Chapter II: Introduction (2)

Damon, my _Watch_ is juster than you imagine; it would not have you live retired and solitary, but permits you to go and make Visits. I am not one of those that believe Love and Friendship cannot find a place in one and the same Heart: And that Man would be very unhappy, who, as soon as he had a Mistress, should be obliged to renounce the Society of his Friends. I must confess, I would not that you should have so much Concern for them, as you have for me; for I have heard a sort of a Proverb that says, _He cannot be very fervent in Love, who is not a little cold in Friendship._ You are not ignorant, that when _Love_ establishes himself in a Heart, he reigns a Tyrant there, and will not suffer even Friendship, if it pretend to share his Empire there.

Cupid.

Love _is a God, whose charming Sway_
_Both Heaven, and Earth, and Seas obey;_
_A Power that will not mingled be_
_With any dull Equality._
_Since first from Heaven, which gave him Birth,_
_He rul’d the Empire of the Earth;_
_Jealous of Sov’reign Pow’r he rules,_
_And will be absolute in Souls._

I should be very angry if you had any of those Friendships which one ought to desire in a Mistress only; for many times it happens that you have Sentiments a little too tender for those amiable Persons; and many times Love and Friendship are so confounded together, that one cannot easily discern one from the other. I have seen a Man flatter himself with an Opinion, that he had but an Esteem for a Woman, when by some turn of Fortune in her Life, as marrying, or receiving the Addresses of Men, he has found by Spite and Jealousies within, that that was Love, which he before took for Complaisance or Friendship. Therefore have a care, for such Amities are dangerous: Not but that a Lover may have fair and generous Female Friends, whom he ought to visit; and perhaps I should esteem you less, if I did not believe you were valued by such, if I were perfectly assured they were Friends and not Lovers. But have a care you hide not a Mistress under this Veil, or that you gain not a Lover by this Pretence: For you may begin with Friendship, and end with Love; and I should be equally afflicted should you give it or receive it. And though you charge our Sex with all the Vanity, yet I often find Nature to have given you as large a Portion of that common Crime, which you would shuffle off, as asham’d to own; and are as fond and vain of the Imagination of a Conquest, as any _Coquet_ of us all: tho’ at the same time you despise the Victim, you think it adds a Trophy to your Fame. And I have seen a Man dress, and trick, and adjust his Looks and Mein, to make a Visit to a Woman he lov’d not, nor ever could love, as for those he made to his Mistress; and only for the Vanity of making a Conquest upon a Heart, even unworthy of the little Pains he has taken about it. And what is this but buying Vanity at the Expense of Sense and Ease; and with Fatigue to purchase the Name of a conceited Fop, besides that of a dishonest Man? For he who takes pains to make himself beloved, only to please his curious Humour, tho’ he should say nothing that tends to it, more than by his Looks, his Sighs, and now and then breaking into Praises and Commendations of the Object; by the care he takes, to appear well drest before her, and in good order; he lyes in his Looks, he deceives with his Mein and Fashion, and cheats with every Motion, and every Grace he puts on: He cozens when he sings or dances; he dissembles when he sighs; and every thing he does, that wilfully gains upon her, is Malice prepense, Baseness, and Art below a Man of Sense or Virtue: and yet these Arts, these Cozenages, are the Common Practices of the Town. What’s this but that damnable Vice, of which they so reproach our Sex; that of jilting for Hearts? And ‘tis in vain that my Lover, after such foul Play, shall think to appease me, with saying, _He did it to try how easy he could conquer, and of how great force his Charms were: And why should I be angry if all the Town loved him, since he loved none but_ Iris? Oh foolish Pleasure! How little Sense goes to the making of such a Happiness! And how little Love must he have for one particular Person, who would wish to inspire it into all the World, and yet himself pretend to be insensible! But this, _Damon_, is rather what is but too much practiced by your Sex, than any Guilt I charge on you: tho’ Vanity be an Ingredient that Nature very seldom omits in the Composition of either Sex; and you may be allowed a Tincture of it at least. And, perhaps, I am not wholly exempt from this Leaven in my Nature, but accuse myself sometimes of finding a secret Joy of being ador’d, tho’ I even hate my Worshipper. But if any such Pleasure touch my Heart, I find it at the same time blushing in my Cheeks with a guilty Shame, which soon checks the petty Triumphs; and I have a Virtue at soberer Thoughts, that I find surmounts my Weakness and Indiscretion; and I hope _Damon_ finds the same: For, should he have any of those Attachments, I should have no pity for him.

The Example.

Damon, _if you’d have me true,_
_Be you my Precedent and Guide:_
_Example sooner we pursue,_
_Than the dull Dictates of our Pride._
_Precepts of Virtue are too weak an Aim:_
_’.is Demonstration that can best reclaim._

_Shew me the Path you’d have me go;_
_With such a Guide I cannot stray:_
_What you approve, whate’er you do,_
_It is but just I bend that way._
_If true, my Honour favours your Design;_
_If false, Revenge is the result of mine._

_A Lover true, a Maid sincere,_
_Are to be priz’d as things divine:_
_’.is Justice makes the Blessing dear,_
_Justice of Love without Design._
_And she that reigns not in a Heart alone,_
_Is never safe, or easy, on her Throne._

FOUR o’.LOCK.

