University of Virginia Library

Tereus and Philomela.

Five Winters now, Wing'd with their Storms, were fled,
Since Progne first did Royal Tereus wed.
When thus the Artful fair her suit did move,
Urg'd, as a proof of his continu'd Love.
If yet, my dearest consort is not cloy'd,
Nor slights those sweets he has so oft enjoy'd.
If, but the least soft Passion yet remains,
If yet, free Love springs from your Nuptial Chains,
If, any Fires, yet kept alive you bear,
Or value these Embraces, grant my Pray'r;
Grant, on some Terms, I may my Sister see,
Send me to her, or else bring her to me.
Promise my Father she shall soon return,
He shall not long his Philomela Mourn.
All Bars, which hinder his assent, confound,
And then my wishes, and my Joys are Crown'd.
Tereus, well pleas'd, without the least Dispute,
Commends her Fondness, and approves her suit.
The Seas now past, and all the danger o'er,
He lands, successful, on the wish'd for shore.
And now, Pandion Welcomes there his Son,
Who tells him why he thro' such hazards run,
And strait, his Progne's urgent suit begun.
At first, small warmth his kind entreaties show,
But Philomela seen, more fierce they grow.
Richly Attir'd, the Charming Virgin came,
And from her Eyes, each glance is Flash'd, like Flame.
The Youthful King strait burns with fond desire,
Like Sun-dry'd Reeds, which, at each spark, take Fire,
The Lustful Passion can't be long withstood,
For now it Rages in his boiling Blood,
And, like some Rapid Torrent, swells the Flood.
His rising sighs, like Boist'rous Tempests blow,
And Passion's Seas all Reason's bounds o'erflow.
Some Thoughts, like Waves prest by the tides, are gone,
But still, full, Foaming, new desires come rolling on.
Sometimes, he thinks, to make her Maids his Friends,
And with large gifts to Bribe them to his ends,
Again, resolves to use unlawful force,
As if the safest, and the surest course.
Vows, he will soon remove each Anxious Bar;
If not by Love; possess, by bolder War.
And now, perplext with long delays, he sues,
And, much more urgent, his Request renews,
Still, on his Wife's behalf he seem'd to press,
While his fond Words flew to a vast excess.
Whene'er his speech did into transports break,
He said, she weeping, charg'd me thus to speak.
So, with close Arts successfully he pleads,
And the Maid follows, as the Lover leads.
Fond of her Sister, she too wish't to go,
Kisses her Father, and intreats him so.
While Tereus Thus perceives the Virgin sue,
Pleas'd, and o'erjoy'd, he does his speech renew,
Still more, and more inflam'd, at every view.
Her soft Embraces set his Soul on Fire,
He does each Action, and each word admire,
All spreads his Loves, and raises new desire,
No longer now the good, old King denies,
But gives consent at last, with weeping Eyes.
The Night comes on, and with it, Peaceful rest,
To all alas! But to the Lover's Breast.
In Am'rous Murmurs Tereus does complain,
Bright Philomela caus'd his Anxious pain.
Sleep shuns his Soul, and it's kind ease denies;
Like a coy Maid, when courted most, it flies.
The Charming fair does all his Thoughts possess,
Great was his Love, which yet he wisht not less.
His fancy brings her still before his view,
His very fancy does his Flames renew,
And as he thinks he sees her, he begins to sue.
Then, as from Dreams, wak'd from those Thoughts, he turns,
Reflects on real Charms, and fiercer burns.
Those he has seen, his whole Idea fill,
But ah! he thinks—he knows, there must be greater still.
Thus does he pass the tedious Hours of Night,
With Am'rous, painful Thoughts, which yield a Nice Delight.
Oft does he wish for the approach of Day,
That he may hast, with his Lov'd prize, away.
And now, at last, the wish'd-for Morn appears,
When old Pandion, thus with streaming Tears,
Parts with the last dear hope of his declining Years.
My Son, since Piety this due requires,
I yield to yours, and Progne's fond desires.
But oh! I charge you by the Gods above,
Guard, and defend her, with a Father's Love.
You, Daughter, leave me not too long alone,
How shall I live, when my last comfort's gone!
You know I Love you, tenderly I do,
My Heart, my Life, my very Soul's in you,
I cannot speak for Tears,—soon, soon return—adieu.
Thus the good King does his Just sorrows tell;
He might alas! have bid a long farewel.
For now, the flying Ship had left the shore,
And he must never see his Daughter more.
Tereus, exulting Cries, she's now my own,
And I shall soon my earnest wishes Crown.
With constant Eyes the Charming Maid he views,
With loose behaviour, and lew'd carriage wooes,
And his designs, ev'n there, far as he could, pursues.
But now, at length, on his own Lands he Treads,
And, to a close recess, fair Philomela leads.
Trembling she stood, lost in distracting fears,
And for her Sister now enquires with Tears.
He, in full rage of Lust, delays not long,
But, with fierce Kisses, stays her Charming Tongue.
Tells his designs, and her consent requires;
Refus'd, more high he Foams, with wild desires,
And ravishes the Maid, and quenches so, his Fires.
In vain, alas! she Shriek'd in her distress,
Sister, nor Father, could her wrongs redress,
On them, and Gods she crys, but all without success.
And now deflow'r'd, from his loath'd Arms she breaks,
And thus upbraids him, while inrag'd she speaks.
How shall I term thee, since thy Lust began!
Vile, Treach'rous Tyrant! Barb'rous Monster! Man,
Thee, nor my Father's Tears, nor Progne's Love,
Nor my Chast, Virgin Innocence could move.
Gods! What a wild confusion hast thou bred!
I an Adultress to my Sister's Bed!
Would I had dy'd, e'er I my honour lost,
I had departed with a spotless Ghost.
Yet, if the Gods my wrongs, and suff'ring see,
(Sure they will Punish too, if Gods they be.
Thus having said, in hast she strove to run,
And thought, by flight, the Tyrant's rage to shun.
But he, provok'd by her reveal'd Despair,
Quickly surpriz'd, and seiz'd the injur'd fair;
And threw her on the ground, and drag'd her by the Hair.
Strongly he binds her tender, helpless Arms,
Resolv'd once more to rifle all her Charms.
Loudly she Shrieks, and so Proclaims her wrong,
Disarm'd of all Resistance—but her Tongue.
And that, his Sword cuts from the panting Root,
Which trembling falls, and murmurs at his Foot.
And like a Serpent's Tail dissever'd, leaps,
And for a while, pursues the Tyrant's steps.
Yet, after this, he oft, and oft enjoy'd,
Nor was his horrid Lust with the Fruition cloy'd.