{"id":80,"date":"2017-06-24T20:36:23","date_gmt":"2017-06-24T20:36:23","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/chapter\/ars-amatoria\/"},"modified":"2017-06-24T20:36:23","modified_gmt":"2017-06-24T20:36:23","slug":"ars-amatoria","status":"web-only","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/chapter\/ars-amatoria\/","title":{"raw":"Ars Amatoria","rendered":"Ars Amatoria"},"content":{"raw":"

In Cupid's school1<\/sup><\/a>, whoe'er would take degree\nMust learn his rudiments by reading me,2<\/sup><\/a>\nSeamen with sailing art their vessels move;\nArt guides the chariot: art instructs to love.\nOf ships and chariots others know the rule;\nBut I am master in Love's mighty school.\nCupid indeed is obstinate and wild,\nA stubborn god3<\/sup><\/a>; but yet the god's a child:\nEasy to govern in his tender age,\nLike fierce Achilles in his pupilage:\nThat hero, born for conquest4<\/sup><\/a>, trembling stood\nBefore the centaur, and receiv'd the rod.\nAs Chiron mollified his cruel mind\nWith art; and taught his warlike hands to wind\nThe silver strings of his melodious lyre;5<\/sup><\/a>\nSo love's fair goddess does my soul inspire\nTo teach her softer arts; to sooth the mind,\nAnd smooth the rugged breasts of human kind.\nYet Cupid and Achilles, each with scorn\nAnd rage were fill'd; and both were goddess-born.6<\/sup><\/a>\nThe bull reclaim'd and yolk'd, the burden draws:7<\/sup><\/a>\nThe horse receives the bit within his jaws.\nAnd stubborn love shall bend beneath my sway,\nTho' struggling oft he tries to disobey.\nHe shakes his torch, he wounds me with his darts;\nBut vain his force, and vainer are his arts.\nThe more he burns my soul, or wounds my sight,\nThe more he teaches to revenge the spite.\nI boast no aid the Delphian god affords,\nNor auspice from the flight of chattering birds,8<\/sup><\/a>\nNor Clio<\/a><\/span>, nor her sisters, have I seen,\nAs Hesiod saw them on the shady green:9<\/sup><\/a>\nExperience makes my work a truth so tried,\nYou may believe; and Venus<\/a><\/span> be my guide.10<\/sup><\/a>\nFar hence ye vestals be, who bind your hair;11<\/sup><\/a>\nAnd wives, who gowns below your ancles wear.\nI sing the brothels loose and unconfin'd,\nTh' unpunishable pleasures of the kind;\nWhich all alike for love or money find.\nYou, who in Cupid's roll inscribe your name,\nFirst seek an object worthy of your flame;12<\/sup><\/a>\nThen strive, with art, your lady's mind to gain;\nAnd last, provide your love may long remain.\nOn these three precepts all my work shall move:\nThese are the rules and principles of love.\nBefore your youth with marriage is oppress't,13<\/sup><\/a>\nMake choice of one who suits your humour best\nAnd such a damsel drops not from the sky;\nShe must be sought for with a curious eye.\nThe wary angler, in the winding brook,\nKnows what the fish, and where to bait his hook.\nThe fowler and the huntsman know by name\nThe certain haunts and harbour of their game.\nSo must the lover beat the likeliest grounds;\nTh' Assemblies where his quarries most abound:\nNor shall my novice wander far astray;\nThese rules shall put him in the ready way.\nThou shalt not fail around the continent,\nAs far as Perseus or as Paris<\/a><\/span> went:\nFor Rome<\/a><\/span> alone affords thee such a store,\nAs all the world can hardly shew thee more.\nThe face of heav'n with fewer stars is crown'd,\nThan beauties in the Roman sphere are found.\nWhether thy love is bent on blooming youth,\nOn dawning sweetness, in unartful truth;\nOr courts the juicy joys of riper growth;\nHere may'st thou find thy full desires in both:\nOr if autumnal beauties please thy sight\n(An age that knows to give and take delight;)\nMillions of matrons, of the graver sort,\nIn common prudence, will not balk the sport.\nIn summer's heats thou need'st but only go\nTo Pompey's cool and shady portico;14<\/sup><\/a>\nOr Concord's fane; or that proud edifice\nWhose turrets near the bawdy suburbs rise;\nOr to that other portico, where stands\nThe cruel father urging his commands.\nAnd fifty daughters wait the time of rest,\nTo plunge their poniards in the bridegroom's breast.\nOr Venus<\/a><\/span>' temple; where, on annual nights,\nThey mourn Adonis with Assyrian rites.15<\/sup><\/a>\nNor shun the Jewish walk, where the foul drove\nOn sabbaths rest from everything but love.16<\/sup><\/a>\nNor Isis' temple; for that sacred whore\nMakes others, what to Jove she was before;17<\/sup><\/a>\nAnd if the hall itself be not belied,\nE'en there the cause of love is often tried;\nNear it at least, or in the palace yard,\nFrom whence the noisy combatants are heard.\nThe crafty counsellors, in formal gown,18<\/sup><\/a>\nThere gain another's cause, but lose their own.\nTheir eloquence is nonpluss'd in the suit;\nAnd lawyers, who had words at will, are mute.\nVenus<\/a><\/span> from her adjoining temple smiles\nTo see them caught in their litigious wiles;\nGrave senators lead home the youthful dame,19<\/sup><\/a>\nReturning clients when they patrons came.\nBut above all, the Playhouse is the place;20<\/sup><\/a>\nThere's choice of quarry in that narrow chace:\nThere take thy stand, and sharply looking out,\nSoon may'st thou find a mistress in the rout,\nFor length of time or for a single bout.\nThe Theatres are berries for the fair;\nLike ants or mole-hills thither they repair;\nLike bees to hives so numerously they throng,\nIt may be said they to that place belong:\nThither they swarm who have the public voice;\nThere choose, if plenty not distracts thy choice.\nTo see, and to be seen, in heaps they run;\nSome to undo, and some to be undone.\nFrom Romulus<\/a><\/span> the rise of plays began,\nTo his new subjects a commodious man;\nWho, his unmarried soldiers to supply,\nTook care the commonwealth should multiply;\nProviding Sabine<\/a><\/span> women for his braves,\nLike a true king, to get a race of slaves.\nHis playhouse, not of Parian marble made,\nNor was it spread with purple sails for shade;\nThe stage with rushes or with leaves they strew'd;21<\/sup><\/a>\nNo scenes in prospect, no machining god.\nOn rows of homely turf they sat to see,\nCrown'd with the wreaths of ev'ry common tree.\nThere, while they sit in rustic majesty,\nEach lover had his mistress in his eye;\nAnd whom he saw most suiting to his mind,\nFor joys of matrimonial rape design'd.\nScarce could they wait the plaudit in their haste;\nBut ere the dances and the song were past,\nThe monarch gave the signal from his throne,22<\/sup><\/a>\nAnd rising, bade his merry men fall on.\nThe martial crew, like soldiers, ready press'd,\nJust at the word (the word too was the best),\nWith joyful cries each other animate;\nSome choose, and some at hazard seize their mate.\nAs doves from eagles, or from wolves the lambs,\nSo from their lawless lovers fly the dames.\nTheir fear was one, but not one face of fear:\nSome rend the lovely tresses of the hair:\nSome shriek, and some are struck with dumb despair.\nHer absent mother one invokes in vain;\nOne stands amaz'd, not daring to complain;\nThe nimbler trust their feet, the slow remain.\nBut nought availing, all are captives led,\nTrembling and blushing, to the genial bed.\nShe who too long resisted or denied,\nThe lusty lover made by force a bride,\nAnd with superior strength compell'd her to his side,\nThen sooth'd her thus! \"My soul's far better part,\nCease weeping, nor afflict thy tender heart;\nFor what thy father to thy mother was,\nThat faith to thee, that solemn vow I pass !\nThus Romulus<\/a><\/span> became so popular;\nThis was the way to thrive in peace and war;\nTo pay his army, and fresh whores to bring:\nWho wouldn't fight for such a gracious king!\nThus love in theatres did first improve,\nAnd theatres are still the scene of love.\nNor shun the chariots and the courser's race;\nThe circus is no inconvenient place.\nNo need is there of talking on the hands;\nNor nods, nor signs, which lovers understand.23<\/sup><\/a>\nBut boldly next the fair your seat provide,24<\/sup><\/a>\nClose as ye can to hers-and side by side.\nPleas'd or unpleas'd, no matter, crowding sit;\nFor so the laws of public shows permit.\nThen find occasion to begin discourse;\nEnquire whose chariot this, and whose that horse?\nTo whatsoever side she is inclin'd,\nSuit all her inclinations to her mind;\nLike what she likes, from thence your court begin.\nAnd whom she favours, wish that he may win.\nBut when the statues of the deities\nIn chariots roll'd, appear before the prize;\nWhen Venus<\/a><\/span> comes, with deep devotion rise.\nIf dust be on her lap, or grains of sand,\nBrush both away with your officious hand.\nIf none there be, yet brush that nothing thence,\nAnd still to touch her lap make some pretence.\nTouch any thing of hers, and if her train\nSweep on the ground, let it not sweep in vain;\nBut gently take it up and wipe it clean;\nAnd while you wipe it, with observing eyes,\nWho knows but you may see her naked thighs!\nObserve who sits behind her, and beware,\nLest his encroaching knees should press the fair\nLight service takes light minds, for some can tell\nOf favours won by laying cushions well;\nBy fanning faces some their fortunes meet,\nAnd some by laying footstools for their feet.\nThese overtures of love the circus gives,\nNor at the sword play less the lover thrives;\nFor there the son of Venus<\/a><\/span> fights his prize,\nAnd deepest wounds are oft receiv'd from eyes.\nOne, while the crowd their acclamations make,\nOr while he bets and puts his ring to stake,\nIs struck from far and feels the flying dart,\nAnd of the spectacle is made a part.\nCaesar would represent a naval fight,25<\/sup><\/a>\nFor his own honour and for Rome<\/a><\/span>'s delight.\nFrom either sea the youths and maidens come,\nAnd all the world was then contain'd in Rome<\/a><\/span>!\nIn this vast concourse, in this choice of game,\nWhat Roman heart but felt a foreign flame!\nOnce more our prince prepares to make us glad,\nAnd the remaining east to Rome<\/a><\/span> will add.26<\/sup><\/a>\nRejoice, ye Roman soldiers, in your urns,\nYour ensigns from the Parthians shall return,\nAnd the slain Crassi shall no longer mourn.\nA youth is sent those trophies to demand,\nArd bears his father's thunders in his hand;\nDoubt not th' imperial boy in wars unseen,\nIn childhood all of Caesar's race are men.\nCelestial seeds shoot out before their day,\nPrevent their years, and brook no dull delay.\nThus infant Hercules<\/a><\/span> the snakes did press,\nAnd in his cradle did his sire confess.