Chapter II

_Books give me no content at all;_
_Unless soft_ Cowly _entertain my Mind,_
_Then every pair in Love I find;_
Lysander _him_, Aminta _her, I call:_
_Till the bewitching Fewel raise the fire;_
_Which was design’d but to divert,_
_Then to cool Shades I ragingly retire,_
_To ease my hopeless panting Heart,_
_Yet thereto every thing begets desire._
_Each flowry Bed, and every loanly Grove,_
_Inspires new Wishes, new impatient Love._

[Sidenote A: Little Arts to please.]

Thus all the Night in vain I sought repose,
And early with the Sun next day, I rose;
Still more impatient grew my new desires,
To see again the Author of my Fires,
_Love_ leads me forth, to little [A]CARES we pass,
Where _Love_ instructed me _Aminta_ was;
Far from _Inquietude_ this Village stands,
And for its Beauty all the rest commands;
In all the _Isle of Love_, not one appears,
So ravishingly Gay as _Little Cares_.

Little CARES, _or Little Arts to please_.

I.

_Thither all the Amorous Youth repair,_
_To see the Objects of their Vows;_
_No Jealousies approach ‘em there;_
_They Banish Dulness and Despair;_
_And only Gayety and Mirth allow._
_The Houses cover’d o’re with flow’rs appear,_
_Like fragrant Arbours all the year,_
_Where all the dear, the live-long day,_
_In Musick, Songs, and Balls is past away:_
_All things are form’d for pleasure and delight,_
_Which finish not but with the Light;_
_But when the Sun returns again,_
_They hold with that bright God an equal Reign._

II.

_There no Reproaches dwell; that Vice_
_Is banisht with the Coy and Nice._
_The Froward there learn Complyance;_
_There the Dull Wise his Gravity forsakes,_
_The Old dispose themselves to Dance,_
_And Melancholy wakens from his Trance,_
_And against Nature sprightly Humour takes._
_The formal States-man does his Int’rest quit,_
_And learns to talk of Love and Wit;_
_There the Philosopher speaks Sense,_
_Such as his Mistress Eyes inspire;_
_Forgets his learned Eloquence,_
_Nor now compares his Flame to his own Chimick fire._