At length they took their leave, the time expir'd;
Well pleas'd, and to their several homes retir'd.
Mean while the health of Arcite still impairs ;
From bad proceeds to worse, and mocks the leeches cares;
Swoln is his breaft; his inward pains increase,
All means are us'd, and all without fuccefs.
The clotted blood lies heavy on his heart,
Corrupts, and there remains in spite of art:
Nor breathing veins, nor cupping, will prevail;
All outward remedies and inward fail:
The mold of nature's fabric is destroy'd,
Her veffels difcompos'd, her virtue void:
The bellows of his lungs begin to fwell :
All out of frame is every fecret cell,
Nor can the good receive, nor bad expel.
Those breathing organs thus within opprest,
With venom foon diftend the finews of his breast.
Nought profits him to fave abandon'd life,
Nor vomit's upward aid, nor downward laxative.
The midmoft region batter'd and destroy'd,
When nature cannot work, th' effect of art is void.
For phyfic can but mend our crazy state,
Patch an old building, not a new create.
Arcite is doom'd to die in all his pride,
Muft leave his youth, and yield his beauteous bride,
Gain'd hardly, against right, and unenjoy'd.
When 'twas declar'd all hope of life was past,
Confcience (that of all phyfic works the last)
Caus'd him to fend for Emily in haste.
With her, at his defire, came Palamon;
Then on his pillow rais'd, he thus begun.
No language can express the smallest part
Of what I feel, and suffer in my heart,
For you, whom beft I love and value most ;
But to your service I bequeath my ghost;
Which from this mortal body when unty'd,
Unfeen, unheard, shall hover at your
fide;
Nor fright you waking, nor your sleep offend,
But wait officious, and your steps attend:
How I have lov'd, excuse my faltering tongue,
My fpirits feeble, and my pains are ftrong :
This I may say, I only grieve to die
Because I lose my charming Emily:
To die, when Heaven had put you in my power,
Fate could not chufe a more malicious hour!
What greater curse could envious fortune give,
Than just to die, when I began to live!
Vain men, how vanishing a bliss we crave,
Now warm in love, now withering in the grave!
Never, O never more to fee the fun!
Still dark, in a damp vault, and still alone!
This fate is common; but I lose my breath
Near blifs, and yet not blefs'd before my death.
Farewel; but take me dying in your arms,
'Tis all I can enjoy of all your charms:
This hand I cannot but in death resign;
Ah! could I live! but while I live 'tis mine.
I feel
my end approach, and thus embrac'd,
Am pleas'd to die; but hear me fpeak my last,
Ah! my fweet foe, for you,
and you alone,
I broke my faith with injur'd Palamon.
But love the fenfe of right and wrong confounds,
Strong love and proud ambition have no bounds.
And much I doubt, fhould heaven my life prolong,
I should return to justify my wrong :
For, while my former flames remain within,
Repentance is but want of power to fin.
With mortal hatred I purfued his life,
Nor he, nor you, were guilty of the strife:
Nor I, but as I lov'd; yet all combin'd,
Your beauty, and my impotence of mind;
And his concurrent flame, that blew my fire;
For fill our kindred fouls had one defire.
He had a moment's right in point of time;
Had I seen first, then his had been the crime.
Fate made it mine, and justify'd his right;
Nor holds this earth a more deferving knight,
For virtue, valour, and for noble blood,
Truth, honour, all that is compriz'd in good;
So help me Heaven, in all the world is none
So worthy to be lov'd as Palamon.
He loves you too, with fuch an holy fire,
As will not, cannot, but with life expire :
Our vow'd affections both have often try'd,
Nor any love but yours could ours divide.
Then, by my love's inviolable band,
By my long fuffering, and my fhort command,
If e'er you plight your vows when I am gone,
Have pity on the faithful Palamon.
This was his laft; for death came on amain, And exercis'd below his iron reign;
Then upward to the feat of life he goes:
Senfe fled before him, what he touch'd he froze :
Yet could he not his closing eyes withdraw,
Though lefs and lefs of Emily he faw
So, fpeechless, for a little space he lay;
Then grafp'd the hand he held, and figh'd his foul away.
But whither went his foul, let fuch relate Who fearch the fecrets of the future ftate: Divines can fay but what themselves believe; Strong proofs they have, but not demonstrative: For, were all plain, then all fides must agree, And faith itfelf be loft in certainty.
To live uprightly then is fure the best,
To fave ourselves, and not to damn the reft.
The foul of Arcite went where heathens go,
Who better live than we, though lefs they know.
In Palamon a manly grief appears;
Silent, he wept, asham'd to shew his tears :
Emilia fhriek'd but once, and then, opprefs'd
With forrow, funk upon her lover's breast:
Till Thefeus in his arms convey'd with care,
Far from fo fad a fight, the fwooning fair.
'Twere lofs of time her forrow to relate;
Ill bears the fex a youthful lover's fate,
When just approaching to the nuptial state.
But, like a low-hung cloud, it rains so fast,
That all at once it falls, and cannot last.
The face of things is chang'd, and Athens now,
That laugh'd fo late, becomes the fcene of woe:
Matrons and maids, both sexes, every state,
With tears lament the knight's untimely fate.
Nor greater grief in falling Troy was feen
For Hector's death; but Hector was not then.
Old men with duft deform'd their hoary hair,
The women beat their breasts, their cheeks they tare.
Why would'st thou go, with one confent they cry,
When thou had'st gold enough, and Emily.
Thefeus himself, who should have cheer'd the grief
Of others, wanted now the fame relief.
Old Egeus only could revive his fon,
Who various changes of the world had known :
And strange viciffitudes of human fate,
Still altering, never in a steady state ;
Good after ill, and after pain delight;
Alternate like the scenes of day and night:
Since every man who lives is born to die,
And none can boaft fincere felicity,
With equal mind what happens let us bear,
Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care.
Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend ;
The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.
Ev'n kings but play; and when their part is done,
Some other, worse or better, mount the throne.
With words like these the crowd was fatisfy'd,
And fo they would have been, had Thefeus dy'd.
VOL. III
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