Effigies Amoris IN ENGLISH: OR THE PICTURE OF Love Unveiled.  〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Eustathius de Ismeniae & Ismenes Amoribus. Lib. 3. p. 97. 
LONDON, Printed by M. White, for James Good, Bookseller in Oxford. 1682.   

THE PICTURE OF Love Unveiled.  
Humbly dedicated to Madam, M. A.  
Madam,  
THE reason why I thought fit to dedicate this Novel to a Woman, was because the subject is soft and feminine; but the powerful bias which determined my Choice to you for its Patroness were those many and great Obligations which you have upon me; whereby like Heaven you claim a right to all my endeavours. I say a right, for I am far from the vanity of thinking this or any other present I can make you such a free-will-offering, as may in the least pretend to be meritorious. No Madam, you have so much got the Start of me in Obligations, and have such an anticipating Mortgage on the residue of my actions, that I can do you no piece of service, which you had not a Title to before: Like Votaries in Religion, who cannot burn Incense to the Gods, but with their own perfumes. But though we are not so Impiously vain, as to think we oblige Heaven when we erect Altars, and Consecrate Temples; yet Religion allows us to expect, and the Divine goodness vouchsafes us favourable acceptance But to question my success in that, were to measure your goodness by the narrowness of my own merit. Especially since the Oblation is attended with so much devotion, and in the most Literal sense is all over Love. And this gives me occasion to say a word or two concerning the work itself. That which I here present you with, is the Picture of Love, a very excellent piece, drawn to the life in every Feature. This admirable Picture (so natural is modesty to great and true worth) has a long time concealed itself under a foreign veil, by the removal of which, I have added one degree of goodness more to its many excellencies, Communication. Indeed I thought it unreasonable, since Love and Religion are things equally implanted in the hearts of all mankind, that the mysteries of one should be contained in an unknown Tongue, more than those of the other. And now Madam I have one more Dedication to you, and that is of myself, who am withal imaginable sincerity, your most devoted Servant,  
Phil-icon-erus.   

THE PREFACE.  
THE Author of this Translation thinks fit to acquaint the Reader, that although he admires Effigies Amoris as an Author which for sweetness of fancy, neatness of Style, and lusciousness of hidden sense may compare to say no more, with any extant; yet he has not been so Judaically superstitious, as to adhere to every minute Phrase, or particle of sense; contenting himself that he has not let any one thought of moment escape him. Justice to the Author requires the one, and the privilege of a Translator justifies the other. For certainly that verbal and servile way of Translating, is the worst ridiculing of a well Penned discourse that can be, and serves for no end, but only to help out a despairing Schoolboy, at a dead lift. Yet lest any should suspect this as a precontrived Apology for a too licentious Innovation, he would have them observe, that where the Author's Idiom will fall in naturally with our own (which is no contradiction, for he does not take [Idiom] in that rigorous sense, as Logicians do their proprium quarto modo, but only for a true customary measure of speaking, wherein languages may sometimes agree, and sometimes not) he prefers it, which is enough to acquit him from that charge. In the next place he desires that none would pretend to Criticise on the Translation but those who throughly understand the Original; and then he thinks he shall have but few and those Judicious Critics. For certainly the sense of this Author lies so far in, that 'tis not to be seen through by a purblind apprehension, no nor by a Cursory glance of the most quicksighted mind. His thoughts are so numerous, sublime and depending, his images of things so fine-wrought and pathetical, his method so secret and lurking, yet withal so accurate, that they require as much advertency of mind as a Mathematical demonstration. Nay there are some such mystical and exalted Conceptions in him, as can scarce be reached but by a Reader almost Dieted into a Platonist, and, as Des-Cartes says of his Metaphysical meditations, cannot be understood as they should be; but by a mind sequestered from all Commerce with the senses. The Judicious reader will think this no Hyperbole, when he shall find that after he has thought himself possessed of the very mind and soul. of the Author upon a review or more leisurely inspection, he will discern new thoughts like little Stars glimmering out of the rich Galaxy, and spring a mine of undiscovered sense. And then the found Treasure, besides the sweetness of conquest, will abundantly recompense the pains of the most diligont enquiry. Here you have Love traced through all its various notions and acceptations, and represented in the most perfect and refined Idea of each: the measures and Offices of Friendship stated, true generous Friendships distinguished from those mercenary and sensual associations, which usurp that sacred, name, such as Plutarch calls 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Idols and Apes of friendship, an account of almost all Pathology, wherein the passions are so sweetly represented, as to make a Stoic in Love with them; and all this performed with the Accurateness of a Moralist, tho' yet with the Elegance of a Rhetorician. To mention but one Commendation more which must not be omitted,  Nil dictu foedum visuve haec limina tangit. 
Here is nothing immodest or obscene, no thoughts which would forfeit a state of innocence, or profane the Cell of an Hermit. In the most sensitive Images of Love and Passion, the modest Apelles has drawn Venus but to the Wast. But 'tis impossible to represent this Author as well as he has done Love; neither indeed does he need any commendatory Passport, he carries worth enough with him to approve him to all those that understand him.   

Some body being very inquisitive to know what Love was, the Author returns him this answer.  
I Am too Sensible of the Wanton Tyranny of Imperious Love, and with what severe trials it constantly exercises the affections. But although to Love be as great a labour as any of Herculeses, since it continually imposes new tasks and Pilgrimages, allots us most Rigorous services, and perversely contrives to please with Cruelty: Yet nevertheless we are well content (we who have sworn Allegiance to Love) that it freely exercise this its unlimited dominion, that so the Austerity of the impositions may magnify both its own Sovereignty and our compliance. Let it command us what is in our Power, and what is not in our Power (except this one thing, not to love) neither let it exact any thing below a miracle, since with the Command it gives ability, elevates the mind above itself, and makes the man commence a Deity. So that he deserves not the name 
Lover's can do all things, even beyond their strength.  of a Lover, who does not act beyond the Sphere of All, and rise up to his wishes by Heroical undertake. No, he is but a Novice in Love who does not act somewhat above himself in obedience to his Passion.  
But you (my friend) with equity re-demand a draught of those affections which you 
Every one is the most pleasing spectacle to himself. Whatever by showing us to ourselves doubles our embraces is highly dear to us: But if it render us maimed it becomes dearer by deformity itself.  yourself first taught me, though divested of your own grace and Elegancy. Is it because it will be so delightsome to you to Contemplate the reflected Image of yourself, which is as lively engraven on my Devoted breast, as on an Adamantine Table: and will so please you to take a nice and Critical survey of me as far as I may appear the workmanship of your own Art? Or is it because your image can receive no disadvantage from any blemish of the matter, but like the Sun gilds even the spots themselves with its Luster, that you will not like a peevish Lady be displeased at your Looking-glass, for presenting you with deformities which are none of your own, and as it were Burlesquing your face? I know not how it comes to pass, but we have a kind of Love for the very decrepit shadows which are the reproach of our own bodies, and are apt to pay a more awful Veneration to maimed Statues. So parents are commonly more tenderly affected toward their misshapen Children (as if Nature had so ordered it as a Solace to 
Or from this very show of injury or antiquiry.  misfortune) and treat these Monsters of the Womb with greater reverence, as if they were the presages of something extraordinary, Whereas all others deride the transposed Mass of a distorted body, the Anagram of a 
Deformity is a Sacred thing.  man. Certainly there is something Sacred in deformity. The Prophets thought it more Divine than any beauty, more fit to represent the Grandeur of a Deity, and render an Oracle Majestic. It does at once scare Mortals and lecture them, and challenges not so much our Love as our adoration. Every one is the most pleasing object and Charming spectacle to himself, and the eye seems to be privileged with the pleasure of the mind, while it reflects its sight upon itself, being at once the object and the beholder. Whatever that is which by showing us to ourselves doubles our embraces, must needs be highly precious. But if it represent us maimed and defective, it acquires a new value from the very show of injury or antiquity. I am not therefore a little indebted to nature for making my mind a blank Table, 
'Tis the Mystery of Love, which cannot be expressed, unless it be its own interpreter.  though for no other reason than this, that it might receive so much of your Image, whereby it might delight both itself and you. But 'tis a prodigy (they say) when Images once begin to speak.  
And indeed I find it far easier to love, than to express that which delights only to be perceived, not to be shown; and because lodged in the recesses of the heart, disdains to admit the Tongue to be its consort. That, which none of us have learned from 
The Idioms of Lovers like those of Ambassadors, are delivered in inverted Characters.  precedents and instructions, but then only begin to know when we we have all experimented it. You would say Cupid were not only blind but Dumb, since he renders every member of the body vocal except the Tongue. Hence 'tis that Lovers with more Eloquence communicate sighs than words, as so many internunciary particles of vital Air, and like Doves of Venus mourn forth animated letters. Hence 
They convese like Angels by intuition, the will not the intellect explaining itself.  'tis that they keep a silent intercourse with their fingers, now eloquent without a Pen, and wove Dialogues in little Posies. They hear one another's mutual wishes, and read one another's visible souls, by those vocal messengers of the affections, affable Nods, and darting Smiles. Sometimes their significant gestures composed as it were of so many rhetorical figures, court in a various and Mysterious Dialect. Sometimes their ranging aspects are earnestly fixed on one another as on strangers, and while they seem to disown all acquaintance, grow familiar by stealth. Sometimes their contracted brows pretend a passion, yet they do but all the while industriously fawn, and designedly wait for delicate pleasures. Sometimes their souls interchangeably gliding from their eyes, take a Cursory taste of Bride-kisses at a distance, and bring home their stolen sweets with Triumph. 'Tis at once their greatest boast and pleasure to remain undiscovered. Thus that which has so often appeared in Theatres, does still decline spectators, and acts its plays in its own disguise. Methinks these Divine conversers enjoy a privilege above the Laws of humane Commerce, thus to hit one another's meanings by most infallible tokens, to pry into the very inward parts, and to entertain themselves with a Divination rather than a Conference. For they are mutually discerned by the clearer vision of thought, before they deliver themselves in words, or know how to counterfeit; and their wishes become visible like Phantoms, but withal like some Pictures cannot be understood with less art than was used in the making. They uncase themselves of their bodies like gods quitting their Shrines, and not only expose themselves to view, but intermix, and infuse a soul into each other with every accent. Their wand'ring and ecstatic souls freely pass to and fro as 'twere within the same body, and converse as softly as if in a Soliloquy. This one passion cannot possibly be expressed, but is as a mystery to be adored, whose Rites like some of greatest antiquity among the gods, are shrouded no less than Crimes, with a bashful secrecy. All Love has its veil, and the Votaries of Venus 
All Love has its veil.  like Aeneas go surrounded with a Cloud, and in the most popular concourse enjoy a concealment. Neither does Cupid content himself with a single veil, but loves to view wounded hearts in Masquerade, and to secure himself invisible. So that Love, to whose friendly influence the orderly System of the Universe owes its composure, has left itself in confusion, buried in the Old Chaos and primitive obscurity.  
Venus has hitherto avoided the Sun 
Love is an unexpressible mystery.  as a betrayer of her secrecy; and to prevent discovery, some god or other has shut up all kind of Love as well as that of Pasiphae, in a Labyrinth, where if it chance to be taken, it appears all over entangled with Nets and Toils; or confusedly warpped up like a Monster. Indeed every Lover is a Riddle and a blind Problem to 
It is also a riddle.  himself. He lives Amphibiously, and is made up of contradictory passions, wafted up and down by those alternate tides of his breast, so that from him you may learn that contrary winds and Seditious Waters gave birth to Venus. Is it so that the same person is 
Love-Problems.  enslaved and yet acts with all freedom, is master of his own will, yet at the same time subject to another's, and like the manumissed Slaves of Emperors purchases his power over his Mistress by a long Apprenticeship of servitude and compliance? Is it so that the same person by an happy contradiction is at once both dead and alive, and Phoenix like makes himself a vital funeral-pile, that he may revive more Nobly from his Flames? Is it so that there is so much madness and maliciousness in the desires of Lovers, as to wish them miserable who are 
At once malicious and benevolous.  most dear to them, only that they may have an opportunity to relieve their misfortune? First to inflict a wound, that they may be the authors of its Cure? To wish them deserted of their friends and fortune, that they may succeed in their Room? So that necessity rather than Courtship and merit, may allure them into their embraces? 'Tis hard to know whether you have to deal with a friend or an enemy, since the same part is thus enviously acted by hatred and too ardent affection. 'Tis somewhat unkindly done to deprecate the Love of others, that he himself may engross all, and to forbid and implead all other companions as encroaching on his peculiar; nay more, studiously to contrive how to prevent the growing wisdom of his dearest, lest it should occasion a contempt of himself. For 'tis expedient 
No Love without some indignation.  that the person loved, as well as the Lover be blind. How also does the feverish and lovesick breast labour under the alternate Paroxysms of heat and cold. Neither is there any Love without a mixture of indignation. He curses (and that deservedly too) his pleasing tormentor that scorches him in these flames, and snatches him from Himself; but still like the fly he loves to sport about the dazzling brightness, and from so divine an Author to enjoy a Noble ruin.  
The unhappy Lover seeks for himself out of himself, and lingers on purpose to be caught, that he may have the happiness of redeeming himself, and knows no better way to be next to himself, than to approach as nigh as he can to the possessor of his heart. He finds it a difficult thing to Love, and much more not to Love, but the greatest difficulty of all is to acquiesce in the fruition of his Love. He cannot be otherwise than miserable, since the issue of his desires is as uneasy to him as the desires themselves: So that should auspicious Heaven favour him with a successful Love, he presently wishes again for his former disquiets, and seems to miss that pleasing Torment, to sigh and languish. So much more pleasant is it to be always advancing toward an enjoyment, ' than to be locked up in the Chains of an embrace. And truly every one thinks more highly of his desires, than of the accomplishment of them. No condition certainly can make him happy, who pines at fruition itself, as depriving him of his sighs and pensive pleasures. And this is the hard misfortune of all Lovers, who though never so much the favourites of fortune, yet can never be happy through the conspiracy of their own minds.  
How strange is it that he should shun 
He loves and fears the sight of his belov'd.  the presence of that person as some boding object, whose aspect is yet the very Manna of his soul, and the rays of whose face he thinks more pleasant than those which saluted him at his Nativity! What a Paradox of unhappiness is this to be master of ones wish, and yet not be able to enjoy it. Why 'tis that majestic beauty which does at once invite and discourage, 'tis the brightness of that Serene face which like that of the Sun, does at once refresh and dazzle the beholder. The poor Votary stands astonished with the dread of so great divinity, which his own fancy has clothed with an awful horror; thunderstruck like a Cyclops with bolts of his own forging. His passion has Deified his Mistress, so that now the enjoyment seems too great and excellent to be made use of, and he gins with a kind of envy to beome his own rival. A Religious concern awes him from Embraces, and the superstition of his Love whispers him in the ear, that what he takes for his Deity must not be approached with Corporal Addresses, but only by the Sallies of thought.  