\nBacchus<\/a><\/span> a boy, yet like a hero fought,\nAnd early spoils from conquer'd India<\/a><\/span> brought.\nThus you your father's troops shall lead to fight,\nAnd thus shall vanquish in your father's right.\nThese rudiments you to your lineage owe;\nBorn to increase your titles as you grow.\nBrethren you had, revenge your brethren slain;\nYou have a father, and his rights maintain.\nArm'd by your country's parent and your own,\nRedeem your country and restore his throne.\nYour enemies assert an impious cause;\nYou fight both for divine and human laws.\nAlready in their cause they are o'ercome;\nSubject them too, by force of arms, to Rome<\/a><\/span>.\nGreat father Mars with greater Caesar join,\nTo give a prosperous omen to your line;\nOne of you is, and one shall be divine.\nI prophesy you shall, you shall o'ercome;\nMy verse shall bring you back in triumph home:\nSpeak in my verse, exhort to loud alarms;\n0, were my numbers equal to your arms,\nThen would I sing the Parthians' overthrow;\nTheir shot averse sent from a flying bow\nThe Parthians, who already flying fight,\nAlready give an omen of their flight.\n0, when will come the day, by heaven designed,\nWhen thou, the best and fairest of mankind,\nDrawn by white horses, shalt in triumph ride,27<\/sup><\/a>\nWith conquer'd slaves attending on thy side;\nSlaves that no longer can be safe in flight:\nO glorious object, O surprising sight,\nO day of public joy, too good to end in night!\nOn such a day, if thou, and next to thee,\nSome beauty sits the spectacle to see;\nIf she enquires the names of conquer'd kings,\nOf mountains, rivers, and of hidden springs,\nAnswer to all thou know'st; and if need be,\nOf things unknown seem to speak knowingly:\nThis is Euphrates<\/a><\/span>, crown'd with reeds; and there\nFlows the swift Tigris<\/a><\/span>, with his sea-green hair.\nInvent new names of things unknown before:\nCall this Armenia<\/a><\/span>, that the Caspian shore;\nCall this a Mede<\/a><\/span>, and that a Parthian youth;\nTalk probably,-no matter for the truth.\nIn feasts, as at our shows, new means abound;\nMore pleasure there, than that of wine, is found.\nThe Paphian goddess there her ambush lays;\nAnd love, betwixt the horns of Bacchus plays:\nDesires increase at ev'ry swilling draught;\nBrisk vapour add new vigour to the thought.\nThere Cupid's purple wings no flight afford,\nBut wet with wine, he flutters on the board.\nHe shakes his pinions, but he cannot move;\nFix'd he remains, and turns a maudlin love.\nWine warms the blood, and makes the spirits flow;\nCare flies, and wrinkles from the forehead go;\nExalts the poor, invigorates the weak,\nGives mirth and laughter, and a rosy cheek.\nBold truth it speaks; and spoken, dare maintain;\nAnd brings our old simplicity again.\nLove sparkles in the cup and fills it higher;\nWine feeds the flames, and fuel adds to fire.\nBut choose no mistress in thy drunken fit;\nWine gilds too much their beauties and their wit.\nNor trust thy judgment when the tapers dance;28<\/sup><\/a>\nBut sober, and by day thy suit advance.\nBy daylight Paris<\/a><\/span> judg'd the beauteous three;29<\/sup><\/a>\nAnd for the fairest did the prize decree.\nNight is a cheat, and all deformities\nAre hid, or lessen'd, in her dark disguise.\nThe sun's fair light each error will confess,\nIn face, in shape, in jewels, and in dress.\nWhy name I ev'ry place where youths abound?\n'Tis loss of time; and a true fruitful ground.\nThe Baian baths, where ships at anchor ride,\nAnd wholesome streams from sulphur fountains glide;\nWhere wounded youths are by experience taught,\nThe waters are less healthful than they thought,\nOr Dian's fane, which near the suburb lies;30<\/sup><\/a>\nWhere priests, for their promotion, fight a prize.31<\/sup><\/a>\nThat maiden goddess is love's mortal foe,\nAnd much from her his subjects undergo.\nThus far the sportful muse, with myrtle bound,\nHas sung where lovely lasses may be found,\nNow let me sing, how she who wounds your mind,\nWith art, may be to cure your wounds inclined.32<\/sup><\/a>\nYoung nobles, to my laws attention lend,\nAnd all you vulgar of my school attend.\nFirst then believe, all women may be won;\nAttempt with confidence, the work is done.\nThe grasshopper shall first forbear to sing\nIn summer season, or the birds in spring;\nThan women can resist your flatt'ring skill;\nE'en she will yield who swears she never will.\nTo secret pleasures both the sexes move;\nBut women most, who most dissemble, love;\n'Twere best for us, if they would first declare;\nAvow their passion, and submit to prayer.\nThe cow by looing tells the bull her flame;\nThe neighing mare invites her stallion to the game.\nMan is more temp'rate in his lust than they;\nAnd more than woman can his passion sway.\nBiblis<\/a><\/span>, we know, did first her love declare,\nAnd had recourse to death in her despair.\nHer brother she, her father Myrrha sought;33<\/sup><\/a>\nAnd lov'd; but lov'd not as a daughter ought.\nNow from a tree she stills her od'rous tears;\nWhich yet the name of her who shed 'em bear.\nIn Ida's shady vale a bull appeared,34<\/sup><\/a>\nWhite as the snow, the fairest of the herd;\nA beauty spot of black there only rose,\nBetwixt his equal horns and ample brows;\nThe love and wish of all the Cretan cows.\nThe queen beheld him as his head he rear'd;\nAnd envied ev'ry leap he gave the herd.\nA secret fire she nourished in her breast;\nAnd hated ev'ry heifer he caress'd.\nA story known, and known for true, I tell;\nNor Crete<\/a><\/span>, though lying, can the truth conceal.\nShe cut him grass (so much can love command)\nShe strok'd, she fed him with her royal hand;\nWas pleas'd in pastures with the herd to roam,\nAnd Minos by the bull was overcome.\nCease, Queen, with gems t'adorn thy beauteous brows,\nThe monarch of thy heart no jewel knows.\nNor in thy glass compose thy looks and eyes;\nSecure from all thy charms thy lover lies:\nYet trust thy mirror, when it tells thee true,\nThou art no heifer to allure his view.\nSoon wouldst thou quit thy royal diadem\nTo thy fair rivals; to be horned like them.\nIf Minos please, no lover seek to find;\nIf not, at least seek one of human kind.\nThe wretched queen the Cretan court forsakes;\nIn woods and wilds her habitation makes;\nShe curses ev'ry beauteous cow she sees;\n\"Ah, why dost thou my lord and master please!\nAnd think'st, ungrateful creature as thou art,\nWith frisking awkardly to gain his heart.\"\nShe said; and straight commands with frowning look,\nTo put her, undeserving, to the yoke.\nOr feigns some holy rites of sacrifice,\nAnd sees her rival's death with joyful eyes;\nThen when the bloody priest has done his part,\nPleas'd, in her hand she holds the beating heart;\nNor from a scornful taunt can scarce refrain,\nGo, fool, and strive to please my love again\"\nNow she would be Europa.-- Io now;35<\/sup><\/a>\n(One bare a bull. and one was made a cow.)\nYet she at last her brutal bliss obtain'd,\nAnd in a wooden cow the bull sustained;\nFill'd with his seed, accomplish'd her desire,\nTill, by his form, the son betray'd the sire.\nIf Atreus' wife to incest had not run,36<\/sup><\/a>\n(But ah, how hard it is to love but one!)\nHis coursers Phoebus had not driv'n away,\nTo shun that sight, and interrupt the day.\nThy daughter, Nissus, pull'd thy purple hair;37<\/sup><\/a>\nAnd barking sea-dogs yet her bowels tear.\nAt sea and land Atrides sav'd his life;\nYet fell a prey to his adult'rous wife.38<\/sup><\/a>\nWho knows not what revenge Medea sought,\nWhen the slain offspring bore the father's fault!\nThus Phoenix did a woman's love bewail;39<\/sup><\/a>\nAnd thus Hippolytus by Phaedra fell.40<\/sup><\/a>\nThese crimes revengeful matrons did commit!\nHotter their lust, and sharper is their wit.\nDoubt not from them an easy victory;\nScarce of a thousand dames will one deny.\nAll women are content that men should woo;\nShe who complains, and she who will not do.\nRest then secure, whate'er thy luck may prove,\nNot to be hated for declaring love:\nAnd yet how canst thou miss, since womankind\nIs frail and vain; and still to change inclin'd?\nOld husbands, and stale gallants, they despise;\nAnd more another's than their own they prize.\nA larger crop adorns our neighbour's field,\nMore milk his kine from swelling udders yield.\nFirst gain the maid; by her thou shalt be sure\nA free access, and easy to procure;\nWho knows what to her office does belong,\nIs in the secret, and can hold her tongue,\nBribe her with gifts, with promises, and pray'rs;\nFor her good word goes far in love affairs.\nThe time and fit occasion leave to her,\nWhen she most amply can thy suit prefer.\nThe time for maids to fire their lady's blood\nIs when they find her in a merry mood.\nWhen all things at her wish and pleasure move;\nHer heart is open then, and free to love.\nThen mirth and wantonness to lust betray,\nAnd smooth the passage to the lover's way.\nTroy<\/a><\/span> stood the siege, when fill'd with anxious care\nOne merry fit concluded all the war.\nIf some fair rival vex her jealous mind,\nOffer thy service to revenge in kind.\nInstruct the damsel, while she combs her hair,\nTo raise the choler of that injur'd fair;\nAnd sighing, make her mistress understand\nShe has the means of vengeance in her hand.\nThen, naming thee, thy humble suit prefer;\nAnd swear thou languishest and diest for her.\nThen let her lose no time, but push at all;\nFor women soon are rais'd, and soon they fall.\nGive their first fury leisure to relent,\nThey melt like ice, and suddenly repent.\nT' enjoy the maid, will that thy suit advance?\n'Tis a hard question, and a doubtful chance.\nOne maid corrupted, bawds the better for't;\nAnother for herself would keep the sport.\nThy bus'ness may be furthered or delay'd,\nBut by my counsel, let alone the maid\nE'en tho' she should consent to do the feat;\nThe profit's little, and the danger great.\nI will not lead thee through a rugged road,\nBut where the way lies open, safe and broad,\nYet if thou find'st her very much thy friend,\nAnd her good face her diligence commend,\nLet the fair mistress have the first embrace,\nAnd let the maid come after in her place.\nBut this I will advise, and mark my words,\nFor 'tis the best advice my skill affords;\nIf needs thou with the damsel wilt begin,\nBefore th' attempt is made, make sure to win;\nFor then the secret better will be kept,\nAnd she can tell no tales when once she's dipt.\n'Tis for the fowler's int'rest to beware,\nThe bird intangled, should not 'scape the snare.\nThe fish once prick'd avoids the bearded hook,\nAnd spoils the sport of all the neighb'ring brook.\nBut if the wench be thine, she makes thy way,\nAnd for thy sake, her mistress will betray;\nTell all she knows, and all she hears her say\nKeep well the counsel of thy faithful spy;\nSo shalt thou learn whene'er she treads awry.\nAll things the stations of their seasons keep;\nAnd certain times there are to sow and reap.\nPloughmen and sailors for the season stay,\nOne to plough land, and one to plough the sea;\nSo should the lover wait the lucky day.\nThen stop thy suit, it hurts not thy design;\nBut think another hour she may be thine.\nAnd when she celebrates her birth at home,\nOr when she views the public shows of Rome<\/a><\/span>;\nKnow all thy visits then are troublesome.\nDefer thy work, and put not then to sea,\nFor that's a boding and a stormy day.\nElse take thy time, and when thou canst, begin;\nTo break a Jewish sabbath, think no sin;\nNor e'en on superstitious days abstain;\nNor when the Romans were at Allia slain.41<\/sup><\/a>\nIll omens in her frowns are understood;\nWhen she's in humour, ev'ry day is good.\nBut than her birthday seldom comes a worse,\nWhen bribes and presents must be sent of course;42<\/sup><\/a>\nAnd that's a bloody day that costs thy purse.\nBe stanch; yet parsimony will be vain:\nThe craving sex will still the lover drain.\nNo skill can shift them off, nor art remove;\nThey will be begging when they know we love.\nThe merchant comes upon th' appointed day,\nWho shall before thy face his wares display.\nTo choose for her she craves thy kind advice,\nThen begs again to bargain for the price;\nBut when she has her purchase in her eye,\nShe hugs thee close, and kisses thee to buy;\n\"'Tis what I want, and 'tis a pen'orth too;\nIn many years I will not trouble you.\"\nIf you complain you have no ready coin,-\nNo matter, 'tis but writing of a line;\nA little bill, not to be paid at sight:\n(Now curse the time when thou wert taught to write.)\nShe keeps her birthday; you must send the cheer:\nAnd she'll be born a hundred times a year.\nWith daily lies she dribs thee into cost;\nThat ear-ring dropt a stone, that ring is lost.\nThey often borrow what they never pay;43<\/sup><\/a>\nWhat e'er you lend her, think it thrown away.\nHad I ten mouths and tongues to tell each art,\nAll would be wearied ere I told a part.\nBy letters, not by words, thy love begin;\nAnd ford the dangerous passage with thy pen;\nIf to her heart thou aim'st to find the way,\nExtremely flatter and extremely pray.\nPriam by pray'rs did Hector's body gain;\nNor is an angry god invok'd in vain.\nWith promis'd gifts her early mind bewitch,\nFor e'en the poor in promise may be rich.\nVain hopes awhile her appetite will stay;\n'Tis a deceitful, but commodious way.\nWho gives is mad ; but make her still believe\n'Twill come, and that's the cheapest way to give.\nE'en barren lands fair promises afford,\nBut the lean harvest cheats the starving lord.\nBuy not thy first employment, lest it prove\nOf bad example to thy future love ;\nBut get it gratis, and she'll give thee more,\nFor fear of losing what she gave before.\nThe losing gamester shakes the box in vain,\nAnd bleeds, and loses on, in hopes to gain.\nWrite then, and in thy letter, as I said,\nLet her with mighty promises be fed.\nCydyppe by a letter was betray'd,\nWrit on an apple to th' unwary maid;\nShe read herself into a marriage vow,\n(And every cheat in love the gods allow.)\nLearn eloquence, ye noble youth of Rome<\/a><\/span>,-\nIt will not only at the bar o'ercome:\nSweet words the people and the senate move;\nBut the chief end of eloquence is love.\nBut in thy letter hide thy moving arts,\nAffect not to be thought a man of parts;\nNone but vain fools to simple women preach:\nA learned letter oft has made a breach.\nIn a familiar style your thoughts convey,\nAnd write such things as, present, you would say;\nSuch words as from the heart may seem to move;\n'Tis wit enough to make her think you love.\nIf seal'd she sends it back, and will not read,\nYet hope, in time, the business may succeed.\nIn time the steer will to the yoke submit,\nIn time the restive horse will bear the bit.\nE'en the hard ploughshare use will wear away,\nAnd stubborn steel in length of time decay.\nWater is soft and marble hard, and yet\nWe see soft water through hard marble eat.\nThough late, yet Troy<\/a><\/span> at length in flames expir'd;\nAnd ten years more, Penelope had tir'd.\nPerhaps she writes, and answers with disdain,\nAnd sharply bids you not to write again:\nWhat she requires, she fears you would accord;\nThe jilt would not be taken at her word.\nMeantime, if she be carried in her chair,\nApproach, but do not seem to know she's there:\nSpeak softly, to delude the standers by;\nOr, if aloud, then speak ambiguously.\nIf sauntering in the portico she walk,\nMove slowly too, for that's a time for talk;\nAnd sometimes follow, sometimes be her guide,\nBut when the crowds permit, go side by side.\nNor in the playhouse let her sit alone,\nFor she's the playhouse and the play in one;\nThere thou may'st ogle, or by signs advance\nThy hand, and seem to touch her hand by chance.\nAdmire the dancer who her liking gains,\nAnd pity in the play the lover's pails ;\nFor her sweet sake the loss of time despise,\nSit while she sits, and when she rises rise.\nBut dress not like a fop, nor curl your hair,\nNor with a pumice make your body bare;\nLeave those effeminate and useless toys\nTo eunuchs, who can give no solid joys.\nNeglect becomes a man-this Theseus found;\nUncurl'd, uncomb'd, the nymphs his wishes crowned.\nThe rough Hippolytus was Phaedra's care,\nAnd Venus thought the rude Adonis fair.\nBe not too finical, but yet be clean,\nAnd wear well fashioned clothes, like other men;\nLet not your teeth be yellow or be foul,\nNor in wide shoes your feet too loosely roll.\nOf a black muzzle and long beard beware,\nAnd let a skilful barber cut your hair;\nYour nails be pick'd from dirt, and even par'd;\nNor let your nasty nostrils bud with beard.\nCure your unsav'ry breath; gargle your throat;\nAnd free your armpits from the ram and goat.44<\/sup><\/a>\nDress not, in short, too little or too much;\nAnd be not wholly French nor wholly Dutch.\nNow Bacchus<\/a><\/span> calls me to his jolly rites:45<\/sup><\/a>\nWho would not follow when a god invites?\nHe helps the poet, and his pen inspires;\nKind and indulgent to his former fires.\nFair Ariadne wander'd on the shore\nForsaken now; and Theseus loves no more;\nLoose was her gown, dishevel'd was her hair,\nHer bosom naked, and her feet were bare;\nExclaiming, on the water's brink she stood,\nHer briny tears augment the briny flood;\nShe shriek'd and wept, and both became her face,\nNo posture could that heav'nly form disgrace.\nShe beat her breast: - \"The traitor's gone,\" said she;\n\"What shall become of poor forsaken me?\nWhat shall become-\" She had not time for more,\nThe sounding cymbals rattled on the shore.46<\/sup><\/a>\nShe swoons for fear, she falls upon the ground;\nNo vital heat was in her body found.\nThe Mimallonian dames about her stood,\nAnd scudding satyrs ran before their god.\nSilenus on his ass did next appear,\nAnd held upon the mane (the god was clear).\nThe drunken sire pursues, the dames retire;\nSometimes the drunken dames pursue the drunken sire.\nAt last he topples over on the plain;\nThe satyrs laugh, and bid him rise again.\nAnd now the god of wine came driving on,\nHigh on his chariot by swift tigers drawn.\nHer colour, voice, and sense forsook the fair;\nThrice did her trembling limbs for flight prepare,\nAnd thrice affrighted did her flight forbear.\nShe shook like leaves of corn when tempests blow,\nOr slender reeds that in the marshes grow.\nTo whom the god-\" Compose thy fearful mind;\nIn me a truer husband thou shalt find.\nWith heav'n I will endow thee, and thy star\nShall with propitious light be seen afar,\nAnd guide on seas the doubtful mariner.\"\nHe said; and from his chariot leaping light,\nLest the grim tigers should the nymph affright,\nHis brawny arms around her waist he threw,\n(For gods whate'er they please with ease can do,)\nAnd swiftly bore her thence; th' attending throng\nShout at the sight, and sing the nuptial song.47<\/sup><\/a>\nNow in full bowls her sorrow she may steep;\nThe bridegroom's liquor lays the bride asleep.\nBut thou, when flowing cups in triumph ride,48<\/sup><\/a>\nAnd the lov'd nymph is seated by thy side,\nInvoke the god and all the mighty powers,\nThat wine may not defraud thy genial hours.\nThen in ambiguous words thy suit prefer,\nWhich she may know were all address'd to her.\nIn liquid purple letters write her name,49<\/sup><\/a>\nWhich she may read, and reading find the flame.\nThen may your eyes confess your mutual fires,\n(For eyes have tongues, and glances tell desires ;)\nWhene'er she drinks, be first to take the cup;\nAnd where she laid her lips, the blessing sup.\nWhen she to carving does her hand advance,\nPut out thy own, and touch it as by chance.\nThy service e'en the husband must attend;50<\/sup><\/a>\n(A husband is a most convenient friend.)\nSeat the fool cuckold in the highest place,\nAnd with thy garland his dull temples grace'\nWhether below or equal in degree,\nLet him be lord of all the company,\nAnd what he says be seconded by thee.\nTis common to deceive thro' friendship's name,\nBut common though it be, 'tis still to blame;\nThus factors frequently their trust betray,\nAnd to themselves their masters' gains convey.\nDrink to a certain pitch, and then give o'er;\nThy tongue and feet may stumble, drinking more.\nOf drunken quarrels in her sight beware;\nPot valour only serves to fright the fair.\nEurytion justly fell, by wine oppress't,51<\/sup><\/a>\nFor his rude riot at a wedding-feast.\nSing, if you have a voice; and shew your parts\nIn dancing, if endu'd with dancing arts.\nDo anything within your power to please;\nNay, e'en affect a seeming drunkenness;\nClip every word; and if by chance you speak\nToo home, or if too broad a jest you break,\nIn your excuse the company will join,\nAnd lay the fault upon the force of wine.\nTrue drunkenness is subject to offend,\nBut when 'tis feign'd 'tis oft a lover's friend:\nThen safely you may praise her beauteous face,\nAnd call him happy who is in her grace;\nHer husband thinks himself the man design'd,\nBut curse the cuckold in your secret mind.