The Works of Aphra Behn, ed. by Montague Summers

La Môntre: or, The Lover's Watch, 'Licensed 2 Aug. 1686. R.L.S.' is taken by Mrs. Behn from La Môntre of Balthazar de Bonnecorse. After having received an excellent education at Marseilles, where he was born, de Bonnecorse was appointed consul at Cairo, and later transferred to Sidon in the Levant. Whilst at Cairo he composed La Môntre, a mixture of prose and verse, which he sent to the great arbiter of Parisian taste, Georges de Scudéri, under whose care it was printed in 1666 at Paris. It was followed in 1671 by the second part, la Boëte et le Miroir, dedicated to the Duke de Vivonne. Upon his return to France, de Bonnecorse abridged La Môntre and put it wholly into verse, in which form it appears in his collected (yet incomplete) works, 'Chez Theodore Haak.' Leyden, 1720. Bonnecorse died at Marseilles in 1706. He is always piquant and graceful in his madrigals and songs, though both sentiment and verse have faded a little with the passing of time. Boileau immortalized him in Le Lutrin: la Môntre is one of the missiles the enraged canons hurl at each other's reverend pates: 'L'un prend l'Edit d'amour, l'autre en saisit la Môntre.' Bonnecorse's attempted parody on Le Lutrin, le Lutrigot (Marseille, 1686), is of no value, and brought a caustic epigram down on his head.

When I had ended this little unlaboured Piece, the Watch, I resolv'd to dedicate it to some One, whom I cou'd fancy, the nearest approacht the charming Damon. Many fine Gentlemen I had in view, of Wit and Beauty; but still, through their Education, or a natural Propensity to Debauchery, I found those Vertues wanting, that should compleat that delicate Character, Iris gives her Lover; and which, at first Thought of You, I found center'd there to Perfection.

Yes, Sir, I found You had all the Youth of Damon; without the forward noisy Confidence, which usually attends your Sex. You have all the attracting Beauty of my young Hero; all that can charm the Fair; without the Affectation of those, that set out for Conquests (though You make a Thousand, without knowing it, or the Vanity of believing it.) You have our Damon's Wit with all his agreeable Modesty: Two Vertues that rarely shine together: And the last makes You conceal the noble Sallies of the first, with that Industry and Care, You wou'd an Amour: And You wou'd no more boast of either of these, than of your undoubted Bravery.

You are (like our Lover too) so discreet, that the bashful Maid may, without Fear or Blushing, venture the soft Confession of the Soul with You; reposing the dear Secret in Yours, with more Safety than with her own Thoughts. You have all the Sweetness of Youth, with the Sobriety and Prudence of Age. You have all the Power of the gay Vices of Man; but the Angel in your Mind, has subdu'd you to the Vertues of a God! And all the vicious and industrious Examples of the roving Wits of the mad Town, have only served to give You the greater Abhorrence to Lewdness. And You look down with Contempt and Pity on that wretched unthinking Number, who pride themselves in their mean Victories over little Hearts; and boast their common Prizes with that Vanity, that declares 'em capable of no higher Joy, than that of the Ruin of some credulous Unfortunate: And no Glory like that, of the Discovery of the brave Achievement, over the next Bottle, to the Fool that shall applaud 'em.

How does the Generosity, and Sweetness of your Disposition despise these false Entertainments, that turns the noble Passion of Love into Ridicule, and Man into Brute.

Methinks I cou'd form another Watch (that should remain a Pattern to succeeding Ages) how divinely you pass your more sacred Hours, how nobly and usefully You divide your Time: in which, no precious minute is lost, not one glides idly by; but all turns to wondrous Account. And all Your Life is one continu'd Course of Vertue and Honour. Happy the Parents that have the Glory to own You! Happy the Man, that has the Honour of your Friendship! But, oh! How much more happy the fair She, for whom you shall sigh! Which surely, can never be in vain.

There will be such a Purity in Your Flame: All You ask will be so chaste and noble, and utter'd with a Voice so modest, and a Look so charming, as must, by a gentle Force, compel that Heart to yield, that knows the true Value of Wit, Beauty, and Vertue.

Since then, in all the Excellencies of Mind and Body (where no one Grace is wanting) you so resemble the All-perfect Damon, suffer me to dedicate this Watch to You. It brings You nothing but Rules for Love; delicate as Your Thoughts, and innocent as Your Conversation. And possibly, 'tis the only Vertue of the Mind, You are not perfectly Master of; the only noble Mystery of the Soul, You have not yet studied. And though they are Rules for every Hour, You will find, they will neither rob Heaven, nor Your Friends of ther Due; those so valuable Devoirs of Your Life; They will teach You Love; but Love, so pure, and so devout, that You may mix it, even with Your Religion; and I know, Your fine Mind can admit of no other. When ever the God enters there (fond and wanton as he is, full of Arts and Guiles) he will be reduc'd to that Native Innocency, that made him so ador'd, before inconstant Man corrupted his Divinity, and made him wild and wandring. How happy will Iris's Watch be, to inspire such a Heart! How honour'd under the Patronage of so excellent a Man! Whose Wit will credit, whose Goodness will defend it; and whose noble and vertuous Qualities so justly merit the Character Iris has given Damon: And which is believed so very much your Due, by

Sir,
Your most Obliged, and
Most Humble Servant,
A. Behn.

Charles Cotton.

N. Tate.

Rich. Faerrar.

G. J.

Geo. Jenkins.

'Tis in the most happy and august Court of the best and greatest Monarch of the World, that Damon, a young Nobleman, whom we will render under that Name, languishes for a Maid of Quality, who will give us leave to call her Iris.

Their Births are equally illustrious; they are both rich, and both young; their Beauty such as I dare not too nicely particularize, lest I should discover (which I am not permitted to do) who these charming Lovers are. Let it suffice, that Iris is the most fair and accomplisht Person that ever adorn'd a Court; and that Damon is only worthy of the Glory of her Favour; for he has all that can render him lovely in the fair Eyes of the amiable Iris. Nor is he Master of those superficial Beauties alone, that please at first sight; he can charm the Soul with a thousand Arts of Wit and Gallantry. And, in a word, I may say, without flattering either, that there is no one Beauty, no one Grace, no Perfection of Mind and Body, that wants to compleat a Victory on both sides.

The agreement of Age, Fortunes, Quality and Humours in the two fair Lovers, made the impatient Damon hope, that no thing would oppose his Passion; and if he saw himself every hour languishing for the adorable Maid, he did not however despair: And if Iris sigh'd, it was not for fear of being one day more happy.

In the midst of the Tranquillity of these two Lovers, Iris was obliged to go into the Country for some Months, whither 'twas impossible for Damon to wait on her, he being oblig'd to attend the King his Master; and being the most amorous of his Sex, suffer'd with extreme Impatience the Absence of his Mistress. Nevertheless, he fail'd not to send to her every day, and gave up all his melancholy Hours to Thinking, Sighing, and Writing to her the softest Letters that Love could inspire. So that Iris even blessed that Absence that gave her so tender and convincing Proofs of his Passion; and found this dear way of Conversing, even recompensed all her Sighs for his Absence.

After a little Intercourse of this kind, Damon bethought himself to ask Iris a Discretion which he had won of her before she left the Town; and in a Billetdoux to that purpose, prest her very earnestly for it. Iris being infinitely pleas'd with his Importunity, suffer'd him to ask it often; and he never fail'd of doing so.

But as I do not here design to relate the Adventures of these two amiable Persons, nor to give you all the Billet-doux that past between them; you shall here find nothing but the Watch this charming Maid sent her impatient Lover.

It must be confest, Damon, that you are the most importuning Man in the World. Your Billets have a hundred times demanded a Discretion, which you won of me; and tell me, you will not wait my Return to be paid. You are either a very faithless Creditor, or believe me very unjust, that you dun with such impatience. But to let you see that I am a Maid of Honour, and value my Word, I will acquit my self of this Obligation I have to you, and send you a Watch of my fashion; perhaps you never saw any so good. It is not one of those that have always something to be mended in it: but one that is without fault, very just and good, and will remain so as long as you continue to love me: But Damon, know, the very Minute you cease to do so, the String will break, and it will go no more. 'Tis only useful in my Absence, and when I return 'twill change its Motion: and though I have set it but for the Spring-time, 'twill serve you the whole Year round: and 'twill be necessary only that you alter the Business of the Hours (which my Cupid, in the middle of my Watch, points you out) according to the length of the Days and Nights. Nor is the Dart of that little God directed to those Hours, so much to inform you how they pass, as how you ought to pass them; how you ought to employ those of your Absence from Iris. 'Tis there you shall find the whole Business of a Lover, from his Mistress; for I have design'd it a Rule to all your Actions. The Consideration of the Work-man ought to make you set a Value upon the Work: And though it be not an accomplisht and perfect piece; yet, Damon, you ought to be grateful and esteem it, since I have made it for you alone. But however I may boast of the Design, I know, as well as I believe you love me, that you will not suffer me to have the Glory of it wholly, but will say in your Heart,

I give you the Liberty to say this to your Heart, if you please: And that you may know with what Justice you do so, I will confess in my turn.

The Confession.

And, Damon, you, know that Love is no ill Master; and I must say, with a Blush, that he has found me no unapt Scholar; and he instructs too agreeably not to succeed in all he undertakes.

