A Collection OF POEMS Written upon several OCCASIONS By several PERSONS. With many Additions, Never before in Print. LONDON, Printed for Tho. Collins and john Ford in Fleetstreet, and Will. Cademan at the Pope's 〈◊〉 New-Exchange Stra●d. 1673. THE TABLE THe Temple of Death Page ● To Ce●ia. You tell me, Celia, you approve. 14 Answer 〈◊〉, I wish as well as you 18 To Celia▪ Princess make Laws, by which 19 To Cloris, Cloris, I justly am be●ray●d 21 To a Lady, who told him, he could not Love 22 To Cloris, Cloris, you live adored by all 24 A farewell to Love 27 Song Though, Phillis, your prevailing Charms 28 Epilogue, to every Man in his humour 29 To a very ●o●ng Lady 32 The Forsaken Mistress 33 The Divided Heart 36 To M. J. N. on his Translations out of French and Italian 37 〈◊〉 Urania 40 To S●lvi T●e Nymph that undoe● me 41 To Celia. As in those Nations where 42 The Submission 43 Constancy 44 T●e ●●d●fference 46 A Pastoral Dialogue 49 To a Lady, who fled the sight of him 52 To a Lady who asked him how long he would Love her 53 Song. Tell me no more you love in vain 54 To the Marchioness of New Castle, on her Poems 56 Epilogue to Tartuff 5● The Imperfect Enjoyment 61 Prologue at the opening of the D●ke's New Playhouse 65 Falling in Love with a Stranger at a Play 67 Indifference excused 69 T●e Platonic 71 To a Devout Young Woman 73 Song. When Aur●lia first became 74 To Cloris Cloris, I cannot say your Eyes 76 Song. A●relia, art thou mad 77 Song. Love still has something of the Sea 79 A Dialogue between Amintas and Celia 82 Song. Get you gone, you will undo me 85 Song. Phillis, you have enough enjoyed 88 Song. Madam, for your Commands to stay 89 Awake my Eyes, at night my thoughts pursue 90 Song Phillis, le's shan the Common Fate ib. Distich 92 The painted Apples that adorn ib. Song. Not Celia, that I juster am 94 Thirsis, no more against my flame advise 95 Song. I ask not my Celia would love me again 97 Song Drink about till the day find us 98 Song Walking among thick shades alone 99 Song. As I sat thoughtful in a shade 102 ●ong. The Grave my Envy now begets 106 The Ballers Life, A S●ng 108 Song When Cold De●p●i● 109 To Celia. Celia. the faithful servant you disown, 116 To Celia. All things submit themselves to your Commands 113 As he la● in the Plain, his Arm 116 Song. How charming are those pleasant. 118 Song. Give o'er foolish heart, and make haste. 120 Song. With so much ingrateful Swains 121 Song: Dear Am●nda, in vain you so coily. 127 A Panegyric sent by a Gentleman to his Mystress with his Picture. 124 A Letter sent from a Gentleman to his Friend. 12● A Memento Mori. 134 Song. Of ●ll the brisk Dancers. 135 The Pot Rapsodes. 136 Song. It is not. Chloris: 137 Song. Ah, Chloris. 140 Song, To Chloris 141 Octavio to Portia 142 Song. When as my Thirsis 144 Song. Though Damon. 148 Song. If thou boast 149 Song. To Lucinda. 150 To 〈◊〉 Mystress 152 So●g. Fa●th, now my Dear 154 To 〈◊〉. 155 The distracted Lover to the Air of, Awake all ye 〈◊〉. 156 To La●rinda 1●8 Prologue to the Impertinent, Acted at the Middle Temple 159 Prologue at Oxford 161 Prologue to the Ordinary. 163 Epilogue to the Ordinary 166 A Prologue spoken at Court to the Empress of Morocco 168 A Part spoken by the Lady Elizabeth Howard. 170 Another Prologue spoken at Court to the Empress of Morocco 1●2 Song. Forgive me. Jove. 175 Song. A●! cruel eyes 176 Song. Nay Let me alone 177 Song. In the Dutch Lover 1●8 Song. O● the time that is past ●●8 Song. On the London Ladies 183 THE TEMPLE OF DEATH. IN those cold Climates where the Sun appears Unwillingly, and hides his face in tears, A dreadful Vale lies in a Desart-Isle, On which indulgent Heaven did never smile. There a vast Grove of aged Cypress Trees, Which none without an awful horror sees, Into its withered arms deprived of leaves, Whole flocks of ill-presaging Birds receives; Poisons are all the plants the soil will bear, And Winter is the only season there. Millions of graves cover the spacious field, And springs of blood a thousand Rivers yield, Whose streams oppressed with carcases and bones, Instead of gentle murmurs, pour forth groans. Within this Vale a famous Temple stands, Old as the Universe which it commands; Round is its figure, and four Iron Gates Divide the World by order of the Fates. There come in crowds doomed to one common grave The young, the old, the Monarch and the Slave. Old age, and pains which Mankind most deplores, Are faithful Keepers of those sacred doors; All clad in mournful blacks, which also load The sacred walls of this obscure abode, And Tapers of a pitchy substance made, With clouds off noak increase the dismal shade▪ A Monster void of Reason and of Sight, The Goddess is that sways this Realm of Night▪ Her Power extends o'er all things that have breath, A cruel Tyrant, and her name is Death. The fairest object of our wondering eyes Was newly offered up her sacrifice; Th' adjoining places where the Altar stood, Yet blushing with the fair Almeria's blood. When sad Melintus, whose unhappy flame Is known by all that ere conversed with fame; His mind possessed with fury and despair, Within the sacred Temple made this prayer: Great Deity▪ who in thy hands dost bear That rusty Sceptre which poor Mortals fear, Who wanting eyes thyself respectest none; And neither sparest the Laurel nor the Crown, Oh! thou whom all Mankind in vain withstands, Each of whose blood must one day slain thy hands: Oh, thou that every eye which sees the light, Closest again in an eternal night, Open thy ears, and hearken to my grief, To which thy Power alone can give relief; I come not hither to prolong my fate, But wish my wretched life a shorter date: And that the Earth would in its bowels hide A soul which Heaven invades on every side; That from the sight of day I might remove, And might have nothing left me but my love. Thou only Comforter of Minds oppressed, The Port where wearied spirits are at rest; Conductet to Illysium, take my life, My breast I offer to thy sacred knife: So just a grace deny not, nor despise A willing, though a worthless, sacrifice. Others their frail and mortal state forgot, Before thy Altars are not to be brought Without constraint: the noise of dying rage, Heaps of the slain of every sex and age, The blade all reaking in the gore it shed, With several heads and arms confusedly spread, The rapid flames of a perpetual fire, The groans of wretches ready to expire: This Tragic Scene makes them in terror live, Till that is forced which they should freely give; Yielding unwillingly what Heaven wil● have, Their fears eclipse the glory of their Grave. Before thy face they make undecent moan, And feel an hundred deaths in fearing one; The flame becomes unhallowed in their br●st, And he a Murderer who was a Priest; His hands profaned in breaking Nature's chain, By which the body does the fool detain: But against me thy strongest forces call, And on my head let all the tempest fall; No shrinking back shall any weakness show. And calmly I'll expect the fatal blow. My limbs no trembling, in my mind no fear, Plaints in my mouth, nor in my eyes a tear. Think not that time, our wont sure relief, That universal cure for every grief, Whose aid so many Lovers oft have found, With like success can ever heal my wound: Too weak the Power of Nature, or of Art, Nothing but death can ease a broken heart. And that thou mayst behold my helpless state, Learn the extremest rigour of my fate: Amidst th'innumerable beauteous Train Paris, the Queen of Cities, does contain The fairest Town, the greatest, and the best, So fair Almeria shined above the rest. From h●r bright eyes to feel a hopeless flame, Was of our youth the most ambitious aim; Her chains were marks of honour to the brave, She made a Prince whe●e're she made a S●av●. Love, under whose tyrannic power I groan, Showed me this Beauty ere '●was fully blown; Her doubtful hand, and her anpractised look, Their first assurance from my Conquest took; By wounding me she lea●●t the fatal Art, And the first sigh she had was from my heart. My eyes with tears wetting her snowy arms, Rendered the tribute due unto her charms: But as I soon of all Mortals paid My vows, and to her beauty al●●rs made, So amongst all those slaves that sighed in vain, She thought me only worthy of her chain. Lov●s heavy burden, my submissive heart Endured not long before the bore her part, My violent flame melted her frozen breast, And in soft sighs her pity she expressed Her gentle voice allayed my raging pains, And her fair hands sustained me in my chains Tears from her eyes attended on my moan, And they looked kindly upon me alone. My hopes and dangers were less mine than hers, Those filled her soul with joys, and these with tears. Our hearts united had the same desires And both alike burned with impatient fires▪ Too faithful Memory, I give thee leave Thy wretched Master kindly to deceive. Make me not once possessor of her charms▪ Let me not find her languish in my arms Past joys are now my cruel fancies Themes, Make all my happy nights appear but dreams. Let not those scenes before my eyes be brought, But hide her love from my tormenting thought And in its place disdainful beauty show, I● thou wouldst not be cruel, make her so, And something to abate my deep despair, Oh let her seem less gentle, or less fair. But I in vain flatter my wounded mind, Never was Nymph so lovely, or so kind. No cold repulses my desires suppressed, I seldom sighed but on Almeria's breasts. Of all the passions which mankind destroy, I only felt excess of love and joy. Numberless pleasures charmed my sense, and they Were as my love, without the least allay: As pure, alas, but not so sure to last, For, like a pleasant dream they all are past. From Heaven her beauty like fierce lightning came which breaks through darkness with a glorious flame A while it ●hines, a while our sight it cheers, But soon the short-lived comfort disappears, And thunder follows, whose resistless rage None can withstand, and nothing can assuage. So oft the light which those bright flashes gave, Serves to conduct us only to our Grave. When I had first begun Love's joys to taste, Those full rewards for fears and dangers past, A Fever seized her, and to nothing brought The richest work that ever Nature wrought. All things below, alas, uncertain stand The firmest Rocks are placed upon the Sand: Under this Law both Kings and Crowns must be●●● For no beginning is without an end. A sacrifice to Time Fate dooms us all, And at the Tyrant's feet we daily fall; Time, whose bold hand alike does bring to dust Mankind, and Gods in which Mankind does trust: Though now her wasted spirits begin to faint, Her patience ties her tongue from all complaint, And in her heart as in a Fort remains, But yet at last yields t● her resistless pains. Thus while the Fever amorous of his prey, Through all her veins makes his delightful way● Her Fates like Semiles, the Flames destroy That beauty they too eagerly enjoy. Her charming face is in its Spring decayed, Pale grows the Roses, and the Lilies fade. Her skin has lost that ●ustre, which surpassed The Sun's, and did deserve as long to last; Her eyes, which used to pierce the hardest hearts, Are now disarmed of all their flames and darts; Those Stars n●w heavily and slowly move, And sorrow triumphs in the Throne of Love. The Fever every moment more prevails, Its rage her body fee●s, and Tongue bewails▪ She who●e disdain so many Lovers prove, Sighs new for Torment, as they ●●gh for Love, And with loud cries, which rend the neighbouring air Wounds my sad heart, and wakens my despair. Both gods and men I charge now with my loss, And wild with gries, my thoughts each other cross My heart and tongue labour in both extremes, That sends up humble prayers, while this blasphemes I ask their help whose Power I defy, And mingle sacrilege with Piety. But that which does still more perplex my mind, To love her truly, I must seem unkind; So unconcerned a face my sorrow wears, I still restrain unruly floods of tears. My Eyes and Tongue put on dissembling forms I show a calmness in the midst of storms. I seem to hope, when all my hopes are gone, And almost dead with grief, discover none. But who can long deceive a loving eye, Or with dry eyes behold his Mistress die? When Reason had with all its terrors brought Th● approaching danger nearer to my thought▪ Off on a sudden fell the forced disguise, And showed a sighing heart in weeping eyes, My apprehensions now no more confined, Exposed my sorrows, and betrayed my mind, The fair afflicted, Soan perceives my tears, Explains my sighs, and thence concludes my fears, With sad presages of her hopeless case, She reads her Fate in my dejected Face, Then feels my torment, and neglects her own, While I am senfi●●e of hers alone; Each does the others burden kindly bear, I fear her Death, and the bewails my fear▪ Although we suffer under Fortune's darts, 'Tis those of Love alone which reach our hearts. Meanwhile the Fever mocks at all our fears, Grows by our sighs, and rages at our tears; Those vain effects of our as vain desire, Like Wind and Oil increase the fatal fire. Almeria feeling th'unjust destinies About to shut her lips, and close her eyes, Weeping, in mine put her fair trembling hand, And with these words I scarce could understand; Her Passion in a dying voice expressed Half: and her sighs, alas, made out the rest. 'Tis past, this pang Nature forsakes the strife, Thou must thy Mystriss lose, and I my Life. I die, but dying thine, the Fates may prove Their Conquest over me, but not my Love; Thy Memory, my Glory, and my pain, In spite of Death itself, shall still remain, Ah! Dear Melintus, my hard Fate denies That hope is the last thing which in us di●s: From my grieved breast all those soft thoughts are fled And love survives, although my hope is dead; Yyield my life, but keep my Passion yet, And can all thoughts but of Melintus quit. My flame increases as my strength decays, Death, that puts out the light, the heat does raise, Which leavs me not, though I from hence remove I lose my Lover, but I keep my Love. The fie which sent forth that last tender word, Up towards the Heavens like a bright meteor soared And the kind Nymph bereft of all her Charms, Falls cold and breathless in her Lover's Arms, Which shows, since Death denied him then relief; That 'tis in vain men hope to die with grief. Goddess, that now my Fate has understood, Spare but my tears, and freely take my blood, Here let me end the story of my cares, My grief itself enough the rest declares▪ Thou seest by all my misery thus displayed▪ Whether I ought not to implore thy aid, Thus to survive a guilt upon me draws, And my sad wishes have too just a caus●●● Come then, my only hope, in every place, Thou visitest, men tremble at thy face, And fear thy name, once let thy fatal hand Destroy a Swain, that doth the blow demand. Vouchsafe thy Dart, I need not one of those, With which thou dost unwilling Kings depose, Thy weakest my desired release will bring, And free my Soul already on her wing. To CELIA. YOu tell me, Celia, you approve, Yet never must return my love▪ An answer that my hope destroys, And in the cradle wounds our joys; To kill at once what needs must die, None would to birds and beasts deny How can you than s● crue● prove, As to preserve, and ●●rture love. That beauty Nature kindly meant For her own pride, and our content; Why should the Tyrant honour make Our greatest torment▪ let us break His yoke, and that base power dis●ain, Which only keeps the good in pain. In Love and War th' Impostor ●o's The best to greatest harms expose. Come then, my Ce●●a, let's no more This Devil for a God adore; Like foolish Indians we have been, Whose whole Religion is a sin▪ If we the Laws of Love had kept, And not in dreams of Honour slept, He would have surely, long ere this, Have crowned us with the highest bliss; Our Joy had then been as complete, As now our Folly has been great: Let's lose no time then, but repent, Love wlecome's best a Penitent. ANSWER: THirsis, I wish, as well as you, To Honour there were nothing due▪ Then would I pay my debt of love In the same coin that you approve; Which now you must in friendship take, 'tis all the payment I can make; Friendship so high, that I must say, 'tis rather love with some allay. And rest contented, since that I As well myself as you deny. Learn then of me bravely to bear The want of what you hold most dear; And that which Honour does in me, Let my example work on thee. To CELIA. PRinces make laws by which their subjects live And the high gods rules for their worship give How should poor Mortals else a service find At all proportioned to their mighty Mind? Had it been left to us, each one would bring, Of what he liked himself, an offering; And with unwelcome zeal perhaps displease Th' offended Deity he would appease. All powers but thine this mercy do allow, And how they would be served themselves do show A rude Barbarian would his captived foe Fully instruct in what he'd have him do. And can it be, my Celia, that Lov● Less kind than War should to the vanquished prove; Say, cruel Fair, then, would you that my flame Should for a while move under friendship's name; Or may it boldly like itself appear, And its own tale deliver to your ear, Or must it in my tortured bosom live Like fire in quiet flints, and no light give; And only then humbly send forth a small Spark, when yourself does on that subject fall; My passion can with any laws comply, And for your sake do any thing, but die. To CLORIS. Cloris, I justly am betrayed By a design myself had laid, Like an old Rook, whom in his cheat A run of Fortune does defeat. thought at first with a small sum Of love, thy heap to overcome; Presuming on thy want of art, Thy gentle and unpractised heart. But naked Beauty can prevail, Like open force, when plots do fail. Instead of that thou hast all mine, And I have not one stake of thine: And, like all winners, dost discover A willingness to give me over. And though I beg, thou wilt not now; 'Twere better thou shouldst do so too For I so far in debt shall run, Even thee I shall be forced to shun. My hand, alas, is no more mine, Else it had long ago been thine, My heart I give thee, and we call No man unjust that parts with all. What a Priest says moves not the mind, Souls are by love, not words, combined. To a Lady, who told him he could not Love. MAdam, though meaner Beauties might, Perhaps, have need of some such slight; Who to excuse their Rigour, must Say they our passions do mistrust, And that they would more pity show, Were they but sure our loves were tru●. You should those petty Arts despise, Secure of what is once your prize, We to our Slaves no frauds address, But as they are our minds express. Tell me not then I cannot Love, Say, rather, you it ne'er can move; Who can no more doubt of your charms, Then I resist such powerful arms: Whose numerous force that I withstood So long, was not through any hope I could Escape their power, but through despair, Which oft makes Courage on't of fear. I trembling saw how you used those Who tamely yielded without blows: Had you but one of all them spared, I might, perhaps, have been ensnared, And not have thus, ere I did yield, Called Love's whole Force into the Field. Yet now I'm Conquered I will prove Faithful as they that never strove. All flames in matter where too fast They do not seize, the longer last. Then blame not mine for moving slow Since all things durable are so. The Oak that's for three hundred years Designed in growing, one out-wears. Whilst flowers for a season made Quickly spring up, and quickly fade, To CLORIS. CLoris, you live adored by all, And yet on none your favours fall. A stranger Mistress ne'er was known▪ You pay us all in Paying none. We him of avarice accuse, Who what he has does fear to use But what disease of mind shall I Call this thy hated penury? Thou wilt not give out of a store, Which no profuseness can make poor. Misers, when dead, may make amends. And in their Wills enrich their friends; But when thou diest, thy Treasure dies, And thou canst leave no Legacies. What madness is it then to spare, When we want power to make an Heir? Live, Cloris, then at the full rate, Of thy great Beauty; and since Fate To Love, and Youth, is so severe; Enjoy'm freely while thouart here. Some caution yet I'd have thee use, whenever thou dost a servant choose. We are not all for Lovers fit, No more than Arms or Arts of Wit. For Wisdom some respected are, Some we see powerful at the Bar; Some for Preferment waste their time And the steep Hill of Honour climb; Others of Love their business make, In Love their whole diversion take. Take one of those, for in one breast Two passions live but ill at rest: And even, of them, I'd have thee fly All that take flame at every eye. All those that light and faithless are, All that dare more than think thee fai●● Take one of Love who nothing says, And yet whom every word betrays. Love in the cradle pretty shows, And when't can speak unruly grows. A Farewell to Love. ONce more Loves mighty chains are broke, His strength and cunning I defy, Once more I have thrown off his yoke, And am a man, and do despise the Boy. Thanks to her pride, and her disdain, And all the follies of a scornful mind, I had ne'er possessed my heart again, If fair Miranda had been kind. Welcome fond wanderer, as ease And plenty to a wretch in pain, That worn with want and a disease, Enjoys his health and all his friends again. Let others waste their time and youth, Watch and look pale, to gain a peevish maid, And learn too late this dear-bought truth, At length they're sure to be betrayed. THough, Phillis, your prevailing charms Have forced me from my Celia's arms That kind defence against all powers, But those resistless eyes of yours: Think not your conquest to maintain, By rigour and un●ust disdain; In vain, fair Nymph, in vain you strive For love does seldom hope survive. My heart may languish for a time, Whilst all your Glories in their prime Can justify such cruelty. By the same force that conquered me, When age shall come, at whose command Those troops of beauties must disband; A Tyrant's strength once took away, What slave so dull as to obey! EPILOGUE To every Man in his humour. IN treaty shall not serve nor violence▪ To make me speak in such a Plays defence. A Play where Wit and Humour do agree To break all practised Laws of Comedy: The Scene (what more absurd) in England lies, No Gods descend, nor dancing Devils rise; No captive Prince from nameless Country brought No battle, nay, there's not a duel fought. And something yet more sharply might be said, But I consider the poor Author's dead; Let that be his excuse— Now for our own, Why— Faith, in my opinion, we need none. The parts were fitted well; but some will say, Pox on 'em Rogues what made 'em choose this Play? I do not doubt but you will credit me, It was not choice, but mere necessity; To all our writing friends, in Town, we sent, But not a Wit durst venture out in Lent; Have patience but till Easter-Term, and then You shall have Jig and Hobby-horse again. Here's Mr. Matthew, our domestic Wit, Does promise one of the ten Plays h'as writ; But since great bribes weigh nothing with the just Know, we have merits, and in them we trust; When any Fasts, or holidays, defer The public labours of the Theatre, We ride not forth although the day be fair, On ambling Tit to take the Suburb-air, But with our Authors meet, and spend that time To make up quarrels between sense and rhyme. Wednesdays and Fridays constantly we sat Till after many a long and free debate, For divers weighty reasons 'twas thought fit, Unruly sense should still to rhyme submit. This the most wholesome Law we ever made. So strictly in this Epilogue obeyed, Sure no man here will ever dare to break. Enter Johnson's Ghost. Hold, and give way, for I myself will speak, Can you encourage so much insolence, And add new faults still to the great offence Your Ancestors so rashly did commit Against the mighty Powers of Art and Wit? When they condemned those noble works of mine Sejanus, and my best loved Catiline: Repent, or on your guilty heads shall fall The curse of many a rhyming Pastoral: The three bold Beauchamps shall revive again, And with the London Apprentice conquer Spain All the dull follies of the former age Shall rise and find applause upon this Stage. But if you pay the great arrears of praise, So long since due to my much injured Plays, From all past crimes I first will set you free, And then inspire some one to write like me. To a very Young Lady. SWeetest bud of Beauty, may No untimely frost decay Th' early glories which we trace, Blooming in thy matchless face; But kindly opening, like the Rose, Fresh beauties every day disclose, Such as by Nature are not shown In all the blossoms she has blown: And then what conquest shall you make, Who hearts already daily take; Scorched in the Morning with thy beams, How shall we bear those sad extremes Which must attend thy threatening eyes When thou shalt to thy Noon arise The forsaken Mistress. DIALOGUE. Phil. TEll me, gentle Strephon, why You from my Embraces fly; Does my love thy love destroy; Tell me, I will yet be coy. Stay, O stay, and I will feign (Th●●gh I break my heart) disdain; But lest I too unkind appear, For every frown i'll shed a tear. And if in vain I court thy love, Let mine, at least, thy pity move: Ah while I scorn, vouchsafe to woe, Methinks you may dissemble too. Str. Ah Phillis, that you would contrive A way to keep my love alive, But all your other charms must fail, When kindness ceases to prevail. Alas! no less than you, I grieve, My dying flame has no reprieve, For I can never hope to find, Should all the Nymphs I court be kind, One Beauty able to renew Those pleasures I enjoy in you, When Love and Youth did both conspire To fill our breasts and veins with fire. 'Tis true, some other Nymph may gain That heart which merits your disdain, But second Love has still allay, The joys grow aged, and decay. Then blame me not for losing more Than Love and Beauty can restore: And let this truth thy comfort prove, I would, but can no longer love. The Divided Heart. AH! Celia, that I were but sure Thy l●ve, like mine, could still endure; T●at time and absence, which destroy The cares of Lovers, and their joy, Could never rob me of that part Which you have given me of your heart; ●●●ers unenvied might possess Whole hearts, and boast that happiness. 