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النشر الإلكتروني

A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.

For lo ! his passion but an art of craft.
Even there resolv'd my reason into tears ;
There my white stole of chastity 1 daft,
Shook off my sober guards, and civil fears,
Appear to him, as he to me appears,

All melting, tho' our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.

In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Apply'd to cautless, all strange forms receives
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or swooning paleness : and he takes and leaves
In either's aptness, as it best deceives :

To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,
Or to turn white, and swoon at tragic shows:

That not a heart which in his level caine
Could ’scape the hail of his all-hurting aim.
Shewing fair nature is both wild and tame :
And veil'd in them, did win whom he would maim;
Against the thing he sought, he would exclaim;

When he most burnt in heart-wish'd luxury,
He preach'd pure maid, and prais'd cold chastity.

Thus merely with the garment of a grace,
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd;
That the unexperienc'd gave the tempter place,
Which like a cherubim above them hover'd :
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd?

Ah, me! I fell: and yet do question make,
What I should do again for such a sake.

AMOROUS EPISTLE OF PARIS TO HELEN.

Oh! that infected moisture of his eye!
Oh ! that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd!
Oh! that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly!
Oh! that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd !
Oh! all that borrow'd motion, seeming ow'd,

Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled maid !

THE AMOROUS EPISTLE OF PARIS TO HELEN.

HEALTH unto Leda's daughter, Priam's son
Sends in these lines, whose health cannot be won
But by your gift, in whose power it may lie
To make me whole or sick ; tu live or die,
Shall I then speak or doth my flame appear
Plain without index? Oh ! 'tis that I fear!
My love without discovering smile takes place,
And more than I could wish, shines in my face;
When I could rather in my thoughts desire
To hide the smoke, 'till time display the fire :
Time, that can make the fire of love shine clear,
Untroubled with the misty smoke of fear.
But I dissemble it ; for who, I pray,
Can fire conceal? that will itself betray.
Yet if you look, I should affirm that plain
In words, which in my count'nance I maintain. -

VOL. II.

AMOROUS EPISTLE OF PARIS TO HELEN.

I burn, I burn, my faults I have confess'd,
My words bear witness how my looks transgress'd.
Oh! pardon me, that have confess'd my error,
Cast not upon my lines a look of terror;
But as your beauty is beyond compare,
Suit unto that your looks (oh! you most fair!)
That you my letter have receiv'd by this,
The supposition glads me, and I wish,
By hope encourag'd, hope that makes me strong,
You will receive me in some sort ere long.
I ask no more, than what the queen of beauty
Hath promis’d me, for you are mine by duty.
By her I claim you, you for me were made,
And she it was my journey did persuade.
Nor, lady, think your beanty vainly sought;
I by divine instinct was hither brought :
And to this enterprize the heav'nly powers
Have given consent, the gods proclaim me yours.
I aim at wonders, for I covet you;
Yet pardon me, I ask but what's my due,
Venus herself my journey hither led,
And gives you freely to my promis'd bed.
Under her conduct safe the seas I past,
Till I arriv'd upon these coasts at last :
Shipping myself from the Sygean shore,
Whence unto these confines my course I bore
She made the surges gentle, the winds fair;
.Nor marvel whence these calms proceeded are

AMOROUS EPISTLE OF PARIS TO HELEN.

Needs must she power upon the salt seas have, That was sea-born, created from a wave. Still may she stand in her ability, And as she made the seas with much facility, To be thro' sail'd ; su may she calm my heat, And bear my thoughts to their desired seat. My flames I found not here; no, I protest, I brought them with me closed in my breast; Myself transported them without attorney; Love was the motive to my tedious journey. Not blust'ring winter, when he triumph’d most, Nor any error, drove me to this coast : Not led by fortune where the rough winds please, Nor merchant-like, for gain cross'd I the seas. Fulness of wealth in all my fleet I see, I'm rich in all things, save in wanting thee. No spoil of petty nations my ship seeks, Nor land I as a spy among the Greeks. What need we? See, 'of all things we have store ! Compar'd with Troy, alas ! your Greece is poor. For thee I come, thy fame hath thus far driven me, Whom golden Venus hath by promise given me. I wish'd thee ere I knew thee, long ago, Before these eyes dwelt on this glorious show. I saw thee in my thoughts; know, beauteous dame, '. I first beheld you with the eyes of fame. Nor marvel, lady, I was stroke so far; Thus darts or arrows sent from bows of war,

AMOROUS EPISTLE OF PARIS TO HELEN.

Wound a great distance off: so was I bit
With a deep smarting wound, that wrankles yet.
For so it pleas'd the fates, whom lest you blame,
I'll tell a true tale to confirm the same.

When in my mother's womb full ripe I lay,
Ready the first hour to behold the day,
And she at point to be deliver'd strait,
And to unlade her of her royal freight,
My birth-hour was delay'd, and that sad night
A fearful vision did the queen affright.
In a son's stead, to please the aged sire,
She dreamt she had brought forth a brand of fire,
Frighted, she rises, and to Priam goes:
To the old king this ominous dream she shows;
He to the priest ; the priest doth this return,
That the child born shall stately Ilium burn.
Better than he was 'ware, the prophet guess'd,
For lo! a kindled brand flames in my breast.
To prevent fate, a peasant I was held,
Till my fair shape all other swains excell'd?
And gave the doubtful world assurance good,
Your Paris was deriv'd from royal blood.

Amid the Idean fields, there is a place Remote, full of high trees, which hide the face Of the green mantled earth, where in thick rows, The oak, the elm, the pine, the pitch-tree grows.

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