I feigned nevertheless abundance of Grief to find her still persist in her rigorous Cruelty; and I made her believe that all my absent hours I abandoned myself to sorrows and despairs; though Love knows I parted with all those things in Silvia's Arms. But whatever I pretended, to appear at Cruelty and before Bellimante; at Intelligence I was all Galliard and never in better Humour in my Life than when I went to visit Bellinda: I put on the Gravity of a Lover, and beheld her with a Solemn Languishing Look: In fine, I accustomed myself to counterfeit my Humour, whenever I found it convenient for my Advantage: Tears, Vows, and Sighs cost me nothing, and I knew all the Arts to jilt for Love, and could act the dying Lover, whenever it made for my Satisfaction.
He that wou'd precious time improve.
And husband well his hours,
Let him complain and dye for Love,
And spare no Sighs or Showers.
To second which, let Vows and Oaths
Be ready at your will,
And fittest times and seasons chuse,
To shew your cozening skill.
In fine, after I had sufficiently acted the Languishing Lover, for the accomplishment of all my Wishes, I thought it time to change the Scene, and without having recourse to Pity, I followed all the Counsels of my Cupid; who told me, that in stead of dying and whining at her Feet, and damning myself to obtain her Grace, I should affect a Coldness, and an Unconcern; for, Lycidus, assure yourself, said he, there is nothing a Woman will not do, rather than lose her Lover either from Vanity or Inclination. I thanked Love for his kind Advice; and to persue it, the next day I drest myself in all the Gayety imaginable: My Eyes, my Air, my Language, were all changed; and thus fortified with all the put-on indifference in the World, I made Bellimante a Visit; and after a thousand things all cold and unconcerned, far from Love or my former Softness, I cried laughing to her;
Cease, cease, that vain and useless scorn,
Or save it for the Slaves that dye;
I in your Flames no longer burn,
No more the whining Fool you fly;
But all your Cruelty defie.
My Heart your Empire now disdains,
And Frown, or Smile, all's one to me:
The Slave has broke his Servial Chains,
And spight of all your Pride is free
From the Tyrannick Slavery.
Be kind or cruel every day,
Your Eyes may wear what dress they please,
'Twill not affect me either way,
Now my fond Heart has found its Peace,
And all my Tears and Sighings cease.
I must confess you're wondrous fair,
And know, to conquer such a Heart;
Is worth an Age of sad despair,
If Lovers Merits were Desert;
But you're unjust as well as fair,
And Love subsists not with despair,
No more than Lovers by the Air.
I've spar'd no Sighs nor Floods of Tears,
Nor any thing to move your Mind,
With sacred Vows I fed your Cares;
But found your rebel Heart unkind,
And Vanity had made you blind.
No more my Knees shall bow before
Those unconcern'd and haughty Eyes,
Nor be so senseless to adore
That Saint, that all my Prayers despise:
No, I contemn your Cruelty
Since in a Humor not do dye.