Shows all her tenderness dis-rob’d of Art, } But oh this cou’d not satisfy my Heart. } A thousand Anguishes that still contains, It sighs, and heaves, and pants with pleasing pains. We look, and Kiss, and Press with new desire, Whilst every touch Blows the unusual Fire. For _Love’s_ last _Mystery_ was yet conceal’d, Which both still languisht for, both wisht reveal’d: Which I prest on--and faintly she deny’d, With all the weak efforts of dying Pride, Which struggled long for Empire in her Soul, Where it was wont to rule without controul. But Conquering Love had got possession now, And open’d every Sally to the Foe: And to secure my doubting happiness, Permits me to conduct her to the _Bow’r of Bliss_. That Bow’r that does eternal Pleasures yield, Where _Psyche_ first the _God of Love_ beheld: But oh, in entering this so blest abode, All Gay and Pleas’d as a Triumphing _God_, I new unlook’d for difficulties meet, Encount’ring _Honour_ at the sacred Gate. HONOUR. I. _Honour’s a mighty Phantom! which around_ _The sacred Bower does still appear;_ _All Day it haunts the hallow’d ground._ _And hinders Lovers entering there._ _It rarely ever takes its flight,_ _But in the secret shades of night._ _Silence and gloom the charm can soonest end,_ _And are the luckyest hours to lay the Fiend,_ _Then ‘tis the Vision only will remove,_ _With Incantations of soft Vows of_ Love. II. _But as a God he’s Worshipt here,_ _By all the lovely, young, and fair,_ _Who all their kind desires controul,_ _And plays the Tyrant o’re the Soul:_ _His chiefest Attributes, are Pride and Spight,_ _His pow’r, is robbing Lovers of delight,_ _An Enemy to Humane kind,_ _But most to Youth severe;_ _As Age ill-natur’d, and as ignorance Blind,_ _Boasting, and Baffled too, as Cowards are;_ _Fond in opinion, obstinately Wise,_ _Fills the whole World with bus’ness and with noise._ III. _Where wert thou born? from what didst thou begin?_ _And what strange Witchcraft brought thy Maxims in?_ _What hardy Fool first taught thee to the Crowd?_ _Or who the Duller Slaves that first believ’d?_ _Some Woman sure, ill-natur’d, old, and proud,_ _Too ugly ever to have been deceiv’d;_ _Unskill’d in Love; in Virtue, or in Truth,_ _Preach’d thy false Notions first, aud so debaucht our Youth._ IV.