The Young lovers guide, or, The unsuccessful amours of Philabius, a country lover ... writ by him to his beautious-unkind mistress ... ; with The answer of Helena to Paris, by a country shepherdess ; as also, The sixth Æneid and fourth eclogue of Virgil, both newly translated by J.B., Gent. 1699 Approx. 132 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 64 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2008-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A26956 Wing B131 ESTC R19435 12605964 ocm 12605964 64259

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A26956) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 64259) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 342:1) The Young lovers guide, or, The unsuccessful amours of Philabius, a country lover ... writ by him to his beautious-unkind mistress ... ; with The answer of Helena to Paris, by a country shepherdess ; as also, The sixth Æneid and fourth eclogue of Virgil, both newly translated by J.B., Gent. Philabius. Country shepherdess. Answer of Helena to Paris. Virgil. Bucolica. 4. English. Virgil. Aeneis. Liber 6. English. J. B., Gent. [7], 116, [4] p. [s.n.], London : 1699. Errata: p. [7]. Advertisements: p. [1]-[4] at end. Reproduction of original in British Library.

Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.

EEBO-TCP is a partnership between the Universities of Michigan and Oxford and the publisher ProQuest to create accurately transcribed and encoded texts based on the image sets published by ProQuest via their Early English Books Online (EEBO) database (http://eebo.chadwyck.com). The general aim of EEBO-TCP is to encode one copy (usually the first edition) of every monographic English-language title published between 1473 and 1700 available in EEBO.

EEBO-TCP aimed to produce large quantities of textual data within the usual project restraints of time and funding, and therefore chose to create diplomatic transcriptions (as opposed to critical editions) with light-touch, mainly structural encoding based on the Text Encoding Initiative (http://www.tei-c.org).

The EEBO-TCP project was divided into two phases. The 25,363 texts created during Phase 1 of the project have been released into the public domain as of 1 January 2015. Anyone can now take and use these texts for their own purposes, but we respectfully request that due credit and attribution is given to their original source.

Users should be aware of the process of creating the TCP texts, and therefore of any assumptions that can be made about the data.

Text selection was based on the New Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature (NCBEL). If an author (or for an anonymous work, the title) appears in NCBEL, then their works are eligible for inclusion. Selection was intended to range over a wide variety of subject areas, to reflect the true nature of the print record of the period. In general, first editions of a works in English were prioritized, although there are a number of works in other languages, notably Latin and Welsh, included and sometimes a second or later edition of a work was chosen if there was a compelling reason to do so.

Image sets were sent to external keying companies for transcription and basic encoding. Quality assurance was then carried out by editorial teams in Oxford and Michigan. 5% (or 5 pages, whichever is the greater) of each text was proofread for accuracy and those which did not meet QA standards were returned to the keyers to be redone. After proofreading, the encoding was enhanced and/or corrected and characters marked as illegible were corrected where possible up to a limit of 100 instances per text. Any remaining illegibles were encoded as <gap>s. Understanding these processes should make clear that, while the overall quality of TCP data is very good, some errors will remain and some readable characters will be marked as illegible. Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor.

The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines.

Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements).

Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site.

eng 2006-08 Assigned for keying and markup 2006-08 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-03 Sampled and proofread 2007-03 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion

Bold Poets and rash Painters may aspire With pen and pencill to describe my Faire, Alas; their arts in the performance fayle, And reach not that divine Original, Some Shadd'wy glimpse they may preſent to view, And this is all poore humane art Can doe M. Vander ucht. Seul: Philabius.

THE Young Lovers Guide, OR, The Unſucceſsful Amours of Philabius, a Country Lover; ſet forth in ſeveral kind Epiſtles, writ by him to his Beautious-unkind Miſtreſs.

Teaching Lovers how to comport themſelves with Reſignation in their Love-Diſaſters.

WITH The Anſwer of Helena to Paris, by a Country Shepherdeſs.

AS ALSO, The Sixth Aeneid and Fourth Eclogue of Virgil, both newly Tranſlated

By J. B. Gent.

Si nec blanda ſatis, nec crit tibi comis amica, Perfer & obdura, poſtmodo mitis crit. If your fair Miſtreſs be not mild and kind, Bear and perſever, Time may change her Mind. Ovid. de Art. Am. l. 1.

LONDON: Printed and are to be Sold by the Bookſellers of London. 1699.

The PREFACE: Writ by Philabius to Venus, his Planetary Aſcendant. Dear Mother Venus! I muſt ſtyle you ſo. From you deſcended, tho' unhappy Beau. You are my Aſtral Mother; at my birth Your pow'rful Influence bore the ſway on Earth From my Aſcendent: being ſprung from you, I hop'd Succeſs where-ever I ſhould woo. Your Pow'r in Heav'n and Earth prevails, ſhall I, A Son of yours, by you forſaken die? Twenty long Months now I have lov'd a Fair, And all my Courtſhip's ending in Deſpair. All Earthly Beauties, ſcatter'd here and there, From you, their Source, derive the Charms they bear. The Fair I court partakes in high'ſt degree Of your tranſcending Heav'nly Quality. Her I admire, as moſt reſembling You; O take from her what is your Right and Due, Or ſo incline her Favour for your Son, That by hard Ʋſage he be not undone. 'Tis ſaid thoſe Perſons at whoſe birth you reign, Prove gracious to your Sex, and Favour gain. Muſt I be th' only Man whom you deny This Privilege? O great Severity! But 'gainſt Heav'ns Actions what can Mortals ſay? It deals with us, as Potters do with Clay. E'en as it liſts, for better or for worſe; Thrice happy thoſe not fated for a Curſe. Tho' while our Ages Courſe is running on, We little know what Heav'n intends t'have done. What ſeems Affliction oft proves for our Good, If, with Submiſſion, we embrace the Rod. Life we are promis'd, but firſt we are drown'd In Death, and then with Life immortal crown'd. God's Works are all by Means contrary done, And croſs to Man's Imagination run, 'Till the juſt time is come that they're fulfill'd, And then, tho' late, to Providence we yield. Perhaps my Fair's unkindneſs and delay Are more t'endear what once I ſhall enjoy: Thoſe Goods are priz'd for which we dearly pay. Or if ſhe's fated for ſome other Man, Perhaps for me kind Heav'n has order'd one More kind and Fair (if Fairer there may be) Or, if being turn'd my Year of Jubilee, Fate has ordain'd me a Quietus here, And now my Courſe for Heav'n I muſt ſteer. O Venus! draw me, by your Charms divine From Objects here, my dreggy Thoughts refine From Earthly Things; that being rais'd to you, As I your Heav'nly Kingdom have in view, Fixt on Ideal Beauty 'mong the Bleſt, I may enjoy an everlaſting Reſt, Philabius. E R
The Reader is deſir'd to Correct the following Miſtakes of the Preſs.

PAge 10. line 6. read maturer, p. 12. l. 9. ſeldom does, r. often fails, p. 26. l. 17. mightily r. nightly, p. 34. l. 6. breath r. leave, ib. l. 14. r. there's, p. 42. l. 4. r. Ideal, p. 44. l. 5. our r. ber, p. 48. l. 18. r. learnt, p. 53. l. 2. Faith's dele's, ib. l. 3. with r. wiſh, ib. l. 17. r. ſuppreſs, p. 56. l. 4. calm r. but, p. 64. l. 6. now r. new, p. 65. l. 14. but r. cut, p. 97. l. 11. r. in Heav'n, ib. l. 16. might r. night, p. 86. l. 20. ward's dele's.

