Now drop a tear your forrows to afsuage,
Anon reproach him, and pretend to rage.
Such proofs as these will_all distrust remove,
And make him pity your excessive love.
Scarce to himself will he forbear to cry,
"How can I let this poor fond creature die ?"
But chiefly, one, such fond behaviour fires,
Who courts his glass, and his own charms admires.
Proud of the homage to his merit done,
He 'll think a goddess might with ease be won.
Light wrongs, be sure, you still with mildness bear,
Nor strait fly out, when you a rival fear.
Let not your paffion o'er your sense prevail,
Nor credit lightly every idle tale.
Let Procris' fate a fad example be
Of what effects attend credulity.
Near where his purple head Hymettus shows,
And flowering hills, a facred fountain flows;
With soft and verdant turf the foil is fpread,
And sweetly-fmelling shrubs the ground o'ershade..
There rosemary and bay their odours join,
And with the fragrant myrtle's scent combine.
There tamarisks with thick-leav'd box are found,
And cytissus and garden-pines abound.
While through the boughs soft winds of Zephyr pass,
Tremble the leaves, and tender tops of grafs.
Hither would Cephalus retreat to rest,
When tir'd with hunting, or with heat oppreft:
And thus to Air the panting youth would pray,
"Come, gentle Aura, come, this heat allay."
But fome tale-bearing too officious friend,
By chance o'er-heard him as he thus complain'd;
Who with the news to Procris quick repair'd,
Repeating word for word what she had heard.
Soon as the name of Aura reach'd her ears,
With jealousy furpriz'd, and fainting fears,
Her rofy colour fled her lovely face,
And agonies, like death, supply'd the place,
Pa'e she appear'd as are the falling leaves,
When first the vine the winter's blaft receives.
Of ripen'd quinces, fuch the yellow hue,
Or, when unripe, we cornel-berries view.
Reviving from her swoon, her robes she tore,
Nor her own faultless face to wound forbore..
Now, all dishevel'd, to the wood the flies,
With Bacchanalian fury in her eyes.
Thither arriv'd, she leaves below her friends;
And all alone the shady hill afcends.
What folly, Procris, o'er thy mind prevail'd 2
What rage, thus fatally to lie conceal'd?
Whoe'er this Aura be, (such was thy thought
She now shall in the very fact be caught.
Anon, thy heart repents its rafh designs,
And now to go, and now to stay inclines:
Thus love with doubts perplexes still thy mind,
And makes thee feek what thou must dread to find..
But still thy rival's name rings in thy ears,
And more fufpicious still the place appears :
But more than all, excessive love deceives,
Which, all it fears, too easily believes.
And,
And, now, a chilness runs through every vein,
Soon as she saw where Cephalus had lain. 'Twas noon, when he again retir'd, to shun The scorching ardour of the mid-day fun; With water first he fprinkled o'er his face, Which glow'd with heat; then fought his usual place. Procris, with anxious but with filent care, View'd him extended, with his bosom bare; And heard him foon th' accustom'd words repeat, "Come, Zephyr; Aura, come; allay this heat:" Soon as she found her error, from the word, Her colour and her temper were restor'd. With joy she rose to clasp him in her arms : But Cephalus the rustling noise alarms; Some beaft he thinks he in the bushes hears, And ftrait his arrows and his bow prepares. "Hold! hold! anhappy youth!"---I call in vain, With thy own hand thou haft thy Procris flain. "Me, me (she cries) thou 'st wounded with thy dart! " But Cephalus was wont to wound this heart. "Yet lighter on my ashes earth will lie, "Since, though untimely, I unrival'd die :. "Come, close with thy dear hand my eyes in death, "Jealous of Air, to Air I yield my breath." Close to his heavy heart her cheek he laid, And wash'd, with streaming tears, the wound he made; At length the fprings of life their currents leave,
And her last gasp her husband's lips receive.
Now, to purfue our voyage we provide,
Till fafe to port our weary bark we guide.
You may expect, perhaps, I now should teach
What rules to treats and entertainments reach.
Come not the first, invited to a feaft;
Rather come last, as a more grateful guest.
For that, of which we fear to be depriv'd,
Meets with the furest welcome when arriv'd.
Besides, complexions of a coarfer kind,
From candle-light no small advantage find.
During the time you eat, observe some grace,
Nor let your unwip'd hands besmear your face;
Nor yet too squeamishly your meat avoid,
Lest we suspect you were in private cloy'd.
Of all extremes in either kind beware,
And still before your belly 's full forbear.
No glutton-nymph, however fair, can wound,
Though more than Helen she in charms abound.
I own, I think, of wine the moderate use
More fuits the fex, and fooner finds excuse;
It warms the blood, adds luftre to the eyes,
And wine and love have always been allies.
But carefully from all intemperance keep,
Nor drink till you see double, lisp, or fleep.
For in fuch fleeps brutalities are done,
Which, though you loathe, you have no power to shun.
And now th' instructed nymph from table led,
Should next be taught how to behave in bed.
But modesty forbids: nor more, my Muse
With weary wings the labour'd flight pursues;
Her purple swans unyok'd the chariot leave,
And needful rest (their journey done) receive,
Thus, with impartial care, my art I show,
And equal arms on either sex beftow :
While men and maids, who by my rules improve,
Ovid muft own their mafter is in love.
IS strange, dear Temple, how it comes to pass,
That no one man is pleas'd with what he has.
So Horace fings---and fure, as strange is this:
That no one man 's displeas'd with what he is.
The foolish, ugly, dull, impertinent,
Are with their persons and their parts content.
Nor is that all, so odd a thing is man,
He most would be what least he should or can.
Hence, homely faces still are foremost seen,
And cross-fhap'd fops affect the nicest mien;
Cowards extol true courage to the skies,
And fools are still most forward to advise;
Th' untrusted wretch to fecrecy pretends,
Whifpering his nothing round to all as friends.
Dull rogues affect the politicians part,
And learn to nod, and smile, and shrug with art;
Who nothing has to lose, the war bewails;
And he who nothing pays, at taxes rails,
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