The Fair Circassian, A Dramatic Performance :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Fair Circassian, A Dramatic Performance

Done from the Original By a Gentleman-Commoner of Oxford. The Second Edition Corrected. To which are added Several Occasional Poems. By the same Author [i.e. Samuel Croxall]

Croxall, Samuel

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THE Fair Circassian,

A Dramatic Performance.

------sine Me, Liber, ibis in Urbem.
Ovid.

TO Mrs Anna Maria Mordaunt.

PROLOGUE.

Virgins of Albion, Ye fair Female Kind,
Who live to Love's soft Measures well inclin'd,
Whose gentler Minds have known the pleasing Smart,
And felt his Venom trickling thro' your Heart,
To You the following tender Scenes I write;
To You, best Judges of the best Delight.
Thrice Happy He, who could his Muse employ
To heighten and improve so fine a Joy!

Hence the soft Sex conveniently may find
What Pleasures flow from Love with Prudence join'd;
What sweet Ideas flutter in the Breast,
By melting Lips what Raptures are exprest;

How safe the Joys that fill their circling Arms,
When Men of Sense are trusted with their Charms.

Nor let the Style or Foreign Phrase offend,
'Twas thus those Eastern Beaus their Passion pen'd;
The Sentiments were such, in such a Pair,
Where He was most discreet, and She most fair:
Tho' we may well conclude, from what is writ,
The Man had Beauty, and the Woman Wit.

Attend! the Lady first shall Silence break;
'Tis thus the faithful Story makes Her speak.

CANTO I.

SHE.

O love! thy mighty Burnings who can bear!
What Thirst, what Fever can with mine compare!
With Speed conduct me to the lovely Swain
That fires my Soul and causes all my Pain;
'Tis only that dear Youth whose balmy Kiss
Can mitigate my Smart with healing Bliss.
O come, my Dearest, come, and hither bring
Thy Lips adorn'd with all the blooming Spring.
A Thousand Sweets their fragrant Atoms blend,
Which, in a Gale of Joy, thy Breath attend:

Such soothing Cordials to my Soul apply,
Heal me with Kisses, Love, or else I dy;
With poignant tasteful Kisses, such as thine,
Whose Flavour far excells the richest Wine.

At the dear Mention of thy charming Name,
The blushing Nymphs disclose their hidden Flame;
While Zephyrs bland the pleasing Accents bear,
Perfumes are wasted thro' the gentle Air;
The pow'rful Sound enchants the listning Grove,
And tender Damsels sicken into Love.

Where-e'er You go, where-e'er your Steps You move,
Thither I'm hurried on the Wings of Love;
His silken Cords my yielding Limbs enthrall,
And I must follow my Beloved's Call;
But, while such mighty Charms as his invite,
My Chains are Transport, and my Task Delight.

What wou'd my Prince, my lovely Tyrant have?
Oh! whither wou'dst Thou draw thy willing Slave?
I see, I see the golden Doors unfold,
The Royal Bed, with Raptures, I behold;
To Thee my Virgin Blushes I resign,
And, spite of inbred Modesty, I'm Thine.

Ecstatic Pleasure fills my gasping Soul,
As Wines, profusely pour'd, o'erflow the Bowl:
O stay, my flitting Senses, and record
The Bliss these momentary Joys afford;
Yes, to thy kind Endearments I'll be true,
And give thy wond'rous Love its Praises due.

Ye Tirzan Maids, whose Skins allure the Sight
With milky Fields of pure unblemish'd White,
My artless Beauties, tho' compar'd with You
They seem to fade and give a browner Hue,
Are Beauties still, and only look less fair,
Sun-burnt and tarnish'd with the Noontide Air.
I, of six Daughters was the latest born,
My Mother's Darling, but my Sisters' Scorn;
My opening Bloom with jealous Eyes they view'd,
And fell Revenge their envious Minds pursu'd;
Me lonely to the distant Hills they send,
Helpless my self, the Vineyards to defend:
Where Southern Blasts and Rays of scorching Heat
Did on my Face and tender Bosom beat.
Yet I, with Patience, in their Vineyards lay
Whole dewy Nights, and watch'd 'em all the Day:
Ah! Me; my own, but ill secur'd the while,
To bold rapacious Love became a Spoil.

