As skilful Riders, rein, with diff’rent force,
A new-back’d Courser, and a well-train’d Horse;
Do you, by diff’rent Management, engage
The Man in Years, and Youth of greener Age. 650
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 Heat enjoy.
Alone, thus bless’d, of Rivals most beware; 655
Nor Love, nor Empire, can a Rival 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 Mistresses Attire. 660
In Youth, the boiling Blood gives Fury vent,
But, Men in Years, more calmly Wrongs 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; 665
Then, swiftly seize the Joy that swiftly flies.
Thus, all betraying to the beauteous Foe,
How, surely to enslave our selves, we show.
To trust a Traitor, you’ll no Scruple make,
Who is a Traitor only for your sake. 670
Who yields too soon, will soon her Lover lose;
Wou’d you retain him long, then, long refuse.
Oft, at your Door, make him for Entrance wait,
There let him lye, and threaten and entreat.
When cloy’d with Sweets, Bitters the Taste restore; 675
Ships, by fair Winds, are sometimes run ashore.
Hence springs the Coldness of a marry’d Life,
The Husband, when he pleases, has his Wife.
Bar but your Gate, and let your Porter cry
Here’s no Admittance, Sir; 1 must deny. 680
The very Husband, so repuls’d, will find
A growing Inclination to be kind.
Thus far, with Foils you’ve fought; those laid aside,
I, now, sharp Weapons for the Sex provide;
Nor doubt, against my self, to see ’em try’d. 685
When, first, a Lover you design to charm,
Beware, lest Jealousies his Soul allarm;
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, 690
And let him fear some Rival’s better Fate.
Such little Arts make Love its Vigour hold,
Which, else wou’d languish, and too soon grow old.
Then, streins the Courser to out-strip the Wind,
When one before him runs, and one he hears behind. 695
Love, when extinct, Suspicions may revive;
I own, when mine’s secure, ’tis scarce alive.
Yet, one Precaution to this Rule belongs;
Let us at most suspect, not prove our Wrongs.
Sometimes, your Lover to incite the more, 700
Pretend, your Husband’s Spies beset the Door:
Tho’ free as Thais, still affect a Fright;
For, seeming Danger heightens the Delight.
Oft let the Youth in thro’ your Window steal,
Tho’ he might enter at the Door as well; 705
And, sometimes, let your Maid Surprize pretend,
And beg you, in some Hole to hide your Friend.
Yet, ever and anon, dispel his Fear,
And let him taste of Happiness sincere;
Lest, quite dishearten’d with too much Fatigue, 710
He shou’d grow weary of the dull Intrigue.
But I forget to tell, how you may try
Both to evade the Husband, and the Spy.
That Wives shou’d of their Husbands stand in Awe,
Agrees with Justice, Modesty, and Law: 715
But, that a Mistress may be lawful Prize,
None, but her Keeper, I am sure, denies.
For such fair Nymphs, these Precepts are design’d,
Which ne’er can fail, join’d with a willing Mind.
Tho’ stuck with Argus’ Eyes your Keeper were, 720
Advis’d by me, you shall elude his Care.
When you to wash or bathe retire from Sight,
Can he observe what Letters then you write?
Or, can his Caution against such provide,
Which, in her Breast, your Confident may hide? 725
Can he the Note beneath her Garter view,
Or that, which, more conceal’d, is in her Shoe?
Yet, these perceiv’d, you may her Back undress,
And, writing on her Skin, your Mind express.
New Milk, or pointed Spires of Flax, when green, 730
Will Ink supply, and Letters mark unseen.
Fair will the Paper show, nor can be read,
‘Till all the Writing’s with warm Ashes spread.
Acrisius was, with all his Care, betray’d;
And in his Tow’r of Brass, a Grandsire made. 735
Can Spies avail, when you to Plays resort,
Or in the Circus view the noble Sport?
Or, can you be to Isis Fane pursu’d,
Or Cybelle’s, whose Rites all Men exclude?
Tho’ watchful Servants to the Bagnio come, 740
They’re ne’er admitted to the Bathing-room.
Or, when some sudden Sickness you pretend,
May you not take to your Sick-bed a Friend?
False Keys a private Passage may procure,
If not, there are more Ways besides the Door. 745
Sometimes, with Wine, your watchful Follow’r treat;
When drunk, you may with ease his Care defeat:
Or, to prevent too sudden a Surprise,
Prepare a sleeping Draught, to seal his Eyes:
Or let your Maid, still longer time to gain, 750
An Inclination for his Person feign;
With faint Resistance let her drill him on,
And, after competent Delays, be won.
But, what need all these various doubtful Wiles,
Since Gold the greatest Vigilance beguiles? 755
Believe me, Men and Gods with Gifts are pleas’d;
Ev’n angry Jove with Off rings is appeas’d.
With Presents, Fools and Wise alike are caught,
Give but enough, the Husband may be bought.
But let me warn you, when you bribe a Spy, 760
That you for ever his Connivance buy;
Pay him his Price at once, for with such Men
You’ll know no End of giving now and then.
