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So may thy youthful son old

age attain,
And thy dead father's bones in peace remain :
As thou haft pity on unhappy me,
Who knew no crime, but too much love of

thee.
I am not born from fierce Achilles' line,
Nor did my parents against Troy combine.
To be thy wife if I unworthy prove,
By some inferior name admit my

love.
To be secur'd of still possessing thee,
What would I do, and what would I not be!
Our Libyan coasts their certain seasons know,
When free from tempests passengers may go:
But now with northern blasts the billows roar,
And drive the floating sea-weed to the shore.
Leave to my care the time to fail away;
When safe, I will not suffer thee to stay.
Thy weary men would be with ease content;
Their fails are tatter'd, and their masts are spent.
If by no merit I thy mind can move,
What thou deny'st my merit, give my

love. Stay, 'till I learn my loss to undergo; And give me time to struggle with my woe. If not, know this, I will not suffer long; My life's too loathsome, and my love too strong.

Death holds my pen and dictates what I say,
While cross my lap the Trojan sword I lay.
My tears flow down; the sharp edge cuts their

flood, And drinks

my sorrows that must drink my blood. How well thy gift does with my fate agree! My fun'ral pomp is cheaply made by thee. To no new wounds

my

bosom I display: The sword but enters where love made the way, But thou, dear sister, and yet dearer friend, Shalt my

cold ashes to their urn attend. Sichæus' wife let not the marble boast, I lost that title, when my

fame I lost. This short inscription only let it bear :

Unhappy Dido lies in quiet here. “ The cause of death, and sword by which shedy'd, “ Æneas gave: the rest her arm supply'd.”.

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TRANSLATIONS

FROM

OVID's ART OF LOVE.

款秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋秋

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