Then stop thy fuit, it hurts not thy defign:
But think, another hour fhe may be thine.
And when the celebrates her birth at home,
Or when the views the public fhows of Rome,
Know, all thy vifits then are troublesome.
Defer thy work, and put not then to sea,
For that's a boding and a ftormy day.
Elfe take thy time, and, when thou canft, begin :
To break a Jewish fabbath, think no fin:
Nor e'en on fuperftitious days abftain;
Not when the Romans were at Allia flain.
Ill omens in her frowns are understood;
When she's in humour, ev'ry day is good.
But than her birth-day feldom comes a worfe;
When bribes and prefents must be fent of courfe;
And that's a bloody day, that costs thy purse.
Be ftanch; yet parfimony will be vain :
The craving fex will ftill the lover drain.
No fkill can shift them off, nor art remove;
They will be begging, when they know we love.
The merchant comes upon th' appointed day,
Who fhall before thy face his wares display.
To choose for her fhe craves thy kind advice;
Then begs again, to bargain for the price:
But when she has her purchase in her eye,'
She hugs thee clofe, and kiffes thee to buy.
'Tis what I want, and 'tis a pen'orth too:
In many years I will not trouble you.
If you complain you have no ready coin;
No matter, 'tis but writing of a line,
A little bill, not to be paid at fight;
Now curse the time when thou wert taught to write.
She keeps her birth-day; you must fend the chear;
And she'll be born a hundred times a year.
With daily lies fhe dribs thee into coft;
That ear-ring dropt a ftone, that ring is loft.
They often borrow what they never pay;
Whate'er you lend her, think it thrown away.
Had I ten mouths and tongues to tell each art,
All would be wearied ere I told a part.
By letters, not by words thy love begin;
And ford the dang'rous paffage with thy pen.
If to her heart thou aim'ft to find the way,
Extremely flatter, and extremely pray.
Priam by pray'rs did Hector's body gain;
Nor is an angry God invòk'd in vain.
With promis'd gifts her easy mind bewitch;
For e'en the poor in promise may be rich.
Vain hopes awhile her appetite will ftay;
"Tis a deceitful, but commodious way.
Who gives is mad; but make her still believe
'Twill come, and that's the cheapest way to give.
E'en barren lands fair promises afford;
But the lean harvest cheats the starving lord.
Buy not thy firft enjoyment, left it prove
Of bad example to thy future love:
But get it gratis; and fhe'll give thee more,
For fear of losing what she gave before.
The lofing gamefter fhakes the box in vain,
And bleeds, and lofes on, in hopes to gain.
Write then, and in thy letter, as I faid,
Let her with mighty promifes be fed.
Cydippe by a letter was betray'd,
Writ on an apple to th' unwary maid.
She read herself into a marriage-vow;
(And ev'ry cheat in love the Gods allow.)
Learn eloquence, ye noble youth of Rome;
It will not only at the bar o'ercome:
Sweet words the people and the fenate move;
But the chief end of eloquence is love.
But in thy letter hide thy moving arts;
Affect not to be thought a man of parts.
None but vain fools to fimple women preach:
A learned letter oft has made a breach.
In a familiar file your thoughts convey,
And write fuch things as prefent you would fay;
Such words as from the heart may feem to move:
"Tis wit enough, to make her think you love.
If feal'd the fends it back, and will not read,
Yet hope, in time, the business may fucceed.
In time the fteer will to the yoke fubmit;
In time the reftiff horse will bear the bit.
E'en the hard plough-fhare use will wear away:
And ftubborn steel in length of time decay.
Water is foft, and marble hard; and yet
We fee foft water through hard marble eat.
Though late, yet Troy at length in flames expir'd:
And ten years more Penelope had tir'd.
Perhaps thy lines unanfwer'd fhe retain'd;
No matter; there's a point already gain'd:
For fhe, who reads, in time will answer too;
Things must be left by juft degrees to grow.