New Poems.
Three Addreſſes writ by Philabius to his beautious Miſtreſs.
The First Addreſs. My only DEAR, WIth Thoughts as kind, as Lover ever knew, Your Lover writes this Love-Addreſs to you. Did you but feel that Paſſion moves my Heart, While I to you my Fondneſs here impart, 'Twould move your Pity, Love, Compaſſion, all That tender Lovers grateful Kindneſs call. But here, alas! my great Misfortune lies; Words can't preſent before your gracious Eyes, My inward Feeling: All that Words can do, I'll ſay in ſhort, my Dear, as God is true, There's nought on this ſide Heav'n I love as You. Yet let not Words alone my Witneſs be; They're Actions I deſire ſhould teſtify. Command me what you pleaſe, I beg command; When once your Pleaſure's known, if I withſtand Your Will in ought, my Life, my Fortunes, all I have from God afford, then let me fall For ever in Disfavour of my Dear; The greateſt Curſe that Man on Earth can bear. I'll not attempt, as common Lovers uſe, To write my Miſtreſs Praiſe; the Fair I chooſe Surpaſſes me, ſurpaſſes Praiſe of Man; She's Praiſe it ſelf, ſhe's all Perfection. Thrice happy's he, whoſe bleſſed Stars incline Her gracious Favour; Heav'ns grant they are mine. Beſide thoſe Stars which influence our Birth, Three I muſt beg propitious here on Earth; Your Father, and your Mother dear, and You: Of whom I have already courted two. And tho' ſome Men this Practiſe may diſown, Who paſs by Friends, and Daughter court alone: Yet ſince I know your Parents mighty fond Of their dear Child, I let them underſtand My Thoughts for you, and hope 'twill not diſpleaſe My Dearest, ſince their ſtudy is your eaſe. 'Gainſt my Addreſs they one thing did object, It was my Age; indeed, in that reſpect, There's diſproportion; yet ſuch have I known, When happy Life has follow'd thereupon. All kind Indulgence to my Dear I'd ſhow, Your Will ſhould be my Law; to come and go, And do whate'er you pleas'd, you ſhould be free. And I'll preſume to ſay, I think, with me You may enjoy as happy Scene of Life, As where you elſe may chooſe to be a Wife. I know in Age but two things give offence, The Man's Moroſeneſs, or his Impotence: And Heav'n's my Witneſs, I think I'm as free From theſe, as one pretends to court ſhould be. And by my Years, I this advantage gain; They've taught me Knowledge, which may entertain My Dear ſometimes with what may pleaſe her Mind: Sometimes in London Paſtimes we would find, Where all that's Curious to my Dear I'd ſhew; Being more, perhaps, than other Men may do. In Summer-heats the Country we would ſee; The ſmall Retirement there belongs to me Is pretty pleaſant, may be made much more With little Coſt: Some Things I have in ſtore Are alſo curious, and of Value; theſe, And all I have are yours, whene'er you pleaſe. Indeed, but poor are ſuch Allurements, where So high Deſert abounds, as in my Dear. Far greater Offers, doubtleſs, you have met; Youth, Beauty, Riches; all that's gay and great, From Men your ſweet-prevailing Charms have won, As who can ſtand before the glorious Sun? If I to theſe a Sacrifice muſt fall; I've this, at laſt my Dear! to ſay, for all. A Judge of Men moſt values Gifts of Mind; For theſe I dare contend, tho' ſtill reſign'd: If by your Judgment caſt, hard Fate, I'll cry! And humbly kiſs that Hand, by which I die. My only Dear, Yours for ever, Philabius.
The Second Addreſs. My only DEAR, SInce to my laſt no Anſwer you have giv'n, Impatient Love commands me write agen. Silence ſometimes (they ſay) implies conſent; If yours be ſuch, I have my Heart's content. But if your Silence (as I fear it may) Concludes your Lover's doom another way; Sad is my Fate, which (tho' with trembling Hand) I ne'ertheleſs deſire to underſtand. Tumultuous Paſſions now torment my Soul; Hope gives me Comforts, Fear does all controul. All ſick in Mind, where ſhall my Refuge be? There's none but you can eaſe my Miſery. Once you were ill, I then preſcrib'd a Cure, Fond was my Soul your ſacred Health t'enſure. And now I languiſh, to you I muſt fly; 'Tis at your pleaſure, that I live or die; And e'en to Death more eaſily I'm reſign'd, Than to continue in this ſtate of Mind. Your gentle Nature can't be ſo ſevere, To let him periſh calls you's Only Dear. And calls all Heav'n to witneſs, it is true; O! pity one, devoted thus to you. I know ſome Lovers only Paſſions feign, And if they Court, for nothing 'tis but Gain. Fine Words they have, if Ladies will believe; Sweet goes the Pipe while Fowlers Birds deceive. Such Fraud my Dearest can't ſuſpect in me; Her Perſon only's my great Treaſury. There lies in ſtore the whole that I purſue; For this alone her Self, and Friends I wooe: 'Tis all on Earth I beg of Heaven too. I'm not ambitious, know the World too well; Content with Greatneſs does not always dwell. Great ſhould I be, ſo I could ſit at eaſe; Admire my Dear, with fond Careſſes pleaſe. No Soul ſo clear, no Aſpect ſo divine; Sweet Mildneſs with Sublimeneſs there combine No cloud of Paſſion intercepts thoſe Rays Of charming Graces, which ſhe thence diſplays: All's there ſurprizing Mortals can deſcry; Symmetrious Features, wondrous Harmony. There ſhould I gaze for ever, ſtill ſhould find My Senſe tranſported with tranſported Mind. O Nature's Goddeſs! to you I muſt pay All Adoration zealous Votive may. What ſtate of Bliſs does Heav'n to him decree, derive, Where it alots your bleſt Society? Where-e'er that God, whence you theſe Charms Deſigns the Station wherein you ſhall live, To me's unknown; of this, at leaſt, I'm ſure, Your abſence long I can't with Life endure. As Flowers fade in th' abſence of the Sun, My Life without your Influence is gone. What may I do your Favour, Dear! to gain? Can Life? can Love? can nothing it obtain? With Muſe ſublime, above the Stars I'll raiſe Your Name, your Fame, with my immortal Lays. A Poem next I'll write of Love divine; In which my Fair Heav'ns Angels ſhall out-ſhine. In Praiſe of her, let all the World that dares Contend; they'll find Philabius void of Fears, And would's his Suit had Iſſue by ſuch Wars. I want a Friend Death robb'd me of this Year, To plead my Cauſe, with Kindneſs, to my Dear. Had he ſurviv'd, I had not ſtood alone; To deal with many hard it is for one. And florid Youth now rivals my Deſire, And moſt are apt the riſing Sun t'admire; Tho' Judges know the perfect ſtate of Man, Is when his Sun's in the Meridian. The Air is foul with Fogs, as Sun does riſe, And as it further climbs the lofty Skies, 'Till come t'its height; nor is Man's Reaſon clear, 'Till he has reach'd his Jubilean Year. And this, with Favour, let me farther ſay; Unſtedfaſt Youth, tho' ſpecious, brisk, and gay, Is prone to change; contingent Beauty too, Mature Years more likely may prove true, And let not this, unminded paſs, by you. Fain would my Pen much farther here inlarge, Whole Floods of Paſſion, thus I could diſcharge: But fearing this already tires my Dear, I check my Pen, and ſtop in full career; This only Boon imploring at your Hand, That you'll vouchſafe to let me underſtand, In Verſe, or Proſe, or by ſome private Friend, How all my Hopes, and Love-Addreſs muſt end. O Beauty! O Love! O Pity!Philabius.
The Third Addreſs. My only DEAR, ONce more I write, for who can Love withſtand? Which Heart inflames, and preſſes on the Hand. Help Muſe agen! this once my Fate to try; And gently guide my Pen before I die. Help me to ſoft Expreſſions which my Dear May move, and force from her kind Eyes a Tear Of Pity for me. Heav'ns! what is't I ſay? Do I wiſh Sorrow to my only Joy? Through Love diſtracted all in Mind I rave, And wiſh for what I'd rather die than have. Help me t'Expreſſions may affect her Mind With Thoughts as chearful, as they make them kind. No Pity let them, but gay Love inſpire; Cold's hopeleſs Pity, Love's a ſacred Fire. If e'er on Earth, true Love in Man has been, It reigns in me, and Love I hope 'twill win. By Love of Heav'n, we Love from Heav'n obtain, My Fair is heav'nly, Love her Love muſt gain. On this I ſtand, on this my Soul relies; If I'm deceiv'd my Fall is with the Wiſe. Tho' twice I've writ, no Anſwer from my Fair Have yet receiv'd, muſt I for this deſpair? Once or twice asking ſeldom does with Men; Ought I not ask Heav'ns Darling once agen? Perhaps this Silence of my Dear's to try Her Lover's Patience, Zeal and Conſtancy. If ſo, with conſtant Patience I muſt bear; Altho', if long, ſuch Trials prove ſevere. My Temper's not the ſame with other Men; Strong are my Paſſions, where they take a run: A Check inflames them, raging they boil o'er, As Waves, when broken on a craggy Shoar, And ſtrongly checkt, with Terror rage and roar. Such Meaſures with dull Lovers may do well; They ſerve to ſtir and kindle ſluggiſh Zeal. But where you find Love apt to take on Flame, I think the way of Dealing's not the ſame; Good Sportſmen ſeek not to deſtroy their Game. As roughneſs fits a rough, ungenerous Mind, The tender-hearted Tenderneſs ſhould find; To them the Uſage ſhould be mild and kind. O! ſick am I, my Dear! by your delay; What one Man cures, another may deſtroy. I always take it as a double Boon, If what I ſue for may be granted ſoon. And as the Favour's greater, ſtill the more The Grantor I prize, honour, love, adore. With what ſurprizing Joy think you then, Dear! Quick News, and kind, from you'd raviſh my Ear? I beg, at leaſt, let gentle Hopes maintain My Flame, and let my Heart ſome reſpite gain: And caſt me not ſeverely in Deſpair; Deſpair, as dark, as Heav'n has made you Fair. Doubt not how conſtant to you I will prove, I'll ceaſe to live, before I ceaſe to love. Conſider, Dearest! what to you is ſaid In Three Addreſſes, now by me are made: Proceeding all from Heart and Soul ſincere, As ever in devoted Lover were. If more I thought my Dearest would deſire, More would I write; my Pen ſhould never tire. And loath it is to part with Paper now; Tho' I no farther Scope ſhall it allow, Till I my Dearest's Pleaſure know, and then, All crown'd with Joys, I hope to write agen. Philabius.
An Addreſs to a famous Poeteſs, going by the Name of Philomela, wherein Philabius (having receiv'd no Anſwer to his three foregoing Epiſtles) begs her Aid for moving his Miſtreſs's Favour. MADAM, IF any of your Sex; fall'n in Diſtreſs, Deſir'd my Aid (ſuch is my Tenderneſs) I ſhould afford it freely; would to me They would vouchſafe an equal Charity. Madam, 'thas been my direful Chance to fall In Love, of late, with what we Beauty call: Beauty, that Lot divine, your Sex attends, Working on Men, too often, fatal Ends. Thrice to my Fair Addreſſes I have ſent, (Writ as I could) how ſhe does them reſent, I can't divine, nor will my Fair diſcloſe; She drowns her Thoughts in Silence, me in Woes. Self-muſing often, with revolving Mind, This cauſe of Silence in my Dear to find; I may ſuſpect my unpathetick Style Moves neither Frowns, nor an obliging Smile, But leaves my Fair as unconcern'd, as tho' She nothing of Love-Verſes yet did know. This puts me to a ſtand, and what to do 'Tis hard to think, and how my Suit purſue. I've done my beſt, and more to write were vain, Unleſs I could pretend ſome happy'r Strain. Your Genius, Madam,'s known by what you've writ, Great is your Fancy, Judgment, Art and Wit. Sweet Philomela's Aid I'd fain implore, Her pow'rful Charms dumb Spirits may conjure. Her ſweet-tun'd Voice thro' all the Foreſt rings, And all are mov'd when Philomela ſings; Shout with Applauſe, and eccho forth her Praiſe, Surpriz'd and charm'd with her melodious Lays. Her wondrous Notes in Rapture all admire, As hither brought from the Celeſtial Quire. Would Heav'n, my zealous Wiſhes could obtain Her Aid, the Favour of my Dear to gain. The depth of Hearts your Love-dipt Pen may reach, And where mine fails, may force an eaſy breach. Thoſe genuine Arts your Muſe may ſoon deſcry, Which charm your Sex, to me a Myſtery. And tho' ſome Beau, perhaps, has not been true, In zealous Paſſions he has vow'd for you; Which may diſcourage your Aſſiſtance, when Deſir'd, for gaining Kindneſſes to Men: Heav'n knows my Soul's ſincere, and Love to feign, Is what my Heart will ever much diſdain. I bear a Mind too free, to fawn on them, Or fondly write, but where I've found Eſteem And had I judg'd my Verſes to my Dear Worth Philomela's view, I'd ſent 'em here. It may be thought a very heavy Doom, That all hard Cenſure ſhould incur for ſome. I wiſh Succeſs may crown all your Deſires, And pray your Aid now, where my Heart aſpires. Your Aid's the laſt Expedient I can try; There all the hopes I have of Life do lie. Great are the Pains, thro' Love I undergo, Which, tho' unfelt by you, you truly know, And as you judg them, pleaſe your Favour ſhow. MADAM, Your great Admirer, and humbly-devoted Servant, Philabius.
Philomela having not vouchſaft her Aid, Philabius writ his Farewel to his beautious Miſtreſs, as follows. My only DEAR, IT grieves my Soul to write my laſt Adieu, To one I ſo entirely love, as you. All Happineſs your Self and Friends I wiſh, Tho' no way kind to me, in my Addreſs. I know Affection is not always free; Tho' one be fond, another may not be. Heav'n grants it, as a Favour, now and then, That where we love, we are belov'd agen. I find your Favour, Dear! I can't obtain; And ceaſe my Suit, which I could wiſh to gain: But ceaſe, as doubting, all my Suit's in vain, Or 'ſtead of Favour, may incur Diſdain. What I have writ already, pray reſent With Kindneſs, as by me 'twas kindly meant; Which, tho' not worth your Thanks or Notice; ſtill A gentle Heart deſpiſes not good Will. As far as I among the World converſe, Unſeigned Friends, I find, are very ſcarce; And wiſh I had one Friend on Earth, as true, As, if accepted, I had been to you. The Heav'ns, 'tis like, far greater Things deſign T' attend your Fate, than Kindneſſes of mine. Heav'n grant my Life a quick and gentle end, And let all Joy my Dearest ſtill attend. My joyful Hopes to Sorrows now muſt turn, My Muſe in Silence, ſhall for ever mourn, 'Till Death gives eaſe and quiet in my Urn. Philabius.
A gentle Reviver, writ by Philabius to his beautious Miſtreſs. My only DEAR, I'Ve try'd, and try'd, but find 'tis ne'er the near, T'unlove that Perſon, once I call'd my Dear; My only Dear; and find ſhe muſt be ſo, In ſpight of all abuſed Love can do. When Love's abus'd, in ſome it turns to Hate: It can't in me; may it's ſo far from that, I rather love you more, if more may be, When Love's exalted to its high'ſt degree. To Love, and find great Slights, and almoſt Scorn, May ſeem ſevere, and hardly to be born. Yet this from you and yours I undergo, And love you ſtill entirely, and you know Such Trials height of Love will truly ſhew. Some, in Addreſſes, no reſiſtance find; Their Love-ſuit's eaſy, and their Miſtreſs kind. Kind Fortune with ſuch Lovers ſports and plays; Theſe freely may enjoy Love's Holy-days. Others in Love-ſuits Hardſhips undergo; They can't prevail upon their Miſtreſs ſo, But meet with Lets and Rubs, and yet, at laſt, Run ſmoothly on, and win the doubtful Caſt. Some others more unfortunate than theſe, Reap but Diſdain for all their Kindneſſes. And ſuch am I; who yet, with chearful Mind, Bear even this; to you, my Dear! reſign'd. Tho' Heav'n on us is often pleas'd to frown, We muſt not be diſpleas'd, but ſtill love on. Some Lovers Beauty, meerly for the ſake Of Beauty love; and ſeek not to partake Of more Enjoyments; yet Diſdain to them Would ſeem ſevere, and check their fond Eſteem. I therefore even theſe, in Love ſurpaſs, And nothing ſtirs me, where my Love I place. That Apathy the Stoicks teach, to me Seems but a frigid-dull Philoſophy: With Patience arm'd juſt Paſſions let's purſue; It keeps our Thoughts in action, ever new. Let us agree then Dearest! to go on, I with my Love; and you with your Diſdain. Time and Experience to us both will ſhew, Which in our Purſuits weary firſt may grow. I'm apt to think th'advantage on my ſide, Diſdain, Love's kind Aſſaults, can ſcarce abide. Love ſweetly charms the Mind, where it does reign, That Soul's uneaſy, where there is Diſdain. How then ſhall this hold out with that? but tire And yield to Love, as Nature does require, And this is that to which my Hopes aſpire. Philabius.
Another Epiſtle writ by Philabius to his beautious Miſtreſs. My only DEAR, IF Men diſtracted chance to give Offence, Good Natures turn it all to Innocence. I hope in you ſuch Goodneſs I ſhall find; O'er-doz'd with Love, I'm diſcompos'd in Mind. I write, and write, and know not what I do; O! pardon this fond Trouble giv'n to you. With Thought o'er-ſet my Soul no reſt can have, But in your Kindneſs, or my fatal Grave. Oft do my Friends diſſuade me from my Suit, Such is my Love, no Friend on Earth can do't, Whate'er Severeneſs you to me ſhall ſhew; If Love be true, 'twill creep where't cannot go. Who ſhall preſume t'a Lover Laws preſcribe? The Law within him is his only Guide. 'Tſhall not be ſaid I vow'd Love to my Dear, And fell from what my Proteſtations were. Love now ſo long I've foſter'd in my Breaſt, In wilful Bondage I muſt lie oppreſt. My Will is not my own to wiſh me free, Or eas'd of my endeared Miſery. When Love's inflam'd, it's vain to ſeek an end, On it will go, as boundleſs as the Wind. Oft by your Houſe, I ſad and muſing paſs, Fain would I enter; then I cry, Alas! All is Unkindneſs there I ever found; Deſpairing Thoughts my willing Mind confound. My Soul, at leaſt, is ever with my Dear, Her Charms admiring, whiſp'ring in her Ear. Soft is that Whiſper; which when you perceive In ſilent Thoughts, you roughly bid it, Leave. My Soul then ſilent for a while does ſtand, Humbly obedient to your dread Command. Watches a time its Courtſhip to renew, Believe me, ſo 'will ever ever do. Alas, my Dear! take ſome ſmall Care of me, My Zeal for you a Perſon blind may ſee. Long ſince it is I writ you an Adieu, Can't yet reſign to leave my Home and You. Still am in Fear that dreadful Day will come, Which I may truly call my Day of Doom. If you enforce it, what can I then ſay? What Heav'n denies us, we cannot enjoy. A Wand'rer in the World I then become, No Friend I have on Earth, no Houſe, nor Home; And if I had them, what are theſe to me, When I'm debarr'd your dear Society? If I muſt leave my Country, Friends, and Dear, And, as a Vagrant, wander here and there, My Spirit mightily will return to you; Be not affrighted when you it ſhall view. 'Twill be as gentle, as my Heart is kind, Begging and Praying Kindneſs I may find. As you'd have Kindneſs from the Pow'rs above, Tho' not your Perſon, let me have your Love. I'm but your Eccho, Kindneſs thence you pray, Kindneſs from you my Soul again does cry. Heav'n grant that both our Prayers may be heard, Your Kindneſs mine, Heav'ns Kindneſs your Reward. Philabius.
The last intended Farewel writ by Philabius to his beautious Miſtreſs, on his hearing ſhe was married to his Rival. My only DEAR, THis Month is call'd, the merry Month of May; I wiſh to me 'twere as the People ſay. So 'twas in you to make it, had you pleas'd, My ſad and diſcompoſed Mind t'have eas'd. In Fields delightful lately I have gone, T'enjoy the pleaſure of the glorious Sun; Revive my Senſes all the various ways, Our Senſe, by Nature's Bounty, now enjoys. Our Eyes are feaſted with the curious dye, Flowers diſplay in great variety: Their fragrant Odours ſtrangely pleaſe the Smell, Soft to the Foot the tender Meadows feel. Young Fruits delight the Taſte; the ſpacious Sky Reſounding with the charming Melody Of chanting Birds, compleats our Senſes Joy. Thrice happy thoſe, whoſe undiſturbed Mind Calm Eaſe enjoys, when Nature is ſo kind. Unhappy Man! my Fate is moſt ſevere; I languiſh through th' unkindneſs of my Dear. Cares, and deſpairing Thoughts my Soul oppreſs, Without my Fair there is no Happineſs. Thus all complaining to my Self I talkt, With Sorrows tir'd, while in the Fields I walkt. At length, betwixt a Lilly and a Roſe, I lay'd me down to take a ſmall Repoſe. I could not ſleep, but ſlumber'd for a while, Th'uneaſy time thus ſtriving to beguile. Long could not ſlumber, but awakt agen, When, all ſurpriz'd, I ſaw the curious Scene Of Nature chang'd, and wonder'd what did mean. The Sun was clouded, and the Air was cold, The Meadows all unpleaſing to behold. Their Verdure faded, all their Beauty gone, The Lilly black, the bluſhing Roſe turn'd wan. While thus amaz'd, Queen Mab I chanc'd to ſpy, With num'rous Train of Fairies ſtanding by. O Queen, I cry'd! what means this ſudden change, Is Nature nigh its end? 'tis wondrous ſtrange. The Queen enjoyn'd me Patience, then reply'd, You know we often viſit your Bed-ſide. You are no Stranger to our ways; you've ſeen, How we're concern'd in all Deſigns of Men. You Mortals oft propoſe your ſelves a Bliſs, In your Purſuits; now that, and ſometimes this. We watch your Motions, know all you intend; Abet, or Counter, as Heav'n has deſign'd. Think not that Men can gain all they purſue; Heav'n guides them by its providential Clew. Whate'er they purpoſe, Heaven will diſpoſe; Their fondeſt Longings often they muſt loſe. Strive not againſt great Providence's courſe, Which leads the willing, others draws by force. We are its Servants, in an Order, far Surpaſſing yours, your Guidance is our Care. With this Advice let me poſſeſs your Mind; If you'll live happy, live with Eaſe reſign'd. Thoſe fond Enjoyments Men would fain obtain, Prove often fatal, if they chance to gain. Man headlong runs preſuming on his Wit, When Heav'n alone knows what for him is fit. This change of Nature, you ſo much admire, Is wrought by us, as we with Fate conſpire. That Beauty in the Fields, when you lay down, All on a ſudden, to your Dear is gone. You know of Beauty ſhe had ever ſtore, And thoſe have much, you find will ſtill have more. This we have lent her, for her Wedding-dreſs, To make her Perſon charming in Exceſs. Your Patience now, for I muſt tell you too, She's e'en now wedded, tho' unknown to you. Enquire not of me who the Man may be, We long ſince told you what's your Deſtiny: Which future Times to you will make appear, With what concerns your Rival, and your Dear. This ſaid, the Queen was in a moment gone With her Attendants, leaving me alone. I deeply ſigh'd, enforc'd by Nature, tho' Grief, in ſuch Caſes, us no Good can do. And Fairest now its time to take my leave; My long Farewel I therefore to you give. Whate'er Unkindneſs I from you have found, It's all forgot, and in my Fondneſs drown'd. Kind Wiſhes you ſhall ever have from me; Now humbly yielding to the Fate's Decree. If by oft Writing I have you diſpleas'd, I beg, at parting, I may be releas'd. My Pen's fond Trouble now is wholly o'er, Nor ever ſhall diſturb my Dearest more. Philabius.