'twas nobler Fortune to divide The Roman Empire in her pride ●●en on so●e low and barbarous Throne, 〈◊〉 p●a●'d, to rule alone. Love only from thy heart exacts The several debts thy face contracts, And by that new and juster way ●●cures thy Empire and his sway▪ Favouring but one he might compel The hopeless Lover to rebel. But should he other hearts thus share, That in the whole so worthless are, Should into several squadrons draw That strength which kept entire could awe, Men would his scattered powers deride, And conquering Him those spoils divide. TO Mr J. N. on his Translations out of French and Italian. WHile others toil our Country to supply With what we need only for Luxury, Spices, and Silk, in the rich East provide, To glut our Avarice and feed our pride You foreign learning prosperously transmit, To raise our Virtue; and provoke our Wit. You foreign learning prosperously transmit, To raise our Virtue, and provoke our Wit. Such brave designs your generous soul inflame To be a bold Adventurer for Fame; How much obliged are Italy and France, While with your voice their Music you advance? Your growing Fame with Envy can oppose, Who sing with no less art than they compose; In these attempts so few have had success, Their Beauties suffer in our English dress: By artless hands spoiled of their native air, They seldom pass from moderately fair: As if you meant these injuries to atone, You give them charms more conquering then their own Not like the dull laborious Flatterer, With secret art those graces you confer. The skilful Painters with slight strokes impart, That subtle beauty which affects the heart. There are who publicly profess they hate Translations, and yet all they write translate: So proud, they scorn to drive a lawful trade, Yet by their wants are shameless Pirates made▪ These you incense, while you their thefts reveal Or else prevent in what they meant to steal From all besides; you are secure of praise, But you so high our expectation raise, A general discontent we shall declare, If such a workman only should repair. You to the dead your Piety have shown, Adorned their monuments, now build your own: Drawn in the East, we in your lines may trace That Genius which of old inspired the place: The banished Muses back to Greece you bring, Where their best airs you so divinely sing; The world must own they are by you restored To sacred shades, where they were first adored. Virtues Urania. HOpeless I languish out my days, Struck with Urania's conquering eyes: The wretch at whom she darts these rays Must feel the wound until he dies. Though endless be her cruelty, Calling her beauties to my mind, I bow beneath her tyranny, And dare not murmur she's unkind Reason this tamness does upbraid, Proffering to arm in my defence; But when I call her to my aid, She's more a Traitor than my sense. No sooner I the war declare But straight her succour she denies, And joining forces with the fair, Confirms the conquest of her ey●s. Silvia. THe Nymph that undoes me, is fair & unkind No less than a wonder by Nature designed; She's the grief of my heart, the joy of my eye, And the cause of a flame that never can die. Her mouth from whence wit still obligingly flows Has the beautiful blush, and the smell of the rose; Love and destiny both attend on her will, She wounds with a look, with a frown she can kill The desperate Lover can hope no redress, Where beauty and rigour are both in excess; In Silvia they meet, so unhappy am I, Who sees her most love, & who loves her must die. To Celia AS in those Nations where they yet adore Marble and Cedar, and their aid implore, 'Tis not the Workman, nor the precious Wood, But 'tis the Worshipper that makes the God: So, cruel Fair, though Heaven has given thee all We Mortals (Virtue, or can Beauty) call, 'tis we that give the Thunder to your frowns, Darts to your Eyes, and to ourselves the wounds. Without our Love, which proudly you deride, Vain were your Beauty, and more vain your Pride▪ All envied beings that the world can show, Still to some meaner thing their greatness owe; Subjects make Kings, and we (the numerous Train Of humble Lovers) constitute thy Reign. This difference only Beauty's Realm may boast; Where most it favours, it enslaves the most And they to whom it is indulgent found, Are ever in the rudest fetters bound. What Tyrant yet, but thee, was ever known, Cruel to those that served to make him one. Valour's a Vice, if not with Honour joined, And Beauty a Disease, when 'tis not kind. The Submission. AH! Pardon, Madam, if I ever thought Your smallest favours could too dear be bought And the just greatness of your Servants flame I did the poorness of their spirits name; Calling their due attendance, Slavery, Your power of Life and Death, flat Tyranny; Since now I yield, and do confess there is No way too hard that leads to such a bliss. So when Hippomanes beheld the Race, Where loss was Death, and Conquest but a Face, He stood amazed at the fatal strife, Wondering that Love should dearer be then Lise But when he saw the Prize, no longer stayed, But through those very dangers sought the Maid, And won her too: O may his Conquest prove A happy Omen to my purer Love, Which, if the honour of all Victory In the resistance of the Vanquished lie, Though it may be the least regarded Prize, Is not the smallest Trophy of your eyes. Constancy. FEar not, my Dear, a flame can never die, That is once kindled by so bright an eye: Look on thyself, and measure thence my love Think what a passion such a form must move; For though thy Beauty first allured my sight, Yet now I look on it but as the light That led me to the treasury of thy mind, Whose inward virtue in that feature shined. That knot (be confident) will ever last, Which Fancy tied, and Reason has made fast; So fast, that time (although it may disarm Thy lovely face) my faith can never harm; And age, deluded when it comes, will find My love removed, and to thy soul assigned. The passion I have now shall ne'er grow less, No, though thy own fair self should it oppress I could even hazard my Eternity, Love but again, and▪ twill a Heaven be. The Indifference. THanks, fair Urania, to your scorn, I now am free as I was born▪ Of all the pain that I endured By your late coldness, I am c●r'd. ●n losing me, proud Nymph, you lose The humblest Slave your Beauty knows, In losing you, I but throw down A cruel Tyran●t from her Throne. ● must confess I ne'er could fin● Your equal, or in shape, or mind. Y'ave beauty, wit, and all things know, But where you should your love bestow. ● unawares my freedom gave, And to those Tyrants grew a Slave; But would y'ave kept what you have won, You should have more compassion shown. Love is a burden, which two hearts, When equally they bear their parts, With pleasure carry▪ but no one, Alas, can bear it long alone. ●'m not of those who co●rt their pain, And make an Idol of 〈◊〉; My hope in Love does ne'er expire, But I lose also the desire. Nor yet of those, who ill received, Would gladly have str●nge things believed And if your heart you do ●ef●nd, Their force against your honour bend▪ Who e'er does make his Victor less, His own low weakness does confess; And whiles her power he does defame, He poorly doubles his own shame. Even that malice does betray, And speak concern another way: And all such scorn in men is but The smoke of fires ill put out. He's still in torment whom the rage To detraction does engage; In Love Indifference is sure The only sign of perfect cure. Yet, cruel Fair, if thou canst prove As happy in some other love, As I could once have done in thine, The Sun on happier does not shine. A Pastoral Dialogue. Thirsis. STrephon! O Strephon! once the jolliest Lad That with shrill Pipe did ever Mountain glad While'ome the foremost at our Rural Plays, The Pride and Glory of our holidays: Why dost thou now s●t musing all alone; Teaching the Turtles yet a sadder groan▪ Swelled with thy Tears, why does the neighbouring Broo● Bear to the Ocean what she never took? Why do our Woods, so used to hear thee Sing▪ With nothing now but with thy Sorrows ring? Thy Flocks are well and fruitful, and no Swain Then thee more welcome to the Hill or Plain. Strephon. No loss of these, or care of those are left, Hath wretched Strephon of his peace bereavest, I could invite the Wolf, my cruel Guest, And play unmoud while he on all did feast; I could endure that every Swain outrun, Out-threw, out wrestled, and each Nymph should shun The hapless Strephon: But the Gods, I find, To no such trifles have this Heart designed; A feller grief, and sadder loss, I plain, Then ever Shepherd, or did Prince, sustain; Bright Galatea, in whose matchless face Sateru all nnocence with heavenly grace, In whose no less to be adored mind, With equal light, even distant virtues shined, Chaste, without pride; though gentle, yet not soft; Not always cruel, nor yet kind too oft: Fair Goddess of these Fields, who for our sports, Though she might well become despised Courts, Beloved of all, and loving one alone, Is from my sight, I fear, for ever gone; Now I am sure thou wonder'st not, I grieve: But rather art amazed that I live. Thirsis, Thy case indeed is pitiful, but yet Thou on thy loss too great a price dost set; Women, like days are, Strephon, some be far More bright and glorious than others are; Yet none so wonderful were ever seen, But by as fair they have succeeded been. Strephon, Others as fair, and may as worthy prove, But sure I never shall another love; Her bright Idea wanders in my thought, At once my Poison, and my Antidote; The Stag shall sooner with the Eagle soar, Seas leave their Fishes naked on the shore; The Wolf shall sooner by the Lambkin die, And from the Kid the hungry Lion fly, Then I forget her face; what once I love, May from my eyes, but not my heart remove. To a Lady, who fled the sight of him. IF I my Celia could persuade To see those wounds her eyes have made, And hear whilst I that passion tell, Which, like herself, does so excel, How soon we might be freed from care! She need not fear, nor I despair. Such Beauty does the Nymph protect, That all approach her with respect; And can I offer violence Where love does join in her defence? This guard might all her fears disperse, Did she with Savages converse. Then my Celia would surprise With what's produced by her own eyes; Those matchless flames which they inspire In her own Breast, should raise a fire For Love, but with more subtle Art, As well as Beauty charms the Heart. To a Lady, ask him how long he would love her. IT is not, Celia, in our power To say how long our love will last, It may be we within this hour May lose those joys we now do taste; The Blessed, that immortal be, From change in love are only free. Then, since we mortal Lovers are, Ask not how long our love will last▪ But while it does, let us take care Each minute be with pleasure past; Were it not madness to deny To live, because weare sure to die; SONG. TEll me no more you love; in vain, Fair Celia, You this passion feign; Can they pretend to love, who do Refuse what Love persuades them to; Who once has felt his active flame, Dull Laws of Honour will disdain; You would be thought his Slave, and yet You will not to his power submit. More cruel than those Beauties are, Whose coyness wounds us to despair; For all the kindness which you show, Each smile and kiss which you bestow, Are like those cordials which we give To dying men, to make them live▪ And languish out an hour in pain; Be kinder, Ceiia, or disdain. TO HER EXCELLENCE, THE Marchioness OF NEWCASTLE, After the Reading of Her incomparable POEMS. Madam, WIth so much wonder we are struck When we begin to read your matchless Book, A while your own excess of merit stays Our forward Pens, and does suspend your Praise, Till time our minds does gently recompose, Allays this wonder, and our duty shows, Instructs us how your Virtues to proclaim, And what we ought to pay to your Great Fame; Your Fame, which in your Country has no bounds, But wheresoever Learning's known resounds. Those Grace's Nature did till now divide, Your Sex's Glory, and our Sex's Pride, Are joined in you; and all to you submit, The brightest Beauty, and the sharpest Wit. No Faction here, or fiery Envy sways, They give you Myrtle, while we offer Bays. What Mortal dares dispute those Wreaths with you Armed thus with Lightning, and with Thunder too? This made the Great Newcastles Heart your Prize, Your Charming Soul, and your Victorious eyes Had only power his Martial Mind to tame, And raise in his Heroic Breast a Flame: A Flame, which with his Courage still aspires As if immortal Fuel fed those Fires: This Mighty Chief, and your Great Self made One, Together the same Race of Glory run; Together in the Wings of Fame you move, Like yours, his Virtue: and like yours, his Love. While we your Praise endeavouring to rehearse, Pay that great Duty in our humble Verse, Such as may justly move your Anger, You, Like Heaven, forgive them, and accept them too But what we cannot, your brave Hero pays, He builds those Monuments we strive to raise: Such as to after-Ages shall make known, While he records your Deathless Fame, his own. So when an Artist some rare Beauty draws, Both in our wonder share, and our applause: His skill from Time secures the Glorious Dame, And makes himself immortal in her Fame. EPILOGUE TO TARTUFF, Spoken by Himself, MAny have been the vain attempts of Wit Against the still-prevailing Hypocrite: Once, and but once, a Poet got the day, And vanquished Busy in a Puppet-play: But Busie rallying, armed with zeal, and rage, Possessed the Pulpit, and pulled down the Stage. To laugh at English Knaves is dangerous then, While English Fools will think them honest Men: But sure no zealous Brother can deny us Free leave with this our Monsieur Ananias. A Man may say, without being called an Atheist, There are Damned Rogues among the French and Papist That fix Salvation to short band and Hair, That belch and snuffle to prolong a Prayer? That use t'enjoy the Creature to express Plain Whoring, Gluttony, and Drunkenness? And in a decent way perform them too, As well, nay better far, alas, than you; Whose fleshly failings are but Fornication, We godly phrase it, Gospel-Propagation, Just