Impertinence, my sexes shame, (Which has so long my life persu’d,) You with such modesty reclaim As all the Woman has subdu’d, To so divine a power what must I owe, That renders me so like the perfect--you? That conversable thing I hate Already with a just disdain, Who Prid’s himself upon his prate And is of word, (that Nonsense,) vain; When in your few appears such excellence, They have reproacht, and charm’d me into sense. For ever may I listning sit, Thô but each hour a word be born: I wou’d attend the coming wit, And bless what can so well inform: Let the dull World henceforth to words be damn’d, I’m into nobler sense than talking sham’d. A PASTORAL PINDARICK. _On the Marriage of the Right Honourable the Earle of_ Dorset _and_ Middlesex, _to the Lady_ Mary Compton. _A Dialogue._ _Between_ Damon _and_ Aminta. _By Mrs._ Behn. _Aminta._ Whither, young _Damon_, whither in such hast, Swift as the Winds you sweep the Grove, The Amorous God of Day scarce hy’d so fast After his flying Love? _Damon._ _Aminta_, view my Face, and thence survey My very Soul and all its mighty joy! A joy too great to be conceal’d, And without speaking is reveal’d; For this eternal Holyday. A Day to place i’th’ Shepherds Kalendar, To stand the glory of the circling year. Let its blest date on every Bark be set, And every Echo its dear name repeat. Let ‘em tell all the neighbouring Woods and Plains, That _Lysidus_, the Beauty of the Swains, Our darling youth, our wonder and our Pride, Is blest with fair _Clemena_ for a Bride. Oh happy Pair! Let all the Groves rejoyce, And gladness fill each heart and every voyce! _Aminta._ _Clemena!_ that bright maid for whom our Shepherds pine, For whom so many weeping Eyes decline! For whom the Echos all complain, For whom with sigh and falling tears The Lover in his soft despairs Disturbs the Peaceful Rivers gliding stream? The bright _Clemena_ who has been so long The destinie of hearts and yet so young, She that has robb’d so many of content Yet is herself so Sweet, so Innocent. She, that as many hearts invades, As charming _Lysidus_ has conquer’d maids, Oh tell me, _Damon_, is the lovely fair Become the dear reward of all the Shepherds care? Has _Lysidus_ that prize of Glory won For whom so many sighing Swains must be undon? _Damon._ Yes, it was destin’d from Eternity, They only shou’d each other’s be, Hail, lovely pair, whom every God design’d In your first great Creation shou’d be joyn’d. _Aminta._