Part 9

Who should one celibrate with Verse and Song, but the Great, the Noble and the Brave? where dedicate an _Isle of Love_, but to the Gay, the Soft and Young? and who amongst Men can lay a better claim to these than Your Lordship? who like the Sun new risen with the early Day, looks round the World and sees nothing it cannot claim an interest in (for what cannot Wit, Beauty, Wealth and Honour claim?) The violent storms of Sedition and Rebellion are hush’d and calm’d; black Treason is retir’d to its old abode, the dark Abyss of Hell; the mysterious Riddles of Politick Knaves and Fools, which so long amused and troubled the World’s repose, are luckily unfolded; and Your Lordship is saluted at Your first coming forth, Your first setting out for the glorious and happy Race of Life, by a Nation all glad, gay and smiling; and you have nothing before you but a ravishing prospect of eternal Joys, and everlasting inviting Pleasures, and all that Love and Fortune can bestow on their darling Youth, attend You in the noble pursuit; and nothing can prevent Your being the most happy of her Favourites, but a too eager flight, a too swift speed o’er the charming flowry Meads and Plains that lie in view, between Your setting out and the end of Your glorious Chase. A long and illustrious race of Nobility has attended Your great Name, but none I believe ever came into the World with Your Lordship’s advantages; amongst which, my Lord, ‘tis not the least that You have the glory to be truly Loyal, and to be adorn’d with those excellent Principles, which render Nobility so absolutely worth the Veneration which is paid ‘em; ‘tis those, my Lord, and not the Title that make it truly great: Grandeur in any other serves but to point ‘em out more particularly to the World, and shew their Faults with the greater magnitude, and render ‘em more liable to contempt and that Reward which justly persues Ingratitude; nor is it, my Lord, the many unhappy Examples this Age has produc’d that has deterr’d you from herding with the busie Unfortunates, and bringing Your powerful aid to their detestable cause, but a noble Honesty in Your Nature, a Generosity in Your Soul. That even part of Your Education had the good fortune not to be able to corrupt; no Opinion cou’d bypass You, no Precedent debauch You; though all the fansied Glories of Power were promis’d You, though all the Contempt thrown on good and brave Men, all the subtile Arguments of the old Serpent, were us’d against the best of Kings and his illustrious Successor, still You were unmov’d; Your young stout Heart with a Gallantry and Force unusual resisted and defied the gilded Bait, laugh’d at the industrious Politicks of the busie Wise, and stubbornly Loyal, contemn’d the Counsels of the Grave. Go on, my Lord, advance in Noble resolution, grow up in strength of Loyalty, settle it about Your Soul, root it there like the first Principles of Religion, which nothing ever throughly defaces, and which in spight of even Reason the Soul retains, whatever little Debaucheries the Tongue may commit; You that are great, are born the Bulwarks of sacred Majesty, its defence against all the storms of Fate, the Safety of the People in the Supporters of the Throne; and sure none that ever obey’d the Laws of God and the Dictates of Honour ever paid those Duties to a Sovereign that more truly merited the Defence and Adorations of his People than this of ours; and tis a blessing (since we are oblig’d to render it to the worst of Tyrant Kings) that we have one who so well justifies that intire Love and Submission we ought to pay him. You, my Lord, are one whom Thousands of good Men look up to with wondrous Veneration and Joy, when ‘tis said Your Lordship amongst Your other Vertues is Loyal too, a true Tory! (a word of Honour now, the Royal Cause has sanctified it,) and though Your Lordship needs no encouragement to a good that rewards it self, yet I am confident You are not onely rank’d in the esteem of the best of Monarchs, but we shall behold you as one of our Preservers, and all _England_ as one of its great Patrons, when Ages that shall come shall find Your noble Name inroll’d amongst the Friends to Monarchy in an Age of so villainous Corruption: Yes, my Lord, they will find it there and bless You. ‘Tis this, my Lord, with every other Grace and Noble Vertue that adorns You, and gives the World such promises of Wonders in You, that makes me ambitious to be the first in the Croud of Your Admirers, that shall have the honour to celibrate Your great Name. Be pleased then, my Lord, to accept this Little Piece, which lazy Minutes begot and hard Fate has oblig’d me to bring forth into the censuring World, to which if any thing can reconcile it, ‘twill be the glory it has to bear Your Noble Name in the front, and to be Patronized by so great and good a Man: Permit but my Zeal for Your Lordship to attone for the rest of my Faults, and Your Lordship will extremely oblige,

My Lord, Your Lordship’s most Humble, and most Obedient Servant, _A. BEHN._

To Mrs. BEHN, on the publishing her Poems.

