Despair like mine, barbarian! be thy part,
Remorse afflict, and forrow fting thy heart.
Nor think this hate commencing in my breast,
Though prudence long its latent force fupprefs'd;
I knew those wrongs that I was forc'd to bear,
And curs'd those chains Injustice made me wear.
For could'ft thou hope Roxana to deceive
With idle tales, which only fools believe?
Poor abject fouls in fuperftition bred,
In ign'rance train'd, by prejudice misled;
Whom hireling dervises by proxy teach
From those whose false prerogative they preach.
Didft thou imagine me fo weak of mind,
Because I murmur'd not, I ne'er repin'd,
But hugg'd my chain, and thought my jaylor kind?
That willingly those laws I e'er obey'd,
Which Pride invented, and Oppreffion made?
And whilst self-licens'd through the world you rove,
To quicken appetite by change in love;
Each paffion fated, and each with poffefs'd
That Luft can urge, or Fancy can suggest:
That I should mourn thy lofs with fond regret,
Weep the misfortune, and the wrong forget?
Could I believe that heav'n this beauty gave, (Thy transient pleasure, and thy lasting slave;) Indu'd with reason, only to fulfil
The harsh commands of thy capricious will?
No, Ufbeck, no, my foul difdain'd those laws;
And though I wanted pow'r t' affert my cause,
My right I knew; and ftill those pleasures fought,
Which Justice warranted, and Nature taught:
On Custom's senseless precepts I refin❜d,
I weigh'd what heav'n, I knew what man design'd,
And form'd by her own rules my free-born mind.
Thus whilst this wretched body own'd thy pow'r,
Doom'd, unredrefs'd, its hardships to deplore;
My foul fubfervient to herself alone,
And Reason independent on her throne,
Contemn'd thy dictates, and obey'd their own.
Yet thus far to my conduct thanks are due,
At least I condescended to seem true;
Endeavour'd still my fentiments to hide,
Indulg'd thy vanity, and footh'd thy pride.
Though this fubmiffion to a tyrant paid,
Whom not my duty, but my fears obey'd,
If rightly weigh'd, would more deserve thy blame,
Who call it Virtue, but prophane her name:
For to the world I should have own'd that love,
Which all impartial judges must approve :
You urg'd a right to tyrannize my heart,
Which he folliciting, affail'd by art,
Whilft I, impatient of the name of flave,
To force refus'd, what I to merit gave.
Oft, as thy flaves this wretched body led
To the detefted pleasures of thy bed;
In those soft moments, confecrate to joy,
Which extacy and tranfport should employ ;
Clafp'd in your arms, you wonder'd ftill to find
So cold my kiffes, fo compos'd my mind:
But had thy cheated eyes difcern'd aright,
You'd found averfion, where you fought delight.
Not that my foul incapable of love,
No charms could warm, no tenderness could move;
For him, whofe love my every thought poffefs'd,
A fiercer passion fill'd this constant breast,
Than truth e'er felt, or falfhood e'er poffefs'd.
This stile unusual to thy pride appears,
For truth's a stranger to the tyrant's ears;
But what have I to manage or to dread?
Nor threats alarm, nor infults hurt the dead:
No wrongs they feel, no miferies they find;
Cares are the legacies we leave behind:
In the calm grave no Ufbecks we deplore,
No tyrant husband, no oppreffive pow'r.
Alas! I faint - Death intercepts the rest.
The venom'd drug is busy in my breast:
Each nerve's unftrung: a mift obfcures the day:
My fenfes, ftrength, and ev'n my hate decay:
Though rage awhile the ebbing fpirits stay'd,
'Tis paft - they fink beneath the tranfient aid.
Take then, inhuman wretch! my last farewel;
Pain be thy portion here, hereafter, hell:
And when our prophet fhall my fate decree,
Be any curfe my punishment, but thee.
EPILOGUE defign'd for SOPHONISBA,
And to have been spoken by Mrs. OLDFIELD.
EFORE you fign poor Sophonisba's doom,
In her behalf petitioner I come;
Not but our author knows, whate'er I fay,
That I could find objections to his play.
This double marriage for her country's good,
I told him never would be understood,
And that ye all would fay, 'twas flesh and blood.
Had Carthage only been in madam's head,
Her champion never had been in her bed:
For could the ideot think a husband's name
Would make him quit his intereft, friends and fame;
That he would rifque a kingdom for a wife,
And act dependent in a place for life?
Yet what ftern Cato fhall condemn the fair,
Whilst public good fhe thunder'd in your ear,
If private intereft had a little fhare?
You know, she acted not against the laws
Of thofe old-fafhion'd times; that in her caufe
Old Syphax could no longer make a stand,
And Maffiniffa woo'd her sword in hand.
But did she take the way to whet that sword?
Heroes fight coldly when wives give the word.
She should have kept him keen, employ'd her charms
Not as a bribe, but to reward his arms;
Have told him when Rome yielded fhe would yield,
And sent him fresh, not yawning, to the field.
She talk'd it well to roufe him to the fight,
But like Penelope, when out of fight,
All she had done by day, undid by night.
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