Not ships at fea with winds are shaken more,
Nor feas themselves, when angry témpefts roar,
Than I, when my loud father's voice I hear:
The bed beneath me trembled with my fear.
He rush'd upon me, and divulg'd my stain;
Scarce from my murder could his hands refrain.
I only answer'd him with filent tears;
They flow'd: my tongue was frozen up with fears.
His little grand-child he commands away,
To mountain wolves and ev'ry bird of prey.
The babe cry'd out, as if he understood,
And begg'd his pardon with what voice he could.
By what expreffions can my grief be shown?
(Yet you may guess my anguish by your own)
To fee my bowels, and, what yet was worse,
Your bowels too, condemn'd to such a curse!
Out went the king; my voice its freedom found,
My breasts I beat, my blubber'd cheeks I wound.
And now appear'd the messenger of death;
Sad were his looks, and scarce he drew his breath,
To fay, "Your father fends you" (with that word
His trembling hands prefented me a fword:)
"Your father fends you this; and lets you know,
"That your own crimes the use of it will show."
Too well I know the fense those words impart:
His prefent shall be treasur'd in my heart.
Are these the nuptial gifts a bride receives?
And this the fatal dow'r a father gives?
Thou God of Marriage, fhun thy own disgrace,
And take thy torch from this detested place:
Inftead of that, let furies light their brands,
And fire my pile with their infernal hands.
With happier fortune may my fifters wed;
Warn'd by the dire example of the dead.
For thee, poor babe, what crime could they pretend?
How could thy infant innocence offend?
A guilt there was; but, oh, that guilt was mine!
Thou fuffer'ft for a fin that was not thine.
Thy mother's grief and crime! but just enjoy'd,
Shewn to my fight, and born to be destroy'd!
Unhappy offspring of my teeming womb!
Drag'd headlong from thy cradle to thy tomb!
Thy un-offending life I could not fave,
Nor weeping could I follow to thy grave:
Nor on thy tomb could offer my fhorn hair;
Nor fhew the grief which tender mothers bear.
Yet long thou shalt not from my arms be loft;
For foon I will o'ertake thy infant ghost.
But thou, my love, and now my love's defpair,
Perform his fun'rals with paternal care.
His fcatter'd limbs with my dead body burn;
And once more join us in the pious urn.
If on my wounded breast thou dropp'st a tear,
Think for whofe fake my breaft that wound did bear;
And faithfully my laft defires fulfil,
As I perform my cruel father's will.
Helen, having received an epifle from Paris, returns the following anfwer: wherein foe feems at first to chide him for his prefumption in writing as he had done, which could only proceed from his low opinion of her virtue; then owns herself to be fenfible of the paffion, which he had expreffed for her, though she much fufpected his conftancy; and at last. difcovers her inclination to be favourable to him: the whole letter fhewing the extreme artifice of womankind.
7 HEN loofe epiftles violate chafte eyes,
She half confents, who filently denies.
How dares a ftranger, with designs so vain,
Marriage and hofpitable rights prophane?
Was it for this, your fleet did fhelter find
From fwelling feas, and ev'ry faithlefs wind?
(For tho' a distant country brought you forth,
Your ufage here was equal to your worth.)
Does this deserve to be rewarded fo?
Did you come here a stranger or a foe?
Your partial judgment may perhaps complain,
And think me barb'rous for my just disdain.
Ill-bred then let me be, but not unchafte,
Nor my clear fame with any fpot defac'd.
Tho' in my face there's no affected frown,
Nor in my carriage a feign'd nicenefs fhown,
I keep my honour ftill without a stain,
Nor has my love made any coxcomb vain.
Your boldness I with admiration fee;
What hope had you to gain a queen like me?
Because a hero forc'd me once away,
Am I thought fit to be a fecond prey?
Had I been won, I had deferv'd your blame,
But fure my part was nothing but the fhame.
Yet the base theft to him no fruit did bear,
I 'scap'd unhurt by any thing but fear.
Rude force might fome unwilling kiffes gain;
But that was all he ever could obtain.
You on fuch terms would ne'er have let me go;
Were he like you, we had not parted fo.
Untouch'd the youth restor'd me to my friends,
And modeft ufage made me fome amends.
"Tis virtue to repent a vicious deed.
Did he repent, that Paris might fucceed?
Sure 'tis fome fate that fets me above wrongs,
Yet ftill exposes me to busy tongues.
I'll not complain; for who's difpleas'd with love,
If it fincere, difcreet, and constant prove?
But that I fear; not that I think you base,
Or doubt the blooming beauties of my face;
But all your fex is fubject to deceive,
And ours, alas, too willing to believe.
Yet others yield; and love o'ercomes the best:
But why should I not shine above the rest?
Fair Leda's ftory feems at first to be
A fit example ready form'd for me.
But she was cozen'd by a borrow'd shape,
And under harmless feathers felt a rape.
If I should yield, what reafon could I use?
By what mistake the loving crime excuse?
Her fault was in her powerful lover loft;
But of what Jupiter have I to boast?
Tho' you to heroes and to kings fucceed,
Our famous race does no addition need;
And
great alliances but useless prove
To one that comes herself from mighty Jove.
Go then, and boatt in fome lefs haughty place
Your Phrygian blood, and Priam's ancient race;
Which I would fhew I valu’d, if I durft;
You are the fifth from Jove, but I the first.
The crown of Troy is pow'rful, I confess;
But I have reafon to think ours no less.
Your letter, fill'd with promises of all
That men can good, and women pleasant cáll,
Gives expectation fuch an ample field,
As would move Goddeffes themselves to yield.
But if I e'er offend great Juno's laws,
Yourself thall be the dear, the only cause:
Either my honour I'll to death maintain,
Or follow you, without mean thoughts of gain.
Not that fo fair a prefent I defpife;
We like the gift, when we the giver prize.
But 'tis your love moves me, which made
Sach pains, and run fuch hazards for my fake.
I have perceiv'd (tho' I diffembled too)
A thoufand things that love has made you do.
Your eager eyes would almost dazzle mine,
In which (wild man) your wanton thoughts would shine.
Sometimes you'd figh, fometimes diforder'd ftand,
And with unufual ardour prefs my hand;
Contrive juft after me to take the glass,
Nor would you let the leaft occafion pafs:
When oft I fear'd, I did not mind alone,
And blushing fate for things which you have done :
Then murmur'd to myself, He'll for my fake
Do any thing, I hope 'twas no mistake.
Oft have I read within this pleasing grove,
Under my name, thofe charming words, I love.
I, frowning, feem'd not to believe your flame;
But now, alas, am come to write the fame.
If I were capable to do amifs,
I could not but be fenfible of this.
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