_General Conversation._

In this Visiting-Hour, many People will happen to meet at one and the same Time together, in a Place: And as you make not Visits to Friends, to be silent, you ought to enter into Conversation with ‘em; but those Conversations ought to be general, and of general things: for there is no necessity of making your Friend the Confident of your Amours. ’.would infinitely displease me, to hear you have reveal’d to them all that I have repos’d in you; tho’ Secrets never so trivial, yet since utter’d between Lovers, they deserve to be priz’d at a higher rate: For what can shew a Heart more indifferent and indiscreet, than to declare in any fashion, or with Mirth, or Joy, the tender things a Mistress says to a Lover, and which possibly, related at second hand, bear not the same Sense, because they have not the same Sound and Air they had originally, when they came from the soft Heart of her, who sigh’d ‘em first to her lavish Lover? Perhaps they are told again with Mirth, or Joy, unbecoming their Character and Business; and then they lose their Graces: (for Love is the most solemn thing in nature, and the most unsuiting with Gaiety.) Perhaps the soft Expressions suit not so well the harsher Voice of the masculine Lover, whose Accents were not form’d for so much Tenderness; at least, not of that sort: for Words that have the same Meaning, are alter’d from their Sense by the least tone or accent of the Voice; and those proper and fitted to my Soul, are not, possibly, so to yours, though both have the same Efficacy upon us; yours upon my Heart, as mine upon yours: and both will be misunderstood by the unjudging World. Beside this, there is a Holiness in Love that’s true, that ought not to be profan’d: And as the Poet truly says, at the latter end of an Ode, of which I will recite the whole;

The Invitation.

Aminta, _fear not to confess_
_The charming Secret of thy Tenderness:_
_That which a Lover can’t conceal,_
_That which, to me, thou shouldst reveal;_
_And is but what thy lovely Eyes express._
_Come, whisper to my panting Heart,_
_That heaves and meets thy Voice half-way;_
_That guesses what thou wouldst impart,_
_And languishes for what thou hast to say._
_Confirm my trembling Doubt, and make me know,_
_Whence all these Blessings, and these Sighings flow._

_Why dost thou scruple to unfold_
_A Mystery that does my Life concern?_
_If thou ne’er speakst, it will be told;_
_For Lovers all things can discern._
_From overy Look, from every bashful Grace,_
_That still succeed each other in thy Face,_
_I shall the dear transporting Secret learn:_
_But ‘tis a Pleasure not to be exprest,_ }
_To hear it by the Voice confest,_ }
_When soft Sighs breath it on my panting Breast._ }
_All calm and silent is the Grove,_
_Whose shading Boughs resist the Day;_
_Here thou mayst blush, and talk of Love,_
_While only Winds, unheeding, stay,_
_That will not bear the Sound away:_
_While I with solemn awful Joy,_
_All my attentive Faculties employ;_
_List’ning to every valu’d Word;_
_And in my Soul the secret Treasure hoard:_
_There like some Mystery Divine,_
_The wond’rous Knowledge I’ll enshrine._
_Love can his Joys no longer call his own,_
_Than the dear Secret’s kept unknown._

There is nothing more true than those two last Lines: and that Love ceases to be a Pleasure, when it ceases to be a Secret, and one you ought to keep sacred: For the World, which never makes a right Judgment of things, will misinterpret Love, as they do Religion; every one judging it, according to the Notion he has of it, or the Talent of his Sense. _Love_ (as a great Duke said) _is like Apparitions; every one talks of them, but few have seen ‘em_: Every body thinks himself capable of understanding Love, and that he is a Master in the Art of it; when there is nothing so nice, or difficult, to be rightly comprehended; and indeed cannot be, but to a Soul very delicate. Nor will he make himself known to the Vulgar: There must be an uncommon Fineness in the Mind that contains him; the rest he only visits in as many Disguises as there are Dispositions and Natures, where he makes but a short stay, and is gone. He can fit himself to all Hearts, being the greatest Flatterer in the World: And he possesses every one with a Confidence, that they are in the number of his Elect; and they think they know him perfectly, when nothing but the Spirits refined possess him in his Excellency. From this difference of Love, in different Souls, proceed those odd fantastick Maxims, which so many hold of so different kinds: And this makes the most innocent Pleasures pass oftentimes for Crimes, with the unjudging Croud, who call themselves Lovers: And you will have your Passion censur’d by as many as you shall discover it to, and as many several ways. I advise you therefore, _Damon_, to make no Confidents of your Amours; and believe, that Silence has, with me, the most powerful Charm.

’.is also in these Conversations, that those indiscreetly civil Persons often are, who think to oblige a good Man, by letting him know he is belov’d by some one or other; and making him understand how many good Qualities he is Master of, to render him agreeable to the Fair Sex, if he would but advance where Love and good Fortune call; and that a too constant Lover loses a great part of his Time, which might be manag’d to more advantage, since Youth hath so short a Race to run. This, and a thousand the like indecent Complaisances, give him a Vanity that suits not with that Discretion, which has hitherto acquir’d him so good a Reputation. I would not have you, _Damon_, act on these occasions, as many of the easy Sparks have done before you, who receive such Weakness and Flattery for Truth; and passing it off with a Smile, suffer ‘em to advance in Folly, till they have gain’d a Credit with ‘em, and they believe all they hear; telling ‘em they do so, by consenting Gestures, Silence, or open Approbation. For my part, I should not condemn a Lover that should answer such a sort of civil Brokers for Love, somewhat briskly; and by giving ‘em to understand they are already engag’d, or directing ‘em to Fools, that will possibly hearken to ‘em, and credit such Stuff, shame ‘em out of a Folly so infamous and disingenuous. In such a Case only I am willing you should own your Passion; not that you need tell the Object which has charm’d you: And you may say, you are already a Lover, without saying you are belov’d. For so long as you appear to have a Heart unengag’d, you are expos’d to all the little Arts and and Addresses of this sort of obliging Procurers of Love, and give way to the hope they have of making you their Proselyte. For your own Reputation then, and my Ease and Honour, shun such Conversations; for they are neither creditable to you, nor pleasing to me: And believe me, _Damon_, a true Lover has no Curiosity, but what concerns his Mistress.

FIVE o’.LOCK.

