Part 20

_A thousand gloomy Walks the Bower contains,_ _Sacred all to mighty Love;_ _A thousand winding turns where Pleasure reigns;_ _Obscur’d from day by twining Boughs above,_ _Where_ Love _invents a thousand Plays,_ _Where Lovers act ten thousand Joys:_ _Nature has taught each little Bird,_ _A soft Example to afford;_ _They Bill and Look, and Sing and Love,_ _And Charm the Air, and Charm the Grove;_ _Whilst underneath the Ravisht_ Swain _is lying,_ _Gazing, Sighing, Pressing, Dying;_ _Still with new desire warm’d,_ _Still with new Joy, new Rapture charm’d;_ _Amongst the green soft Rivulets do pass,_ _In winding Streams half hid in Flowers and Grass,_ _Who Purl and Murmur as they glide along,_ _And mix their Musick with the Shepherds Pipe and Song,_ _Which Eccho’s through the sacred Bower repeat,_ _Where every thing arrives that’s ravishing and sweet._

V.

_The Virgin here shows no disdain,_ } _Nor does the Shepherd Sigh in vain,_ } _This knows no Cruelty, nor that no Pain:_ } _No Youth complains upon his rigorous fair;_ } _No injur’d Maid upon her perjur’d dear,_ } _’.is only_ Love, _fond_ Love _finds entrance here;_ } _The Notes of Birds, the Murmuring Boughs,_ _When gentle Winds glide through the Glades,_ _Soft Sighs of Love, and soft breath’d Vows,_ _The tender Whisperings of the yielding Maids,_ _Dashing Fountains, Purling Springs,_ _The short breath’d crys from faint resistance sent,_ _(Crys which no aid desires or brings)_ _The soft effects of Fear and Languishment;_ _The little struggling of the fair,_ _The trembling force of the young Conqueror,_ _The tender Arguments he brings,_ _The pretty Non-sence with which she assails._ _Which as she speaks, she hopes it nought prevails_ _But yielding owns her_ Love _above her Reasonings,_ _Is all is heard: Silence and shade the rest._ _Which best with_ Love, _which best with Joys consist,_ _All which young Eccho’s through the Bower does sing,_ _Where every thing is heard, that’s sweet and ravishing._

VI.

_Recesses Dark, and Grotto’s all conspire,_ _To favour_ Love _and soft desire;_ _Shades, Springs and Fountains flowry Beds,_ } _To Joys invites, to Pleasure leads,_ } _To Pleasure which all Humane thought exceeds._ } _Heav’n, Earth, and Sea, here all combine,_ } _To propagate_ Love’s _great design,_ } _And render the Appointments all Divine._ } _After long toyl, ‘tis here the Lover reaps_ _Transporting softnesses beyond his hopes;_ _’.is here fair Eyes, all languishing impart_ _The secrets of the fond inclining Heart;_ _Fine Hands and Arms for tender Pressings made,_ _In_ Love’s _dear business always are imploy’d:_ _The soft Inchantments of the Tongue,_ _That does all other Eloquence controul,_ _Is breath’d with broken Sighs among,_ _Into the Ravish’d Shepherds Soul,_ _Whilst all is taken, all is given,_ _That can compleat a Lovers Heav’n:_ _And_ Io Peans _through the Woods do ring,_ _From new fletch’d God, in Songs all Ravishing._

