In fine, my adorable _Iris_, this Case shall be, as near as I can, like those delicate ones of _Filligrin_ Work, which do not hinder the Sight from taking a View of all within: You may therefore see, thro’ this Heart, all your _Watch_. Nor is my Desire of preserving this inestimable Piece more, than to make it the whole Rule of my Life and Actions. And my chiefest Design in these Cyphers, is to comprehend in them the principal Virtues that are most necessary to Love. Do not we know that Reciprocal Love is Justice? Constant Love, Fortitude? Secret Love, Prudence? Tho’ ‘tis true that extreme Love, that is, Excess of Love, in one sense, appears not to be Temperance; yet you must know, my _Iris_, that in Matters of Love, Excess is a Virtue, and that all other Degrees of Love are worthy Scorn alone. ‘Tis this alone that can make good the glorious Title: ‘Tis this alone that can bear the Name of Love; and this alone that renders the Lovers truly happy, in spight of all the Storms of Fate, and Shocks of Fortune. This is an Antidote against all other Griefs: This bears up the Soul in all Calamity; and is the very Heaven of Life, the last Refuge of all worldly Pain and Care, and may well bear the Title of _Divine_. The Art of Loving well. _That Love may all Perfection be,_ _Sweet, charming to the last degree,_ _The Heart, where the bright Flame does dwell,_ _In Faith and Softness should excel:_ _Excess of Love should fill each Vein,_ _And all its sacred Rites maintain._ _The tend’rest Thoughts Heav’n can inspire,_ _Should be the Fuel to its Fire:_ _And that, like Incense, burn as pure;_ _Or that in Urns should still endure,_ _No fond Desire should fill the Soul,_ _But such as Honour may controul._ _Jealousy I will allow:_ _Not the amorous Winds that blow,_ _Should wanton in my_ Iris’ _Hair,_ _Or ravish Kisses from my Fair._ _Not the Flowers that grow beneath,_ _Should borrow Sweetness of her Breath._ _If her Bird she do caress,_ _How I grudge its Happiness,_ _When upon her snowy Hand_ _The Wanton does triumphing stand!_ _Or upon her Breast she skips,_ _And lays her Beak to_ Iris’ _Lips!_ _Fainting at my ravished Joy,_ _I could the Innocent destroy._ _If I can no Bliss afford_ _To a little harmless Bird,_ _Tell me, Oh thou dear-lov’d Maid!_ _What Reason could my Rage persuade,_ _If a Rival should invade?_ _If thy charming Eyes should dart_ _Looks that sally from the Heart;_ _If you sent a Smile, or Glance,_ _To another tho’ by Chance;_ _Still thou giv’st what’s not thy own,_ _They belong to me alone._ _All Submission I would pay:_ _Man was born the Fair t’ obey._ _Your very Look I’d understand,_ _And thence receive your least Command:_ _Never your Justice will dispute;_ _But like a Lover execute._