MUSES MERCURY, June, 1707.
Reading edition
The Complaint of the poor Cavaliers.
I.
Give me the Man that's hollow Since he is the only Fellow, For Honesty's out of Date; And he's the only Gallant That shew'd himself so Valiant, To cut off his Master's Pate. These—these be the Men that flaunt, As if they were Sons of Gaunt, And ev'ry Knave Is Fine and Brave, While the poor Cavalier's in want.
II.
The Man that chang'd his Note, And he who has turn'd his Coat, Shall now have a good Reward; He's either made a Knight, Or else by this good Light, A very Reverend Lord: And let him be so for me, I'm as gay and as good as he.
III.
Hang Sorrow, why should we repine, We'll drive down our Grief with good Wine, Not caring for those that rise; For had they been but true Men, They never had been new Men, And we had ne'er been wise. The Blockhead that merits most, That has all his Fortune lost, Must now be turn'd out And a new-found Rout, Of Courtiers rule the Roast.
The next Verses are so tender, that one may see the Author writ 'em with no affected Passion. And indeed she had no need to affect what was so natural to her.
On a Pin that hurt Amintas' Eye.
Injurious Pin, how durst thou steal so nigh? To touch, nay worse, to hurt his precious Eye. Base Instrument, so ill thou'st play'd thy part, Wounding his Eye, thou'st wounded my poor Heart, And for each pity'd Drop his Eye did shed, My sympathizing Heart a thousand bled: Too daring Pin, was there no Tincture good, To bath thy Point, but my Amintas' Blood? Cou'd thy Ambition teach thee so to sin? Was that a Place for thee to revel in? 'Twas there thy Mistress had design'd to be, And must she find a Rival too in thee? Curs'd Fate! that I shou'd harbour thee so long, And thou at last conspire to do me wrong: Tho well I knew thy Nature to be rude, And all thy Kin full of Ingratitude, I little thought thou wouldst presume so far, To aim thy Malice at so bright a Star. Now all the Service thou canst render me Will never recompense this Injury. Well, get thee gone—for thou shalt never more Have Power to hurt what I so much adore. Hence from my Sight, and mayst thou ever lie A crooked Object to each scornful Eye.
To Mrs. Harsenet, on the Report of a Beauty, which she went to see at Church.
As when a Monarch does in Triumph come, And proudly leads the vanquish'd Captive home, The joyful People swarm in ev'ry Street, And with loud Shouts the glorious Victor meet. But others whom Misfortune kept away Desire to hear the Story of the Day, How brave the Prince, how brave his Chariot was, How beautiful he look'd, with what a Grace; How rich his Habit, if he Plumes did wear, Or if a Wreath of Bays adorn'd his Hair: They think 'twas wondrous fine, and long much more, To see the Conqu'ror than they did before. So when at first by Fame I only knew The Charms so much admir'd and prais'd in you; How many Slaves your conqu'ring Eyes had won, And how the wond'ring Crowd did gazing throng; I wish'd to see, and half a Lover grew, Of so much Beauty, tho my Rival too. I came, I saw you, and I must confess, I wish'd my Beauty greater, or yours less; Alas! My whole Devotion you betray'd, I only thought of you, and only pray'd, That you might all your jealous Sex out-do In Cruelty as well as Beauty too. I call'd Amintas faithless Man before, But now I find 'tis just he should adore. Not to love you, if such a Sin could be, Were greater than his Perjury to me; Thus while I blame him, I excuse him too, Who can be innocent that looks on you? But, lovely Chloris, you too meanly prize The Treasures of your Youth, and of your Eyes; Ne're hear his Vows that he to others swore, Nor let him be your Slave, that was a Slave before; He oft has Fetters worn, and can with Ease Admit them, or dismiss them, as he please. A Virgin Heart you merit, that ne're found It could receive, till from your Eyes, a Wound, The Soul that nothing but their Force could fear, As great, if that can be, as you are fair.
For Damon, being ask'd a Reason for his Love.
I.
You ask me, Phillis, why I still pursue, And court no other Nymph but you; And why with Looks and Sighs I still betray A Passion which I dare not say. 'Tis all, Because I do: you ask me why, And with a Woman's Reason, I reply.
II.
You ask what Argument I have to prove, That my Unrest proceeds from Love, You'll not believe my Passion till you know, A better Reason why 'tis so. Then, Phillis, let this Reason go for one, I know I love because my Reason's gone.
III.
You say a Love like mine must needs declare The Object so belov'd not fair; That neither Wit nor Beauty in her dwell, Whose Lover can no Reason tell, What 'tis that he adores, and why he burns: Phillis, let those give such that have returns.
IV.
And by the very Reasons that you use, Damon might justly you accuse; Why do you Scorn, and with a proud Disdain Receive the Vow, and slight the Swain? You say you cannot Love, you know no Cause: May I not prove my Love by your own Laws?
V.
Am not I Youthful, and as gay a Swain, As e'er appeared upon the Plain? Have I not courted you with all th' Address An am'rous Shepherd cou'd profess? And add to this, my Flocks and Herds are great, But Phillis only can my Joy compleat.
VI.
Yet you no Reason for your Coldness give, And 'tis but just you shou'd believe That all your Beauties unadorn'd by Art, Have hurt and not oblig'd my Heart. Be kind to that, my hearty Vows return And then I'll tell you why, for what I burn.