At once his paffion was both false and true,
And the more falfe, the more in earnest grew.
He fancy'd that he heard those amorous charms
That us'd to fummon him to soft alarms,
To which he always brought an equal flame,
To fight a rival, or to court a dame ;
And, as in dreams love's raptures are more taking
Than all their actual enjoyments waking,
His amorous paffion grew to that extreme,
His dream itself awak'd him from his dream.
Thought he, What place is this! or whither art
Thou vanish'd from me, Mistress of my heart?
But now I had her in this very place,
Here, faft imprifon'd in my glad embrace,
And, while my joys beyond themselves were rapt,
I know not how, nor whither, thou 'rt efcap'd:
Stay, and I'll follow thee-With that he leapt
Up from the lazy couch on which he ilept,

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25

30

And, wing'd with paffion, through his known purlicu, Swift as an arrow from a bow, he flew,

Nor stopp'd, until his fire had him convey'd

Where many an affignation he 'ad enjoy'd ;

Where finding, what he fought, a mutual flame,
That long had stay'd and call'd before he came,
Impatient of delay, without one word,
To lofe no further time, he fell aboard,
But grip'd fo hard, he wounded what he lov'd,
While the, in anger, thus his heat reprov'd.
C. Forbear, foul ravisher, this rude addrefs;
Can't thou, at once, both injure and carefs ?
VOL. II.

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40

P. Thou

P. Thou haft bewitch'd me with thy powerful charms,
And I, by drawing blood, would cure my harms.
C. He that does love would fet his heart a-tilt,
Ere one drop of his lady's fhould be spilt.

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P. Your wounds are but without, and mine within;
You wound my heart, and I but prick your fkin;
And, while your eyes pierce deeper than my claws,
You blame th' effect, of which you are the cause.
C. How could my guiltless eyes your heart invade,
Had it not first been by your own betray'd?
Hence 'tis my greatest crime has only been
(Not in mine eyes, but your's) in being feen.
P. I hurt to love, but do not love to hurt.
C. That's worse than making cruelty a sport.
P. Pain is the foil of pleasure and delight,
That fets it off to a more noble height.
C. He buys his pleasure at a rate too vain,
That takes it up beforehand of his pain.

P. Pain is more dear than pleasure when 'tis paft.
C. But grows intolerable if it laft.

P. Love is too full of honour to regard

What it enjoys, but fuffers as reward.

What knight durft ever own a lover's name,
That had not been half-murther'd by his flame,
'Or lady, that had never lain at stake,

To death, or force of rivals, for his fake?
C. When love does meet with injury and pain,
Difdain 's the only medicine for difdain.
P. At once I'm happy, and unhappy toọ,
In being pleas'd, and in displeasing you.

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160,

C. Pre

C. Prepofterous way of pleasure and of love,
That contrary to its own end would move!

'Tis rather hate, that covets to destroy;
'Love's bufinefs is to love, and to enjoy.
P. Enjoying and destroying are all one,
As flames destroy that which they feed upon.
C. He never lov'd at any generous rate,
That in th' enjoyment found his flame abate.
A's wine (the friend of love) is wont to make.
The thirst more violent it pretends to flake,
So fhould fruition do the lovers' fire,

Instead of leffening, inflame defire.

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75

P. What greater proof that paffion does tranfport, 85
When what I would die, for I 'm forc'd to hurt ?
C. Death among lovers is a thing despis'd,
And far below a fullen humour priz'd,

That is more scorn'd and rail'd at than the gods,
When they are crofs'd in love, or fall at odds:
But fince you understand not what you do,
I am the judge of what I feel, not you.
P. Paffion begins indifferent to prove,
When love confiders any thing but love.

90.

C. The darts of love, like lightning, wound within, 95
And, though they pierce it, never hurt the skin ;
They leave no marks behind them where they fly,
Though through the tendereft part of all, the eye;
But your sharp claws have left enough to fhew
How tender I have been, how cruel you.
P. Pleafure is pain; for when it is enjoy'd,
All it could with for was but to b' allay'd.

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100

C. Force

C. Force is a rugged way of making love.

P. What you like beft, you always disapprove.

C. He that will wrong his love will not be nice, 105. T' excufe the wrong he does, to wrong her twice.

P. Nothing is wrong but that which is ill meant.

C. Wounds are ill cured with a good intent..

P. When you mistake that for an injury

I never meant, you do the wrong, not I.

C. You do not feel yourself the pain you give ;,
But 'tis not that alone for which I grieve,
But 'tis your want of paffion that I blame,
That can be cruel where you own a flame..
P. 'Tis you are guilty of that, cruelty,
Which you at once outdo, and blanie in me ;
For, while you stifle and inflame defire,
You burn, and starve me in the self-fame fire.
C. It is not I, but you, that do the hurt,

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Who wound yourself, and then accuse me for 't; 120 As thieves, that rob themselves 'twixt fun and fun, Make others pay for what themselves have done..

те

TO THE HONOURABLE

EDWARD HOWARD, ESQ.

UPON HIS INCOMPARABLE POEM OF

THE BRITISH PRINCES*,

SIR,

You

'OU have oblig'd the British nation more
Than all their bards could ever do before,
And, at your own charge, monuments more hard
Than brass or marble to their fame have rear'd:
For, as all warlike nations take delight
To hear how brave their ancestors could fight,
You have advanc'd to wonder their renown,
And no lefs virtuously improv'd your own :
For 'twill be doubted whether you do write,
Or they have acted, at a nobler height.
You of their ancient princes have retriev❜d
More than the ages knew in which they liv'd;
Defcrib'd their customs and their rites anew,
Better than all their Druids ever knew ;

Unriddled

Moft of the celebrated wits in Charles the Second's reign addreffed this gentleman, in a bantering way, upon his poem called The British Princes, and, among the reft, Butler.