Rudely He leapt the Mounds, the Fence destroy'd,
Nor ceas'd 'till with the budding Clusters cloy'd.

Tell me, my lovely Spoiler, thy Retreat;
I now forgive; for oh! the Theft was sweet.
If You, a Prince, will grace the shining Court,
Let Me, your Slave, among your Train resort:
Or if, in Shepherd's Weeds, you'll humbly deign
To feed your Flock along th' extended Plain;
Tell me beneath what cooly spreading Shade
At Noontide Hours thy lovely Limbs are laid;
Tell me, my Charmer, lest I chance to stray
Among the Shepherds' Tents, and lose my Way.

HE.

O Fairest of thy Sex! to hear thy Voice
The Shepherds and their Sheep alike rejoice;
Whose Bleatings from the Plain salute thine Ear,
And tell the Flocks and Cottages are near:
The little Path their cloven Feet have trod
Will bring Thee to thy longing Swain's Abode;
There may thy Kidlings browze the shrubby Green,
And We lie shelter'd in the leafy Scene.

How gracefully, my Love, thy Charms appear!
How unaffected all thy Motions are!

Like Art, thy very Negligences shine,
And Beauty moves in every Step of thine.
So tread the manag'd Steeds with comely Gait,
Harness'd to draw the gilded Coach of State,
Whose easy Shapes in just Proportion rise,
And gratify the pleas'd Spectator's Eyes.
Transparent Pendants, with a Brillant Light,
Adorn thy Cheeks and point 'em to the Sight:
The Chains that circle round thy Neck with Gold,
In stronger Links the fatal Gazer's hold.
Haste, haste, ye Nymphs, with curious Fingers ply
The Loom, and interweave the various Dye;
Let Flow'rs of Silver round the Border shine
Mixt with a running Train of golden Twine;
With These adorn my Fair, for vulgar Sight;
But me her native Charms alone delight.

SHE.

How my Perfumes, by close Embraces prest,
Fly out and hang upon my Charmer's Vest!
And, while He banquets at the royal Board,
To all around a fragrant Scent afford.
But, when in amorous Folds our Bosoms meet,
My Love himself is like rich Odours Sweet;
Grateful as Myrrh he dwells upon my Breast,
And sooths my panting Soul to downy Rest.

Who can thy manly Graces truly paint,
Or how describe, where all Description's faint!
Thy Charms the rest of Humankind surpass,
As loftier Vines excell the lowly Grass;
Or, as among the twisting Vines is seen
The cluster'd Camphire with superior Green.
Oh! how transcendently my Love is fair!
Beyond all Fancy and above Compare.
How languishing his Eyes! like cooing Doves
Emitting at each Glance their mutual Loves.

Behold, my Life, our dear expecting Bed
With Coverlets of lively Verdure spread:
Columns of Cedar, of the choicest Grain,
In Rows the silken Canopy sustain;
Of inlaid Firr the level Floor; above,
The vaulted Cieling glows with pictur'd Love.

CANTO II.

HE
A bloom like thine attends the vernal Rose,
Such White the Lilly of the Valley shows.
As These among the Briars distinguish'd stand,
So You excell the Daughters of the Land.

SHE.

And You, my Prince, so eminently fair
Above the brightest Sons of Men appear,
As the Pomegranate, with its golden Rind,
Exceeds the neighb'ring Trees of Silvan Kind.
Under his Shade with sweet Delight I lay,
Protected kindly from the sultry Day;
His Fruits, with eager Appetite, I eat,
Indulg'd my Taste, and cool'd my fainting Heat.

Me and my Charmer, now, from noontide Bow'rs,
To spend in various Scenes our blissful Hours;
Love to the Banqueting Pavilion brings,
And o'er our Heads unfurls his trembling Wings.
His silken Banner hovers in the Air,
And Love displays Himself emblazon'd there.
With fev'rish Heat He seizes ev'ry Part,
Burns in my Veins, and revels in my Heart.
O bring, of cool Sherbet, an ample Bowl,
Allay my Flame, and pour it on my Soul;
My ebbing Life with spritely Fruits repair,
And sooth my raging Breast, for Love is there.