Certainly this passion is favoured with the peculiar care of Heaven, since it has mingled a melancholy trembling with its joys, only to enhance and refine the pleasure. Hence 'tis that the desires so torment, as 
He rejoices and sighs by course.  that they also please, and the sweets are so beset with prickles, that they also allay our complacencies. They are sparingly imparted to us, yet so as Lady's faces, which are only more openly hid through their thin silken veils. So that 'tis their fortune at once to have and want, since they aspire at greater bliss than can possibly be enjoyed all at once. These little antepasts of Love, to sit by, to walk with, to gaze upon, and to speak to her, are permitted only one at a time. And after all this, the languishing and restless mind, satisfied neither with gazing nor conversing, aspires unto something more divine, which is both out of her reach and knowledge. This is (I know not by what destiny) this is the proper infelicity of Lovers, that because they never use to lay hold on any happiness but in a dream, they Sceptically distrust their most real delights, treat them as tenderly as if they were dreams and shadows, refuse to be imposed upon again, and are afraid even to enjoy.  
This very passion which composes all other commotions of the Mind, which civilizes Men, Brutes and Philosophers, is at variance only with itself, and weds together things of an unlike nature in a jarring and untunable union. Do you upbraid our 
He is at once effeminate and manly.  Lover with Effeminacy, whose arms are fretted only with embraces: who always breathes out either perfumes or sighs; who is struck down with the menace of a sleight frown, and the glance of an eye? Know that he is also hardy and masculine, who can endure his careful Vigils, patiently expecting at the door all night for the daybreak of his Mistress' eyes, and exercising his mind with such an unwearied repetition of customary hardship, till he become greedy of fresh encounters. He delights to supply the dearth of fears and troubles by his fruitful imagination, to turn the hazards of his health into so many arguments for his Love, the paleness of his complexion into a mode of Courtship, and by misery itself to demonstrate himself a Lover.  
Do you call him stupid, because he's as much affected and inflamed with blows and flouts as with the greatest endearments of kindness? Believe't, he's become all Soul, or at least a celestial spark of fire, which is insensible of strokes; or if that sound ridiculous, know that 'tis the Philosophy of Love to conquer anger with kindness, and extinguish one fire with another, but a more noble one. This does notwithstanding rather argue the great fervour, than stupidity of the Lover; for as injuries disregarded wear off, so lovingly received are changed into favours; or as all hard things, are broken upon a yielding softness.  
Why do you still exclaim against 
The faults of a Lover Please.  him as mad and blind, because he dotes upon the very blemishes of another, as starry ornaments, collects a beauty out of defects, and by a goodnatured mistake, like a Panegyrist, graces a fault with the name of a neighbour Virtue? Let his Mistress be never so careless of herself, the Artificial Lover still represents her to himself in the most lively ornament of additionary Beauty. But you with too much rigour require a Censor instead of a Friend, and Judgement instead of Affection, by envying the Lover this happy delusion wherein he so pleases himself. Let him impose upon himself this commendable cheat, and frame a more than ordinary Idea of her in his mind, whom he intends there to adore and contemplate with a more than ordinary devotion. Painter's should not draw Faces too Conscientiously, but now and then bestow a favourable stroke, flatter the Original, and so polish the Table, till by its shining smoothness, it become a Looking-glass rather than a Picture.  
You mistake, if you think the 
Blind, but withal quicksighted.  Eyes of Lovers are blinded; no they are only masked, and so see the more clearly and securely through their Avenues and Loopholes. You may rather think them contracted, as the manner of Archers is, that they may take the surer aim. When they stand fixed on one object, 'tis not through blindness that they see not the rest, but a disdainful and voluntary neglect. When the eyes weary themselves with gazing on one single object, and as 'twere of set purpose grow Bankrupt, and lay out their whole sight upon it, that they may never see any thing besides, this is not to be blind, but to see too much. If the entertainment of Philosophy be nothing else but to contemplate Ideas, sure no employment so Philosophical as to Love. Yea more, if every one Loves just as much as he understands, than what is counted the Madness of the affections, is indeed an argument of knowledge, to be vehemently Lovesick. Hear the Stratagems and Sieges of Lovers, equal to the Conquests over Kingdoms. Look upon the train of Captive Ladies, daily led in Triumph, as so many Living Trophies of their Wit, who must first be deceived, before they can be taken, and be brought unwillingly to what they desire. So much would they rather be wheedled than plainly loved, and be circumvented with wiles and subtleties, before they are with embraces. Think, if you can, what Enthusiastic Strains are inspired by a Mistress, what an Itch of Poetry she excites in the Passions of a Wounded Breast, and teaches it to make Wanton Sallies in Odes and Epigrams. Ambitious of such an Enthusiasm, you will cry out with the Poet, O grant I may be in Love: And 
Love has reason in its madness.  over after invoke Cupid instead of Apollo. You maliciously err, whoever you are that take the mysteries of a Divine Ecstasy for the Wild Ranges of an Unhinged Mind. Love does most luckily, without any Consultation, dispense his Motions, and with an un-erring Hand darts forth Humane Hearts, though Blind, and so not capable of hitting the Mark by aim. For his Hand is directed not by the Eye, but some Divine Instinct, neither is he steered by Reason, but acts by somewhat more Divine, like God himself, who is not endowed with Reason, which would betray him into Error, but prosecutes whate'er he does by a most Infallible tendency, and owes not his Wisdom to the Chain of Deliberation.  
How agreeably do these two things 
'Tis peculiar to a wise man.  conspire, to Know and to Love! Since it seems the Prerogative of God, and next to him of a Wise man, who knows, as certainly as the Oracle, who's best; for to Love any besides the best is impossible. This is that only He, who passes a Judgement as even, and as true, as the Laws of Fate. He cannot be said to Love, who is misled by his opinion, and who makes an unsuitable choice; or which one time or other he must necessarily Hate.  
For the Union of Lovers knows no more how to admit of a Divorce, than the most Solemn Marriage. The Virginal Zone is no sooner unloosed, but there succeeds another Knot, which like the Gordian one, may perhaps be cut asunder, but never untied: For although Death can do the former, yet it cannot the latter. The Love does not die with its departed Object. His Consort will not seem old to him, when indeed she is, and that Spring of Beauty which is now faded into an Autumn, will be kept in his faithful mind fresh and verdant; and he will Love with his memory at least his now disguised and almost unknown Wife. Nay never after the last separation, his 
Love is perpetual▪  ever, ever surviving friend shall live in his tenacious memory, as if he were divided from him only by the little intervals of absence: And as often as he embraces his sweet Phantasm, he will not yield him dead. You do nothing, ye Fates, we still continue our Commerce, we are still a loving Couple; you have robbed others of a man, but me not so much as of a shadow. Before we had but one Soul betwixt us, but now but one body. He is lodged in me as in his Star or Orb.  
And now Love seems to have made its Circle, always returning whence 
It is a Circle,  it began, resembling the motions of Heavenly bodies, it so ends in itself that it always gins. For he is no Lover who can one time or other Love less or not at all. Love has not as other things any end or satiety, neither is it like hunger and thirst to be allayed by its aliment. It is never glutted with its gratifications, but is still whetted on with fresh delights: and as if the object were always new, the Lover enjoys a daily Epicurism on his admired face. There is a continual spring in his delights, a continual thirst in his appetite, and he always finds out something more to be fond of. He is always in motion like the heavenly bodies and a Contemplative mind, never rests, never grows weary, but is refreshed by his labour. He makes the end of one kindness but a step to another, till inflamed with a double ardour, he first dotes on the person, and then on his own benefits.  
'Tis necessary that Love be immortal, 
It is a death.  either because 'tis vowed to eternity, or because it always undergoes the changes of death. For who is there that does not know that the last Will and death of a Lover must be dated from the time, when he breathes out his soul in his last sigh to be received by the mouth of another, makes him complete Heir of himself, dispenses his goods, sending them before as harbingers, whither he is prepared to follow? He has the Divine privilege of Prophets to be rapt out of himself, to enjoy a perpetual ecstasy of life, and to be emptied of his own Soul, that he may be more happily replenished 
This is the Pythagorical Transmigration.  with another's. I believe the Transmigration of Pythagoras may be thus verified, not by his Philosophy, but by his Love. For then his desultorious and quicksilver soul shifting itself at pleasure of the bodily case as of , repairs hastily to its pleasanter retreat, and more fair receptacle, as to the groves of Elysium. No person can be happy before this death, which is occasioned by Love and Philosophy. The latter does it by disengaging the soul from the body, now all-dissolving in the Contemplation of amiableness: The former, by sending it forth to the embraces of its fair Object. Thence arises a loathing, hence a flight and riddance of himself. On each hand there is an aspiring to a Fate Noble and void of all necessity, and Phoenixlike an ambitious longing for death. At the sight of a more Elegant Structure, like a delicate and nice Lady, he nauseates his own apartment with a proud uneasiness, and then wanders out into those florid regions, where since it was not his happiness to be born, he will sojourn till he grow old in them, or by repeating the rudiments of his life be reborn. Whoever you are who will not admit these excursions of fugitive souls, do but observe more narrowly how the soul collects itself all to that place, where she approaches nearest to her dearest. If they join hands, you'd swear their palpable souls distributed themselves into the fingers on purpose to take fast hold of each other. If their sides be contiguous, you'll perceive an exultation of their hearts, and their spirits mutually trooping thither in an hurry, violently beating, and like Rustics saluting one another with strokes; striving for vent, till they almost break Prison to get forth. By what Charm is the sudden and Extemporary 
Whence blushing proceeds from the sight of the person loved.  blood fummoned up into the Cheeks at the sight of that dear Creature, and as the hand of a wounded heart points at the striker, no otherwise than as the revengeful blood of a stain man vents itself upon the Murderer? With this only difference, that one of these Crimson souls by I know not what instinct hastens after Revenge, and the other after a Cure. Observe again how greedily their souls keeping Sentinel in the ears, lie at catch for words, and by and by turn themselves into them; interchange Spirits while they hold Conference, and inform the very desires which they utter. Observe again how their Souls in a perpetual Emanation gliding from 
Whence a deliquium.  their eyes, waste themselves in Passionate glances, and suffer many a faint swoon with gazing. 'Tis one and the same thing with Lovers, to speak and expire, to see and dart themselves out, to gaze and be transformed into the Spectacle. So impatient is the whole man of departure, that sometimes he shifts himself into the eye, sometimes into the ear; and lives only in that part where he enjoys his Consort. Thus Love teaches men a more Compendious knack of living, and makes them content like some Infects with one only sense. Yet this is not to maim the man, but to render him more Divine, by the fewness of Organs required to the Function of life.  
But that which occasions a sweet 
It is an extension of the soul.  detriment in the body, giveth enlargement to the Soul. Which though form for one breast, now diffusing itself by a kind of expansion informs another, redoubling its life. She knows not in this confused Miscellany of bodies, for which she was at first made, so that in all Love there is improvement. Whoever Loves, becomes forthwith a number by himself. Like Antipheron he carries about with him his 
He diffuses ●one into many.  daily Company, and enjoys his other self as his mate, if that may be called a number which is computed with the same counter, which one only man distinguishes placed here and there by turns. It happens by a fruitful error to Lovers as well as Drinkers, that all things appear double to them; but withal so double, as the eyes are, which have but one motion, one vision. Here you may see two running into so 
Out of many it makes one.  close an Embrace, that they incorporate and become one, and so lose their Embraces in the undistinguishable foldings of their arms. While after the lot of Salmacis 'tis the same that does desire and is desired, he knows not whether he more truly Loves or is beloved, neither does he enjoy but is changed into his wish. Pish, you put a trick upon me now Cupid with your excess of Munificence, while you hid that within my breast, which I seek to embrace. You are too propitious, do something of a contrary nature, that we may be two, that we may perceive ourselves to be what we wish. 'Tis prejudicial to a Lover to enjoy too much. 'Tis prejudicial that he whom I would have my partner, should be all one with myself. Always thus to will and nill the same has no society in it, but much of a Ridiculous tediousness. When we would consult, we do but assent by course, and instead of being mutually officious, we are ridiculous to one another. Methinks I embrace a shadow instead of a friend, which always presses me close at the heels, and imitates all my motions. Withdraw a little from me, O my friend nearer to me than myself, wish as well to me as you can, but prithee Love me a little less.  
But O what a profitable bill of exchange has this Cupid the Usurer of hearts! Whence the same Plastic virtue of Cementing Souls which out of many makes one, diffuses also one into many! So 'tis the same Unite which uncapable by itself of Computation▪ is yet the principle of number. So Multiplication and Addition belong to the same art. Neither do we think this a damage, but an advantage, and perhaps a greater, to have our strength collected than extended at large. The more simple every thing is, the more perfect. To transcend the bounds of all space and number is the property of God. Whatever is the best and chiefest must be one.  
And as Love is honoured with the perfection of chiefest Unity, so is it with another, that of self-communication. For whatever is perfect, has still one way to become more so, and that is by distribution of its self. 'Tis an addition to its own fullness, to Enrich and Impregnate others. Hence 'tis, that the generous mind born as it were a Common Patron to mankind, and as prone to Love as worthy of the Love of all, invents a strange kind of Liberality, to give 
It is the first gift.  away itself to another: Which is indeed the only proper good a man has to bestow, and Primitive Donative. All other things are Foreign; and come not within the enclosure of property, which we can no more truly give than the Sun or Common air, and which we have scarce right to use; but are guilty of Rapine when we presume to give them, as being the gifts of Heaven and fortune.  
Whoever Loves makes a nearer advance to a Deity, and therefore, Godlike, is wholly intent on this one thing, to be beneficial. And therefore they who are well disposed in mind, as well as those of healthy constitutions, feel an ingenuous itch of Generating, that is of venting their thoughts, are still under the Travail of the brain, and the Chaste desires of propagating virtue. There is in fruitful minds as in quick-flowing fountains 
It is a name of opulency not want.  a certain active principle and restless spirit, which always bushes them forward to effusion. So far is Love from proceeding from indigence, that 'tis a word which denotes abundance, and greatly relieves the wants of nature: Unless you will call remedies themselves diseases, because joined with them. Why should we complain 
It is an ingenuous Commerce.  any more of the Illiberality of Nature, since she has granted this ingenuous way of Commerce to mankind, wherein every one surrenders up himself and receives another (for in Love we don't lavishly bestow, but exchange ourselves) and whatsoever in another is more excellent, transfers into his own Repository? He inherits another's wealth, decks himself with supposititious endowments, and supplies his own defects out of another's store.  
