air,
“That ev'ry Lock was out of place,
“And all hung dangling down her Face.
“I would not mortify one so,
“Except some Twenty that I know.
“Her Carelesness and her Defect
“Were laid to Mistress Prue's Neglect;
“And much Ill-nature was betray'd
“By Noise and Scolding with the Maid.

153

“The Young look on such things as stuff,
“Thinking their Bloom has Art enough.
“When smooth we matter it not at all;
“'Tis when the Thames is rough we squawl.
“But whate'er 'tis may be pretended,
“No Face or Shape but may be mended.
“All have our Faults, and must abide 'em,
“We therefore should take care to hide 'em.
“You're short; sit still, you'll taller seem:
“You're only shorter from the Stem.
“By looser Garb your Leanness is conceal'd;
“By want of Staies the grosser Shape reveal'd.

154

“The more the Blemishes upon the Feet,
“The greater Care the Lace and Shoes be neat.
“Some Backs and Sides are wav'd like Billows:
“These Holes are best made up with Pillows.
“Thick Fingers always should command
“Without the stretching out the Hand.
“Who has bad Teeth should never see
“A Play, unless a Tragedy.
“For we can teach you how to simper,
“And when 'tis proper you shou'd whimper.
“Think that your Grace and Wit is now
“Not in your laughing at a thing, but how.

155

“Let Room for something more than Breath
“Just show the Ends of Milk-white Teeth.
“There is a J'en sçay quoy is found
“In a soft smooth affected Sound:
“But there's a skreeking crying Tone,
“Which I ne'er lik'd, when all is done:
“And there are some, who laugh like Men,
“As ne'er to shut their Mouths agen;
“So very loud and Mal-propo,
“They seem like Hautboys to a Show.
“But now for the Reverse: 'Tis Skill
“To let your Tears flow when you will.
“It is of use when People dy;
“Or else to have the Spleen, and cry,
“Because you have no Reason why.

156

“Now for your Talk—Come let me see:
“Here lose your H, here drop your T;
“Despise that R: Your Speech is better
“Much for destroying of one Letter.
“Now Lisp, and have a sort of Pride
“To seem as if your Tongue were ty'd.
“This is such a becoming Fault
“Rather than want it should be taught,
“And now that you have learnt to talk,
“Pray let me see if you can walk.
“There's many Dancing-Masters treat
“Of Management of Ladies Feet.
“There's some their Mincing Gate have chose,
“Treading without their Heel or Toes.

157

“She that reads Tasso, or Malherbe
“Chuses a Step that is superbe.
“Some giddy Creatures, as if shunning
“Something dislik'd, are always running.
“Some prance like French Women who ride
“As our Life-Guard-men, all astride.
“But each of these have Decoration
“According to their Affectation,
“That Dance is grateful, and will please,
“Where all the Motions glide with Ease.
“We to the skillful Theatre
“This seeming want of Art prefer.

158

“'Tis no small Art to give direction
“How to sute Knots to each Complexion,
“How to adorn the Breast and Head
“With Blew, White, Cherry, Pink, or Red.
“As the Morn rises, so that Day
“Wear Purple, Sky-colour, or Grey:
“Your Black at Lent, your Green in May,
“Your Filamot when Leaves decay.
“All Colours in the Summer shine:
“The Nymphs should be like Gardens fine.

159

“It is the Fashion now-a-days,
“That almost every Lady plays.
“Basset and Piquet grow to be
“The Subject of our Comedy:
“But whether we Diversion seek
“In these, in Comet, or in Gleek,
“Or Ombre, where true Judgment can
“Disclose the Sentiments of Man;
“Let's have a care how we discover,
“Especially before a Lover,

160

“Some Passions which we should conceal,
“But Heats of Play too oft reveal.
“For be the matter small or great,
“There's like Abhorrence for a Cheat.
“There's nothing spoils a Woman's Graces
“Like Peevishness and making Faces:
“Then angry Words and rude Discourse,
“You may be sure, become them worse.
“With Hopes of Gain, when we're beset,
“We do too commonly forget
“Such Guards as screen us from those Eyes
“Which may observe us, and despise.
“I'd burn the Cards rather than know
“Of any of my Friends did so:
“I've heard of some such things; but I,
“Thanks to my Stars, was never by.