Perhaps fhe writes, but anfwers with difdain,
And sharply bids you not to write again:
What the requires, the fears you should accord;
The jilt would not be taken at her word.
Mean time, if she be carried in her chair, Approach, but do not feem to know she's there. Speak foftly to delude the ftanders-by; Or, if aloud, then speak ambiguously. If faunt'ring in the portico fhe walk, Move flowly too; for that's a time for talk: And fometimes follow, fometimes be her guide: But, when the crowd permits, go fide by fide. Nor in the play-house let her fit alone: For fhe's the play-house, and the play in one. There thou may'ft ogle, or by figns advance Thy fuit, and seem to touch her hand by chance.
Admire the dancer who her liking gains,
And pity in the play the lover's pains;
For her sweet fake the lofs of time despise;
Sit while fhe fits, and when the rifes rife.
But dress not like a fop, nor curl your
hair,
Nor with a pumice make your body bare.
Leave thofe effeminate and useless toys
To eunuchs, who can give no folid joys.
Neglect becomes a man: this Thefeus found:
Uncurl'd, uncomb'd, the nymph his wishes crown'd.
The rough Hippolytus was Phædra's care;
And Venus thought the rude Adonis fair.
Be not too finical; but yet be clean:
And wear well-fashion'd clothes, like other men.
Let not your teeth be yellow, or be foul;
Nor in wide fhoes your feet too loosly roll.
Of a black muzzle, and long beard, beware;
And let a skilful barber cut your hair.
Your nails be pick'd from filth, and even par'd;
Nor let your nafty noftrils bud with beard.
Cure your unfav'ry breath, gargle your throat;
And free your armpits from the ram and goat.
Dress not, in short, too little or too much;
And be not wholly French, nor wholly Dutch.
Now Bacchus calls me to his jolly rites:
Who would not follow, when a God invites ?
He helps the poet, and his pen infpires,
Kind and indulgent to his former fires,
Fair Ariadne wander'd on the shore,
Forfaken now; and Thefeus lov'd no more:
Loofe was her gown, difhevel'd was her hair;
Her bofom naked, and her feet were bare:
Exclaiming, on the water's brink she stood;
Her briny tears augment the briny flood.
She fhriek'd, and wept, and both became her face:
No pofture could that heav'nly form disgrace,
She beat her breaft: The traitor's gone, faid she;
What shall become of poor forfaken me?
What fhall become-fhe had not time for more,
The founding cymbals rattled on the shore.
She fwoons for fear, fhe falls upon the ground;
No vital heat was in her body found.
The Mimallonian dames about her stood;
And fcudding fatyrs ran before their God.
Silenus on his ass did next appear,
And held upon the mane; (the God was clear)
The drunken fire pursues, the dames retire:
Sometimes the drunken dames pursue the drunken fire.
At last he topples over on the plain;
The fatyrs laugh, and bid him rise again.
And now the God of Wine came driving on,
High on his chariot by fwift tigers drawn.
Her colour, voice, and fenfe forfook the fair;
Thrice did her trembling feet for flight prepare,
And thrice affrighted did her flight forbear.
She fhook, like leaves of corn when tempests blow,
Or flender reeds that in the marshes grow.
To whom the God: Compofe thy fearful mind:
In me a truer husband thou fhalt find.
With heav'n I will endow thee, and thy ftar
Shall with propitious light be seen afar,
And guide on feas the doubtful mariner.
He faid, and from his chariot leaping light,
Left the grim tigers fhould the nymph affright,
His brawny arms around her waist he threw ;
(For Gods, whate'er they will, with ease can do :)
And swiftly bore her thence: th' attending throng
Shout at the fight, and fing the nuptial fong."
Now in full bowls her forrow she may fteep:
The bridegroom's liquor lays the bride asleep.
But thou, when flowing cups in triumph ride,
And the lov'd nymph is feated by thy fide;
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