John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Who wou’d not fight for such a gracious King! 155

  Thus Love in Theaters did first improve;

  And Theaters are still the Scene of Love:

  Nor shun the Chariots, and the Courser’s Race;

  The Circus is no inconvenient Place.

  No need is there of talking on the Hand; 160

  Nor Nods, nor Signs, which Lovers understand.

  But boldly next the fair your Seat provide;

  Close as you can to hers; and Side by Side.

  Pleas’d or unpleas’d, no matter; crowding sit:

  For so the Laws of publick Shows permit. 165

  Then find Occasion to begin Discourse;

  Enquire, whose Chariot this, and whose that Horse?

  To whatsoever Side she is inclin’d,

  Suit all your Inclinations to her Mind;

  Like what she likes; from thence your Court begin; 170

  And whom she favours, wish that he may win.

  But when the Statues of the Deities,

  In Chariots roll’d, appear before the Prize;

  When Venus comes, with deep Devotion rise.

  If Dust be on her Lap, or Grains of Sand, 175

  Brush both away with your officious Hand.

  If none be there, yet brush that nothing thence;

  And still to touch her Lap make some Pretence.

  Touch any thing of hers; and if her Train

  Sweep on the Ground, let it not sweep in vain; 180

  But gently take it up, and wipe it clean;

  And while you wipe it, with observing Eyes,

  Who knows but you may see her naked Thighs!

  Observe, who sits behind her; and beware,

  Dest his incroaching Knee shou’d press the Fair. 185

  Light Service takes light Minds: For some can tell

  Of Favours won, by laying Cushions well:

  By Fanning Faces some their Fortune meet;

  And some by laying Footstools for their Feet.

  These Overtures of Love the Circus gives; 190

  Nor at the Sword-play less the Lover thrives:

  For there the Son of Venus fights his Prize;

  And deepest Wounds are oft receiv’d from Eyes.

  One, while the Crowd their Acclamations make,

  Or while he Betts, and puts his Ring to Stake, 195

  Is struck from far, and feels the flying Dart;

  And of the Spectacle is made a Part.

  Cæsar wou’d represent a Naval Fight,

  For his own Honour, and for Rome’s Delight.

  From either Sea the Youths and Maidens come; 200

  And all the World was then contain’d in Rome!

  In this vast Concourse, in this Choice of Game,

  What Roman Heart but felt a foreign Flame?

  Once more our Prince prepares to make us glad;

  And the remaining East to Rome will add. 205

  Rejoice, ye Roman Souldiers, in your Urn;

  Your Ensigns from the Parthians shall return;

  And the slain Crassi shall no longer mourn.

  A youth is sent those trophies to demand;

  And bears his father’s thunder in his hand: 210

  Doubt not th’ Imperial Boy in Wars unseen;

  In Childhood all of Cæsar’s Race are Men.

  Celestial Seeds shoot out before their Day,

  Prevent their Years, and brook no dull Delay.

  Thus Infant Hercules the Snakes did press, 215

  And in his Cradle did his Sire confess.

  Bacchus a Boy, yet like a Hero fought,

  And early Spoils from conquer’d India brought.

  Thus you your Father’s Troops shall lead to Fight,

  And thus shall vanquish in your Father’s Right. 220

  These Rudiments you to your Lineage owe;

  Born to increase your Titles as you grow.

  Brethren you had, Revenge your Brethren slain;

  You have a Father, and his Rights maintain.

  Arm’d by your Country’s Parent, and your own, 225

  Redeem your Country, and restore his Throne.

  Your Enemies assert an impious Cause;

  You fight both for divine and humane Laws.

  Already in their Cause they are o’ercome:

  Subject them too, by Force of Arms, to Rome. 230

  Great Father Mars with greater Cæsar joyn,

  To give a prosperous Omen to your Line:

  One of you is, and one shall be divine.

  I prophesy you shall, you shall o’ercome:

  My Verse shall bring you back in Triumph Home. 235

  Speak in my Verse, exhort to loud Alarms:

  O were my Numbers equal to your Arms,

  Then will I sing the Parthians Overthrow;

  Their Shot averse sent from a flying Bow:

  The Parthians, who already flying fight, 240

  Already give an Omen of their Flight.

