 | Poems upon several occasions |  |
The EPISTLE of Acontius to Cydippe.
Translated from OVID.
The ARGUMENT.
Acontius, in the Temple of Diana at Delos, (famous for the Resort of the most beautiful Virgins of all Greece) fell in Love with Cydippe, a Lady of Quality much above his own; not daring therefore to Court her openly, he found this Device to obtain her: He writes upon the fairest Apple that could be procured, a couple of Verses to this Effect,
“I swear, by Chaste Diana, I will be“In Sacred Wedlock ever join'd to thee.
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and throws it at the Feet of the young Lady: She suspecting not the ‘Deceit takes it up, and reads it, and therein promises her self in Marriage to Acontius; there being a Law there in Force, that whatever any Person should swear in the Temple of Diana of Delos, should stand good and be inviolably observ'd. But her Father not knowing what had past, and having not long after promised her to another, just as the Solemnities of Marriage were to be perform'd, she was taken with a sudden and violent Feaver, which Acontius endeavours to perswade her was sent from Diana, as a Punishmen of the Breach of the Vow made in her Presence. And this, with the rest of the Arguments, which on such Occasion would occur to a Lover, is the Subject of the following Epistle.
For that's enough which you have sworn before.
Read it; so may that violent Disease,
Which thy dear Body, but my Soul doth seise,
Forget its too long practis'd Cruelty,
And Health to you restore, and you to me.
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As when you first did in the Temple swear:
Truth to your plighted Faith is all I claim;
And Truth can never be the Cause of Shame.
Shame lives with Guilt, but you your Virtue prove
In favouring mine, for mine's a Husband's Love.
Ah! to your self those binding Words repeat
That once your wishing Eyes ev'n long'd to meet,
When th'Apple brought 'em dancing to your Feet.
There you will find the solemn Vow you made,
Which if your Health, or mine, can ought perswade,
You to perform should rather mindful be,
Than great Diana to revenge on thee.
My Fears for you increase with my Desire,
And Hope blows that already raging Fire;
For hope you gave; nor can you this deny,
For the great Goddess of the Fane was by;
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A sudden kind auspicious Light did shine.
Her Statue seem'd to nod its awful Head,
And give its glad Consent to what you said;
Now, if you please, accuse my prosp'rous Cheat,
Yet still confess 'twas Love that taught me it.
In that Deceit what did I else design,
But with your own Consent to make you mine?
What you my Crime, I call my Innocence,
Since Loving you has been my sole Offence.
Nor Nature gave me, nor has Practice taught
The Nets with which young Virgins Hearts are caught.
You my Accuser taught me to deceive,
And Love, with you, did his Assistance give;
For Love stood by, and smiling bad me write
The cunning Words he did himself indite:
Again, you see I write by his Command,
He guides my Pen, and rules my willing Hand,
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As makes me fear, that I again offend.
Yet if my Love's my Crime, I must confess,
Great is my Guilt, but never shall be less.
Oh that I thus might ever guilty prove,
In finding out new Paths to reach thy Love.
A thousand Ways to that steep Mountain lead,
Tho' hard to find, and difficult to tread.
All these will I find out, and break through all,
For which, my Flames compar'd, the Danger's small.
The Gods alone know what the End will be,
Yet if we Mortals any thing foresee,
One Way or other you must yield to me.
If all my Arts should fail, to Arms I'll fly,
And snatch by Force what you my Prayers deny:
I all those Heroes mighty Acts applaud,
Who first have led me this illustrious Road.
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Death be it then—
For to lose you is more than Death to me.
Were you less fair, I'd use the vulgar Way
Of tedious Courtship, and of dull Delay.
But thy bright Form kindles more eager Fires,
And something wondrous, as it self, inspires;
Those Eyes that all the Heav'nly Lights out-shine,
(Which, oh! may'st thou behold, and love in mine)
Those snowy Arms, which on my Neck should fall,
If you the Vows you made regard at all,
That modest Sweetness, and becoming Grace,
That paints with living Red your blushing Face,
Those Feet with which they only can compare,
That through the Silver Flood bright Thetis bear:
Do all conspire my Madness to excite,
With all the rest that is deny'd to Sight.
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And all the Storms of my vex'd Soul at rest.
No wonder then if with such Beauty fir'd,
I of your Love the sacred Pledge desir'd.
Rage now and be as angry as you will,
Your very Frowns all other Smiles excel;
But give me leave that Anger to appease,
By my Submission that my Love did raise.
Your Pardon postrate at your Feet I'll crave,
The humble Posture of your guilty Slave.