But I ought to explain to you my Watch: The naked Love which you will find in the middle of it, with his Wings clipp'd, to shew you he is fixed and constant, and will not fly away, points you out with his Arrow the four and twenty Hours that compose the Day and the Night: Over every Hour you will find written what you ought to do, during its Course; and every Half-hour is marked with a Sigh, since the quality of a Lover is, to sigh day and night: Sighs are the Children of Lovers, that are born every Hour. And that my Watch may always be just, Love himself ought to conduct it; and your Heart should keep time with the Movement:

Every Hour is tedious to a Lover separated from his Mistress: and to shew you how good I am, I will have my Watch instruct you, to pass some of them without Inquietude; that the force of your Imagination may sometimes charm the Trouble you have for my Absence:

But I will not disturb my Repose at this time with a Jealousy, which I hope is altogether frivolous and vain; but begin to instruct you in the Mysteries of my Watch. Cast then your Eyes upon the eighth Hour in the Morning, which is the Hour I would have you begin to wake: you will find there written,

Agreeable Reverie.

Do not rise yet; you may find Thoughts agreeable enough, when you awake, to entertain you longer in Bed. And 'tis in that Hour you ought to recollect all the Dreams you had in the Night. If you had dream'd any thing to my advantage, confirm your self in that thought; but if to my disadvantage, renounce it, and disown the injurious Dream. 'Tis in this Hour also that I give you leave to reflect on all that I have ever said and done, that has been most obliging to you, and that gives you the most tender Sentiments.

The Reflections.

And for what's to come, I give you leave, Damon, to flatter your self, and to expect, I shall still pursue those Methods, whose Remembrance charms so well: But, if it be possible, conceive these kind Thoughts between sleeping and waking, that all my too forward Complaisance, my Goodness, and my Tenderness, which I confess to have for you, may pass for Half Dreams: for 'tis most certain,

For, let me tell you, Damon, tho' the Passion of a Woman of Honour be ever so innocent, and the Lover never so discreet and honest; her Heart feels I know not what of Reproach within, at the reflection of any Favours she has allow'd him. For my part, I never call to mind the least soft or kind Word I have spoken to Damon, without finding at the same instant my Face cover'd over with Blushes, and my Heart with sensible Pain. I sigh at the Remembrance of every Touch I have stolen from his Hand, and have upbraided my Soul, which confesses so much guilty Love, as that secret Desire of touching him made appear. I am angry at the Discovery, though I am pleas'd at the same time with the Satisfaction I take in doing so; and ever disorder'd at the Remembrance of such Arguments of too much Love. And these unquiet Sentiments alone are sufficient to persuade me, that our Sex cannot be reserv'd too much. And I have often, on these occasions, said to my self,

The Reserve.

Design to please no body.

I should continue to accuse you of that Vice I have often done, that of Laziness, if you remain'd past this Hour in bed: 'tis time for you to rise; my Watch tells you 'tis nine o'clock. Remember that I am absent, therefore do not take too much pains in dressing your self, and setting your Person off.

The Question.

Say to your self, as you are dressing, 'Would it please Heaven, that I might see Iris to-day! But oh! 'tis impossible: Therefore all that I shall see will be but indifferent Objects, since 'tis Iris only that I wish to see.' And sighing, whisper to your self:

The Sigh.

'Tis with these Thoughts, Damon, that your Mind ought to be employ'd, during your time of Dressing. And you are too knowing in Love, to be ignorant,

Reading of Letters.

My Cupid points you now to the Hour in which you ought to retire into your Cabinet, having already past an Hour in Dressing: and for a Lover, who is sure not to appear before his Mistress, even that Hour is too much to be so employ'd. But I will think, you thought of nothing less than Dressing while you were about it. Lose then no more Minutes, but open your Scrutore, and read over some of those Billets you have received from me. Oh! what Pleasures a Lover feels about his Heart, in reading those from a Mistress he entirely loves!

The Joy.

However you find'em, Damon, construe 'em all to my advantage: Possibly, some of them have an Air of Coldness, something different from that Softness they are usually too amply fill'd with; but where you find they have, believe there, that the Sense of Honour, and my Sex's Modesty, guided my Hand a little against the Inclinations of my Heart; and that it was as a kind of an Atonement, I believed I ought to make, for something I feared I had said too kind, and too obliging before. But where-ever you find that Stop, that Check in my Career of Love, you will be sure to find something that follows it to favour you, and deny that unwilling Imposition upon my Heart; which, lest you should mistake, Love shews himself in Smiles again, and flatters more agreeably, disdaining the Tyranny of Honour and rigid Custom, that Imposition on our Sex; and will, in spite of me, let you see he reigns absolutely in my Soul.

The reading my Billetdoux may detain you an Hour: I have had so much Goodness to write you enow to entertain you for so long at least, and sometimes reproach my self for it; but, contrary to all my Scruples, I find my self disposed to give you those frequent Marks of my Tenderness. If yours be so great as you express it, you ought to kiss my Letters a thousand times; you ought to read them with Attention, and weigh every Word, and value every Line. A Lover may receive a thousand endearing Words from a Mistress, more easily than a Billet. One says a great many kind things of course to a Lover, which one is not willing to write, or to give testify'd under one's Hand, signed and sealed. But when once a Lover has brought his Mistress to that degree of Love, he ought to assure himself, she loves not at the common rate.

Love's Witness.

I will not doubt, but you give credit to all that is kind in my Letters; and I will believe, you find a Satisfaction in the Entertainment they give you, and that the Hour of reading 'em is not disagreeable to you. I could wish, your Pleasure might be extreme, even to the degree of suffering the Thought of my Absence not to diminish any part of it. And I could wish too, at the end of your Reading, you would sigh with Pleasure, and say to your self—

The Transport.

With this little Rapture, I wish you wou'd finish the reading my Letters, shut your Scrutore, and quit your Cabinet; for my Love leads to eleven o'clock.

The Hour to write in.

If my Watch did not inform you 'tis now time to write, I believe, Damon, your Heart wou'd, and tell you also that I should take it kindly, if you would employ a whole Hour that way; and that you should never lose an Occasion of writing to me, since you are assured of the Welcome I give your Letters. Perhaps you will say, an Hour is too much, and that 'tis not the mode to write long Letters. I grant you, Damon, when we write those indifferent ones of Gallantry in course, or necessary Compliment; the handsome comprizing of which in the fewest Words, renders 'em the most agreeable: But in Love we have a thousand foolish things to say, that of themselves bear no great Sound, but have a mighty Sense in Love; for there is a peculiar Eloquence natural alone to a Lover, and to be understood by no other Creature: To those, Words have a thousand Graces and Sweetnesses; which, to the Unconcerned, appear Meanness, and easy Sense, at the best. But, Damon, you and I are none of those ill Judges of the Beauties of Love; we can penetrate beyond the Vulgar, and perceive the fine Soul in every Line, thro' all the humble Dress of Phrase; when possibly they who think they discern it best in florid Language, do not see it at all. Love was not born or bred in Courts, but Cottages; and, nurs'd in Groves and Shades, smiles on the Plains, and wantons in the Streams; all unador'd and harmless. Therefore, Damon, do not consult your Wit in this Affair, but Love alone; speak all that he and Nature taught you, and let the fine Things you learn in Schools alone: Make use of those Flowers you have gather'd there, when you converst with States-men and the Gown. Let Iris possess your Heart in all its simple Innocence, that's the best Eloquence to her that loves: and that is my Instruction to a Lover that would succeed in his Amours; for I have a Heart very difficult to please, and this is the nearest way to it.

Advice to Lovers.

O Damon! How well have you made me understand this soft Pleasure! You know my Tenderness too well, not to be sensible how I am charmed with your agreeable long Letters.

The Invention.

It is an Art too ingenious to have been found out by Man, and too necessary to Lovers, not to have been invented by the God of Love himself. But, Damon, I do not pretend to exact from you those Letters of Gallantry, which, I have told you, are filled with nothing but fine Thoughts, and writ with all the Arts of Wit and Subtilty: I would have yours still all tender unaffected Love, Words unchosen, Thoughts unstudied, and Love unfeign'd. I had rather find more Softness than Wit in your Passion; more of Nature than of Art; more of the Lover than the Poet.

Nor would I have you write any of those little short Letters, that are read over in a Minute; in Love, long Letters bring a long Pleasure: Do not trouble your self to make 'em fine, or write a great deal of Wit and Sense in a few Lines; that is the Notion of a witty Billet, in any Affair but that of Love. And have a care rather to avoid these Graces to a Mistress; and assure your self, dear Damon, that what pleases the Soul pleases the Eye, and the Largeness or Bulk of your Letter shall never offend me; and that I only am displeased when I find them small. A Letter is ever the best and most powerful Agent to a Mistress, it almost always persuades, 'tis always renewing little Impressions, that possibly otherwise Absence would deface. Make use then, Damon, of your Time while it is given you, and thank me that I permit you to write to me: Perhaps I shall not always continue in the Humour of suffering you to do so; and it may so happen, by some turn of Chance and Fortune, that you may be deprived, at the same time, both of my Presence, and of the Means of sending to me. I will believe that such an Accident would be a great Misfortune to you, for I have often heard you say, that, 'To make the most happy Lover suffer Martyrdom, one need only forbid him Seeing, Speaking and Writing to the Object he loves.' Take all the Advantages then you can, you cannot give me too often Marks too powerful of your Passion: Write therefore during this Hour, every Day. I give you leave to believe, that while you do so, you are serving me the most obligingly and agreeably you can, while absent; and that you are giving me a Remedy against all Grief, Uneasiness, Melancholy, and Despair; nay, if you exceed your Hour, you need not be asham'd. The Time you employ in this kind Devoir, is the Time that I shall be grateful for, and no doubt will recompense it. You ought not however to neglect Heaven for me; I will give you time for your Devotion, for my Watch tells you 'tis time to go to the Temple.

