 | Ovid's epistles (1705) |  |
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Deianira to Hercules.
The ARGUMENT.
Deianira having heard that Hercules was fallen in Love with Iole a Captive; and at the same time that he was dying by a poison'd Shirt she had presented him with, and had been told would recover a lost Affection; betwixt Disdain and Anger for the first, and Grief and Despair for the latter, she writes the following Lines to her Husband.
But grieve the Victor is his Captive's Slave.
This unexpected News soon flew to me,
And with your former Life does ill agree.
Continual Actions, nor yet Juno's Hate,
Ne'er hurt whom Iole does Captivate:
Eurystheus this, this did Jove's Wife design,
Laugh at your Weakness, and these Tears of mine;
But Jupiter hop'd better Things, when he
To make this Hero, made one Night of three.
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Than angry Juno that Imploys your Arms;
She by depressing you, rais'd you the more,
The other treads on you, whom you adore.
You've freed the World from Troublers of Mankind,
All things submit to your Heroick Mind:
You make the Seas secure, the Earth have rest,
Your mighty Name fills both the East and West.
Heav'n, that must bear you, you did bear before,
When weary Atlas did your Aid implore.
Yet for all this, the greater is your Shame,
If with mean Acts you stain your glorious Name.
You kill'd two Serpents with your Infant Hand,
Which then deserv'd Jove's Scepter to command.
Your last Deeds differ from your first Success,
The Infant makes the Man appear the less.
No savage Beasts, nor fiercer Enemies,
Cou'd conquer him whom Love does now surprize.
Some think my Marriage a great Happiness,
Being Jove's Daughter, Wife of Hercules;
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The Greatness of my Husband lessens me;
This seeming Honour gives a mortal Wound:
Amongst our Equals Happiness is found:
At Home in quiet they their Lives enjoy;
Tumults, and Wars, do all his Hours imploy:
This Absence makes me so unfortunate,
I buy your Glory at too dear a rate.
I weary Heav'n with Vows and Sacrifice,
Lest you should fall by Beasts, or Enemies.
When you assault a Lion, or wild Boar,
You hazard much, but still I hazard more.
Strange Dreams and Visions set before mine Eyes
The Dangers that attend your Victories.
Unhappy I to vain Reports give Ear,
Then vainly hope, and then as vainly fear.
Your absent Mother blushes she pleas'd Jove,
Amphytrio's absent, and the Son you love.
I see Eurystheus has contriv'd your Fate,
And will make use of Juno's restless Hate.
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But you are Amorous of all you see.
Yet Omphale does now inrage me more,
Than all the Beauties you admir'd before.
Meanders Streams have seen those Shoulders wear
Rich Chains, that Heav'n as a small Weight did bear.
But were you not ashamed to behold
Those Arms weigh'd down with Jewels, and with Gold,
That made the fierce Nemean Lion die,
And wore his Skin to shew the Victory?
When like a Woman you did dress your Hair,
Lawrel had been for you a fitter wear.
As wanton Maids, you thought it was no Shame
To wear a Sash, to please your haughty Dame.
Fierce Diomedes was not in your Mind,
That fed his bloody Horses with Mankind:
Did but Busiris see this strange Disguise,
The Conquer'd would the Conqueror despise.
Anteus would retrieve his Captive State,
And scorn a Victor so effeminate.
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And spin, and tremble at a Woman's Frown.
A Distaff, not a Scepter fills that Hand,
That Conquer'd all things, and did all Command.
Then in her Presence you do trembling stand,
And fear a Blow as Death, from her fair Hand;
And to regain her Favour, you reveal
Those glorious Actions you should then conceal.
How you that strange and fruitful Serpent slew,
That by his Wounds more fierce and stronger grew.
How when you fought, you never lost the Field,
But made great Kings and cruel Monsters yield.
And can you boast or think of Things so great,
Now you wear Silks, and are with Jewels set?
These Actions and that Garb do disagree,
So soft a Dress does give your Tongue the lie.
Your Mistress too puts on your conqu'ring Arms,
And makes you stoop to her more pow'rful Charms.
She wears your Robes to shew her Victory,
And is, what you once thought your self to be.
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Give her Renown, but you eternal Shame.
All is to her, by whom you're conquer'd, due;
Go now and brag of what remains to you.
Is't not a Shame that her soft Arms should bear
The Lion's rugged Skin you once did wear?
The Spoils are not the Lion's but your own,
The Beast you Conquer'd, you she overcome.
She takes your Club into her feeble Hand,
And in her Glass she learns how to command.
All this I heard: yet I could not believe
The sad Report, which causes me to grieve.
Your Iole is brought before my Face,
I must be Witness of my own Disgrace.
Whilst I reflect on my unhappy Fate,
She makes her Entry in the Town in State.
Not as a Captive with her Hair unbound,
Nor her dejected Eyes fixt on the Ground;
But cover'd o'er with Jewels and with Gold,
As Phrygia once did Hercules behold;
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As if her Father had the Victory.
Perhaps to leave me is design'd by you,
True to your Mistress, to your Wife untrue.
You'll be divorc'd from me, and marry her,
The Conquer'd must obey the Conqueror.
This Fear torments me more than all the rest,
And as a Dagger, wounds my troubled Breast.
I knew the time when you did love me more,
Than any she whom you do now adore.
But oh! as I am writing, the News flies,
That by a poison'd Shirt my Husband dies.
What have I done, whither has Love drove me?
Is Love the Author of such Cruelty?
Shall my dear Hercules endure this Pain,
And I, th'unhappy Cause, alive remain?
My Title to him, by my Death I'll prove,
And surely Death's an Argument of Love.
Meleager will a Sister find in me:
Shall Deianira be afraid to die?
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Whilst the true Sov'raign is esteem'd by none.
One Brother wastes his Life in foreign Lands,
The other perish'd by his Mother's Hands,
Who on her self reveng'd the Crime: Then why
Should Deianira be afraid to die?
Only this Thing I beg with my last Breath,
Not to believe that I design'd your Death.
As soon as you struck Nessus with your Dart,
His Blood, he said, would Charm a straying Heart.
In it I dip the Shirt, 'twas but try:
O Deianira make, make haste to die.
Adieu my Father, Sister too adieu!
Adieu my Country, and my Brother too!
Farewel this Light, the last that I shall see,
Hyllus farewel, my Dear I come to thee.
| Ovid's epistles (1705) | |