With falling Tears your fiery Rage I'll cool,
And lay the rising Tempest of your Soul.
Why in my Absence are you thus severe?
Summon'd at your Tribunal to appear,
For all my Crimes, I'd gladly suffer there:
With Pride whatever you inflict receive,
And love the Wounds those Hands vouchsafe to give.
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For Love has bound me, and I hug my Chain.
Your hardest Laws with Patience I'll obey,
'Till you your self at last relent and say,
When all my Sufferings you with Pity see,
He that can love so well, is worthy me.
But if all this should unsuccessful prove,
Diana claims for me your promis'd Love.
O may my Fears be false! yet she delights
In just Revenge of her abused Rites.
I dread to hide, what yet to speak I dread,
Lest you should think that for my self I plead.
Yet out it must,—'Tis this, 'Tis surely this,
That is the Fuel to your hot Disease:
When waiting Hymen at your Porch attends,
Her fatal Messenger the Goddess sends
And when you would to his kind Call consent,
This Feaver does your Perjury prevent.
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Which you so easily may yet asswage.
Forbear to make that lovely charming Face
The Prey to every envious Disease:
Preserve those Looks to be enjoy'd by me,
Which none shou'd ever but with Wonder see:
Let that fresh Colour to your Cheeks return,
Whose glowing Flame did all Beholders burn.
But let on him, th'unhappy Cause of all
The Ills that from Diana's Anger fall,
No greater Torments light than those I feel,
When you my dearest, tend'rest Part are ill.
For oh! with what dire Tortures am I rack'd,
Whom different Griefs successively distract!
Sometimes my Grief from this does higher grow,
To think that I have caus'd so much to you.
Then great Diana's Witness, how I pray
That all our Crimes on me alone she'd lay!
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And all around 'em up and down I roam;
'Till I your Woman coming from you spy,
With Looks dejected, and a weeping Eye.
With silent Steps, like some sad Ghost I steal
Close up to her, and urge her to reveal
More than new Questions suffer her to tell:
How you had slept, what Diet you had us'd?
And oft the vain Physicians Art accus'd.
He every Hour (Oh, were I blest as he!)
Does all the Turns of your Distemper see;
Why sit not I by your Bed-side all Day,
My mournful Head in your warm Bosom lay,
'Till with my Tears the inward Fires decay?
Why press not I your melting Hand in mine,
And from your Pulse of my own Health divine?
But oh! these Wishes all are vain; and he
Whom most I fear, may now sit close by thee,
Forgetful as thou art of Heav'n and me.
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Some new Excuse to feel thy beating Vein.
Then his bold Hand up to your Arm does slide,
And in your panting Breast it self does hide;
Kisses sometimes he snatches too from thee,
For his officious Care too great a Fee:
Robber, who gave thee Leave to taste that Lip,
And the ripe Harvest of my Kisses reap?
For they are mine, so is that Bosom too,
Which, false as 'tis, shall never harbour you.
Take, take away those thy Adulterous Hands,
For know another Lord that Breast commands.
'Tis true, her Father promis'd her to thee,
But Heav'n and she first gave her self to me.
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.
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This done, the Danger of your Death is o'er.
For fear not, Beauteous Maid, but keep thy Vow,
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 slaughter'd Beast their Fury can divert;
“For that's a Sacrifice without a Heart.
Some, bitter Potions patiently endure,
And kiss the wounding Launce that works their Cure.
You have no need these cruel Cures to feel,
Shun being perjur'd only, and be well.
Why let you still your pious Parents weep,
Whom you in ign'rance of your Promise keep?
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And the whole Progress of our Love reveal;
Tell her how first at great Diana's Shrine,
I fixt my Eyes, my wondring Eyes, on thine.
How like the Statues there I stood amaz'd,
Whilst on thy Face intemp'rately I gaz'd.
She will her self, when you my Tale repeat,
Smile, and approve the amorous Deceit.
Marry, she'll say, whom Heav'n commends to thee,
He, who has pleas'd Diana, pleases me.
But should 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 chuse;
But were he worse, now sworn, you can't refuse.
This in my Dreams Diana bad me write,
And when I wak'd, sent Cupid to indite:
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Which Wound, if you with Eyes of Pity see,
She too will soon relent that wounded thee.
Then to our Joys with eager Haste 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 Apples 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 wracks thy tender Limbs with sharpest Pains,
My Pen falls down for fear, lest this might be,
Altho' for me too little, yet too much for thee.
| Poems upon several occasions | |