161

“Thus we may pass our Time: The Men
“A thousand ways divert their Spleen,
“Whilst we sit peevishly within.
“Hunting, Cocking, Racing, Joaking,
“Fudling, Swimming, Fencing, Smoaking:
“And little thinking how poor We
“Must vent our Scandal o'er our Tea.
“I see no reason but We may
“Be brisk, and equally as gay.
“Whene'er our Gentlemen would range
“We'll take our Chariot for the Change:
“If they're disposing for the Play,
“We'll hasten to the Opera:

162

“Or when they'll lustily carouse,
“We'll surely to the Indian House:
“And at such Cost whilst thus we roam,
“For cheapness sake they'll stay at home.
“Few wise Mens thoughts e'er yet pursu'd
“That which their Eyes had never view'd:
“And so our never being seen
“Is the same thing as not t'have been.
“Grandeur it self, and Poverty,
“Were equal if no Witness by:
“And they who always sing alone
“Can ne'er be prais'd by more than one.
“Had Danae been shut up still,
“She'd been a Maid against her Will,
“And might have grown prodigious old,
“And never had her Story told.

163

“'Tis fit fair Maids shou'd run a gadding
“To set the amourous Beaux a madding.
“To many a Sheep the Wolf has gone
“E'er it can neatly seize on one,
“And many a Partridge scapes away
“Before the Hawk can pounce its Prey:
“And so if pretty Damsels rove,
“They'll find out one perhaps may love;
“If they no Diligence will spare,
“And in their Dressing still take care.
“The Fisher baits his Hook all Night
“In hopes by chance some Eell may bite.

164

“Each with their different Grace appears,
“Virgins with Blush, Widows with Tears,
“Which gain new Husbands tender-hearted
“To think how such a Couple parted.
“But then there are some foppish Beaux
“Like us in all things but their Clothes.
“That we may seem the more robust,
“And fittest to accost them first,
“With Paint, Pulvil, false Locks, and Hair,
“They give themselves a Female Air;
“Who having all their Tale by Rote,
“And harping still on the same Note,

165

“Will tell us that, and nothing more
“Than what a Thousand heard before.
“Tho' they all Marks of Love pretend,
“There's nothing which they less intend:
“And 'midst a thousand hideous Oaths,
“With Jewels false and borrow'd Clothes,
“Our Easiness may give Belief
“To one that is an errand Thief.

The Spark was coming, she undrest
Scuttles away as if possest.
The Governess cries, “Where d'ye run?
“Why, Madam, I've but just begun.

166

She bawls, the t'other nothing hears,
But leaves her pratling to the Chairs.

Virtue, without these little Arts,
At first subdues, then keeps our Hearts:
And tho' more gracefully it shows
When it from lovely Persons flows;
Yet often Goodness most prevails
When Beauty in Perfection fails.
Tho' ev'ry Feature mayn't be well,
Yet all together may excel.
There's nothing but will easy prove,
When all the rest's made up by Love.

167

XIII. Part XIII.

Virgins should not unskill'd in Musick be;
For what's more like themselves than Harmony.
Let not Vice use it only to betray,
And Sirens by their Songs entice their Prey.

168

Let it with Sense, with Voice and Beauty join,
Grateful to Eyes and Ear, and to the Mind Divine:
For there's a double Grace when pleasing Strings
Are touch'd by Her that more delightful sings.
Thus Orpheus did the Rage of Deserts quell,
And charm'd the monstrous Instruments of Hell.
New Walls to Thebes Amphion thus began,
Whilst to the Work officious Marble ran.
Thus with his Harp and Voice Arion rode
On the mute Fish safe through the rolling Flood.

Nor are the Essays of the Female Wit
Less charming in the Verses they have writ.

169

From antient Ages Love has found the way
Its bashful Thoughts by Letters to convey;
Which sometimes run in such engaging Strain,
That Pity makes the Fair write back again.
What's thus intended some small time delay:
His Passion strengthens rather by your Stay.
Then with a cautious Wit your Pen withold,
Lest a too free Expression make him bold.
Create a Mixture 'twixt his Hope and Fear,
And in Reproof let Tenderness appear.
As he deserves it give him hopes of Life:
A cruel Mistress makes a froward Wife.

170

Affect not foreign Words: Love will impart
A gentle Style more excellent than Art.
Astrea's Lines flow on with so much ease,
That she who writes like them must surely please.
Orinda's Works, with courtly Graces stor'd,
True Sense in nice Expressions will afford:
Whilst Chudleigh's Words Seraphick Thoughts express
In lofty Grandeur, but without Excess.
Oh had not Beauty Darts enough to wound,
But it must pierce us with Poetick Sound!
Whilst Phœbus suffers Female Pow'rs to tear
Wreaths from his Daphne, which they justly wear!

If greater things to lesser we compare,
The Skill of Love is like the Art of War.

171

The General says, Let him the Horse command:
You by that Ensign, You that Cannon stand.
Where Danger calls let t'other bring Supplies:
With Pleasure all obey in hopes to rise.
So if you have a Servant skill'd in Laws,
Send him with moving Speech to plead your Cause.
He that has native unaffected Voice
In singing what you bid him will rejoyce.
And Wealth, as Beauty orders it, bestow'd,
Wou'd make ev'n Misers in Expences proud.
But they, o'er whom Apollo rules, have Hearts
The most susceptible of Lovers Smarts,
And like their God so they feel Cupid's Darts.
The Gods and Kings are by their Labours prais'd,
And they again by them to Honour rais'd.

172

For none to Heav'n or Majesty exprest
Their Duty well, but in return were blest.
Nor did the mighty Scipio think it Scorn
That Ennius in Calabrian Mountains born,
His Wars, Retirements, Councils should attend,
In all distinguish'd by the Name of Friend.
He that for want of Worlds to conquer, wept,
Without consulting Homer never slept.
The Poets Cares all terminate in Fame;
As they obtain they give a lasting Name.
Thus from the Dead Lucrece and Cynthia rise,
And Berenice's Hair adorns the Skies.
The sacred Bard no treacherous Craft displays,
But virtuous Actions crowns with his own Bays.

173

Far from Ambition and Wealth's sordid Care
In him Good-nature and Content appear:
And far from Courts, from studious Parties free,
He sighs forth Laura's Charms beneath some Tree;
Despairing of the valu'd Prize he loves,
Commits his Thoughts to Winds and ecchoing Groves.
Poets have quick Desire and Passion strong;
Where once it lights there it continues long.
They know that Truth is the perpetual Band,
By which the World and Heav'n of Love must stand.
The Poets Art softens their Tempers so,
That Manners easy as their Verses flow.
Oh could they but just Retribution find,
And as themselves, what they adore, be kind!

174

In vain they boast of their Cœlestial Fire,
Whilst there remains a Heav'n to which they can't aspire!
Apelles first brought Venus to our View,
With blooming Charms and Graces ever new,
Who else unknown to Mortals might remain
Hid in the Caverns of her native Main:
And with the Painter now the Poets join
To make the Mother and her Boy Divine.
Therefore attend, and from their Musick learn
That which their Minds inspir'd could best discern.

First see how Sidney, then how Cowley mov'd,
And with what Art it was that Waller lov'd.

175

Forget not Dorset, in whose generous Mind
Love, Sense, Wit, Honour ev'ry Grace combin'd:
And if for me you one kind Wish would spare,
Answer a Poet to his friendly Pray'r.
Take Stepney's Verse with Candor ever blest;
For Love will there still with his Ashes rest.
There let warm Spice and fragrant Odours burn,
And everlasting Sweets perfume his Urn.
Not that the living Muse is to be scorn'd:
Britain with equal Worth is still adorn'd.
See Hallifax, where Sense and Honour mixt
Upon the Merits just Reward have fixt:

176

And read their Works who writing in his Praise
To their own Verse immortal Laurels raise.
Learn Prior's Lines; for they can teach you more
Than sacred Ben, or Spencer did before:
And mark him well that uncouth Physick's Art
Can in the softest Tune of Wit impart.
See Pastorella o'er Florello's Grave;
See Tamerlain make Bajazet his Slave;
And Phædra with her antient Vigour rave.
Through Rapin's Nurseries and Gardens walk,
And find how Nymphs transform'd by amorous Colours talk.
Pomona see with Milton's Grandeur rise,
The most delicious Fruit of Paradise,

177

With Apples might the first-born Man deceive,
And more persuasive Voice than tempting Eve,
Not to confine you here; for many more
Britain's luxuriant Wealth has still in store,
Whom would I number up, I must outrun
The longest Course of the laborious Sun.

