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Indulgent to the wrongs which we receive,
Our fex can fuffer what we dare not give.
What have I faid? For both of us 'twere beft,
Our kindling fire if each of us fuppreft.
The faith of ftrangers is too prone to change;
And, like themselves, their wandering paffions
range.

Hypfipile, and the fond Minonian maid,

Were both, by trufting of their guests, betray'd.
How can I doubt that other men deceive,
When you yourself did fair Oenone leave?
But left I fhould upbraid your treachery,
You make a merit of that crime to me.
Yet grant you were to faithful love inclin'd,
Your weary Trojans wait but for a wind.
Should you prevail; while I affign the night,
Your fails are hoifted, and you take your flight.
Some bawling mariner our love destroys,
And breaks afunder our unfinish'd joys.
But I with you may leave the Spartan court,
To view the Trojan wealth, and Priam's court:
Shown while I fee, I fhall expofe my fame,
And fill a foreign country with my fhame.
In Afia what reception fhall I find?

And what dishonour leave in Greece behind?
What will your brothers, Priam, Hecuba,
And what will all your modeft matrons fay?
Ev'n you, when on this action you reflec,
My future conduct justly may fufpect;
And whate'er ftranger lands upon your coaft,
Conclude me, by your own example, lost.
I from your rage a ftrumpet's name fhall, hear,
While you forget what part in it you bear.
You, my crime's author, will my crime upbraid:
Deep under ground, oh, let me first be laid!
You boaft the pomp and plenty of your land,
And promise all fhall be at my command.
Your Trojan wealth, believe me, I despise;
My own poor native land has dearer ties.
Should I be injur'd on your Phrygian fhore,
What help of kindred could I there implore?

Medea was by Jafon's flattery won:

I may, like her, believe, and be undone.
Plain, honeft hearts, like mine, fufpect no cheat;
And love contributes to its own deceit.
The fhips, about whofe fides loud tempefts roar,
With gentle winds were wafted from the shore.
Your teeming mother dream'd a flaming brand,
Sprung from her womb, confum'd the Trojan
land.

To fecond this, old prophecies conspire,
That Ilium fhall be burnt with Grecian fire.
Both give me fear; nor is it much allay'd,
That Venus is oblig'd our loves to aid:

For they who loft their caufe, revenge will take;

And for one friend two enemies you make.
Nor can I doubt, but, fhould I follow you,
The fword would foon our fatal crime purfue.
A wrong fo great my husband's rage would

rouze;

And my relations would his cause espouse.
You boaft your ftrength and courage; but, alas!
Your words receive fmall credit from your face.
Let heroes in the dufty field delight:
Thofe 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 thefe fhould 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 defire.
You laft demand a private conference :
Thefe 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.

Zij

DIDO TO ENEAS.

EPISTLE VII.

The Argument.

Eneas, the fon of Venus and Anchifes, having, at the deftruction of Troy, faved his Gods, his fa ther, and son Afcanius, from the fire, put to fea with twenty fail of fhips; and, having been long toft with tempefts, was at laft caft upon the fhore of Libya, where Queen Dido (flying from the cruelty of Pygmalion her brother, who had killed her husband Sichæus) had lately built Carthage. She entertained Æneas and his fleet with great civility, fell paffionately in love with him, and in the end denied him not the last favours. But Mercury admonishing Æneas to go in fearch of Italy, (a kingdom promised him by the Gods) he readily prepared to obey him. Dido foon perceived it, and having in vain tried all other means to engage him to stay, at last in defpair writes to him as follows: .

So, on Maander's banks, when death is nigh,
The mournful fwan fings her own elegy.
Not that I hope (for, oh, that hope were vain!)
By words your loft affection to regain :
But, having loft whate'er was worth my care,
Why fhould I fear to lofe a dying prayer?
'Tis then refolv'd poor Dido must be left,
Of life, of honour, and of love bereft !
While you, with loofen'd fails and vows, prepare
To feek a land that flies the fearcher's care.
Nor can my rising towers your flight reftrain,
Nor my new empire, offer'd you in vain.
Built walls you fhun, unbuilt you feek: that land
Is yet to conquer; but you this command.
Suppofe you landed where your with defign'd,
Think what reception foreigners would find,
What people is fo void of common fenfe,
To vote fucceffion from a native prince?
Yet there new fceptres and new loves you feck;
New vows to plight, and plighted vows to break.
When will your towers the height of Carthage
know?

