Part 3

This sort of Creature, _Damon_, is very dangerous; not that I fear you will squander away a Heart upon her, but your Hours; for in spight of you, she’ll detain you with a thousand Impertinencies, and eternal Tattle. She passes for a judging Wit; and there is nothing so troublesome as such a Pretender. She, perhaps, may get some knowledge of our Correspondence; and then, no doubt, will improve it to my Disadvantage. Possibly she may rail at me; that is her fashion by the way of friendly Speaking; and an aukward Commendation, the most effectual way of Defaming and Traducing. Perhaps she tells you, in a cold Tone, that you are a happy Man to be belov’d by me: That _Iris_ indeed is handsome, and she wonders she has no more Lovers; but the Men are not of her mind; if they were, you should have more Rivals. She commends my Face, but that I have blue Eyes, and ‘tis pity my Complexion is no better: My Shape but too much inclining to fat. Cries--She would charm infinitely with her Wit, but that she knows too well she is Mistress of it. And concludes,--But all together she is well enough.--Thus she runs on without giving you leave to edge in a word in my defence; and ever and anon crying up her own Conduct and Management: Tells you how she is opprest with Lovers, and fatigu’d with Addresses; and recommending her self, at every turn, with a perceivable Cunning: And all the while is jilting you of your good Opinion; which she would buy at the price of any body’s Repose, or her own Fame, tho’ but for the Vanity of adding to the number of her Lovers. When she sees a new Spark, the first thing she does, she enquires into his Estate; if she find it such as may (if the Coxcomb be well manag’d) supply her Vanity, she makes advances to him, and applies her self to those little Arts she usually makes use of to gain her Fools; and according to his Humour dresses and affects her own. But, _Damon_, since I point to no particular Person in this Character, I will not name who you shall avoid; but all of this sort I conjure you, wheresoever you find ‘em. But if unlucky Chance throw you in their way, hear all they say, without credit or regard, as far as Decency will suffer you; hear ‘em without approving their Foppery; and hear ‘em without giving ‘em cause to censure you. But ‘tis so much Time lost to listen to all the Novels this sort of People will perplex you with; whose Business is to be idle, and who even tire themselves with their own Impertinencies. And be assur’d after all there is nothing they can tell you that is worth your knowing. And _Damon_, a perfect Lover never asks any News but of the Maid he loves.

The Enquiry.

Damon, _if your Love be true_ _To the Heart that you possess,_ _Tell me what have you to do_ _Where you have no Tenderness?_ _Her Affairs who cares to learn,_ _For whom he has not some Concern?_

_If a Lover fain would know_ _If the Object lov’d be true,_ _Let her but industrious be_ _To watch his Curiosity;_ _Tho’ ne’er so cold his Questions seem,_ _They come from warmer Thoughts within._

_When I hear a Swain enquire_ _What gay_ Melinda _does to live,_ _I conclude there is some Fire_ _In a Heart inquisitive;_ _Or ‘tis, at least, the Bill that’s set_ _To shew_, The Heart is to be let.

TWO o’.LOCK.

_Dinner-Time._

Leave all those fond Entertainments, or you will disoblige me, and make Dinner wait for you; for my _Cupid_ tells you ‘tis that Hour. _Love_ does not pretend to make you lose that; nor is it my Province to order you your Diet. Here I give you a perfect Liberty to do what you please; and possibly, ‘tis the only Hour in the whole four and twenty that I will absolutely resign you, or dispense with your even so much as thinking on me. ‘Tis true, in seating your self at Table, I would not have you placed over-against a very beautiful Object; for in such a one there are a thousand little Graces in Speaking, Looking, and Laughing that fail not to charm, if one gives way to the Eyes, to gaze and wander that way; in which, perhaps, in spight of you, you will find a Pleasure: And while you do so, tho’ without design or concern, you give the fair Charmer a sort of Vanity, in believing you have placed your self there, only for the advantage of looking on her; and she assumes a hundred little Graces and Affectations which are not natural to her, to compleat a Conquest, which she believes so well begun already. She softens her Eyes, and sweetens her Mouth; and in fine, puts on another Air than when she had no Design, and when you did not, by your continual looking on her, rouze her Vanity, and encrease her easy Opinion of her own Charms. Perhaps she knows I have some Interest in your Heart, and prides her self, at least, with believing she has attracted the Eyes of my Lover, if not his Heart; and thinks it easy to vanquish the whole, if she pleases; and triumphs over me in her secret Imaginations. Remember, _Damon_, that while you act thus in the Company and Conversation of other Beauties, every Look or Word you give in favour of ‘em, is an Indignity to my Reputation; and which you cannot suffer if you love me truly, and with Honour: and assure your self, so much Vanity as you inspire in her, so much Fame you rob me of; for whatever Praises you give another Beauty, so much you take away from mine. Therefore, if you dine in Company, do as others do: Be generally civil, not applying your self by Words or Looks to any particular Person: Be as gay as you please: Talk and laugh with all, for this is not the Hour for Chagrin.

The Permission.

_My_ Damon, _tho’ I stint your Love,_ _I will not stint your Appetite;_ _That I would have you still improve,_ _By every new and fresh Delight._ _Feast till_ Apollo _hides his Head,_ _Or drink the Am’rous God to_ Thetis’ _Bed._

_Be like your self: All witty, gay!_ _And o’er the Bottle bless the Board;_ _The list’ning Round will, all the Day,_ _Be charm’d, and pleas’d with every Word._ _Tho’. Venus’ _Son inspire your Wit,_ _’.is the_ Silenian _God best utters it._

_Here talk of every thing but me,_ _Since ev’ry thing you say with Grace:_ _If not dispos’d your Humour be,_ _And you’d this Hour in silence pass;_ _Since something must the Subject prove,_ _Of_ Damon’s _Thoughts, let it be Me and Love._

_But,_ Damon, _this enfranchised Hour,_ _No Bounds, or Laws, will I impose;_ _But leave it wholly in your pow’r,_ _What Humour to refuse or chuse;_ I Rules prescribe _but to your Flame;_ _For I, your Mistress, not Physician, am._

THREE o’.LOCK.

_Visits to Friends._

Damon, my _Watch_ is juster than you imagine; it would not have you live retired and solitary, but permits you to go and make Visits. I am not one of those that believe Love and Friendship cannot find a place in one and the same Heart: And that Man would be very unhappy, who, as soon as he had a Mistress, should be obliged to renounce the Society of his Friends. I must confess, I would not that you should have so much Concern for them, as you have for me; for I have heard a sort of a Proverb that says, _He cannot be very fervent in Love, who is not a little cold in Friendship._ You are not ignorant, that when _Love_ establishes himself in a Heart, he reigns a Tyrant there, and will not suffer even Friendship, if it pretend to share his Empire there.

Cupid.

Love _is a God, whose charming Sway_ _Both Heaven, and Earth, and Seas obey;_ _A Power that will not mingled be_ _With any dull Equality._ _Since first from Heaven, which gave him Birth,_ _He rul’d the Empire of the Earth;_ _Jealous of Sov’reign Pow’r he rules,_ _And will be absolute in Souls._

