Loves Triumph over Bashfulness:
OR, The Pleas of HONOUR and CHASTITY over-ruled.
Being a pleasant New Play-Song by way of Dialogue between Celia and Strephon.
When Love takes up his Arms, all force must yield,
He will be Victor, his must be the Field:
Vain is Resistance no force could ere withstand
The swift-wingd shafts sent by his nimble hand:
Celia brings Honour, Chastity, and fame,
Not dreaming but they can resist the same;
But that they were not proof the Nymph soon found,
For through them all, Love did her bosome wound.
To a Pleasant new Play-House Tune.
|
ON the Banks of a River, close under a shade,
|
Young Celia and Strephon one evening were layd;
|
The youth pleaded strongly for the fruits of his Love
|
But Honour had won her his flames to reprove:
|
She cryd wheres the lusture when clouds shade the Sun
|
Or what is Rich Nectar, the taste being gone,
|
Amongst flowers on the stalk, sweetest odours do dwell,
|
The Rose being gathered, it looseth its smell.
|
Strephon.
|
My dearest of Nymphs the brisk Shepherd replyd,
|
If ere thou wouldst argue, begin on Loves side:
|
In matters of State, let all reason be shown.
|
But Love is a power will be ruld by his own:
|
Nor need the coy Lasses be counted so rare,
|
For scandal cant touch the chast and the Fair:
|
Most scarce are the joys Loves Alimbeck does fill,
|
And Roses are sweetest when brought to the Still.
|
Celia.
|
But alas cryd the Nymph, when my Beauty is gone,
|
Love will take wing and wiil leave us to moan;
|
But Honours more lasting where vertue does reign,
|
It finds no decay, but for aye will remain:
|
And freshly will blossom, although in the Grave,
|
When Love is forgotten it trophies will have,
|
O think of Diana the Hunters chast Queen,
|
How she for her vertue renowned hath been,
|
Strephon.
|
No more of these fancies then Strephon replyd,
|
But let this coole shade your coy blushes now hide,
|
For what were such creatures by Heaven first made,
|
Or why was Love sent this great world to invade;
|
Ifs power be so weak to fond Vertue to yield,
|
And such a bright beauty could chase him the Field:
|
No more of this coyness, my Celia no more,
|
Lets riot in pleasures and never give ore.
|
Celia.
|
The Nymph with such blushes that ushers the morn,
|
Turnd from him her face, whilst fair tresses adorn
|
Her Ivory white shoulders, and faintly thus said
|
Forbear now to tempt thus a harmless young Maid:
|
To such fond enjoyments as vertue will maim
|
Tis pleasures more lasting sweet Strephon I aim,
|
For lost Virgin-honour theres nought can repair,
|
And she that doth loose it no longer is fair.
|
Strephon.
|
Yet sighing, the Shepherd his Suit did renew,
|
And implord that since she her kind heart did subdue
|
Shed own the poor victim her eyes did obtain,
|
And no longer requite his kind love with disdain:
|
But whilst the young Kids & the lams they did play
|
And the bleating flocks ore the plains they did stray:
|
Upon the blew bed of sweet Violets that she,
|
Would yield, yield him her, and for ever be free.
|
Celia.
|
Must I break all my vows, the fair nymph did return,
|
With eyes that like Phebus at noon-day did burn,
|
Oh what will the World of poor Celia then say,
|
If she should the laws of Loves Archer obey:
|
Who his Bow and his Shafts so oft have dispisd,
|
And still smild at those ore whom love tyrannizd:
|
But why should I name it, I may do so still,
|
With that a soft sigh her fair bosome did fill.
|
Strephon.
|
Which Strephon well noting full soon he espyes,
|
A yielding to love in bright Celias bright eyes,
|
And though coyly she seemes his suit to gain-say,
|
Yet he found by her glances she soon would obey;
|
When he in his arms the fair nymph did embrace,
|
And cryd my sweet Celia, O turn not thy face:
|
For the world is benighted, the Sun once away,
|
And your eyes turned from me no longer tis day.
|
Celia.
|
Then sighing and blushing they long time sat mute,
|
No longer being able gainst love to dispute:
|
O honour she cryd must I bid thee adieu?
|
And what I have heard of love must I prove true?
|
But alas should I yield now dear Strephon, and there
|
Her sighs and her blushes the rest did declare,
|
Which the Shepherd to smother embracd with a kiss
|
And after some strugling she yielded to bliss.
|
And under the Shade by a murmering Spring,
|
Loves sweets they enjoyd, whilst birds they do Sing
|
And warble their Ditties the Lovers to chear,
|
Who offerd to Venus without any fear:
|
No more she her honour opposes to love,
|
But under each Shade does the pleasure approve,
|
Though blushing seems coy, yet she burns with desire
|
And in her soft breast she does cherish Loves Fire.
|
|
|
|
|
|