As he, who in a dream with drought is curst, And finds no real drink to quench his thirst, Runs to imagined lakes his heat to steep, And vainly swills and labours in his sleep; So love with phantoms cheats our longing eyes, Which hourly seeing never satisfies: Our hands pull nothing from the parts they strain, But wander o'er the lovely limbs in vain. Nor when the youthful pair more closely join, When hands in hands they lock, and thighs in thighs they twine, Just in the raging foam of full desire, When both press on, both murmur, both expire, They gripe, they squeeze, their humid tongues they dart, As each would force their way to t'other's heart: In vain; they only cruize about the coast; For bodies cannot pierce, nor be in bodies lost, As sure they strive to be, when both engage In that tumultuous momentary rage; So tangled in the nets of love they lie, Till man dissolves in that excess of joy. Then, when the gathered bag has burst its way, And ebbing tides the slackened nerves betray, A pause ensues; and nature nods awhile, Till with recruited rage new spirits boil; And then the same vain violence returns, With flames renewed the erected furnace burns; Again they in each other would be lost, But still by adamantine bars are crost. All ways they try, successless all they prove, To cure the secret sore of lingering love. Besides---- They waste their strength in the venereal strife, And to a woman's will enslave their life; The estate runs out, and mortgages are made, } All offices of friendship are decayed, } Their fortune ruined, and their fame betrayed. } Assyrian ointment from their temples flows, And diamond buckles sparkle in their shoes; The cheerful emerald twinkles on their hands, With all the luxury of foreign lands; And the blue coat, that with embroidery shines, Is drunk with sweat of their o'er-laboured loins. Their frugal father's gains they misemploy, And turn to point, and pearl, and every female toy. French fashions, costly treats are their delight; The park by day, and plays and balls by night. In vain;---- For in the fountain, where their sweets are sought, Some bitter bubbles up, and poisons all the draught. First, guilty conscience does the mirror bring, Then sharp remorse shoots out her angry sting; And anxious thoughts, within themselves at strife, Upbraid the long mispent, luxurious life. Perhaps, the fickle fair-one proves unkind, } Or drops a doubtful word, that pains his mind, } And leaves a rankling jealousy behind. } Perhaps, he watches close her amorous eyes, And in the act of ogling does surprise, And thinks he sees upon her cheeks the while }