"Then with tumultuous Joys my Heart did beat,
“ And Guilt that made them anxious made them great.
But now my fwelling Womb heav'd up my Breath,
And rifing Weight my finking Limbs oppreft.
What Herbs, what Plants, did not my Nurfe prodice,
To make Abortion by their pow'rful Juice?
What Med'cines try'd we not, to the unknown?
Our first Crime common; this was mine alone.
But the ftrong Child, fecure in his dark Cell,
With Nature's Vigour did our Arts repel.
And now the pale fac'd Emprefs of the Night
Nine times had fill'd her Orb with borrow'd Light :
Not knowing 'twas my Labour, I complain
Of fudden Shootings, and of grinding Pain:
My Throes came thicker, and my Cries increas'd,
Which with her Hand the confcious Nurfe fupprefs'd.
To that unhappy Fortune was I come,
Pain urg'd my Clamours, but Fear kept me dumb.
With inward Struggling I reftrain'd my Cries,
And drunk the Tears that trickled from my Eyes.
Death was in Sight, Lucina gave no Aid;
And even my Dying had my Guilt betray'd.
Thou cam'ft, and in thy Count'nance fate Defpair ;
Rent were thy Garments all, and torn thy Hair:
Yet feigning Comfort, which thou cou'dst not give,
(Preft in thy Arms, and whifp'ring me to live :)
For both our Sakes, (faidft thou) preferve thy Life;
Live, my dear Sifter, and my dearer Wife.
Rais'd by that Name, with my last Pangs I ftrove :
Such Pow'r have Words, when spoke by those we love.
The Babe, as if he heard what thou hadft fworn,
With hafty Joy fprung forward to be born.
What helps it to have weather'd out one Storm ?
Fear of our Father does another form.
F 3
High in his Hall, rock'd in a Chair of State,
'The King with his tempestuous Council fate.
Thro' this large Room our only Passage lay,
By which we could the new born Babe convey.
Swath'd in her Lap, the bold Nurse bore him out,
With Olive Branches cover'd round about ;
And, mutt'ring Pray'rs, as Holy Rites she meant,
Thro' the divided Croud unqueftion'd went.
Juft at the Door, th' unhappy Infant cry'd :
The Grandfire heard him, and the Theft he fpy'd.
Swift as a Whirlwind to the Nurfe he flies,
And deafs his ftormy Subjects with his Cries.
With one fierce Puff he blows the Leaves away:
Expos'd the self-discover'd Infant lay.
The Noife reach'd me, and my prefaging Mind
Too foon its own approaching Woes divin'd.
Not Ships at Sea with Winds are shaken more,
Nor Seas themselves, when angry Tempests roar,
Than I, when my loud Father's Voice I hear :
The Bed beneath me trembled with my Fear.
He rush'd upon me, and divulg'd my Stain;
Scarce from my Murder could his Hands refrain.
I only anfwer'd him with filent Tears;
They flow'd: my Tongue was frozen up with Fears.
His little Grand-child he commands away,
To Mountain Wolves and ev'ry Bird of Prey.
'The Babe cry'd out, as if he understood,
And begg'd his Pardon with what Voice he cou'd.
By what Expreffions can my Grief be shown?
(Yet you may guefs my anguish by your own)
To fee my Bowels, and, what yet was worse,
Your Bowels too, condemn'd to fuch a Cure!
Out went the King; my Voice its Freedom found,
My Breafts I beat, my blubber'd Cheeks I wound.
And now appear'd the Meffenger of Death;
Sad were his Looks, and fcarce he drew his Breath,
To fay, Your Father fends you—(with that Word
His trembling Hands presented me a Sword :)
Your Father fends you this; and lets you know,
That your own Crimes the Use of it will show.
Too well I know the Senfe thofe Words impart :
His Prefent fhall be treafur'd in my Heart.
Are these the Nuptial Gifts a Bride receives?
And this the fatal Dow'r a Father gives?
Thou God of Marriage, fhun thy own Disgrace,
And take thy Torch from this detefted Place:
Inftead of that, let Furies light their Brands,
And fire my Pile with their infernal Hands.
With happier Fortune may my Sisters wed;
Warn'd by the dire Example of the Dead.
For thee, poor Babe, what Crime could they pretend?
How could thy Infant Innocence offend?
A Guilt there was; but, Oh, that Guilt was mine!
Thou suffer'st for a Sin that was not thine.
Thy Mother's Grief and Crime! but just enjoy'd,
Shewn to my Sight, and born to be destroy'd !
Unhappy Offspring of my teeming Womb !
Drag'd headlong from thy Cradle to thy Tomb!
Thy un-offending Life I could not fave,
Nor weeping could I follow to thy Grave:
Nor on thy Tomb could offer my fhorn Hair;
Nor fhew the Grief which tender Mothers bear.
Yet long thou shalt not from my Arms be loft;
For foon I will o'ertake thy Infant Ghost.
But thou, my Love, and now my Love's Despair,
Perform his Fun'rals with paternal Care.
His fcatter'd Limbs with my dead Body burn;
And once more join us in the pious Urn.
If on my wounded Breast thou drop'st a Tear,
Think for whofe fake my Breaft that Wound did bear; And faithfully my laft Defires fulfil,
As I perform my cruel Father's Will.
Helen, having receiv'd an † Epifle from Paris, returns the following Answer: Wherein she seems at firft to chide him for his Prefumption in writing as he had done, which could only proceed from his low Opinion of her Virtue; then owns her felf to be fenfible of the Paffion, which he had express'd for her, tho' She much fufpected his Conftancy; and at last discovers her Inclination to be favourable to him: The whole Letter Jhewing the extreme Artifice of Woman kind.
WHEN loofe Epifles violate chafte Eyes,
She half Confents, who flently Denies.
How dares a Stranger, with Defigns so vain,
Marriage and Hofpitable Rights prophane ?
Was it for this, your Fleet did Shelter find
From fwelling Seas, and ev'ry faithlefs Wind?
(For tho' a diftant Country brought you forth,
Your Ufage here was equal to your Worth.)
*By the Earl of Mulgrave and Mr. Dryden. The foregoing, in Ovid.
Does this deferve to be rewarded fo?
Did you come here a Stranger, or a Foe?
Your partial Judgment may perhaps complain,
And think me barb'rous for my just Disdain.
Ill-bred then let me be, but not unchaste,
Nor my clear Fame with any Spot defac'd.
Tho' in my Face there's no affected Frown,
Nor in my Carriage a feign'd Niceness shown,
I keep my Honour still without a Stain,
Nor has my Love made any Coxcomb vain.
Your Boldness I with Admiration fee;
What Hope had you to gain a Queen like me?
Because a Hero forc'd me once away,
Am I thought fit to be a fecond Prey?
Had I been won, I had deferv'd your Blame,
But fure my Part was nothing but the Shame.
Yet the bafe Theft to him no Fruit did bear,
I 'cap'd unhurt by any thing but Fear.
Rude Force might fome unwilling Kiffes gain;
But that was all he ever could obtain.
You on fuch Terms would ne'er have let me go;
Were he like you, we had not parted fo.
Untouch'd the Youth reftor'd me to my Friends,
And modest Usage made me some Amends.
'Tis Virtue to repent a vicious Deed.
Did he repent, that Paris might fucceed?
Sure 'tis fome Fate that fets me above Wrongs,
Yet ftill expofes me to bufy Tongues.
I'll not complain; for who's difpleas'd with Love,
If it fincere, difcreet, and conftant prove?
But that I fear; not that I think you base,
Or doubt the blooming Beauties of my Face;
But all your Sex is fubject to deceive,
And ours, alas, too willing to believe.
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