You have been up long enough; and Cupid, who takes care of your Health, tells you, 'tis time for you to go to bed. Perhaps you may not sleep as soon as you are laid, and possibly you may pass an Hour in Bed, before you shut your Eyes. In this impossibility of sleeping, I think it very proper for you to imagine what I am doing where I am. Let your Fancy take a little Journey then, invisible, to observe my Actions and my Conduct. You will find me sitting alone in my Cabinet (for I am one that do not love to go to bed early) and will find me very uneasy and pensive, pleas'd with none of those things that so well entertain others. I shun all Conversation, as far as Civility will allow, and find no Satisfaction like being alone, where my Soul may, without interruption, converse with Damon. I sigh, and sometimes you will see my Cheeks wet with Tears, that insensibly glide down at a thousand Thoughts that present themselves soft and afflicting. I partake of all your Inquietude. On other things I think with indifference, if ever my Thoughts do stray from the more agreeable Object. I find, however, a little Sweetness in this Thought, that, during my Absence, your Heart thinks of me, when mine sighs for you. Perhaps I am mistaken, and that at the same time that you are the Entertainment of all my Thoughts, I am no more in yours; and perhaps you are thinking of those things that immortalize the Young and Brave, either by those Glories the Muses flatter you with, or that of Bellona, and the God of War; and serving now a Monarch, whose glorious Acts in Arms has out-gone all the feign'd and real Heroes of any Age, who has, himself, out-done whatever History can produce of great and brave, and set so illustrious an Example to the Under-World, that it is not impossible, as much a Lover as you are, but you are thinking now how to render your self worthy the Glory of such a God-like Master, by projecting a thousand things of Gallantry and Danger. And tho', I confess, such Thoughts are proper for your Youth, your Quality, and the Place you have the honour to hold under our Sovereign, yet let me tell you, Damon, you will not be without Inquietude, if you think of either being a delicate Poet, or a brave Warrior; for Love will still interrupt your Glory, however you may think to divert him either by writing or fighting. And you ought to remember these Verses:
Love and Glory.
Beneath the kind protecting Laurel's shade,
For sighing Lovers, and for Warriors made,
The soft Adonis, and rough Mars were laid.
Both were design'd to take their Rest;
But Love the gentle Boy opprest,
And false Alarms shook the stern Heroe's Breast.
This thinks to soften all his Toils of War,
In the dear Arms of the obliging Fair;
And that, by Hunting, to divert his Care.
All Day, o'er Hills and Plains, wild Beasts he chas'd,
Swift as the flying Winds, his eager haste;
In vain, the God of Love pursues as fast.
But oh! no Sports, no Toils, divertive prove,
The Evening still returns him to the Grove,
To sigh and languish for the Queen of Love:
Where Elegies and Sonnets he does frame,
And to the list'ning Echoes sighs her Name,
And on the Trees carves Records of his Flame.
The Warrior in the dusty Camp all day
With rattling Drums and Trumpets, does essay
To fright the tender flatt'ring God away.