L

Perjury.

OVE is too young to know what Conscience is;
Yet who knows not, Confcience is born of Love
Then, gentle Cheater, urge not my Amifs,
Leaft guilty of my Faults thy fweet felf prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray

My nobler Part to my grofs Body's Treafon.
My Soul doth tell my Body, that he may
Triumph in Love, Flesh stays no farther Reason
But rifing at thy Name, doth point out thee,
As his triumphant Prize; proud of this Pride,
He is contented thy poor Drudge to be,
To stand in thy Affairs, fall by thy Side.

No want of Confcience hold it, that I call
Her Love, for whose dear Love I rife and fall.

In loving thee thou know'ft I am forsworn,
But thou art twice forfworn to me, Love-swearing;
In Act thy Bed-vow broke and new Faith torn,
In Vowing new Hate after new Love bearing.
But why of two Oaths Breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most;
For all my Vows are Oaths but to misuse thee;
And all my honest Faith in thee is loft:
For I have fworn deep Oaths of thy deep Kindness ;
Oaths of thy Love, thy Truth, thy Conftancy;
And to enlighten thee, gave Eyes to Blindness,
Or made them swear against the thing they fee.
For I have fworn thee Fair: more perjur'd I,
To swear against the Truth so foul a Lye.

The

B

The Tale of Cephalus and Procris.

ENEATH Hymettus Hill well-cloth'd with Flowers,
A holy Well her soft Springs gently pours :

Where ftands a Cops, in which the Wood-Nymphs fhrove,
(No Wood) it rather feems a flender Grove.
The humble Shrubs and Bushes hide the Grass,
Here Lawrel, Rosemary, here Myrtle was:
Here grew thick Box, and Tam'risk, that excells,
And made a meer Confusion of sweet Smells :
The Triffoly, the Pine; and on this Heath
Stands many a Plant that feels cool Zephyrs Breath.
Here the young Cephalus tyr'd in the Chace,
Us'd his Repole and Reft, alone t' embrace;
And where he fat, these Words he would repeat,
Come Air, Sweet Air, come cool my mighty Heat!
Come gentle Air, I never will forfake thee,
I'll hug thee thus, and in my Bofom take thee.
Some double-duteous Tell-tale hapt to hear this,
And to his jealous Wife doth ftraight-way bear this.
Which Procris hearing, and withal the Name
Of Air, fweet Air, which he did oft proclaim;
She stands confounded, and amaz'd with Grief,
By giving this fond Tale too found Belief:
And looks, as do the Trees by Winter nipt,
Whom Froft and Cold of Fruit and Leaves half ftript.
She bends like Corveil, when too rank it grows,
Or when the ripe Fruits clog the Quince-tree Boughs.
But when fhe comes t' her felf, fhe tears

Her Garments, her Eyes, her Cheeks, and Hairs
And then she starts, and to her Feet applies her,
Then to the Woods (ftark Woad) in rage fhe hies her.

Approaching

Approaching some-what near, her Servants they
By her Appointment in a Valley stay;
Whilft fhe alone with creeping Paces steals

To take the Strumpet, whom her Lord conceals.

What mean'ft thou, Procris, in these Groves to hide thee?
What rage of Love doth to this Madness guide thee ?
Thou hop ft the Air he calls, in all her Bravery,
Will ftraight approach, and thou fhalt fee their Knavery.
And now again it irks her to be there,

For fuch a killing Sight her Heart will tear.

No Truce can with her troubled Thoughts dispense;
She would not now be there, nor yet be thence.-
Behold the Place, her jealous Mind foretells,
Here do they use to meet, and no where else :
The Grafs is laid, and fee their true Impression;
E'en here they lay: Ay, here was their Tranfgreffion.
A Body's Print fhe faw, it was his Seat,

Which makes her faint Heart 'gainst her Ribs to beat.
Phœbus the lofty Eastern Hill had scal'd,

And all moist Vapours from the Earth exhal'd:
Now in his Noon-tide point he shineth bright;
It was the middle Hour, 'twixt Noon and Night.
Behold young Cephalus draws to the Place,
And with the Fountain Water sprinks his Face:
Procris is hid; upon the Grafs he lies,

And come, fweet Zephyr, come sweet Air, he cries.
She fees her Error now from where he stood,
Her Mind returns to her, and her fresh Blood;
Among the Shrubs and Briers she moves and ruftles,
And the injurious Boughs away she justles;
Intending as he lay, there to repose him,
Nimbly to run, and in her Arms inclose him.

He

He quickly cafts his Eye upon the Bush,
Thinking therein fome favage Beaft did rush;
His Bow he bends, and a keen Shaft he draws:
Unhappy Man, what doft thou! Stay, and pause,
It is no brute Beast thou would'st reave of Life;
O! Man unhappy! thou haft flain thy Wife!
Oh! Heaven, The cries, Oh! help me, I am flain;
Still doth thy Arrow in my Wound remain:
Yet though by timeless Fate my Bones here lie,
It glads me moit, that I no Cuck-quean die.
Her Breath (thus in the Arms fhe most affected)
She breaths into the Air (before fufpected)
The whilst he lifts her Body from the Ground,
And with his Tears doth wash her bleeding Wound.

C

Cupid's Treachery.

UPID laid by his Brand and fell asleep ;
A Maid of Dian's this Advantage found;
And his love-kindling Fire did quickly steep
In a cold Vally-Fountain of that Ground:
Which borrow'd from his holy Fire of Love,
A dateless lively Heat ftill to endure,

And grew a feething Bath, which yet Men prove,
Against strange Maladies a fovereign Cure.
But at my Mistress' Eyes Love's Brand new fired,
The Boy for Trial needs would touch my Breaft;
I fick withall the Help of Bath defired,
And thither hy'd a fad diftemper'd Gueft;

But found no Cure, the Bath for my help lyes
Where Cupid got new Fire, my Mistress' Eyes.

The little Love-God lying once afleep,
Laid by his Side his Heart in flaming Brand,

Whilft many Nymphs that vow'd chaft Life to keep,
Came tripping by, but in her maiden Hand,
The faireft Votary took up that Fire,

Which many Legions of true Hearts had warm'd;
And fo the General of hot Defire

Was fleeping, by a Virgin Hand disarm'd.
This Brand the quenched in a cool Well by,
Which from Love's Fire took Heat perpetual,
Growing a Bath and healthful Remedy,
For Men difeas'd; but I my Mistress' Thrall
Came there for Cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's Fire heats Water, Water cools not Love.

That Menelaus was the Caufe of his own Wrongs.

W

gone,

HEN Menelaus from his Houfe is
Poor Helen is afraid to lie alone;
And to allay these Fears (lodg'd in her Breast)
In her warm Bosom she receives her Gueft.
What Madness was this? Menelaus, fay:
Thou art abroad, whilst in thy House doth stay
Under the self-same Roof, thy Gueft, and Love:
Mad-man! unto the Hawk thou trufts the Dove.
And who but such a Gull would give to keep
Unto the Mountain Wolf, full Folds of Sheep?
Helen is blameless, fo is Paris too,

And did what thou, or I my self would do.
The Fault is thine, I tell thee to thy Face,
By limiting these Lovers Time and Place.
From thee the Seeds of all thy Wrongs are grown;
Whose Counsels have they follow'd, but thine own?
(Alack!) what should they do? Abroad thou art,
At home thou leav ft thy Gueft to play thy Part.

VO L. VII.

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