by John Dryden
Who sleeps on Latmos top from Night to Noon! 115
What Jason from Medea’s Love possest,
You shall not hear, but know ’tis like the rest.
My aking Head can scarce support the pain;
This cursed Love will surely turn my Brain:
Feel how it shoots, and yet you take no Pity, 120
Nay then ’tis time to end my doleful Ditty.
A clammy Sweat does o’er my Temples creep;
My heavy Eyes are urg’d with Iron sleep:
I lay me down to gasp my latest Breath,
The Wolves will get a Breakfast by my Death; 125
Yet scarce enough their hunger to supply,
For Love has made me Carrion e’er I dye.
The Epithalamium of Helen and Menelaus, from the Eighteenth Idyllium of Theocritus
TWELVE Spartan Virgins, noble, young, and fair,
With Violet wreaths adorn’d their flowing hair;
And to the pompous Palace did resort,
Where Menelaus kept his Royal Court.
There hand in hand a comely Quire they led; 5
To sing a blessing to his Nuptial Bed,
With curious Needles wrought, and painted Flow’rs bespread.
Joves beauteous Daughter now his Bride must be,
And Jove himself was less a God than he:
For this their artful hands instruct the Lute to sound, 10
Their feet assist their hands, and justly beat the ground.
This was their Song: Why, happy Bridegroom, why,
E’re yet the Stars are kindl’d in the Skie,
E’re twilight shades, or Ev’ning dews are shed,
Why dost thou steal so soon away to Bed? 15
Has Somnus brush’d thy Eye-lids with his Rod,
Or do thy Legs refuse to bear their Load
With flowing bowles of a more generous God?
If gentle Slumber on thy Temples creep,
(But naughty Man thou dost not mean to sleep) 20
Betake thee to thy Bed, thou drowzy Drone,
Sleep by thy self, and leave thy Bride alone:
Go, leave her with her Maiden Mates to play
At sports more harmless, till the break of day:
Give us this Evening: thou hast Morn and Night, 25
And all the year before thee, for delight.
O happy Youth! to thee, among the crowd
Of Rival Princes, Cupid sneez’d aloud;
And every lucky Omen sent before,
To meet thee landing on the Spartan shore. 30
Of all our Heroes thou canst boast alone,
That Jove, when e’re he Thunders, calls thee Son.
Betwixt two Sheets thou shalt enjoy her bare,
With whom no Grecian Virgin can compare
So soft, so sweet, so balmy, and so fair. 35
A Boy like thee would make a Kingly line:
But oh, a Girl like her must be divine.
Her equals we, in years, but not in face,
Twelve score Virago’s of the Spartan Race,
While naked to Eurota’s banks we bend, 40
And there in manly exercise contend,
When she appears, are all eclips’d and lost,
And hide the beauties that we made our boast.
So, when the Night and Winter disappear,
The Purple morning, rising with the year, 45
Salutes the spring, as her Celestial eyes
Adorn the World, and brighten all the Skies:
So beauteous Helen shines among the rest,
Tall, slender, straight, with all the Graces blest.
As Pines the Mountains, or as Fields the Corn, 50
Or as Thessalian Steeds the Race adorn;
So Rosie colour’d Helen is the pride
Of Lacedemon, and of Greece beside.
Like her no Nymph can willing Ozyers bend
In basket-works, which painted streaks commend: 55
With Pallas in the Loomb she may contend.
But none, ah! none can animate the Lyre,
And the mute strings with Vocal Souls inspire:
Whether the Learn’d Minerva be her Theam,
Or chaste Diana bathing in the Stream; 60
None can record their Heavenly praise so well
As Helen, in whose eyes ten thousand Cupids dwell.
O fair, O Graceful! yet with Maids inroll’d,
But whom to morrow’s Sun a Matron shall behold!
Yet e’re to morrow’s Sun shall show his head, 65
The dewy paths of meadows we will tread.
For Crowns and Chaplets to adorn thy head.
Where all shall weep, and wish for thy return,
As bleating Lambs their absent Mother mourn.
Our Noblest Maids shall to thy Name bequeath 70
The boughs of Lotos, form’d into a wreath.
This Monument, thy Maiden beauties due,
High on a Plane tree shall be hung to view:
On the smooth rind the Passenger shall see
Thy Name ingrav’d, and worship Helens Tree: 75
Balm, from a Silver box distill’d around
Shall all bedew the roots, and scent the sacred ground.
The balm, ’tis true, can aged Plants prolong,
But Helens name will keep it ever young.
Hail Bride, hail Bridegroom, son in Law to Jove! 80
With fruitful joys Latona bless your Love!
Let Venus furnish you with full desires,
Add vigour to your wills, and fuel to your fires!
Almighty Jove augment your wealthy store,
Give much to you, and to his Grandsons more! 85
From generous Loyns a generous Race will spring,
Each Girl, like her, a Queen; each Boy, like you, a King.
Now sleep if sleep you can; but while you rest,
Sleep close, with folded arms, and breast to breast:
Rise in the morn; but oh before you rise, 90
Forget not to perform your morning Sacrifice.