as Rebellion was called Reformation. Zeal stands but Centr'y at the Gate of Sin, Whilst all that have the Word pass freely in Silent, and in the dark, for fear of Spies, You march, and take Damnation by surprise, There's not a roaring Blade in all this Town Can go so far towards Hell for half a Crown, As I for six Pence, for we know the way; For want of Guides Men often go astray: Therefore give ear to what I shall advise, Let every married Man, that's grave and wise, Take a Tartuff, of known ability, To teach and to instruct his Family, Who may so settle lasting Reformation, First get his Son, then give him Education. The Imperfect Enjoyment. AFter a pretty amorous discourse, She does resist my love with pleasing force; Moved not with Anger, but with Modesty, Against her will she is my Enemy. Her eyes the rudeness of her Arms excuse, Whilst those accept what these seem to refuse; To ease my passion, and to make me blest, Th'obliging smock falls from her whiter breast; Then with her lovely hands she does conceal Those wonders Chance so kindly did reveal; In vain, alas, her nimble fingers strove To shield her Beauties from my greedy Love; Guarding her Breasts, her Lips she did expose, To save a Lily she must lose a Rose; So many charms she has in every place, A hundred hands cannot defend each Grace. Sighing at length her force she does recall, For since I must have Part, she'll give me All. Her arms the joyful Conqueror embrace, And seem to guide me to the fought-for place. Her love is in her sparkling eyes expressed, She falls o'th' bed for pleasure, more than rest. But Oh, strange passion! Oh, abortive joy! My zeal does my devotion quite destroy Come to the Temple where I should adore My Saint, I worship at the sacred door; Oh, cruel chance! the Town which did oppose My strength so long, now yields to my dispose; When, overjoyed with victory, I fall Dead at the foot of the surrendered wall Without the usual Ceremony, we Have both fulfilled the amorous mystery The action which we should have jointly done, Each has unluckily performed alone; The Union which our Bodies should enjoy, The Union of our eager souls destroy. Our flames are punished by their own excess, Wed had more pleasure had our Loves been less; She blushed and frowned, perceiving we had done; The sport she thought we scarce had yet begun; Alas, said I, condemn yourself, not me, This is th'effect of too much modesty. Hence with that peevish virtue, the delight Of both our Victories was lost i'th' fight; Yet from my shame your glory does arise, My weakness proves the vigour of your eyes; They did consume the Victim, ere it came Unto the Altar, with a purer flame: Phillis, let then this comfort ease your care, you'd been more happy had you been less fair. A PROLOGUE Spoken at the opening of the DUKE'S NEW PLAYHOUSE. 'tIs not in this as in the former Age, When Wit alone sufficed t'adorn the stage; When things well said an Audience could invite, Without the hope of such a Gaudy Sight: What with your Fathers took would take with you If Wit had still the Charm of being New; Had not enjoyment dulled your appetite, She in her homely dress would yet delight; Such stately Theatres we need not raise, Our Old House would put off our dullest Plays. You Gallants know a fresh Wench of sixteen May drive the Trade in honest Bombarine And never want good Custom, should she lie ●n a back-Room, two or three stories high: But such a Beauty as has long been known, Though not decayed, but to Perfection grown, Must, if she mean to thrive in this lewd Town, Wear Points, laced Petticoats, and a rich Gown; Her Lodgings too must with her Dress agree, 〈◊〉 with Damask, or with Tapestry; H●●e China, Cabinets, and a great Glass, To ●●rike respect into an Amorous Ass. Without the help of Stratagems and Arts, An old Acquaintance cannot touch your Hearts. Methinks 'tis hard our Authors should submit So tamely to their Predecessors wit, ●●nce, I am sure, among you there are few Would grant your Grandfathers had more than you But hold! I in this business may proceed too far, And raise a storm against our Theatre; And then what would the wise Adventures say, Who are in a much greater fright to day Then ever Poet was about his Play? Our apprehensions none can justly blame, Money is dearer much to us then Fame: This thought on, let our Poets justify The Reputation of their Poetry; We are resolved we will not have to do With what's between those Gentlemen and you. Be kind, and let our House have but your praise, You're welcome every day to damn their Plays Falling in love with a Stranger at a Play. FAIR Amarillis, on the Stage, whilst you Behold a feigned love you gave a true; I like a Coward in the Amorous War, Came only to look on, yet got a Scar; Fixed by your eyes, I had no power to fly, They held me whilst you gained the Victory: I thought I safely might my sight content, To which the power to like (not love) I lent; And if I ventured on some slight Discourse, It should be such as could no passion nurse: Led by the treacherous lustre of your eyes, At last I played too near the Precipice: Love came disguised in wonder and delight▪ And I was conquered ere I knew him right; Your words fell on my passion like those showers; Which swell and multiply the rising flowers; Like Cupid's self, a God, and yet a child, Your looks at once were awful, and yet mild: Me thoughts you blushed, as conscious of my flame, Whilst your strict virtue did your beauty blame: But rest secure; y'are from the guilt as free, As Saints adored from our Idolatry; And Love a Torment does for me prepare, Beyond your rigour in my own despair. Indifference excused. LOve, when 'tis true, needs not the aid Of sighs nor tears to make it known; And to convince the cruelest Maid, Lovers should use their love alone: Into their very looks 't will steal; And he that most will hide his flame Does in that care his pains reveal, Silence itself can love proclam: This Aurelia made me shun The paths that common lovers tread: Whose guilty passions are begun, Not in their Hearts, but in their Head. I could not sigh, and with crossed arms Lament your Rigour and my Fate, Nor tax your beauty with such charms As men adore, and Women hate: But careless live, and without Art, Knowing my love you must have spied, And thinking it a foolish part, To strive to show what none can hide. The Platonic. FAIR Octavia, you are much too bla● To blow the fire, and wonder at the I did converse, 'tis true, so far was mine; But that I loved, and hoped, was wholly thine; Not hoped, as others do, for a return, But that I might without offending bourn. I thought those eyes which every hour Could not remember all the wounds they Forgotten in the crowd I wished to lie, And of your coldness, not your anger, die; Yet since you know I love, 'tis now no time Longer to hide, let me excuse the crime; Seeing what laws I to my passion give, Perhaps you may consent that it should live, First, it never shall a hope advance Of waiting on you, but by seeming chance, I at a distance will adore your eyes, As awful Persians do the Eastern Skies, I never will presume to think of Sex, Norwith gross thoughts my deathless love perplex I tread a pleasant path without design; And to thy care my happiness resign, From Heaven itself thy beauty cannot be A freer gift than is my love to thee. To a Devout Young Woman. PHillis this mighty zeal assuage, You overact your part; The Martyrs at your tender Age, Gave Heaven but half their heart. Old men (till past the pleasure) ne'er Declaim against the sin, 'Tis early to begin to fear The Devil at fifteen. The World to Youth is too severe, And like a treacherous light, Beauty the Actions of the fair Exposes to their sight. And yet this World, as old as 'tis, Is oft deceived by't too; Wise Combinations seldom miss, Let's try what we can do. SONG. WHEN Aurelia first became The Mistress of his heart, So mild and gentle was her reign, Thirsis in hers had part. Reserves and care he laid a side, And gave his Love the Reins; The headlong course he now must bide, No other way remains. At first her cruelty he feared, But that being overcome, No second for a while appeared, And he thought all his own: He called himself a happier 〈◊〉 Than ever loved before; Her favours still his hopes outran; What Mortal can have more? Love smiled at first, then looking gra●● Said, Thirsis leave to boast; More joy than all her kindness gave, Her fickleness will cost. He spoken, and from that fatal time, All Thirsis did, or said, Appeared unwelcome, or a crime, To the ungrateful Maid. Then he despairing of her heart, Would fain have had his own Love answered, such a Nymph could part With nothing she had won▪ TO CLORIS. CLoris, I cannot say, your eyes Did my unwary heart surprise, Nor will I swear it was your face, Your shape, or any nameless grace; For you are so entirely fair, To love a part injustice were; No drowning man can know which drop Of water his last breath did stop; So when the stars in Heaven appear, And join to make the Night look clear, The Light we no one's Bounty call, But the united work of all; He that both lips, or hands adore, Deserves them only, and no more; But I love all, and every part, And nothing less can ease my heart. Cupid, that Lover weakly strikes, Who can express what 'tis he likes. SONG. AUrelia, art thou mad To let the World in me Envy joys I never had, And censure them in thee. Filled with grief for what is past, Let us at length be wise, And the Banquet boldly taste, Since we have paid the price. Love does easy souls despise, Who lose themselves for toys, And escape for those devise, Who taste his utmost joys. To be thus for Trifles blamed, Like theirs a folly is, Who are for vain swearing damned, And knew no higher bliss. Love should like the year be crowned, With sweet variety; Hope should in the Spring be found Kind fears, and jealousy. In the Summer flower should rise, And in the Autumn Fruit; His Spring doth else but mock our eyes, And in a scoff salute. SONG LOve still has something of the Sea, From whence his Mother rose; No time his Slaves from doubt can free, Nor give their thoughts repose: They are becalmed in clearest days, And in rough weather tossed; They whither under cold delays, Or are in tempests lost. One while they seem to touch the Po●●, Then strait into the Main, Some angry Wind in cruel sport, Their Vessel drives again. At first, disdain and pride they fear, Which if they chance to scape, Rival● and falsehood soon appear In a more dreadful shape. By such degrees to joy they come, And are so long withstood, So slowly they receive the sum, It hardly does them good. 'tis cruel to prolong a pain; And to defer a Bliss, Believe me, gent●● Hermione, No less inhuman is. An hundred thousand oaths your fears, Perhaps would not remove; And if I gazed a thousand years, I could no deeper love. 'Tis fitter much for you to guests, Then for me to explain; But grant, O grant that happiness Which only does remain. A Dialogue between Amintas and Celia. Celia. AMintas I am come alone According as I said; But whither is thy Honour flown? I fear I am betrayed: Thy looks are changed, and in the place Of innocent desires, Methinks I see thy eyes and face Burn with unusual fires. Amintas. sees not my Celia Nature wear One Countenance in the Spring, And yet another shape prepare, To bring the Harvest in? Look on the Eagle, how unlike He to the Egg is found, When he prepares his Pownce to strike His Prey against the ground; Fears might my Infant Love become; 'twere want of kindness now, Should modesty my Hope benumb, Or check what you allow Celia. Amintas hold, what could you worse To worst of Women do? Ah! how could you a passion nurse, So much my Honour's Foe? Amintas. Make not an idol of a Toy, Which every breath can shake, Which all must have, or none enjoy, What course so ere we take: Whilst Women hate, or Men are vain, You cannot be secure; What makes my Celia then a pain So fruitless to endure? Celia. Could I the World neglect for the e, Thy love, though dear it cost, In some unkind conceit of me, Would be untimely lost: Thou wouldst thy own Example fear, And every heedless word I chance let fall beyond thy care, Would some new doubt afford. Amintas. If I am jealous, 'tis because I know not where you love; With me fulfil Loves gentle Laws, And all my fears remove. Celia. Women, like things, at second hand, Do half their value lose, But whilst all Courtship they withstand, May at their pleasure choose. Amintas. This were a fine Discourse, my Dear, If we were not alone; But now Love whispers in my ear, There's somewhat to be done. She said she never would forgive, He kissing, swore she should; And told her she was mad to strive Against their mutual good. What farther passed, I cannot tell, But sure not much amiss; He vowed he lov●d her dearly well, She answered with a kiss. SONG. GEet you gone, you will undo me, If you love me, don't pursue me; Let that inclination perish, Which I dare no longer cherish; It does of late so fast prevail, It must go now or not at all: For should it gather farther strength, 'Twould give my Honour Laws at length: With harmless thoughts I did begin, But in the Crowd Love entered in; I knew him not he was so gay, So innocent and full of play; At every hour, in every place, I neither saw; nor formed your face; All that in Plays was finely writ, My thoughts for you, and me were fit. My Dreams at night were all of you, Such as till then I never knew: I sported thus in young desire, Cheered with light, free from his fire: But now