Yet oh! how soft, how pleasant is the Bed!
When on his Arm I lean my lovesick Head:

On his left Arm my lovesick Head I place,
His right infolds me with a warm Embrace.
Soft, I adjure You, by the nimble Fawns,
And Hinds that bound across the flow'ry Lawns,
Ye sportive Damsels, that ye softly move,
Nor with your Voices wake my sleeping Love.

Hark! thro' the Dawn a heav'nly Musick breaks,
It thrills my Soul, for my Beloved speaks.
Up, like the bounding Hart, He springs, He flies,
And thro' the Lattess darts his radiant Eyes:
To Me He calls, Arise! Arise! my Fair;
Calm is the Morning, and serene the Air;
The wintry Cold is gone, the genial Spring
Provokes the Flow'rs to blow, the Birds to sing:
The wanton Turtle, in the neighb'ring Grove,
Sits cooing, and renews his Tale of Love:
Behold! the pregnant Fig begins to shoot,
The Vine in Clusters yields it's purple Fruit;
All Nature smiling welcomes in the Day:
Arise, my lovely Fair, and come away.

HE.

From the cool Grottos of the Rock I hear
My Charmer's Voice, and bless my ravish'd Ear.

Come forth, my Dove, compleat thy Swain's Delight,
And give thy beauteous Person to his Sight.

Haste, haste, ye nimble Hunters, spread the Net,
With many a Toil the Vineyards 'round beset,
The wily Foxes take, and from the Vines
Avert the little Vermin's fell Designs:
Our Vineyards now their noblest Grapes produce,
The ripen'd Clusters swell with Purple Juice.

SHE.

I am my Prince's, and my Prince is mine,
Link'd with a mutual Love our Hearts combine;
Among the Lillies He abides all Day,
Himself as Fair, Himself as Sweet as They.

The Dews descend, the dusky Clouds arise.
Night draws her sable Curtain o'er the Skies:
Return, my wand'ring Paramour, return;
With Me repose, and wait the coming Morn.
Fly to my Arms, and, let thy nimble Speed,
The Mountain Roe or the wild Hart exceed.

CANTO III.

SHE.

The busy World is husht in silent Night,
The Silver Moon displays her paler Light;
When sleepless on my Bed I lie alone,
For ah! the Partner of my Soul is gone.
In vain I send my searching Hands around,
My lovely Wanderer is no where found.
Inward I grieve, and with confused Haste
My Mantle o'er my Shoulders slightly cast;
Then thro' the City run, with eager Pace,
And seek my Fugitive from Place to Place.
Thro' ev'ry spacious Way, thro' ev'ry Street,
Officiously I ply my busy Feet.
The nightly Watch I meet, and thus enquire,
Saw You the Object of my Soul's Desire?
They knew not of Him: Scarce from thence I past,
But strait I found and held my Charmer fast.
Around his Neck my longing Arms I flung,
Flew to his Lips, and on his Beauties hung:
Then to my Mother's House my Captive led,
And fondly drew him to the genial Bed.

Ye Daughters of the Land pass gently by,
Behold my Love, but with a silent Eye:

I charge You, by the Hinds, the Forest Roes,
Not to disturb Him in his soft Repose.

See! from the secret Bow'r of Love He comes,
The ambient Air is fill'd with his Perfumes;
Where-e'er He goes, He breaths a spicy Breeze,
And wafts ambrosial Fragrance thro' the Trees.

Behold his Bed! the Guards around it stand,
Threescore, the stoutest Sons of all the Land:
Their valiant Breasts are stampt with many a Scar,
At Home rever'd, and terrible in War:
Each on his Thigh a mighty Sabre wears,
To free the Night from false alarming Fears.
Pillars, with silver Cornice wrought above,
Whose Base is Gold, sustain the rich Alcove:
Sweet Woods of Lebanon the Frame compose,
The lofty Canopy with Purple glows:
The Middle, pav'd with downy Love, invites
The Virgin Nymphs to taste it's soft Delights.

Approach, fond Maids, and see my lovely King
Crown'd with the Beauties of the gawdy Spring,
The Garland, his indulgent Mother wove,
Against the Bridal Day, the Festival of Love.

CANTO IV.

Your envious Thoughts conceal, Ye rival Throng,
And while I sing my Fair, attend my Song.

