Part 4

But, _Damon_, I know all Lovers are naturally Flatterers, tho’ they do not think so themselves; because every one makes a Sense of Beauty according to his own Fancy. But perhaps you will say in your own defence, That ‘tis not Flattery to say an unbeautiful Woman is beautiful, if he that says so believes she is so. I should be content to acquit you of the first, provided you allow me the last: And if I appear charming in _Damon’s_ eyes, I am not fond of the Approbation of any other. ‘Tis enough the World thinks me not altogether disagreeable, to justify his Choice; but let your good Opinion give what Increase it pleases to my Beauty, tho’ your Approbation give me a Pleasure, it shall not a Vanity; and I am contented that _Damon_ should think me a Beauty, without my believing I am one. ‘Tis not to draw new Assurances, and new Vows from you, that I speak this; though Tales of Love are the only ones we desire to hear often told, and which never tire the Hearers if addrest to themselves. But ‘tis not to this end I now seem to doubt what you say to my advantage: No, my Heart knows no Disguise, nor can dissemble one Thought of it to _Damon_; ‘tis all sincere, and honest as his Wish: ‘Tis therefore it tells you, it does not credit every thing you say; tho’ I believe you say abundance of Truths in a great part of my Character. But when you advance to that, which my own Sense, my Judgment, or my Glass cannot persuade me to believe, you must give me leave either to believe you think me vain enough to credit you, or pleas’d that your Sentiments and mine are differing in this point. But I doubt I may rather reply in some Verses, a Friend of yours and mine sent to a Person she thought had but indifferent Sentiments for her; yet, who nevertheless flatter’d her, because he imagin’d she had a very great Esteem for him. She is a Woman that, you know, naturally hates Flattery: On the other side she was extremely dissatisfy’d, and uneasy at his Opinion of his being more in her favour than she desir’d he should believe. So that one Night having left her full of Pride and Anger, she next Morning sent him these Verses, instead of a _Billetdoux_.

The Defiance.

_By Heaven ‘tis false, I am not vain;_ _And rather would the Subject be_ _Of your Indifference, or Disdain,_ _Than Wit or Raillery._ _Take back the trifling Praise you give,_ _And pass it on some easier Fool,_ _Who may the injuring Wit believe,_ _That turns her into ridicule._

_Tell her, she’s witty, fair and gay,_ _With all the Charms that can subdue:_ _Perhaps she’ll credit what you say;_ _But curse me if I do._

_If your Diversion you design,_ _On my Good-nature you have prest:_ _Or if you do intend it mine,_ _You have mistook the Jest._

Philander, _fly that guilty Art:_ _Your charming facile Wit will find,_ _It cannot play on any Heart,_ _That is sincere and kind._

_For Wit with Softness to reside,_ _Good-nature is with Pity stor’d;_ _But Flattery’s the result of Pride,_ _And fawns to be ador’d._

_Nay, even when you smile and bow,_ _’.is to be render’d more compleat:_ _Your Wit, with ev’ry Grace you shew,_ _Is but a popular Cheat._

_Laugh on, and call me Coxcomb--do;_ _And, your Opinion to improve,_ _Think, all you think of me is true;_ _And to confirm it, swear I love._

_Then, while you wreck my Soul with Pain,_ _And of a cruel Conquest boast,_ _’.is you,_ Philander, _that are vain,_ _And witty at my cost._

Possibly, the angry _Aminta_, when she writ these Verses, was more offended, that he believed himself belov’d, than that he flatter’d; tho’ she wou’d seem to make that a great part of the Quarrel, and Cause of her Resentment: For we are often in an humour to seem more modest in that point, than naturally we are; being too apt to have a favourable Opinion of our selves: And ‘tis rather the Effects of a Fear that we are flatter’d, than our own ill Opinion of the Beauty flatter’d; and that the Praiser thinks not so well of it, as we do our selves, or at least we wish he should. Not but there are Grains of Allowance for the Temper of him that speaks: One Man’s Humour is to talk much; and he may be permitted to enlarge upon the Praise he gives the Person he pretends to, without being accus’d of much Guilt. Another hates to be wordy; from such an one, I have known one soft Expression, one tender Thing, go as far as whole Days everlasting Protestations urged with Vows, and mighty Eloquence. And both the one and the other, indeed, must be allow’d in good manners, to stretch the Compliment beyond the bounds of nice Truth: and we must not wonder to hear a Man call a Woman a Beauty, when she is not ugly; or another a great Wit, if she have but common Sense above the Vulgar; well bred, when well drest; and good-natur’d, when civil. And as I should be very ridiculous, if I took all you said for absolute Truth; so I should be very unjust, not to allow you very sincere in almost all you said besides; and those things, the most material to Love, Honour and Friendship. And for the rest (_Damon_) be it true or false, this believe, you speak with such a Grace, that I cannot chuse but credit you; and find an infinite Pleasure in that Faith, because I love you: And if I cannot find the Cheat, I am contented you should deceive me on, because you do it so agreeably.