Or when your eyes difcern fuch crowds below?
If fuch a town and fubjects you could fee,

Still would you want a wife who lov'd like me:

For, oh, I burn, like fires with incenfe bright;
Not holy tapers flame with purer light:

Eneas is my thoughts' perpetual theme;
Their daily longing, and their nightly dream.
Yet he's ungrateful and obdurate ftill.
Fool that I am to place my heart fo ill!
Myfelf I cannot to myself restore:
Still I complain, and ftill I love him more.
Have pity, Cupid, on my bleeding heart,
And pierce thy brother's with an equal dart.
I rave: nor canst thou Venus' offspring be:
Love's mother could not bear a fon like thee.
From harden'd oak, or from a rock's cold womb,
At least thou art from fome fierce tigrefs come;
Or on rough feas, from their foundation torn,
Got by the winds, and in a tempest born:
Like that which now thy trembling failors fear;
Like that whofe rage fhould ftill detain thee here.
Behold how high the foamy billows ride!
The winds and waves are on the juster fide.
To winter weather and a stormy fea

I'll owe, what rather I would owe to thee. Death thou deferv'ft from heaven's avenging laws;

But I'm unwilling to become the cause.

To fhun my love, if thou wilt seek thy fate,
'Tis a dear purchase, and a costly hate.
Stay but a little, till the tempeft cease,
And the loud winds are lull'd into a peace.
May all thy rage, like theirs, unconftant prove!
And so it will, if there be power in love.
Know'st thou not yet what dangers fhips fuftain?
So often wreck'd, how dar'ft thou tempt the
main?

Which, were it fmooth, were every wave afleep,
Ten thousand forms of death are in the deep.
In that abyfs the Gods their vengeance store,
For broken vows of those who falfely (wore.
Their winged ftorms on fea-born Venus wait,
To vindicate the juftice of her ftate.
Thus I to thee the means of fafety show;
And, loft myself, would ftill preferve my foe.
Falle as thou art, I not thy death defign:
O rather live, to be the cause of mine!
Should fome avenging form thy veffel tear,
(But heaven forbid my words fhould omen bear)
Then in thy face thy perjur'd vows would fly,
And my wrong'd ghost be present to thy eye.
With threatening looks think thou behold'st me
ftare,

Gafping my mouth, and clotted all my hair.
Then, fhould fork'd lightning and red thunder
fall,

What could't thou fay, but, I deserv'd 'em all?
Left this should happen, make not haste away;
To fhun the danger will be worth thy stay.
Have pity on thy fon, if not on me:
My death alone is guilt enough for thee.
What has his youth, what have thy Gods de-
ferv'd,

To fink in feas, who were from fires preserv'd?
But neither Gods nor parent didft thou bear;
Smooth stories all to please a woman' ear,
Falfe as the tale of thy romantic life.
Nor yet am I thy firft-deluded wife:
Left to purfuing foes Creüfa ftay'd,

By thee, bafe man, forfaken and betray'd.

This, when thou told'ft me, ftruck my tender heart,

That fuch requital fellow'd fuch defert.

Nor doubt I but the Gods, for crimes like thefe,
Seven winters kept thee wandering on the feas.
Thy starv'd companions, caft afhare, I fed,
Thyfelf admitted to my crown and bed.
To harbour strangers, fuccour the diftreft,
Was kind enough; but, oh, too kind the rest!
Curst be the cave which firft my ruin brought,
Where, from the ftorm, we common fhelter
fought!

A dreadful howling echo'd round the place:
The mountain nymphs, thought I, my nuptials

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There, wreath'd with boughs and wool, his ftatue ftands,

The pious monument of artful hands.

Laft night, methought, he call'd me from the dome;

And thrice, with hollow voice, cry'd, Dido, come. She comes; thy wife thy lawful fummons hears; But come more flowly, clogg'd with confcious fears.

Forgive the wrong I offer'd to thy bed;
Strong were his charms, who my weak faith mif
led.

His Goddefs mother, and his aged fire-
Born on his back, did to my fall confpire.
Oh fuch he was, and is, that, were he true,
Without a blush I might his love purfue.
But cruel ftars my birth-day did attend;
And as my fortune open'd, it must end.
My plighted lord was at the altar flain,

Whofe wealth was made my bloody brother's
gain.
Friendless, and follow'd by the murderer's hate,
To foreign countries I remov'd my fate;
And here, a fuppliant, from the natives hands
I bought the ground on which my city ftands,
With all the coaft that stretches to the fea,
Ev'n to the friendly port that shelter'd thee;
Then rais'd thefe walls, which mount into the
air,

At once my neighbours wonder, and their fear:
For now they arm; and round me leagues are

made,

My scarce-establish'd empire to invade.
To man my new-built walls I must prepare;
An helpless woman, and unfkill'd in war.
Yet thousand rivals to my love pretend,
And for my perfon would my crown defend;
Whofe jarring votes in one complaint agree,
That each unjustly is difdain'd for thee.
To proud Hyarbas give me up a prey,
(For that muft follow, if thou goeft away) ;
Or to my husband's murderer leave my life,
That to the hufband he may add the wife.
Go then, fince no complaints can move thy
mind;

Go, perjur'd man, but leave thy Gods behind.
Touch not thofe Gods, by whom thou art for

fworn,

Who will in impious hands no more be borne:
Thy facrilegious worship they difdain,
And rather would the Grecian fires fuftain.
Perhaps my greatest shame is fill to come,
And part of thee lies hid within my womb.
The babe unborn muft perish by thy hate,
And perifh guiltlefs in his mother's fate.
Some God, thou fay't, thy voyage does com.
mand:
[land!
Would the fame God had larr'd thee from my
The fame, I doubt not, thy departure fteers,
Who kept thee out at fea fo many years;
While thy long labours were a price fo great,
As thou to purchase Troy would'st not repeat.
But Tyber now thou feek'it, to be at beft,
When there arriv'd, a poor, precarious guest.
Zij

Yet it deludes thy fearch; perhaps it will
To thy old age lie undifcover'd ftill.