\nWhen all are risen and prepar'd to go,\nMix with the crowd and tread upon her toe;\nThis is the proper time to make thy court,\nFor now she's in the vein, and fit for sport.\nLay bashfulness, that rustic virtue, by;52<\/sup><\/a>\nTo manly confidence thy thoughts apply.\nOn fortune's foretop timely fix thy hold;\nNow speak and speed. for Venus<\/a><\/span> loves the bold.\nNo rules of rhetoric here I need afford;53<\/sup><\/a>\nOnly begin, and trust the following word:\nIt will be witty of its own accord.\nAct well the lover; let thy speech abound\nIn dying words, that represent thy wound;\nDistrust not her belief; she will be mov'd:\nAll women think they merit to be lov'd.\nSometimes a man begins to love in jest,\nAnd after feels the torment he possess't.\nFor your own sakes be pitiful, ye fair,\nFor a feign'd passion may a true prepare.\nBy flatteries we prevail on womankind,\nAs hollow banks by streams are undermin'd:\nTell her her face is fair, her eyes are sweet;\nHer taper fingers praise, and little feet.\nSuch praises e'en the chaste are pleas'd to hear;\nBoth maids and matrons hold their beauty dear.\nOnce naked Pallas<\/a><\/span> with Jove's queen appear'd,\nAnd still they grieve that Venus<\/a><\/span> was preferr'd.\nPraise the proud peacock, and lie spreads his train:\nBe silent, and lie pulls it in again.\nPleas'd is the courser in his rapid race;\nApplaud his running, and he mends his pace.\nBut largely promise and devoutly swear,\nAnd, if need be, call ev'ry god to hear.\nJove sits above, forgiving with a smile\nThe perjuries that easy maids beguile.\nHe swore to Juno<\/a><\/span> by the Stygian lake;\nForsworn, lie dares not an example make,\nOr punish falsehood, for his own dear sake.\n'Tis for our interest the gods should be;\nLet us believe them; I believe they see,\nAnd both reward and punish equally.\nNot that they live above like lazy drones,54<\/sup><\/a>\nOr kings below, supine upon their thrones;\nLead then your lives as present in their sight;\nBe just in dealings, and defend the right;\nBy fraud betray not, nor oppress by might.\nBut 'tis a venial sin to cheat the fair;\nAll men have liberty of conscience there.\nOn cheating nymphs a cheat is well design'd,\n'Tis a profane and a deceitful kind.55<\/sup><\/a>\n'Tis said that Egypt<\/a><\/span> for nine years was dry,\nNor Nile<\/a><\/span> did floods, nor heav'n did rain supply.\nThat slaughter'd guests would kindly moisture bring.\nThe king replied, \"On thee the lot shall fall;\nBe thou, my guest, the sacrifice for all.\"\nThus Phalaris Perillus taught to low,\nAnd made him season first the brazen cow.\nA rightful doom, the laws of nature cry,\n'Tis, the artificers of death should die.\nThus justly women suffer by deceit,\nTheir practice authorises us to cheat.\nBeg her, with tears, thy warm desires to grant;\nFor tears will pierce a heart of adamant.\nIf tears will not be squeezed, then rub your eye,\nOr 'noint the lids, and seem at least to cry.\nKiss, if you can; resistance if she make,\nAnd will not give you kisses, let her take.\n\" Fy, fy, you naughty man,\" are words of course;\nShe struggles but to be subdu'd by force.\nKiss only soft, I charge you, and beware\nWith your hard bristles not to brush the fair.\nHe who has gain'd a kiss, and gains no more,\nDeserves to lose the bliss he got before.\nIf once she kiss, her meaning is exprest;\nThere wants but little pushing for the rest;\nWhich if thou dost not gain, by strength or art,\nThe name of clown then suits with thy desert;\n'Tis downright dulness, and a shameful part.\nPerhaps she calls it force, but if she 'scape,\nShe will not thank you for th' omitted rape.\nThe sex is cunning to conceal their fires;\nThey would be forc'd e'en to their own desires.\nThey seem t' accuse you with a down-cast sight,\nBut in their souls confess you did them right.\nWho might be forc'd, and yet untouch'd depart,\nThank with their tongues, but curse you with their heart.\nFair Phoebe and her sister did prefer,\nTo their dull mates, the noble ravisher.56<\/sup><\/a>\nWhat Deidamia did in days of yore,\nThe tale is old but worth the telling o'er.\nWhen Venus<\/a><\/span> had the golden apple gain'd,\nAnd the just judge fair Helen had obtained;\nWhen she with triumph was at Troy<\/a><\/span> receiv'd,\nThe Trojans joyful, while the Grecians griev'd:\nThey vow'd revenge of violated laws,\nAnd Greece<\/a><\/span> was arming in the cuckold's cause;\nAchilles, by his mother warn'd from war,\nDisguis'd his sex, and lurk'd among the fair.\nWhat means Aeacides to spin and sew ?\nWith spear and sword in field thy valour show!\nAnd leaving this, the noble Pallas<\/a><\/span> know.57<\/sup><\/a>\nWhy dost thou in that hand the distaff wield,\nWhich is more worthy to sustain the shield?\nOr with that other draw the woolly twine,\nThe same the fates for lector's thread assign?\nBanish thy falchion in thy powerful hand,\nWhich can alone the pond'rous lance command.\nIn the same room by chance the royal maid\nWas lodg'd, and, by his seeming sex, betrayed,\nClose to her side the youthful hero laid.\nI know not how his courtship he began;\nBut, to her cost, she found it was a man.\n'Tis thought she struggled, but withal 'tis thought\nHer wish was to be conquer'd, when she fought.\nFor when disclos'd, and hast'ning to the field,\nHe laid his distaff down and took the shield,\nWith tears her humble suit she did prefer,\nAnd thought to stay the grateful ravisher.\nShe sighs, she sobs, she begs him not to part;\nAnd now 'tis nature what before was art.\nShe strives by force her lover to detain,\nAnd wishes to be ravish'd once again.\nThis is the sex; they will not first begin,\nBut when compelled, are pleas'd to suffer sin.\nIs there, who thinks that woman first should woo?\nLay by thy self-conceit, thou foolish beau.\nBegin, and save their modesty the shame;\n'Tis well for thee, if they receive thy flame.\n'Tis decent for a man to speak his mind;\nThey but expect th' occasion to be kind.\nAsk, that thou may'st enjoy; she waits for this:\nAnd on thy first advance depends thy bliss.\nE'en Jove himself was forc'd to sue for love;\nNone of the nymphs did first solicit Jove.\nBut if you find your pray'rs increase her pride,\nStrike sail awhile, and wait another tide.\nThey fly when we pursue; but make delay.\nAnd when they see you shaken, they will stay.\nSometimes it profits to conceal your end;\nName not yourself her lover, but her friend.\nHow many skittish girls have thus been caught?\nHe prov'd a lover, who a friend was thought.\nSailors by sun and wind are swarthy made;\nA tann'd complexion best becomes their trade.\n'Tis a disgrace to ploughmen to be fair;\nBluff cheeks they have, and weather-beaten hair.\nTh' ambitious youth who seeks an olive crown,\nIs sun-burnt with his daily toil, and brown;\nBut if the lover hopes to be in grace,\nWall be his looks, and meagre be his face.\nThat colour from the fair compassion draws;\nShe thinks you sick, and thinks herself the cause.\nOrion wander'd in the woods for love.58<\/sup><\/a>\nHis paleness did the nymphs to pity move;\nHis gastly visage argu'd hidden love.\nNor fail a night-cap in full health to wear;\nNeglect thy dress, and discompose thy hair.\nAll things are decent, that in love avail.\nRead long by night, and study to be pale.\nForsake your food, refuse your needful rest;\nBe miserable that you may be blest.\nShall I complain, or shall I warn you most?\nFaith, truth, and friendship, in the world are lost;\nA little and an empty name they boast.\nTrust not thy friend, much less thy mistress praise;\nIf he believe, thou man'st a rival raise.\n'Tis true, Patroclus, by no lust misled,\nSought not to stain his dear companion's bed.59<\/sup><\/a>\nNor Pylades Hermione<\/a><\/span> embrac'd;60<\/sup><\/a>\nEv'n Phaedra to Pirithous still was chaste.\nBut hope not thou, in this vile age to find\nThose rare examples of a faithful mind.\nThe sea shall sooner with sweet honey flow;\nOr from the furze pears and apples grow.\nWe sin with gust, we love by fraud to gain,\nAnd find a pleasure in our fellow's pain.\nFrom rival foes you may the fair defend;\nBut would you ward the blow, beware your friend.\nBeware your brother, and your next of kin;\nBut from your bosom friend your care begin.\nHere had I ended, but experience finds,\nThat sundry women are of sundry minds;\nWith various crotchets fill'd, and hard to please,\nThey therefore must be caught by various ways.\nAll things are not produced in any soil;61<\/sup><\/a>\nThis ground for wine is proper, that for oil.\nSo 'tis in men, but more in woman-kind;\nDiff'rent in face, in manners, and in mind.\nBut wise men shift their sails with ev'ry wind;\nAs changeful Proteus varied oft his shape,\nAnd did in sundry forms and figures 'scape.\nA running stream, a standing tree became,\nA roaring lion, or a bleating lamb.\nSome fish with harpoons, some with darts, are struck,62<\/sup><\/a>\nSome drawn with nets, some hang upon the hook;\nSo turn thyself; and imitating them,\nTry several tricks, and change thy stratagem.\nOne rule will not for diff'rent ages hold;\nThe jades grow cunning, as they grow more old.\nThen talk not bawdy to the bashful maid;\nBroad words will make her innocence afraid.\nNor to an ign'rant girl of learning speak;\nShe thinks you conjure when you talk in Greek.\nAnd hence 'tis often seen, the simple shun\nThe learn'd, and into vile embraces run.\nPart of my task is done, and part to do:\nBut here 'tis time to rest myself and you.<\/p>","rendered":"

In Cupid’s school1<\/sup><\/a>, whoe’er would take degree
\nMust learn his rudiments by reading me,2<\/sup><\/a>
\nSeamen with sailing art their vessels move;
\nArt guides the chariot: art instructs to love.
\nOf ships and chariots others know the rule;
\nBut I am master in Love’s mighty school.
\nCupid indeed is obstinate and wild,
\nA stubborn god3<\/sup><\/a>; but yet the god’s a child:
\nEasy to govern in his tender age,
\nLike fierce Achilles in his pupilage:
\nThat hero, born for conquest4<\/sup><\/a>, trembling stood
\nBefore the centaur, and receiv’d the rod.
\nAs Chiron mollified his cruel mind
\nWith art; and taught his warlike hands to wind
\nThe silver strings of his melodious lyre;5<\/sup><\/a>
\nSo love’s fair goddess does my soul inspire
\nTo teach her softer arts; to sooth the mind,
\nAnd smooth the rugged breasts of human kind.
\nYet Cupid and Achilles, each with scorn
\nAnd rage were fill’d; and both were goddess-born.6<\/sup><\/a>
\nThe bull reclaim’d and yolk’d, the burden draws:7<\/sup><\/a>
\nThe horse receives the bit within his jaws.
