Part 7

_Olives are never fading seen;_ _But always flourishing, and green._ _The Emblem ‘tis of Love and Peace;_ } _For Love that’s true, will never cease:_ } _And Peace does Pleasure still increase._ } _Joy to the World, the Peace of Kings imparts;_ _And Peace in Love distributes it to Hearts._

_The Third_ CYPHER.

The _C_ and the _L_, which are join’d to the Letters of our Names in this Cypher crown’d with Laurel, explains a _Constant Love_. It will not, my fair _Iris_, suffice, that my Love is extreme, my Passion violent, and my Wishes fervent, or that our Loves are reciprocal; but it ought also to be constant: for in Love, the Imagination is oftner carried to those things that may arrive, and which we wish for, than to things that Time has robbed us of. And in those agreeable Thoughts of Joys to come, the Heart takes more delight to wander, than in all those that are past; tho’ the Remembrance of ‘em be very dear, and very charming. We should be both unjust, if we were not persuaded we are possest with a Virtue, the Use of which is so admirable as that of Constancy. Our Loves are not of that sort that can finish, or have an end; but such a Passion, so perfect, and so constant, that it will be a Precedent for future Ages, to love perfectly; and when they would express an extreme Passion, they will say, _They lov’d, as_ Damon _did the charming_ Iris. And he that knows the Glory of constant Love, will despise those fading Passions, those little Amusements, that serve for a Day. What Pleasure or Dependance can one have in a Love of that sort? What Concern? What Raptures can such an Amour produce in a Soul? And what Satisfaction can one promise one’s self in playing with a false Gamester; who tho’ you are aware of him, in spite of all your Precaution, puts the false Dice upon you, and wins all?

_Those Eyes that can no better Conquest make,_ _Let ‘em ne’er look abroad:_ _Such, but the empty Name of Lovers take,_ _And so profane the God._

_Better they never should pretend,_ _Than, ere begun, to make an end._

_Of that fond Flame what shall we say,_ _That’s born and languisht in a Day?_ _Such short-liv’d Blessings cannot bring_ _The Pleasure of an Envying._ _Who is’t will celebrate that Flame,_ _That’s damn’d to such a scanty Fame?_ _While constant Love the Nymphs and Swains_ } _Still sacred make, in lasting Strains_ } _And chearful Lays throughout the Plains._ }

_A constant Love knows no Decay:_ } _But still advancing ev’ry Day,_ } _Will last as long as Life can stay,_ } _With ev’ry Look and Smile improves,_ } _With the same Ardour always moves,_ } _With such as_ Damon _charming_ Iris _loves!_ }

Constant Love finds it self impossible to be shaken; it resists the Attacks of Envy, and a thousand Accidents that endeavour to change it: Nothing can disoblige it but a known Falseness, or Contempt: Nothing can remove it; tho’ for a short moment it may lie sullen and resenting, it recovers, and returns with greater Force and Joy. I therefore, with very good reason, crown this _Cypher_ of _Constant Love_ with a Wreath of _Laurel_; since such Love always triumphs over Time and Fortune, tho’ it be not her Property to besiege: for she cannot overcome, but in defending her self; but the Victories she gains are never the less glorious.

_For far less Conquest we have known_ _The Victor wear the Laurel Crown._ _The Triumph with more Pride let him receive;_ _While those of Love, at least, more Pleasures give._

_The Fourth_ CYPHER.

Perhaps, my lovely Maid, you will not find out what I mean by the _S_ and the _L_, in this last Cypher, that is crown’d with Roses. I will therefore tell you, I mean _Secret Love_. There are very few People who know the Nature of that Pleasure, which so divine a Love creates: And let me say what I will of it, they must feel it themselves, who would rightly understand it, and all its ravishing Sweets. But this there is a great deal of Reason to believe, that the Secrecy in Love doubles the Pleasures of it. And I am so absolutely persuaded of this, that I believe all those Favours that are not kept secret, are dull and pall’d, very insipid and tasteless Pleasures: And let the Favours be never so innocent that a Lover receives from a Mistress, she ought to value ‘em, set a price upon ‘em, and make the Lover pay dear; while he receives ‘em with Difficulty, and sometimes with Hazard. A Lover that is not secret, but suffers every one to count his Sighs, has at most but a feeble Passion, such as produces sudden and transitory Desires, which die as soon as born: A true Love has not this Character; for whensoever ‘tis made publick, it ceases to be a Pleasure, and is only the Result of Vanity. Not that I expect our Loves should always remain a Secret: No, I should never, at that rate, arrive to a Blessing, which, above all the Glories of the Earth, I aspire to; but even then there are a thousand Joys, a thousand Pleasures that I shall be as careful to conceal from the foolish World, as if the whole Preservation of that Pleasure depended on my Silence; as indeed it does in a great measure.

