Art of Love

In gratitude for his instructed flame,

Inscribe the spoils with my auspicious name.

The tender girls my precepts next demand,

Them I commit to a more skilful hand.

The men are arm'd, and for the fight prepare,

And now we must instruct and arm the fair.

Both sexes, well appointed, take the field,

And mighty love determine which shall yield.

Man were ignoble when thus arm'd to show

Unequal force against a naked foe;

No glory from such conquest can be gain'd,

And odds are always by the brave disdain'd.

"But," some exclaim, " what phrensy rules your mind?

Would you increase the craft of womankind ?

Teach them new wiles and arts? As well you may

Instruct a snake to bite, or wolf to prey."

But sure too hard a censure they pursue

Who charge on all the failings of a few;

Examine first impartially each fair,

Then, as she merits, or condemn or spare.

If Menelaus, and the king of men,

With justice of their sister-wives complain;

If false Eriphyle forsook her faith,

And for reward procur'd her husband's death;

Penelope was loyal still, and chaste,

Tho' twenty years her lord in absence pass'd.

Reflect how Laodamia's truth was tried,

Who, tho' in bloom of youth and beauty's pride,

To share her husband's fate untimely died.

Think how Alceste's piety was prov'd,

Who lost her life to save the man she lov'd.

Receive me, Capaneus," Evadne cried;

"Nor death itself our nuptials shall divide!

To join thy ashes pleas'd I shall expire;"

She said, and leap'd amidst the fun'ral fire.

Virtue herself a goddess we confess,

Both female in her name and in her dress;

No wonder then, if to her sex inclin'd,

She cultivates with care a female mind.

But these exalted souls exceed the reach

Of that soft art which I pretend to teach.

My tender bark requires a gentle gale,

A little wind will fill a little sail.

Of sportful loves I sing, and shew what ways

The willing nymph must use her bliss to raise,

And how to captivate the man she'd please.

Woman is soft, and of a tender heart,

Apt to receive, and to retain love's dart;

Man has a breast robust, and more secure,

It wounds him not so deep, nor hits so sure.

Men oft are false, and, if you search with care,

You'll find less fraud imputed to the fair.

The faithless Jason from Medea fled

And made Creusa partner of his bed.

Bright Ariadne, on an unknown shore,

Thy absence, perjur'd Theseus, did deplore.

If then the wild inhabitants of air

Forbore her tender lovely limbs to tear,

It was not owing, Theseus, to thy care.

Enquire the cause, and let Demophoon tell

Why Phyllis by a fate untimely fell.

Nine times, in vain, upon the promis'd day,

She sought th' appointed shore, and view'd the sea;

Her fall the fading trees consent to mourn,

And shed their leaves round her lamented urn.

The prince so far for piety renown'd,

To thee, Eliza, was unfaithful found;

To thee forlorn, and languishing with grief,

His sword alone he left, thy last relief.

Ye ruin'd nymphs, shall I the cause impart

Of all your woes? 'Twas want of needful art;

Love, of itself, too quickly will expire,

But powerful art perpetuates desire.

Women had yet their ignorance bewail'd,

Had not this art by Venus been reveal'd.

Before my sight the Cyprian goddess shone

And thus she said, "What have poor woman done!

Why is that weak, defenceless sex expos'd;

On ev'ry side, by men well arm'd, inclos'd?

Twice are the men instructed by thy muse,

Nor must she now to teach the sex refuse.

The bard who injur'd Helen in his song,

Recanted after, and redress'd the wrong.

And you, if on my favour you depend,

The cause of woman, while you live, defend."

This said, a myrtle sprig, which berries bore,

She gave me (for a myrtle wreath she wore.)

The gift receiv'd, my sense enlighten'd grew,

And from her presence inspiration drew.

Attend, ye nymphs, by wedlock unconfin'd,

And hear my precepts, while she prompts my mind.

E'en now, in bloom of youth, and beauty's prime,

Beware of coming age, nor waste your time;

Now, while you may, and rip'ning years invite,

Enjoy the seasonable, sweet delight;

For rolling years, like stealing waters, glide,

For hope to stop their ever ebbing tide;

Think not hereafter will the loss repay;

For ev'ry morrow will the taste decay,

And leave less relish than the former day