_Oh_ Iris! _let my sleeping Hours be fraught_ _With Joys, which you deny my waking Thought._ _Is’t not enough you absent are?_ _Is’t not enough I sigh all day,_ _And lanquish out my Life in Care,_ _To e’ery Passion made a Prey?_ _I burn with Love, and soft Desire;_ _I rave with Jealousy and Fear:_ _All Day, for Ease, my Soul I tire;_ _In vain I search it ev’ry where:_ _It dwells not with the Witty or the Fair._ _It is not in the Camp or Court,_ _In Business, Musick, or in Sport;_ _The Plays, the Park, and Mall afford_ _No more than the dull Basset-board._ _The Beauties in the Drawing-room,_ _With all their Sweetness, all their Bloom,_ _No more my faithful Eyes invite,_ _Nor rob my_ Iris _of a Sigh or Glance,_ _Unless soft Thoughts of her incite_ _A Smile, or trivial Complaisance._ _Then since my Days so anxious prove,_ _Ah, cruel Tyrant! give_ _A little Loose to Joys in Love,_ _And let your_ Damon _live._ _Let him in Dreams be happy made,_ _And let his Sleep some Bliss provide:_ _The nicest Maid may yield in Night’s dark shade,_ _What she so long by Day-light had deny’d._ _There let me think you present are,_ _And court my Pillow for my Fair._ _There let me find you kind, and that you give_ _All that a Man of Honour dares receive._ _And may my Eyes eternal Watches keep,_ _Rather than want that Pleasure when I sleep._ Some such Complaint as this I know you will make; but, _Damon_, if the little Quarrels of Lovers render the reconciling Moments so infinitely charming, you must needs allow, that these little Chagrin in capricious Dreams must awaken you to more Joy to find ‘em but Dreams, than if you had met with no Disorder there. ‘Tis for this reason that I would have you suffer a little Pain for a coming Pleasure; nor, indeed is it possible for you to escape the Dreams my _Cupid_ points you out. You shall dream that I have a thousand _Foibles_, something of the lightness of my Sex; that my Soul is employ’d in a thousand Vanities; that (proud and fond of Lovers) I make advances for the Glory of a Slave, without any other Interest or Design than that of being ador’d. I will give you leave to think my Heart fickle, and that, far from resigning it to any one, I lend it only for a Day, or an Hour, and take it back at pleasure; that I am a very _Coquet_, even to Impertinence.