Some bawling Mariner our Love destroys,
And breaks afunder our unfinifh'd Joys.
But I with you may leave the Spartan Port,
To view the Trojan Wealth and PRIAM's Court.
Shown while I fec, I fhall expofe my Fame;
And fill a foreign Country with my
In Afia what Reception fhall I find?
And what Dishonour leave in Greece behind?
What will your Brothers, PRIAM, HECUBA,
And what will all your modcft Matrons fay?
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 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 boaft the Pomp and Plenty of your Land,
And promise all fhall be at my Command:
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 honest Hearts, like mine, fuspect no Cheat, ́1 And Love contributes to its own Deceit.
The Ships, about whofe fides loud Tempests roar,
With gentle Winds were wafted from the Shoar.
Your teeming Mother dreamt a flaming Brand
Sprung from her Womb, confum'd the Trojan Land;
To fecond this, old Prophecies confpire,
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 makę.
Nor can I doubt but fhould I follow you,
The Sword would foon our fatal Crime purfue:
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 small 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 sweeter Quarrel fhould your Arms employ.
Yet Fears like these fhou'd not my Mind perplex,
Were I as wife as many of my Sex:
But Time and you may bolder Thoughts infpires
And I perhaps may yield to your Defire.
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.
Part of the Story of ORPHEUS. Being a Tranflation out of the fourth Book of VIRGIL'S Georgic.
IS not for nothing when juft Heav'n does
frown;
The injur❜d ORPHEUS calls these Judgments down;
Whose Spouse, avoiding to become thy Prey,
And all his Joys, at once were fnatch'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
The Dryades roar out in deep defpair,
And with united Voice bewail the Fair.
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 Shadę ;
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;
These the black Waves of bounding Styx embrace
Nine times circumfluent; clogg'd with noisome
And all that Filth which standing Water breeds.
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