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And through the closest Pores a Passage find,
Like that of Light, to shine all o'er the Mind.
The Want of Love does both Extremes produce;
Maids are too nice, and Men as much tooloose;
While equal Good an am'rous Couple find,
She makes him constant, and he makes her kind.

New Charms in vain a Lover's Faith would prove ;

Hermits or Bed-rid Men they'll sooner move :
The fair Inveigler will but sadly find,
There's no such Eunuch as a Man in Love.

But when by his chaste Nymph embrac'd,
(For Love makes all Embraces chaste)
Then the transported Creature can
Do Wonders, and is more than Man.

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Both Heav'n and Earth would our Desires confine

But yet in vain both Heav'n and Earth combine,
Unless where Love blessesthe great Design.
Hymen makes fast the Hand, but Love the Heart;
He the Fool's God, thou Nature's Hymen art;

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Whose Lawsonce broke, we are not held by force,

But the false Breach itself is a Divorce.


For Love the Miser will his Gold despise,
The False grow Faithful, and the Foolish Wise;
Cautious the Young, and complaisant the Old,
The Cruel Gentle, and the Coward Bold.

Thou glorious Sun within our Souls,
Whose Influence so much controuls ;
Even dull and heavy Lumps of Love,

Quicken’d by thee, more lively move,
And if their Heads but any Substance hold,
Love ripens all that Dross into the purest Gold.

In Heav'ns great Work thy Part is such,
That Master-like thou giv'st the last great Touch,

To Heav'n's own Master-piece of Man;
And finishest what Nature but began :
Thy happy Stroke can into Softness bring
Reason, that rough and wrangling thing.




From Childhood upwards we decay, And grow

but greater Children ev'ry Day : So Reason how can we be said to rise ?


So many Cares attend the being wise,
'Tis rather falling down a Precipice.
From Sense to Reafon unimprov'd we move;
We only then adyance, when Reason turns to Love,

Thou reignelt o'er our earthly Gods ;
Uncrown'd by thee their other Crowns are Loads ;
One Beauty's Smile their meanest Courtier brings
Rather to pity than to envy Kings ;
His Fellow Slaves he takes them now to be,

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Favour'd by Love perhaps much less than he.

For Love, the tim'rous bashful Maid
Of nothing but denying is afraid ;

For Love she overcomes her Shame,
Forsakes her Fortune, and forgets her Fame ;
Yet if but with a constant Lover blest,
Thanks Heav'n for that, and never minds thereft.

V. Love


Love is the Salt of Life; a higher Taste
It gives to Pleasure, and then makes it last.
Those slighted Favours which cold Nymphs dispense

Mere common Counters of the Sense,
Defective both in Mettle and in Measure,
A Lover's Fancy coins into a Treasure.
How vast the Subject! What a boundless Store
Of bright Ideas, shining all before
The Muses Sight, forbids me to give o'er!
But the kind God incites us various Ways,
And now I find him all my Ardour raise,
His Precepts to perform, as well as praise.




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HOU lovely Slave to a rude Husband's Will,

By Nature us'd so well, by him so ill !
For all that Grief we see your Mind endure,
Your Glass presents you with a pleasing Cure ;
Those Maids you envy for their happier State,
To have your Form, would gladly have your Fate ;
And of like Slavery each Wife complains,
Without such Beauty's Help to bear her Chains.
Husbands like Him we every where may see,

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But where can we behold a Wife like Thee?

While to a Tyrant you by Fate are ty'd, By Love you tyrannize o'er all beside:


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