his Teeth and Claws are grown, Let me the Fatal Lion shun; You found me harmless, leave me so; For were I not, you'd leave me too. SONG. PHillis, you have enough enjoyed The pleasures of Disdain; Methinks your pride should now be cloyed, And grow itself again: Open to Love your long shut Breast, And entertain its sweetest Guest. Love that can heal the wounds he gives, And can ill usage slight; May laugh at all that Fate contrives, Full of its own delight, For in his Chains weare happier far, Then Kings themselves without 'em are. Leave then to tame Philosophy The joys of quietness; With me into Love's Empire fly, And taste my happiness: Where even Tears and Sighs can show, Pleasures the cruel never know. MADAM, for your Commands to stay, Is the mean duty of a Wretch, Whose service you with wages pay: Lovers should at occasion catch, Not idly wait till it be brought, But with the deed o'ertake your thought; Honour and Love let them give o'er, Who do their duty, and no more. AWake my Eyes, at night my thoughts pursue Your Charming Shape, & find it ever new If I my weary breast to sleep resign, In gaudy Dreams your love and beauty shine●▪ Dreams with such Ecstasies Pleasures filled, As to those joys they seem can only yield: Nor do they yield perhaps, would you allow, Dear Flavia, that I once might know. SONG PHillis, let's shun the common Fate, And let our love never turn to hate; I'll dote no longer than I can, Without being called a faithless Man, When we begin to want Discourse, And kindness seems to taste f force, As freely as we met, we'll part, Each one possessed of their own heart. Thus whilst grave Fools themselves undo, We'll Game, and give off Saviours too: So equally the match we'll make, Both shall be glad to draw the stake. A smile of thine shall make my bliss; I will enjoy thee in a kiss I'll love and hate just where you do, And for't no other reason know. When from this height my love does fall we'll bravely scorn to love at all: If thy affection first decay, I'll the whole blame on Nature lay. Alas what Cordial can remove, The hasty Fate of dying Love? I'll grieve as for a friend deceased And with the next as well be pleased: Thus we will all the World excel, In loving, and in living well. DISTICH. ALthough no Art the Fire of Love can tame 'Tis oft extingiushed by an equal flame. THE painted Apples that adorn, Of yond fair Tree, the Airy top, And seems our dull approach to scorn, From their weak Stalk must one day drop; And out of reach of Mortals placed, Be the vile food of Worms at last; Thus ends of Humane things the Pride, Born down Times ever-flowing Tide. Thy Matchless Beauty, that we all Now with such heat and passion court, Though kept from worthy Lovers, shall Confess its Tyranny but short: Then do not Love with Anger meet, Nor cruel be, to seem discreet: Shunning what Nature does intend, Things seldom meet a Nobler ●nd. SONG NOt Celia that I juster am, Or better than the rest For I would change each hour like them, Were it my interest. But I am tied to very thee, By every thought I have Should you my heart but once set free, I would be no more slave. All that is Woman is adored: In thy dear self I find: For your whole Sex can but afford. The handsome and the kind. Why then should I seek farther store, And still make love anew? When change itself can give no more, 'Tis easy to be true. SONG. THirsis no more against my flame advise, But let me be in love, and be you wife; Here end, and there begin a new address, Pursue the vulgar, easy happiness: Leave me to Amaranta, who alone Can in my sullen heart erect her Throne: know as w●ll as you 'tis mean to burn, For one who to our ●lame makes no return: But you like me know not those conquering eyes, Which mock prevention by a quick surprise: And now like a hurt Deer, in vain I start, From her, that in my breast has hid the Dart. Though I can never reach her Excellence, Take somewhat in my hopeless Love's defence. Her Beauty is her not esteemed Wealth, And Graces move about her eyes by stealth; Virtue in others, the forced Child of Art Is but the constant temper of her Heart: All charms her Sex so often courts in vain, (Like Indian Fruit, which our cold Earth disdain) I● her grow wild, as in their Native Air; And she has all perfection without care. O Loves harms she has a gentle sense, 〈◊〉 Beauty else would clog her innocence: Like a wise Prince she rules her servants so, That neither want nor Luxury they know; None vainly hoping what she may not give, Like humble slaves at small expense we live: And I the wretched comfort only share, To be the last whom she will bid despair. SONG. I Ask not my Celia would love me again, In its own pleasure my love is paid; I'll find such excuses for all her disdain, That shortly to frown I'll make her afraid. Her neglect of me, of herself I'll think care; Her cruelty, I her strict Virtue will name; When least kind she seems, I'll believ her most near And call her refusal, but a Virgin's Fame. Thus all that was wont heretofore to cure love, In me shall increase, and stir up the fire; I'll make her at last some kind remedy prove, Since all others but increase my desire. Whilst no man enjoys that which I court in vain, And Celia to none is kinder than me; To 〈◊〉 Honour I'll yield, and never complain, But dy● at her feet, if so it decree. SONG. DRink a bout till the day find us, These are pleasures that will last, L●t no foolish passion blind us Joys of Love make too much haste. Maids are long ere we can win 'em, And our Passions waste the while; In a B●er Glass we'll begin 'em, Let some Fool take th' other toy. Yet we will have store of good Wenches, Whom their own high bloods shall court, After two or three good Drenches, To outdo them at the Sport; Joining thus both Mirth and Beauty, To make up our full delight: In Wine and Love we pay our Duty To each friendly coming night. SONG. WAlking among thick shades alone, I heard a dying voice Which sighing ●aid, now she is gone I'll make no second choice. I looked and saw it was a Swain, Who to the flying wind, Did of some Neighbouring Nymph complain, Too fair, and too unkind. He told me how he saw her first, And with what gracious eyes, And gentle speech that flame she nursed, Which since she did despise. 〈◊〉 Vows she did as fast receive, 〈◊〉 could breathe 'em to her; 〈◊〉 in her Eyes proclaimed her leave, That he alone should woe her. They feed their flocks still near one place, And at one instant me● He gazing on her lovely face, Fell deeper in the Net. She seemed of her new Captive glad, Proud of his Bondage he; No Lover ere a prospect had Of more felicity▪ But the false Maid, or never loved, Or gave so quickly o'er; ere his was to the height improved, Her kindness was no more. Even her dissemble she let fall, And made him plainly see, That though his heart she did enthrail, Her own was ever free. Now lest his care should pity move, She shuns his very sight; And leave him to that hopeless love, She did create in spite. Her name I could not make him tell, Though vowing him my aid; He said he never would reveal, In Life, nor Death, the Maid. Then a wild look the Shepherd cast, And falling underneath A Beach, where he had seen her last, Resigned his ●●most breath. SONG. AS I sat thoughtful in a shade, There I spied a loving pair, Who closely by each other laid, Past their time in softer care: While she looked sadly on the ground, On her Eyes the Youth's were fixed; In which me thought he gladly found Jealousy with kindness mixed: But his soon dull and heavier grew, When she raised her drooping Head, And told him, since he was untrue, With his Faith her Love was fled. Though Jealousy be full of pain, Constant Love can suffer more: The death of yours, says the grieved Swain, Shows it was but weak before. The Nymph replied, since you can prove False to one so kind as I, Alas, how hard is it to love And how easy 'tis to die! He answered, and did gently seize, Her fair hand he did adore; Since you can die with so much ease, You can love me still with more. Disguise not then your tender heart, Fear I should another's be, Betrays, in spite of all your Art, That you were born for only me. Like gentle Dew on withered leaves, Love is lost on almost all: But the fresh Flower with joy receives That which there would vainly fall: To fairest Nymphs Love adds a grace, And no kind one can be foul; Love gives a Beauty to the ●ace, And a softness to the Soul. Since therefore feigned inconstancy, With the world deceives you too, Henceforth my flame shall rather be Seen by all, than not by you. As by some waters purling noise, Oft repose we soon find; So these fond Turtles murmuring joys, Rocked asleep my restless mind. Which I from this blessed couple brought. Freed from all my duller care; But, in i●● pl●ce, alas, I thought Him too happy▪ Her too fair. SONG The Grave my envy now beget, That did my pity move; Who, by the right of wanting Wit Are free from cares of love. Turk's honour Fools, because they are By that defect secure▪ From slavery, and toils of War, Which all the rest endure. So I, that suffer cold neglect, And wounds from Celia's Eyes, Begin extremely to respect These Fools, that seem so wis●. 'tis true, they set their silly hearts On things of no delight; To pass all day for men of parts, They pass alone the night: But Celia never breaks their rest; Such servants she disdains; And so the Fops are dully blest, While I endure her chains. SONG. The Ballers Life, THEY have too many hours, that employ 'em About Business, Ambition, or News, While we that know how to enjoy 'em, Wish in vain for the time which such Blockheads misuse: They that toil in impertinent care, May strive to be often at leisure; They cannot be worse than they are; But we whose business is pleasure, Have never a moment to spare. With dangerous Damsels we dally, Till we come to a closer dispute; And when we no more Forces can rally, Our kind foes give us leave to retire and recruit; Then drooping to Bacchus we fly, Who Nobly regarding our merits, With succours always is nigh; And thus reviving our spirits, We love, and we drink till we die. SONG. WHEN cold despair Would quench my passion, and end all my care, Then gentle words, and gentle sighs recall My vanishing hopes which fain would stay; But stranger fears soon drives my hopes away; And back again to grief I fall▪ Her favour thus, like Cordials given in vain To dying men, does but prolong my pain. Ah Gloriana, why Like all your other Lovers may not I Have leave, alas, soon to despair and die? Be rather cruel, then but kind in part, Hide those soft looks, or show as soft a heart. To Celia. Celia, the faithful servant you disown, Would in obedience keep his love unknown But bright Ideas such as you inspire, We can no more conceal, than not admire; My heart at home, in my own breast did dwell Like humble Hermit in a peaceful Cell, Unknown, and undisturbed, it rested there, Stranger alike to hope, and to despair: But Loves Tumultuous Train do●s now invade The sacred quiet of this hollowed shade, His fatal flame shine out to every eye, Like blazing Comets in a Winter Sky. Fair and severe like Heav'●● you enjoin, Commands that seem● 〈…〉 your own design; Forbidding what your 〈…〉 us to: Since if from Heavenly power you will allow, That all ●ur faculty 〈…〉 ●lain, What ●●re we will, is that the Gods ordain; But they and y●u, ●ights without Limit have. Over your Creatures, and more yours, your sl●ve: And I am one, born only to admire, To humbl● 'ere to hope, scar●e to desire, A thing whose ●liss depends upon your will; Who cou●d be proud, you'd deign to use him ill, How can my passion in ●it your offence, That challenges so little recompense▪ Let me but ever love, and ever be The Example of your power and cruelty; Since so much s●orn does in your breast reside, Be more indulgent to its Mother, Pride; Ki●● all y●u strike, and trample on their Craves, But own the Fates of your neglected slaves: When in the crowd yours undistinguished lies, You give away the Triumph of your Eyes: Permi● me then to glory in my Chains, My fruitless sighs, and my unpitied pains: Perhaps obtaining this, you'll think I find 〈◊〉 Mercy then your Anger has●d sig●●d, But Love has carefully contrived for me, The last perfection of Misery▪ For to my State those hopes of Common peace, Which Death affords to every Wretch, must cease My worst of Fates attends me in my Grave, Since, dying, I must be no more your Slave. To CELIAE ALL things submit themselves to your command, Fair Celia, when it does not Love withstand; The power it borrowed from your eyes alone, All but himself would yield to who has none; Were he not blind, such are the Charms you have He'd quit his Godhead to become your Slave. Be proud to act a Mor●a● Heroes part, And thr●w himself for Fame on his own Dart? But Fate hath otherwise disposed of things, In different Bonds subjecting Slaves, and Kings. That Fate (like you, resistless) does ordain That Love alone should over Beauty Reign. By Harmony the Universe does move; And what is Harmony, but mutual Love? See gentle Brooks, how quietly they glide, Kissing the rugged Banks on either side, Whilst in their Crystal Stream at once they show, And with them feed the Flowers which they bestow; Though pressed upon by their too rude embrace, In gentle murmurs they keep on their pace To their Loved Sea; for even streams have desire Cool as they are, they feel Love's powerful fires. And with such passion, that if any force Sto● or molest●um in their Amorous course, They swell with rage, break down, and ravage o'er The B●nks they kissed, the flowers they said before. Who would resist an Empire so Divine, Which Universal Nature does enjoin? Submit then Celia ere you be reduced, For Rebels vanquished once, are vil●ly used. And such are you, when e'er you dare obey Another passion, and your Love be●●ay. You are Loves Citadels, by you he reigns, And his proud Empire o'er the World maintains; He trusts you with his Stratagems and Arms, His frowns, his smiles, & all his conquering charms. Beauty's no more but the dead S●yl which Love Mannures, and does by wise Commerce improve; Sailing by Sighs through Seas of tears, he sends, Courtship from Foreign hearts: For your own ends▪ Cherish a Trade; for as with Indians we Get Gold and Jewels for our Trumpery, So to each other for their useless ●oyes, Lovers afford Inestimable Jays: But if you're ●ond of Trifles, be, and starve, Your Gugaw Reputation preserve; Live upon Modesty and empty Fame, Foregoing Sense, for a fantastic Name. SONG. As he lay in the Plain, his arm under his head And his Flock feeding by, the fond Celadon said Love's a sweet passion, why does it torment? 