FOUR o'CLOCK.
General Conversation.
In this Visiting-Hour, many People will happen to meet at one and the same Time together, in a Place: And as you make not Visits to Friends, to be silent, you ought to enter into Conversation with 'em; but those Conversations ought to be general, and of general things: for there is no necessity of making your Friend the Confident of your Amours. 'Twould infinitely displease me, to hear you have reveal'd to them all that I have repos'd in you; tho' Secrets never so trivial, yet since utter'd between Lovers, they deserve to be priz'd at a higher rate: For what can shew a Heart more indifferent and indiscreet, than to declare in any fashion, or with Mirth, or Joy, the tender things a Mistress says to a Lover, and which possibly, related at second hand, bear not the same Sense, because they have not the same Sound and Air they had originally, when they came from the soft Heart of her, who sigh'd 'em first to her lavish Lover? Perhaps they are told again with Mirth, or Joy, unbecoming their Character and Business; and then they lose their Graces: (for Love is the most solemn thing in nature, and the most unsuiting with Gaiety.) Perhaps the soft Expressions suit not so well the harsher Voice of the masculine Lover, whose Accents were not form'd for so much Tenderness; at least, not of that sort: for Words that have the same Meaning, are alter'd from their Sense by the least tone or accent of the Voice; and those proper and fitted to my Soul, are not, possibly, so to yours, though both have the same Efficacy upon us; yours upon my Heart, as mine upon yours: and both will be misunderstood by the unjudging World. Beside this, there is a Holiness in Love that's true, that ought not to be profan'd: And as the Poet truly says, at the latter end of an Ode, of which I will recite the whole;
The Invitation.
Aminta, fear not to confess
The charming Secret of thy Tenderness:
That which a Lover can't conceal,
That which, to me, thou shouldst reveal;
And is but what thy lovely Eyes express.
Come, whisper to my panting Heart,
That heaves and meets thy Voice half-way;
That guesses what thou wouldst impart,
And languishes for what thou hast to say.
Confirm my trembling Doubt, and make me know,
Whence all these Blessings, and these Sighings flow.
Why dost thou scruple to unfold
A Mystery that does my Life concern?
If thou ne'er speakst, it will be told;
For Lovers all things can discern.
From overy Look, from every bashful Grace,
That still succeed each other in thy Face,
I shall the dear transporting Secret learn:
But 'tis a Pleasure not to be exprest, }
To hear it by the Voice confest, }
When soft Sighs breath it on my panting Breast. }
All calm and silent is the Grove,
Whose shading Boughs resist the Day;
Here thou mayst blush, and talk of Love,
While only Winds, unheeding, stay,
That will not bear the Sound away:
While I with solemn awful Joy,
All my attentive Faculties employ;
List'ning to every valu'd Word;
And in my Soul the secret Treasure hoard:
There like some Mystery Divine,
The wond'rous Knowledge I'll enshrine.
Love can his Joys no longer call his own,
Than the dear Secret's kept unknown.
There is nothing more true than those two last Lines: and that Love ceases to be a Pleasure, when it ceases to be a Secret, and one you ought to keep sacred: For the World, which never makes a right Judgment of things, will misinterpret Love, as they do Religion; every one judging it, according to the Notion he has of it, or the Talent of his Sense. Love (as a great Duke said) is like Apparitions; every one talks of them, but few have seen 'em: Every body thinks himself capable of understanding Love, and that he is a Master in the Art of it; when there is nothing so nice, or difficult, to be rightly comprehended; and indeed cannot be, but to a Soul very delicate. Nor will he make himself known to the Vulgar: There must be an uncommon Fineness in the Mind that contains him; the rest he only visits in as many Disguises as there are Dispositions and Natures, where he makes but a short stay, and is gone. He can fit himself to all Hearts, being the greatest Flatterer in the World: And he possesses every one with a Confidence, that they are in the number of his Elect; and they think they know him perfectly, when nothing but the Spirits refined possess him in his Excellency. From this difference of Love, in different Souls, proceed those odd fantastick Maxims, which so many hold of so different kinds: And this makes the most innocent Pleasures pass oftentimes for Crimes, with the unjudging Croud, who call themselves Lovers: And you will have your Passion censur'd by as many as you shall discover it to, and as many several ways. I advise you therefore, Damon, to make no Confidents of your Amours; and believe, that Silence has, with me, the most powerful Charm.
'Tis also in these Conversations, that those indiscreetly civil Persons often are, who think to oblige a good Man, by letting him know he is belov'd by some one or other; and making him understand how many good Qualities he is Master of, to render him agreeable to the Fair Sex, if he would but advance where Love and good Fortune call; and that a too constant Lover loses a great part of his Time, which might be manag'd to more advantage, since Youth hath so short a Race to run. This, and a thousand the like indecent Complaisances, give him a Vanity that suits not with that Discretion, which has hitherto acquir'd him so good a Reputation. I would not have you, Damon, act on these occasions, as many of the easy Sparks have done before you, who receive such Weakness and Flattery for Truth; and passing it off with a Smile, suffer 'em to advance in Folly, till they have gain'd a Credit with 'em, and they believe all they hear; telling 'em they do so, by consenting Gestures, Silence, or open Approbation. For my part, I should not condemn a Lover that should answer such a sort of civil Brokers for Love, somewhat briskly; and by giving 'em to understand they are already engag'd, or directing 'em to Fools, that will possibly hearken to 'em, and credit such Stuff, shame 'em out of a Folly so infamous and disingenuous. In such a Case only I am willing you should own your Passion; not that you need tell the Object which has charm'd you: And you may say, you are already a Lover, without saying you are belov'd. For so long as you appear to have a Heart unengag'd, you are expos'd to all the little Arts and and Addresses of this sort of obliging Procurers of Love, and give way to the hope they have of making you their Proselyte. For your own Reputation then, and my Ease and Honour, shun such Conversations; for they are neither creditable to you, nor pleasing to me: And believe me, Damon, a true Lover has no Curiosity, but what concerns his Mistress.