_Dangerous Visits._

I foresee, or fear, that these busy impertinent Friends will oblige you to visit some Ladies of their Acquaintance, or yours; my _Watch_ does not forbid you. Yet I must tell you, I apprehend Danger in such Visits; and I fear, you will have need of all your Care and Precaution, in these Encounters. That you may give me no cause to suspect you, perhaps you will argue, that Civility obliges you to it. If I were assur’d there would no other Design be carried on, I should believe it were to advance an amorous Prudence too far, to forbid you. Only keep yourself upon your guard; for the Business of most part of the Fair Sex, is, to seek only the Conquest of Hearts: All their Civilities are but so many Interests; and they do nothing without Design. And in such Conversations there is always a _Je ne scay quoy_, that is fear’d, especially when Beauty is accompanied with Youth and Gaiety; and which they assume upon all occasions that may serve their turn. And I confess, ‘tis not an easy matter to be just in these Hours and Conversations: The most certain way of being so, is to imagine I read all your Thoughts, observe all your Looks, and hear all your Words.

The Caution.

_My_ Damon, _if your Heart be kind,_
_Do not too long with Beauty stay;_
_For there are certain Moments when the Mind_
_Is hurry’d by the Force of Charms away._
_In Fate a Minute critical there lies,_
_That waits on Love, and takes you by Surprize._

_A Lover pleas’d with Constancy,_
_Lives still as if the Maid he lov’d were by:_
_As if his Actions were in view,_
_As if his Steps she did pursue;_
_Or that his very Soul she knew._
_Take heed; for though I am not present there,_
_My Love, my Genius waits you every where._

I am very much pleas’d with the Remedy, you say, you make use of to defend your self from the Attacks that Beauty gives your Heart; which in one of your Billets, you said was this, or to this purpose:

The Charm for Constancy.

Iris, _to keep my Soul entire and true,_
_It thinks, each Moment of the Day, on you._
_And when a charming Face I see,_
_That does all other Eyes incline,_
_It has no Influence on me:_
_I think it ev’n deform’d to thine._
_My Eyes, my Soul, and Sense, regardless move_
_To all, but the dear Object of my Love._

But, _Damon_, I know all Lovers are naturally Flatterers, tho’ they do not think so themselves; because every one makes a Sense of Beauty according to his own Fancy. But perhaps you will say in your own defence, That ‘tis not Flattery to say an unbeautiful Woman is beautiful, if he that says so believes she is so. I should be content to acquit you of the first, provided you allow me the last: And if I appear charming in _Damon’s_ eyes, I am not fond of the Approbation of any other. ‘Tis enough the World thinks me not altogether disagreeable, to justify his Choice; but let your good Opinion give what Increase it pleases to my Beauty, tho’ your Approbation give me a Pleasure, it shall not a Vanity; and I am contented that _Damon_ should think me a Beauty, without my believing I am one. ‘Tis not to draw new Assurances, and new Vows from you, that I speak this; though Tales of Love are the only ones we desire to hear often told, and which never tire the Hearers if addrest to themselves. But ‘tis not to this end I now seem to doubt what you say to my advantage: No, my Heart knows no Disguise, nor can dissemble one Thought of it to _Damon_; ‘tis all sincere, and honest as his Wish: ‘Tis therefore it tells you, it does not credit every thing you say; tho’ I believe you say abundance of Truths in a great part of my Character. But when you advance to that, which my own Sense, my Judgment, or my Glass cannot persuade me to believe, you must give me leave either to believe you think me vain enough to credit you, or pleas’d that your Sentiments and mine are differing in this point. But I doubt I may rather reply in some Verses, a Friend of yours and mine sent to a Person she thought had but indifferent Sentiments for her; yet, who nevertheless flatter’d her, because he imagin’d she had a very great Esteem for him. She is a Woman that, you know, naturally hates Flattery: On the other side she was extremely dissatisfy’d, and uneasy at his Opinion of his being more in her favour than she desir’d he should believe. So that one Night having left her full of Pride and Anger, she next Morning sent him these Verses, instead of a _Billetdoux_.

The Defiance.

_By Heaven ‘tis false, I am not vain;_
_And rather would the Subject be_
_Of your Indifference, or Disdain,_
_Than Wit or Raillery._
_Take back the trifling Praise you give,_
_And pass it on some easier Fool,_
_Who may the injuring Wit believe,_
_That turns her into ridicule._

_Tell her, she’s witty, fair and gay,_
_With all the Charms that can subdue:_
_Perhaps she’ll credit what you say;_
_But curse me if I do._

_If your Diversion you design,_
_On my Good-nature you have prest:_
_Or if you do intend it mine,_
_You have mistook the Jest._

Philander, _fly that guilty Art:_
_Your charming facile Wit will find,_
_It cannot play on any Heart,_
_That is sincere and kind._

_For Wit with Softness to reside,_
_Good-nature is with Pity stor’d;_
_But Flattery’s the result of Pride,_
_And fawns to be ador’d._

_Nay, even when you smile and bow,_
_’.is to be render’d more compleat:_
_Your Wit, with ev’ry Grace you shew,_
_Is but a popular Cheat._

_Laugh on, and call me Coxcomb--do;_
_And, your Opinion to improve,_
_Think, all you think of me is true;_
_And to confirm it, swear I love._

_Then, while you wreck my Soul with Pain,_
_And of a cruel Conquest boast,_
_’.is you,_ Philander, _that are vain,_
_And witty at my cost._

Possibly, the angry _Aminta_, when she writ these Verses, was more offended, that he believed himself belov’d, than that he flatter’d; tho’ she wou’d seem to make that a great part of the Quarrel, and Cause of her Resentment: For we are often in an humour to seem more modest in that point, than naturally we are; being too apt to have a favourable Opinion of our selves: And ‘tis rather the Effects of a Fear that we are flatter’d, than our own ill Opinion of the Beauty flatter’d; and that the Praiser thinks not so well of it, as we do our selves, or at least we wish he should. Not but there are Grains of Allowance for the Temper of him that speaks: One Man’s Humour is to talk much; and he may be permitted to enlarge upon the Praise he gives the Person he pretends to, without being accus’d of much Guilt. Another hates to be wordy; from such an one, I have known one soft Expression, one tender Thing, go as far as whole Days everlasting Protestations urged with Vows, and mighty Eloquence. And both the one and the other, indeed, must be allow’d in good manners, to stretch the Compliment beyond the bounds of nice Truth: and we must not wonder to hear a Man call a Woman a Beauty, when she is not ugly; or another a great Wit, if she have but common Sense above the Vulgar; well bred, when well drest; and good-natur’d, when civil. And as I should be very ridiculous, if I took all you said for absolute Truth; so I should be very unjust, not to allow you very sincere in almost all you said besides; and those things, the most material to Love, Honour and Friendship. And for the rest (_Damon_) be it true or false, this believe, you speak with such a Grace, that I cannot chuse but credit you; and find an infinite Pleasure in that Faith, because I love you: And if I cannot find the Cheat, I am contented you should deceive me on, because you do it so agreeably.

SIX o’.LOCK.

_Walk without Design._

You yet have time to walk; and my _Watch_ foresaw you cou’d not refuse your Friends. You must to the _Park_, or to the _Mall_; for the Season is fair and inviting, and all the young Beauties love those Places too well, not to be there. ‘Tis there that a thousand Intrigues are carry’d on, and as many more design’d: ‘Tis there that every one is set out for Conquest; and who aim at nothing less than Hearts. Guard yours well, my _Damon_; and be not always admiring what you see. Do not, in passing by, sigh them silent Praises. Suffer not so much as a guilty Wish to approach your Thoughts, nor a heedful Glance to steal from your fine Eyes: Those are Regards you ought only to have for her you love. But oh! above all, have a care of what you say: You are not reproachable, if you should remain silent all the time of your Walk; nor would those that know you believe it the Effects of Dulness, but Melancholy. And if any of your Friends ask you, Why you are so? I will give you leave to sigh, and say--

The Mal-Content.

_Ah! wonder not if I appear_
_Regardless of the Pleasures here;_
_Or that my Thoughts are thus confin’d_
_To the just Limits of my Mind._
_My Eyes take no delight to rove_
_O’er all the smiling Charmers of the Grove,_
_Since she is absent whom they love._

_Ask me not, Why the Flow’ry Spring,_
_Or the gay little Birds that sing,_
_Or the young Streams no more delight,_
_Or Shades and Arbours can’t invite?_
_Why the soft Murmurs of the Wind,_
_Within the thick-grown Groves confin’d,_
_No more my Soul transport, or cheer;_
_Since all that’s charming_--Iris, _is not here;_
_Nothing seems glorious, nothing fair._

_Then suffer me to wander thus,_
_With down-cast Eyes, and Arms across:_
_Let Beauty unregarded go;_
_The Trees and Flowers unheeded grow._
_Let purling Streams neglected glide;_
_With all the Spring’s adorning Pride._
_’.is_ Iris _only Soul can give_
_To the dull Shades, and Plains, and make ‘em thrive;_
_Nature and my last Joys retrieve._

I do not, for all this, wholly confine your Eyes: you may look indifferently on all, but with a particular regard on none. You may praise all the Beauties in general, but no single one too much. I will not exact from you neither an intire Silence: There are a thousand Civilities you ought to pay to all your Friends and Acquaintance; and while I caution you of Actions, that may get you the Reputation of a Lover of some of the Fair that haunt those Places, I would not have you, by an unnecessary and uncomplaisant Sullenness, gain that of a Person too negligent or morose. I would have you remiss in no one _Punctilio_ of good Manners. I would have you very just, and pay all you owe; but in these Affairs be not over generous, and give away too much. In fine, you may look, speak and walk; but (_Damon_) do it all without design: And while you do so, remember that _Iris_ sent you this Advice.

The Warning.

_Take heed, my_ Damon, _in the Grove,_
_Where Beauties with design do walk;_
_Take heed, my_ Damon, _how you look and talk,_
_For there are Ambuscades of Love._
_The very Winds that softly blow,_
_Will help betray your easy Heart;_
_And all the Flowers that blushing grow,_
_The Shades about, and Rivulets below,_
_Will take the Victor’s part._

_Remember,_ Damon, _all my Safety lies_
_In the just Conduct of your Eyes._
_The Heart, by Nature good and brave,_
_Is to those treacherous Guards a Slave._
_If they let in the fair destructive Foe,_
_Scarce Honour can defend her noble Seat:_
_Ev’n she will be corrupted too,_
_Or driv’n to a Retreat._
_The Soul is but the Cully to the Sight,_
_And must be pleas’d in what that takes delight._

Therefore examine your self well; and conduct your Eyes, during this Walk, like a Lover that seeks nothing: And do not stay too long in these Places.

SEVEN o’.LOCK.

_Voluntary Retreat._

’.is time to be weary, ‘tis Night: Take leave of your Friends and retire home. ‘Tis in this Retreat that you ought to recollect in your Thoughts all the Actions of the Day, and all those things that you ought to give me an account of, in your Letter: You cannot hide the least Secret from me, without Treason against sacred Love. For all the World agrees that Confidence is one of the greatest Proofs of the Passion of Love; and that Lover who refuses his Confidence to the Person he loves, is to be suspected to love but very indifferently, and to think very poorly of the Sense and Generosity of his Mistress. But that you may acquit your self like a Man, and a Lover of Honour, and leave me no doubt upon my Soul; think of all you have done this day, that I may have all the Story of it in your next Letter to me: but deal faithfully, and neither add nor diminish in your Relation; the Truth and Sincerity of your Confession will atone even for little Faults that you shall commit against me, in some of those things you shall tell me. For if you have fail’d in any Point or Circumstance of Love, I had much rather hear it from you than another: for ‘tis a sort of Repentance to accuse your self; and would be a Crime unpardonable, if you suffer me to hear it from any other: And be assur’d, while you confess it, I shall be indulgent enough to forgive you. The noblest Quality of Man is Sincerity; and (_Damon_) one ought to have as much of it in Love, as in any other Business of one’s Life, notwithstanding the most part of Men make no account of it there; but will believe there ought to be Double-dealing, and an Art practised in Love as well as in War. But, Oh! beware of that Notion.

