AMOROUS EPISTLE OF PARIS TO HELEN.

The houses gilt, rich temples that excel,
And you will say, I near the great gods dwell.
You shall behold high Illium's lofty towers,
And Troy's brave walls, built by no mortal powers;
But made by PHæBus, the great god of fire,
And by the touch of his melodious lyre,
Ask if we have people to inhabit, when
The sad earth groans to bear such troops of men;
Judge, Helen, likewise when you come to land,
The Asian women shall admiring stand,
Saluting thee with welcome, more and less,
In pressing throngs, and numbers numberless.
More, that our courts can hold of you (most fair)
You to yourself will say, Alas ! how bare
And poor Achaia is! when, with great pleasure,
You see each house contain a city's treasure.

Mistake me not, I Sparta do not scorn,
I hold the land blest where my love was born :
Tho' barren else, rich Sparta Helen bore,
And therefore I that province must adore.
Yet is your land, methinks, but lean and empty,
You worthy of a clime that flows with plenty:
Full Troy I prostrate, it is your's by duty;
This petty seat becomes not your rich beauty.
Attendance, preparation, curt'sy, state,
· Fit such a heavenly form : on which should wait

AMOROUS EPISTLE OF PARIS TO HELEN.

Cost, fresh variety, delicious diet,
Pleasure, contentment, and luxurious riot.
What ornaments we use, what fashions feign,
You may perceive by me and my proud train.
Thus we attire our men; but with more cost
Of gold and pearl, the rich gowns are imbost
Of our chief ladies; guess by what you see,
You may be soon induc'd to credit me.

Be tractable, fair Spartan, nor contemn A Trojan born, deriv'd from royal stem : He was a Trojan, and ally'd to Hector, That waits upon Jove's cup, and fills his nectar. A Trojan did the fair AURORA wed, And nightly slept within her roseat bed. The goddess that ends night, and enters day, From our fair Trojan coast stole him away. Anchises was a Trojan, whom love's queen (Making the trees of Ida a thick skreen 'Twixt heaven and her) oft lay with. View me well,' I am a Trojan too, in Troy I dwell. Thy husband, MENELAUS, hither bring, Compare our shapes, our years, and every thing : I make you judgess, wrong me if you can; You needs must say, I am the properer man. None of any line hath turn'd the sun to blood, And robb’d his steeds of their ambrosial food.

AMOROUS EPISTLE OF PARIS TO HELEN.

My father grew not from the Caucase' rock,
Nor shall I graft you in a bloody stock.
PRIAM ne'er wrong'd the guiltless soul, or further,
Made the Myrtean sea look red with murder:
Nor thirstęth my great grandsire in the lake
Of Lethe, chin-deep, yet no thirst can slake:
Nor after ripen'd apples vainly skips,
Who fly him still, and yet still touch his lips.
But what of this ? if you be so deriv'd,
You, notwithstanding, are no right depriv'd:
You grace your stock, and being so divine,
Jove is of force compelld into your line.

Ob, mischief! whilst I vainly speak of this, Your husband all unworthy of such bliss, Enjoys you this long night, enfolds your waist, And where he lists, may boldly touch and taste. So when you sat at table, many a toy Passeth between you, my vex'd soul annoy. At such high feasts I wish my enemy sit Where discontent attends on every bit. I never yet was plac'd at any feast, But oft it irk'd me that I was your guest. That which offends me most, thy rude lord knows For still his arms about thy neck be throws. Which I no sooner spy, but I grow mad, And hate the man whose courting makes me sad. Shall I be plain? I am ready to sink down, When I behold him wrap you in his gown;

AMOROUS EPISTLE OF PARIS TO HELEN.

When you sit smiling on his amorous knee,
His fingers press where my hands itch to be.
But when he hugs you, I am forc'd to frown;
The meat I'm eating will by no means down,
But sticks half way: amidst these discontents,
I have observ'd you laugh at my laments,
And with a scornful, yet a wanton smile,
Deride my sighs and groans. Oft to beguile
My passions, and to quench my fiery rage,
By quaffing healths I've thought my flame t' assuage ;
Bat Bacchus' full cups make my flames burn higher,
Add wine to love, and you add fire to fire.
To shun the sight of many a wanton feat,
Betwixt your lord and you, I shift my seat,
And turn my head; but thinking of your grace,
Love screws my head to gaze back on your face.
What were I best to do? to see you play,
Mads me, and I perforce must turn away;
And to forbear the place where you abide,
Would kill me dead, should I but start aside.
As inuch as lies in me, I strive to bury
The shape of love, and in mirth's spite seem merry.
But oh! the more I seek it to suppress,
The more my blabbing looks my love profess,

You know my love which I in vain should hide;
Would God it did appear to none beside !
Oh, Jove ! how often have I turn'd my cheek,
To hide th' apparent tears, that passage seek

AMOROUS EPISTLE OF PARIS TO HELEN.

From forth my eyes, and to a corner stept, Lest any man should ask wherefore I wept. How often have I told you piteous tales, Of constant lovers, and how love prevails ? When such great heed to my discourse I took, That every accent suited to your look. In forged names myself I represented; The lover so perplex'd and so tormented; If you will know, behold I am the same; Paris was meant in that true lover's name. As often, that I might the more securely, Speak loose immodest words, that sound impurely, That they offenceless might your sweet ears touch, I've lispt them up, like one had drunk too much. Once I remember, your loose veil betray'd Your naked skin, and a fair passage made To my enamour'd eye: Oh! skin much brighter Than snow, or purest milk, in colour whiter Than your fair mother LÆDA, when Jove grac'd her, And in the shape of feather'd swan embrac'd her. Whilst at this ravishing sight I stood amaz'd, And without interruption freely gaz'd, The wreathed handle of the bowl I grasp’d, Fell from ny hold, my strengthless hand unclasp'd. A goblet at that time I held by chance, And down it fell, for I was in a trance. Kiss your fair daughter, and to her I skip, And snatch your kisses from your sweet child's lip.

VOL. II.

L