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 e're withstand
The swift-wing'd shofts 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 lap'd,
The youth pleaded strongly for the fruits of his Love
But Honour had won her his flames to reprove:
She cry'd where's 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 reply'd,
If e're thou wouldst argue, begin on Loves-side:
In matters of State, let all reason be shown.
But Love is a power will be rul'd by his own:
Nor need the coy Lasses be counted so rare,
For scandal can't 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 cry'd the Nymph, when my Beauty is gone,
Love will take wing and will leave us to moan;
But Honour's 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 chaft Queen,
How she for her vertue renowned hath been,
Strephon.
No more of these fancies then Strephon reply'd,
But let this coole shade your coy blushes now hide,
For what were such creatures by Heaven fir
[...] made,
Or why was Love sent this great world to invade;
It's 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,
Let's riot in pleasures and never give o're.
Celia.
The Nymph with such blushes that ushers the morn,
Turn'd 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 there's nought can repair,
And she that doth loose it no longer is Fair.
Strephon.
Yet sighing, the Shepherd Suit did renew,
And implor'd that since she her kind heart did subdue
She'd own the poor victim her eyes did obtain,
And no longer require his kind love with disdain:
But whilst the young Kids & the lams they did play
And the bleating flocks o're the plains they did stray:
Vpon 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 difyis's
And still smil'd at those o're whom love tyranniz'd
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 espyes
A yielding to love in bright Celias bright eyes,
And though coyly she seemes his suit togain-say,
Yet he found by her glances she soon would obey;
When he in his arms the fair nymph did embrace,
And cry'd 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 against love to dispute:
O honour she cry'd must I bid thee adieu;
and what I have bread 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 embrac'd with a kiss
And after some strugling she yielded to bliss.
And under the Shade by a murmering Spring,
Loves sweets they enjoy'd, whilst birds they do Sing
And warble their Ditties the Lovers to chear,
Who offer'd 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.