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Mean-while a howling Wolf, with Hunger

prest, Leap'd on the Wretch, and seiz'd him by the

Breast; Tore out his Heart, and lick'd the purple Flood; For Earth refus'd to drink the Villain's Blood.

The Test of LOVE. To a Friend who fancied himself in Love.



FT hast thou told me, Dick, in friendly

Part, That the Usurper Love has seiz’d thy Heart; But thou art young, and, like our fanguine

Race, In their full Vigour, may'st mistake thy Case ; For, trust me, Love (that Inmate of the Mind) Is very much mistaken by Mankind; For which too often is misunderstood The sudden Rage and Madness of the Blood : Thus every common Rake his Flame ap

proves, And when he's lewd and rampant, thinks

he loves,


But I, who in that Study am grown old, Will to my Friend such certain Marks unfold, By which a real Passion he may prove, And without which he cannot truly love.

How does this Tyrant lord it in thy Mind? What Symptoms of his Empire dost thou find ? Doft thou within perceive the growing Wound? Does thy Soul ficken, while thy Body's found ? Does in thy Thought some blooming Beauty

reign, Whose strong Idea mingles Joy with Pain? When she appears before thee, does she spread O'er thy pale, fading Cheeks a sudden Red? Press her soft Lips, or touch her lillied Hand, Does thy Heart flutter, does thy Breast expand? If but her Name is mention'd, does it fire Thy Pulses with a quick and fierce Defire? Does every Glance, like jove's vindictive

Shoot thro’ thy Veins, and kindle all thy Frame?

From hence a real Paffion you may prove,
For he, who wants these Symptoms, does

not love.
Is to One Woman all


Heart inclin'd? And can she only charm your constant Mind? For her do all your Morning Wishes rise ? Does the at Night of Slumber rob your Eyes ? Musing on her, does she alone excite Your Thoughts by Day, and all your Dreams by Night ?

do not

Or does your Heart, for every Nymph you meet,
Own a new Passion, and as strongly beat?
Do in your Eyes all Women seem the same;
And each new Face expel the former Flame?

From hence a real Passion you may prove,
love more than One,

Does Love, and only Love, invade your

Heart? Or is it stricken with a golden Dart? Does the keen Arrow from her Beauty fly, Or does her Fortune glitter in your Eye? For, in this Age, how seldom is it found, That Love alone inflicts the secret Wound? Silver and Gold are Cupid's fureft Arms, One thousand Pounds out-weighs ten thousand

Charms. But art thou sure that, in thy tender Heart, These worldly Baubles bear no sordid Part? And can'lt thou say, sincerely can'st thou say, Should adverse Fortune on thy Charmer prey, That still unchang’d, thy Paffion would re

main ? That still thou would'st abide a faithful Swain ? If, in the curst South-Sea, her All were loft, Still would her Eyes their former Conquests

boast ? And would she, dost thou think, in ev'ry State, The same Emotions in thy Soul create ?


From hence a real Passion you may prove,

For if you figh for Wealth, you do not love. Again, my Friend, incline thy patient Ear, (For thou hast many Questions still to hear.) This chofen Damsel, this triumphant she, Canst thou no Blemish in her Person see ? Her Temper, Shape, her Features, and her Air, (Tho' never yet was born a faultless Fair) Do they all please ? In Body or in Mind, Canst thou no Blot nor Imperfection find ? Does o'er her Skin no Mole nor Pimple rife? Or do ev'n these seem Beauties in thy Eyes?

From hence a real Passion you may prove,

For if you spy one Fault, you do not love. Do you within, a sudden Impulse feel, To dress, look forid, and appear genteel? Do you affect to strike the gazing Maid With glittering Gems, with Velvet and Bro

cade? Your snowy Wrists do Mecklin Pendants grace, And do the smartest Wigs adorn thy Face ? Do you correct your Gait, adjust your Air, And bid your Taylor take uncommon Care ? Before your Glass each Morning do you stand, And tie your Neck-cloth with a Critic's Hand?.

From hence a real Paffion you may prove,

For Dressing ever was a Mark of Love,
Do Books and worldly Cares no longer

please? Diversions give your Heart-pains Ease ?


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Have Wealth and Honours lost their wonted

Charms ? And does Ambition yield to Cupid's Arms? Is your whole Frame dissolv'd, by Love in

groft, To Study, Interest, and Preferment loft ?

From hence a real Passion you may prove,

For if aught else prevails, you do not love. Do all your Thoughts, your Wishes, and

Defires, Comply with her, and burn with mutual Fires ? If she loves Balls, Affemblies, Opera's, Plays, Do they in you the fame Amusement raise? If she at Ombre loves to waste the Night, Do

you in Ombre take the same Delight ? If to the Ring her graceful Horses prance, Does your new Chariot to the Ring advance? If in the Mall she chuses to appear, Or if at Court, do you attend her there? What she commends, does your officious

Tongue Approve, and censure what she judges wrong? Are all her Loves and her Aversions thine ? In all her Joys and Sorrows dost thou join ? Art thou, my Friend, united to her Frame, Thy Heart, thy Passions, and thy Soul the

fame? From hence a real Passion you may prove, For without Sympathy you cannot love.

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