Befide, th' Experiment's more certain,
Men venture Necks to gain a Fortune;
The Soldier does it ev'ry day
(Eight to the Week) for fix-pence Pay :
Your Pettifoggers damn their Souls,
To share with Knaves in Cheating Fools:
And Merchants, ven'tring through the Main,
Slight Pyrates, Rocks, and Horns, for Gain;
This is the way I'dvise you to,
Truft me, and fee what I will do.
Quoth fhe, I fhou'd be leth to run
My felf all th hazard, and you none,
Which must be done, unless fome Deed"
Of yours aforefaid do precede ;
Give but your felf one gentle fwing
For Tryal, and I'll cut the firing:
Or give that Rev'rend Head a mall,
Or two or three, against a Wall;
Tofhew you are a Man of Metal,
And I'll engage my felf to fettle.
Quoth he, my Head's not made of Brass, As Friar Bacon's Noddle was:
Nor (like the Indian's Scull) fo tough,
That, Authors fay, 'twas Mufquet-proof:
As it had need to be to enter
As yet on any new Adventure ;
You fee what Bangs it has endur'd,
That would before new Feats be cur'd:
But if that's all you ftand upon,
Here, ftrike me Luck, it fhall be done.
Quoth fhe, The Matter's not fo far
As you suppose, Two words t'a Bargain,
That may be done, and time enough,
When you have given down right proof,
And yet 'tis no Fantaftick Pique,
I have to Love, nor coy Diflike;
'Tis no implicite, nice Averfion
T' your Converfation, Mien, or Perfon,
But a juft Fear left you shou'd prove
Falfe and perfidious in Love:
For if I thought you cou'd be true,
I cou'd Love twice as much as you.
Quoth he, My Faith as Adamantine,
As Chains of Destiny, I'll maintain
True as Apollo ever spoke,
Or Oracle froin heart of Oak;
And if you'll give my Flame but vent,
Now in clofe hugger-mugger pent,
And shine upon me but benignly,
With that one, and that other Pig fneye,
The Sun and Day fhall fooner part,
Than Love, or you, shake off my Heart;
The Sun that shall no more difpence
His own, but your bright Influence;
I'll carve your Name on Barks of Trees,
With True-loves-knots, and Flourishes;
'That shall difufe Eternal Spring,
And everlasting flourishing:
Drink ev'ry Letter on't in Stum,
And make it brisk Champagne become :
Where e'er you tread, your Foot fhall fet
The Primrofe and the Violet;
All Spices, Perfumes, and sweet Powders, Shall borrow from your Breath their Odours; Nature her Charter fhall renew,
And take all Lives of things from you;
The World depend upon your Eye, And when you frown upon it, dye. Only our Loves fhall ftill furvive, New Worlds and Natures to out-live And, like to Herald's Moons, remain All Crefcents, without Change or Wane. Hold, hold, quoth fhe, no more of this, Sir Knight, you take your aim amifs: you will find it a hard Chapter To catch me with Poetick Rapture,
In which your Maftery of Art
Doth fhew it felf, and not your Heart :
Nor will you raife in mine Combustion,
By dint of high Heroick Fuftion:
She that with Poetry is won,
Is but a Desk to write upon
And what Men fay of her, they mean
No more than on the thing they lean.
Some with Arabian Spices ftrive ~
T' Embalm her cruelly alive;
Or Seafon her, as French Cooks ufe
Their Haut-goafts, Buollies, or Ragoufts
Use her fo barbaroufly ill,
To grind her Lips upon a Mill,
Untill the Facet Doublet doth
Fit their Rhimes rather than her Mouth;
Her Mouth compar'd t' an Oyster's, with
A Row of Pearl in't ftead of Teeth,
Others make Pofies of her Cheeks,
Where Red and Whitest Colours mix,
In which the Lilly, and the Rofe,
For Indian Lake, and Cerufe goes.
The Sun and Moon by her bright Eyes
Eclips'd, and Darken'd in the Skies,
Are but Black-patches that the wears
Cut into Suns, and Moons, and Stars:
By which Aftrologers, as well
As those in Heav'n àbove, can tell
What strange Events they do forefhow
Unto her Under-World below.
Her Voice the Mufick of the Spheres,
So loud, it deafens Mortal Ears;
As wife Philofphers have thought,
And that's the cause we hear it not.
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