will assist and Jove assert my Right But thou of all the Kings his Care below Art least at my Command and most my Foe Debates Dissentions Uproars are thy Joy Provok'd without Offence and practis'd to destroy Strength is of Brutes and not thy Boast alone At least 't is lent from Heav'n and not thy own Fly then ill-manner'd to thy Native Land And there thy Ant-born Myrmidons command But mark this Menace since I must resign My black-ey'd Maid to please the Pow'rs divine A well-rigg'd Vessel in the Port attends Man'd at my Charge commanded by my Friends The Ship shall wast her to her wish'd Abode Full fraught with holy Bribes to the far-shooting God This thus dispatch'd I owe my self the Care My Fame and injur'd Honour to repair From thy own Tent proud Man in thy despight This Hand shall ravish thy pretended Right Briseis shall be mine and thou shalt see What odds of awful Pow'r I have on thee That others at thy cost may learn the diff'rence of degree At this th' Impatient Hero sowrly smil'd His Heart impetuous in his Bosom boil'd And justled by two Tides of equal sway Stood for a while suspended in his way Betwixt his Reason and his Rage untam'd One whisper'd soft and one aloud reclaim'd That only counsell'd to the safer side This to the Sword his ready Hand apply'd Unpunish'd to support th' Affrong was hard Nor easy was th' Attempt to force the Guard But soon the thirst of Vengeance fir'd his Blood Half shone his Faulchion and half sheath'd it stood In that nice moment Pallas from above Commission'd by th' Imperial Wife of Jove Descended swift the white arm'd Queen was loath The Fight shou'd follow for she favour'd both Just as in Act he stood in Clouds inshrin'd Her Hand she fasten'd on his Hair behind Then backward by his yellow Curls she drew To him and him alone confess'd in view Tam'd by superiour Force he turn'd his Eyes Aghast at first and stupid with Surprize But by her sparkling Eyes and ardent Look The Virgin-Warrior known he thus bespoke Com'st thou Celestial to behold my Wrongs Then view the Vengeance which to Crimes belongs Thus He. The blue-ey'd Goddess thus rejoin'd I come to calm thy turbulence of Mind If Reason will resume her soveraign Sway And sent by Juno her Commands obey Equal she loves you both and I protect Then give thy Guardian Gods their due respect And cease Contention be thy Words severe Sharp as he merits But the Sword forbear An Hour unhop'd already wings her way When he his dire Affront shall dearly pay When the proud King shall sue with trebble Gain To quit thy Loss and conquer thy Disdain But thou secure of my unfailing Word Compose thy swelling Soul and sheath the Sword The Youth thus answer'd mild Auspicious Maid Heav'ns will be mine and your Commands obey'd The Gods are just and when subduing Sense We serve their Pow'rs provide the Recompence He said with surly Faith believ'd her Word And in the Sheath reluctant plung'd the Sword Her Message done she mounts the bless'd Abodes And mix'd among the Senate of the Gods At her departure his Disdain return'd The Fire she fan'd with greater Fury burn'd Rumbling within till thus it found a vent Dastard and Drunkard Mean and Insolent Tongue-valiant Hero Vaunter of thy Might In Threats the foremost but the lag in Fight When did'st thou thrust amid the mingled Preace Content to bid the War aloof in Peace Arms are the Trade of each Plebeyan Soul 'T is Death to fight but Kingly to controul Lord-like at ease with arbitrary Pow'r To peel the Chiefs the People to devour These Traitor are thy Tallents safer far Than to contend in Fields and Toils of War Nor coud'st thou thus have dar'd the common Hate Were not their Souls as abject as their State But by this Scepter solemnly I swear Which never more green Leaf or growing Branch shall bear Torn from the Tree and giv'n by Jove to those Who Laws dispence and mighty Wrongs oppose That when the Grecians want my wonted Aid No Gift shall bribe it and no Pray'r persuade When Hector comes the Homicide to wield His conquering Arms with Corps to strow the Field Then shalt thou mourn thy Pride and late confess My Wrong repented when 't is past redress He said And with Disdain in open view Against the Ground his golden Scepter threw Then sate with boiling Rage Altrides burn'd And Foam betwixt his gnashing Grinders churn'd But from his Seat the Pylian Prince arose With Reas'ning mild their Madness to compose Words sweet as Hony from his Mouth distill'd Two Centuries already he fulfill'd And now began the third unbroken yet Once fam'd for Courage still in Council great What worse he said can Argos undergo What can more gratify the Phrygian Foe Than these distemper'd Heats If both the Lights Of Greece their private Int'rest disunites Believe a Friend with thrice your Years increas'd And let these youthful Passions be repress'd I flourish'd long before your Birth and then Liv'd equal with a Race of braver Men Than these dim Eyes shall e'er behold agen Ceneus and Dryas and excelling them Great Theseus and the force of greater Polypheme With these I went a Brother of the War Their Dangers to divide their Fame to share Nor idle stood with unassisting Hands When salvage Beasts and Men's more salvage Bands Their virtuous Toil subdu'd Yet those I sway'd With pow'rful Speech I spoke and they obey'd If such as those my Councils cou'd reclaim Think not young Warriors your diminish'd Name Shall lose of Lustre by subjecting Rage To the cool Dictates of experienc'd Age. Thou King of Men stretch not thy sovereign Sway Beyond the Bounds free Subjects can obey But let Pelides in his Prize rejoice Atchiev'd in Arms allow'd by publick Voice Nor Thou brave Champion with his Pow'r contend Before whose Throne ev'n Kings their lower'd Scepters bend The Head of Action He and Thou the Hand Matchless thy Force but mightier his Command Thou first O King release the rights of Sway Pow'r self-restrain'd the People best obey Sanctions of Law from Thee derive their Source Command thy Self whom no Commands can force The Son of Thetis Rampire of our Host Is worth our Care to keep nor shall my Pray'rs be lost Thus Nestor said and ceas'd Atrides broke His Silence next but ponder'd e'er he spoke Wise are thy Words and glad I would obey But this proud Man affects Imperial Sway. Controlling Kings and trampling on our State His Will is Law and what he wills is Fate The Gods have giv'n him Strength But whence the Style Of lawless Pow'r assum'd or Licence to revile Achilles cut him short and thus reply'd My Worth allow'd in Words is in effect deny'd For who but a Poltron possess'd with Fear Such haughty Insolence can tamely bear Command thy Slaves My freeborn soul disdains A Tyrant's Curb and restiff breaks the Reins Take this along that no Dispute
unjust in the Pursuit of it Yet when he came to die he made him think more reasonably He repents not of his Love for that had alter'd his Character but acknowledges the Injustice of his Proceedings and resigns Emilia to Palamon What would Ovid have done on this Occasion He would certainly have made Arcite witty on his Death-bed He had complain'd he was farther off from Possession by being so near and a thousand such Boyisms which Chaucer rejected as below the Dignity of the Subject They who think otherwise would by the same Reason prefer Lucan and Ovid to Homer and Virgil and Martial to all Four of them As for the Turn of Words in which Ovid particularly excels all Poets they are sometimes a Fault and sometimes a Beauty as they are us'd properly or improperly but in strong Passions always to be shunn'd because Passions are serious and will admit no Playing The French have a high Value for them and I confess they are often what they call Delicate when they are introduc'd with Judgment but Chaucer writ with more Simplicity and follow'd Nature more closely than to use them I have thus far to the best of my Knowledge been an upright Judge betwixt the Parties in Competition not medling with the Design nor the Disposition of it because the Design was not their own and in the disposing of it they were equal It remains that I say somewhat of Chaucer in particular In the first place As he is the Father of English Poetry so I hold him in the same Degree of Veneration as the Grecians held Homer or the Romans Virgil He is a perpetual Fountain of good Sense learn'd in all Sciences and therefore speaks properly on all Subjects As he knew what to say so he knows also when to leave off a Continence which is practis'd by few Writers and scarcely by any of the Ancients excepting Virgil and Horace One of our late great Poets is sunk in his Reputation because he cou'd never forgive any Conceit which came in his way but swept like a Drag-net great and small There was plenty enough but the Dishes were ill sorted whole Pyramids of Sweet-meats for Boys and Women but little of solid Meat for Men All this proceeded not from any want of Knowledge but of Judgment neither did he want that in discerning the Beauties and Faults of other Poets but only indulg'd himself in the Luxury of Writing and perhaps knew it was a Fault but hop'd the Reader would not find it For this Reason though he must always be thought a great Poet he is no longer esteem'd a good Writer And for Ten Impressions which his Works have had in so many successive Years yet at present a hundred Books are scarcely purchas'd once a Twelvemonth For as my last Lord Rochester said though somewhat profanely Not being of God he could not stand Chaucer follow'd Nature every where but was never so bold to go beyond her And there is a great Difference of being Poeta and nimis Poeta if we may believe Catullus as much as betwixt a modest Behaviour and Affectation The Verse of Chaucer I confess is not Harmonious to us but 't is like the Eloquence of one whom Tacitus commends it was auribus istius temporis accommodata They who liv'd with him and some time after him thought it Musical and it continues so even in our Judgment if compar'd with the Numbers of Lidgate and Gower his Contemporaries There is the rude Sweetness of a Scotch Tune in it which is natural and pleasing though not perfect 'T is true I cannot go so far as he who publish'd the last Edition of him for he would make us believe the Fault is in our Ears and that there were really Ten Syllables in a Verse where we find but Nine But this Opinion is not worth confuting 't is so gross and obvious an Errour that common Sense which is a Rule in every thing but Matters of Faith and Revelation must convince the Reader that Equality of Numbers in every Verse which we call Heroick was either not known or not always practis'd in Chaucer's Age. It were an easie Matter to produce some thousands of his Verses which are lame for want of half a Foot and sometimes a whole one and which no Pronunciation can make otherwise We can only say that he liv'd in the Infancy of our Poetry and that nothing is brought to Perfection at the first We must be Children before we grow Men. There was an Ennius and in process of Time a Lucilius and a Lucretius before Virgil and Horace even after Chaucer there was a Spencer a Harrington a Fairfax before Waller and Denham were in being And our Numbers were in their Nonage till these last appear'd I need say little of his Parentage Life and Fortunes They are to be found at large in all the Editions of his Works He was employ'd abroad and favour'd by Edward the Third Richard the Second and Henry the Fourth and was Poet as I suppose to all Three of them In Richard's Time I doubt he was a little dipt in the Rebellion of the Commons and being Brother-in-Law to John of Ghant it was no wonder if he follow'd the Fortunes of that Family and was well with Henry the Fourth when he had depos'd his Predecessor Neither is it to be admir'd that Henry who was a wise as well as a valiant Prince who claim'd by Succession and was sensible that his Title was not sound but was rightfully in Mortimer who had married the Heir of York it was not to be admir'd I say if that great Politician should be pleas'd to have the greatest Wit of those Times in his Interests and to be the Trumpet of his Praises Augustus had given him the Example by the Advice of Mecoenas who recommended Virgil and Horace to him whose Praises help'd to make him Popular while he was alive and after his Death have made him Precious to Posterity As for the Religion of our Poet he seems to have some little Byas towards the Opinions of Wickliff after John of Ghant his Patron somewhat of which appears in the Tale of Piers Plowman Yet I cannot blame him for inveighing so sharply against the Vices of the Clergy in his Age Their Pride their Ambition their Pomp their Avarice their Worldly Interest deserv'd the Lashes which he gave them both in that and in most of his Canterbury Tales Neither has his Contemporary Boccace spar'd them Yet both those Poets liv'd in much esteem with good and holy Men in Orders For the Scandal which is given by particular Priesls reflects not on the Sacred Function Chaucer's Monk his Chanon and his Fryar took not from the Character of his Good Parson A Satyrical Poet is the Check of the Laymen on bad Priests We are only to take care that we involve not the Innocent with the Guilty in the same Condemnation The Good cannot be too much honour'd nor the Bad too coursly us'd For the
to be heard I know not what Answer they could have made For that Reason such Tales shall be left untold by me You have here a Specimen of Chaucer's Language which is so obsolete that his Sense is scarce to be understood and you have likewise more than one Example of his unequal Numbers which were mention'd before Yet many of his Verses consist of Ten Syllables and the Words not much behind our present English As for Example these two Lines in the Description of the Carpenter's Young Wife Wincing she was as is a jolly Colt Long as a Mast and upright as a Bolt I have almost done with Chaucer when I have answer'd some Objections relating to my present Work I find some People are offended that I have turn'd these Tales into modern English because they think them unworthy of my Pains and look on Chaucer as a dry old-fashion'd Wit not worth receiving I have often heard the late Earl of Leicester say that Mr. Cowley himself was of that opinion who having read him over at my Lord's Request declar'd he had no Taste of him I dare not advance my Opinion against the Judgment of so great an Author But I think it fair however to leave the Decision to the Publick Mr. Cowley was too modest to set up for a Dictatour and being shock'd perhaps with his old Style never examin'd into the depth of his good Sense Chaucer I confess is a rough Diamond and must first be polish'd e'er he shines I deny not likewise that living in our early Days of Poetry he writes not always of a piece but sometimes mingles trivial Things with those of greater Moment Sometimes also though not often he runs riot like Ovid and knows not when he has said enough But there are more great Wits beside Chaucer whose Fault is their Excess of Conceits and those ill sorted An Author is not to write all he can but only all he ought Having observ'd this Redundancy in Chaucer as it is an easie Matter for a Man of ordinary Parts to find a Fault in one of greater I have not ty'd my self to a Literal Translation but have often omitted what I judg'd unnecessary or not of Dignity enough to appear in the Company of better Thoughts I have presum'd farther in some Places and added somewhat of my own where I thought my Author was deficient and had not given his Thoughts their true Lustre for want of Words in the Beginning of our Language And to this I was the more embolden'd because if I may be permitted to say it of my self I found I had a Soul congenial to his and that I had been conversant in the same Studies Another Poet in another Age may take the same Liberty with my Writings if at least they live long enough to deserve Correction It was also necessary sometimes to restore the Sense of Chaucer which was lost or mangled in the Errors of the Press Let this Example suffice at present in the Story of Palamon and Arcite where the Temple of Diana is describ'd you find these Verses in all the Editions of our Author There saw I Danè turned unto a Tree I mean not the Goddess Diane But Venus Daughter which that hight Danè Which after a little Consideration I knew was to be reform'd into this Sense that Daphne the Daughter of Peneus was turn'd into a Tree I durst not make thus bold with Ovid lest some future Milbourn should arise and say I varied from my Author because I understood him not But there are other Judges who think I ought not to have translated Chaucer into English out of a quite contrary Notion They suppose there is a certain Veneration due to his old Language and that it is little less than Profanation and Sacrilege to alter it They are farther of opinion that somewhat of his good Sense will suffer in this Transfusion and much of the Beauty of his Thoughts will infallibly be lost which appear with more Grace in their old Habit. Of this Opinion was that excellent Person whom I mention'd the late Earl of Leicester who valu'd Chaucer as much as Mr. Cowley despis'd him My Lord dissuaded me from this Attempt for I was thinking of it some Years before his Death and his Authority prevail'd so far with me as to defer my Undertaking while he liv'd