Indispensible Duty.

There are certain Duties which one ought never to neglect: That of adoring the Gods is of this nature; and which we ought to pay, from the bottom of our Hearts: And that, Damon, is the only time I will dispense with your not thinking on me. But I would not have you go to one of those Temples, where the celebrated Beauties, and those that make a profession of Gallantry, go; and who come thither only to see, and be seen; and whither they repair, more to shew their Beauty and Dress, than to honour the Gods. If you will take my advice, and oblige my wish, you shall go to those that are least frequented, and you shall appear there like a Man that has a perfect Veneration for all things Sacred.

The Instruction.

Forc'd Entertainment.

I Perceive it will be very difficult for you to quit the Temple, without being surrounded with Compliments from People of Ceremony, Friends, and Newsmongers, and several of those sorts of Persons, who afflict and busy themselves, and rejoice at a hundred things they have no Interest in; Coquets and Politicians, who make it the Business of their whole Lives, to gather all the News of the Town; adding or diminishing according to the Stock of their Wit and Invention, and spreading it all abroad to the believing Fools and Gossips; and perplexing every body with a hundred ridiculous Novels, which they pass off for Wit and Entertainment; or else some of those Recounters of Adventures, that are always telling of Intrigues, and that make a Secret to a hundred People of a thousand foolish things they have heard: Like a certain pert and impertinent Lady of the Town, whose Youth and Beauty being past, sets up for Wit, to uphold a feeble Empire over idle Hearts; and whose Character is this:

The Coquet.

This sort of Creature, Damon, is very dangerous; not that I fear you will squander away a Heart upon her, but your Hours; for in spight of you, she'll detain you with a thousand Impertinencies, and eternal Tattle. She passes for a judging Wit; and there is nothing so troublesome as such a Pretender. She, perhaps, may get some knowledge of our Correspondence; and then, no doubt, will improve it to my Disadvantage. Possibly she may rail at me; that is her fashion by the way of friendly Speaking; and an aukward Commendation, the most effectual way of Defaming and Traducing. Perhaps she tells you, in a cold Tone, that you are a happy Man to be belov'd by me: That Iris indeed is handsome, and she wonders she has no more Lovers; but the Men are not of her mind; if they were, you should have more Rivals. She commends my Face, but that I have blue Eyes, and 'tis pity my Complexion is no better: My Shape but too much inclining to fat. Cries—She would charm infinitely with her Wit, but that she knows too well she is Mistress of it. And concludes,—But all together she is well enough.—Thus she runs on without giving you leave to edge in a word in my defence; and ever and anon crying up her own Conduct and Management: Tells you how she is opprest with Lovers, and fatigu'd with Addresses; and recommending her self, at every turn, with a perceivable Cunning: And all the while is jilting you of your good Opinion; which she would buy at the price of any body's Repose, or her own Fame, tho' but for the Vanity of adding to the number of her Lovers. When she sees a new Spark, the first thing she does, she enquires into his Estate; if she find it such as may (if the Coxcomb be well manag'd) supply her Vanity, she makes advances to him, and applies her self to those little Arts she usually makes use of to gain her Fools; and according to his Humour dresses and affects her own. But, Damon, since I point to no particular Person in this Character, I will not name who you shall avoid; but all of this sort I conjure you, wheresoever you find 'em. But if unlucky Chance throw you in their way, hear all they say, without credit or regard, as far as Decency will suffer you; hear 'em without approving their Foppery; and hear 'em without giving 'em cause to censure you. But 'tis so much Time lost to listen to all the Novels this sort of People will perplex you with; whose Business is to be idle, and who even tire themselves with their own Impertinencies. And be assur'd after all there is nothing they can tell you that is worth your knowing. And Damon, a perfect Lover never asks any News but of the Maid he loves.

The Enquiry.

Dinner-Time.

Leave all those fond Entertainments, or you will disoblige me, and make Dinner wait for you; for my Cupid tells you 'tis that Hour. Love does not pretend to make you lose that; nor is it my Province to order you your Diet. Here I give you a perfect Liberty to do what you please; and possibly, 'tis the only Hour in the whole four and twenty that I will absolutely resign you, or dispense with your even so much as thinking on me. 'Tis true, in seating your self at Table, I would not have you placed over-against a very beautiful Object; for in such a one there are a thousand little Graces in Speaking, Looking, and Laughing that fail not to charm, if one gives way to the Eyes, to gaze and wander that way; in which, perhaps, in spight of you, you will find a Pleasure: And while you do so, tho' without design or concern, you give the fair Charmer a sort of Vanity, in believing you have placed your self there, only for the advantage of looking on her; and she assumes a hundred little Graces and Affectations which are not natural to her, to compleat a Conquest, which she believes so well begun already. She softens her Eyes, and sweetens her Mouth; and in fine, puts on another Air than when she had no Design, and when you did not, by your continual looking on her, rouze her Vanity, and encrease her easy Opinion of her own Charms. Perhaps she knows I have some Interest in your Heart, and prides her self, at least, with believing she has attracted the Eyes of my Lover, if not his Heart; and thinks it easy to vanquish the whole, if she pleases; and triumphs over me in her secret Imaginations. Remember, Damon, that while you act thus in the Company and Conversation of other Beauties, every Look or Word you give in favour of 'em, is an Indignity to my Reputation; and which you cannot suffer if you love me truly, and with Honour: and assure your self, so much Vanity as you inspire in her, so much Fame you rob me of; for whatever Praises you give another Beauty, so much you take away from mine. Therefore, if you dine in Company, do as others do: Be generally civil, not applying your self by Words or Looks to any particular Person: Be as gay as you please: Talk and laugh with all, for this is not the Hour for Chagrin.

The Permission.

Visits to Friends.

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.

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.

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. 'Twould 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.

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.

'Tis 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Voluntary Retreat.

'Tis 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

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—

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'Clock, 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.

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.

You see here that Poets and Warriors are oftentimes in affliction, even under the Shades of their protecting Laurels; and let the Nymphs and Virgins sing what they please to their memory, under the Myrtles, and on flowery Beds, they are much better Days than in the Campagne. Nor do the Crowns of Glory surpass those of Love: The first is but an empty Name, which is won, kept and lost with Hazard; but Love more nobly employs a brave Soul, and all his Pleasures are solid and lasting; and when one has a worthy Object of one's Flame, Glory accompanies Love too. But go to sleep, the Hour is come; and 'tis now that your Soul ought to be entertain'd in Dreams.

Conversation in Dreams.

I doubt not but you will think it very bold and arbitrary, that my Watch should pretend to rule even your sleeping Hours, and that my Cupid should govern your very Dreams; which are but Thoughts disordered, in which Reason has no part; Chimera's of the Imagination, and no more. But tho' my Watch does not pretend to Counsel unreasonably, yet you must allow it here, if not to pass the Bounds, at least to advance to the utmost Limits of it. I am assur'd, that after having thought so much of me in the Day, you will think of me also in the Night. And the first Dream my Watch permits you to make, is to think you are in Conversation with me.

Imagine, Damon, that you are talking to me of your Passion, with all the Transport of a Lover, and that I hear you with Satisfaction; that all my Looks and Blushes, while you are speaking, give you new Hopes and Assurances; that you are not indifferent to me; and that I give you a thousand Testimonies of my Tenderness, all innocent and obliging.

While you are saying all that Love can dictate, all that Wit and good Manners can invent, and all that I wish to hear from Damon, believe in this Dream, all flattering and dear, that after having shewed me the Ardour of your Flame, I confess to you the Bottom of my Heart, and all the loving Secrets there; that I give you Sigh for Sigh, Tenderness for Tenderness, Heart for Heart, and Pleasure for Pleasure. And I would have your Sense of this Dream so perfect, and your Joy so entire, that if it happen you should awake with the Satisfaction of this Dream, you should find your Heart still panting with the soft Pleasure of the dear deceiving Transport, and you should be ready to cry out,

For such, I wish, my Damon, your sleeping and your waking Thoughts should render me to your Heart.

Capricious Suffering in Dreams.

It is but just to mix a little Chagrin with these Pleasures, a little Bitter with your Sweet; you may be cloy'd with too long an Imagination of my Favours: and I will have your Fancy in Dreams represent me to it, as the most capricious Maid in the World. I know, here you will accuse my Watch, and blame me with unnecessary Cruelty, as you will call it: but Lovers have their little Ends, their little Advantages, to pursue by Methods wholly unaccountable to all, but that Heart which contrives 'em: And, as good a Lover as I believe you, you will not enter into my Design at first sight; and tho', on reasonable Thoughts, you will be satisfied with this Conduct of mine, at its first Approach you will be ready to cry out—

The Request.

Some such Complaint as this I know you will make; but, Damon, if the little Quarrels of Lovers render the reconciling Moments so infinitely charming, you must needs allow, that these little Chagrin in capricious Dreams must awaken you to more Joy to find 'em but Dreams, than if you had met with no Disorder there. 'Tis for this reason that I would have you suffer a little Pain for a coming Pleasure; nor, indeed is it possible for you to escape the Dreams my Cupid points you out. You shall dream that I have a thousand Foibles, something of the lightness of my Sex; that my Soul is employ'd in a thousand Vanities; that (proud and fond of Lovers) I make advances for the Glory of a Slave, without any other Interest or Design than that of being ador'd. I will give you leave to think my Heart fickle, and that, far from resigning it to any one, I lend it only for a Day, or an Hour, and take it back at pleasure; that I am a very Coquet, even to Impertinence.

