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 increase at ev'ry swilling draught; Brisk vapour 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 pinions, but he cannot move; Fix'd he remains, and turns a maudlin love. 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 truth it speaks; and spoken, dare maintain; 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. Nor trust thy judgment when the tapers dance; The night is an ill time to choose a mistress in. We have a saying
						in England , "Women and linen look
						best by candle-light." But sober, and by day thy suit advance. By daylight Paris judg'd the beauteous
						three; The Phrygian shepherd, to
						judge the beauty of these three goddesses demanded to see them naked; and
						the goddess were so eager to have the question decided by him, that they
						made no scruple to satisfy his demands. And for the fairest did the prize decree. Night is a cheat, and all deformities 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 true fruitful ground. The Baian 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; This temple was in the neighbourhood of Rome , in a valley, where there is also a
						sacred wood. There were abundance of candles used in it, as we read in Ovid
							 de Fastis . Where priests, for their promotion, fight a prize. The sovereign priest of Diana, Aricina, called
						himself king, and often got that dignity by gaining the better of his
						opponent in single combat. 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, Now let me sing, how she who wounds your mind, With art, may be to cure your wounds inclined. The celestial Venus is more charming than the terrestrial, and
						divine love soon extinguishes carnal, which burns with an obscure fire:
						whereas the divine enlightens those that it warms with holy desires; it
						leaves no string behind it and never has an end. Young nobles, to my laws attention lend, And all you vulgar of my school attend. First then believe, all women may be won; 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 flatt'ring skill; E'en she will yield who swears she never will. To secret pleasures both the sexes move; But women most, who most dissemble, love; 'Twere best for us, if they would first declare; Avow their passion, and submit to prayer. The cow by looing tells the bull her flame; The neighing mare invites her stallion to the game. Man is more temp'rate in his lust than they; And more than woman can his passion sway. Biblis , we know, did first her love
					declare, And had recourse to death in her despair. Her brother she, her father Myrrha sought; Myrrha's love of her father Cinyras is not a fable. At least Pliny
						relates this adventure as a memorable story, and says Cinyras lived two
						hundred and ten years, and that his daughter took her mother's place, while
						she was busied about the sacrifices to Ceres . But that her father discovering her insolence, ran
						after her a long time with a sword in his hand. The fable adds, she got away
						by favour of the night, and fled to the Sabeans, where she was changed into
						a tree, which bears her name. See the 10th
							book of the Metamorphoses. And lov'd; but lov'd not as a daughter ought. Now from a tree she stills her od'rous tears; Which yet the name of her who shed 'em bear. In Ida's shady vale a bull appeared, Pasiphae, daughter of the sun, and wife to Minos king of Crete , is fabled to be enamoured of a
						bull: and Daedalus, the famous mechanic, assisted her to enjoy her
						detestable desires, by making a machine like a cow; within which she was
						caressed by her gallant. From this intrigue the Minotaur was born, half man
						and half bull, who was enclosed in a labyrinth, and by the assistance of
						Ariadne killed by Theseus. 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; And envied ev'ry leap he gave the herd. A secret fire she nourished 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. 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 roam, And Minos by the bull was overcome. Cease, Queen, with gems t'adorn thy beauteous brows, 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 mirror, when it tells thee true, Thou art no heifer to allure his view. Soon wouldst thou quit thy royal diadem To thy fair rivals; to be horned like them. If Minos please, no lover seek to find; If not, at least seek one of human kind. The wretched queen the Cretan court forsakes; 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 awkardly to gain his heart." 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, 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; This known fable is told us thus: Jupiter falling in love with Europa daughter of Agenor,
						king of Phoenicia , and taking the
						shape of a bull, ravished her in the Dictaean cave; and begot Minos and
						Radamanthus. The fable of Io is this; she is said to be the daughter of
						Inachus debauched by Jupiter and
						turned into a cow ; which jealous Juno perceiving, she begged the cow; and
						commanded Argos, who had a hundred eyes, to watch her; but Mercury killed
						her keeper by Jupiter 's orders.