Once, I remember, I with Cause complain’d,
Of Jealousie occasion’d by a Friend. 765
Believe me, Apprehensions of that kind,
Are not alone to our false Sex confin’d.
Trust not too far, your She-Companion’s Truth,
Lest she sometimes shou’d intercept the Youth:
The very Confident that lends the Bed, 770
May entertain your Lover, in your stead.
Nor keep a Servant with too fair a Face,
For such I’ve known supply her Lady’s Place.
But, whither do I run with heedless Rage,
Teaching the Foe unequal War to wage? 775
Did ever Bird the Fowler’s Net prepare?
Was ever Hound instructed by the Hare?
But all Self-ends and Int’rest set apart,
I’ll faithfully proceed to teach my Art.
Defenceless and unarm’d expose my Life, 780
And for the Lemnian Ladies, whet the Knife.
Perpetual Fondness of your Lover feign,
Nor will you find it hard, Belief to gain;
Full of himself, he your Design will aid:
To what we wish, ’tis easie to persuade. 785
With dying Eyes, his Face and Form
survey,
Then, sigh, and wonder he so long cou’d stay:
Now, drop a Tear, your Sorrows to asswage,
Anon, reproach him, and pretend to rage.
Such Proofs as these, will all Distrust remove, 790
And make him pity your excessive Love.
Scarce to himself will he forbear to cry,
How can I let this poor fond Creature die?
But chiefly, one, such fond Behaviour fires,
Who courts his Glass, and his own Charms admires. 795
Proud of the Homage to his Merit done,
He’ll think a Goddess might with ease be won.
Light Wrongs, be sure, you still with Mildness bear,
Nor strait fly out, when you a Rival fear.
Let not your Passions o’er your Sense prevail, 800
Nor credit lightly ev’ry idle Tale.
Let Pro cris Fate, a sad Example be
Of what Effects attend Credulity.
Near, where his purple Head Hymettus shows
And flow’ring Hills, a sacred Fountain flows; 805
With soft and verdant Turf the Soil is spread,
And sweetly-smelling Shrubs the Ground o’er-shade.
There, Rosemary and Bays, their Odours join,
And with the fragrant Myrtle’s Scent, combine.
There, Tamarisks with thick-leav’d Box are found, 810
And Cytissus, and Garden Pines, abound.
While thro’ the Boughs, soft Winds of Zephyr pass,
Tremble the Leaves, and tender tops of Grass.
Hither, wou’d Cephalus retreat to rest,
When tir’d with Hunting, or with Heat opprest: 815
And, thus, to Air, the panting Youth wou’d pray,
Come, gentle Aura, come, this Heat allay.
But some Tale-bearing too officious Friend,
By chance, o’er-heard him as he thus complain’d;
Who, with the News to Procris quick repair’d, 820
Repeating Word for Word what she had heard.
Soon as the Name of Aura reach’d her Ears,
With Jealousie surpriz’d, and fainting Fears,
Her rosie Colour fled her lovely Face,
And Agonies like Death, supply’d the place; 825
Pale she appear’d as are the falling Leaves,
When first the Vine the Winter’s blast receives.
Of ripen’d Quinces, such the yellow Hue,
Or, when unripe, we Cornel-berries view.
Reviving from her Swoon, her Robes she tore, 830
Nor her own faultless Face to wound, forbore.
Now, all dishevell’d, to the Wood she flies,
With Bacchanalian Fury in her Eyes.
Thither arriv’d, she leaves, below, her Friends;
And, all alone, the shady Hill ascends. 835
What Folly, Procris, o’er thy Mind prevail’d?
What Rage, thus, fatally, to lye conceal’d?
Whoe’er this Aura be (such was thy Thought)
She, now shall in the very Fact be caught.
Anon, thy Heart repents its rash Designs, 840
And now to go, and now to stay inclines:
Thus, Love, with Doubts perplexes still thy Mind,
And makes thee seek, what thou must dread to find.
But still thy Rival’s Name rings in thy Ears,
And more suspicious still the Place appears: 845
But more than all, excessive Love deceives,
Which, all it fears, too easily believes.
And, now, a Chilness ran thro’ ev’ry Vein,
Soon as she saw where Cephalus had lain.
’Twas Noon, when he again retir’d, to shun 850
The scorching Ardour of the Mid-day Sun;
With Water, first, he sprinkled o’er his Face,
Which glow’d with Heat; then sought his usual Place.
Procris, with anxious but with silent Care,
View’d him extended, with his Bosom bare; 855
And heard him, soon, th’accustom’d Words repeat,
Come Zephyr, Aura come, allay this Heat:
Soon as she found her Error, from the Word,
Her Colour and her Temper were restor’d.
With Joy she rose, to clasp him in her Arms: 860
But, Cephalus, the rustling Noise alarms;
Some Beast, he thinks, he in the Bushes hears,
And strait, his Arrows and his Bow prepares.
Hold! hold! unhappy Youth! — I call in vain,
With thy own Hand thou hast thy Procris slain. 865
Me, me, (she crys) thou ‘st wounded with thy Dart!
But Cephalus was wont to wound this Heart.