We will be with you e’re the crowing Cock
Salute the light, and struts before his feather’d Flock.
Hymen, oh Hymen, to thy Triumphs run,
And view the mighty spoils thou hast in Battle won. 95
The Despairing Lover, from the Twenty-third Idyllium of Theocritus
WITH inauspicious love, a wretched Swain
Pursu’d the fairest Nimph of all the Plain;
Fairest indeed, but prouder far than fair,
She plung’d him hopeless in a deep despair:
Her heav’nly form too haughtily she priz’d, 5
His person hated, and his Gifts despis’d;
Nor knew the force of Cupids cruel darts,
Nor fear’d his awful power on human hearts;
But either from her hopeless Lover fled,
Or with disdainful glances shot him dead. 10
No kiss, no look, to cheer the drooping Boy;
No word she spoke, she scorn’d ev’n to deny.
But, as a hunted Panther casts about
Her glaring eyes, and pricks her list’ning ears to scout,
So she, to shun his Toyls, her cares imploy’d, 15
And fiercely in her savage freedom joy’d.
Her mouth she writh’d, her forehead taught to frown,
Her eyes to sparkle fires to Love unknown:
Her sallow Cheeks her envious mind did show,
And every feature spoke aloud the curstness of a Shrew. 20
Yet cou’d not he his obvious Fate escape;
His love still drest her in a pleasing shape;
And every sullen frown, and bitter scorn,
But fann’d the fuel that too fast did burn.
Long time, unequal to his mighty pain, 25
He strove to curb it, but he strove in vain:
At last his woes broke out, and begg’d relief
With tears, the dumb petitioners of grief:
&nb
sp; With Tears so tender, as adorn’d his Love,
And any heart, but only hers, wou’d move. 30
Trembling before her bolted doors he stood,
And there pour’d out th’ unprofitable flood:
Staring his eyes, and haggard was his look;
Then, kissing first the threshold, thus he spoke.
Ah Nymph more cruel than of humane Race, 35
Thy Tygress heart belies thy Angel Face:
Too well thou show’st thy Pedigree from Stone:
Thy Grandames was the first by Pyrrha thrown:
Unworthy thou to be so long desir’d;
But so my Love, and so my Fate requir’d. 40
I beg not now (for ’tis in vain) to live;
But take this gift, the last that I can give.
This friendly Cord shall soon decide the strife
Betwixt my ling’ring Love and loathsome life:
This moment puts an end to all my pain; 45
I shall no more despair, nor thou disdain.
Farewel, ungrateful and unkind! I go
Condemn’d by thee to those sad shades below.
I go th’ extreamest remedy to prove,
To drink Oblivion, and to drench my Love: 50
There happily to lose my long desires:
But ah, what draught so deep to quench my Fires?
Farewell, ye never-opening Gates, ye Stones,
And Threshold guilty of my Midnight Moans:
What I have suffer’d here ye know too well; 55
What I shall do the gods and I can tell.
The Rose is fragrant, but it fades in time:
The Violet sweet, but quickly past the prime;
White Lillies hang their heads, and soon decay,
And whiter Snow in minutes melts away: 60
Such is your blooming youth, and withering so:
The time will come, it will, when you shall know
The rage of Love; your haughty heart shall burn
In Flames like mine, and meet a like return.
Obdurate as you are, oh! hear at least 65
My dying prayers, and grant my last request.
When first you ope your doors, and, passing by,
The sad ill Omend Object meets your Eye,
Think it not lost, a moment if you stay;
The breathless wretch, so made by you, survey: 70
Some cruel pleasure will from thence arise,
To view the mighty ravage of your Eyes.
I wish (but oh! my wish is vain I fear)
The kind Oblation of a falling Tear:
Then loose the knot, and take me from the place, 75
And spread your Mantle o’er my grizly Face;
Upon my livid Lips bestow a kiss
O envy not the dead, they feel not bliss!
Nor fear your kisses can restore my breath;
E’en you are not more pittiless than death 80
Then for my Corps a homely Grave provide,
Which Love and me from publick Scorn may hide,
Thrice call upon my Name, thrice beat your Breast,
And hayl me thrice to everlasting rest:
Last let my Tomb this sad Inscription bear: 85
A wretch whom Love has kill’d lies buried here;
Oh, Passengers, Amintas Eyes beware.
Thus having said, and furious with his Love,
He heav’d with more than humane force to move
A weighty Stone (the labour of a Team) 90
And rais’d from thence he reach’d the Neighbouring Beam:
Around its bulk a sliding knot he throws,
And fitted to his Neck the fatal noose:
Then spurning backward, took a swing, ‘till death
Crept up, and stopp’d the passage of his Breath. 95
The bounce burst ope the door; the Scornful Fair
Relentless lookt, and saw him beat his quivering feet in Air,
Nor wept his fate, nor cast a pitying eye,
Nor took him down, but brusht regardless by:
And, as she pass’d, her chance or fate was such, 100
Her Garments toucht the dead, polluted by the touch.
Next to the dance, thence to the Bath did move;
The bath was sacred to the God of Love;
Whose injur’d Image, with a wrathful Eye,
Stood threatning from a Pedestal on high: 105
Nodding a while, and watchful of his blow,
He fell; and falling crusht th’ ungrateful Nymph below:
Her gushing Blood the Pavement all besmear’d;
And this her last expiring Voice was heard;
Lovers, farewell, revenge has reacht my scorn; 110
Thus warn’d, be wise, and love for love return.
The Beginning of the First Book of Lucretius
DELIGHT of Humane kind, and Gods above,
Parent of Rome; Propitious Queen of Love,
Whose vital pow’r, Air, Earth, and Sea supplies,
And breeds what e’r is born beneath the rowling Skies:
For every kind, by thy prolifique might, 5
Springs, and beholds the Regions of the light.
Thee, Goddess, thee the clouds and tempests fear,
And at thy pleasing presence disappear:
For thee the Land in fragrant Flow’rs is drest;
For thee the Ocean smiles, and smooths her wavy breast; 10
And Heav’n it self with more serene and purer light is blest.
For when the rising Spring adorns the Mead,
And a new Scene of Nature stands display’d,
When teeming Budds, and chearful greens appear,
And Western gales unlock the lazy year: 15
The joyous Birds thy welcome first express;
Whose native Songs thy genial fire confess;
Then salvage Beasts bound o’re their slighted food,
Strook with thy darts, and tempt the raging floud.
All Nature is thy Gift; Earth, Air, and Sea: 20
Of all that breaths, the various progeny,
Stung with delight, is goaded on by thee.
O’re barren Mountains, o’re the flowery Plain,
The leafy Forest, and the liquid Main
Extends thy uncontroul’d and boundless reign. 25
Through all the living Regions dost thou move,
And scatter’st, where thou goest, the kindly seeds of Love:
Since then the race of every living thing
Obeys thy pow’r; since nothing new can spring
Without thy warmth, without thy influence bear, 30
Or beautiful, or lovesome can appear;
Be thou my ayd; My tuneful Song inspire,
And kindle with thy own productive fire;
While all thy Province, Nature, I survey,
And sing to Memmius an immortal lay 35
Of Heav’n, and Earth, and every where thy wondrous power display:
To Memmius, under thy sweet influence born,
Whom thou with all thy gifts and graces dost adorn.
The rather then assist my Muse and me,
Infusing Verses worthy him and thee. 40
Mean time on Land and Sea let barb’rous discord cease,
And lull the listning world in universal peace
To thee Mankind their soft repose must owe;
For thou alone that blessing canst bestow;
Because the brutal business of the War 45
Is manag’d by thy dreadful Servant’s care;
Who oft retires from fighting fields, to prove
The pleasing pains of thy eternal Love:
And panting on thy breast supinely lies,
While with thy heavenly form he feeds his famish’d eyes; 50
Sucks in with open lips thy balmy breath,
By turns restor’d to life, and plung’d in pleasing death.
There while thy curling limbs about him move,
Involv’d and fetter’d in the links of Love,
Thy Charms in that auspicious moment try;
With winning eloquence our peace implore,
And quiet to the weary World restore.
The Beginning of the Second Book of Lucretius
Suave Mari magno, &c.
‘TIS pleasant, safely to behold from shore
The rowling Ship, and hear the Tempest roar:
Not that anothers pain is our delight;
But pains unfelt produce the pleasing sight.
’Tis pleasant also to behold from far 5
The moving Legions mingled in the War:
But much more sweet thy lab’ring steps to guide
To Vertues heights, with wisdom well supply’d,
And all the Magazins of Learning fortifi’d:
From thence to look below on humane kind, 10
Bewilder’d in the Maze of Life, and blind:
To see vain fools ambitiously contend
For Wit and Pow’r; their last endeavours bend
T’ outshine each other, waste their time and health
In search of honour, and pursuit of wealth. 15
O wretched man! in what a mist of Life,
Inclos’d with dangers and with noisie strife,
He spends his little Span; And overfeeds
His cramm’d desires with more than nature needs!
For Nature wisely stints our appetite, 20
And craves no more than undisturb’d delight:
Which minds unmix’d with cares, and fears, obtain;
A Soul serene, a body void of pain.
So little this corporeal frame requires;
So bounded are our natural desires, 25
That wanting all, and setting pain aside,
With bare privation sence is satisfied.
If Golden Sconces hang not on the Walls,
To light the costly Suppers and the Balls;
If the proud Palace shines not with the state 30
Of burnish’d Bowls, and of reflected Plate;
If well tun’d Harps, nor the more pleasing sound
Of Voices, from the vaulted roofs rebound;
Yet on the grass, beneath a poplar shade,
By the cool stream our careless limbs are lay’d; 35
With cheaper pleasures innocently bless’d,
When the warm Spring with gaudy flow’rs is dress’d.
Nor will the rageing Feavours fire abate,
With Golden Canopies and Beds of State:
But the poor Patient will as soon be sound 40
On the hard mattrass, or the Mother ground.
Then since our Bodies are not eas’d the more
By Birth, or Pow’r, or Fortunes wealthy store,
’Tis plain, these useless toyes of every kind