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CAMILLUS stretched his legs, and on her breast
Familiarly allowed his feet to rest;
A cushion made of what so fair appeared,
That envy might from ivory be feared;
Then seemed as if to Morpheus he inclined,
And on the pillow sullenly resigned.
At last the sighs with which her bosom heaved,
Gave vent to floods of tears that much relieved;
This was the end:–Camillus silence broke,
And to tell the belle with pleasing accents spoke
I’m satisfied, said he, your love is pure;
Come hither charming girl and be secure.
She t’wards him moved; Camillus near her slid;
Could you, cried he, believe that what I did,
Was seriously the dictates of my soul,
To act the brute and ev’ry way control?
No, no, sweet fair, you know me not ’tis plain:
I truly wish your fondest love to gain;
Your heart I’ve probed, ’tis all that I desire;
Mid joys I swim; my bosom feels the fire.
Your rigour now in turn you may display;
It is but fair: be bountiful I pray;
Myself from hence your lover I declare;
No woman merits more my bed to share,
Whatever rank, or beauty, sense or life,
You equally deserve to be my wife;
Your husband I’ll become; forget the past;
Unpleasant recollections should not last.
Yet there’s one thing which much I wish to speak
The marriage must be secret that we seek;
There’s no occasion reasons to disclose;
What I have said I trust will you dispose,
To act as I desire: you’ll find it best:–
A wedding ‘s like amours while unconfessed;
One THEN both husband and gallant appears,
And ev’ry wily act the bosom cheers.
Till we, continued he, a priest can find,
Are you, to trust my promises inclined?
You safely may; he’ll to his word adhere:
His heart is honest, and his tongue sincere.

TO this fair Constance answered not a word,
Which showed, with him, her sentiments concurred.
The spark, no novice in the dumb assent,
Received her silence fully as ’twas meant;
The rest involved in myst’ry deep remains;
Thus Constance was requitted for her pains.

YE Cyprian nymphs to profit turn my tale;
The god of LOVE, within his vot’ries pale,
Has many, if their sentiments were known,
That I’d prefer for Hymen’s joys alone.
My wife, not always to the spindle true,
Will many things in life, not seem to view;
By Constance and her conduct you may see
How, with this theory, her acts agree;
She proved the truth of what I here advance,
And reaped the fruits produced by complaisance,
A horde of nuns I know who, ev’ry night,
Would such adventures wage with fond delight.

PERHAPS it will not be with ease believed,
That Constance from Camillus now received,
A proof of LOVE’S enchanting balmy sweet,
A proof perhaps you’ll think her used to meet;
But ne’er till then she tasted pleasures pure;
Her former life no blisses could secure.
You ask the cause, and signs of doubt betray:
Who TRULY loves, the same will ever say.