Her dovelike Eyes ten Thousand Charms dispense,
Breathing at once both Love and Innocence.
Behold! adown her Neck the wavy Locks
Frisk, like exulting Kids o'er Gilead's Rocks.
Her Ivory Teeth in beauteous Order stand,
Like Sheep new-wash'd and whiten'd on the Strand;
When, dropping from the Flood their snowy Skins,
Each with her Lambs appears, and each with Twins.
Her Lips like Threads of Scarlet brightly glow,
In sweetest Sounds her moving Accents flow.
Her Cheeks amidst soft circling Tresses shine,
As when the tender Ringlets of the Vine
Around the blushing Fruit their greener Curls entwine.
Her marble Neck the sparkling Gems adorn,
As blazing Phosphor gilds the rosy Morn,
Shap'd like the lofty Tow'r in Sion's Fields,
Studded and hung with Warriors mighty Shields.

Her Breasts, where Love and all his Graces dwell,
Pregnant with Bloom and ripening Beauties swell;
Like young Twin-Roes that graze the verdant Meads,
With Buds just sprouting from their velvet Heads.

Hence to the Hills of Myrrhe I'll haste away,
Where spicy Breezes round my Head shall play;
There spend in gentle Dreams the gloomy Night,
'Till Morning Sun restores his golden Light.

From rocky Lebanon return, my Love,
To Hermon's dewy Hill and Shenir's Grove.
See from Amana's green and shady Brow
The distant Prospect of the Vales below.
Securely hence the spotted Leopard view,
Nor fear the rugged Lion's brindled Hue.

O Maid divinely fair! whose every Part,
Like pointed Lightning melts my ravish'd Heart;
Fill'd with your Love I scorn the Charms of Wine,
Nor for the Vineyard's luscious Juice repine.
Your Breath so sweet, that wheresoe'er You go
The Gales of spicy Saba seem to blow.

A balmy Dew upon thy Lips distills,
And every Kiss with liquid Hony fills:

With Smells of Lebanon thy Vesture crown'd
Scatters reviving Odours all around:
The various Sweets which feed the Thymy Bee,
My Dear, my lovely Princess, are in Thee.

The Garden thus, some Spot of Pleasure, lies,
Enclos'd for Privacy from vulgar Eyes;
In Thee, each Flow'r uprears it's colour'd Head,
Soft vernal Airs the bloomy Buds dispread;
Joys ever smiling in thy Glances play,
As trembling Streams reflect the gilded Day.
Spikenard and Cinnamon, that loves the Vale,
Rich Thural Fruits, in Thee, their Sweets exhale;
Saffron, with Cassia's orient precious Oil,
Supplied by blest Arabia's fruitful Soil,
Whose spicy Rind, with smelling Gum distent,
Breathes thro' the Air a kind Balsamic Scent:
While odorous Dews in humid Vapours rise,
And fragrant Clouds perfume the azure Skies.

SHE.

Awake, O Zephyr, or Thou, Southern Breeze,
In gentle Murmurs fan the branchy Trees;
With soothing Breath upon my Garden blow,
That grateful Smells from every Plant may flow.

Let my Beloved, in the cooly Shade,
On Beds of Flowers repose his lovesick Head;
Or with delicious Fruitage please his Taste,
Be fill'd with Joy, and bless the kind Repast.

CANTO V.

HE.
Delights so sweet the Springs and Grottos give.
That in thy Garden I would ever live.
Where-e'er I turn, enchanting Scenes arise,
To glad my Soul, and entertain my Eyes.
I came, my Fair, I came a willing Guest,
On thy delicious pleasant Fruits to feast:
Of Gums and Myrrh I rob'd each spicy Tree,
I sipt the balmy Labours of the Bee:
For Me the Vine with Purple Clusters glow'd,
With Milk the Nut, the Peach with Nectar flow'd:
O here, my Fair, for ever let us stay,
And spend in Love and Wine the live-long Day.

SHE.

I sleep, but still my listning Fancy wakes,
A Voice informs Me my Beloved speaks;
“To thy dear Arms, He cries, my lovely Fair,
“Receive me from the dark inclement Air:

“The Vapours fall, the drisly Dews distill,
“The Drops of Night my Locks with Moisture fill;
“Arise, my Fair, unfold the bolted Doors,
“Arise, 'tis I, thy Wanderer implores.
Alas! the darkning Shades my Sandals hide,
My Mantle's negligently thrown aside;
Can I now find it? or defile again
My Feet just washt, and from the Bathing clean?
Yet will I come all barefoot and undrest,
And clasp Thee dropping to my warmer Breast.

