His little grand-child he commands away,
To mountain wolves and every bird of prey.
The babe cry'd out, as if he understood,
And begg'd his pardon with what voice he could.
By what expreffions can my grief be shown?
(Yet you may guess my anguish by your own :)
To fee my bowels, and, what yet was worse,
Your bowels too, condemn'd to fuch a curse!
Out went the king; my voice its freedom found,
My breasts I beat, my blubber'd cheeks I wound.
And now appear'd the meffenger of death;
Sad were his looks, and fcarce he drew his breath,
To fay, "Your father fends you"-(with that word
His trembling hands prefented me a sword):
"Your father fends you this; and lets you know,
That your own crimes the ufe of it will fhow."
Too well I know the fenfe thofe words impart :
His present shall be treasur'd in my heart.
Are these the nuptial gifts a bride receives?
And this the fatal dower a father gives?
Thou God of Marriage, fhun thy own disgrace,
And take thy torch from this detefted place :
Instead of that, let furies light their brands,
And fire my pile with their infernal hands.
With happier fortune may my fisters wed;
Warn'd by the dire example of the dead.
For thee, poor babe, what crime could they pretend?
How could thy infant innocence offend?
A guilt there was; but, oh, that guilt was mine!
Thou fuffer'ft for a fin that was not thine.
Thy mother's grief and crime! but just enjoy'd,
Shewn to my fight, and born to be destroy'd !
Unhappy offspring of my teeming womb !
Dragg'd headlong from thy cradle to thy tomb!
Thy un-offending life I could not fave,
Nor weeping could I follow to thy grave:
Nor on thy tomb could offer my fhorn hair:
Nor fhew the grief which tender mothers bear.
Yet long thou shalt not from my arms be loft;
For foon I will o'ertake thy infant ghost.
But thou, my love, and now my love's despair,
Perform his funerals with paternal care.
His fcatter'd limbs with my dead body burn;
And once more join us in the pious urn.
If on my wounded breast thou dropp'ft a tear,
Think for whofe fake my breast that wound did bear;
And faithfully my last defires fulfil,
As I perform my cruel father's will.
THE ARGUMENT
Helen, basing received an epifle from Faris, returns the following answer: wherein the feems at firft to chide im jor is prefeption in writing as he had done, which could only proceed from his low opinion of her virtue; then owns herself to be fenfible of the paffion, which he had expreffed for her, though he much fufpected his conftancy; and at last discovers her inclination to be favourable to him: the whole letter fhewing the extreme artifice of womankind.
WHEN loofe epiftles violate chafte eyes,
She half confents, who filently denies.
How dares a stranger, with defigns so vain,
Marriage and hofpitable rights prophane?
Was it for this, your fleet did fhelter find
From fwelling feas, and every faithlefs wind?
(For though a diftant country brought you forth,
Your ufage here was equal to your worth.)
Does this deferve to be rewarded fo?
Did you come here a stranger or a foe?
Your partial judgment may perhaps complain,
And think me barbarous for my just disdain,
Ill-bred then let me be, but not unchaste,
Nor my clear fame with any spot defac'd.
Though in
my
face there's no affected frown,
Nor in my carriage a feign'd niceness shown,
I keep my honour still without a stain,
Nor has my love made any coxcomb vain.
Your boldness I with admiration fee;
What hope had you to gain a queen like me?
Because a hero forc'd me once away,
Am I thought fit to be a fecond
Had I been won, I had deferv'd
your blame,
But fure my part was nothing but the shame.
Yet the base theft to him no fruit did bear,
I'fcap'd unhurt by any thing but fear.
Rude force might fome unwilling kiffes gain;
But that was all he ever could obtain.
You on fuch terms would ne'er have let me go;
Were he like you, we had not parted so.
Untouch'd the youth reftor'd me to my friends,
And modeft ufage made me some amends.
'Tis virtue to repent a vicious deed.
Did he repent, that Paris might fucceed?
Sure 'tis fome fate that fets me above wrongs,
Yet ftill exposes me to bufy tongues.
I'll not complain; for who's difpleas'd with love,
If it fincere, difcreet, and conftant prove?
But that I fear; not that I think you base,
And ours, alas, too willing to believe.
Yet others yield; and love o'ercomes the best :
But why should I not shine above the rest?
Fair Leda's story seems at first to be
A fit example ready form'd for me.
But she was cozen'd by a borrow'd shape,
And under harmless feathers felt a rape.
If I should yield, what reafon could I use?
By what mistake the loving crime excufe?
Her fault was in her powerful lover loft;
But of what Jupiter have I to boast?
Though you to heroes and to kings fucceed,
Our famous race does no addition need;
And great alliances but useless prove
To one that comes herself from mighty Jove.
Go then, and boaft in fome lefs haughty place
Your Phrygian blood, and Priam's ancient race;
Which I would fhew I valued, if I durft;
You are the fifth from Jove, but I the first.
The crown of Troy is powerful, I confess;
But I have reafon to think ours no less.
Your letter, fill'd with promises of all
That men can good, and women pleasant call,
Gives expectation fuch an ample field,
As would move Goddesses themselves to yield.
But if I e'er offend great Juno's laws,
Yourself shall be the dear, the only cause :
Either my honour I'll to death maintain,
Or follow you, without mean thonghts of gain.
Not that fo fair a prefent I despise;
We like the gift, when we the giver prize.
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