A ready crown and wealth in dower I bring;
And, without conquering, here thou art a king:
Here thou to Carthage may'ft transfer thy
Troy;

Here young Afcanius may his arms employ,
And, while we live fecure in foft repofe,
Bring many laurels home from conquer'd foes.
By Cupid's arrows, I adjure thee, stay,
By all the Gods, companions of thy way.
So may thy Trojans, who are yet alive,
Live ftill, and with no future fortune ftrive;
So may thy youthful fon old age attain,
And thy dead father's bones in peace remain:
As thou haft pity on unhappy me,

Who knew no crime, but too much love of thee.

I am not born from fierce Achilles' line,
Nor did my parents against Troy combine.
To be thy wife if I unworthy prove,
By fome inferior name admit my love.
To be fecur'd of ftill poffeffing thee,
What would I do, and what would I not be!
Our Libyan coafts their certain feafons know,
When free from tempefts paffengers may go;
But now with northern blafts the billows rear,
And drive the floating fea-weed to the thore.

Leave to my care the time to fail away;
When fafe, I will not fuffer thee to stay.
Thy weary men would be with ease content:
Their fails are tatter'd, and their mafts are spent.
If by no merit I thy mind can move,
What thou deny't my merit, give my love.
Stay, till I learn my lofs to undergo,
And give me time to ftruggle with my woe.
If not, know this, I will not fuffer long;
My life's too loathfome, and my love too firong.
Death holds my pen, and dictates what I say,
While crofs my lap the Trojan fsword I lay.
My tears flow down; the fharp edge cuts their
flood,

And drinks my forrows that must drink my blood.
How well thy gift does with my fate agree!
My funeral pomp is cheaply made by thee.
To no new wounds my bofom I display:
The fword but enters where love made the way.
But thou, dear fifter, and yet dearer friend,
Shalt my cold aíhes to their urn attend.
Sichæus' wife let not the marble boast :
I loft that title when my fame I lost.
This fhort infcription only let it bear :
Unhappy Dido lies in quiet here.

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"The caufe of death, and fword by which the

dy'd,

"Aneas gave; the rest her arm supply'd."

TRANSLATIONS FROM

OVID'S ART OF LOVE.

THE FIRST BOOK OF OVID'S ART OF LOVE.

IN Cupid's fchool whoe'er would take degree,
Muft learn his rudiments by reading me.
Seamen with failing arts their veffels move;
Art guides the chariot, art inftructs to love.
Of hips and chariots others know the rule;
But I am mafter in Love's mighty school.
Cupid indeed is obftinate and wild,

A stubborn God; but yet the God's a child,
Easy to govern in his tender age,
Like fierce Achilles in his pupillage.
That hero, born for conqueft, trembling stood
Before the Centaur, and receiv'd the rod.
As Chiron mollify'd his cruel mind

With art, and taught his warlike hands to wind
The filver ftrings of his melodious lyre:
So Love's fair Goddefs does my foul inspire,
To teach her fofter arts; to foothe the mind,
And imooth the rugged breasts of human-kind.
Yet Cupid and Achilles each with fcorn
And rage were fill'd, and both were goddess-

born.

The bull, reclaim'd and yok'd, the burden draws;
The horse receives the bit within his jaws;
And ftubborn Love shall bend beneath my fway,
Though ftruggling oft he strives to disobey.
He thakes his torch, he wounds me with his

darts;

But vain his force, and vainer are his arts.

The more he burns my foul, or wounds my fight,

The more he teaches to revenge the spite.

I boast no aid the Delphian God affords, Nor aufpice from the flight of chattering birds; Nor Clio, nor her fifters, have I seen, As Hefiod faw them on the fhady green: Experience makes my work; a truth fo try'd You may believe; and Venus be my guide.

Far hence, ye veftals, be, who bind your hair;

And wives, who gowns below your ancles wear.
I fing the brothels loofe and unconfin'd,
Th' unpunishable pleasures of the kind,
Which all alike, for love or money, find.

You, who in Cupid's rolls infcribe your name,

First feek an object worthy of your flame;
Then ftrive with art your lady's mind to gain;
And last, provide your love may long remain.
On these three precepts all my work shall move:
These are the rules and principles of love.

Before your youth with marriage is oppreft, Make choice of one who fuits your humour beft:

And fuch a damfel drops not from the sky:
She must be fought for with a curious eye.
Z iiij

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