Ovid's Art of Love paraphrased.
in Herefordshire, or Grains of Wheat in Hampshire; they are indeed as plenty as Fish in the Sea, or Birds in the Air; nay, the Sky hath not more Stars than London hath Beauties: for England, not Cyprus, is the Queen of Love's favourite Island. Whether you love green Fruit, and which is in the Bud only, or Beauty in its fuller Bloom, or that which is arrived to perfect Ripeness; nay, if nothing but Wisdom or Sagacity will serve your turn, of these too Old England will afford you a sufficient Plenty.
In the pleasant Month of May, repair to Vaux-Hall. Here take your Evening Walk, either round the verdant Scenes, where Nightingales, the only Foreigners who give us their Songs for nothing, warble their most delicious Notes. When your Limbs demand Repose, you may enjoy it in an Alcove, from whence the embattel'd Troops of Venus will pass in review before you. Again, the lofty Dome of Ranelagh invites yo