But unless I am deceived, there is 
Not with a design, though Lot of Communication.  no such thing as Traffic and Merchandise in Friendship: Neither is this Love's Motto, Love that you may be Beloved. No we give freely, without any prospect of Gain, all that we are to another, with a design of Communication only, though with the Lot of an exchange. For what is more liberal than those Patterns of Love, God and our Parents? Whose Kindnesses exceeding all Gratitude, can only be Adored, never Repaid. Yet even there, where all endeavours of Retaliation would be Impious, there is something of return, since the Votary, at once the workmanship and maker of his God, does Deify him by Adoration. And so he that owes the good of a short Life to his Parents, repays them with a Posthumous one, being not so much the Inheritor as Preserver of their transmitted Soul. See how the Vine, now no longer the Tree of Bacchus, but Cupid, surrounds her Masculine prop with a thousand Arms, and courts it with Amorous Embraces, that she may afford the better Protection and Ornament to it for supporting her. She brings no other Encumbrances than her juicy Pearls, and refreshing shades, whereby she defends it from the incommodities of Wether, which she sustains herself. So that to speak properly, Love does rather bring Assistances than sue for them. Whence it passes for a Badge of State, and becomes the part of Superiors to be more willing to Love, than to be Loved.  
Go now, you that think men are 
Whatever is infirm is excommunicated from the rites of Love.  not Sociable out of a Principle of Benevolence, but that like the Feebler sort of Beasts, they herd together for succour: Know that Love whom heretofore you took for a Boy, is long since grown up to maturity. Know that from these Altars is proscribed whatever is infirm, or of the worse Sex, or of the weaker Age as barren Oblations, and Reproaches Profanely Pious. Neither may Children, Women, Old men, or (what's more infirm than all these) one of an ill mind list themselves under Cupid's Banner. What an odd contention of Kindness will there be, where to Conquer, and to be Conquered are both full of shame, and Flight more creditable than either? What kind of League or Society can there be among those, who have nothing common but this one thing, to live?  
But what shall we say of that toyish 
Children are excluded, because immature as for Virtues so for Friendship.  and impertinent Age, which changes Companions as often as Play-games, hourly; which is pleased with humane shapes in Arras as fine Company, but is affrighted with real men; whose unacquaintance with the causes of Love and Hatred is the merit of its Innocence, and a Virtue deserving pity. Which because it deals its affection to all as Parents, claims a Parent's Indulgency from all, not yet ripe for Friendship. Although even this pretty erring Benevolence may seem the Rudiments of Kindness, and the Nonage of Friendship.  
What of that other too severe Age, 
Old men also, who are troublesome either through too much dotage or too much sageness.  not less troublesome to others than to itself? That age I mean, which only dotes upon a Staff, or if on a man, 'tis for the same end, that it may have something to lean on. Which falls out with another at every fit of the Gout, and querulously blames the poor Lover for what is its own disease. Which with a mind as tremulous as Body suspects every thing, which stands upon the Guard even at the offices of kindness themselves, as at the Arts of Insinuation. To be too officious in pleasing the Man of this season, is to anoint the dead. He always envies me the freedom of my youth, or corrects it by the Pattern of his own that's past, always nibbling at my Manners, that he may opportunely boast his own, and so becomes too much my Rival. One would think him dead sometimes, to hear him talk of his Chronicles, and rehearsing his old Epitaphs. I am continually plagued with his rugged Admonitions, no less than with his Jarrings and Snarlings, and all on this score, because I do not grow old fast enough to die with him for company. He importunately urges me to resemble him in his wrinkled severity, and that Virtue, shall I call it, or Disease of old age? To be Wise and Morose. Methinks I stand presented before a Magistrate, and am under a Censure, not a League of Society. But what more Cruel Mezentius is this, who betrothes Carcases to warm Embraces? And in the Jubilee of a Sprightly Life enjoins Dotage and Counsel? What unreasonable Controller is this who commands me to live backward with a man of another Age? Whom to be Familiar with, is indecent, and whom to reverence at a distance, is to Canonize him above the confines of Love and Humanity. But as the pleasure of sorting with equals, gives young minds an early foretaste of a more mature Love; so it may seem the last effort of a decayed heat, either out of Complaisance to accommodate their dotage to the scandal of youth, or to Cough in consort with those of the same Age, and to enjoy at once the Remembrance and Envy of their past Amours. For they have nothing now to do (having with much regret received their Mittimus) but to be present at others Loves, to minister to others the Philtres of Advice, and to sigh, to teach them soft Embraces, and to languish for the desire of them. For these Mortified Skeletons still miserably pant with the Relics of their Flames as of their Lives, which do not inspirit them with any present vivacity, but rather show they did once live, and so apply the Marriage-Torch of Cupid to the Pomp of a Funeral.  
But, O Cupid, O Hymen! What 
Women also as Animals of a different kind from Man.  unequal Torches do you kindle? A Man with a Woman! This is not to unite, but to destroy. These are a couple more unhappily matched than the Soul with the Body; whose Fellowship, while it gratifies her, degrades and dishonours her, and in a pretence to serve, cheats and prejudices her. There's so much disproportion, that a Woman can't fill the other Scale of the Balance without additionary Gold. There's need of a Dowry and stipend to these Embraces, these Caresses. This is a Felicity to be bought, we don't admit you to it gratis. Neither is a Woman to be esteemed a Consort to a man, but belongs to the Inventory of his Goods and Chattels; the furniture of his Bedchamber, and the Ornament of his Table. She serves instead of a little Shock to divert one's self withal, not to employ any part of ones life about. She should be regarded only at those dull hours, which nature has allotted for grief and sleep. My Mistress is welcome at Suppertime or at Night, that time I'll throw away on her which would be lost otherwise. She can scarce fill up these Intervals of life, these parenthesis' of respite, and little blanks of action. She is added to the tasks of rigorous nature, and helps on the loss of our time, more than eating and sleeping. Shall I call this a Wife? By the leave of the Female Academy I'll tell you plainly what I think. I believe these Expletive Particles of mankind were put into the world for no other end than flies, only to prevent a vacancy. I ever took this frivolous Impertinent to be a certain middle Animal, which like a Centaur compounds a man with a Beast, and detains him as it were within the Confines of both natures and a Metamorphosis. Will you call this Society, whereby a man gains this one thing, not to be alone? 'Tis more than enough for them if they can but own the force of reason and submit to it, though they never use any, and like Creatures naturally Wild and Savage, can be made tame and civilised by familiarity. There's nothing in them deserves so much Caution, as lest they should grow wise, or know any thing beyond bare silence, and the simplicity of pleasing.  
Friendship is too Sacred a thing to admit of any Embraces, though innocent, 
Friendship is a work of reason as well as affection.  which it ought to blush at if observed. 'Tis a flame too Noble to be attended with any levity, nay 'tis a Marriage too straight to a dmit any difference of Sex. This is the highest 
Which only agrees with itself and makes two live by one rule.  work of reason to make choice of such a person, whose conduct you would rather use than your own, to whose will you would always conform; or even to know how to wait so long, till you can choose a fit object for your Love, and after that so to Love as one that's hurried with bare Passion, not steered with judgement, as one that's so far from Apostasy that he is always beginning his Love. This is to join impatience with constancy. This is to receive the belov'd Idea imprinted in the mind with more exactness, and to retain it with more faithfulness than Wax. Besides, 'tis also the work of virtue to state one 
It is a work of virtue.  measure of desires, to preserve an exact uniformity of manners through all the various scenes of fortune, and lastly so to Harmonise two, that (what one can hardly perform) they may act one man. These must of necessity always will the same, because they will only the best things. There must 
Whose Communion is without deteriment.  needs be also between them the greatest freedom of Communion, because they communicate what without envy they possess, their Virtues; and so with greediness they Covet an effusion of these goods of their mind, till the Candour of their Souls like the light of Heaven improve itself by an incessant Emanation. Add to this, that the League of this rational friendship will be firmer than the Stoical Chain of Destiny, since the perpetual alliance of Souls is not here founded upon having the same Parents, but the same principle of living, reason, and (what has a more Vital influence) the being endued with the desire of the same excellency rather than with the same blood. The having the breast rather pant with the same desires, than the Arteries beat with the same spirits. The having a share in the same good and bad fortune, a more endearing instance than a common offspring. You come short of the mystery, if you think the same soul, or the samedivided resides in two bodies, 'tis more, they have the same Soul in two bodies one and uniform. You'd think even the envy of thought could not abstract them, since there is nothing left to distinguish them. For whatever distinguishes would at length divide them, nay 'twould make them conceive a greater disgust against each other like Half-brothers from the very nearness.  
In vain are friendships and alliances as all other Virtues pretended to 
An ill man is not a sociable Creature.  by Vicious men: Who are provoked to mutual hatred and animosity by having the same pleasures, as much as by having the same Mistresses. To have the same thing commodious to both (though this be somewhat more Divine than to have the same common parents) breeds envy from their unlucky fellowship, and quarrels greater than those of mutual Pillagers, birds of prey or Coheirs. No third person will envy, but wonder at their conjunction, nay and will hardly grant 
He disagrees with himself, avoids himself.  them joined any otherwise than fellow sailors in the same bottom, recommended to each other by fears and dangers; whom assoon as Landed the success of the voyage will disengage, whose society will suffer Shipwreck 
He is Inclined to Society, not out of benevolence but selfdisdain.  from the Land-tempest of Interest and Traffic, and be dissipated into various Climes by the greater Love of Countries than of men. With what constancy can you think they will adhere to others, who were not moved to this Sociable humour from a principle of benevolence, but a great weariness of themselves? They can hardly 
They who cannot endure those of like or unlike manners, like ulcers avoid the touch even of the Surgeon.  endure the Penance of their own Company, and therefore strive to lose themselves among Crowds, not using the nicety of Choice, but catching at the first opportunity of refuge. For who can please them who don't like themselves, who abhor the instances of unspotted Morality as unlike their own actions, and upbraiders of them, and therefore dread them as Malefactors do the Magistrate? And as for actions resembling their own (so great is their fear to be tried even by imitation) they put from them as Rivals to prevent their own extrusion, and fly them as deformity does a Mirror. This is the first punishment of immorality, by its own sentence even amongst men to be adjudged to the worst kind of solitude, treacherous Society. 'Tis the fate of an ill man to do all this in vain; To cheapen the goodwill of others with a Tale of services, to let his mercenary soul for a little Hire and fair words, diligently to attend his friends, yet so as he cleanses shoes, and rubs down his Horse as things serviceable and belonging to his Estate; in fine, to do all this only for his own ends, and (which is the usual Fate of great benefactions) to lose all through ingratitude, and among these amorous addresses to fortune, to burn with an hatred and loathing of himself. Would any one now join himself to him another self, whom he sees thus disagreeing with himself? Would any one be ambitious of his Cruel benevolence, by whom he would not be loved with the same mind wherewith he stands affected to himself? Whose serene looks like those of Mars and Fortune, he must be jealous of, and enjoy his delights as timerously as Treacheries, or such which the next blast or Sunshine will scatter or dissolve. Methinks I see the ill matched pair exactly resembling a spread Eagle, with striving Embraces, like faces, both averse from each other as in a Divorce, contrary tendencies, always avoiding and always pulling one another back. Dissolve ye Gods this unhappy, this forced connexion, and ye Painters the bolder Artificers. Half of the Monster will flee away and desert itself, and then 'twill appear they stumbled upon one another by error, not met out of choice. O deformed Prodigy of Venus! Nature abhors these Incestuous Conjunctions more than the Monstrous productions of Creatures of a several kind. Nothing is more unhappy than this sort of Lovers, who like the Emperors of Old time, or like birds, betrothe themselves here and there at random, but on a set time, and with due Ceremony, and yet presently after the season is over disengage again. When the heat is abated there ensues a new ardour of Divorce. Their affection endures no longer than the short-lived gust of the Banquet, when they are satiated they must rise. For they don't know all the while what'tis which they Passionately longed for. Their casual affection springs from the madness of their desires, like Venus from that of the Waves. 'Tis cherished and kept alive by mistakes, and no sooner throughly known than disapproved. To speak freely, whoever Love through Brute tendency or diseases, do rather burn and rave together in a Fever, than consent in the Harmony of affection.  
It is enacted by the severe Statute-Law of Nature as well as the Edict 
The Law of Lycurgus and Nature agree, in making it a Crime to Love no body.  of Lycurgus, not for the Luxury but Discipline of the world, that no man shall be without his Lover. How well is it, that there is the same necessity imposed upon us of Loving and living, and that the same radical heat proves Amorous, as well as Vital! The Epicureans who could be contented without the protection of the Gods, could not yet endure to be without Love whom they might adore, and in whose Religion they might more sweetly entertain themselves. So much more willing are we to make our own Deities, than to 
You may sooner find an Atheist than and philist.  receive them made to our hands. And because 'tis Natural to us to be actuated by the instinct of Love and Religion, we use the same zeal of superstition in both, and rather than want an Idol to adore, we adopt the most unworthy and ridiculous things, Cats and Dogs, and whatsoever was Idolised in Egypt, into the list of our friends and House-hold-gods. Nay so great is the impatience of Love, that the poor homely Gellia for want of better servants makes a Gallant of her Looking glass, and what Egypt would be ashamed of, adores a Creature more Monstrous than any of Nile, herself. But 'tis a venial sin, we are all guilty of the same madness, and would rather dote foolishly, than Love nothing. Whether you will or nill, you must necessarily will something, since in your very nilling something is desired. The rest indeed of our 
There is no man who is not  Passions are disposed of at our pleasure, or else easily dwindle away consumed by their own violence. Grief if it refuse 
free sometimes from the other Passions.  to yield to reason, yields at length to time, to hatred. Hatred through the disturbance of Choler or fear becomes troublesome, first to itself. And fear, not to mention any other remedy, may be crushed by the evils themselves, and overcome by its own greatness harder, and be cured by Stupidity. Anger the most impetuous of all, either by weariness is tamed into Clemency, or being satiated dies, leaving like the Bee its life in the wound. This one Passion which 
None was ever free from Love.  grows Luxuriant in crosses, and Blossoms more deliciously under pressures, not given to us as the rest were, to be subdued; grows up into a necessity and Voluntary Fate. It freely parted with its liberty, which it quite spent in the election of that, which with an immortal desire it might at once possess and prosecute: Which it might wish never to have the power to hate. And now what Modesty or measure is there in desire? Whose Efforts if at 
Love knows no measure because it aspires to the best.  any time misplaced, yet at least with a generous error they aspire to all as the most excellent objects. Of which he is unworthy who is not arrived to this Hyperbole of madness, still more and more to desire, and yet to think he desires not enough; still more and more to enjoy, and yet not to be content with enjoyment, and to caress himself in his ever unsatisfying happiness.  