_Madam,_

Long has Wit’s injur’d Empire been opprest By Rhiming Fools, this Nations common Jest, And sunk beneath the _weight_ of heavy _stafes_, In _Tory Ballads_ and _Whig Epitaphs_; The _Ogs_ and _Doegs_ reign’d, nay _Baxter’s_ zeal, Has not been wanting too in writing _Ill_; Yet still in spight of what the dull can doe, ‘Tis here _asserted_ and _adorn’d_ by you. This Book come forth, their credit must decay, Ill Spirits vanish at th’approach of day: And justly we before your envy’d _feet_, There where our _Hearts_ are due our _Pens_ submit; Ne’er to resume the baffled things again, Unless in Songs of _Triumph_ to thy Name; Which are out-done by every _Verse_ of thine, } Where thy own _Fame_ does with more lustre shine, } Than all that we can give who in thy _Praises_ join. } Fair as the face of Heaven, when no thick _Cloud_ Or darkning _Storm_ the glorious prospect shroud; In all its beauteous parts shines thy bright style, And beyond Humane Wit commends thy skill; With all the _thought_ and _vigour_ of our Sex The moving _softness_ of your own you mix. The _Queen_ of Beauty and the _God_ of Wars } Imbracing lie in thy due temper’d Verse, } _Venus_ her sweetness and the force of _Mars_. } Thus thy luxuriant Muse her pleasure takes, As _God_ of old in _Eden’s_ blissful walks; The Beauties of her new Creation view’d, Full of content She sees that it is _good_. Come then you inspir’d _Swains_ and join your Verse, Though all in vain to add a Fame to hers; But then your Song will best _Apollo_ please, When it is fraight with this his _Favourite’s_ praise. Declare how when her learned Harp she strung, Our joyfull _Island_ with the Musick rung; Descending _Graces_ left their Heavenly seat, To take their place in every Line she writ; Where sweetest Charms as in her Person smile, Her Face’s Beauty’s copy’d in her style. Say how as she did her just skill improve In the best Art and in soft Tales of Love. Some well sung Passion with success she crown’d, The melting Virgins languish’d at the sound. And envying Swains durst not the Pipe inspire, They’d nothing then to doe but to _admire_. _Shepherds_ and _Nymphs_, to _Pan_ direct-your Prayer, } If peradventure he your Vows will hear, } To make you _sing_, and make you _look_ like her. } But, _Nymphs_ and _Swains_, your hopes are all in vain, For such bright _Eyes_, and such a tunefull _Pen_. How many of her Sex spend half their days, To catch some _Fool_ by managing a Face? But she secure of _charming_ has confin’d Her wiser care t’.adorn_ and _dress_ the Mind. _Beauty_ may fade, but everlasting _Verse_ Exempts the better portion from the _Hearse_. The matchless _Wit_ and _Fancy_ of the Fair, Which moves our _envy_ and our Sons _despair_. Long they shall live a _monument_ of her _Fame_, And to _Eternity_ extend her _Name_; While After-times deservedly approve The choicest object of this Ages Love. For when they reade, ghessing how far she charm’d, With that bright _Body_ with such _Wit_ inform’d; They will give _heed_ and _credit_ to our Verse, When we the _Wonders_ of her _Face_ rehearse.

_J. Cooper._

_Buckden, Nov._ 25. 1683.

_To_ ASTRÆA, _on her Poems_.

