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You bid me use th' occasion while I can,
Put in our hands by the good easy man.
I would, and yet I doubt 'twixt love and fear;
One draws me from you, and one brings me near,
Our flames are mutual, and my husband 's gone :
The nights are long; I fear to lie alone ;
One house contains us, and weak walls divide,
And you 're too pressing to be long deny d.
Let me not live, but every thing conspires
To join our loves, and yet my fear retires.
You court with words, when you should force employ;
A

rape is requisite to shame-fac'd joy :
Indulgent to the wrongs which we receive,
Our sex can suffer what we dare not give.
What have I said! for both of us 't were beft,
Our kindling fire if each of us supprest.
The faith of strangers is too prone to change,
And, like themselves, their wandering pallions range.
Hypsipyla, and the fond Minoian maid,
Were both by trusting of their guest betray'd :
How can I doubt that other men deceive,
W'hen you yourself did fair Oenone leave ?
But, left I should upbraid your treachery,
You make a merit of that crime to me.
You grant you were to faithful love inclind,
Your weary Trojans wait but for a wind.
Should you prevail, while I assign the night,
Your fails are hoisted, and you

take
your

Aight;
Some bawling mariner our love destroys,
And breaks asurder our unfinish'd joys.

But

a

But I with you may leave the Spartan port,
To view the Trojan wealth and Priam's court.
Shown while I see, I shall expose my fame,
And fill a foreign country with my

shame,
In Asia what recepticn shall I find ?
And what dishonour leave in Greece behind ?
What will your brothers, Priam, Hecuba,
And what will all your modest matrons say?
Ev'n
you,

when on this action you reflect,
My future conduct justly may suspect ;
And whate'er stranger lands upon your coast,
Conclude me, by your own example, loft.
1, from your rage, a strumpet's name shall hear,
While
you forget what

part
in it
you

bear :
You, my crime's author, will my crime upbraid:
Deep under ground, oh! let me first be laid !
You boast the pomp and plenty of your land,
And promise all shall be at my command :
Your Trojan wealth, believe me, I despise ;
My own poor native land has dearer ties.
Should I be injur'd on your Phrygian shore,
What help of kindred could I there implore?
Medea was by Jason's flattery won;
1 may, like her, believe and be undone.
Plain honest hearts, like mine, suspect no cheat,
And love contributes to its own deceit.
The ships, about whose fides loud tempests roar,
With gentle winds were wafted from the shore.
Your teeming mother dreamt a flaming brand,
Sprung from her womb, consum’d the Trojan land;

To

To second this, old prophecies conspire,
That Ilium shall be burnt with Grecian fire :
Boch give me fear, nor is it much allay'd,
That Venus is oblig'd our loves to aid.
For they who lost their cause, revenge will take,
And for one friend two enemies you make.
Nor can I doubt but, should I follow you,
The sword would soon our fatal crime pursue:
A wrong so great my husband's rage would rouze,
And
my

relations would his cause espouse.
You boast your strength and courage ; but, alas !
Your wotds receive small credit from your face.
Let heroes in the dusty field delight,
Those limbs were fashion'd for another fight.
Bid Hector fally from the walls of Troy ;
A sweeter quarrel should your arms employ.
Yet fears like these should not my mind perplex,
Were I as wise as many of
But time and you may bolder thoughts inspire;
And I, perhaps, may yield to your

desire.
You last demand a private conference :
These are your words ; but I can guess your sense.
Your unripe hopes their harvest must attend :
Be rul'd by me, and Time may

be
your

friend.
This is enough to let you understand,
For now my pen has tir'd my tender hand;
My woman knows the secret of my heart,
And may hereafter better news impart.

my

fex :

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DEING A TRANSLATION OUT OF THE FOURTH

BOOK OF VIRGIL's GIORGIC.

'T

'IS not for nothing when just heaven does frown;

The injur’d Orpheus calls these judgments down;
Whose spoufe, avoiding to become thy prey,
And all his joys at once were snatch'd away ;
The nymph, fore-doom'd that fatal way to pass,
Spy'd not the serpent lurking in the grass :
A mournful cry the spacious valley fills,
With echoing groans from all the neighbouring hills;
The Dryades roar out in deep despair,
And with united voice bewail the fair.

For such a loss he fought no vain relief,
But with his lute indulg'd the tender grief ;
Along the shore he oft would wildly stray,
With doleful notes begin and end the day.
At length to hell a frightful journey made,
Pass'd the wide-gaping gulph and dismal shade ;
Visits the ghosts, and to that king repairs
Whose heart 's inflexible to human prayers.
All hell is ravish'd with so sweet a song;
Light souls and airy fpirits glide along

a

a

In troops, like millions of the feather'd kind,
Driven home by night, or some tempestuous wind :
Matrons and men, raw youths and unripe maids ;
And mighty heroes' more majestic shades ;
And fons entomb'd before their parents face ;
These the black waves of bounding Styx embrace
Nine times circumfluent; clogg'd with noisome weeds,
And all that filth which standing water breeds.
Amazement reach'd ev'n the deep caves of death;
The sisters with blue snaky curls took breath;
Ixion's wheel awhile unmov'd remain'd,
And the fierce dog his three-mouth'd voice restrain'd.

When safe return'd, and all these dangers past,
His wife, restor'd to breathe fresh air at last,
Following (for so Proserpina was pleas’d)
A sudden rage th' unwary lover feiz'd,
He, as the first bright glimpse of day-light thin'd,
Could not refrain to cast one look behind;
A fault of love! could hell compassion find.
A dreadful found thrice shook the Stygian coast,
His hopes quite fled, and all his labour loft!
Why hast thou thus undone thyself and me?
What rage is this? oh, I am snatch'd from thee !
(She faintly cry'd) Night and the powers of hell
Surround my sight; oh, Orpheus! oh, farewell !
My hands stretch forth to reach thee as before ;
But all in vain, for I am thine no more ;
No more allow'd to view thy face, or day!---
Then from his eyes, like smoke, the fleets away.

Much

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