Oh my dear _Lysidas!_ my faithful Friend, Would I cou’d here with all my Pleasures end: ‘Twas Heaven! ‘twas Extaxsie! each minute brought New Raptures to my Senses, Soul and Thought; Each Look, each Touch, my Ravisht fancy charm’d, Each Accent of her Voice my Blood Alarm’d; I pant with every Glance, faint with a Kiss, Oh Judge my Transports then in higher Bliss. A while all Dead, between her Arms I lay, Unable to possess the conquer’d Joys; But by degrees my Soul its sense retriev’d; Shame and Confusion let me know I liv’d. I saw the trembling dis-appointed Maid, With charming angry Eyes my fault upbraid, While Love and Spight no kind Excuse affords, My Rage and Softness was above dull Words, And my Misfortune only was exprest, By Signing out my Soul into her Brest: A thousand times I breath’d _Aminta’s_ name, _Aminta!_ call’d! but that increas’d my flame. And as the Tide of Love flow’d in, so fast My Low, my Ebbing Vigor out did hast. But ‘twas not long, thus idly, and undone I lay, before vast Seas came rowling on, Spring-tides of Joy, that the rich neighboring shoar } And down the fragrant Banks it proudly bore, } O’re-flow’d and ravisht all great Natures store. } Swoln to Luxurious heights, no bounds it knows, But wantonly it Triumphs where it flows. Some God inform Thee of my blest Estate, But all their Powers divert thee from my Fate. ‘Twas thus we liv’d the wonder of the Groves, Fam’d for our Love, our mutual constant Loves. Young Amorous Hero’s at her Feet did fall, Despair’d and dy’d, whilst I was Lord of All; Her Empire o’re my Soul each moment grew, } New Charms each minute did appear in view, } And each appointment Ravishing and New. } Fonder each hour my tender Heart became, And that which us’d t’ allay, increas’d my Flame. But on a day, oh may no chearful Ray, Of the Sun’s Light, bless that succeeding day! May the black hours from the account be torn, May no fair thing upon thy day be born! May fate and Hell appoint thee for their own, May no good deed be in thy Circle done! May Rapes, Conspiricies and Murders stay, Till thou com’st on, and hatch em in thy day! --’Twas on this day all Joyful Gay and Fair, } Fond as desire, and wanton as the Air; } _Aminta_ did with me to the blest Bower repair. } Beneath a Beechy Shade, a flowry Bed, Officious _Cupid’s_ for our Pleasure spred, Where never did the Charmer ere impart, More Joy, more Rapture to my ravisht Heart: ‘Twas all the first; ‘twas all beginning Fire! ‘Twas all new Love! new Pleasure! new Desire! --Here stop, my Soul-- Stop thy carreer of Vanity and Pride, And only say,--_’.was here_ Aminta _dy’d_: The fleeting Soul as quickly dis-appears, As leaves blown off with Winds, or falling Stars; And Life its flight assum’d with such a pace; It took no farewel of her lovely Face, The Fugitive not one Beauty did surprize, It scarce took time to languish in her Eyes, But on my Bosom bow’d her charming Head; And sighing, these surprizing words she said: “Joy of my Soul, my faithful tender Youth, Lord of my Vows, and Miracle of Truth: Thou soft obliger--: of thy Sex the best, Thou blessing too Extream to be possest; The Angry God, designing we must part, Do render back the Treasure of thy Heart; When in some new fair Breast, it finds a room, And I shall ly--neglected--in my Tomb-- Remember--oh remember--the fair she, Can never love thee, darling Youth, like me.” Then with a Sigh she sunk into my Brest, While her fair Eyes her last farewel exprest; To aiding God’s I cry’d; but they were Deaf, And no kind pow’r afforded me relief: I call her name, I weep, I rave and faint, And none but Eccho’s answer my Complaint; I Kiss and Bathe her stiffening Face with Tears, Press it to mine, as cold and pale as her’s; The fading Roses of her Lips I press, But no kind Word the silenc’d Pratlers will confess; Her lovely Eyes I kiss, and call upon, But all their wonted answering Rhetorick’s gone. Her charming little Hands in vain I ask, Those little Hands no more my Neck shall grasp; No more about my Face her Fingers play, Nor brede my Hair, or the vain Curls display, No more her Tongue beguiling Stories tell, Whose wonderous Wit cou’d grace a Tale so well; All, all is fled, to Death’s cold Mansion gone, } And I am left benighted and undone, } And every day my Fate is hasting on. } From the inchanting Bower I madly fly, That Bower that now no more affords me Joy. _Love_ had not left for me one Bliss in store, Since my _Aminta_ you’d dispence no more. --Thence to a silent Desert I advance, And call’d the _Desert of Remembrance_; A solitude upon a Mountain plac’d, All gloomy round, and wonderous high and vast, From whence _Love’s_ Island all appears in view, And distant Prospects renders near and true; Each Bank, each Bower, each dear inviting Shade, That to our Sacred Loves was conscious made; Each flowry Bed, each Thicket and each Grove, Where I have lain Charm’d with _Aminta’s_ Love; (Where e’re she chear’d the day, and blest the Night) Eternally are present to my Sight. Where e’re I turn, the Landskip does confess, Something that calls to mind past happiness. This, _Lysidas_, this is my wretched state, ‘Tis here I languish, and attend my Fate. But e’re I go, ‘twou’d wonderous Pleasure be, } (If such a thing can e’re arrive to me) } To find some Pity (_Lysidas_) from thee. } Then I shou’d take the Wing, and upwards fly, And loose the Sight of this dull World with Joy.

