Love's posy: OR, A COLLECTION OF Seven and Twenty LOVE-LETTERS, BOTH IN VERSE and PROSE; That lately passed betwixt a GENTLEMAN and a very Young LADY in FRANCE.  Nescio, quid Melius Desidiosus agas. Mart. 
LONDON, Printed for Joseph Hindmarsh, at the Golden Ball near the Royal Exchange. 1686.   

A PLEADER TO THE NEEDER WHEN A READER.  

AS all, my friend, through wily knaves, full often suffer wrongs,  
Forget not, pray, when it you've red, to whom this book belongs.  
Than one Charles clerk, of Totham Hall, none to't a right hath better,  
A wight, that same, more red than some in the lore of old black-letter.  
And as C. C. in Essex dwells— a shire at which all laugh—  
His books must, sure, less fit seem dressed, if they're not bound in calf!  
Care take, my friend, this book you never with grease or dirt besmear it;  
While none but awkward puppies will continue to " dog's-ear" it!  
And over my books when book-worms " grub," I'd have them understand,  
No marks the margins must de-face from any busy " hand!"  
Marks, as re-marks, in books of Clark's, when e're some critic spy leaves,  
It always him so wasp-ish makes, though they're but on the fly-leaves!  
Yes, if so they're used, he'd not de-fer to deal a fate most meet—  
He'd have the soiler of his qu'res do penance in a sheet!  
The Ettrick Hogg— never deemed a bore— his candid mind revealing,  
Declares, to beg" a copy" now's a more pre-text for stealing!  
So, as some knave to grant the loan of this my book may wish me,  
I thus my book-plate here display, lest some such" fry" should dish me!  
— But hold,— though I again declare WITH-holding I'll not brook,  
And" a sea of trouble" still shall take to bring book-worms" to book!"    

Programma Interpretis AD Libellum.  

QUIN jam, Blandule, sieve tu Libelli,  
Sen Nati titulo velis vocari,  
Exi jam Gremio, proterve, nostro.  
Satis de Genibus tener Paternis  
Risisti: Satis insolente circum  
Lusisti patrios manu Capillos;  
Quòd vel laetior adfuit Camoena,  
Vel Rhythmum malè vindicavit unguis.   

Nee jàm respue Filii Popelli  
Nomen: Abdico te tuosque mores.  
Tu forsan Populo placere juxtà  
Focos Idalios potes sedenti,  
Qui cunctam Veneris sacrae Favillam  
In magnas solet aggravare Flammas,  
Istas, Improbe, quas merere Flammas.   

Quid dixi? Improbulo tibi nec Ignes  
Insani Venerum Cupidinumque,  
Nec insunt Aloysiae Camini.  
At Vestae Venus est tibi Sacerdos,  
Vestales refovens Amoris ignes,  
cord hinc Iridos, indè vel Timandri.  
O quae gaudia pura spirat Ille!  
O quae gaudia pura spirat Illa!  
Quàm molles animi subit Ille poenas,  
Quas quàm callida discit Illa lentas!   

Exi, Blandule: Nunc utrasque narra:  
Et cum nile nisi contines Amorem,  
Lectoris tibi quaere sis Amorem.    

The Introductory LETTER, TO THE Right Honourable, the Lady D.  YOU command me, Madam, to sand you the Letters of the young Iris, together with my own. The last I cannot presume to refuse you, because I am master of them; and the others you have honoured with so much esteem, that it will be ever reputed glorious to the young Iris, to have gotten so Illustrioius a suffrage as yours, in her Favour. 'tis true, towards the inducing me to put into your hands those Letters, of which she would have me make an eternal Mystery, you have taken me by the weaker side; you have given them Praises so complimental, Madam, and yet so just, that tho I had resolved to conceal them from all the rest of the World, you constrain me now to put 'em forth to the open view; so sweet and taking a thing is it, to hear that valued which we love, especially by a Person of your incomparable Merits, whose Wit is so sharp and delicate, that I cannot better reward this esteem than by the thing itself. You will see here an Intrigue, that began perfectly out of mere sport and pastime, but terminated on my part only with the conquest of my Heart, without disturbing that most lovely Creature's, who made but too good a defence, for my repose. This confession, Madam, is not much to my Honour: But however, it is not inglorious for a Man to make an open acknowledgement, That he loves that which deserves to be beloved. Six whole Months as well counted, as ever the Calendar counted them, I have spun out in sincere and hearty Love; this every Man in the World would not have done. And, tho Celadon( who is dead and gone) nor his Example be very modish in the Age, wherein we live, I have met with a certain sort of People, that have made me tread in his steps; and, my heart as free and ill-principl'd as it is, could not keep from assuming somewhat more Tenderness than Reason, for a young Thing, that had none at all. I mean Tenderness; since of Reason she had an infinite deal, as you have seen by her Letters. You have an huge mind to know her, and you desire her Picture of me. I question, whether I have Abilities sufficient to draw a faithful Image of her: Nevertheless, I will do it without any Adulation, and any manner of Addition, or to the Lines of her Visage, or those of her Mind. 

The Portraiture of Iris.  
The turn of her Face is Oval; her Complexion fair and even; the Trammels of her Hair of an admirable Light colour, as well as her Eye brows. Excellently well proportioned is her Nose, which gives a very fine Air to the Face: Her Mouth, neither too great nor too little; her Lips of a clear and beautiful read; her Teeth white; her Eyes blew, great, and well-passag'd, full of fire and briskness, tempered with an attractive languishing: And, all this is supported by the coolness of a Neck of sixteen years, the best framed that ever was seen, and of a dazzling whiteness, as well as her Arms and Hands. For her Stature, she is rather of a great than little pitch, almost approaching to a Roman Empress; but then, it is so neat, so free, so disengaged, that there are few the like. She hath so noble an Air in her Walk and her Carriage, and something so very distinguishing in her whole Person; that, tho she possesses not some stroke that are delightful, yet she has such as make great Impressions: So that, tho we cannot say, she is of the member of those Beauties, that jump at, and smite the Eyes, yet we may easily perceive, that hers goeth strait to the Heart. But above all, she has an odd sort of pretty Air, which is very difficult to be described, and seems rather to catch us, than we can tell, how to overtake it.  
A certain careless sliding Air  
Draws us aright her Character:  
With all their piercing Light her Eyes  
[ Such as is shot from Morning skies;]  
Would speak in earnest: But, alas!  
Her Heart, insensible, doth pass  
On them a Tyrannous strict Command,  
In nights dark silence wrapped to stand.  
But still, much Trouble they sustain  
In doing this, nor can refrain,  
For all their high Indifference,  
To speak a Language in such sense,  
As doth not look like Indolence.  
If only her sweet Mouth obeys,  
To make a fair amends, she says  
More in this swimming Air, than we  
Can think, and thinks more than we see.  
" This is what I had to say concerning her Person. As to her Wit, it has so strangely surprised me, that I am hardly yet come to myself. I could not comprehend, how a young Person between Fifteen and Sixteen, without Study and the World; could have, in the furthermost Corner of the Country, all the Politeness of a Court, an provable flamme and strength of mind, an un-parallel'd delicacy and penetration, a most pure, defecate and subtle discernment. Of every thing, she speaks so well and so justly, without any Fore-learning; that Nature seems to have made a largesse to her, of whatever a long Study and Meditation doles out by degrees to others. Her terms, very proper and accurately chosen; her thoughts, so new, so particular, that they raise our Astonishment and Admiration. A scanty reading hath served her instead of all the expedients used by others: An immense Fund of Wit, a most lively Imagination, and a sharp sighted and nice judgement, these complete her Character Sometimes, she has such sallies in Conversation, as it is impossible to follow. She takes a singular pleasure in holding Paradoxes, and with great facility she commonly attains her end. She writes, as you have seen, that is to say, with an enchanted daintiness. She composeth Verses so easily, and winds 'em so well, that nothing can be performed better. Her Prose is clever and adequate; her thoughts all Originals; concise her Style; her expressions Noble and Great: All which is accompanied with a Fashion and a Character, that is wholly peculiar, and gives the grace and relish to every thing. From others she borrows nothing, but only imitates her self. For her Soul, it is large, good, and generous; very kind to its Friend, but very unkind to its Lover. Its humour is unequal enough of conscience; and this is the shadow to the Picture. This inequality arises from the over-great Mixture of fire in her mind. As to her Heart, with its Appendages, I can say nothing to it: It is now three years I have been Studying it, and yet I am not acquainted with it. However, it talks, as if it knew very much; but yet it sighs no more, than if it was the merest Ignorant in the World. It is as curious, as her Wit: And, if it had but somewhat more tenderness, I think, I may say upon the word of an honest Man, it would be indisputably the loveliest Heart upon Earth. Notwithstanding which, tho it defends itself, I believe its disposition naturally tender enough:( the true disposition of an Heart, well descended;) But it guards itself with so much care, that frequently we know not what to believe. However, we meet with a Passion every where dispersed in her Writings, which appears inimitable; and doubtless, if her Heart has none, yet, her Wit gives very many, and very evident Demonstrations of it.  
If we view Lovely Iris with nice Eyes,  
Or her Heart reasons, or her Reason sighs:  
Sometimes, we might believe her real Love;  
But that suspicion soon despair does prove.  
Seeing her Austere humour, it retires;  
And with our frailty if her Eye conspires  
In the dire Treason, we must needs confess  
From a fierce Glance, that her Heart hath no less  
Of Reason, than her Reason Tenderness.  This is, Madam, the portraiture of the young Iris: I have drawn it coarsely and illfavour'dly; to Love it belongs to put the last hand to it. Provided he replenishes her Heart with a true Passion as he has filled mine, I shall not be unhappy; and since she is unwilling to be sensible of any tenderness, but in draft and Picture, such as you see it in her 
18,& 19.  Letters; all that I wish 
Is, that her tenderness in draft,  
Of such a Nature may be wrought;  
As Love frames, not to be effaced  
By time, but with the Soul to last.  This is the Representation of her Person: But in good truth, I have taken so much pleasure in writing to her, and receiving her Letters; and, these have raised so much Admiration in every thing at Court, that is Judging, delicate, and curious, that I have made myself as many Rivals, as I had Auditors of these stupendous Letters. You know it very well, Madam,( and this is it, that hath contributed to my undoing:) Such Temptations are there in hearing every where the Encomiums of such Persons, with whom our Hearts are pre possessed, and this way a Man does so thoroughly understand their Worth, that he willingly abandons himself to his own Inclination. It is very happy for me, that she continues still in the Country; For, otherwise, I should have here such Rivals of Blood and Merit, as without contradiction would make me tremble, if myself had not at least the advantage of places I that are almost accessible to the most Worshipful of my Fellow Candidates. The young Iris has chid me extremely for my indiscretion in showing her Letters, which she looks upon only as a piece of Sport and Recreation. Her. I satisfied with such good Reasons, as I shall not repeat in this place. It behoved me indeed to keep them private, since my Passion was disappointed, and came so scurvily off: But, her Glory I have preferred before my own; and, I fancy, she ought not to be ungrateful to me, for taking care, that the superlative Products of her Wit and Pen be recommended to the admiration of a Party, the most clear headed in France, who have stood amazed at her. I have placed her Letters in the same order I received them: And, as I have had but very few sights of her, and have tarried but very little in the Province, where she makes her abode; I have ranged them in their natural order, according to the times they were sent me. I have now and then made some Remarks and Annotations, by unfolding the Subject-matter of some of 'em, and hinting the different Models of the Verses, so that you might have the clearer Ideas of their Beauty. Thus, Madam, I have endeavoured to obey you with all the exactness, so much due to you, and to render a faithful account of all the Circumstances belonging to an innocent Commerce, of which the young Iris bore away all the glory. But, if hereby, I create any trouble to Iris, I hope, Madam, you will be responsible for it: Yet, what ever happen, I beg of you to believe, that with the most profound Respect I shall ever be,  
Madam, Your most, &c.   

TIMANDER to the young IRIS.  
The First Letter.  
DO you remember, that you took me yesterday at my Word? That you accepted of me for your Master, and that you are my Scholar? And, in short, do you remember, That you are to put into my hands the loveliest Heart in the World, to be instructed in the most diverting Passion, that can be imagined? For my share, I stand in no need of having my Memory refreshed, that I have seen you, or concerning the Promise I made you: And besides, I feel myself very much disposed to make it good, Undoubtedly, there will be a vast deal of pleasure in documentizing such an amiable Simpleton: But I foresee, it will not be without trouble. If I have any skill in Physiognomy, you look as if your Heart was harder than your Head: But, 'tis no matter, I must be always inculcating a Lesson of Tenderness.  

I.  
To teach you, what I know too well,  
For me an easy Chapter it will be:  
And You, tho you could only spell,  
May red and Practise the Lines after me.   

II.  
One Blessed weakness in us both,  
In both must the same fears breath and desires:  
And least I be accused of floath,  
Your Gleams upon me I'll increase to fires.   

III.  
And presently to learn your part,  
Most constant at my Lessons you must be:  
And if you get them once by heart,  
I'll fix them and myself safe in your Memory.   
This is enough for the first time, my pretty Ignorance; and if you make good Progress in these three Lessons, you will soon know as much as your Master, if not put him quiter down.  
But, what? methinks, you have the mien  
Of a Disciple truly Libertine:  
And in your Eyes I plainly see.  
Your reatchless Heart will a mere Truant be;  
Your Heart will take its own wild swing  
In spite of Master, Lesson— Any thing.  
However, if you desire to make something of the business, proceed in such wise, as not to let your Wit intermeddle with the Negotiations of your Heart: For, that is too sly and searching, to enter into Correspondence with me.  
Yes, tho to me this Wit be all over Charm,  
Let it not tamper with hide Mysteries:  
For, in Love, where all above Reason flies,  
Reason, as in Religion, doth much Harm.  
If you follow these Maxims, I make no doubt, but you will be notable good at Passion in a little time. Consult your own Heart young Iris, and ask it, whether it would prefer its Ignorance, which is a true state of Lethargy, to a Science, from which it might derive a thousand Pleasures. I am certain, if it knew the sweetness, there is, in loving something, and the delights of a true amorous Association, it would no longer remain in this Error, but you would one day repeat to yourself the burden of Galathea's Song, which I sung to you yesterday.  
To know all, is good, &c.  
How happy should I be, if I could speak to you almost in the same Air!  
One day the Heart of a bright Creature,  
( Whose every thought, and every Feature  
Would adverse Elements inspire,  
And even teach Water to love Fire)  
Of a learned Master did approve,  
T' instruct her in the Art of Love:  
Though all the Light, he had i'th' same,  
Was drawn( as some think) from her flamme.  
This Master through his Tenderness,  
Which he declared in his Address,  
Made her repeat incessantly;  
How sweet it is to Love and sigh,  
How sweet it is, &c.  This, Madam, was the first of my Love-Epistles, that I wrote to her. She would by no means answer it: That sole Proposition of establishing a mutual and gallant Intelligence spoiled all, and affrighted the young Maiden. I endeavoured to remove these difficulties, which were not over-bulkly. I gave her to understand, that such an affair would be of great service to fashion her Wit, to give it an agreeable shape, and it would only prove an innocent and harmless amusement, that could have no such staggering consequence. In brief, after many Arguments and Instances, I prevailed with her to resolve to make me a reply, which was this: It begins with that Copy of Verses, you have already commended, for the pretty Country-sonnettism in them, which runs very neatly upon one word, tho the measures of the Verse be Irregular.  

IRIS, her Answer to TIMANDER.  
The Second Letter.  
WEll, well, Timander! 'twixt us two,  
To hear a Lover, 's much for a young Maid:  
Of un Intrigue the Ground work will be laid;  
And then, what shall I do,  
Or will you think of such a fond consent,  
So very tender, and impertinent?  
No, the affair is such;  
The least Engagement is a willing Ear,  
And to take well, what's heard, I fear  
Is too too much.  
I see the danger, and th' event I dread:  
But tho I don't much care to run into it,  
Out of pure Self-defence I'll do it,  
And show, my Heart cannot be Vanquished.  
But now, at first, if it should prove a Cheat,  
It should be much, it would be a strange Feat.  
Seriously, I know not, whether I deceive myself: But methinks, it is for the pleasure of defending my own Heart, that I consent, you should attack it. I cannot warrant for its stoutness, upon the Faith of its past restlessness. As never Man did yet attempt upon its peace and quiet; 'tis no wonder, if it has hitherto preserved its Tranquillity: And it is now a fit time, to put it to the trial, at least to know, what Mettal it is made of. This couriosity of mine is something audacious, and I may thence fall into inconveniences: But, in a word, I believe, it comes to the same thing, once to have lost it, or to be evermore afraid of losing it, and to put it to no manner of use at all. The uncertainty, I should lie under, by not knowing, whether it be Tenable or defenceless, would be an eternal Thorn in my side. Now this is the utmost Passion itself can do: And laying one Trouble in balance against another, I prefer that which hath the Reputation of being the most pleasurable. Upon the whole, it is not undone by a venture: I may be able to retire back with Honour. My Heart( God be praised) springs from a Race, wherein sighs have not been much used: And, I hope, it will not degenerate from the ancient indifference of its Predecessors. I took it t'other day aside in private, and I red a severe Lecture to it: I strictly charged it not to play with Love, since  
For all the Apish tricks, which Love does play  
With those that go to his Free-School,  
Yet to their serious cost they find one day,  
There is no jesting with the Fool.  
It has promised me faithfully to obey my Orders, and to make greater use of my Lessons than of yours. After this, I imagine myself in a condition good enough, to sand you a defiance: All your tendernesses and all your Assiduities may do their worst; choose, whether you will continue them or no. The glory lies equal between us, you to make a Conquest of me, and I of you, without any self-engagement. Let us try, who shall get the Honour: To the intent, at least, that the Scholar may always remain Mistris of her Master.   

TIMANDER's Answer to the young IRIS.  
The Third Letter.  
YOU have so much Wit, that you are ready to make me lose that pittance I have left. To that degree, I am surprised at the vivacity, I found in your Billet, that I know not, where I am. What an Impression have you made upon my Heart? I am mad both at you, and at myself; at you, for finding so much in you; at myself, for finding myself so sensible of it. 'tis plain, such a Scholar as you, knows more than such a Master as I am; and this hath astonished me, at your Age. But to answer your Letter: If you taste not the pleasure of that charming perplexity, which is famed for being the most diverting, all your Life will be pestered with an indifference, that will weigh you down some time or other. You are to risk your Heart, only to loose it: And if you would come off with Honour, pursue these dictates.  
What does the lovely Iris mean to do?  
All armed Rigour must be laid aside;  
Her Heart un-garisson'd must abide,  
When it lets in a Man to woe.  
In Love are no Alarms, but all is Tame,  
And, to come off with Honour, is a shane.  
Wherefore, do not any longer brag of the hardness of your Heart, nor of the un-common use of sighs among the Gentlemen, your Ancestors: For, I can convince you in two words, of the contrary.  
Your Family, for Beauties so renowned,  
Degenerate would have been sound:  
And, had not your Fore-mothers loved and sighed,  
Iris had been to th' World denied:  
I and the World might even sigh out our Hearts,  
For want of one of its most perfect Parts.  
Strive to repair their Honour, with all the hast you can: Or rather, follow their eminent and glorious Examples, and ever let some Love enter into your heart in expectation of better times; it will exercise it so prettily, that, I am confident, you will not be unsatisfied with it.  
Bear with the Foppish tricks of that fond Boy,  
Since 'tis all only ductile Rallery:  
And if sometimes there succeed some Annoy,  
'tis, as when after Laughing much we Cry.  
For, in conclusion, what can you propound to yourself from Conquering me, unless I get a Victory too, in my Turn?  
Ah Barbarous, me thus to use,  
And even an entire thraldom to refuse!  
To tarnish with your Cruelty,  
An half got Victory,  
Tho at your Feet the Prostrate slave do lie!  
For, the whole Conquest is again to do;  
Unless the Conqueror be conquered too.  Some time after the delivery of this Answer, I continued without seeing her; but it was not without much Affliction and inquietude. I was forward to seek all occasions of meeting her, but in vain. I was twenty times with a Friend of hers, but could not find her: At length, after fifteen days, whose Minutes I was very industrious to reckon, I providentially fell into her Company. On her side, the Conversation was active, brisk and airy, but somewhat heavy and cumbersome on mine. As I was dammed in Spirit, I diverted the discourse to a Lover's disorder, when he would speak, but can find no words proper enough, wherein to utter his mind. At this, she sell a blushing, and had some confusion upon her: Her Letter coming into her mind, where she speaks of that intricating Trouble, which hath the credit of being the most pleasant of all others. I meditated some revenge upon her: And in a laughing way, showing her the disorder wherein she was, this increased it as much again. She, then, appeared to me far more lovely than ever: I  told her, this bewitching Redness, that had made her so beautiful, did deserve some Verses very well. She forbade me to make any: However, the next day, I gave her the ensuing Note.  

TIMANDER to the young IRIS.  
The Fourth Letter.  
WHat a sensible joy did the sight of you yesterday afford me! Fifteen days had gone over our heads, while I sought you every where, without finding you: And, all this time, peradventure, you never dreamed one moment of me. You looked more lovely, than ever; In the same instant, your Eyes  told me an hundred pretty things as well as your Mouth: With what emotions did I see' em? With what pleasure did I hear you, that short time we were together? But alas! I partook only of this pleasure; and had it not been for that amiable blushy, that came in to my Aid, in my revenge upon your indifference. I know not what I should have done. Your perplexity helped somewhat to dissipate mine: And, notwithstanding the Prohibition, you have given me,  
I must remember to my Praise,  
I did your blushes, my own Trophies, raise:  
Which, when, Fair Shepherdess, you call to mind,  
You at your blushes will be so unkind,  
To say, that from displeasure they arose:  
But I have th' Wit, a better source to choose:  
Love, and not Indignation let them loose.  
Now, will I lay a Wager, at this very moment you are most furiously angry at me, and you Colour again, while you red these Verses. Take your Glass quickly into your hands, I conjure you: See, how lovely you appear, and what an over-plus of Beauty an high Colour gives you! Well, I am sure, you will thank me, in private, for having made you blushy.  
When those piercing Eyes we view,  
Divinely languishing in you;  
When a Crescent Redness seeks  
A Seat Triumphant in your Cheeks:  
Then know, that Love plays there his Part,  
Blushing, he cannot get into your Heart.  
So, so! have not I given an excellent solution of your Reddening? Do not, therefore, any more arm yourself at all points against me: Do but take away the very cause of this Redness, in regard it proceeds only from your shutting the entrance of your Heart to Love, so that he is constrained to fly up into your Face.  
Thus, Brightest Form, let all your Anger go,  
And blushy not in Repentance, that you have blushed so.  
I hope, by this time I have obtained your Pardon. What you  told me, yesterday, concerning the Interruption of our Correspondency did not displease me: And, forasmuch as I have not the liberty to see you, at least let me have that of writing to you: But, principally,  
Sweetness, take Argus heed of confidents;  
Always they want or Faith or Sense.  
Let the great secret still be such unknown,  
And as 'tis ours, still be our own.  
But if a Third herein must take a Part,  
Let it the Love be, that's in either Heart.   

IRIS, her Answer to TIMANDER.  
The Fifth Letter.  
I Was much surprised yesterday, when I red the Verses, you made upon my Blushing, after you had promised me solemnly, you would make none. I cannot tell, how to forgive you: But, if you think to qualify the business, by saying, That Love seated himself on my Cheeks, being unable to enter into my Heart, you are wonderfully mistaken. An excellent crumb, this, of Consolation for me! he might have been in my Heart; I should not have been offended at it: At least, he would not have appeared there. But, publicly, before all the World, to climb up on my Face, this way( let me tell you) was somewhat too Triumphant, and by no means agrees with my Constitution. Yet after all, what ever dexterity he pretends to, he has taken his measures very unwisely: For, to enter into a place, where he cannot get free and ready Admission, he should not come into the Visage, bare faced and disclosed: He ought to travail in by-roads; and, this he may be assured from me, that, when he shall appear thus, I will defend the passage. Now, do I imagine you, Friend, in the horridest desperation, that is possible! nevertheless, recollect yourself, for I am not so naughty as you would guess me to be from my Outside: And, to speak the truth, a tepid Passion would svit very well with me. I would with all my heart know the nature of it: but I cannot as yet see into the thing. To be plain with you, Master, you teach me nothing at all: I accosted you, yesterday, with so still and uninterrupted an Air, that, for my particular, I could not keep from being somewhat vexed at it: 'tis your fault, and none of mine: And I hope, that to be revenged on the Verses, you composed on my blushing, you will permit me to Bomb you with some few Rhymes.  

Irregular Verses against TIMANDER.  
I've tried it, but I cannot find This trouble of the Heart, they says so sweet:  
Still all its Motions kindly meet,  
Still the same albeit thoughts are in my mind.  
I've tried, but if I can't this knowledge get,  
The Scholar's Duty's done;  
The Master all the blame doth fall upon,  
If her Heart has been taught no more as yet.  
Of a fit Age I am to Learn:  
Adapted is my Blossom to your turn:  
And you may thank your self, if I  
Still sundging in my quiet Ignorance lie.  
But why such ill words of indifference?  
If any indifference be in my Breast,  
You should leave all to Time, or do your best,  
T' expel it thence.  
Indeed, that thing, which you call Tenderness,  
Well, have you Painted out to me;  
And, this Idea in its flourishing dress  
My Heart, as blind as 'tis, doth love to see.  
Yet hath it still this great unhappiness,  
To see, it is not blessed  
With the Substantial and the welcome Guest.  
Bring this to me, and also bring  
Me into its Acquaintance, that I may  
No longer in unlearned quiet stay,  
But restless Love may bear me on the Wing.  
'Tis no great business, which I ask,  
Tho this disorder great I'd have to be;  
I'd have all nature quiter subdued in me:  
Acquit yourself, then, of the task:  
And, since my Heart offers so willingly,  
You shall instruct it, or shall tell it, why.   
This challenge is very Particular: It is, as if I should cast my Heart at your Head. But in fine, I am somewhat Vain glorious, and, when I undertake a Thing, I love to go through with it, immediately. If, on such an occasion, this forwardness be dis-allowable, it does not belong to you now to consider Formalities so Critically: For( not to be tedious) I see you already disposed to try once more in my favour the Path of Tenderness; and it would be ridiculous to see a Man alone in it, where People generally go two and two together: So that I shall presently expect your Instructions, not only for your own Glory but( perhaps) for your Interest also.  You have already judged, Madam, the thoughts of this Letter to be so New and so Singular, that I shall add nothing further concerning them. I have left the Verses, as they were written with her own hand, choosing rather to see them in their Native and Original simplicity, than to give a supersluous Polishing and Adornment to them, which would perhaps spoil, or at least might alter their Natural estate, wherein consists all their Beauty. But, this was the Rejoinder, which a day or two afterwards I return'd to her Letter.  

TIMANDER to the young IRIS.  
The Siuth Letter.  
I Very hearty pardon the Verses, you have written against me: That fine and polite Lampoon ought rather to attract my Praises than my Resentment. I confess it, I was exceedingly in the wrong to make Love ascend up into your Face; whereby he appeared with too great a Splendour: And, as you say well, he ought to have taken more by ways.  

I.  
I 'm our, my beauteous Iris, cruelly out: Better I might have placed this Love,  
And through subtle by ways brought it about,  
till fixed at your own Heart it ceased to move.   

II.  
Not on the glorious Cheek it should sit still,  
But little cunning Journeys go:  
Obscurity with its own mind suits ill,  
And unreserved splendour is its greatest foe.   
I will undertake, you think, you have not so much Reason, as you really have. Most admirable is the desire which you signify, to be instructed in Passion: 'tis good, to satisfy a Curiosity, which ought to be natural to you: But lay it not to my charge, if when you saw me, you felt not the same trouble, I felt at your approach. If you had given me your Heart, as I had given you mine, you would have been sensible of the same Emetion with me: And, if you had left it but one moment to my disposal, I engage, it should have received a great deal of Pleasure in following my Lessons. Give me leave then, Lady, to try my poetic faculty in a Repartee to your Verses.  

A quick experience on you to bestow  
Of the Heart's charming trouble, gentle woe,  
Which you feel unknown, while you wished for't so;  
Indulge some moments to Timander's Song:  
Nor that, nor your experience shall be long.   

I.  
This sweet disorder strait shall spring,  
Without your knowledge of the thing;  
strait shall you plainly see,  
He means all honestly:  
Never was Scholar more by Master loved,  
Nor than an Iris apt Scholar proved.   

II.  
'tis very true, you're all over fair,  
Fair as bright simpering Roses are;  
But still with them you miss  
Your own affecting bliss,  
And still with them, unhappy, don't receive  
Ought of the blessed Impressions, which you give.   

III.  
But if indifference is to thee,  
Such dull uneasy Company,  
Make an exchange of Hearts,  
Or else into two Parts  
Cut mine, and take it's Tenderness to you:  
Soon will both halves be one whole in us Two.   

IV.  
If you'd be Ignorant no more,  
Enough I'll give of Learning's store,  
So you your Heart do give,  
And then you shall perceive;  
That I'm no Novice in this brave employ,  
And since it offers fair, I'll teach you, why.   
This defiance is very singular on my side: You have lashed out so far as to say, that you do as good as cast your Heart at my Head; but, I will never believe it, till I get it betwixt my Fingers. However, you are in the Right, when you say, you find me inclined once more to show you the Path of Tenderness. Nevertheless, take this from me, I am not cut out of an humour to march alone there any long while: It is an High-way which is horrid troublesome, wherein solitude and no Company is certainly very dreadful and dangerous, I cannot promise you, according to the frame, I find my Heart in, but it may be robbed and stripped by some thievish Eyes or other: But, if yours do but once keep it faithful Company, it defies all the Eyes in the World to do it any harm, or so much as to bid it, Stand.  I was a good while, Madam, without seeing her, after I had got this Letter to be put into her hands. An old Uncle of hers, that was a very devout and very morose Abbot, gave her not all the Liberty she could wish. I was oftentimes stark mad at the peevishness of this old Fellow and a super-annuated Aunt, who confining her to her way of living, could by no means agree with our genius and Disposition. However Patience we must have: But a violent unquietness began to let me know, that this same Correspondence, which at first only appeared to me as a play-thing, was become a real concern of Heart, on my side. That captivated Liberty, I had to see and discourse her, augmented the desire: That desire was succeeded by a sharp and goring inquietude, and that inquietude presaged, what was about to befall me. Notwithstanding this, as the minds of Lovers are very uncertain, I had a large interval of ease; I was no more troubled with those impetuous Motions; I return'd again to my first opinion, that it was all toy and foolery: And, being quiter wearied out with not meeting that lovely Person, even in those places, whither our Devotion does regularly call us, I writ to her this Letter.  

To the young IRIS.  
The Seventh Letter.  
YOU have not answered my last: I cannot set my Eyes upon you, neither are you a whit eager to give me an occasion. I am persuaded, that to avoid the meeting Men, you neglect the Divine service: This does not show much Devotion. A Man can spy you no more at Church, than if you were either Calvinist or Lutheran: This is an horrid Scandal. Heretofore, I have seen you very attentive at Sermon. I am afraid, this hardness of Heart reaches as far as your Soul itself: To be so indifferent to all manner of Things, is a very wicked disposition with reference to good Thoughts: And it is too much at one time, to mind neither God nor Man. I fancy myself to day in a very prove and opposite humour to Preach to you a while upon a good many Articles, since you never look after the Sermons of our Pulpiteers: And, as indifference is your Original sin, you are to endeavour the destroying it Root and Branch in your Soul: But, I believe, I shall but lose my time and pains, to make you believe any thing. You are a Profligate Creature[ that's certain] having neither Faith nor Conscience, in point of Love: And, notwithstanding all the Zeal, wherewith I am animated, your Heart has  
Got such an unbelieving trick,  
That 'tis in Love an heretic.  
Let Homilists say what they will,  
It is so hard, so rocky still,  
That no Impressions can be writ  
Of Faith's Characters in it.  
For all this, I will sand you the Love, that hath mollified my Soul, and drawn me out of the errors wherein I lay, to Preach to you and direct your judgement for some time. He will endoctrinate you so tenderly, that I am sure, you will say, he is an able and a moving Preacher: For there is no Heart so obdurate but he can break: And without question, he will bring you to Repentance and a good Mind, if you give him but the least Overture into your Heart. You will find, that he is eloquent, that he most vigorously persuades what ever he insinuates, that his thoughts are bold and noble, his Expressions clean and just, and that he infuses into the Souls of his Congregation, a certain sweetness, that draws and charms them how and whither he pleases, and that convicts Hearts, the most hardened in the error of indifference. Be you one of his hearers, fair heretic! depart out of the way of Perdition, and enter into the right Path, wherein predestinated Souls do walk! That is the surest and most pleasant Road, where Love conducts you. Fiat.   

IRIS, her Answer to TIMANDER.  
The Eighth Letter.  
UPON my Word, a pleasant device: This, and Stratagem of your Love! Hey day, that he may pay me a Visit, to take upon him the Habit of a Preacher! Who could ever know him under this disguise? Is it the business of Love to meddle with the Reformation of Manners? I am sure, he would say very irregular things on such an encounter: For, it is none of his Talent, to reason well. I doubt, he did not reflect sufficiently on the qualifications, requisite to such a Person, and he took this Part at random and inconsiderately: But who looks for any Prudence and Discretion in him? And besides, this is not the thing I complain of. Was there any necessity of using a Cozening trick with an Heart, that had dealt so fairly upon the Square with you? This I would willingly upbraid him himself withal: But, seeing I was never yet in his Company, and you are extremely familiar with him, I desire the kindness of you to deliver the Letter( here enclosed and superscrib'd) yourself into his own Hands.  

The Epistle of IRIS to Love.  
Tho I have not the Honour to know you,  
Yet( pardon my Presumption) to writ now  
I 'm fixed, Dear Love: For, as you may remember,  
You on the Ninth-day of( I think) September;  
[ Sorry I am, if I mistake a time,  
So Solemn, yet I not mistake i th' Rhyme]  
To choose a Master for me you took care,  
Who no extraordinary pains doth spare,  
To make me Love him, and so acts his part,  
That I must thank you now with all my Heart.  
Therefore, sweet Sir, I'll deal wi' you like a Friend:  
For, if your knowledge does to me extend,  
'tis but as yet an Half-acquaintance, though  
It may to' a greater Stature one day grow.  
 
' Mean time, I'll tell you this between us two;  
In the wide world there's one, that has of you  
A good opinion; yet the Party once  
Could not your Name without a blushy pronounce.  
Now, if this scraul should happen to take Air,  
What lifted Hands, what Clamours would be there?  
With you, they say, all Correspondence is  
Death and the Devil of all unhappiness;  
How ill this sounds? I've always had, 'tis true,  
A most particular esteem for you:  
Ile ne'er deny 't: And 'tis my present sense,  
Young Verdant Hearts may with some Love dispense.  
You, Squire, no doubt, as knowing, that an Heart  
Finding the Menace of your fatal Dart,  
Takes up defensive Arms, and braves the Foe,  
With me most wisely have not acted so,  
But advanced slily up, incognito.  
But, Sir Love, hark you, one word in your Ear!  
To take on you the rueful Character  
Of gospeler, you choose wrong foolish Measures:  
In bearing Baxter there are no strange Pleasures.  
Not you can fright one half so much, I vow,  
As such starched Gentlemen of aweful brow.  
Tell me some fine sweet things, and I shall 
Cleaveland:  wear  
Such precious Words, like Jewels, in my Ear:  
For I like the least compliment much better,  
thou the best Sermon upon Love's Dead Letter.  
No more such Fetches: Try a nearer way,  
And to my Heart, like Love, thy self display.  
Your Age is not so terrible: At least  
Your own shape will take more than that of Priest.  
My Heart is full as young: Yet( don't mistake)  
It will not for a fluttering Cupid quake.  
'tis all alone, and knows not what to do:  
Pray come, and play with it together now.  
From such a Guest a Visit will be kind,  
And you shall very good Reception find:  
till then I bid, Adieu, in sort most Fervent;  
And, for forms sake, I rest   
Your humble Servant.   

