Or fay the first part of your tale be pure,

And meet with truth, the fecond's falfe I'm fure;
In which poor I was thought the greatest meed,
In fuch a high caufe by the gods decreed.
I have not of my beauty fuch opinion,
T'imagine it prefer'd before dominion,
Or fortitude; nor can your words perfuade me,
The greatest gift of all the goddess made me.
It is enough to me men praise my face,
But from the gods I merit no fuch grace:
Nor doth the praife, you charge me with, offend me,
If Venus do not enviously commend me.
But, lo! I grant you, and imagine true
Your free report, claiming your praise as due?
Who would in pleafing things call fame a lyar,
But give that credit which we most defire?

That we have mov'd thefe doubts, be not you griev'd,
The greatest wonders are the least believ❜d:
Know then, I first am pleas'd that Venus ought me
Such undeserved grace; next that you thought me
The greateft meed. Nor fcepter, nor war's fame,
Did you prefer before poor Helen's name.

(Hard heart! 'tis time thou shouldft at last come down)
Therefore I am your valour, I your crown.
Your kindness conquer's me, do what I can;
I were hard-hearted not to love this man.
Obdurate I was never, and yet coy

To favour him whom I can ne'er enjoy.
What profits it the barren fands to plough,
And in the furrows our affections fow?
In the fweet theft of Venus I am rude,
And know not how my husband to delude,

Now I thefe love-lines write, my pen, I vow,
Is a new office taught, not known till now.
Happy are they that in this trade have skill;
Alas! I am a fool, and fhall be ftill;
And having till this hour not ftept aftray,
Fear in thefe fports left I fhould mifs my way.
The fear (no doubt) is greater than the blame,
I ftand confounded, and amaz'd with fhame;
And with the very thought of what you feek,
Think every eye fix'd on my guilty cheek.
Nor are these fuppofitions merely vain,

The murmuring people whisperingly complain;
And my maid Ethra hath, by lift'ning flily,
Brought me fuch news,as touch'd mine honour highly.
Wherefore (dear lord) diffemble or defift;
Being over-ey'd, we cannot as we list

Fashion our fports, our loves pure harvest gather;
But why fhould you defift? Diffemble rather.
Sport, but in fecret; fport where none may fee:
The greater, but not greatest liberty

Is limited to our lafcivious play,
That Menelaus is far hence away.
My husband about great affairs is pofted,
Leaving his royal gueft fecurely hofted;
His business was important and material,
Being employ'd about a crown imperial.
And as he now is mounted on his fteed,
Ready on his long journey to proceed :
Even as he queftions to depart or stay,
Sweet-heart (quoth 1) Oh! be not long away.
With that he reach'd me a sweet parting kiss,
(How loth he was to leave me, guefs by this :)
Farewel, fair wife (faith he) bend all thy cares
To my domeftic bufinefs, home-affairs;

But as the thing that I affection best,
Sweet wife, look well unto my Trojan guest.
It was no fooner out, but with much pain
My itching fpleen from laughter I restrain;
Which striving to keep in, and bridle still,
At length I rung forth thefe few words (I will.)
He's on his journey to the ifle of Crete,
But think not we may therefore fafely meet:
He is fo abfent, that as prefent I

Am ftill within his reach, his ear, his eye;
And tho' abroad, his power at home commands,
For know you not kings have long-reaching hands?
The fame for beauty you befides have given me,
Into a great exigent hath driven me.

The more your commendation fill'd his ear,
The more just cause my husband hath to fear;
Nor marvel you the king hath left me so,
Into remote and foreign climes to go:
Much confidence he dares repofe in me,
My carriage, haviour, and my modefty;
My beauty he mistrusts, my heart relies in;
My face he fears, my chafte life he affies in.

To take time now when time is, you perfuade me,
And with his apt fit absence you invade me:
I would but fear, nor is my mind well fet;
My will would further what my fear doth let.
I have no husband here, and you no wife;
I love your fhape, you mine, dear as your life.
The nights feem long to fuch as fleep alone,
Our letters meet to interchange our moan.
You judge me beauteous, I efteem you fair,
Under one roof we lovers lodged are.

And (let me die) but every thing confider,
Each thing perfuades us we fhall lie together.
Nothing we fee molefts us, nought we hear,
And yet my forward will is flack thro' fear.
I would to God, that what you ill perfuade,
You could as well compel; fo I were made
Unwilling willing, pleasingly abus'd,
So my fimplicity might be excus'd.

Injury's force is oft-times wond'rous pleafing,
To fuch as fuffer eafe in their difeafing;
If what I will, you 'gainft my will fhould do, -
I with fuch force could be well pleased too.

But whilft our love is young and in the bud,
Suffer his infant vigour be withstood :
A flame new kindled is as eafily quench'd,
And sudden sparks in little drops are drench'd.
A traveller's love is, like himfelf, unftay'd,
And wanders where he walks; it is not laid
On any firmer ground; for when we alone.
Think him to us, the wind blows fair, he's gone.
Witnefs Hypfipile, alike betray'd;

Witness with her the bright Mynoyan maid :
Nay then yourself, as you yourself have spoken,
To fair Oenone have your promise broken.
Since I beheld your face first, my defire
Hath been, of Trojan Paris to enquire.
I know you now in every true respect,
I'll grant you thus much then, fay you affect
Me (whom you term your own.) I'll go thus far;
Do not the Phrygian mariners prepare

Their fails and oars, ev'n now whilft we recite.
Exchange of words about the wished night?

Say that even now you were prepar❜d to climb
My long-wifh'd bed, juft at th' appointed time
The wind fhould alter, and blow fair for Troy,
You must break off, in midft of all your joy,
And leave me in the infancy of pleasure,
Amid my riches, I fhall lofe my treasure.
You will forfake the fweets my bed affords,
T'exchange for cabins, hatches and pitch'd boards.
Then what a fickle courtship you commence,
When, with the firft wind, all your love blows
hence?

But fhall I follow you when you are gone,
And be the grandchild to Laomedon !
And Ilium fee, whofe beauty you proclaim?
I do not fo despise the bruit of fame,
That fhe to whom I am indebt fuch thanks,
Should fill the earth with fuch adulterate pranks.
What will Achaia? What will Sparta say?
What will your Troy report, and Asia?
What my old Priam, or his reverend queen?
What may your fifters, having Helen feen,
Or your
Dardanian brothers deem of me?
Will they not blame my loose inchastity?
Nay, how can you yourself faithful deem me,
And not amongst the loofeft dames efteem me?
No ftranger fhall your Afian ports come near,
But he shall fill your guilty foul with fear.
How often, angry at fome small offence,
Will you thus fay; adult'refs, get thee hence?
Forgetting you yourself have been the chief
In my tranfgreffion, tho' not in my grief.
Confider what it is, forgetful lover,
To be fin's author, and fin's fharp reprover.

Q