Sum rudis in Venerem nec adhuc mea nubilis aetas: Intemerata manet dos mea virginea. Non novi quid amor, quid amoris sentiat ictus. Officium Veneris horreo, siste preces. * * * * * In Jay Fletchers play _The Wild-Goose Chase_, there is mention of amber, a reputed amatory provocative. Mirabel, one of the leading characters, is offering a portrait of women: Mirabel: Only the wenches are not for my diet; They are too lean and thin, their embraces brawn-fallen. Give me the plump Venetian, fat and lusty, That meets me soft and supple; smiles upon me, As if a cup of full wine leap’d to kiss me, These slight things I affect not. Pinac: They are ill-built; Pin-buttocked, like your dainty Barbaries, And weak i’ the pasterns; they’ll endure no hardness. Mirabel: There’s nothing good or handsome bred amongst us; Till we are travell’d, and live abroad, we are coxcombs. Ye talk of France—a slight unseason’d country, Abundance of gross food, which makes us blockheads. We are fair set out indeed, and so are fore-horses:— Men say, we are great courtiers,—men abuse us; We are wise, and valiant too,—non credo, signor; Our women the best linguists,—they are parrots; O’ this side the Alps they are nothing but mere drolleries. Ha! Roma la Santa, Italy for my money! Their policies, their customs, their frugalities, Their courtesies so open, yet so reserv’d too, As, when you think y’are known best, ye are a stranger. Their very pick-teeth speak more than we do. And season of more salt. Pinac: ’Tis a brave country; Not pester’d with your stubborn precise puppies, That turn all useful and allow’d contentments To scabs and scruples—hang ’em, capon-worshippers. Belleur: I like that freedom well, and like their women too, And would fain do as others do; but I am so bashful, So naturally an ass! Look ye, I can look upon ’em, And very willingly I go to see ’em, (There’s no man willinger), and I can kiss ’em, And make a shift— Mirabel: But, if they chance to flout ye, Or say, “Ye are too bold! Fie, sir, remember! I pray, sit farther off—” Belleur:’Tis true—I am humbled, I am gone; I confess ingenuously, I am silenced; The spirit of amber cannot force me answer. * * * * * In Ben Jonson’s _The Alchemist_, there is reference to a means of securing amatory and rejuvenating capacity. Sir Epicure Mammon tries to impose his alchemical beliefs on Surly: