thors, affirm. I told my friend, I had much overstayed my hour; but if, at any time, he would find Dick Hummelbergius, Caspar Barthius, and another friend, with himself, I would invite him to inner of a few but choice dishes to cover the table at once, which, except they would think of any thing better, should be a salacacaby, a dish of fenugreek, a wild sheep's head and appurtenance with a suitable electuary, a ragout of capon's stones, and some dormouse sausages.
If, as friends do with one another at a venisonpasty, you shall send for a plate, you know you may command it; for what is mine is yours, as being entirely your, &c.
OVID DE ARTE AMANDI.
To the lord Herbert', eldest son of his excellency
the earl of Pembroke and Montgomery; baron
Herbert of Cardiff, Ross of Kendal, Parr, Fitz-
Hugh Marmion, St. Quintin, and Herbert of
Shutland; knight of the garter, &c. &c.
bore the mastership in that art; and therefore, in the fourth book De Tristibus, when he would give some account of himself to future ages, he calls himself Teuerorum Lusor Amorum, as if he gloried principally in the descriptions he had made of that passion.
The present imitation of him is at least such a one as Mr. Dryden mentions, "to be an endeavour of a latter poet to write like one who has written before him on the same subject; that is, not to translate his words, or be confined to his sense, but only to set him as a pattern, and to write as he supposes that author would have done, But had he lived in our age and in our country. he dares not say that sir John Denham2, or Mr. Cowley, have carried this libertin way, as the latter calls it, so far as this definition reaches." But, alas! the present imitator has come up to it, if not perhaps succeeded it. Sir John Denham had Virgil, and Mr. Cowley had Pindar, to deal with, who both wrote upon lasting foundations: but the present subject being love, it would be unreasonable to think of too great a confinement to be laid on it. And though the passion and grounds of it will continue the same through all ages; yet there will be many little modes, fashions, and graces, ways of complaisance and address, entertainments and diversions, which time will vary. Since the world will expect new things, and persons will write, and the ancients have so great a fund of learning; whom can the moderns take better to copy than such originals? It is most likely they may not come up to them; but it is a thousand to one but their imitation is better than any clumsy invention of their own. Whoever undertakes this way of writing, has as much reason to understand the true scope, genius, and force of the expressions of his author, as a literal translator: and, after all, he lies under this misfortune, that the faults are all his own; and, if there is any thing that may seem pardonable, the Latin at the bottom3 shows to whom he is engaged for it. An imitator and his author stand much upon the same terms as Ben does with his father in the comedy 4. What thof he be my father, I an't bound pren
THE following lines are written on a subject that will naturally be protected by the goodness and temper of your lordship: for, as the advantages of your mind and person must kindle the flames of love in the coldest breast; so you are of an age most susceptible of them in your own. You have acquired all those accomplishments at home, which others are forced to seek abroad; and have given the world assurance, by such beginnings, that you will soon be qualified to fill the highest offices of the crown with the same universal applause, that has constantly attended your illustrious father in the discharge of them. For the good of your posterity, may you ever be happy in the choice of what you love! And though these rules will be of small use to you, that can frame much better; yet let me beg leave that, by dedicating them to your service, I may have the honour of telling the world, that I am obliged to your lord-posed several verses of Ovid, and has divided the ship; and that I am most entirely
most faithful humble servant,
WILLIAM KING.
Ir is endeavoured, in the following poems, to give the readers of both sexes some ideas of the art of love; such a love as is innocent and virtuous, and whose desires terminate in present happiness and that of posterity. It would be in vain to think of doing it without help from the ancients, amongst whom none has touched that passion more tenderly and justly than Ovid. He knew that he
There were many reasons why the imitator trans
whole into fourteen parts, rather than keep it in three books. These may be too tedious to be recited; but, among the rest, some were, that matters of the same subject might lie more compact; that too large a heap of precepts together might appear too burthensome; and therefore (if small matters may allude to greater) as Virgil in his Georgies, so here most of the parts end with some remarkable fable, which carries with it some moral: yet, if any persons please to take the six first parts as the first book, and divide the eight last, they may make three books of them again. There have by chance some twenty lines crept into the poem out of the Remedy of Love, which, (as inani2 Dryden alludes to The Destruction of Troy, &c. N.
