THE HISTORY OF THE Famous and Passionate LOVE, BETWEEN A Fair Noble Parisian LADY, AND A Beautiful Young Singing-MAN; A Chanter in the Choir of Nôtre-Dame in Paris, AND A SINGER in OPERAS. AN Heroic POEM.  
In Two CANTOS.  
Being in Imitation of Virgil's DIDO and AENEAS; and shows all the Passions of a Proud Beauty, compelled by Love, to abandon herself to her Inferior; but finding some slights, how she Revenged herself, and recovered her Honor.  

Licenced,  
January 26th. 1692.   
LONDON, Printed for R. T. near Sationers-Hall, 1692.   

THE EPISTLE TO THE READER.  
THis Poem was designed for an Epsode to that called the DAENEIDS; as that of Dido is to the AENEIDS; but being long, 'twas thought by some, if it was joined with the other, it would give too great an interruption to that short Story, and swell it too large for this Age, which seems to have lost its taste of Poetry; and must be dealt with, as sick People are, have a little at a time given 'em, of what we would have 'em swallow. This Poem therefore is Printed by itself, which it will very well bear, being in itself an entire Story; but there are several Lines in this and the other, which will help to join 'em together, if the Reader pleases. Both of 'em are a kind of Burlesque, directly contrary to that of Virgil travesty, for that makes a Hero and Heroine talk like Higlers or Costardmongers, and this represents Priests, Chanters and Vergers, like Gods and Heroes. I have in some places burlesqued some parts of Virgil, in others endeavoured to imitate him, and elsewhere to translate him. But I am no servile Translator. I care not what the Laws of Translation are; I am a Freeborn Subject of England, and will not be put in Fetters, but by the Laws of the Kingdom. I never say any man chain himself to an Author, without spoiling both their meens. Two men cannot row like Galleyslaves, locked together, with a very good Grace. I have also in this and the other Poem, made bold with the Dean, Choir, Vergers, and Church of Nôtre-Dame. I have put the Priests in an English Dress, and Pews into that Popish Church for the hearing of Sermons, where perhaps none are preached; but I have reason for this Confidence; French men are our King's Subjects, and aught to obey our Customs; that Cathedral too was built by English, therefore we have a right to Pews there, and I hope we shall have the Possession o' some, by the help of our King's Valour and Conduct. It would be hard, if we might not manage how we will for our Diversion, the Pictures of a few French Priests: France long Governed our Princes and Ministers of State, and made our whole Nation a Jest.  
This little Poem being part o' the DAENEIDS, humbly flies for Refuge to the same great Person whither the other is gone. And I take this opportunity of Addressing while the State permits him to be at leisure for these Trifles, which sure will not be long, in this Age so barren of great Men. And how much so ever he may love Repose, he may venture on Business, since he has an Understanding to make all things easy to him.   

AN Heroic POEM In Two CANTOS: Being in Imitation of Virgil's DIDO and AENEAS, etc.  

CANTO I.  
THE wealthy Cities insolently bombed,  
The Towns in their own ashes deep entombed;  
The Lands made desolate, to People graves,  
Or worse, the Galleys to supply with Slaves;  
All by that Royal Boutefeu's command,  
His Vassals flatter with the name Le Grand;  
Have some Revenge from proud Parisian Dames,  
Who ruin Paris, by their wanton Flames;  
Fire, Beds and Hearts; melt Hills o' Money down,  
Enslave the Men, and almost sack the Town.  
High among these a fair One shot her Light,  
In Equipage, in Robes, in Beauty bright.  
Lofty she was in Marriage, Birth, and Size,  
Her terrible Commode besieged the Skies;  
And threatened Stars, as having need of none,  
Brighter than Heaven she thought her Person shone,  
Heaven one blue Robe, one Sett o' Gems has worn  
Thousand o' years; a want she had in scorn.  
When she to Church, Court, Balls or Plays repaired,  
She in new Garments, Modes, and Jewels glared.  
Fresh Roses hourly in her Cheeks were blown,  
She was the lasting Summer of the Town;  
Which never-failing Heat and Lustre gave,  
Dazzling the Fair, inflaming all the Brave.  
Thousands desired her, thousands she desired,  
For with a raging Flame, her Blood was fired.  
But, Oh! the Wonder! the whole Town sh' embraced  
Hotly in Thought, yet she in Fact was chaste.  
Vast numbers sought her Love, and she sought theirs;  
Spread for 'em and received 'em in her Snares,  
But lodged not one, or in her Arms, or Heart;  
Held by Religion to her great desert.  
She thought her Beauty could not be deserved,  
So by her Pride, her Honour was preserved.  
Herself sh' adored, and all things else disdained,  
Her lawless Pride o'er all her Vices reigned.  
Pride married her to a rich Highborn Lord;  
She espoused the Title, but the Man abhorred.  
To this half Husband, she half Duties paid,  
Kept when a Wife, the coldness of a Maid.  
Her Kisses had no spirit, warmth or taste;  
And she was ravished when she was embraced.  
This toil so tiresome to him, and unjust,  
To Strumpets turned the torrent of his Lust.  
With this enraged, for a Revenge, she sought  
Some gallant Lover, worthy of her Thought.  
But such a Man she feared was yet unborn,  
All men to her seemed made but for her scorn,  
For Trophies to her Eyes; so round she roved,  
Wounding and killing, cursed yet much beloved.  
But pitying Fate at length the world relieved,  
Made her the scorn o' those she long had grieved.  
The Church she much frequented and the Plays,  
To be gazed on by all, on all to gaze.  
She found in both a dangerous ambuscade  
In lovely Minnum for her ruin laid;  
So was the young enchanting Chanter named,  
For Angel's voice and Woman's beauty famed;  
The Church's Flower, the prettiest Scene in Plays,  
Best decoration of the Operas.  
His voice enticed her careless Eye to stray  
O'er his sweet Face, where Cupid's lurking lay;  
Which as she gazed would from each feature start,  
And in her Veins dip an envenomed Dart.  
Much pain she felt, but what she would not know,  
For she abhorred to think of love so low;  
Yet something whispered in her Soul 'twas Love:  
To strangle the bold whisperer she strove,  
As a malicious Poisoner of her ease.  
This strife but gave more strength to her Disease,  
Which grew apparent by a thousand Pains,  
Glowed in her Bones, and boiled in all her Veins,  
Smoked up in Sighs, through all her Marrow spread,  
From her fair Cheeks licked up the Rosy red;  
Beat high in her disordered Pulse and Heart,  
Wept in her Eyes, and raged in every part.  
Around her, through her, ran the melting Flame,  
She plainly saw approaching Death or Shame.  
Ah! now the Church she cursed, all Plays she damned,  
And would not see 'em more, or hear 'em named.  
Churches and Prayers she banished from her thought,  
What e'er into her mind, his image brought.  
With sweet Peace-breeding Music she made War,  
She burned her Song-Books, broke her rich Guitar.  
Music elsewhere disorders might control,  
But every Note bred tumults in her Soul.  
She burned and blushed if any mentioned Songs,  
Or talked of Crotchets, Quavers, Briefs or Longs.  
Into her Cheeks those Engines forced her Blood,  
And made, she thought, her Folly understood.  
A while she sought the Secret to secure  
In Solitude; no Visits would endure.  
But there her Torments were too great to bear;  
The Chanter's Form seized and devoured her there;  
Closely pursued her wheresoever she fled.  
She could not 'scape the Ravisher i Bed.  
Down lay the wanton Image by her side,  
And kissed and forced her spite of all her Pride.  
Whole Nights it ruffled her; nor fled at Day.  
Slumbers it from her Eyes kept long away.  
Whenever she slept, it broke her brittle Rest,  
And shed the only Balm that eased her Breast.  
Now Solitude she loathed; abroad she sprung,  
To lose her Grief, in many a gamesome Throng.  
Her rattling Coach in Visits shook the Town,  
Her madness oft called where she was not known.  
Her Friends scarce knew her, such a change was seen,  
In her late Gaiety, and lofty Mien.  
Now mute she sat, or wide were her Replies;  
Fair Minnums form would in her Fancy rise,  
His charming Voice would hover round her Ear,  
Nothing but Minnum could she mind or hear.  
Madly she roved about, but all in vain;  
Like a fair Hind shot by a wand'ring Swain,  
Trying his Arrows in a Field too near  
The Wood where skipped th'unwary wanton Deer,  
She flies; the Arrow sticks; nay every bound  
Strikes it more deep into her throbbing wound.  
All arts this Beauty tried increased her pain,  
Which now her heart no longer could contain.  
One morning with her flowing Tears bedewed,  
When sleep she vainly had all night pursued;  
Thus to her faithful Woman she confessed,  
Her half-crazed Brain, and inward bleeding Breast.  
Oh, Fan! Dear Fan! burst out the raving Fair,  
Advise, assist thy Lady ' in deep Despair.  
I've entertained a fatal shameful Flame  
For a poor Youth, I blush and hate to name.  
I know to me he never dares aspire,  
And I must woo, or die in raging Fire.  
I'll die e'er woo, or by a Slave be wooed,  
And rather shed than share my Noble Blood.  
Her tender Confident kindly replies,  
Ah, Madam! dearer to me than my Eyes,  
I learned your Grief before at Church and Plays,  
By your oft Oglings, and your lavish Praise  
Of Minnum— ' Ere the Name was far in Air,  
Upstart in a rage the guilty Fair,  
Catched madly at the words already gone,  
Held back the shameful Flood was hastening on;  
Tore her Night-dress, then sunk into the Bed,  
There eagerly she wept, and hid her head.  
Kind sympathising Fan pledged her in Grief;  
Wept much; but knowing that was small Relief,  
She sought with Comforts of a solid kind,  
To raise her Lady in Body and in Mind.  
Said she, I'd help you to suppress this Flame,  
Did I believe it either Sin or Shame;  
Madam, y'ave free disposal of your Bed,  
To you, your wicked Lord has long been dead.  
Sometimes the Devil of Drunkenness assumes  
His Corpse and with strange Yell shakes your Rooms.  
He makes your House as horrible a Hell,  
As the lewd Brothels where he's damned to dwell.  
His Soul is then by an Infernal Crew  
Of Whores, those Brands of Hell, burnt far from you.  
Madam, his Crimes your Liberty restore,  
I'th' Eye of Heaven a Husband he's no more.  
A sentenced Traitor breath awhile may draw,  
But he is breathless i' the Eye of Law.  
Your Traitorous Lord's a Shadow in this sense,  
He can no more make any just Pretence  
To aught from you, but Punishment severe;  
You greatly sin if Justice you defer.  
In deeds of Justice Shame there can be none;  
But you'd not slain his Honour and your own  
By execution with a vulgar Sword.  
With a King's weapon you'd behead your Lord;  
The rather since yourself must give the blow,  
Madam, your Touch a Value will bestow.  
Some Lords, no doubt, would part with their white Wands,  
For Minnums Title to your snowy Hands.  
For your sake, Madam, great Respect is paid,  
By noblest Lords, to me your humble Maid;  
How'll he be honoured then whom you shall place  
In that high-courted Station, your Embrace,  
And by your Seals of Love, your Peer create?  
He need not envy Ministers of State.  
But your nice Palate cannot relish Fruit,  
Which had its Rise out of a dirty Root.  
With a vain Scruple you yourself torment,  
Madam, all Flesh from Dirt has its Descent.  
From Soil comes Grass, from Grass the Food we eat;  
We are in part the Offsprings of our Meat.  
Who tastes in pleasant Fruit its Parent Tree?  
Or who in Beauty its poor Pedigree?  
Who knows their Stocks? Love often changes strains,  
Gives with vile Blood a dash to noble Veins;  
Enriches Peasants with the blood of Lords:  
For our Descent we've but our Mother's Words.  
Mean birth is handsome Minnums only blot.  
Sure though low-born he nobly was begot!  
So fine a Piece no Vulgar Workman made;  
He plainly is with Quality inlaied.  
All Beauty's Noble, born with Right to reign;  
Come how it will, that Crown removes the stain.  
You are most Noble, Madam; for that cause  
Let nothing give your sacred Pleasure Laws.  
Scorn empty Censure; let none have the power  
To be Electors of your Emperor,  
Or Slave (for so he'll be); Why should your Choice  
Of your own Slaves, attend the public Voice?  
Think nothing but yourself worth your regard,  
Your own great Merit, your own way reward.  
If you'll needs pay the World respect so high,  
Out of vain Terror of its Ear and Eye,  
In this Affair you'd softly darkly creep;  
Minnums sweet Voice can lay the World asleep.  
Let him your Voice and Skill in Song improve;  
And with that Noise drown all the Talk of Love.  
But oh! you fear you must descend to woo;  
That he'll not dare to aim so high as you.  
Without your leave it is not sit he should;  
But you may soon put Spirit in his Blood,  
By Oglings, Presents, and a thousand ways,  
Whenever you please you may his Courage raise.  
Thus she more fired, her too much burning Breast  
Her too much fainting Modesty suppressed;  
Fixed her in Sin. Her Sorrow blown away,  
She riseth, ventures in the Eye of Day.  