TIMANDER's Answer to the young IRIS.  
The Ninth Letter.  
WITH your last Letter I am not altogether so well satisfied: It is too full of Wit and gaiety, and I could not find one grain of Passion in it. To what end, all that fine raillery upon Love, turned Preacher? However, this I will say for him, he was gallant enough( if you remember) and had nothing of the Air of an austere Pedagogue. If I had loved you less, I should have excellent Thoughts of Iris her Epistle to Love, it being writ in a natural and Epistolizing Style, very much resembling Horace's way, tho I presume, you never red him: But, upon the main, I begin to perceive, that so much Wit does but fret and vex a Man, when the Heart is not concerned in the affair. Our Love Advertisements, indeed, drew their first Original from a perfect frolic: But I am now sensible, what ever resistance I made, my Heart is become a Party, and if yours does not second it, it must needs pass its days very unpleasantly. Or else, if I had the same Power over mine, a s you have over yours; if I could be as undisturbed as you, there would be some equality in the Case; or, if you had the same Emotions with me, things would hang better balanc'd, and in a clearer state of Reason. The trouble and disorder I fell into yesterday, when I saw you, had fifty times more Eloquution, than a thousand of your Letters, let 'em be never so Witty.  
In this Attack of mind so plainly seen,  
Why can't the Tongue now speak the sighs within?  
The Trance, Oh, is too much to tell:  
The Raging Joy is, all, unspeakable.  
I am sorry, these four Verses have escaped my Pen: For, in sum, I am an arrant Fool for writing to you in a soft and passionate strain, when I ought to trifle as you do, and to keep at a good distance from all Engagements. I thoroughly understand, what you aim at: And doubtless, you deserve with all your Wit about you, that the Passion, I begin to have for you, should degenerate into a bare esteem: Yes, to punish you for your indifference and under-handdealing, it is your desert, that I had as much Wit as you: And in good time( by the blessing of Heaven) I may have some return to me. In the mean while, forbear Wit, I beseech you of all Loves: And let us have some more Passion. I know, how yours explicates itself: But, let me hear the Language of your Heart!  
Alase! hath your Heart nought to say,  
Your Heart, which makes me thus complain,  
And while my Heart sighs Night and Day,  
Cannot yours learn to sigh again?  
I know, what a Latitudinarian it is: It sticks to no Principles: It defends itself by evading shifts and general delusions. Some time or other, I design to writ so fierce and keen a satire against Wit, that you shall regret your having so much: But as I have not the leisure at present to complete such a Work, I here in the interim sand you a Rondelay, differently modelled from the way of the ancients, and gifted with the fresh and reviving Air of this Age, to answer that which you rehearsed to me last, whose Word was No: Wherein you declared, that you will neither surrender yourself, nor so much as hear the Lessons of your Master.  

I.  
I hate you, Yes, I do Protest, I hate:  
Your Heart is a mere guile and Cheat,  
Which understands the Art of self-defence,  
And I shall never get the prise,  
While it still No's, and still denies:  
You shuffle with me, Dear Impertinence.   

II.  
But bring this Jargon to true Reason's Test:  
Soften the Hardness on't at least.  
And when the faithful Swain Timander says,  
Tell me, young Iris, is your Heart  
Tender, soft in every Part?  
In the same Tone let Iris answer, Yes.   
Pray, make good use of this Lesson, and make no more answers to your Master in such could Terms.  
The Answer to the former Verses.  

I.  
Yes, I hate you, I swear, I hate:  
Nothing so sure on this side Fate.  
Words, which, I take it, will surprise  
You and your Love, tho both so wise.  
Words, which I borrowed from your Pen,  
And now return 'em back again:  
A cursed thought for our Love-Elegies!   

II.  
Such an Avowal speaks not th' Heart  
Tender, soft, in every Part:  
In th' Art of Love you are to learn,  
[ You that pretend, Sir, to discern  
So much in it] that we are never  
To understand ought in our favour,  
Or Writ or spoken, when in Love we burn.   

III.  
Nothing, but from my Cruelty,  
Timander is to hear or see.  
But now— I think, and think aright,  
And spy the true from the false Light,  
This same, I hate you, is in Rhyme,  
A pretty turn or goodly Chime;  
And should not make you the same Words to writ.   This, Madam, was then the State of our Amorous Commerce, which was in a good measure well established: But my distress was, that I could see her but very rarely: Yet when ever I could snatch such desirable and expected Minutes, I was wrapped into such Joys, as I want Words to express them. Every day I found some new Charms in her Wit or in her Person: And just at that neck of time, when I began to be influenced by their Power with a great deal of pleasure, I was forced to leave that Country. An indispensible affair called me to P— at a Season, when I hoped to tame and cicurate her young Heart with Love. Upon the necessity of this departure, so black a Melancholy seized me, that I could not but own, my Heart did terrible Violence to itself by a remote Separation from the Object of its Love: But there was no help for it. In all places, I sought Iris out, to bid her Adieu, and to beg her Letters to me during my Voyage, but all to no purpose: For, I could not meet with her at home. I visited many of her Friends, but could not hear of her: And, whatever Address and application I used to meet with her, it proved vain and fruitless: So that I was compelled to depart without bidding her, Farewell. I mounted therefore my Horse, very gloomy, and overwhelmed with such dark thoughts, as her indifferent Heart did in no wise deserve. In the mean time, I made a pleasure of this Gloominess, because 'tis ever a sweet thing to Love: It was now no less than Three years, that my Heart had been almost butted in a monstrous inactivity. I was glad to find myself again in a Road, where a Man may take much delight to Ramble, Wherefore, I abandoned it to its good or ill Fortune. A Man is sufficiently rewarded for his Passion by the Passion itself: And notwithstanding the odd displeasures, it may bring from the Indifference or Rigour of a Fair Lady, yet it never fails to have some very pleasing and sensible Moments: And I am of opinion, that laying all things together, the perplexities of Love are almost as much to be valued, as the Pleasures we enjoy elsewhere. I went my way therefore, filled with these Philosophical Speculations: Or, rather( without acting the Hero of a Romance) filled with the charming Idea I carried along with me, I arrived at Paris more in Love than ever I was with..... I knew not, what Course or Bias to take, to writ to that amiable Person, that had the entire Possession of me. But at length, I writ to one of her She friends, and I enclosed a Note in the Letter, which I desired her personally to deliver safe to Iris.  

To the young IRIS.  
The Tenth Letter.  
SINCE mademoiselle de....... has had the goodness, to take on her the Charge of this Letter, I have ventured to writ to you at this time. I know, indeed, I ought not to do it in the least; and I ought to dream as little of you, as you have thought of me, now an whole Month together. I looked up and down for you with such an earnestness, as, all the World will grant, your Noninclinations did not deserve; and I was not able to bid you, Adieu, tho my Passion, at least, might have Compounded for such a thing, before my departure. I know not, whether you know it, or whether you took the trouble to give yourself Information thereof. But, the Town I left without a sight of you: Yet nevertheless, I do but see you too well here every day. How? cannot thirty Leagues distance you from an Heart, which you care for so little? And cannot this Heart, so indifferent to you, be ever divided from you?  
Tho you slight it, tho it has  
On its own side, against you, local space;  
No where, but it doth your bright Image see,  
As if Love's God gave you ubiquity.  
You have rendered it insensible to all the Pleasures, that here present themselves in Crowds and Rendezvouzes, so that it may only have a sensation of its own Misfortunes: This is it's sole Employment. Yet still— if you would give some mitigation to 'em by a Letter: But-hold, do not writ to me, a Correspondence is very dangerous with you. I have already learnt so thoroughly well, after what manner you writ, and your Letters would complete my ruin, if I could red over an hundred and an hundred times the Character of an Hand, that has so much Wit at its Fingers ends. In the mean while, I am Lodged at..... And let what will come, this is my direction. I will not tell you by an Historical Retail all my Apprehensions, since my departure. Why should your Idea thus follow me incessantly? And is not Paris a Sanctuary against this beautiful Image, that hobgoblins me continually? I will say no more to you now; I fear, I have said too much already. I expect an Answer to this, with an Impatience, which I wish you could conceive. Dream sometimes of a Man, that is employed only about you, and will be so all his Life-time. Adieu.   

IRIS, her Answer to TIMANDER.  
The Eleventh Letter.  
I Was strangely surprised to receive a Letter from you by mademoiselle...... The course was a very Indirect one, but I forgive you for this time: For I have some Rigours to bestow upon you some other ways. I say, Rigours; seeing I fancy myself in a sufficient Condition, to use this Term of speech. Undoubtedly, you have some Passion for me: But you have stayed somewhat too long to explain yourself. The time is over now, that I should make any return or acknowledgement: It will be unseasonable, since all further Communication is absolutely to be broken. I can discern no occasion to continue it: And besides, it would be an ill Management of a bodies time, to enter into an affair, during a Separation. Absence is the Rock of every Passion, and thereon we shall presently see yours split itself. It is much better, to return you your Heart in an handsome way, than to expect, till you take it away from me. This is ever to have a Right over you, to be capable of such an Estate, as to restore you to your pristine Liberty. For this reason, if the business depends upon me, you are free; Or, if your Heart has constantly made its abode about and near mine( as you would said persuade me) it may depart, when it pleases.  
I, let your Heart of mine now take its leave,  
Yet its obligements mine will never disown:  
No time shall it of Gratitude bereave,  
Nor shall your cares on it away be thrown.  
It may, perhaps, in time its Master pay:  
So, let him quit it till the Payment day.  
But, to return back to my Rigour, from which I have insensibly swerved; if it be true, that my Idea torments you so much, and even possesses you in the worst sense of the Word, I here sand you a Receipt to exorcize it out. Do put repeat over five or six times all the hard Words in this Letter: And they will be a marvelous Preservative against all the most charming Ideas in the World. Adieu: Have as much care of my Tranquillity, when the occasion shall offer itself, as I have now of yours: And above all, writ no more to me; for I can no longer receive any Letters from you, without running the greatest of dangers; seeing I am beset by spies on every side.  This Letter I had hardly received, but a most urgent hurly-burly of distraction laid hold of my Soul. Her threatening she would writ no more to me, gave me true alarms: And to speak the truth, without scrupulously consulting, if my affairs required my longer stay at...... where I then was, I came away the day following with such an unaccustomed pleasure, as is felt by none but those that are mightily in Love, and have an ardent desire to see again its Object. I reached..... and the next day after, I obtained this Letter to be given her.  

