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But I with you may leave the Spartan port,
To view the Trojan wealth and Priam's court:
Shown while I fee, I fall expose my fame,
And fill a foreign country with my shame.
In Afia what reception shall I find?
And what dishonour leave in Grecce behind?
What will your brothers, Priam, Hecuba,
And what will all your modeft matrons say?
E’en you, when on this action


My future conduct juftly may suspect;
And whate'er itranger lands upon your coast,
Conclude me, by your own example, loft.
I from your rage a ftrumpet's name fall 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 boat the pomp and plenty of your land,
And promise all shall 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 shore,
What help of kindred could I there implore?
Medea was by Jason's flatt'ry won:
I may, like her, believe, and be undone.
Plain honest hearts, like mine, suspect no cheat,
And love contributes to its own deceit.
The ships, about whose fides loud tempests roar,
With gentle winds were wafted from the shore.
Your teeming mother dream’d a flaming brand,
Sprung from her womb, consum'd the Trojan land.
To second this, old prophecies conspire,
That Ilium shall 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 lost their cause, revenge will take ;
And for one friend two enemies you make.,


Nor can I doubt; but, mould I follow you,
The sword would soon our fatal crime pursue.
A wrong so great my husband's rage would rouse,
And my relations would his cause espouse.
You boast your strength and courage; but, alas!
Your words receive small credit from


Let heroes in the dusty field delight,
Those limbs were fashion'd for another fight.
Bid Hector sally from the walls of Troy;
A sweeter quarrel should your arms employ.
Yet fears like these thould not my mind perplex,
Were I as wise as many of


But time and you may bolder thoughts inspire;
And I perhaps may yield to your desire.
You last demand a private conference;
These are your words, but I can guess your senfe..
Your unripe hopes their harvett must attend:
Be ruld by me, and time



This is enough to let you understand;
For now my pen has tir'd my tender hand:
My woman knows the secret of my heart,
And may hereafter better news impart.

Vol. III.




Æneas, the son of Venus and Anchises, having, at the

destruction of Troy, faved his Gods, bis father, and fon Ascanius, from the fire, put to sea with twenty fail of ships; and, having been long tost with tempefts, was at last cast upon the shore of Libya, where queen Dido (Aying from the cruelty of Pygmalion ber bratber, who had killed her husband Sichæus) had lately built Carthage. She entertained Æneas and his fleet with great civility, fell passionately in love with him, and in the end denied him not the last favours. But Mercury admonishing Æneas to go in search of Italy, (a kingdom promised him by the Gods) he readily prepared to follow him. Dido foon perceived it, and having in vain tried all other means to engage him to stay, at last in despair writes to him as follows.

o, on Mæander's banks, when death is nigh,

The mournful swan sings 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 should I fear to lose a dying pray’r?
'Tis then resolvid poor Dido must be left,
Of life, of honour, and of love bereft!

with loosen'd fails, and vows, prepare
To seek a land that flies the searcher's care.
Nor can my rising tow'rs your flight restrain,
Nor my new empire, offer'd you in vain.
Built walls you shun, unbuilt you seek; that land
Is yet to conquer; but you this command.


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Suppose you landed where your with design'd,
Think what reception foreigners would find.
What people is so void of common sense,
To vote succession from a native prince?
Yet there new scepters and new loves you

New vows to plight, and plighted vows to break.
When will your tow'rs the height of Carthage know?
Or when your eyes discern such crowds below?
If such a town and subjects you could see,
Still would you want a wife who lov'd like me.
For, oh, I burn, like fires with incense bright:
Not holy tapers flame with purer light:
Æneas is my thoughts perpetual theme;
Their daily longing, and their nightly dream.
Yet he's ungrateful and obdurate itill:
Fool that I am to place my heart so ill!
Myself I cannot to myself restore;
Still I complain, and still 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 tigress come;
Or on rough seas, from their foundation torn,
Got by the winds, and in a tempest born:
Like that which now thy trembling failors fear;
Like that whose rage should still detain thee here.
Behold how high the foamy billows ride!
The winds and waves are on the jufter fide.
To winter weather and a stormy sea
I'll owe, whạt rather I would owe to thee.
Death thou deserv'ft from heav’n’s avenging laws;
But I'm unwilling to become the cause.
To shun 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 pow'r in love.
Know'st thou not yet what dangers ships fuftain ?
So often wreck’d, how dar'it thou tempt the main ?
Which were it smooth, were ev'ry wave asleep,
Ten thousand forms of death are in the deep.
In that abyss the Gods their vengeance store,
For broken vows of those who falsely swore.
There winged storms on sea-born Venus wait,
To vindicate the juftice of her ftate.
Thus I to thee the means of safety show;
And, lost myself, would still preserve my
False as thou art, I not thy death defign:
O rather live, to be the cause of mine!
Should fome avenging form thy vessel tear,
(But heav'n forbid my words should omen bear)
Then in thy face thy perjur'd vows would fly;
And my wrong'd ghost be present to thy eye.
With threat'ning looks think thou behold'It me ftare,
Gasping my mouth, and clotted all my hair.
Then, Thould fork'd lightning and red thunder fall,
What couldīt thou say, but, I deserv'd 'em all?
Left this should happen, make not hafte away;
To fhun the danger will be worth thy stay.
Have pity on thy son, if not on me:
My death alone is guilt enough for thee.
What has his youth, what have thy Gods deserv'd,
To sink in seas, who were from fires preserv’d?
But neither Gods nor parent didst thou bear;
Smooth stories all to please a woman's ear,
False as the tale of thy romantick life.
Nor yet am I thy first-deluded wife:
Left to pursuing foes Creüfa ftay'd,
By thee, base man, forsaken and betray'd.

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