178

XIV. Part XIV.

Our Manners, like our Countenance, should be
They always candid, and the other free:

179

But when our Mind by Anger is possest,
Our Noble Manhood is transform'd to Beast.
No Feature then its wonted Grace retains,
When the Blood blackens in the swelling Veins:
The Eye-balls shoot out fiery Darts wou'd kill
Th'Opposer, if the Gorgon had its Will.
When Pallas in a River saw the Flute
Deform'd her Cheeks, she let the Reed be mute.
Anger no more will mortify the Face,
Which in that Passion once consults her Glass.
Let Beauty ne'er be with this Torment seiz'd,
But ever rest serene, and ever pleas'd.
A dark and sullen Brow seems to reprove
The first Advances that are made to Love,

180

To which there's nothing more averse than Pride.
Men without speaking often are deny'd:
And a disdainful Look too oft reveals
Those Seeds of Hatred which the Tongue conceals.
When Eyes meet Eyes, and Smiles to Smiles return,
'Tis then both Hearts with equal Ardor burn,
And by their mutual Passion soon will know
That all are Darts, and shot from Cupid's Bow.
But when some lovely Form does strike your Eyes,
Be cautious still how you admit Surprize.
What you would love with quick Discretion view:
The Object may deceive by being new.
You may submit to a too hasty Fate,
And would shake off the Yoke when 'tis too late.

181

We often into our Destruction sink
By not allowing Time enough to think.
Resist at first: For Help in vain we pray,
When Ills have gain'd full Strength by long Delay.
Be speedy; lest perhaps the growing Hour
Put what is now within, beyond our Power.
Love as a Fire in Cities finds Encrease,
Proceeds, and 'till the whole's destroy'd won't cease.
It with Allurements does, like Rivers, rise
From little Springs, enlarg'd by vast Supplies.
Had Myrrha kept this Guard, she had not stood
A Monumental Crime in weeping Wood.

182

Because that Love is pleasing in its Pain,
We not without reluctance Health obtain.
Physick may tarry till to morrow's Sun,
Whilst the Curs'd Poisons thro' the Vitals run.
The Tree not to be shook has pierc'd the Ground,
And Death must follow the neglected Wound.

O'er different Ages Love bears different Sway,
Takes various Turns to make all sorts obey.
The Colt unbackt we sooth with gentle Trace:
We feed the Runner destin'd for the Race;
And 'tis with Time and Masters we prepare
The manag'd Coursers rushing to the War.

183

Ambitious Youth will have some Sparks of Pride,
And not without Impatience be deny'd.
If to his Love a Rival you afford,
You then present a Trial for his Sword:
His eager Warmth disdains to be perplext,
And rambles to the Beauty that is next.
Maturer Years proceed with Care and Sense,
And, as they give, so seldom take offence:
For he that knows Resistance is in vain,
Knows likewise strugling will encrease his Pain.
Like Wood that's lately cut in Paphian Grove,
Time makes him a fit Sacrifice for Love.

184

By slow Degrees he fans the gentle Fire,
Till Perseverance makes the Flame aspire.
This Love's more sure, the t'other is more gay;
But then he roves, whilst this is forc'd to stay.
There are some Tempers which you must oblige,
Not by a quick Surrender, but a Siege;
That most are pleas'd, when driven to Despair
By what they're pleas'd to call a Cruel Fair.
They think, unless their Usage has been hard,
Their Conquest loses part of its Reward.
Thus some raise Spleen from their abounding Wealth,
And clog'd with Sweets, from Acids seek their Health.
And many a Boat does its Destruction find
By having scanty Sails, too full of Wind.

185

Is it not Treachery to declare
The feeble Parts we have in War?
Is it not Folly to afford
Our Enemy a naked Sword?
Yet 'tis my Weakness to confess
What puts Men often in distress:
But then it is such Beaux as be
Possest with so much Vanity,
To think that wheresoe'er they turn,
Whoever looks on them must burn.
What they desire they think is true,
With small Encouragement from You.
They will a single Look improve,
And take Civilities for Love.

186

“We all expected you at play:
“Was't not a Mistress made you stay?
The Beau is fir'd, crys, “Now I find
“I out of pity must be kind:
“She sigh'd, impatient till I came.
Thus soaring to the lively Flame,
We see the vain ambitious Fly
Scorch its gay Wings, then unregarded die.

