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EPIST. XI.

THE ARGUMENT.

Macareus and Canace, fon and daughter to Aolus, God of the Winds, loved each other incestuously: Canace was delivered of a fon, and committed him to her nurse, to be fecretly conveyed away. The infant crying out, by that means was discovered to Eolus, who, inraged at the wickedness of his children, commanded the babe to be expofed to wild beafts on the mountains: and withal, fent a fword to Canace, with this message, That her crimes would inftruct her how to use it. With this fword fhe flew berfeif: but before he died, fhe writ the following letter to her brother Macareus, who had taken fanctuary in the temple of Apollo.

F ftreaming blood my fatal letter ftain,

One hand the fword, and one the pen employs,
And in my lap the ready paper lies.

Think in this pofture thou behold'st me write :
In this my cruel father would delight.

O! were he prefent, that his eyes and hands!
Might fee, and urge, the death which he commands:
Than all the raging winds more dreadful, he,
Unmov'd, without a tear, my wounds would fee.
Jove juftly plac'd him on a stormy throne,
His people's temper is fo like his own.

The North and South, and each contending blaft,
Are underneath his wide dominion caft:
Thofe he can rule; but his tempeftuous mind
Is, like his airy kingdom, unconfin'd.
Ah! what avail my kindred Gods above,
That in their number I can reckon Jove!

P 3

What

What help will all my heav'nly friends afford,
When to my breast I lift the pointed fword?
That hour, which join'd us, came before its time:
In death we had been one without a crime.
Why did thy flames beyond a brother's move?
Why lov'd I thee with more than fifter's love?
For I lov'd too; and knowing not my wound,
A fecret pleasure in thy kiffes found:
My cheeks no longer did their colour boast,
My food grew loathfome, and my ftrength I loft:
Still ere I spoke, a figh would stop my tongue;
Short were my flumbers, and my nights were long、
I knew not from my love these griefs did
Yet was, alas, the thing I did not know.
My wily nurfe by long experience found,
And first discover'd to my foul its wound.
'Tis love, faid fhe; and then my down-caft eyes,
And guilty dumbnefs, witness'd my furprize.
Forc'd at the last, my fhameful pain I tell :
And, oh, what follow'd we both know too well!
"When half denying, more than half content,
"Embraces warm'd me to a full confent.

grow,

"Then with tumultuous joys my heart did beat,
"And guilt that made them anxious made them great.”
But now my fwelling womb heav'd up my breaft,
And rifing weight my finking limbs oppreft..
What herbs, what plants, did not my nurfe produce,
To make abortion by their pow'rful juice?
What med'cines try'd we not, to thee unknown?
Our first crime common; this was mine alone.
But the trong child, fecure in his dark cell,
With nature's vigour did our arts repel.
And now the pale-fac'd emprefs of the night
Nine times had fill'd her orb with borrow'd light:
Not knowing 'twas my labour, I complain
Of fudden fhootings, and of grinding pain :

My

My throes came thicker, and my cries increas'd,
Which with her hand the confcious nurfe fupprefs'd.
To that unhappy fortune was I come,

Pain urg'd my clamours, but fear kept me dumb.
With inward ftruggling I restrain'd my cries,
And drunk the tears that trickled from my eyes.
Death was in fight, Lucina gave no aid;
And even my dying had my guilt betray'd.
Thou cam'ft, and in thy count'nance fate despair;
Rent were thy garments all, and torn thy hair :
Yet feigning comfort, which thou couldst not give,
(Preft in thy arms, and whifp'ring me to live:)
For both our fakes, (faidft thou) preferve thy life;
Live, my dear fifter, and my dearer wife.

Rais'd by that name with my laft pangs I ftrove:
Such pow'r have words, when spoke by those we love.
The babe, as if he heard what thou hadst sworn,
With hafty joy fprung forward to be born.
What helps it to have weather'd out one storm?
Fear of our father does another form.

High in his hall, rock'd in a chair of ftate,
The king with his tempeftuous council fate.
Thro' this large room our only paffage lay,
By which we could the new-born babe convey.
Swath'd in her lap, the bold nurse bore him out,
With olive branches cover'd round about;
And, mutt'ring pray'rs, as holy rites fhe meant,
Thro' the divided croud unqueftion'd went.
Juft at the door, th' unhappy infant cry'd:
The grandfire heard him, and the theft he spy'd.
Swift as a whirlwind to the nurse he flies,
And deafs his ftormy fubjects with his cries.
With one fierce puff he blows the leaves away;
Expos'd the felf-difcover'd infant lay.
The noise reach'd me, and my prefaging mind
Too foon its own approaching woes divin'd.

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Not ships at fea with winds are shaken more,
Nor feas themselves, when angry tempefts 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 fuch a curfe!
Out went the king; my voice its freedom found,
My breasts I beat, my blubber'd cheeks I wound.
And now appear'd the meffenger 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 ufe of it will fhow."
Too well I know the fenfe those words impart:
His present shall be treafur'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 difgrace,
And take thy torch from this detefted 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?

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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 deftroy'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 thorn 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 ghoft.
But thou, my love, and now my love's despair,
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 breaft thou dropp'st a tear,
Think for whofe fake my breast that wound did bear;
And faithfully my last defires fulfil,

As I perform my cruel father's will,

HELEN

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