SIX o’.LOCK.

_Walk without Design._

You yet have time to walk; and my _Watch_ foresaw you cou’d not refuse your Friends. You must to the _Park_, or to the _Mall_; for the Season is fair and inviting, and all the young Beauties love those Places too well, not to be there. ‘Tis there that a thousand Intrigues are carry’d on, and as many more design’d: ‘Tis there that every one is set out for Conquest; and who aim at nothing less than Hearts. Guard yours well, my _Damon_; and be not always admiring what you see. Do not, in passing by, sigh them silent Praises. Suffer not so much as a guilty Wish to approach your Thoughts, nor a heedful Glance to steal from your fine Eyes: Those are Regards you ought only to have for her you love. But oh! above all, have a care of what you say: You are not reproachable, if you should remain silent all the time of your Walk; nor would those that know you believe it the Effects of Dulness, but Melancholy. And if any of your Friends ask you, Why you are so? I will give you leave to sigh, and say--

The Mal-Content.

_Ah! wonder not if I appear_ _Regardless of the Pleasures here;_ _Or that my Thoughts are thus confin’d_ _To the just Limits of my Mind._ _My Eyes take no delight to rove_ _O’er all the smiling Charmers of the Grove,_ _Since she is absent whom they love._

_Ask me not, Why the Flow’ry Spring,_ _Or the gay little Birds that sing,_ _Or the young Streams no more delight,_ _Or Shades and Arbours can’t invite?_ _Why the soft Murmurs of the Wind,_ _Within the thick-grown Groves confin’d,_ _No more my Soul transport, or cheer;_ _Since all that’s charming_--Iris, _is not here;_ _Nothing seems glorious, nothing fair._

_Then suffer me to wander thus,_ _With down-cast Eyes, and Arms across:_ _Let Beauty unregarded go;_ _The Trees and Flowers unheeded grow._ _Let purling Streams neglected glide;_ _With all the Spring’s adorning Pride._ _’.is_ Iris _only Soul can give_ _To the dull Shades, and Plains, and make ‘em thrive;_ _Nature and my last Joys retrieve._

I do not, for all this, wholly confine your Eyes: you may look indifferently on all, but with a particular regard on none. You may praise all the Beauties in general, but no single one too much. I will not exact from you neither an intire Silence: There are a thousand Civilities you ought to pay to all your Friends and Acquaintance; and while I caution you of Actions, that may get you the Reputation of a Lover of some of the Fair that haunt those Places, I would not have you, by an unnecessary and uncomplaisant Sullenness, gain that of a Person too negligent or morose. I would have you remiss in no one _Punctilio_ of good Manners. I would have you very just, and pay all you owe; but in these Affairs be not over generous, and give away too much. In fine, you may look, speak and walk; but (_Damon_) do it all without design: And while you do so, remember that _Iris_ sent you this Advice.

The Warning.

_Take heed, my_ Damon, _in the Grove,_ _Where Beauties with design do walk;_ _Take heed, my_ Damon, _how you look and talk,_ _For there are Ambuscades of Love._ _The very Winds that softly blow,_ _Will help betray your easy Heart;_ _And all the Flowers that blushing grow,_ _The Shades about, and Rivulets below,_ _Will take the Victor’s part._

_Remember,_ Damon, _all my Safety lies_ _In the just Conduct of your Eyes._ _The Heart, by Nature good and brave,_ _Is to those treacherous Guards a Slave._ _If they let in the fair destructive Foe,_ _Scarce Honour can defend her noble Seat:_ _Ev’n she will be corrupted too,_ _Or driv’n to a Retreat._ _The Soul is but the Cully to the Sight,_ _And must be pleas’d in what that takes delight._

Therefore examine your self well; and conduct your Eyes, during this Walk, like a Lover that seeks nothing: And do not stay too long in these Places.

