To this Cypher I put a Crown of Roses, which are not Flowers of a very lasting Date. And ‘tis to let you see, that ‘tis impossible Love can be long hid. We see every Day, with what fine Dissimulation and Pains, People conceal a thousand Hates and Malices, Disgusts, Disobligations, and Resentments, without being able to conceal the least part of their Love: but Reputation has an Odour as well as Roses; and a Lover ought to esteem that as the dearest and tenderest thing: not only that of his own, which is, indeed, the least part; but that of his Mistress, more valuable to him than Life. He ought to endeavour to give People no occasion to make false Judgments of his Actions, or to give their Censures; which most certainly are never in the Favour of the Fair Person: for likely, those false Censurers are of the busy Female Sex, the _Coquets_ of that number; whose little Spites and Railleries, join’d to that fancy’d Wit they boast of, sets ‘em at odds with all the Beautiful and Innocent. And how very little of that kind serves to give the World a Faith, when a thousand Virtues, told of the same Persons, by more credible Witnesses and Judges, shall pass unregarded! so willing and inclin’d is all the World to credit the Ill, and condemn the Good! And yet, Oh! what pity ‘tis we are compell’d to live in Pain, to oblige this foolish scandalous World! And tho’ we know each other’s Virtue and Honour, we are oblig’d to observe that Caution (to humour the talking Town) which takes away so great a part of the Pleasure of Life! ‘Tis therefore that among those Roses, you will find some Thorns; by which you may imagine, that in Love, Precaution is necessary to its Secrecy: And we must restrain our selves, upon a thousand occasions, with so much Care, that, Oh _Iris_! ‘tis impossible to be discreet, without Pain; but ‘tis a Pain that creates a thousand Pleasures. _Where should a Lover hide his Joys,_ _Free from Malice, free from Noise;_ _Where no Envy can intrude;_ _Where no busy Rival’s Spy,_ _Made, by Disappointment, rude,_ _May inform his Jealousy?_ _The Heart will the best Refuge prove;_ _Which Nature meant the Cabinet of Love._ _What would a Lover not endure,_ _His Mistress’ Fame and Honour to secure?_ Iris, _the Care we take to be discreet,_ _Is the dear Toil that makes the Pleasure sweet:_ _The Thorn that does the Wealth inclose,_ _That with less saucy Freedom we may touch the Rose._ _The_ CLASP _of the_ WATCH.