All this I give you leave to think, and to offend me: but 'tis in sleep only that I permit it; for I would never pardon you the least Offence of this nature, if in any other Kind than in a Dream. Nor is it enough Affliction to you, to imagine me thus idly vain; but you are to pass on to a hundred more capricious Humours: as that I exact of you a hundred unjust Things; that I pretend you should break off with all your Friends, and for the future have none at all; that I will myself do those Things, which I violently condemn in you; and that I will have for others, as well as you, that tender Friendship that resembles Love, or rather that Love which People call Friendship; and that I will not, after all, have you dare complain on me.

In fine, be as ingenious as you please to torment your self; and believe, that I am become unjust, ungrateful, and insensible: But were I so indeed, O Damon! consider your awaking Heart, and tell me, would your Love stand the proof of all these Faults in me? But know, that I would have you believe I have none of these Weaknesses, tho' I am not wholly without Faults, but those will be excusable to a Lover; and this Notion I have of a perfect one:

Jealousy in Dreams.

Do not think, Damon, to wake yet; for I design you shall yet suffer a little more: Jealousy must now possess you, that Tyrant over the Heart, that compels your very Reason, and seduces all your Good-Nature. And in this Dream you must believe That in sleeping, which you could not do me the injustice to do when awake. And here you must explain all my Actions to the utmost disadvantage: Nay, I will wish, that the Force of this Jealousy may be so extreme, that it may make you languish in Grief, and be overcome with Anger.

You shall now imagine, that one of your Rivals is with me, interrupting all you say, or hindering all you would say; that I have no Attention to what you say aloud to me, but that I incline mine Ear to hearken to all that he whispers to me. You shall repine, that he pursues me every where, and is eternally at your heels if you approach me; that I caress him with Sweetness in my Eyes, and that Vanity in my Heart, that possesses the Humours of almost all the Fair; that is, to believe it greatly for my Glory to have abundance of Rivals for my Lovers. I know you love me too well not to be extreamely uneasy in the Company of a Rival, and to have one perpetually near me; for let him be belov'd or not by the Mistress, it must be confess'd, a Rival is a very troublesome Person. But, to afflict you to the utmost, I will have you imagine that my Eyes approve of all his Thoughts; that they flatter him with Hopes; and that I have taken away my Heart from you, to make a Present of it to this more lucky Man. You shall suffer, while possess'd with this Dream, all that a cruel Jealousy can make a tender Soul suffer.

The Torment.

In fine, it is a Passion that ruffles all the Senses, and disorders the whole Frame of Nature. It makes one hear and see what was never spoke, and what never was in view. 'Tis the Bane of Health and Beauty, an unmannerly Intruder; and an Evil of Life worse than Death. She is a very cruel Tyrant in the Heart; she possesses and pierces it with infinite Unquiets; and we may lay it down as a certain Maxim—

I speak too sensibly of this Passion, not to have lov'd well enough to have been touch'd with it: And you shall be this unhappy Lover Damon, during this Dream, in which nothing shall present it self to your tumultuous Thoughts, that shall not bring its Pain. You shall here pass and repass a hundred Designs, that shall confound one another. In fine, Damon, Anger, Hatred, and Revenge, shall surround your Heart.

Quarrels in Dreams.

I perceive you are not able to suffer all this Injustice, nor can I permit it any longer: and tho' you commit no Crime yourself, yet you believe in this Dream, that I complain of the Injuries you do my Fame; and that I am extreamely angry with a Jealousy so prejudicial to my Honour. Upon this belief you accuse me of Weakness; you resolve to see me no more, and are making a thousand feeble Vows against Love. You esteem me as a false one, and resolve to cease loving the vain Coquet, and will say to me, as a certain Friend of yours said to his false Mistress:

The Inconstant.

'Tis thus you will think of me: And in fine, Damon, during this Dream, we are in perpetual State of War.

And if we shall never be free, till we acquit one another, this Tye between you and I, Damon, is likely to last as long as we live; therefore in vain you endeavour, but can never attain your End; and in conclusion you will say, in thinking of me:

Do not be angry then, for this afflicting Hour is drawing to an end, and you ought not to despair of coming into my absolute Favour again,

Accommodation in Dreams.

Tho' the angry Lovers force themselves, all they can, to chase away the troublesom Tenderness of the Heart, in the height of their Quarrels, Love sees all their Sufferings, pities and redresses 'em: And when we begin to cool, and a soft Repentance follows the Chagrin of the Love-Quarrel, 'tis then that Love takes the advantage of both Hearts, and renews the charming Friendship more forcibly than ever, puts a stop to all our Feuds, and renders the peace-making Minutes the most dear and tender part of our Life. How pleasing 'tis to see your Rage dissolve! How sweet, how soft is every Word that pleads for pardon at my Feet! 'Tis there that you tell me, your very Sufferings are over paid, when I but assure you from my Eyes, that I will forget your Crime: And your Imagination shall here present me the most sensible of your past Pain, that you can wish; and that all my Anger being vanisht, I give you a thousand Marks of my Faith and Gratitude; and lastly, to crown all, that we again make new Vows to one another of inviolable Peace:

Enjoy then all the Pleasures that a Heart that is very amorous, and very tender, can enjoy. Think no more on those Inquietudes that you have suffer'd; bless Love for his Favours, and thank me for my Graces: and resolve to endure any thing, rather than enter upon any new Quarrels. And however dear the reconciling Moments are, there proceeds a great deal of Evil from these little frequent Quarrels; and I think the best Counsel we can follow, is to avoid 'em as near as we can: And if we cannot, but that, in spite of Love and good Understanding, they should break out, we ought to make as speedy a Peace as possible; for 'tis not good to grate the Heart too long, lest it grow harden'd insensibly, and lose its native Temper. A few Quarrels there must be in Love: Love cannot support it self without 'em: and, besides the Joy of an Accommodation, Love becomes by it more strongly united, and more charming. Therefore let the Lover receive this as a certain Receipt against declining Love:

Love reconcil'd.

Divers Dreams.

Behold, Damon, the last Hour of your Sleep, and of my Watch. She leaves you at Liberty now, and you may chuse your Dreams: Trust 'em to your Imaginations, give a Loose to Fancy, and let it rove at will, provided, Damon, it be always guided by a respectful Love. For thus far I pretend to give bounds to your Imagination, and will not have it pass beyond 'em: Take heed, in sleeping, you give no ear to a flatt'ring Cupid, that will favour your slumb'ring Minutes with Lyes too pleasing and vain: You are discreet enough when you are awake; will you not be so in Dreams?

Damon, awake; my Watch's Course is done: after this, you cannot be ignorant of what you ought to do during my Absence. I did not believe it necessary to caution you about Balls and Comedies; you know, a Lover depriv'd of his Mistress, goes seldom there. But if you cannot handsomely avoid these Diversions, I am not so unjust a Mistress, to be angry with you for it; go, if Civility, or other Duties oblige you: I will only forbid you, in consideration of me, not to be too much satisfy'd with those Pleasures; but see 'em so, as the World may have reason to say, you do not seek them, you do not make a Business or Pleasure of them; and that 'tis Complaisance, and not Inclination, that carries you thither. Seem rather negligent than concern'd at any thing there; and let every part of you say, Iris is not here—

I say nothing to you neither of your Duty elsewhere; I am satisfy'd you know it too well; and have too great a Veneration for your glorious Master, to neglect any part of that for even Love it self. And I very well know how much you love to be eternally near his illustrious Person; and that you scarce prefer your Mistress before him, in point of Love: In all things else, I give him leave to take place of Iris in the noble Heart of Damon.

I am satisfy'd you pass your time well now at Windsor, for you adore that Place; and 'tis not, indeed, without great reason: for 'tis most certainly now render'd the most glorious Palace in the Christian World. And had our late Gracious Sovereign, of blessed Memory, had no other Miracles and Wonders of his Life and Reign to have immortaliz'd his Fame (of which there shall remain a thousand to Posterity) this noble Structure alone, this Building (almost Divine) would have eterniz'd the great Name of Glorious Charles II. till the World moulder again to its old Confusion, its first Chaos. And the Paintings of the famous Varrio, and noble Carvings of the unimitable Gibbon, shall never die, but remain to tell succeeding Ages, that all Arts and Learning were not confin'd to antient Rome and Greece, but that England too could boast its mightiest Share. Nor is the Inside of this magnificent Structure, immortaliz'd with so many eternal Images of the illustrious Charles and Katharine, more to be admired than the wondrous Prospects without. The stupendous Heighth, on which the famous Pile is built, renders the Fields, and flowery Meads below, the Woods, the Thickets, and the winding Streams, the most delightful Object that ever Nature produc'd. Beyond all these, and far below, in an inviting Vale, the venerable College, an old, but noble Building, raises it self, in the midst of all the Beauties of Nature, high-grown Trees, fruitful Plains, purling Rivulets, and spacious Gardens, adorn'd with all Variety of Sweets that can delight the Senses.