TIMANDER to IRIS.  
The Twelfth Letter.  
AS soon as I had red your Letter, I departed at the same instant from...... to bring you the Answer myself. I forgot all my affairs, to mind those only of my Heart, the greatest I ever had in all my Life. I could not sustain without dread that cruel Menace, you made me, of breaking our Commerce. Ah! Lovely..... have you duly reflected on the Weight of those terrible Words? Was it not enough, not to see you, but you must deprive me of the happiness of writing to you? I see through your Intentions: You have, perhaps, a desire to disintricate yourself from a Man, whose Passion is troublesome to you. You will soon attain your end: Not to see you, and not to writ to you any more, are two such things, as will quickly reduce me to a Condition of never troubling you further. Hereby, you will have shattered my Chains to pieces in an handsome way. You will do yourself the kindness, without contradiction: Speak the word, and I return to..... fall back, fall edge: Repose yourself upon my Anxietudes, and they will afford you Contentment. But still, this is an ill employment of a Man's time to enter into an affair during a Separation. Absence is the Rock of all Passions, and you will see mine( like all other Lovers) split upon that Rock in a small time. Cruel Creature! How many injurious words and opprobrious terms hath my Heart( if I might dare to say it) uttered against you, who do not deserve them? You are vety ill acquainted with its Passion and your own Power over it, to believe, that absence can change and ever alter the Sentiments, it has of you. But what am I doing? No, no, you do not deserve, that I should disabuse you: Break my Chains, if you can, and return me that Heart again, and that Liberty, which you make so little account of, since you cast them at my Head with so much indifferency.  
Am I in fit Condition, to receive  
The Heart and Liberty, you give?  
If they have cost you nothing to retain,  
Why do you sand them back again?  
You fear, that absence may destroy a Passion as strong and forcible as mine. I would pardon you this fear, if you really and sincerely had it. In the mean time, ever since I knew you, have you not been evermore absent in relation to me, and have I ever loved you the less for't? I see you so seldom, that it would be the same thing to be an hundred Leagues from you, if I did not hope sometimes to meet with you. But still, I find you but too often out, to my discomfort: However, I would fain come to such a pass as to obey you, and resume that Heart, which you sand me back again. But to answer you in your own Rhymes:  
Of yours, alas! can my Heart take its leave?  
No! it's obligements it will ever own:  
No time shall it of slavery bereave;  
If it's cares on yours away be not thrown.  
That time, when Iris can her Master pay,  
The Dun will surely come on Payment-day.  
How have your Verses redoubled my Passion? With what a tender and sprightly Air are they inspired, that allures and puts me into despair at the same time? For, it may be, you would not be very sorry to lose a Master, that will never leave you nor forsake you, but will patiently wait for the Retributions you owe to the Care, which his Heart takes in instructing such an ignorant Heart as yours, and that makes so little use of his Lessons. What you add afterwards, is well-natur'd and bewitching: Take as much care of my Tranquillity, as I at present take of yours, &c. What a fatal Care do you take of mine? Alas! If I took the like inspection over your Repose, I doubt, you would have very little of it. How restless and melancholy would you be; and, in few words, how tenderly would you love me? However, now see, what you would have me do: I am return'd from..... only to see and writ to you: I have, without any hesitation, quitted all the Pleasures of the Court, to come and make mine to you. Behold, what I do without being beloved; and judge of what I should do, if I were some degrees less unhappy.  After she had received this Letter, I continued a long time without any answer to it; and, not meeting the young Iris, whom I was inflamed with a desire to see, in my impatience I writ the following Letter to her.  

To the young IRIS.  
The Thirteenth Letter.  
SINCE the writing of my last, I have sought for you, but was always frustrated. Are you invisible to me? Or, what have I done, that should deprive me of the pleasure to see you, tho I am come thirty Leagues expressly for that purpose? I perceive, you care not much, whether I be here, or in any other place: I see, it is all one to Iris, and she finds no interest nor importance in the matter.  

I.  
Mounted upon the Wings of Love,  
From far to thee I swiftly Rove:  
I rage to see  
That which my Heart so much adores,  
And would make Gods turn Bigot-worshippers.   

II.  
Eight days now are past and done,  
Since I these Racks have undergone:  
In every place  
I seek you, yet no where can find,  
But only in the Torments of my mind.   

III.  
Yet one Beam, fairest, of your Eye,  
Would make all these black Terrors fly:  
Or could I sand  
A sigh, would you return a Line?  
But nought from your Old-rigor you'l deline.  
Alas! why can't I my Old heart regain,  
Which you in such hard pleasing chains detain?   
In good earnest, if I had been somewhat wiser, I should have obeyed you punctually: I should have re-call'd my Heart to Paris, that doubtless would have diverted me extremely: But all the Company, I had, was only your Letters and my own Melancholy. I return'd thence inconsiderately at a time, when a thousand pleasures would have laid hands upon me in a place, where they all meet as in a Centre. But what? Was I capable of taking them, when I was so far distant from you? I know not, whether you keep accounts of all that I do for you: But I may say of your Heart with regard to mine:  
Never was Heart behind-hand more,  
Never did run so much o'th' score.  
It is my judgement, I declare,  
It ought to own its master's ear.  
To think, that he should teach, is rude,  
For nothing but Ingratitude.  
As he's a generous honest fellow  
( At least, as he is pleased to tell you)  
Deal by him fairly: And since you may  
All with one upright sigh re-pay,  
Besides th' acquittance, I'll maintain,  
He'll give the money back again.  
You see, how reasonable, and how easily satisfied your Master is:  
A small Proposal, Iris, this!  
One sigh is no such mighty thing:  
And yet to thank you he'll not miss,  
But for one, in his turn, will thousands bring.  
You see, you will lose nothing by the bargain. In good truth, my Adorable...... I am here to deal with you very plainly, and from the bottom of my Heart. Nothing is comparable to the passion and esteem I have for you, but that to speak all in a word, it is proportioned to your Merit: But I did not believe, that what I thought only to be mere Fooling and Metaphor, would ever come to turmoil my Heart at this rate, and make so weak an Impression upon yours. Your backwardness to let me know, that my Passion is not altogether indifferent to you, doth torment me, and perhaps may in time destroy it. Let me explicitly know, what Pulses your Heart beats upon this Point: I have a mind to understand my good or my evil destiny; and I should think myself the most happy of Men, if your indifference or coldness created the same Sentiments in my Soul: And hereby, you will redintegrate that Liberty, which you so calmly sand me back. But, tell me, Iris:  
When you my Liberty restored,  
With so much unconcern and Cruelty;  
Did not your Heart the fatal words deny,  
To lose a man of such fidelity?  
sand me an answer to this, or rather, I humbly supplicate you, disengage me quiter, or else reingage me for ever.   

IRIS to TIMANDER.  
The Fourteenth Letter.  
THAT, according to my Intention you have quitted indifference, I find, Timander: And because this is a thing of some consequence and moment to me, I owe it at least some reflection. I begin to take Cognizance, that you are more deeply dipped, than it is necessary for my quiet. I see with some Grief, that one shall not preserve you long; unless one run the same danger with you. So that a body ought to consult her self about it: And this affair, between us two, deserves highly some considerative thoughts.  
Good now! What troubles tower this Heart,  
When it is forced two distinct ways to part?  
When I see you, my Glory draws  
Me to engage you further in the Cause:  
But, on my side, my youngish Breast,  
Which finds itself with horrid dangers prest,  
Dares not leap into Love's abyss,  
But a free Dispensation would possess.  
reduced, thus, to the cruel choice,  
To risk mine Heart or else my Shepherd lose,  
Thus by a sad Dilemma bound,  
What course for wise Election can be found?  
How luscious would it be to be beloved, if alternatively, one did not expose one's self to Love! What pleasure is there in viewing with a disinterress'd Eye a Lover, while he heaves up serious and unhypocritical sighs? Why should a body fear to have the same Lot one's self another day? But why do you exact it already from me? It is indeed, one of the greatest pieces of Honesty, I ever heard of, that of yours, to ask one sigh, and then give a thousand for it: Yet, alas!  
'tis the first sigh, which the whole Heart does win:  
And when it's once betrayed into the gin,  
The hottest heaving sighs are all allowed:  
Who will give one, will forthwith give a crowd.  
In effect, this is the first homage, that is paid to Love: The rest of course follows after, and every thing in the sequel appears easy. It is the first entrance of Love into the Heart; whence depends all the devastation and havoc, that is made there: And it is this entrance, which we ought to dispute with him Inch by Inch. So that I must vigilantly keep upon my Guard: But already  

I.  
Dare you Securities require?  
Just has your Heart now fostered the desire,  
And trembling Flames scarce rise from the new Fire.   

II.  
Is this a time to fear? is this  
Your wishing, sighing dying tenderness?  
Rather the Rock of both our Liberties.   

III.  
Oh! for an Heart always to fear,  
It plainly shows th' inherent weakness there;  
heaven keep me from ' t! all cowardice I forswear.   
To speak unfeignedly, I would avoid as much as possibly the fearing you; since the fear of Loving destroys the Calmness of ones humour: I look upon it to be worse than the evil itself. But when all is done, I fancy, a body is troubled enough to find a Lover the Mistris of ones Heart: Yet then, the thing is past and over, and I believe, one tastes some Repose, when there remains nothing to be managed. But to how many unmerciful alarms does a young Heart expose itself, that was never used to' em? What a world of tears, perils, and uneasiness must it pass through the first time it suffers itself to be attac'kd? Why should I expose mine to all these Troubles without any necessity? That would be mere folly: No, it shall engage in nothing: Rather resume your indifference, that will be a good Caution for mine, which I ought not to venture, to save your Passion in its Birth. Now, how rational is this? Yet nevertheless, I cannot resolve designedly to destroy a Conquest, which has already cost me some trouble to make.  
Yes, tho my Reason doth my Love oppose,  
Yet I confess in the dispute,  
By'ts bold, tho weak resistance in the close,  
Reason is not so Absolute.  
Continue in my Chains then Captive still:  
I have decreed; let happen good or ill.  
This passage is somewhat delicate as to the acceptation, and I will not swear, I take it in the Literal signification of the Words. In the mean time, when you think fitting, you may rerurn to..... I will find out some shifts to continue our Correspondence: But pray, observe all along the faults I commit, either in the Verse or Prose, and mark 'em down for me; so that at least my mind may get some improvement by the hazards, whereinto I run my Heart. Adieu. To be sure, admit no Confidents: Two Witnesses are sufficient for one Heart: If the other Heart will be meddling, let it alone, it will do no mischief: But a Third Person would be not only inconvenient but troublesome.   

