Sylvæ, or, The second part of Poetical miscellanies

THE SPEECH OF VENUS TO VULCAN:

Wherein she perswades him to make Arms for her Son Aeneas, then engag'd in •• War against the Latines, and King Tur∣nus: Translated out of the Eighth Book of Virgils Aeneids.

NOw Night with Sable wings the World o're spread; But Venus, not in vain, surpriz'd with dread

Of Latian arms, before the tempest breaks, Her Husbands timely succour thus bespeaks, Couch'd in his golden Bed:— (And, that her pleasing Speech his mind may move, Inspires it with diviner charms of Love:) While adverse Fate conspir'd with Grecian Pow'rs, To level with the ground the Trojan Tow'rs, I begg'd no ayd th' unhappy to restore, Nor did thy succour, nor thy art implore; Nor sought, their sinking Empire to sustain, To urge the labour of my Lord in vain. Tho' much I ow'd to Priams House, and more, The dangers of Aeneas did deplore: But now, by Ioves command, and Fates decree, His Race is doom'd to reign in Italy, With humble suit I ask thy needful art, O still propitious Pow'r, O Soveraign of my heart,

A Mother stands a suppliant for a Son: By silver footed Thetis thou wert won For fierce Achilles, and the rosie Morn Mov'd thee with Armes her Memnon to adorn; Are these my tears, less pow'rful on thy mind? Behold what warlike Nations are combin'd, With fire and sword▪ My people to destroy, And twice to triumph over Me and Troy. She said; and straight her arms of snowy hue, About her unresolving Husband threw; Her soft embraces soon infuse desire, His bones and marrow suddain warmth inspire; And all the Godhead feels the wonted fire. Not half so swift the rowling thunder flies, Or streaks of lightning flash along the skyes. The Goddess pleas'd with her successful wiles, And, conscious of her conqu'ring Beauty, smiles.

Then thus the good old God, (sooth'd with her charms, Panting, and half dissolving in her arms▪) Why seek you reasons for a Cause so just, Or your own beauty or my love distrust? Long since had you requir'd my helpful hand, You might the Artist, and his Art command To arm your Trojans: nor did Iove or Fate, Confine their Empire to so short a date: And if you now desire new Wars to wage, My care, my skill, my labour I ingage, Whatever melting Metals can conspire, Or breathing bellows, or the forming fire, I freely promise; all your doubts remove, And think no task is difficult to love. He said; and eager to enjoy her charms, He snatch'd the lovely Goddess to his arms; Till all infus'd in joy he lay possest Of full desire, and sunk to pleasing rest.