None now of all their race is left but I,

And yet, ah wretch! dost doubt if thou shouldst die ?

By all that ever to my soul was dear,

By Hymen's sacred fanes and rites I swear,

No mischief was to thee, believe me, meant;
I knew no poison when the shirt I sent.
From weakness only, not design, it came,
In hopes to light afresh thy languid flame.
When Nessus fell, the fraudful villain swore
A wondrous charm was in his flowing gore,
That 'twould to everything it touch'd impart
A virtue, to reclaim a wandering heart:
On thine I thought its latent power to prove,
And not in malice dipp'd the robe, but love.
A latent power it had, ah cursed deceit !

240

245

That power was poison, and the charm was fate.

On whom didst thou its fatal magic try?

250

And yet, ah wretch! dost doubt if thou shouldst die? Adieu, my father, country, friends; adieu

The light that with these dying eyes I view : 255 I fly, my Hercules! to thee I fly;

Life ebbs apace, and I with pleasure die.

BY R. DUKE.

ACONTIUS TO CYDIPPE.

ACONTIUS, in the temple of Diana at Delos, famous for the resort of the most beautiful virgins of all Greece, falls in love with Cydippe, a lady of quality much above his own; not daring therefore to court her openly, he writes on the fairest apple that can be procured a couple of verses to this effect: I swear by chaste Diana, I will be

In sacred wedlock ever join'd to thee

and throws it at the feet of the young lady. She, suspecting not the deceit, takes it up, and reads it, and therein promises herself in marriage to Acontius; there being a law there in force, that whatever any person should swear in the temple of Diana of Delos, should stand good, and be inviolably observed-In the mean time the father of the maiden is about to bestow her in marriage on another, when, at the commence

ment of the nuptial solemnities, Cydippe is seized with a sudden and violent fever, which Acontius endeavours to per suade her was sent from Diana, as a punishment of the breach of the vow made in her presence and this, with the rest of the arguments which on such an occasion would occur to a lover, is the subject of the following epistle.

5

10

READ boldly this: here you shall swear no more, For that's enough which you have sworn before : Read it; so may that violent disease, Which thy dear body, but my soul, doth seize, Forget its too long practised cruelty, And health to you restore, and you to me. Why do you blush? for blush you do, I fear, As when you first did in the temple swear: Truth to your plighted faith is all I claim; And truth can never be the cause of shame. Shame lives with guilt, but you your virtue prove In fav'ring mine, for mine's a husband's love. Ah! to yourself those binding words repeat That once your wishing eyes ev'n long'd to meet, When the apple brought them dancing to your feet. There you will find the solemn vow you made, 16 Which, if your health, or mine, can aught persuade, You to perform should rather mindful be, Than great Diana to revenge on thee. My fears for you increase with my desire, And hope blows that already raging fire. For hope you gave: nor can you this deny, For the great goddess of the fane was by; She was, and heard, and from her hallow'd shrine A sudden kind auspicious light did shine: Her statue seem'd to nod its awful head, And give its glad consent to what you said. Now, if you please, accuse my prosperous cheat, Yet still confess 'twas love that taught me it. In that deceit what did I else design, But with your own consent to make you mine? What you my crime, I call my innocence, Since loving you has been my sole offence.

20

25

30

Nor nature gave me, nor has practice taught
The nets, with which young virgins' hearts are

caught.

35

You, my accuser, taught me to deceive,

And Love, with you, did his assistance give;

For Love stood by, and smiling bade me write

The cunning words he did himself indite :

40

Again, you see, I write by his command;
He guides my pen, and rules my willing hand:
Again such kind, such loving words I send,
As makes me fear that 1 again offend.
Yet if my love's my crime, I must confess
Great is my guilt, but never shall be less:
Oh! that I thus might ever guilty prove,
In finding out new paths to reach thy love.
A thousand ways to that steep mountain lead,
Though hard to find, and difficult to tread.
All these will I find out, and break through all,

45

50

For which, my flames compared, the danger's small.

The gods alone know what the end will be;
Yet if we mortals anything foresee,

One way or other you must yield to me.

If all my arts should fail, to arms I'll fly,

55

And snatch by force what you my prayers deny.
I all those heroes' mighty acts applaud,
Who first have led me this illustrious road.
I too-but hold, death the reward will be:
Death be it then-

60

65

For to lose you is more than death to me.
Were you less fair, I'd use the vulgar way
Of tedious courtship, and of dull delay ;
But thy bright form kindles more eager fires,
And something wondrous, as itself, inspires;
Those eyes that all the heavenly lights outshine,
(Which, oh! mayst thou behold, and love in mine!)
Those snowy arms, which on my neck should fall,
If you the vows you made regard at all;
That modest sweetness and becoming grace,
That paints with living red your blushing face;

70

Those feet, with which they only can compare That through the silver flood bright Thetis bear, Do all conspire my madness to excite,

80

With all the rest that charms my ravish'd sight. 75
No wonder, then, if with such beauty fired,
I of your love the sacred pledge desired.
Rage, now, and be as angry as you will,
Your very frowns all other smiles excel;
But give me leave that anger to appease
By my submission, that my love did raise.
Your pardon prostrate at your feet I'll crave,
The humble posture of your guilty slave.
With falling tears your fiery rage I'll cool,
And lay the rising tempest of your soul.
Why in my absence are you thus severe ?
Summon'd at your tribunal to appear,
For all my crimes I'd gladly suffer there;
With pride whatever you inflict receive,

85

91

95

And love the wounds those hands vouchsafe to give.
Your fetters too-but they, alas! are vain,
For love has bound me, and I hug my chain.
Your hardest laws with patience I'll obey,
Till you yourself at last relent, and say,
(When all my suff'rings you with pity see,)
"He that can love so well, is worthy me."
But if all this should unsuccessful prove,
Diana claims for me your promised love.
Oh, may my fears be false! yet she delights
In just revenge of her abused rites.

100

I dread to hide, what yet to speak I dread,
Least you should think that for myself I plead.
Yet out it must-"Tis this, 'tis surely this,
That is the fuel to your hot disease:

When waiting Hymen at your porch attends,

105

Her fatal messenger the goddess sends,
And when you would to his kind call consent,
This fever does your perjury prevent.

Forbear, forbear thus to provoke her rage,
Which you so easily may yet assuage.

110

Forbear to make that lovely, charming face The prey to every envious disease; Preserve those looks to be enjoy'd by me, Which none should ever but with wonder see: Let that fresh colour to your cheeks return, Whose blooming flame did all beholders burn. But let on him, the unhappy cause of all The ills that from Diana's anger fall, No greater torments light than those I feel, When you my dearest, tenderest part are ill. For, oh! with what dire tortures am I rack'd, Whom different griefs successively distract! Sometimes my grief from this does higher grow, To think that I have caused so much to you: Then great Diana's witness how I pray, That all our crimes on me alone she'd lay. Sometimes to your loved doors disguised I come, And all around them up and down I roam, Till I your woman coming from you spy, With looks dejected, and a weeping eye. With silent steps, like some sad ghost I steal Close up to her, and urge her to reveal More than new questions suffer her to tell: How you had slept? what diet you had used? And oft the vain physician's art accused: He ev'ry hour (oh were I bless'd as he!) Does all the turns of your distemper see. Why sit not I by your bedside all day, Till with my tears the inward fires decay? Why press not I your melting hand in mine, And from your pulse of my own health divine? But oh! these wishes all are vain; and he, Whom most I fear, may now sit close by thee, Forgetful as thou art of Heaven and me. He that loved hand does press, and oft does feign Some new excuse to feel thy beating vein. 'Tis true her father promised her to thee, But Heaven and she first gave herself to me;

115

120

125

130

135

140

146