‘Tis not enough to reade and to admire, } Thy sacred Verse does nobler thoughts inspire, } Striking on every breast Poetick fire: } The God of Wit attends with chearfull Rays, Warming the dullest Statue into praise. Hail then, delight of Heaven and pride of Earth, Blest by each Muse at thy auspicious birth; Soft Love and Majesty have fram’d thy Mind, To shew the Beauties of both Sexes join’d: Thy Lines may challenge, like young _David’s_ face, A Female Sweetness and a Manly Grace; Thy tender notions in loose numbers flow, With a strange power to charm where e’er they go: And when in stronger sounds thy voice we hear, At all the skilfull points you arm’d appear. Which way so’er thou dost thy self express, We find thy Beauty out in every dress; Such work so gently wrought, so strongly fine, Cannot be wrought by hands all Masculine. In vain proud Man weak Woman wou’d controul, No Man can argue now against a Woman’s Soul.

_J. C._

_To the excellent Madam_ Behn, _on her Poems_.

‘Twas vain for Man the Laurels to persue, (E’en from the God of Wit bright _Daphne_ flew) Man, Whose course compound damps the Muses fire, It does but touch our Earth and soon expire; While in the softer kind th’.therial flame, Spreads and rejoices as from Heaven it came: This _Greece_ in _Sappho_, in _Orinda_ knew Our Isle; though they were but low types to you; But the faint dawn to your illustrious day, To make us patient of your brighter Ray. Oft may we see some wretched story told; In ductile sense spread thin as leaves of Gold. You have ingrost th’inestimable Mine; } Which in well polisht Numbers you refine, } While still the solid Mass shines thick in every Line. } Yet neither sex do you surpass alone, } Both in your Verse are in their glory shown, } Both _Phæbus_ and _Minerva_ are your own. } While in the softest dress you Wit dispense, With all the Nerves of Reason and of Sense. In mingled Beauties we at once may trace A Female Sweetness and a Manly Grace. No wonder ‘tis the _Delphian_ God of old Wou’d have his Oracles by Women told. But oh! who e’er so sweetly could repeat Soft lays of Love, and youths delightfull heat? If Love’s Misfortunes be your mournfull Theme, No dying Swan on fair _Cayster’s_ stream, Expires so sweet, though with his numerous Moan, The fading Banks and suffering Mountains groan. If you the gentle Passions wou’d inspire, With what resistless Charms you breathe desire? No Heart so savage, so relentless none, As can the sweet Captivity disown: Ah, needs must she th’unwary Soul surprise, Whose Pen sheds Flames as dangerous as her Eyes.

_J. Adams._

_To the Authour, on her Voyage to the Island of Love._

To speak of thee no Muse will I invoke, Thou onely canst inspire what shou’d be spoke; For all their wealth the Nine have given to thee, Thy rich and flowing stream has left them dry: _Cupid_ may throw away his useless Darts, Thou’st lent him one will massacre more Hearts Than all his store, thy Pen disarms us so, We yield our selves to the first beauteous Foe; The easie softness of thy thoughts surprise, And this new way Love steals into our Eyes; Thy gliding Verse comes on us unawares, No rumbling Metaphors alarm our Ears, And puts us in a posture of defence; We are undone and never know from whence. So to th’ _Assyrian_ Camp the Angel flew, And in the silent Night his Millions slew. Thou leadst us by the Soul amongst thy Loves, And bindst us all in thy inchanting Groves; Each languishes for thy _Aminta’s_ Charms, Sighs for thy fansied Raptures in her Armes, Sees her in all that killing posture laid, When _Love_ and fond _Respect_ guarded the sleeping Maid, Persues her to the very Bower of Bliss, Times all the wrecking joys and thinks ‘em his; In the same Trance with the young pair we lie, And in their amorous Ecstasies we die. You Nymphs, who deaf to Love’s soft lays have been, Reade here, and suck the sweet destruction in: Smooth is the stream and clear is every thought, And yet you cannot see with what you’re caught; Or else so very pleasing is the Bait, With careless heed you play and leap at it: She poisons all the Floud with such an art, That the dear Philter trickles to the Heart, With such bewitching pleasure that each sup Has all the joys of life in every drop. I see the Banks with Love-sick Virgins strow’d, Their Bosoms heav’d with the young fluttering Gods; Oh, how they pant and struggle with their pain! Yet cannot wish their former health again: Within their Breasts thy warmth and spirit glows, And in their Eyes thy streaming softness flows; Thy Raptures are transfus’d through every vein, And thy blest hour in all their heads does reign; The Ice that chills the Soul thou dost remove, And meltst it into tenderness and Love; The flints about their Hearts dance to thy lays, Till the quick motion sets ‘em on a Blaze. _Orpheus_ and you the stones do both inspire, But onely you out of those flints strike fire, Not with a sudden Spark, a short liv’d Blaze, Like Womens Passions in our Gilting days; But what you fire burns with a constant flame, Like what you write, and always is the same. Rise, all ye weeping Youth, rise and appear, Whom gloomy Fate has damn’d to black Despair; Start from the ground and throw your Mourning by, Loves great _Sultana_ says you shall not die: The dismal dark half year is over past, The Sea is op’d, the Sun shines out at last, And Trading’s free, the storms are husht as death, Or happy Lovers ravisht out of breath; And listen to _Astræa’s_ Harmony, Such power has elevated Poetry.