Her Cheeks with Lust, and not with Blushes, blaze,  
Resolved on War, new Colours she displays  
In bloody Paint; her Cheeks have double Dye.  
Her Heart beats hard to meet the Enemy.  
O'er-pleased with Thoughts of her delightful Crime,  
She trembles— nothing fears but loss o' time.  
She pants, sighs, dresses, puts on every Grace,  
Then sends her Woman on the amorous Chase.  
The devil who knew the Plot so wisely wrought,  
Fan quickly found the Mischief which she sought.  
The minute Fan on her Embassage fled,  
The Devil near the door sweet Minnum led.  
Anne stopped him, and a pleasing Message told,  
Said Beauty waited for him here with Gold,  
Desiring him to use his happy Skill  
In her, what highly pleased her, to instill.  
From him she had the best and sweetest shakes:  
The words he in a modest sense mistakes;  
And swiftly mounts to the hid mighty Snare.  
Ah, how the News struck the sick-longing Fair!  
In Fan's Embraces she fell cold and wan.  
Fan shrieked; the Maids in frights confusedly ran  
To help their Lady, and in shrieks as shrill,  
Unknown, gave bodings of great hastening Ill,  
Which now trod lightly o'er their Lady's Face,  
But in her Heart would shortly have their place.  
Her rallying Spirits now defeat their Foes;  
Her Paleness ebbs, her Rosy Colour flows,  
Life, Beauty, Vigour get their former seat;  
Now Fan calls Minnum, and the Maid's retreat.  
Between Minnums Beauty, and her inward Gild;  
Once more the fair One faints, her Red is spilt.  
Speechless she stood, breathless almost awhile;  
And only spoke his Welcome with a Smile.  
That confused silent Interval was short,  
Then in high Praise of him she made her Court;  
O'er whelmed the Youth with Praise, he staggered, bend  
Under th'oppressing Storm; yet on she went;  
Almost told all the Secrets of her Heart,  
But reined her Words as they began to start.  
In other Modes her Suit she then pursued,  
And the fair Youth by Ostentation wooed.  
Of all her large, richly-adorned Abode;  
And her bright Closet thick with Jewels sowed.  
From Orbs of Rings, a shining one she chose  
Loaded with Gems, and on the Youth bestows.  
The Present dazzled; yet it shot a Light  
Which of her Aims gave him imperfect sight.  
Near her she seats him, than a Song desires,  
At once the Screen and Fuel to their Fires.  
Ah! in that Air how thick the Cupids flew!  
How fast, at both, deep-piercing Darts they threw!  
He sighed, he trembled; oft his Paper fell;  
He sung, but neither of 'em knew if well.  
Yet all seemed well though in or out of Tune;  
He sung, both sighed, and languished; on came Noon.  
She stayed consuming, he inflamed withdrew;  
Both longed and wished for a new Interview,  
Which he next morning eagerly repeats,  
And she more lavishly her Gifts and Treats.  
Thus plainly challenged by the urging Fair,  
High rose his Courage, he begins to dare,  
His Bosom almost burst with torturing Love,  
Which now with Violence for Freedom strove;  
Flew to its Tongue, and almost forced its way,  
But still a Tyrant, Modesty, had sway;  
Which held in cruel Pangs his labouring Breast:  
So tore his words, their sense could scarce be guessed.  
Both talked, but neither of 'em well knew what:  
Songs were oft named, and were as oft forgot.  
In tangling Clues of Beams their Eyes entwined;  
By Wishes in all Parts they closely joined.  
But meddling Modesty between 'em stepped.  
Oh with what Pains their Lips a distance kept!  
Pulling against th' attraction of a kiss,  
And throwing off th' encroaching rampant bliss?  
In these intestine Bosom Feuds, this Morn  
And some days more were idly lost and torn.  
At length their Modesty to death was teized,  
And both took Resolutions to be eased.  
He came with firm Decrees to break all Bars,  
She for the same Design that hour prepares.  
In Walls of Forms she'd make no more Defence,  
Which prolonged War at her hearts great expense.  
Her Troops are now in exact order spread  
In th' open naked Field of Love, her Bed.  
There like Aurora on a gentle Wave,  
She Audience to her eager Lover gave.  
Tempted beyond what mortal could resist,  
Her white hot Hand he seized and hotly kissed,  
Then poured out all his Soul. Her rolling Eyes,  
Sighs, tender Press, gave him kind replies.  