  O when will come the Day, by Heav’n design’d,

  When thou, the best and fairest of Mankind,

  Drawn by white Horses shalt in Triumph ride,

  With conquer’d Slaves attending on thy Side; 245

  Slaves, that no longer can be safe in Flight;

  O glorious Object, O surprizing Sight,

  O Day of Publick Joy, too good to end in Night!

  On such a Day, if thou, and, next to thee,

  Some Beauty sits the Spectacle to see: 250

  If she enquire the Names of conquer’d Kings,

  Of Mountains, Rivers, and their hidden Springs,

  Answer to all thou know’st; and, if need be,

  Of things unknown seem to speak knowingly;

  This is Euphrates, crown’d with Reeds; and there 255

  Flows the swift Tigris with his Sea-green Hair.

  Invent new Names of things unknown before;

  Call this Armenia, that the Caspian Shore;

  Call this a Mede, and that a Parthian Youth;

  Talk probably; no Matter for the Truth. 260

  In Feasts, as at our Shows, new Means abound;

  More Pleasure there, than that of Wine is found.

  The Paphian Goddess there her Ambush lays;

  And Love betwixt the Horns of Bacchus plays:

  Desires encrease at ev’ry swilling Draught; 265

  Brisk Vapours add new Vigour to the Thought.

  There Cupid’s purple Wings no Flight afford;

  But wet with Wine, he flutters on the Board.

  He shakes his Pinnions, but he cannot move;

  Fix’d he remains, and turns a Maudlin Love. 270

  Wine warms the Blood, and makes the Spirits flow;

  Care flies, and Wrinkles from the Forehead go:

  Exalts the Poor, Invigorates the Weak;

  Gives Mirth and Laughter, and a Rosy Cheek.

  Bold Truths it speaks; and, spoken, dares maintain; 275

  And brings our old Simplicity again.

  Love sparkles in the Cup, and fills it higher:

  Wine feeds the Flames, and Fuel adds to Fire.

  But choose no Mistress in thy drunken Fit;

  Wine gilds too much their Beauties and their Wit. 280

  Nor trust thy Judgment when the Tapers dance;

  But sober, and by Day, thy Sute advance.

  By Day-Light Paris judg’d the beauteous Three;

  And for the fairest did the Prize decree.

  Night is a Cheat, and all Deformities 285

  Are hid, or lessen’d in her dark Disguise.

  The Sun’s fair Light each Error will confess,

  In Face, in Shape, in Jewels, and in Dress.

  Why name I ev’ry Place where Youths abound?

  ’Tis Loss of Time, and a too fruitful Ground. 290

  The Bajan Baths, where Ships at Anchor ride,

  And wholesome Streams from Sulphur Fountains glide;

  Where wounded Youths are by Experience taught,

  The Waters are less healthful than
they thought:

  Or Dian’s Fane, which near the Suburb lies, 295

  Where Priests, for their Promotion, fight a Prize.

  That Maiden Goddess is Love’s mortal Foe

  And much from her his Subjects undergo.

  Thus far the sportful Muse, with Myrtle bound,

  Has sung where lovely Lasses may be found. 300

  Now let me sing, how she who wounds your Mind,

  With Art, may be to cure your Wounds inclin’d.

  Young Nobles, to my Laws Attention lend;

  And all you Vulgar of my School, attend.

  First then believe, all Women may be won; 305

  Attempt with Confidence, the Work is done.

  The Grasshopper shall first forbear to sing

  In Summer Season, or the Birds in Spring,

  Than Women can resist your flattering Skill:

  Ev’n She will yield, who swears she never will. 310

  To Secret Pleasure both the Sexes move;

  But Women most, who most dissemble Love.

  ‘Twere best for us, if they wou’d first declare,

  Avow their Passion, and submit to Prayer.

  The Cow by lowing tells the Bull her Flame: 315

  The neighing Mare invites her Stallion to the Game.

  Man is more temp’rate in his Lust than they,

  And more than Women, can his Passion sway.

