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So may thy Trojans, who are yet alive,
Live still, and with no future fortune strive;
So may thy youthful fon old age attain,
And thy dead father's bones in peace remain ;
As thou hast pity on unhappy me,
Who knew no crime, but too much love of thee.
I am not born from fierce Achilles' line,
Nor did my parents against Troy combine.
To be thy wife if I unworthy prove,
By some inferior name admit my

love.
To be secur'd of ftill possessing thee,
What would I do, and what would I not be !
Our Libyan coasts their certain feafons know,
When free from tempests passengers may go :
But now with northern blasts the billows roar, 185
And drive the floating sea-weed to the shore.
Leave to my care the time to fail away ;
When fafe, I will not suffer thee to stay.
Thy weary men would be with ease content;
Their fails are tatter'd, and their masts are spent.
If by no merit I thy mind can move,
What thou deny'st my merit, give my love.
Stay, 'till I learn my loss to undergo;
And give me time to struggle with my woe.
If not, know this, I will not suffer long ; 195
My life's too loathsome, and my love too strong.
Death holds my pen, and dictates what I say,
While cross my lap the Trojan sword I lay.

191 200

My tears flow down; the sharp edge cuts their

flood, And drinks my sorrows, that must drink my

blood.
How well thy gift does with my fate agree !
My funeral pomp is cheaply made by thee.
To no new wounds my bosom I display:
The sword but enters where love made the

way. But thou, dear sister, and yet dearer friend, 205 Shalt

my

cold ashes to their urn attend.
Sichæus' wife let not the marble boast,
I lost that title, when my fame I loft.
This short inscription only let it bear:

Unhappy Dido lies in quiet here. « The cause of death, and sword by which she

dy'd, 6. Æneas gave : the rest her arm supply’d.”

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TRANSLATIONS

FROM

OVID'S ART OF LOVE.

THE

FIRST BOOK

OF

OVID'S ART OF LOVE.

5

IN Cupid's school whoe'er would take degree,
Must learn his rudiments, by reading me.
Seamen with failing arts their vessels move;
Art guides the chariot ; art instructs to love.
Of ships and chariots others know the rule ;
But I am master in Love's mighty school.
Cupid indeed is obstinate and wild,
A stubborn god; but yet the god's a child :
Easy to govern in his tender age,
Like fierce Achilles in his pupillage:
That hero, born for conquest, trembling stood
Before the Centaur, and receiv'd the rod.
As Chiron mollify'd his cruel mind
With art, and taught his warlike hands to wind

10

Ver. 1, In Cupid's school] We cannot fee, without real regret and mortification, such a waste of time and talent as what our author has flung away in translating fo loose and flagitious, as well as trilling work of his favourite Ovid, full of fome of the most exceptionable and nauseous circumstances of ancient mye thology. Imoft undoubtedly shall make no comment on it, nar on the two fucceeding translations,

Dr. J. WARTON,

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