The Discovery. WHen first Love's Vot'rie I became, (Charm'd with the Lustre of his Flame) My Youth his God-like form admir'd, And fondly thought his Priests inspir'd. Mongst Them I proudly sought a Place, And was by Chance allow'd the Grace; But once admitted to his Shrine, That Love whom I esteem'd Divine, More terrible than Moloch stood, His Altars stain'd with Humane Blood. Of all Infernal Tyrant Pow'rs, None like this Daemon of Amours. None so severely Exercise Their Rage on their poor Votaries! The Wounded Lover lives in pain, Lies neither Curable nor Slain Till his keen Sword sheath'd in his Heart, Compleat the Slaughter of the Dart. Others to Quench this Calenture Have tane a speedy Course and sure, Whilst from some Praecipice's Brow, They plung'd into the Floods below. To Deserts Others have Retir'd, And pensive there in Caves expir'd, What Place or Age or Sex is free From this Usurper's Tyranny? The populous City he frequents, And pitches in the Camp his Tents. In Courts and Palaces He Reigns, And proudest Monarchs wear his Chains. Yet He that thus the Scepter awes, Disdains not to impose his Laws On Cottages, and there destroys The Nymphs and Shepheards native Joys. Their purer Air me-thinks shou'd be From Love's severe Contagion free, But all their Meads and Gardens bear No Herb t'asswage this Feavour There! Far from his Flock Alexis weeps, Neglects to Feed, and rarely Sleeps; His once sure Charm for ev'ry Grief, The Pipe affords him no Relief; Gasping at Sylvia's Feet he lies, Whilst She for Scornful Strephon dies. How wretched is the Lover's State, Prest on all sides with some hard Fate? His Hopes alike it will destroy, Not to Succeed or to Enjoy. For if he Lawlesly Embrace, He's then Unhappy 'cause He's Base; And He that Honorably Love's Less Wretched, but not Happy proves! To him that waits his Nuptial Day, The Hours pass Lazily away; False Dreams of Bliss his Thoughts Employ, Impatient therefore to Enjoy, Rashly he bargains for a Wife, And with her Weds the Cares of Life; But wrought to Expectation's Height His fancy'd Blisses Vanish strait, For Leapt into the Marriage Bed, Whith Briars and Thorns He finds it spread, Repents too Late and Envyes the Unwed.