3 In the first editions of the Art of Cookery, and of the Art of Love, Dr. King printed the original 'Henry lord Herbert succeeded to his father's under the respective pages of his translations. N. titles in 1732, and died in 1749. N.
+ Congreve's Love for Love. N.
mate things are generally the most wayward and provoking) since they would stay, have been suffered to stand there. But as for the love here mentioned, it being all prudent, honourable, and virtuous, there is no need of any remedy to be prescribed for it, but the speedy obtaining of what it desires. Should the imitator's style seem not to be sufficiently restrained, should he not have afforded pains for review or correction, let it be considered, that perhaps even in that he desired to imitate his author, and would not peruse them; lest, as some of Ovid's works were, so these might be committed to the flames. But he aves that for the reader to do, if he pleases, when he has bought them.
THE ART OF LOVE.
PART I.
WHOEVER knows not what it is to love,
Let him but read these verses, and improve.
Swift ships are rul'd by art, and oars, and sails:
Skill guides our chariots; Wit o'er Love prevails.
Automedon with reins ict loose could fly;
Tiphys with Argo's ship cut waves and sky.
In love-affairs I'm charioteer of Truth,
And surest pilot to incautious youth.
Love's hot, unruly, eager to enjoy;
But then consider he is but a boy.
Chiron with pleasing harp Achilles tam'd,
And his rough manners with soft music fram'd:
Though he'd in council storm, in battle rage,
He bore a secret reverence for age.
Chiron's command with strict obedience ties
The sinewy arm by which brave Hector dies:
That was his task, but fiercer Love is mine:
They both are boys, and sprung from race divine.
The stiff-neck'd bull does to the yoke submit,
And the most fiery courser champs the bit.
So Love shall yield. I own, I've been his slave;
But conquer'd where my enemy was brave:
And now he darts his flames without a wound,
And all his whistling arrows die in sound.
Nor will I raise my fame by hidden art;
In what I teach, sound reason shall have part:
For Nature's passion cannot be destroy'd,
But moves in Virtue's path when well employ'd.
Yet still 'twill be convenient to remove
The tyranny and plagues of vulgar love.
May infant chastity, grave matron's pride,
A parent's wish, and blushes of a bride,
Protect this work; so guard it, that no rhyme
In syllable or thought may vent a crime!
The soldier, that Love's armour would defy,
Will find his greatest courage is to fly:
When Beauty's amorous glances parley beat,
The only conquest then is to retreat :
But, if the treacherous fair pretend to yield,
'Tis present death, unless you quit the field.
Whilst youth and vanity would make you range,
Think on some beauty may prevent your change:
But such by falling skies are never caught;
No happiness is found but what is sought.
The huntsman learns where does trip o'er the lawn,
And where the foaming boar secures his brawn.
The fowler's low-bell robs the lark of sleep;
And they who hope for fish must search the deep:
And he, that fuel seeks for chaste desire,
Must search where Virtue may that flame inspire.
| To foreign parts there is no need to roam:
The blessing may be met with nearer home.
From India some, others from neighbouring France,
Bring tawny skins, and puppets that can dance.
The seat of British empire does contain
Beauties, that o'er the conquer'd globe will reign.
As fruitful fields with plenty bless the sight,
And as the milky w y adorns the night;
So that does with those graceful nymphs abound,
Whose dove-like softness is with roses crown'd.
There tenderest blooms inviting softness spread,
Whilst by their smallest twine the captive's led.
There youth advanc'd in majesty does shine,
Fit to be mother to a race divine.
No age in matrons, no decay appears;
By prudence only there you guess at years.
Sometimes you'll see these beauties seek the
By lofty trees in royal gardens made;
Or at St. James's, where a noble care
Makes all things pleasing like himself appear;
Or Kensington, sweet air and blest retreat
Of him, that owns a sovereign, though most great5.
Sometimes in wilder groves, by chariots drawn,
They view the noble stag and tripping fawn.
On Hyde-Park's circles if you chance to gaze,
The lights revolving strike you with amaze.
