The Works of Aphra Behn, Volume VI

by Aphra Behn

To LOVE.

I.

Fond Love thy pretty Flatteries cease,
That feeble Hope you give;
Unless 'twould make my happiness,
In vain, dear Boy; in vain you strive,
It cannot keep my tortur'd Heart alive.

II.

Tho' thou shou'dst give me all the Joys,
Luxurious Monarch's do possess,
Without Aminta 'tis but empty noise,
Dull and insipid happiness;
And you in vain invite me to a Feast,
Where my Aminta cannot be a Guest.

III.

Ye glorious Trifles, I renounce ye all,
Since she no part of all your splendour makes;
Let the Dull unconcern'd obey your call,
Let the gay Fop, who his Pert Courtship takes;
For Love, whilst he profanes your Deity,
Be Charm'd and Pleas'd with all your necessary vanity.

IV.

But give me leave, whose Soul's inspir'd,
With sacred, but desparing Love.
To dye from all your noise retir'd,
And Buried lie within this silent Grove.
For whilst I Live, my Soul's a prey,
To insignificant desires,
Whilst thou fond God of Love and Play,
With all thy Darts, with all thy useless Fires,
With all thy wanton flatteries cannot charm,
Nor yet the frozen-hearted Virgin warm.

V.

Others by absence Cure their fire,
Me it inrages more with pain;
Each thought of my Aminta blows it higher,
And distance strengthens my desire;
I Faint with wishing, since I wish in vain;
Either be gone, fond Love, or let me dye,
Hopeless desire admits no other remedy.

Here 'twas the height of Cruelty I prov'd,
By absence from the sacred Maid I lov'd:
And here had dy'd, but that Love found a way,
Some letters from Aminta to convey,
Which all the tender marks of pity gave,
And hope enough to make me wish to Live.
From Duty, now the lovely Maid is freed,
And calls me from my lonely solitude:
Whose cruel Memory in a Moments space,
The thoughts of coming Pleasures quite deface;
With an impatent Lovers hast I flew,
To the vast Blessing Love had set in view,
But oh I found Aminta in a place,
Where never any Lover happy was!

RIVALS.

Rivals 'tis call'd, a Village where,
The Inhabitants in Fury still appear;
Malicious paleness, or a generous red,
O'r every angry face is spread,
Their Eyes are either smiling with disdain,
Or fiercely glow with raging Fire.
Gloomy and sullen with dissembl'd pain,
Love in the Heart, Revenge in the desire:
Combates, Duels, Challenges,
Is the discourse, and all the business there.
Respect of Blood, nor sacred friendship tyes;
Can reconcile the Civil War,
Rage, Horror, Death, and wild despair,
Are still Rencounter'd, and still practised there.

'Twas here the lovely cruel Maid I found,
Incompass'd with a thousand Lovers round;
At my approach I saw their Blushes rise,
And they regarded me with angry Eyes.
Aminta too, or else my Fancy 'twas,
Receiv'd me with a shy and cold Address,
—I cou'd not speak—but Sigh'd, retir'd and Bow'd; }
With pain I heard her Talk and Laugh aloud, }
And deal her Freedoms to the greedy Crowd. }
I Curst her Smiles, and envy'd every look,
And Swore it was too kind, what'ere she spoke;
Condemn'd her Air, rail'd on her soft Address, }
And vow'd her Eyes did her false Heart confess, }
And vainly wisht their Charming Beauties less. }
A Secret hatred in my Soul I bear,
Against these objects of my new despair;
I waited all the day, and all in vain;
Not one lone minute snatcht, to ease my pain;
Her Lovers went and came in such a sort, }
It rather seem'd Loves-Office than his Court, }
Made for eternal Bus'ness, not his Sport, }
Love saw my pain, and found my rage grew high,
And led me off, to lodge at Jealousie.

JEALOUSIE.

I.

A Palace that is more uneasy far,
Then those of cruelty and absence are,
There constant show'rs of Hail and Rains do flow,
Continual Murmuring Winds around do blow,
Eternal Thunder rowling in the Air,
And thick dark hanging Clouds the day obscure;
Whose sullen dawn all Objects multiplies.
And render things that are not, to the Eyes.
Fantoms appear by the dull gloomy light, }
That with such subtil Art delude the sight, }
That one can see no Object true or right. }
I here transported and impatient grow
And all things out of order do;
Hasty and peevish every thing I say, }
Suspicion and distrust's my Passions sway, }
And bend all Nature that uneasy way. }

II.

A thousand Serpents gnaw the Heart;
A thousand Visions fill the Eyes,
And Deaf to all that can relief impart,
We hate the Counsel of the Wise,
And Sense like Tales of Lunaticks despise:
Faithless, as Couzen'd Maids, by Men undone,
And obstinate as new Religion,
As full of Error, and false Notion too,
As Dangerous, and as Politick;
As Humerous as a Beauty without Wit;
As Vain and Fancyful in all we do:
—Thus Wreck the Soul, as if it did conceal,
Love Secrets which by torturing 'two'd reveal.

Restless and wild, ranging each Field and Grove;
I meet the Author of my painful Love;
But still surrounded with a numerous Train
Of Lovers, whom Love taught to Sigh and Fawn,
At my approach, my Soul all Trembling flies,
And tells its soft Resentment at my Eyes:
My Face all pale, my steps unsteady fall,
And faint Confusion spreads it self o're all.
I listen to each low breath'd Word she says,
And the returns the happy Answerer pays:
When catching half the Sense, the rest Invent,
And turn it still to what will most Torment;
If any thing by Whispers she impart,
'Tis Mortal, 'tis a Dagger at my Heart;
And every Smile, each Motion, Gesture, Sign,
In favour of some Lover I explain:
When I am absent, in some Rivals Arms,
I Fancy she distributes all her Charms,
And if alone I find her; sighing cry,
Some happier Lover she expects than I.
So that I did not only Jealous grow,
Of all I saw; but all I fancy'd too.

The COMPLAINT.

I.

Oft in my Jealous Transports I wou'd cry,
Ye happy shades, ye happy Bow'rs,
Why speaks she tenderer things to you than me?
Why does she Smile, carress and praise your Flowers?
Why Sighs she (opening Buds) her Secrets all
Into your fragrant Leaves?
Why does she to her Aid your sweetness call,
Yet take less from you than she gives?
Why on your Beds must you be happy made,
And be together with Aminta laid?
You from her Hands and Lips may KISSES take,
And never meet Reproaches from her Pride;
A thousand Ravishing stealths may make,
And even into her softer Bosome glide.
And there expire! Oh happy Rival flowers,
How vainly do I wish my Fate like that of Yours?

II.

Tell me, ye silent Groves, whose Gloom invites,
The lovely Charmer to your Solitudes?
Tell me for whom she languishes and sighs?
For whom she feels her soft Inquietudes?
Name me the Youth for whom she makes her Vows,
For she has breath'd it oft amongst your listening Boughs?
Oh happy confidents of her Amours,
How vainly do I wish my Fortune blest as Yours.

III.

Oh happy Brooks, oh happy Rivulets,
And Springs that in a thousand Windings move;
Upon your Banks how oft Aminta sits,
And prattles to you all her Tale of Love:
Whilst your smooth surface little Circles bears,
From the Impressions of her falling Tears,
And as you wantonly reflecting pass,
Glide o're the lovely Image of her Face;
And sanctifies your stream, which as you run,
You Boast in Murmurs to the Banks along.
Dear Streams! to whom she gives her softest hours,
How vainly do I wish my happiness like yours.