〈◊〉 a bitter (said he) whence are Lovers content Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain Or g●●eve at my Fate, when I know, 'tis in vain Y●t so pleasing the pain is, so soft is the Dart, That at once it both wounds me, & tickles my heart To myself I sigh often without knowing why; And whence ab●●●t from Phillis, m● thinks ● could die; But oh! what a pleasure still follows my pain; When kind Fortune does help me to see her again. In her eyes (the bright Stars that foretell what's to come, By soft stealth now and then I examine my doom. I press her hand gently, look languishing down, And by passionate silence I make my love known. But oh! how I'm blest when so kind she does prove, By some willing mistake to discover her love; When in striving to hide, she reveals all her flame, And our Eyes tell each other what neither dare name SONG. HOw Charming are those pleasant pains Which the successful Lover gains! Oh! how the longing Spirit flies, On scorching sighs, from dying eyes? Whose intermixing Rays impart, Love's welcome Message to the heart. Then, how the active Pulse grown warm, To every sense gives the Alarm! But oh! the Raptures, and the Qualms, When Love unites the melting Palms! What ecstasies! what hopes and fears! What pretty talk, and amorous tears To these, a thousand Vows succeed, And then, oh Heaven's the secret deed! When sense and Soul are bathed in bliss, Think, dear Aminda! think on this; And curse those hours, we did not prove The ravishing delights of Love. SONG. GIve or foolish heart, and make haste to despair, For Daphne regards not thy vows nor thy prayer When I plead for thy passion, thy pains to prolong, She courts her Ghittar, and replies with a Song; No more shall true L●vers thy Beanty adore, Were the Gods so sever●▪ men would worship no more. No more will I wait like a Slave at thy door, I'll spend the cold nights at thy window no more: My lungs in long sighs I no more will exhale, Since thy Pride is to make me grow sullen and pale; No more shall Amintas thy pity implore, Where the Gods so ingrate, men would worship no more. No more shall thy Frowns or free humour persuade, To court the fair Idol my Fancy has made; When thy Saints so neglected, their follies give o'er Thy Deity's lost, and thy Beauty's no more. No more, etc. How weak are the Vows of a Lover in pain, When flattered by hope, or oppressed by disdain? No sooner my Daphne's bright Eyes I review, But all is forgot, and I vow all anew; No more cruel Nymph I will murmur no more, Did the Gods seem so fair, men would worship them more. SONG. WIth so much ease ingrateful Swains, Your faithless vows have cured your pains You think by those your perjuries betrayed, That all ar● false, or else may so be made? And every smile or pleasing word proclaims, The coldest Nymph an offering to your flames. Vain Shepherd know that now's the time To ●●ff●r for thy boasted crime: Repeated Vows with me less credit find, Then smiling Sea's, or the uncertain Wind. Deep Sighs and frequent tears as things of course, So common are that they have lost their force. Thy Passions Truth will best appear Disguised in doubts and guilty fear; When all the Heart and careful Tongue conceal, The Sense disordered, and the Eyes reveal; Such dark confusion makes the flame shine bright, So stars are best discerned through shades of night. One stolen look can better woe, Then Sighs and Tears and Vows can do. The falsest Hearts like empty Vessels found, But may thy feigned; become a real wound, That thy severer Penance may declare How great men's crimes, and women's virtues arse. SONG. DEar Aminda, in vain you so coily refuse, What nature and Love do inspire; That formal old way which your Mother did use, Can never confine the desire It rather adds Oil to the fire. When the tempting delights of wooing are lost, And pleasure's a Duty become; We both shall appear, like some dead Lover's ghost, To frighten each other from home; And the Genial bed like a Tomb. Now, low at your feet your fond Lover will lie, And seek a new Fate in your eyes; One Amorous smile will exalt him so high, He can all but Aminda despise; Then change to a frown, and he dies. To love, and each other, we'll ever be true; But to raise our Enjoyments by Art, We'll often fall out, and as often renew, For to wound and cure the smart, Is the pleasure which captives the Heart A PANEGYRIC sent by a Gentleman, with his Picture to his Mystriss. Go, Envied Picture. With her leave, presume To go where banished I must never come. Thou art not from Orinda's Eyes debarred; She doomed the substance, but the shadow spared; How different is my punishment to theirs. Who for their fins are sent to offer Prayers▪ And visit Saints at some far distant shrine? But my hard penance is to stay from mine. Yet this may freely pass she's pleased to grant My Deputy may visit my fair Saint: My Duty to my Picture I resign, The Pilgrim That, but the Devotion's Mine. Since I'm debarred the freedom to be just, To this small Envoy I my vows intrust. This dumb Solicitor placed in my stead, May mind you of that cause, it cannot plead. whenever you look on this, think on my state, And let my Offering be my Advocate. But go thou false Dissembler. For each Line, Which while with her kind Presence blest, was mine; Now in her absence no Resemblance bears, To look like Me it wants my Griefs and Tears. Wanting her presence, all my looks and sense, Which were employed t' admire her Excellence. She gone, are grown so stupid and so dull My shadow wants a Body, I a Soul To him that Loves the gentle Fates allow A Constancy in all things but his Brow. He may look Dull, or Gay; be Mean, or Brave, As he's a happy or a wretched Slave, Who then Paints Me— Must draw me in my Chains, each Feature mould Just as the state I with my Conq'r●ur hold. And to describe each Line must look on You: Beauty that can make Shadows False, or True. However go, and her fair Hand salute. Thy want of Merits she will never dispute So much of Heaven reigns in her Generous Heart She can give Honours though to undesert. If my best Hopes prove true, and she prove Kind, Thou from her Favours master Preferment find. She may vouchsafe to wear thee at her Breast. Thus Worn, thus Ray●●d, thus honoured, & thus Blest Had it but half the Love and flames I felt, I would burst the Crystal, and the Gold would melt And at th' approach of so sublime a Bliss, Break through its Prison walls to force a Kiss But oh that Blessing's not for souls and Sense Her Virtues cherish nought but Innocence. Dull Picture cold and senseless as thou art, Thou mayst press near her Bos● me and her Heart. That Rape is not for Flesh and Blood designed, Her Smile's too great a bl●ssing for Mankind. Though thou'rt a poor ●ow Present, yet that Seat Her B●some w●l● install thee Rich and Great. Thy cancel●● Imperfections than are ceased. The Sacred L●dging Con●e●rates the Guest. Thy Price is from my Entertainment given, 'tis the Heaven makes the S●in●s, ●●no● they Heavn 'tis thy Ex●●ted ●●●e thy Worth declares, Base Mete●●s t●us w●en 〈…〉 high▪ ●●em Stars. From her fair Hand thy borrowed Lustre hold, She can lend value to thy worthless Gold. But if her favours can the Gift advance, How much would they the Offerers worth in hance? I'd tell her, (were it not a thought I find Too large to be to breath and words confined) How blest, how proud, how glorious I should be; How Generous, how Divine, how Charming she, To make her Acts of Grace thus near of Kin, To wear this at her Breast, and Me within. A LETTER sent from a Gentleman to his Friend. DEAR jack! I wonder what a devil Obliges thee to be so Civil, Thus long to stay in Countrey-village, To mind thy Father's Ploughs and Tillage, When we, in Town, for our diversion, Drink hard, sometimes, to cure a Tertian, And twenty other things, as Hector And Wench, which (jack) thou mayst conjecture; We want thee, I'faith, to help us out here, weare damnably put to the Rout-here; For t'other day seven Bacchanalians Fallen briskly on us, they were Aliens; And to those jolly Rites inur'd, We drunk while drink could be endured; seven Brimmers in a Hand went round, In which seven worthy Wights were drowned Poor Shallow Ned that night lay rough, And ever since has had a Cough. Which makes Him bark like angry Puppy, Against those who such large doses sup-ye; But wenching He does much delight in, And is esteemed an Arrant Knight in; Besides, the Rogue does know some women That are not Whores, I mean not common. To one of which, who he protested Was with all Ornaments invested. He led me— When rest from drink had lent me leisure, A Miss for wedlock (jack) not pleasure. I laughed in sleeve to think the Youngster Imagined I would keep a Long-stir. With Compliments as for my life, And all to yoke myself with wife; Though as I live I still must own, Her beauty might become a Throne; But I, like Rogue, indoctrinated, In such Intrigues devoutly prated Much modish Nonsense; which as good hap, Or Love would have it, stirred her blood up With such delight that all our discourse Was from our eyes, where Love had's Course. So free that kisses were as common, As those we give to naughty woman, And mingled palms had bred such heat, That all our Love came out in sweat. Of which I this took Notice— Dammee Madam, said I, your hands are Clammy. She blushed and looked as if displeased — When I to mend the matter— Laughed at my impudence, and this pleased. But I'll be short, this my first visit, So well, on my part did solicit. That ere months end to me, a whole-age I of my Miss had better Knowledge. But now methinks I see thy Grotto Where on's inscribed the ancient Motto. Which used to me to be thy Story, Debauched Young men, Memento Mori. And now— That thou mayst see I make no waste on't. I have thought fit to give th' a Taste on't. A Memento Mori. AH! the sad hour When friends shall louvre And say, He's breathing now his last, When thoughts of Love and Drink are past; When Tyrant Death usurps that brain, Where little Maggot used to reign; And with its damned unmodish Witches, Pulls out the flame of my Caprici's; And with ill tastes that Mouth's infecting, Which Cheats in Wine was still detecting, When 'stead of Frontigniac or Champaign, They give me juice of E La Campane▪ And 'stead of Songs and bawdy Verses, One Hopkins' damned Rhyme rehearses; Another, he falls on his Knees; That, that alone is a Disease! For (jack) thou know'st I ne'er could pray, Unless 'twere on a Holiday; When Organ, Voice and Violin, Wheedles our wicked thoughts from sin; And then methinks I am in Heaven, With Bacchus drinking Brimmers seven. When Pan and Phoebus make us Music, Without which, praying would make you-sick: But without Compliment or Prayer, Which are but words, and words but Air▪ Bacchus will take me to his Table, And seat me 'midst the jolly Rabble. A NEW SONG. OF all the brisk Dancers my Saleena for me, For I love not a woman unless she be free; The affection that I to my Mystriss do pay, Grows weary unless she do meet me halfway: There can be no pleasure till humour do hit, Then Jumping is as good as affection in wit. No sooner I came, but she liked me as soon; No sooner I asked but She granted my boon. And without a preamble, a Portion or Jointure, She promised to meet me, where ere I appoint her, So we struck up the Match, and Embraced each other Without the consent of Father or Mother. Then away with the Lady that's Modest and Coy Let her end be the pleasure that we do enjoy. Let her tickle her Fancy with secret delight, And refuse all the day what she longs for at night. I believe my Sallena say they are all mad To pick on dry bones while flesh may be had. The Pot Rapsodes. I'll leave the dish and hug the Glass, Whatere's the meat give me the sauce: Who swallows Crit, and never drinks Slike him that speaks before he thinks, Meat's but a gross parenthesis, No essence, but in liquid bliss. jove were a mortal were it not, he's deified by the Pot; Europa sat not on his Back, Had he not swum through Seas of Sack. I'll mount my thoughts to Giant height I'm Constellation in conceit. I'll pluck down Sol, and mount his Sphere, Then sullen Daphne shall appear; And seeing me grasp Pboebus' rays, Shall cringe and crown me with her Bays I'll rape the Moon; it shall be said, Cynthia ' th' changed the name of Maid. Her twinkling Girls shall all be ta'en, No Virgin left to bear her train. Thus Conquering Sun, Moon and Stars, With gods themselves I'll wager Wars. Or if on Earth my Mind can rest, I'll be a Monarch at the least. Our dull Plebeians shall grow quicker, Rinc●ng their muddy brains in liquor: The Miser then shall scatter Cash, For Wine shall change his Balderdash; And sing, and drink, and sing, Till every subject turn a King. The Conquered Gods shall make us legs, Entreating they may sip the dregs. Thus will we tipple till the World Into Oblivion is hurled, And when we seel Old-Age doth come; We'll post into Elysium, And there our chiefest Joy shall be To think of past Felicity. SONG. IT is not, Chloris, your disdain Can ever cover with despair, Or in cold Ashes hide that care; Which I have fed with so long pain, I may perhaps my Eyes refrain, And fruitless words no more impart, But yet still serve, still serve you in my heart. What though I spend my hapless days In finding Entertainments out, Careless of what I go about: Or seek my peace in skilful ways, Applying to my Eyes new Rays Of Beauty and another flame, Unto my heart, my heart is still the same. 