For ftill we think an absent Blessing beft;
Which cloys, and is no Bleffing when poffeft;
A new arifing With expells it from the Breaft.
The feav'ri thirft of Life increases ftill;

We call for more and more, and never have our fill:
Yet know not what to Morrow we shall try,
What dregs of Life in the laft draught may lie.
Nor, by the longest Life we can attain;

}

One Moment from the length of Death we gain ; For all behind belongs to his eternal Reign. *When once the Fates have cut the mortal Thread, The Man as much to all Intents is dead, Who dies to Day, and will as long be fo, As he who dy'd a thousand Years ago.

LUCR

E

TIUS

The Fourth Book.

Concerning the Nature of Love.

Tranflated by Mr. DRYDEN.

Beginning at this Line,

Sic igitur, Veneris qui telis accipit iétum, &c.

HUS therefore, he who feels the fiery Dart

transff his amorous Heart,

1

Whether fome beauteous Boy's alluring Face,
Or lovelier Maid with unrefifted Grace,
From her each part the winged Arrow fends,
From whence he firft was ftruck, he thither tends;
Reftless he roams, impatient to be freed,
And eager to inject the fprightly Seed.
For fierce Defire does all his Mind employ,
And ardent Love affures approaching Joy.

Such is the nature of that pleasing Smart,
Whose burning Drops diftil upon the Heart,
The feaver of the Soul fhot from the Fair,
And the cold Ague of fucceeding Care.
If abfent, her Idea ftill appears;

And her fweet Name is chiming in your Ears:
But ftrive thofe pleafing Fantoms to remove,
And fhun th' aerial Images of Love,

That feed the Flame: When one molefts thy Mind,
Difcharge thy Loins on all the leaky kind;
For that's a wifer way, than to restrain

Within thy fwelling Nerves that hoard of Pain.
For every Hour fome deadlier Symptom shows,
And by delay the gath'ring Venom grows,
When kindly Applications are not us'd;

The Viper Love muft on the Wound be bruis'd:
On that one Object 'tis not safe to stay,
But force the tide of Thought fome other way:
The fquander'd Spirits prodigally`throw,
And in the common Glebe of Nature fow.
Nor wants he all the Blifs, that Lovers feign,
Who takes the Pleasure, and avoids the Pain;
For purer Joys in purer Health abound,
And lefs affect the fickly than the found.
When Love its utmost Vigour does imploy,
Ev'n then, 'tis but a reftlefs wandring Joy:
Nor knows the Lover, in that wild excess,
With Hands or Eyes, what firft he would poffefs :
But ftrains at all; and faft'ning where he trains,
Too clofely preffes with his frantick Pains:
With biting Kiffes hurts the twining Fair,
Which fhews his Joys imperfect, unfincere:
For ftung with inward Rage, he flings around,
And ftrives t' avenge the Smart on that which
the Wound,

But Love thofe eager bitings does reftrain,
And mingling Pleasure mollifies the Pain.
For ardent Hope till flatters anxious Grief,
And fends him to his Foe to feek Relief;

gave

Which yet the nature of the thing denies;
For Love, and Love alone of all our Joys
By full Poffeffion does but fan the Fire,

The more we ftill enjoy, the more we ftill defire,
Nature for Meat and Drink provides a space;
And when receiv'd they fill their certain place;
Hence Thirst and Hunger may be satisfy'd,
But this Repletion is to Love deny'd:
Form, Feature, Colour, whatsoe'er Delight
Provokes the Lover's endless Appetite,
These fill no Space, nor can we thence remove
With Lips, or Hands, or all our Inftruments of Love::
In our deluded Grafp we nothing find,

But thin aerial Shapes, that fleet before the Mind.
As he who in a Dream with drought is curft,
And finds no real Drink to quench his thirst ;
Runs to imagin'd Lakes his heat to steep,
And vainly fwills and labours in his sleep;
So Love with Fantoms cheats our longing Eyes,
Which hourly feeing never fatisfies:

