Nature, Creations law, is judg'd by Sense, Not by the Tyrant Conscience; Then our Commission gives us leave to do What Youth and Pleasure Prompt us to: For we must question else Heav'ns great Decree, And tax it with a Treachery; If things made sweet to attempt our Appetite, Should with a guilt Stain the Delight. High'r Pow'rs rule us, our Selves can nothing do, Who made us Love, hath made Love lawful too. It was not Love, but Love transform'd to Vice, Ravish'd by Envious Avarice, Made Woman first Impropriate; all were free; Inclosures Mens Inventions be. I'th Golden Age, no Action cou'd be found For Trespass on my Neighbour's ground: 'Twas just, with any Fair to mix our Blood; The best is most diffusive Good. She that confines her Beams to one Mans sight, Is a Dark Lanthorn to a Shining Light. Say, Does the Virgin Spring less Chaste appear, 'Cause many Thirsts are quenched there? Or have you not with the same Odours met, When more then One have smelt your Violet The _Phoenix_ is not angry at her nest, 'Cause her Perfumes makes others Blest: Tho' Incense to th' Immortal Gods be meant, Yet Mortals rival in the Scent. Man is the Lord of Creatures; yet we see That all his Vassals Loves are free; The severe Wedlock-Fetters do not bind The Pard's inflam'd and Am'rous Mind, But that he may be like a Bridegroom led Ev'n to the Royal Lion's Bed. The Birds made for a Year their Loves Confine, But make new Choice each Valentine. If our Affections then more servile be Than are our Slaves, where's Mans Sov'raignity? Why then by pleasing more, should you less please, And spare your sweets, being more sweet than these? If the fresh Trunk have Sap enough to give, That each insertive Branch may live; The Gardner grafts not only _Apples_ there, But adds the _Warden_ and the _Pear_; The _Peach_ and _Apricock_ together grow, The _Cherry_ and the _Damson_ too; Till he hath made, by Skilful Husbandry, An intire _Orchard_ of one Tree. So least our _Paradise_ Perfection want, We may inoculate and plant. What's Conscience, but a Beldams Midnight Theam; Or Nodding Nurses idle Dream? So feign'd as are the _Goblins_, _Elves_ and _Fairies_, To watch their _Orchard's_ and their _Daries_. For who can tell when first her Reign begun? I'th' State of Innocence was none: And since large Conscience (as the Proverb shows) In the same sense as bad one goes; The Less, the Better then; whence this will fall, He's perfect that hath none at all. Suppose it be a Vertue rich and pure; 'Tis not for _Spring_ or _Summer_ sure; Nor yet for _Autumn_; Love must have his Prime, His Warmer Hearts, and Harvest time. Till we have flourish'd, grown, & reap'd our Wishes. What Conscience dares oppose our Kisses? But when Time's colder hand leades us near home Then let that _Winter-Vertue_ come: