Now I these love-lines write, my pen, I vow,
Is a new office taught, not known till now.
Happy are they that in this trade have fkill;
Alas! I am a fool, and fhall be still;
And having till this hour not ftept aftray,
Fear in these sports left I fhould mifs my way.
The fear (no doubt) is greater than the blame,
I ftand confounded, and amaz'd with fhame;
And with the very thought of what you feek,
Think every eye fix'd on my guilty cheek.
Nor are these fuppofitions merely vain,
The murmuring people whisperingly complain;
And my maid Athra hath, by lift'ning flily,
Brought me fuch news, as touch'd mine honour highly,
Wherefore (dear lord) diffemble or defift;
Being over-ey'd, we cannot as we lift

Fashion our sports, our love's pure harvest gather;
But why fhould you defift? Diffemble rather.
Sport, but in fecret; fport where none may fee
The greater, but not greatest liberty

Is limited to your lascivious play,
That Menelaus is far hence away.
My husband about great affairs is pofted,
Leaving his royal gueft fecurely hofted;
His bufinefs was important and material,
Being employ'd about a crown imperial.
And as he now is mounted on his steed,
Ready on his long journey to proceed:
Even as he queftions to depart or flay,

Sweet heart (quoth I) Oh! be not long away.
With that he reach'd me a sweet parting kifs,
(How loth he was to leave me, guess by this :)
Farewel, fair wife (faith he) bend all thy cares
To my domeftic bufinefs, home-affairs;

t

But as the thing that I affection best,
Sweet wife, look well unto my Trojan guest.
It was no fooner out, but with much pain
My itching spleen from laughter I restrain;
Which striving to keep in, and bridle ftill,
At length I rung forth these few words (I will.)
He's on his journey to the isle of Crete,
But think not we may therefore fafely meet:
He is fo abfent, that as prefent I

Am ftill within his reach, his ear, his eye;

And tho' abroad, his power at home commands,
For know you not kings have long-reaching hands?
The fame for beauty you befides have given me,
Into a great exigent hath driven me.

The more your commendation fill'd his ear,
The more just cause my husband hath to fear;
Nor marvel you the king hath left me so,
Into remote and foreign climes to go:
Much confidence he dares repofe in me,
My carriage, haviour, and my modefty;
My beauty he miftrufts, my heart relies in ;
My face he fears, my chafte life he affies in.

To take time now when time is, you perfuade me, And with his apt fit abfence you invade me : I would but fear, nor is my mind well fet; My will would further what my fear doth let. I have no husband here, and you no wife; I love your fhape, you mine, dear as your life. The night feems long to fuch as fleep alone, Our letters meet to interchange our moan. You judge me beauteous, I efleem you fair, Under one roof we lovers lodged are.

And (let me die) but every thing confider,
Each thing perfuades us we shall lie together.
Nothing we fee molefts us, nought we hear,
And yet my forward will is flack thro' fear.
I would to God, that what you ill perfuade,
You could as well compel; fo I were made
Unwilling willing, pleafingly abus'd,
So my fimplicity might be excus'd.

Injury's force is oft-times wond'rous pleafing,
To fuch as fuffer eafe in their difeafing;
If what I will, you 'gainst my will fhould do,
I with fuch force could be well pleafed too.

But whilst our love is young and in the bud,
Suffer his infant vigour be withstood:
A fiame new kindled is as eafily quench'd,
And fudden fparks in little drops are drench'd.
A traveller's love is, like himself, unftay'd,
And wanders where he walks; it is not laid
On any firmer ground; for when we alone.
Think him to us, the wind blows fair, he's gone.
Witnefs Hypfipile, alike betray'd ;

Witness with her the bright Mynoyan maid :
Nay then yourfelf, as you yourself have spoken,
To fair Ocnone have your promife broken.
Since I beheld your face first, my defire.
Hath been, of Trojan Paris to enquire.

I know you now in every true refpect,

I'll grant you thus much then, fay you affect
Me (whom you term your own.) I'll go thus far;
Do not the Phrygian mariners prepare

Their fails and oars, ev'n now whilft we recite

Exchange of words about the wished night?

"Say that even now you were prepar'd to climb
My long-with'd bed, juft at th'appointed time
The wind fhould alter, and blow fair for Troy,
You must break off, in midft of all your joy,
And leave me in the infancy of pleasure;
Amid my riches, I fhall lofe my treasure.
"You will forfake the fweets my bed affords,
T'exchange for cabins, hatches and pitch'd boards.
Then what a fickle courtship you commence,
When, with the first wind, all your love blows hence?
But fhall I follow you when you are gone,
And be the grandchild to Laomedon!
And Ilium fee, whofe beauty you proclaim?
I do not fo defpife the bruit of fame,

That the to whom I am indebt fuch thanks,
Should fill the earth with fuch adulterate pranks.
What will Achaia? What will Sparta fay?
What will your Troy report, and Afia?
What my old Priam, or his reverend queen?
What may your fifters, having Helen feen,
Or your Dardanian brothers deem of me?
Will they not blame my loose inchastity?
Nay, how can you yourself faithful deem me,
And not amongst the loosest dames esteem me?
No ftranger fhall your Afian ports come near,
But he fhall fill your guilty foul with fear.
How often, angry at fome fmall offence,
Will you thus fay; adult'refs, get thee hence?
Forgetting you yourself have been the chief
In my tranfgreffion, tho' not in my grief.
Confider what it is, forgetful lover,

To be fin's author, and fin's fharp reprover
L

But ere the leaft of all these ills betide me,
I wish the earth may in her bofom hide me.

But I fhall all your Phrygian wealth poffefs,
And more than your epiftle can express:
Gifts, woven gold, imbroidery, rich attire,
Purple and plate, or what I can desire.

Yet give me leave, think you all this extends
To countervail the lofs of my chief friends?
Whofe friendship, or whofe aid fhall I imploy
To fuccour me, when I am wrong'd in Troy?
Or whether can I, having thus mifdone,
Unto my father, or my brothers run?
As much as you to me, false Jason swore
Unto Medea, yet from Efon's door

He after did exile her.

Now, poor heart,

Where is thy father that should take thy part?
Old Etes or Calciope? thou took'st

No aid from them, whom thou before forfook'ft.
Or fay thou didst (alas! they cannot hear

Thy fad complaints) yet I no such thing fear;
No more Medea did: good hopes engage
Themselves fo far, they fail in their prefage.
You fee the hips that in the main are tofs'd,
And many times by tempests wreck'd and loft,
Had, at their launching from the haven's mouth,
A smooth sea, and a calm gale from the south.
Befides, the brand your mother dreamt the bare,
The night before your birth, breeds me fresh care.
It prophely'd, ere many years expire,
Inflamed Troy must burn with Greekifh fire.
As Venus favours you, because she gain'd
A doubtful prize by you; yet the disdain'd