Our Hands pull nothing from the Parts they ftrain,
But wander o'er the lovely Limbs in vain :
Nor when the youthful Pair more clofely join,
When Hands in Hands they lock, and Thighs inThighs
Juft in the raging foam of full Defire, [they twine,
When both prefs on, both murmur, both expire,
They gripe, they squeeze, their humid Tongues they
As each wou'd force their way to t' others Heart :[dart,
In vain; they only cruize about the Coast,
For Bodies cannot pierce, nor be in Bodies loft:
As fure they ftrive to be, when both engage,
In that tumultuous momentary Rage,
So 'tangled in the Nets of Love they lie,
'Till Man diffolves in that excess of Joy.
Then, when the gather'd Bag has burft its way,
And ebbing Tides the flacken'd Nerves betray,
A Paufe enfues; and Nature nods a while,
'Till with recruited Rage new Spirits boil;

And then the fame vain Violence returns,
With Flames renew'd th' erected Furnace burns.
Again they in each other wou'd be loft,
But ftill by adamantine Bars are croft;
All ways they try, fuccefslefs all they prove,
To cure the fecret Sore of lingring Love.
Befides----

They waste their Strength in the venereal Strife,
And to a Woman's Will enflave their Life;
Th' Eftate runs out, and Mortgages are made,
All Offices of friendship are decay'd;

Their Fortune ruin'd, and their Fame betray'd.
Affyrian Ointment from their Temples flows,
And Diamond Buckles fparkle in their Shooes.
The chearful Emerald twinkles on their Hands,
With all the Luxury of foreign Lands:

And the blue Coat that with Imbroid'ry thines,
Is drunk with Sweat of their o'er-labour'd Loins,
Their frugal Father's Gains they mif-employ,
And turn to Point, and Pearl, and ev'ry Female Toy.
French Fashions, coftly Treats are their Delight;
The Park by Day, and Plays and Balls by Night.
In vain :----

For in the Fountain where their Sweets are fought,
Some Bitter bubbles up, and poifons all the Draught.
First guilty Confcience does the Mirror bring,
Then fharp Remorfe fhoots out her angry Sting,
And anxious Thoughts within themselves at ftrife,
Upbraid the long mifpent, luxurious Life.
Perhaps the fickle Fair one proves unkind,
Or drops a doubtful Word, that pains his Mind;
And leaves a rankling Jealoufie behind.
Perhaps he watches clofe her amorous Eyes,
And in the act of ogling does furprise;
And thinks he fees upon her Cheeks the while,
The dimpled Tracks of fome foregoing Smile;
His raging Pulfe beats thick, and his pent Spirits
boyl.

}

This is the product ev'n of profp'rous Love,
'Think then what pangs difaftrous Paffions prove!!
Innumerable Ills; Difdain, Despair,

With all the meager Family of Care:
Thus, as I faid, 'tis better to prevent,
Than flatter the Disease, and late repent:
Because to fhun th' allurement is not hard,
To minds refolv'd, forewarn'd, and well prepar'd:
But wond'rous difficult, when once befet,

To ftruggle thro' the ftreights, and break th' invol ving Net.

Yet thus infnar'd thy freedom thou may'ft gain,
If, like a Fool, thou doft not hug thy Chain;
If not to ruin obftinately blind,

And willfully endeavouring not to find
Her plain defects of Body and of Mind.
For thus the Bedlam train of Lovers ufe,
T'inhaunce the value, and the faults excuse.
And therefore 'tis no wonder if we fee
They doat on Dowdyes, and Deformity ::
Ev'n what they cannot praise, they will not blame,
But veil with fome extenuating Name:
The Sallow Skin is for the Swarthy put,
And love can make a Slattern of a Slut:
If Cat-ey'd, then a Pallas is their Love,
If freckled, she's a party-colour'd Dove.
If little, then fhe's Life and Soul all o'er::
An Amazon, the large two-handed Whore.
She stammers, oh what grace in lisping lyes,
If the fays nothing, to be fure fhe's wife.
If fhrill, and with a Voice to drown a Quire,
Sharp-witted the muft be, and full of fire.

The lean, confumptive Wench with coughs decay'd,
Is call'd a pretty, tight, and flender Maid.
Th' o'er-grown, a goodly Ceres is expreft,
A Bed-fellow for Bacchus at the leaft.
Flat Nose the name of Satyr never miffes,
And hanging blobber Lips, but pout for kiffes,