As when a Conqu’rour does in Triumph come, And proudly leads the vanquish’d Captives home, The Joyful People croud in ev’ry Street, And with loud shouts of Praise the Victor greet; While some whom Chance or Fortune kept away, Desire at least the Story of the Day; How brave the Prince, how gay the Chariot was, How beautiful he look’d, with what a Grace; Whether upon his Head he Plumes did wear; Or if a Wreath of Bays adorn’d his Hair: They hear ‘tis wondrous fine, and long much more To see the _Hero_ then they did before. So when the Marvels by Report I knew, Of how much Beauty, _Cloris_, dwelt in you; How many _Slaves_ your Conqu’ring Eyes had won, And how the gazing Crowd admiring throng: I wish’d to see, and much a Lover grew Of so much Beauty, though my Rivals too. I came and saw, and blest my Destiny; I found it Just you should out-Rival me. ‘Twas at the Altar, where more Hearts were giv’n To you that day, then were address’d to Heav’n. The Rev’rend Man whose Age and Mystery Had rendred Youth and Beauty Vanity, By fatal Chance casting his Eyes your way, } Mistook the duller Bus’ness of the Day, } Forgot the Gospel, and began to Pray. } Whilst the Enamour’d Crowd that near you prest, } Receiving _Darts_ which none could e’er resist, } Neglected the Mistake o’th’ Love-sick Priest. } Ev’n my Devotion, _Cloris_, you betray’d, And I to Heaven no other Petition made, But that you might all other Nymphs out-do In Cruelty as well as Beauty too. I call’d _Amyntas_ Faithless _Swain_ before, But now I find ‘tis Just he should Adore. Not to love you, a wonder sure would be, Greater then all his Perjuries to me. And whilst I Blame him, I Excuse him too; Who would not venture Heav’n to purchase you? But Charming _Cloris_, you too meanly prize The more deserving Glories of your Eyes, If you permit him on an Amorous score, To be your _Slave_, who was my _Slave_ before. He oft has Fetters worn, and can with ease Admit ‘em or dismiss ‘em when he please. A Virgin-Heart you merit, that ne’er found It could receive, till from your Eyes, the _Wound_; A Heart that nothing but your Force can fear, And own a _Soul_ as Great as you are Fair. _Song to_ Ceres. _In the_ Wavering Nymph, _or Mad_ Amyntas. I. _Ceres_, Great Goddess of the bounteous Year, Who load’st the Teeming Earth with Gold and Grain, Blessing the Labours of th’ Industrious _Swain_, And to their Plaints inclin’st thy gracious Ear: Behold two fair _Cicilian_ Lovers lie Prostrate before thy Deity; Imploring thou wilt grant the Just Desires Of two Chaste Hearts that burn with equal Fires.