Your _Lysander_.

A TABLE.

PAGE.

_The Golden Age, a Paraphrase on a Translation out of_ French 138

_A Farewell to_ Celladon _on his going into_ Ireland 144

_On a Juniper-Tree cut down to make Busks_ 148

_On the Death of Mr._ Greenhill _the famous Painter_ 151

_A Ballad on Mr._ J. H. _to_ Amoret, _asking why I was so sad_ 153

_Our Caball_ 156

_The willing Mistress, a Song_ 163

_Love Arm’d, a Song_ 163

_The Complaint, a Song_ 164

_The Invitation, a Song_ 165

_A Song_ 165

_To Mr._ Creech (_under the name of_ Daphnis) _on his Excellent Translation of_ Lucretius 166

_To Mrs._ W. _on her excellent Verses (writ in praise of some I had made on the late Earl of_ Rochester) _written in a fit of sickness_ 171

_The sense of a Letter sent me, made into Verse, to a New Tune_ 173

_The Return_ 173

_On a Copy of Verses made in a Dream and sent to me in a Morning before I was awake_ 174

_To my Lady_ Morland _at_ Tunbridge 175

_Song to_ Ceres, _in the wavering Nymph or mad_ Amyntas 177

_A Song in the same Play by the wavering Nymph_ 177

_The Disappointment_ 178

_On a Locket of Hair wove in a True-lovers Knot given me by Sir_ R. O. 182

_The Dream, a Song_ 183

_A Letter to a Brother of the Pen in Tribulation_ 185

_The Reflexion, a Song_ 186

_A Song to_ Pesibles _Tune_ 188

_A Song on her loving two Equally set by Capt._ Pack 189

_The Counsel, a Song set by the same hand_ 190

_The Surprise, a Song set by Mr._ Farmer 191

_A Song_ 192

_The Invitation, a Song to a New_ Scotch _Tune_ 192

Sylvio’s _Complaint, a Song to a fine_ Scotch _Tune_ 193

_In Imitation of_ Horace 195

_To_ Lysander _who made some Verses on a Discourse of Loves Fire_ 196

_A Dialogue for an entertainment at Court between_ Damon _and_ Sylvia 198

_On Mr._ J. H. _In a fit of sickness_ 200

_To_ Lysander _on some Verses he writ, and asking more for his Heart than ‘twas worth_ 202

_To the Honourable Lord_ Howard, _on his Comedy called the New_ Utopia 204

_To_ Lysander _at the Musick meeting_ 207

_An Ode to Love_ 208

_Love Reveng’d, a Song_ 209

_A Song to a New_ Scotch _Tune_ 210

_The Caball at Nickey Nackeys_ 211

_A Paraphrase on the eleventh Ode out of the first Book of_ Horace 212

_A Translation_ 212

_A Paraphrase on_ OEnone _to_ Paris 213

_A Voyage to the Isle of Love_ 223

FINIS.

