Return, ye furious Grecians, homeward fly;
Your Stay is not of Chance, but Destiny:
How can your Arms expect defir'd Succefs,
That thus contend for an Adulterefs?
But, let not me forespeak you, no,
And Heav'n befriend you with a profp'rous Gale!
Ye Trojans! with Regret methinks I fee
Your first Encounter with your Enemy;
I fee fair Helen put on all her Charms,
To buckle on her lufty Bridegroom's Arms;
She gives him Arms, and Kiffes the receives.
(I hate the Transports each to other gives.)
She leads him forth, and fhe commands him come
Safely victorious, and triumphant home;
And he (no doubt) will make no nice delay,
But diligently do whate'er she say.
fee with what am'rous Speed
She takes the pond'rous Helmet from his Head,
And courts the weary Champion to her Bed.
We Women, too too credulous, alas!
Think what we fear will furely come to pass.
Yet, while before the Leaguer thou dost lye,
Thy Picture is fome Pleasure to my Eye;
That I caress in Words most kind and free,
And lodge it on my Breaft, as I would thee;
There must be something in it more than Art,
'Twere very thee, could it thy Mind impart;
I kiss the pretty Idol, and complain,
As if (like thee) 'twould answer me again.
By thy Return, by thy dear Self, I swear,
By our Loves Vows, which most Religious are,
By thy beloved Head, and thofe gray Hairs
Which Time may on it fnow, in future Years,
I come, where-e'er thy Fate shall bid thee go,
Eternal Partner of thy Weal and Woe,
So thou but live, tho' all the Gods fay No.
Farewell, but pr'ythee very careful be Of thy beloved Self (I mean) of me.
{*}{*}{*}{*}<*}<}<*}<*}{*}<•}{*}
OEN ONE TO PARIS.
Hecuba, being with Child of Paris, dream'd fhe was deliver'd of a Firebrand: Priam, confulting the Prophets, was anfwer'd, the Child should be the Caufe of the Deftruction of Troy; wherefore Priam commanded it should be delivered to wild Beafts as soon as born, but Hecuba conveys it fecretly to Mount Ida, there to be fofter'd by the Shepherds, where he falls in Love with the Nymph Enone, but at length being known and own'd, he fails into Greece, and carries Helen to Troy, which hearing, writes him this Epiftle.
Ead this, (if your new Bride will suffer) read;
And no Upbraiding from Mycena dread.
Only OEnone here does of her Swain
(If he will let her call him hers) complain.
What God has robb'd me of your
Or from what Crime of mine proceeds my Woe?
Misfortunes, when deferv'd, we may endure,
But when unjustly borne, can find no Cure.
Tho' now a Prince, not yet so great you was,
When a fam'd Nymph, I ftoop'd to your Embrace:
A Slave you was (forgive what I have faid)
Slave as you was, I took you to my Bed.
Often, amidst your Flocks, beneath fome Shade,
On Leaves and Flow'rs we am'rously were laid.
As oft, upon the Straw, our Joys we prov'd
In fome low Shed from Winter Storms remov'd.
When you rofe up to hunt, I fhew'd you Game,
Surpris'd the Infant Savage and his Dam:
Companion of your Sports, the Toils did place,
And chear'd the swift-pac'd Hounds upon the Chace!
Upon the Trees your Sickle carv'd my Name,
And ev'ry Beech is conscious of your Flame.
Well I remember that tall Poplar Tree,
(Its Trunk is fill'd, and with Records of me.)
Which, may it live! ́on the Brook's Margin set,
Has on its knotty Bark thefe Verses writ:
When Paris lives not to none true,
Back Xanthus' Streams fhall to their Fountain flow.
Turn! turn ye Streams! and Xanthus backwards go:
The faithlefs Paris has forgot his Vow.
Calm was our Love, bleft with delightful Ease,
'Till a black Storm o'ercaft my former Peace,
When the three Heav'nly Beauties bleft thine Eyes,
Defign'd thee Umpire to beflow the Prize.
As from your Mouth the fatal Story came,
A fwift cold Trembling fhot thro' all my Frame.
To ancient Sages my juft Doubts I bear,
And all conclude fome dreadful Mifchief near.
Now the tall Pines into strong Barks you shape,
Which sweep the Surface of the yielding Deep.
From your fwoln Eyes the Tears at Parting crept,
Deny it not, nor be asham'd you wept:
(Your Love was then no Injury to your Fame,
You daily burn in a more shameful Flame.)
You wept, and on my Eyes you gazing food,
Whofe falling Tears increas'd the briny Flood.
About my Neck your wreathing Arms you flung,
Closer than Vines to their lov'd Elms you clung:
When for your Stay you did the Tempests blame,
How oft they laugh'd who knew the Ocean calm;
'Midft thousand Kiffes, when you bid Farewell,
Scarce could your Tongue the fatal Meffage tell.
You are embark'd: Against your Galley's Side
Thy plying Oars beat up the foaming Tide:
'Till hurry'd from my Sight, your Ships I view,
Then my falt Tears the parched Sands bedew.
Soon, ye Sea Gods, again foon may he come,
(I fondly pray'd) but to my Ruin foon.
The Gods my Wishes do fuccessful make,
But all, alas! for that curft Strumpet's fake:
My Pray'rs into another's Arms have brought you back.
A vaft high Rock there is, whofe craggy Sides
Suftain the Fury of encroaching Tides;
Your Sails hence fpy'd, I hardly could delay,
Plung'd in the Deep to meet you by the way;
When one I faw, while a fhort Pause I made,
Upon the Deck in glorious Purple clad:
Gods! how I fhook! Fear did my Soul poffefs
With Horror, to behold th' unusual Dress.
As nearer to the Shoar your Veffel came,
I spy'd, O blafting Sight! the charming Dame;
Nay more, her wanton Head (into the Sea
Why leapt I not?) upon your Bofom lay.
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