Upon the Lock my Prince's Fingers move,
The Sound dissolves my pitying Soul to Love:
I rose, I flew with Speed to let Him in,
But too much Haste obstructed my Design;
O'er every Bolt my wandering Fingers stray
Perfum'd, and leave sweet Odours by the Way.
But when I open'd, ah! my Love was gone,
Tir'd out with my Delay He had withdrawn.
Sore on my Mind the Disappointment hung,
My Soul Regret and sharp Vexation stung.
Again my mournful Voice I sent around,
But only Eccho babled to the Sound.
Then madly thro' the silent Streets I ran,
Hoping to find the dear excluded Man:

Alone I hurried on my giddy Flight,
Nor fear'd the lurking Dangers of the Night.
The Watch, to whom I tenderly complain'd,
With foul Reproach my spotless Honour stain'd:
My loose Attire the Sentinels descry'd,
And rudely wou'd have drawn my Veil aside.
Pity my Case, Ye Virgins of the Plain,
Whene'er Ye take, restore my wand'ring Swain:
For Him I languish, and my lovesick Mind
Without his Presence no Relief can find.

CHORUS of VIRGINS.
How blest, how more than blest the happy Swain!
For whom so fine a Creature can complain.
Describe, Thou Fair, this Partner of thy Breast,
Show us how He so far excells the Rest;
O say what Charms, with such superior Grace,
Finish his Person and adorn his Face.

SHE.

His Face with far transcendent Beauty glows,
As the rich Standard in the Squadron shows;
His Charms such bright distinguisht Lustre wear,
Among ten Thousand He'd the Chief appear.
A youthful Red with intermingled White
Sets off his Features in a pleasing Light;

Shining his Hair, and of a Raven Black,
In waving Ringlets falls adown his Back:
Arm'd with a tender Languishment his Eyes
Please while they wound, and kill without Surprize:
So soft, and so alluring, Turtles look,
That bill and coo beside the purling Brook.
His blooming Cheeks resemble vernal Flow'rs,
Warm'd with the Sun and plumpt with April Show'rs.
His melting Lips like new-blown Rosebuds meet,
Bedew'd and dropping with a balmy Sweet.
But oh! his fragrant Kisses who can tell!
So much beyond Description they excell.
Where can his matchless Hand a Rival find?
So turn'd the Fingers, and so fitly joyn'd!
Rings for Embellishment by some are worn;
His finer Hands the very Gems adorn.
His Skin, like polisht Ivory, smooth and fair,
His Veins like Rows of inlaid Saphires are.
His shapely Legs like marble Pillars hold
The Fabric rising from a Base of Gold.
His Form a Prospect so inviting wears,
As crown'd with Cedars Lebanon appears,
When with the sloping Sun 'tis gilded bright,
And blesses with it's Smiles the distant Sight.

Such is my Love, Ye Virgins, such the Swain
That gives me Pleasure with alternate Pain.

CANTO VI.

CHORUS.
Bright Maid, ah! whither is thy Charmer gone,
And left Thee here defenceless and alone?
Tell Us, that we may range the Streets, the Grove,
Or Garden, 'till We find the Man You love.

SHE.
Sure to the Garden He has bent his Flight.
For there's his Pleasure and his Soul's Delight;
Nor wonder that all Night He revels there,
A Wilderness of Spice perfumes the Air;
Citrons above and fragrant Flowers beneath
In every Walk their grateful Odours breathe:
Fruits with delicious Pulp his Thirst appease,
And rising Lillies form his Couch of Ease.
Happy, if while He views the pleasing Scene,
Some tender Thoughts of Me break in between.

HE.

What other Object can Admittance find,
While You, dear bright Idea, fill my Mind.
Shou'd Tirza with her gilded Turrets rise,
The Landskip paint, and mingle with the Skies;

Place but my Fair, my beauteous Princess near,
Her Charms the finer Prospect wou'd appear.
Shou'd Armies march along in meet Array,
Their Spears advance, their Ensigns wide display;
Her Eyes wou'd more exalted Glories dart,
With more Surprize wou'd thrill the Gazer's Heart.
Nourisht by their propitious Beams I live,
Yet scarce can bear the Splendor that they give:
So shines the Morning Sun with kindly Light,
But who can view his Blaze without an aching Sight?