						Upon which Juno struck Io with madness, and she flung herself into the sea,
						which from her was called the Ionian, and swimming to Egypt , was there worshipped by the name of
						Isis, having first resumed her shape, and married king Osiris. (One bare a bull. and one was made a cow.) Yet she at last her brutal bliss obtain'd, And in a wooden cow the bull sustained; 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, Atreus's wife's name was Aeropa. She suffered herself to be
						debauched by her brother-in-law, Thyestes. (But ah, how hard it is to love but one!) His coursers Phoebus had not driv'n away, To shun that sight, and interrupt the day. Thy daughter, Nissus, pull'd thy purple hair; Her name was Scylla, and she betrayed her father, in favour of her
						gallant, Minos. And barking sea-dogs yet her bowels tear. At sea and land Atrides sav'd his life; Yet fell a prey to his adult'rous wife. Clytemnestra, and the adulterer Aegistheus, murdered Agamemnon:
						upon whose death Seneca wrote the
						tragedy called Agamemnon. Who knows not what revenge Medea sought, When the slain offspring bore the father's fault! Thus Phoenix did a woman's love bewail; Phoenix the son of Amyntor, enjoyed a woman whom his father loved.
						His father was so enraged at him, that he imprecated all the miseries he
						could think of to light upon his son: whose children dying, he withdrew to
						Peleus, father of Achilles, who committed to him the care of his son's
						education. And thus Hippolytus by Phaedra fell. Hippolytus, the son of Theseus, was pulled to pieces by horses. Our author
						in his French observations says this fable is admirably well represented in
						the tragedy of Seneca . These crimes revengeful matrons did commit! Hotter their lust, and sharper is their wit. Doubt not from them an easy victory; Scarce of a thousand dames will one deny. All women are content that men should 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 canst thou miss, since womankind 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. First gain the maid; by her thou shalt be sure A free access, and easy 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; For her good word goes far in love affairs. The time and fit occasion leave to her, When she most amply can thy suit prefer. The time for maids to fire their lady's blood Is when they find her in a merry mood. 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 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; 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 diest for her. Then let her lose no time, but push at all; 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. One maid corrupted, bawds the better for't; Another for herself would keep the sport. Thy bus'ness may be furthered or delay'd, But by my counsel, let alone the maid E'en tho' she should consent to do the feat; 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, Let the fair mistress have the 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, 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 fowler's int'rest to beware, The bird intangled, should not 'scape the snare. 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 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, One to plough land, and one to plough the sea; So should 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, Or when she views the public 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; To break a Jewish sabbath, think no sin; Nor e'en on superstitious days abstain; Nor when the Romans were at Allia slain. That was a very unfortunate day for the people of Rome , their army being cut in pieces by
						the Gauls near the river Allis, the 15th of the calends of August, in the
						year of the city 363. Ill omens in her frowns are understood; When she's in humour, ev'ry day is good. But than her birthday seldom comes a worse, When bribes and presents must be sent of course; On the mistress's birthday: these presents were
						commonly cakes; but we find the ladies were not satisfied with cakes only,
						they wanted pendants for the ears; and the way to get them is much the same
						in the gallant world now as in Ovid's days. 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. No skill can shift them 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 choose for her she craves thy kind advice, 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 pen'orth too; In many years I will not trouble you." If you complain you have no ready coin,- No matter, 'tis but writing of a line; A little bill, not to be paid at sight: (Now curse the time when thou wert taught to write.) She keeps her birthday; you must send the cheer: And she'll be born a hundred times a year. With daily lies she dribs thee into cost; That ear-ring dropt a stone, that ring is lost. They often borrow what they never pay; There are few coquets who will lose anything for want of asking;
						they borrow what they never tend to restore; and this jilting humor is so
						livelily painted here by the poet, that one would think he had lived in
						another reign than that of Augustus. What e'er you lend her, think it thrown away. Had I ten mouths and tongues to tell each art, All would be wearied ere I told a part.