Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
That Menelaus was the Caufe of his own Wrongs.
When Menelaus from his houfe is gone,
Poor Helen is afraid to lie alone;
And to allay these fears (lodg'd in her breast)
In her warm bosom she receives her guest.
What madness was this, Menelaus, fay?
Thou art abroad, whilft in thy house doth stay,
Under the felf fame roof, thy gueft, and love:
Madman! unto the hawk thou trufts the dove.
And who but fuch a gull, would give to keep
Unto the mountain wolf, full folds of sheep?
Helen is blamelefs, fo is Paris too,
And did what thou, or I myself would do.
The fault is thine, I tell thee to thy face,
By limiting these lovers, time and place.
From thee the feeds of all thy wrongs are grown,
Whose counfels have they follow'd but thine own ?
Alack! what fhould they do? abroad thou art,
At home thou leav'ft thy guest to play thy part.
To lie alone, the poor queen is afraid,
"In the next room an amorous stranger staid;
Her arms are ope t'embrace him, he falls in:
And, Paris, I acquit thee of the fin.
And in another Place fomewhat refembling this.
Oreftes liked, but not loved dearly
Hermione, till he had loft her clearly.
Sad Menelaus! why doft thou lament
Thy late mishap? I prithee be content.
I
Thou know'ft the amorous Helen fair and fweet;
And yet without her didft thou fail to Crete.
And thou watt blithe, and merry all the way;
But when thou faw't he was the Trojan's prey,
Then waft thou mad for her, and for thy life,
Thou canst not now one minute want thy wife.
So ftout Achilles, when his lovely bride,
Brifeis, was difpos'd to great Atride,
Nor was he vainly mov'd, Atrides too
Offer'd no more, than he of force must do.
I should have done as much, to fet her free;
Yet I (Heaven knows) am not fo wife as he.
Vulcan was Jupiter's Smith, an excellent Workman, on whom the Poets father many rare Works, among which I find this one.
This tale is blaz'd thro' Heaven, how once un'ware,
Venus and Mars were took in Vulcan's fnare.
The god of war doth in his brow discover
The perfect and true pattern of a lover.
Nor could the goddess Venus be fo cruel
To deny Mars (soft kindness is a jewel
In any woman, and becomes her well)
In this the queen of love doth most excel.
(Oh Heaven!) how often have they mockt and flouted, The fmith's polt-foot (whilft nothing he misdoubted) Made jefts of him, and his begrimed trade;
And his fmoog'd vifage black with coal-duft made. Mars, tickled with loud laughter, when he faw Venus like Vulcan limp, to halt and draw
One foot behind another, with fweet grace,
To counterfeit his lame uneven pace.
Their meetings first the lovers hide with fear
From every jealous eye, and captious ear.
The god of war, and love's lafcivious dame,
In publick view were full of bashful shame.
But the Sun fpies how this fweet pair agree,
(O what, bright Phoebus, can be hid from thee ?)
The Sun both fees and blabs the fight forth with,
And in all poft he speeds to tell the smith.
O Sun! what bad examples doft thou show?
What thou in fecret feest, must all men know?
For filence, afk a bribe from her fair treasure ;
She'll grant thee that thall make thee fwell with
pleasure.
The god, whofe face is fmoog'd with smoke and
fire,
Placeth about their bed a net of wire;
So quaintly made, that it deceives the eye.
Strait (as he feigns) to Lemnos he must hie.
The lovers meet, where he the train hath fet,
And both lie fast catch'd in a wiry net;
He calls the gods, the lovers naked fprall,
And cannot rife; the queen of love fhews all.
Mars chafes, and Venus weeps, neither can flinch;
Grappled they lie, in vain they kick and wince.
Their legs are one within another ty'd,
Their hand fo faft, that they can nothing hide.
Amongst these high spectators, one by chance,
That faw them naked in this pitfall dance,
Thus to himself faid; if it tedious be,
Good god of war, beftow thy place on me.
I 2
The Hiftory how the Minotaur was begot.
Ida of cedars and tall trees ftands full,
Where fed the glory of the herd, a bull
Snow-white, fave 'twixt his horns one spot there
Save that one ftain, he was of milky hue.
This fair fteer did the heifers of the groves
Defire to bear, as prince of all the droves.
But moft Pafiphae, with adulterous breath,
Envies the wanton heifers to the death.
'Tis faid, that for this bull the doating lafs
Did ufe to crop young boughs, and mow fresh grafs;
Nor was the amorous Cretan queen afeard,
To grow a kind companion to the herd.
Thus thro' the champian the is madly borne,
And a wild bull to Minos gives the horn.
'Tis not for bravery he can love or loath thee,
Then why Pafiphae doft thou richly clothe thee?
Why should't thou thus thy face and looks prepare?
What mak'st thou with thy glafs ordering thy hair?
Unless thy glass could make thee seem a cow;
But how can horns grow on that tender brow?
If Minos please thee, no adulterer feek thee;
Or if thy husband Minos do not like thee,
But thy lafcivious thoughts are still increas'd,
Deceive him with a man, not with a beast.
Thus by the queen the wild woods are frequented,
And leaving the king's bed, the is contented
To use the groves, borne by the rage of mind,
Even as a fhip with a full eaftern wind.
Some of these ftrumpet heifers the queen flew,
Her smoking altars their warm bloods imbrue;
Whilft by the facrificing priest she stands,
And gripes their trembling entrails in her hands:
At length, the captain of the herd beguil'd
With a cow's fkin, by curious art compil'd,
The longing queen obtains her full defire,
And in her infant's form bewrays the fire.
This Minotaur, when he came to Growth, was inclos'd in the Labyrinth, which was made by the curious Arts-mafter Dedalus, whofe Tale likewife we thus pursue.
When Dedalus the labyrinth had built,
In which t'include the queen Pafiphe's guilt,
And that the time was now expired full,
T' inclofe the Minotaur, half man, half bull:
Kneeling, he fays, Juft Minos end my moans,
And let my native foil intomb my bones :
Orif, dread sovereign, I deserve no grace,
Look with a piteous eye on my fon's face;
And grant me leave, from whence we are exilľ'd,
Or pity me, if you deny my child.
This, and much more, he speaks, but all in vain,
The king both fon and father will detain:
Which he perceiving, fays; Now, now, 'tis fit,
To give the world caufe to admire my wit:
Both land and fea are watch'd by day and night;
Nor land nor fea lies open to our flight,
Only the air remains; then let us try
To cut a paffage thro' the air and fly.
Jove be aufpicious in my enterprize,
I covet not to mount above the skies:
But make this refuge, fince I can prepare
No means to fly my lord but thro' the air.
Make me immortal, bring me to the brim
Of the black Stygian water Styx, I'll swim.........
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