Art of Love

It stems the storm, and braves the strongest blast

Time will defects and blemishes endear,

And make them lovely to your eyes appear:

Unusual scents at first may give offence;

Time reconciles them to the vanquish'd sense.

Her vices soften with some kinder phrase;

If she is swarthy as the negro's face,

Call it a graceful brown, and that complexion praise.

The ruddy lass must be like Venus fair,

Or like Minerva that has yellow hair.

If pale and meagre, praise her shape and youth,

Active when small, when gross she's plump and smooth.

Ev'ry excess by soft'ning terms disguise,

And in some neighb'ring virtue hide each vibe.

Nor ask her age, consult no register,

Under whose reign she's born, or what's the year!

If fading youth chequers her hair with white,

Experience makes her perfect in delight;

In her embrace sublimer joys are found,

A fruitful soil, and cultivated ground!

The hours enjoy whilst youth and pleasures last,

Age hurries on, and death pursues too fast.

Or plough the seas, or cultivate the land,

Or wield the sword in thy advent'rous hand;

Or much in love thy nervous strength employ,

Embrace the fair, the grateful maid enjoy;

Pleasure and wealth reward thy pleasing pains,

The labour's great, but greater far the gains.

Add their experience in affairs of love,

For years and practice do alike improve,

Their arts repair the injuries of time,

And still preserve them in their charming prime;

In varied ways they act the pleasure o'er,

Not pictur'd postures can instruct you more.

They want no courtship to provoke delight,

But meet your warmth with eager appetite;

Give me enjoyment, when the willing dame

Glows with desires, and burns with equal flame.

I love to hear the soft transporting joys,

The frequent sighs, the tender murm'ring voice;

To see her eyes with varied pleasures move,

And all the nymph confess the pow'r of love.

Nature's not thus indulgent to the young,

These joys alone to riper years belong;

Who youth enjoys, drinks crude unready wine,

Let age your girl and sprightly juice refine,

Mellow their sweets, and make the taste divide.

To Helen who'd Hermione prefer,

Or Gorge think beyond her mother fair;

But he that covets the experienc'd dame,

Shall crown his joys and triumph in his flame.

One conscious bed receives the happy pair;

Retire, my muse; the door demands thy care.

What charming words, what tender things are said,

What language flows without the useless aid!

There shall the roving hand employment find,

Inspire new flames, and make e'en virgins kind.

Thus Hector did Andromache delight,

Hector in love victorious, as in fight.

When weary from the field Achilles came,

Thus with delays he rais'd Briseis' flame;

Ah, could those arms, those fatal hands, delight!

Inspire kind thoughts, and raise thy appetite!

Coulds't thou, fond maid, be charm'd with his embrace,

Stain'd with the blood of half thy royal race.

Nor yet with speed the fleeting pleasures waste,

Still moderate your love's impetuous haste;

The bashful virgin, tho' appearing coy,

Detains your hand, and hugs the proffer'd joy.

Then view her eyes, with humid lustre bright,

Sparkling with rage, and trembling with delight;

Her kind complaints, her melting accents hear,

The eye she charms, and wounds the list'ning ear.

Defer not then the clasping nymphs embrace,

But with her love maintain an equal pace;

Raise to her heights the transports of your soul,

And fly united to the happy goal.

Observe these precepts when with leisure bless'd

No threatening fears your private hours molest.

When danger's near, your active force employ,

And urge with eager speed the hasty joy.

Then ply your oars, then practise this advice,

And strain with whip and spur to gain the prize.

The work's complete, triumphant palms prepare

With flow'ry deaths adorn my flowing hair.

As to the Greeks was Poldalirius' art,

To heal with med'cines the afflicted part;

Nestor's advice, Achilles' arms in field,

Automedon for chariot-driving skill'd;

As Calchas could explain the mystic bird,

And Telemon could wield the brandish'd sword;

Such to the town my fam'd instructions prove,

So much am I renown'd for arts of love.

Me ev'ry youth shall praise, extol my name,

And o'er the globe diffuse my lasting fame.

I arms provide against the scornful fair;

Thus Vulcan arm'd Achilles for the war.

Whatever youth shall with my aid o'ercome,

And lead his Amazon in triumph home;

Let him that conquers and enjoys the dame,