TIMANDER's Answer to the young IRIS.  
The Fifteenth Letter.  
HOW enchanting is your Letter, Divine....... I have been just now a solemnizing the Reading of it with a thousand sighs: And the answer, which my own honor commands me to make, would be to make none at all. If I let you see in my Letter the weakness of my Wit, you will at least discover the strength of my Heart's sentiments: And if you have the advantage over me to writ a thousand times better than I, I shall have at least that of Loving a thousand times better than you, which you dare not bring into Contestation with me. But, to give a regular and methodical Reply to your Letter, you are too rational to believe me to be too much engaged: If I am really so, it's rather for your Interest than my own; and if I would have you run the same Perils with me, it is to let you taste the same Pleasures. So to answer your Verses with the same Changes.  
About a Shepherd is your Heart  
perplexed, and knows not to take either Part?  
As soon as it another draws,  
It ought to'engage itself in the same Cause:  
They both should the same dangers press,  
Which is the self-same pleasures to possess.  
See at your Feet the Shepherd bound,  
Kissing with Reverence the Holy ground,  
Oh! raise him up by a free choice,  
And, save the Shepherd and your doubtings lose.  
Wherefore, know, fair Iris, that it is a sad, a very sad thing to be beloved, if we do not Love, that which loves us.  
Reciprocally Love should move;  
For Love was only made for Love.  
In single Hearts the flamme is slight,  
In two, magnificently bright:  
In one, Love is but Partial,  
In two united, one and all:  
In two it clubs the sacred Treasures  
Of pleasing Torments, torturing pleasures:  
The she for him was made no less,  
Than th' Lover for the Loveress.  
Why, then, should you be afraid of having the same Fate with me? What would you do with my Passion, if it was not followed by your own? Believe me, without this it would prove a thing wholly useless, and perchance very cumbersome. Do not stand upon your Guard, therefore, if I desire a sigh of your Heart, for that by advance and Anticipation mine has already paid it with a Million of sighs.  
'tis this first sigh, which my Heart doth deserve,  
If you would from your Skepticism swerve:  
Pardon me, Nymph, if Trembling. I surmise,  
You have already known a thousand sighs.  
Indeed, according to the manner, wherein you reason, and draw deductions and Corollaries touching Love tenderness, I am terribly afraid, lest your Heart has already felt its Assaults from some other Enemy, and has had some other Master, whose Lessons may have preceded mine.  
For my part, in this state, 'tis my sole task,  
Iris one civil Question new to ask:  
Was it true Love, or purely nature brought  
You so much knowledge, and experienced thought?  
'tis true, if your knowledge intimidates me, yet nevertheless your Youth and small experience reassures me, on the other hand.  
For, who could thoughts of fifteen summers link  
With so much justness, and nice care?  
Who could e'er yet depaint down, what they think,  
With so Polite and Curious an Air?  
In thought and Style, both Symmetry and Grace,  
Shine in her Paper, as her Face.  
For my share, I have not black Eye enough, to dive into this Miracle, which I admire, but dare not plumb to the bottom. I fear every thing, but have not Courage to hope for any thing. All that I can say to you, amounts to this: That, an Heart( methinks) ought once to be ill defended, to defend itself so well afterwards. Pardon this jealous Nicety( young Iris) I beg it upon my knees at this distance: Alas! I wish your Heart knew the price of that first sigh, which mine requires of it.  
When we do such Securities require  
Against an Heart, that sets us all on fire,  
We ought to know the Tenderness,  
And price of all our Liberties:  
This is my fear, but Pardon, Iris, this,  
Which springs from weak and tender jealousies.  
Fear, therefore, no more to fear me: I am not so dangerous to your Tranquillity, as you have been to mine. But take fresh Courage, seeing I have not your merit. And, I fear very much to my disquiet, that I shall find you too calm and unconcerned.  
So, let your self be kindled by my Love,  
And you will have no reason to complain:  
And, when you can but once your fires approve,  
Then will you cease to fear me once again.  
Nevertheless, if it be true, that to make a Conquest of me has cost you some trouble, it shall be well repaid. This passage in your Letter is so delicate, that I have red it over a thousand times, as well as the Verses that follow, which I dare not touch, for fear I spoil the admirable sense of them. The only fault, I find in your Letter, is that reflection in the Prose, which comes after those lovely Verses. And, since you command me to tell you your faults, that your Wit may reap some profit from the dangers, wherein you engage your Heart( which is a divine thing) you may be pleased to rase these Words out of your Letter. This occurence is somewhat delicate as to the acceptation; and I will not swear, I take it all Literally. Oh, harsh and savage Prose, after such kind and tender Verses! As for the rest, we will have no Confidents. I will give you my Love-letters myself, and will only trust my own individual self with the sentiments of my own Heart: Give me yours, in like manner, at our next meeting. But, most especially, let two Hearts as well as a couple of Heads enter into this Negotiation, so that things may stand in a just Equality.   

IRIS, her Answer to TIMANDER.  
The Sixteenth Letter.  
IN short, you take it ill, that I appear so knowing in the matter of Passion. The truth is, I was surprised myself as well as you, to find so much Illumination in me, that I had never looked for. I should, no doubt, have asked my Reason, whether it was that, which had taught me so much: Perhaps it would have been in a strange taking, to have made an answer. Such sort of Questions do ordinarily terrify it, and put it to confusion and slight; but that your Fears and Jealousies are able to fetch it back again, tho it had strayed very far. What Injustice do you commit against a young Heart to believe, that it hath felt the power of Love, when I confess to you from the bottom of my Soul, that it avoids it as the most dangerous thing in the World?  
If this Sigh-commerce, which two Lovers-use,  
To Lovers pierced by the same Darts,  
Makes the Felicity of Hearts,  
Why should I all those Pleasures still refuse?  
Truly, you have not considered your assertion thoroughly enough. If to sigh in Concert and together, be so pleasurable a thing, how can you think I would avoid it, when I have had experience thereof, and would preserve my own Liberty, by the knowledge I have of the pleasure one takes in losing it? Make all these things hang together, if you can. However, we are to believe, that there is much pleasure in preserving a bodies Liberty, seeing you say, I know the price of it so well. After all these words so plain and intelligible, any other besides myself would think Love's party to be the weaker: But, I expect, till you pronounce hereon out of your Professorian Chair.  
And, if this Heart should form a vow,  
Which hangs now in suspense,  
I'm sore afraid, that it would bow  
In favour of indifference.  
I here sand you my Epistle to Love, revised, corrected, and augmented:( The Second Edition:) Pray writ me your thoughts of it.  You admire, Madam, at the manner wherein this Letter is turned and winded, and how full of Reasoning it is. For my share, I never saw so much fineness and subtlety: And, you see that an Heart, defended by so great a Wit, must needs be of difficult access. However, Madam, the greatest difficulties do only irritate our Passion. I perceived, I must even march step by step; and this would prove an affair of a longer breath and continuance, than I imagined. This Letter was only full of Wit, but the former had somewhat more Tenderness: So that my Heart floated betwixt hope and fear. I very seldom saw the young Iris, and I could only writ to her: And still, frequently, I was a long time without giving her my Letters, it being a Month and longer, before I could find her. She very seldom came into public, and the over-strickt Regularity of her beneficed Uncle would hardly let her go to Mass; not considering, that such strained punctilios of exactness do sometimes provoke young People, to take, of themselves, those Liberties, denied them by others. But, though this transcendent Creature had very little Liberty, she never took any of her self, but lived under a Monastical constraint, that extremely vexed and afflicted me. Wherefore, I was a long while without meeting her: But, at length, as I passed one day in the street I met her, and after a light Conversation, I had only time to give her this Letter.  

TIMANDER to the young IRIS.  
The Seventeenth Letter.  
IN good earnest, I am but sorrily edifi'd with your backwardness to let me have an occasion of meeting you. But what do you think upon? You have very fairly made me spoil in my Pocket those answers, I was to give you: And, you will not suffer me to confided 'em with such People, as might do us great and good service in an harmless Correspondence, which you need not take so much pains to conceal from the World, seeing your Heart hath kept at a distance from all engagements in it, and mine is the only one that is interressed; and your Uncle, as devout as he is, can find no fault with it. A Man with a Sword by his side makes him as read as a Turkycock; and unless a Man wear a little Collar like him, and a little Periwig, he cannot come within fifty steps of your house. For my particular, I am almost resolved to make such a Metamorphosis of myself to pay you a Visit in a Fools Habit, and to take on me the Air of a Tartuff to accommodate myself to his sight. But however, ought not you, for all him, to facilitate the ways to me of seeing and speaking with you? I must confess, your Wit has amazed me, I was bewildered to find so much flamme and delicacy in it; I never expected to meet in the barbarous Country a Spirit, that had so small a tincture thereof, that made so easy a passage into the manners and customs of the World without any practise, and to which mere natural Parts supplied the place of all the most consummated Art and Experience. I deal with you here with the greatest sincerity, and from the very bottom of my Soul: I have conceived so high an esteem of you, and I am so fully satisfied of your worth, that it lies upon you, to take somewhat more notice of this estimation, which you hold so indifferent, and which will carry me much further than itself. Nevertheless, if I should make this my Period, it would be well enough: But, I am sensible, by what it has cost me already, what it will one day cost me. I have taken much delight in writing to you, and receiving your Letters, that have enchanted me: And I am persuaded, That France will some time or other own it's great Obligations to me, for having helped to cultivate one of the most excellent Genii it ever produced. You have made me prolong soundly and abundantly that short abode, I was used to make in this Province. I partend thence contrary to my custom, with such an horrid darkness upon my thoughts, as I never had since my acquaintance with you: And I return'd hither with such a desire, as I am unable to represent. Here I continue still upon your sole account and consideration: whilst it is well known, that 'tis now above Eight years, that the Month of October has not seen me at..... I could wish, it were possible for me to establish a Commerce, that begins to become very dear and near to me. I cannot consider without the greatest terrors imaginable, that I must leave you suddenly. I am almost distracted with endeavouring to find out ways of writing to you, during a long absence. I know not, whether you would consent to it: Scarce have I seen you for these two Months, that I know of: And yet I find, I am as far advanced in my Passion, as if I had never seen you. But, why should my concerns tear me from you? And yet, why should I be so sensible of a departure, which you look upon with so regardless an Eye? I have hardly taught you any thing in the Subject of Tenderness; and yet, you have inspired but too much into me, to the destruction of my Tranquillity: So that I may disconsolately say, that the Master has taught the Scholar nothing, and the Scholar has learnt the Master too much. You are very desirous, I should engage myself; but you will not harken to your own engagement. Now, is this reasonable, or fair? You would have me alone bear the whole burden of Passion during a tedious separation, yet will not participate of it with me yourself.  
Speak, Fairest, and your Mind explain,  
Though I shall hear it with much pain:  
For, I'm resolved before we part,  
To listen, if each other's Heart  
Be well cemented in Concert:  
This is a shrewd step: And howe'er I meant it,  
P●●haps you 'l give me Reasons to repeat it.  
It's the same thing to me: I would fain learn your Resolutions hereon, and what Progress my Love has hitherto made in your Heart.  
Alas! What strange Auxieties,  
Do my Heart seize,  
When yours I see  
To mine so careless to reply?  
Give me some hearty[ tho't be little] Food:  
I cannot live on bare Ingratitude.  
Upon my Soul, very often I know not, what is become of me. You have made me change altogether my manner of life. I was naturally of a very free and unconfined Temper: But now, I have neither that Pleasantness nor Liberty of mind, which was accustomed at other times so faithfully to keep me Company. All my business is about you: I fly the World, which I once passionately loved: I have found myself drenched, for this good while, into a profound dotage, whereof you are the greatest cause; and I am not as yet awaked out of it but by the trouble I have to leave you. I am come into a desperate Condition: And this departure strikes as much at my Heart, as if I was tenderly beloved by you. I beseech you to involve yours a little more than you do, in an affair, wherein mine so strongly interesses itself: But you mind nothing of the matter; you will not share with me the pleasure I have to see you; and you rob me of those Moments, that are so dear to me, and which you make to pass away with an provable swiftness. If I happen to meet you, and am a moment with you, you are presently for going away with an uneasiness, that extremely torments me: You are always pretending some fear to be any long time far from home. How much more piercing Anguishes than these would I expose myself to, provided I could have the pleasure to enjoy so sweet a Moment: But, upon that upshot, take this into your Consideration, that there is nothing so agreeable in human Life as a reciprocal Passion; and make this your scope to aim at:  
That we our Radiant Hearts employ,  
In one united Beam ●o shine:  
So that the doubt shall be, if mine  
Or yours the greatest pleasures do enjoy.  
A positive and Categorical Answer, I conjure you. Adieu.   

IRIS, her Answer to TIMANDER.  
The eighteen Letter.  
I Did not believe before now, upon my Reputation, Timander, I was so much indebted to you. I did not reckon your return from..... in the number of my debts: And, if I was bound to place it to the foot of the account, I should find myself unable to acquit or discharge it: My whole stock of acknowledgement would not suffice, and it looks like too hard measure to drain it quiter dry. Do not go to persuade me, that you did it for my sake: You are out in your reckoning there, and I will tell you how: I ever framed to myself a very pleasant Idea of Love: I fancied it only proper to amuse and divert an Heart, and I did not believe it capable of affording more serious Employments. But, in short, if your Love makes you to return thirty Leagues expressly for the sake of an ill-establish'd Correspondence, I am of opinion, it may carry you much farther: Insomuch that, hereupon I ought to stand upon my Guard, having no desire nor ambition to go so swift a place. Lord bless me! to ride full thirty Leagues( and I shall never forget it) for the sole interest of your Passion! This affrights me most horribly. In God's Name, let us have only( if it be possible) a tenderness in Picture; and let our Heart have no sense of what our Hand shall dash and blot upon Paper; seeing this same dangerous Passion leads People so swiftly and such a great way. Besides, do not complain, that I stay so little while with you, when I meet you. You ought rather to judge, I have such. Reasons that perplex me, it may be, as much as you, which are the cause of those sudden Retreats, that are some of your grievances. Adieu. Above all, let us have a Passion, that will not plunge us too deep, and from which we may disengage ourselves when we think fitting, in regard it is so dangerous to feel one that hurries People so far, from whence it is a great piece of difficulty to return.   

TIMANDER's Answer to the young IRIS.  
The Nineteenth Letter.  
IF you had seen the melancholy, into which your last Letter put me, you would, questionless, have repented, you had ever writ it. I know not whether I shall have strength to make a Replication: I see so much Ingratitude and so much indifference in't, that it ought to recall mine. But how! after three Months fixation to the most passionate tenderness, is this all the Progress I have made in your Heart? You treat and regal me with an affection in Picture. Yet, what glimmering of hope from all this? You even doubt, whether I turned expressly from..... to see you. What signifies it, if I make that of my Heart my chief and primary Concern, when it is only an amazement to yours( as I have already  told you) and if I lose my own Repose, when yours continues entire still, and unshaken? I'll vow, you are very unjust to upbraid me, that my Passion carries me too far, in making me come thirty Leagues. What way hath it made you go, whereof you have reason to complain? You ought not to be extraordinarily fatigued with so long a Journey, since it never brought you but from..... whither you have taken the pains to come sometimes; and you have rendered me thirty Steps for those thirty Leagues. You have mighty great occasion( I warrant you) to make some ease after such a toilsome expedition. Indeed, mademoiselle, I am not yet acquainted with you: I forgive you that Picture affection, with which you affront a true tenderness; since that you understand not the force of those cruel words. No, most undoubtedly, with all your Wit you do it, conceive the force and extent of those fatal and dead doing Words; for as much as your Heart should first be as tender as mine, to feel all the bitterness of them. Oh, that I should ever know you! By what contrivance of Fate did I first see you? And, what Devil put me into the hands of such a young gadding and shifting Wag, that knows not yet all the evil she does, and all the good she may do? Why am I persuaded of your Value and Excellence, in loving you so tenderly? Why cannot I resume my Heart again, and blot and dash it with indifference, by way of remonstrance to your Lely-affection? I would give myself certain stroke and airs of confidence and high-spiritedness; which, yet would melt to nothing when I come near you. But stay! should I burn in good earnest, should I have a true inquietude, and( in fine) a true and a rich Passion for an ingrateful Person? I believe, in good faith, nothing of all this. In the mean time, let me know the last resolve of your Heart, whether it will engage with mine, or disengage it altogether. I shall go within these two days: I expect its answer with impatience, which will bring my destiny. There is not one moment to be lost; since on this moment depends the loss or the liberty of an Heart, which hath been but too much Yours.   

TIMANDER to IRIS.  
The Twentieth Letter.  
THE day before yesterday. I waited for you at the place, whither you promised me to come, but to no purpose: There, you made me stay full four hours, till half an hour after seven. The expectation of you did horribly turmoil me, and this perplexed me as much as the Letter, I received from you. I took the History of France, I red something in it; I discoursed at random; I sighed, and, in fine, I appeared, in such a dampish humour, that some of the Company could not forbear taking me up for it. The Persons, with whom I was, tho very lovely, could bring no Consolation for your absence. You have given me so great a disgust for all the rest of the World, that I am become insupportable to myself. Yet however, I am not satisfied, why I lay so great stress upon an interview, which you have promised me. After the Letters, you have written to me, I ought to quit you absolutely: But, alas! meeting you yesterday, I saw something so tender, so soft and sweet in your Eyes, which made reparation for the cruelty of your Letters, that I could not keep from falling once more into the snare. You promised me to be at....... and my Heart promised you( in spite of my teeth) to love you more than ever. But, why do you break your Word? Where was you? What was you doing? What was you busy about? In what Company did you cousin the time, that was due to the Eve of my departure? Oh, that a little effective and real Passion would inspirit me instead of that Picture-affection, wherewith your two last are topping full! 'tis true, your Air is kind and tender enough, so that a Man does not know what to think of it. Take, now the same Air in you Letters: You ought to modify and sweeten the fire and lustre of your Wit with a mixture of Passion; and, in brief, trifle a little more seriously. Leave the motions of your mind to be Conducted by your Heart: But, especially teach me, before my departure, in what situation I am with you: Perhaps, I stand at a great Elongation. Nevertheless, let what will happen, speak out, tell me boldly, I hate you, if you dare not tell me I Love you: Peradventure, the first will be less fatal than the second, which will cost me, without doubt, the Repose of my whole Life. An answer with the soonest.   

IRIS to TIMANDER.  
The One and Twentieth Letter.  

I.  
FArewell, Timander, O farewell, nor stay  
To hear the Words, which you desire:  
For, how can I, at th' warning of one day,  
A kind return make to your fire?  
Or, if I could, tho after bloody strife,  
I could not speak the Sentence for my life.   

II.  
But, still alas!— Whence comes this ugly sigh?  
What secret Fiend does hag my Breast?  
I fear, I give myself a cursed lie:  
Oh, no! Love's Empire I detest.  
Without true Protestant reserve, yet Zeal,  
I say, Farewell, Timander, O Farewell!   

III.  
If my Eyes[ foolish things!] do you inform  
Of any Love, or God knows what,  
My Mouth can soon, can in a thundering storm  
Tell you quiter other News than that:  
But, see, without Confession on my part,  
If you can Love me with a steadfast heart.   

IV.  
One single Heart, you say, cannot suffice:  
Two Months vain Transports drain a Lover;  
But, how shall I know, if from Love they rise?  
Time may a different Cause discover.  
With what Front can you, Men, pretend to Name  
So soon a true and intermutual flamme.   

V.  
Your Heart long time in Prison cannot dwell:  
The Chain it slips, and slips the place;  
But, mine when fixed, as in monastic Cell,  
Cannot get free from the Embrace.  
You, Men, do Love, like Modish clothes, put on:  
We think 't an Habit of Religion.   

VI.  
But, this along with you, Timander, take:  
Love, that doth all things over-come,  
Me one day one of his sad slaves may make,  
Tho by a slow, yet certain doom.  
But, here in solomn wise, this Oath I'll seal:  
Whatever amorous Martyrdom I feel,  
I never will one word of it reveal.   
These are my Thoughts, Timander, upon the Declaration, which you exact from me. Therefore, desire such a thing no more: It is of most necessary Consequence, that your Heart should take its leave of this affair, as soon as mine shall be in an estate to enter it. I would fly you, if I had not the Right and Prerogative to banish you: Or I would banish you from my presence, if I had the Power to do so. What a wretched success is this of so brave a Passion, and what will be fav'd from the Shipwreck and Ruins of our interchangeable affection? You would admire me, and I should complain of you; this would be all the fruit of that so soft and tender Love. Believe me, we may admire ourselves afresh, both the one and the other. You may wonder at a young Heart, that knows already most excellently well, how to defend itself, as if it had been attacked all its life long, that is acquainted readily with all the cunning sleights of Love, and can avoid 'em with dexterity and ease. But do you likewise manage the business so, that I may stand astonished at the Constancy of your Heart, to surmount and vanquish all the hardness of mine. 'tis not improbable, but it will retain it not long, and it will entertain some Passion both for its own and for your Repose, seeing the Accounts are little different between a beloved and a loving Heart. Wherefore, never despair to see it one day in the same case with yours; But, by the force of Cares and of Affection, weary out the obdurateness you shall find there: Long-suffering and Perseverance prevail over the most Opinionative and Rebellious dispositions. Do not then, fear the effect of all my Menaces; and without having recourse to an avowal, wherein my Glory and Honour may be somewhat interested, there are a thousand ways of discovering a New born Passion, which a body sees to grow up with pleasure. If the Tongue dare speak nothing, at least the Eyes have an Eloquution on such an occasion: And, a little disorder and perplexity explain it with more delicacy, than a Confession, which would make one blushy:  
And, above all, a certain Languishing,  
[ The Hool, that construes well the mind]  
Will very soon tell you the thing,  
Whatever morose Rigour now you find.   

TIMANDER's Answer to the young IRIS.  
The Two and Twentieth Letter.  
YOUR Copy of Verses would have infinitely augmented the esteem, I had concev'd of your Genii, but that I have been otherwise, too well convinced of its Perfections; and if I had as free and as disengaged a Wit as you have, I should immediately set upon an Answer: But the motions of my Heart do quench and offuscate the clearness of my Soul, and I have but just Light enough to see, that I have none at all in an approximation to you. All that I am able to overdo, comes to this, that I love you 
éperduëment, perditè.  desperately. Behold all my Verses, all my Wit, all my Merit! I am not in a condition to add any thing more: My Love, my Departure, my Anxietude do take me up so entirely, that I have hardly the leisure to breath.  
Judge, Lovely Iris, of my doleful state:  
Scarce equal is my whole Heart to my sighs:  
How then can I Love-jingles ruminate?  
I Love, I go, and you this Love despise.  
What dainty fine Verses should I Compose, if I had that Tranquillity, which you enjoy? But, in few words, take some of my Passion, and give me some of your Wit: Of them we may make a more comfortable Temparature. You will receive much more pleasure, than you have, and I shall have less Pensiveness: And, upon the main, I should writ to you more curious Letters, and you would have more passionate Sentiments. However, you, you have nothing but Wit, and to my Lot falls nothing but Affection.  
Cruel Division for a Lover's Heart,  
Where no one else will take a part!  
A Barbarous Providence, where you possess  
The Wit entire, I entire Tenderness!  
In the mean time, I assure you, that you will have a thousand pleasures, you never had, if you were further drenched in this affair: Some Passion would make you slip over a thousand yawnings, since without Love pleasures themselves are faint and insipid.  
Yes, you ought to envy Love:  
It's delicious languours can,  
When they the Heart do briskly move,  
Only make the joy of Man.  
I have a thousand pretty thoughts to tell you upon this topic, but that I want time, and my Stars will not let my concerns be in so good an humour, as that I should be able to writ fine devices and conceits to you. I love you, I am departing; I shall see you no more: I know not how I stand with your Heart; I am sure, mine is wholly taken up with yours. What Fears, what Anguishes do rack my Soul! I shall not see you of a long time; I shall not have the indulgent delight to hope for such a thing: I shall be more than fifteen days in expectation of so heavenly a moment. I shall no more feel that emparadis'd emotion, which your approach strikes me withal! That so sweet, so sensible a confusion, when you give me your Letters with your own hand, and receive my Answers from mine before People, that know nothing at all of the matter, and from whom we conceal our Intrigues! Above all, remember the trouble I was in yesterday, when I gave you my Letter, and received yours. This will spare me the pains to make some Verses in return to those admirable ones of yours. Your Prose is very chast and delicate; and if I had time to Answer it, I would tell you in two words, That, if you once loved me, you would be so far from flying or banishing me, that you would seek me out every where as diligently, as I inquire after you. Let us not cast away ourselves in the Haven, but happily Land on the fortunate Shore; So that our Vicarious Passion may not be split or broken to pieces, but may receive a much stronger and more lasting bond of Concord than ever: And what will be the issue of all this, but that which I  told you last?  
A thousand and a thousand Wishes,  
A thousand and a thousand Kisses,  
A thousand and a thousand Pleasures  
Will follow in eternal Treasures.  
I cannot see, how such a Shipwreck can be so very, very dangerous. More particularly, think, that you lose a great deal of pleasure by defending yourself so long. Your Heart is an excellent spot of Ground to be made Arable; but suffer no new Thorns to spring up in't. Admire, therefore, my affectionate Fidelity, but do not tyre it out by so long a resistance. And especially,  
Hasten that certain Languishing  
( The Hool, that constuers well the mind:)  
Be sure it quickly tell the thing;  
And let that morose Rigour once be kind.   