At farther distance yet, on an Ascent almost as high as that to the Royal Structure, you may behold the famous and noble Clifdon rise, a Palace erected by the illustrious Duke of Buckingham, who will leave this wondrous Piece of Architecture, to inform the future World of the Greatness and Delicacy of his Mind; it being for its Situation, its Prospects, and its marvellous Contrivances, one of the finest Villa's of the World; at least, were it finish'd as begun; and would sufficiently declare the magnifick Soul of the Hero that caus'd it to be built, and contriv'd all its Fineness. And this makes up not the least part of the beautiful Prospect from the Palace Royal, while on the other side lies spread a fruitful and delightful Park and Forest well stor'd with Deer, and all that makes the Prospect charming; fine Walks, Groves, distant Valleys, Downs and Hills, and all that Nature could invent, to furnish out a quiet soft Retreat for the most fair and most charming of Queens, and the most Heroick, Good, and Just of Kings: And these Groves alone are fit and worthy to divert such earthly Gods.

Nor can Heaven, Nature, or human Art contrive an Addition to this earthly Paradise, unless those great Inventors of the Age, Sir Samuel Morland, or Sir Robert Gorden, cou'd by the power of Engines, convey the Water so into the Park and Castle, as to furnish it with delightful Fountains, both useful and beautiful. These are only wanting, to render the Place all Perfection, and without Exception.

This, Damon, is a long Digression from the Business of my Heart; but, you know I am so in love with that charming Court, that when you gave me an occasion, by your being there now, but to name the Place, I could not forbear transgressing a little, in favour of its wondrous Beauty; and the rather, because I would, in recounting it, give you to understand how many fine Objects there are, besides the Ladies that adorn it, to employ your vacant Moments in; and I hope you will, without my Instructions, pass a great part of your idle time in surveying these Prospects, and give that Admiration you should pay to living Beauty, to those more venerable Monuments of everlasting Fame.

Neither need I, Damon, assign you your waiting Times: your Honour, Duty, Love, and Obedience, will instruct you when to be near the Person of the King; and, I believe, you will omit no part of that Devoir. You ought to establish your Fortune and your Glory: for I am not of the mind of those critical Lovers, who believe it a very hard matter to reconcile Love and Interest, to adore a Mistress, and serve a Master at the same Time. And I have heard those, who on this Subject, say, Let a Man be never so careful in these double Duties, 'tis ten to one but he loses his Fortune or his Mistress. These are Errors that I condemn: And I know that Love and Ambition are not incompatible, but that a brave Man may preserve all his Duties to his Sovereign, and his Passion and his Respect for his Mistress. And this is my Notion of it.

Love and Ambition.

Such a Passion, Damon, can never make you quit any Part of your Duty to your Prince. And the Monarch you serve is so gallant a Master, that the Inclination you have to his Person obliges you to serve him, as much as your Duty; for Damon's loyal Soul loves the Man, and adores the Monarch: for he is certainly all that compels both, by a charming Force and Goodness, from all Mankind.

The KING.

But I will stop the low Flight of my humble Muse, who when she is upon the wing, on this glorious Subject, knows no Bounds. And all the World has agreed to say so much of the Virtues and Wonders of this great Monarch, that they have left me nothing new to say; tho' indeed he every Day gives us new Themes of his growing Greatness, and we see nothing that equals him in our Age. Oh! how happy are we to obey his Laws; for he is the greatest of Kings, and the best of Men!

You will be very unjust, Damon, if you do not confess I have acquitted my self like a Maid of Honour, of all the Obligations I owe you, upon the account of the Discretion I lost to you. If it be not valuable enough, I am generous enough to make it good: And since I am so willing to be just, you ought to esteem me, and to make it your chiefest Care to preserve me yours; for I believe I shall deserve it, and wish you should believe so too. Remember me, write to me, and observe punctually all the Motions of my Watch: The more you regard it, the better you will like it; and whatever you think of it at first sight, 'tis no ill Present. The Invention is soft and gallant; and Germany, so celebrated for rare Watches, can produce nothing to equal this.

Expect not, Oh charming Iris! that I should chuse Words to thank you in; (Words, that least Part of Love, and least the Business of the Lover) but will say all, and every thing that a tender Heart can dictate, to make an Acknowledgment for so dear and precious a Present as this of your charming Watch: while all I can say will but too dully express my Sense of Gratitude, my Joy, and the Pleasure I receive in the mighty Favour. I confess the Present too rich, too gay, and too magnificent for my Expectation: and tho' my Love and Faith deserve it, yet my humbler Hope never durst carry me to a Wish of so great a Bliss, so great an Acknowledgment from the Maid I adore. The Materials are glorious, the Work delicate, and the Movement just, and even gives Rules to my Heart, who shall observe very exactly all that the Cupid remarks to me; even to the Minutes, which I will point with Sighs, tho' I am obliged to 'em there but every half Hour.

You tell me, fair Iris, that I ought to preserve it tenderly, and yet you have sent it me without a Case. But that I may obey you justly, and keep it dear to me, as long as I live, I will give it a Case of my Fashion: It shall be delicate, and suitable to the fine Present; of such Materials too. But because I would have it perfect, I will consult your admirable Wit and Invention in an Affair of so curious a Consequence.

I design to give it the Figure of the Heart. Does not your Watch, Iris, rule the Heart? It was your Heart that contrived it, and 'twas your Heart you consulted in all the Management of it; and 'twas your Heart that brought it to so fine a Conclusion. The Heart never acts without Reason, and all the Heart projects, it performs with Pleasure.

Your Watch, my lovely Maid, has explain'd to me a World of rich Secrets of Love: And where should Thoughts so sacred be stored, but in the Heart, where all the Secrets of the Soul are treasur'd up, and of which only Love alone can take a view? 'Tis thence he takes his Sighs and Tears, and all his little Flatteries and Arts to please; all his fine Thoughts, and all his mighty Raptures; nothing is so proper as the Heart to preserve it, nothing so worthy as the Heart to contain it: and it concerns my Interest too much, not to be infinitely careful of so dear a Treasure: And believe me, charming Iris, I will never part with it.

The Votary.

After having told you, my lovely Iris, that I design to put your Watch into a Heart, I ought to shew you the Ornaments of the Case. I do intend to have 'em crown'd Cyphers: I do not mean those Crowns of Vanity, which are put indifferently on all sorts of Cyphers; no, I must have such as may distinguish mine from the rest, and may be true Emblems of what I would represent. My four Cyphers therefore shall be crown'd with these four Wreaths, of Olive, Laurel, Myrtle, and Roses: and the Letters that begin the Names of Iris and Damon shall compose the Cyphers; tho' I must intermix some other Letters that bear another Sense, and have another Signification.

The first Cypher is compos'd of an I and a D, which are join'd by an L and an E; which signifies Love Extreme. And 'tis but just, Oh adorable Iris! that Love should be mixt with our Cyphers, and that Love alone should be the Union of 'em.

Without this charming Union, our Souls could not communicate those invisible Sweetnesses, which compleat the Felicity of Lovers, and which the most tender and passionate Expressions are too feeble to make us comprehend. But, my adorable Iris, I am contented with the vast Pleasure I feel in loving well, without the care of expressing it well; if you will imagine my Pleasure, without expressing it: For I confess, 'twould be no Joy to me to adore you, if you did not perfectly believe I did adore you. Nay, tho' you lov'd me, if you had no Faith in me, I should languish, and love in as much Pain, as if you scorn'd; and at the same time believ'd I dy'd for you: For surely, Iris, 'tis a greater Pleasure to please than to be pleas'd; and the glorious Power of Giving is infinitely a greater Satisfaction, than that of Receiving: there is so Great and God-like a Quality in it. I would have your Belief therefore equal to my Passion, extreme; as indeed all Love should be, or it cannot bear that Divine Name: it can pass but for an indifferent Affection. And these Cyphers ought to make the World find all the noble Force of delicate Passion: for, Oh my Iris! what would Love signify, if we did not love fervently? Sisters and Brothers love; Friends and Relations have Affections: but where the Souls are join'd, which are fill'd with eternal soft Wishes, Oh! there is some Excess of Pleasure, which cannot be express'd!

Your Looks, your dear obliging Words, and your charming Letters, have sufficiently persuaded me of your Tenderness; and you might surely see the Excess of my Passion by my Cares, my Sighs, and entire Resignation to your Will. I never think of Iris, but my Heart feels double Flames, and pants and heaves with double Sighs; and whose Force makes its Ardours known, by a thousand Transports: And they are very much to blame, to give the Name of Love to feeble easy Passions. Such transitory tranquil Inclinations are at best but Well-wishers to Love; and a Heart that has such Heats as those, ought not to put it self into the Rank of those nobler Victims that are offer'd at the Shrine of Love. But our Souls, Iris, burn with a more glorious Flame, that lights and conducts us beyond a Possibility of losing one another. 'Tis this that flatters all my Hopes; 'tis this alone makes me believe my self worthy of Iris: And let her judge of its Violence, by the Greatness of its Splendour.

Does not a Passion of this nature, so true, so ardent, deserve to be crown'd? And will you wonder to see, over this Cypher, a Wreath of Myrtles, those Boughs so sacred to the Queen of Love, and so worshipp'd by Lovers? 'Tis with these soft Wreaths, that those are crown'd, who understand how to love well and faithfully.