So 'tis: The Author of Nature 
As 'tis impossible to Love no body, so it is to Love one who is not best.  hath by a firm Law, made it equally impossible either to Love none, or not the best. The former of which is with an inhuman pride to vilify mankind, and the latter by the worst of Parricides, to destroy a man's self. For when he had the option of life given him, the disposal of his Nativity put into his own hands, and could have remade himself in another, yet he chose to Perish. The Monarchy of the breast like that of Alexander, must be assigned to the best deserving, whom to find should be the business of ones life. It must be a man made up of the highest endowments incident to Mortality, as complete as a Woman 
That best which is no where in nature we supply by opinion, and so patch up a felicity out of variety.  could wish. A Catholic man accomplished with all the Hyperbole of virtues which may be any where found or imagined, and of which a man may have a notion, never the possession. In a word such a man, whom when with impious desires we have formed, 'tis an Idea, or a God. And now alas! we find his dignity something above our Love, and fit only to be adored; worthy indeed of our Love but much more of our adoration. These are the flames due to the Altar. Nature has implanted this desire in us to her own disparagement, being not able to fill it. But yet lest what she intended as her greatest favour should prove a Torment (such as always provokes and never satisfies) she has so ordered it, that what is wanting in the things themselves should be supplied by our opinion, that our mistake at least might make up our happiness. We are gulled with a counterfeit dress of Beauty, and are first deceived before we are conscious of any happiness. Like Pygmalion we fall in Love with a Statue of our own making, and then think its Beauty not artificial but native. The mist of our ignorance recommends a cloud to our greedy Embraces instead of Juno, nay we Love to be cheated, and think it a part of humanity to be liable to slips, errors and misprisions. We are not damaged but gratified in our desires by this profitable imposture, since the cheat pleases us more than the juggling shifts of Legerdemain, and inriches us with no false appearance of gain. Our credulity makes us truly happy, and (what is the common lot of men of great Estates) we become more rich by the fame and suspicion of Wealth, than the largeness of our fortune. Go then enjoy securely those Treasures which you own to the kindness of fancy, not to the bounty of providence; Those most fortunate collations not of a smiling fortune, but of an obliging opinion; those goodly possessions, which neither when the God's frown, nor when fortune is disposed to be wantonly mischievous, are liable to danger. Which no violence, no nor another opinion will snatch away, unless to give a new supply. For although opinion as the Sister of fortune or Nature be pleased with variety, yet the Love of variety will not 
Hence the levity of Loving is a remedy to the defects of things.  recommend Monsters to her. She is not wanton to that pitch of levity, but only redresses the defects of things. The vicissitudes and changes of the affections like those of things are set out not so much for Beauty, as Solace and remedy. We reprehend the wand'ring and Alternate heat of Love to the discredit of Nature, not of those men who daily cast off their Thread bare Companions like old suits, who take a desultorious taste of men as Bees do of Flowers, and because good is always to them in flux and uncertainty as truth is to Philosophers, resolve to Love sceptically: Neither is it an Argument of inconstancy, but judgement, thus to wander with choice, and to collect that from all in various 
'Tis a sign of judgement and choice.  Glean, which is in no one place to be had enough. No one thing is worthy long enjoyment; and these shadows of virtues rather than real ones, which we so much boast of, like rich Pictures endure only a cursory view at a distance, cannot bear the delay of nice observation, and vanish while leisurely beheld. All that's in that Pompous Title of Constancy is not of such moment, that I should not do Homage to a greater merit, that I should not prefer a brighter Star, because once born under an obscurer Planet, that I should obstinately adhere to defects and losses, left I should be said to have departed from my first condition; or lastly that I should endure my chance, or what is altogether as erroneous, my own will, as calmly and immovably as I would my destiny. Give me leave I pray, more passionately to admire those Rays of a diviner mind which I first adored in you, now more Brightly Shining in another. Suffer the progresses of Love which you first taught me. The same you who at first taught me to prefer the candour of your mind before the whiteness of Lilies or faces, and a rude simplicity before the enough easy, but foolish and too fond humanity, have now also taught me after the sight of a more Dazzling Splendour to contemn yourself, unless I may not hence be so properly said to contemn, as adore you with more devotion under 〈◊〉 more glorious representation. Just so the lesser Lamps of Heaven are not extinct but over shadowed, when out of modesty they withdraw at the appearance of a greater Glory. Why do you call out upon the truth of Gods and men? I Love you only on this condition, so long as you either are, or to me seem the best.  
Do but look down upon the brute 
All appetite, even the most insensate tends to a better nature as to its Idea.  Love sports of Nature (though 'tis a shame to owe the Documents of life and virtue to such low instances) and see how all the parts even the worst in the Divine workmanship have an innate tendency to what is best, and are carried with admiration and desire to a greater excellency. 'Tis purposely so ordered by Nature, who is conscious of her own injurious and shameful sloth, who oftener suffers abortion than brings forth, and in Comparison to the exemplars and Ideas of things is delivered of as many Monsters as Creatures. She has therefore endued them with a plastic virtue, that they may advance nearer to their Ideas, and so become their own Correctors. Her work comes at first out of her hands in half and imperfect pieces, till she joins one part to another and so completes both. This one ambition of aspiring to something better, moves every thing to leap the Pale of its own condition. For this reason the Heliotrope though rooted fast in the ground, follows the Course of the Sun, and with an opposite mouth drinks in the Sun beams tell she herself become a Vegetable Star. 
The double end of natural Love.  With the same Ardour of ambition, while stones receive the Aethereal rays, they become a glittering concretion of Massy light, and what before were only the rigid Excrescencies of a cragged bulk; now look like gems, and dart forth glimmerings as well in a Rock, as in a Lover's Ring. With this sweet art while the Sea partakes as clearly of the motion as the image of the Moon, it enjoys the intelligence of the Celestial Orb as its own. With this lovely envy while the Steel is drawn with admiration of the Load stone, and by and by with mutual breathe and Nuptial Embraces exhales its precious Soul, as if 'twere now itself become a Loadstone exercises Charms of its own, and draws other things as much as 'tis drawn itself. There is indeed in nature, as well as in common life an ambitious indigency, and cringing to Superiors. Neither is there any thing more regarded in another than the eminency of its order. Had we no such thing as a Philosopher, yet we have Philomathematical Waves, which show the wain of the Moon with more certainty than Almanacs and Ephemerideses. We have Astronomical Flowers, which teach us the motion of the Sun, and instead of striking watches, give an Articular notice of the declining day. Had this Theatre of the World no Philosophical spectator, to consider its rarities with Scrutiny and Inspection, yet all Nature herself is enamoured to admiration with her own Beauty, and as both the eyes of the World, so both Worlds speculate each other by course, and feed themselves with mutual interviews. And this lower seems to aspire to the dignity of the higher with the same ambition as is used by the commonalty of Spain, when they Emulate the Grandieur of the Nobility; and with the same art which the Commons of Rome used, when the Plebeians were admitted to match among the Patricians. The Author of Nature has made the welfare of things too much his concern by committing 
Besides these there is a farther end of desire in man, divinity and Eternity.  the world to the Tuition of Love, so that now an idle and unactive Deity, will either not be owned or contemned.  
But whereas other things are of such a composure that they can only receive and want, man alone knows how to Love. Nature has shadowed forth in them a rude semblance of affection, only that she might make a prelusory specimen of that in viler materials, which she intended to complete in man with Elaborate Accuracy. Although I must also acknowledge that the affections of men leisurely improve according to the same degrees and proportions as they themselves do, and as if they had several births, are first endowed with life, then with sense, and at last with reason; and that Love which is at first callow and creeps by the instinct of Occult sympathy, by and by is Fledged with desire, and at last improves into humanity, and reason, which was before only Brute tendency, or the predominant bias of an Element. For when the as yet tender warmth only brood's on the breast, much less has hatched the glowing sparks, the desire scarce gives credit to itself. When the 
The various degrees and ages of all Loves.  mind is newly smitten, and is hardly yet Conscious either of the wound or the Author of it; she feels just such innocent prickings as Children do from the Rupture of their Gums, when they breed Teeth. Then you may see a pretty specimen of Infant simplicity, those who have been born scarce long enough to view one another a little, beginning to sigh together as one Myrle-tree whispers to another. For in these early expresses of Passion these Infant Lovers don't understand the Air which they ventilate in the groves of Venus, while they wind Embraces insensibly, and like those who lazily stretch themselves, naturally seek out for something to rest their extended arms on. You may now if you will call these the insinuating arms of an Ivy, or the winding branches of a Vine. But assoon as they improve their Love so far as to imprint and devour smacking Embraces, you don't see men but Ringdoves. When they breathe out their querulous Amours in wanton chide, you hear Turtles, as being now a little more by Nature disposed to benevolence, so that they affect others with sweet and innocent fondness, and imitate the kindness of the Dolphin, or Lizard. But men of an adult Flame are seized with a more generous impulse though blind. By this blind impulse we are carried upwards like Doves of Venus with sealed eyes, and with a most vigorous endeavour ignorantly aspire to Heaven as to a Nest. Thus the very defects of Lovers 
The kinds of Bastard Love and errors of Lovers  show a disposition greedy of Divinity, and the errors of this one Passion aspire to something immortal. So that even that more impure itch, which derides the Barren marriages of Virtues and Copulations of Souls, which seeks something to fill its Embraces, and adores the Planet Venus though threatening its birthday with Storms and Shipwrecks of life, seems yet to be inflamed not so much with the Torches of Hymen, as with the desire of Eternity. While with such Ardency it longs to outlive itself, and by a long series of posterity to patch up as well as it can a successive immortality. Even he whose friendship is purchased with a a supper, whom like a Brute Creature a bit does befriend to you, who is in Love with your Kitchen not yourself, though he Loves to the proportion of his stomach: And he who values a 
Even they who Negotiate in the Merchandise of affection aspire to something divine.  man after the same rate as he does a farm, attending on him with the same sordid expectation as he does on his field, who uses his friendship as a thing of profit with a mercenary mind, and still reckons himself among his friendships: Why this latter well skilled in the value of Love uses it as money, but as a Divine Coin, wherewith we men Negotiate with the Gods, and enrich ourselves with a Deity. And the former enjoys his Love to Luxury and Banquet, for he thinks it the Nectar of his Supreme Deity, as well as of Venus. Both of them truly with less Covetousness consult their own profit, either he that seeks a Patrimony 
They are more liberal who do good of their own accord.  by his affection, or he that diets upon it, than he who hastily discharges his sinking Ship of her perishing fraught, and by a free disbursement of his goods transfers them out of the reach of Chance or Fate before they perish. Who although he expects no returns, nor sells his gifts, yet has already received a most ample recompense, the very Collation of a kindness, and although he has given never so much, yet has laid up a greater Treasure for himself, the Virtue of beneficence. So that to give great largesses, and such as modesty oftentimes forbids to receive, does the most advantage to the Author; either by rendering him awful, that nothing mean will be expected from him, or by representing the benefit more necessary and natural than either Rain or Sunshine. So that from him as from the Sun benefits will be exacted as Debts, and he will seem to do only according to Custom and Duty, as often as he acts generously, so that all gratitude will be taken away through the frequency and ampleness of his Collations.  
What shall I think of him who seeks to please, not to Love me? Whom I repair to as a Summer-bower, that may afford me shade and security, but which is of no use to me in the rage of Winter? Whom as many of us as have any severity mixed with our Loves are wont to Alarm with this grave: Apothegm, A friend as a Wife, is a word of Dignity not of pleasure. You have 
Friend and Wife are names of honour.  found out a new way of being Libidinous without Embraces, you have deflowered your Love with this kind of Lasciviousness, worse than that of the stews. Industriously to please is the trick of wheedlers, and the luscious venom of a Pander. To treat too daintily, is a kind of angling: To fawn with emulous officiousness is like a Wooer, and belongs rather to the rudiments of Love than the life of Lovers. Farneze be't that you should take that Creature for a friend, who is a torment to you while you desire him, and a tediousness when you possess him. And yet you are not much out, if you think that all Lovers wander in the fields of Elysium, and that Flowers spring up where ever they tread. No other are the joys of Heaven than to Love and to be loved, no other are the joys of Earth. That Divine Ardour which makes the Empyreal Heaven to be what it is, and wherein will consist the happiness of the future life, must be the only Solace of this. In all other things we are Passive, these we only enjoy and delight in which are the Issues of our desire and choice, and which in those 
There is no pleasure anywhere but from Love  other uneasinesses divert our pain. Thus have we seen in a Tempest the two Brothers rejoice in a greedy concourse, bringing as much joy to themselves as to the Mariners, Congratulating their united beams, whereby they lose each other in a mutual embrace, and thence become two again. Thus have we known the Votaries of Venus surrounded with a Cloud, brought like Brides under a Veil of silk with more secret triumph to their joys. We confess there is something in Love more powerful than calamities, more magnificent than honour, more splendid than Riches, more charming than pleasures, for whose sake we contemn all these, yea for whose sake we do not contemn them, but have them in the greater veneration. It does so solely please, that by it all things else though never so vile please exceedingly. It has such a privilege of Majesty that nothing can disparage it, that it clears from infamy, and sooner reflects a lustre on the greatest reproaches of life, than it can be sullied from any thing else. Hence 'twas that this was added a thirteenth to the labours of Hercules, and served as an ingredient to make up his praises, that he not only brandished his Club, but held a Distaff, with which (though he had tamed all other Wild Beasts) yet one Monster still remained to be subdued, whom only the instruments of her own Arts can Conquer, a Woman. Why do you wonder so much at the inviolable Rays of the Sun, since Cupid's Torch can also enlighten even the most sordid things, and yet remain untainted?  
Why then does the hunger bitten mind so eagerly and to no purpose hunt after something Divine in other things, since it has it at home? For indeed whatsoever we Love, is to us a Deity. Whatsoever you desire that's Jupiter. Is it so? What does that sordid Lover who admits no consort without a Dowry, kiss, buy and count Jupiter imprinted on his Money? Yes, but 'tis Jupiter shining under a covert of Gold. What, and does the Libidinous voluptuary itch after Jupiter? Yes, but 'tis Jupiter turned Stallion under the form of a satire, and converted into the Semeleian flames. Yes and so does that delicate Trencher-friend sup upon Jupiter, but in the shape of a Swan, and lurking under the soft Down of Luxury. He lusts also after Jupiter, but 'tis that of Ganymedes steeped in Nectar and Ambrosia. Now I sound the depth of the business, neither am I quite deceived by those Rhetoricians of the Gods, the Poets. Now I perceive that they were not the Loves of Jupiter but our own which clothed the Deity in such unworthy forms.  
