Your Sword before me, whilft I write, does lie,
And by it, if I write in vain, I die.
Already ftain'd with many a falling Tear,
It shortly shall another Colour wear.
You never could an apter Prefent make,
"Twill foon, the Life you made uneafy, take.
But this poor Breast has felt your Wounds before ;
Slain by your Love, your Steel has now no Pow'r.
Dear guilty Sifter, do not you deny
The laft kind Office to my Memory;
But do not on my Fun'ral Marble join
Much wrong'd Sichens' Sacred Name with mine.
"Of falfe Eneas let the Stone complain;
That Dido could not bear his fierce Disdain,
"But by his Sword, and her own Hand, was flain.
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In the War of Troy, Achilles having taken and fack’d Chrynefium, a Town in the Lyrnefian Country, among bis other Booty he took two very fair Women, Chryfeis and Brifeis: Chryfeis he prefented to King Agamemnon, and Brifeis he referv'd for himself. Agamemnon, after fome time, was forc'd by the Oracle to reftore Chryfeis to her Father, who was one of the Priests of Apollo: Whereupon the King by Violence took arvay Brifeis from Achilles; at which Achilles incenft left the Camp of the Grecians, and prepared to fail home; in whofe Absence the Trojans prevailing upon the Grecians, Agamemnon was compell'd to fend Ulyffes and others to offer him rich Prefents, and Brifeis, that he would return again to the Army: But Achilles with Difdain rejected them all, This Letter therefore is written by Brifeis, to move him that he would receive her, and return to the Grecian Camp.
Aptive Brifeis in a foreign Tongue,
More by her Blots, than Words, fets forth her Wrong. And yet thefe Blots, which by my Tears are made, Above all Words, or Writing, fhould perfuade.
Subjects (I know) must not their Lords accufe;
Yet Pray'rs and Tears we lawfully may use.
When ravish'd from your Arms, I was the Prey
Of Agamemnon's Arbitrary Sway,
I grant, you must at laft have left the Field;
But for a Lover, you too foon did yield:
A Warrior's Glory it muft needs difgrace,
At the first Summons to yield up the Place.
The Enemies themfelves, no less than I,
Stood wond'ring at their easy Victory :
I faw their Lips in Whispers foftly move,
Is this the Man fo fam'd for Arms, and Love?
Alas! Achilles, 'tis not fo we part
From what we love; and what is near our Heart.
No healing Kiffes to my Grief you gave,
You turn'd me off an unregarded Slave.
Was it your Rage, that did your Love fupprefs?
Ah, love Brifeis more, and hate Atrides less!
He is not born of a true Hero's Race,
Who lets his Fury of his Love take place.
Tygers and Wolves can fight, Love is the Teft,
Diftinguishing the Hero from the Beast.
Alas! when I was from your Bofom forc'd,
I felt my Body from my Soul divorc'd ;
A deadly Paleness overspread my Face;
Sleep left my Eyes, and to my Tears gave place:
I tore my Hair, and did my Death decree;
Ah! learn to part with what you love, from me.
A bold Escape I often did effay,
But Greeks and Trojans too, block'd up the Way:
Yet tho' a tender Maid could not break thro',
Methinks Achilles should not be so flow:
Achilles, once the Thunderbolt of War,
The Hope of conqu'ring Greece, and Troy's Defpair,
Me in his Rival's Arms can he behold?
And is his Courage with his Love grown cold?
But I confess, that my neglected Charms
Did not deserve the Conqueft of your Arms;
Therefore the Gods did, by an easier Way,
Our Wrongs atone, and Damages repay:
Ajax with Phoenix and Ulyffes bring
Humble Submiffions from their haughty King:
The Royal Penitent rich Prefents fends,
The strongest Cement to piece broken Friends.
When Pray'rs well feconded with Gifts are fent,
Both mortal and immortal Pow'rs relent.
Twenty bright Veffels of Corinthian Brafs,
Their Sculpture did the coftly Mine surpass;
Seven Chairs of State of the fame Art and Mold,
And twice five Talents of perfuafive Gold;
Twelve fiery Steeds of the Epirian Breed,
Matchless they are for Beauty, and for Speed;
Six Lesbian Maids (but these I well cou'd spare)
Their Ifland fack'd, these were the Gen'ral's fhare;
And laft a Bride, (ah! tell 'em I am thine)
At your own Choice out of the Royal Line;
With these they offer me: But might I chufe,
You should take me, and all their Gifts refuse:
But me and thofe you fullenly reject;
What have I done, to merit this Neglect ♪
Is it that you, and Fortune jointly vow,
Whom you make Wretched, still to keep them fo?
Your Arms my Country did in Afhes lay,
My House deftroy, Brothers and Hufbands flay.
It had been Kindnefs to have kill'd me too,
Rather than kill me with Unkindness now.
With Vows, as faithlefs as your Mother Sea,
You loudly promis'd, that you would to me
Country, and Brothers and a Husband be.
And is it thus that you perform your Vow,
Ev'n with a Dowry to reject me too?
Nay, Fame reports, that with the next fair Wind,
Leaving your Honour, Faith, and Me behind,
You quit our Coafts: Before that fatal Hour,
May Thunder ftrike me, or kind Earth devour!
I all Things, but your Abfence, can endure!
That's a Difeafe, which Death muft only cure.
If to Achaia you will needs return,
Leaving all Greece your fullen Rage to mourn,
Place me but in the Number of your Train,
And I no fervile Office will difdain:
If I'm deny'd the Honour of your Bed,
Let me at least be as your Captive led;
Rather than banish'd from your Family,
I will endure another Wife to fee;
A Wife, to make the great Eacian Line,
Like Starry Heav'n; as numerously shine;
That fo your fpreading Progeny may prove
Worthy of Thetis, and their Grandfire Jove.
Let me on her an humble Handmaid wait,
Q her, because to you fhe does relate.
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