in deference to him Yet my Reason was not convinc'd with what he urg'd against it If the first End of a Writer be to be understood then as his Language grows obsolete his Thoughts must grow obscure multa renascuntur quoe nunc cecidere cadentque quoe nunc sunt in honore vacabula si volet usus quem penes arbitrium est jus norma loquendi When an ancient Word for its Sound and Significancy deserves to be reviv'd I have that reasonable Veneration for Antiquity to restore it All beyond this is Superstition Words are not like Land-marks so sacred as never to be remov'd Customs are chang'd and even Statutes are silently repeal'd when the Reason ceases for which they were enacted As for the other Part of the Argument that his Thoughts will lose of their original Beauty by the innovation of Words in the first place not only their Beauty but their Being is lost where they are no longer understood which is the present Case I grant that something must be lost in all Transfusion that is in all Translations but the Sense will remain which would otherwise be lost or at least be maim'd when it is scarce intelligible and that but to a few How few are there who can read Chaucer so as to understand him perfectly And if imperfectly then with less Profit and no Pleasure 'T is not for the Use of some old Saxon Friends that I have taken these Pains with him Let them neglect my Version because they have no need of it I made it for their sakes who understand Sense and Poetry as well as they when that Poetry and Sense is put into Words which they understand I will go farther and dare to add that what Beauties I lose in some Places I give to others which had them not originally But in this I may be partial to my self let the Reader judge and I submit to his Decision Yet I think I have just Occasion to complain of them who because they understand Chaucer would deprive the greater part of their Countrymen of the same Advantage and hoord him up as Misers do their Grandam Gold only to look on it themselves and hinder others from making use of it In sum I seriously protest that no Man ever had or can have a greater Veneration for Chaucer than my self I have translated some part of his Works only that I might perpetuate his Memory or at least refresh it amongst my Countrymen If I have alter'd him any where for the better I must at the same time acknowledge that I could have done nothing without him Facile est inventis addere is no
Hours And Nature's ready Pencil paints the Flow'rs When thy short Reign is past the Fev'rish Sun The sultry Tropick fears and moves more slowly on So may thy tender Blossoms fear no Blite Nor Goats with venom'd Teeth thy Tendrils bite As thou shalt guide my wandring Feet to find The fragrant Greens I seek my Brows to bind His Vows address'd within the Grove he stray'd Till Fate or Fortune near the Place convey'd His Steps where secret Palamon was laid Full little thought of him the gentle Knight Who flying Death had there conceal'd his Flight In Brakes and Brambles hid and shunning Mortal Sight And less he knew him for his hated Foe But fear'd him as a Man he did not know But as it has been said of ancient Years That Fields are full of Eyes and Woods have Ears For this the Wise are ever on their Guard For Unforeseen they say is unprepar'd Uncautious Arcite thought himself alone And less than all suspected Palamon Who listning heard him while he search'd the Grove And loudly sung his Roundelay of Love But on the sudden stopp'd and silent stood As Lovers often muse and change their Mood Now high as Heav'n and then as low as Hell Now up now down as Buckets in a Well For Venus like her Day will change her Cheer And seldom shall we see a Friday clear Thus Arcite having sung with alter'd Hue Sunk on the Ground and from his Bosom drew A desp'rate Sigh accusing Heav'n and Fate And angry Juno's unrelenting Hate Curs'd be the Day when first I did appear Let it be blotted from the Calendar Lest it pollute the Month and poison all the Year Still will the jealous Queen pursue our Race Cadmus is dead the Theban City was Yet ceases not her Hate For all who come From Cadmus are involv'd in Cadmus Doom I suffer for my Blood Unjust Decree That punishes another's Crime on me In mean Estate I serve my mortal Foe The Man who caus'd my Countrys Overthrow This is not all for Juno to my shame Has forc'd me to forsake my former Name Arcite I was Philostratus I am That Side of Heav'n is all my Enemy Mars ruin'd Thebes his Mother ruin'd me Of all the Royal Race remains but one Beside my self th' unhappy Palamon Whom Theseus holds in Bonds and will not free Without a Crime except his Kin to me Yet these and all the rest I cou'd endure But Love 's a Malady without a Cure Fierce Love has pierc'd me with his fiery Dart He fries within and hisses at my Heart Your Eyes fair Emily my Fate pursue I suffer for the rest I die for you Of such a Goddess no Time leaves Record Who burn'd the Temple where she was ador'd And let it burn I never will complain Pleas'd with my Suff'rings if you knew my Pain At this a sickly Qualm his Heart assail'd His Ears ring inward and his Senses fail'd No Word miss'd Palamon of all he spoke But soon to deadly Pale he chang'd his Look He trembl'd ev'ry Limb and felt a Smart As if cold Steel had glided through his Heart Nor longer staid but starting from his Place Discover'd stood and shew'd his hostile Face False Traytor Arcite Traytor to thy Blood Bound by thy sacred Oath to seek my Good Now art thou found forsworn for Emily And dar'st attempt her Love for whom I die So hast thou cheated Theseus with a Wile Against thy Vow returning to beguile Under a borrow'd Name As false to me So false thou art to him who set thee free But rest assur'd that either thou shalt die Or else renounce thy Claim in Emily For though unarm'd I am and freed by Chance Am here without my Sword or pointed Lance Hope not base Man unquestion'd hence to go For I am Palamon thy mortal Foe Arcite who heard his Tale and knew the Man His Sword unsheath'd and fiercely thus began Now by the Gods who govern Heav'n above Wert thou not weak with Hunger mad with Love That Word had been thy last or in this Grove This Hand should force thee to renounce thy Love The Surety which I gave thee I defie Fool not to know that Love endures no Tie And Jove but laughs at Lovers Perjury Know I will serve the Fair in thy despight But since thou art my Kinsman and a Knight Here have my Faith to morrow in this Grove Our Arms shall plead the Titles of our Love And Heav'n so help my Right as I alone Will come and keep the Cause and Quarrel both unknown With Arms of Proof both for my self and thee Chuse thou the best and leave the worst to me And that at better ease thou maist abide Bedding and Clothes I will this Night provide And needful Sustenance that thou maist be A Conquest better won and worthy me His Promise Palamon accepts but pray'd To keep it better than the first he made Thus fair they parted till the Morrows Dawn For each had laid his plighted Faith to pawn Oh Love Thou sternly dost thy Pow'r maintain And wilt not bear a Rival in thy Reign Tyrants and thou all Fellowship disdain This was in Arcite prov'd and Palamon Both in Despair yet each would love alone Arcite return'd and as in Honour ty'd His Foe with Bedding and with Food supply'd Then e'er the Day two Suits of Armour sought Which born before him on his Steed he brought Both were of shining Steel and wrought so pure As might the Strokes of two such Arms endure Now at the Time and in th' appointed Place The Challenger and Challeng'd Face to Face Approach each other from afar they knew And from afar their Hatred chang'd their Hue. So stands the Thracian Heardsman with his Spear Full in the Gap and hopes the hunted Bear And hears him rustling in the Wood and sees His Course at Distance by the bending Trees And thinks Here comes my mortal Enemy And either he must fall in Fight or I This while he thinks he lifts aloft his Dart A gen'rous Chilness seizes ev'ry Part The Veins pour back the Blood and fortifie the Heart Thus pale they meet their Eyes with Fury burn None greets for none the Greeting will return But in dumb Surliness each arm'd with Care His Foe profest as Brother of the War Then both no Moment lost at once advance Against each other arm'd with Sword and Lance They lash they foin they pass they strive to bore Their Corslets and the thinnest Parts explore Thus two long Hours in equal Arms they stood And wounded wound till both were bath'd in Blood And not a Foot of Ground had either got As if the World depended on the Spot Fell Arcite like an angry Tyger far'd And like a Lion Palamon appear'd Or as two Boars whom Love to Battel draws With rising Bristles and with froathy Jaws Their adverse Breasts with Tusks oblique they wound With Grunts and Groans the Forest rings around So fought the Knights and fighting must abide Till Fate an Umpire sends
but by Sighs and offer'd vain Relief At length her Stock of Tears already shed She wip'd her Eyes she rais'd her drooping Head And thus pursu'd O ever faithful Heart I have perform'd the Ceremonial Part The Decencies of Grief It rests behind That as our Bodies were our Souls be join'd To thy whate'er abode my Shade convey And as an elder Ghost direct the way She said and bad the Vial to be brought Where she before had brew'd the deadly Draught First pouring out the med'cinable Bane The Heart her Tears had rins'd she bath'd again Then down her Throat the Death securely throws And quaffs a long Oblivion of her Woes This done she mounts the Genial Bed and there Her Body first compos'd with honest Care Attends the welcom Rest Her Hands yet hold Close to her Heart the Monumental Gold Nor farther Word she spoke but clos'd her Sight And quiet sought the Govert of the Night The Damsels who the while in Silence mourn'd Not knowing nor suspecting Death suborn'd Yet as their Duty was to Tancred sent Who conscious of th' Occasion fear'd th' Event Alarm'd and with presaging Heart he came And drew the Curtains and expos'd the Dame To loathsom Light then with a late Relief Made vain Efforts to mitigate her Grief She what she could excluding Day her Eyes Kept firmly seal'd and sternly thus replies Tancred restrain thy Tears unsought by me And Sorrow unavailing now to thee Did ever Man before afflict his Mind To see th' Effect of what himself design'd Yet if thou hast remaining in thy Heart Some Sense of Love some unextinguish'd Part Of former Kindness largely once profess'd Let me by that adjure thy harden'd Breast Not to deny thy Daughters last Request The secret Love which I so long enjoy'd And still conceal'd to gratifie thy Pride Thou hast disjoin'd but with my dying Breath Seek not I beg thee to disjoin our Death Where-e'er his Corps by thy Command is laid Thither let mine in publick be convey'd Expos'd in open View and Side by Side Acknowledg'd as a Bridegroom and a Bride The Prince's Anguish hinder'd his Reply And she who felt her Fate approaching nigh Seiz'd the cold Heart and heaving to her Breast Here precious Pledge she said securely rest These Accents were her last the creeping Death Benum'd her Senses first then stopp'd her Breath Thus she for Disobedience justly dy'd The Sire was justly punish'd for his Pride The Youth least guilty suffer'd for th' Offence Of Duty violated to his Prince Who late repenting of his cruel Deed One common Sepulcher for both decreed Intomb'd the wretched Pair in Royal State And on their Monument inscrib'd their Fate BAUCIS AND PHILEMON Out of the Eighth Book OF OVID'S Metamorphoses