Chapter III

_But oh you shou’d excuse my soft complaint,_
_Even my wild Ravings too prefer,_
_I sigh, I burn, I weep, I faint,_
_And vent my Passions to the Air;_
_Whilst all my Torment, all my Care_
_Serves but to make you put new Graces on,_
_You Laugh, and Rally my despair,_
_Which to my Rivals renders you more fair;_
_And but the more confirms my being undone:_
_Sport with my Pain as gayly as you will,_
_My fond, my tender Heart adores you still._

My differing Passions thus, did never cease,
Till they had touch’d her Soul with tenderness;
My _Rivals_ now are banish’d by degrees, }
And with ‘em all my Fears and Jealousies; }
And all advanc’d, as if design’d to please. }

The City of LOVE.

In this vast Isle a famous _City_ stands,
Who for its Beauty all the rest Commands,
Built to delight the wondering Gazers Eyes,
Of all the World the great _Metropolis_.
Call’d by LOVE’s name: and here the Charming God,
When he retires to Pleasure, makes abode;
‘Tis here both Art and Nature strive to show, }
What Pride, Expence, and Luxury, can do, }
To make it Ravishing and Awful too: }
All Nations hourly thither do resort,
To add a splendour to this glorious Court;
The Young, the Old, the Witty, and the Wise,
The Fair, the Ugly, Lavish, and Precise;
Cowards and Braves, the Modest, and the Lowd,
Promiscuously are blended in the Crowd.
From distant Shoars young Kings their Courts remove,
To pay their Homage to the God of Love.
Where all their sacred awful Majesty,
Their boasted and their fond Divinity;
Loose their vast force; as lesser Lights are hid,
When the fierce God of Day his Beauties spread.
The wondering World for _Gods_ did _Kings_ adore,
Till _LOVE_ confirm’d ‘em Mortal by his Pow’r;
And in _Loves Court_, do with their Vassals live,
Without or _Homage_, or _Prerogative_:
Which the young _God_, not only Blind must show,
But as Defective in his Judgment too.

LOVE’s Temple.

