IF streaming Blood my fatal Letter stain, | |
| Imagine, e’re you read, the Writer slain; | |
| One hand the Sword, and one the Pen imploys, | |
| And in my lap the ready Paper lyes. | |
| Think in this posture thou behold’st me Write: | 5 |
| In this my cruel Father wou’d delight. | |
| O were he present, that his Eyes and Hands | |
| Might see and urge the Death which he commands! | |
| Than all his 1 raging Winds more dreadful, he, | |
| Unmov’d, without a Tear, my Wounds wou’d see. | 10 |
| Jove justly plac’d him on a stormy Throne, | |
| His Peoples temper is so like his own. | |
| The North and South, and each contending Blast, | |
| Are underneath his wide Dominion cast: | |
| Those he can rule; but his tempestuous Mind | 15 |
| Is, like his airy Kingdom, unconfin’d. | |
| Ah! what avail my Kindred Gods above, | |
| That in their number I can reckon Jove! | |
| What help will all my heav’nly Friends afford, | |
| When to my Breast I lift the pointed Sword? | 20 |
| That Hour, which joyn’d us, came before its time: | |
| In Death we had been one without a Crime, | |
| Why did thy Flames beyond a Brothers move? | |
| Why lov’d I thee with more than Sisters love? | |
| For I lov’d too; and, knowing not my Wound, | 25 |
| A secret pleasure in thy Kisses found: | |
| My Cheeks no longer did their Colour boast, | |
| My Food grew loathsom, and my Strength I lost: | |
| Still e’re I spoke, a Sigh wou’d stop my Tongue; | |
| Short were my Slumbers, and my Nights were long. | 30 |
| I knew not from my Love these Griefs did grow, | |
| Yet was, alas, the thing I did not know. | |
| My wily Nurse, by long Experience found, | |
| And first discover’d to my Soul its Wound. | |
| ’Tis Love, said she; and then my downcast eyes, | 35 |
| And guilty Dumbness, witness’d my Surprize. | |
| Forc’d at the last, my shameful Pain I tell: | |
| And, oh, what follow’d, we both know too well! | |
| ‘When half denying, more than half content, | |
| ‘Embraces warm’d me to a full Consent, | 40 |
| ‘Then with tumultuous Joyes my Heart did beat, | |
| ‘And Guilt, that made them anxious, made them great.’ | |
| But now my swelling Womb heav’d up my Breast, | |
| And rising weight my sinking Limbs opprest. | |
| What Herbs, what Plants, did not my Nurse produce, | 45 |
| To make Abortion by their pow’rful Juice? | |
| What Med’cines try’d we not, to thee unknown? | |
| Our first Crime common; this was mine alone. | |
| But the strong Child, secure in his dark Cell, | |
| With Natures vigour, did our Arts repell. | 50 |
| And now the pale-fac’d Empress of the Night | |
| Nine times had fill’d her Orb with borrow’d light: | |
| Not knowing ’twas my Labour, I complain | |
| Of sudden Shootings, and of grinding Pain | |
| My Throws came thicker, and my cryes increast, | 55 |
| Which with her hand the conscious Nurse supprest. | |
| To that unhappy Fortune was I come, | |
| Pain urg’d my Clamours, but Fear kept me dumb. | |
| With inward strugling I restrain’d my Cries, | |
| And drunk the Tears that trickled from my Eyes. | 60 |
| Death was in Sight, Lucina gave no Aid; | |
| And ev’n my dying had my Guilt betray’d. | |
| Thou cam’st; And in thy Count’nance sate Despair; | |
| Rent were thy Garments all, and torn thy Hair: | |
| Yet, feigning comfort, which thou cou’dst not give, | 65 |
| (Prest in thy Arms, and whispr’ing me to live:) | |
| For both our sakes, (said’st thou) preserve thy Life: | |
| Live, my dear Sister, and my dearer Wife. | |
| Rais’d by that Name, with my last Pangs I strove: | |
| Such pow’r have Words, when spoke by those we love. | 70 |
| The Babe, as if he heard what thou hadst sworn, | |
| With hasty Joy sprung forward to be born. | |
| What helps it to have weather’d out one Storm? | |
| Fear of our Father does another form. | |
| High in his Hall, rock’d in a Chair of State, | 75 |
| The King with his tempestuous Council sate. | |
| Through this large Room our only passage lay, | |
| By which we cou’d the new-born Babe convey. | |
| Swath’d in her lap, the bold Nurse bore him out, | |
| With Olive branches cover’d round about; | 80 |
| And, mutt’ring Pray’rs, as holy Rites she meant, | |
| Through the divided Crowd unquestion’d went. | |
| Just at the Door, th’ unhappy Infant cry’d: | |
| The Grandsire heard him, and the theft he spy’d. | |
| Swift as a Whirl-wind to the Nurse he flyes, | 85 |
| And deafs his stormy Subjects with his cries. | |
| With one fierce Puff he blows the leaves away: | |
| Expos’d the self-discovered Infant lay. | |
| The noise reach’d me, and my presaging Mind | |
| Too soon its own approaching Woes divin’d. | 90 |
| 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; | 95 |
| Scarce from my Murther cou’d his hands refrain. | |
| I only answer’d him with silent Tears; | |
| They flow’d: my Tongue was frozen up with Fears. | |
| His little Grand-child he commands away, | |
| To Mountain Wolves and every Bird of prey. | 100 |
| The Babe cry’d out, as if he understood, | |
| And beg’d his Pardon with what Voice he cou’d. | |
| By what Expressions can my Grief be shown? | |
| (Yet you may guess my Anguish by your own) | |
| To see my Bowels, and, what yet was worse, | 105 |
| Your Bowels too, condemn’d to such a Curse! | |
| Out went the King; my Voice its Freedom found, | |
| My Breasts I beat, my blubber’d Cheeks I wound. | |
| And now appear’d the Messenger of death; | |
| Sad were his Looks, and scarce he drew his Breath, | 110 |
| To say, Your Father sends you—(with that word | |
| His trembling hands presented me a Sword:) | |
| Your Father sends you this; and lets you know, | |
| That your own Crimes the use of it will show. | |
| Too well I know the sence those Words impart: | 115 |
| His Present shall be treasur’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, shun thy own Disgrace, | |
| And take thy Torch from this detested place: | 120 |
| Instead 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 cou’d they pretend? | 125 |
| How cou’d 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 Mothers Grief and Crime! but just enjoy’d, | |
| Shown to my Sight, and born to be destroy’d! | 130 |
| Unhappy Off-spring of my teeming Womb! | |
| Drag’d head-long from thy Cradle to thy Tomb! | |
| Thy un-offending Life I could not save, | |
| Nor weeping cou’d I follow to thy Grave! | |
| Nor on thy Tomb could offer my shorn Hair; | 135 |
| Nor show the Grief which tender Mothers bear. | |
| Yet long thou shalt not from my Arms be lost; | |
| For soon I will o’retake thy Infant Ghost. | |
| But thou, my Love, and now my Love’s Despair, | |
| Perform his Funerals with paternal Care. | 140 |
| His scatter’d Limbs with my dead Body burn; | |
| And once more joyn us in the pious Urn. | |
| If on my wounded Breast thou drop’st a Tear, | |
| Think for whose sake my Breast that Wound did bear; | |
| And faithfully my last Desires fulfill, | 145 |
| As I perform my cruel Fathers Will. | |
