Ovid's epistles translated by several hands.

PENELOPE TO ULYSSES.

BY M^r. RYMER.

The ARGUMENT.

The Rape of Helen having carried all the Greci∣an Princes to the Siege of Troy; Ulysses a∣mongst the rest, there signaliz'd his manhood, and prudence particularly. But the siege at an end, and he not returning with the other Cap∣tains, Penelope sends this Letter in quest of him▪ She had rendred her self as deservedly famous on her part by resisting all the while the impor∣tunity of her Suitors with an unusual constancy, and fidelity. She complains to Ulysses of their carriage, she likewise tells him her apprehen∣sions and fears for him during the War, and since, acquaints him with the ill posture of his Family through his absence, and desires him to hasten home as the only means to set all right again.

To your Penelope at length break home, Send no excuse, nor stay to write, but come.

Our trouble long, Troy, does not hold you now; Nor twenty Troy's were worth all this ado. Wou'd some just storm and raging Seas had drown'd The Ru••••ian, when for Lacedemon bound; I should not then of tedious daies complain, Nor cold a nights and comfortless have lay'n: Nor should this pains to pass the evenings take, And work, and weave ev'n till my fingers ake. I alwaies fear'd worse dangers than the true, (As alwaies Love unquiet fears pursue) Fancy'd thee by fierce Trojans compast round, And Hector's name still struck me to the ground. When told of Nestors Son, by Hector slain, Streight Nestors Son rouz'd all my fears again. When for his sham how dear Patroclus paid; I wept to find that wit no better sped.

Tlepolemus by Trojan javelin kil'd, Thro' all my veins an icy terror thrill'd. Whatever Greeks miscarry'd in the fray, I fainted, and sell (well nigh) dead as they. Heaven for chast Love has better sate in store, My Husband lives, and Troy is now no more. Our Captains well return'd, each Altar flames, And Temples all Barbarian Booty crams; For their safe Loves the women Offrings bring, And Trojan Fates by ours defeated sing. All stand amaz'd to hear both old and young, And list••••ing wives upon their Husbands hung. Some on the Table draw each bloody fight, And spilling Wine the whole sad Iliad write. This Simois, that the Sigean Land, And there did Priams lofty Palace stand. Here skulkt Vlysses, there Achilles dar'd, There Hector torn, the foaming Horses scar'd.

All did Old Nestor to your Son explain; To seek you sent, who told me all again. Your Sword how Dolon, no, nor Rhesus scap'd, Banter'd the one, this taken as he napp'd. Fool-hardy you, and us remembring ill, Nightly amidst those Thracian Tents to steal, There numbers slay, one only ayding thee, Thou hast been wise, and would'st have thought on me. Still pant I, told, how all in triumph brave, Round your friends Camp those Thracian Steeds you drave. But what avails it me that Troy did yield, And by your Prowess, the Town is now a Field? As when Troy stood, I still remain alone, Th' effect continues, though the cause is gone. To others sac'kt, to only me upheld, Ev'n whil'st it lies by Greek abiders till'd.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 Priams Towers now lofty corn appears, And Phrygian blood a pond'rous harvest rears. No House remains, nought of a Trojan found, Unless you dig their bones from under ground. Where art thou Conqueror? what detains thee now? Or may not I your new Atchiev'ments know? What ever Skipper hither come a shore, For thee I ask, and ask him ore and ore; Nor parts he, till I scrible half a Sheet, To give thee, should you ever chance to meet. We sent to Pylos Nestors ancient seat, From Pylos we no certain tydings gat: ••o Sparta sent, the Spartans nothing know, What course you Steer, nor where you wander now. Wou'd those same God-built Walls were standing still, Now I repent that ere I wisht'em ill

Then where thou fought'st I surely should have learn'd, Nor save for War, the common grievance, mourn'd. Now, what I know not, all I madly fear, And a wide field lies open to my care. By Sea, or Land whatever dangers sway, Those I suspect the Causes of your stay. Whilst thus I simply muse, who knows your mind, Perhaps abroad some other Love you find: Perhaps to her your dowdy Wife define, Who knows no more, so that her Cupboards shine. No; vanish jealous thoughts nor fright me more, He wou'd be with me, were it in his power. My Sire would force me from my Widows Bed, Blames my delay, and chides, and shakes his head, Let him chide on, yours still, yours only, I Penelope Vlysses Wise will die.

Yet by my Chast desires, and vertue bent, His temper does a little now relent. From Crete, and Samos, Rhodes, and Zant set out, To Court me come a wild unruly rout; Who Revel in your house without controul, And eat, and wast your means, our blood and soul Of Medon, Polybus, Pisander, fell Eurymachus, alas why should I tell? With many more, you (sadly out o'th 'way) Feed here, and on your substance let 'um prey. The Beggar Irus, and that Goat-heard Clown, Melanchius range and rummage up and down. So kept your house, such stout defenders we, A helpless Wife, old Man, and little Boy. Whom late by trech'ry we had well nigh lost, 'Gainst all our minds as he to Pylos crost. But Heavens preserve him till he die in cours, Having first clos'd mine eyes, and also yours.

Thus the old Nurse, the Hind, and Hogheard pray; True Servants all, and faithful in their way. Disarm'd by age, Laertes is not fit, Amidst these Bullies to maintain your right. Age, if he lives, Telemachus may bring To strength, but yet he needs his Fathers wing. I, what am I? alas my help is small, Come you the strength and safety of us all. So may your Son in vertuous Arts encrease, So may the Old Laertes die in peace. Who in my Bloom did at your parting mourn, I wither'd grow, in waiting your return.