Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses A Collection of Poems. In Three Volumes. By Mr John Hopkins |
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Scylla to Minos.
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Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses | ||
Scylla to Minos.
Epist. III.
The ARGUMENT.
Minos, to Revenge the Death of his Son, landed on the Coast of Lelegia, where he lay'd Siege to a Fortress held by Nisus, Scylla, Daughter to Nisus, falls in Love with Minos, during the time of the Siege, and writes him the following Epistle.
Tho' not our Forts, yet, you have Vanquish'd me.
I am subdu'd by Minos Godlike Charms,
And you may Triumph in your Captive's Arms.
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I had not known him, had he not been so.
Oft have I seen you Marching from afar,
Wielding your Sword, then resting on your Spear,
While your Cask's Noding Feathers threatned War.
Oft I beheld you in the dusty Field,
And was alas! with every Gesture kill'd.
On our High Walls oft do I wishing stand,
And bless the Launce Grasp'd in your vig'rous hand.
Your shining Arms the longing Scylla views,
And likes and praises all that Minos does.
Well might your Mother's Charms a God subdue,
If she knew ever how to Charm like you.
The Thund'rer sure had his Europa won,
Had he but seem'd like her too Beauteous Son,
By whose dear Eyes poor Scylla is undone.
Oft, as I sat on our fam'd Tow'rs on high,
Often, My Lord, has Scylla wish'd to fly
To your dear Arms, when I beheld you nigh.
How, How alas! shall I be e'er restor'd?
Or how shall Scylla e'er enjoy her Lord?
Mad with desires, I think in what disguise
Shall I find out the Tent, where Minos lies;
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And tell the Charmer whom his Beauties please.
Fain would I now betray the Gates to you,
And yield my Country to a potent foe;
Alas! Poor Scylla knows not what to do.
I fear in War dear Minos should be slain,
For, Oh! I doubt he has not Pow'r to gain.
Our Brazen Gates will all his glories bar,
Not to be storm'd ev'n by the God of War.
Oft have I wish'd I were your Captive made,
And the dear Bribe for your Alliance paid.
Then might rough War, and barb'rous slaughter cease,
Minos be blest with Scylla, and with Peace.
But ah! too much, I doubt, my Hero dares,
Nor fears Misfortunes in revengeful Wars,
Oh! tho' he does not, yet his Scylla fears.
Tell me, My Lord, my dearest Minos, tell,
Declare to me, who Love you too, too well,
If, for my Country, for my Virgin-Bed,
My Father's Hair, Nay, for my Father's Head,
For Shrines, for Temples, tho' the seats of Jove,
Will you, Dear, Charming Minos, Crown my Love?
Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses | ||