"Not arts, nor ruder force of men prevail'd,

My tears found pity, when my language fail'd. "Oft have thefe violated locks been torn,

"And injur'd face their favage fury borne; "Oft have my bloody robes their crimes confeft, "And pointed daggers glitter'd at my breaft; "Yet, free from guilt, I found some happier charm "To vanquish luft, and wildeft rage difarm. "But ah! the greatest labour 's yet behind; *No tears can soften this obdurate mind; "No prayers inexorable pity move,

"Or guard me from the worft of ruins, Love:

66

Though sleep and wine allow this kind reprieve, "Yet to the youth they'll ftrength and fury give; "Then, wretched maid! then think what artifice, "What charm, fhall rescue from his nerv'd embrace! "When with fupplies of vigour next he ftorms, "And every dictate of his luft performs.

"But you, bleft Power, that own a virgin's name, "Protect my virtue, and defend my fame, "From powerful luft, and the reproach of shame; "If I a ftrict religious life have led,

bed!

"Drunk the cold stream, and made the earth my "If from the world a chafte reclufe I live, "Redress my wrongs, and generous fuccour give; Allay this raging tempeft of my mind,

66

"A virgin should be to a virgin kind :
"Proftrate with tears from you I beg defence,
"Or take my life, or guard my innocence."

While thus the afflicted beauty pray'd, the spy'd A fatal dagger by Amalis' fide:

"This weapon's mine!" fhe cries, (then grafp'dit faft)
"And now the lustful tyrant fleeps his laft.'
With eager hand the pointed steel she draws,
Ev'n murder pleases in fo juft a cause ;
Nor fears, nor dangers, now resistance make,
Since honour, life, and dearer fame, 's at stake.
Yet in her breast does kind compaffion plead,
And fills her foul with horror of the deed;
Her fex's tenderness resumes its place,
And spreads in conscious blushes o'er her face.
Now, ftung with the remorfe of guilt, fhe cries,
“Ah, frantic girl, what wild attempt is this!
"Think, think, Theutilla, on the murderer's doom,
"And tremble at a punishment to come :
"Stain not thy virgin hands with guilty blood,
"And dread to be fo criminally good.

"Lay both thy courage and thy weapon down,
"Nor fly to aids a maid must blush to own;
“Nor arms, nor valour, with thy sex agree,
"They wound thy fame, and taint thy modefty.'
Thus different paffions combat in her mind,
Oft fhe's to pity, oft to rage inclin'd:

Now from her hand the hated weapon
's caft,
Then feiz'd again with more impetuous hafte:
Unfix'd her wishes, her refolves are vain,
What she attempts, she ftraight rejects again;
Her looks, the emblems of her thoughts, appear
Vary'd with rage, with pity, and despair:
Alone her fears incline to no extreme,
Equally poiz'd betwixt revenge and shame.

At

At length, with more prevailing rage poffeft,
Her jealous honour fteels her daring breast:
The thoughts of injur'd fame new courage gave,
And nicer virtue now confirms her brave.
Then the fam'd Judith her whole mind employs,
Urges her hand, and fooths the fatal choice:
This great example pleas'd, inflam'd by this,
With wild disorder to the youth fhe flies;
One hand she wreaths within his flowing hair,
The other does the ready weapon bear:
"Now guide me (cries) fair Hebrew, now look down,
"And pity labours thou haft undergone.
"Direct the hand that takes thy path to fame,
"And be propitious to a virgin's name,
"Whofe glory 's but a refuge from her shame!"
Thus rais'd by hopes, and arm'd with courage now,
She with undaunted looks directs the blow:
Deep in his breast the spacious wound she made,
And to his heart dispatch'd th' unerring blade.
When their expiring lord the fervants heard,
Whose dying groans the fatal act declar'd,
Like a fierce torrent, with no bounds they 're ftay'd,
But vent their rage on the defenceless maid:
Not virtue, youth, nor beauty in distress,
Can move their savage breasts to tenderness:
But death with horrid torments they prepare,
And to her fate th' undaunted virgin bear.
Tortures and death feem lovely in her eyes,
Since the to honour falls a facrifice:
Amidft her fufferings, ftill her mind is great,
And, free from guilt, fhe triumphs o'er her fate.

But heaven, that 's fuffering virtue's fure reward, Exerts its power, and is itself her guard:

Amalis, confcious of his black offence,

Now feels remorfe for her wrong'd innocence;
Though now he 's ftruggling in the pangs of death,
And all life's purple stream is ebbing forth:

Yet, raifing up his pale and drooping head,
He recollects his fpirits as they fled,

}

And, with his laft remains of voice, he said, "Spare the chafte maid, your impious hands reftrain, "Nor beauty with fuch infolence prophane: "Learn by my fate wrong'd innocence to spare, "Since injur'd virtue 's heaven's peculiar care." But you, brave virgin, now shall stand enrol'd Amongst the nobleft heroines of old: Thy fam'd attempt, and celebrated hand, Shall lafting trophies of thy glory stand; And, if my verse the just reward can give, Theutilla's name fhall to new ages live. For to thy fex thou haft new honours won, And France now boasts a Judith of its own.

A NO DE

FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1693.

I.

BEGIN, and ftrike th' harmonious lyre!

Let the loud inftruments prepare

To raise our fouls, and charm the ear, With joys which mufic only can inspire:

Hark

Hark how the willing ftrings obey!
To confecrate this happy day,
Sacred to Mufic, Love, and blest Cecilia.

In lofty numbers, tuneful lays,
We'll celebrate the virgin's praise:

Her skilful hand first taught our ftrings to move,
To her this facred art we owe,

Who first anticipated heaven below,

[above.

And play'd the hymns on earth, that fhe now fings

II.

What moving charms each tuneful voice contains, Charms that through the willing ear

A tide of pleafing raptures bear,

[veins.

And, with diffufive joys, run thrilling through our
The listening foul does fympathize,
And with each vary'd note complies:
While gay and fprightly airs delight,
Then free from cares, and unconfin'd,
It takes, in pleafing ecftafies, its flight.

With mournful founds, a fadder garb it wears,
Indulges grief, and gives a loose to tears.

III.

Mufic's the language of the blest above,
No voice but Mufic's can express

The joys that happy fouls poffefs,

Nor in just raptures tell the wondrous power of Love. 'Tis Nature's dialect, defign'd

To charm, and to inftruct the mind.

Mufic 's an univerfal good!