\nAnd stubborn love shall bend beneath my sway,
\nTho’ struggling oft he tries to disobey.
\nHe shakes his torch, he wounds me with his darts;
\nBut vain his force, and vainer are his arts.
\nThe more he burns my soul, or wounds my sight,
\nThe more he teaches to revenge the spite.
\nI boast no aid the Delphian god affords,
\nNor auspice from the flight of chattering birds,8<\/sup><\/a>
\nNor Clio<\/a><\/span>, nor her sisters, have I seen,
\nAs Hesiod saw them on the shady green:9<\/sup><\/a>
\nExperience makes my work a truth so tried,
\nYou may believe; and Venus<\/a><\/span> be my guide.10<\/sup><\/a>
\nFar hence ye vestals be, who bind your hair;11<\/sup><\/a>
\nAnd wives, who gowns below your ancles wear.
\nI sing the brothels loose and unconfin’d,
\nTh’ unpunishable pleasures of the kind;
\nWhich all alike for love or money find.
\nYou, who in Cupid’s roll inscribe your name,
\nFirst seek an object worthy of your flame;12<\/sup><\/a>
\nThen strive, with art, your lady’s mind to gain;
\nAnd last, provide your love may long remain.
\nOn these three precepts all my work shall move:
\nThese are the rules and principles of love.
\nBefore your youth with marriage is oppress’t,13<\/sup><\/a>
\nMake choice of one who suits your humour best
\nAnd such a damsel drops not from the sky;
\nShe must be sought for with a curious eye.
\nThe wary angler, in the winding brook,
\nKnows what the fish, and where to bait his hook.
\nThe fowler and the huntsman know by name
\nThe certain haunts and harbour of their game.
\nSo must the lover beat the likeliest grounds;
\nTh’ Assemblies where his quarries most abound:
\nNor shall my novice wander far astray;
\nThese rules shall put him in the ready way.
\nThou shalt not fail around the continent,
\nAs far as Perseus or as Paris<\/a><\/span> went:
\nFor Rome<\/a><\/span> alone affords thee such a store,
\nAs all the world can hardly shew thee more.
\nThe face of heav’n with fewer stars is crown’d,
\nThan beauties in the Roman sphere are found.
\nWhether thy love is bent on blooming youth,
\nOn dawning sweetness, in unartful truth;
\nOr courts the juicy joys of riper growth;
\nHere may’st thou find thy full desires in both:
\nOr if autumnal beauties please thy sight
\n(An age that knows to give and take delight;)
\nMillions of matrons, of the graver sort,
\nIn common prudence, will not balk the sport.
\nIn summer’s heats thou need’st but only go
\nTo Pompey’s cool and shady portico;14<\/sup><\/a>
\nOr Concord’s fane; or that proud edifice
\nWhose turrets near the bawdy suburbs rise;
\nOr to that other portico, where stands
\nThe cruel father urging his commands.
\nAnd fifty daughters wait the time of rest,
\nTo plunge their poniards in the bridegroom’s breast.
\nOr Venus<\/a><\/span>‘ temple; where, on annual nights,
\nThey mourn Adonis with Assyrian rites.15<\/sup><\/a>
\nNor shun the Jewish walk, where the foul drove
\nOn sabbaths rest from everything but love.16<\/sup><\/a>
\nNor Isis’ temple; for that sacred whore
\nMakes others, what to Jove she was before;17<\/sup><\/a>
\nAnd if the hall itself be not belied,
\nE’en there the cause of love is often tried;
\nNear it at least, or in the palace yard,
\nFrom whence the noisy combatants are heard.
\nThe crafty counsellors, in formal gown,18<\/sup><\/a>
\nThere gain another’s cause, but lose their own.
\nTheir eloquence is nonpluss’d in the suit;
\nAnd lawyers, who had words at will, are mute.
\nVenus<\/a><\/span> from her adjoining temple smiles
\nTo see them caught in their litigious wiles;
\nGrave senators lead home the youthful dame,19<\/sup><\/a>
\nReturning clients when they patrons came.
\nBut above all, the Playhouse is the place;20<\/sup><\/a>
\nThere’s choice of quarry in that narrow chace:
\nThere take thy stand, and sharply looking out,
\nSoon may’st thou find a mistress in the rout,
\nFor length of time or for a single bout.
\nThe Theatres are berries for the fair;
\nLike ants or mole-hills thither they repair;
\nLike bees to hives so numerously they throng,
\nIt may be said they to that place belong:
\nThither they swarm who have the public voice;
\nThere choose, if plenty not distracts thy choice.
\nTo see, and to be seen, in heaps they run;
\nSome to undo, and some to be undone.
\nFrom Romulus<\/a><\/span> the rise of plays began,
\nTo his new subjects a commodious man;
\nWho, his unmarried soldiers to supply,
\nTook care the commonwealth should multiply;
\nProviding Sabine<\/a><\/span> women for his braves,
\nLike a true king, to get a race of slaves.
\nHis playhouse, not of Parian marble made,
\nNor was it spread with purple sails for shade;
\nThe stage with rushes or with leaves they strew’d;21<\/sup><\/a>
\nNo scenes in prospect, no machining god.
\nOn rows of homely turf they sat to see,
\nCrown’d with the wreaths of ev’ry common tree.
\nThere, while they sit in rustic majesty,
\nEach lover had his mistress in his eye;
\nAnd whom he saw most suiting to his mind,
\nFor joys of matrimonial rape design’d.
\nScarce could they wait the plaudit in their haste;
\nBut ere the dances and the song were past,
\nThe monarch gave the signal from his throne,22<\/sup><\/a>
\nAnd rising, bade his merry men fall on.
\nThe martial crew, like soldiers, ready press’d,
\nJust at the word (the word too was the best),
\nWith joyful cries each other animate;
\nSome choose, and some at hazard seize their mate.
\nAs doves from eagles, or from wolves the lambs,
\nSo from their lawless lovers fly the dames.
\nTheir fear was one, but not one face of fear:
\nSome rend the lovely tresses of the hair:
\nSome shriek, and some are struck with dumb despair.
\nHer absent mother one invokes in vain;
\nOne stands amaz’d, not daring to complain;
\nThe nimbler trust their feet, the slow remain.
\nBut nought availing, all are captives led,
\nTrembling and blushing, to the genial bed.
\nShe who too long resisted or denied,
\nThe lusty lover made by force a bride,
\nAnd with superior strength compell’d her to his side,
\nThen sooth’d her thus! “My soul’s far better part,
\nCease weeping, nor afflict thy tender heart;
\nFor what thy father to thy mother was,
\nThat faith to thee, that solemn vow I pass !
\nThus Romulus<\/a><\/span> became so popular;
\nThis was the way to thrive in peace and war;
\nTo pay his army, and fresh whores to bring:
\nWho wouldn’t fight for such a gracious king!
\nThus love in theatres did first improve,
\nAnd theatres are still the scene of love.
\nNor shun the chariots and the courser’s race;
\nThe circus is no inconvenient place.
\nNo need is there of talking on the hands;
\nNor nods, nor signs, which lovers understand.23<\/sup><\/a>
\nBut boldly next the fair your seat provide,24<\/sup><\/a>
\nClose as ye can to hers-and side by side.
\nPleas’d or unpleas’d, no matter, crowding sit;
\nFor so the laws of public shows permit.
\nThen find occasion to begin discourse;
\nEnquire whose chariot this, and whose that horse?
\nTo whatsoever side she is inclin’d,
\nSuit all her inclinations to her mind;
\nLike what she likes, from thence your court begin.
\nAnd whom she favours, wish that he may win.
\nBut when the statues of the deities
\nIn chariots roll’d, appear before the prize;
\nWhen Venus<\/a><\/span> comes, with deep devotion rise.
\nIf dust be on her lap, or grains of sand,
\nBrush both away with your officious hand.
\nIf none there be, yet brush that nothing thence,
\nAnd still to touch her lap make some pretence.
\nTouch any thing of hers, and if her train
\nSweep on the ground, let it not sweep in vain;
\nBut gently take it up and wipe it clean;
\nAnd while you wipe it, with observing eyes,
\nWho knows but you may see her naked thighs!
\nObserve who sits behind her, and beware,
\nLest his encroaching knees should press the fair
\nLight service takes light minds, for some can tell
\nOf favours won by laying cushions well;
\nBy fanning faces some their fortunes meet,
\nAnd some by laying footstools for their feet.
\nThese overtures of love the circus gives,
\nNor at the sword play less the lover thrives;
\nFor there the son of Venus<\/a><\/span> fights his prize,
\nAnd deepest wounds are oft receiv’d from eyes.
\nOne, while the crowd their acclamations make,
\nOr while he bets and puts his ring to stake,
\nIs struck from far and feels the flying dart,
\nAnd of the spectacle is made a part.
\nCaesar would represent a naval fight,25<\/sup><\/a>
\nFor his own honour and for Rome<\/a><\/span>‘s delight.
\nFrom either sea the youths and maidens come,
\nAnd all the world was then contain’d in Rome<\/a><\/span>!
\nIn this vast concourse, in this choice of game,
\nWhat Roman heart but felt a foreign flame!
\nOnce more our prince prepares to make us glad,
\nAnd the remaining east to Rome<\/a><\/span> will add.26<\/sup><\/a>
\nRejoice, ye Roman soldiers, in your urns,
\nYour ensigns from the Parthians shall return,
\nAnd the slain Crassi shall no longer mourn.
\nA youth is sent those trophies to demand,
\nArd bears his father’s thunders in his hand;
\nDoubt not th’ imperial boy in wars unseen,
\nIn childhood all of Caesar’s race are men.
\nCelestial seeds shoot out before their day,
\nPrevent their years, and brook no dull delay.
\nThus infant Hercules<\/a><\/span> the snakes did press,
\nAnd in his cradle did his sire confess.
\nBacchus<\/a><\/span> a boy, yet like a hero fought,
\nAnd early spoils from conquer’d India<\/a><\/span> brought.
\nThus you your father’s troops shall lead to fight,
\nAnd thus shall vanquish in your father’s right.
\nThese rudiments you to your lineage owe;
\nBorn to increase your titles as you grow.
\nBrethren you had, revenge your brethren slain;
\nYou have a father, and his rights maintain.
\nArm’d by your country’s parent and your own,
\nRedeem your country and restore his throne.
\nYour enemies assert an impious cause;
\nYou fight both for divine and human laws.
\nAlready in their cause they are o’ercome;
\nSubject them too, by force of arms, to Rome<\/a><\/span>.
\nGreat father Mars with greater Caesar join,
\nTo give a prosperous omen to your line;
\nOne of you is, and one shall be divine.
