Where should a Lover hide his Joys,
Free from Malice, free from Noise;
Where no Envy can intrude;
Where no busy Rival’s Spy,
Made, by Disappointment, rude,
May inform his Jealousy?
The Heart will the best Refuge prove;
Which Nature meant the Cabinet of Love.
What would a Lover not endure,
His Mistress’ Fame and Honour to secure?
Iris, the Care we take to be discreet,
Is the dear Toil that makes the Pleasure sweet:
The Thorn that does the Wealth inclose,
That with less saucy Freedom we may touch the Rose.
The Fourth Cypher
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