SEVEN o’.LOCK.

_Voluntary Retreat._

’.is time to be weary, ‘tis Night: Take leave of your Friends and retire home. ‘Tis in this Retreat that you ought to recollect in your Thoughts all the Actions of the Day, and all those things that you ought to give me an account of, in your Letter: You cannot hide the least Secret from me, without Treason against sacred Love. For all the World agrees that Confidence is one of the greatest Proofs of the Passion of Love; and that Lover who refuses his Confidence to the Person he loves, is to be suspected to love but very indifferently, and to think very poorly of the Sense and Generosity of his Mistress. But that you may acquit your self like a Man, and a Lover of Honour, and leave me no doubt upon my Soul; think of all you have done this day, that I may have all the Story of it in your next Letter to me: but deal faithfully, and neither add nor diminish in your Relation; the Truth and Sincerity of your Confession will atone even for little Faults that you shall commit against me, in some of those things you shall tell me. For if you have fail’d in any Point or Circumstance of Love, I had much rather hear it from you than another: for ‘tis a sort of Repentance to accuse your self; and would be a Crime unpardonable, if you suffer me to hear it from any other: And be assur’d, while you confess it, I shall be indulgent enough to forgive you. The noblest Quality of Man is Sincerity; and (_Damon_) one ought to have as much of it in Love, as in any other Business of one’s Life, notwithstanding the most part of Men make no account of it there; but will believe there ought to be Double-dealing, and an Art practised in Love as well as in War. But, Oh! beware of that Notion.

Sincerity.

_Sincerity! thou greatest Good!_ _Thou Virtue which so many boast!_ _And art so nicely understood!_ _And often in the searching lost!_ _For when we do approach thee near,_ _The fine Idea fram’d of thee,_ _Appears not now so charming fair_ _As the more useful Flattery._ _Thou hast no Glist’ring to invite;_ _Nor tak’st the Lover at first sight._

_The modest Virtue shuns the Croud,_ _And lives, like Vestals, in a Cell;_ _In Cities ‘twill not be allow’d,_ _Nor takes delight in Courts to dwell;_ _’.is Nonsense with the Man of Wit;_ _And ev’n a Scandal to the Great:_ _For all the Young, and Fair, unfit;_ _And scorn’d by wiser Fops of State._ _A Virtue, yet was never known_ _To the false Trader, or the falser Gown._

_And_ (Damon) _tho’ thy noble Blood_ _Be most illustrious, and refin’d;_ _Tho’ ev’ry Grace and ev’ry Good_ _Adorn thy Person and thy Mind:_ _Yet, if this Virtue shine not there,_ _This God-like Virtue, which alone,_ _Wert thou less witty, brave, or fair,_ _Wou’d for all these, less priz’d, atone;_ _My tender Folly I’d controul,_ _And scorn the Conquest of thy Soul._

EIGHT o’.LOCK.

_Impatient Demands_.

After you have sufficiently recollected your self of all the past Actions of the Day, call your Page into your Cabinet, or him whom you trusted with your last Letter to me; where you ought to enquire of him a thousand things, and all of me. Ask impatiently, and be angry if he answers not your Curiosity soon enough: Think that he has a dreaming in his Voice, in these moments more than at other times; and reproach him with Dulness: For ‘tis most certain that when one loves tenderly, we would know in a minute, what cannot be related in an hour. Ask him, How I did? How I receiv’d his Letter? And if he examined the Air of my Face, when I took it? If I blush’d or looked pale? If my Hand trembled, or I spoke to him with short interrupting Sighs? If I asked him any Questions about you, while I was opening the Seal? Or if I could not well speak, and was silent? If I read it attentively, and with Joy? And all this, before you open the Answer I have sent you by him: which, because you are impatient to read, you, with the more haste and earnestness, demand all you expect from him; and that you may the better know what Humour I was in, when I writ that to you: For, Oh! a Lover has a thousand little Fears, and Dreads, he knows not why. In fine, make him recount to you all that past, while he was with me; and then you ought to read that which I have sent, that you may inform your self of all that passes in my Heart: for you may assure your self, all that I say to you that way proceeds from thence.

The Assurance.

