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Another, and another Nigbt she came;
For frequent Sin had left no Sense of Shame:
Till Cinyras desir’d to see her Face,
Whose Body, he had held in close Embrace,
And brought a Taper ; the Revealer, Light,
Expos’d both Crime, and Criminal to Sight:
Grief, Rage, Amazement, cou'd no Speech afford,
But from the Sheath he drew th’avenging Sword;
The Guilty, fled: The Benefit of Night,
That favour'd first the Sin, secur'd the Flight.
Long Wandring through the spacious Fields, she
Her Voyage to thArabian Continent;

(bent Then pass’d the Region which Panche a join’d, And flying left the Palmy Plains behind,

[length Nine times the Moon had mew'd her Horns; at With Travel weary, unfupply'd with Strength, And with the Burden of her Womb oppress’d, Sabean Fields afford her needful Rest: There, loathing Life, and yet of Death afraid, In Anguish of her Spirit, thus. The pray’d. Ye Pow'rs, if any so propitious are T'accept my Penitence, and hear my Pray's;

Your Judgments, I confess, are justly fent ;
Great Sins deserve as great a Punishment:
Yet since my Life the Living will profane,
And since my Death the happy Dead will stain,
A middle State your Mercy may bestow,
Betwixt the Realms above, and those below:
Some other Form to wretched Myrrha give,
Nor let her wholly dię, nor wholly live.
The Pray’rs of Penitents are never vain ;
At least, she did her last Request obtain:
For while she spoke, the Ground began to rise,
And gather'd round her Feet, herLegs, and Thighs;
Her Toes in Roots descend, and spreading wides
A firm Foundation for the Trunk provide:
Her solid Bones convert to folid Wood,
To Pith her Marrow, and to Sap her Blood:
HerArms areBoughs,herFingers change theirĶind,
Her tender Skin is harden'd into Rind.
And now the rising Tree her Womb inyests,
Now, shooting upwards still, invades her Breasts,
And shades the Neck; when, weary with Delay,
She sunk her Head within, and met it half the Way,
And though with outward Shape she lost her Sense,
With bitter Tears she wept her last Offence;
And still she weeps, nor sheds her Tears in vain;
For still the precious Drops her Name retain,
Mean time the mif-begotten Infant grows,
And, ripe for Birth, distends with deadly Throws
The swelling Rind, with unavailing Strife,
To leave the wooden Womb, and pushes into Life,
The Mother-Tree, as if oppress’d with Pain,
Writhes here and there, to break the Bark, in vain;
And, like a Labʼring Woman, wou'd have pray'd,
But wants a Voice to call Lucina's Aid:
The bending Bole sends out a hollow Sound,
And trickling Tears fall thicker on the Ground.
The mild Lucina came uncall'd, and stood (Wood:
Beside the strugling Boughs,and heard the groaning
Then reach'd her Midwife-Hand, to speed the
Throw's,

[disclose.
And spoke the pow'rful Spells that Babesto Birth
The Bark divides, the living Load to free,
And safe delivers the Convullive Tree.
The ready Nymphs receive the crying Child,
And walh him in the Tears theParent-Plant dilli'l'd.

1

They swath'd him with their Scarfs; beneath him

spread
The Ground with Herbs; with Roses rais'd his

Head.
The lovely Babe was born with ev'ry Grace,
Ev'n Envy must have prais'd so fair a Face:
Such was his Form, as Painters when they show
Their utmost Art, on naked Loyes bestow:
And that their Arms no Diff'rence might betray,
Give him a Bow, or his from Cupid take away.
Time glides along, with undiscover'd haste,
The Future but a length behind the Past;
So swift are Years: The Babe whom just before
His Grandfire got, and whom his Sister bore;
The Drop, the Thing which late the Tree inclos'd,
And late the yawning Bark to Life expos’d;
A Babe, a Boy, a beauteous Youth appears,
And lovelier than himself at riper Years.
Now to the Queen of Love he

gave Defires,
And, with her Pains, reveng'd his Mother's Fires.

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The ARGUMENT. Chryses, Priest of Apollo, brings Presents to the

Grecian Princes, toranfom his Daughter Chry: seis, who was Prisoner in the Fleet. Agamemnon, the General, whose Captive and Mistress the young Lady was, refuses to deliver her, threatens the Venerable Old Man, and dismis ses him with Gontumely. The Priest craves Vengeance of his Gods who sends a Plague among the Greeks: Which occasions Achilles, their Great Champion, to fummon a Council of the Chief Officers: He encourages Calchas, the High Priest and Prophet, to tell the Reafol,

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