PROLOGUE.
To purchase my concealment when I rove
In happy vales, and cherish guiltless love,
Say, cannot I those tempting bribes employ,
The rapturous kiss, or more extatick joy?
The fair, most apt a secret to reveal,
True to my interest, my retreats conceal:
A kiss from Venus, with her charms divine,
To females is not half so dear as mine;
A kiss by me, the God of Love, impressed,
Must speak strong language to a fair-one's breast;
The god of love, who sure must know it's art,
Can always for himself transfix a heart.
In happy vales, and cherish guiltless love,
Say, cannot I those tempting bribes employ,
The rapturous kiss, or more extatick joy?
The fair, most apt a secret to reveal,
True to my interest, my retreats conceal:
A kiss from Venus, with her charms divine,
To females is not half so dear as mine;
A kiss by me, the God of Love, impressed,
Must speak strong language to a fair-one's breast;
The god of love, who sure must know it's art,
Can always for himself transfix a heart.
But that I might elude each curious view,
And at my leisure my design persue,
I carry not the marks that Cupid show,
I'm stripped of wings, of quiver, and of bow.
And at my leisure my design persue,
I carry not the marks that Cupid show,
I'm stripped of wings, of quiver, and of bow.
Yet not without my arms I take the field;
'Tis not in vain this magick rod I wield;
My torch I've metamorphosed to this rod,
It still obeys the purpose of it's god;
It's powerful motions certain love inspire;
Sure as Jove's bolt it darts it's subtle fire.
And though this arrow is not tipped with gold,
In it my wonted sovereignty I hold;
It will not lag, nor will it miss it's aim,
But through the destined heart drive all my flame.
I with this arrow mean to pierce the heart
Of one who never felt love's pungent smart;
To thaw from steril frost to warm desire
The coldest virgin of Diana's choir;
And Sylvia's breast shall all that ardour know
With which my dart inflamed some years ago
'Tis not in vain this magick rod I wield;
My torch I've metamorphosed to this rod,
It still obeys the purpose of it's god;
It's powerful motions certain love inspire;
Sure as Jove's bolt it darts it's subtle fire.
And though this arrow is not tipped with gold,
In it my wonted sovereignty I hold;
It will not lag, nor will it miss it's aim,
But through the destined heart drive all my flame.
I with this arrow mean to pierce the heart
Of one who never felt love's pungent smart;
To thaw from steril frost to warm desire
The coldest virgin of Diana's choir;
And Sylvia's breast shall all that ardour know
With which my dart inflamed some years ago
Amyntas'