Emboldened to her Bosom he advanced,  
Then both a while in Raptures were entranced;  
Only in Pant, and by silence spoke.  
At length a murmuring smoking Flood out broke,  
Of kindest Words, hot Kisses, Sighs and Tears,  
Which bore down all his Modesty and hers.  
All thoughts of Virtue and its guardian Pride  
Were chased away; all Pleasure was enjoyed,  
Love's ripe and plenteous Vintage could bestow,  
And from plump luscious Grapes well pressed could flow.  
That Day they part not, nor the ensuing Night,  
They melt down both in ravishing Delight.  
Both often swore never to part in Mind,  
And grieve their Bodies e'er should be disjoined;  
Into each other wish their whole could flow,  
And by strong Roots firm to each other grow.  
So joined they are, let what will step between,  
Something has hold of both by Ties unseen,  
For all Affairs, and Locks and Walls too strong,  
And will not let 'em be asunder long.  
They gazed, they sung, they kissed the Morn away;  
Love only by some forms adored by Day,  
Made some Processions round his outward Courts;  
Devout preparatives for close resorts  
At Night, to his Recesses' most concealed,  
Where all his Sacred Mysteries were revealed.   

CANTO II.  

LOng were they happy; fifty times and more,  
The Sun his daily Heats had galloped over,  
And always found 'em hot as he, and near:  
Night as oft found 'em in a mad Career.  
At length, Fame with the Story chanced to meet,  
Than it ran fast. Than Fame no ill more fleet.  
By travelling she thrives, her Sinews grow;  
She first sets out weak, timorous and low;  
But soon she far in Air begins to spread,  
And fills the Earth, while Clouds conceal her Head.  
She is a vast swift Monster, feathered round,  
But does not more in Plumes, than Eyes abound,  
Which rarely sleep; than noisy Tongues which walk  
All Day in Shades, yet waste the Night in talk.  
From lofty Towers, Realms, from repose she frights,  
And both in Fiction and in Truth delights.  
O'er joyed, with babble she supplied the Crowd,  
Things done, things never done she sung aloud.  
How this proud fair with Minnum cooled her Fire,  
And he for her forsook the Stage and Quire.  
This Story sullied with Inventions foul,  
The sluttish Goddess poured in every Bowl,  
Plenteously mixed in every Dish in Town,  
That at all Entertainments it went down.  
At length she lights at the great Dean's Alcove,  
And much inflames that Ecclesiastic Jove.  
Said she, has all Church-Lightning lost its Heat,  
Church-Thunder lost its Bolts, Can it but threat?  
Is it but lowing Clouds, and bleating Air,  
A young Retainer to the Church should dare  
To disgrace yours, contemn the Church's sway,  
And slight your lovely Niece, Lavinia;  
The brightest Apprentice in the Change, or Town?  
Her Shop when she is there, appears a Throne.  
Her Yard-wand seems a Sceptre in her Hand,  
All the Town Gallants are at her Command.  
She shuns 'em all, and Minnum she adores,  
Who melts his time, himself with wanton Whores.  
The mighty Church-Power heard, enkindled fast,  
His Verger to the Youth dispatched with haste.  
Fly swift (said he) to this bold Debauchee,  
Who wrongs at once the Church, my Niece, and me.  
This will not much his handsome Mother please:  
She promised better things of him than these:  
That he in Song should to high Fame attain,  
Give the Choir Laws, o'er all the Chanters reign.  
By Marriage with my Niece he's sure of Rule;  
Cannot such Glory stir the stupid Fool?  
What can he hope from Harlots, Kissing Foes?  
His Life they 'ndanger, at the least his Nose.  
These sinful Leagues always conclude in strife,  
Drubs from the Husband, Pox from the Wife.  
If this lewd Course he does not leave and loath,  
My Niece he loses, and his Office both.  
This spoken, forwards the Church Merc'ry paced,  
With all his Ornaments by Fortune graced,  
For than it Chimed to Prayers: his Gown was on,  
His Head in a new Cap of Satin shone.  
He bore his bright Enchanting Silver Rod,  
With which he serves, disserves the drowsy God;  
Leads Souls to happy Seats, and Slumbers deep,  
And often wakes 'em out of heavy Sleep:  
Of Graves called Pews he locks, unlocks the Doors,  
Guides Souls to Shades, and back to Light restores.  