Is crown'd with Olives; and I add to the two Letters of our Names an R and an L, for Reciprocal Love. Every time that I have given you, O lovely Iris, Testimonies of my Passion, I have been so blest, as to receive some from your Bounty; and you have been pleased to flatter me with a Belief, that I was not indifferent to you. I dare therefore say, that being honour'd with the Glory of your Tenderness and Care, I ought, as a Trophy of my illustrious Conquest, to adorn the Watch with a Cypher that is so advantageous to me. Ought I not to esteem my self the most fortunate and happy of Mankind, to have exchanged my Heart with so charming and admirable a Person as Iris? Ah! how sweet, how precious is the Change; and how vast a Glory arrives to me from it! Oh! you must not wonder if my Soul abandon it self to a thousand Extasies! In the Merchandize of Hearts, Oh, how dear it is to receive as much as one gives; and barter Heart for Heart! Oh! I would not receive mine again, for all the Crowns the Universe contains! Nor ought you, my Adorable, make any Vows or Wishes, ever to retrieve yours; or shew the least Repentance for the Blessing you have given me. The Exchange we made, was confirm'd by a noble Faith; and you ought to believe, you have bestow'd it well, since you are paid for it a Heart that is so conformable to yours, so true, so just, and so full of Adoration: And nothing can be the just Recompence of Love, but Love: and to enjoy the true Felicity of it, our Hearts ought to keep an equal Motion; and, like the Scales of Justice, always hang even.

'Tis the Property of Reciprocal Love, to make the Heart feel the Delicacy of Love, and to give the Lover all the Ease and Softness he can reasonably hope. Such a Love renders all things advantageous and prosperous: Such a Love triumphs over all other Pleasures. And I put a Crown of Olives over the Cypher of Reciprocal Love, to make known, that two Hearts, where Love is justly equal, enjoy a Peace that nothing can disturb.

The C and the L, which are join'd to the Letters of our Names in this Cypher crown'd with Laurel, explains a Constant Love. It will not, my fair Iris, suffice, that my Love is extreme, my Passion violent, and my Wishes fervent, or that our Loves are reciprocal; but it ought also to be constant: for in Love, the Imagination is oftner carried to those things that may arrive, and which we wish for, than to things that Time has robbed us of. And in those agreeable Thoughts of Joys to come, the Heart takes more delight to wander, than in all those that are past; tho' the Remembrance of 'em be very dear, and very charming. We should be both unjust, if we were not persuaded we are possest with a Virtue, the Use of which is so admirable as that of Constancy. Our Loves are not of that sort that can finish, or have an end; but such a Passion, so perfect, and so constant, that it will be a Precedent for future Ages, to love perfectly; and when they would express an extreme Passion, they will say, They lov'd, as Damon did the charming Iris. And he that knows the Glory of constant Love, will despise those fading Passions, those little Amusements, that serve for a Day. What Pleasure or Dependance can one have in a Love of that sort? What Concern? What Raptures can such an Amour produce in a Soul? And what Satisfaction can one promise one's self in playing with a false Gamester; who tho' you are aware of him, in spite of all your Precaution, puts the false Dice upon you, and wins all?

Constant Love finds it self impossible to be shaken; it resists the Attacks of Envy, and a thousand Accidents that endeavour to change it: Nothing can disoblige it but a known Falseness, or Contempt: Nothing can remove it; tho' for a short moment it may lie sullen and resenting, it recovers, and returns with greater Force and Joy. I therefore, with very good reason, crown this Cypher of Constant Love with a Wreath of Laurel; since such Love always triumphs over Time and Fortune, tho' it be not her Property to besiege: for she cannot overcome, but in defending her self; but the Victories she gains are never the less glorious.

Perhaps, my lovely Maid, you will not find out what I mean by the S and the L, in this last Cypher, that is crown'd with Roses. I will therefore tell you, I mean Secret Love. There are very few People who know the Nature of that Pleasure, which so divine a Love creates: And let me say what I will of it, they must feel it themselves, who would rightly understand it, and all its ravishing Sweets. But this there is a great deal of Reason to believe, that the Secrecy in Love doubles the Pleasures of it. And I am so absolutely persuaded of this, that I believe all those Favours that are not kept secret, are dull and pall'd, very insipid and tasteless Pleasures: And let the Favours be never so innocent that a Lover receives from a Mistress, she ought to value 'em, set a price upon 'em, and make the Lover pay dear; while he receives 'em with Difficulty, and sometimes with Hazard. A Lover that is not secret, but suffers every one to count his Sighs, has at most but a feeble Passion, such as produces sudden and transitory Desires, which die as soon as born: A true Love has not this Character; for whensoever 'tis made publick, it ceases to be a Pleasure, and is only the Result of Vanity. Not that I expect our Loves should always remain a Secret: No, I should never, at that rate, arrive to a Blessing, which, above all the Glories of the Earth, I aspire to; but even then there are a thousand Joys, a thousand Pleasures that I shall be as careful to conceal from the foolish World, as if the whole Preservation of that Pleasure depended on my Silence; as indeed it does in a great measure.

To this Cypher I put a Crown of Roses, which are not Flowers of a very lasting Date. And 'tis to let you see, that 'tis impossible Love can be long hid. We see every Day, with what fine Dissimulation and Pains, People conceal a thousand Hates and Malices, Disgusts, Disobligations, and Resentments, without being able to conceal the least part of their Love: but Reputation has an Odour as well as Roses; and a Lover ought to esteem that as the dearest and tenderest thing: not only that of his own, which is, indeed, the least part; but that of his Mistress, more valuable to him than Life. He ought to endeavour to give People no occasion to make false Judgments of his Actions, or to give their Censures; which most certainly are never in the Favour of the Fair Person: for likely, those false Censurers are of the busy Female Sex, the Coquets of that number; whose little Spites and Railleries, join'd to that fancy'd Wit they boast of, sets 'em at odds with all the Beautiful and Innocent. And how very little of that kind serves to give the World a Faith, when a thousand Virtues, told of the same Persons, by more credible Witnesses and Judges, shall pass unregarded! so willing and inclin'd is all the World to credit the Ill, and condemn the Good! And yet, Oh! what pity 'tis we are compell'd to live in Pain, to oblige this foolish scandalous World! And tho' we know each other's Virtue and Honour, we are oblig'd to observe that Caution (to humour the talking Town) which takes away so great a part of the Pleasure of Life! 'Tis therefore that among those Roses, you will find some Thorns; by which you may imagine, that in Love, Precaution is necessary to its Secrecy: And we must restrain our selves, upon a thousand occasions, with so much Care, that, Oh Iris! 'tis impossible to be discreet, without Pain; but 'tis a Pain that creates a thousand Pleasures.

Ah, charming Iris! Ah, my lovely Maid! 'tis now, in a more peculiar manner, that I require your Aid in the finishing of my Design, and compleating the whole Piece to the utmost Perfection; and without your Aid it cannot be perform'd. It is about the Clasp of the Watch; a Material, in all appearance, the most trivial of any part of it. But that it may be safe for ever, I design it the Image, or Figure of two Hands; that fair one of the adorable Iris, join'd to mine; with this Motto, Inviolable Faith: For in this Case, this Heart ought to be shut up by this eternal Clasp. Oh! there is nothing so necessary as this! Nothing can secure Love, but Faith.

That Virtue ought to be a Guard to all the Heart thinks, and all the Mouth utters: Nor can Love say he triumphs without it. And when that remains not in the Heart, all the rest deserves no Regard. Oh! I have not lov'd so ill to leave one Doubt upon your Soul. Why then, will you want that Faith, Oh unkind Charmer, that my Passion and my Services so justly merit?

So certain it is, that Love without Faith, is of no value.

In fine, my adorable Iris, this Case shall be, as near as I can, like those delicate ones of Filligrin Work, which do not hinder the Sight from taking a View of all within: You may therefore see, thro' this Heart, all your Watch. Nor is my Desire of preserving this inestimable Piece more, than to make it the whole Rule of my Life and Actions. And my chiefest Design in these Cyphers, is to comprehend in them the principal Virtues that are most necessary to Love. Do not we know that Reciprocal Love is Justice? Constant Love, Fortitude? Secret Love, Prudence? Tho' 'tis true that extreme Love, that is, Excess of Love, in one sense, appears not to be Temperance; yet you must know, my Iris, that in Matters of Love, Excess is a Virtue, and that all other Degrees of Love are worthy Scorn alone. 'Tis this alone that can make good the glorious Title: 'Tis this alone that can bear the Name of Love; and this alone that renders the Lovers truly happy, in spight of all the Storms of Fate, and Shocks of Fortune. This is an Antidote against all other Griefs: This bears up the Soul in all Calamity; and is the very Heaven of Life, the last Refuge of all worldly Pain and Care, and may well bear the Title of Divine.

The Art of Loving well.

How long, Oh charming Iris! shall I speak in vain of your adorable Beauty? You have been just, and believe I love you with a Passion perfectly tender and extreme, and yet you will not allow your Charms to be infinite. You must either accuse my Flames to be unreasonable, and that my Eyes and Heart are false Judges of Wit and Beauty; or allow that you are the most perfect of your Sex. But instead of that, you always accuse me of Flattery, when I speak of your infinite Merit; and when I refer you to your Glass, you tell me, that flatters as well as Damon: tho' one would imagine, that should be a good Witness for the Truth of what I say, and undeceive you of the Opinion of my Injustice. Look—and confirm your self that nothing can equal your Perfections. All the World says it, and you must doubt it no longer. Oh Iris! will you dispute against the whole World?

But since you have so long distrusted your own Glass, I have here presented you with one, which I know is very true; and having been made for you only, can serve only you. All other Glasses present all Objects, but this reflects only Iris: Whenever you consult it, it will convince you; and tell you how much Right I have done you, when I told you, you were the fairest Person that ever Nature made. When other Beauties look into it, it will speak to all the Fair Ones: but let 'em do what they will, 'twill say nothing to their advantage.

But I will be silent now, and let your Glass speak.

