I am not born from fierce Achilles' line,
Nor did my parents against Troy combine.
To be thy wife if I unworthy prove,
By some inferior name admit my love.
To be secur'd of still possessing thee,
What would I do, and what would I not be!
Our Libyan coasts their certain seasons know,
When free from tempests passengers may go:
But now with northern blasts the billows roar,
And drive the floating sea-weed to the shore.
Leave to my care the time to sail away;
When safe, I will not suffer thee to stay.
Thy weary men would be with ease content;
Their sails are tatter'd, and their masts are spent.
If by no merit 1 thy mind can move,
What thou deny'st my merit, give my love.
Stay, till I learn my loss to undergo;
And give me time to struggle with my woe.

If not, know this, I will not suffer long;
My life's too loathsome, and my love too strong.
Death holds my pen and dictates what I say,
While cross my lap the Trojan sword I lay.
My tears flow down; the sharp edge cuts their flood,
And drinks my sorrows that must drink my blood.
How well thy gift does with my fate agree!
My funeral pomp is cheaply made by thee,
To no new wounds my bosom 1 display:
The sword but enters where Love made the way.
But thou, dear sister, and yet dearer friend,
Shalt my cold ashes to their urn attend.
Sichæus' wife let not the marble boast,

I lost that title, when my fame 1 lost.
This short inscription only let it bear:
Unhappy Dido lies in quiet here.

The cause of death, and sword by which she dy'd, Æneas gave: the rest her arm supply'd."

THE FIRST BOOK

OF

OVID'S ART OF LOVE.

IN Cupid's school whoe'er would take degree,
Must learn his rudiments by reading me.
Seamen with sailing arts their vessels move;
Art guides the chariot: Art instructs to love.
Of ships and chariots others know the rule;
But I am master in Love's mighty school.
Cupid indeed is obstinate and wild,

A stubborn god; but yet the god's a child:
Easy to govern in his tender age,
Like fierce Achilles in his pupillage :
That hero, born for conquest, trembling stood
Before the Centaur, and receiv'd the rod.
As Chiron mollify'd his cruel mind
With art, and taught his warlike hands to wind
The silver strings of his melodious lyre:
So Love's fair goddess does my soul inspire,
To teach her softer arts; to sooth the mind,
And smooth the rugged breasts of human-kind.
Yet Cupid and Achilles each with scorn
And rage were fill'd; and both were goddess-born.
The bull, reclaim'd and yok'd, the burthen draws;
The horse receives the bit within his jaws;
And stubborn Love shall bend beneath my sway,
Though struggling oft he strives to disobey.
He shakes his torch, he wounds me with his darts;
But vain his force, and vainer are his arts.
The more he burns my soul, or wounds my sight,
The more he teaches to revenge the spite.

I boast no aid the Delphian god affords,
Nor auspice from the flight of chattering birds;
Nor Clio nor her sisters have I seen;
As Hesiod saw them on the shady green:

Experience makes my work; a truth so try'd
You may believe; and Venus be my guide.
Far hence, ye vestals, be, who bind your hair;
And wives, who gowns below your ancles wear.
I sing the brothels loose and unconfin'd,
Th' unpunishable pleasures of the kind;
Which all alike, for love, or money, find.

You, who in Cupid's rolls inscribe your name,
First seek an object worthy of your flame;
Then strive, with art, your lady's mind to gain:
And last, provide your love may long remain.
On these three precepts all my work shall move:
These are the rules and principles of Love.

Before your youth with marriage is opprest, Make choice of one who suits your humour best:

And such a damsel drops not from the sky;
She must be sought for with a curious eye.

The wary angler, in the winding brook,
Knows what the fish, and where to bait his hook.
The fowler and the huntsman know by name
The certain haunts and harbour of their game,
So must the lover beat the likeliest grounds;
Th' assembly where his quarry most abounds.
Nor shall my novice wander far astray;
These rules shall put him in the ready way.
Thou shalt not sail around the continent,
As far as Perseus or as Paris went:
For Rome alone affords thee such a store,
As all the world can hardly show thee more.
The face of Heaven with fewer stars is crown'd,
Than beauties in the Roman sphere are found.

Whether thy love is bent on blooming youth, On dawning sweetness in unartful truth; Or courts the juicy joys of riper growth; Here mayst thou find thy full desires in both,

Or if autumnal beauties please thy sight
(An age that knows to give and take delight);
Millions of matrons of the graver sort,
In common prudence, will not balk the sport.
In summer heats thou need'st but only go
To Pompey's cool and shady portico;
Or Concord's fane; or that proud edifice,
Whose turrets near the bawdy suburb rise:
Or to that other portico, where stands
The cruel father urging his commands,
And fifty daughters wait the time of rest,

To plunge their poniards in the bridegrooms breast:
Or Venus' temple; where, on annual nights,
They mouru Adonis with Assyrian rites.

Nor shun the Jewish walk, where the foul drove,
On sabbaths, rest from every thing but love:
Nor Isis' temple; for that sacred whore
Makes others, what to Jove she was before.
And if the hall itself be not bely'd,

Ev'n there the cause of Love is often try'd;
Near it at least, or in the palace-yard,
From whence the noisy combatants are heard.
The crafty counsellors, in formal gown,
There gain another's cause, but lose their own.
There eloquence is nonplust in the suit;
And lawyers, who had words at will, are mute.
Venus, from her adjoining temple, smiles,
To see them caught in their litigious wiles.
Grave senators lead home the youthful dame,
Returning clients, when they patrons came.
But, above all, the play-house is the place;
There's choice of quarry in that narrow chase.
There take thy stand, and sharply looking out,
Soon may'st thou find a mistress in the rout,
For length of time, or for a single bout.
The theatres are berries for the fair:
Like ants on mole-hills thither they repair;
Like bees to hives, so numerously they throng,
It may be said, they to that place belong.
Thither they swarm, who have the public voice:
There choose, if plenty not distracts thy choice:
To see, and to be seen, in heaps they run;
Some to undo, and some to be undone.

From Romulus the rise of plays began,
To his new subjects a commodious man;
Who, his unmarried soldiers to supply,
Took care the commonwealth should multiply:
Providing Sabine women for his braves,
Like a true king, to get a race of slaves.
His play-house not of Parian marble made,
Nor was it spread with purple sails for shade,
The stage with rushes or with leaves they strew'd:
No scenes in prospect, no machining god.
On rows of homely turf they sat to see,
Crown'd with the wreaths of every common tree.
There, while they sat in rustic majesty,
Fach lover had his mistress in his eye;
And whom he saw most suiting to his mind,
For joys of matrimonial rape design'd.
Scarce could they wait the plaudit in their haste;
But, ere the dances and the song were past,
The monarch gave the signal from his throne;
And, rising, bade his merry men fall on. -
The marshal crew, like soldiers ready prest,
Just at the word (the word too was, The best)
With joyful cries each other animate;

Some choose, and some at hazard seize their

mate.

As doves from eagles, or from wolves the lambs, So from their lawless lovers fly the dames.

Their fear was one, but not one face of fear;
Some rend the lovely tresses of their hair;
Some shriek, and some are struck with dumb despair.
Her absent mother one invokes in vain;
One stands amaz'd, not daring to complain;
The nimbler trust their feet, the slow remain.
But nought availing, all are captives led,
Trembling and blushing, to the genial bed.
She who too long resisted, or deny'd,
The lusty lover made by force a bride;

And with superior strength, compelled her to his side.

Then sooth'd herthus:-" My soul's far better part,
Cease weeping, nor afflict thy tender heart:
For what thy father to thy mother was,
That faith to thee, that solemn vow I pass."
Thus Romulus became so popular;
This was the way to thrive in peace and war;
To pay his army, and fresh whores to bring:
Who would not fight for such a gracious king?
Thus love in theatres did first improve;
And theatres are still the scenes of love:
Nor shun the chariot's and the courser's race;
The Circus is no inconvenient place.
No need is there of talking on the hand;
Nor nods, nor signs, which lovers understand.
But boldly next the fair your seat provide,
Close as you can to hers, and side by side.
Pleas'd or unpleas'd, no matter; crowding sit:
For so the laws of public shows permit.
Then find occasion to begin discourse;
Inquire, whose chariot this, and whose that horse?
To whatsoever side she is inclin'd,

Suit all your inclinations to her mind;
Like what she likes; from thence your court begin;
And whom she favours, wish that he may win.
But when the statues of the deities,

In chariots roll'd, appear before the prize;
When Venus comes, with deep devotion rise.
If dust be on her lap, or grains of sand,
Brush both away with your officious hand.
If none be there, yet brush that nothing thence;
And still to touch her lap make some pretence.
Touch any thing of hers; and if her train
Sweep on the ground, let it not sweep in vain;
But gently take it up, and wipe it clean;
And while you wipe it, with observing eyes,
Who knows but you may see her naked thighs!
Observe, who sits behind her; and beware,
Lest his encroaching knee should press the fair.
Light service takes light minds: for some can tell
Of favours won, by laying cushions well:
By fanning faces some their fortune meet;
And some by laying footstools for their feet.
These overtures of love the Circus gives;
Nor at the sword-play less the lover thrives:
For there the son of Venus fights his prize;
And deepest wounds are oft receiv'd from eyes.
One, while the crowd their acclamations make,
Or while he bets, and puts his ring to stake,
Is struck from far, and feels the flying dart;
And of the spectacle is made a part.

Caesar would represent a naval fight,
For his own honour, and for Rome's delight.
From either sea the youths and maidens come;
And all the world was then contain'd in Rome.
In this vast concourse, in this choice of game,
What Roman heart but felt a foreign flame?
Once more our prince prepares to make us glad;
And the remaining east to Rome will add.

Rejoice, ye Roman soldiers, in your uru;
Your ensigns from the Parthians shall return;
And the slain Crassi shall no longer mourn.
A youth is sent those trophies to demand;
And bears his father's thunder in his hand :
Doubt not th' imperial boy in wars unseen;
In childhood all of Cæsar's race are men.
Celestial seeds shoot out before their day,
Prevent their years, and brook no dull delay.
Thus infant Hercules the snakes did press,
And in his cradle did his sire confess.
Bacchus, a boy, yet like a hero fought,
And early spoils from conquer'd India brought.
Thus you your father's troops shall lead to fight,
And thus shall vanquish in your father's right.
These rudiments to you your lineage owe;
Born to increase your titles, as you grow,
Brethren you had, revenge your brethren slain;
You have a father, and his rights maintain.
Arm'd by your country's parent and your own,
Redeem your country, and restore his throne.
Your enemies assert an impious cause;
You fight both for divine and human laws.
Already in their cause they are o'ercome:
Subject them too, by force of arms, to Rome.
Great father Mars with greater Cæsar join,
To give a prosperous omen to your line:
One of you is, and one shall be divine.
1 prophesy you shall, you shall o'ercome :
My verse shall bring you back in triumph home.
Speak in my verse, exhort to loud alarms:
O were my numbers equal to your arms!
Then would I sing the Parthians overthrow;
Their shot averse sent from a flying bow:
The Parthians, who already flying fight,
Already give an omen of their flight.

O when will come the day, by Heaven design'd,
When thou, the best and fairest of mankind,
Drawn by white horses shalt in triumph ride,
With conquer'd slaves attending on thy side;
Slaves, that no longer can be safe in flight;
O glorious object, O surprising sight,
O day of public jov; too good to end in night!
On such a day, if thou, and, next to thee,
Some beauty sits, the spectacle to see:
If she inquire the names of conquer'd kings,
Of mountains, rivers, and their hidden springs,
Answer to all thou know'st; and, if need be,
Of things unknown seem to speak knowingly :
This is Euphrates, crown'd with reeds; and there
Flows the swift Tigris with his sea-green hair.
Invent new names of things unknown before;
Call this Armenia, that the Caspian shore;
Call this a Mede, and that a Parthian youth;
Talk probably: no matter for the truth.

In feasts, as at our shows, new means abound;
More pleasure there, than that of wine, is found.
The Paphian goddess there her ambush lays;
And Love betwixt the horns of Bacchus plays;
Desires increase at every swelling draught;
Brisk vapours add new vigour to the thought.
There Cupid's purple wings no flight afford;
But, wet with wine, he flutters on the board.
He shakes his pinions, but he cannot move;
Fix'd he remains, and turns a maudlin love.
Wine warms the blood, and makes the spirits

flow;

Care flies, and wrinkles from the forehead go:
Exalts the poor, invigorates the weak;
Gives mirth and laughter, and a rosy cheek,

Bold truths it speaks; and spoken, dares inaintain;
And brings our old simplicity again.

Love sparkles in the cup, and fills it higher:
Wine feeds the flames, and fuel adds to fire.
But choose no mistress in thy drunken fit;
Wine gilds too much their beauties and their wit.
Nor trust thy judgment when the tapers dance;
But sober, and by day, thy suit advance.

By day-light Paris judg'd the beauteous three;
And for the fairest did the prize decree.
Night is a cheat, and all deformities
Are hid or lessen'd in her dark disguise.
The Sun's fair light each errour will confess,
In face, in shape, in jewels, and in dress.

Why name I every place where youths abound? 'Tis loss of time, and a too fruitful ground. The Baian baths, where ships at anchor ride, And wholesome streams from sulphur fountains glide;

Where wounded youths are by experience taught,
The waters are less healthful than they thought.
Or Dian's fane, which near the suburb lies,
Where priests, for their promotion, fight a prize.
That maiden goddess is Love's mortal foe,
And much from her his subjects undergo.

Thus far the sportful muse with myrtle bound,
Has sung where lovely lasses may be found.
Now let me sing, how she who wounds your mind,
With art, may be to cure your wounds inclin'd.
Young nobles, to my laws attention lend:
And all you vulgar of my school attend.

First then believe, all women may be won; Attempt with confidence, the work is done. The grasshopper shall first forbear to sing In summer season, or the birds in spring; Than women can resist your flattering skill: Ev'n she will yield, who swears she never will. To secret pleasure both the sexes move; But women most, who most dissemble love. 'Twere best for us, if they would first declare, Avow their passion, and submit to prayer. The cow, by lowing, tells the bull her flame: The neighing mare invites her stallion to the game. Man is more temperate in his lust than they, And, more than women, can his passion sway. Biblis, we know, did first her love declare, And had recourse to death in her despair. Her brother she, her father Myrrha sought, And lov'd, but lov'd not as a daughter ought. Now from a tree she stills her odorous tears, Which yet the name of her who shed them bears. In Ida's shady vale a bull appear'd, White as the snow, the fairest of the herd; A beauty-spot of black there only rose, Betwixt his equal horns and ample brows: The love and wish of all the Cretan cows. The queen beheld him as his head he rear'd; And envy'd every leap he gave the herd. A secret fire she nourish'd in her breast, And hated every heifer he caress'd. A story known, and known for true, I tell; Nor Crcte, though lying, can the truth conceal. She cut him grass (so much can Love command); She strok'd, she fed him with her royal haud: Was pleas'd in pastures with the herd to roam; And Minos by the bull was overcome. [brows;

Cease, queen, with gems t' adorn thy beauteous The monarch of thy heart no jewel knows. Nor in thy glass compose thy looks and eyes: Secure from all thy charms thy lover lies:

Yet trust thy mirrour, when it tells thee true;
Thou art no heifer to allure his view.
Soon wouldst thou quit thy royal diadem
To thy fair rivals, to be horn'd like them.
If Minos please, no lover seek to find;
If not, at least seek one of human kind.

[look,

The wretched queen the Cretan court forsakes;
In woods and wilds her habitation makes:
She curses every beauteous cow she sees;
"Ah, why dost thou my lord and master please!
And think'st, ungrateful creature as thou art,
With frisking aukwardly, to gain his heart!”
She said, and straight commands, with frowning
To put her, undeserving, to the yoke;
Or feigns some holy rites of sacrifice,
And sees her rival's death with joyful eyes:
Then, when the bloody priest has done his part,
Pleas'd in her band she holds the beating heart;
Nor from a scornful taunt can scarce refrain;
"Go, fool, and strive to please my love again."
Now she would be Europa, lo now
(One bore a bull, and one was made a cow).
Yet she at last her brutal bliss obtain❜d,
And in a wooden cow the bull sustain'd;
Fil'd with his seed, accomplish'd her desire;
Till by his form the son betray'd the sire.
If Atreus' wife to incest had not run,
(But, ah, how hard it is to love but one!)
His coursers Phoebus had not driven away,
To shun that sight, and interrupt the day.
Thy daughter, Nisus, puli'd thy purple hair,
And barking sea-dogs yet her bowels tear.
At sea and land Atrides sav'd his life,
Yet fell a prey to his adulterous wife.
Who knows not what revenge Medea sought,
When the slain offspring bore the father's fault?
Thus Phoenix did a woman's love bewail;
And thus Hippolytus by Phædra fell.
These crimes revengeful matrons did commit:
Hotter their lust, and sharper is their wit.
Doubt not from them an easy victory:
Scarce of a thousand dames will one deny.
All women are content that men should woo:
She who complains, and she who will not do.
Rest then secure, whate'er thy luck may prove,
Not to be hated for declaring love.

And yet how canst thou miss, since womankind
Is frail and vain, and still to change inclin'd?
Old husbands and stale gallants they despise;
And more another's, than their own, they prize.
A larger crop adorns our neighbour's field;
More milk his kine from swelling udders yield.
First gain the maid: by her thou shalt be sure
A free access and easy to procure :
Who knows what to her office does belong,
Is in the secret, and can hold her tongue.
Bribe her with gifts, with promises, and prayers:
For her good word goes far in love affairs.
The time and fit occasion leave to her,
When she most aptly can thy suit prefer.
The time for maids to fire their lady's blood,
Is, when they find her in a merry mood;
When all things at her wish and pleasure move:
Her heart is open then, and free to love.
Then mirth and wantonness to lust betray,
And smooth the passage to the lover's way.
Troy stood the siege, when fill'd with anxious care:
One merry fit concluded all the war.

If some fair rival vex her jealous mind,
Offer thy service to revenge in kind.

Instruct the damsel while she combs her hair,
To raise the choler of that injur'd fair;
And, sighing, make her mistress understand,
She has the means of vengeance in her hand:
Then, naming thee, thy humble suit prefer;
And swear thou languishest and dy'st for her.
Then let her lo e no time, but push at all:
For women son are rais'd, and soon they fall.
Give their first fury leisure to relent,
They melt like ice, and suddenly repent.

T' enjoy the maid, will that thy suit advance? 'Tis a hard question, and a doubtful chance. One maid, corrupted, bawds the better for't; Another for herself would keep the sport. Thy business may be further'd or delay'd: But by my counsel, let alone the maid: Ev'n though she should consent to do the feat; The profit's little, and the danger great. I will not lead thee through a rugged road; But where the way lies open, sale, and broad, Yet, if thou find'st her very much thy friend, And her good face her diligence commend: Let the fair mistress have thy first embrace, And let the maid come after in her place.

But this I will advise, and mark my words; For 'tis the best advice my skill affords: If needs thou with the damsel wilt begin, Before th' attempt is made, make sure to win: For then the secret better will be kept; And she can tell no tales when once she's dipt. 'Tis for the fowler's interest to beware, The bird entangled should not 'scape the snare. The fish, once prick'd, avoids the bearded hook, And spoils the sport of all the neighbouring brook, But, if the wench be thine, she makes thy way, And, for thy sake, her mistress will betray; Tell all she knows, and all she hears her say. Keep well the counsel of thy faithful spy: So shalt thou learn whene'er she treads awry.

All things the stations of their seasons keep; And certain times there are to sow and reap. Ploughmen and sailors for the season stay, One to plough land, and one to plough the sea: So should the lover wait the lucky day. Then stop thy suit, it hurts not thy design: But think, another hour she may be thine. And when she celebrates her birth at home, Or when she views the public shows of Rome, Know, all thy visits then are troublesome. Defer thy work, and put not then to sea, For that's a boding and a stormy day. Else take thy time, and, when thou canst, begin: To break a Jewish sabbath, think no sin: Nor ev'n on superstitious days abstain'; Not when the Romans were at Allia slain. Ill omens in her frowns are understood; When she's in humour, every day is good. But than her birth-day seldom comes a worse; When bribes and presents must be sent of course; And that's a bloody day, that costs thy purse. Be stanch; yet parsimony will be vain: The craving sex will still the lover drain. No skill can shift them off, nor art remove; They will be begging, when they know we love, The merchant comes upon th' appointed day, Who shall before thy face his wares display. To choose for her she craves thy kind advice; Then begs again, to bargain for the price: But when she has her purchase in her eye, She hugs thee close, and kisses thee to buy.

"Tis what I want, and 'tis a pen'orth too;
In many years I will not trouble you."
If you complain you have no ready coin;
No matter, 'tis but writing of a line,
A little bill, not to be paid at sight;

Now curse the time when thou wert taught to write.
She keeps her birth-day; you must send the cheer;
And she 'll be born a hundred times a year.
With daily lies she dribs thee into cost;
That car-ring dropt a stone, that ring is lost.
They often borrow what they never pay;
Whate'er you lend her, think it thrown away.
Had I ten mouths and tongues to tell each art,
All would be wearied ere I told a part.

By letters, not by words, thy love begin;
And ford the dangerous passage with thy pen.
If to her heart thou aim'st to find the way,
Extremely flatter, and extremely pray.
Priam by prayers did Hector's body gain;
Nor is an angry god invok'd in vain.
With promis'd gifts her easy mind bewitch;
For ev'n the poor in promise may be rich.
Vain hopes awhile her appetite will stay;
'Tis a deceitful, but commodious way.
Who gives is mad; but make her still believe
"Twill come, and that's the cheapest way to give.
Ev'n barren lands fair promises afford;
But the lean harvest cheats the starving lord.
Buy not thy first enjoyment, lest it prove
Of bad example to thy future love:

But get it gratis; and she 'll give thee more,
For fear of losing what she gave before.
The losing gamester shakes the box in vain,
And bleeds, and loses on, in hopes to gain.
Write then, and in thy letter, as I said,
Let her with mighty promises be fed.
Cydippe by a letter was betray'd,
Writ on an apple to th' unwary maid.
She read herself into a marriage-vow
(And every cheat in love the gods allow).
Learn eloquence, ye noble youth of Rome;
It will not only at the bar o'ercome:

Sweet words the people and the senate move;
But the chief end of eloquence is love.
But in thy letter hide thy moving arts;
Affect not to be thought a man of parts.
None but vain fools to simple women preach:
A learned letter oft has made a breach.
In a familiar style your thoughts convey,
And write such things as present you would say ;
Such words as from the heart may seem to move:
'Tis wit enough, to make her think you love.
If seal'd she sends it back, and will not read,
Yet hope, in time, the business may succeed.
In time the steer will to the yoke submit;
In time the restiff horse will bear the bit.
Ev'n the hard plough-share use will wear away;
And stubborn steel in length of time decay.
Water is soft, and marble hard; and yet
We see soft water through hard marble eat.
Though late, yet Troy at length in flames expir'd;
And ten years more Penelope had tir'd.
Perhaps thy lines unanswer'd she retain'd;
No matter; there's a point already gain'd:
For she, who reads, in time will answer too;
Things must be left by just degrees to grow.
Perhaps she writes, but answers with disdain,
And sharply bids you not to write again :
What she requires, she fears you should accord;
The jilt would not be taken at her word.

Meantime, if she be carried in her chair, Approach, but do not seem to know she's there. Speak softly to delude the standers-by ; Or, if aloud, then speak ambiguously. If sauntering in the portico she walk, Move slowly too; for that's a time for talk: And sometimes follow, sometimes be her guide: But, when the crowd permits, go side by side. Nor in the play-house let her sit alone: For she 's the play-house and the play in one. There thou may'st ogle, or by signs advance Thy suit, and seem to touch her hand by chance. Admire the dancer who her liking gains, And pity in the play the lover's pains; For her sweet sake the loss of time despise; Sit while she sits, and when she rises rise. But dress not like a fop, nor curl your hair, Nor with a pumice make your body bare. Leave those effeminate and useless toys To eunuchs, who can give no solid joys. Neglect becomes a man: this Theseus found: Uncurl'd, uncomb'd, the nymph his wishes crown'd, The rough Hippolytus was Phædra's care: And Venus thought the rude Adonis fair. Be not too finical; but yet be clean: And wear well-fashion'd clothes, like other men. Let not your teeth be yellow, or be foul; Nor in wide shoes your feet too loosely roll. Of a black muzzle, and long beard, beware; And let a skilful barber cut your hair. Your nails be pick'd from filth, and even par'd; Nor let your nasty nostrils bud with beard. Cure your unsavory breath, gargle your throat; And free your armpits from the ram and goat. Dress not, in short, too little or too much; And be not wholly French, nor wholly Dutch. Now Bacchus calls me to his jolly rites: Who would not follow, when a god invites ? He helps the poet, and his pen inspires, Kind and indulgent to his former fires.

Fair Ariadne wander'd on the shore,
Forsaken now; and Theseus lov'd no more:
Loose was her gown, dishevell'd was her hair;
Her bosom naked, and her feet were bare :
Exclaiming, on the water's brink she stood;
Her briny tears augment the briny flood.
She shriek'd, and wept, and both became her face:
No posture could that heavenly form disgrace.
She beat her breast: "The traitor's gone," said
she;

"What shall become of poor forsaken me?
What shall become"-she had not time for more,
The sounding cymbals rattled on the shore.
She swoons for fear, she falls upon the ground;
No vital heat was in her body found.
The Mimallonian dames about her stood;
Aud scudding Satyrs ran before their god.
Silenus on his ass did next appear,

[sire.

And held upon the mane (the god was clear);
The drunken sire pursues, the dames retire;
Sometimes the drunken dames pursue the drunken
At last he topples over on the plain;
The Satyrs laugh, and bid him rise again.
And now the god of wine came driving on,
High on his chariot by swift tigers drawn.
Her colour, voice, and sense, forsook the fair;
Thrice did her trembling feet for flight prepare,
And thrice affrighted did her flight forbear.
She shook, like leaves of corn when tempests blow,
Or slender reeds that in the marshes grow.