BAUCIS AND PHILEMON Out of the Eighth Book of OVID's METAMORPHOSES The Author pursuing the Deeds of Theseus relates how He with his Friend Perithous were invited by Achelous the River-God to stay with him till his Waters were abated Achelous entertains them with a Relation of his own Love to Perimele who was chang'd into an Island by Neptune at his Request Perithous being an Atheist derides the Legend and denies the Power of the Gods to work that Miracle Lelex another Companion of Theseus to constrm the Story of Achelous relates another Metamorphosis of Baucis and Philemon into Trees of which he was partly an Eye-witness THus Achelous ends His Audience hear With admiration and admiring fear The Pow'rs of Heav'n except Ixion's Son Who laugh'd at all the Gods believ'd in none He shook his impious Head and thus replies These Legends are no more than pious Lies You attribute too much to Heavenly Sway To think they give us Forms and take away The rest of better Minds their Sense declar'd Against this Doctrine and with Horrour heard Then Lelex rose an old experienc'd Man And thus with sober Gravity began Heav'ns Pow'r is Infinite Earth Air and Sea The Manufacture Mass the making Pow'r obey By Proof to clear your Doubt In Phrygian Ground Two neighb'ring Trees with Walls encompass'd round Stand on a mod'rate Rise with wonder shown One a hard Oak a softer Linden one I saw the Place and them by Pittheus sent To Phrygian Realms my Grandsire's Government Not far from thence is seen a Lake the Haunt Of Coots and of the fishing Cormorant Here Jove with Hermes came but in Disguise Of mortal Men conceal'd their Deities One laid aside his Thunder one his Rod And many toilsom Steps together trod For Harbour at a thousand Doors they knock'd Not one of all the thousand but was lock'd At last an hospitable House they found A homely Shed the Roof not far from Ground Was thatch'd with Reeds and Straw together bound There Baucis and Philemon liv'd and there Had liv'd long marry'd and a happy Pair Now old in Love though little was their Store Inur'd to Want their Poverty they bore Nor aim'd at Wealth professing to be poor For Master or for Servant here to call Was all alike where only Two were All. Command was none where equal Love was paid Or rather both commanded both obey'd From lofty Roofs the Gods repuls'd before Now stooping enter'd through the little Door The Man their hearty Welcome first express'd A common Settle drew for either Guest Inviting each his weary Limbs to rest But e'er they sat officious Baucis lays Two Cushions stuff'd with Straw the Seat to raise Course but the best she had then rakes the Load Of Ashes from the Hearth and spreads abroad The living Coals and lest they shou'd expire With Leaves and Barks she feeds her Infant-fire It smoaks and then with trembling Breath she blows Till in a chearful Blaze the Flames arose With Brush-wood and with Chips she strengthens these And adds at last the Boughs of rotten Trees The Fire thus form'd she sets the Kettle on Like burnish'd Gold the little Seether shone Next took the Coleworts which her Husband got From his own Ground a small well-water'd Spot She stripp'd the Stalks of all their Leaves the best She cull'd and then with handy-care she dress'd High o'er the Hearth a Chine of Bacon hung Good old Philemon seiz'd it with a Prong And from the sooty Rafter drew it down Then cut a Slice but scarce enough for one Yet a large Portion of a little Store Which for their Sakes alone he wish'd were more This in the Pot he plung'd without delay To tame the Flesh and drain the Salt away The Time between before the Fire they sat And shorten'd the Delay by pleasing Chat. A Beam there was on which a Beechen Pail Hung by the Handle on a driven Nail This fill'd with Water gently warm'd they set Before their Guests in this they bath'd their Feet And after with clean Towels dry'd their Sweat This done the Host produc'd the genial Bed Sallow the Feet the Borders and the Sted Which with no costly Coverlet they spread But course old Garments yet such Robes as these They laid alone at
true the harden'd Breast resists the Gripe And the cold Lips return a Kiss unripe But when retiring back he look'd agen To think it Iv'ry was a Thought too mean So wou'd believe she kiss'd and courting more Again embrac'd her naked Body o'er And straining hard the Statue was afraid His Hands had made a Dint and hurt his Maid Explor'd her Limb by Limb and fear'd to find So rude a Gripe had left a livid Mark behind With Flatt'ry now he seeks her Mind to move And now with Gifts the pow'rful Bribes of Love He furnishes her Closet first and fills The crowded Shelves with Rarities of Shells Adds Orient Pearls which from the Conchs he drew And all the sparkling Stones of various Hue And Parrots imitating Humane Tongue And Singing-birds in Silver Cages hung And ev'ry fragrant Flow'r and od'rous Green Were sorted well with Lumps of Amber laid between Rich fashionable Robes her Person deck Pendants her Ears and Pearls adorn her Neck Her taper'd Fingers too with Rings are grac'd And an embroider'd Zone surrounds her slender Waste Thus like a Queen array'd so richly dress'd Beauteous she shew'd but naked shew'd the best Then from the Floor he rais'd a Royal Bed With Cov'rings of Sydonian Purple spread The Solemn Rites perform'd he calls her Bride With Blandishments invites her to his Side And as she were with Vital Sense possess'd Her Head did on a plumy Pillow rest The Feast of Venus came a Solemn Day To which the Cypriots due Devotion pay With gilded Horns the Milk-white Heifers led Slaughter'd before the sacred Altars bled Pygmalion off'ring first approach'd the Shrine And then with Pray'rs implor'd the Pow'rs Divine Almighty Gods if all we Mortals want If all we can require be yours to