To Bath and Tunbridge they sometimes retreat, With waters to dispel the parching heat: But youth with reason there may oft' admire That which may raise in him a nobler fire; Till the kind fair retieves what he endures, Caus'd at that water which all others cures.
Sometimes at marriage-rites you may espy Their charms protected by a mother's eye, Where to blest music they in dances move, With innocence and grace commanding love. But yearly when that solemn night returns, When grateful incense on the altar burns, For closing the most glorious day e'er seen, That first gave light to happy Britain's queen; Then is the time for noble youth to try To make his choice with a judicious eye. Not truth of foreign realms, not fables told Of nymphs ador'd, and goddesses of old, Equal those beauties who that circle frame; A subject fit for never-dying Fame: [thrown, Whose gold, pearl, diamonds, all around them Yet still can add no lustre to their own.
But when their queen does to the senate go, And they make up the grandeur of the show; Then guard your hearts, ye makers of our laws, For fear the judge be forc'd to plead his cause; Lest the submissive part should fall to you, And they who suppliants help be forc'd to sue. Then may their yielding hearts compassion take, And grant your wishes, for your country's sake: Ease to their beauties' wounds may goodness give; And, since you make all happy, let you live.
Sometimes these beauties on Newmarket plains, Ruling their gentle pads with silken reins,
5 George prince of Denmark, consort to the queen, greatly admired these fine gardens.-They were purchased by king William from lord chancellor Finch; were enlarged by queen Mary; and improved by queen Anne, who was so pleased with the place, that she frequently supped during the summer in the green-house. Queen Caroline extended the gardens to their present size, three miles and a half in compass. N..
Behold the conflicts of the generous steeds,
Sprung from true blood, and well-attested breeds.
There youth may justly with discerning eye
Through riding Amazonian habit spy
That which his swiftest courser cannot fly.
It is no treacherous or base piece of art,
Tapprove the side with which the fair takes part:
For equal passion equal minds will strike,
Either in commendation or dislike.
For, when two fencers ready stand to fight,
And we're spectators of the bloody sight,
Our nimble passion, love, has soon design'd
The man, to whom we must and will be kind.
We think the other is not fit to win:
This is our conqueror ere fight begin.
If danger dares approach him, how we start!
Our frighted blood runs trembling to our heart:
He takes the wounds, but we endure the smart.
And Nature by such instances does prove,
That we fear most for that which most we love.
Therefore, if chance should make her saddle slide,
Or any thing should slip, or be untied,
Oh, think it not a too officious care
With eagerness to run and help the fair.
We offer small things to the powers above:
'Tis not our merit that obtains their love.
So when Eliza, whose propitious days
Revolving Heaven does seem again to raise;
Whose ruling genius show'd a master-stroke
In every thing she did, and all she spoke;
Was stepping o'er a passage, which the rain
Had fill'd, and seem'd as stepping back again;
Young Raleigh scorn'd to see his queen retreat,
And threw his velvet-cloak beneath her feet.
The queen approv'd the thought, and made him
great.
Mark when the queen her thanks divine would
give
Midst acclamations, that she long may live;
To whom kind Heaven the blessing has bestow'd,
To let her arms succeed for Europe's good;
No tyranny throughout the triumph reigns,
Nor are the captives dragg'd with ponderous chains;
But all declare the British subjects' ease,
And that their war is for their neighbours' peace.
Then, whilst the pomp of majesty proceeds
With stately steps, and eight well-chosen steeds,
From every palace beauties may be seen,
That will acknowledge none but her for queen.
Then, if kind Chance a lovely maid has thrown
Next to a youth with graces like her own,
Much she would learn, and many questions ask;
The answers are the lover's pleasing task.
"Is that the man who made the French to fly?
What place is Blenheim? is the Danube nigh?
Where was 't that he with sword victorious stood,
And made their trembling squadrons choose the
flood?
What is the gold adorns this royal state?
Is it not hammer'd all from Vigo's plate?
Don't it require a most prodigious care,
To manage treasures in the height of war?
Must he not be of calmest truth possest,
Presides o'er councils of the royal breast?
Sea-fights are surely dismal scenes of war!
Pray, sir, were ever you at Gibraltar?
6 Sir Walter Raleigh is well known to have been indebted to this little mark of gallantry for his rise at court. N.
Has not the emperor got some envoy here?
Wo'n't Danish, Swedish, Prussian lords appear?
Who represents the line of Hanover?
Don't the states general assist them all?
Should we not be in danger, if they fall?
If Savoy's duke and prince Eugene could meet
In this solemnity, 'twould be complete.
Think you that Barcelona could have stood
Without the hazard of our noblest blood?
At Ramilies what ensigns did you get?
Did many towns in Flanders then submit?
Was it the conqueror's business to destroy,
Or was he met by all of them with joy?
Oh, could my wish but fame eternal give,
The laurel on those brows should ever live!"
The British worth in nothing need despair,
When it has such assistance from the fair.
As Virtue merits, it expects regard;
And Valour flies, where Beauty's the reward.
IN love-affairs the theatre has part,
That wise and most instructing scene of art,
Where Vice is punish'd with a just reward,
And Virtue meets with suitable regard;
Where mutual Love and Friendship find return,
But treacherous Insolence is hiss'd with scorn,
And Love's unlawful wiles in torment burn.
This without blushes whilst a virgin sees,
Upon some brave spectator Love may scize,
Who, till she sends it, never can have ease.
As things that were the best at first
By their corruption grow the worst;
The modern stage takes liberties
Unseen by our forefathers' eyes.
As bees from hive, from mole-bill ants;
So swarm the females and gallants,
All crowding to the comedy,
For to be seen, and not to see.
But, though these females are to blame,
Yet still they have some native shame:
They all are silent till they're ask'd;
And ev'n their impudence is mask'd:
For Nature would be modest still,
And there's reluctancy in will.
Sporting and plays had harmless been,
And might by any one be seen,
Till Romulus began to spoil them,
Who kept a palace, call'd Asylum;
Where bastards, pimps, and thieves, and pandars,
Were listed all to be commanders.
But then the rascals were so poor,
They could not change a rogue for whore;
And neighbouring jades resolv'd to tarry,
Rather than with such scrubs they'd marry.
But, for to cheat them, and be wiv'd,
They knavishly a farce contriv'd.
No gilded pillars there were seen,
Nor was the cloth they trod on green.
No ghosts came from the cellar crying,
Nor angels from the garret flying.
The house was made of sticks and bushes,
And all the floor was strew'd with rushes:
The seats were raised with turf and sods,
Whence heroes might be view'd, and gods.
Paris and Helen was the play,
And how both of them ran away.
Romulus bade his varlets go
Invite the Sabines to his show.
Unto this opera no rate is:
They all were free to come in gratis :
And they, as girls will seldom miss
A merry meeting, came to this.
There was much wishing, sighing, thinking,
Not without whispering, and winking.
Their pipes had then no shaking touch:
Their song and dance were like the Dutch:
The whole performance was by men,
Because they had no eunuchs then."
But, whilst the music briskly play'd,
Romulus at his cue display'd
The sign for each man to his maid.
"Huzza!" they cry; then seize: some tremble
In real fact, though most dissemble.
Some are attempting an escape,
And others softly cry, "A rape!"
Whilst some bawl out, "That they had rather
Than twenty pound lose an old father."
Some look extremely pale, and others red,
Some wish they'd ne'er been born, or now were dead,
And others fairly wish themselves a-bed.
Some rant, tear, run; whilst some sit still,
To show they're ravish'd much against their will.
Thus Rome began; and now at last,
After so many ages past,
Their rapes and lewdness without shame;
Their vice and villany's the same.
Ill be their fate who would corrupt the stage,
And spoil the true corrector of the age!
Now learn those arts which teach you to obtain Those beauties which you see divinely reign.
Though they by Nature are transcendent bright, And would be seen ev'n through the gloom of night; Yet they their greatest lustre still display, In the meridian pitch of calmest day. 'Tis then we purple view, and costly gem, And with more admiration gaze on them.
Faults seek the dark; they who by moon-light woo, May find their fair-one as inconstant too.