TIMANDER to IRIS.  
The Three and Twentieth Letter.  
I Did not much wonder to be forgotten by Madam..... But I was in good hopes you would remember the promise you made me, to sand every Wednesday to the Post-house for the Letters, I should direct to you under the Name of mademoiselle D...... I have writ two, that have lain there a long time, and which I have sent.... to fetch back, for fear they should be lost. I am much troubled at the forgetfulness of the beautiful D.... who had promised to writ to me. Do not repined, I befeech you, if I have quitted you for her, seeing she hath as much Merit as yourself. Her last Copy of Verses was insupportibly killing: Her wit, her delicacy, and the justness of her Expressions have been admired here; and Persons of the highest Quality have been extremely earnest to be acquainted with her charming Person, as they already have knowledge of the beauty of her Wit: Insomuch as  
Her Verse and Prose they thought so excellent,  
That, to complete my utmost Punishment,  
They seemed to long for this forbidden three,  
Whose early Fruit had op'd their Eyes to See;  
And Princes will my Lordly Rivals be.  
With so much esteem they spoken of her; they rendered her so much Justice, that I was almost jealous of them. They cursed the Province, that reclusely confined a Genius as delicate as any at the Court: And People will not easily believe, that at Fifteen Years and an half one can know so much. You know, what inclinations I have to that amiable Person; You are acquainted with her: So, do not be jealous, if I make my Applications to her. I know I have been always too indifferent to you, for your having the least regret for losing such an Heart as mine: The incomparable D.... has accepted on't, inspiring it with a Passion, that will never have an end but with my Life. I attend her News with such an Impatience, as is unknown to indifferent Hearts. She knows, I am lodged at..... I was reduced to the greatest despair, by departing without being able to bid her, Adieu: But there was no help for it. Besides, it showed, as if she cared very little, that a Man should take leave of her, which she but too freely and unconcernedly gave me. I beseech you, to let me understand some of her News, since you refuse to let me hear yours. I have ventured this Letter by Madam........ An Answer by Saturday, I entreat you, and to believe, that I am both yours and Madamoiselles D......  
Most humble Servitor.   

IRIS, her Answer to TIMANDER.  
The Four and Twentieth Letter.  
IN reality, Sir, I did already reckon you amongst my revolted Lovers. Your sudden Retreat contained the whole System of a Revolt. Nevertheless, I am  told here, that you love me; but forasmuch as you yourself do not tell me so, who have more Interest in the Thing, I know not how to believe it. Good God, to go without bidding me, Adieu! This is the utmost, that the most desperate or most indifferent Blade in the World could do. Thanks to my Eyes, you are not the first! And, thanks to what those very Eyes have procuc'd in your Heart, you believe, you ought not to be the second! For( to deal sincerely with you) I observe a certain Air of Boldness and Confidence in your Letter, which does in no wise please me. You speak of your Passion, as if it was necessary to suppose mine: And to use my freedom of speech, I think you somewhat too adventurous, for an absent Lover. How do you know, but that believing you lost, I have laid out for some new Lover, or, whether during this pretended Interregnum, I have been always Mistris of my own Heart? This is a business, subject to Caution: Your calm and easy way with you is very unseasonable at a time, when every true Lover ought to dread something. Do you think your absence more fatal to my Repose, than ever your presence has been, and that what ordinarily destroys the best founded Passion, has given a Being to mine? I wish, you were somewhat more alarmed, that I might be in an estate to secure you in the Conclusion, and to tell you rather than you should tell yourself, that I am still free, and by consequence in a Condition to engage myself. I have an hundred odd things to tell you on this Subject: But I have not leisure to dwell on it, as doubting, that you have expected my Answer these three or four days.  
I did not receive your Letter till yesterday: And, as it was apparently opened before I had it, and I shall be obliged to adjust things with Madam....... you must look for some asperities upon this point. Your imprudence and indiscretion do very well deserve them: And I think, you manage very ill the glory of mademoiselle D..... who bears too great a Relation and Analogy with me, not to be taken for myself. Lay your measures better together another time: If you had stayed here but two days more, I would have taken the way of..... which I look upon to be more sure and Commodious. Thither you may direct your Letters every Friday, and I will sand for 'em by very faithful hands: And you shall receive mine every Tuesday. Adieu: Let me have your Avisos, with all the gallantry at Paris.   

The Five and Twentieth Letter.  
IF I had made a less Revolt from Reason, I had, unquestionably, made a greater from Love: And I ought to have departed( many thanks to your disdains) not the most desperate but the most indifferent of all Men. The harsh and rough manner, wherewith you left me, might reasonably Authorize mine: Yet however, do you call to mind, with what an Air I bid you, Adieu, and with what an Air you received it? But no matter for that: I am afraid, such a remembrance may let you know, that I went away much more desperate than indifferent. Notwithstanding this, I do all that lies in my power to become so: And if( as you say) I take upon me a certain confident way in my Letters, which is not to your Palate, I am sure, in your Papers you always retain a certain indifferent one, that is not at all to mine. If you think me somewhat too bold for an absent Lover, I dare tell you in my turn, that I think you somewhat to bold for an absent Mistris: For, if my presence has not been fatal to your Repose, are not you afraid, least this plain acknowledgement will restore me all mine, seeing absence, according to your Philosophy, doth frequently kill the best formed affections? According to your Maxims, if I am to fear a Rival in your Heart, have not you also some reason to fear a Rivalless in mine? By your Coldness, it would be sufficiently w●●ranted, to meditate Treachery 〈◇〉 unfaithfulness: For, upon the whole compute, do you think, that the Pleasures and Charms of Paris cannot blot out my mind the horrors and cruelties of.... believe me, Paris is a taking City.  
There a thousand deadly crafty  
Baits are laid t' ensnare our safety:  
A thousand Foes! There's Youth, there's Beauty,  
There's Dress, Fringe-petticoat, and shoe-tie.  
There's Wit, and Nice Politeness too,  
And that, or nothing sure must do.  
'tis true, we need not thither roam;  
You, Iris, have all these at home,  
Yet unoblig'd to Tyring-room.  
But yet, there's one thing; you have not,  
Of gentle Passion not a jot.  
I fancy, the last ought to give you more alarms, than all the rest, And, if you may be uneasy upon account of Wit and Merit, you cannot remain so well satisfied, as to point of Tenderness and Affection; for that every Mistris, of your fierceness and indifference, ought to fear the kindness and tractable manners of some more human Rivalless. I must confess to you honestly, when I see you have so little Passion, that I would choke and ●●●e mine, and I could wish to be in a Condition to tell you with as much ease and Tranquillity as you tell me, that I am still free, and that you may engage me; but that you are fully assured of your own power, and the weakness of my Heart, and you have little reason to fear the loss of it. What delight, now, should I take in resettling you, if you were somewhat fearful of me? But, herein, you have but too much reason, to have an unshaken good opinion of yourself, which is founded upon your own Merit. But, notwithstanding this, ever since my coming to Paris, I have done all that lay in my power, not to think of you so often, by making my Addresses to one of the sinest Women in France, who doth certainly carry more good nature than you do, about her.  
Yet, handsome though she be,  
Tho she has no Cruelty,  
Tut unrebuking takes th' Address,  
I should have more Love, not more Happiness.  
Than herewith, I cannot make a better ending: This is enough to you. Adieu. I expect your News.   

From TIMANDER.  
The Six and Twentieth Letter.  
I Am come from Versailles, where I have been three days. At my return, I find no Letters from you: I stayed till Tuesday, as you promised me. I am in a doubtful perplexity, whether you have received mine by the way of..... Draw me out of this inquietude, if you please, and with the soonest you can. I writ now to you in great hast, the Posthour coming instantly on. If I were as well satisfied with you, as I am with..... I should be most happy. I am made much on here, by a thousand Courtesies, but I cannot wring one from you: However, I adore you, and think of nothing else: This is enough. An answer I beg of you: I believe the way of...... most secure. I have yet no answer from Madam.... I cannot find much honour in her procedure, if she has opened the Letter, I directed to her for you. She may writ to me, when she pleases; but I will not sand her the Airs of Dambruis, till she makes me an answer. I am horribly vexed, that the Minutes are so urgent: But, do what I will, I must conclude with assuring you, that I am everlastingly yours. I desire an answer, as soon as you have received mine: For, I do not much matter, whether it be Tuesday 〈◇〉 any other day, seeing you know my direction, which is very safe.   

The young IRIS to TIMANDER.  
The Seven and Twentieth Letter.  
SEveral Lovers I have had; but never in my Life did I see such a sincere one as you. As 'tis apparent you loved me for having seen me, I might well doubt, that you would not Love, when you saw me no more, and my single Idea could never stand firm and good against all those gay Persons, you view every day. Never did Lover, before, confided in her, that might cause his Torment, those pleasures he meets withal elsewhere in her absence. To tell you the righteous truth of things, you recall back again the integrity of the first Ages: And, if you have not the constancy of those not so much ancient as antic times, at least you have their sincerity. This is, likewise, a virtue; and you have pitched upon it to the other's prejudice. But, why did you not consult me? You should have chosen the first. Upon the word of a Christian, I am very much scandalized at your way of proceeding: I think, I should have liked much better a 'vice, that was somewhat more Complaisant, than so disobliging a virtue. I cannot tell, whether it's your Freedom or your Inconstancy, that displeases me the most: I tell myself, that 'tis the Confession, which offends me, but in truth, I will not peremptorily decide, whether it be the Word, or the Thing: You may draw, what Conclusions you will from this. But, to consider things more closely, this pretended Infidelity I do suspect to be a Lover's cheat and trick, that is more faithful, than he would be thought to be: For, when we leave People in the lurch, we do not use to advertise them of it, we let ourselves bend to our own declentions, and are not accustomed to frame such refined Syllogisms. I fancy, you had a mind to try, whether I would be sensible of your loss: In this case, I forgive you with all my Heart. But, what do you design by making jealousy precede Passion in my Heart? Why should you go about to raise such a Sentiment there, when it is so sweet, to inspire it with those that are most delicate. Would you have me begin to have a sense of Love by all, that it hath most cruel and bloudy-minded? No, instead of taming and rendering me meek and tractable with it, you put me into Arms and battle-array against it. You manage your Interests with no great Policy, and Old neck of Florence is no such well-willer to you: For,  
In a fine mould Love only does appear,  
Concealing, what gives jealousy or Fear:  
And, we should keep our Properties by Law,  
If we an Arbitrary sway fore-saw.  
In effect, jealousy[ as I have heard say] has such motions, as are too sharp and Netlish: It rather provoketh and irritates, than softeneth and assuages the Soul: So that instead of making me taste the pleasures and kindnesses and( as I may say) the Clemency of Love, you will allow me presently nothing but its vexation and bitterness. This same Stratagem would never have bore me far; I should have immediately impeached the enterprise. Love has much more pretty and acceptable ways, to insinuate himself into the Heart: For, what will that, which you have taken, get you, but these following Verses?  

I.  
Of a sequestered Shepherdess  
You fear to be a Lover;  
By change of whom for something, that hath less  
Severity, you would remove her.  
Oh! do not make a separation  
Of one Heart between Two;  
But the last Conqueror pursue:  
For it's more Natural, to maintain  
The Heavenly Blessings of a peaceful Reign,  
Than choose black War, Fire, Sword and Desolation.   

II.  
This you may do by my consent;  
And I shall nought Gain-say:  
Only one Quest. What by your fear is meant,  
I ve Catechis'd mine Heart to Day.  
Grateful alarms svit well a Passion,  
When tost by Sighs and Tears,  
exposed each Moment, to new Fears,  
But now, I can spy no pretence,  
Timander, for this pretty fearing Sense:  
'tis stupifi'd in a dead Inclination.    
FINIS.  

ERRATA.  
PAg. 5. Lin. 23. for member, red number. p. 13. l. 19 r. inaccessible. p. 21. l. 19. r. Bulky. p. 24. l. 9. for should r. would. p. 30. l. 17. for do r. does. p. 38 l. 5. for would r. should. p. 40. l. 19. r. snudging. p. 42. l. 18. r. ridiculous. p. 45. l. 4. r. through. ibid. r. brought't. p. 62. l. 7. r. alas p. 97. l. 11. for of r. at. p. 102. l. 9. for to r. two. p. 111. l. 12. r. repent. p. 118. l. 3. r. amusement. ibid. l. 18. for make r. take. p. 191. l. 5. for it, r. not. p. 130. l. 7. r. Genius. p. 135. l. 21. r. consters. p. 137. l. 1. r. insupportably. The Reader is desired to mend or excuse the Faults in Pointing.