University of Virginia Library

In silent fear I read your Letter o're;
Lest I shou'd Swear, as I had done before!
Nor had I read, but I fear'd t' engage
By my neglect the peevish Goddess Rage:
In vain I deck her Shrine, her Rites attend,
The partial Goddess still remains your Friend.
A Virgin rather shou'd a Virgin Aid,
But where I seek Relief I am betray'd!
I languish, and the Cause of my Disease
As yet lies hid, no Medicine gives me Ease.
In how much pain do I this Letter write!
To my weak Hand my sicklier thoughts indite:
What anxious fear alas afflicts me too,
Lest any but my trusty Nurse shou'd know!
To gain me time to write, the door she keeps,
And whispering tells the Visitants—She Sleeps.
Worse ills I could not for your sake sustain,
Tho' you had merit equal to my Pain.
Your Love betrays, my Beauty proves my Snare,
I had been happy had I seem'd less Fair:
Whilst with your Rival you contend to raise
My Beauty's Fame, I perish by your Praise:
Whilst neither will admit the others Claim,
The Chase is hinder'd, and both miss the Game.

My Nuptial day draws on, my Parents press
The Sacred Rites, my blooming years no less.
But whilst glad Hymen at my door attends,
Grim Death waits near to force me from his Hands.
Some call my Sickness Chance, and some pretend
The Gods this Lett to cross my Nuptials send;
Whilst by severer Censure you are guest,
By Philtra's to have wrought upon my Breast.
If then your love such mischief can create,
What Misery is reserv'd for her you Hate!

Wou'd I to Delos ne'r had found the way,
At least not found it on that fatal Day!
When in our Port our Anchors first we weigh'd,
Th' unwilling vessel still i' th' Harbour stay'd;
Twice did cross winds beat back our flagging Sails;
Said I, cross winds? no! those were prosp'rous Gales!
Those winds alone blew fair, that back convey'd
Our Ship, and those that oft our Passage stay'd.
Yet I to see fam'd Delos am in pain,
And fondly of each hind'ring blast complain.
By Tenos Isle, and Mycone we Steer'd,
At last fair Delos' winding Cliffs appear'd;
And much I fear lest now the Fairy Shore,
Shou'd vanish, as 'tis said t' have done before.
At night we Land, soon as the day return'd
My platted Tresses are with Gemms adorn'd,
Then to attend the Sacred Rites we go,
And pious Incense on each Altar throw,
My Parents there at their Devotion stay;
My Nurse and I through all the Temple stray:
We view each Court, and each, fresh wonder brings;
Pictures, and Statues, Gifts of Ancient Kings.
But whilst into these Rarities I pry'd,
I am my self by sly Acontius spy'd.
Thence to the inmost Temple we remove,
The place that should a Sanctuary prove.
Yet there I find the Apple with this Rhime—
Ah! me, I'd like to have Sworn the second time!
The Name of Wedlock I no sooner read,
But through my Cheeks a troubled blush was spread.
Why didst thou cheat an unsuspecting Maid?
I shou'd have been intreated, not betray'd:
Is then the Goddess bound to take thy part?
And ratifie an Oath without the heart?
The will consents, but that was absent there;
I read indeed the Oath, but did not swear.
Yet cannot I deny that I suspect
Diana's Rage this sickness do's inflict;
Glad Hymen thrice did to our Courts repair,
Thrice frighted fled to find Death planted there.
Thin Cov'rings on my Feaverish Limbs are spread,
My Parents mourn me as already Dead.
What have I done to merit this distress,
That read but words whose fraud I cou'd not guess!
Do thou, ev'n thou from whom my suff'rings spring,
T' appease the Goddess Rage thine Off'rings bring.
When will those hands that writ the fatal Rhime
Bear Incense to remove my pain, thy Crime!

Nor think that thy rich Rival, tho' allow'd
To Visit, is of greater Favours proud.
By me he sits, but still just distance keeps,
Restless as I, talks seldom, often weeps:
Blushing he takes a kiss, and leaves a tear,
And once his Courage serv'd to Cry—My Dear.
But from his arms still by degrees I creep,
And to prevent discourse pretend to sleep.
He finds, but wou'd his Sense o' th' flight disguise,
He checks his Tongue, but chides me with his Eyes.
With grief he wasts, and I with Feavours pine
'Tis we that suffer, but th' Offence was thine.

You write for leave to come and see me here,
Yet know your former visit cost me dear.
Why wouldst thou hither come, thou canst but see
The double Trophies of thy Cruelty.
My flesh consum'd, my Cheeks of bloodless hue,
Such as I once did in thy Apple view.
Shou'dst see me now thou wou'dst repent thy cheat,
Nor think me worth such exquisite Deceit.
To Delos back with greater haste wou'dst go,
And beg the Goddess to release my Vow.
On new designs thy fancy wou'dst imploy,
Contrive new Oaths the former to destroy.

No Means have been omitted to procure
My health, but still my Feav'rish fits endure.
We ask'd the Oracle what caus'd my pains?
The Oracle of broken Vows complains!
The Gods themselves on your behalf declare:
What hast thou done to merit this their care?
But so it is—and I at last incline,
Since that thou art their choice, to make thee Mine.
Already to my Mother I've declar'd,
How by your Cunning I have been insnar'd.
I've done, and what I have already said,
I fear is more than will become a Maid.
My thoughts are now confus'd, and can indite
No more, my feeble hand no more can write.
Nor need I more subscribe, but this, Be True!
And (since it must be so) my Dear, Adieu!