Thus whilst we did this grateful story learn, We came so near the Shoar, as to discern The Place and Objects, which did still appear More Ravishing, approaching ‘em more near. There the vast Sea, with a smooth calmness flows As are the Smiles on happy Lovers Brows: As peaceably as Rivulets it glides, Imbracing still the shaded Islands sides; And with soft Murmurs on the Margent flows, As if to Nature it design’d Repose; Whose Musick still is answer’d by the Breeze, That gently plays with the soft rufl’d Trees. Fragrant and Flowry all the Banks appear } Whose mixt disorders more delightful were, } Then if they had been plac’d with Artful care, } The Cowslip, Lilly, Rose and Jesamine, The Daffodil, the Pink and Eglintine, Whose gawdy store continues all the year, Makes but the meanest of the Wonders here. Here the young _Charmers_ walk the Banks along, Here all the _Graces_ and the _Beauties_ throng. But what did most my Admiration draw, Was that the Old and Ugly there I saw, Who with their Apish Postures, void of shame Still practice Youth, and talk of Darts and Flame. I laught to see a Lady out of date, } A worn out Beauty, once of the first rate; } With youthful Dress, and more fantastick Prate, } Setting her wither’d Face in thousand forms, And thinks the while she Dresses it in charms; Disturbing with her Court: the busier throng Ever Addressing to the Gay and Young; There an old Batter’d Fop, you might behold, Lavish his Love, Discretion, and his Gold On a fair she, that has a Trick in Art, To cheat him of his Politicks and Heart; Whilst he that Jilts the Nation ore and ore, Wants sense to find it in the subtiller _W--re_. The Man that on this Isle before had been, Finding me so admire at what I’d seen; Thus said to me.-- LOVE’s Power. _Love when he Shoots abroad his Darts,_ _Regards not where they light:_ _The Aged to the Youthful Hearts,_ _At random they unite._ _The soft un-bearded Youth, who never found_ _The Charms in any Blooming Face,_ _From one of Fifty takes the Wound;_ _And eagerly persues the cunning Chase:_ _While she an Arted Youth puts on;_ _Softens her Voice, and languishes her Eyes;_ _Affects the Dress, the Mean, the Tone,_ _Assumes the noysy Wit, and ceases to be Wise;_ _The tender Maid to the Rough Warrior yields;_ _Unfrighted at his Wounds and Scars,_ _Pursues him through the Camps and Fields,_ _And Courts the story of his dangerous Wars,_ _With Pleasure hears his Scapes, and does not fail_ _To pay him with a Joy for every Tale._