But because slippery and wand'ring Love never rests till 'tis arrived to the Pinnacle of perfection, or by a pleasing delusion thinks so at least, being always a Companion of the best and 
Love is only of one.  greatest, or what appears so, to this it must always adhere, in this always acquiesce, as the Heaven of its soul, the Centre of its fire. The Lover will not I presume be at leisure to entertain the Charms (if there can be any) of a new felicity, neither will he find in his heart to Love another, no nor himself. He will ever complain of the disproportion between his power and his desires, and that he is wanting to him whom he surfeits and wearies with excess of fondness. And after he has thus made over all his affection to one, and still thinks he has not done enough, he must needs have as little Courtesy left for all others as a Monk or Stoic. Begun thou Monster of Syracuse who hast invented a new Tyranny to thy other cruelties, a Pairroyal in friendship. Who wouldst not kill a pair of friends, but divide them, and corrupt their fidelity by interception of it, from a Tyrant converted into a Rival. But tell me Tyrant, suppose you were assumed a third Lover into the League of this pair, tell me which would you prefer in kindness? You must needs incense the other, now on the same score jealous of yourself. But if you will distribute your kindness equally, suppose one of them brought to execution, will you die for this, or live for the sake of the other? You stand like a dubious needle between two Lodestones, by the neighbourhood of two resolutions detained from both. The distraction of your wish prompts you at once to live and die. Thus the Pendulous Lover about to adhere to neither, and to both, is undone by this equality of affection. One exacts tears from you, the other an effusion of laughter. The partiality of your officiousness to one, makes you injurious to the other. So that your mind distracted several ways like Metius between the contrary draughts of Horses, seems deservedly to suffer the punishment of his perfidiousness. Thus it happens as often as you undertake to be a Pluralist in affection, and at once to Love whom you can hardly see at the same time, unless you were squinteyed or double-faced. Do but consider the dominion and compliance which is in Love; Here the new Eteocles and Polynices must duly command and serve by turns, both of these are of a singular nature, and will not admit of two sharers. If you fancy Love to be a God, he Loves to reside in one Heaven, if fire that also is confined to one Sphere, if death the Gods forbidden a frequent expiration, or that we should commit our souls to the bosom of another more than once, since they grant us but once to live. Or if you call a Lover the Mirror, Coin or Seal of his dear object (all which receive both form and value from the impression) know then that this looking-glass can be informed but with one entire image at a time, that this Coin can be ennobled with the face but of one King, that this Seal like that of a letter is closed fast to all but one, and that all these are not capable of a new impression without the defacing of the former. But if you consider 
Polygamy in the marriage of Souls is as bad as incest.  that friendship is nothing less than the Marriage of Souls, you should think it an heinous Crime in these Masculine Hymens to admit Polygamy, by superinducing a new one to unmarry the old, and to Cuckold one's friend.  
Does then that Passion which distinguishes 
Yet it is so of one as not to be inhuman toward all others.  humane Societies from the Herds of the field by too much devotedness bring men about again to the level of Beasts, and to Stoical barbarity, the contempt of all? And must he who loves one entirely, hate all mankind besides? The gods forbidden. Nothing certainly is more courteous than Love and Philosophy, nothing more generous, nothing (except the gods) affords a greater Patronage to the world. The very familiarity of friendship makes their minds easy and soft, and disposes them to benevolence, just as a marriage does young Brides, who now put off their Coyness, 
But so as a new bride less difficult and coy.  and use more freedom of conversation towards all others. They communicate their Rays like the Sun to the whole world, though they gilled Rhodes with a peculiar and distinguishing Lustre. You must know that one man is dedicated to another just like a book, sent to one, but to be read by all, yet after the perusal of that one. We own much gratitude to those candid and generous Souls so much resembling the genius of Heaven, in that they favour not one only man but all mankind with a benign influence: Who as if they were the first Parents look upon all Nations as their own families, esteem all as dear to them as their kindred, and as if they were born every where, or had an amplitude of mind equal, and Commensurate to the whole Globe, stand affected to every Country as their Native one, and so deservedly found it. But this we done't call friendship but a certain benevolence and wand'ring courtesy. Neither do we find 
Polyphily is not friendship but benevolence and a wand'ring courtesy.  fault with this, or accept it with less Candour than they use even toward their enemies. But we would only curb the too wanton and Courtly affections of those who pride themselves in the number of Salutations, and retinue of friends no less than in a guard of lackeys, ambitious as much of the badges of Virtue as of State, and loving to sweat in the throng of Clients. But this is the manner of proud Ladies who are not over-stock'd 
Polyphily without benevolence is not so much as courtesy, but savours of pride and lasciviousness.  with chastity with a pretence of obligingness to ensnare others affections, openly to dispense their kind Embraces, but still as to one only, studiously to compose a face, to levelly particular nods at him and him, to scatter up and down enticing glances, to divide here and there flattering smiles: And lastly, as it were to betrothe their souls. And assoon as the prey is inveigled (as it frequently falls out) to withdraw the enchanting lure. O the most vile sort of pride! To number the flocks of their Lovers among the rest of their feminine interests and improvements of Beauty.  
But since whosoever is hot in the highest degree of true genuine fire, has not the will to Love less, nor the power to Love more: Neither is it enough that he disregards others, unless he also contemn himself, and deny himself as well as others a share in his own flames, freezing within his own Sphere, and remaining a cold Salamander in the midst of the encircling flames. Since he is wholly removed from his own breast, forgets himself, is wholly concerned for his friend, and fears nothing on his own behalf, unless lest he should not act the part of a friend as he ought. Since he is wise for another, and blind as to his own interest, committing himself to the Fates, or to what is a greater safeguard, the care of his friend. (For he on the other hand is as much concerned with fears and forecasts in his behalf. He inspirits him like an assisting form, so that he resembles the Heavens in being governed by an intelligence.) Since I say he thus renounces himself whosoever inserts himself into another, and consigns himself as one dead to Oblivion; and since (as it should be) the only dear thing to him is his friend, in whom he enjoys a more vital life after death, and about whom he sportfully hovers like a pale Ghost about his body; The School-man of Amours has stated an unjust measure rather of hatred than affection, the Love of one self: And has done ill in proposing us to ourselves as patterns of Heroical Love. For of what small account is every one with himself? Where is that man who not captivated to another's desires, nor seasoned with manners not his own, does live less to another than to himself? Neither is it to be imputed to our vices but to our Virtues, that we become Vassals to another's pleasure. Some Virtues are severe upon their owners, and are never disserviceable but to ourselves, which yet to others bring in a great income. That modesty which promotes its own disparagement, and humbly dislikes all purple but that of a blushing face, ambitious of contempt, yet transfers the Encomiums due to itself upon another with a steeled boldness. That ambition which toils on another's account is graced with the title of fidelity and Candour. That armour which is worn on the breast does but only forge a man into a shield Errand for the defence of others, though with the expense of his own safety. No man dies for the mere prevention of his own death, but that he may intercept the fatal arrow from his Parents, Children, or some others. What did I say, no man dies? No man lives on his own account. But if bare nature and solitary Virtue without friendship can produce such a combination or rather self-dedication, that every one should count himself the least part of himself, let it be a shame that friendship (which adds to Virtue's new strength, accomplishment and humanity) should prescribe any other measure 
The measure of benevolence should be to know none.  to benevolence besides this one, to know none at all, or circumscribe any other limits than those which are marked out by the desires of Lovers. Let him not Love at all (and I am sure I cannot imprecate a heavier Curse) who tempers his affection and is not rather ruled by it, who warily Loves to such a set degree as if ready to hate, or who deals out his affection in proportions, giving and receiving favours with a pair of scales. He may perhaps return Love but not Love directly, who answers his Lover just as he pledges his Companion, precisely so much.  
And now I stand amused with a long veneration, like a sweetly confused Inamorato who has wasted all his eyesight upon a Divine form, and is uncertain even after the greatest Criticism of interview, which part of the Sovereign Beauty first deserves his admiration, and is arrived only thus far, to admire his own astonishment, and to pay equal adoration to all the excellencies, as if every one were supreme, and variously to assent to the praises of parties differently affected. I hear Dionysius defining Love to be a 
The definitions of Love. It is a Circle returning from good through good to good. Dionysius.  Circle returning from good through good to good. And I confess 'tis comprehended in this ingenious Emblem. Hence I look upon a Ring not only as a pledge but an Hieroglyphic of Love. Cupid represents to me this Circle while he is bending his bow, together with the semicircle of his own body. This Circle is deciphered to me by the continual heat of Lovers, which with the blood is carried round (according to the modern Tenet of Physicians) in a Circular motion. 'Tis like the Elementary fire where the immortal flame feeds itself, and is its own fuel; whoever loves that which he hath loved retreats by a spherical motion in his own tract: and he that loves only that he may Love, the same returns upon himself, closes up himself.  
Aristophanes tells me (and I easily 
The whole Mystery of Love consists in being reduced to that from whence we were. Aristophanes.  believe him) that the whole mystery of Love consists in being reduced to that from whence we were. For I see all things by a natural motion retire into their principles. And perhaps those Magnetic Charms which they fancy to be lodged in the whole earth, are found by Philosphers, Mariners and ships to be only in the Native Country. The Law of nature obliges us to bestow our lives upon those from whom we received them, and by a certain series of piety and Scale of alliance, to adore those three names dearer than our lives, our Country, Parents ' and God. I know not whether I may call man (like Oedipus) a blind and incestuous Lover, or rather provident and pious, who is always enamoured with something of his original, and is as cordially affected toward it as to his Parent. Neither is he much mistaken, who takes that for his Parent whence he dates the rudiments of a new life, and by a kind of revival renews his Nativity at the expense of an extraordinary Love. Thus to resign up our souls is to retrieve and remake them. But you O Thales, by leaping into the water, and you Empedocles into the fire, the one by chance and the other out of design, made too much hast to resolve not only Philosophy, but the Philosophers themselves into their principles, and to plunge the vital particles of your souls into their Elements. But yet so the errors of this Philosophy excuse those of the affections, and since our hungry Souls as well as bodies are nourished with those things whereof they consist; you'd swear the Drunkard had a liquid Soul, and the Tyrant a bloody one infused into them, you'd swear the fordid misers were just inlivened out of the mud, and that the Stoical and barbarous were hewn out of a Cragged Rock, and so still continue the Statues of men. But if we fancy with Aristophanes in Plato that from 
Plato's Conviv.  the common seminary of souls, or from the joint Society of a man heretofore double-bodyed, the familiar and Colleague-Souls were sent into the world, methinks this they render probable, while like the parts of a divided insect, they seek out for th' other half, or when they run into embraces at first sight, as persons mindful of their former intimacy. So that the Platonic man is now all over memory, whose Love as well as Philosophy is nothing else but Reminiscence.  
Yea rather whose Love is the very 
The first▪ Philosophy is the desire of Eternity. Diotima.  exercise of Philosophy (for I willingly and deservedly ascribe both to you Diotima) that is, to elevate our heavenborn Souls together with their bodies to a perpetual intuition of Heaven (just as the bird of the Sun is fed only with his Rays) and to vegetate them with a desire of Eternity. This is that Mysterious ardour which makes us Mortals always emulous of Divine perfection out of Love with the meanness of our condition, and for a remedy hastens to strip the man of the part which is frail. Hence as if we had a Legion of eyes, we take a prospect (which is more than the Sun himself can do) of both ends of the earth at once. Hence Amphitryo could at once discharge the affairs of his House and of the Camp, and though remote accompany his Wife, and that not (as the Poets will have it) in the fiction of disguise. Hence circumscribed with no bounds either of time or space, we live another life after the first, either in our friends the Guardians of our now alienated souls, or in our Children the Heirs of our transmitted life, both lend and borrowing breath.  
While I muse on these thoughts, 
The desire of enjoying Beauty. Plato.  Plato offers me a nearer experiment: And I presently turned Platonic, swear that this Cupid (though never so blind, and content only with thought wherewith he pursues Divine Objects, and yet born from the sight) is nothing but a desire of enjoying and forming Beauty in something Beautiful. The truth is we are willing to enjoy, not being able always to content ourselves with the barren delight of Contemplation and Courtship, that from the conflux of associated splendour, as from the Conjunction of Stars, the Glory and influence may increase, and our Star improve into a Constellation. And as Pictures, so faces of too Majestic Beauty whose blandishments are above our fortune and hopes, affect the spectators with some pleasure, no desire. And that portion of Beauty which recreates the sight with the sweetness of Symmetry and Complexion only, will find more spectators than lovers, as setting forth the prettiness and graces of a delightsome prospect, such as are better represented in painted than living faces. Nothing that's barren and dead excites vital affections, nothing that's inanimate influences the Soul. Neither is there greater pleasure in 
And of forming it in something Beautiful.  enjoying than in forming of Beauty. There's a natural energy which privileges the mind as well as face with the art of imaging itself, wherever it fixes its aspect. Hence 'tis that all Beauty delights in a Looking-glass, and rather than want a spectator applies itself to its own image looking back on itself. I appeal to you Socrates the Master both of Love and Morality, whose employment was the same when a Philosopher, and when heretofore a Statuary. You still continue your old trade of carving and polishing men, but you seek out more excellent materials whereby to dignify your Mechanism. And for this reason you stock your School like a Seraglio with such handsome pupils as Phaedrus 
Nothing is loved but under the notion of Beatiful.  and Alcibiades, who might easily imbibe your soul, and return you your image with advantage, as being more clear than a Looking-glass, more tender than wax. Whatsoever that is which like the Stars with its heavenly light transcends the envy of Mortals, invites a Religious awe and with a specious lure entices Souls to itself, does indeed so wholly possess them as not to suffer them to turn aside to another object. Nothing can dazzle and inflame our minds but what is presented to us under the tincture of these Rays, but what moves and strikes upon the senses. Our very vices impose upon us under the amiable mask of Virtues. And as often as we are pleased to err with nature, and with a Cross grained Love to delight in such Children which their Parents behold with horror, as often as we seek among herds and Monsters for something to be adopted into humane society as well as into a Constellation, we have this pleasant privilege to boast of, that we need not fear a rival, and to pretend an incongruous diversion in the jarrings of nature, and lastly to be able to show something to the beholders more ugly than ourselves. Unless 
Because nothing is deformed in Nature.  some will maintain that there is nothing deformed in nature, since those Creatures which the Author of them has doomed to obscurity as the shame of the Creation, lest they should defile the light, have a decency from their very horror, and set off the face of the universe like Moles and shades. For we ought not presently to conclude that which is less grateful to the sight to be downright ugly, but a rare and unusual spectacle, and such as the nice and curious use to procure at any Cost. What may not there be Sacred where owls and the most vile Creatures, have been deified, and adored by men? Where since there is no deformity, neither is there any hatred, 
There is nothing also of hatred or Antipathy in things.  nor the name of Antipathy used but among the Sects of Philosophers? why do you tell me among your lectures of sobriety how much the Colewort declines the Vine? Even as much as the abstemious patient upon the advice of a Physician, not because he loathes the wine, or for the sake of temperance, but merely to consult his health. So the Wolf preys upon the Lamb, and the fire upon the water, not out of any haterd, but for self-preservation. Neither do they avenge injuries, but endeavour by the most close embrace to convert another into themselves. So neither does one man abhor the person of another, but only his inhumanity as a vice, and so is concerned for himself. Neither do we envy other men their endowments for any spite we have at them, but are only too solicitous for ourselves, either because we think another's credit a diminution of our own, or else because willing to become cheaply good, we would adopt the Virtues of others to ourselves with the sole labour of a wish. If there be any contention in nature, sure 'tis a loving one, such as constitutes and increases commonwealths, a Social robbery, a consulting our welfare by alternate losses, neither are these to be called spoils, but gifts indulged by course. Ah cruel Love, if these Wars were managed by your darts, if Helen must be still obtained through Rapine and Slaughter, and Venus must belong only to Mars! And yet 'tis worth the while to die that we may endear her to us. Neither do I wonder since an ambitious vying for Beauty bred a quarrel among Goddesses, if poor Paris and the rest of Mortals with rival ambition should put in for the fair prize. From the time that Love the parent of the world wrought out a Symphony from the discord of things, and wedded together Vulcan and Venus in a mutual Embrace, that is, flames and waters, and cemented 
Love the Artificer of things, and their Beauty was like other Artificers the first admirer of its own work.  the most disagreeing things in a sort of checquer-work. From the time I say that he hung out this great frame of the Universe, like a rich Map adorned with Beauty and order, he stood himself like other Artificers the first Judge and admirer of his own work, & made the first experiment of those Charms of Beauty which he himself imparted. This is (if you would know) that order of beauty from which things derive not softness and infirmity, but at once Ornament and Compactness. I take Beauty to be nothing else but the Consummation, Quintessence and maturity of every thing. I think that 
That is Beautiful which is all that it should be. Beauty is not softness but the vigour and ripeness of every thing The same innate vigour gives decency, strength and Ornament.  Beautiful and splendid which is all that which it should be. Observe how the same innate vigour gives strength and Beauty to the Arm, how jewels throughly imbued with it send forth soft Rays among their rigid sparklings! How the lively moisture at the root makes fertile, and adorns with the Verdure of an Emerald! Thus we find all by experience and yet cease not from wonder, that a mind composed within smooths out the forehead, an ingenuous Texture of thoughts recommends the face beyond the greatest Artifice of dress, and that a refined mind serenes more than the blood. The Soul shines through her Native Veil as a lady's face through that of Silk, or as the 
Beauty is a certain sublimate of the body, the Flower of internal Virtue. An eflux of the soul. All Beauty consists of Proportion, of the knowledge of the soul and the manners of the body.  obscurer Sun dispenses his Rays here and there and Strains daylight through a cloud. I am apt to believe that the Divine guest does choose out a fit habitation for itself, or according to its proportion like Snails, forms a house contemporary and equal to its owner. So graphically does the body express the lineaments of the soul, that no Garment seems more distinctly to decipher those of the body. This, this is that brightness of the unsullied soul which illustrates every feature, and moulds the limbs into legible Characters, that by the likeness of souls others may be alured, till the Original form being observed and the Deity within discovered, the earthy mould be disregarded. For alas what an inconsiderable thing is that Beauty of a face which entertains our eyes with the daily spring of fresh graces, which we show one to another in a rapture, and although possessed with a Rival concern, yet call in Auxiliary votaries to share in our admiration? We are taken only with a superficies, a Colour, a reflection of light, yea a most empty shadow, which if we gaze long upon, it wears away and disappears before our eyes. And what a poor little thing is that frame and Structure of Limbs delineated as with a Rule and Compass? If that be all, 
Beauty is consummated in the consonancy and symmetry of the complexion and lines or frame of motions.  Statues may boast of a neater outside than man, and the house of a more elegant model than the inhabitant. What an inconsiderable thing is that motion which lends such a graceful mean to bodies imitable by no Painters? Suppose it more soft and uniform than the Downy glidings of the Celestial Orbs or of time, Careless, lose and unaffected, it has this only Apology for its meanness, that while it pleases, lest it should also prove tedious, it passes away, extinct even while it gins. But all this while I seem too partial to the errors of Lovers, and the Encomiums of Beauty, by supposing all that which 
All the grace of the body is either imaginary or the paint of opinion.  is thought handsome in bodies to be the shadows and imitations of a real decency, and not rather the dreams of imagination, and the paint of our own opinion. For 'tis not that which we behold, but what we imagine to ourselves, that we are in Love with. Tell me if you can whence it comes to pass that the same face is of so mutable a Beauty, as to cause an aversation in others when they meet it, which to you transcends the Beauty of the Stars? Whence is it that some are mightily enamoured with the soft and hypocritical resemblance of the other sex, and others again are more taken with the somewhat more than masculine horror of an unpolished countenance? Whence is it that to some what is so little as almost to escape the sight is the more acceptable, under the notion of delicacy and prettiness; and to others again that which is ample and fills the eyes, seems the only comely and Majestic object? Why, the changeable colour of a pretty face like Pigeons necks borrows an imaginary Beauty which it has not, from various aspects, and diversity of postures.  
I'll deliver my thoughts with freedom: What ever that appearance is which feeds the eyes, 'tis either imaginary and of such a nature that we must needs lose it when awakened 
Or if real, 'tis unworthy to detain the soul.  out of our sweet dream; or if real, 'tis unworthy to terminate our souls, and should only provoke, inform and send them farther. How can that strike so gratefully on the mind, which the eye only enjoys and knows not how to communicate? For the contagion of no Beauty except that of the mind, is so great as to transcribe itself on the beholder as on Water or a looking-glass. It must someway resemble God and our own souls, that is be incorporeal, whatsoever 
It must be of kin to God and our own Souls that is incorporeal, what ever lodges in the mind. Even that Beauty of the body is immaterial.  does but sojourn in our minds, much less is adopted by the affections. Although even that very air of the body of how little force soever, be also something immaterial, and like the soul rules at large, all in all, and all in every part. 'Tis easily to be seen, there is some efflux, Ray and I know not what vigour either of the soul or of an Idea, which running through all the actions diffuses itself throughout ever member, and assimulating all things to itself, collects the Systeme of graces into the face, where they settle as in their centre.  
Here the Boy Cupid keeps his Court 
But because the shadow of Beauty breeds only a shadow of Love.  enthroned in the Metropolis of Beauty, here he plays with the beholders, kindrles his darts from the wanton flashes of eyes, and hurls living flames. Here indeed Love plays in his minority, but when grown to maturity he changes both his Camp and Artillery, first seating himself in the middle region between the mind and the body, the Aspect, he sport's innocently in the confines of both. But by and by he advances up to the Soul and enjoys a pure and seraphic flame, or descends to the body and like a Meteor deceives with a gross and fallacious blaze. And to use no more undervaluing invectives, this one thing abundantly confirms the infelicity of this Passion, that it always has more influence on the absent than the present, and that the sight or Embrace of a body does always drive us either to loathing or madness. What God is this which 
The error of this Passion is punished with selfdisdain.  Chastises the madness of erring Cupid with his own desires? Who is't compels him still to languish for what he enjoys most of all, and so Passionately to refuse what just now he more passionately longed for? He protests these were not the joys he sought for, but that while he stood unresolved what he should desire, and followed the conduct rather of his eyes than judgement, he lighted upon them by a blind and unthinking tendency. But because these are the shadows of that which the mind hankers after, she wings away presently to them like a bird deceived with painted Grapes, but with them as with fantastic food she's rather 
In the body we adore the shadow of divine Beauty, in the soul the likenss of ●…d, in both a deity under a 〈◊〉 Type.  tormented than fed. I must nevertheless acknowledge (since they who ha● rangue most sharply against it, feel the influence more vehemently than they deny it) that these shadows of Beauty will beget also shadows of Love. And as in the Soul we adore the similitude of God, so do we a certain shadow of him in the body, in both we worship a Deity under a Type, and by an ignorant devotion become Courters of Divinity. For there's 
Beauty whether a Ray oh God, or a reflection of an Idea, or an efflux of the soul, is always something divine; because 'tis the property of man to love Beauty.  the same proportion between the mind and God, as between the eye and the Sun; from whose light it gains thus much, that it sees, and that it neither delights nor is able to see any thing else without the sight of him, and yet can't endure to behold the fullness of his lustre, and therefore loves to receive his Rays at second hand, to view the Image of his corrected splendour, and to refresh itself with feeble delights and shadows. Whatever that is (whether a Ray of God, or a reflection of an Idea, or an efflux of the Soul) which under the show of Beauty captivates the eyes and mind, must be something Divine, since 'tis the privilege of man alone to contemplate and be affected with Beauty.  
Pardon me if I also ravished with the Love of Beauty, am carried beyond all bounds, and leave even myself behind through the extravagance of transport. I am willing to abide here, where I find Love enthroned in the most Beautiful part of the world, in Heaven.  
And now I can't forbear venting my anger on those mortified and Cynical, Ghosts (whose Sage Morals licence them to dislike every thing) who condemn all the Erratas of humanity as the intemperance of solid benevolence, who inveigh against this god Cupid, as the ringleader to all luxury and voluptuousness, and the Engineer of all Tragic intrigues and vallainies, whom we find our Proxy to gain us immortality, and the Author of a Divine nature. This is the reward of all 
Simple and mutua Love.  simple and barren Love, which it receives from its own luxurious bounty, (for where there is no return of gratitude, Love has the same revenue with liberality) it has repaid itself. 'Tis an abundant reward to have well deserved. And yet there's a 
Love and Love for Love are Twins born and growing up together.  greater reward than all this sought after by Love, to be paid in kind, when souls growing warm together intermingle flames and light awakened by mutual allision (as one piece of Iron whets another) and cherish their ardours by a reciprocal propagation. They live to one another mutually by an exchange of spirits, and in the bottom of their hearts just as in that of transparent water, their faces answer each other by repercussion. Certainly nothing is more sweet than to Love or to be loved, except this, to Love and to be loved.  
For when our Love is unhappily misplaced, and such creatures are betrothed to our Embraces which either by a certain necessity of Nature, or by their own fault are ingrateful: When with nuptial solemnity Xerxes embraces Plato, Polydorus a Statue and Lesbian a Sparrow not more wishing for, than undergoing a Metamorphosis, and find the Poetical fables verified in themselves being all over animated with the Deity of Love, and by the plastic power and assimulating affinity of affection converted into trees, stones and Birds, 'tis not the least of all felicity (when there is no other way of Society but that the same person personate a Companion to himself) to feign dialogues, answers and delights proper to ones self, and so to model our happiness to our own, not another's liking. Methinks it pleases me to see the not altogether fruitless affection return upon its Author, where that is the refuge of delight which in Amours is esteemed the chiefest, to Love again our own Love, and like the Sun enjoy our own heat by reflection at least.  
Neither does less pleasure, but more honour attend that other lot, to be beloved. Whence men more liberally court others affections than they impart their own. For this is like gods to extend their Dominions in men's hearts without the Pageantry of a Sceptre. This displays the greatness of our fortunes and Virtues, and makes us oftener receive the officious services of others, than perform any ourselves. Thus the Trophies of your excellencies become conspicuous according to the number of Captive Clients which follow your triumph.  
But when on both sides there is an equal contention of officiousness, when there is a Duel of Courtesy not with complimental Ostentation, but with the highest shame of yielding and fear 
Mutual Love is a parity of reciprocal benevolence. Aristotle.  of less obliging, then arises that parity of reciprocal benevolence which Aristotle honours with that well known name though of rare instance, friendship. Venus felt these reciprocal tides at her birth, and so still continues a flux and reflux of affection. That equality which that Leveller justice has been a long time to no purpose endeavouring with her Sword and balance, Love with ease introduces into the world, s●●ce it always finds equals or makes them so. Sometimes the distances of fortune and merit, cut off the bands of friendship oftener than those of place. Jupiter must descend to the earth and put off the Rays of his Divinity, if he be minded to enjoy the Embraces of Mortals. And so he did; nay for fear lest he should not be familiar and despicable enough, he degraded himself below a man into a Brute Deity, and so procured himself easy admission sooner by contemtibleness than majestic horror. If you will be reverenced Sextus, I shan't Love you. The story of Semele sufficiently informs what a great and proud punishment 'tis to endure the Society of a God. The Moral's good. An officious cringing 
Officiousness to great persons is flattery and ambirion, not Love and fidelity.  to great personages sweet only to the unexperienced, comes nearer to flattery than benevolence, and is always suspected as an insinuating Art of bespeaking more than we offer. 'Twas your ambition which brought you hither, not your sincerity, so that you deserve a place among my servants, not among my friends. Now therefore we are at an equal pitch, when I disappoint you of your hoped for dignity, as you would have brought me down from mine. Yet sometimes 
'Tis servitude not friendship.  we find humble Superiors ambitious of condescension, choosing a reflection upon their Scutcheon, before a diminution of their Courtesy. Alexander acts no longer the Emperor's part, and loses those titles in Love which he had won in Conquest. But he loses them with greater glory to Hephestion, content that Hephestion might be King, so that himself might be a part of his Kingdom. He makes over all those honourable courtships which he received from others to Hephestion, while he serves his Hephestion he seems to enlarge his territories, and to enjoy another world. We all acknowledge Love to be a sweet and restless desire of pleasing them, who (either by accident or their own Virtues, or lastly our own mistake) have any way gratified us. It matters not much as in life so in friendship what e'er is the Origin of the heat. It inlivens the heart with a never the less durable and daily motion. The importunate votary resolving to tyre or overcome you, or endear 
Barclays Icon Anim.  and please you, heaps one good turn upon an other, and when there is no more room for his officiousness, he serves with empty endeavours, and looking still like one doing good, obliges by his very Well meaning countenance. He cautiously fathoms the inclinations of his friend by heedful experiments, and for the very solicitous fear of displeasing deserves to please. He thinks it of great use sometimes to have displeased, that so he may either hate or correct his behaviour. For to be as much like him as is possible is all one he thinks with being good and happy. Wherefore he feels his pulse more scrupulously than a Physician, examines the most inward motions of his breast, serves him upon strong presumptions, and executes his wishes scarce yet known to himself, before they discompose him with the first qualms of a breeding desire. Neither will he ever satisfy himself though he has the other abundantly, that it may appear he indulges his officious instinct not with a design of insinuation, but for the bare pleasure of serving, as if by the predestination of nature he were marked out for a slave to this one person.  
You shall know (since you are so inquisitive) that there is a pedigree and origin of Love as well as life. There is an order and mutual respect between some either instituted by nature, 
Simplicius upon Epict●tus.  or voluntarily undertaken; and this again is either among persons of like or unlike dispositions, which occasions the union of some, and the dissociation of others. But as for that ty of blood, 'tis a mere Contingent thing; such as argues no merit of benevolence, which because obtruded upon our unconsenting breasts, we did not admit, but unknowingly sustain. And now it brings as much of burden with it as of necessity, and what is worse, this Lottery of birth, imposes upon as a necessity of honouring even the most wicked and vile persons, and what's more against the hair yet, it exacts every where an equal and common rate of affection, according to the custom of Countries, such as must not be diminished, and yet can't well be improved higher. Pardon me ye Ghosts 
The name of friend more Sacred than that of Parent.  of my kindred, if I adore the name of Friend, as far more Sacred than that of Parent. We indeed own all that to Love, which by the hereditary error of an easy piety we ascribe to our Parents. For it happens from their own mutual Love not from any kindness to us (whom they knew not they should produce but from the Oracle) that we enjoy the benefit of this light. And we with as little natural kindness for them rejoice to see the light, not our parents, and being as ignorant of them as they were before of us, are apt to bestow our unprejudiced Embraces on any else (as if they were our Parents, or might as well have been) with a fond innocency. So much Philosophy we may learn from that little age, that we are not so much the offspring of a man as of mankind, and born to all in common, and that nature should share in our filial gratitude. Neither are domestic friendships kindled and cherished by nearness of blood, but conversation and the sweet Society in calamities and errors, together with Congratulations arising from common miseries. I am much 
The union of will as far exceeds that of blood, as reason does nature.  mistaken if Lovers be not nearer of kin to one another, and engaged in so much the straighter bond, by how much reason exceeds nature, and the force of my own choice is more prevalent than that of Consanguinity. For 'tis the sweetness of conforming to one's own Laws, which makes every man so constantly Loyal to himself. But when nature and choice shall both conspire, with how prone and easy instinct does that affection move the mind, which flows from nature and will linked together in a silent consent! If it be our lot to be born and educated to the Love of any person (nature and studious care contributing to fashion us after his pattern) if the Stars of any mingled their lights before, in sociable and friendly conjunctions, if the species of any be congenial and innate to us from our Nativity (for nature does sometimes either for knowledge or defence like breeding mothers imprint some marks on the members) how greedily do we imbibe their aspects as familiar to us from the Cradle, and more certainly known than by a long conversation! How do we redemand this image as a piece snatched from our own Souls! How do we swallow down the breath and voice of this person like vital air! How do we run together with an indeliberate propension, without the Ceremony of kind salutations, like Lovers after absence or divorce, renewing their Caresses! Thus these souls involved all over in a Voluntary Slavery, engage in a mutual league, not tarrying who shall give the first Love-stroke. Just like those who swear to, and sign bonds without ever reading them, and yet can never dissolve the Sacred ty, nor cancel their solemn, though inconsiderate engagement. 'Tis another's consent and not their own which ratified these engagements, so that they have made over the liberty of consenting, nay the whole right of themselves to the power and pleasure of another.  
But O Cupid the least of gods, and greatest of Deities, I should think it less than your deserts (if yet there 
Love is a God.  could be any thing greater) that you are Deified by those bold Philosophers the Poets. You have this property of a god, to be unknown and to receive homage from men. You have this also of a god to govern men with a silent influence, that they may yield to your motions though not understood by them, or else to draw them by compulsion. To the beck of whose Majesty all contrary Passions pay Allegiance and attendance. As often as you are disposed to divert yourself, the most high flown Pride strikes Sail, the most daring courage trembles at the lucid Darts of an Eye; Covetousness itself turns Prodigal in a Voluntary Oblation of rich presents, and the suddenly Eloquent illiterate Heir now no longer buys Poems with their Poets, but himself becomes inspired and composes. And to pass over with religious silence your other Divine attributes, that you are a Circle, Eternal, immense, and that you engross all that Office of Providence, to preside over, and to preserve, this one thing confirms in me the belief of your Divinity, that your only Religion strikes an awe into the most profane. They so manage their Courtship as if they were performing some Religious Rite. They look passionately, view their habit curiously, and compose themselves to all the solemnity of reverence. And to what end all this? That they may address themselves to their Mistress as to an Altar. Nay more, that they may be decent even when absent. For whom we love we fancy always present, the Judge of our actions, the supplier of virtuous and ingenious thoughts, the prosperer of all our Heroic undertake. Whom the Sailer supplicates for a calm, the Traveller for a safe return, the Soldier for Victory and booty, out of which he may make her a present. Well, henceforth let it be permitted to Lovers to Compliment one another with Metaphors fetched from Heaven, to Court in the Sacred Dialect of Religion.  
Neither do I think any one can envy at the Divinity of so mild a god, whose anger may be appeased without slaughter, who does not like other gods require beasts, but only cheerful Votaries for Sacrifice, and that he may not want Temples, erects flaming Altars in humane breasts. Nay the little god himself being converted into 
It is fire.  fire, by a continual supply of flames takes care for his worship. 'Tis certainly so; as often as I see the pensive Inamorato venting his Passion in deep-fetched sighs, he minds me of the fire which is immured in a Cloud redoubling murmurs and thunders, and at last expiring in a fume. As often as I see him bedewed with the sweat of tears, and boiling over with groans, I call to mind the flames of Aetna and Vesuvius breaking out among the flames of Snow and Ashes; or methinks I see the great Chasms in the mid-sea occasioned by the eruption of fire. As often as the short-lived fire of a counterfeit passion displays itself in imaginary and Scenical flames, I then consider in man fictitious blazes, fires resembling those of the Celestial Lamps, Meteors of affection. Again, Love in this respect resembles fire, in that it serves only to the benefit of men, and the worship of the gods. Again, in that it heats and inlightens our fancies, insomuch that Apollo as well as Bacchus owes his rise to the flames of Love. Again, in that it rages against the Bars of opposition, gathers new strength from alleys and impediments, and is fomented by injuries and provocations as fire by the aspersions of Water. Then as to the properties of the Ethereal fire it burns and refreshes, is immortal without fuel, self sufficient, (for Love is content with itself being it's own reward) it is inviolable, not to be polluted by the Contagion of filthiness, expiating and purging the Crimes, which it cannot admit, equalling the Virginexcellency of the Vestal flames. Lastly it has this one quality more of the Celestial fire, that for the security of the Universe it has obtained a supremacy of Station, that 'tis seated in the top of all, guarding and enclosing the inferior Passions. In this one thing the parallel halts, that it extends its vital influence beyond its Sphere to the production and Conservation of Animals. Thus is Love paralleled with the two purest and most powerful things either above or under the Celestial Arch, God and fire.  
But among all the Miracles of Mysterious Love this is the most confounding, 
Occult Love like a subterraneous fire burns, but gives no light outwards.  that often times in the interior parts of men as well as of the earth there glows a Subteraneous fire, which spreads its Contagious Fever without the least outward Symptom of a blaze. So that when we feel it burn and yet can't give an account how it came to be kindled (unless any of us are of opinion that the flame was congenial to the breast, and upon the conviction of this experiment grant the soul to be fire) we deny it burns at all. So loath are we to own our ignorance by admiring at the unaccountable harmony of souls equal to that of the Spheres; when every one has contrary motions of its own, and yet partakes of the same, as if governed by a certain common Intelligence. 'Tis our daily wonder whence the strings of hearts as well as those of Lutes, mutually sympathise with such consent, that the trepidations of the one are seconded with the correspondent Tremor of the other. We stand amazed at the surprising symphony, unknown even to the Musician, and swear these strings were heretofore 
Motion is consent as in bodies so in Souls.  taken out of or now skrew'd to a unison in the same entrails. we'll grant the Physicians their Paradox, that motion is only a certain consent in bodies (a no small advantage to their art) being well assured it holds true in souls.  
Neither let us any longer doubt to 
Hence Love is a Magician.  affirm with Plato's guest, that Love is a Magician. For how do souls kindle and conceive seeds of Love with a secret touch? How do Lovers like Enchanters burn and melt the dissolving hearts of men by Images and representations? How do Beautiful eyes like those of the Basilisk, inchant the greedy beholder, insinuating and interweaving their Rays with his till they knit Love knots, and manacle him looking backwards with chains of Embraces? What else, were those soft allurements by which Endymion charmed the Moon out of her Orb? What else are those enticing groans but Magic murmurs, Philtres of discourse, and Amorous numbers? What else but Charms of horror, which with a blast of air strike astonishment into the hearers? What else are Love-tokens but Spells which instill a sweet Poison into those who wear them? I know not whether the powerful attractions of the person loved, deserve my admiration more than the Magic figures of the Lovers obsequious postures, and enchanting blandishments, against which there isnot as in other enchantments the remedy of a Countercharm: neither indeed would we unbewitch ourselves if we could, or resist the pleasing methods of our ruin▪ Truly all the force of Magic is in Love, which is said to have the miraculous power of attracting things mutually together, and changing their Natures: because the parts of the world like the members of a great Animal depending on the fame Author, and the Communion of the same Nature, are joined together by one spirit informing the whole; and which is the most certain sign of union are collected into a Globe, so that one part returns upon the other in a continual round. 'Tis by reason of this confederacy and secret Commerce of things; that by the mutual attractition of Souls, Love like a disease contracted by Contagion invades chief the healthy, who yet by and by most willingly yield to the sweet evil. And then the voluntary Captive more straight hugs his soft and silken fetters, than he is held by them, and does as little understand the Embraces which he enjoys as the chain itself.  
Methinks I feel the restless Calentures of Lovers more clearly than I describe them, and seem to act my own argument 
The argument of the work is summed up by the by. There is the same method of procedure in Philosophy and Courtship. From kisses to Embraces, from a shadow and obscure aspect to intimate Visions, from affection to nature, and thence to the cause of nature.  before I deliver it. I remember heretofore when I was slightly deluded with dreams and Images, and scarce knew what I sought after, I more truly endured the various tides of my but newly raging Pason, than I decyhpered them. How did the first glance of my Mistress not with a rude Image, but only the shadow of it, colour my blood, fashion my thoughts, fix an impression on my Soul, print my mind with her own Characters, lastly seize the whole man and assimilate me to herself! And yet there appeared in my distempered breast no otherwise than in a troubled fountain, only an obscure and uncertain form and shadow, such as is feigned to inhabit the regions of Death, languid and shy, flying all approaches and slipping through an Embrace. By and by lifting up a little the Veil of Cupid and viewing with the greediness of a Wooer the Divine form of my just tasted felicity, 
By so many steps and degrees are inquired, after the manner of Lovers, the effects and force of Love, the dowry and parentage whom it is convenient to Love, in what manner, what measure, for what end, also the degrees and kinds of loving.  my ignorance (as all almost is) restless and inquisitive, made me curious of examining every particular, as what manners, what Dowry, what seat, what descent? For this uses to be first and last in the Cares and joys of Lovers, as to recollect the first sportful essays and rudiments of their Amours, so to make enquiry into the years and honours of their Parents, and to unravel their friendship back to its noble beginnings.  
Although it be a sign of greatness & 
Thence enquiry is made into the definitions and natures of Love. Lastly we ascend up to the causes and Origin of Love.  antiquity, and has procured Religious reverence to many things to have their Originals beyond the date of Chronicles, sealed up to Oblivion as to Eternity, 'twill be no Crime I hope to relate & adore the beginnings of love. Which is so happily obscured by that consecrator of things, Antiquity, that like Heaven it has found a fabulous Origin. I hear some telling me of Praeludiums of Love, which Souls act in the Proscenium of the other world, before they enter upon the Stage of this. I hear that souls descended from the Stars of their Nativity still imitate their manners and conjunctions. That as often as the wantonly disposed Planets treat one another with Quintile aspects, and burn with a nearer flame, then 'tis wooing time among men. That as aften as they mingle Embraces with their Conjugal Rays, than they kindle Marriagetorches' here below. And lastly that 
The friendships of men are not to be ascribed to the conjunctions of the Planets, but to a threefold impulse of every man's nature.  they do not only show us Mortals the way, and prosper us in it, but also make matches and betrothe us here on Earth. But to leave this fanciful argument, my Philosophy assures me, 'tis not the heat of Heaven but that native one of the breast, which congregates Homogeneous things, and inflames men with an ardent Love of Society, either out of a zeal for themselves, or out of a desire to secure infirmity, or a design of self-communication.  
The first of these, nature has imparted 
Either to a zeal for themselves.  to every one, as a Tutelar Deity to each in particular, and as a common soul to all in general. Whence whatsoever resembles any part of a man's self becomes allied to him on the score of that similitude. Hence Superiors are wedded to Inferiors in a mutual relation. These straight embrace the other as their pattern and defence. The other protect these as their utensils and workmanship. But the easiest association is between equals, because free from the unconfiding awe which attends a Superior fortune, and the jarrings of untunable dispositions. Whoever are Confederate by the Communion of nature enjoy so much the more pleasure in their conversation, because they were most closely united even before any personal contract. 
Or to a desire of succouring Infirmity.   
But if any suppose that companions are repaired to, as a defence of weakness, that to Love is a kind of begging, and that the Embraces of men like those of the Vine and Ivy only seek out stronger props for their support: Let him observe that for the Patronage of this infirmity, Love is feigned to be a Boy, and that children and women, and whatsoever is of the infirmer sort are most prone to Love. Let him observe that Virtues themselves are sought for by mankind only among the necessaries of life, and that they are either instruments of ambition, or reliefs of indigence. Let him know that all the terms of Alliance are indeed words which import succour, and that by those things which we honour with the most Sacred Titles, are understood only the various Commodities of life. These are the things (to confess the truth) which we most lovingly call by the name of Brothers, Sisters and Parents. Neither is a friend esteemed any thing better than an Asylum of refuge, and a proper possession.  
Lastly, if we suppose men to be moved 
Or to a design of self-communication.  by a fermenting appetite of self Communication, and after the example of God whose Image they bear, to make a Donative of themselves; we shall think what's more Noble in its self, and what's more worthy of that Sacred and sociable Creature, and what comes nearest to the Genius of Heaven, more freely to impart than receive an influence. For every man, as other Creatures are made for him, so he is born for more than himself only, and accordingly is ambitious of accommodating himself to others. As much as every one is ashamed to confess his penury: So much does he delight to show himself rich by Communicating his goods, rather than desire the Alms of another. Hence we see some Souls Covetous of doing good, call in and adopt Associates to share with them in their felicity, and take it as a great kindness to themselves, to have an occasion given them of benefiting others. So that 'tis a greater pleasure to have a friend in your prosperity, when you are in the Capacity to give, than in your adversity, when you must always be on the receiving hand. My own Planet has not been such a niggard to me, that I should want experiments of this liberality, or should need a proof elsewhere. Nay even this very acknowledgement of my gratitude condemning 
A favour is more joyfully bellowed than either received or repaid.  itself, because a favour is more joyfully bestowed than either received or repaid, does sufficiently evidence that the genius of humane nature has prescribed itself this sole way of doing of good, and out of a magnificence of spirit has rejected the Laws of gratitude. Since the former proceeds from fullness of mind, the latter is extorted by necessity. In the former there's the glory and state of a Superior, in the latter the reverence and modesty of an Inferior. He errs even to pity, dazzled with the splendour of a more glorious fortune, who cannot endure a kindness; neither does he act ingratefuly nor proudly, but only magnificiently bend in spite of his unperforming fortune, and refusing to yield in the Combat of generosity, declares be would rather have been the Author of the kindness, which he had more munificently bestowed in wish before he received it. When therefore you see some born to serve, others 
Mankind is divided into two sorts, some born to serve, others to protect and cherish. There is mutual benevolence between them both, but they are more liberal who bestow the man, than they who bestow the goods. The Origin of friendship proceeds in the same order as that of Kingdoms.  to cherish and defend; you turn over both the leaves not so much of fortune as of nature and benevolence. But you should confess them Superior and more liberal who bestow the man, than those who with a cheap munificence permit an effusion of their goods. So that either way the fire of Love does more willingly descend than ascend. Nay this Passion always descends (since 'tis the part of the more excellent and Noble to Love) and in a prone channel is propagated through the degrees of alliance as man himself is.  