Damon (Oh charming Iris!) has given me to you, that you may sometimes give your self the Trouble, and me the Honour of consulting me in the great and weighty Affairs of Beauty. I am, my adorable Mistress! a faithful Glass; and you ought to believe all I say to you.

I must begin with your Shape, and tell you without Flattery, 'tis the finest in the World, and gives Love and Admiration to all that see you. Pray observe how free and easy it is, without Constraint, Stiffness, or Affectation; those mistaken Graces of the Fantastick, and the Formal, who give themselves pain to shew their Will to please, and whose Dressing makes the greatest part of its Fineness, when they are more oblig'd to the Taylor than to Nature; who add or diminish, as occasion serves, to form a Grace, where Heaven never gave it: And while they remain on this Wreck of Pride, they are eternally uneasy, without pleasing any body. Iris, I have seen a Woman of your Acquaintance, who, having a greater Opinion of her own Person than any body else, has screw'd her Body into so fine a Form (as she calls it) that she dares no more stir a Hand, lift up an Arm, or turn her Head aside, than if, for the Sin of such a Disorder, she were to be turn'd into a Pillar of Salt; the less stiff and fix'd Statue of the two. Nay, she dares not speak or smile, lest she should put her Face out of that Order she had set it in her Glass, when she last look'd on her self: And is all over such a Lady Nice (excepting in her Conversation) that ever made a ridiculous Figure. And there are many Ladies more, but too much tainted with that nauseous Formality, that old-fashion'd Vice: But Iris, the charming, the all-perfect Iris, has nothing in her whole Form that is not free, natural, and easy; and whose every Motion cannot but please extremely; and which has not given Damon a thousand Rivals.

Say what you will, I am confident, if you will confess your Heart, you are, every time you view your self in me, surpris'd at the Beauty of your Complexion; and will secretly own, you never saw any thing so fair. I am not the first Glass, by a thousand, that has assur'd you of this. If you will not believe me, ask Damon; he tells it you every Day, but that Truth from him offends you: and because he loves too much, you think his Judgment too little; and since this is so perfect, that must be defective. But 'tis most certain your Complexion is infinitely fine, your Skin soft and smooth as polisht Wax, or Ivory, extreamely white and clear; tho' if any body speaks but of your Beauty, an agreeable Blush casts it self all over your Face, and gives you a thousand new Graces.

Oh, the beautiful Hair of Iris! it seems as if Nature had crown'd you with a great quantity of lovely fair brown Hair, to make us know that you were born to rule, and to repair the Faults of Fortune that has not given you a Diadem: And do not bewail the Want of that (so much your Merit's due) since Heaven has so gloriously recompensed you with what gains more admiring Slaves.

Love does not make less use of your Hair for new Conquests, than of all the rest of your Beauties that adorn you. If he takes our Hearts with your fine Eyes, it ties 'em fast with your Hair; and of it weaves a Chain, not easily broken. It is not of those sorts of Hair, whose Harshness discovers Ill-Nature; nor of those, whose Softness shews us the Weakness of the Mind; not that either of these Arguments are without exception: but 'tis such as bears the Character of a perfect Mind, and a delicate Wit; and for its Colour, the most faithful, discreet, and beautiful in the World: such as shews a Complexion and Constitution, neither so cold to be insensible, nor so hot to have too much Fire: that is, neither too white, nor too black; but such a mixture of the two Colours, as makes it the most agreeable in the World.

I believe, my fair Mistress, I shall dazzle you with the Lustre of your own Eyes. They are the finest Blue in World: They have all the Sweetness that ever charm'd the Heart, with a certain Languishment that's irresistible; and never any look'd on 'em, that did not sigh after 'em. Believe me, Iris, they carry unavoidable Darts and Fires; and whoever expose themselves to their Dangers, pay for their Imprudence.

Extravagant with my Joys, I have stray'd beyond my Limits; for I was telling you of the wond'rous Fineness of your Eyes, which no Mortal can resist, nor any Heart stand the Force of their Charms, and the most difficult Conquest they gain, scarce cost 'em the expence of a Look. They are modest and tender, chaste and languishing. There you may take a view of the whole Soul, and see Wit and Good-Nature (those two inseparable Virtues of the Mind) in an extraordinary measure. In fine, you see all that fair Eyes can produce, to make themselves ador'd. And when they are angry, they strike an unresistible Awe upon the Soul; And those Severities Damon wishes may perpetually accompany them, during their Absence from him; for 'tis with such Eyes, he would have you receive all his Rivals.

I perceive your Modesty would impose Silence on me: But, Oh fair Iris! do not think to present your self before a Glass, if you would not have it tell you all your Beauties. Content your self that I only speak of 'em, en passant; for should I speak what I would, I should dwell all Day upon each Particular, and still say something new. Give me liberty then to speak of your fine Mouth: You need only open it a little, and you will see the most delicate Teeth that ever you beheld; the whitest, and the best set. Your Lips are the finest in the World; so round, so soft, so plump, so dimpled, and of the loveliest Colour. And when you smile, Oh! what Imagination can conceive how sweet it is, that has not seen you smiling? I cannot describe what I so admire; and 'tis in vain to those who have not seen Iris.

All your Modesty, all your nice Care, cannot hide the ravishing Beauties of your Neck; we must see it, coy as you are; and see it the whitest, and finest shaped, that ever was form'd. Oh! why will you cover it? You know all handsome Things would be seen. And Oh! how often have you made your Lovers envy your Scarf, or any thing that hides so fine an Object from their Sight. Damon himself complains of your too nice Severity. Pray do not hide it so carefully. See how perfectly turn'd it is! with small blue Veins, wand'ring and ranging here and there, like little Rivulets, that wanton o'er the flowery Meads! See how the round white rising Breasts heave with every Breath, as if they disdain'd to be confin'd to a Covering; and repel the malicious Cloud that would obscure their Brightness!

I shall not be put to much trouble to shew you your Hands and Arms, because you may view them without my Help; and you are very unjust, if you have not admir'd 'em a thousand times. The beautiful Colour and Proportion of your Arm is unimitable, and your Hand is dazzling, fine, small, and plump; long-pointed Fingers delicately turned; dimpled on the snowy out-side, but adorned within with Rose, all over the soft Palm. Oh Iris! nothing equals your fair Hand; that Hand, of which Love so often makes such use to draw his Bow, when he would send the Arrow home with more Success; and which irresistibly wounds those, who possibly have not yet seen your Eyes: And when you have been veil'd, that lovely Hand has gain'd you a thousand Adorers. And I have heard Damon say, Without the Aid of more Beauties, that alone had been sufficient to have made an absolute Conquest, o'er his Soul. And he has often vow'd, It never toucht him but it made his Blood run with little irregular Motions in his Veins, his Breath beat short and double, his Blushes rise, and his very Soul dance.

'Tis I alone, O charming Maid! that can shew you that noble part of your Beauty: That generous Air that adorns all your lovely Person, and renders every Motion and Action perfectly adorable. With what a Grace you walk!—How free, how easy, and how unaffected! See how you move!—for only here you can see it. Damon has told you a thousand times, that never any Mortal had so glorious an Air: but he cou'd not half describe it, nor would you credit even what he said; but with a careless Smile pass it off for the Flattery of a Lover. But here behold, and be convinc'd, and know, no part of your Beauty can charm more than this. O Iris! confess, Love has adorn'd you with all his Art and Care. Your Beauties are the Themes of all the Muses; who tell you in daily Songs, that the Graces themselves have not more than Iris. And one may truly say, that you alone know how to join the Ornaments and Dress with Beauty; and you are still adorn'd, as if that Shape and Air had a peculiar Art to make all Things appear gay and fine. Oh! how well drest you are! How every Thing becomes you! Never singular, never gawdy; but always suiting with your Quality.

But, O Iris! the Beauties of the Body are imperfect, if the Beauties of the Soul do not advance themselves to an equal Height. But, O Iris! what Mortal is there so damn'd to Malice, that does not, with Adoration, confess, that you, O charming Maid, have an equal Portion of all the Braveries and Virtues of the Mind? And who is it, that confesses your Beauty, that does not at the same time acknowledge and bow to your Wisdom? The whole World admires both in you; and all with impatience ask, Which of the two is most surprizing, your Beauty, or your Discretion? But we dispute in vain on that excellent Subject; for after all, 'tis determin'd, that the two Charms are equal. 'Tis none of those idle Discretions that consists in Words alone, and ever takes the Shadow of Reason for the Substance; and that makes use of all the little Artifices of Subtlety, and florid Talking, to make the Out-side of the Argument appear fine, and leave the Inside wholly misunderstood; who runs away with Words, and never thinks of Sense. But you, O lovely Maid! never make use of these affected Arts; but without being too brisk or too severe, too silent or too talkative, you inspire in all your Hearers a Joy, and a Respect. Your Soul is an Enemy to that usual Vice of your Sex, of using little Arguments against the Fair; or, by a Word or Jest, making your self and Hearers pleasant at the expence of the Fame of others.

Your Heart is an Enemy to all Passions, but that of Love. And this is one of your noble Maxims, That every one ought to love, in some part of his Life; and that in a Heart truly brave, Love is without Folly: That Wisdom is a Friend to Love, and Love to perfect Wisdom. Since these Maxims are your own, do not, O charming Iris! resist that noble Passion: and since Damon is the most tender of Lovers, answer his Passion with a noble Ardour. Your Prudence never fails in the Choice of your Friends; and in chusing so well your Lover, you will stand an eternal Precedent to all unreasonable Fair Ones.