A ſecond Reviver writ by Philabius to his beautious Miſtreſs, upon his being inform'd that the Report of her being married was falſe. My only DEAR, QUeen Mab, you ſee, late put me in a Fright, To ſport with Mortals Faries take delight. It's not the firſt time ſhe has ſerv'd me ſo; Would now with Joy ſhe'd recompence my Woe. When ſhe ſaid you were wedded, 'twas to try, How meekly with Heav'ns Orders I'd comply. And found 'twas with all Reſignation done, Tho' hard, as if I'd ſacrifiz'd a Son. O! could I be rewarded, as the Man, In whom ſuch pure Obedience firſt began! The Queen now ſays, I may in Love proceed, Tho' ſtill without aſſurance to ſucceed. Some gentle Hopes ſhe grants I entertain, And leave the reſt to Providence again. No India Merchant ever would give more, Effects, in his Adventure, to enſure. With Hopes reviv'd, by leave, I then go on, My heav'nly Dear ſaluting once agen: And ſhall ſalute her Monthly, while on Earth, Kind Heav'n vouchſafes my Fairest here to breath. And ſhe continues in unmarried State, And Men are free to try contingent Fate. Twice, ſince I heard you wedded, I'd a Mind To ſee a Beauty, might, perhaps, been kind. Twice, intervening Chances put me by Of that Deſign, as 'twere by Deſtiny. This makes me think (ſince you are ſingle ſtill) There ſomething lies conceal'd in Heav'ns Will, Which You and I may fatally fulfil. I hear my Rival's lately at a ſtand, As no Man Fortune can, at Will, command. I wiſh him well, and ever ſhall; as he Muſt have his Lot, ſo I my Deſtiny. If, with your Favour, Dearest! now I may Be free to utter what I have to ſay, I think I've Reaſon greatly to complain Of your hard dealing with ſuch Love as mine. I need not tell you, what your conſcious Mind Foretels you, that you have been moſt unkind. I am perſuaded both your Friends, and You Muſt be convinc'd my Love is great and true. And that whatever here I have on Earth Is yours, at Will: I nothing for it crave But Kindneſs. If you cannot condeſcend To make me Husband; let me be your Friend. Your Friendſhip only, ſhould engage me ſtill To ſerve my Dearest with my utmoſt Zeal. Let me perſuade you, Dear! no Friend to ſlight; When found, endear him, as your Eye does light. I mean a Friend, will firmly ſtand his Ground; Pretending Friends are common to be found. By Men of Learning Love has been defin'd, A fond deſire we have of being kind To thoſe we love, for Beauty's ſake. To you Soon would I prove this Definition true, Would you give way; and poſs'bly might do more For you, than all the Friends you have in ſtore. As you are now at Bath, there would I be, If any hopes of Welcome I could ſee. Whenever Love and Service hitherto I've tender'd, ſtill they found Contempt with you. As I ſtrive to oblige, you take offence; For tender Kindneſs, 'tis hard recompence. Tho' offer'd Service oft has ſuch Succeſs, In you, I hop'd t'have found it otherwiſe. I thought in you a mild-ſweet Temper reign'd, That tender'd Kindneſs would not be diſdain'd. O! pleaſe to ſhew by ſome kind Word or Deed, Your Lover, in ſo judging not deceiv'd. To none for Friendſhip did I ever ſue, Or court for Kindneſs, as your Friends and You. No Self-advantage therein I propoſe; Both Life and Fortunes for you I would loſe. Uſe, or abuſe me, as you pleaſe; you ſee How great's the Force of ſtedfaſt Conſtancy. Many to me, in Kindneſs now excel, Only preſuming, that I wiſh them well. From none ſuch Uſage, as from you, I've found, For whom my Love did ever moſt abound. Surely, there's ſomething, tho' unknown to me, Moves your Averſeneſs in ſo high degree. O! let me know, why you are ſo ſevere, Freedom allow, to try my ſelf to clear. If I have Failures, ſo have other Men, We can but promiſe, that we'll mend agen. Nature I'd force to mend all Faults I have, And 'ſtead of Servant, I would be your Slave. My moſt endeared Princeſs you ſhall be, Rule me with Mildneſs, or with Tyranny. Theſe Proteſtations, Dearest! pleaſe receive, And let your Lover, in your Favour, live. It's all on Earth, 'tis all he begs of you, So, with all Fondneſs, bids his Dear adieu. Philabius.
The last Addreſs writ by Philabius to his beautious Miſtreſs. My only DEAR, HArd Caſe it ſeems, Heav'n ſhould preſent to Men Objects that pleaſe beyond their Strength; and then Find Fault they love too much, and oft withſtands Th'enjoyment of them, by its countermands. I own the Charm's abounding in my Dear, O'er-pow'r my Soul, that love I can't forbear: And tho' Heav'n ſeems t'oppoſe me hitherto, I can't deſiſt, my Suit I muſt purſue. All ways I try my charming Dear to move; I beg, I pray, I tender Life and Love, My Fortunes, Service, all that Man can do; And this my All is ſtill deſpis'd by you. Would, at the time, when firſt I kiſs'd your Hand, I had been baniſh'd in ſome Foreign Land; There to remain for ever, ne'er t'have ſeen This wretched State your Lover now is in. If you're reſolv'd I periſh; pray be quick; I'd rather die, than long continue ſick: Say plainly, Dear! that mine you'll never be; So ſeal my Death, conclude my Miſery. Your Silence keeps me in continual Dread; As tott'ring Stones when hanging o'er the Head, With Frights torment us, never giving reſt: E'en thus am I now cruelly oppreſt. All my Invention now is at an end; When Stocks are out, we have no more to ſpend. Words I here heap'd on Words with all my Zeal, Hoping thereby t'incline your gracious Will. No Word of Comfort can get from my Fair; O! keep me now, if ever, from Deſpair: Philabius.
A Copy of Verſes, writ by a Platonick to his Valentine. Most beautious Princeſs, WHEN joyful Birds have choſe at Spring Their pretty Mates, they quaintly ſing Their little Notes, and ſtrive to pleaſe Thoſe whom they love; I, taught by theſe, Salute my Deareſt with this Air: As you ſurpaſs their faireſt Fair; So ſhould my Song their Chant excel; And 'twill, if you but ſay, 'tis well. See how their Quills with curious dyes, Are deckt, to pleaſe their Lovers Eyes. The inn'cent White, the conſtant Blue, The hopeful Green, and ſtately how Of Purple, joyful Yellow's there, Gay Red, and Black, Badge of Deſpair. There is no Paſſion of the Mind, But there expreſt the Eye does find. Thus dreſt, they fly with Wings of Love Together to ſome pleaſant Grove, Where nothing can diſturb their Joys; All's calm, and ſtill, and free from Noiſe. Some gentle Stream ſteals ſoftly by, 'Fraid to offend Love's Myſtery. Sweet Flowers from the Fields beneath, With Smells perfume the Air they breath: Freſh Bloſſoms from the budding Trees, Afford them rare varieties Of Food: Thus bleſt in all Deſires, They paſs their Days in am'rous Fires. Bleſt Birds; but bleſt with ſenſual Joys, A Bliſs for Birds: Alas! what Toys To Bliſs of Man, the Bliſs of Mind, To ſenſual Objects unconfin'd. With us, while, in this Frame of Clay We live, thoſe Objects ſtill convey Into our Minds the ſpecious Rays Of Beauty, which incite, and raiſe Us, to contemplate that Divine Idol Beauty, ſeen to ſhine In Beauty's Source, whence Fairest, you And all Things here, their Beauty drew. There, Princeſs! your Idea lies, Fair, Spotleſs, charming in our Eyes. The Charms of Beauty here you bear, Still raiſe us to contemplate there; Where I with all Men evermore, Muſt love, admire you, and adore. J. B.
The Anſwer of Helena to Paris: Tranſlated by a Country Shepherdeſs.
The PREFACE. THo' Lords and Knights, and others of the Town, Inſpired Poets all, of great Renown, Have taught quaint Ovid ſpeak our Mother Tongue, In Language fit for Phoebus to have ſung: Yet ſince Mens Fancies change as Womens Dreſs, I thought my ſelf, tho' Country Shepherdeſs, Might pleaſe as well, by off'ring ſomewhat new, Tho' coming ſhort of what before they knew. And as more ways than one lead to a Mill, Why may not many climb Parnaſſus Hill? E'en Women (for ſome of us riſe betimes) And fall into Enthuſiaſtick Rhimes, In Love-Concerns, at leaſt, for as we draw Our Paſſions deep, when once our Hearts do thaw We melt in Love: It's Helen's Caſe we find, That beautious Wonder of us Women-kind, Who to our Paris thus expreſt her Mind.
The ANSWER. MY guilty Eyes your Letter having read, Small Glory now to leav't unanſwered. You then a Gueſt, 'gainſt ſacred Laws of Friends, Dare tempt a Wife to break her Wedlock Bonds. 'Tis like, for this, when ſtormy Seas had toſt You here, you found your Safety on our Coaſt! And when you came a Stranger to our Port, You were not barr'd the freedom of our Court! Theſe are the Thanks you to our Bounty owe! Is this done like a Gueſt, or like a Foe? I make no doubt, tho' my Complaint be juſt, You'll call't uncourtly; be it, if it muſt. Let me be courtleſs, ſo an honeſt Wife, And that none find a blemiſh in my Life. Altho' my Count'nance ſpeaks me not ſevere, Tho' I uſe not a grave-affected Air, Yet am I ſpotleſs, and have liv'd my time, E'en unſuſpected from the leaſt of Crime. The more's my Wonder what your Fancy fed, And gave you hopes you ſhould enjoy my Bed. Cauſe Theſeus once, by force, conſtrain'd me go With him; perhaps, you think to do ſo too. Had I been drawn by's fawning Words, in me The Fault had been; but being forc'd, am free. Nor by his Fact, did he his Will obtain; Unleſs by Fear, I, unhurt return'd again. The ſawcy Gallant only got a Kiſs Sometimes by ſtriving, and was glad h'ad this. It ſeems you, naughty Man, would more purſue, But Heav'n be prais'd, he was not like to you. Modeſt in this, which made his Crime the leſs, He left m'unwrong'd, and did his Fault confeſs. Sure he repented what h'ad done, that you Might all enjoy, d'you think he'll ſay ſo too? Yet I'm not angry, who can be with Love? Unleſs 'tis all but feign'd that you do move, And this I doubt, not that I you diſtruſt, Or know not well my Face is not the worſt. But cauſe an eaſy Faith does oft abuſe Us, and they ſay Men Truth do ſeldom uſe. Tho' others ſin, and few good Women known, Of thoſe ſo few, why may not I be one? And tho' to you my Mother ſeems to be A fit Example in this thing for me: You know my Mother, by a falſe Diſguiſe Of Feathers cheated, ſuffer'd a Surprize. If I ſhould ſin, I cannot ſay the ſame: Nor have I any Cloak to hide my Shame. She well might ſin, the Author could diſpence With her, what Jove will take off my Offence? Your Race, and ancient Blood, and Kingly Fame You boaſt; our Houſe is not to ſeek a Name. To paſs by Jove, as Great-Sire to Atraeus And all the Stock of Pelops, Tyndarus, Jove turn'd a Swan, deceiving Laeda'll own Me for his Child, whom ſhe embrac'd unknown. Go now and boaſt your riſe, if you think good, From Priam's, and your Laomedon's Blood, Whom I ſuſpect; but he on whom you build Your Fame, is fifth from you, when I'm his Child. And grant, your Crown of Troy I great ſhould own, I cannot but as much eſteem our own. Tho' you've more Riches, and your Subjects far In number greater, yours Barbarians are. Your rich Epiſtle talks of ſo much Gold, 'Gainſt it a Goddeſs-heart might hardly hold: But if'gainſt modeſt Laws I'd yield to ſin, 'Tis you your ſelf would ſooner draw me in, Or with my ſpotleſs Flame I'll live and die, Or after you, not after Gifts, will fly. Tho' I contemn them not; for well I know, They're grateful when the Giver makes them ſo. But more your Love does move me and your Pain, And that for me you ventur'd o'er the Main. I alſo mark, tho' ſtill conceal, as fit, Your Actions, when at Table you do ſit. Sometimes on me you caſt ſuch piercing Eyes, That mine, to bear their Glances ſcarce ſuffize. Sometimes you ſigh, ſometimes my Cup you draw, And drink juſt at the place where me you ſaw. How oft your Fingers, and your ſpeaking Brows, Have I ſeen making ſecret Signs and Vows: And often fear'd my Husband would perceive; And bluſh'd to ſee the open Marks you gave. I often ſoftly to my ſelf did ſay, This Man is ſhameleſs, and I think I may. I often found upon the Table writ My Name in Wine, I Love ſet under it. Some Mark I gave, I did not think it true: But ſince, alas! I've learn to ſay ſo too. To theſe Allurements, if inclin'd to ſin, I ſhould ſubmit, 'tis this my Heart would win. Tho' I confeſs your Features I admire, And your Embraces Ladies may deſire. But let ſome happy'r Perſon, lov'd by you, Without a Crime enjoy, what I can't do. Pray learn by me a Beauty to forbear; A Virtue 'tis, thoſe things we love to ſpare. How many, think you, wiſh for what you ſue? Have none diſcerning Eyes d'you think, but you? You ſee not more, but raſher, more you dare, You've not more Paſſion, but more ſhameleſs are. Then ſhould you've come, as ſwift as Winters Flood, When, being a Virgin, me a thouſand woo'd. If then but ſeen, from all you'd had my Voice, My Husband's ſelf muſt pardon me my choice. You're now too late, the thing you ſeek's poſſeſt, And what you hope for's in anothers Breaſt. To be your Wife yet ſhould I ſtill conſent, If Menelaus would be ſo content. Pray ceaſe with Words my tender Heart to move, Don't go t'abuſe her whom you ſay you love; But leave me to my Lot, by Fortune gi'en, Nor baſely ſeek my Honours Spoils to win. Venus you ſay on Ida gave you this, Where you did judge three naked Goddeſſes: And when th'one promis'd Crowns, a Name divine In war the other, ſhe ſaid Helen's thine. I ſcarce believe thoſe Heav'nly Queens content, To leave their ſhape to your arbitrement: And grant this true, ſure th'other part is feign'd, That I ſhould be your Gift, if Venus gain'd. I can't preſume my Beauty ſuch, that ſhe Should ſay't the great'ſt Gift in her Treaſury. I'm well content ſo Men my Shape approve; A treach'rous Praiſer is the Queen of Love. Yet I'll not gainſay't, tho' I it admire; For why ſhould I gainſay what I deſire? Nor be you angry that my Faith is ſlow; Great things require no haſty Faith you know. Firſt then, t'have liked Venus it's a Pleaſure; Next, that you take me as your greateſt Treaſure: And ſlighting th'Honours Juno did propoſe, And Pallas, you from Venus Helen choſe. Then I'm to you both Virtue, and a Throne; An Iron-heart ſuch Love were bound to own. Nor am I Iron (credit me;) but may I love him, whom I cannot hope t'enjoy? To what end ſhould I plough the barren Sands, And follow hopes the very place withſtands? Untrain'd to Venus-Thefts, my Husband's Truſt I ne'er, as yet, abus'd, as Heav'ns juſt. And now my Pen does correſpond with you, This thing to me is altogether new. They're happy who're inur'd, my inn'cent Mind Does think the way to Vice is hard to find. I'm full of Fears and in Confuſion, I Suſpect that all on me do caſt their Eye. Nor is it cauſeleſs, Aethra ſays, of late The World talks of me at an evil rate. Be therefore cloſe, unleſs you'll quite give o'er; Tho' why deſiſt? your Actions you may cover. Act, but be wary, tho' we're ſomewhat free, By Menelaus abſence, Spies can ſee. He's gone, 'tis true, a Voyage far away, For juſt and weighty Reaſons could not ſtay. At leaſt to me it ſeem'd, for when he ſlack And doubting ſtood, I ſaid, pray make haſte back. With th' Omen pleas'd he kiſt me'nd did commend To me the care of's Houſe, and's Trojan Friend. I ſcarce held Laughter, ſtriving at it, all I could return in Anſwer, was, I ſhall. So he to Creete with happy Wind is gone; But do not think for this the World's your own. Tho' he be abſent, yet his Guard is ſtrong On me, you know Kings Hands are very long. Beſide, my Fame and Shape you ſo much prais'd, In him the more his Jealouſy has rais'd. In this Conjuncture better 'twere I'd none, And that you'd let my Beauty's Praiſe alone. Nor wonder I'm left by my ſelf, he knows What Confidence he in me may repoſe. My Face he fear'd my Virtue truſted, there My Faith's ſecur'd, where Beauty made him fear. You with me not to let th' occaſion die, But that we uſe the Man's ſimplicity. I would and fear, nor can I yet command My wav'ring Will, my Heart is at a ſtand. My Husband's abſent, you've no Wife, in lieu, Your Shape embraces me, and mine does you. The Nights are long, and we converſe alone, Your Charms, alas! are great, our Houſe is one: And let me die, all things to ſin conſpire, There's nought but Fear can check our fond Deſire. What weakly you perſuade, would you could force, To ſtir my Dulneſs, 'tis the likelieſt courſe. Sometimes th'abuſe good for the Bearer's held; And ſurely I were happy, if compell'd. But rather, let's ſurpaſs our young Deſires; A little Water quells new-kindl'd Fires. A Stranger's Love's unfixt, with him it flies, Or when we think it moſt ſecure, it dies. Hypſiphile and Ariadne ſtand Sad Proofs againſt wedding Men of Foreign Land. And you, unfaithful Man! are alſo ſaid Theſe many Years t'have left Oenone's Bed: You can't deny't, I boldly ſay't, and know More of your Actions than you think I do. And ſay, you conſtant would in Love remain, You can't, the Phrygians would fetch you again. And while you talk, and for that hoped Night Provide, d'you know the Wind will then ſtand right? When half Seas o'er, and glutted with your Prey, The bluſtring Winds will blow your Love away. Shall I then go to Troy your Court to ſee? Shall I great Laomedon's Grandchild be? I ſlight not ſo the noiſe of flying Fame, To ſpot my Country with eternal Shame. Pray what will Sparte? what will Achaia ſay? What Aſia's Nations? what your very Troy? What will judge Priam of me? what his Queen? What all your Matrons, and your Trojan Kin? And could your ſelf e'er think that I'd be true, If I ſhould once do ſuch a thing with you? When any Stranger (tho' by chance) you hear Comes to your Port, he'll give you cauſe to fear. How often, angry, you'll Adultreſs cry? Forgetting you are guilty, more than I. You'll be both Author, and condemn the Crime; O let me die, e'er live to ſee the time. But I ſhall all your Trojan Wealth enjoy, And you your Gifts will greater make than ſay. You'll give me Purple for my Princely Dreſs, And heaps of Gold you talk I ſhall poſſeſs. Your Pardon, if I ſay't, my Country's Love Does draw me back, more than your Offers move. Whom ſhall I call, if wrong'd, upon your Shoar? What Brothers, or what Fathers help implore? Fair Promiſes falſe Jaſon to his Spouſe Medea made, whom he expell'd his Houſe. No Aetes, nor Ipſaea then was by, No Friend, to whom, in her Diſtreſs to fly. Such Dealing I ſuſpect not, nor did ſhe; The faireſt hopes are ſometimes foil'd you ſee. Thoſe Ships we hear ſo often caſt away, At ſetting Sail, had calm and gentle Sea. The Torch does alſo fright, which before Your Birth, your frighted Mother dreamt ſhe bore. And I do dread, what Prophets do forewarn, That Grecian Flames your Town of Troy ſhall burn, As Venus is your Friend, 'cauſe ſhe obtain'd Her Suit by you, and double Trophy gain'd: So thoſe I fear, whom (if your Boaſt be true) In their appeal, your Sentence overthrew. And certain 'tis, War follows, if I fly, And claſhing Swords our Love will ſoon unty. Did not Hippodameia Athrax ſtir, Againſt the Centaurus, to a bloody War? Can Menelaus, think you, tamely huſh Th' Affront? my Brothers, and King Tyndarus? And tho' you boaſt your Valour, at your Sword, Your Face, methink, does contradict your Word. You ſeem more fit for Venus, than for Mars; Let Paris love, and others follow Wars. Let Hector, whom you praiſe, his War purſue; There is another Warfare fit for you. In that your Skill I've half a Mind to try; A wifer Lady would, and why not I? Or elſe, perhaps, 'twere better quit the Field, And e'en to you my conquer'd Hand to yield. Whereas you pray we may of theſe Things treat In private; I know what you would be at. But you're too quick, you'd reap before you've ſown; Perhaps your ſtay makes for you, tho' unknown Theſe Secrets of my guilty Mind I ſend To you; and thus my weary Pen does end. We by Clymene may the reſt confer, Or Aethra, both my Friends and Council are.

