But others whom Misfortune kept away Desire to hear the Story of the Day, How brave the Prince, how brave his Chariot was, How beautiful he look’d, with what a Grace; How rich his Habit, if he Plumes did wear, Or if a Wreath of Bays adorn’d his Hair: They think ‘twas wondrous fine, and long much more, To see the Conqu’ror than they did before. So when at first by Fame I only knew The Charms so much admir’d and prais’d in you; How many Slaves your conqu’ring Eyes had won, And how the wond’ring Crowd did gazing throng; I wish’d to see, and half a Lover grew, Of so much Beauty, tho my Rival too. I came, I saw you, and I must confess, I wish’d my Beauty greater, or yours less; Alas! My whole Devotion you betray’d, I only thought of you, and only pray’d, That you might all your jealous Sex out-do In Cruelty as well as Beauty too. I call’d _Amintas_ faithless Man before, But now I find ‘tis just he should adore. Not to love you, if such a Sin could be, Were greater than his Perjury to me; Thus while I blame him, I excuse him too, Who can be innocent that looks on you? But, lovely _Chloris_, you too meanly prize The Treasures of your Youth, and of your Eyes; Ne’re hear his Vows that he to others swore, Nor let him be your Slave, that was a Slave before; He oft has Fetters worn, and can with Ease Admit them, or dismiss them, as he please. A Virgin Heart you merit, that ne’re found It could receive, till from your Eyes, a Wound, The Soul that nothing but their Force could fear, As great, if that can be, as you are fair. _For_ Damon, _being ask’d a Reason for his Love_. I. You ask me, _Phillis_, why I still pursue, And court no other Nymph but you; And why with Looks and Sighs I still betray A Passion which I dare not say. ‘Tis all, Because I do: you ask me why, And with a Woman’s Reason, I reply. II. You ask what Argument I have to prove, That my _Unrest_ proceeds from Love, You’ll not believe my Passion till you know, A better Reason why ‘tis so. Then, _Phillis_, let this Reason go for one, I know I love because my Reason’s gone. III. You say a Love like mine must needs declare The Object so belov’d not fair; That neither Wit nor Beauty in her dwell, Whose Lover can no Reason tell, What ‘tis that he adores, and why he burns: _Phillis_, let those give such that have returns. IV. And by the very Reasons that you use, _Damon_ might justly you accuse; Why do you Scorn, and with a proud Disdain Receive the Vow, and slight the Swain? You say you cannot Love, you know no Cause: May I not prove my Love by your own Laws?