The Face of Heav'n with fewer Stars is crown'd,
Than Beauties in the Roman Sphere are found.
Whether thy Love is bent on blooming Youth,
On dawning Sweetness in unartful Truth;
Or courts the juicy Joys of riper Growth;
Here mayit thou find thy full Defires in both.
Or if Autumnal Beauties please thy Sight
(An Age that knows to give, and take delight ;)
Millions of Matrons of the graver Sort,
In common Prudence, will not balk the Sport.
In Summer Heats thou need'ft but only go
To Pompey's cool and fhady Portico;
Or Concord's Fane; or that proud Edifice,
Whofe Turrets near the baudy Suburb rise :
Or to that other Portico, where stands
The cruel Father urging his Commands,
And fifty Daughters wait the Time of Reft,
To plunge their Poniards in the Bridegrooms Breaft:
Or Venus' Temple; where, on Annual Nights,
They mourn Adonis with Affyrian Rites.
Nor fhun the Jewish Walk, where the foul Drove,
On Sabbaths, reft from ev'ry thing but Love :
Nor Ifis' Temple; for that facred Whore
Makes others, what to Jove she was before.
And if the Hall it felf be not bely'd,
F'en there the Caufe of Love is often try'd;
Near it at least, or in the Palace Yard,
From whence the noisy Combatants are heard.
The crafty Counsellors, in formal Gown,
There gain another's Caufe, but lose their own.
There Eloquence is nonplust in the Suit;
And Lawyers, who had Words at Will, are mute.
Venus, from her adjoining Temple, fmiles,
To see them caught in their litigious Wiles.
Grave Senators lead home the youthful Dame,
Returning Clients, when they Patrons came.
But, above all, the Play-houfe is the Place ;
There's Choice of Quarry in that narrow Chace.
There take thy Stand, and sharply looking out,
Soon may it thou find a Mistress in the Rout,
For length of Time, or for a fingle Bout.
The Theatres are Berries for the Fair:
Like Ants on Mole-hills, thither they repair;
Like Bees to Hives, fo num'roufly they throng,
It may be faid, they to that Place belong.
Thither they swarm, who have the publick Voice:-
There choose, if Plenty not diftracts thy Choice.
To fee, and to be feen, in heaps they run ;,
Some to undo, and fome to be undone.
From Romulus the Rife of Plays began,
To his new Subjects a commodious Man;
Who, his unmarried Soldiers to supply,
Took care the Commonwealth fhould multiply:
Providing Sabine Women for his Braves,
Like a true King, to get a Race of Slaves.
His Play-house not of Parian Marble made,
Nor was it fpread with purple Sails for Shade.
The Stage with Rufhes, or with Leaves they ftrew'd ::
No Scenes in Prospect, no machining God.
On Rows of homely Turf they fat to fee,
Crown'd with the Wreaths of ev'ry common Tree.
There, while they fat in ruftick Majefty,
Each Lover had his Mistress in his Eye;
And whom he faw moft fuiting to his Mind,
For Joys of matrimonial Rape defign'd.
Scarce cou'd they wait the Plaudit in their Hafte ;:
But, ere the Dances and the Song were past,
The Monarch gave the Signal from his Throne ;
And rifing, bade his merry Men fall on.
The Martial Crew, like Soldiers ready preft,
Juft at the Word (the Word too was, The Beft)
With joyful Cries each other animate;
Some choofe, and fome at Hazard feize their Mate
As Doves from Eagles, or from Wolves the Lambs,
So from their lawless Lovers fly the Dames.
Their Fear was one, but not one Face of Fear;
Some rend the lovely Treffes, of their Hair;
Some fhriek, and some are struck with dumb Despair.
Her abfent Mother one invokes in vain;
One ftands amaz'd, not daring to complain;
The nimbler truft their Feet, the flow remain.
But nought availing, all are Captives led,
Trembling and Blushing, to the Genial Bed.