A New Tranſlation OF VIRGIL's Sixth Aeneid, AND Fourth Eclogue.

THE PREFACE.

HAving a Book, in a forwardneſs for the Preſs, relating to the Symbolical Theology of the Gentiles; and Virgil being known to have been critically learned in that kind; and the moſt learned parts of his Works thereunto relating being his Sixth Aeneid and Fourth Eclogue, it entred into my Thoughts lately to peruſe them: And on the peruſal, conceiving I ſhould more clearly poſſeſs my ſelf of his Senſe, by a Tranſlation, than by a curſary Reading, I applied my ſelf to it; and ſuch as it is, have now permitted it to the Preſs: And conceive, as to the main, it may appear to an indifferent Reader, more eaſy, and more clearly comprehending Virgil's Senſe, than Mr. Ogylby's; whoſe Notes with others, for Illuſtration, the Reader may make uſe of, if he pleaſes, it being beſide my preſent Buſineſs to make Comments; and Virgil, taking him either in the Original, or in any Tranſlation, being unintelligible in many Places without good Aſſiſtance in that kind, he preſuppoſing much Learning in a Reader. As for Mr. Dryden's Tranſlation of Virgil, I muſt own, I heard it was extant before I ſet upon mine;

but I could not get ſight of it in the Country where I then was. As I have look on ſome parts of it ſince, I cannot pretend to have giv'n Virgil that Luſtre, in what I have tranſlated of him, which Mr. Dryden, by his more copious way of Expreſſion, has done, I having generally endeavonr'd to hold way with Virgil Verſe for Verſe. However, in regard I look on Virgil as an Author, which may be ſet in ſeveral Lights by Tranſlators, for making him more clearly intelligible, I have not with-held the ſmall part I have tranſlated from the Publick.

J. B.
The Sixth Book of Virgil's Aeneids. THus weeping ſpeaks, and ſets his Fleet to Sea, And came t'Aeuboean Cuma 'n Italy. Their Prows they Sea-wards turn, with Anchors moor, Their Ships; whoſe Bow-built Sterns front all the Shoar. The crowding Youth with eager Spirit lands, Some ſtriking Fire with Flints, the wild Beaſts dens Some ſtorm for Wood, freſh Rivers ſome deſcry; Mean while Aeneas, fam'd for Piety, Apollo's Temple minds, his Thoughts are on The Sibyll's Cave, and dread receſs, by none Approacht, but with an awful Terror; where Apollo future Truths makes known to her, Inſpiring an exceſs of Mind: And ſo, To Trivia's Groves, and Phoebus Tow'r they go. Daed'lus, t'eſcape from Minos (as they ſay) Daring with Wings in th' Air to make his way, By courſe, before unheard of, Northward paſt, And gently pitch'd on Chalcis Tow'r, at laſt. Aſſoon's arriv'd, Phoebus! his Wings to you And Art he ſacred made, and Temple now. In front of which Androgeus Death was carv'd; And, as to Athens 'twas a Pain reſerv'd To pay ſev'n pairs of Children yearly; there Stands Pot, and Lot's drawn for them, ev'ry year. On th' opp'ſite part Creete ſtands above the Sea, Where's ſeen the curſt Love of Paſiphae, And how, by ſlight, the Bull ſhe underlay. Here's the mixt Race, and biform Minotaure, All Mon'ments of nefarious Luſt: And here The Lab'rinth whence none ever could get clear. Tho Daed'lus finding Ariadne involv'd In deſp'rate Love, through Pity once reſolv'd The Craft-contrived Windings of the Maze, By guidance of a Thread through all its ways. And Ic'rus, you, had Grief gi'en way, good part In this great Work had had: Your chance by Art, Your Father twice eſſay'd t'engrave in Gold; Twice his Hand faild him, and his Heart grew cold. Soon had they view'd all; but Achates ſent Before, return'd with her for whom he went Deiphobe, Glaucus's Daughter, Prieſteſs, both To Trivia and Phoebus: Who t'Aeneas ſaith, This is no time ſuch Sights to view: But now 'Tis fit you ſlay ſev'n Stieres, untrayn'd to Plow, As many Sheep, choſen as our Laws allow. This ſaid t'Aenaeas, done without delay, The Trojans, call'd to Temple, all obey; A mighty Cave, but in the Mountains ſide, To which an hundred ways, and Gates do guide. Whence hundred Voices, Sibyll's Anſwers paſs. They came to th'entrance; when the Virgin ſays, Time calls t'enquire of Fate, Lo! God appears, And ſaying thus, ſtraitway before the Doors, Her Count'nance and her Colour chang'd; her Hair Dechevell'd flew; her Breaſt, as wanting Air, And fill'd with Sacred Rage, does pant, and ſwell: And now ſhe ſeems ſelf-greater, and to tell Things more than human: Being more nearly inſpir'd She cries, Aeneas! don't you, as requir'd, Your Vows and Prayers offer? For, till then, In this Stupendious Houſe, no or'cle's gi'en. This ſaid, ſhe ſtopt: The Trojans quake with fear; Aeneas then, pour'd forth this hearty Pray'r. O Phoebus! always pittying Hardſhips ſent On Trojans! who did guide the Dart was bent By Paris at Aechilles: By your Hand Being guided, Seas ſurrounding Tracts of Land Of vaſt extent I've entred; paſt the Moors Remoteſt bounds, and all their ſandy Shoars. And now, tho' baulked long, we're hither come, So far purſu'd ſtill by our Trojan doom. And now the Trojans you of right ſhou'd ſpare, All Gods and Goddeſſes, who ever were Diſpleas'd with Troy, and Trojan Glory: 'nd you Moſt holy Prieſteſs! knowing things t'enſue, (Since I ask nothing to my Fates undue; Tell us the Trojans, and toſt Gods of Troy, And wand'ring Deities, Latium ſhall enjoy; To Trivia 'nd Phoebus Temples then I'll raiſe Of Marble, and in's Name ſet Holy Days: And in my Kingdoms Sacred Structures I Will build to keep your Books of deſtiny, And ſecret Fates foretold my Nation; and Choice Men appoint, as Sacred, for that end. Only I wou'd, you write them not, leſt they To rapid Winds become a ſport and prey, But ſpeak them: Ending thus what he ſhou'd ſay, Now ſhe impatient Phoebus yet to bear Within the Cave does rage, and ſtrives to clear Her loaded Breaſt of him; ſtill he the more Her raging Heart and Mouth does over pow'r And toyls her, and ſo works to tempet meet. And now the Temples hundred Gates, which yet Were clos'd, flie ope of their accord; and thro' Them flie the Sibyll's Anſwers, thus. O you! Who now have paſt all dangers on the main, Were fated for you; know there ſtill remain On Land far greater: Trojans ſhall poſſeſs Lavinia's Kingdom (doubt you not of this) But they'll wiſh not t'have come, Wars horrid Wars, I ſee, and Tyber foaming with much Blood. Simois and Xanthus here you'll find made good; And Dorique Tents: And an Achilles now In Latium's born; and of a Goddeſs too. Nor will the Trojans (go they where they pleaſe) Be without Juno: When, in your diſtreſs; You were ſuppliant to what Countries here And Towns did you not ſue for aid? Be ſure A forreign Wife, and extern Match will be The cauſe again of ſo much Miſery. But boldly ſtem Misfortunes, yield to none, What ſcarce you'd think, your entrance to this Crown Will firſt be ſhewn you from a Grecian Town. The Sibyll utters, with ſuch Words as theſe, From th'or'cle, dread ambiguous Propheſies, Reſounding in the Cave; Apollo ſo The raging Virgin ſtimulates to do. Aſſoon's her Fury ceas'd, and Rage was o're Aeneas thus begins. O Virgin pure! No unexpected face of toyls, or new, Can riſe to me; my Mind has all in view. I beg this one thing (ſince they ſay the Gate Of Hell is here, and that Infernal Lake Of Acheron) vouchſafe that I go ſee, And ſpeak with my dear Father: You, I pray, Be guide, and ope thoſe Sacred Gates; for I Have ſnatch'd him from the midſt of th'Enemy; And, on theſe Shoulders, born him thro' the Fire And thouſand Darts purſuing in the rear. And he again, in Voyages with me, Being weak, has born all Hardſhips of the Sea, Indeed, beyond his Strength, and ag'd decay. 〈◊〉 , and, with great Intreaty, he did preſs, •• y humble waiting on you, and Addreſs. •• ay pity then the Father, and the Son, O Virgin! all's in you; 'tis not in vain Hecate plac'd you o're Avernus Grove If Orpheus, playing on his Harp, cou'd move His Wives return from Hell: If from the Earth Pollux, his Brother by alternate Death, Redeem'd, what ſhall I of Alcides ſay, And Theſeus? I'm from Jove, as well as they. Thus th'Hero pray'd, and th'Altar held; to whom The Sibyll thus began. O you that come Of heav'nly Race! It's eaſy going to Hell: Black Dis's Gates, we know, are open ſtill: But to return, and riſe to the bright Sun, Here lies the toilſome Work: Few this have done Whom Jove has lov'd, or ardent Vertues raiſe Us to the Skies, or God-born Men: The ways That lie betwixt, with Woods are all beſet, And dread Cocytus cloſe ſurrounds the Pit; But if your Mind be ſuch, ſo great your Zeal, To viſit twice the Stygian Lakes, and Hell, And this mad Labour needs you'll undergo, Then learn of me what firſt you have to do. Within a dark thick-ſhaded Tree lies hid A Bow with Golden Leaves, and pliant Twig T'Infernal Juno Sacred; this the whole Grove covers, and dark Vally Shades withal: But none the cov'rings of the Earth can paſs, Till he this Golden Bow ſhall firſt poſſeſs, This preſent to her ſelf Proſerpine claims, If one be gather'd, ſtrait another comes, Which Branches with ſuch Leaves as th'other did. Then ſeekt with care, and finding where 'tis hid, Take't with your Hand; for if you're call'd by Fate, 'Twill come with eaſe; if not you ne're can have't With all your Strength; e'en Iron then's in vain. Beſide, while here you ſtand, your Suit to gain A friend of yours, ah! don't you know't? lies dead; Whoſe Corps pollutes your Fleet: Firſt carry'd T'its proper place, let it be bury'd; Take black Beaſts with you; let them expiate Before you do't; then guided by your Fate The Stygian Groves, and Kingdoms you ſhall view, Unpaſt by Men, this ſaid, ſhe ſilent grew. Aeneas ſad, with down-caſt look, goes on, Leaving the Cave, and much ſelf-muſing on Thoſe blind Events: With whom his faithful Friend, Achates goes, with no leſs plodding Mind. Much 'twixt themſelves they talk'd, what Friend was dead, Whoſe Corps the Sibyll wou'd have bury'd. And on the dry Shoar, as they came, they ſee Miſenus ſlain, by unmeet Deſtiny. Miſenus, ſprung of Ae'lus, famed for His Trumpet, bravely ſtirring Men to War; At Troy, Companion to great Hector, where He bravely ſerv'd, with Trumpet, and with Spear When Hector by Achilles Sword was ſlain, This Hero with Aeneas join'd again, Making his Poſt as great as it was then. But ſounding's Trumpet on the Shoar for skill, Raſhly preſuming Gods to Conteſt call, A Rival Triton (if like Truth it ſounds) This Man, 'mong Rocks, in foaming Waters drowns. All therefore, round him, much lament and cry, Moſt good Aeneas, and without delay, The Sibyll's Will perform; contend to raiſe His Fun'ral Pile, with Trees, up to the Skies. An ancient Wood they enter, horrid Den Of wild Beaſts, down the pitch Trees fall amain. The Holm, with Axes ſtruck, within the Grove Reſounds; the Oak and Aſh abroad are clove With Wedges; from the Mountains rowling fall Wild-Aſhes of a mighty Bulk: In all This Work Aeneas foremoſt, cheers his Men, And, by's Example, moves them to go on. And ſadly muſing on theſe Things, as he The Wood beheld, he thus began to pray. Would now, in this great Wood, that Golden Bow Would ſhew it ſelf; ſince all Things ſaid of you, Miſenus! by the Sybyll, prove too true. Scarce had he ſaid this, when before his Eyes, Two Doves, as chanc'd, came flying from the Skies And on the green Soil pitcht; the Hero then Knew's Mothers Birds; and joyous, pray'd agen. O! if there's any way, be you my Guide, Direct my Courſe, as thro' the Air you glide Into thoſe Groves; whoſe fertil Soil, the Bow So fam'd does ſhade: And you, fair Parent! now Forſake me not in this Diſtreſs: This ſaid, He walkt obſerving all the Signs they made; Whither they ſeeding tended; they in Flight Went on, as not to loſe the Foll'wers ſight. And, as they came t'Avernus ſtinking ſide, In moment rais'd, they thro' the Aether glide, And take their wiſh'd Seat on the biform Tree, Whence Gold its various Colours did diſplay. As Miſletoe in Winter-time is known With Leaves to flouriſh, from Seed, not its own, And twine its yellow Branches round the Limbs; In this thick-ſhaded Holm the Gold ſuch ſeems, Such ruſtling noiſe its Leaves make by the Winds, Aeneas graſps it ſtrait, with greedy Hand, And gather'd, goes the Sibyll to attend. Mean while, the Trojans on the Shoar, bewail Miſenus; nothing in laſt Duties ſail. Firſt, of cleft Oak, and pitchy Woods they build A mighty Pile; whoſe Sides are ſtuck and fill'd With mourning Bowes, the Front with Cyprus dreſt On top, t'adorn it, ſhining Arms are plac'd. Some in Braſs-veſſels Water heat, and waſh The dead Corps, and anoint it; then they paſs A mourning Out-cry; then lay't on a Bed, And with rich Purple-cloaths its covered. Some the ſad Office undergo, the Hearſe To bear; and, as of old, with Face averſe Their Totch apply; much Frankencenſe withal They burn, delicious Meats, and Pots with Oil. After the Aſhes fell, and Flame had ceaſt, The Relicks they with Wine, and th'Embers waſht. And Choryneus put, in Urn of Braſs, The remnant Bones; and his Aſſociates. Thrice ſprinkled round, and purg'd, with Water pure And peaceful Olive-branch; ſo all was o'er. But good Aeneas, as the Cuſtom was, Rais'd him a mighty Tomb: For Arms did place An Oar and Trumpet, near a Mountain high, Miſenuus call'd from him; and e'er will be. This done, the Sibyll's Orders he forthwith Accompliſhes; there was a vaſt deep Cave With dreadful Mouth, ſtrew'd with rough little Stones, Woods and a black Lake guard it, as its bounds; O'er which no Birds, without much danger fly, Such Breath from its dark Mouth mounts to the Sky. From whence the Greeks, Avernus nam'd this Lake. Here firſt he plac'd four Stieres of Colour black, And Wine the Prieſt pow'rd on their Foreheads, then Took the ſtiff Hairs which 'twixt their Horns were grown And as firſt Off'rings, on the ſacred Fire, Lays them, loud calling Hecate, whoſe Pow'r Is great Heav'n and Hell. Some with their Knife The Victim ſlay, and the warm Blood receive In Bowles. Aeneas ſlays with's Sword a Lamb Black-colour'd to the Fury's Mother, and Her Siſter great. A barren Cow to you Proſerpine. Then might Altars dreſt anew To Pluto: Th'Oxen's Fleſh then on the Flames He lays, and pours on Oil as it conſumes. And now, behold! about Sun-riſing th'Earth Under their Feet began to groan, therewith The Woods to move; and thro' the Shades they ſee The howlings Dogs, the Goddeſs drawing nigh. The Sibyll cries, far now, O far be gone From this whole Grove, you Men that are profane. And you, with Sword in Hand, come on your way, Aeneas now your Courage you muſt try. This ſaid, with ſacred Rage into the Cave She ruſht, whom he attends, as fearleſs brave. You Gods who Souls command, you ſilent Shades, Chaos, and Phleg'ton, Places where reſides Perpetual Night: Let me, impow'r'd by you, Speak things I've heard, in darkneſs drown'd till now. They went benighted thro' dark ſhaded ways, And Dis his Kingdom, where no Body was. As is the paſſage thro' a Wood by Night, When neither Moon nor Stars give any Light, And darkneſs takes all Colours from the Sight. Before the entrance, and firſt Mouth of Hell, Grief and revenging Thoughts have plac'd their Cell. There pale Diſeaſes, ſad old Age, and Fear, Baſe Want, and ill-adviſing Hunger were All dreadful Forms to ſee: And Death and Toil, And Death's near Kinſman, drowſy Sleep, and all Mind's ſinful Joys: And on the opp'ſite ſide Stands deadly War; the Fury's Iron-bed, And ſenſeleſs Diſcord; who Serpentine Hair, With bloody Hair-lace interwove, does wear. In midſt, a vaſt thick-ſhaded Elm diſplays Its ancient Branches, where (as Rumour ſays) Vain Dreams reſide; and ſtick to all the Leaves. Monſters beſide, of many kinds, with theſe Stand at the doors; the biform Scylla's there, The Centaures, and the ſtrong Briareus were. There th'Hydra, the Chimaera, Gorgons, and The Harpies, with Tree-bodied Geryon ſtand. Aeneas here, with ſudden Fright, being ſcar'd, Preſents his Sword, and ſtands upon his Guard. And if the Sibyll had not told him, they Were aery Souls, which ſuch like Shapes diſplay, H'ad vainly ſtrove with's Sword, the Ghoſt to ſlay. Hence leads the way to Ach'rons Waters, here A vaſt-foul-muddy Whirl-pool-gulfe boils o'er, Into Cocytus ſpewing all its Sands. The naſty Boatman Charon here attends Theſe Streams, and horrid Water he commands: Appearing with great hoary-careleſs Beard And flaming Eyes; his Cloths with Dirt beſmear'd Hang down from's Shoulders, by a Knot ſecur'd: With Oar and Sails his Veſſel ſtill he plies, And Bodies in's dark-colour'd Boat conveys Grown old; but as a God, in Strength ſeems young, Here, on the Banks, the crowding Shadows throng. Women and Men, the Ghoſts of Heroes, Boys, Girls, Children dead before their Parents Eyes: As thick as Leaves, in Autumn, fall in Woods, Or, from the Main, to land come Flocks of Birds, When Winter drives them from beyond the Seas, And ſends them where they may enjoy warm Eaſe. The firſt come, begging to be Ferry'd o'er, With Hands ſtretcht out, deſiring th' other Shoar. But the rough Boat-man ſometimes into's Boat Takes theſe, or thoſe, and leaves ſome others out. Aeneas, wondring at the crowding Ghoſts, Says, Virgin! what's this Concourſe on theſe Coaſts? What ſeek theſe Souls? Why do ſome leave the Shoar, And