grant Make this fair Statue mine he wou'd have said But chang'd his Words for shame and only pray'd Give me the Likeness of my Iv'ry Maid The Golden Goddess present at the Pray'r Well knew he meant th' inanimated Fair And gave the Sign of granting his Desire For thrice in chearful Flames ascends the Fire The Youth returning to his Mistress hies And impudent in Hope with ardent Eyes And beating Breast by the dear Statue lies He kisses her white Lips renews the Bliss And looks and thinks they redden at the Kiss He thought them warm before Nor longer stays But next his Hand on her hard Bosom lays Hard as it was beginning to relent It seem'd the Breast beneath his Fingers bent He felt again his Fingers made a Print 'T was Flesh but Flesh so firm it rose against the Dint The pleasing Task he fails not to renew Soft and more soft at ev'ry Touch it grew Like pliant Wax when chafing Hands reduce The former Mass to Form and frame for Use. He would believe but yet is still in pain And tries his Argument of Sense again Presses the Pulse and feels the leaping Vein Convinc'd o'erjoy'd his studied Thanks and Praise To her who made the Miracle he pays Then Lips to Lips he join'd now freed from Fear He found the Savour of the Kiss sincere At this the waken'd Image op'd her Eyes And view'd at once the Light and Lover with surprize The Goddess present at the Match she made So bless'd the Bed such Fruitfulness convey'd That e'er ten Moons had sharpen'd either Horn To crown their Bliss a lovely Boy was born Paphos his Name who grown to Manhood wall'd The City Paphos from the Founder call'd CINYRAS AND MYRRHA Out of the Tenth Book OF OVID'S Metamorphoses CINYRAS AND MYRRHA Out of the Tenth Book of OVID'S METAMORPHOSES There needs no Connection of this Story with the Former for the Beginning of This immediately follows the End of the Last The Reader is only to take notice that Orpheus who relates both was by Birth a Thracian and his Country far distant from Cyprus where Myrrha was born and from Arabia whither she fled You will see the Reason of this Note soon after the first Lines of this Fable NOr him alone produc'd the fruitful Queen But Cinyras who like his Sire had been A happy Prince had he not been a Sire Daughters and Fathers from my Song retire I sing of Horrour and could I prevail You shou'd not hear or not believe my Tale. Yet if the Pleasure of my Song be such That you will hear and credit me too much Attentive listen to the last Event And with the Sin believe the Punishment Since Nature cou'd behold so dire a Crime I gratulate at least my Native Clime That such a Land which such a Monster bore So far is distant from our Thracian Shore Let Araby extol her happy Coast Her Cinamon and sweet Amomum boast Her fragrant Flow'rs her Trees with precious Tears Her second Harvests and her double Years How can the Land be call'd so bless'd that Myrrha bears Nor all her od'rous Tears can cleanse her Crime Her Plant alone deforms the happy Olime Cupid denies to have inflam'd thy Heart Disowns thy Love and vindicates his Dart Some Fury gave thee those infernal Pains And shot her venom'd Vipers in thy Veins To hate thy Sire had meritted a Curse But such an impious Love deserv'd a worse The Neighb'ring Monarchs by thy Beauty led Contend in Crowds ambitious of thy Bed The World is at thy Choice except but one Except but him thou canst not chuse alone She knew it too the miserable Maid E'er impious Love her better Thoughts betray'd And thus within her secret Soul she said Ah Myrrha whither wou'd thy Wishes tend Ye Gods ye sacred Laws my Soul defend From such a Crime as all Mankind detest And never lodg'd before in Humane Breast But is it Sin Or makes my Mind alone Th' imagin'd Sin For Nature makes it none What Tyrant then these envious Laws began Made not for any other Beast but Man The Father-Bull his Daughter may bestride The Horse may make his Mother-Mare a Bride What Piety forbids the lusty Ram Or more salacious Goat to rut their Dam The Hen is free to wed the Chick she bore And make a Husband whom she hatch'd before All Creatures else are of a happier Kind Whom nor ill-natur'd Laws from Pleasure bind Nor Thoughts of Sin disturb their Peace of Mind But Man a Slave of his own making lives The Fool denies himself what Nature gives Too busie Senates with an over-care To make us better than our Kind can bear Have dash'd a Spice of Envy in the Laws And straining up too high have spoil'd the Cause Yet some wise Nations break their cruel Chains And own no Laws but those which Love ordains Where happy Daughters with their Sires are join'd And Piety is doubly paid in Kind O that I had been born in such a Clime Not here where 't is the Country makes the Crime But whither wou'd my impious Fancy stray Hence Hopes and ye forbidden Thoughts away His Worth deserves to kindle my Desires But with the Love that Daughters bear to Sires Then had not
Greenwood-shade he took his way For Cymon shun'd the Church and us'd not much to Pray His Quarter-Staff which he cou'd ne'er forsake Hung half before and half behind his Back He trudg'd along unknowing what he sought And whistled as he went for want of Thought By Chance conducted or by Thirst constrain'd The deep Recesses of the Grove he gain'd Where in a Plain defended by the Wood Crept through the matted Grass a Chrystal Flood By which an Alablaster Fountain stood And on the Margin of the Fount was laid Attended by her Slaves a sleeping Maid Like Dian and her Nymphs when tir'd with Sport To rest by cool Eurotas they resort The Dame herself the Goddess well express'd Not more distinguish'd by her Purple Vest Than by the charming Features of her Face And ev'n in Slumber a superiour Grace Her comely Limbs compos'd with decent Care Her Body shaded with a slight Cymarr Her Bosom