To this Cypher I put a Crown of Roses, which are not Flowers of a very lasting Date. And ‘tis to let you see, that ‘tis impossible Love can be long hid. We see every Day, with what fine Dissimulation and Pains, People conceal a thousand Hates and Malices, Disgusts, Disobligations, and Resentments, without being able to conceal the least part of their Love: but Reputation has an Odour as well as Roses; and a Lover ought to esteem that as the dearest and tenderest thing: not only that of his own, which is, indeed, the least part; but that of his Mistress, more valuable to him than Life. He ought to endeavour to give People no occasion to make false Judgments of his Actions, or to give their Censures; which most certainly are never in the Favour of the Fair Person: for likely, those false Censurers are of the busy Female Sex, the _Coquets_ of that number; whose little Spites and Railleries, join’d to that fancy’d Wit they boast of, sets ‘em at odds with all the Beautiful and Innocent. And how very little of that kind serves to give the World a Faith, when a thousand Virtues, told of the same Persons, by more credible Witnesses and Judges, shall pass unregarded! so willing and inclin’d is all the World to credit the Ill, and condemn the Good! And yet, Oh! what pity ‘tis we are compell’d to live in Pain, to oblige this foolish scandalous World! And tho’ we know each other’s Virtue and Honour, we are oblig’d to observe that Caution (to humour the talking Town) which takes away so great a part of the Pleasure of Life! ‘Tis therefore that among those Roses, you will find some Thorns; by which you may imagine, that in Love, Precaution is necessary to its Secrecy: And we must restrain our selves, upon a thousand occasions, with so much Care, that, Oh _Iris_! ‘tis impossible to be discreet, without Pain; but ‘tis a Pain that creates a thousand Pleasures.

_Where should a Lover hide his Joys,_ _Free from Malice, free from Noise;_ _Where no Envy can intrude;_ _Where no busy Rival’s Spy,_ _Made, by Disappointment, rude,_ _May inform his Jealousy?_ _The Heart will the best Refuge prove;_ _Which Nature meant the Cabinet of Love._ _What would a Lover not endure,_ _His Mistress’ Fame and Honour to secure?_ Iris, _the Care we take to be discreet,_ _Is the dear Toil that makes the Pleasure sweet:_ _The Thorn that does the Wealth inclose,_ _That with less saucy Freedom we may touch the Rose._

_The_ CLASP _of the_ WATCH.

Ah, charming _Iris_! Ah, my lovely Maid! ‘tis now, in a more peculiar manner, that I require your Aid in the finishing of my Design, and compleating the whole Piece to the utmost Perfection; and without your Aid it cannot be perform’d. It is about the Clasp of the _Watch_; a Material, in all appearance, the most trivial of any part of it. But that it may be safe for ever, I design it the Image, or Figure of two Hands; that fair one of the adorable _Iris_, join’d to mine; with this Motto, _Inviolable Faith_: For in this _Case_, this Heart ought to be shut up by this eternal Clasp. Oh! there is nothing so necessary as this! Nothing can secure Love, but Faith.

That Virtue ought to be a Guard to all the Heart thinks, and all the Mouth utters: Nor can _Love_ say he triumphs without it. And when that remains not in the Heart, all the rest deserves no Regard. Oh! I have not lov’d so ill to leave one Doubt upon your Soul. Why then, will you want that Faith, Oh unkind Charmer, that my Passion and my Services so justly merit?

_When two Hearts entirely love,_ _And in one Sphere of Honour move,_ _Each maintains the other’s Fire,_ _With a Faith that is entire._ _For, what heedless Youth bestows,_ _On a faithless Maid, his Vows?_ _Faith without Love, bears Virtue’s Price;_ _But Love without her Mixture, is a Vice._ _Love, like Religion, still should be,_ _In the Foundation, firm and true;_ _In Points of Faith should still agree,_ _Tho’ Innovations vain and new,_ _Love’s little Quarrels, may arise;_ _In Fundamentals still they’re just and wise._

_Then, charming Maid, be sure of this;_ _Allow me Faith, as well as Love:_ _Since that alone affords no Bliss,_ _Unless your Faith your Love improve._ _Either resolve to let me die_ _By fairer Play, your Cruelty;_ _Than not your Love with Faith impart,_ _And with your Vows to give your Heart._ _In mad Despair I’d rather fall,_ _Than lose my glorious Hopes of conquering all._

So certain it is, that Love without Faith, is of no value.

