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And what a trifle is a moment's breath,
Laid in the fcale with everlasting death!
What's time, when on eternity we think?
A thousand ages in that fea must fink;
Time's nothing but a word, a million
Is full as far from infinite as one.

To whom thou much doft owe, thou much must pay,
Think on the debt against th' accompting-day;
God, who to thee reafon and knowledge lent,
Will ask how these two talents have been spent.
Let not low pleasures thy high reason blind,
He's mad, that feeks what no man e'er could find.
Why should we fondly please our sense, wherein
Beafts us exceed, nor feel the stings of fin?
What thoughts man's reafon better can become,
Than th' expectation of his welcome home?
Lords of the world have but for life their lease,
And that to (if the leffer please) must cease.
Death cancels nature's bonds, but for our deeds
(That debt firft paid) a ftrict account fucceeds;
If here not clear'd, no furetyship can bail
Condemned debtors from th' eternal gaol.
Chrift's blood 's our balfam; if that cure us here,
Him, when our judge, we shall not find fevere;

His yoke is eafy when by us embrac'd,
But loads and galls, if on our necks 'tis caft.
Be just in all thy actions; and if join'd
With those that are not, never change thy mind:
If aught obftruct thy course, yet stand not still,
But wind about, till you have topp'd the hill;

To

That the no ways nor means may leave untry'd,
Thus to her fifter the herself apply'd :
Dear fifter, my resentment had not been
So moving, if this fate I had foreseen ;
Therefore to me this last kind office do,
Thou haft fome intereft in our fcornful foe,
He trufts to thee the counfels of his mind,
Thou his foft hours, and free access canft find :
Tell him I fent not to the Ilian coaft

My fleet to aid the Greeks; his father's ghost
I never did disturb: afk him to lend

To this, the last request that I shall send,
A gentle ear; I wish that he may find

A happy paffage, and a profperous wind,
The contract I don't plead, which he betray'd,
Nor that his promis'd conqueft be delay'd;
All that I ask is but a thort reprieve,

Till I forget to love, and learn to grieve;
Some pause and refpite only I require,

Till with my tears I shall have quench'd my fire.
If thy address can but obtain one day

Or two, my death that service shall repay.
Thus fhe intreats; fuch meffages with tears
Condoling Anne to him, and from him bears?
But him no prayers, no arguments can move;
The Fates refift, his ears are ftopt by Jove.

As when fierce northern blasts from th' Alps defcend,
From his firm roots with struggling gufts to rend
An aged fturdy oak, the rattling found

Grows loud, with leaves and fcatter'd arms the ground

Is over-laid; yet he ftands fixt, as high

As his proud head is rais'd towards the sky,

So low towards hell his roots defcend. With prayers
And tears the Hero thus affail'd, great cares
He fmothers in his breast, yet keeps his post,

All their addreffes and their labour loft.
Then the deceives her fifter with a smile:
Anne in the inner court erect a pile;
Thereon his arms and once-lov'd portrait lay,
Thither our fatal marriage-bed convey;
All curfed monuments of him with fire
We must abolith (fo the Gods require.)
She gives her credit for no worfe effect
Than from Sichæus' death fhe did fufpect,
And her commands obeys.

Aurora now had left Tithonus' bed,

And o'er the world her blushing rays did spread;
The Queen beheld, as foon as day appear'd,
The navy under fail, the haven clear'd;

Thrice with her hand her naked breast she knocks,
And from her forehead tears her golden locks.
O Jove, the cry'd, and fhall he thus delude
Me and my realm! why is he not pursued?
Arm, arm, fhe cry'd, and let our Tyrians board
With ours his fleet, and carry fire and fword;
Leave nothing unattempted to destroy
That perjur'd race, then let us die with joy.
What if th' event of war uncertain were ?

Nor death, nor danger, can the defperate fear.
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But oh too late! this thing I fhould have done,
When first I plac'd the traitor on my throne.
Behold the faith of him who fav'd from fire
His honour'd houfhold Gods, his aged fire
His pious shoulders from Troy's flames did bear
Why did I not his carcafe piece-meal tear,
And caft it in the fea? why not destroy
All his companions, and beloved boy
Afcanius? and his tender limbs have dreft,
And made the father on the fon to feaft?
Thou Sun, whofe luftre all things here below
Surveys; and Juno, confcious of my woe;
Revengeful Furies, and Queen Hecate,
Receive and grant my prayer? If he the sea
Muft needs escape, and reach th' Aufonian land,
If Jove decree it, Jove's decree must stand;
When landed, may he be with arms opprest
By his rebelling people, be diftreft

By exile from his country, be divorc'd
From young Afcanius' fight, and be enforc'd
To implore foreign aids, and lose his friends
By violent and undeferved ends!

When to conditions of unequal peace
He fhall fubmit, then may he not poffefs,
Kingdom nor life, and find his funeral

I' th' fands, when he before his day shall fall!
And ye, oh Tyrians, with immortal hate
Pursue this race, this fervice dedicate
To my deplored afhes, let there be

Twixt us and them no league nor amity.

May

May from my bones a new Achilles rife,
That shall infest the Trojan Colonies

With fire and fword, and famine, when at length
Time to our great attempts contributes ftrength;
Our feas, our fhores, our armies theirs oppose,
And may our children be for ever foes!
A ghaftly palenefs death's approach portends,
Then trembling she the fatal pile ascends ;
Viewing the Trojan reliques, the unfheath'd
Æneas' fword, not for that use bequeath'd:
Then on the guilty bed fhe gently lays
Herfclf, and foftly thus lamenting prays;

Dear reliques, whilst that Gods and Fates give leave,
Free me from care, and my glad foul receive.
That date which Fortune gave, I now must end,
And to the fhades a noble ghoft defcend.
Sichæus' blood, by his falfe brother fpilt,
I have reveng'd, and a proud city built;
Happy, alas; too happy I had liv’d,
Had not the Trojan on my coaft arriv'd.
But shall I die without revenge? yet die
Thus, thus with joy to thy Sichæus fly.
My conscious foe my funeral fire shall view
From fea, and may that omen him pursue !
Her fainting hand let fall the fword befmear'd
With blood, and then the mortal wound appear'd;
Through all the court the fright and clamours rife,
Which the whole city fills with fears and cries,
As loud as if her Carthage, or old Tyre
The foe had entered, and had set on fire.

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