In this vast Isle a famous _City_ stands, Who for its Beauty all the rest Commands, Built to delight the wondering Gazers Eyes, Of all the World the great _Metropolis_. Call’d by LOVE’s name: and here the Charming God, When he retires to Pleasure, makes abode; ‘Tis here both Art and Nature strive to show, } What Pride, Expence, and Luxury, can do, } To make it Ravishing and Awful too: } All Nations hourly thither do resort, To add a splendour to this glorious Court; The Young, the Old, the Witty, and the Wise, The Fair, the Ugly, Lavish, and Precise; Cowards and Braves, the Modest, and the Lowd, Promiscuously are blended in the Crowd. From distant Shoars young Kings their Courts remove, To pay their Homage to the God of Love. Where all their sacred awful Majesty, Their boasted and their fond Divinity; Loose their vast force; as lesser Lights are hid, When the fierce God of Day his Beauties spread. The wondering World for _Gods_ did _Kings_ adore, Till _LOVE_ confirm’d ‘em Mortal by his Pow’r; And in _Loves Court_, do with their Vassals live, Without or _Homage_, or _Prerogative_: Which the young _God_, not only Blind must show, But as Defective in his Judgment too. LOVE’s Temple. Midst this Gay Court a famous Temple stands, Old as the Universe which it commands; For mighty _Love_ a sacred being had, } Whilst yet ‘twas _Chaos_, e’re the World was made, } And nothing was compos’d without his Aid. } Agreeing _Attoms_ by his pow’r were hurl’d, And _Love_ and _Harmony_ compos’d the World. ‘Tis rich, ‘tis solemn all! Divine yet Gay! } From the Jemm’d Roof the dazling Lights display, } And all below inform without the Aids of day. } All Nations hither bring rich offerings, And ‘tis endow’d with Gifts of Love-sick Kings. Upon an Altar (whose unbounded store Has made the Rifled Universe so poor, Adorn’d with all the Treasure of the Seas, More than the Sun in his vast course surveys) Was plac’d the _God!_ with every Beauty form’d, Of Smiling Youth, but Naked, unadorn’d. His painted Wings displaid: His Bow laid by, (For here _Love_ needs not his Artillery) One of his little Hands aloft he bore, And grasp’d a wounded Heart that burnt all o’re, Towards which he lookt with lovely Laughing Eyes: As pleas’d and vain, with the fond Sacrifice, The other pointing downward seem’d to say, _Here at my Feet your grateful Victims lay_, Whilst in a Golden Tablet o’re his Head, } In Diamond Characters this _Motto_ stood, } _Behold the Pow’r that Conquers every GOD_.