I should be very angry if you had any of those Friendships which one ought to desire in a Mistress only; for many times it happens that you have Sentiments a little too tender for those amiable Persons; and many times Love and Friendship are so confounded together, that one cannot easily discern one from the other. I have seen a Man flatter himself with an Opinion, that he had but an Esteem for a Woman, when by some turn of Fortune in her Life, as marrying, or receiving the Addresses of Men, he has found by Spite and Jealousies within, that that was Love, which he before took for Complaisance or Friendship. Therefore have a care, for such Amities are dangerous: Not but that a Lover may have fair and generous Female Friends, whom he ought to visit; and perhaps I should esteem you less, if I did not believe you were valued by such, if I were perfectly assured they were Friends and not Lovers. But have a care you hide not a Mistress under this Veil, or that you gain not a Lover by this Pretence: For you may begin with Friendship, and end with Love; and I should be equally afflicted should you give it or receive it. And though you charge our Sex with all the Vanity, yet I often find Nature to have given you as large a Portion of that common Crime, which you would shuffle off, as asham’d to own; and are as fond and vain of the Imagination of a Conquest, as any _Coquet_ of us all: tho’ at the same time you despise the Victim, you think it adds a Trophy to your Fame. And I have seen a Man dress, and trick, and adjust his Looks and Mein, to make a Visit to a Woman he lov’d not, nor ever could love, as for those he made to his Mistress; and only for the Vanity of making a Conquest upon a Heart, even unworthy of the little Pains he has taken about it. And what is this but buying Vanity at the Expense of Sense and Ease; and with Fatigue to purchase the Name of a conceited Fop, besides that of a dishonest Man? For he who takes pains to make himself beloved, only to please his curious Humour, tho’ he should say nothing that tends to it, more than by his Looks, his Sighs, and now and then breaking into Praises and Commendations of the Object; by the care he takes, to appear well drest before her, and in good order; he lyes in his Looks, he deceives with his Mein and Fashion, and cheats with every Motion, and every Grace he puts on: He cozens when he sings or dances; he dissembles when he sighs; and every thing he does, that wilfully gains upon her, is Malice prepense, Baseness, and Art below a Man of Sense or Virtue: and yet these Arts, these Cozenages, are the Common Practices of the Town. What’s this but that damnable Vice, of which they so reproach our Sex; that of jilting for Hearts? And ‘tis in vain that my Lover, after such foul Play, shall think to appease me, with saying, _He did it to try how easy he could conquer, and of how great force his Charms were: And why should I be angry if all the Town loved him, since he loved none but_ Iris? Oh foolish Pleasure! How little Sense goes to the making of such a Happiness! And how little Love must he have for one particular Person, who would wish to inspire it into all the World, and yet himself pretend to be insensible! But this, _Damon_, is rather what is but too much practiced by your Sex, than any Guilt I charge on you: tho’ Vanity be an Ingredient that Nature very seldom omits in the Composition of either Sex; and you may be allowed a Tincture of it at least. And, perhaps, I am not wholly exempt from this Leaven in my Nature, but accuse myself sometimes of finding a secret Joy of being ador’d, tho’ I even hate my Worshipper. But if any such Pleasure touch my Heart, I find it at the same time blushing in my Cheeks with a guilty Shame, which soon checks the petty Triumphs; and I have a Virtue at soberer Thoughts, that I find surmounts my Weakness and Indiscretion; and I hope _Damon_ finds the same: For, should he have any of those Attachments, I should have no pity for him.

The Example.

Damon, _if you’d have me true,_ _Be you my Precedent and Guide:_ _Example sooner we pursue,_ _Than the dull Dictates of our Pride._ _Precepts of Virtue are too weak an Aim:_ _’.is Demonstration that can best reclaim._

_Shew me the Path you’d have me go;_ _With such a Guide I cannot stray:_ _What you approve, whate’er you do,_ _It is but just I bend that way._ _If true, my Honour favours your Design;_ _If false, Revenge is the result of mine._

_A Lover true, a Maid sincere,_ _Are to be priz’d as things divine:_ _’.is Justice makes the Blessing dear,_ _Justice of Love without Design._ _And she that reigns not in a Heart alone,_ _Is never safe, or easy, on her Throne._

FOUR o’.LOCK.