others, on theſe Waters, ply their Oar? To whom the Sibyll briefly thus replies; Anchiſes Son, true Off-ſpring of the Skies. You ſee Cocytus, and the Stygian Lake, By which, being ſworn, their Oath Gods dare not break. This Crowd, you ſee, is of unbury'd Men, The Boat-man's Charon, thoſe on Water ſeen, Are bury'd; nor can any Ghoſts before Paſs from theſe horrid Banks to th'other Shoar. They rove an hundred Years about this place; At length admitted, come with Joy, to paſs. Aeneas ſtood, then walk'd with plodding Mind, Pittying th'hard Fate ſuch Perſons did attend. He ſaw there ſad, and wanting Burial right Leucaſpis, and Orontes by his ſide, The Lycian Captain: In their Courſe from Troy Both with their Ship, by South-wind, caſt away. And, Lo! the Steers-man Palinurus there; Who, as, by Stars, from Lybia he did Steer, Fell head-long from his Stern, when half Seas o'er. Aſſoon's Aeneas knew him 'mongſt the Shades, He thus beſpeaks him firſt. Who of the Gods, O Palinurus! took you from us, and Drown'd in the Sea? Let me this underſtand, Apollo in no Anſwer fail'd, but this, Who told me you were ſafe upon the Seas,, And ſhould arrive in Italy. Is't thus He keeps his word? Then Palinurus ſaid, Apollo's Or'cle has not you deceiv'd. For as the Stern I held, our Courſe to ſteer Broke off, by chance, thro' my much toyling there, I drew it with me, as I head-long fell: And by tempeſtuous Seas I ſwear withal. Leſs fear then ſeiz'd me for my ſelf, than leſt Your Ship its Stern, and Maſter having loſt, Shou'd founder, with thoſe turgid Waves being toſt. Three bitter Nights a violent South wind blew, And drove me o'er vaſt Seas: With much ado, The fourth of It'ly I got ſight, as on High Waves I lay; then made to Land, and ſoon Arriv'd ſecure: But cruel People there, As I came clogg'd with Garments wet to Shoar, And held a Rock, fell on me, Arms in hand As thinking ſome rich booty they had gain'd. Now on the Shoar, by Winds I'm toſt about, And therefore beg by Heav'ns ſweet Air and Light, Your Father, and Jule's riſing hope, you'll free Me from theſe Ills; and that you bury me, (For you may do't) and ſearch all Velia's Port; Or if ſome other way Heav'n ſhews you ſor't, (For I believe, without Heav'ns Aid, you ne'er Came to this Stygian Lake, and Rivers here) Vouchſafe a Wretch your help, and now convey Me o'er theſe Waters with you; that I may A quiet Seat, in Death, at leaſt enjoy. Thus having ſpoke, the Sibyll ſaid, I admire Whence Palinurus! comes this curſt Deſire. Wou'd you, unbury'd, paſs the Stygian Lake, And Fury's Streams, theſe Banks unbid forſake? Hope not by Suit to change the Gods decree, But take this comfort of your Chance from me. The Bord'rers, far and near, by Judgments, forc'd From Heav'n, ſhall expiate your Bones on their Coaſt, Erect a Tomb, pay Fun'ral Rites, and e're Fam'd Palinurus name the place ſhall bear By theſe her Words his troublous Thoughts being eas'd, He with the Sirname, giv'n the place was pleas'd. They then go on, and near the River came, Whom Charon, who from's Stygian Lake had ſeen A far off paſſing in the ſilent Wood, Their Courſe directing to the place he ſtood, Thus firſt aſſails with Words, and freely chides, Who e'er you are come arm'd t'our River ſides, Say why you come, and make a ſtand there right; This is the Place of Ghoſts, ſleep, drowſy night. I may not paſs live Bodies in my Boat, Nor was I pleas'd Alcides came into't. Nor Theſeus and Pirithous, tho' ſprung All from the Gods; and Men would yield to none. He ſought, with's Strength, Hell's keeper to ſubdue, And from K. Pluto's Throne him trembling drew; And theſe his Queen from's Chamber would have too. The Sibyll briefly thus to him reply'd; Here's no ſuch Treaſon; Anger lay aſide. Our Arms are meer Defence; Hell's keeper's free, Barking, to awe the Ghoſts eternally. Let chaſt Proſerpine keep her Uncle's Room; Aeneas, who for Zeal and Arms is known, Sprung of Troy's Royal Blood, is hither come. To ſee his Father, in the Shades below; If no reſpect ſuch Piety you ſhew; You know this Bow' (ſo ope's her Garment where 'Twas hid) and ſeen, his Paſſion ſtrait was o'er. No more being ſaid: The fatal Gift h'admires, Not ſeen before for many many Years. And ſets his tawny Boat cloſe to the Shoar, Thence driving all the Ghoſts ſtood there before. And clearing's Seats, in's wicker Veſſel took The ſtout Aeneas; whereupon it ſhook, And crackt, and let much Water in: Tho' ſtill On th'other Shoar he landed them, at Will, On Mudd, and Marſhy Weeds, the Coaſt do fill. The monſtrous three-mouth'd Cerb'rus in a Den There opp'ſite barking, makes the Country ring. To whom, being frightful to Spectators view, With Snakes about his Neck, the Sibyll threw A Bolus, made of Drugs to her well known, With Hony mixt; which ſtrait he ſwallow'd down. And on the Ground, with this, he reeling fell, Extending's mighty Body o'er the Cell. Hell's Ward's aſleep, Aeneas th'Entrance ſeiz'd, Leaving the Lake, which no Man e'er repaſt. Juſt entring, Voices and great Cries they hear Of Children: Infants Souls ſtand wailing there, Who ſweet Life ſcarce enjoy'd, but from the Breaſt Were forc'd by Fate; and ſent to their long Reſt. Next theſe are Men unjuſtly judg'd to die, Tho' not without their lotted Deſtiny. Th'Inquis'tor Minos bears the Lot-pot, he Ghoſt-Juries calls Mens Lives and Crimes to try. The next are ſuch, who, tho' no Crimes they had, Life hating thro' Deſpair, themſelves deſtroy'd, And threw their Souls away; what would they do, Life to regain? what Hardſhips undergo? But Fate withſtands it, and the Lake them bounds, And Styx's Waters nine times them ſurrounds. Not far from hence; as far as th'Eye can reach, The mourning Fields lay round; they name them ſuch; In ſecret Av'nues and a Myrtle Grove. Here Perſons ſtand, brought to their ends by Love; Whoſe reſtleſs Cares e'en Death it ſelf ſurvive. Here he ſees Phaedra, 'nd Procris, and the ſad Eſiphyle, who ſhews the Wounds ſhe had From her own Son. Evadne here he ſaw, Paſiphae, and Laodamia; And Caeneus, who at firſt a Girl had been And then a Man, a Woman then agen. 'Mongſt whom Phoenician Dido, in the Wood Walkt as the reſt; her Wounds all freſh with Blood. Whom, when Aeneas, as he near her came, Got ſight of thro' the dark Shades; as a Man Sees, or, imagines that he ſees the Moon Juſt turn'd the new, thro' cloudy Skies; he weeps, And thus with tender Love his Miſtreſs greets. Unhappy Dido! a true Meſſage then, Was brought me; you are dead, with Dagger ſlain. Alas! I caus'd your Death; by Heav'n I ſwear And Gods above; and if ought Faith be here, Twas 'gainſt my Will, O Queen! I left your Shoar. By Gods commands I did it; which compell Me now, to paſs theſe darkſome Shades of Hell Thro' loathſome rotten Ways: Nor could believe My parting from you would cauſe ſo much Grief. Pray ſtay, and go not from me, whom d'you fly? This is the laſt Thing I to you can ſay. With ſuch like Words he ſtrove her angry Meen And fretted Soul t'appeaſe, and wept agen. She turn'd her Head, and on the Ground her Eyes She fixt, no more concern'd at all he ſays, Than might a Flint, or th'hardeſt Stone that is. At length ſhe ſtarts, and to the ſhady Wood She ſwiftly paſst, where her Sichaeus ſtood, Who Love for Love return'd in high degree. And ne'ertheleſs Aeneas mov'd to ſee Her ill chance, follows weeping all the way. Thence he proceeds, with Zeal, the Fields to view, For famous Warriors 'lotted: There he knew Tydeus, the fam'd Parthenopeus; and Adraſtus pale Ghoſt there he ſaw to ſtand. The noble Trojans, who in Battle ſell, He viewing all in order, did bewail Glaucus, Medon, Therſilocus, with theſe Antenor's three Sons, and Polybetes. The Prieſt of Ceres; and Idaeus, who His Arms and Chariot holds in's Hand, e'en now. The crowding Souls on Right and Left ſurround, With one ſight of him not content, they ſtand, And fain would know why he came to their Land. The Trojan Nobles, and great Army there Of Agamemnon, ſeeing him appear With Arms bright ſhining in the Shades, began To quake with Fear, and part of them to run, As living they ran to their Ships; ſome try'd To raiſe their low-ſtill Voice, and loud t'have cry'd, And ſtood, their Mouths all vainly gaping wide. And here he ſaw Deiph'bus mangled ſore; His Face disfigur'd, and his Body tore, His Noſe cut off, his Ears, his Hands; that he, Striving withal that none his Maims ſhould ſee Thro' Shame, could ſcarce be known: But ſtrait Aeneas, calling him by's Name, thus ſaid. Valiant Deiphobus, ſprung of Troy's great Blood; What cruel Man would uſe you in this ſort? Or, whom would God permit to do't? I heard That you being wear'ed with the Slaughter great You made of Grecians, in Troy's fatal night, Dy'd on the Heap, among the Crowd confus'd, Then I my ſelf a Mon'ment for you rais'd On Rhaetia's Coaſt, and loudly thrice did call Your Ghoſt: The Place your Name and Arms has ſtill. But Friend! I could not ſee you, and Interr In your own Country, as 'twas my deſire. Deiph'bus then, on your part nothing's left, Dear Friend! you've done my Ghoſt all Fun'ral right. 'Twas my Fate, and Lacaena's Cruelty Brought on me this; ſhe left theſe Marks on me. For, as we paſs't that laſt night in falſe Joys. You know't; and can't but too well mind how 'twas When th'Horſe by Fate paſs't o'er th'high Walls of Troy, And armed Men, in's Bowels, did convey. She, feigning Bacchus Feaſt to celebrate, Led Trojan Women with her thro' the Street. And bore her ſelf a mighty Torch, as chief, And from a Tower the Greeks a Signal gave. Then I, with Labours tir'd, requiring Reſt, Lay in my Bed, with ſound Sleep being oppreſt. My exc'llent Wife, this while my Arms convey'd From th'Houſe, and e'en the Sword lay at my Head: Brings Menelaus in; and ope's my Door, Hoping, 'tis like, his Kindneſs thus t'enſure, And purge thoſe Crimes ſhe had incurr'd before. In ſhort, in ruſht the Greeks, and with them came Ʋlyſſes, much encouraging their Crime: Which Heav'ns revenge; if I may wiſh the ſame. Now, in return, pray tell me what has brought You here alive? Have ſtormy Seas it wrought? Or God's Commands? or what Chance might it be Which mov'd you theſe dark mournful Shades to While thus they talkt, Aurora's ruddy Steeds (ſee? Mid Heav'n had paſst; ſhe in her Courſe proceeds. And hap'ly now the time allow'd being gone, The Sibyll gives this Admonition. Aeneas! Night comes on, we time protract, Here is the place, the way in two does part. The right, which goes hard by great Dis his Wall, Our way t'Elyſium 'tis: The left, for Ill Has Puniſhments, and leads t'ungracious Hell. Deiph'bus then. Great Prieſteſs! be not mov'd I'll go; the time requir'd, keep to my Shade. Adieu, our Glory! happy'r Fate enjoy, This ſaid, forthwith he turns himſelf away. Aeneas ſtrait looks up: And near a Rock On's left hand ſaw, a mighty three-wall'd Fort; Which rapid Phleg'ton, with its ſcorching Flames Surrounds, and roaring throws up maſſy Stones. There fronting ſtands a mighty Iron Gate With Pillars, all of maſſy Diamond made Which Men nor Angels can with Iron cut; An high rais'd Tower there is, where Night and Day In Bloody Robes ſtill ſits Tiſiphone, Who ſleepleſs keeps the Porch. Thence cries are heard, And Laſhings moſt ſevere, and Noiſes made By moving Chains, and Irons cauſing dread Aeneas ſtood, and frighted heard the Noiſe, Then ſaid, O Virgin! pray what Crimes are theſe? With what Pains puniſh'd? Whoſe are all theſe Cries? The Sibyll then ſays thus. Great Trojan King! No Entrance here to Pious Men is gi'en. But I being plac'd here o'er Avernus Groves, Theſe Pains, and all to me Hecate ſhews. Here Rhadamanthus rules, with Laws ſevere, Hears and Chaſtiſes Crimes, and forces here Men to confeſs whate'er on Earth they did, Which ought be purg'd, and vainly ſtrove to hide. 'Tis here Tiſiph'ne, ſet Revenge to take, With Whip inſulting makes the Guilty quake. And dreadful Serpents ſhakes with her left Hand, And ſummons her fierce Siſters to attend. And now, with horrid Noiſe, the dreadful Doors Fly ope. You ſee what Keeper them ſecures. What Ghaſtly Form ſtands there: Within does ſit. An Hyara much more terr'ble, gaping wide With fifty Black Mouths: Tart'rus ſelf does ſhew As deep and wide under the Shades to go, As twice from Earth to Heav'n ſeems to our view. Here th'ancient Race of th'Earth, young Titans dwell, Being Thunder-ſtruck, in deepeſt part of Hell. Here I the Twins Aloidae ſaw, vaſt Men, Who ſtrove from Heav'n Jove with their Hands t'have thrown. And here I ſaw Salmoneus Torment great Endure, who ſtrove Jove's Thunder t'imitate, And Lightning; carry'd with four Horſes, and His Torches ſhaking, as, in Triumph Grand, He paſs'd, 'mongſt Greeks, in midſt of Elis Town Requiring God-like Honours ſhou'd be ſhewn. Mad Man, who, Clouds and Lightning none can feign, Acted on Braſs, with trampling Horſes train. But mighty Jove from boyling Clouds then threw A Thunder-bolt: No ſmoaky Torch for ſhew: And ſo the bold preſuming Rebel ſlew. And Tityon, here is ſeen, that Child of th'Earth, Whoſe Body in length nine Acres covereth, And that huge Vultur, which with's crooked Bill, On's Liver feeds, which as 'tis growing ſtill. He feaſting ſtill devours; ſo Tityon's Pain For ever with his Liver will remain. What of the Lapithae, and Ixion here Remains to ſay? And of Pirithous, or Of thoſe o'er whom a black Flint hangs, as tho' Still falling on them? or of others, who Have Golden Tables, all with Dainties ſet, In Princely manner, tempting them to eat; The greateſt of the Fury's ſtanding by, Forbidding them their Lands thereon to lay; And riſing with her Torch, them to diſmay? Here ſtand, expecting Puniſhment, all thoſe Their Brethren hated, or ſtrove to depoſe Their Parents living, Clients of their right Cheated; or making Gold their ſole delight, No Friends reliev'd; as 'tis the uſe of moſt. And thoſe who for Adult'ry Life have loſt. And who in Wars unjuſt engag'd; and Men Who fear'd not break the Faith their Maſters gi'en. Ask not to know, what Pains all Men endure, Or for what Crimes, or by what Chance came here. Some rowl a vaſt Stone, ſome hang on a Wheel, Unhappy Theſeus ſits, and ever will, Of Wretches chief, exhorts the Phlegians all, And thro' the Shades, with loud Voice, thus does call. Learn Juſtice, warn'd; and Gods not to contemn, Some ſold their Country, Tyrants bringing in, Who Laws for Mony made, and null'd agen. Others polluted their own Daughters Bed; All daring great Crimes, what they dar'd enjoy'd. Had I an hundred Mouths and Tongues, withal An Iron Voice, I could not run o'er all The ſorts of Crimes and Torments Men befal. When this the Sibyll had ſet forth, ſhe ſays, Now, on your way, do what your Buſineſs is. Let's haſten, I the Walls behold, and in Yond Arch, the doors; both Cyclops work have been: Where we're requir'd your Preſent to depoſe: This ſaid, ſhe with him in the Umbrage goes. The mid way kept, and ſoon the Porch drew near; Where ſtrait Aeneas entred, ſprinkling there His Body with freſh Water, and his Bow Sticks at the Door; ſo being enjoyn'd to do. Theſe things being done; the Goddeſs preſent made T'a joyous Place they came, and ſweet green Shade Of th' happy Groves, where bleſt Souls have their Seats, A large bright Aether all the Fields inveſts, With Sun and Stars peculiar to theſe Parts. Some on the Graſs in Manly Sports contend For Exerciſe, ſome wreſtle on the Sand. Some Sing and Dance; and long-rob'd Orpheus there With's ſev'n Note-skill, a Counterpart does