Sincerity.

_Sincerity! thou greatest Good!_
_Thou Virtue which so many boast!_
_And art so nicely understood!_
_And often in the searching lost!_
_For when we do approach thee near,_
_The fine Idea fram’d of thee,_
_Appears not now so charming fair_
_As the more useful Flattery._
_Thou hast no Glist’ring to invite;_
_Nor tak’st the Lover at first sight._

_The modest Virtue shuns the Croud,_
_And lives, like Vestals, in a Cell;_
_In Cities ‘twill not be allow’d,_
_Nor takes delight in Courts to dwell;_
_’.is Nonsense with the Man of Wit;_
_And ev’n a Scandal to the Great:_
_For all the Young, and Fair, unfit;_
_And scorn’d by wiser Fops of State._
_A Virtue, yet was never known_
_To the false Trader, or the falser Gown._

_And_ (Damon) _tho’ thy noble Blood_
_Be most illustrious, and refin’d;_
_Tho’ ev’ry Grace and ev’ry Good_
_Adorn thy Person and thy Mind:_
_Yet, if this Virtue shine not there,_
_This God-like Virtue, which alone,_
_Wert thou less witty, brave, or fair,_
_Wou’d for all these, less priz’d, atone;_
_My tender Folly I’d controul,_
_And scorn the Conquest of thy Soul._

EIGHT o’.LOCK.

_Impatient Demands_.

After you have sufficiently recollected your self of all the past Actions of the Day, call your Page into your Cabinet, or him whom you trusted with your last Letter to me; where you ought to enquire of him a thousand things, and all of me. Ask impatiently, and be angry if he answers not your Curiosity soon enough: Think that he has a dreaming in his Voice, in these moments more than at other times; and reproach him with Dulness: For ‘tis most certain that when one loves tenderly, we would know in a minute, what cannot be related in an hour. Ask him, How I did? How I receiv’d his Letter? And if he examined the Air of my Face, when I took it? If I blush’d or looked pale? If my Hand trembled, or I spoke to him with short interrupting Sighs? If I asked him any Questions about you, while I was opening the Seal? Or if I could not well speak, and was silent? If I read it attentively, and with Joy? And all this, before you open the Answer I have sent you by him: which, because you are impatient to read, you, with the more haste and earnestness, demand all you expect from him; and that you may the better know what Humour I was in, when I writ that to you: For, Oh! a Lover has a thousand little Fears, and Dreads, he knows not why. In fine, make him recount to you all that past, while he was with me; and then you ought to read that which I have sent, that you may inform your self of all that passes in my Heart: for you may assure your self, all that I say to you that way proceeds from thence.

The Assurance.

_How shall a Lover come to know,_
_Whether he’s belov’d or no?_
_What dear things must she impart,_
_To assure him of her Heart?_
_Is it when her Blushes rise;_
_And she languish in her Eyes;_
_Tremble when he does approach;_
_Look pale, and faint at ev’ry Touch?_

_Is it, when a thousand ways_
_She does his Wit and Beauty praise;_
_Or she venture to explain,_
_In less moving Words, a Pain;_
_Tho’ so indiscreet she grows,_
_To confirm it with her Vows?_

_These some short-liv’d Passion moves,_
_While the Object’s by, she loves;_
_While the gay and sudden Fire_
_Kindles by some fond Desire:_
_And a Coldness will ensue,_
_When the Lover’s out of view._
_Then she reflects with Scandal o’er_
_The easy Scene that past before:_
_Then, with Blushes, would recal_
_The unconsid’ring Criminal;_
_In which a thousand Faults she’ll find,_
_And chide the Errors of her Mind._
_Such fickle weight is found in Words,_
_As no substantial Faith affords:_
_Deceiv’d and baffl’d all may be,_
_Who trust that frail Security._

_But a well-digested Flame,_
_That will always be the same;_
_And that does from Merit grow,_
_Establish’d by our Reason too;_
_By a better way will prove,_
_’.is th’ unerring Fire of Love._
_Lasting Records it will give:_
_And, that all she says may live;_
_Sacred and authentick stand,_
_Her Heart confirms it by her Hand._
_If this, a Maid, well born, allow;_
Damon, _believe her just and true._

NINE o’.LOCK.

_Melancholy Reflections._

You will not have much trouble to explain what my _Watch_ designs here. There can be no Thought more afflicting, than that of the Absence of a Mistress; and which the Sighings of the Heart will soon make you find. Ten thousand Fears oppress him; he is jealous of every body, and envies those Eyes and Ears that are charmed by being near the Object ador’d. He grows impatient, and makes a thousand Resolutions, and as soon abandons them all. He gives himself wholly up to the Torment of Incertainty; and by degrees, from one cruel Thought to another, winds himself up to insupportable Chagrin. Take this Hour then, to think on your Misfortunes, which cannot be small to a Soul that is wholly sensible of Love. And every one knows, that a Lover, deprived of the Object of his Heart, is deprived of all the World, and inconsolable: For tho’ one wishes without ceasing for the dear Charmer one loves, and tho’ you speak of her every minute; and tho’ you are writing to her every day, and tho’ you are infinitely pleas’d with the dear and tender Answers; yet, to speak sincerely, it must be confessed, that the Felicity of a true Lover is to be always near his Mistress. And you may tell me, O _Damon_! what you please; and say that Absence inspires the Flame, which perpetual Presence would satiate: I love too well to be of that mind, and when I am, I shall believe my Passion is declining. I know not whether it advances your Love; but surely it must ruin your Repose: And it is impossible to be, at once, an absent Lover, and happy too. For my part, I can meet with nothing that can please in the absence of _Damon_; but on the contrary I see all things with disgust. I will flatter my self, that ‘tis so with you; and that the least Evils appear great Misfortunes; and that all those who speak to you of any thing but of what you love, increase your Pain, by a new remembrance of her Absence. I will believe that these are your Sentiments, when you are assur’d not to see me in some weeks; and if your Heart do not betray your Words, all those days will be tedious to you. I would not, however, have your Melancholy too extreme; and to lessen it, you may persuade your self, that I partake it with you: for, I remember, in your last you told me, you would wish we should be both griev’d at the same time, and both at the same time pleas’d; and I believe I love too well not to obey you.

Love secur’d.

_Love, of all Joys, the sweetest is,_
_The most substantial Happiness;_
_The softest Blessing Life can crave,_
_The noblest Passion Souls can have._
_Yet, if no Interruption were,_
_No Difficulties came between,_
_’.wou’d not be render’d half so dear:_
_The Sky is gayest when small Clouds are seen._
_The sweetest Flower, the blushing Rose,_
_Amidst the Thorns securest grows._
_If Love were one continu’d Joy,_
_How soon the Happiness would cloy!_
_The wiser God did this foresee;_
_And to preserve the Bliss entire,_
_Mix’d it with Doubt and Jealousy,_
_Those necessary Fuels to the Fire;_
_Sustain’d the fleeting Pleasures with new Fears;_
_With little Quarrels, Sighs and Tears;_
_With Absence, that tormenting Smart,_
_That makes a Minute seem a Day,_
_A Day a Year to the impatient Heart,_
_That languishes in the Delay,_
_But cannot sigh the tender Pain away;_
_That still returns, and with a greater Force,_
_Thro’ ev’ry Vein it takes its grateful Course._
_But whatsoe’er the Lover does sustain,_
_Tho’ he still sigh, complain, and fear;_
_It cannot be a mortal Pain,_
_When Two do the Affliction bear._

TEN o’.LOCK.

_Reflections._

After the afflicting Thoughts of my Absence, make some Reflections on your Happiness. Think it a Blessing to be permitted to love me; think it so, because I permit it to you alone, and never could be drawn to allow it any other. The first thing you ought to consider, is, that at length I have suffer’d my self to be overcome, to quit that Nicety that is natural to me, and receive your Addresses; nay, thought ‘em agreeable: and that I have at last confess’d, the Present of your Heart is very dear to me. ‘Tis true, I did not accept of it the first time it was offer’d me, nor before you had told me a thousand times, that you could not escape expiring, if I did not give you leave to sigh for me, and gaze upon me; and that there was an absolute necessity for me, either to give you leave to love, or die. And all those Rigours my Severity has made you suffer, ought now to be recounted to your Memory, as Subjects of Pleasure; and you ought to esteem and judge of the Price of my Affections, by the Difficulties you found in being able to touch my Heart: Not but you have Charms that can conquer at first sight; and you ought not to have valu’d me less, if I had been more easily gain’d: But ‘tis enough to please you, to think and know I am gain’d; no matter when and how. When, after a thousand Cares and Inquietudes, that which we wish for succeeds to our Desires, the remembrance of those Pains and Pleasures we encounter’d in arriving at it, gives us a new Joy.

Remember also, _Damon_, that I have preferred you before all those that have been thought worthy of my Esteem; and that I have shut my Eyes to all their pleading Merits, and could survey none but yours.

Consider then, that you had not only the Happiness to please me, but that you only found out the way of doing it, and I had the Goodness at last to tell you so, contrary to all the Delicacy and Niceness of my Soul, contrary to my Prudence, and all those Scruples, you know, are natural to my Humour.

My Tenderness proceeded further, and I gave you innocent Marks of my new-born Passion, on all occasions that presented themselves: For, after that from my Eyes and Tongue you knew the Sentiments of my Heart, I confirm’d that Truth to you by my Letters. Confess, _Damon_, that if you make these Reflections, you will not pass this Hour very disagreeably.

Beginning Love.

_As free as wanton Winds I liv’d,_
_That unconcern’d do play:_
_No broken Faith, no Fate I griev’d;_
_No Fortune gave me Joy._
_A dull Content crown’d all my Hours,_
_My Heart no Sighs opprest;_
_I call’d in vain on no deaf Pow’rs,_
_To ease a tortur’d Breast._

_The sighing Swains regardless pin’d,_
_And strove in vain to please:_
_With pain I civilly was kind,_
_But could afford no Ease._
_Tho’ Wit and Beauty did abound,_
_The Charm was wanting still,_
_That could inspire the tender Wound,_
_Or bend my careless Will._

_Till in my Heart a kindling Flame_
_Your softer Sighs had blown;_
_Which I, with striving, Love and Shame,_
_Too sensibly did own._
_Whate’er the God before cou’d plead;_
_Whate’er the Youth’s Desert;_
_The feeble Siege in vain was laid_
_Against my stubborn Heart._

_At first my Sighs and Blushes spoke,_
_Just when your Sighs would rise;_
_And when you gaz’d, I wish’d to look,_
_But durst not meet your Eyes._
_I trembled when my Hand you press’d,_
_Nor cou’d my Guilt controul;_
_But Love prevail’d, and I confess’d_
_The Secrets of my Soul._

_And when upon the giving part,_
_My Present to avow,_
_By all the ways confirm’d my Heart,_
_That Honour wou’d allow;_
_Too mean was all that I could say,_
_Too poorly understood:_
_I gave my Soul the noblest way,_
_My Letters made it good._

You may believe I did not easily, nor suddenly, bring my Heart to this Condescension; but I lov’d, and all things in _Damon_ were capable of making me resolve so to do. I could not think it a Crime, where every Grace, and every Virtue justified my Choice: And when once one is assured of this, we find not much difficulty in owning that Passion which will so well commend one’s Judgment; and there is no Obstacle that Love does not surmount. I confess’d my Weakness a thousand ways, before I told it you; and I remember all those things with Pleasure, but yet I remember ‘em also with Shame.