With his winged Robe, Rod tipped with Turtles Wings,  
The Divine Mercury to Minnum springs,  
And finds the Hero dressing for the Choir;  
But, ah! profaned with Ranting lay Attire;  
Of his Love-Victories the wealthy Spoils,  
And bold Confessions of his Nightly Toils.  
Him the Envoy invades; and word for word,  
Told what was uttered by his Heavenly Lord;  
Then vanished into thin, and spacious Air,  
With Horror stiff-upstarted Minnums Hair;  
Boar from his Head the Wig which hedged it round,  
In his cold freezing Jaws his Voice was drowned.  
Affrighted by Commands from one so great,  
From his sweet Crimes he thinks of a Retreat.  
But, ah! what Words, what Heart he should assume,  
To his high-spirited Dear to break this Doom,  
He knew not: various ways he racked his Mind,  
Now he's to her, anon to Heaven inclined.  
Hell he fears much, and loss of Heavenly Joy,  
More the great Dean, and loss of his Employ;  
But of the Husband he stood most afraid,  
And on his Soul drubs most impression made.  
So he concluded 'twas the safest way,  
To take this warning, and the Dean obey;  
Forsake his pleasant, but most dangerous Sin,  
Preserve his Soul, his Office and his Skin.  
And with the Dean resolves to make his Peace,  
By this Night's Service, and deserve his Niece.  
But to tread foftly in this new Amour,  
Till in his Arms Lavinia was secure:  
Mean while all Sounds and Colours to devise,  
Could Cheat the injured beauty's Ears and Eyes.  
This Night's unlooked for Parting to excuse,  
He Billet-doux with Billet-doux pursues;  
Curses his Stars and Fate, the Tyrants will,  
And strives to gild the nauseous bitter Pill.  
In spite o' those thin Arts the fraud was bare,  
Lover's soon feel in Love, the least cool Air.  
And impious Fame brands in her Bosom threw,  
All Minnums falsehood told; abroad she flew,  
Like one from Bedlam broke with heavy Chains:  
This raving Beauty battered her own Brains  
With her Love-fetters; madly hurried on,  
Whither she knew not, for her Sense was gone.  
The Warriors chosen for the great Design,  
In the Dean's Palace then were deep in Wine.  
Thither this Beauty pale, her Visage rend,  
Drove by Fan's Conduct, and for Minnum sent.  
Out Minnum starts, than thus his Ears she bruised,  
False Slave (said she) have I myself abused  
To please thy Love, and dar'st thou fly from me?  
What! from a Beauty of my Quality?  
And for a stitching Wench, who earns her Bread,  
Whose Life depends upon a rotten Thread?  
For thee I wronged my Noble Lord, my Soul,  
Nay my high Blood, now with dishonour foul.  
Now a poor Wench must have my dear-bought Joys,  
I must have nothing but thy Frauds and Lies.  
If ever I was kind to thee, or dear;  
If e'er thy Passion was like mine sincere,  
If Pity in thy Heart can find a room,  
For me, or thy own Infant in my Womb,  
Warm with some kindness thy poor Child at least;  
Desert me not, till at my panting Breast,  
I see an Innocent sweet Minnum play;  
Then thou mayst take the treacherous one away.  
I shall not quite be of my Love bereft,  
The loveliest part of Minnum will be left.  
Pale Minnum started when she named her Lord,  
Mused deeply on her Husband's Cane and Sword;  
Took both into his Heart, which made it hard,  
That to her Beauty he paid no regard:  
By all her Prayers and Tears he stood unbent,  
And stead o' closing, widened thus, the Rent.  
Madam, said he, I sign th' Account y'ave brought,  
Whilst I've a Soul, you will delight my thought:  
Lovely you are, and loving you have been,  
Too kind; your Beauty and your Love gave sin,  
Enticing Beauties which undid us both;  
Yourself I love, my sin I greatly loath.  
The Heavens and Earth have joined, my Soul to save;  
My disturbed Father rests not in his Grave,  
But haunts me Nightly; nay, the mighty Dean  
Hears I defile the Church with Life unclean,  
And threatens me with everlasting Fire;  
Nay, more, of me quickly to cleanse the Quire.  
Destruction in both Worlds attends our Crime,  
Oh! let us both repent and mend in time.  
Sweet Penitence will cleanse your Noble Blood.  
Madam, I must forsake you for your good,  
Else I am cruel to you, and unjust.  
I leave you with Regret, but part we must.  
Whilst thus he spoke, her Eyes around him walked,  
T'examine what provoking Monster talked.  
Wonder, Aversion held her silent long,  
At length a Flood of Rage thus forced her Tongue.  