When Modesty supported is by Truth, There is a boldness that becomes your youth. In gentle sounds disciose a lover's care, 'Tis better than your sighing and despair. Birds may abhor their groves, the flocks the plain, The hare, grown bold, may face the dogs again, When Beauty don't in Virtue's arms rejoice, Since harmony in love is Nature's voice. But harden'd Impudence sometimes will try At things which Justice cannot but deny. Then, what that says is insolence and pride, Is Prudence, with firm Honour for its guide. The lady's counsels often are betray'd By trusting s crets to a servile maid, The whole intrigues of whose insidious brain Are base, and only terminate in gain. Let them take care of too diffusive mirth; Suspicions thence, and thence attempts, take Had Ilium been with gravity employ'd, By Sinon's craft it had not been destroy'd. A vulgar air, mean songs, and free discourse, With sly insinuations, may prove worse To tender females than the Trojan horse.
Take care how you from virtue stray;
For scandal follows the same way,
And more than truth it will devise.
Old poets did delight in lies,
Which modern ones now call surprise.
Some say that Myrrha lov'd her father,
That Byblis lik'd her brother rather.
And in such tales old Greece did glory:
Amongst the which, pray take this story.
Crete was an isle, whose fruitful nations
Swarm'd with an hundred corporations,
And there upon Mount Ida stood
A venerable spacious wood,
Within whose centre was a grove
Immortaliz'd by birth of Jove:
In vales below a bull was fed,
Whom all the kine obey'd as head;
Betwixt his horns a tuft of black did grow,
But all the rest of him was driven snow.
(Our tale to truth does not confine us.)
At the same time one justice Minos,
That liv'd hard-by, was married lately;
And, that his bride might show more stately,
When through her pedigree he run,
Found she was daughter to the Sun.
Her name Pasiphaë was hight,
And, as her father, she was bright.
This lady took up an odd fancy,
That with his bull she fain would dance ye.
She'd mow him grass, and cut down boughs,
On which bis stateliness might browse.
Whilst thus she hedges breaks and climbs,
Sure Minos must have happy times!
She never car'd for going fine,
She'd rather trudge among the kine.
Then at her toilet she would say,
"Methinks I look bizarre to day.
Sure my glass lies, I'm not so fair:
Oh, were this face o'ergrown with hair!
I never was for top-knots born;
My favourites should each be horn.
But now I'm liker to a sow
Than, what I wish to be, a cow-
What would I give that I could lough!
My bun-y cares for none of those
That are afraid to spoil their clothes:
Did he but love me, he'd not fail
To take me with my draggle-tail."
Then tears would fall, and then she'd
As would the Devil upon Dun.
When she some handsome cow did spy,
She'd scan her form with jealous eye;
Say, "How she frisks it o'er the plain,
Runs on, and then turns back again!
She seems a bear resolv'd to prance,
Or a she-ass that tries to dance.
In vain she thinks herself so fine:
She can't please bull-y, for he's mine.
But 'tis revenge alone assuages
My envy when the passion rages.
Here, rascal, quickly yoke that cow,
And see the shrivel'd carrion plough.
But second counsel's best: she dies:
I'll make immediate sacrifice,
And with the victim feast my eyes.
'Tis thus my rivals I'll remove
Who interpose 'twixt me and what I love.
Io in Egypt's worship'd now,
Since Jove transform'd her to a cow,
'Twas on a bull Europa came
To that blest land which bears her name.
Who knows what fate's ordain'd for me
The languishing Pasiphaë.
Had I a bull as kind as she !"
When madness rages with unusual fire, "Tis not in Nature's power to quench desire; Then vice transforms man's reason into beast, And so the monster's made the poet's jest.
LET youth avoid the noxious heat of wine:
Bacchus to Cupid bears an ill design.
The grape, when scattered on the wings of Love,
So clogs the down, the feathers cannot move.
The boy, who otherwise would fleeting stray,
Reels, tumbles, lies, and is enforc'd to stay.
Then courage rises, when the spirit's fir'd,
And rages to possess the thing desir'd:
Care vanishes through the exalted blood,
And sorrow passes in the purple flood;
Laughter proceeds; nor can he want a soul,
Whose thoughts in fancied heaps of plenty roll.
