Oh! tell me you, Philosophers, in love, That can its burning feaverish fits controul, By what strange Arts you cure the soul, And the fierce Calenture remove? Tell me, yee fair ones, that exchange desire, How tis you hid the kindling fire. Oh! wou’d you but confess the truth, It is not real virtue makes you nice: But when you do resist the pressing youth, ‘Tis want of dear desire, to thaw the Virgin Ice. And while your young adorers lye All languishing and hopeless at your feet, Raising new Trophies to your chastity, Oh tell me, how you do remain discreet? How you suppress the rising sighs, And the soft yeilding soul that wishes in your Eyes? While to th’admiring crow’d you nice are found; Some dear, some secret, youth that gives the wound Informs you, all your virtu’s but a cheat And Honour but a false disguise, Your modesty a necessary bait To gain the dull repute of being wise. Deceive the foolish World--deceive it on, And veil your passions in your pride; But now I’ve found your feebles by my own, From me the needful fraud you cannot hide. Thô tis a mighty power must move The soul to this degree of love, And thô with virtue I the World perplex, _Lysander_ finds the weakness of my sex, So _Helen_ while from _Theseus_ arms she fled, To charming _Paris_ yeilds her heart and Bed. _To_ Amintas. _Upon reading the Lives of some of the_ Romans. _by Mrs._ B. Had’st thou, _Amintas_; liv’d in that great age, When hardly Beauty was to nature known, What numbers to thy side might’st thou engage And conquer’d Kingdoms by thy looks alone? That age when valor they did Beauty name, When Men did justly our brave sex prefer, ‘Cause they durst dye, and scorn the publick shame Of adding Glory to the conqueror. Had mighty _Scipio_ had thy charming face, Great _Sophonisbe_ had refus’d to dye, Her passion o’re the sense of her disgrace Had gain’d the more obliging victory. Nor less wou’d _Massanissa_ too have done But to such Eyes, as to his Sword wou’d bow, For neither sex can here thy fetters shun, Being all _Scipio_, and _Amintas_ too. Had’st thou great _Cæsar_ been, the greater Queen, Wou’d trembling have her mortal Asps lay’d by, In thee she had not only _Cæsar_ seen, But all she did adore in _Antony_. Had daring _Sextus_ had thy lovely shape, The fairest Woman living had not dy’d But blest the darkness that secur’d the Rape, Suffering her Pleasure to have debauch’t her Pride. Nor had he stoln to _Rome_ to have quencht his fire, If thee resistless in his Camp he’d seen, Thy Eyes had kept his virtue all intire, And _Rome_ a happy monarchy had been.