Sometimes I rail'd again, and wou'd upbraid,
Reproachfully, the charming fickle Maid:
Sometimes I vow'd to do't no more,
But one, vain, short-liv'd hour,
Wou'd Perjure all I'd Sworn before,
And Damn my fancy'd Pow'r.
Sometimes the sullen fit wou'd last,
A teadious live-long day:
But when the wrecking hours were past,
With what Impatience wou'd I hast,
And let her Feet weep my neglect away.
Quarrels are the Reserves Love keeps in store,
To aid his Flames and make 'em burn the more.

The PENITENT.

I.

With Rigor Arm your self, (I cry'd)
It is but just and fit;
I merit all this Treatment from your Pride,
All the reproaches of your Wit;
Put on the cruel Tyrant as you will,
But know, my tender Heart adores you still.

II.

And yet that Heart has Murmur'd too, }
And been so insolent to let you know, }
It did complain, and rave, and rail'd at you; }
Yet all the while by every God I swear,
By every pitying Pow'r the wretched hear;
By all those Charms that dis-ingage,
My Soul from the extreams of Rage;
By all the Arts you have to save and kill,
My faithful tender Heart adores you still.

III.

But oh you shou'd excuse my soft complaint,
Even my wild Ravings too prefer,
I sigh, I burn, I weep, I faint,
And vent my Passions to the Air;
Whilst all my Torment, all my Care
Serves but to make you put new Graces on,
You Laugh, and Rally my despair,
Which to my Rivals renders you more fair;
And but the more confirms my being undone:
Sport with my Pain as gayly as you will,
My fond, my tender Heart adores you still.

My differing Passions thus, did never cease,
Till they had touch'd her Soul with tenderness;
My Rivals now are banish'd by degrees, }
And with 'em all my Fears and Jealousies; }
And all advanc'd, as if design'd to please. }

The City of LOVE.

In this vast Isle a famous City stands,
Who for its Beauty all the rest Commands,
Built to delight the wondering Gazers Eyes,
Of all the World the great Metropolis.
Call'd by LOVE's name: and here the Charming God,
When he retires to Pleasure, makes abode;
'Tis here both Art and Nature strive to show, }
What Pride, Expence, and Luxury, can do, }
To make it Ravishing and Awful too: }
All Nations hourly thither do resort,
To add a splendour to this glorious Court;
The Young, the Old, the Witty, and the Wise,
The Fair, the Ugly, Lavish, and Precise;
Cowards and Braves, the Modest, and the Lowd,
Promiscuously are blended in the Crowd.
From distant Shoars young Kings their Courts remove,
To pay their Homage to the God of Love.
Where all their sacred awful Majesty,
Their boasted and their fond Divinity;
Loose their vast force; as lesser Lights are hid,
When the fierce God of Day his Beauties spread.
The wondering World for Gods did Kings adore,
Till LOVE confirm'd 'em Mortal by his Pow'r;
And in Loves Court, do with their Vassals live,
Without or Homage, or Prerogative:
Which the young God, not only Blind must show,
But as Defective in his Judgment too.

LOVE's Temple.

