Upon this Promife did he raife his Chin,
Like a Dive-dapper peering thro a Wave,
Who being look'd on, ducks as quickly in:
So offers he to give what he did crave;

But when his Lips were ready for his Pay,
He winks and turns his Lips another Way.

Never did Paffenger, in Summer's Heat,
More thirst for Drink, than fhe for this good Turn;
Her Help the fees, but Help fhe cannot get,
She baths in Water, yet in Fire must burn.
Oh Pity, gan fhe cry, flint-hearted Boy!
'Tis but a Kifs I beg, why art thou coy?

I have been woo'd, as I intreat thee now,
Ev'n by the ftern and direful God of War,
Whofe finewy Neck in Battel ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes in every Jar:

Yet hath he been my Captive and my Slave,
And begg'd for that, which thou unask'd fhalt have.

Over my Altars hath he hung his Lance,
His batter'd Shield, his uncontrolled Creft;
And for my fake hath learn'd to fport and dance,
To coy, to wanton, dally, fmile and jeft;

Scorning his churlith Drum, and Enfign red,
Making my Arms his Field, his Tent my Bed.

Thus he, that over-rul'd, I over-fway'd;
Leading him Prisoner in a red-Rofe Chain.
Strong temper'd Steel, his ftronger Strength obey'd,
Yet was he fervile to my coy Difdain.

Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy Might,
For maftring her, that foil'd the God of Fight!

Touch

Touch but my Lips with those fair Lips of thine,
(Tho mine be not so fair, yet they are red)
The Kifs fhall be thine own, as well, as mine;
What feeft thou on the Ground? Hold up thy Head:
Look in mine Eye-balls, where thy Beauty lies,
Then why not Lips on Lips, fince Eyes on Eyes?

Art thou afham'd to kifs? Then wink again,
And I will wink, fo fhall the Day feem Night,
Love keeps his Revels, where there be but twain;
Be bold to play, our Sport is not in fight.

These blue-vein'd Violets, whereon we lean,
Never can blab, nor know they what we mean.

The tender Spring, upon thy tempting Lip,
Shews thee unripe; yet may'ft thou well be tafted:
Make ufe of Time, let not Advantage flip,
Beauty within it felf would not be wafted.

Fair Flowers, that are not gather'd in their Prime,
Rot and confume themfelves in little time.

Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled old,
Ill-natur'd, crooked, churlish, harfh in Voice,
O'erworn, defpifed, rheumatic and cold,
Thick-fighted, barren, lean, and lacking Juice:

Then mightst thou paufe, for then I were not for thee,
But, having no Defects, why doft abhor me?

Thou can'ft not fee one Wrinkle in my Brow,
Mine Eyes are grey, and bright, and quick in turning;
My Beauty, as the Spring, doth yearly grow;
My Flesh as foft and plump, my Marrow burning;
My fmooth moift Hand, were it with thy Hand felt,
Would in thy Palm diffolve, or feem to melt.

1

Bid me difcourfe, I will inchant thine Ear,
Or, like a Fairy, trip upon the Green;
Or, like a Nymph, with long difhevel'd Hair,
Dance on the Sands, and yet no footing feen.
Love is a Spirit all compact of Fire,

Not grofs to fink, but light, and will aspire.

Witness this Primrose Bank, whereon I lie,
The forceless Flowers, like fturdy Trees, fupport me :
Two ftrengthless Doves will draw me thro the Sky.
From Morn till Night, even where I lift to fport me.
Is Love fo light, fweet Boy, and may it be,
That thou shouldft think it heavy unto thee?

Is thine own Heart to thine own Face affected?
Can thy right Hand feize Love upon thy left?
Then wooe thy felf, be of thy self rejected,
Steal thine own Freedom, and complain of Theft.
Narciffus fo himself, himself forfook,

And dy'd to kiss his Shadow in the Brook.

Torches are made to light, Jewels to wear,.
Dainties to taste, fresh Beauty for the use,
Herbs for their Smell, and fappy Plants to bear;
Things growing to themselves are Growth's Abufe:
Seeds fpring from Seeds, and Beauty breedeth Beauty;
Thou wert begot, to get it is thy Duty.

Upon the Earth's Increase why fhouldft thou feed,
Unless the Earth with thy Increase be fed?
By Law of Nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live, when thou thy felf art dead :
And fo in fpight of Death, thou doft furvive,,
In that thy Likeness still is left alive..

By

By this the Love-fick Queen began to fweat,

For, where they lay, the Shadow had forfook them;
And Titan, tired in the Mid-day Heat,

With burning Eye did hotly overlook them:
Wishing Adonis had his Team to guide,

So he were like him, and by Venus Side.

And now Adonis with a lazy Spright,
And with a heavy, dark, difliking Eye,
His low'ring Brows o'erwhelming his fair Sight,
Like mifty Vapours, when they blot the Sky;
Souring his Cheeks, cries, Fie, no more of Love,
The Sun doth burn my Face, I must remove.

Ah me! (quoth Venus) young, and fo unkind!
What bare Excufes mak'ft thou to be gone?
I'll figh Celestial Breath, whofe gentle Wind
Shall cool the Heat of this defcending Sun.

I'll make a Shadow for thee of my Hairs,

If they burn too, I'll quench them with my Tears.

The Sun that fhines from Heaven fhines but warm,
And, loe, I lie between the Sun and thee!
The Heat I have from thence doth little harm,
Thine Eye darts forth the Fire that burneth me.

And, were I not immortal, Life were done,
Between this Heav'nly, and this Earthly Sun..

Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as Steel?
Nay more than Flint, for Stone at Rain relenteth :
Art thou a Woman's Son, and canft not feel
What 'tis to love, how want of Love tormenteth?

Oh! had thy Mother born fo bad a Mind,

She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.

What

Self highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle Hours, till I have honoured you with Some graver Labour. But if the first Heir of my Invention prove deformed, I ball be forry it had fo noble a Godfather, and never after ear Jo barren a Land, for fear it yield me still fo bad a Harveft. I leave it to your honourable Survey, and your Honour to your Heart's Content; which I wish may always answer your own Wifb, and the World's hopeful Expectation.