_How shall a Lover come to know,_ _Whether he’s belov’d or no?_ _What dear things must she impart,_ _To assure him of her Heart?_ _Is it when her Blushes rise;_ _And she languish in her Eyes;_ _Tremble when he does approach;_ _Look pale, and faint at ev’ry Touch?_

_Is it, when a thousand ways_ _She does his Wit and Beauty praise;_ _Or she venture to explain,_ _In less moving Words, a Pain;_ _Tho’ so indiscreet she grows,_ _To confirm it with her Vows?_

_These some short-liv’d Passion moves,_ _While the Object’s by, she loves;_ _While the gay and sudden Fire_ _Kindles by some fond Desire:_ _And a Coldness will ensue,_ _When the Lover’s out of view._ _Then she reflects with Scandal o’er_ _The easy Scene that past before:_ _Then, with Blushes, would recal_ _The unconsid’ring Criminal;_ _In which a thousand Faults she’ll find,_ _And chide the Errors of her Mind._ _Such fickle weight is found in Words,_ _As no substantial Faith affords:_ _Deceiv’d and baffl’d all may be,_ _Who trust that frail Security._

_But a well-digested Flame,_ _That will always be the same;_ _And that does from Merit grow,_ _Establish’d by our Reason too;_ _By a better way will prove,_ _’.is th’ unerring Fire of Love._ _Lasting Records it will give:_ _And, that all she says may live;_ _Sacred and authentick stand,_ _Her Heart confirms it by her Hand._ _If this, a Maid, well born, allow;_ Damon, _believe her just and true._

NINE o’.LOCK.

_Melancholy Reflections._

You will not have much trouble to explain what my _Watch_ designs here. There can be no Thought more afflicting, than that of the Absence of a Mistress; and which the Sighings of the Heart will soon make you find. Ten thousand Fears oppress him; he is jealous of every body, and envies those Eyes and Ears that are charmed by being near the Object ador’d. He grows impatient, and makes a thousand Resolutions, and as soon abandons them all. He gives himself wholly up to the Torment of Incertainty; and by degrees, from one cruel Thought to another, winds himself up to insupportable Chagrin. Take this Hour then, to think on your Misfortunes, which cannot be small to a Soul that is wholly sensible of Love. And every one knows, that a Lover, deprived of the Object of his Heart, is deprived of all the World, and inconsolable: For tho’ one wishes without ceasing for the dear Charmer one loves, and tho’ you speak of her every minute; and tho’ you are writing to her every day, and tho’ you are infinitely pleas’d with the dear and tender Answers; yet, to speak sincerely, it must be confessed, that the Felicity of a true Lover is to be always near his Mistress. And you may tell me, O _Damon_! what you please; and say that Absence inspires the Flame, which perpetual Presence would satiate: I love too well to be of that mind, and when I am, I shall believe my Passion is declining. I know not whether it advances your Love; but surely it must ruin your Repose: And it is impossible to be, at once, an absent Lover, and happy too. For my part, I can meet with nothing that can please in the absence of _Damon_; but on the contrary I see all things with disgust. I will flatter my self, that ‘tis so with you; and that the least Evils appear great Misfortunes; and that all those who speak to you of any thing but of what you love, increase your Pain, by a new remembrance of her Absence. I will believe that these are your Sentiments, when you are assur’d not to see me in some weeks; and if your Heart do not betray your Words, all those days will be tedious to you. I would not, however, have your Melancholy too extreme; and to lessen it, you may persuade your self, that I partake it with you: for, I remember, in your last you told me, you would wish we should be both griev’d at the same time, and both at the same time pleas’d; and I believe I love too well not to obey you.

Love secur’d.

_Love, of all Joys, the sweetest is,_ _The most substantial Happiness;_ _The softest Blessing Life can crave,_ _The noblest Passion Souls can have._ _Yet, if no Interruption were,_ _No Difficulties came between,_ _’.wou’d not be render’d half so dear:_ _The Sky is gayest when small Clouds are seen._ _The sweetest Flower, the blushing Rose,_ _Amidst the Thorns securest grows._ _If Love were one continu’d Joy,_ _How soon the Happiness would cloy!_ _The wiser God did this foresee;_ _And to preserve the Bliss entire,_ _Mix’d it with Doubt and Jealousy,_ _Those necessary Fuels to the Fire;_ _Sustain’d the fleeting Pleasures with new Fears;_ _With little Quarrels, Sighs and Tears;_ _With Absence, that tormenting Smart,_ _That makes a Minute seem a Day,_ _A Day a Year to the impatient Heart,_ _That languishes in the Delay,_ _But cannot sigh the tender Pain away;_ _That still returns, and with a greater Force,_ _Thro’ ev’ry Vein it takes its grateful Course._ _But whatsoe’er the Lover does sustain,_ _Tho’ he still sigh, complain, and fear;_ _It cannot be a mortal Pain,_ _When Two do the Affliction bear._

TEN o’.LOCK.