Uncommon freedom lets the lips impart
Plain simple truth from a dissembling heart.
Then to some 'wanton passion he must run,
Which his discreeter hours would gladly shun;
Where he the time in thoughtless ease may pass,
And write his billet-dour upon the glass;
Whilst sinking eyes with languishment profess
Follies his tongue refuses to confess.
Then his good-nature will take t'other sup,
If she'll first kiss, that he may kiss the cup.
Then something nice and costly he could eat,
Supposing still that she will carve the meat.
But, if a brother or a husband's by,
Whom the ill-natur'd world may call a spy,
He thinks it not below him to pretend
The open-heartedness of a true friend;
Gives him respect surpassing his de ree:
The person that is meant by all is she.
'Tis thought the safest way to hide a passion,
And therefore call'd the friendship now in fashion.
By secret signs and enigmatic stealth,-
She is the toast be'ongs to every health:
And all the lover's business is to keep
His thoughts from anger, and his eyes from sleep :
He'll laugh ye, dance ye, sing ye, vault, look gay,
And ruffle all the ladies in his play.
But still the gentleman's extremely fine;
There's nothing apish in him but the wine.
Many a mortal has been bit
By marrying in the drunken fit.
To lay the matter plain before ye,
Pray hearken whilst I tell my story.
It happen'd about break of day
Gnossis a girl, had lost her way,
And wander'd up and down the Strand,
Whereabouts now York Buildings stand:
And half-awak'd she roar'd as bad
As if she really had been mad;
Unlac'd her boddice, and her gown
And petticoats hung dangling down:
Her shoes were slipt, her ancles bare,
And all around her flew her yellow hair.
"Oh, cruel Theseus! can you go,
And leave your little Gnossis so?
You in your scull' did promise carriage,
And gave me proofs of future marriage;
But then last night away did creep,
And basely left me fast asleep."
Then she is falling in a fit:
But don't grow uglier one bit.
The flood of tears rather supplies
The native rheum about her eyes.
The bubbies then are beat again:
Women in passion feel no pain.
"What will become of me? oh, what
Will come of me? oh, tell me that!"
Bacco was drawer at the Sun,
And had his belly like his tun:
For blubber-lips and cheeks all bloated,
And frizzled pate, the youth was note.
He, as his custom was, got drunk,
And then went strolling for a punk.
Six links and lanterns, 'cause 'twas dark yet,
He press'd from Covent-Garden market:
Then his next captives were the waits,
Who play'd lest he should break their pates.
But, as along in state he passes,
He met a fellow driving asses:
For there are several folks, whose trade is
To milk them for consumptive ladies.
Nothing would serve but get astride,
And the old bell-man too must ride.
What with their hooting shouting yell,
The scene had something in't of Hell.
And, who should all this rabble meet,
But Gnossy, drabbling in the street?
The fright destroy'd her speech and colour,
And all remembrance of her sculler.
Her conduct thrice bade her be flying:
Her fears thrice hinder'd her from trying.
Like bullrushes on side of brook,
Or aspin leaves, her joints all shook.
Bacco cry'd out, "I'm come, my dear;
I'll soon disperse all thoughts of fear:
Nothing but joys shall revel here."
Then, hugging her in brawny arm,
Protested, "She should have no harm :
But rather would assure her, he
Rejoic'd in opportunity
Of meeting such a one as she:
And that, encircled all around
With glass and candles many a pound,
She should with bells command the bar,
And call her rooms Sun, Moon, and Star:
That the good company were met,
And should not want a wedding-treat.”
In short, they married, and both made ye,
He a free landlord, she a kind landlady.
The Spartan lords their villains would invite
To an excess of drink in children's sight:
The parent thus their innocence would save,
And to the load of wine condemn the slave,
THE season must be mark'd for nice address: A grant ill-tim'd will make the favour less. Not the wise gardener more discretion needs To manage tender plants and hopeful seeds, To know when rain, when warmth, must guard his flowers, [hours.
Than lovers do to watch their most auspicious
|