When we can once with our hard. Fate comply,
'Tis eafy then to choose the Way to die.

Then on my Tomb fhall the proud Caufe be read,
And thy fad Crime ftill live, when I am dead:
Poor Phillis dy'd, by him fhe lov'd oppress'd;
The trueft Miftrefs, by the falfest Guest.
He was the cruel Caufe of all her Woe,
But her own Hand perform'd the fatal Blow.

PHILLIS TO DEMOPHOON.

By Mr. ED. FLOYD.

The ARGUMEN T.

Demophoon, the Son of Thefeus and Phædra, returning from the Trojan Wars, was by adverse Winds driven on the Thracian Shore, where he was royally entertained, and received into familiarity by Phillis, Daughter to Lycurgus and Cruftumena, King and Queen of Thrace: With whom, after he had a while remain'd, bearing of the Death of Mneftheus (the Depofer of his Father) he went to take Poffeffion of his own Realm of Athens, yet with earnest Proteftations of returning within the Space of one Month. But being detain'd paft the appointed time by the Diftractions bis People were under, he gave occafion to Phillis (impatient of delays) to write bim this Epiftle.

PHillis (who entertain'd thy Love and Thee,
Faithlefs Demophoon) blames thy Perjury;
How when with Pain we parted didft thou mourn,
And feem'dft to live alone for thy Return!

How didft thou limit my Distress, and swear
Within one Month thy speedy Presence here!
Yet now four Moons are weary'd out, and fee
Thee ftill regardless of thy Vows and me.
Hadft thou a tender Senfe to know the Pain
Of abfent Lovers, who expect in vain,

Thou

Thou wouldst not call me hafty, nor upbraid
These humble Murmurs of a Wife betray'd.
We're flow in our believing Ill, for I
Flatter'd my felf that yet I shou'd not die :
My felf I've oft deluded, — thought thee kind—
Thy Ship returning with a prosp'rous Wind:

Thefeus I've curft, and yet unjustly him,
For thou perhaps art Author of thy Crime.
The dang❜rous Shoals of Hebrus made me mourn,
As fancying thee expos'd in thy Return.

Oft for thy Health I've fought the Gods by Pray'r,
And Incense burnt to place thee in their Care.
Whene'er the Wind ftood fair, I fancy'd ftreight
Thy fudden Prefence, or thy certain Fate.
Then have I ftudy'd Reasons for thy Stay,
And urg'd my Wit to favour thy Delay:
Yet doft not thou the Sense of Vows retain,
To Gods, and me, made equally in vain.
Thy strictest Vows did mix with common Air,
Nor does thy tardy Fleet the Fault repair.
Thy Abfence fally does my Crime reprove,
And feems defign'd to pay fo cheap a Love.
My only Fault was loving eafily;

And yet that Fault claims Gratitude in thee.
Where's now thy Faith,-thy fuppliant Hands, and where
The God prophan'd by thy fallacious Pray'r?
Where's Hymen now that fhould our Hearts unite,
Blefs and fecure our conjugal delight?

First, by the Sea thou fwor'ft thy Meaning juft,
The Sea that then thou wert about to truft:

Thou fwor'ft by thy pretended Grandfire's Name,

The God that does rebellious Storms reclaim.
By Venus and by Love's Artillery,

The Inftruments of mighty Woes to me:

By Juno, who of Marriage Vows takes care,

And Ceres, who the hallow'd Torch does bear:

Shou'd thefe wrong'd Pow'rs bejuft, cou'dft thou withstand
The angry ftroke of an Almighty Hand?

Thy Ships I did repair, thy Sails improve,
And firengthen'd the Deferter of my Love.
I gave thee Oars as Inftruments of speed,
And sharpen'd all the Darts by which I bleed.
Thy Words-thy Kindred Gods-whate'er was feign'd
With Joy I heard, with Faith I entertain'd:
View'd with regard thy falfe commanded Tears,
Thy artful Sorrow, and thy feeming Fears.
Thy Arts of Love to me thou might'it have spar'd,
For I was too unhappily prepar'd.

Nor fhou'd I grieve to have well treated thee,
And limited my Hospitality,

But to admit thee loofely to my Breaft,
Is Treason, fatal to my prefent Rest.
Ah! had I dy'd before that Evening came,
I then had dy'd in Peace, fecure of Fame.
Yielding I hop'd thy Gratitude might move,
And fhewing mine, deferve thy utmost Love.
But 'tis inglorious thus to have betray'd
(All pitiless) a frail believing Maid:

A Maid that lov'd thee thou haft robb'd of Fame,
And may no greater Honour reach thy Name.

In Athens when thy Statue fhall be plac'd

Near thy great Father with his Trophies grac'd;
When Scyron and Procruftes shall be read, :
Scinis and Minotaure in triumph led:

Thebes quite reduc'd, the Centaurs overcome,

Hell ftorm'd, and the black King disturb'd at home;

Thy hated Image thus infcrib'd shall end-
-He who betray'd his Miftrefs and his Friend.
Of all thy mighty Father has atchiev'd,
Thou lik'ft that Ariadne was deceiv'd:
What he repented, thou doft ftill admire,
And only to his Treachery art Heir:
(Unenvy'd) fhe enjoys a nobler Mate,
And drawn by harnefs'd Tygers, rides in State.
The Thracians, whom I fcorn'd, now fun my Bed,
As one by trange polluted hands mif led:
Says one, Let learned Athens be her place,
Some nobler Hand shall govern warlike Thrace.
The End proves all-and may he never hit
His rafh Prefage, who dares condemn thee yet,
For fhould't thou now return, each will conclude
I ftudy'd with my own my Country's Good:
I've fail'd, alas! Thou no Review doft make....
Or of my Palace or the Crystal Lake......
My Eyes retain thy graceful Image, when
With mournful Bows thou bad'it me hope again.
Thou did't embrace me, and with fuch delay,
That long-breath'd Kiffes feem'd to mean thy Stay;
Thou didst exchange, and mix our Tears, and fwear
The Wind was inaufpicious, when 'twas fair;

271 I

When