_Reflections._

After the afflicting Thoughts of my Absence, make some Reflections on your Happiness. Think it a Blessing to be permitted to love me; think it so, because I permit it to you alone, and never could be drawn to allow it any other. The first thing you ought to consider, is, that at length I have suffer’d my self to be overcome, to quit that Nicety that is natural to me, and receive your Addresses; nay, thought ‘em agreeable: and that I have at last confess’d, the Present of your Heart is very dear to me. ‘Tis true, I did not accept of it the first time it was offer’d me, nor before you had told me a thousand times, that you could not escape expiring, if I did not give you leave to sigh for me, and gaze upon me; and that there was an absolute necessity for me, either to give you leave to love, or die. And all those Rigours my Severity has made you suffer, ought now to be recounted to your Memory, as Subjects of Pleasure; and you ought to esteem and judge of the Price of my Affections, by the Difficulties you found in being able to touch my Heart: Not but you have Charms that can conquer at first sight; and you ought not to have valu’d me less, if I had been more easily gain’d: But ‘tis enough to please you, to think and know I am gain’d; no matter when and how. When, after a thousand Cares and Inquietudes, that which we wish for succeeds to our Desires, the remembrance of those Pains and Pleasures we encounter’d in arriving at it, gives us a new Joy.

Remember also, _Damon_, that I have preferred you before all those that have been thought worthy of my Esteem; and that I have shut my Eyes to all their pleading Merits, and could survey none but yours.

Consider then, that you had not only the Happiness to please me, but that you only found out the way of doing it, and I had the Goodness at last to tell you so, contrary to all the Delicacy and Niceness of my Soul, contrary to my Prudence, and all those Scruples, you know, are natural to my Humour.

My Tenderness proceeded further, and I gave you innocent Marks of my new-born Passion, on all occasions that presented themselves: For, after that from my Eyes and Tongue you knew the Sentiments of my Heart, I confirm’d that Truth to you by my Letters. Confess, _Damon_, that if you make these Reflections, you will not pass this Hour very disagreeably.

Beginning Love.

_As free as wanton Winds I liv’d,_ _That unconcern’d do play:_ _No broken Faith, no Fate I griev’d;_ _No Fortune gave me Joy._ _A dull Content crown’d all my Hours,_ _My Heart no Sighs opprest;_ _I call’d in vain on no deaf Pow’rs,_ _To ease a tortur’d Breast._

_The sighing Swains regardless pin’d,_ _And strove in vain to please:_ _With pain I civilly was kind,_ _But could afford no Ease._ _Tho’ Wit and Beauty did abound,_ _The Charm was wanting still,_ _That could inspire the tender Wound,_ _Or bend my careless Will._

_Till in my Heart a kindling Flame_ _Your softer Sighs had blown;_ _Which I, with striving, Love and Shame,_ _Too sensibly did own._ _Whate’er the God before cou’d plead;_ _Whate’er the Youth’s Desert;_ _The feeble Siege in vain was laid_ _Against my stubborn Heart._

_At first my Sighs and Blushes spoke,_ _Just when your Sighs would rise;_ _And when you gaz’d, I wish’d to look,_ _But durst not meet your Eyes._ _I trembled when my Hand you press’d,_ _Nor cou’d my Guilt controul;_ _But Love prevail’d, and I confess’d_ _The Secrets of my Soul._

_And when upon the giving part,_ _My Present to avow,_ _By all the ways confirm’d my Heart,_ _That Honour wou’d allow;_ _Too mean was all that I could say,_ _Too poorly understood:_ _I gave my Soul the noblest way,_ _My Letters made it good._

You may believe I did not easily, nor suddenly, bring my Heart to this Condescension; but I lov’d, and all things in _Damon_ were capable of making me resolve so to do. I could not think it a Crime, where every Grace, and every Virtue justified my Choice: And when once one is assured of this, we find not much difficulty in owning that Passion which will so well commend one’s Judgment; and there is no Obstacle that Love does not surmount. I confess’d my Weakness a thousand ways, before I told it you; and I remember all those things with Pleasure, but yet I remember ‘em also with Shame.

ELEVEN o’.LOCK.

_Supper._