Unnumber'd Females, of a Form divine,
The soft Seraglio's private Walls confine;
Where blooming Virgins ripen to Desire,
And bright Sultanas glow with practis'd Fire:
Oft, as I sigh amidst the beauteous Throng
For All by turns, but not for Any long,
From Charm to Charm with eager Gust I rove,
Resolv'd to taste Variety of Love;
But, soon as I behold my heavenly Fair,
My wand'ring Fancy stops and settles there:
The Beauties of the Sex I find in One,
For She's a Magazine of Charms alone.
The slighted Nymphs yet bless Her with their Voice,
And Envy's self approves the happy Choice.

But who is This, that with Her glorious Eyes,
Looks like the Morn, and emulates the Skies?
Fair as the Moon, reflecting Silver Light,
Strong as the golden Sun, and beamy bright.
So glittering Spears that gild the dreadful War
With fatal Gleams shine trembling from afar.
Down in the Grove of Spices as I stood,
To view the rising Flow'rs and pregnant Bud;
The Trees in Verdure Green, with bloomy Shade
And mingled Light, a lively Landskip made:
Yet when Her distant Eyes like Stars appear,
My ready Senses start and center there:
Wing'd with Desire, my Soul outflies the Wind,
And the bright Scene neglected leaves behind.

CANTO VII.

HE.

Her slender Feet, most lovely to behold,
Are cas'd in Purple Buskins wrought with Gold;
Her well-turn'd Legs and full-proportion'd Thighs
Charm by Degrees and with new Beauty rise;
The Joints with Dimples smiling; and above,
The Spring of Bliss, the bubling Fount of Love.

Plump is her Belly, but how smoothly plain!
Like Fields of Wheat impregnated with Rain;
White as the Silver Lilly's snowy Bloom,
Swelling with Dew, and fragrant with Perfume.
Her even Breasts like the Roe's Younglings play,
And panting bound luxuriant as They:
Like Velvet Buds the crimson Nipples rise,
Firm to the Touch and grateful to the Eyes.
Fair as an Ivory Column's tow'ring Height,
Her lofty Neck advances to the Sight.
Her Eyes reflect the Fountain's limpid Hue,
Clear as the Sky and of a heavenly Blue.
Like Beams of milder Light, divinely Fair,
Bound back and braided shines her silken Hair.
The King, in passing, her bright Form admires,
And feels within his Breast soft kindling Fires;
Held in the Galleries a Slave to Love,
Intent He gazes, and forgets to move.

How Fair art Thou, my Queen, thy Charms how bright
For Pleasure form'd, and finish'd for Delight:
Tall as the Palm thy Mien, thy juicy Breast,
Like clustring Grapes, inviting to be prest.
Let Me the strait the stately Bole ascend,
Grasp'd in my Arms the blooming Boughs shall bend;

The clust'ring Vine in my Embrace shall bleed,
And on thy fragrant balmy Breath I'll feed.
Thy Lips, whose Taste exceeds the richest Wine,
Shall feast my Palate and my Bliss refine:
This with new Pleasure will our Joys prolong,
Make Dullness brisk, and wearied Nature young.

SHE.
Thy Transports, Love, with what Delight I hear!
Such Fondness ravishes my listning Ear.
With Thee I'll range the distant lonely Fields,
Where the fresh Spring eternal Pleasure yields;
Where the low Village free from noisy Strife,
Unheeded drinks the real Sweets of Life.
There let us lodge, and with the Morning Sun
Our Course of pleasing Toil together run;
Observe the Vine it's tender Bud disclose,
How with young Bloom the new Pomegranate glows:
How ripening Fruits in Embryo appear,
The grateful Prospect of a plenteous Year.
There, on some Bank reclin'd, whilst over Head
Embow'ring Jasmines their sweet Odours shed,
Clasping and claspt with evertwining Arms,
Unenvied I'll enjoy thy manly Charms,
Give up my hidden Beauties to thy Sight,
And die in Ecstasies of full Delight.