_General Conversation._

In this Visiting-Hour, many People will happen to meet at one and the same Time together, in a Place: And as you make not Visits to Friends, to be silent, you ought to enter into Conversation with ‘em; but those Conversations ought to be general, and of general things: for there is no necessity of making your Friend the Confident of your Amours. ’.would infinitely displease me, to hear you have reveal’d to them all that I have repos’d in you; tho’ Secrets never so trivial, yet since utter’d between Lovers, they deserve to be priz’d at a higher rate: For what can shew a Heart more indifferent and indiscreet, than to declare in any fashion, or with Mirth, or Joy, the tender things a Mistress says to a Lover, and which possibly, related at second hand, bear not the same Sense, because they have not the same Sound and Air they had originally, when they came from the soft Heart of her, who sigh’d ‘em first to her lavish Lover? Perhaps they are told again with Mirth, or Joy, unbecoming their Character and Business; and then they lose their Graces: (for Love is the most solemn thing in nature, and the most unsuiting with Gaiety.) Perhaps the soft Expressions suit not so well the harsher Voice of the masculine Lover, whose Accents were not form’d for so much Tenderness; at least, not of that sort: for Words that have the same Meaning, are alter’d from their Sense by the least tone or accent of the Voice; and those proper and fitted to my Soul, are not, possibly, so to yours, though both have the same Efficacy upon us; yours upon my Heart, as mine upon yours: and both will be misunderstood by the unjudging World. Beside this, there is a Holiness in Love that’s true, that ought not to be profan’d: And as the Poet truly says, at the latter end of an Ode, of which I will recite the whole;

The Invitation.

Aminta, _fear not to confess_ _The charming Secret of thy Tenderness:_ _That which a Lover can’t conceal,_ _That which, to me, thou shouldst reveal;_ _And is but what thy lovely Eyes express._ _Come, whisper to my panting Heart,_ _That heaves and meets thy Voice half-way;_ _That guesses what thou wouldst impart,_ _And languishes for what thou hast to say._ _Confirm my trembling Doubt, and make me know,_ _Whence all these Blessings, and these Sighings flow._

_Why dost thou scruple to unfold_ _A Mystery that does my Life concern?_ _If thou ne’er speakst, it will be told;_ _For Lovers all things can discern._ _From overy Look, from every bashful Grace,_ _That still succeed each other in thy Face,_ _I shall the dear transporting Secret learn:_ _But ‘tis a Pleasure not to be exprest,_ } _To hear it by the Voice confest,_ } _When soft Sighs breath it on my panting Breast._ } _All calm and silent is the Grove,_ _Whose shading Boughs resist the Day;_ _Here thou mayst blush, and talk of Love,_ _While only Winds, unheeding, stay,_ _That will not bear the Sound away:_ _While I with solemn awful Joy,_ _All my attentive Faculties employ;_ _List’ning to every valu’d Word;_ _And in my Soul the secret Treasure hoard:_ _There like some Mystery Divine,_ _The wond’rous Knowledge I’ll enshrine._ _Love can his Joys no longer call his own,_ _Than the dear Secret’s kept unknown._

There is nothing more true than those two last Lines: and that Love ceases to be a Pleasure, when it ceases to be a Secret, and one you ought to keep sacred: For the World, which never makes a right Judgment of things, will misinterpret Love, as they do Religion; every one judging it, according to the Notion he has of it, or the Talent of his Sense. _Love_ (as a great Duke said) _is like Apparitions; every one talks of them, but few have seen ‘em_: Every body thinks himself capable of understanding Love, and that he is a Master in the Art of it; when there is nothing so nice, or difficult, to be rightly comprehended; and indeed cannot be, but to a Soul very delicate. Nor will he make himself known to the Vulgar: There must be an uncommon Fineness in the Mind that contains him; the rest he only visits in as many Disguises as there are Dispositions and Natures, where he makes but a short stay, and is gone. He can fit himself to all Hearts, being the greatest Flatterer in the World: And he possesses every one with a Confidence, that they are in the number of his Elect; and they think they know him perfectly, when nothing but the Spirits refined possess him in his Excellency. From this difference of Love, in different Souls, proceed those odd fantastick Maxims, which so many hold of so different kinds: And this makes the most innocent Pleasures pass oftentimes for Crimes, with the unjudging Croud, who call themselves Lovers: And you will have your Passion censur’d by as many as you shall discover it to, and as many several ways. I advise you therefore, _Damon_, to make no Confidents of your Amours; and believe, that Silence has, with me, the most powerful Charm.

