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16.

Some bawling Mariner our Love destroys,
And breaks afunder our unfinish'd Joys.
But I with you may leave the Spartan Port,
To view the Trojan Wealth and PRIAM's Court.
Shown while I fee, I fhall expose my Fame;
And fill a foreign Country with my fhamc.
In Afia what Reception fhall I find?

And what Difhonour leave in Greece behind?
What will your Brothers, PRIAM, HECUBA,
And what will all your modcft Matrons say?
Ev'n you, when on this Action you reflect,
My future Conduct juftly may fufpect:
And whate'er Stranger lands upon your Coast,
Conclude me, by your own Example, loft.

I from your Rage a Strumpet's Name fhall 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 boaft the Pomp and Plenty of your Land,
And promise all fhall be at my Command:

Your

Your Trojan Wealth, believe me, I despise;
My own poor Native Land has dearer Ties.
Shou'd I be injur'd on your Phrygian Shore,
What help of Kindred cou'd I there implore?
MEDEA was by JASON's Flatt'ry won:

I may, like her, believe and be undone.

Plain honeft Hearts, like mine, fufpect no Cheat,
And Love contributes to its own Deceit.

The Ships, about whofe fides loud Tempefts roar,
With gentle Winds were wafted from the Shoar.
Your teeming Mother dreamt a flaming Brand
Sprung from herWomb, confum'd the Trojan Land;

To fecond this, old Prophecies conspire,

That Ilium fhall be burnt with Grecian Fire:
Both give me Fear, nor is it much allay'd,

That VENUS is oblig'd our Loves to aid.

For they who loft their Cause, Revenge will take, And for one Friend two Enemies you make.

Nor can I doubt but fhould I follow you,

The Sword would foon our fatal Crime pursue:

A Wrong fo great my Husband's Rage would rouze,
And my Relations would his Cause espouse.
You boast your Strength and Courage, but alas!
Your Words receive fmall credit from your Face,
Let Heroes in the dufty Field delight,

Those Limbs were fashion'd for another Fight.
Bid HECTOR fally from the Walls of Troy,
A fweeter Quarrel fhould your Arms employ.

Yet Fears like thefe fhou'd not my Mind perplex,

Were I as wife as many

of my

Sex:

But Time and you may bolder Thoughts infpire;

And I perhaps may yield to your Defire.

You last demand a private Conference :

These are your Words, but I can guess your Senfe.
Your unripe Hopes their Harvest must attend:

Be rul'd by me, and Time may be your Friend.
This is enough to let you under ftand,

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For now my Pen has tir'd my tender Hand
My Woman knows the Secret of my Heart,
And may, hereafter, better News impart.

Part

Part of the Story of ORPHEUS. Being a Translation out of the fourth Book of VIRGIL'S Georgic.

TIS

IS not for nothing when juft Heav'n does
frown;

The injur❜d ORPHEUS calls thefe Judgments down;
Whofe Spouse, 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 fpacious Valley fills,

With echoing Groans from all the neighbouring

Hills;

The Dryades roar out in deep despair,

And with united Voice bewail the Fair.

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For fuch a Lofs 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, Pafs'd the wide-gaping Gulph, and dismal Shade: Vifits the Ghofts, and to that King repairs, Whofe Heart's inflexible to humane Prayers. All Hell is ravifh'd with fo fweet a Song; Light Souls, and Airy Spirits glide along ; In Troops, like Millions of the feather'd kind, Driv'n home by Night, or fome tempeftuous Wind: Matrons, and Men, raw Youths and unripe Maids; And mighty Heroes more majestick Shades; And Sons entomb'd before their Parents Face; Thefe the black Waves of bounding Styx embrace

Nine times circumfluent; clogg'd with noifome Weeds,

And all that Filth which standing Water breeds.

Amaze

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