LYCIDUS: OR, THE LOVER IN FASHION, &c.

To the EARL OF MELFORD, &c., Knight of the most Noble Order of the Thistle.

My Lord,

This Epistle Dedicatory which humbly lays this Little Volume at your Lordships feet, and begs a Protection there, is rather an Address than a Dedication; to which a great many hands have subscrib’d, it Presenting your Lordship a Garland whose Flowers are cull’d by several Judgments in which I claim the least part; whose sole Ambition is this way to congratulate your Lordships new Addition of Honour, that of the Most Noble Order of the _Thistle_, an Honour which preced’s that of the _Garter_, having been supported by a long Race of Kings, and only fell with the most Illustrious of Queens, whose memory (which ought to be Establish’d, in all hearts can not be better preserv’d,) than by reviving this so Ancient Order; well has His Majesty chosen its Noble Champions, among whom none merits more the Glory of that Royal Favor than your Lordship: whose Loyalty to His Sacred Person and interest through all the adversities of Fate, has begot you so perfect a veneration in all hearts, and is so peculiarly the Innate vertue of your Great mind; a virtue not shewn by unreasonable fits when it shall serve an end, (a false Bravery for a while when least needful, and thrown off when put to useful Tryal; like those who weighing Advantages by Probabilities only, and fancying the future to out-poyse the present, cast there their Anchor of Hope,) but a virtue built on so sure and steady Basis’s of Honour, as nothing can move or shake; the Royal Interest being so greatly indeed the Property of Nobility, and so much even above life and Fortune: Especially when to support a Monarch so truly just, so wise and great; a Monarch whom God Almighty Grant long to Reign over Us, and still to be serv’d by men of Principles so truly Brave, as those that shine in your Lordship.

Pardon, my Lord, this Digression and the meanness of this Present, which to a Person of your Lordships great and weighty Employments in the world may seem Improper, if I did not know that the most Glorious of States-men must sometimes unbend from Great Affairs, and seek a diversion in trivial Entertainments; Though Poetry will Justle for the Preeminency of all others, and I know is not the least in the Esteem of your Lordship, who is so admirable a Judge of it, if any thing here may be found worthy the Patronage it Implores, ‘twill be a sufficient Honour to,

My Lord, Your Lordships most humble, most oblig’d, and obedient Servant, A. BEHN.

_To Mrs. B. on her Poems_.

Hail, Beauteous _Prophetess_, in whom alone, Of all your sex Heav’ns master-piece is shewn. For wondrous skill it argues, wondrous care, Where two such Stars in firm conjunction are, A Brain so Glorious, and a Face so fair. Two Goddesses in your composure joyn’d, } Nothing but Goddess cou’d, you’re so refin’d, } Bright _Venus_ Body gave, _Minerva_ Mind. }

How soft and fine your manly numbers flow, Soft as your Lips, and smooth as is your brow. Gentle as Air, bright as the Noon-days Sky, Clear as your skin, and charming as your Eye. No craggy Precipice the Prospect spoyles, The Eye no tedious barren plain beguiles. But, like _Thessalian_ Feilds your Volumes are, } Rapture and charms o’re all the soyl appear, } _Astrea_ and her verse are _Tempe_ every where. }

Ah, more than Woman! more than man she is, As _Phæbus_ bright; she’s too, as _Phæbus_ wise. The Muses to our sex perverse and coy _Astrea_ do’s familiarly enjoy. She do’s their veiled Glorys understand, And what we court with pain, with ease command. Their charming secrets they expanded lay, Reserv’d to us, to her they all display. Upon her Pen await those learned Nine. } She ne’re but like the Phosph’rus draws a line, } As soon as toucht her subjects clearly shine. }

The femal Laurels were obscur’d till now, And they deserv’d the Shades in which they grew: But _Daphne_ at your call return’s her flight, Looks boldly up and dares the God of light. If we _Orinda_ to your works compare, } They uncouth, like her countrys soyle, appear, } Mean as its Pesants, as its Mountains bare: } _Sappho_ tasts strongly of the sex, is weak and poor, } At second hand she russet Laurels wore, } Yours are your own, a rich and verdant store. } If Loves the Theme, you out-do _Ovid’s_ Art, } Loves God himself can’t subtiller skill impart, } Softer than’s plumes, more piercing than his Dart. }

If _Pastoral_ be her Song, she glads the Swains With Livelier notes, with spritelier smiles the plains. More gayly than the Springs she decks the Bowrs And breaths a second _May_ to Fields and Flowrs. If e’re the golden Age again return And flash in shining Beames from’s Iron Urn, That Age not as it was before shall be, But as th’ Idea is refin’d by thee. That seems the common; thines the Elixir, Gold, So pure is thine, and so allay’d the old.

Happy, ye Bards, by fair _Astrea_ prais’d, If you’r alive, to brighter life you’re rais’d; For cherisht by her Beams you’ll loftyer grow, You must your former learned selves out-do, Thô you’d the parts of _Thirsis_ and of _Strephon_ too. Hail, mighty Prophetess! by whom we see Omnipotence almost in Poetry: Your flame can give to Graves _Promethean_ fire, And _Greenhill’s_ clay with living paint inspire; For like some Mystick wand with awful Eyes You wave your Pen, and lo the dead Arise.

_Kendrick._

LYCIDUS:

or, the Lover in Fashion, &c.

I Have receiv’d your melancholy Epistle, with the Account of your Voyage to the _Island of Love_; of your Adventures there, and the Relation of the death of your _Aminta_: At which you shall forgive me if I tell you I am neither surpris’d nor griev’d, but hope to see you the next Campagne, as absolutely reduc’d to reason as myself. When Love, that has so long deprived you of Glory, shall give you no more Sighs but at the short remembrances of past Pleasures; and that after you have heard my Account of the Voyage I made to the same place, with my more lucky one back again, (for I, since I saw you, have been an Adventurer) you will by my Example become of my Opinion, (notwithstanding your dismal Tales of Death and the eternal Shades,) which is, that if there be nothing that will lay me in my Tomb till Love brings me thither, I shall live to Eternity.

I must confess ‘tis a great Inducement to Love, and a happy Advance to an Amour, to be handsom, finely shap’d, and to have a great deal of Wit; these are Charms that subdue the Hearts of all the Fair: And one sees but very few Ladies, that can resist these good Qualities, especially in an Age so gallant as ours, yet all this is nothing if Fortune do not smile: And I have seen a Man handsom, well shap’d, and of a great deal of Wit, with the advantage of a thousand happy Adventures, yet finds himself in the end, fitter for an Hospital than the Elevation of Fortune: And the Women are not contented we should give them as much Love as they give us, (which is but reasonable,) but they would compel us all to Present and Treat ‘em lavishly, till a Man hath consumed both Estate and Body in their Service. How many do we see, that are wretched Examples of this Truth, and who have nothing of all they enjoyed remaining with ‘em, but a poor _Idæa_ of past Pleasures, when rather the Injury the Jilt has done ‘em, ought to be eternally present with ‘em. Heaven keep me from being a Woman’s Property. There are Cullies enough besides you or I, _Lysander_.

One would think now, That I, who can talk thus Learnedly and Gravely, had never been any of the number of those wretched, whining, sighing, dying Fops, I speak of, never been jilted and cozen’d of both my Heart and Reason; but let me tell those that think so, they are mistaken, and that all this Wisdom and Discretion, I now seem replenish’d with, I have as dearly bought as any keeping Fool of ‘em all. I was Li’d and flattered into Wit, jilted and cozen’d into Prudence, and, by ten thousand broken Vows and perjured Oaths, reduced to Sense again; and can laugh at all my past Follies now.