Art of Love

"Like things which by antipathy we hate!"

Let looks with looks, and smiles with smiles be paid,

And when your lover bows incline your head.

So love preluding plays at first with hearts,

And after wounds with deeper-piercing darts.

Nor me a melancholy mistress charms;

Let sad Tecmessa weep in Ajax' arms.

Let mournful beauties sullen heroes move;

We cheerful men like gaiety in love.

Let Hector in Andromache delight,

Who, in bewailing Troy, wastes all the night.

Had they not both born children (to be plain)

I ne'er could think they'd with their husbands lain.

I no idea in my mind can frame,

That either one or t'other doleful dame,

Could toy, could fondle, or could call their lords

"My life, my soul ;" or speak endearing words.

Why from comparisons should I refrain

Or fear small things by greater to explain?

Observe what conduct prudent generals use,

And how their several officers they choose;

To one a charge of infantry commit,

Another for the horse is thought more fit.

So you your sev'ral lovers should select,

And as you find 'em qualified, direct.

The wealthy lover store of gold should send;

The lawyer should, in courts, your case defend.

We, who write verse, with verse alone shouldbribe;

Most apt to love is all the tuneful tribe.

By us, your fame shall thro' the world be blaz'd;

So Nemesis, so Cynthia's name was rais'd.

From east to west Lycoris' praises ring;

Nor are Corinna's silent, whom we sing.

No fraud the poet's sacred breast can bear;

Mild are his manners, and his heart sincere,

Nor wealth he seeks, nor feels ambition's fires,

But shuns the bar; and books and shades requires.

Too faithfully, alas ! we know to love,

With ease we fix, but we with pain remove;

Our softer studies with our souls combine,

And both to tenderness our hearts incline.

Be gentle, virgins, to the poets pray'r,

The god that fills him, and the muse revere;

Something divine is in us, and from heav'n

Th' inspiring spirit can alone be given.

'Tis sin a price from poets to exact,

But 'tis a sin no woman fears to act;

Yet hide, howe'er, your avarice from sight,

Lest you too soon your new admirer fright.

As skilful riders rein, with diff'rent force,

A new-back'd courser and a well-train'd horse,

Do you by diffrent management engage

The man in years, and youth of greener age.

This, while the wiles of love are yet unknown,

Will gladly cleave to you, and you alone;

With kind caresses oft indulge the boy,

And all the harvest of his heart enjoy.

Alone, thus bless'd, of rivals most beware;

Nor love nor empire can a partner bear.

Men more discreetly love, when more mature,

And many things, which youth disdains, endure;

No windows break, nor houses set on fire,

Nor tear their own, or mistress's attire.

In youth, the boiling blood gives fury vent,

But men in years more calmly wrong resent;

As wood when green, or as a torch when wet,

They slowly burn, but long retain their heat.

More bright is youthful flame, but sooner dies;

Then swiftly seize the joy that swiftly flies.

Thus, all betraying to the beauteous foe,

How surely to enslave ourselves we show.

To trust a traitor you'll no scruple make,

Who is a traitor only for your sake.

Who yields too soon will soon her lover lose;

Would you retain him long ? then long refuse.

Oft at your door make him for entrance wait;

There let him lie, and threaten and entreat.

When cloy'd with sweets, bitters the taste restore;

Ships by fair winds are sometimes run ashore;

Hence springs the coldness in a married life;

The husband when he pleases has his wife.

Bar but your gate, and let your porter cry,

"Here's no admittance, sir; I must deny;"

The very husband, — so repuls'd, will find

A growing inclination to be kind.

Thus far with foils you've sought those laid aside;

I now sharp weapons for the sex provide,

Nor doubt not 'gainst myself to see 'em tried.

When first a lover you design to charm,

Beware lest jealousies his soul alarm;

Make him believe with all the skill you can,

That he and only he's the happy man.

Anon, by due degrees, small doubts create,

And let him fear some rival's better fate.

Such little arts make love its vigour hold,

Which else would languish, and too soon grow old.

Then strains the courser to outstrip the wind,

When one before him runs, and one he hears behind.

Love, when extinct, suspicions may revive;

I own when mine's secure 'tis scarce alive.