Why shou'd that faithless wanton give
Thy Heart so mortal pain,
Whose Sighs were only to deceive,
Her Oaths all false and vain?
Despise those Tears thou shedd'st for her,
Disdain to sigh her Name.
To Love, thy Liberty prefer;
To faithless Silvia, Fame.
I knew by his words he was Pride, or Disdain, and would have embraced him; but he put me off, seeing Love still by me, who had not yet abandoned me, and turned himself from me with a regardless scorn, but I, who was resolved not to forsake so discreet a Counsellor, rather chose to take my leave of little Love; who had ever accompanyed me in this Voyage. But oh! this adieu was not taken so easily and soon as I imagined. Love was not to be quitted without abundance of Sighs and Tears at parting, he had been a Witness to all my Adventures, my Confident in this Amour, and not to be deserted without a great deal of pain; I stayed so long in bidding the dear Boy adieu, that I had almost forgot Disdain; at last, though my Heart were breaking to part with the dear fondling, I was resolved and said;
Farewel, my little charming Boy!
Farewel, my fond delight,
My dear Instructor all the day,
My soft repose at night.
Thou, whom my Soul has so carest,
And my poor Heart has held so fast,
Thou never left me in my pain,
Nor in my happier hours;
Thou eas'd me when I did complain,
And dry'd my falling showrs.
When Silvia frown'd still thou woud'st smile,
And all my Cares and Griefs beguile.
But Silvia's gone, and I have torn
Her Witchcrafts from my Heart;
And nobly fortify'd by scorn
Her Empire will subvert;
The Laws establish'd there destroy,
And bid adieu to the dear charming Boy.
In quitting Love I was a great while before I could find Disdain, but I, at last, overtook him: He accompanyed me to a Village, where I received a Joy I had not known since my Arrival to the Isle of Love, and which Repose seemed the sweeter because it was new. When I came to this place, I saw all the World Easie, Idle, and at Liberty: This Village is like a Desart, and all the Inhabitants live within themselves, there is only one Gate, by which we enter into it from the Isle of Love.
This place is called Indifference, and takes its Name from a Princess inhabiting there, a Person very fair and well made; but has a Grace and Meen of so little Wit, and seems so inutile and so silly, that it renders her even ridiculous. As soon as I arrived there, I called to my remembrance all those affronts and cheats of Love, that Silvia had put upon me, and which now served for my diversion, and were agreeable thoughts to me; so that I called myself Ten thousand Sots and Fools for resenting 'em; and that I did not heartily despise 'em, laugh at 'em, and make my Pleasure with the false One as well as the rest; for she dissembled well, and for ought I knew, 'twas but dissembled Love she paid my Rivals. But I, forsooth, was too nice a Coxcomb, I cou'd not feed as others did, and be contented with such Pleasures as she cou'd afford, but I must ingross all, and unreasonably believe a Woman of Youth and Wit had not a longer Race of Love to run than to my Arms alone. Well, 'tis now confest I was a Fool, nor could I hinder myself from saying a thousand times a day;
That Coxcomb can ne're be at ease,
While Beauty inslaves his Soul.
'Tis Liberty only can please,
And he that's Fetter'd is an Owl.
I found it very convenient and happy to dis-ingage from Love, and I have wond'red a thousand times at the Follies that God has made me commit: And though I som'times thought on Silvia, I thought her less charming and fair than she was before her fall; and the Humour I now was in represented her no more meriting that Passion I once had for her, and I fancied she had lost all those Graces for which once I lov'd her: In fine, I was so wholly recovered of my disease of Love for Silvia, that I began to be uneasie for want of employing my Addresses; and a change from so violent a Passion to such a degree of coldness, became insupportable to one of my Youth and I natural Gayety; insomuch, that I was seized with a Dulness, or Languishment, and so great a fit of Melancholy, as I had never felt the like; and my Heart, that was so accustomed to Love, was so out of Humour, that it had no Object or Business for thought, that it lost all its Harmony and Wit; it having nothing to excite it to Life and Motion, passing from so vast a degree of tenderness to an unconcern equally extream. I thought it rude, ill-bred, and idle, to live so indifferent and insignificant a Life. And walking perpetually by myself, (or with those of my own Sex, that could not make my diversion,) I sung all day this following Song to a Hum-drum Tune, to myself;
Not to sigh and to be tender,
Not to talk and prattle Love,
Is a Life no good can render,
And insipidly does move:
Unconcern do's Life destroy,
Which, without Love, can know no Joy.