Thou art to nothing soft or sweet akin,  
Thy Father ne'er touched Flute or Violin.  
No Woman bore thee, from some Rock thouart sprung,  
A Rock is able to repeat a Song.  
Pity or Love never came near thy Heart;  
More faithless than thy Fiddle-strings thou art,  
Which for their Truth on altering Air rely,  
And as the Wether is are firm or fly.  
Traitor, I took thee'n Purse and Person bare;  
When many a Wench of both had had their share.  
Thy Finery, thy graceful Part is mine;  
And now, forsooth, I've made him Great, and shine,  
With Earth and Heaven he is in high Esteem;  
His Father's Soul leaves Joys above for him.  
Suppose a Soul from Earth to Heaven can pass,  
Would it take such a Journey for an Ass?  
Go, for thy Ruin, thy Lavinia wed;  
Anchor on Needles, seek thy floating Bread  
In the uncertain Air of windy Song,  
In a great waving Town ne'er fixing long;  
But what it lately lifted to the Skies  
Soon sinks to Hell; as Humours fall or rise.  
Shortly, wracked Wretch! split into Girls and Boys,  
And swimming only on thy frail Employs,  
Thou bitterly wilt curse our Parting Hour;  
And wish, once more, my Heart were in thy Power:  
In vain, Scorn only shalt thou have from me.  
Then the tormenting, haunting Memory  
Of my Endearing Love for ever lost,  
Shall, like a Restless, Dire, Infernal Ghost,  
Frieze thee i' Bed, and blast thee at thy Board,  
Till thou'rt the verier Ghost, and more abhorred.  
This News will bring great Pleasure to my Ear,  
And be the only Music I shall bear.  
Then she abruptly hurried from his Eyes,  
Left him in Fears, deep-studying soft Replies.  
Muse, leave him too a Moment, and attend  
The injured Fair, to give her Griefs an End.  
As drawn by Dragon's home she swiftly whirled,  
There on her Bed her lovely Body hurled.  
Then sighed, wept, groaned, oft into Swoonings fell;  
Oh! Love! to what canst thou not Hearts compel?  
Love drives this Beauty, late so full of Pride,  
Once more to woo, once more to be denied.  
Submission she resolves by Fan to send,  
And leave no way untried the Youth to bend.  
Ah, Fan! said she, I cannot lose him so;  
With softest Words to haughty Minnum go.  
Ask for what Crimes I am thus odious grown;  
Besides my o'er-fond Love I know of none.  
And I desire that Error to amend,  
I only beg for it an easier End;  
A Death less violent. I do not pray  
He would cast off his fair Lavinia.  
Only stay with me, and my Voice improve,  
Till I have got the better of my Love.  
This Favour's innocent, and 'tis the last  
Return I beg, for all Endearing past.  
Kind Fan repeats her Message oft with Tears  
To Minnum vainly, Fate had stopped his Ears.  
As on a Giant-Oak when Tempests crowd,  
And strongly strive to crush; th' Uproar is loud:  
Oft his vast Trunk beneath their Vigour bows,  
The Earth is beaten with her broken Boughs;  
Yet still their Hold his Roots unvanquished keep,  
His Head's not loftier than his Feet are deep.  
The Hero thus attacked by Tears and Prayers,  
Felt in his Bosom strong contending Cares,  
And pitying Drops rolled down her Cheeks in vain;  
His last Designs firm rooted still remain.  
The fair One than begged Death; the Sight abhorred  
Of Heaven, which on her Head such Ruin poured.  
'T was Night, when the tired World takes needful ease;  
Silent were Fields, quiet were cruel Seas.  
Wild Winds were banished, lofty Woods were still,  
Stars seemed to rest upon the Heavenly Hill.  
Fast slept the cattle, though in thorny Brakes,  
And deep the Fish, whether in oozy Lakes,  
Or in the murmuring, unquiet Streams.  
The watchful Dogs barked only in their Dreams.  
The breathless Air had not the Strength to wake  
The least of Birds, nor weakest Leaf to shake.  
Sleep in this Silence stole all Care away,  
But what in the unhappy Beauty lay.  
She in the gen'ral Peace not once engaged;  
Increasing Tempests in her Bosom raged.  
This cruel Night as bad a Day pursues,  
And to the wretched Lady brought the News,  
Minnum with his new Love was seen to meet.  
Then twice and thrice she violently beat  
Her graceful Bosom, tore her flowing Hair,  
And on her Knees made this Revengeful Prayer.   