\nI prophesy you shall, you shall o’ercome;
\nMy verse shall bring you back in triumph home:
\nSpeak in my verse, exhort to loud alarms;
\n0, were my numbers equal to your arms,
\nThen would I sing the Parthians’ overthrow;
\nTheir shot averse sent from a flying bow
\nThe Parthians, who already flying fight,
\nAlready give an omen of their flight.
\n0, when will come the day, by heaven designed,
\nWhen thou, the best and fairest of mankind,
\nDrawn by white horses, shalt in triumph ride,27<\/sup><\/a>
\nWith conquer’d slaves attending on thy side;
\nSlaves that no longer can be safe in flight:
\nO glorious object, O surprising sight,
\nO day of public joy, too good to end in night!
\nOn such a day, if thou, and next to thee,
\nSome beauty sits the spectacle to see;
\nIf she enquires the names of conquer’d kings,
\nOf mountains, rivers, and of hidden springs,
\nAnswer to all thou know’st; and if need be,
\nOf things unknown seem to speak knowingly:
\nThis is Euphrates<\/a><\/span>, crown’d with reeds; and there
\nFlows the swift Tigris<\/a><\/span>, with his sea-green hair.
\nInvent new names of things unknown before:
\nCall this Armenia<\/a><\/span>, that the Caspian shore;
\nCall this a Mede<\/a><\/span>, and that a Parthian youth;
\nTalk probably,-no matter for the truth.
\nIn feasts, as at our shows, new means abound;
\nMore pleasure there, than that of wine, is found.
\nThe Paphian goddess there her ambush lays;
\nAnd love, betwixt the horns of Bacchus plays:
\nDesires increase at ev’ry swilling draught;
\nBrisk vapour add new vigour to the thought.
\nThere Cupid’s purple wings no flight afford,
\nBut wet with wine, he flutters on the board.
\nHe shakes his pinions, but he cannot move;
\nFix’d he remains, and turns a maudlin love.
\nWine warms the blood, and makes the spirits flow;
\nCare flies, and wrinkles from the forehead go;
\nExalts the poor, invigorates the weak,
\nGives mirth and laughter, and a rosy cheek.
\nBold truth it speaks; and spoken, dare maintain;
\nAnd brings our old simplicity again.
\nLove sparkles in the cup and fills it higher;
\nWine feeds the flames, and fuel adds to fire.
\nBut choose no mistress in thy drunken fit;
\nWine gilds too much their beauties and their wit.
\nNor trust thy judgment when the tapers dance;28<\/sup><\/a>
\nBut sober, and by day thy suit advance.
\nBy daylight Paris<\/a><\/span> judg’d the beauteous three;29<\/sup><\/a>
\nAnd for the fairest did the prize decree.
\nNight is a cheat, and all deformities
\nAre hid, or lessen’d, in her dark disguise.
\nThe sun’s fair light each error will confess,
\nIn face, in shape, in jewels, and in dress.
\nWhy name I ev’ry place where youths abound?
\n‘Tis loss of time; and a true fruitful ground.
\nThe Baian baths, where ships at anchor ride,
\nAnd wholesome streams from sulphur fountains glide;
\nWhere wounded youths are by experience taught,
\nThe waters are less healthful than they thought,
\nOr Dian’s fane, which near the suburb lies;30<\/sup><\/a>
\nWhere priests, for their promotion, fight a prize.31<\/sup><\/a>
\nThat maiden goddess is love’s mortal foe,
\nAnd much from her his subjects undergo.
\nThus far the sportful muse, with myrtle bound,
\nHas sung where lovely lasses may be found,
\nNow let me sing, how she who wounds your mind,
\nWith art, may be to cure your wounds inclined.32<\/sup><\/a>
\nYoung nobles, to my laws attention lend,
\nAnd all you vulgar of my school attend.
\nFirst then believe, all women may be won;
\nAttempt with confidence, the work is done.
\nThe grasshopper shall first forbear to sing
\nIn summer season, or the birds in spring;
\nThan women can resist your flatt’ring skill;
\nE’en she will yield who swears she never will.
\nTo secret pleasures both the sexes move;
\nBut women most, who most dissemble, love;
\n‘Twere best for us, if they would first declare;
\nAvow their passion, and submit to prayer.
\nThe cow by looing tells the bull her flame;
\nThe neighing mare invites her stallion to the game.
\nMan is more temp’rate in his lust than they;
\nAnd more than woman can his passion sway.
\nBiblis<\/a><\/span>, we know, did first her love declare,
\nAnd had recourse to death in her despair.
\nHer brother she, her father Myrrha sought;33<\/sup><\/a>
\nAnd lov’d; but lov’d not as a daughter ought.
\nNow from a tree she stills her od’rous tears;
\nWhich yet the name of her who shed ’em bear.
\nIn Ida’s shady vale a bull appeared,34<\/sup><\/a>
\nWhite as the snow, the fairest of the herd;
\nA beauty spot of black there only rose,
\nBetwixt his equal horns and ample brows;
\nThe love and wish of all the Cretan cows.
\nThe queen beheld him as his head he rear’d;
\nAnd envied ev’ry leap he gave the herd.
\nA secret fire she nourished in her breast;
\nAnd hated ev’ry heifer he caress’d.
\nA story known, and known for true, I tell;
\nNor Crete<\/a><\/span>, though lying, can the truth conceal.
\nShe cut him grass (so much can love command)
\nShe strok’d, she fed him with her royal hand;
\nWas pleas’d in pastures with the herd to roam,
\nAnd Minos by the bull was overcome.
\nCease, Queen, with gems t’adorn thy beauteous brows,
\nThe monarch of thy heart no jewel knows.
\nNor in thy glass compose thy looks and eyes;
\nSecure from all thy charms thy lover lies:
\nYet trust thy mirror, when it tells thee true,
\nThou art no heifer to allure his view.
\nSoon wouldst thou quit thy royal diadem
\nTo thy fair rivals; to be horned like them.
\nIf Minos please, no lover seek to find;
\nIf not, at least seek one of human kind.
\nThe wretched queen the Cretan court forsakes;
\nIn woods and wilds her habitation makes;
\nShe curses ev’ry beauteous cow she sees;
\n“Ah, why dost thou my lord and master please!
\nAnd think’st, ungrateful creature as thou art,
\nWith frisking awkardly to gain his heart.”
\nShe said; and straight commands with frowning look,
\nTo put her, undeserving, to the yoke.
\nOr feigns some holy rites of sacrifice,
\nAnd sees her rival’s death with joyful eyes;
\nThen when the bloody priest has done his part,
\nPleas’d, in her hand she holds the beating heart;
\nNor from a scornful taunt can scarce refrain,
\nGo, fool, and strive to please my love again”
\nNow she would be Europa.– Io now;35<\/sup><\/a>
\n(One bare a bull. and one was made a cow.)
\nYet she at last her brutal bliss obtain’d,
\nAnd in a wooden cow the bull sustained;
\nFill’d with his seed, accomplish’d her desire,
\nTill, by his form, the son betray’d the sire.
\nIf Atreus’ wife to incest had not run,36<\/sup><\/a>
\n(But ah, how hard it is to love but one!)
\nHis coursers Phoebus had not driv’n away,
\nTo shun that sight, and interrupt the day.
\nThy daughter, Nissus, pull’d thy purple hair;37<\/sup><\/a>
\nAnd barking sea-dogs yet her bowels tear.
\nAt sea and land Atrides sav’d his life;
\nYet fell a prey to his adult’rous wife.38<\/sup><\/a>
\nWho knows not what revenge Medea sought,
\nWhen the slain offspring bore the father’s fault!
\nThus Phoenix did a woman’s love bewail;39<\/sup><\/a>
\nAnd thus Hippolytus by Phaedra fell.40<\/sup><\/a>
\nThese crimes revengeful matrons did commit!
\nHotter their lust, and sharper is their wit.
\nDoubt not from them an easy victory;
\nScarce of a thousand dames will one deny.
\nAll women are content that men should woo;
\nShe who complains, and she who will not do.
\nRest then secure, whate’er thy luck may prove,
\nNot to be hated for declaring love:
\nAnd yet how canst thou miss, since womankind
\nIs frail and vain; and still to change inclin’d?
\nOld husbands, and stale gallants, they despise;
\nAnd more another’s than their own they prize.
\nA larger crop adorns our neighbour’s field,
\nMore milk his kine from swelling udders yield.
\nFirst gain the maid; by her thou shalt be sure
\nA free access, and easy to procure;
\nWho knows what to her office does belong,
\nIs in the secret, and can hold her tongue,
\nBribe her with gifts, with promises, and pray’rs;
\nFor her good word goes far in love affairs.
\nThe time and fit occasion leave to her,
\nWhen she most amply can thy suit prefer.
\nThe time for maids to fire their lady’s blood
\nIs when they find her in a merry mood.
\nWhen all things at her wish and pleasure move;
\nHer heart is open then, and free to love.
\nThen mirth and wantonness to lust betray,
\nAnd smooth the passage to the lover’s way.
\nTroy<\/a><\/span> stood the siege, when fill’d with anxious care
\nOne merry fit concluded all the war.
\nIf some fair rival vex her jealous mind,
\nOffer thy service to revenge in kind.
\nInstruct the damsel, while she combs her hair,
\nTo raise the choler of that injur’d fair;
\nAnd sighing, make her mistress understand
\nShe has the means of vengeance in her hand.
\nThen, naming thee, thy humble suit prefer;
\nAnd swear thou languishest and diest for her.
\nThen let her lose no time, but push at all;
\nFor women soon are rais’d, and soon they fall.
\nGive their first fury leisure to relent,
\nThey melt like ice, and suddenly repent.
\nT’ enjoy the maid, will that thy suit advance?
\n‘Tis a hard question, and a doubtful chance.
\nOne maid corrupted, bawds the better for’t;
\nAnother for herself would keep the sport.
\nThy bus’ness may be furthered or delay’d,
\nBut by my counsel, let alone the maid
\nE’en tho’ she should consent to do the feat;
\nThe profit’s little, and the danger great.
\nI will not lead thee through a rugged road,
\nBut where the way lies open, safe and broad,
\nYet if thou find’st her very much thy friend,
\nAnd her good face her diligence commend,
\nLet the fair mistress have the first embrace,
\nAnd let the maid come after in her place.
\nBut this I will advise, and mark my words,
\nFor ’tis the best advice my skill affords;
\nIf needs thou with the damsel wilt begin,
\nBefore th’ attempt is made, make sure to win;
\nFor then the secret better will be kept,
\nAnd she can tell no tales when once she’s dipt.
\n‘Tis for the fowler’s int’rest to beware,
\nThe bird intangled, should not ‘scape the snare.
\nThe fish once prick’d avoids the bearded hook,
\nAnd spoils the sport of all the neighb’ring brook.
\nBut if the wench be thine, she makes thy way,
\nAnd for thy sake, her mistress will betray;
\nTell all she knows, and all she hears her say
\nKeep well the counsel of thy faithful spy;
\nSo shalt thou learn whene’er she treads awry.
