NINE o'CLOCK.
Melancholy Reflections.
You will not have much trouble to explain what my Watch designs here. There can be no Thought more afflicting, than that of the Absence of a Mistress; and which the Sighings of the Heart will soon make you find. Ten thousand Fears oppress him; he is jealous of every body, and envies those Eyes and Ears that are charmed by being near the Object ador'd. He grows impatient, and makes a thousand Resolutions, and as soon abandons them all. He gives himself wholly up to the Torment of Incertainty; and by degrees, from one cruel Thought to another, winds himself up to insupportable Chagrin. Take this Hour then, to think on your Misfortunes, which cannot be small to a Soul that is wholly sensible of Love. And every one knows, that a Lover, deprived of the Object of his Heart, is deprived of all the World, and inconsolable: For tho' one wishes without ceasing for the dear Charmer one loves, and tho' you speak of her every minute; and tho' you are writing to her every day, and tho' you are infinitely pleas'd with the dear and tender Answers; yet, to speak sincerely, it must be confessed, that the Felicity of a true Lover is to be always near his Mistress. And you may tell me, O Damon! what you please; and say that Absence inspires the Flame, which perpetual Presence would satiate: I love too well to be of that mind, and when I am, I shall believe my Passion is declining. I know not whether it advances your Love; but surely it must ruin your Repose: And it is impossible to be, at once, an absent Lover, and happy too. For my part, I can meet with nothing that can please in the absence of Damon; but on the contrary I see all things with disgust. I will flatter my self, that 'tis so with you; and that the least Evils appear great Misfortunes; and that all those who speak to you of any thing but of what you love, increase your Pain, by a new remembrance of her Absence. I will believe that these are your Sentiments, when you are assur'd not to see me in some weeks; and if your Heart do not betray your Words, all those days will be tedious to you. I would not, however, have your Melancholy too extreme; and to lessen it, you may persuade your self, that I partake it with you: for, I remember, in your last you told me, you would wish we should be both griev'd at the same time, and both at the same time pleas'd; and I believe I love too well not to obey you.
Love secur'd.
Love, of all Joys, the sweetest is,
The most substantial Happiness;
The softest Blessing Life can crave,
The noblest Passion Souls can have.
Yet, if no Interruption were,
No Difficulties came between,
'Twou'd not be render'd half so dear:
The Sky is gayest when small Clouds are seen.
The sweetest Flower, the blushing Rose,
Amidst the Thorns securest grows.
If Love were one continu'd Joy,
How soon the Happiness would cloy!
The wiser God did this foresee;
And to preserve the Bliss entire,
Mix'd it with Doubt and Jealousy,
Those necessary Fuels to the Fire;
Sustain'd the fleeting Pleasures with new Fears;
With little Quarrels, Sighs and Tears;
With Absence, that tormenting Smart,
That makes a Minute seem a Day,
A Day a Year to the impatient Heart,
That languishes in the Delay,
But cannot sigh the tender Pain away;
That still returns, and with a greater Force,
Thro' ev'ry Vein it takes its grateful Course.
But whatsoe'er the Lover does sustain,
Tho' he still sigh, complain, and fear;
It cannot be a mortal Pain,
When Two do the Affliction bear.