bear. And one while with his Fingers, then with's Quill, Plays the ſame diſcant, on his Harp, at Will: Troy's noble Stock is here, fair Progeny, Great Hero's, born in better times than we, Ilus, Aſſar'cus, Dard'nus, riſe of Troy. At diſtance theſe the ſhadd'wy Arms admire, The Chariots, Spears, which they ſee fixed there. The Horſes which in Fields looſe feed and play. As in Arms, Chariots, curious Horſes they Were pleas'd alive, the ſame they ſtill enjoy. And lo! on Right and Left, ſhe others ſees, Sit on the Graſs, who with Melodies Lays, Sing Hymns t' Apollo, 'mong the fragrant Bays. Whence large Erid'nus, paſſing thro' the Grove, With rowling Waves, mounts to the Earth above. Here valiant Men, who for their Country dy'd, And Prieſts, who chaſtly liv'd, in Joys reſide: And pious Prophets, Phabus had inſpir'd, And thoſe invented Arts, by all admir'd, And ſuch who others Kindneſſes had ſhown, All theſe white Garlands wore about their Crown. To whom the Sibyll, as they rounding ſtood, And chiefly to Muſaeus (for the Crowd Him in the midſt upon their Shoulders had) Says thus: O happy Souls! and Prophet you Anchiſes Reſidence, pleaſe to let us know. Thro' his Occaſion 'tis, that we come here; Hell's mighty River paſſing without fear. To her the Hero thus, in ſhort, replies, We've no peculiar Seat; our Manſion is In ſhady Groves, and on the Rivers ſides, And bord'ring Fields. But if your Fancy leads Aſcend this Hill, I'll guide an eaſy Path. This ſaid, he goes before, and from above Shews glorious Fields; whereon the top they leave. And old Anchiſes, in a Vale beſet, With Hills, and wondrous Green; Souls thither brought Who were t'arrive at Bliſs, with Care ſurvey'd, E'en one by one, and took a Liſt of all, Perhaps, of him deſcended, or that ſhall. Their Fates inſpecting, Fortunes, Manners, Pow'r, And when he ſaw Aeneas coming there, Both's Hands preſented, with a welcom Chear And Tears let fall, and this dropt from his Mouth, What? come at laſt, my long expected Youth? Has Piety ſtood the Hardſhip of the Ways? And may I now diſcourſe you Face to Face? Indeed I thought ſo, and that times would come, Nor has my Care deceiv'd me, counting them. Thro' what vaſt Countries, and what mighty Seas Are you come? and thro' Dangers more than theſe. How fear'd I Lybia fatal might have prov'd? Then he, dear Father! your ſad Ghoſt has mov'd, Appearing oft, my coming to this Land; My Ships ſtand on th' Italian Coaſt. Your Hand I beg; and let's embrace, and be not gone; This ſaying, Floods of Tears came trickling down. Then thrice about his Neck, he ſtrove to caſt His Arms; and thrice the Shadows hold he loſt, As 'tis in Dreams, or with an aery Blaſt. Mean while Aeneas, in a Secret drove At diſtance, 'ſpies a private ruſtling Grove: And Lethe's River paſſing by the Seats Of Bliſs, and Men ſurrounding theſe Retreats In mighty Crowds, who fill the Place with noiſe, As Bees, when thick in Fields on Summers Days, Gath'ring from Flow'rs their delicious Preys. Aeneas ſtrait, aſtoniſh'd this to ſee, Enquires the Cauſes; what this Stream might be, And what thoſe Men who there ſtood crowding by. Then old Anchiſes. Souls decreed by Fate T'aſſume new Bodies, drinking here forget All Hardſhips e'er they underwent in Life. 'Thas long been my deſire, that you ſhould have Here Knowledge of all thoſe will ſpring from me, T'encreaſe your Joy, when come to Italy. O Father! may we think ought Souls ſublime Would paſs from hence to th'Earth, there to reſume Groſs Bodies? direful ſuch Deſire would ſeem. I'll tell you Son, no longer keep in doubt, Achiſes then in order all ſets out. Firſt, th'Air, Earth, Waters, and bright-ſhining Moon And all the Stars, a Spirit acts within. With Mind infus'd thro' all the Maſs's parts, Which the vaſt Bulk pervades and agitates. Thence Men, and Beaſts of all kinds Life receive, And Fowles and Monſters which in Seas do live. A fiery Vigour, and Celeſtial Birth Their Seeds uphold, as far as their dull Earth, And Body's clog, and dying Limbs give way: Thence ſpring their Fear, Love-Paſſion, Grief and Joy; Nor blinded thus, can they Life's pureneſs ſee. Nay when, at laſt, their Life is at end, Some Vice, and Body's Plagues their Souls attend. For long contracted Habits ſtrangely ſtick; To purge whoſe rooted Taint, they to the quick Are therefore toucht with Pains; ſome hung in th' Air, Some in vaſt Gulphs are waſht, ſome burnt in Fire. We've all our fated Pains; and then are ſent To fair Elyſium; few there ever went Till a compleat revolving courſe of time Their Taint contracted purg'd, and pure from Sin Th'Aethereal Spirit left, as firſt 'thad been. When they in Bliſs a thouſand Years have paſs't, God calls them all of Lethe's Stream to taſte, That ſo forgetful grown, they may review The Earth again, and Bodies take anew. This by Anchiſes ſaid, he takes his Son, The Sibyll with him, 'mong the crowding Throng Gets on an Hillock in the midſt; whence he Of all, in order, had an eager View. Then ſays, my Son! I now ſhall let you know Our Trojan Race; what Glory thence may grow. Who our Succeſſors are in Italy, Th'Illuſtrious Souls, that of our Line ſhall be, And you your Fate withal. That Youth you ſee Leans on his Headleſs Spear, by Deſtiny, Comes next to Life: 'Tis he the firſt will riſe From It'ly's mixt Blood to th' Aethereal Skies. Sylvius, an Alban Name, your poth'mous Child, Whom your Lavinia, our long Race t'uphold, Shall bring at length from woods, as King to ſway, Of Kings a Parent. whence our Progeny, Long Alba's Kingdom ſhall of right enjoy. The next him's Procas, Trojan's Glory, then Capys and Numitor, and who bears your Name Sylvius Aeneas; who will alſo be For Arms as famous, as for Piety, If Alba's Kingdom ever he attains; Behold what Courage in their Faces ſhines. And how their Temples all are ſhadow'd round With Oken City Garlands. Theſe ſhall found Nomentum, Gabii, Fidena, for you, Collatia, Towns on Mountains built anew Pomeria, Novum Caſtrum, Bola too, And Cora. Then theſe for their Names ſhall ſtand, They being at preſent nameleſs ſpots of Land. And martial Rom'lus to his Grandſire here Shall join: His Mother Ilia him ſhall bear. She ſpringing from Aſarc'us. See, he's known By's double topt Helmet, ſtanding on his Crown, Now markt by's Father Mars for great Renown. Lo, Son! by him, that famous Rome controuls For Empire th'Earth, Heav'n equals for great Souls. Sev'n Hills, with one Wall, ſhe'll her ſelf incloſe, In great Men fertile, as Cybele ſhews, When crown'd with Caſtles, thro' the Towns of Troy She's carry'd in Chariot, with Tranſports of Joy, For num'rous Gods ſprungs of her; whom ſhe greets At pleaſure, all in Heav'n bleſt with Seats. Now, both Eyes hither caſt, this Lineage ſee, Your Romans; Caeſar, all the Progeny Here of Julus ſtand, that e'er ſhall be. This here's the Man, Auguſtus Caeſar, ſprung From God, who to you has been promis'd long. And who agen a Golden Age ſhall found In Latium, as when Saturn rul'd the Land. Beyond all Lybia, and the Indies he His Empire ſhall extend. A Land does lie Out of the Sun's and Planet's Courſe, where Heav'n, Nigh burning Stars on Atlas Shoulder's born: Which dreads e'en now his coming, mov'd thereto By Or'cles Anſwers, telling what's t'enſue. Like Fear the Caſpian and the Scythian Lands, And Egypt, with its ſev'n-mouth'd Nile attends. Nor had Alcides Conqueſts ſuch extent, Tho' he the light-foot Deer in chaſe out-went. And Erymanthus Boar in purſuit ſlew, And Lernas Hydra with's unerring Bow. Nor conq'ring Bacchus, who with's Vine-twig Reins, From Nyſa's top drove Tygers to the Plains. And fear you now in Italy to land? And by Exploits, your Glory there t'extend? But, who is't ſtands far off, diſtinguiſht by His Olive-bows and ſacred Laws? I ſpy His Hair and white Beard, like a Roman King Who founding Rome, Laws thither firſt did bring. Sent from ſmall Cures, a poor Country-Town, T'an Empire great; where Tullus next will come. A Man whoſe Country's idle Peace will break, And force his ſluggiſh Subjects Arms to take, And Triumphs, then diſus'd, in Field to gain: Next him Thraſonick Anchus comes to Reign. Pleas'd, even now, too much, with Mens applauſe, And will you ſee the Tarquin Kings with theſe? The great Soul of revenging Brutus, and The Rods, and Axe, in uſe brought to the Land? The Conſul's Office he the firſt ſhall bear, And cruel Axe: his Sons for moving War, Unhaypy Man! to Puniſhment ſhall bring, Fair Liberty this preſſing for the Sin, However future times may judge the Thing: His Country's Love will all things over bear, And's vaſt deſire of Praiſe. But ſee from far The Decii, Druſi, and Torquatus dread With's Axe: Camillus with his Enſigns ſpread. But thoſe two Souls ſo Friendly now you ſee, While 'mong the Shades, they ſhining equally With glorious Arms, if e'er they come to Life, Alas! what Wars they'll raiſe, and bloody Strife Betwixt them. One from th' Alpes with's force will come, Th' other an opp'ſite Army'll bring from Rome. O Youths! uſe not your Minds to Wars as theſe, Nor 'gainſt your Country's Bowels turn your force. You Caeſar, firſt forbear; you Heav'n-ſprung Man, Throw by your Arms, my Blood— That famous Man, at Corinth, Graecians ſlain Returning Victor, ſhall his Triumph gain. He Argos and Mycenae ſhall ſubvert, The laſt of them, great Agamemnon's Seat, And e'en Aeacides, of Achilles Race, Revenging Trojan Wrongs, and that difgrace Prophane, Minerva's Temple ſhown. Can I, Great Cato! you, or Coſtus you paſs by In ſilence? or the Race of Gracchus, or The Scipio's both, call'd Thunderbolts of War Great Lybia's Ruin? Or Fabricius, you, Great Soul'd, tho poor? or th'happy Man at Plough Serranus? Fabii! whither lead me now Being tir'd? Maximus you that Man we'll own. Who by delays, reſtor'd our falling Throne. Others in Braſs, and Marble, to the Life Sweet Sculptures make, you'd think they were alive, Plead Cauſes better, and more nicely know The ſite of the Earth, Heav'ns riſing Signs to ſhew. Mind you, O Roman! to rule over Men, (Theſe ſhall be your Arts) how in Peace to reign, The Meek to favour, Haughty to keep down. Thus ſaid Anchiſes: Adds, to their Surprize, See how Marcellus, with Spoils laden goes, A glorious Conq'rer, how he all out-ſhews: This Knight, the State all diſcompos'd at home, Shall ſet to rights; the Lybians overcome, And rebel Gauls. And to Quirinus then, Spoils, took the third time from them, he ſhall hang. Aeneas here (for he ſaw with him paſs, A Youth with ſhining Arms, of wondrous Grace But's Count'nance clouded, with dejected Eyes) Who, Father is't, the Man accompanies? His Son, or ſome great Man's, from us will ſpring? What Shouts about him? how reſembling him? But round his Head a ſad-dark Cloud appears. Anchiſes then, all melting into Tears; Says, Son! wiſh not that depth of Grief to know, Yours may attend: The Fates will only ſhew That Youth to th'Earth, nor let him longer live. O Gods! The Roman Race ſhould he ſurvive, Would ſeem to you too great: What mighty Groans The martial Field at Rome will fill? What Moans O Tyberinus will you ſee, when you Paſs by his Tomb, with Tears all freſh and new? Nor will ought Youth of Trojan Stock e'er raiſe His Roman Grandſires hopes, ſo much as this; Nor ſhall Rome's Empire ever boaſt that ſhe Had ſuch a Son as this. O Piety, And honeſt upright Mind! Unconquer'd Hand! None e'er with Safety might your Arms withſtand On Foot, or Horſeback. Ah! much pity'd Child! Could you your hard Fate ſhun, you ſhould be call'd Marcellus. Lillies by whole handfuls ſtrew Before him, I will Purple Flowers throw; On's Ghoſt, at leaſt, heapt Preſents let's beſtow. Thus thro' Elyſium they walkt here and there, Obſerving all Things as their Pleaſures were. When old Anchiſes this had ſhewn his Son, And fill'd his Mind with Glories were to come. He tells him what Wars he muſt undertake: Of the Laurentines, and Latinus Seat. And how he Dangers muſt avoid or fly: And ſometimes ſuffer in Adverſity. Two Gates there are of Dreams; they ſay that one Is made of Horn, where true Dreams paſs alone. Of Iv'ry th'others made; whence to the Sky, Falſe Dreams and Fantaſms Ghoſts uſe to convey. When theſe things to his Son, and Sibyll both, Anchiſes had declar'd; he ſent them forth At th' Iv'ry Gate. Aeneas took his way T'his Ships; and finding there his Men to ſtay, He to Cajeta, in ſtrait Courſe did ſteer, Caſt Anchor there, and turn'd his Sterns to ſhoar.
The Fourth Eclogue of Virgil. SIcilian Muſes! Let us raiſe our Strain; Shrubs and ſome Tamarisks pleaſe not ev'ry Man: This Paſt'ral Song deſerves a Conſul's Ear. The Sibyll's laſt Age now has run'ts career. And th'Ages great Courſe muſt a new begin; The Virgin comes with Saturn's Reign agen. A new Race now from Heav'n is ſent on Earth; O chaſt Lucina! ſavour the Infant's Birth. By whom the Iron Age ſhall ceaſe; and thro' The World a Golden Age ſhall riſe a new, And your Apollo's Kingdom ſhall enſue. And while you're Conſul Pollio, this our Bliſs Commences, with the great Months Happineſs While you're in Pow'r, if any Taints appear Of former Crimes, they're null'd with Mortals fear He'll live as God, and ſee his Godlike Men With Heroes mixt, and he'll be ſeen of them, And rule as his great Anceſtors had done. But Child! to you, as firſt ſmall Preſents th'Earth Untill'd, in plenty Ivies will bring forth, With Avens; and as grateful to your view Brankurſine, with the Aegyptian Bean, will ſhew. The Goats to you full Dugs of Milk ſhall bring; 〈◊〉 will the Herds fierce Lyons fear, if ſeen. Your Cradle 'tſelf ſweet Flowers ſhall diſplay, The Snake and guileful pois'nous Weed ſhall die; Th' Aſſyrian fragrant Shrub grow commonly. But when you come to read the Heroes Praiſe, Your Fathers Facts, and know what Virtue is. The Corn-fields yellow will begin to ſhew, The Berries on wild Thorns will ruddy grow, And Heav'n-dropt Hony from hard Oaks will flow. Yet ſtill ſome few Seeds of our ancient Guile Will ſpring; and make us take a ſecond Toil At Sea: New Wall-towns build, and till the Ground, And there muſt be another Typhis found; Another Argo, Heroes to convey, And other Wars with Battles in Array, And great Achilles muſt again to Troy. When, after this, you're grown a perfect Man, The Sailor ſhall give o'er the Seas, nor then Shall Veſſels Traffick carry to and fro, But all things freely ev'ry where ſhall grow. The Earth from Harrow free, the Vine from Hook, The Ploughman's Oxen ſhall diſcharge from Yoak. Wool ſhall no longer take a borrow'd hew, But on the Ram a Purple Fleece ſhall grow, Sometimes a Yellow, and the native Die Of Sandix-cloath the Lambs are feeding by. The Deſtinies with the pow'r of Fate agreed, Run on ſuch Ages to their Spindleſs cry'd. Dear Offspring of the Gods, Jove's great increaſe! O! now's your time great Honours to poſſeſs. See how the World jogs with its Convex weight, The Earth, the Seas, high Heav'n in its Flight. How all Things Joy expreſs at th' Age to come. O! that my Thread of Life may hold ſo long, And Muſes Vigour, your Deeds to record; Orpheus in Verſe then ſhall not me out-word. E'en with his Mother's Aid Calliope: Nor Linus, with his Father Phoebus by. If Pan, th' Arcadian God contends, he'll own, Tho' judge himſelf, himſelf by me outdone. Your Mother, Child! by Smile begin to know, Ten long Months Loathings ſhe did undergo. Begin: 'Till Children ſmile on Parents, none Genius at board, nor Juno 'tBed will own. FINIS.
Books ſold at the corner of Popes-head Alley next Cornhill.

