 | Penelope |  |
38
SCENE V.
Scene changes, and discovers Penelope alone reading; with a Pen, and Ink, by her.Pen.
Shou'd this, Ulysses, greet Thee from thy Wife,
Write not, but come, if you wou'd save her Life.
One Day goes by, and Nothing sees but Grief,
Another comes, and brings Me no Relief;
Both Day and Night, I feel a Lover's Pain,
And pray to Heav'n to bring my Man again.
Whoever comes, and tells of Thee a Tale,
Is sure to strike Me for a Pot of Ale.
[She lays down the Letter.Write not, but come, if you wou'd save her Life.
One Day goes by, and Nothing sees but Grief,
Another comes, and brings Me no Relief;
Both Day and Night, I feel a Lover's Pain,
And pray to Heav'n to bring my Man again.
Whoever comes, and tells of Thee a Tale,
Is sure to strike Me for a Pot of Ale.
39
1
Ye Winds be kind, and waft him to Me,Whose Sight alone can heal my Smart,
In vain, in vain, these Scoundrels woo Me,
To rob Ulysses of my Heart.
2
Perhaps, alas! press'd far away, heNow groans beneath the Musquet's Load;
But in his March where'er he may be
I wou'd partake the tedious Road.
3
O'er thirsty Plains, or snowy Mountains,With him an humble Slave I'd go,
To quench his Thirst I'd seek the Fountains,
Or chafe his Limbs o'er Hills of Snow.
4
But, O! O! O! O! O! O! O! O!By Hunger forc'd to be a Thief,
He to the Wreck, perhaps, must go, go,
While here his Wife will dy with Grief.
| Penelope | |