You laft demand a private conference;

These are your words, but I can guess your sense.
Your unripe hopes their harvest must attend :
Be rul'd by me, and time may be your friend.
This is enough to let you understand;
For now my pen has tir'd my tender hand :
My woman knows the fecret of my heart,
And may hereafter better news impart.

DIDO TO ENEA S.

EPIS T. VII.

THE ARGUMENT.

Eneas, the fon of Venus and Anchifes, having, at the deftruction of Troy, faved his Gods, bis father, and fon Afcanius, from the fire, put to fea with twenty fail of bips; and, having been long toft with tempefts, was at laft cast upon the shore of Libya, where queen Dido (flying from the cruelty of Pygmalion her brother, who had killed her husband Sichæus) had lately built Carthage. She entertained Æneas and his fleet with great civility, fell paffionately in love with him, and in the end denied him not the last favours. But Mercury admonisbing Æneas to go in search of Italy, (a kingdom promised him by the Gods) he readily prepared to obey him. Dido foon perceived it, and having in vain tried all other means to engage him to fay, at laft in defpair writes to him as fol

S

lows.

O, on Meander's banks, when death is nigh,
The mournful fwan fings 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 fhould I fear to lofe a dying prayer?

VOL. IV.

Tis

'Tis then refolv'd poor Dido must be left,

Of life, of honour, and of love bereft !

While with loofen'd fails and vows, prepare

you,

To feek a land that flies the fearcher's care.

Nor can my rising towers your flight restrain,
Nor my new empire, offer'd you in vain.

Built walls you fhun, unbuilt you seek; that land
Is yet to conquer; but you this command.
Suppofe you landed where your with defign'd,
Think what reception foreigners would find.
What people is fo void of common fense,
To vote fucceffion from a native prince?
Yet there new fceptres and new loves you feek ;
New vows to plight, and plighted vows to break.
When will your towers the height of Carthage know?
Or when your eyes difcern fuch crowds below?
If fuch a town and subjects you could fee,
Still would you want a wife who lov'd like me.
For, oh, I burn, like fires with incenfe bright:
Not holy tapers flame with purer light:
Aneas is my thoughts' perpetual theme;
Their daily longing, and their nightly dream.
Yet he 's ungrateful and obdurate still:
Fool that I am to place my heart fo ill!
Myfelf 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 tigrefs come;
Or on rough feas, from their foundation torn,
Got by the winds, and in a tempeft born:

Like that which now thy trembling failors fear;
Like that whose rage fhould ftill 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 fea

I'll owe, what rather I would owe to thee.
Death thou deferv'ft from heaven's avenging laws;
But I'm unwilling to become the cause.

To fhun my love, if thou wilt seek thy fate,
'Tis a dear purchase, and a coftly 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, unconstant prove!
And so it will, if there be power in love.

Know'st thou not yet what dangers ships fuftain ?
So often wreck'd, how dar'ft thou tempt the main ?
Which were it smooth, were every 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 falfely swore.
There winged storms on fea-born Venus wait,
To vindicate the juftice of her state.

Thus I to thee the means of safety show;
And, loft myself, would ftill preferve my foe.
False as thou art, I not thy death design :
O rather live, to be the caufe of mine!

Should fome avenging ftorm thy veffel tear,

(But heaven forbid my words fhould omen bear)
Then in thy face thy perjur'd vows would fly;
And my wrong'd ghost be present to thy eye.
With threatening looks think thou behold'st me ftare,
Gafping my mouth, and clotted all my hair.

Then, fhould fork'd lightning and red thunder fall,
What could't thou fay, but, I deferv'd 'em all?
Left this fhould happen, make not haste away,
To fhun the danger will be worth thy stay.
Have pity on thy for, if not on me :

My death alone is guilt enough for thee.

What has his youth, what have thy Gods deferv'd,
To fink in feas, who were from fires preferv'd?
But neither Gods nor parent didst thou bear;
Smooth stories all to please a woman's ear,
Falfe as the tale of thy romantic life.
Nor yet am I thy firft-deluded wife :
Left to purfuing foes Creüsa stay'd,

By thee, bafe man, forsaken and betray'd.

This, when thou told'ft me, ftruck my tender heart,
That fuch requital follow'd fuch defert.

Nor doubt I but the Gods, for crimes like these,
Seven winters kept thee wandering on the feas.
Thy starv'd companions, caft afhore, I fed,
Thyself admitted to my crown and bed.
To harbour strangers, fuccour the distrest,
Was kind enough; but, oh, too kind the reft!
Curft be the cave which first my ruin brought,
Where, from the storm, we common shelter fought!

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