GILDON'S MISCELLANY, 1692.
Reading edition
VENUS and CUPID.
Venus.
Cupid, my darling Cupid, and my Joy, Thy Mother Venus calls, come away, come away.
Cupid.
Alas! I cannot, I am at Play.
Venus.
Fond Boy, I do command thee, haste; Thy precious Hours no longer waste: In Groves and Cottages you make abode, Too mean a Condescention for a God! On barren Mountains idly play, For shame thou Wanton, come away, come away! All useless lies thy Bow and Darts, That should be wounding heedless Hearts: The Swain that guards his Dove, Alas! no Leisure has for Love: His Flocks and Heards are all his Joy, Then leave the Shades and come away, come away.
Cupid.
Alas! what would you have me do? Command and I'll Obedience shew.
Venus.
Hye then to Cities and to Court, Where all the Young and Fair resort; There try thy Power, let fly thy Darts, And bring me in some noble Hearts, Worthy to be by thee undone, For here's no Glory to be won.
Cupid.
Mistaken Queen, look down and see, } What Trophies are prepar'd for thee, } What glorious Slaves are destin'd me. }
Venus.
Now, by my self, a Noble Throng; How Fair the Nymphs, the Swains how Young! No wonder if my little Loves Delight and play in Shades and Groves.
Cupid.
Then, Mother, here I'll bend my Bow, And bring you wounded Hearts enough.
Venus.
My pretty Charming Wanton, do.
Chorus.
'Tis thus we over Mortals reign, And thus we Adoration gain From the proud Monarch to the humble Swain.
Verses design'd by Mrs. A. Behn to be sent to a fair Lady, that desir'd she would absent herself to cure her Love. Left unfinish'd.
In vain to Woods and Deserts I retire, } To shun the lovely Charmer I admire, } Where the soft Breezes do but fann my Fire! } In vain in Grotto's dark unseen I lie, Love pierces where the Sun could never spy. No place, no Art his God-head can exclude, The Dear Distemper reigns in Solitude: Distance, alas, contributes to my Grief; No more, of what fond Lovers call, Relief Than to the wounded Hind does sudden Flight From the chast Goddesses pursuing Sight: When in the Heart the fatal Shaft remains, And darts the Venom through our bleeding Veins. If I resolve no longer to submit My self a wretched Conquest to your Wit, More swift than fleeting Shades, ten thousand Charms From your bright Eyes that Rebel Thought disarms: The more I strugl'd, to my Grief I found My self in Cupid's Chains more surely bound: Like Birds in Nets, the more I strive, I find My self the faster in the Snare confin'd.
Verses by Madam Behn, never before printed. On a Conventicle.
Behold that Race, whence England's Woes proceed, The Viper's Nest, where all our Mischiefs breed, There, guided, by Inspiration, Treason speaks, And through the Holy Bag-pipe Legion squeaks. The Nation's Curse, Religion's ridicule, The Rabble's God, the Politicians Tool, Scorn of the Wise, and Scandal of the Just, The Villain's Refuge, and the Women's Lust.