_T. C._

_To the Lovely Witty_ ASTRÆA_, on her Excellent Poems._

Oh, wonder of thy Sex! Where can we see, Beauty and Knowledge join’d except in thee? Such pains took Nature with your Heav’nly Face, Form’d it for Love, and moulded every Grace; I doubted first and fear’d that you had been Unfinish’d left like other She’s within: I see the folly of that fear, and find Your Face is not more beauteous than your Mind: Whoe’er beheld you with a Heart unmov’d, That sent not sighs, and said within he lov’d? I gaz’d and found, a then, unknown delight, Life in your looks, and Death to leave the sight. What joys, new Worlds of joys has he possest, That gain’d the sought-for welcome of your Breast? Your Wit wou’d recommend the homeliest Face, Your Beauty make the dullest Humour please; But where they both thus gloriously are join’d, All Men submit, you reign in every Mind. What Passions does your Poetry impart? } It shews th’unfathom’d thing a Woman’s Heart, } Tells what Love is, his Nature and his Art, } Displays the several Scenes of Hopes and Fears, Love’s Smiles, his Sighs, his Laughing and his Tears. Each Lover here may reade his different Fate, His Mistress kindness or her scornfull hate. Come all whom the blind God has led astray, Here the bewildred Youth is shew’d his way: Guided by this he may yet love and find Ease in his Heart, and reason in his Mind. Thus sweetly once the charming _W----lr_ strove In Heavenly sounds to gain his hopeless Love: All the World list’ned but his scornfull Fair, Pride stopt her ears to whom he bent his prayer. Much happier you that can’t desire in vain, But what you wish as soon as wish’d obtain.

_Upon these and other Excellent Works of the Incomparable_ ASTRÆA.

Ye bold Magicians in Philosophy, That vainly think (next the Almighty three) The brightest _Cherubin_ in all the Hierarchy Will leave that Glorious Sphere And to your wild inchantments will appear; To the fond summons of fantastick Charms, As Barbarous and inexplicable Terms: As those the trembling Sorcerer dreads, When he the Magick Circle treads: And as he walks the Mystick rounds, And mutters the detested sounds, The _Stygian_ fiends exalt their wrathfull heads; And all ye bearded Drudges of the Schools, That sweat in vain to mend predestin’d fools, With senseless Jargon and perplexing Rules; Behold and with amazement stand, Behold a blush with shame and wonder too, What Divine Nature can in Woman doe. Behold if you can see in all this fertile Land Such an Anointed head, such an inspired hand.

II.

Rest on in peace, ye blessed Spirits, rest, With Imperial bliss for ever blest: Upon your sacred Urn she scorns to tread, Or rob the Learned Monuments of the dead: Nor need her Muse a foreign aid implore, In her own tunefull breast there’s wonderous store. Had she but flourisht in these times of old, When Mortals were amongst the Gods inrolld, She had not now as Woman been Ador’d, But with Diviner sacrifice Implor’d; Temples and Altars had preserv’d her name And she her self been thought Immortal as her fame.

