Far hence, ye proud Hexameters, remove ;)
'My Verfe is pac'd and trammel'd into Love.
With Myrtle Wreaths my thoughtful Brows inclofe,
While in unequal Verfe I fing my Woes.

From OVID'S AMOUR S.
Book i. Eleg. 4.

To his Miftrefs, whofe Husband is invited to a Feaft with them. The Poet inftructs her how to behave herself in his Company.

OUR Husband will be with us at the Treat;

You

May that be the last Supper he shall eat.

And am poor I a Gueft invited there,

Only to fee, while he may touch the Fair?
To see you kifs and hug your naufeous Lord,
While his lead hand defcends below the Board?
Now wonder not that Hippodamia's Charms,
At fuch a fight, the Centaurs urg'd to Arms;
That in a rage they threw their Cups afide,
Affail'd the Bride-groom, and wou'd force the Bride.
I am not half a Horse, (I wou'd I were)
Yet hardly can from you my hands forbear.
Take then my Counsel; which, observ'd, may be
Of fome importance both to you and me.
Be sure to come before your Man be there;
There's nothing can be done; but come howe'er.
Sit next him (that belongs to decency)
But tread upon my Foot in paffing by.
Read in my Looks what filently they speak,
And flily, with your Eyes, your Answer make.
VOL. II.

Ꮐ

My

My lifted Eye-brow fhall declare my pain;
My Right-hand to his Fellow fhall complain;
And on the back a Letter fhall defign;
Befides a Note that shall be writ in Wine.
Whene'er you think upon our laft Embrace,
With your Fore-finger gently touch your Face.
If any Word of mine offend my Dear,
Pull, with your hand, the velvet of your Ear.
If you are pleas'd with what I do or fay,
Handle your Rings, or with your Fingers play.
As Suppliants ufe at Altars, hold the board,
Whene'er you wish the Devil may take your Lord.
When he fills for you, never touch the Cup,

But bid th' officious Cuckold drink it up.
The Waiter on thofe Services employ ;
Drink you, and I will fnatch it from the Boy;
Watching the part where your fweet Mouth hath been,
'And thence with eager Lips will fuck it in.
If he, with clownish Manners, thinks it fit
To tafte, and offer you the nafty bit,
Reject his greafy Kindness, and restore
Th' unfav'ry Morfel he had chew'd before.
Nor let his Arms embrace your Neck, nor reft
Your tender Cheek upon his hairy Breast.
Let not his Hand within your Bosom ftray,
And rudely with your pretty Bubbies play.
But above all, let him no Kifs receive;
'That's an Offence I never can forgive.
Do not, O do not that sweet Mouth refign,
Left I rife up in Arms, and cry, 'tis mine.
I fhall thruft in betwixt, and void of fear
The manifeft Adult'rer will appear.

These things are plain to Sight; but more I doubt
What you conceal beneath your Petticoat,

Take

Take not his Leg between your tender Thighs, Nor, with your Hand, provoke my Foe to rife. Love-inventions I deplore,

How many

Which I my self have practis'd all before?

How oft have I been forc'd the Robe to lift
In Company; to make a homely shift
For a bare Bout, ill huddled o'er in haste,
While o'er my fide the Fair her Mantle caft.
You to your Husband fhall not be fo kind;
But, left you shou'd, your Mantle leave behind.
Encourage him to tope; but kifs him him not,
Nor mix one drop of Water in his Pot.
If he be fuddled well, and fnores apace,
Then we may take Advice from time and place.
When all depart, when Compliments are loud,
Be fure to mix among the thickeft Crowd:
There I will be, and there we cannot mifs,
Perhaps to grubble, or at least to kifs.
Alas! what length of Labour I employ,
Juft to fecure a fhort and tranfient Joy!
For Night muft part us; and when Night is come,
Tuck'd underneath his Arm he leads you home.
He locks you in; I follow to the Door,
His Fortune envy, and my own deplore.
He kiffes you, he more than kiffes too;
Th' outrageous
Cuckold thinks it all his due.
But add not to his Joy by your Confent,
And let it not be giv'n, but only lent.
Return no Kifs, nor move in any fort;
Make it a dull and a malignant sport.
Had I my wish, he should no Pleasure take,
But flubber o'er your Bufinefs for my fake.
And whate'er Fortune fhall this night befal,
Coax me to-morrow, by forfwearing all.

The firft Book of

OVID'S ART of LO V E.

N Cupid's School whoe'er wou'd take Degree,
I Mull learn his Rudiments, by reading me.

Seamen with failing Arts their Veffels move;
Art guides the Chariot; Art inftructs to Love.
Of Ships and Chariots others know the Rule;
But I am Mafter in Love's mighty School.
Cupid indeed is obftinate and wild,

A tubborn God; but yet the God's a Child :
Eafy to govern in his tender Age,
Like fierce Achilles in his Pupillage:

That Hero, born for Conqueit, trembling flood
Before the Centaur, and receiv'd the Rod.
As Chiron mollify'd his cruel Mind

With Art, and taught his warlike Hands to wind
The filver Strings of his melodious Lyre:
So Love's fair Goddess does my Soul infpire,
To teach her fofter Arts; to footh the Mind,
And smooth the rugged Breafts of Human Kind.
Yet Cupid and Achilles, each with Scorn

And Rage were fill'd; and both were Goddess-born.
The Bull, reclaim'd and yok'd, the Burden draws:
The Horse receives the Bit within his Jaws;
And ftubborn Love fhall bend beneath my Sway,
Tho' ftruggling oft he ftrives to difobey.

He fhakes his Torch, he wounds me with his Darts;

But vain his Force, and vainer are his Arts.

The more he burns my Soul, or wounds my Sight,
The more he teaches to revenge the Spite.

I boaft no Aid the Delphian God affords,
Nor Aufpice from the Flight of chattering Birds;
Nor Clio, nor her Sifters have I seen ;

As Hefiod faw them on the fhady Green :
Experience makes my Work; a Truth fo try'd
You may believe; and Venus be my Guide.

Far hence, ye Vestals, be, who bind your Hair ;
And Wives, who Gowns below your Ancles wear.
I fing the Brothels loose and unconfin'd,
Th' unpunishable Pleasures of the Kind;
Which all alike, for Love, or Money, find.
You, who in Cupid's Rolls infcribe your Name,
First seek an Object worthy of your Flame;
Then ftrive, with Art, your Lady's Mind to gain :
And, laft, provide your Love may long remain.
On these three Precepts all my Work shall move :
These are the Rules and Principles of Love.

Before your Youth with Marriage is oppreft,
Make choice of one who fuits your Humour best:
And fuch a Damfel drops not from the Sky;
She must be fought for with a curious Eye.

The wary Angler, in the winding Brook,
Knows what the Fish, and where to bait his Hook.
The Fowler and the Huntsman know by Name
The certain Haunts and Harbour of their Game..
So muft the Lover beat the liklieft Grounds;
Th' Affembly where his Quarry moft abounds.
Nor fhall my Novice wander far aftray;
Thefe Rules fhall put him in the ready Way.
Thou shalt not fail around the Continent,
As far as Perfeus, or as Paris went :
For Rome alone affords thee fuch a Store,

As all the World can hardly fhew thee more.