ELEVEN o’.LOCK.

_Supper._

I Will believe, _Damon_, that you have been so well entertained during this Hour, and have found so much Sweetness in these Thoughts, that if one did not tell you that Supper waits, you would lose your self in Reflections so pleasing, many more Minutes. But you must go where you are expected; perhaps, among the fair, the young, the gay; but do not abandon your Heart to too much Joy, tho’ you have so much reason to be contented: but the greatest Pleasures are always imperfect, if the Object belov’d do not partake of it. For this reason be chearful and merry with reserve: Do not talk too much, I know you do not love it; and if you do it, ‘twill be the effect of too much Complaisance, or with some design of pleasing too well; for you know your own charming Power, and how agreeable your Wit and Conversation are to all the World. Remember, I am covetous of every Word you speak, that is not address’d to me, and envy the happy list’ner, if I am not by. And I may reply to you as _Aminta_ did to _Philander_, when he charged her of loving a Talker: and because, perhaps, you have not heard it, I will, to divert you, send it to you; and at the same time assure you, _Damon_, that your more noble Quality, of speaking little, has reduc’d me to a perfect Abhorrence of those wordy Sparks, that value themselves upon their ready and much talking upon every trivial Subject, and who have so good an Opinion of their Talent that way, they will let no body edge in a word, or a reply; but will make all the Conversation themselves, that they may pass for very entertaining Persons, and pure Company. But the Verses--

The Reformation.

Philander, _since you’ll have it so,_
_I grant I was impertinent;_
_And, till this Moment, did not know,_
_Thro’ all my Life what ‘twas I meant._
_Your kind Opinion was the flattering Glass,_
_In which my Mind found how deform’d it was._

_In your clear Sense, which knows no Art,_
_I saw the Errors of my Soul:_
_And all the Foibless of my Heart_
_With one Reflection you controul._
_Kind as a God, and gently you chastise:_
_By what you hate, you teach me to be wise._

_Impertinence, my Sex’s shame,_
_That has so long my Life pursu’d,_
_You with such Modesty reclaim,_
_As all the Women has subdu’d._
_To so Divine a Power what must I owe,_
_That renders me so like the perfect You?_

_That conversable Thing I hate,_
_Already, with a just Disdain,_
_That prides himself upon his Prate,_
_And is, of Words, that Nonsense, vain:_
_When in your few appears such Excellence,_
_As have reproach’d, and charm’d me into Sense._

_For ever may I list’ning sit,_
_Tho’ but each Hour a Word be born;_
_I would attend the coming Wit,_
_And bless what can so well inform._
_Let the dull World henceforth to Words be damn’d;_
_I’m into nobler Sense than Talking sham’d._

I believe you are so good a Lover, as to be of my Opinion; and that you will neither force your self against Nature, nor find much occasion to lavish out those excellent things that must proceed from you, whenever you speak. If all Women were like me, I should have more reason to fear your Silence than your Talk: for you have a thousand ways to charm without speaking, and those which to me shew a great deal more Concern. But, _Damon_, you know the greatest part of my Sex judge the fine Gentleman by the Volubility of his Tongue, by his Dexterity in Repartee, and cry--_Oh! he never wants fine things to say: He’s eternally talking the most surprizing things._ But, _Damon_, you are well assur’d, I hope, that _Iris_ is none of these _Coquets_: at least, if she had any spark of it once in her Nature, she is by the excellency of your contrary Temper taught to know, and scorn the folly: And take heed your Conduct never give me cause to suspect you have deceiv’d me in your Temper.

TWELVE o’.LOCK.

_Complaisance._

Nevertheless, _Damon_, Civility requires a little Complaisance after Supper; and I am assur’d, you can never want that, tho’ I confess, you are not accus’d of too general a Complaisance, and do not often make use of it to those Persons you have an Indifference for: tho’ one is not the less esteemable for having more of this than one ought: and tho’ an excess of it be a Fault, ‘tis a very excusable one. Have therefore some for those with whom you are: You may laugh with ‘em, drink with ‘em, dance or sing with ‘em; yet think of me. You may discourse of a thousand indifferent things with ‘em; and at the same time still think of me. If the Subject be any beautiful Lady, whom they praise, either for her Person, Wit, or Virtue, you may apply it to me: And if you dare not say it aloud, at least, let your Heart answer in this language:

_Yes, the fair Object, whom you praise,_
_Can give us Love a thousand ways;_
_Her Wit and Beauty charming are;_
_But still my_ Iris _is more fair._

No body ever spoke before me of a faithful Lover, but still I sigh’d, and thought of _Damon_: And ever when they tell me Tales of Love, any soft pleasing Intercourses of an Amour; Oh! with what Pleasures do I listen! and with Pleasure answer ‘em, either with my Eyes, or Tongue--

_That Lover may his_ Sylvia _warm,_
_But cannot, like my_ Damon, _charm._

If I have not all those excellent Qualities you meet with in those beautiful People, I am however very glad that Love prepossesses your Heart to my advantage: And I need not tell you, _Damon_, that a true Lover ought to persuade himself, that all other Objects ought to give place to her, for whom his Heart sighs--But see, my _Cupid_ tells you ‘tis One o’.lock, and that you ought not to be longer from your Apartment; where, while you are undressing, I will give you leave to say to your self--

The Regret.

_Alas! and must the Sun decline,_
_Before it have inform’d my Eyes_
_Of all that’s glorious, all that’s fine,_
_Of all I sigh for, all I prize?_
_How joyful were those happy Days,_
_When_ Iris _spread her charming Rays,_
_Did my unwearied Heart inspire_
_With never-ceasing awful Fire,_
_And e’ery Minute gave me new Desire!_
_But now, alas! all dead and pale,_
_Like Flow’rs that wither in the Shade:_
_Where no kind Sun-beams can prevail,_
_To raise its cold and fading Head,_
_I sink into my useless Bed._
_I grasp the senseless Pillow as I lie;_
_A thousand times, in vain, I sighing cry,_
_Ah! wou’d to Heaven my_ Iris _were as nigh._

ONE o’.LOCK.

_Impossibility to Sleep._

You have been up long enough; and _Cupid_, who takes care of your Health, tells you, ‘tis time for you to go to bed. Perhaps you may not sleep as soon as you are laid, and possibly you may pass an Hour in Bed, before you shut your Eyes. In this impossibility of sleeping, I think it very proper for you to imagine what I am doing where I am. Let your Fancy take a little Journey then, invisible, to observe my Actions and my Conduct. You will find me sitting alone in my Cabinet (for I am one that do not love to go to bed early) and will find me very uneasy and pensive, pleas’d with none of those things that so well entertain others. I shun all Conversation, as far as Civility will allow, and find no Satisfaction like being alone, where my Soul may, without interruption, converse with _Damon_. I sigh, and sometimes you will see my Cheeks wet with Tears, that insensibly glide down at a thousand Thoughts that present themselves soft and afflicting. I partake of all your Inquietude. On other things I think with indifference, if ever my Thoughts do stray from the more agreeable Object. I find, however, a little Sweetness in this Thought, that, during my Absence, your Heart thinks of me, when mine sighs for you. Perhaps I am mistaken, and that at the same time that you are the Entertainment of all my Thoughts, I am no more in yours; and perhaps you are thinking of those things that immortalize the Young and Brave, either by those Glories the Muses flatter you with, or that of _Bellona_, and the God of War; and serving now a Monarch, whose glorious Acts in Arms has out-gone all the feign’d and real Heroes of any Age, who has, himself, out-done whatever History can produce of great and brave, and set so illustrious an Example to the Under-World, that it is not impossible, as much a Lover as you are, but you are thinking now how to render your self worthy the Glory of such a God-like Master, by projecting a thousand things of Gallantry and Danger. And tho’, I confess, such Thoughts are proper for your Youth, your Quality, and the Place you have the honour to hold under our Sovereign, yet let me tell you, _Damon_, you will not be without Inquietude, if you think of either being a delicate Poet, or a brave Warrior; for _Love_ will still interrupt your Glory, however you may think to divert him either by writing or fighting. And you ought to remember these Verses:

Love and Glory.

_Beneath the kind protecting Laurel’s shade,_
_For sighing Lovers, and for Warriors made,_
_The soft_ Adonis, _and rough_ Mars _were laid._

_Both were design’d to take their Rest;_
_But_ Love _the gentle Boy opprest,_
_And false Alarms shook the stern Heroe’s Breast._

_This thinks to soften all his Toils of War,_
_In the dear Arms of the obliging Fair;_
_And that, by Hunting, to divert his Care._

_All Day, o’er Hills and Plains, wild Beasts he chas’d,_
_Swift as the flying Winds, his eager haste;_
_In vain, the God of Love pursues as fast._

_But oh! no Sports, no Toils, divertive prove,_
_The Evening still returns him to the Grove,_
_To sigh and languish for the Queen of Love:_

_Where Elegies and Sonnets he does frame,_
_And to the list’ning Echoes sighs her Name,_
_And on the Trees carves Records of his Flame._

_The Warrior in the dusty Camp all day_
_With rattling Drums and Trumpets, does essay_
_To fright the tender flatt’ring God away._

_But still, alas, in vain: whate’er Delight,_
_What Cares he takes the wanton Boy to fright,_
Love _still revenges it at night._

_’.is then he haunts the Royal Tent,_
_The sleeping Hours in Sighs are spent,_
_And all his Resolutions does prevent._

_In all his Pains,_ Love _mixt his Smart;_
_In every Wound he feels a Dart;_
_And the soft God is trembling in his Heart._

_Then he retires to shady Groves,_
_And there, in vain, he seeks Repose,_
_And strives to fly from what he cannot lose._

_While thus he lay,_ Bellona _came,_
_And with a gen’rous fierce Disdain,_
_Upbraids him with his feeble Flame._

_Arise, the World’s great Terror, and their Care;_
_Behold the glitt’ring Host from far,_
_That waits the Conduct of the God of War._

_Beneath these glorious Laurels, which were made_
_To crown the noble Victor’s Head,_
_Why thus supinely art thou laid?_

_Why on that Face, where awful Terror grew,_
_Thy Sun-parch’d Cheeks why do I view_
_The shining Tracks of falling Tears bedew?_

_What God has wrought these universal Harms?_
_What fatal Nymph, what fatal Charms,_
_Has made the Heroe deaf to War’s Alarms?_

_Now let the conqu’ring Ensigns up be furl’d:_
_Learn to be gay, be soft, and curl’d;_
_And idle, lose the Empire of the World._

_In fond effeminate Delights go on;_
_Lose all the Glories you have won:_
_Bravely resolve to love, and be undone._

_’.is thus the martial Virgin pleads;_
_Thus she the am’rous God persuades_
_To fly from_ Venus, _and the flow’ry Meads._