Yet, lighter on my Ashes, Earth will lye,
Since, tho’ untimely, I unrival’d die:
Come, close with thy dear Hand my Eyes in Death, 870
Jealous of Air, to Air I yield my Breath.
Close to his heavy Heart, her Cheek he laid,
And wash’d, with streaming Tears, the Wound he made;
At length, the Springs of Life their Currents leave,
And her last Gasp, her Husband’s Lips receive. 875
Now, to pursue our Voyage we must provide,
‘Till, safe to Port our weary Bark we guide.
You may expect, perhaps, I now shou’d teach
What Rules, to Treats and Entertainments reach.
Come not the first, invited to a Feast; 880
Rather, come last, as a more grateful Guest.
For, that, of which we fear to be depriv’d,
Meets with the surest Welcome, when arriv’d.
Besides, Complexions of a courser kind,
From Candle-light, no small Advantage find. 885
During the time you eat, observe some Grace,
Nor let your unwip’d Hands besmear your Face;
Nor, yet, too squeamishly your Meat avoid,
Lest we suspect you were in private cloy’d.
Of all Extreams in either kind, beware,
And still, before your Belly’s full, forbear.
No Glutton Nymph, however Fair, can wound,
Tho’ more than Hellen she in Charms abound.
I own, I think, of Wine the mod’rate use,
More suits the Sex, and sooner finds Excuse; 895
It warms the Blood, adds Lustre to the Eyes,
And Wine and Love have always been Allies.
But, carefully from all Intemp’rance keep,
Nor drink ‘till you see double, lisp, or sleep.
For in such Sleeps, Brutalities are done, 900
Which, tho’ you loath, you have no Pow’r to shun.
And now th’instructed Nymph from Table led,
Shou’d next be taught, how to behave in Bed.
But Modesty forbids: Nor more, my Muse
With weary Wings, the labour’d Flight pursues; 905
Her purple Swans unyoak’d, the Chariot leave,
And needful Rest (their Journey done) receive.
Thus, with impartial Care, my Art I show,
And equal Arms, on either Sex bestow:
While Men and Maids, who by my Rules improve,
Ovid, must own, their Master is in Love.
OF PLEASING
AN EPISTLE TO SIR RICHARD TEMPLE.
‘TIS strange, dear Temple, how it comes to pass,
That no one Man is pleas’d with what he has.
So Horace sings — and sure, as strange is this:
That no one Man’s displeas’d with what he is.
The Foolish, Ugly, Dull, Impertinent, 5
Are with their Persons and their Parts content.
Nor is that all; so odd a thing is Man,
He most would be what least he should or can.
Hence, homely Faces still are foremost seen, 10
And cross-shap’d Fops affect the nicest Mien;
Cowards extol true Courage to the Skies,
And Fools are still most forwa
rd to advise;
Th’untrusted Wretch, to Secresie pretends,
Whisp’ring his Nothing round to All as Friends.
Dull Rogues affect the Politician’s part; 15
And learn to nod, and smile, and shrug with Art;
Who nothing has to lose, the War bewails;
And he who nothing pays, at Taxes rails.
Thus, Man, perverse, against plain Nature strives,
And to be artfully absurd, contrives.
Plautus will dance, Luscus at Ogling aims,
Old Tritus keeps, and undone Probus games.
Noisome Curculio, whose envenom’d Breath,
Tho’ at a distance utter’d, threatens Death,
Full in your Teeth his stinking Whisper throws; 25
Nor mends his Manners, tho’ you hold your Nose.
Thersites, who seems born to give Offence,
From uncouth Form and frontless Impudence,
Assumes soft Airs, and with a Slur comes in,
Attempts a Smile, and shocks you with a Grin. 30
Raucus harangues with a dissuasive Grace,
And Helluo invites with a forbidding Face.
Nature, to each allots his proper Sphere,
But, that forsaken, we like Comets err:
Toss’d thro’ the Void, by some rude Shock we’re broke, 35
And all our boasted Fire is lost in Smoke.
Next to obtaining Wealth, or Pow’r, or Ease,
Men most affect, in general to please:
Of this Affection, Vanity’s the Source,
And Vanity alone obstructs its Course; 40
That Telescope of Fools, thro’ which they spy
Merit remote, and think the Object nigh.
The Glass remov’d, would each himself survey,
And in just Scales, his Strength and Weakness weigh,
Pursue the Path for which he was design’d, 45
And to his proper Force adapt his Mind;
Scarce one, but, to some Merit might pretend,
Perhaps might please, at least would not offend.
Who would reprove us while he makes us laugh,
Must be no Bavius, but a Bickerstaffe. 50
If Garth, or Blackmore, friendly Potions give,
We bid the dying Patient drink and live:
When Murus comes, we cry, beware the Pill,
And wish the Tradesman were a Tradesman still.
If Addison, or Rowe, or Prior write, 55
We study ’em with Profit and Delight:
But when vile Macer and Mundungus rhyme,
We grieve we’ve learnt to read, ay, curse the Time.
All Rules of Pleasing in this one unite,
Affect not any thing in Nature’s spight. 60
Baboons and Apes ridiculous we find;
For what? For ill resembling Human-kind.
Complete Works of William Congreve Page 12
