Ovid's epistles translated by several hands.

BRISEIS to ACHILLES.

BY IOHN CARYL Esq

The ARGUMENT.

In the War of Troy, Achilles having taken and Sackt Chrynesium, a Town in the Lyrnesian Country, amongst his other Booty, he took two very fair Women, Chryseis, and Briseis: Chryseis he Presented to King Agamemnon, and Briseis he reserved for himself. Agamem∣non after some time was forced by the Oracle to restore Chryseis to her Father, who was one of the Priests of Apollo; whereupon the King by violence took away Briseis from Achil∣les; at which Achilles incenst, left the Camp of the Grecians, and prepared to Sail home; in whose absence the Trojans prevailing upon the Grecians, Agamemnon was compell'd to send Ulysses, and others to offer him rich Pre∣sents, and Briseis: that he would return again to the Army: But Achilles with disdain reje∣cted them all. This Letter therefore is wri∣ten by Briseis, to move him, that he would re∣ceive her, and return to the Grecian Camp.

CAptive Brisëis in a aforaign Tongue More by her blots, than words, set's forth her wrong

And yet these blots, which by my tears are made, Above all words, or writing should perswade. Subjects (I know) must not their Lords accuse; Yet prayers and tears we lawfully may use. When ravisht from your Arms, I was the prey Of Agamemnons arbitrary sway; 〈…〉〈…〉, you must at last have left the Field, 〈…〉〈…〉, you too soon did yield. 〈…〉〈…〉 Glory it must needs disgrace, 〈…〉〈…〉 Summons to yield up the place. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Enemies themselves, no less than I, ••tood wondring at their easy Victory: I saw their lips in whispers softly move, Is this the Man so fam'd for Arms, and Love? Alas! A••hilles, 'tis not so, we part From what we love, and what is near our heart, No healing kisses to my grief you gave; You turn'd me off, an unregarded Slave.

Was it your Rage, that did your Love suppress? Ah, love Briseis more, and hate A••rides less! He is not born of a true Hero's Race, Who lets his Fury of his Love take place: Tygers, and Wolves can fight: Love is the Test, Distinguishing the Hero from the Beast. Alas! when I was from your bosom forc'd, I felt my body from my soul divorc'd; A deadly paleness overspread my face; Sleep left my eyes, and to my tears gave place: I tore my hair, and did my death decree: Ah! learn to part with what you love, from me. A bold escape I often did essay, But Greeks, and Trojans too, block'd up the way: Yet tho a tender Maid could not break thrôw, Methinks, Achilles should not be so slow; Achilles, once the Thunderbolt of War, The hope of Conquering Greece, & Troy's despair,

Me in his Rivals Arms can he behold? And is his Courage with his Love grown cold? But I confess, that my neglected Charms Did not deserve the Conquest of your Arms; Therefore the Gods did by an easier way Our wrongs attone, and Dammages repay: Ajax with Phoenix, and Vlysses bring Humble submissions from their haughty King: The Royal Penitent rich Presents sends, The strongest Cement to piece broken Friends: When Pray'rs well seconded with Gifts are sent, Both Mortal, and Immortal Powers relent: Twenty bright Vessels of Corinthian Brass, Their Sculpture did the costly Mine surpass; Seven Chairs of State of the same Art, and Mould, And twice five Talents of perswasive Gold. Twelve fiery Steeds of the Epirian breed, Matchless they are for beauty, and for speed;

Six Lesbian Maids (but these I well could spare) Their Island Sackt, these were the General's share; And last a Bride, (ah! telle'm I am thine) At your own choice out of the Royal Line: With these they offer me: But, might I chuse, You should take me, and all their gifts refuse: But me, and those you sullenly reject; What have I done, to merit this neglect? Is it that You, and Fortune jointly vow, Whom you make wretched, still to keep them so? Your Arms my Country did in ashes lay. My House destroy, Brothers, and Husband slay: It had been kindness to have kill'd me too, Rather than kill me with unkindness now. With Vows as faithless, as your Mother Sea, You loudly promis'd, that you would to me, Country, and Brothers, and a Husband be.