CAmbrige Concordance.

The Hiſtory of the Life, Reign and Death of Edward II. King of England, Lord of Ireland, with the Rice and Fall of his great Favourites Gaveſton and Spencers.

Tabulae Faeneratoriae, or Tables for the Forbearance and Diſcompt of Mony; whereby the Intereſt of all Sums from 10000 l. to one Shilling, from one Day to 365. is exactly calculated to the thouſandth part of a Penny, with the Rebate of all Sums to 36 or 3 years, &c. The Third Edition.

The New A-la-Mode Secretary: Or, Practical Pen-man. A New Copy-book. Wherein the Baſtard Italians, commonly called the New A-la-Mode, Round Hands, Mixt Running Hands, and Mixt Secretary's, are ſo Model'd and Compoſed, as to diſpatch Buſineſs with Facility and Neatneſs. Written with much Variety, and performed according to the Nature, Freedom, and Tendency of the PEN. by John Ayres, Maſter of the Writing School, at the Hand and Pen near St. Paul's School, in St. Paul's Church-yard, London.

Youths Introduction to Trade: An Exerciſe-Book, Chiefly deſigned for the Uſe of the Writing School, to employ Youth at Night and other vacant Times while they learn to Write; by which the Young Apprentice may be able to Apply his Writing and Arithmetick to Buſineſs; as, a Merchant, Shop-keeper, or other inferior Trades: Firſt Methodized for the Benefit of the Author's Scholars; And Publiſhed for the Uſe of ſuch as Teach Writing and Arithmetick. By John Ayres. The Second Edition, Corrected, and very much Enlarged.

Arithmetick; A Treatiſe deſigned for the Uſe and Benefit of Trades-Men. Wherein the Nature and Uſe of Fractions, both Vulgar and Decimal, are Taught by a New and Eaſie Method. As alſo, The Menſuration of Solids and Superficies. The Third Edition, very much Corrected and Enlarged. By J. Ayres, at the Hand and Pen in St. Paul's Church-yard.

The Phyſical Dictionary. Wherein the Terms of Anatomy, the Names and Cauſes of Diſeaſes, Chyrurgical Inſtruments and their Uſe; are accurately Deſcrib'd. Alſo, The Names and Virtues of Medicinal Plants, Minerals, Stones, Gums, Salts, Earth, &c. And the Method of chooſing the beſt Drugs: The Terms of Chymiſtry, and of the Apothecaries Art; and the various Forms of Medicines, and the ways of compounding them. By Stephen Blancard, M. D. Phyſick-Profeſſor at Middleburg in Zealand. The Third Edition, with the Addition of above a Thouſand Terms of Art, and their Explanation.

Books ſold at the Black Swan and Bible, without Temple-Bar.

A Late Voyage to St. Kilda, the remoteſt of all the Hebrides, or Weſtern Iſlands of Scotland; with a Hiſtory of the Iſland, Natural, Moral, &c. by Mr. Martin, Gent.

Beauty in Diſtreſs, a Tragedy; as it is Acted by His Majeſty's Servants. Written by Mr. Motteux: With a Diſcourſe of the Lawfulneſs and Unlawfulneſs of Plays. By the Learned Father Caffara, Divinity Profeſſor at Paris; ſent in a Letter to the Author, by a Divine of the Church of England. With a Copy of Verſes by Mr. Dryden, in Defence of the Stage.

The Canterbury Gueſt; or, a Bargain broken: A Comedy, Acted at the Theatre-Royal. Written by Tho. Shadwell.

The Corniſh Comedy, as it is Acted at the Theatre-Royal in Dorſet-Garden, by His Majeſty's Servants.

Dr. Colebatch's four Tracts; his Treatiſe of the Gout, and Doctrin of Acids further aſſerted.

Curſus Oſteologicus: Being a compleat Doctrin of the Bones, according to the Neweſt and moſt refined Notions of Anatomy, &c. By Robert Baker, Chirurgeon.

Several Tracts about a Standing Army.

Life of King Lewis XIV.

The Gentlemans Recreation, in Four Parts, viz. Hunting, Hawking, Fowling, Fiſhing; wherein theſe generous Exerciſes are largely treated of, &c. The 4th Edition, with Aditions.

Books ſold at the Ship in St. Paul's Church-yard.

PHilip's New World of Words; or an Univerſal Engliſh Dictionary, containing the proper Significations, and Derivations of all Words from other Languages, &c. the Fifth Edition, with large Additions and Improvements from the beſt Engliſh and Foreign Authors.

Syſtema Agriculturae, The Myſtery of Husbandry diſcovered, treating of the ſeveral new and moſt advantagious ways of Tilling, Planting, Sowing, Manuring, Ordering and Improving all ſorts of Gardens, Orchards, Meadows, Paſtures, Corn-Lands, Woods, and Coppices; to which is added the Husbandman's Monthly Directions, and the Interpretations of Ruſtick Terms. The Fourth Edition, with large Additions throughout the whole.

Archbiſhop Ʋſher's Life, and Letters, Publiſhed by Dr. Parr, his Graces Chaplain.

Archbiſhop Ʋſher's Sermons.

Dr. Goad's Aphoriſms of the Weather.

The Hiſtory of England. By Dr. Frankland.

Love's whole Art of Surveying, and Meaſuring of Land, made eaſie: With plain and practical Rules, how to ſurvey, protract, caſt up, reduce or divide any Piece of Land whatſoever.

Strode's New and Eaſie Method to the Art of Dyalling.

—His Arithmetical Treatiſe of the Permutations, Combinations, Elections, and Compoſitions of Quantities.

Boyle's Experimental Hiſtory of Cold, with Cuts.

Miracles performed by Mony. A Poem.

School of Politicks, or Humors of a Coffee-Houſe.

Biſhop Hopkins on the Lords Prayer and Commandments.

Happy Union betwixt England and Holland.

Lord Shannon's Letter to an Atheiſtical Acquaintance.

Religio Militis.

A Treatiſe of Taxes and Contributions.

Archbiſhop Cranmer's Judgment on the Holy Scriptures, publiſh'd by Dr. Gee.

Baxter's Church Hiſtory and Epiſcopacy.

Hiſtory of Pariſmus and Pariſmenos.

Mr. Boyle's free Enquiry into the vulgarly receiv'd Notion of Nature. In Engliſh and Latin.

—His Diſquiſition of the Final Cauſes of Natural Things.

—His Martyrdom of Theodora and Didymus.

—The Chriſtian Virtuoſo.

Experimenta & Obſervationes Phiſicae. With a Collection of ſtrange Reports.

—Seraphick Love, or Motives to the Love of God.

—Tracts about the ſaltneſs of the Sea.

Medicina Hydroſtatica.

—Of Languid and Local Motion.

—Experiments of the Icy Noctiluca.

Abbadie of the Truth of the Chriſtian Religion.

Quintilian's Declamations Engliſh'd.

Dr. Newton's compleat Arithmetician.

Counſellor Manner's Legacy to his Son.

Ray's Nomenclator Claſſicus, ſive Dictionariolum Trilingue. A Claſſical Nomenclator, with the Gender and Declenſion of each Word, and the Quantities of the Syllables, &c. For the uſe of Schools.

Robertſon's Large and General Phraſe-book.

Dr. Owen's Meditations of the Glory of Chriſt.

Yworth's whole Art of Practical Diſtillation.

Biſhop Hopkins Sermons and Diſcourſes, in Four Volumes.

Plutarch's Morals, Engliſhed by ſeveral Hands. Five Volumes.