Both Sexes have their Jealousy,
And Ways to gain their Ends thereby,
But oftentimes too quick Belief
Has given a sudden Vent to Grief,

187

Occasion'd by some Persons lying,
To set an easy Wife a-crying:
And Procris long ago, alas!
Experienc'd this unhappy Case.
There is a Mount, Hymettus stil'd,
Where Pinks and Rosemary are wild,
Where Strawberries and Myrtles grow,
And Violets make a Purple Show;
Where the sweet Bays and Laurel shine,
All shaded by the lofty Pine;
Where Zephyrs, with their wanton Motion,
Have all the Leaves at their devotion.

188

Here Cephalus, who Hunting lov'd,
When Dogs and Men were both remov'd,
And all his dusty Labour done,
In the Meridian of the Sun,
Into some secret Hedge would creep,
And sing, and hum himself asleep.
But commonly being hot and dry,
He thus would for some Cooler cry.

O now, if some
Cooler would come:
Dearest,
Rarest,
Loveliest,
Fairest,
Cooler, come.

189

Oh AIR,
Fresh and Rare;
Dearest,
Rarest,
Loveliest,
Fairest,
Cooler, come,
Cooler, come,
Cooler, come.

A Woman that had heard him sing,
Soon had her Malice on the Wing:
For Females usually don't want
A Fellow Gossip that will cant;
Who still is pleas'd with others Ails,
And therefore carries spiteful Tales.

190

She thought that she might raise some Strife
By telling something to his Wife:
That once upon a time she stood
In such a Place, in such a Wood,
On such a Day, and such a Year,
There did, at least there did appear
('Cause for the World she would not lie,
As she must tell her by the by)
Her Husband; first more loudly bauling,
And afterwards more softly calling
A Person not of the best Fame,
And Mistress Cooler was her Name.
“Now, Gossip, why should she come thither?
“But that they might be naught together?
When Cris heard all, her Colour turn'd,
And tho' her Heart within her burn'd,

191

And Eyeballs sent forth sudden Flashes;
Her Cheeks and Lips were pale as Ashes.
Then, Woe the Day that she was born!
The Nightrail innocent was torn:
Many a Thump was given the Breast,
“And she, Oh she should never rest:
“She strait would heigh her to the Wood,
“And he'd repent it, that he shou'd.
With eager haste away she moves,
Never regarding Scarf or Gloves:
Into the Grotto soon she creeps,
And into every Thicket peeps,

192

And to her Eyes there did appear
Two Prints of Bodies, that was clear:
“And now (she cries) I plainly see
“How Time and Place, and all agree:
“But here's a Covert where I'll lie,
“And I shall have 'em by and by.
'Twas Noon, and Cephalus, as last Time,
Heated, and ruffled with his Pastime,
Came to the very self-same Place
Where he was us'd to wash his Face;

193

And then he sung, and then he hum'd,
And on his Knee with Fingers Thrum'd.
When Crissy found all matters fair,
And that he only wanted Air,
Saw what Device was took to fool her,
And no such one as Mistress Cooler.
Mistrusting then no future Harms,
She would have rush'd into his Arms.
But as the Leaves began to ruffle,
He thought some Beast had made the Bustle.
He shot, then cry'd, “I've kill'd my Deer.
“Ay so you have (says Cris) I fear.
“Why, Crissy, pray what made you here?

194

“By Gossip Trot I understood
“You kept a small Girl in this Wood.
Quoth Ceph, “'Tis pity thou shouldst die
“For this thy foolish Jealousy:
“For 'tis a Passion that does move
“Too often from Excess of Love.
But when they sought for Wound full sore,
The Petticoat was only tore,
And she had got a lusty Thump,
Which in some measure bruis'd her Rump.
Then home most lovingly they went:
Neither had reason to repent.
Their following Years past in Content;

195

And Crissy made him the best Wife
For the Remainder of his Life.

The Muse has done, nor will more Laws obtrude,
Lest she by being tedious should be rude.
Unbrace Love's Swans, let them unharness'd stray,
And eat Ambrosia through the Milky Way.
Give Liberty to ev'ry Paphian Dove,
And let 'em freely with the Cupids rove.
But when the Amazonian Trophies rise
With Monuments of their past Victories;
With what Discretion and what Art they fought:
Let them record: They were by Ovid taught.

FINIS.