Obrazy na stronie
PDF
ePub

Nor's Love ungrateful to the willing Maid; Debts that have least of force, are furest paid: But when oblig'd to kiss, Men soon grow tird, And hate those Pleasures they before admir’d.

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

T

HE Gods (as Poets say) from Men conceal

[shall feel. Those boundless Pleasures they when dead Else tir'd with living, they'd uneasie grow, And leave unpeopled all the Realms below. So married Men the Bliss of Nuptial Bed Conceal from Batchelors, least all should wed.

Like envious Misers, whilst themselves have store,
They much rejoice at seeing others poor.
But I, from such ignoble Passionsfree, Y
Grow happier by my Friend's Felicity:
And therefore labour to convince Mankind
What Heav'nly Raptures we in Marriage find.
Take my Advice, forsake thy single Life,
And taste all Pleasures in a loving Wife.
Believe me, I intend no base Deceit,
My only Aim's to make your Joys compleat:
But if you're yet on your own Counsels bent,
Live on, be still a Fool, and late repent.

[merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]

TO TO A

YOUNG LADY

Reading the

ART of LO V E.

W

[ocr errors]

Hilft Ovid here reveals the various Arts,

[Darts

. Both how to Polish, and dire&t their Let meaner Beauties by his Rules improve, And read these Lines to gain Success in Love: But Heav'n alone, that multiplies our Race, Has Pow'r t'increase the Conquests of your Face. The Spring, before he Paints the rising Flow'rs, Receives mildBeams,and soft descending Show'rs; But Love blooms ever fresh beneath your Charms, Tho' neither Pity weeps, nor Kindness warms. C.

The

The Chiefs who doubt Success,assert their Claim By Stratagems, and poorly steal a Name : The generous * Son of Jove in open Fight Made bleeding Vietary proclaim his Might: Like him resistless, when you take the Field Love founds the Signal, and the World must yield.

[ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

-Ire per Ignes,
Et gladios ausim. Neque ad hoctamen ignibus ullis,
Aut gladiis opus est; opús eft mihi Crine.-

Ovid. Met. Lib. 8.

[ocr errors]

W

E fage Cartesians, who profess

Our selves sworn Foes to Emptinesss
Assert that Souls a Tip-toe stand
On what we call the Pineal Gland;
As Weather-cocks on Spires are plac’d,
To turn the quicker with each Blast.

« PoprzedniaDalej »