She who too long refifted, or deny'd,
The lufty Lover made by force a Bride;
And, with fuperior Strength, compell'd her to his Side.
Then footh'd her thus: - My Soul's far better Part,
Cease weeping, nor afflict thy tender Heart :
For what thy Father to thy Mother was,
That Faith to thee, that folemn Vow I pass.
Thus Romulus became fo popular;
This was the way to thrive in Peace and War;
To pay his Army, and frefh Whores to bring:
Who wou'd not fight for fuch a gracious King?
Thus Love in Theatres did firft improve;
And Theatres are ftill the Scene of Love.
Nor fhun the Chariot's, and the Courfer's Race;
The Circus is no inconvenient Place.
No need is there of talking on the Hand;
Nor Nods, nor Signs, which Lovers understand.
But boldly next the Fair your Seat provide ;
Clofe as you can to hers, and Side by Side.
Pleas'd or unpleas'd, no matter; crouding fit:
For fo the Laws of publick Shows permit.
Then find occafion to begin Discourse ;
Inquire, whofe Chariot this, and whofe that Horse?
To whatsoever Side she is inclin'd,
Suit all your Inclinations to her Mind;
Like what the likes; from thence your Court begin;
And whom the favours, wish that he may win.
But when the Statues of the Deities,
In Chariots roll'd, appear before the Prize;
When Venus comes, with deep Devotion rife.
If Dust be on her Lap, or Grains of Sand,
Brush both away with your officious Hand.
If none be there, yet brush that Nothing thence;
And fill to touch her Lap make some Pretence.
Touch any thing of hers; and if her Train
Sweep on the Ground, let it not fweep in vain ;
But gently take it up, and wipe it clean;
And while you wipe it, with obferving Eyes,
Who knows but you may fee her naked Thighs!
Obferve, who fits behind her; and beware,
Left his incroaching Knee fhould prefs the Fair.
Light Service takes light Minds: For fome can tell :
Of Favours won, by laying Cushions well:
By fanning Faces fome their Fortune meet ;
And fome by laying Footstools for their Feet.
These Overtures of Love the Circus gives ; ·
Nor at the Sword-play less the Lover thrives;
For there the Son of Venus fights his Prize;
And deepest Wounds are oft receiv'd from Eyes. -
One, while the Crowd their Acclamations make,
Or while he bets, and puts his Ring to Stake,
Is ftruck from far, and feels the flying Dart;
And of the Spectacle is made a Part.
Cæfar wou'd reprefent a Naval Fight,
For his own Honour, and for Rome's Delight.
From either Sea the Youths and Maidens come;
And all the World was then contain'd in Rome.
In this vaft Concourse, in this Choice of Game,
What Roman Heart but felt a foreign Flame?
Once more our Prince prepares to make us glad;
And the remaining Eaft to Rome will add.
Rejoice, ye Roman Soldiers, in your Urns;
Your Enfigns from the Parthians fhall return;
And the flain Craft fhall no longer mourn.
A Youth is fent thofe Trophies to demand;
And bears his Father's Thunder in his Hand:
Doubt not th' Imperial Boy in Wars unfeen;
In Childhood all of Cæfar's Race are Men.
Celestial Seeds fhoot out before their Day,
Prevent their Years, and brook no dull Delay.
Thus Infant Hercules the Snakes did press,
And in his Cradle did his Sire confefs.
Bacchus, a Boy, yet like a Hero fought,
And early Spoils from conquer'd India brought.
Thus you your Father's Troops fhall lead to Fight,
And thus fhall vanquish in your Father's Right.
Thefe Rudiments you to your Lineage owe;
Born to increase your Titles, as you grow.
Brethren you had, revenge your Brethren flain;
You have a Father, and his Rights maintain.
Arm'd by your Country's Parent, and your own,
Redeem your Country, and reftore his Throne.
Your Enemies affert an impious Caufe;
You fight both for divine and human Laws.
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