to the view was only bare Where two beginning Paps were scarcely spy'd For yet their Places were but signify'd The fanning Wind upon her Bosom blows To meet the fanning Wind the Bosom rose The fanning Wind and purling Streams continue her repose The Fool of Nature stood with stupid Eyes And gaping Mouth that testify'd Surprize Fix'd on her Face nor cou'd remove his Sight New as he was to Love and Novice in Delight Long mute he stood and leaning on his Staff His Wonder witness'd with an Ideot laugh Then would have spoke but by his glimmering Sense First found his want of Words and fear'd Offence Doubted for what he was he should be known By his Clown-Accent and his Country-Tone Through the rude Chaos thus the running Light Shot the first Ray that pierc'd the Native Night Then Day and Darkness in the Mass were mix'd Till gather'd in a Globe the Beams were fix'd Last shon the Sun who radiant in his Sphere Illumin'd Heav'n and Earth and rowl'd around the Year So Reason in this Brutal Soul began Love made him first suspect he was a Man Love made him doubt his broad barbarian Sound By Love his want of Words and Wit he found That sense of want prepar'd the future way To Knowledge and discols'd the promise of a Day What not his Father's Care nor Tutor's Art Cou'd plant with Pains in his unpolish'd Heart The best Instructor Love at once inspir'd As barren Grounds to Fruitfulness are fir'd Love taught him Shame and Shame with Love at Strife Soon taught the sweet Civilities of Life His gross material Soul at once could find Somewhat in her excelling all her Kind Exciting a Desire till then unknown Somewhat unfound or found in her alone This made the first Impression in his Mind Above but just above the Brutal Kind For Beasts can like but not distinguish too Nor their own liking by reflection know Nor why they like or this or t'other Face Or judge of this or that peculiar Grace But love in gross and stupidly admire As Flies allur'd by Light approach the Fire Thus our Man-Beast advancing by degrees First likes the whole than sep'rates what he sees On sev'ral Parts a sev'ral Praise bestows The ruby Lips the well-proportion'd Nose The snowy Skin the Raven-glossy Hair The dimpled Cheek the Forehead rising fair And ev'n in Sleep it self a smiling Air. From thence his Eyes descending view'd the rest Her plump round Arms white Hands and heaving Breast Long on the last he dwelt though ev'ry part A pointed Arrow sped to pierce his Heart Thus in a trice a Judge of Beauty grown A Judge erected from a Country-Clown He long'd to see her Eyes in Slumber bid And wish'd his own cou'd pierce within the Lid He wou'd have wak'd her but restrain'd his Thought And Love new-born the first good Manners taught An awful Fear his ardent Wish withstood Nor durst disturb the Goddess of the Wood For such she seem'd by her celestial Face Excelling all the rest of human Race And Things divine by common Sense he knew Must be devoutly seen at distant view So checking his Desire with trembling Heart Gazing he stood nor would nor could depart Fix'd as a Pilgrim wilder'd in his way Who dares not stir by Night for fear to stray But stands with awful Eyes to watch the dawn of Day At length awaking Iphigene the Fair So was the Beauty call'd who caus'd his Care Unclos'd her Eyes and double Day reveal'd While those of all her Slaves in Sleep were seal'd The slavering Cudden prop'd upon his Staff Stood ready gaping with a grinning Laugh To welcome her awake nor durst begin To speak but wisely kept the Fool within Then she What make you Cymon here alone For Cymon's Name was round the Country known Because descended of a noble Race And for a Soul ill sorted with his Face But still the Sot stood silent with Surprize With fix'd regard on her new open'd Eyes And in his Breast receiv'd th' invenom'd Dart A tickling Pain that pleas'd amid the Smart But conscious of her Form with quick distrust She saw his sparkling Eyes and fear'd his brutal Lust This to prevent she wak'd her sleepy Crew And rising hasty took a short Adieu Then Cymon first his rustick Voice essay'd With proffer'd Service to the parting Maid To see her safe his Hand she long deny'd But took at length asham'd of such a Guide So Cymon led her home and leaving there No more wou'd to his Country Clowns repair But sought his Father's House with better Mind Refusing in the Farm to be confin'd The Father wonder'd at the Son's return And knew not whether to rejoice or mourn But doubtfully receiv'd expecting still To learn the secret Causes of his alter'd Will Nor was he long delay'd the first Request He made was like his Brothers to be dress'd And as his Birth requir'd above the rest With ease his Sute was granted by his Syre Distinguishing his Heir by rich Attire His Body thus adorn'd he next design'd With lib'ral Arts to cultivate his Mind He sought a Tutor of his own accord And study'd Lessons he before abhorr'd Thus the Man-Child advanc'd and learn'd so fast That in short time his Equals he surpass'd His brutal Manners from his Breast exil'd His Mien he fashion'd and his Tongue he fil'd In ev'ry Exercise of all admir'd He seem'd nor only seem'd but was inspir'd Inspir'd by Love whose Business is to please He Rode he Fenc'd he mov'd with graceful Ease More fam'd for Sense for courtly Carriage more Than for his brutal Folly known before What then of alter'd Cymon shall we say But that the Fire which choak'd in Ashes lay A Load too heavy for his Soul to move Was upward blown below and brush'd away by Love Love made an active Progress through his Mind The dusky Parts he clear'd the gross refin'd The drowsy wak'd and as he went impress'd The Maker's Image on the human Beast Thus was the Man amended by Desire And tho'he lov'd perhaps with too much Fire His Father all his Faults with