For there is the same method and procedure in the growth of friendship as in the constitution of Kingdoms. The heat first passing through the channels of the blood creeps out of its own private enclosure into families; then the vein bursting as it were with an eager fermentation, it expatiates farther to Allies and Fellow-Citizens. For we must return to them (lest we should seem to be more concerned for the Dignity of Love than for truth, or be liable to blame for instituting other measures of loving than what are popularly received, and for steering right against the stream) who propose us to ourselves as patterns yea and causes of Love. For this is the merit of benevolence earnestly to wish well to ones self. This is the very design of a Lover to recover himself lost in another, to cherish himself with the kindly heat, and by a certain vital energy to convert all into his own nourishment. So that 'tis no wonder that Virtue which enjoins a neglect of ourselves, suffers herself a greater disregard from the world. However let us not think it shame to be beloved, as if this were to be mocked and neglected under the pretence of Officiousness. You must know that every one Loves ill, but he that Loves himself; and that none in Loving themselves design their own advantage, although by Loving they profit themselves by accident. All Self-Love therefore 
Self-love is a generous thing by which we ardently affect whatever we are or would be.  is a generous thing, by which we kindly affect whatever we are or would be, as what is or what should be allied to us. All of us are so touched with that ambition of some (who insert the Arms and honours of their Ancestors among their own titles) that by a corruption of Heraldry we adopt whatever is excellent into the Table of our own kindred. So the emulous Cities contended about the praises of Homer in an unreconcilable War, as if for the enlargement of their Territories. Hence the splendour of virtue which is the chiefest security of Mortals, next of self-love, kindles those of taking dispositions at the first flash, and that which adores the Deity is adored itself. Whose power is such that there is none of so desperate impiety who is not in his wish and approbation, I had almost said mind too, good; Who would not he had exercised that Virtue which as yet he does not, and who does not hearty Embrace that Virtue in another, which, he does ill away with in himself.  
Whither does this first impulse not 
From this double impulse of nature and reason, the first impulse of reason carries us to what we would be. Hence the first causes of Love are Virtue and its shadows with whatsoever carries the semblance of it.  of nature only but reason carry us? cheated with a voluntary imposture we fall prostrate before not only Virtue, but any thing which bears the least shadow or appearance of it. Sometimes that difficulty (which guards the path of Virtue with a Sacred horror, and keeps off the profane rabble) bushes us forward, and entices with its endearing injuries. The honey of Lips gains a more exquisite relish from the interposals of stings. To watch at the Window of a Mistress, to suffer a repulse from a meaner Rival or to be disrespectfully used, are all but spurs to future pleasure, like as squeezing the hand, and wounding the Lip with the eager rudeness of a biting kiss. Sometimes rarity (which through the sloth of the age seems almost peculiar to virtue) recommends Monsters to our fancy and all outlandish deformity.  
'Tis well known also how prevalent are those allurements of Lovers which are ranked among the chiefest shadows of Virtues, praises, which are dearer to women than their looking-glass or box of perfumes, with which as with incense men as well as Gods are appeased. How easy is it by this art to please both ourselves and others! How easy is it by these precious blandishments to please the most  Matron! For all even the most modest, love to be commended, and those who refuse to be loved are yet ambitious of appearing lovely. Both are arguments of a mind virtuously disposed, though to praise be a more certain one than to be praised. For to be praised is frequently the lot, always the ambition of the most undeserving, as deformed persons covet paint. But none can praise and himself not be laudable. He does the same or would do who approves, and is illustrated from the excellencies of another: As he that erects a Statue to the memory of an Hero, erects also at the same time to himself a Monument of Virtue. For this seems an high flight of merit not to exercise virtues, but what's more, to reverence and adore them. These are those darts of Cupid which are pointed with his feathers, which while they tickle, wound the deeper, and like Arrows delivered strongly and at a distance, reach those who are most removed from us. But to make flattering preambles and bribe Benevolence (the usual art of Rhetoricians and Lovers) seems all one to me as to dawb the lips with paint preparatively to an Embrace, which always instils a sweet Poison, and insensibly corrodes the kisses.  
So much are we men the Creatures of glory and Virtue, that I fear 
Among virtues these more profitable ones cause Love.  'twould not be much for our honour to confess, that among Virtues we Embrace them most which are profitable. Whether they be those which exercise and invite humanity, as modesty and equity; or those which preside over and protect it as fortitude and munificence. Which, when we ourselves are no way advantaged by them, we gratulate in the behalf of others. But as Emulation, so munificence indears our affections to other virtues. Although its excellence be so much the greater by how much the receiver is less deserving. Because then the kindness is wholly to be ascribed not to the judgement, but favour of the Benefactor, and because for our sakes he would run the hazard of being reproachfully beneficial. This liberaliby is no sooner above the Horizon, but that other which is inbred in the heart of mankind shines parallel to it. And although perhaps at first by an erroneous estimation it valued the giver for the sake of his gifts, yet afterwards it values the gifts for the Author, whose parental indulgence extended itself beyond the partition-wall of his own family, and adopted a stranger with the same domestic affection as an Ally into his Hospitable bosom. Here overloaded gratitude faints, and finding itself uncapable of returning any thing besides the man, repays its Patron as a Deity with the bare Votary. And truly in my opinion he betrays no such generous ardour of mind who returns benefits as Debts, and pays gifts, that he may quit scores, and that accounts may be kept even on both sides, as if they were dealing only in a more liberal way of usury. 'Tis not affection but pride, which makes a man so impatient of lying under an obligation. This is not to receive but retort kindnesses: This is with more disdain than gratitude to boast riches in a contention of munificence. But since true benefits aim at nothing but a kind reception, he only knows how to be a liberal receiver who candidly interprets, and retaliates nothing, but a grateful mind. Neither does he think this any valuable return of his own liberality, but only the pledge of another's. But lest any one should think I insinuate this as an Apology for my incapacity or ingratitude, let him know that I have persuaded myself that friends give with that Candour as if they paid only that they might owe, and return gifts with such freedom as those that give of their own accord. These are benefits, these are those Arrows of Cupid which with a 
Benefits are the arrows of Cupid armed with gold.  Golden point give a Splendid but faithful wound. More powerful truly is the Courtship of Jupiter under gold than under feathers, or the Rays of his Divinity. For gifts are the universal Character, whereas 'tis the Talon only of some few to understand the Idiom of Majesty, and the soothing flourish of a Rhetorical Pen.  
Shall I now say that from this gentle 
From liberality arises commiseration, which softens he breast and then signs it with an Image.  humanity of mind proceeds a good natured Commiseration, which softens the breast like Wax, and then seals it with any Image? Or that from this ampleness of mind flows that proud benignity, which while it seeks occasion to exercise munificence, Loves the miserable even to Passion, and scorns the happy? Or shall I think that from hence arises a generous Stateliness which is more ambitious of bowed knees and heads than Embraces, and Loves only on this Magnificent condition, that it be not Loved again? Or rather shall I term this a soft modesty, like to theirs who can endure to eye another till he look back upon them?  
And now we confess with thee 
Beauty is ranked among the Virtues, which holds forth an animated system of Ethics and expresses in the body ●Il the Virtues, prudence, fortitude, justice and temperance.  Plato, the divinest of all Prophets, a wonderful scene of Love displayed throughout the whole body, where Virtue exposes herself to view, where the Candour of the mind tempers the blood with a milky whiteness, and modesty dies the Cheek with a sweet Vermilion; where the liberal forehead hospitably entertains the beholders; and the glances of the eye are gathered up like scattered gems; where you may perceive the discipline of a composed countenance, gravely checking and allaying those sparks which it kindled in you by its Beauty. Where you may observe the dictates of a quick apprehending aspect, and imbibe tacit lessons of prudence; where you may see regularly disposed by a certain balance of justice the even measures as of manners so of the limbs, and peruse a living system of Ethics with your 
Hence 'tis called a Corporeal Virtue.  eyes; where, when you shall behold the lucid members jointed to one another like gems both for Ornament and service, wondering a while at the compacted strength of solid Beauty, you will cry out, Hither Vulcan with thy nets! behold, we have taken again Mars accompanying Venus! This is a Beauty worth the Empire of more than one world. Thanks be to Jupiter and his Eagle, that the earth is not envied the possession of so great Beauty. Hence the Divine Plato may with rapture and ecstasy deduce Theorems of Philosophy, and contemplate a fairer Idea with his eyes than ever he did with his mind. Socrates may send his delicate youth to trim themselves at the superlative lustre of this face as at a looking-glass. And here Eudoxus fallen from his admiration of the Sun, may affirm mankind was made on purpose to view this light, and to feast on bright pleasures, though to the loss of their eyes. There are more powerful Charms in the aspect of this form, than in Orpheus his lyre to tame wild beasts and Philosophers. This Splendour more delightsome than daylight, is fit than the Sun to try and educate the offspring not of Eagles only but of mankind too. I would almost swear that our souls descended from the Sky as falling Stars, they are so enamoured with all Brightness. These are the Arrows of Cupid pointed with the light of eyes, and sparkling out flames, which shine, burn and wound.  
Thus whatsoever is excellent, 
All Love is comprehended in likeness.  whatsoever we would be like to, attracts us to itself with the same ardour, as we do those things which we seem 
Where fore we all Love either whom we would be like to, or whom we are. From the former arise those spurs of a tasted Love; from the latter, first similitude itself;  already to resemble. We mutually crave and give Pardon to this madness of ours which makes us do the same when men as when children, viz. to reach out to kiss our Pictures in Looking-glasses. 'Tis the Fate of all mankind as well as of Narcissus, to be Passionately in Love with their own representations. And 'tis but just that we more zealously affect our other self than our Parents or Children, who are but pieces of ourselves, or than an Artificer does his own work which is only the product and Image of his art. 'Tis an excusable greediness which prompts us to feed upon our like, since 'tis the nature of our souls as well as bodies to require consimilar aliment. Wherefore I don't wonder at the 
Then Custom;  bewitching power of Custom, which recommends to our affections not only faces but places themselves and inanimate trifles, as if they were our Companions. Whence the same delay which insensibly preys upon Beauty, adds also grace to deformity.  
For the eye and mind tinctured with a familiar species, see no longer but through painted glass, which takes off from the horror of the object. So also familiarity without 
Then familiarity.  which we are remote even when present, adds this force to custom, that it may form Twin manners, by a reciprocal generation beget a Consanguinity of dispositions and adapt mind to mind, till another's conversation is more sweet and free to us than our own. What? 'Tis torment not society to be under a constant fear of displeasing, to compose all things to the worst of Looking glasses that of a face (since we can't to the others mind) to order our Commerce with reverential concern, to weigh our words like gold before we deliver them, to present ourselves at a set meeting with premeditate gesture, and then there to behave ourselves as in a Theatre.  
But Why do I mention those consimilar 
Also under the name of similitude, Love.  species which either nature, art or Custom slightly imprints on our minds? When 'tis Love which gives all these a lively stamp, by whose power alone (the soul having long since took her leave) they are actuated and enlivened. Happy is it for Lovers, that persons may Love even against their wills. Since your Lover is not only like, but the same with yourself, he has stolen away you from yourself unawares; and without your leave. There is no need that he demand returns of kindness and Debts of Love. If this be nothing available with you that he is your Image, your slave, your proper goods; that for your sake he parted with his soul and liberty; If you nothing dread the Crime of cruelty and Murder, yet by the necessity of nature Love kindles Love, flame kindles flame. Yet nature would not grant Love the power to counterfeit, or if counterfeit to burn any otherwise than painted fire. For though the face, aspect and gesture feign never so industriously, yet the simulation will betray itself as all painted things do, either by a too emulous or a too remiss endeavour of imitation. If you done't yet acknowledge that Love is the price of a man; yet at least that you may admit it to be so under the sordid Name of benefit, know, that it comprises in itself all the benefits which it bestows, and which it cannot bestow, and in wish more than all. Without which I shall ascribe the benefits themselves to fortune and fate, not to the man, and shall think them rather found than received. By which alone the poor man acts liberally, as often as he gives nothing, but wishes munificently. Than which nothing greater is either expected from or rendered to Mortals by the Gods. Here's a Philtre of more influence than any herb. If you will be loved, Love.  
But as it betrays meanness of soul to require and render reasons why we Love, so that Love is more ingenuous which like some flowers springs up without any seed, and has this of Eternity, to exist without a cause, and like Heaven to be moved by an invisible Intelligence. We find now that that similitude whether manifest 
Similitude whether manifest or occult which is called sympathy, is all Love  or occult which goes under the name of Sympathy, is all nothing else but Love. Whence without any nearness or familiarity, the near and familiar soul closes fast, and squares exactly to another. Just as Mathematicians say one plain body adheres to another inseparably, united only by the Cement of conformity. Nature seems to bring forth Twin-minds, and to assign mates to souls as shadows and Genius's to bodies, or as Nymphs Coeval to their Trees. Hence men in spite of their Ascendent undergo the same Stars and Fates, and in all respects are Twins. O the unparallelled generosity of these well matched Lovers, a more Noble spectacle than a couple of Gladiators! Where the Duel of liberality is all fought in Offices of mutual kindness. In this one thing there is discord in their affections, that both being over solicitous for each other are disquieted with hatred and fears. Both as if tinctured with each others Choler see and judge the same. Both as if touched with the same Loadstone, tend to the same point in all their designs and endeavours. The one represents the others face more faithfully than a Looking-glass. The one imitates the others manners more punctually than a Parasite. So that even he himself is not so much like himself.  
While I was Scribbling at this rate, Cupid snatched my pen out of my hand, and flew away with it.  
THE END.   

A Postscript.  
SInce the Commission of this Book to the Press, there came to my hand a Translation (if it deserve that name) of Effigies Amoris, upon the perusal of which, I was so far from being induced to recall mine, that I found I had now a greater reason than ever to make it public, (viz.) the vindication of the excellent and much abused Author. The Sacrilegious Translator is as much a stranger to me as he is to the Idiom of the Latin Tongue; and therefore I shall deal more civilly with him, than to give any particular instances of his failures, and shall only say in general, That between Omissions and mistakes the Author is utterly lost. I had not said thus much, had I not thought myself obliged to consult the Author's Credit more than the Translators, lest any should judge the Original Beauty by the injurious representation of a false Glass.  
FINIS.   

ERRATA  
PAG. 15. l. 22. for polish, r. polish. p. 19 for never, r. even. p. 67. l. 8. for one self, r. one's self.  
What other literal faults there are, or false pointings, the Reader is desired to give himself the trouble of correcting.   

Books Printed for Tho. Sawbridge, at the Three Flower de Luce's in Little-Britain.  

BP. Sandersons Sermons, Folio.  
Baker's Chronicle, Folio.  
Guillim's Heraldry, Folio.  
Cook's Reports (Eng.) Folio.  
Wilson's Christian Dictionary, Folio.  
Wanly, Wonders of the Little World.  
Caussin's Holy Court, Folio.  
Bacon's Advancement of Learning, Folio.