’.is also in these Conversations, that those indiscreetly civil Persons often are, who think to oblige a good Man, by letting him know he is belov’d by some one or other; and making him understand how many good Qualities he is Master of, to render him agreeable to the Fair Sex, if he would but advance where Love and good Fortune call; and that a too constant Lover loses a great part of his Time, which might be manag’d to more advantage, since Youth hath so short a Race to run. This, and a thousand the like indecent Complaisances, give him a Vanity that suits not with that Discretion, which has hitherto acquir’d him so good a Reputation. I would not have you, _Damon_, act on these occasions, as many of the easy Sparks have done before you, who receive such Weakness and Flattery for Truth; and passing it off with a Smile, suffer ‘em to advance in Folly, till they have gain’d a Credit with ‘em, and they believe all they hear; telling ‘em they do so, by consenting Gestures, Silence, or open Approbation. For my part, I should not condemn a Lover that should answer such a sort of civil Brokers for Love, somewhat briskly; and by giving ‘em to understand they are already engag’d, or directing ‘em to Fools, that will possibly hearken to ‘em, and credit such Stuff, shame ‘em out of a Folly so infamous and disingenuous. In such a Case only I am willing you should own your Passion; not that you need tell the Object which has charm’d you: And you may say, you are already a Lover, without saying you are belov’d. For so long as you appear to have a Heart unengag’d, you are expos’d to all the little Arts and and Addresses of this sort of obliging Procurers of Love, and give way to the hope they have of making you their Proselyte. For your own Reputation then, and my Ease and Honour, shun such Conversations; for they are neither creditable to you, nor pleasing to me: And believe me, _Damon_, a true Lover has no Curiosity, but what concerns his Mistress.

FIVE o’.LOCK.

_Dangerous Visits._

I foresee, or fear, that these busy impertinent Friends will oblige you to visit some Ladies of their Acquaintance, or yours; my _Watch_ does not forbid you. Yet I must tell you, I apprehend Danger in such Visits; and I fear, you will have need of all your Care and Precaution, in these Encounters. That you may give me no cause to suspect you, perhaps you will argue, that Civility obliges you to it. If I were assur’d there would no other Design be carried on, I should believe it were to advance an amorous Prudence too far, to forbid you. Only keep yourself upon your guard; for the Business of most part of the Fair Sex, is, to seek only the Conquest of Hearts: All their Civilities are but so many Interests; and they do nothing without Design. And in such Conversations there is always a _Je ne scay quoy_, that is fear’d, especially when Beauty is accompanied with Youth and Gaiety; and which they assume upon all occasions that may serve their turn. And I confess, ‘tis not an easy matter to be just in these Hours and Conversations: The most certain way of being so, is to imagine I read all your Thoughts, observe all your Looks, and hear all your Words.

The Caution.

_My_ Damon, _if your Heart be kind,_ _Do not too long with Beauty stay;_ _For there are certain Moments when the Mind_ _Is hurry’d by the Force of Charms away._ _In Fate a Minute critical there lies,_ _That waits on Love, and takes you by Surprize._

_A Lover pleas’d with Constancy,_ _Lives still as if the Maid he lov’d were by:_ _As if his Actions were in view,_ _As if his Steps she did pursue;_ _Or that his very Soul she knew._ _Take heed; for though I am not present there,_ _My Love, my Genius waits you every where._

I am very much pleas’d with the Remedy, you say, you make use of to defend your self from the Attacks that Beauty gives your Heart; which in one of your Billets, you said was this, or to this purpose:

The Charm for Constancy.

Iris, _to keep my Soul entire and true,_ _It thinks, each Moment of the Day, on you._ _And when a charming Face I see,_ _That does all other Eyes incline,_ _It has no Influence on me:_ _I think it ev’n deform’d to thine._ _My Eyes, my Soul, and Sense, regardless move_ _To all, but the dear Object of my Love._