III.

Curst be the balefull Tongue that dares abuse The rightfull offspring of her God-like Muse: And doubly Curst be he that thinks her Pen Can be instructed by the best of men. The times to come (as surely she will live, As many Ages as are past, As long as Learning, Sense, or wit survive, As long as the first principles of Bodies last.) The future Ages may perhaps believe One soft and tender Arm cou’d ne’er atchieve The wonderous deeds that she has done So hard a prize her Conqu’ring Muse has won. But we that live in the great Prophetesses days Can we enough proclaim her praise, We that experience every hour The blest effects of her Miraculous power? To the sweet Musick of her charming tongue, In numerous Crowds the ravisht hearers throng: And even a Herd of Beasts as wild as they That did the _Thracian_ Lyre obey, Forget their Madness and attend her song. The tunefull Shepherds on the dangerous rocks Forsake their Kinds and leave their bleating Flocks, And throw their tender Reeds away, As soon as e’er her softer Pipe begins to play. No barren subject, no unfertile soil Can prove ungratefull to her Muses Toil, Warm’d with the Heavenly influence of her Brain, Upon the dry and sandy plain, On craggy Mountains cover’d o’er with Snow, The blooming Rose and fragrant Jes’min grow: When in her powerful Poetick hand, She waves the mystick wand, Streight from the hardest Rocks the sweetest numbers flow.

IV.

Hail bright _Urania_! _Erato_ hail! _Melpomene_, _Polymnia_, _Euterpe_, hail! And all ye blessed powers that inspire The Heaven-born Soul with intellectual fire; Pardon my humble and unhallow’d Muse, If she too great a veneration use, And prostrate at your best lov’d Darling’s feet Your holy Fane with sacred honour greet: Her more than _Pythian_ Oracles are so divine, You sure not onely virtually are Within the glorious Shrine, But you your very selves must needs be there. The _Delian_ Prophet did at first ordain, That even the mighty Nine should reign, In distant Empires of different Clime; And if in her triumphant Throne, She rules those learned Regions alone, The fam’d _Pyerides_ are out-done by her omnipotent Rhime. In proper Cells her large capacious Brain The images of all things does contain, As bright almost as were th’.deas laid, In the last model e’er the World was made. And though her vast conceptions are so strong, The powerfull eloquence of her charming tongue Does, clear as the resistless beams of day, To our enlightned Souls the noble thoughts convey Well chosen, well appointed, every word Does its full force and natural grace afford; And though in her rich treasury, Confus’d like Elements great Numbers lie, When they their mixture and proportion take, What beauteous forms of every kind they make! Such was the Language God himself infus’d, And such the style our great Forefather us’d, From one large stock the various sounds he fram’d, And every Species of the vast Creation nam’d. While most of our dull Sex have trod In beaten paths of one continued Road, Her skilfull and well manag’d Muse Does all the art and strength of different paces use: For though sometimes with slackned force, She wisely stops her fleetest course, That slow but strong Majestick pace Shews her the swiftest steed of all the chosen Race.

V.

Well has she sung the learned _Daphnis_ praise, And crown’d his Temple with immortal Bays; And all that reade him must indeed confess, Th’effects of such a cause could not be less. For ne’er was (at the first bold heat begun) So hard and swift a Race of glory run, But yet her sweeter Muse did for him more, Than he himself or all _Apollo’s_ sons before; For shou’d th’ insatiate lust of time Root out the memory of his sacred Rhime, The polish’d armour in that single Page Wou’d all the tyranny and rage Of Fire and Sword defie, For _Daphnis_ can’t but with _Astræa_ die. And who can dark oblivion fear, That is co-eval with her mighty Works and Her? Ah learned Chymist, ‘tis she onely can By her almighty arm, Within the pretious salt collect, The true essential form, And can against the power of death protect Not onely Herbs and Trees, but raise the buried Man.

VI.