Not knowing 'twas my labor, I complain creas'd, 55 Which with her hand the confcious nurse sup prefs'd. To that unhappy fortune was I come, Pain urg'd my clamors, but fear kept me dumb. eyes. 60 Death was in fight, Lucina gave no aid ; fpair; Rent were thy garments all, and torn thy hair: Yet feigning comfort, which thou couldst not give, 65 (Preft in thy arms, and whisp'ring me to live :) For both our fakes, (faidft thou) preferve thy dearer wife. life; Live, my dear fifter, and my Rais'd by that name, with my Such pow'r have words, when spoke by those we love. laft pangs I ftrove: 70 The babe, as if he heard what thou hadft fworn, With hafty joy fprung forward to be born. What helps it to have weather'd out one ftorm? High in his hall, rock'd in a chair of state, 75 80 85 And deafs his ftormy fubjects with his cries. The noife reach'd me, and my prefaging mind fears. up with His little grand-child he commands away, 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, 105 Your bowels too, condemn'd to fuch a curfe ! Out went the king; my voice its freedom found, My breafts 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, 110 "Your father fends you"-(with that word His trembling hands prefented me a fword :) "Your father fends you this; and lets you know, "That your own crimes the ufe of it will show." Too well I know the fenfe thofe words im part: His prefent fhall be treasur'd in my heart. 116 Are these the nuptial gifts a bride receives? And this the fatal dow'r a father gives? Thou god of Marriage, fhun thy own difgrace, And take thy torch from this detefted place: 120 Instead of that, let furies light their brands, And fire my pile with their infernal hands. With happier fortune may my fifters wed; How could thy infant innocence offend? 125 131 A guilt there was ; but, oh, that guilt was mine! my bear; And faithfully my laft defires fulfil, As I perform my cruel father's will. 140 145 Ver. 146. As I perform] The fubject of this epiftle is so very difgufting and offenfive, that I could not bring my mind to make any obfervation upon it, and fuppofe Dryden tranflated it only to complete the volume. Dr. J. WARTON. |