Midst this Gay Court a famous Temple stands,
Old as the Universe which it commands;
For mighty _Love_ a sacred being had, }
Whilst yet ‘twas _Chaos_, e’re the World was made, }
And nothing was compos’d without his Aid. }
Agreeing _Attoms_ by his pow’r were hurl’d,
And _Love_ and _Harmony_ compos’d the World.
‘Tis rich, ‘tis solemn all! Divine yet Gay! }
From the Jemm’d Roof the dazling Lights display, }
And all below inform without the Aids of day. }
All Nations hither bring rich offerings,
And ‘tis endow’d with Gifts of Love-sick Kings.
Upon an Altar (whose unbounded store
Has made the Rifled Universe so poor,
Adorn’d with all the Treasure of the Seas,
More than the Sun in his vast course surveys)
Was plac’d the _God!_ with every Beauty form’d,
Of Smiling Youth, but Naked, unadorn’d.
His painted Wings displaid: His Bow laid by,
(For here _Love_ needs not his Artillery)
One of his little Hands aloft he bore,
And grasp’d a wounded Heart that burnt all o’re,
Towards which he lookt with lovely Laughing Eyes:
As pleas’d and vain, with the fond Sacrifice,
The other pointing downward seem’d to say,
_Here at my Feet your grateful Victims lay_,
Whilst in a Golden Tablet o’re his Head, }
In Diamond Characters this _Motto_ stood, }
_Behold the Pow’r that Conquers every GOD_. }
The Temple Gates are open Night and Day,
_Love’s_ Votaries at all hours Devotions pay,
A Priest of _Hymen_ gives attendance near,
But very rarely shows his Function here,
For Priest cou’d ne’r the Marriage-cheat improve,
Were there no other Laws, but those of Love!
A Slavery generous Heav’n did ne’r design,
Nor did its first lov’d Race of men confine;
A Trick, that Priest, whom Avarice cunning made,
Did first contrive, then sacred did perswade,
That on their numerous and unlucky Race,
They might their base got Wealth securely place.
Curse--cou’d they not their own loose Race inthral,
But they must spread the infection over all!
That Race, whose Brutal heat was grown so wild,
That even the Sacred Porches they defil’d;
And Ravisht all that for Devotion came,
Their Function, nor the Place restrains their flame.
But _Love’s_ soft Votaries no such injuries fear,
No pamper’d _Levits_ are in Pension here;
Here are no fatted Lambs to Sacrifice, }
No Oyl, fine Flower, or Wines of mighty price, }
The subtil Holy Cheats to Gormandize. }
_Love’s_ soft Religion knows no Tricks nor Arts,
All the Attoning Offerings here are Hearts.
The Mystery’s silent, without noyse or show, }
In which the Holy Man has nought to do, }
The Lover is both Priest and Victim too. }
Hither with little force I did perswade,
My lovely timorously yielding Maid,
Implor’d we might together Sacrifice,
And she agrees with Blushing down-cast Eyes;
‘Twas then we both our Hearts an Offering made,
Which at the Feet of the young _God_ we laid,
With equal Flames they Burnt; with equal Joy,
But with a Fire that neither did destroy;
Soft was its Force and Sympathy with them,
Dispers’d it self through every trembling Limb;
We cou’d not hide our tender new surprize,
We languisht and confest it with our Eyes;
Thus gaz’d we--when the Sacrifice perform’d,
We found our Hearts entire--but still they burn,
But by a Blessed change in taking back,
The lovely Virgin did her Heart mistake:
Her Bashful Eyes favour’d _Love’s_ great design,
I took her Burning Victim: and she mine.
Thus, _Lysidas_, without constraint or Art,
I reign’d the _Monarch_ of _Aminta’s_ Heart;
My great, my happy Title she allows,
And makes me Lord of all her tender Vows,
All my past Griefs in coming Joys were drown’d,
And with eternal Pleasure I was Crown’d;
My Blessed hours in the extream of Joy,
With my soft Languisher I still imploy;
When I am Gay, Love Revels in her Eyes,
When sad--there the young God all panting lies.
A thousand freedoms now she does impart, }
Shows all her tenderness dis-rob’d of Art, }
But oh this cou’d not satisfy my Heart. }
A thousand Anguishes that still contains,
It sighs, and heaves, and pants with pleasing pains.
We look, and Kiss, and Press with new desire,
Whilst every touch Blows the unusual Fire.
For _Love’s_ last _Mystery_ was yet conceal’d,
Which both still languisht for, both wisht reveal’d:
Which I prest on--and faintly she deny’d,
With all the weak efforts of dying Pride,
Which struggled long for Empire in her Soul,
Where it was wont to rule without controul.
But Conquering Love had got possession now,
And open’d every Sally to the Foe:
And to secure my doubting happiness,
Permits me to conduct her to the _Bow’r of Bliss_.
That Bow’r that does eternal Pleasures yield,
Where _Psyche_ first the _God of Love_ beheld:
But oh, in entering this so blest abode,
All Gay and Pleas’d as a Triumphing _God_,
I new unlook’d for difficulties meet,
Encount’ring _Honour_ at the sacred Gate.

HONOUR.

I.

_Honour’s a mighty Phantom! which around_
_The sacred Bower does still appear;_
_All Day it haunts the hallow’d ground._
_And hinders Lovers entering there._
_It rarely ever takes its flight,_
_But in the secret shades of night._
_Silence and gloom the charm can soonest end,_
_And are the luckyest hours to lay the Fiend,_
_Then ‘tis the Vision only will remove,_
_With Incantations of soft Vows of_ Love.

II.

_But as a God he’s Worshipt here,_
_By all the lovely, young, and fair,_
_Who all their kind desires controul,_
_And plays the Tyrant o’re the Soul:_
_His chiefest Attributes, are Pride and Spight,_
_His pow’r, is robbing Lovers of delight,_
_An Enemy to Humane kind,_
_But most to Youth severe;_
_As Age ill-natur’d, and as ignorance Blind,_
_Boasting, and Baffled too, as Cowards are;_
_Fond in opinion, obstinately Wise,_
_Fills the whole World with bus’ness and with noise._

III.

_Where wert thou born? from what didst thou begin?_
_And what strange Witchcraft brought thy Maxims in?_
_What hardy Fool first taught thee to the Crowd?_
_Or who the Duller Slaves that first believ’d?_
_Some Woman sure, ill-natur’d, old, and proud,_
_Too ugly ever to have been deceiv’d;_
_Unskill’d in Love; in Virtue, or in Truth,_
_Preach’d thy false Notions first, aud so debaucht our Youth._