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For ftill we think an absent Blessing best;

Which cloys, and is no Biefing when postet: }

A new arising with expells it from the Breaft. The feav'rish thirst 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 last 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 häve cut the mortal Thread, The Man as much to all Intents is dead, Who dies to Day, and will as long be so, As he who dy'd a thousand Years ago.

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Concerning the Nature of Love.

Translated by Mr. Dryden. Beginning at this Line,

Sic igitur, Veneris qui telis accipit ictum, &c. T

HUS therefore, he who feels the fiery Dart

Of strong Desire transfix his amorous Heart, Whether some beauteous Boy's alluring Face, Or lovelier Maid with unrelifted Grace, From her each part the winged Arrow sends, From whence he first was ftruck, he thither rends; Restless he roams, impatient to be freed, And eager to inject the sprightly Seed. For fierce Desire does all his Mind employ, And ardent Love assures approaching Joy,

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Such is the nature of that pleasing Smart,
Whose burning Drops distil upon the Heart,
The feaver of the Soul shot from the Fair,
And the cold Ague of succeeding Care.
If absent, her Idea ftill appears ;
And her sweet Name is chiming in your Ears:
But strive those pleasing Fantoms to remove,
And shun th' aerial Images of Love,
That feed the Flame: When one molefts thy Mind,
Discharge thy Loins on all the leaky kind ;
For that's a wiser way, than to restrain
Within thy swelling Nerves that hoard of Pain.
For every Hour some 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 some other way:
The squander'd Spirits prodigally throw,
And in the common Glebe of Nature fow.
Nor wants he all the Bliss, that Lovers feign,
Who takes the Pleasure, and avoids the Pain;
For purer Joys in purer Health abound,
And less affect the sickly than the sound,
When Love its utmost vigour does imploy,
Ev’n then, 'tis but a restless wandring Joy:
Nor knows the Lover, in that wild excess,
With Hands or Eyes, what first he would poffefs :
But strains at all; and faft’ning where he strains,
Too closely presses with his frantick Pains:
With biting Kisses hurts the twining Fair,
Which shews his Joys imperfe&, unsincere:
For ftung with inward Rage, he fings around,
And strives t'avenge the Smart on that which gave

the Wound,
But Love those eager bitings does restrain,
And mingling Pleasure mollifies the pain.
For ardent Hope itill flatters anxious Grief,
And sends him to his Foe to seek Relief :

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 still enjoy, the more we still desire,
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 Instruments of Love:
In our deluded Grasp we nothing find,
But thin aerial Shapes, that fleet before the Mind.
As he who in a Dream with drought is curst,
And finds no real Drink to quench his thirst ;
Runs to imagin'd Lakes his heat to steep,
And vainly [wills and labours in his Neep;
So Love with Fantoms cheats our longing Eyes,
Which hourly seeing never fatisfies :
Our Hands pull nothing from the Parts they ftrait,
But wander o'er the lovely Limbs in vain :
Nor when the youthful Pair more closely join,
When Hands in Hands they lock, and Thighs in Thighs
Just in the raging foam of full Desire, [they twine,
When both press on, both murmur, both expire,
They gripe, they squeeze, their humid Tongues they
As each wou'd force their way to tothers Heart":[dart,
In vain ; they only cruize about the Coast,
For Bodies cannot pierce, nor be in Bodies loft:
As sure they Atrive to be, when both engage,
In that tumultuous momentary Rage,
So 'tangled in the Nets of Love they lie,
'Till Man dissolves in that excess of Joy.
Then, when the gatherd Bag, has burst its way,
And ebbing Tides the Nacken’d Nerves betray,
A Pause ensies; and Nature nods a while,
Till with recruited Rage new Spirits boil;

And then the same vain Violence returns,
With Flames renew'd th’ere&ted Furnace burns,
Again they in each other wou'd be lost,
But still by adamantine Bars are crost;
all ways they try, successless all they prove,
To cure the secret Sore of lingring Love.
Besides----
They waste their Strength in the venereal Strife,
And to a Woman's Will enflave their Life;
Th’Estate runs out, and Mortgages are made,
All Offices of friendship are decay’d;
Their Fortune ruin'd, and their Fame betray'd.
Alyrian Ointment from their Temples flows,
And Diamond Buckles sparkle 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 shines,
Is drunk with Sweat of their o'er-labour'd Loins,
Their frugal Father's Gains they mis-employ,
And turn to Point, and Pearl, and ev'ry Female Toy,
French Fashions, costly 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 poisons all the Draught.
First guilty Conscience does the Mirror bring,
Then sharp Remorse 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 Jealousie behind.
Perhaps he watches close her amorous Eyes,
ΑΣ the act of ogling does surprise ;
And thinks he sees upon her Cheeks the while,
The dimpled Tracks of fome foregoing Smile;
His raging Pulse beats thick, and his peat Spirits

boyl,

४ }

}

This is the product ev'n of profp'rous Love,
Think then what pangs disastrous Paflions prove! :
Innumerable Ills; Disdain, Despair,
With all the meager Family of Care : -
Thus, as I said, 'tis better to prevent,
Than Aatter the Disease, and late repent ::
Because to fhun th' allurement is not hard,
To minds resolv'd, forewarn'd, and well prepard :
But wondrous difficult, when once befet,
To struggle thro’ the streights, and break th' invol-

ving Net.
Yet thus insnard 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 use,
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 some 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 she's Life and Soul all o’er:
An Amazon, the large two-handed Whore.
She stammers, oh what grace in lisping lyes,
If she says nothing, to be sure the's wise.
Is fhrill, and with a Voice to drown a Quire,
Sharp-witted the must be, and full of fire.
The lean, consumptive Wench with coughs decay'd;
Is callid a pretty, tight, and Nender Maid.
Th' o'er-grown, a goodly Ceres is expreft,
A Bed-fellow for Bacchus at the least.
Flat Nose the name of Satyr never misses,
And hanging blobber Lips, but pout for kisses

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