A wrong fo great my husband's rage would rouze,
And my relations would his caufe espouse.
You boast your strength and courage; but, alas!
Your words receive fmall credit from
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 these fhou'd not my mind perplex,
Were I as wife as many of my fex:
But time and you may bolder thoughts infpire;
And I, perhaps, may yield to your desire.
You last demand a private conference:
These are your words; but I can guess your fenfe.
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 fecret of my heart,
And may, hereafter, better news impart.
PART of the STORY of ORPHEUS.
Being a Tranflation out of the Fourth Book of
*IS not for nothing when just heav'n does frown; The injur❜d ORPHEUS calls thefe judgments Whose spouse, avoiding to become thy prey, [down; And all his joys at once were snatch'd away; The nymph, fore-doom'd that fatal way to pafs, Spy'd not the serpent lurking in the grafs : A mournful cry the fpacious valley fills, With echoing groans from all the neighb'ring hills; The Dryades roar out in deep despair,
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 shade:
Vifits the ghosts, and to that king repairs,
Whose heart's inflexible to human prayers.
All hell is ravish'd with so sweet a fong;
Light fouls 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 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 fifters with blue fnaky curls took breath;
IXION's wheel awhile unmov'd remain'd,
And the fierce dog his three-mouth'd voice reftrain'd.
When fafe return'd, and all these dangers past, `I
His wife, restor❜d to breathe fresh air at last,
Following (for fo PROSERPINA was pleas'd)
A fudden rage th' unwary lover feiz'd,
He, as the first bright glimpfe of day-light fhin'd,
Could not refrain to caft one look behind;
A fault of love! could hell compassion find.
A dreadful found thrice fhook the Stygian coaft,
His hopes quite fled, and all his labour loft!
Why haft thou thus undone thyfelf and me?
What rage is this? Oh, I am fnatch'd from thee!
(She faintly cry'd) Night and the pow'rs of hell
Surround my fight; Oh, ORPHEUS! oh, farewel ↑
My hands ftretch 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 fmoke, fhe fleets away.
Much he would fain have fpoke: but fate, alas!
Would ne'er again consent to let him pass.
Thus twice undone, what courfe remain'd to take,
To gain her back, already pafs'd the lake?
What tears, what patience could procure him ease?
Or, ah! what vows the angry pow'rs appease?
'Tis faid, he fev'n long moons bewail'd his lofs
To bleak and barren rocks, on whofe cold mofs,
While languifhing he fung his fatal flame,
He mov'd ev'n trees, and made fierce tygers tame,
So the fad nightingale, when childless made
fome rough fwain who stole her young away,
Bewails her lofs beneath a poplar shade,
Mourns all the night, in murmurs wastes the day;
Her melting fongs a doleful pleasure yield,
And melancholy mufick fills the field.
Marriage, nor love, could ever move his mind;
But all alone, beat by the northern wind,
Shiv'ring on Tanais banks the bard remain'd,
And of the Gods' unfruitful gift complain'd.
Ciconian dames, enrag'd to be defpis'd,
As they the feast of BACCHUS folemniz'd,
Slew the poor youth, and ftrew'd about his limbs;
His head, torn off from the fair body, fwims
Down that swift current where the Heber flows,
And till its tongue in doleful accents goes.
Ah, poor EUR YDICE! he dying cry'd;
EURYDICE refounds from every fide.
Written in the Year 1675.
OW vain, and how infenfible a beast
Is man! who yet would lord it o'er the rest! Philofophers and poets vainly ftrove,
In ev'ry age the lumpish mass to move:
But those were pedants, if compar'd with these,
Who knew not only to instruct, but please:
Poets alone found the delightful way,
Myfterious morals gently to convey
In charming numbers, that when once men grew
Pleas'd with their poems, they grew wifer too.
SATIRE has always shin'd among the rest,
And is the boldest way, perhaps the best,
To fhew men freely all their foulest faults;
To laugh at their vain deeds, and vainer thoughts.
In this great work the wife took diff'rent ways,
Tho' each deferving its peculiar praise:
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