In fine, my adorable _Iris_, this Case shall be, as near as I can, like those delicate ones of _Filligrin_ Work, which do not hinder the Sight from taking a View of all within: You may therefore see, thro’ this Heart, all your _Watch_. Nor is my Desire of preserving this inestimable Piece more, than to make it the whole Rule of my Life and Actions. And my chiefest Design in these Cyphers, is to comprehend in them the principal Virtues that are most necessary to Love. Do not we know that Reciprocal Love is Justice? Constant Love, Fortitude? Secret Love, Prudence? Tho’ ‘tis true that extreme Love, that is, Excess of Love, in one sense, appears not to be Temperance; yet you must know, my _Iris_, that in Matters of Love, Excess is a Virtue, and that all other Degrees of Love are worthy Scorn alone. ‘Tis this alone that can make good the glorious Title: ‘Tis this alone that can bear the Name of Love; and this alone that renders the Lovers truly happy, in spight of all the Storms of Fate, and Shocks of Fortune. This is an Antidote against all other Griefs: This bears up the Soul in all Calamity; and is the very Heaven of Life, the last Refuge of all worldly Pain and Care, and may well bear the Title of _Divine_.

The Art of Loving well.

_That Love may all Perfection be,_ _Sweet, charming to the last degree,_ _The Heart, where the bright Flame does dwell,_ _In Faith and Softness should excel:_ _Excess of Love should fill each Vein,_ _And all its sacred Rites maintain._

_The tend’rest Thoughts Heav’n can inspire,_ _Should be the Fuel to its Fire:_ _And that, like Incense, burn as pure;_ _Or that in Urns should still endure,_ _No fond Desire should fill the Soul,_ _But such as Honour may controul._

_Jealousy I will allow:_ _Not the amorous Winds that blow,_ _Should wanton in my_ Iris’ _Hair,_ _Or ravish Kisses from my Fair._ _Not the Flowers that grow beneath,_ _Should borrow Sweetness of her Breath._

_If her Bird she do caress,_ _How I grudge its Happiness,_ _When upon her snowy Hand_ _The Wanton does triumphing stand!_ _Or upon her Breast she skips,_ _And lays her Beak to_ Iris’ _Lips!_ _Fainting at my ravished Joy,_ _I could the Innocent destroy._ _If I can no Bliss afford_ _To a little harmless Bird,_ _Tell me, Oh thou dear-lov’d Maid!_ _What Reason could my Rage persuade,_ _If a Rival should invade?_

_If thy charming Eyes should dart_ _Looks that sally from the Heart;_ _If you sent a Smile, or Glance,_ _To another tho’ by Chance;_ _Still thou giv’st what’s not thy own,_ _They belong to me alone._

_All Submission I would pay:_ _Man was born the Fair t’ obey._ _Your very Look I’d understand,_ _And thence receive your least Command:_ _Never your Justice will dispute;_ _But like a Lover execute._

_I would no Usurper be,_ _But in claiming sacred Thee._ _I would have all, and every part;_ _No Thought would hide within thy Heart._ _Mine a Cabinet was made,_ _Where_ Iris’ _Secrets should be laid._

_In the rest, without controul,_ _She should triumph o’er the Soul!_ _Prostrate at her Feet I’d lie,_ _Despising Power and Liberty;_ _Glorying more by Love to fall,_ _Than rule the universal Ball._

_Hear me, O you saucy Youth!_ _And from my Maxims learn this Truth:_ _Would you great and powerful prove?_ _Be an humble Slave to Love._ _’.is nobler far a Joy to give,_ _Than any Blessing to receive._

The _LADY’S_ LOOKING-GLASS,

to Dress her self by:

or, The Art of Charming.

_Sent from_ DAMON _to_ IRIS.

How long, Oh charming _Iris_! shall I speak in vain of your adorable Beauty? You have been just, and believe I love you with a Passion perfectly tender and extreme, and yet you will not allow your Charms to be infinite. You must either accuse my Flames to be unreasonable, and that my Eyes and Heart are false Judges of Wit and Beauty; or allow that you are the most perfect of your Sex. But instead of that, you always accuse me of Flattery, when I speak of your infinite Merit; and when I refer you to your Glass, you tell me, that flatters as well as _Damon_: tho’ one would imagine, that should be a good Witness for the Truth of what I say, and undeceive you of the Opinion of my Injustice. Look--and confirm your self that nothing can equal your Perfections. All the World says it, and you must doubt it no longer. Oh _Iris_! will you dispute against the whole World?