'Tis true, that I could love no face▪ Inhabited by cold disdain, Taking delight in others pain. Your looks are full of native grace, Scorn there, by chance, alone has place; And 'tis my hope I may in time remove, This scorn one day, One day by endless Love. SONG. AH Chloris would the Fates allow We still might love as we love now, The world has no such ●oyes in store, Fancy itself can wish no more. For nothing sure so sweet can prove, As pleasures of beginning Love. But Love when to his height arrived, Of all our Joys is shortest lived; His Morning passed he sets so soon, That none can find his afternoon, And of that little time is lent, Half in unkindness is misspent. Since Face to Love so shore life gives, And Loves so tender while he lives. Let us remove mean doubts away, So to prevent his first decay; Like Vines, no second wound, Love bears But weeps away his life in Tears. To CHLORIS. CHloris, since you my passion know, And every ●●●k my Love ●oes ●how, Sin●●●●●●●est w●ich so ●●ng did ●way, To your soft 〈…〉 gives ●●y; A slave to all the Motions of your Will, Why would you have me pine and languish still. I know you cannot love to see The many pains that torture me, When at your feet myself I lay, You always turn your eyes away: Beauty a softness from its Nature takes, Which cannot look upon the wounds it makes▪ Nor can your tender breast yet be From all Arrests of Passion free: No, 'tis some happier Love, I fear, Has taken up the Lodgings there▪ While like an importuning Beggar, I Turned out of doors, must thenceforth starve & die OC●AVIO to PORTIA. MAY the bright Portia, to whose sway So many Lovers yield each day, Not be displeased, if even to her Octavio dares his hopes prefer: And vows none else had e'er the power To make him love above an hour: 'Tis you have found at once the Art, To conquer and reform his heart. Too much 'twas given t'inconstancy before, But now 'tis so well placed, ●●ill change no more. Your scorn can ne'er put ●ut ●hat Fire, Which your more powerful Eyes ●●spire. Be as disdainful 〈◊〉 will, He'll s●ff●r a●●●n●●ove you still. Yet do not you imperious grow, Because his humble flames you kn●w: Nor o'er your ●lave with rigour ●eign, Because he cannot break his chain. Like Kings, who never treat their Subjects well When they are once assured they can't rebel. He hopes like all great Beauties you, Take pleasures only to subdue, All hearts to love, but won't think fit, To torture Slaves that bow to it; So some brave Hero seeks to kill, By all the ways of force and skill. While his pro●d foe maintains the strife, But gives him, when he yield, his life. Hearts that are hardened against threatening steel, The gentle touches of compassion feel. SONG. WHen as my Thirsis first did view me, With languishing and charming eyes, With many a sigh he seemed to woo me. And did my foolish heart surprise, With those false looks that are in fashion, But I my folly loath to own, striving to hide that rising passion; Care to concea● it made it known For the brisk youth did so●● discover A mighty tumult in my face. All the disorder of a Lover, When Passions combat in that place; Emboldened than he straight drew nigh me With gentle sweetness ●n ●is eyes▪ Saying, fair Celia, do not fly me, Or my poor humble heart despise. A Tribute which I ne'er did pay ●et, To any Nymph upon the Plain, And should you cruelly betray 〈◊〉 But oh! that caution was in vain; Yet said I love will soon be flying, Which in a moment has its Birth, As the too early Flowers are dying, The very minute they come forth. My Love said he from Fate arising, I can no more quit then avoid: But Love, produced from flow advising, By the same means might be destroyed. That which I have for that bright face, is A sympathy, not lazy love. The steel the Loadstone thus embraces, And of itself will ne'er remove. Then many amorous Vows he uses, To vouch his constancy and truth. Hard is that heart that once refuses To love and trust the lovely Youth. He plays then with my dangling Tresses, And humbly ga●e on my face. Kisses my hand, my breast he presses, Ala's, with too bewitching Grace. My blood grew ●hill, my heart too panting, Like the gen●●● Murmuring D●ve●; The skilful Youth no ●●●●ing wanting That fatal minute soon improves. He gently then lays me down by him, And many winning Oaths he swore, Ask what I ●ou'd not deny him, He had subdued me so before. Ah than he robbed me of that treasure, Which ne'er can be rei●●r'd again. But Oh the pain, yet Oh the pleasure, And Oh that both might still remain. But soon alas from me h● parted, And now in vain I make my moan, Since m● he sa●●ly has deserted; I'll sigh, and pine and dy● alone. SONG. THough Damon is haughty ●and seems to despise, The f●tte●s he lately has w●rne, Yet ●e k●●ws in ●is soul that his Phillis' eyes; Were she willing coul● conquer his scorn Then let not presumption so blind thee fond Damon To think that this ●umour shall e'er bring my flame on If he had been humble, obliging and free, Perhaps I had pitied his pain, B●t sin●● pride and Inconstancy in him I see; He shall know HE has but lengthened his chain. For now I perceive what the Fop does endeavour My Arts shall detain him my Captive for ever. SONG. If thou boast an Empire Cupid, Why dost thou permit thy State; Cowardlike as blind as stupid; To be ruled by a greater Fate. Fate in thy affairs seems rector, Lover's spite of thee may fall, Lass poor child th' ar● no Proctor; Fate is Governor of a●l. Neither have thine Arrows power, Since it was my Celia's eyes, Blasted me thou canst not bow her, Save with me she sympathise. Nor e'er was that yet procured By thine, but b' a natural Art. Nature 'twas that first enured, Joining bodies, well as hearts. SONG to LUCINDA. LUcinda, since we have confessed To each other, each others love, Why should our flames be still suppressed, And not to Action move. Both kindled at the first kind Interview, And both with equal care and vigour grew. Mine scorched and scorched, nor durst your passion say, You loved till forced they did themselves betray. Now let us study to improve Our Passions with that fire, That may not quickly waste our love, But still preserve desire. And silently enjoy at such a rate, That distance may our Fancies recreate; Dealing our Loves with that equality, As born together, so their Deaths may be. Lucinda shall but whispered be, Used as the Names of Saints; And called on as a Deity To satisfy Complaints. No other wishes dare attempt my breast, Now 'tis with bright Lucinda so possessed. She fills my thoughts with glory, then I'll cry Lucinda loves; Lucinda! so do I To his Mistress. A Flame as sacred as the vows of those, Who to devotion do their life's dispose. My love has nourished and to you, It is an offering due. And with you let it burn, Though I may hope but small return; Yet may my doubtful thoughts have rest, To know 'tis harboured in your breast. Where is but kindly cherished I'll not fear, But it may kindle the like passion there. A flame it is as chaste as your own thought, Free from the vices Nature would have taught; Refined by virtues that attend, A Lover and a friend. With freedom than you may receive, What with such Innocence I give; And if some heat from you't procures, there's still no fear of hurting yours. For in that Love no poison is conv●y'd, Where friendship is the chief ingredient m●●●. My love thus lodged I could contented live, But when I think how true how much I give; Your generous mind bids me expect, From you the like effect. Then fear not boldly to bestow, Your love where you in reason owe. For that and Justice too will say, It is a debt you ought to pay; But if your inclination disapprove, My resolution shall be still to love. SONG. FAith now my dear I must prevail, I know you'll not deny me, For if I wait another gale; This fortune than may fly me. Come let's enjoy, I am resolved, There is no danger near us Safe as in Rocks weare here involved, Where none can ' spy nor hear us. The pleasant murmurs of the Trees, Our gentle whispers smother, And since no Sun nor Moon can see, we'll wink at one another. Silent and vigorous we'll be, As Birds in our embraces, I neither will nor shalt thou see The Language of our faces. Our souls alone shall have discourse, Till every sense is stupid; And weare inspired by a fresh force To propagate a Cupid. To FLORIDA. FLorida, why wilt thou marry, Now the World is grown so wide, Liberty would have you tarry, Till Convenience make you Bride. Husband is a word sounds dully, Fit for gravity and Age, Dear, my life, my joy, my bully, Are the words that more engage. I'd not have thee out of fashion, Whilst thy youth and beauty holds, But to most have equal passion; And to some stark kind and cold. Humour in the greatest lovers, Is allowed t' admit of change, Since the wise do shoot at revers; 'Tis no crime for us to range, The distracted LOVER to the Air of Awake all ye dead. I'm now in love, but Oh but Oh, How severe are th' effects th●t from thence do fl●w. Diseases are trifles to their cruelty, Those create but a pain, these misery; Distracted souls so made by Love, Are blest they cannot disapprove. The harsh practices that fate on them does throw, Whom loves little God by his power brings to woe; Then cruel she, or come or come, And allot me thy breast, or a tomb, a tomb. 'Tis nobler far to kill, to kill A condemned stave then to keep him still; With his breast full of horror expecting then, Every moment a death, yet knows not when. Conquest delayed in none is brave, When they may give a sudden gr●ve. To those that are clothed in black despair, Delays like some poisons corrosive are, Then once more send thine eye, theine eye, That will sure●y destroy, and I die I die. To LAURINDA. LAurinda, thou canst show alone More Beauty than was ever shown, I've roved and find no smiles, T' express thine eyes by, but thine eyes Angels we see not but by thee, We may conclude such creatures be. Where then we do so much perfection find, We know that body must have such a mind; Thou needst no Arts nor Artifice, For Ornaments but this is this. And mayst thyself, thyself prefer In Church, or Court, or Theatre, Where needful Females show their tricks As nature too had Heretics; And this with care so plainly have devised As if 'twere glorious to be so disguised. Happy Laurinda where the gall Of cankered tongue's can never fall, Whose thoughts are fed with V●stall fire, And whom both Sexes do admire. 'Tis you I love beyond degree, Yet almost think it blasphemy But if a Deity can to Love incline, Kill me to say the blessing's mine. Prologue to the Impertinents acted at the Middle TEMPLE. THe Author of this Play comes to receive, His final doom which only you can give: Th' ill-judging Town has favoured what he writ Yet what so ere they do it is not fit, 'T should pass for current till you licence it. Though they their favour to him did allow, He may be found a Malefactor now; But to your Judgement he must humbly bow. He by your common law condemned must be, But for relief flies to your Chancery. He fears your Justice when you know that he, A Member of this learned Society▪ Lest fruitful Law for barren Poetry, Yet (Fathers of the Law) if ye will please, T' unbend your cars, & give your minds some ease From all the weights which they have born ere while, He hopes the mirth in's Play may gain your smile. And he's not so far gone but that he may, Plead once before you in a nobler way. Prologue at Oxford. YOur most obliging kindness one year shown A second time has brought your Servants down From the tumultuous and unlearned Town, Where Pride and Ignorance in a full cry, Dare all the Powers of Art and Wit defy: To the calm dwellings of the Muses here, Where all things soft and gentle do appear. When sacred Learning flourishes in peace, And without noise each moment does increase; Hither we come and with such pleasure too, As we can never hope t' afford to you. And yet with this we cannot be content, But you must pay for our divertisement: A Lover thus to's Mistress does impart, The treasure of his purse as well as heart; For that of which She has an equal part, What pleasure is it to give you delight, When most of you are fit to Judge and write. Here none t' appear fantastic take great pains, Or under huge white Perr'wigs have no brains; No blustering Bullies come in here half drunk, For China Oranges and love to Punk; To fly at Vizard Masks talk Nonsense loud, And with their noise outvie Bear-baiting Crowd Poets should be above such Judges raised, To be condemned by such is