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OF A MODERN AUTHOR upon the GAME
of CH ES S.
A Tablet ftood of that abfterfive tree,
Where Æthiop's swarthy bird did build her nest, Inlaid it was with Libyan ivory,
Drawn from the jaws of Africk's prudent beast. Two kings like Saul, much taller than the rest,
Their equal armies draw into the field ; Till one take th’ other prisoner they contest;
Courage and fortune must to conduct yield. This game the Persian Magi did invent,
The force of Eastern wisdom to express; From thence to busy Europeans sent,
And styl’d by modern Lombards pensive Chess.
Yet some that fled from Troy to Rome report,
Penthesilea Priam did oblige;
Her Amazons, his Trojans taught this sport,
To pass the tedious hours of ten years siege.
There she presents herself, whilst kings and peers
Look gravely on whilft fierce Bellona fights ; Yet maiden modesty her motions steers,
Nor rudely skips o'er bishops heads like knights,
The PASSION of DI DO for ÆNEAS.
SAVING at large declar'd Jove's embafly,
Cylenius from Æneas Straight doth fly;
He loth to disobey the God's command,
Nor willing to forsake this pleasant land,
Asham'd the kind Eliza to deceive,
But more afraid to take a folemn leave ;
He many ways his labouring thoughts revolves,
But fear o'ercoming shame, at last resolves
(Instructed by the God of Thieves*) to steal
Himself away, and his escape conceal.
He calls his captains, bids them rig the ficet,
That at the port they privately should meet ;
And some diffembled colour to project,
That Dido should not their design suspect :
But all in vain he did his plot disguise ;
No art a watchful lover can furprize.
She the first motion finds ; Love though most sure,
Yet always to itself seems unsecure.
That wicked fame which their firft love proclaim’d,
Fore-tells the end : the queen
Thus greets him: Thou dissembler, would'st thou fly
Out of my arms by stealth perfidiously?
Could not the hand I plighted, nor the love,
Nor thee the fate of dying Dido move ?
And in the depth of winter in the night,
Dark as thy black designs to take thy flight,
To plow the traging feas to coasts unknown,
The kingdom thou pretend’ft to, not thy own!
Were Troy restor'd, thou Thould ft miftrust a wind
False as thy vows, and as thy heart unkind.
Fly'st thou from me? By these dear drops of brine
I thee adjure, by that right hand of thine,
By our espousals, by our marriage-bed,
If all my kindness aught have merited ;
If ever I stood fair in thy esteem,
From ruin me and my lost house redeem.
Cannot my prayers a free acceptance find?
Nor my tears soften an obdurate mind ?
My fame of chastity, by which the skies
I reacht before, by thee extinguish'd dies.
Into my borders now Iarbus falls,
And my revengeful brother scales
The wild Numidians will advantage take,
For thee both Tyre and Carthage me forsake.
Hadft thou before thy Alight but left with me
A young Æneas, who, resembling thee,
Might in my sight have sported, I had then
Not wholly lost, nor quite deserted been ;
By thee, no more my husband, but my guest,
Betray'd to mischiefs, of which death 's the least.
With fixed looks he stands, and in his breast :
By Jove's command, his struggling care supprest.
Great queen, your favours and desert so great,
Though numberless, I never shall forget ;
No time, until myself I have forgot,
Out of my heart Eliza's name shall blot :
But my unwilling flight the Gods inforce,
And that must justify our sad divorce.
Since I must you forsake, would Fate permit,
To my desires I might my fortune fit;
Troy to her ancient splendour I would raise,
And where I first began, would end my days.
But since the Lycian Lots, and Delphic God
Have destin'd Italy for our abode ;
Since you proud Carthage (fled from Tyre) enjoy,
Why should not Latium us receive from Troy?
As for my son, my father's angry ghost
Tells me his hopes by my delays are crost,
And mighty Jove's ambassador appear'd
With the same message, whom I saw and heard ;
We both are griev'd when you or I complain,
But much the more when all complaints are vain ;
I call to witness all the Gods, and thy
Beloved head, the coast of Italy
Against my will I seek.
Whilst thus he speaks, she rowls her sparkling eyes,
Surveys him round, and thus incens'd replies ;
Thy mother was no Goddess, nor thy stock
From Dardanus, but in some horrid rock,
Perfidious wretch, rough Caucasus thee bred,
And with their milk Hyrcanian tigers fed.
Dislimulation I shall now forget,
And my reserves of rage in order set.
Could all my prayers and soft entreaties force
Sighs from his breast, or from his look remorse.
Where shall I first complain ? can mighty Jove
Or Juno such impieties approve ?
The just Astræa fure is fled to hell ;
Nor more in earth, nor heaven itself will dwell.
Oh Faith! him on my coasts by tempest cast,
Receiving madly, on my throne I plac'd ;
His men from famine, and his feet from fire
I rescued : Now the Lycian Lots conspire
With Phoebus; now Jove's envoy through the air
Brings dismal tidings; as if fuch low care
Could reach their thoughts, or their repose disturb !
Thou art a false impostor, and a fourbe;
Go, go, pursue thy kingdom through the main,
I hope, if Heaven her justice still retain,
Thou shalt be wreck'd, or cast upon some rock,
Where thou the name of Dido fhalt invoke :
I'll follow thee in funeral flames, when dead
My ghost ihall thee attend at board and bed,
And when the Gods on thee their vengeance show,
That welcome news shall comfort me below.
This saying, from his hated sight the fled,
Conducted by her damsels to her bed ;
Yet restless she arose, and looking out,
Beholds the fleet, and hears the seamen shout:
When great Æneas pass’d before the guard,
To make a view how all things were prepar'd.
Ah cruel Love! to what dost thou inforce
Poor mortal breasts! A ain she hath recourse
To tears and prayers, again the feels the smart
Of a fresh wound from his tyrannic dart.