The selfish heart, that but by halves is given,
Shall find no place in Love's delightful heaven;
Here fweet extremes alone can truly blefs:
The virtue of a lover is excefs.
A maid unafk'd may own a well-plac'd flame;
Not loving first, but loving wrong, is shame,
Contemn the little pride of giving pain,
Nor think that conqueft juftifies difdain.
Short is the period of infulting power:
Offended Cupid finds his vengeful hour;
Soon will refume the empire which he gave,
And foon the tyrant shall become the flave.
Bleft is the maid, and worthy to be blest,
Whofe foul, entire by him he loves poffeft,
Feels every vanity in fondness loft,
And asks no power but that of pleasing most:
Hers is the blifs, in just return, to prove
The honeft warmth of undiffembled love;
For her, inconftant man might cease to range,
And gratitude forbid defire to change.
But, left harsh care the lover's peace destroy,
And roughly blight the tender buds of joy,
Let Reason teach what Paffion fain would hide,
That Hymen's bands by Prudence should be tied,
Venus in vain the wedded pair would crown,
If angry Fortune on their union frown:
Soon will the flattering dream of bliss be o'er,
And cloy'd imagination cheat no more.
Then, waking to the fenfe of lasting pain,
With mutual tears the nuptial couch they stain;
And that fond love, which fhould afford relief,
Does but increase the anguish of their grief:
While both could easier their own forrows bear,
Than the fad knowledge of each other's care.
Yet may you rather feel that virtuous pain,
Than fell your violated charms for gain; 1
Than wed the wretch whom you defpife or hate,
For the vain glare of ufelefs wealth or state.
The most abandon'd prostitutes are they,
Who not to love, but avarice, fall a prey:
Nor aught avails the fpecious name of wife;
A maid fo wedded is a whore for life.
Ev'n in the happiest choice, where favouring Heaven Has equal love and easy fortune given,
Think not, the Husband gain'd, that all is done :
The prize of happiness must still be won:
And oft, the careless find it to their coft,
The lover in the husband may be lost;
The Graces might alone his heart allure;
They and the Virtues meeting must secure.
Let ev'n your prudence wear the pleafing drefs
Of care for him, and anxious tenderness.
From kind concern about his weal or woe,
Let each domeftic duty seem to flow.
The houshold fceptre if he bids you bear,
Make it your pride his fervant tò appear:
Endearing thus the common acts of life,
The mistress still shall charm him in the wife;
And wrinkled age fhall unobferv'd come on,
Before his eye perceives one beauty gone :
Ev'n o'er your cold, your ever-facred urn,
His conftant flame shall unextinguish'd burn.
Thus I, Belinda, would your charms improve,
And form your heart to all the arts of love.
The task were harder, to fecure my own
Against the power of thofe already known:
For well you twift the fecret chains that bind.
With gentle force the captivated mind,
Skill'd every foft attraction to employ,
Each flattering hope, and each alluring joy..
I own your genius; and from you receive
The rules of pleasing, which to you I give.
Written in the Year 1732.
HEN Delia on the plain appears, Aw'd by a thoufand tender fears, I would approach, but dare not move : Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
Whene'er fhe speaks, my ravish'd ear
No other voice but hers can hear,
No other wit but hers approve :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
If the fome other youth commend,
Though I was once his fondeft friend,
His inftant enemy I prove :
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
When she is abfent, I no more
Delight in all that pleas'd before,
The cleareft fpring, or fhadieft
grove:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
When, fond of power, of beauty vain,
Her nets she spread for every swain,
I ftrove to hate, but vainly ftrove:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
But how, my Delia, will you meet
The man you've loft fo long?
Will love in all your pulfes beat,
And tremble on your tongue?
Will you in every look declare
Your heart is still the fame;
And heal each idly-anxious care
Our fears in abfence frame?
Thus, Delia, thus I paint the fcene,
When shortly we shall meet ;
And try what yet remains between
Of loitering time to cheat.
But, if the dream that fooths my mind
Shall falfe and groundless prove;
If I am doom'd at length to find
You have forgot to love:
All I of Venus afk, is this;
No more to let us join :
But grant me here the flattering blifs,
To die, and think you
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