  Biblis, we know, did first her Love declare,

  And had Recourse to Death in her Despair. 320

  Her Brother She, her Father Myrrha sought,

  And lov’d; but lov’d not as a Daughter ought.

  Now from a Tree she stills her odorous Tears,

  Which yet the Name of her who shed ‘em bears.

  In Ida’s shady Vale a Bull appear’d, 325

  White as the Snow, the fairest of the Herd;

  A Beauty Spot of black there only rose,

  Betwixt his equal Horns and ample Brows:

  The Love and Wish of all the Cretan Cows.

  The Queen beheld him as his Head he rear’d; 330

  And envy’d ev’ry Leap he gave the Herd.

  A Secret Fire she nourish’d in her Breast,

  And hated ev’ry Heifer he caress’d.

  A Story known, and known for true, I tell;

  Nor Crete, though lying, can the Truth conceal. 335

  She cut him Grass; (so much can Love command)

  She strok’d, she fed him with her Royal Hand:

  Was pleas’d in Pastures with the Herd to rome;

  And Minos by the Bull was overcome.

  Cease Queen, with Gemms t’ adorn thy beauteous Brows; 340

  The Monarch of thy Heart no Jewel knows.

  Nor in thy Glass compose thy Looks and Eyes:

  Secure from all thy Charms thy Lover lies:

  Yet trust thy Mirrour, when it tells thee true;

  Thou art no Heifer to allure his View. 345

  Soon wouldst thou quit thy Royal Diadem

  To thy fair Rivals, to be horn’d like them.

  If Minos please, no Lover seek to find;

  If not, at least seek one of humane Kind.

  The wretched Queen the Cretan Court forsakes; 350

  In Woods and Wilds her Habitation makes:

  She curses ev’ry beauteous Cow she sees;

  Ah, why dost thou my Lord and Master please!

  And think’st, ungrateful Creature as thou art,

  With frisking awkwardly, to gain his Heart. 355

  She said; and straight commands, with frowning Look,

  To put her, undeserving, to the Yoke;

  Or feigns some holy Rites of Sacrifice,

  And sees her Rival’s Death with joyful Eyes:

  Then, when the Bloody Priest has done his Part, 360

  Pleas’d, in her Hand she holds the beating Heart;

  Nor from a scornful Taunt can scarce refrain;

  Go, Fool, and strive to please my Love again.

  Now she would be Europa — Io, now;

  (One bore a Bull; and one was made a Cow.) 365

  Yet she at last her Brutal Bliss obtain’d,

  And in a woodden Cow the Bull sustain’d;

  Fill’d with his Seed, accomplish’d her Desire;

  Till, by his Form, the Son betray’d the Sire.

  If Atreus Wife to Incest had not run, 370

  (But ah, how hard it is to love but one!)

  His Coursers Phœbus had not driv’n away,

  To shun that Sight, and interrupt the Day.

  Thy Daughter, Nisus, pull’d thy purple Hair,

  And barking Sea-Dogs yet her Bowels tear. 375

  At Sea and Land Atrides sav’d his Life,

  Yet fell a Prey to his adult’rous Wife.

  Who knows not what Revenge Medea sought,

  When the slain Offspring bore the Father’s Fault?

  Thus Phœnix did a Woman’s Love bewail: 380

  And thus Hippolitus by Phædra fell.

  These Crimes revengeful Matrons did commit:

  Hotter their Lust, and sharper is their Wit.

  Doubt not from them an easie Victory:

  Scarce of a thousand Dames will one deny. 385

  All Women are content that Men shou’d woo;

  She who complains, and She who will not do.

  Rest then secure, whate’er thy Luck may prove,

  Not to be hated for declaring Love:

  And yet how can’st thou miss, since Woman-kind 390

  Is frail and vain, and still to Change inclin’d?

  Old Husbands and stale Gallants they despise;

  And more another’s than their own, they prize.

  A larger Crop adorns our Neighbour’s Field;

  More Milk his Kine from swelling Udders yield. 395

  First gain the Maid; By her thou shalt be sure

  A free Access, and easie to procure:

  Who knows what to her Office does belong,

  Is in the Secret, and can hold her Tongue.

  Bribe her with Gifts, with Promises, and Pray’rs; 400

  For her good Word goes far in Love Affairs.