to be praised: But to his Nursery of Art and Wit, Our Poets humbly all their Pens submit. To you what 'ere they can invent is due, Since all that's Wit and Art is taught by you. Thus Inland Brooks into the Ocean flow, To which their streams & f●●n●●i●s too they owe But Po●ts must their emptiness ●e ●●●e, Who can but give what they received before. PROLOGUE to t●e Ordinary. FR●m you g●ve men of ●●●●n●●s and ●f trade Who w●re f●r industry, n●● pleasure, made We seldom do imp●o●e, or h●pe for aid. F●r w● bu● rarely ●re obliged by y●u, Y●u com● but when y●v● no●●i●g else to do; ● fi●es, our Wit to yo● n●e●●s no ●x●us●, For you all Wit do l●ke a Mystri●s u●e; A thing you sel●●m ●●e, w●ile some are cloyed With Wit, as with a Wise too o●t enjoyed; Nay, you will think that Wit which is ●o●●●, A Quibble, or a little Punn takes 〈◊〉; 〈◊〉 ●llness does men for business prepare, Whi● Wit delights in ease, and hates all care But to the young brisk men who think it fit, To spend no Afternoon but in the Pit, Whether we will or no we must submit. Some come with lusty Burgundy half-drunk, T'eat China Oranges, make love to Punk; And briskly mount a bench when th' Act is done, And comb their much-loved Periwigs to the tune, And can sit out a Play of three hours long, Minding no part of't but the Dance or Song; These are our trusty friends, but some there are, Most bloody Judges, who no Poets spare; But I have heard som● injured Authors say, That th●se m●st parlou●●e●●●●ers of a ●ay, With littl● Wit which they so much employ, Which by R●fl●ction only th●y enjoy, Would even those from whom they took't destroy. So does the famed Enlightened of the Night, Eclipse the Sun, from whom she'd all her light; And these Mock 〈◊〉 hiss and whistle loud, And with their noise cut-vie Bearbaiting Crowd. But Ladies, you are sweet, and soft, and fair, And will the Poet and the Actors spare; But b●sy men and Sparks are welcome now, T●e little Miss●s and great Ladies too, You altogether make a Noble S●ow. Y'ave paid foxed, and whatever Poets say, Think or say what you please of this our Pl●y. EPILOGUE to the Ordinary. OUR PROLOGUE huff●, but we are ●umo●●●ow, An●●●ar 〈◊〉 storm which hangs upon each brow, S●in S●a fights at first s●me have been b●ld, Who in the h●at took shelter in the H●ld: But now the danger of your ●hunder's nigh, We have no refuge, but to m●rcy fl●●: We yield our s●lves, an● you so generous ●e, Submitting foes, th●u●h 〈◊〉 s● great, you'll s●are. Gallants if y'are offended at our P●ay, And think w●have coursely treated ●●u to day: Think what a●f mi●e there is now of Wit, And that w● b●ing the b●st that we ca● g●t; We are poor Farmers, and make homely ●are, Whi●e ●●r ●i●h Landlord's may great Feasts prepare; Bu● their Revenue n●w is almost sp●nt, A●d you wi●● little wit must b● c●●t●n●: Nonsense sh●l● wear th● g●y disguise o● Rhyme, And though not understo●●, sh●●l sweetly climb: N●w emp●y shows must want ●f se●●● supply, Angels shall dance, and 〈◊〉 Witches fly: You sh●ll have 〈◊〉, t●●n●e & ●ig●t●ing too An● Co●jar ●s raise s●●●its to your view: The upper G●ll'ri● sh●●● have their desire, Who love a Fool, a D●vi● an● a ●●ia: Damned Plays shal● b● a 〈◊〉 wit● mighty s●en●s And Fustian shall b● sp●k● i●●●ge Machine's: And we w●●●●urling ●●r●ams 〈…〉 works show And you m●y l●ve t● 〈◊〉 it 〈…〉, S● Poets s●ve th●ir wit 〈…〉. This all our Scribblers can 〈◊〉 wi●h ●as●. T●●kle the fools, though not the Witty please▪ I● you expect ●●ue Com●dy again, That represents not Monst●rs, but shows men; Your expectation will be crossed, we fear, For we have little hope to see such here. A Prologue spoken at Court to the Empress of Morocco. THE mighty Army now assembled here, Of dreadful Critics w●ll might make us fear; But, Sir, to your Protection we retire; No Fo● (we know) will at your quarter's fire, Though n●'re so bad, if you but grace our P●ay, We and our Poet shall be safe to day: Your Royal stamp can make all money pass, And none da●es c●ip your Coin, tho' but of brass: Our valiant Hero's, like their Ladies, quake, And they (poor souls) all wish they now could take Morocco's deepest black their Cheeks to hide, That wh●n th●y blush, it might by none be spied. Like bashful Brides called to the Marriage bed, They can't go back, and dare not forward ●read; But you, great Sir, may soon remove their flare, And ease those hearts where you've the greatest share. Y●u with a smile can troubled minds assure, As with a Touch you sickly b●●i●s cure. To the Audience. Now Gallants, something should to you be said: But Beauty better much then Wi● can plead: None will this fair Petitioner withstand; I can but only beg; She, may command. Spoken by the Lady Elizabeth Howard. As tiu'rous ●●v●rites that have slighted long A Faction's, which at last they find grow strong, Think with themselves how they betime may close And make a Peac● with th● i●●revailing foes: So ou● young Ladies almost dead with fear, Reflection ●●l they m●y have angered here: And with a fl●tt● ri●g Prologue would excuse T●● 〈◊〉 rigour which th●y once did use. This humbl● Erran● I am sent to do●, Bu● it woul● ill b●c●me 〈◊〉 to woe, No● shall we need ●t sure to such as you. Methinks you should not r●il at us to day, And you are too gallant to mind the Play. But though you do, we hope at last each scene Where we shall act, will tak●, tho' ne'er so mean. In a fine ●adies Mouth all fine will show, As wi●●s blow sweet when they through Gardens blow. Use w●ll the Power we put into your hands, And know, long at i●s height no Empire stands. You were at ours, we at your mercy now, And must like Vassals to our Vassals bow; Y●t my brisk Monsieurs, be not too severe, Y'ave but a little time to domineer, And every Jest of yours may cost you dear: 'Tis b●t ●ik Royal slaves, this night you reign: The Play once done, we shall be crowned again, And you, poor Captives, must resume your ●hain. Then do your w●rst, we will the shock abide, You can at most but a feigned Love deride, When in good earnest you shall come to woe, It will be then our tu●n to laugh at you. Another Prologue spoke at Court to the Empress of Morocco. WIT has of late took up a tricked ' appear, Unmannerly, or at the b●st severe: And Poets share the Fa●e by which we fall, When kindly we attempt to please you all. 'Tis hard, your scorn should against such prevail, Whose ends are to divert you, tho' they fail. You Men would think it an ill-natured Jest, Should we laugh at you when you did your best. Then rail not here, though you see reason for't If Wit can find itself no better sport. Wit is a very foolish thing at Court. wit's business is to please, and not to fright, 'Tis no Wit to be always in the right, You'll find 〈◊〉 none, who dare be so to night. Few so ill-bred will venture to a Play, To spy out faults in what we Women say For us no matter what we speak, but how, How kindly can we say— I hate you now. And for the men, if you'll laugh at'em, do; T●●y mind themselves so much, they'll ne'er mind you— But why do I descend to lose a Prayer On those small Saints in Wit, the God sits there. T● you (Great Sir) my Message hither tends, From Youth and Beauty your Allies and Friends. See my credentials' written in my Face, They challenge your Protection in this place, And hither come with such a force of charms, As may give Check even to your prosperous ●rmes: Millions of Cupid's hover in the Rear, Like Eagles following, fatal Troops appear. All waiting for the slaughter, which draws nigh. Of those bold Gazers, who this Night must die. Nor can you ●ca●e our soft Captivity, From which old Age alone must s●t you free. Then tremble at the fatal Cons●qun●— Si●ce, 'tis well known for your own part (Great Prince) Against us you still have ma●e a weak defence— Be generous, and wise, and take our part; Remember we have eyes, and you a heart. Else you may find, too late, that we are things Born to kill vassals, and to conquer Kings. But oh! to what vain Conquest I pretend, Whilst Love is our Commander, and your Friend. Our victory your Empire more assures, For Love will ever make the Triumph yours. A SONG. FOrgive me Jove! Or, if there be a kinder god above, Forgive a Rebel to the Power of Love: H●●r me (kind Cupid) and accept my Vow, Min●, who ●e voutly at t●y Altar Bow; O! hear me now: Dorinda ●ear, and w●at I've done amiss Pardon, and seal that pardon with a Kiss. Stay! methinks the melting Saint, Kindly Echoes my complaint; Look! I fancy I descry Pi●y dropping from her eye; Ha●k! she says Philander live, All thy Errors I forgive: And now, ah me! to repent I begin, That against so much goodness I ever should Sin; But never again, oh! never will I, Offend my Dorinda, for sooner I'll die. SONG. AH Cruel Eyes! that first inflamed My poor resistless heart; That, when I would my thoughts have blamed they still increase the smart: What pow, r above Creates such Love. To languish with desire▪ May some disdain Increase my pain, Or may the flame expire. And yet I die to think how soon My wishes may return, If slighted, and my hopes once gone, I must in silence mourn: T●en Tyrannels D● but express, The Mystry of your power, ‛ ●●s as s●on said. You'll l●ve and wed As studying for'● an hour. I yield to Fate, though your fair eyes Have made the power your own; 'Twas they did first my heart surprise, Dear Nymph 'twas they alone: For honour's sake, Your heart awake, And let your pity move: 〈◊〉 in ●●spair O● on so fair, I bid adieu to Love. A SONG. NAy! let me alone, protest I'll be gone▪ 'Tis a folly to think I●le be subject to One: Never hope to Cousin A Young Gallant to dine, Like a Scholar of Oxford, on naught but the Loin, For, after Enjoyment, our Bellies are full; And the same dish again makes the Appetite dull. By your Wantoning Art; Of a Sigh, and a Start, You endeavour, in vain, to inveigle my heart? For the Pretty Disguise Of your Languishing Eyes, Will never prevail with my Sinews to rise: And 'twas never the Mode, in an Amorous 〈◊〉 When a Lover has dined, to persuade him to 〈◊〉 Faith Betty the Jest Is almost at the best, 'tis only variety makes up the Feast? For when we've enjoyed; And with pleasures are cloyed? The vows, that we made to love, ever are 〈◊〉 And you know, pretty Nymph, it was ever 〈◊〉 That a meal should be made of a Relishing 〈◊〉 A SONG in the Dutch-Love●. AMintas bid me to a Grove, Where all the Trees did shade us, The Sun itself, though it had striven, It could not have betrayed us, The place, secured from Humane eyes, No other fear allows, But, when the Wind doth gently rise, To kiss the yielding boughs. (2) Down there we sat upon the Moss, And did begin to play, A thousand wanton tricks to pass The heat of all the day; A many kisses he did give, And I returned the same, Which made me willing to receive. That which I dare not name. (3) His Charming Eyes no Aid required To tell their amorous tale; On her that was already fired, 'Twas easy to prevail: He did but kiss, and clasp me round, Whilst those his thoughts expressed, And laid me softly on the ground, Oh● who can guests the rest. SONG. O The time that is past, When she held me so fast, And declared that her honour no longer could last, When no light, but her languishing eyes did appear To prevent all excuses of blush's and fear. When she sighed and unlaced, With such trembling and haste, As if she had longed to be closer embraced, My Lips the sweet pleasure of Kisses enjoyed, While my hand was in search of hid treasure employed. My heart set on fire With the flames of desire, 〈◊〉 pursued what she seemed to require; 〈◊〉 she cried, for pity sake, change your ill mind, 〈◊〉 Amintas be civil, or I'll be unkind, Dear Amintas, she cries, Then casts down her eyes, 〈◊〉 in Kisses she gives, what in words she denies, 〈…〉 of my Conquest I purposed to stay 〈…〉 free consent had more sweetened the prey. But too late I begun For her passion was done; 〈◊〉 Amintas, she cries, I will never be won: 〈…〉, and your Courtship, no pity can move, 〈…〉 have slighted the Critical minute of Love. Song on the London Ladies (1) TIme was, thou must dwindle thy money and time And, the dearest of all thy vigour, and prime To Court a coy Mistress, that longed for't as much As thou couldst desire to give her a touch: But now the rate's known; the best will turn up Foe a Guiny, a Pullet, and t'other old cup: A World 'tis of pleasure, one Necklace of Pearl, Will conjure the richest, or modestest Girl. (2) All Trade is for gain, all Commodities sold, Fear not; for thy coin thou mayst justly be bold. A pox on fine words; the contemplative fool Talks of Love, and of flame; an oh! what misrule, These keep in his heart: now a sigh, than a groan; And her very jeca's sufficient alone To fill him with raptures, sweet dreams, and what not! When alas! all the while her flames are as hot. (3) In company with her, each glance drops a Charm, And she gives him her hand, to keep him still warm; For this is the man she designs her lewd life, To cloak with the serious name of a Wife: To the modest all distance, with those that are free She can tickle, and kiss, and kinder yet be: Adieu to fond Courtship, all Arguments lie, In the briskest assault, when the pockets let fly. (4) Love is banished the world, and virtue is gone To some private recess, to lament all alone; For now she grows barren, and none of her race Can be found either with, or without a good face: To the Ma●, to the Park, to the Pit, or the Box; Where you will, you can't miss: there's meat for the Cocks. And thus will it be, for old Eve at the first, And her Daughters e'er since have made all Men accursed. FINIS.