Safe be our fleets, and be our Scotchmen tame. Avert kind fate ! whatere th' event may prove, For here's a prodigy, a man in love. Wasted and pale he languishes in sight, And spends in am'rous verse the sleepless night. Whilst happier youths to careless spirits born, View the distress with pity or with scorn; And maids so long unus'd to be ador'd Think it portends the pestilence or sword.
How chang'd is Britain to the blooming fair!
Whom now the men no longer make their care,
But of indifference arrogantly boast,
And scarce the wine gets down a Buckworth for a toast.
Not so (as still their works declare) it proved
When Spencer, Sydney, and when Waller lov'd,
And with soft numbers wing'd resistless darts,
Nor thought their passion less'ning to their parts.
Then let such patterns countenance his fire, Whom love and verse do now afresh inspire 'Gainst all who blame, or at his state admire.
And learn ye nymphs how to regain your sway; And make this stubborn sex once more obey. Call back the fugitive by modest pride, And let them dye with fear to be deny'd. Stay till their courtship may deserve the name, And take not every look for love and flame. To mercenary ends no charms imploy, Nor stake your smiles against some raffled toy.
For every fop lay not th' insnaring train, Nor lose the worthy to allure the vain. Keep at due distance all attempts of bliss, Nor let a whisper seem to steal a kiss.