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EPIST. XVII.

THE ARGUMENT.

Helen, having received an epistle from Paris, returns the following answer: wherein she jeems 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 sensible of the paffion, which he had expreffed for her, though he much fufpected his conftancy; and at last difcovers her inclination to be favourable to him: the whole letter fhewing the extreme artifice of womankind.

W

HEN loofe epiftles violate chafte eyes,

She half confents, who filently denies.
How dares a ftranger, with designs fo 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 diftant country brought you forth,
Your usage here was equal to your worth.)
Does this deferve 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 juft difdain.
Ill-bred then let me be, but not unchafte,

Nor my clear fame with any spot 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?

4

Because

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 shame.
Yet the base theft to him no fruit did bear,
I 'fcap'd unhurt by any thing but fear.
Rude force might some unwilling kisses 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 expofes me to bufy tongues.

I'll not complain; for who's difpleas'd with love,
If it fincere, discreet, 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 beft:
But why fhould I not shine above the rest?
Fair Leda's story seems 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 fhould 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

Go then, and boaft in fome lefs haughty place
Your Phrygian blood, and Priam's ancient race;
Which I would thew I valu'd, if I durft;
You are the fifth from Jove, but I the first.
The crown of Troy is pow'rful, I confefs;
But I have reafon to think ours no lefs.
Your letter, fill'd with promifes of all
That men can good, and women pleasant call,
Gives expectation fuch an ample field,
As would move Goddeffes themfelves to yield.
But if I e'er offend great Juno's laws,
Yourself shall be the dear, the only caufe:
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
you take
Such pains, and run fuch hazards for my fake.
I have perceiv'd (tho' I diffembled too)

A thousand things that love has made you do.
Your eager eyes would almost dazzle mine,

In which (wild man) your wanton thoughts would fhine.
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 myfelf, He'll for my fake
Do any thing; I hope 'twas no mistake.
Oft have I read within this pleafing 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.

For

For oh! your face has fuch peculiar charms,
That who can hold from flying to your arms!
But what I ne'er can have without offence,
May fome bleft maid poffefs with innocence.
Pleasure may tempt, but virtue more fhould move;
O learn of me to want the thing you love.
What you defire is fought by all mankind:
As you have eyes, fo others are not blind.
Like you they fee,
They wish not lefs,

like you my charms adore;
but you dare venture more.
Oh! had you then upon our coafts been brought,
My virgin-love when thoufand rivals fought,
You had I feen, you should have had my voice;
Nor could my husband justly blame my choice,
For both our hopes, alas! you come too late;
Another now is mafter of my fate.

More to my wish I could have liv'd with you,
And yet my prefent lot can undergo.
Ceafe to follicit a weak woman's will,
And urge not her you love to fo much ill.
But let me live contented as I may,

And make not my unfpotted fame your prey.
Some right you claim, fince naked to your eyes
Three Goddeffes difputed beauty's prize:
One offer'd valour, t'other crowns; but the
Obtain'd her caufe, who fmiling promis'd me.
But first I am not of belief fo light,

To think fuch nymphs would fhew you fuch a fight:
Yet granting this, the other part is feign'd;

A bribe fo mean your fentence had not gain'd.
With partial eyes I fhould myfelf regard,
To think that Venus made me her reward:
I humbly am content with human praife;
A Goddefs's applaufe would envy raife.
But be it as you fay; for, 'tis confeft,
The men, who flatter highest, please us best.

That

That I fufpect it, ought not to displease;
For miracles are not believ'd with ease.
One joy I have, that I had Venus' voice;
A greater yet, that you confirm'd her choice;
That proffer'd laurels, promis'd fovereignty,
Juno and Pallas you contemn'd for me.
Am I your empire then, and your renown?
What heart of rock, but muft by this be won?
And yet
bear witnefs, O you Pow'rs above,
How rude I am in all the arts of love!

My hand is yet untaught to write to men:
This is th' effay of my unpractis'd pen.

Happy thofe nymphs, whom ufe has perfect made!
I think all crime, and tremble at a shade.
E'en while I write, my fearful conscious eyes
Look often back, mifdoubting a furprise.
For now the rumour spreads among the croud,
At court in whifpers, but in town aloud:
Diffemble you, whate'er you hear 'em fay:
To leave off loving were your better way;
Yet if you will diffemble it, you may.
Love fecretly: the abfence of my lord.
More freedom gives, but does not all afford:
Long is his journey, long will be his stay;
Call'd by affairs of confequence away.
To go, or not, when unrefolv'd he stood,
1 bid him make what swift return he could:
Then kiffing me, he faid, I recommend
All to thy care, but moft my Trojan friend.
I fmil'd at what he innocently faid,

And only answer'd, You thall be obey'd.
Propitious winds have borne him far from hence,
But let not this fecure your confidence.

Abfent he is, yet abfent he commands:

}

You know the proverb, "Princes have long hands.”
My fame's my burden; for the more I'm prais'd,
A jufter ground of jealoufy is rais'd.

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