  The Time and fit Occasion leave to her,

  When she most aptly can thy Sute prefer.

  The Time for Maids to fire their Lady’s Blood,

  Is, when they find her in a merry Mood. 405

  When all things at her Wish and Pleasure move:

  Her heart is open then, and free to Love.

  Then Mirth and Wantonness to Lust betray,

  And smooth the Passage to the Lover’s Way.

  Troy stood the Siege, when fill’d with anxious Care: 410

  One merry Fit concluded all the War.

  If some fair Rival vex her jealous Mind,

  Offer thy Service to revenge in Kind,

  Instruct the Damsel, while she combs her Hair,

  To raise the Choler of that injur’d Fair: 415

  And sighing, make her Mistress understand,

  She has the Means of Vengeance in her Hand.

  Then, naming thee, thy humble Suit prefer;

  And swear thou languishest and dy’st for her.

  Then let her lose no Time, but push at all; 420

  For Women soon are rais’d, and soon they fall.

  Give their first Fury Leisure to relent,

  They melt like Ice, and suddenly repent.

  T’ enjoy the Maid, will that thy Suit advance?

  ’Tis a hard Question, and a doubtful Chance. 425

  One Maid, corrupted, bawds the better for’t;

  Another for her self wou’d keep the Sport.

  Thy Bus’ness may be further’d or delay’d:

  But by my Counsel, let alone the Maid:

  Ev’n tho she shou’d consent to do the Feat, 430

  The Profit’s little, and the Danger great.

  I will not lead thee through a rugged Road;

  But where the Way lies open, safe, and broad.

  Yet if thou find’st her very much thy
Friend,

  And her good Face her Diligence commend: 435

  Let the fair Mistress have thy first Embrace,

  And let the Maid come after in her Place.

  But this I will advise, and mark my Words,

  For ’tis the best Advice my Skill affords:

  If needs thou with the Damsel wilt begin; 440

  Before th’ Attempt is made, make sure to win:

  For then the Secret better will be kept;

  And she can tell no Tales when once she’s dipt.

  ’Tis for the Fowlers Interest to beware,

  The Bird intangled shou’d not scape the Snare. 445

  The Fish, once prick’d, avoids the bearded Hook,

  And spoils the Sport of all the neighb’ring Brook.

  But if the Wench be thine, she makes thy Way;

  And, for thy Sake, her Mistress will betray;

  Tell all she knows, and all she hears her say. 450

  Keep well the Counsel of thy faithful Spy:

  So shalt thou learn whene’er she treads awry.

  All things the Stations of their Seasons keep;

  And certain Times there are to sow and reap.

  Ploughmen and Sailors for the Season stay, 455

  One to plough Land, and one to plough the Sea:

  So shou’d the Lover wait the lucky Day.

  Then stop thy Suit; it hurts not thy Design:

  But think another Hour she may be thine.

  And when she celebrates her Birth at home, 460

  Or when she views the publick shows of Rome,

  Know, all thy Visits then are troublesome.

  Defer thy Work, and put not then to Sea,

  For that’s a boding and a stormy Day.

  Else take thy Time, and, when thou canst, begin: 465

  To break a Jewish Sabbath, think no Sin:

  Nor ev’n on superstitious Days abstain;

  Not when the Romans were at Allia slain.

  Ill Omens in her Frowns are understood;

  When She’s in humour, ev’ry Day is good. 470

  But than her Birth-day seldom comes a worse;

  When Bribes and Presents must be sent of course;

  And that’s a bloody Day, that costs thy Purse.

  Be stanch; yet Parsimony will be vain:

  The craving Sex will still the Lover drain. 475

  No Skill can shift ‘em off, nor Art remove;

  They will be Begging, when they know we Love.

  The Merchant comes upon th’ appointed Day,

  Who shall before thy Face his Wares display.

  To chuse for her she craves thy kind Advice; 480

  Then begs again, to bargain for the Price:

  But when she has her Purchase in her Eye,

  She hugs thee close, and kisses thee to buy.

  ’Tis what I want, and ’tis a Pennorth too;

  In many years I will not trouble you. 485