The Lovers thus, thus uncontroul’d did meet, Thus all their Joyes and Vows of Love repeat: Joyes which were everlasting, ever new And every Vow inviolably true: Not kept in fear of Gods, no fond Religious cause, Nor in obedience to the duller Laws. Those Fopperies of the Gown were then not known, Those vain, those Politick Curbs to keep man in, Who by a fond mistake Created that a Sin; Which freeborn we, by right of Nature claim our own. Who but the Learned and dull moral Fool Could gravely have forseen, man ought to live by Rule? VIII. Oh cursed Honour! thou who first didst damn, A Woman to the Sin of shame; Honour! that rob’st us of our Gust, Honour! that hindred mankind first, At Loves Eternal Spring to squench his amorous thirst. Honour! who first taught lovely Eyes the art, To wound, and not to cure the heart: With Love to invite, but to forbid with Awe, And to themselves prescribe a Cruel Law; To Veil ‘em from the Lookers on, When they are sure the slave’s undone, And all the Charmingst part of Beauty hid; Soft Looks, consenting Wishes, all deny’d. It gathers up the flowing Hair, That loosely plaid with wanton Air. The Envious Net, and stinted order hold, The lovely Curls of Jet and shining Gold; No more neglected on the Shoulders hurl’d: Now drest to Tempt, not gratify the World: Thou, Miser Honour, hord’st the sacred store, And starv’st thy self to keep thy Votaries poor. IX. Honour! that put’st our words that should be free Into a set Formality. Thou base Debaucher of the generous heart, That teachest all our Looks and Actions Art; What Love design’d a sacred Gift, What Nature made to be possest; Mistaken Honour, made a Theft, For Glorious Love should be confest: For when confin’d, all the poor Lover gains, Is broken Sighs, pale Looks, Complaints and Pains. Thou Foe to Pleasure, Nature’s worst Disease, Thou Tyrant over mighty Kings, What mak’st thou here in Shepheards Cottages; Why troublest thou the quiet Shades and Springs? Be gone, and make thy Fam’d resort To Princes Pallaces; Go Deal and Chaffer in the Trading Court, That busie Market for Phantastick Things; Be gone and interrupt the short Retreat, Of the Illustrious and the Great; Go break the Politicians sleep, Disturb the Gay Ambitious Fool, That longs for Scepters, Crowns, and Rule, Which not his Title, nor his Wit can keep; But let the humble honest _Swain_ go on, In the blest Paths of the first rate of man; That nearest were to Gods Alli’d, And form’d for love alone, disdain’d all other Pride. X.