EIGHT o'CLOCK.
Agreeable Reverie.
Do not rise yet; you may find Thoughts agreeable enough, when you awake, to entertain you longer in Bed. And 'tis in that Hour you ought to recollect all the Dreams you had in the Night. If you had dream'd any thing to my advantage, confirm your self in that thought; but if to my disadvantage, renounce it, and disown the injurious Dream. 'Tis in this Hour also that I give you leave to reflect on all that I have ever said and done, that has been most obliging to you, and that gives you the most tender Sentiments.
The Reflections.
Remember, Damon, while your Mind
Reflects on things that charm and please,
You give me Proofs that you are kind,
And set my doubting Soul at ease:
For when your Heart receives with Joy
The thoughts of Favours which I give,
My Smiles in vain I not employ,
And on the Square we love and live.
Think then on all I ever did,
That e'er was charming, e'er was dear;
Let nothing from that Soul be hid,
Whose Griefs and Joys I feel and share.
All that your Love and Faith have sought, }
All that your Vows and Sighs have bought, }
Now render present to your Thought. }
And for what's to come, I give you leave, Damon, to flatter your self, and to expect, I shall still pursue those Methods, whose Remembrance charms so well: But, if it be possible, conceive these kind Thoughts between sleeping and waking, that all my too forward Complaisance, my Goodness, and my Tenderness, which I confess to have for you, may pass for Half Dreams: for 'tis most certain,
That tho' the Favours of the Fair
Are ever to the Lover dear;
Yet, lest he should reproach that easy Flame,
That buys its Satisfaction with its Shame;
She ought but rarely to confess
How much she finds of Tenderness;
Nicely to guard the yielding part,
And hide the hard-kept Secret in her Heart.
For, let me tell you, Damon, tho' the Passion of a Woman of Honour be ever so innocent, and the Lover never so discreet and honest; her Heart feels I know not what of Reproach within, at the reflection of any Favours she has allow'd him. For my part, I never call to mind the least soft or kind Word I have spoken to Damon, without finding at the same instant my Face cover'd over with Blushes, and my Heart with sensible Pain. I sigh at the Remembrance of every Touch I have stolen from his Hand, and have upbraided my Soul, which confesses so much guilty Love, as that secret Desire of touching him made appear. I am angry at the Discovery, though I am pleas'd at the same time with the Satisfaction I take in doing so; and ever disorder'd at the Remembrance of such Arguments of too much Love. And these unquiet Sentiments alone are sufficient to persuade me, that our Sex cannot be reserv'd too much. And I have often, on these occasions, said to my self,
The Reserve.
Tho' Damon every Virtue have,
With all that pleases in his Form,
That can adorn the Just and Brave,
That can the coldest Bosom warm;
Tho' Wit and Honour there abound,
Yet the Pursuer's ne'er pursu'd,
And when my Weakness he has found,
His Love will sink to Gratitude:
While on the asking part he lives,
'Tis she th' Obliger is who gives.
And he that at one Throw the Stake has won
Gives over play, since all the Stock is gone.
And what dull Gamester ventures certain Store
With Losers who can set no more?