Who but your Lovers, fair Iris! doubts but you are the most complaisant Person in the World; and that with so much Sweetness you oblige all, that you command in yielding: And as you gain the Heart of both Sexes, with the Affability of your noble Temper; so all are proud and vain of obliging you. And, Iris, you may live assur'd, that your Empire is eternally established by your Beauty and your Goodness: Your Power is confirm'd, and you grow in Strength every Minute: Your Goodness gets you Friends, and your Beauty Lovers.

This Goodness is not one of those, whose Folly renders it easy to every Desirer; but a pure Effect of the Generosity of your Soul; such as Prudence alone manages, according to the Merit of the Person to whom it is extended; and those whom you esteem, receive the sweet Marks of it, and only your Lovers complain; yet even then you charm. And tho' sometimes you can be a little disturb'd, yet thro' your Anger your Goodness shines; and you are but too much afraid, that that may bear a false Interpretation: For oftentimes Scandal makes that pass for an Effect of Love, which is purely that of Complaisance.

Never had any body more Tenderness for their Friends, than Iris: Their Presence gives her Joy, their Absence Trouble; and when she cannot see them, she finds no Pleasure like speaking of them obligingly. Friendship reigns in your Heart, and Sincerity on your Tongue. Your Friendship is so strong, so constant, and so tender, that it charms, pleases, and satisfies all, that are not your Adorers. Damon therefore is excusable, if he be not contented with your noble Friendship alone; for he is the most tender of that Number.

You are deceiv'd in me, fair Iris, if you take me for one of those ordinary Glasses, that represent the Beauty only of the Body; I remark to you also the Beauties of the Soul: And all about you declares yours the finest that ever was formed; that you have a Wit that surprizes, and is always new: 'Tis none of those that loses its Lustre when one considers it; the more we examine yours, the more adorable we find it. You say nothing that is not at once agreeable and solid; 'tis always quick and ready, without Impertinence, that little Vanity of the Fair: who, when they know they have Wit, rarely manage it so, as not to abound in Talking; and think, that all they say must please, because luckily they sometimes chance to do so. But Iris never speaks, but 'tis of use; and gives a Pleasure to all that hear her: She has the perfect Air of penetrating, even the most secret Thoughts. How often have you known, without being told, all that has past in Damon's Heart? For all great Wits are Prophets too.

I perceive, fair Iris, you have a mind to tell me, I have entertain'd you too long with a Discourse on your self. I know your Modesty makes this Declaration an Offence, and you suffer me, with Pain, to unveil those Treasures you would hide. Your Modesty, that so commendable a Virtue in the Fair, and so peculiar to you, is here a little too severe. Did I flatter you, you should blush: Did I seek, by praising you, to shew an Art of speaking finely, you might chide. But, O Iris, I say nothing but such plain Truths, as all the World can witness are so: And so far I am from Flattery, that I seek no Ornament of Words. Why do you take such Care to conceal your Virtues? They have too much Lustre, not to be seen, in spight of all your Modesty: Your Wit, your Youth, and Reason, oppose themselves against this dull Obstructer of our Happiness. Abate, O Iris, a little of this Virtue, since you have so many others to defend your self against the Attacks of your Adorers. You your self have the least Opinion of your own Charms: and being the only Person in the World, that is not in love with 'em, you hate to pass whole Hours before your Looking-Glass; and to pass your Time, like most of the idle Fair, in dressing, and setting off those Beauties, which need so little Art. You more wise, disdain to give those Hours to the Fatigue of Dressing, which you know so well how to employ a thousand ways. The Muses have blest you, above your Sex; and you know how to gain a Conquest with your Pen, more absolutely than all the industrious Fair, who trust to Dress and Equipage.

I have a thousand Things to tell you more, but willingly resign my Place to Damon, that faithful Lover; he will speak more ardently than I: For let a Glass use all its Force, yet, when it speaks its best, it speaks but coldly.

If my Glass, O charming Iris, have the good Fortune (which I could never entirely boast) to be believ'd, 'twill serve at least to convince you I have not been so guilty of Flattery, as I have a thousand Times been charg'd. Since then my Passion is equal to your Beauty (without Comparison, or End) believe, O lovely Maid! how I sigh in your Absence; and be persuaded to lessen my Pain, and restore me to my Joys: for there is no Torment so great, as the Absence of a Lover from his Mistress; of which this is the Idea.

The Effects of Absence from what we love.

---

My Lord,

Who should one celibrate with Verse and Song, but the Great, the Noble and the Brave? where dedicate an Isle of Love, but to the Gay, the Soft and Young? and who amongst Men can lay a better claim to these than Your Lordship? who like the Sun new risen with the early Day, looks round the World and sees nothing it cannot claim an interest in (for what cannot Wit, Beauty, Wealth and Honour claim?) The violent storms of Sedition and Rebellion are hush'd and calm'd; black Treason is retir'd to its old abode, the dark Abyss of Hell; the mysterious Riddles of Politick Knaves and Fools, which so long amused and troubled the World's repose, are luckily unfolded; and Your Lordship is saluted at Your first coming forth, Your first setting out for the glorious and happy Race of Life, by a Nation all glad, gay and smiling; and you have nothing before you but a ravishing prospect of eternal Joys, and everlasting inviting Pleasures, and all that Love and Fortune can bestow on their darling Youth, attend You in the noble pursuit; and nothing can prevent Your being the most happy of her Favourites, but a too eager flight, a too swift speed o'er the charming flowry Meads and Plains that lie in view, between Your setting out and the end of Your glorious Chase. A long and illustrious race of Nobility has attended Your great Name, but none I believe ever came into the World with Your Lordship's advantages; amongst which, my Lord, 'tis not the least that You have the glory to be truly Loyal, and to be adorn'd with those excellent Principles, which render Nobility so absolutely worth the Veneration which is paid 'em; 'tis those, my Lord, and not the Title that make it truly great: Grandeur in any other serves but to point 'em out more particularly to the World, and shew their Faults with the greater magnitude, and render 'em more liable to contempt and that Reward which justly persues Ingratitude; nor is it, my Lord, the many unhappy Examples this Age has produc'd that has deterr'd you from herding with the busie Unfortunates, and bringing Your powerful aid to their detestable cause, but a noble Honesty in Your Nature, a Generosity in Your Soul. That even part of Your Education had the good fortune not to be able to corrupt; no Opinion cou'd bypass You, no Precedent debauch You; though all the fansied Glories of Power were promis'd You, though all the Contempt thrown on good and brave Men, all the subtile Arguments of the old Serpent, were us'd against the best of Kings and his illustrious Successor, still You were unmov'd; Your young stout Heart with a Gallantry and Force unusual resisted and defied the gilded Bait, laugh'd at the industrious Politicks of the busie Wise, and stubbornly Loyal, contemn'd the Counsels of the Grave. Go on, my Lord, advance in Noble resolution, grow up in strength of Loyalty, settle it about Your Soul, root it there like the first Principles of Religion, which nothing ever throughly defaces, and which in spight of even Reason the Soul retains, whatever little Debaucheries the Tongue may commit; You that are great, are born the Bulwarks of sacred Majesty, its defence against all the storms of Fate, the Safety of the People in the Supporters of the Throne; and sure none that ever obey'd the Laws of God and the Dictates of Honour ever paid those Duties to a Sovereign that more truly merited the Defence and Adorations of his People than this of ours; and tis a blessing (since we are oblig'd to render it to the worst of Tyrant Kings) that we have one who so well justifies that intire Love and Submission we ought to pay him. You, my Lord, are one whom Thousands of good Men look up to with wondrous Veneration and Joy, when 'tis said Your Lordship amongst Your other Vertues is Loyal too, a true Tory! (a word of Honour now, the Royal Cause has sanctified it,) and though Your Lordship needs no encouragement to a good that rewards it self, yet I am confident You are not onely rank'd in the esteem of the best of Monarchs, but we shall behold you as one of our Preservers, and all England as one of its great Patrons, when Ages that shall come shall find Your noble Name inroll'd amongst the Friends to Monarchy in an Age of so villainous Corruption: Yes, my Lord, they will find it there and bless You. 'Tis this, my Lord, with every other Grace and Noble Vertue that adorns You, and gives the World such promises of Wonders in You, that makes me ambitious to be the first in the Croud of Your Admirers, that shall have the honour to celibrate Your great Name. Be pleased then, my Lord, to accept this Little Piece, which lazy Minutes begot and hard Fate has oblig'd me to bring forth into the censuring World, to which if any thing can reconcile it, 'twill be the glory it has to bear Your Noble Name in the front, and to be Patronized by so great and good a Man: Permit but my Zeal for Your Lordship to attone for the rest of my Faults, and Your Lordship will extremely oblige,

My Lord,
Your Lordship's most Humble,
and most Obedient Servant,
A. BEHN.

Madam,

J. Cooper.

Buckden, Nov. 25.
1683.

J. C.

J. Adams.

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By F. N. W.

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A Paraphrase on a Translation out of French.

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Sylvia.

Damon.

[A Chorus of Satyrs and Nymphs made by another hand.]

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

I.

II.

III.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

I.

II.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

Hecuba, being with Child of Paris, dream'd she was delivered of a Firebrand: Priam, consulting the Prophets, was answer'd the Child shou'd be the Destruction of Troy, wherefore Priam commanded it should be deliver'd to wild Beasts as soon as born; but Hecuba conveys it secretly to Mount Ida, there to be foster'd by the Shepherds, where he falls in love with the Nymph [OE]none, but at last being known and own'd, he sails into Greece, and carries Helen to Troy, which [OE]none understanding, writes him this Epistle.

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