_Love_ laughing spread his Wings and mounting flies, } As swift as Lightning through the yielding Skies, } Where _Honour_ bore away the Trembling Prize. } There at her Feet the _Little Charmer_ falls, And to his Aid his powerful softness calls: _Assails_ her with his Tears, his Sighs and Crys, Th’ unfailing Language of his Tongue and Eyes. _Return_, said he, _return oh fickle Maid,_ _Who solid Joys abandon’st for a shade;_ _urn and behold the Slaughter of thy Eyes;_ _See--the Heart-broken Youth all dying lyes._ _Why dost thou follow this Phantastick spright?_ _This faithless_ Ignis Fatuus _of the Light?_ _This Foe to Youth, and Beauties worst Disease,_ _Tyrant of Wit, of Pleasure, and of Ease;_ _Of all substantial Harms he Author is,_ _But never pays us back one solid Bliss._ _--You’ll urge, your Fame is worth a thousand Joys;_ _Deluded Maid, trust not to empty noise,_ _A sound, that for a poor Esteem to gain,_ _Damns thy whole Life t’ uneasyness and pain._ _Mistaken Virgin, that which pleases me_ } _I cannot by another tast and see;_ } _And what’s the complementing of the World to thee?_ } _No, no, return with me, and there receive,_ _What poor, what scanted_ Honour _cannot give,_ _Starve not those Charms that were for pleasure made,_ _Nor unpossest let the rich Treasure fade._ _When time comes on;_ Honour _that empty word,_ _Will leave thee then fore-slighted Age to guard;_ _Honour as other faithless Lovers are,_ _Is only dealing with the young and fair;_ _Approaching Age makes the false_ Hero _fly,_ _He’s Honour with the Young, but with the old necessity._ --Thus said the _God!_ and all the while he spoke, Her Heart new Fire, her Eyes new softness took. Now crys, _I yield, I yield the Victory!_ _Lead on, young Charming Boy, I follow thee;_ _Lead to_ Lysander, _quickly let’s be gone,_ _I am resolv’d to Love, and be undone;_ _I must not, cannot_, Love _at cheaper rate,_ Love _is the word_, Lysander _and my fate._