Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/105

 When Ladies listen not to loose Desire, You stile our Modesty, our want of Fire. Smile or Forbid, Encourage or Reprove, You still find Reasons to believe we love: Vainly you think a Liking we betray, And never mean the peevish Things we say. Few are the Fair Ones of Rufilla's make, Unask'd she grants, uninjur'd she'll forsake: But sev'ral Cælias, sev'ral Ages boast, That like, where Reason recommends the most. Where heav'nly Truth and Tenderness conspire, Chast Passion may perswade us to desire.

Your Sex, he cry'd, as Custom bids, behaves; In Forms the Tyrant tyes such haughty Slaves. To do nice Conduct Right, you Nature wrong; Impulses are but weak, where Reason's strong. Some want the Courage, but how Few the Flame! They like the Thing, that startle at the Name. The lonely Phœnix, tho' profess'd a Nun, Warms into Love, and kindles at the Sun. Thole Tales of spicy Urns and fragrant Fires, Are but the Emblems of her scorch'd Desires.

Then as he drove to clasp the fleeting Fair, His empty Arms confess'd th'impassive Air. From his Embrace th'unbody'd Spectre flies, And as she mov'd, she chid him with her Eyes.

They hasten now to that delightful Plain, Where the glad Manes of the Bless'd remain: Where Harvy gathers Simples to bestow Immortal Youth on Heroe's Shades below.