And you in justice therefore should decline
Your claim to that which is already mine.
This is the man, Cydippe, that excites
Diana's rage to vindicate her rites.
Command him then not to approach thy door;
This done, the danger of your death is o'er.
For fear not, beauteous maid, but keep thy vow, 155 Which great Diana heard, and did allow,
And she, who took it, will thy health restore,
And be propitious as she was before.
'Tis not the steam of a slain heifer's blood That can allay the anger of a god :
'Tis truth, and justice to your vows, appease
Their angry deities, and without these
No slaughtered beast their fury can divert;
For that's a sacrifice without a heart.
Some bitter potions patiently endure,
And kiss the wounding lance, that works their cure.
You have no need these cruel cures to feel,
Shun being perjured only, and be well.
Why let you still your pious parents weep,
Whom you in ignorance of your promise keep?
Oh! to your mother all our story tell,
And the whole progress of our love reveal:
Tell her how first at great Diana's shrine
I fix'd my eyes, my wond'ring eyes, on thine;
How like the statues there I stood amazed,
While on thy face intemp'rately I gazed.
She will herself, when you my tale repeat,
Smile, and approve the amorous deceit.
"Marry," she'll say, "whom Heaven commends to
thee,
He who has pleased Diana, pleases me."
But shsuld she ask from what descent I came,
My country, and my parents, and my name,
Tell her that none of these deserve my shame.
Had you not sworn, you such a one might choose; But were he worse, now sworn, you can't refuse.
This, in my dreams, Diana bid me write,
And when I waked sent Cupid to indite :
Obey them both, for one has wounded me;
Which wound, if you with eyes of pity see,
She too will soon relent that wounded thee.
Then to our nuptials eagerly we'll move,
As full of beauty you, as I of love.
To the great temple we'll in triumph go,
And with our offerings at the altar bow.
A golden image there I'll consecrate
Of the false apple's innocent deceit;
And write below the happy verse, that came
The messenger of my successful flame:
"Let all the world this from Acontius know,
Cydippe has been faithful to her vow."
More I could write, but since thy illness reigns, And racks thy tender limbs with sharpest pains, My pen falls down for fear, lest this might be, Although for me too little, yet too much for thee.
CYDIPPE'S ANSWER TO ACONTIUS.
IN silent fear I read your letter o'er,
Lest I should swear as I had done before!
Nor had I read, but that I fear'd to engage
By my neglect the peevish goddess' rage:
In vain I deck her shrine, her rites attend;
The partial goddess still remains your friend.
A virgin rather should a virgin aid;
But where I seek relief I am betray'd!
I languish, and the cause of my disease
As yet lies hid, no medicine gives me ease.
In how much pain do I this letter write!
To my weak hand my sicklier thoughts indite :
What anxious fear, alas! afflicts me too,
Lest any but my trusty nurse should know!
To gain me time to write, the door she keeps,
And, whispering, tells the visitants," She sleeps."
Worse ills I could not for your sake sustain,
Though you had merit equal to my pain.
Your love betrays, my beauty proves my snare;
I had been happy had I seem'd less fair:
While with your rival you contend to raise
My beauty's fame, I perish by your praise:
While neither will admit the other's claim,
The chase is hinder'd, and both miss the game.
My nuptial day draws on, my parents press
The sacred rites, my blooming years no less:
But while glad Hymen at my door attends,
Grim death waits near to force me from his hands.
Some call my sickness chance, and some pretend
The gods this let to cross my nuptials send :
While by severer censure you are guess'd,
By filters to have wrought upon my breast.
If then your love such mischief can create,
What misery is reserved for her you hate!
Would I to Delos ne'er had found the way, At least not found it on that fatal day! When in our port our anchors first we weigh'd, The unwilling vessel still in the harbour stay'd; Twice did cross winds beat back our flagging sails; Said I, cross winds? no, those were prosperous
Those winds alone blew fair, that back convey'd
Our ship, and those that oft our passage stay'd.
Yet I to see famed Delos am in pain,
And fondly of each hindering blast complain.
By Tenos isle and Mycone we steer'd,
At last fair Delos' winding clifts appear'd;
And much I fear lest now the fairy shore
Should vanish, as 'tis said to have done before.
At night we land; soon as the day return'd
My platted tresses are with gems adorn'd.
Then to attend the sacred rites we go,
And pious incense on each altar throw,
My nurse and I through all the temple stray:
My parents there at their devotions stay;
We view each court, and each fresh wonder brings,
Pictures, and statues, gifts of ancient kings.
But while into these rarities I pried,
I am myself by sly Acontius spied.
Thence to the inmost temple we remove,
The place that should a sanctuary prove.
Yet there I find the apple with this rhyme
Ah me! I'd like to have sworn the second time! The name of wedlock I no sooner read
But through my cheeks a troubled blush was spread :
Why didst thou cheat an unsuspecting maid?
I should have been entreated, not betray'd:
Is then the goddess bound to take thy part,
And ratify an oath without the heart?
The will consents, but that was absent there;
I read indeed the oath, but did not swear.
Yet cannot I deny that I suspect
Diana's rage this sickness does inflict;
Glad Hymen thrice did to our courts repair,
Thrice frighted fled to find death planted there.
Thin coverings on my feverish limbs are spread; 75
My parents mourn me as already dead.
What have I done to merit this distress,
Reading but words whose fraud I could not guess! Do thou, ev'n thou from whom my sufferings spring, To appease the goddess' rage thine offerings bring. When will those hands, that writ the fatal rhyme, Bear incense to remove my pain, thy crime!
Nor think that thy rich rival, though allow'd
To visit, is of greater favours proud.
By me he sits, but still just distance keeps,
Restless as I, talks seldom, often weeps:
Blushing, he takes a kiss, and leaves a tear,
And once his courage served to cry, "My dear."
But from his touch still by degrees I creep,
And to prevent discourse pretend to sleep.
He finds, but would his sense o' the flight disguise;
He checks his tongue, but chides me with his eyes.
With grief he wastes, and I with fevers pine:
'Tis we that suffer, but the offence was thine.
You write for leave to come and see me here, 95
Yet know your former visit cost me dear.
Why wouldst thou hither come? thou canst but see
The double trophies of thy cruelty.
My flesh consumed, my cheeks of bloodless hue,
Such as I once did in thy apple view.
Shouldst see me now, thou wouldst repent thy cheat,
Nor think me worth such exquisite deceit :
To Delos back with greater haste wouldst go,
And beg the goddess to release my vow:
On new designs thy fancy wouldst employ,
Contrive new oaths the former to destroy.
No means have been omitted to procure
My health, but still my feverish fits endure.
We ask'd the oracle what caused my pains?
The oracle of broken vows complains!
The gods themselves on your behalf declare:
What hast thou done to merit thus their care?
But so it is-and I at last incline,
Since that thou art their choice, to make thee mine:
Already to my mother I've declared,
How by your cunning I have been ensnared.
I've done, and what I have already said
I fear is more than will become a maid.
My thoughts are now confused, and can indite
No more, my feeble hand no more can write.
Nor need I more subscribe, but this, be true
And, since it must be so, my dear, adieu!
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