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The ships, about whose fides loud tempests roar, With gentle winds were wafted from the shore. Your teeming mother dream'd a flaming brand, Sprung from her womb, confum'd the Trojan land.

To fecond this, old prophecies confpire,

That Ilium fhall be burnt with Grecian fire.
Both give me fear; nor is it much allay'd,
That Venus is oblig'd our loves to aid.

For they, who loft their caufe, revenge will take;

And for one friend two enemies you make.
Nor can I doubt, but, fhould I follow
you,
The fword would foon our fatal crime pursue.
A wrong fo great my husband's rage would rouze,
my relations would his caufe cfpouse.
You boast your strength and courage; but, alas!
Your words receive fmall credit from your face.
Let heroes in the dusty field delight,

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Those limbs were fashion'd for another fight.
Bid Hector fally from the walls of Troy;
A fweeter quarrel fhould your arms employ.
Yet fears like these fhould not my mind perplex,
Were I as wife as many of my sex.

But time and you may bolder thoughts inspire; And I perhaps may yield to your defire.

You laft demand a private conference;
These are your words, but I can guess your sense.
Your unripe hopes their harvest must attend:
Be rul'd by me, and time may be your friend.
This is enough to let you understand;
For now my pen has tir'd my tender hand:
My woman knows the fecret of my heart,
And may hereafter better news impart.

EPIST. VII.

THE ARGUMENT.

Eneas, the fon of Venus and Anchises, having, at the deftruction of Troy, faved his Gods, his father, and fon Afcanius, from the fire, put to fea with twenty fail of fhips; and, having been long toft with tempefts, was at laft caft upon the fore of Libya, where queen Dido (flying from the cruelty of Pygmalion her brother, who had killed her bufband Sichaus) had lately built Carthage. She entertained Æneas and his fleet with great civility, fell paffionately in love with him, and in the end denied him not the last favours. But Mercury admonishing Æneas to go in fearch of Italy, (a kingdom promifed him by the Gods) he readily prepared to follow him. Dido foon perceived it, and having in vain tried all other means to engage him to ftay, at last in defpair writes to him as follows.

S

on Mæander's banks, when death is nigh, The mournful fwan fings her own elegy. Not that I hope (for, oh, that hope were vain!) By words your loft affection to regain :

you,

But having loft whate'er was worth my care,
Why should I fear to lofe a dying pray'r?
'Tis then refolv'd poor Dido must be left,
Of life, of honor, and of love bereft!
While with loofen'd fails, and vows, prepare
To feek a land that flies the fearcher's care.
Nor can my rifing tow'rs your flight restrain,
Nor my new empire, offer'd you in vain.
Built walls you shun, unbuilt you feek; that land
yet to conquer; but you this command.
Suppose you
landed where your
wish defign'd,
Think what reception foreigners would find.
What people is fo void of common sense,
To vote fucceffion from a native prince?
Yet there new scepters and new loves you feek ;
New vows to plight, and plighted vows to break.
When will your tow'rs the height of Carthage
know?

Is

Or when
your eyes difcern fuch crowds below?
If fuch a town and subjects you could see,
Still would you want a wife who lov'd like me.
For, oh, I burn, like fires with incenfe bright:
Not holy tapers flame with purer light:
Æneas is my thoughts perpetual theme;
Their daily longing, and their nightly dream.

Yet he's ungrateful and obdurate still:
Fool that I am to place my heart fo ill!
Myself I cannot to myself reftore;
Still I complain, and still I love him more.
Have pity, Cupid, on my bleeding heart,
And pierce thy brother's with an equal dart.
I rave: nor canst thou Venus' offspring be,
Love's mother could not bear a fon like thee.
From harden'd oak, or from a rock's cold womb,
At least thou art from fome fierce tigrefs come;
Or on rough feas, from their foundation torn,
Got by the winds, and in a tempest born:
Like that which now thy trembling failors fear;
Like that whofe rage should still detain thee here.
Behold how high the foamy billows ride!
The winds and waves are on the jufter fide.
To winter weather and a stormy fea
I'll owe, what rather I would owe to thee.
Death thou deferv'ft from heav'n's avenging laws;
But I'm unwilling to become the cause.

To fhun my love, if thou wilt feek thy fate,
'Tis a dear purchase, and a coftly hate.
Stay but a little, 'till the tempeft cease,
And the loud winds are lull'd into a peace.
May all thy rage, like theirs, unconstant prove!
And fo it will, if there be pow'r in love.

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