CANTO VIII.

SHE.

Oh! that thou wert, as once my Brother was,
Free and familiar to my fond Embrace;
When smiling Both, Both innocent and young,
One Breast We suckt, and on one Bosom hung.
Then, without Shame, I'd publicly employ
Each passing Minute to improve my Joy.
Grasp thy dear Hand, and with a Sister's Kiss
Uncensur'd steal a momentary Bliss:
And when, impatient of the raging Fire,
A mutual Sense shou'd prompt Us to retire,
Fearless I'd lead Thee to my Mother's Bed,
And on thy Bosom lay my raptur'd Head:
By Her instructed in the Arts of Love,
My Passion might with aptest Graces move;
While rich Collations, crown'd with cordial Wine,
To feed our Flame, like Fuel, shou'd combine.

Begone, ye Female Slaves, my Voice obey;
Fly, and attend with Silence far away:
Perhaps my Love, to Solitude inclin'd,
In gentle Slumbers will indulge his Mind.

HE.
Lean on my Arm, on Me thy Head recline,
The Care to guard my Charmer's Steps be mine:
Thy Posture now revives the pleasing Thought
How Thou wert first to my Embraces brought.
Beneath a lofty Cedar's gloomy Shade
On the green Turf my languid Limbs were laid,
Thy Mother came, and lo! She led along
Her dear SAPHIRA, beautiful and young;
When strait She gave Thee to my longing Side,
And I with Ardour seis'd the blushing Bride.
The Rest is past Description; now no more
Love was outragious, for his Fit was o'er:
I rais'd Thee fainting from the fragrant Green,
The conscious Print among the Flow'rs was seen;
My Arm, as now, sustain'd thy lovely Frame,
Sweet was the Pleasure then, and now the same.

SHE.
Light of my Life, oh! take me to thy Heart,
Nor ever with thy fond SAPHIRA part:
Oh! seal me, stamp me on thy tender Mind,
And leave the strong Impression deep behind.
For Love, like Death, his Sceptre sternly sways,
When-e'er the Tyrant calls, the Slave obeys.

His Passion, turn'd to Jealousy, will rave
Fierce as a Whirlwind, cruel as the Grave,
For ever burnt and burning with Desire,
As Coals that glow with unconsuming Fire.
Let gushing Brooks and swelling Torrents roll
Their cooling Waters o'er the Love-sick Soul,
Yet will survive the bright unsullied Flame,
It's Vigour lively, and it's Heat the same.
Ransack the solid Globe for Wealth; and sweep
The secret Vallies of th' unfathom'd Deep,
Give all to Love and bribe Him to be kind,
Yet still you'll feel his Fetters on your Mind:
Whate'er you stake, his Value's still above,
And nothing ballances but Love for Love.

HE.

Then, be it publisht thro' the spacious East,
How much, how dearly SOLOMON is blest.
Shew, how his Palaces and Temples rise,
With glittering Roofs aspiring to the Skies;
Paint his fair Gardens, and disclose the Groves,
The private Scenes of his repeated Loves;
The purling Falls of Water to invite
Soft Slumbers, and divert with fresh Delight:
Describe his Ivory Throne, his pompous State,
With all the gawdy Names that sound Him Great:

But tell the World that these are trifling Things
Compar'd to Her from whom his Pleasure springs,
For Grandeur and for glorious Fame design'd
To awe the Vulgar and amuse Mankind,
Mere Bubbles made for Wonder and for Show;
His real Joys from dear SAPHIRA flow.

And, lest the dazling Mines from Ophir brought
To after Ages shou'd suggest a Thought,
That He, who cou'd command so rich a Prize,
Might well be blest, might well be counted Wise,
Let future Times in lasting Verse be told,
His Fair One made him Happy, not his Gold.

SHE.
Sweet are the Accents of thy heavenly Voice!
The Groves are pleas'd, the listning Swains rejoice;
The little Birds suspend their flutt'ring Wing,
Hover in Silence, and forget to sing.
Once more with that enchanting Music chear
My longing Soul, my fond expecting Ear.
O come, with all thy dear delightful Charms,
Rush on my Breast and dart into my Arms:
Oh, haste, my Life, and with thy nimbler Speed
The Mountain Roe or the wild Hart exceed.

FINIS.