The Fourth CYPHER.
Perhaps, my lovely Maid, you will not find out what I mean by the S and the L, in this last Cypher, that is crown'd with Roses. I will therefore tell you, I mean Secret Love. There are very few People who know the Nature of that Pleasure, which so divine a Love creates: And let me say what I will of it, they must feel it themselves, who would rightly understand it, and all its ravishing Sweets. But this there is a great deal of Reason to believe, that the Secrecy in Love doubles the Pleasures of it. And I am so absolutely persuaded of this, that I believe all those Favours that are not kept secret, are dull and pall'd, very insipid and tasteless Pleasures: And let the Favours be never so innocent that a Lover receives from a Mistress, she ought to value 'em, set a price upon 'em, and make the Lover pay dear; while he receives 'em with Difficulty, and sometimes with Hazard. A Lover that is not secret, but suffers every one to count his Sighs, has at most but a feeble Passion, such as produces sudden and transitory Desires, which die as soon as born: A true Love has not this Character; for whensoever 'tis made publick, it ceases to be a Pleasure, and is only the Result of Vanity. Not that I expect our Loves should always remain a Secret: No, I should never, at that rate, arrive to a Blessing, which, above all the Glories of the Earth, I aspire to; but even then there are a thousand Joys, a thousand Pleasures that I shall be as careful to conceal from the foolish World, as if the whole Preservation of that Pleasure depended on my Silence; as indeed it does in a great measure.
To this Cypher I put a Crown of Roses, which are not Flowers of a very lasting Date. And 'tis to let you see, that 'tis impossible Love can be long hid. We see every Day, with what fine Dissimulation and Pains, People conceal a thousand Hates and Malices, Disgusts, Disobligations, and Resentments, without being able to conceal the least part of their Love: but Reputation has an Odour as well as Roses; and a Lover ought to esteem that as the dearest and tenderest thing: not only that of his own, which is, indeed, the least part; but that of his Mistress, more valuable to him than Life. He ought to endeavour to give People no occasion to make false Judgments of his Actions, or to give their Censures; which most certainly are never in the Favour of the Fair Person: for likely, those false Censurers are of the busy Female Sex, the Coquets of that number; whose little Spites and Railleries, join'd to that fancy'd Wit they boast of, sets 'em at odds with all the Beautiful and Innocent. And how very little of that kind serves to give the World a Faith, when a thousand Virtues, told of the same Persons, by more credible Witnesses and Judges, shall pass unregarded! so willing and inclin'd is all the World to credit the Ill, and condemn the Good! And yet, Oh! what pity 'tis we are compell'd to live in Pain, to oblige this foolish scandalous World! And tho' we know each other's Virtue and Honour, we are oblig'd to observe that Caution (to humour the talking Town) which takes away so great a part of the Pleasure of Life! 'Tis therefore that among those Roses, you will find some Thorns; by which you may imagine, that in Love, Precaution is necessary to its Secrecy: And we must restrain our selves, upon a thousand occasions, with so much Care, that, Oh Iris! 'tis impossible to be discreet, without Pain; but 'tis a Pain that creates a thousand Pleasures.
Where should a Lover hide his Joys,
Free from Malice, free from Noise;
Where no Envy can intrude;
Where no busy Rival's Spy,
Made, by Disappointment, rude,
May inform his Jealousy?
The Heart will the best Refuge prove;
Which Nature meant the Cabinet of Love.
What would a Lover not endure,
His Mistress' Fame and Honour to secure?
Iris, the Care we take to be discreet,
Is the dear Toil that makes the Pleasure sweet:
The Thorn that does the Wealth inclose,
That with less saucy Freedom we may touch the Rose.
The CLASP of the WATCH.
Ah, charming Iris! Ah, my lovely Maid! 'tis now, in a more peculiar manner, that I require your Aid in the finishing of my Design, and compleating the whole Piece to the utmost Perfection; and without your Aid it cannot be perform'd. It is about the Clasp of the Watch; a Material, in all appearance, the most trivial of any part of it. But that it may be safe for ever, I design it the Image, or Figure of two Hands; that fair one of the adorable Iris, join'd to mine; with this Motto, Inviolable Faith: For in this Case, this Heart ought to be shut up by this eternal Clasp. Oh! there is nothing so necessary as this! Nothing can secure Love, but Faith.
That Virtue ought to be a Guard to all the Heart thinks, and all the Mouth utters: Nor can Love say he triumphs without it. And when that remains not in the Heart, all the rest deserves no Regard. Oh! I have not lov'd so ill to leave one Doubt upon your Soul. Why then, will you want that Faith, Oh unkind Charmer, that my Passion and my Services so justly merit?
When two Hearts entirely love,
And in one Sphere of Honour move,
Each maintains the other's Fire,
With a Faith that is entire.
For, what heedless Youth bestows,
On a faithless Maid, his Vows?
Faith without Love, bears Virtue's Price;
But Love without her Mixture, is a Vice.
Love, like Religion, still should be,
In the Foundation, firm and true;
In Points of Faith should still agree,
Tho' Innovations vain and new,
Love's little Quarrels, may arise;
In Fundamentals still they're just and wise.
Then, charming Maid, be sure of this;
Allow me Faith, as well as Love:
Since that alone affords no Bliss,
Unless your Faith your Love improve.
Either resolve to let me die
By fairer Play, your Cruelty;
Than not your Love with Faith impart,
And with your Vows to give your Heart.
In mad Despair I'd rather fall,
Than lose my glorious Hopes of conquering all.