Let him be plagued with a vexatious Race:  
Foul and lewd Whores lay waste his conquering Face.  
For him bold Fools write and set every Song,  
Blockheads as daring hiss him right or wrong.  
Give him a plenteous Portion with his Wife,  
Of open Infamy, domestic Strife,  
Of Brats he'll dote upon, and not beget;  
And from their Arms let him be torn by Debt.  
Let horrid Lewdness drive him from the Choir,  
Then let not Players think him worth their hire.  
From them a starving Bargain let him pray,  
When he has gained it, forfeit all his Pay.  
Out of all Rule let him both sing and live,  
But Rules of Gaols; and those let him deceive:  
Till he's an universal Nuisance grown,  
For Debts and Riots into Dungeons thrown.  
His Beauty, Voice, Wife's Love, and Skill in Song,  
Oh! may be long survive, yet perish Young.  
Then may his Wife be forced to beg a Grave,  
And that be all the Land she'll ever have.  
May all my Friends all Harmony abhor,  
And with it wage an Everlasting War.  
Let fierce Dissenters from my Womb arise,  
Which may pursue all singing Colonies.  
In Churches, music-meetings, on the Stage,  
And with the Edge of Wit, and Fire of Rage  
Be th' entire Extirpation of 'em all,  
And 'stead of Music fill the World with Brawl.   

This said; she shook with Resolutions dire;  
Her rolling Eyes darted a threatening Fire.  
Then a high Pile she reared of Viols, Lutes,  
Of Harpsicals, Gittars, Hautbois, and Flutes;  
Of Songs and Tunes, of Airs both grave and light:  
She stacked up Crotchets to a wondrous height.  
In greater heaps Briefs, Sembriefs, Quavers lay,  
Than Billets do on any Wharf or Key.  
Her Fiddles made a little sounding Hill.  
She had not one Harmonious Utensil,  
She did not thrust into the bulky Crowd,  
And the bewitching Bawds to fire she vowed.  
Pale and disordered then a shining Sword  
She drew, belonging to her Noble Lord.  
Mounting with Courage the Melodious Pile,  
She wept, mused, sadly gazed on it awhile.  
Then said, Y'ave oft dissolved my Cares in Song,  
Now y'are my Griefs, but shall not be so long.  
The Race my Fate ordained me I have run;  
Ah! happy I, had it ne'er been begun,  
And treacherous Minnum never had touched my Shore,  
Now I'm for Shades whence I return no more.  
Then deep she stabbed her Arm, and wrote in Blood  
A Bond, to bind herself to all that's good,  
And shun all Ill, on Pain of suffering Hell,  
When she in Thought once more to Lewdness fell.  
Now a new Course of Life she close pursued;  
Her Lord to her, herself for him she wooed.  
To the good Work applied with such Address,  
In little time she met admired Success.  
Their mutual Love was the World's Wonder grown;  
T' enjoy each other they renounced the Town;  
To ever-happy Shades and Seats they went,  
And in all Bliss their following Moment's spent.  
Minnum was still to his past Love inclined;  
That she was dead to him much grieved his Mind.  
The tuneful Hero, Orpheus-like, invades,  
For his lost Love, Furies and dangerous Shades:  
But trusted not to Song, like him of old,  
On a wise Sibyl he relied, and Gold.  
Entrance he got in a Wood thick and wide,  
Where walking all alone his Love he spied.  
Dimly he saw her, for 'twas far in Night,  
And the New Moon but edged the Clouds with Light.  
Her Charms and Beauties were, he thought, increased.  
Ah! than a thousand Passions tore his Breast;  
Desire of her, Rage for his Follies past.  
Low at her Feet himself in Tears he cast;  
And for his Faults his Piety accused,  
He swore her Love he no way else abused;  
To her he ne'er did aught but Heaven prefer,  
And now not that, he would leave Heaven for her.  
From him she sternly fixed on Earth her Eyes:  
Rocks more regarded him, they gave Replies  
In gentle Echoes; not a word she spoke,  
Away she fiercely with Aversion broke;  
And wand'red fast into a winding Grove,  
Where her kind Lord met her with equal Love.  
Minnum wept, followed, begged, but all in vain,  
He lost the Lady, and he kept his Pain.  
A new vain Labour now he must begin,  
Toil much for what he little cares to win;  
Must the Dean's Glory raise, his own degrade,  
Leave highborn Beauty for an humble Maid.    
FINIS.