But since you have so long distrusted your own Glass, I have here presented you with one, which I know is very true; and having been made for you only, can serve only you. All other Glasses present all Objects, but this reflects only _Iris_: Whenever you consult it, it will convince you; and tell you how much Right I have done you, when I told you, you were the fairest Person that ever Nature made. When other Beauties look into it, it will speak to all the Fair Ones: but let ‘em do what they will, ‘twill say nothing to their advantage.

Iris, _to spare what you call Flattery,_ _Consult your Glass each Hour of the Day:_ _’.will tell you where your Charms and Beauties lie,_ _And where your little wanton Graces play:_ _Where Love does revel in your Face and Eyes;_ _What Look invites your Slaves, and what denies._

_Where all the_ Loves _adorn you with such Care,_ _Where dress your Smiles, where arm your lovely Eyes;_ _Where deck the flowing Tresses of your Hair:_ _How cause your snowy Breasts to fall and rise._ _How this severe Glance makes a Lover die;_ _How that, more soft, gives Immortality._

_Where you shall see what ‘tis enslaves the Soul;_ _Where e’ery Feature, e’ery Look combines:_ _When the adorning Air, o’er all the whole,_ _To so much Wit, and so nice Virtue joins._ _Where the_ Belle Taille_, and Motion still afford_ _Graces to be eternally adored._

But I will be silent now, and let your Glass speak.

IRIS’s _LOOKING-GLASS_.

_Damon_ (Oh charming _Iris_!) has given me to you, that you may sometimes give your self the Trouble, and me the Honour of consulting me in the great and weighty Affairs of Beauty. I am, my adorable Mistress! a faithful Glass; and you ought to believe all I say to you.

_The SHAPE of_ IRIS.

I must begin with your Shape, and tell you without Flattery, ‘tis the finest in the World, and gives Love and Admiration to all that see you. Pray observe how free and easy it is, without Constraint, Stiffness, or Affectation; those mistaken Graces of the Fantastick, and the Formal, who give themselves pain to shew their Will to please, and whose Dressing makes the greatest part of its Fineness, when they are more oblig’d to the Taylor than to Nature; who add or diminish, as occasion serves, to form a Grace, where Heaven never gave it: And while they remain on this Wreck of Pride, they are eternally uneasy, without pleasing any body. _Iris_, I have seen a Woman of your Acquaintance, who, having a greater Opinion of her own Person than any body else, has screw’d her Body into so fine a Form (as she calls it) that she dares no more stir a Hand, lift up an Arm, or turn her Head aside, than if, for the Sin of such a Disorder, she were to be turn’d into a Pillar of Salt; the less stiff and fix’d Statue of the two. Nay, she dares not speak or smile, lest she should put her Face out of that Order she had set it in her Glass, when she last look’d on her self: And is all over such a _Lady Nice_ (excepting in her Conversation) that ever made a ridiculous Figure. And there are many Ladies more, but too much tainted with that nauseous Formality, that old-fashion’d Vice: But _Iris_, the charming, the all-perfect _Iris_, has nothing in her whole Form that is not free, natural, and easy; and whose every Motion cannot but please extremely; and which has not given _Damon_ a thousand Rivals.

Damon, _the young, the am’rous, and the true,_ _Who sighs incessantly for you;_ _Whose whole Delight, now you are gone,_ _Is to retire to Shades alone,_ _And to the Echoes make his moan._ _By purling Streams the wishing Youth is laid,_ _Still sighing_ Iris! _lovely charming Maid!_ _See, in thy Absence, how thy Lover dies!_ _While to his Sighs the Echo still replies._

_Then with the Stream he holds Discourse:_ _O thou that bend’st thy liquid Force_ _To lovely_ Thames! _upon whose Shore_ _The Maid resides whom I adore!_ _My Tears of Love upon thy Surface bear:_ _And if upon thy Banks thou seest my Fair:_ _In all thy softest Murmurs sing,_ From _Damon_ I this Present bring; My e’ery Curl contains a Tear! _Then at her Feet thy Tribute pay:_ _But haste, O happy Stream! away;_ _Lest charm’d too much, thou shouldst for ever stay._ _And thou, Oh gentle, murm’ring Breeze!_ _That plays in Air, and wantons with the Trees;_ _On thy young Wings, where gilded Sun-beams play,_ _To_ Iris _my soft Sighs convey,_ _Still as they rise, each Minute of the Day:_ _But whisper gently in her Ear;_ _Let not the ruder Winds thy Message bear,_ _Nor ruffle one dear Curl of her bright Hair._ _Oh! touch her Cheeks with sacred Reverence,_ _And stay not gazing on her lovely Eyes!_ _But if thou bear’st her rosy Breath from thence,_ _’.is Incense of that Excellence,_ _That as thou mount’st, ‘twill perfume all the Skies._

IRIS_’. COMPLEXION_.

