As Beauty did the Garments she put on! Among the Swains, which here their Flocks then fed, _Alcander_ with the highest held his head; The most Accomplish't was esteem'd to be, Of comely Forme, well-grac't Activity; The _Muses_ too, like him, did none inspire, None so did stop the Pipe, or touch the Lyre; Sweet was his Voice, and Eloquent his Tongue; Alike admired when he Spoke, or Sung! But these so much Excelling parts the Swain, With Imperfections no less Great, did stain: For proud he was, of an Ungovern'd Will, With Love Familiar, but a Stranger still To Faith and Constancy; and did his Heart, Retaining none, expose to ev'ry Dart. Hapless _Rodanthe_, the Fond Rover, caught, To whom, for Love, with usual Arts he sought; Which she, ah too unwary, did bestow: 'Cause True her self, believ'd that he was so. But he, alas, more wav'ring than the Wind, Streight broke the Chain, she thought so fast did bind; For he no sooner saw her Heart was gain'd, But he as soon the Victory disdain'd; Mad Love else-where, as if 'twere like Renown, Hearts to subdue, as to take in a Town: But in the One as Manhood does prevail, Both Truth and Manhood in the other fail. And now the Nymph (of late so gay and bright, The Glory of the Plains and the Delight, Who still in Wit and Mirth all Pastimes led) Hung like a wither'd Flow'r her drooping Head. I need not tell the Grief _Rodanthe_ found, How all that should asswage, enrag'd her Wound; Her Form, her Fame, her Vertue, Riches, Wit, Like Deaths sad Weights upon her Soul did sit: Or else like Furies stood before her Face, Still urging and Upbraiding her Disgrace, In that the World could yield her no Content, But what alone the False _Alcander_ sent. 'Twas said, through just Disdain, at last she broke The Disingenious and Unworthy Yoke: But this I know, her Passion held long time, Constancy, though Unhappy, is no Crime. Remember when you Love, from that same hour Your Peace you put into your Lovers Power: From that same hour from him you Laws receive, And as he shall ordain, you Joy, or Grieve, Hope, Fear, Laugh, Weep; Reason aloof does stand, Disabl'd both to Act, and to Command. Oh Cruel Fetters! rather wish to feel, On your soft Limbs, the Gauling Weight of Steel; Rather to bloudy Wounds oppose your Breast No Ill, by which the Body can be prest; You will so sensible a Torment find, As Shackles on your captivated Mind. The Mind from Heaven its high Descent did draw, And brooks uneasily any other Law, Than what from Reason dictated shall be, Reason, a kind of In-mate Deity. Which only can adapt to ev'ry Soul A Yoke so fit and light, that the Controle All Liberty excels; so sweet a Sway, The same 'tis to be Happy, and Obey;