\nAll things the stations of their seasons keep;
\nAnd certain times there are to sow and reap.
\nPloughmen and sailors for the season stay,
\nOne to plough land, and one to plough the sea;
\nSo should the lover wait the lucky day.
\nThen stop thy suit, it hurts not thy design;
\nBut think another hour she may be thine.
\nAnd when she celebrates her birth at home,
\nOr when she views the public shows of Rome<\/a><\/span>;
\nKnow all thy visits then are troublesome.
\nDefer thy work, and put not then to sea,
\nFor that’s a boding and a stormy day.
\nElse take thy time, and when thou canst, begin;
\nTo break a Jewish sabbath, think no sin;
\nNor e’en on superstitious days abstain;
\nNor when the Romans were at Allia slain.41<\/sup><\/a>
\nIll omens in her frowns are understood;
\nWhen she’s in humour, ev’ry day is good.
\nBut than her birthday seldom comes a worse,
\nWhen bribes and presents must be sent of course;42<\/sup><\/a>
\nAnd that’s a bloody day that costs thy purse.
\nBe stanch; yet parsimony will be vain:
\nThe craving sex will still the lover drain.
\nNo skill can shift them off, nor art remove;
\nThey will be begging when they know we love.
\nThe merchant comes upon th’ appointed day,
\nWho shall before thy face his wares display.
\nTo choose for her she craves thy kind advice,
\nThen begs again to bargain for the price;
\nBut when she has her purchase in her eye,
\nShe hugs thee close, and kisses thee to buy;
\n“‘Tis what I want, and ’tis a pen’orth too;
\nIn many years I will not trouble you.”
\nIf you complain you have no ready coin,-
\nNo matter, ’tis but writing of a line;
\nA little bill, not to be paid at sight:
\n(Now curse the time when thou wert taught to write.)
\nShe keeps her birthday; you must send the cheer:
\nAnd she’ll be born a hundred times a year.
\nWith daily lies she dribs thee into cost;
\nThat ear-ring dropt a stone, that ring is lost.
\nThey often borrow what they never pay;43<\/sup><\/a>
\nWhat e’er you lend her, think it thrown away.
\nHad I ten mouths and tongues to tell each art,
\nAll would be wearied ere I told a part.
\nBy letters, not by words, thy love begin;
\nAnd ford the dangerous passage with thy pen;
\nIf to her heart thou aim’st to find the way,
\nExtremely flatter and extremely pray.
\nPriam by pray’rs did Hector’s body gain;
\nNor is an angry god invok’d in vain.
\nWith promis’d gifts her early mind bewitch,
\nFor e’en the poor in promise may be rich.
\nVain hopes awhile her appetite will stay;
\n‘Tis a deceitful, but commodious way.
\nWho gives is mad ; but make her still believe
\n‘Twill come, and that’s the cheapest way to give.
\nE’en barren lands fair promises afford,
\nBut the lean harvest cheats the starving lord.
\nBuy not thy first employment, lest it prove
\nOf bad example to thy future love ;
\nBut get it gratis, and she’ll give thee more,
\nFor fear of losing what she gave before.
\nThe losing gamester shakes the box in vain,
\nAnd bleeds, and loses on, in hopes to gain.
\nWrite then, and in thy letter, as I said,
\nLet her with mighty promises be fed.
\nCydyppe by a letter was betray’d,
\nWrit on an apple to th’ unwary maid;
\nShe read herself into a marriage vow,
\n(And every cheat in love the gods allow.)
\nLearn eloquence, ye noble youth of Rome<\/a><\/span>,-
\nIt will not only at the bar o’ercome:
\nSweet words the people and the senate move;
\nBut the chief end of eloquence is love.
\nBut in thy letter hide thy moving arts,
\nAffect not to be thought a man of parts;
\nNone but vain fools to simple women preach:
\nA learned letter oft has made a breach.
\nIn a familiar style your thoughts convey,
\nAnd write such things as, present, you would say;
\nSuch words as from the heart may seem to move;
\n‘Tis wit enough to make her think you love.
\nIf seal’d she sends it back, and will not read,
\nYet hope, in time, the business may succeed.
\nIn time the steer will to the yoke submit,
\nIn time the restive horse will bear the bit.
\nE’en the hard ploughshare use will wear away,
\nAnd stubborn steel in length of time decay.
\nWater is soft and marble hard, and yet
\nWe see soft water through hard marble eat.
\nThough late, yet Troy<\/a><\/span> at length in flames expir’d;
\nAnd ten years more, Penelope had tir’d.
\nPerhaps she writes, and answers with disdain,
\nAnd sharply bids you not to write again:
\nWhat she requires, she fears you would accord;
\nThe jilt would not be taken at her word.
\nMeantime, if she be carried in her chair,
\nApproach, but do not seem to know she’s there:
\nSpeak softly, to delude the standers by;
\nOr, if aloud, then speak ambiguously.
\nIf sauntering in the portico she walk,
\nMove slowly too, for that’s a time for talk;
\nAnd sometimes follow, sometimes be her guide,
\nBut when the crowds permit, go side by side.
\nNor in the playhouse let her sit alone,
\nFor she’s the playhouse and the play in one;
\nThere thou may’st ogle, or by signs advance
\nThy hand, and seem to touch her hand by chance.
\nAdmire the dancer who her liking gains,
\nAnd pity in the play the lover’s pails ;
\nFor her sweet sake the loss of time despise,
\nSit while she sits, and when she rises rise.
\nBut dress not like a fop, nor curl your hair,
\nNor with a pumice make your body bare;
\nLeave those effeminate and useless toys
\nTo eunuchs, who can give no solid joys.
\nNeglect becomes a man-this Theseus found;
\nUncurl’d, uncomb’d, the nymphs his wishes crowned.
\nThe rough Hippolytus was Phaedra’s care,
\nAnd Venus thought the rude Adonis fair.
\nBe not too finical, but yet be clean,
\nAnd wear well fashioned clothes, like other men;
\nLet not your teeth be yellow or be foul,
\nNor in wide shoes your feet too loosely roll.
\nOf a black muzzle and long beard beware,
\nAnd let a skilful barber cut your hair;
\nYour nails be pick’d from dirt, and even par’d;
\nNor let your nasty nostrils bud with beard.
\nCure your unsav’ry breath; gargle your throat;
\nAnd free your armpits from the ram and goat.44<\/sup><\/a>
\nDress not, in short, too little or too much;
\nAnd be not wholly French nor wholly Dutch.
\nNow Bacchus<\/a><\/span> calls me to his jolly rites:45<\/sup><\/a>
\nWho would not follow when a god invites?
\nHe helps the poet, and his pen inspires;
\nKind and indulgent to his former fires.
\nFair Ariadne wander’d on the shore
\nForsaken now; and Theseus loves no more;
\nLoose was her gown, dishevel’d was her hair,
\nHer bosom naked, and her feet were bare;
\nExclaiming, on the water’s brink she stood,
\nHer briny tears augment the briny flood;
\nShe shriek’d and wept, and both became her face,
\nNo posture could that heav’nly form disgrace.
\nShe beat her breast: – “The traitor’s gone,” said she;
\n“What shall become of poor forsaken me?
\nWhat shall become-” She had not time for more,
\nThe sounding cymbals rattled on the shore.46<\/sup><\/a>
\nShe swoons for fear, she falls upon the ground;
\nNo vital heat was in her body found.
\nThe Mimallonian dames about her stood,
\nAnd scudding satyrs ran before their god.
\nSilenus on his ass did next appear,
\nAnd held upon the mane (the god was clear).
\nThe drunken sire pursues, the dames retire;
\nSometimes the drunken dames pursue the drunken sire.
\nAt last he topples over on the plain;
\nThe satyrs laugh, and bid him rise again.
\nAnd now the god of wine came driving on,
\nHigh on his chariot by swift tigers drawn.
\nHer colour, voice, and sense forsook the fair;
\nThrice did her trembling limbs for flight prepare,
\nAnd thrice affrighted did her flight forbear.
\nShe shook like leaves of corn when tempests blow,
\nOr slender reeds that in the marshes grow.
\nTo whom the god-” Compose thy fearful mind;
\nIn me a truer husband thou shalt find.
\nWith heav’n I will endow thee, and thy star
\nShall with propitious light be seen afar,
\nAnd guide on seas the doubtful mariner.”
\nHe said; and from his chariot leaping light,
\nLest the grim tigers should the nymph affright,
\nHis brawny arms around her waist he threw,
\n(For gods whate’er they please with ease can do,)
\nAnd swiftly bore her thence; th’ attending throng
\nShout at the sight, and sing the nuptial song.47<\/sup><\/a>
\nNow in full bowls her sorrow she may steep;
\nThe bridegroom’s liquor lays the bride asleep.
\nBut thou, when flowing cups in triumph ride,48<\/sup><\/a>
\nAnd the lov’d nymph is seated by thy side,
\nInvoke the god and all the mighty powers,
\nThat wine may not defraud thy genial hours.
\nThen in ambiguous words thy suit prefer,
\nWhich she may know were all address’d to her.
\nIn liquid purple letters write her name,49<\/sup><\/a>
\nWhich she may read, and reading find the flame.
\nThen may your eyes confess your mutual fires,
\n(For eyes have tongues, and glances tell desires ;)
\nWhene’er she drinks, be first to take the cup;
\nAnd where she laid her lips, the blessing sup.
\nWhen she to carving does her hand advance,
\nPut out thy own, and touch it as by chance.
\nThy service e’en the husband must attend;50<\/sup><\/a>
\n(A husband is a most convenient friend.)
\nSeat the fool cuckold in the highest place,
\nAnd with thy garland his dull temples grace’
\nWhether below or equal in degree,
\nLet him be lord of all the company,
\nAnd what he says be seconded by thee.
\nTis common to deceive thro’ friendship’s name,
\nBut common though it be, ’tis still to blame;
\nThus factors frequently their trust betray,
\nAnd to themselves their masters’ gains convey.
\nDrink to a certain pitch, and then give o’er;
\nThy tongue and feet may stumble, drinking more.
\nOf drunken quarrels in her sight beware;
\nPot valour only serves to fright the fair.
\nEurytion justly fell, by wine oppress’t,51<\/sup><\/a>
\nFor his rude riot at a wedding-feast.
\nSing, if you have a voice; and shew your parts
\nIn dancing, if endu’d with dancing arts.
\nDo anything within your power to please;
\nNay, e’en affect a seeming drunkenness;
\nClip every word; and if by chance you speak
\nToo home, or if too broad a jest you break,
\nIn your excuse the company will join,
\nAnd lay the fault upon the force of wine.
\nTrue drunkenness is subject to offend,
\nBut when ’tis feign’d ’tis oft a lover’s friend:
\nThen safely you may praise her beauteous face,
\nAnd call him happy who is in her grace;
\nHer husband thinks himself the man design’d,
\nBut curse the cuckold in your secret mind.
\nWhen all are risen and prepar’d to go,
\nMix with the crowd and tread upon her toe;
\nThis is the proper time to make thy court,
\nFor now she’s in the vein, and fit for sport.
\nLay bashfulness, that rustic virtue, by;52<\/sup><\/a>
\nTo manly confidence thy thoughts apply.
\nOn fortune’s foretop timely fix thy hold;
\nNow speak and speed. for Venus<\/a><\/span> loves the bold.
\nNo rules of rhetoric here I need afford;53<\/sup><\/a>
\nOnly begin, and trust the following word:
\nIt will be witty of its own accord.
\nAct well the lover; let thy speech abound
\nIn dying words, that represent thy wound;
\nDistrust not her belief; she will be mov’d:
\nAll women think they merit to be lov’d.
\nSometimes a man begins to love in jest,
\nAnd after feels the torment he possess’t.
\nFor your own sakes be pitiful, ye fair,
\nFor a feign’d passion may a true prepare.
\nBy flatteries we prevail on womankind,
\nAs hollow banks by streams are undermin’d:
\nTell her her face is fair, her eyes are sweet;
\nHer taper fingers praise, and little feet.
\nSuch praises e’en the chaste are pleas’d to hear;
\nBoth maids and matrons hold their beauty dear.
\nOnce naked Pallas<\/a><\/span> with Jove’s queen appear’d,
\nAnd still they grieve that Venus<\/a><\/span> was preferr’d.
\nPraise the proud peacock, and lie spreads his train:
\nBe silent, and lie pulls it in again.
\nPleas’d is the courser in his rapid race;
\nApplaud his running, and he mends his pace.
\nBut largely promise and devoutly swear,
\nAnd, if need be, call ev’ry god to hear.
\nJove sits above, forgiving with a smile
\nThe perjuries that easy maids beguile.
\nHe swore to Juno<\/a><\/span> by the Stygian lake;
\nForsworn, lie dares not an example make,
\nOr punish falsehood, for his own dear sake.
\n‘Tis for our interest the gods should be;
\nLet us believe them; I believe they see,
\nAnd both reward and punish equally.
\nNot that they live above like lazy drones,54<\/sup><\/a>
\nOr kings below, supine upon their thrones;
\nLead then your lives as present in their sight;
\nBe just in dealings, and defend the right;
\nBy fraud betray not, nor oppress by might.
\nBut ’tis a venial sin to cheat the fair;
\nAll men have liberty of conscience there.
\nOn cheating nymphs a cheat is well design’d,
\n‘Tis a profane and a deceitful kind.55<\/sup><\/a>
\n‘Tis said that Egypt<\/a><\/span> for nine years was dry,
\nNor Nile<\/a><\/span> did floods, nor heav’n did rain supply.
\nThat slaughter’d guests would kindly moisture bring.
\nThe king replied, “On thee the lot shall fall;
\nBe thou, my guest, the sacrifice for all.”
\nThus Phalaris Perillus taught to low,
\nAnd made him season first the brazen cow.
\nA rightful doom, the laws of nature cry,
\n‘Tis, the artificers of death should die.
\nThus justly women suffer by deceit,
\nTheir practice authorises us to cheat.
\nBeg her, with tears, thy warm desires to grant;
\nFor tears will pierce a heart of adamant.
\nIf tears will not be squeezed, then rub your eye,
\nOr ‘noint the lids, and seem at least to cry.
\nKiss, if you can; resistance if she make,
\nAnd will not give you kisses, let her take.
\n” Fy, fy, you naughty man,” are words of course;
\nShe struggles but to be subdu’d by force.
\nKiss only soft, I charge you, and beware
\nWith your hard bristles not to brush the fair.
\nHe who has gain’d a kiss, and gains no more,
\nDeserves to lose the bliss he got before.
\nIf once she kiss, her meaning is exprest;
\nThere wants but little pushing for the rest;
\nWhich if thou dost not gain, by strength or art,
\nThe name of clown then suits with thy desert;
\n‘Tis downright dulness, and a shameful part.
\nPerhaps she calls it force, but if she ‘scape,
\nShe will not thank you for th’ omitted rape.
\nThe sex is cunning to conceal their fires;
\nThey would be forc’d e’en to their own desires.
\nThey seem t’ accuse you with a down-cast sight,
\nBut in their souls confess you did them right.
\nWho might be forc’d, and yet untouch’d depart,
\nThank with their tongues, but curse you with their heart.
\nFair Phoebe and her sister did prefer,
\nTo their dull mates, the noble ravisher.56<\/sup><\/a>
\nWhat Deidamia did in days of yore,
\nThe tale is old but worth the telling o’er.
\nWhen Venus<\/a><\/span> had the golden apple gain’d,
\nAnd the just judge fair Helen had obtained;
\nWhen she with triumph was at Troy<\/a><\/span> receiv’d,
\nThe Trojans joyful, while the Grecians griev’d:
\nThey vow’d revenge of violated laws,
\nAnd Greece<\/a><\/span> was arming in the cuckold’s cause;
\nAchilles, by his mother warn’d from war,
\nDisguis’d his sex, and lurk’d among the fair.
\nWhat means Aeacides to spin and sew ?
\nWith spear and sword in field thy valour show!
\nAnd leaving this, the noble Pallas<\/a><\/span> know.57<\/sup><\/a>
\nWhy dost thou in that hand the distaff wield,
\nWhich is more worthy to sustain the shield?
\nOr with that other draw the woolly twine,
\nThe same the fates for lector’s thread assign?
\nBanish thy falchion in thy powerful hand,
\nWhich can alone the pond’rous lance command.
\nIn the same room by chance the royal maid
\nWas lodg’d, and, by his seeming sex, betrayed,
\nClose to her side the youthful hero laid.
\nI know not how his courtship he began;
\nBut, to her cost, she found it was a man.
\n‘Tis thought she struggled, but withal ’tis thought
\nHer wish was to be conquer’d, when she fought.
\nFor when disclos’d, and hast’ning to the field,
\nHe laid his distaff down and took the shield,
\nWith tears her humble suit she did prefer,
\nAnd thought to stay the grateful ravisher.
\nShe sighs, she sobs, she begs him not to part;
\nAnd now ’tis nature what before was art.
\nShe strives by force her lover to detain,
\nAnd wishes to be ravish’d once again.
\nThis is the sex; they will not first begin,
\nBut when compelled, are pleas’d to suffer sin.
\nIs there, who thinks that woman first should woo?
\nLay by thy self-conceit, thou foolish beau.
\nBegin, and save their modesty the shame;
\n‘Tis well for thee, if they receive thy flame.
\n‘Tis decent for a man to speak his mind;
\nThey but expect th’ occasion to be kind.
\nAsk, that thou may’st enjoy; she waits for this:
\nAnd on thy first advance depends thy bliss.
\nE’en Jove himself was forc’d to sue for love;
\nNone of the nymphs did first solicit Jove.
\nBut if you find your pray’rs increase her pride,
\nStrike sail awhile, and wait another tide.
\nThey fly when we pursue; but make delay.
\nAnd when they see you shaken, they will stay.
\nSometimes it profits to conceal your end;
\nName not yourself her lover, but her friend.
\nHow many skittish girls have thus been caught?
\nHe prov’d a lover, who a friend was thought.
\nSailors by sun and wind are swarthy made;
\nA tann’d complexion best becomes their trade.
\n‘Tis a disgrace to ploughmen to be fair;
\nBluff cheeks they have, and weather-beaten hair.
\nTh’ ambitious youth who seeks an olive crown,
\nIs sun-burnt with his daily toil, and brown;
\nBut if the lover hopes to be in grace,
\nWall be his looks, and meagre be his face.
\nThat colour from the fair compassion draws;
\nShe thinks you sick, and thinks herself the cause.
\nOrion wander’d in the woods for love.58<\/sup><\/a>
\nHis paleness did the nymphs to pity move;
\nHis gastly visage argu’d hidden love.
\nNor fail a night-cap in full health to wear;
\nNeglect thy dress, and discompose thy hair.
\nAll things are decent, that in love avail.
\nRead long by night, and study to be pale.
\nForsake your food, refuse your needful rest;
\nBe miserable that you may be blest.
\nShall I complain, or shall I warn you most?
\nFaith, truth, and friendship, in the world are lost;
\nA little and an empty name they boast.
\nTrust not thy friend, much less thy mistress praise;
\nIf he believe, thou man’st a rival raise.
\n‘Tis true, Patroclus, by no lust misled,
\nSought not to stain his dear companion’s bed.59<\/sup><\/a>
\nNor Pylades Hermione<\/a><\/span> embrac’d;60<\/sup><\/a>
\nEv’n Phaedra to Pirithous still was chaste.
\nBut hope not thou, in this vile age to find
\nThose rare examples of a faithful mind.
\nThe sea shall sooner with sweet honey flow;
\nOr from the furze pears and apples grow.
\nWe sin with gust, we love by fraud to gain,
\nAnd find a pleasure in our fellow’s pain.
\nFrom rival foes you may the fair defend;
\nBut would you ward the blow, beware your friend.
\nBeware your brother, and your next of kin;
\nBut from your bosom friend your care begin.
\nHere had I ended, but experience finds,
\nThat sundry women are of sundry minds;
\nWith various crotchets fill’d, and hard to please,
\nThey therefore must be caught by various ways.
\nAll things are not produced in any soil;61<\/sup><\/a>
\nThis ground for wine is proper, that for oil.
\nSo ’tis in men, but more in woman-kind;
\nDiff’rent in face, in manners, and in mind.
\nBut wise men shift their sails with ev’ry wind;
\nAs changeful Proteus varied oft his shape,
\nAnd did in sundry forms and figures ‘scape.
\nA running stream, a standing tree became,
\nA roaring lion, or a bleating lamb.
\nSome fish with harpoons, some with darts, are struck,62<\/sup><\/a>
\nSome drawn with nets, some hang upon the hook;
\nSo turn thyself; and imitating them,
\nTry several tricks, and change thy stratagem.
\nOne rule will not for diff’rent ages hold;
\nThe jades grow cunning, as they grow more old.
\nThen talk not bawdy to the bashful maid;
\nBroad words will make her innocence afraid.
\nNor to an ign’rant girl of learning speak;
\nShe thinks you conjure when you talk in Greek.
\nAnd hence ’tis often seen, the simple shun
\nThe learn’d, and into vile embraces run.
\nPart of my task is done, and part to do:
\nBut here ’tis time to rest myself and you.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":19,"menu_order":1,"template":"","meta":{"_candela_citation":"[]","CANDELA_OUTCOMES_GUID":"","pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-80","chapter","type-chapter","status-web-only","hentry"],"part":79,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/80","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/19"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/80\/revisions"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/79"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/80\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=80"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=80"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=80"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=80"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}