'd attain my Heart,
By all the Proofs of Breeding, Wit, and Art.
Then like some Town, by _War-like Numbers_ sought,
That long against its Enemies has fought,
And oft with Courage brav'd the _shining Field_, }
Yet in the end by Want or Force compell'd, }
It does with Honour to the _Conqueror_ Yield. }

So to my Lover I'd my Heart resign,
The Conquest his, the Glory should be mine.
With mutual Love my Nuptials shou'd be Blest, }
Then to my Arms I'd call the Welcome Guest, }
And Celebrate with Joy great _Hymen_'s Feast. }

Marriage is Bondage, but where _Cupid_ Reigns,
The Yoke is easie; Glorious are the Chains:
His Fetters please, nor wish we to be Free,
But Glory in the Loss of Liberty:
And yet but half our Thanks we owe the Boy,
He gives us Love, 'tis _Hymen_ gives us Joy;
Well might the Poets feign those Gods a-kin,
For we are only Happy where they join.
As when _Aurora_ does the Bridal Morn,
With an uncommon Gayety Adorn
From its Illustrious Pride with ease we may
Foretel the Brightness of the coming Day:
So when true Love the Sacred Tye precedes,
Secure of Happiness that Couple weds;
No Threat'ning Storms do e'er Molest their Joy,
Nor Anxious Quarrels do their Peace destroy;
Their days slide on in the securest ease,
And Circle in Eternal Rounds of Bliss.

Blest in my Wish thus far, my next should be,
(For I _Melissa_, wou'd live far and free
From the vile Tumults of this viler Town)
To have some little Cottage of my own;
No _Spacious_, but a _Pleasant_ Country Seat,
Where the Gay Spring shou'd smile on our Retreat;
Delightful Gardens shou'd the Structure Bound,
All _Love_ within, and _Innocence_ around;
Adorn'd with Fruit-Trees curious to the Eye,
With streaming Fountains, and a River nigh;
Where, low-grown Willows do recline their head,
And o'er its fall their Meeting Branches spread,
As tho' they were by careful Nature hung, }
To listen and regard its Murm'ring Song, }
Whose Silver current as it glides along; }
Does wash the Bank of some Delightful Grove,
Fragrant beneath, and shaded all above;
Where the fresh Seasons breathe their vital Air,
And pretty Birds with untaught Songs repair;
Where spreading Pines, and taller Poplars grow,
Young Elms that do a pleasing Prospect show.
Where Bow'rs of Yew, and twisted Hazles stand,
With cluster'd Filberts to invite the hand;
A Place by Nature fram'd to feast the Mind,
By Art for Solitude and Love design'd;
Where we wou'd walk, and