[Poems on Several Occasions with A Pastoral to which is added A Discourse of Life] [by John Tutchin] |
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HYPERMNESTRA TO LINUS. |
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 | [Poems on Several Occasions with A Pastoral |  |
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HYPERMNESTRA TO LINUS.
The ARGUMENET.
Danaus, King of Argos, had by several Wives Fifty Daughters; his Brother Ægyptus as many Sons. Danaus refusing to Marry his Daughters to his Brother's Sons, was at last compelled by an Army. In revenge, he commands his Daughters each to Murder her Husband on the Wedding Night, All obeyed but Hypermnestra, who assisted her Husband Linus to escape, for which being afterwards Imprisoned, and put in Irons, she writes this Epistle.
Those words I would have spoke, your hasty flight
Would not allow, here trembling, loe! I write;
I thank the Fates, that do the time afford
To use my Pen before I use my Sword:
To make the Tragedy well understood,
I'll write the Epilogue in wreaking Blood,
That when my Fame a bloody Wife survives;
Preserv'd by me my much lov'd Linus lives.
The dead of Night that favour'd your Escape,
Shew'd me pale Fear in its most ugly shape.
Why are the Destinies so cruel grown?
But newly Married must we part so soon?
Why from Embraces do we make such hast?
This the first Kiss, and must it be the last?
Scarce were you gone, but in my Father came;
His Eyes spake Terror, and my Sisters shame;
Turning his raging Eyes about, he spy'd
The Sword unsheathed, and bloodless by my side.
Does Linus live? he said, why is not he
Silent in Death as all his Brethren be?
He vow'd that I was to my Sires disgrace,
And swore that I should die in Linus place.
'Tis true, my Sisters have their Husbands slain,
And only I the guiltless Wife remain:
Let my dread Sisters in their fury rave,
And make the Marriage Bed a dismal Grave;
Who can with unrelenting Eyes desire,
To see their Husbands by their sides expire,
And make the Marriage Torch a Funeral Fire.
Can I more fierce than Wolves or Tygers prove,
In that soft Bed, which was design'd for Love?
Can my weak Hands lift up the pointed Steel,
Against that Breast? Can I a Husband kill?
Whilest he, poor innocent, does sleep so fast,
Must wake no more, but slumber out his last?
Let fatal Lovers their keen Poniards take,
And on themselves their bloody Vengeance wreak:
Yet fame shan't say, with unrelenting Steel,
Sad Hypermnestra did her Husband kill.
How my cold Limbs with trembling Terror shook,
When in my Hand the Fatal Sword I took?
I held it o're thy Breast, aim'd at thy Heart;
But mine, alas! did only feel the smart.
My trembling Hand made me the Body miss,
And for a deadly Wound I gave a Kiss.
Must fatal deeds appease the angry Skies?
A Husbands Blood's too dear a Sacrifice.
Good natur'd Man! he meant no Death for me;
Shall I both Cruel and Unconstant be?
Had I been nurst in some wild Desart place,
Sprung of a Lyon or a Tygers Race;
So that in all my Life I ne're did see
The gentle Rules of soft Humanity,
I from the Marriage Bed might bear away
The guilt of those that do their Husbands slay:
But you, kind Heavens! have given me a Soul,
That Malice cann't deceive, nor Fraud controul;
Fixt as your Bolts, it never shall remove,
From Rules of Honour, and from Laws of Love.
Though the keen Sword present unto my sight,
The coming Terrors of Eternal Night;
I still will live my Linus dearest Wife,
And thank the Fate that rids me of my Life.
Would not allow, here trembling, loe! I write;
I thank the Fates, that do the time afford
To use my Pen before I use my Sword:
25
I'll write the Epilogue in wreaking Blood,
That when my Fame a bloody Wife survives;
Preserv'd by me my much lov'd Linus lives.
The dead of Night that favour'd your Escape,
Shew'd me pale Fear in its most ugly shape.
Why are the Destinies so cruel grown?
But newly Married must we part so soon?
Why from Embraces do we make such hast?
This the first Kiss, and must it be the last?
Scarce were you gone, but in my Father came;
His Eyes spake Terror, and my Sisters shame;
Turning his raging Eyes about, he spy'd
The Sword unsheathed, and bloodless by my side.
Does Linus live? he said, why is not he
Silent in Death as all his Brethren be?
He vow'd that I was to my Sires disgrace,
And swore that I should die in Linus place.
'Tis true, my Sisters have their Husbands slain,
And only I the guiltless Wife remain:
Let my dread Sisters in their fury rave,
And make the Marriage Bed a dismal Grave;
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To see their Husbands by their sides expire,
And make the Marriage Torch a Funeral Fire.
Can I more fierce than Wolves or Tygers prove,
In that soft Bed, which was design'd for Love?
Can my weak Hands lift up the pointed Steel,
Against that Breast? Can I a Husband kill?
Whilest he, poor innocent, does sleep so fast,
Must wake no more, but slumber out his last?
Let fatal Lovers their keen Poniards take,
And on themselves their bloody Vengeance wreak:
Yet fame shan't say, with unrelenting Steel,
Sad Hypermnestra did her Husband kill.
How my cold Limbs with trembling Terror shook,
When in my Hand the Fatal Sword I took?
I held it o're thy Breast, aim'd at thy Heart;
But mine, alas! did only feel the smart.
My trembling Hand made me the Body miss,
And for a deadly Wound I gave a Kiss.
Must fatal deeds appease the angry Skies?
A Husbands Blood's too dear a Sacrifice.
Good natur'd Man! he meant no Death for me;
Shall I both Cruel and Unconstant be?
27
Sprung of a Lyon or a Tygers Race;
So that in all my Life I ne're did see
The gentle Rules of soft Humanity,
I from the Marriage Bed might bear away
The guilt of those that do their Husbands slay:
But you, kind Heavens! have given me a Soul,
That Malice cann't deceive, nor Fraud controul;
Fixt as your Bolts, it never shall remove,
From Rules of Honour, and from Laws of Love.
Though the keen Sword present unto my sight,
The coming Terrors of Eternal Night;
I still will live my Linus dearest Wife,
And thank the Fate that rids me of my Life.
And now, my Dearest, if you chance to hear
These sadder Groans the raging Storms bear:
If once this Letter be so blest to come
To your Aboade, your melancholy Home;
Kiss the lamenting Paper, and then make
Some mournful Obsequies for your Wife's sake.
These sadder Groans the raging Storms bear:
If once this Letter be so blest to come
To your Aboade, your melancholy Home;
Kiss the lamenting Paper, and then make
Some mournful Obsequies for your Wife's sake.
| [Poems on Several Occasions with A Pastoral | |