Midst this Gay Court a famous Temple stands,
Old as the Universe which it commands;
For mighty Love a sacred being had, }
Whilst yet 'twas Chaos, e're the World was made, }
And nothing was compos'd without his Aid. }
Agreeing Attoms by his pow'r were hurl'd,
And Love and Harmony compos'd the World.
'Tis rich, 'tis solemn all! Divine yet Gay! }
From the Jemm'd Roof the dazling Lights display, }
And all below inform without the Aids of day. }
All Nations hither bring rich offerings,
And 'tis endow'd with Gifts of Love-sick Kings.
Upon an Altar (whose unbounded store
Has made the Rifled Universe so poor,
Adorn'd with all the Treasure of the Seas,
More than the Sun in his vast course surveys)
Was plac'd the God! with every Beauty form'd,
Of Smiling Youth, but Naked, unadorn'd.
His painted Wings displaid: His Bow laid by,
(For here Love needs not his Artillery)
One of his little Hands aloft he bore,
And grasp'd a wounded Heart that burnt all o're,
Towards which he lookt with lovely Laughing Eyes:
As pleas'd and vain, with the fond Sacrifice,
The other pointing downward seem'd to say,
Here at my Feet your grateful Victims lay,
Whilst in a Golden Tablet o're his Head, }
In Diamond Characters this Motto stood, }
Behold the Pow'r that Conquers every GOD. }
The Temple Gates are open Night and Day,
Love's Votaries at all hours Devotions pay,
A Priest of Hymen gives attendance near,
But very rarely shows his Function here,
For Priest cou'd ne'r the Marriage-cheat improve,
Were there no other Laws, but those of Love!
A Slavery generous Heav'n did ne'r design,
Nor did its first lov'd Race of men confine;
A Trick, that Priest, whom Avarice cunning made,
Did first contrive, then sacred did perswade,
That on their numerous and unlucky Race,
They might their base got Wealth securely place.
Curse—cou'd they not their own loose Race inthral,
But they must spread the infection over all!
That Race, whose Brutal heat was grown so wild,
That even the Sacred Porches they defil'd;
And Ravisht all that for Devotion came,
Their Function, nor the Place restrains their flame.
But Love's soft Votaries no such injuries fear,
No pamper'd Levits are in Pension here;
Here are no fatted Lambs to Sacrifice, }
No Oyl, fine Flower, or Wines of mighty price, }
The subtil Holy Cheats to Gormandize. }
Love's soft Religion knows no Tricks nor Arts,
All the Attoning Offerings here are Hearts.
The Mystery's silent, without noyse or show, }
In which the Holy Man has nought to do, }
The Lover is both Priest and Victim too. }
Hither with little force I did perswade,
My lovely timorously yielding Maid,
Implor'd we might together Sacrifice,
And she agrees with Blushing down-cast Eyes;
'Twas then we both our Hearts an Offering made,
Which at the Feet of the young God we laid,
With equal Flames they Burnt; with equal Joy,
But with a Fire that neither did destroy;
Soft was its Force and Sympathy with them,
Dispers'd it self through every trembling Limb;
We cou'd not hide our tender new surprize,
We languisht and confest it with our Eyes;
Thus gaz'd we—when the Sacrifice perform'd,
We found our Hearts entire—but still they burn,
But by a Blessed change in taking back,
The lovely Virgin did her Heart mistake:
Her Bashful Eyes favour'd Love's great design,
I took her Burning Victim: and she mine.
Thus, Lysidas, without constraint or Art,
I reign'd the Monarch of Aminta's Heart;
My great, my happy Title she allows,
And makes me Lord of all her tender Vows,
All my past Griefs in coming Joys were drown'd,
And with eternal Pleasure I was Crown'd;
My Blessed hours in the extream of Joy,
With my soft Languisher I still imploy;
When I am Gay, Love Revels in her Eyes,
When sad—there the young God all panting lies.
A thousand freedoms now she does impart, }
Shows all her tenderness dis-rob'd of Art, }
But oh this cou'd not satisfy my Heart. }
A thousand Anguishes that still contains,
It sighs, and heaves, and pants with pleasing pains.
We look, and Kiss, and Press with new desire,
Whilst every touch Blows the unusual Fire.
For Love's last Mystery was yet conceal'd,
Which both still languisht for, both wisht reveal'd:
Which I prest on—and faintly she deny'd,
With all the weak efforts of dying Pride,
Which struggled long for Empire in her Soul,
Where it was wont to rule without controul.
But Conquering Love had got possession now,
And open'd every Sally to the Foe:
And to secure my doubting happiness,
Permits me to conduct her to the Bow'r of Bliss.
That Bow'r that does eternal Pleasures yield,
Where Psyche first the God of Love beheld:
But oh, in entering this so blest abode,
All Gay and Pleas'd as a Triumphing God,
I new unlook'd for difficulties meet,
Encount'ring Honour at the sacred Gate.