Say what you will, I am confident, if you will confess your Heart, you are, every time you view your self in me, surpris’d at the Beauty of your Complexion; and will secretly own, you never saw any thing so fair. I am not the first Glass, by a thousand, that has assur’d you of this. If you will not believe me, ask _Damon_; he tells it you every Day, but that Truth from him offends you: and because he loves too much, you think his Judgment too little; and since this is so perfect, that must be defective. But ‘tis most certain your Complexion is infinitely fine, your Skin soft and smooth as polisht Wax, or Ivory, extreamely white and clear; tho’ if any body speaks but of your Beauty, an agreeable Blush casts it self all over your Face, and gives you a thousand new Graces.

_And then two Flowers newly born._ _Shine in your Heav’nly Face;_ _The Rose that blushes in the Morn,_ _Usurps the Lilly’s place:_ _Sometimes the Lilly does prevail._ _And makes the gen’rous Crimson pale._

IRIS_’. HAIR_.

Oh, the beautiful Hair of _Iris_! it seems as if Nature had crown’d you with a great quantity of lovely fair brown Hair, to make us know that you were born to rule, and to repair the Faults of Fortune that has not given you a Diadem: And do not bewail the Want of that (so much your Merit’s due) since Heaven has so gloriously recompensed you with what gains more admiring Slaves.

_Heav’n for Sovereignty has made your Form:_ _And you were more than for dull Empire born;_ _O’er Hearts your Kingdom shall extend,_ _Your vast Dominion know no End._ _Thither the_ Loves _and_ Graces _shall resort;_ _To_ Iris _make their Homage, and their Court._ _No envious Star, no common Fate,_ } _Did on my_ Iris’ _Birth-day wait;_ } _But all was happy, all was delicate._ } _Here Fortune would inconstant be in vain:_ Iris, _and_ Love _eternally shall reign._

_Love_ does not make less use of your Hair for new Conquests, than of all the rest of your Beauties that adorn you. If he takes our Hearts with your fine Eyes, it ties ‘em fast with your Hair; and of it weaves a Chain, not easily broken. It is not of those sorts of Hair, whose Harshness discovers Ill-Nature; nor of those, whose Softness shews us the Weakness of the Mind; not that either of these Arguments are without exception: but ‘tis such as bears the Character of a perfect Mind, and a delicate Wit; and for its Colour, the most faithful, discreet, and beautiful in the World: such as shews a Complexion and Constitution, neither so cold to be insensible, nor so hot to have too much Fire: that is, neither too white, nor too black; but such a mixture of the two Colours, as makes it the most agreeable in the World.

_’.is that which leads those captivated Hearts,_ _That bleeding at your Feet do lie;_ _’.is that the Obstinate converts,_ _That dare the Power of Love deny:_ _’.is that which_ Damon _so admires;_ Damon, _who often tells you so._ _If from your Eyes_ Love _takes his Fires,_ _’.is with your Hair he strings his Bow:_ _Which touching but the feather’d Dart,_ _It never mist the destin’d Heart._

IRIS’.s EYES._

I believe, my fair Mistress, I shall dazzle you with the Lustre of your own Eyes. They are the finest Blue in World: They have all the Sweetness that ever charm’d the Heart, with a certain Languishment that’s irresistible; and never any look’d on ‘em, that did not sigh after ‘em. Believe me, _Iris_, they carry unavoidable Darts and Fires; and whoever expose themselves to their Dangers, pay for their Imprudence.

_Cold as my solid Chrystal is,_ _Hard and impenetrable too;_ _Yet I am sensible of Bliss,_ _When your charming Eyes I view:_ _Even by me their Flames are felt;_ _And at each Glance I fear to melt._

_Ah, how pleasant are my Days!_ _How my glorious Fate I bless!_ _Mortals never knew my Joys,_ _Nor Monarchs guest my Happiness._ _Every Look that’s soft and gay,_ Iris _gives me every Day._