And is it thus, that you perform your Vow, Even with a Dowry to reject me too? Nay, Fame reports that with the next fair wind, Leaving your Honour, Faith, and me behind, You quit our Coasts: Before that fatal hour, May Thunder strike me, or kind Earth devour! I all things, but your absence, can endure! That's a disease, which Death must only cure. If to Achaia you will needs return, Leaving all Greece your sullen rage to mourn, Place me but in the number of your train, And I no servile Office will disdain: If I'm deny'd the Honour of your Bed, Let me at least be, as your Captive led: Rather, than banisht from your Familie I will endure another Wife to see; A Wife, to make the great Aeacian Line, Like Starry Heaven, as numerously shine;

That so your spreading Progeny may prove Worthy of Thetis, and their Grandsire Iove. Let me on her an humble hand-Maid, wait; On her, because to you she does relate. I fear (I know not why) that she may be, Than to her other Maids, more harsh to me: But you are bound to guard your Conquer'd Slave, And to maintain the Articles you gave: Yet should you yield to her imperious sway, Do what you will, but turn me not away. But why should you depart? The King repents; The Grecian Army wants you in their Tents: You conquer all; Conquer your Passion too; Or else with Hector, you will Greece undo. Take Arms (Aeacides) but first take me, Your juster Rage let routed Trojans see. For me begun, for me your anger end; The fault I caus'd, let me have power to mend.

In this to me you may with Honour yield, Rul'd by his Wife, Oenides took the Field. His Mothers Sacred Curses him disarm'd; But by his Wive's more powerful Spells uncharm'd, His Armour once put off, he buckles on, And fights and Conquers for his Calidon: That happy Wife prevail'd, why should not I? But you that Title, and my Power deny: Title and Power, and all ambitious strife. Of being call'd your Mistris, or your Wife, I quietly lay down; but I must have This Claim allow'd, to be your faithful Slave. I by those dread, ill-cover'd Ashes swear, (Alas their Tomb Lyrnesian Ruins are) Of my dead Spouse, and by each Sacred Ghost Of my three Brothers, honourably lost, Who for, and with their Country bravely fell; By all, that's awful both in Heav'n, and Hell.

And last of all by thine own Head, and mine, Whom Love, though parted now, did sometimes joyn, That I preserve my Faith entire, and chast; That I no foraign love, or pleasure taste; That no aspersion can my Honour touch; O! that Achilles too could say as much! Some think he mourns for me; But others say, In Loves soft joyes he melts his hours away; That some new Mistris with Circean Charms ••as lockt him up in her lascivious arms, And so transform'd from what he was before, That he will fight for Greece or Me no more. The Trumpet now to the soft Lute must yield, To Midnight Revels, Marches in the Field. He whom of late Greece, as her Mars, ador'd, He, on whose Massie Spear, and glittering Sword The Fates, and Death did wait, that mighty Man Now weilds a Busk, and brandisheth a Fan.

Avert it Heaven! can he be only brave To wast my Country, not his own to save? And when his Arms my Family mow'd down, Lost he his sting, and so became a Drone? Ah! cure these fears; and let me have the Pride, To see your Javelin fixt in Hector's side. O! that the Grecians would send me to try, If I could make your stubborn heart comply: Few words I'd use, all should be sighs, and tears, And looks, and kisses, mixt with hopes, and fears: My Love like lightning throw my Eyes should fly, And thaw the Ice, which round your heart does lie: Sometimes my Arms about your neck I'd throw; And then embrace your knees, and humbly bow: There is more Eloquence in tears, and kisses, Than in the smooth Harangues of fly Vlysses: That noisie Rhetorick of a twanging tongue, Serves but to lug the heavy Crowd along:

But Souls with Souls speak only by the Eye, And at those Windows one another spie: Thus, then your Mother Sea rai••'d with the wind More fierce, I would compose your stormy mind; And my Love shining on my tears, that flow, Should make a Rainbow, and fair weather show. So dreams my Love. Ah! come, that I may try, If I can turn my Dream to Prophecie: So may your Pyrrbus live to equalize His Grandsire's years, his Fathers Victories. Let me no longer pin'd in absence lie; Rather than live without you, let me d••e: My heart's already cold, and Death do's spread His livid paleness o're my lively red. My life hangs only on the slender hope, That your reviving Love your rage will stop. If that shou'd fail, let me not linger on, But let that Sword (to mine ah! too well known)

Me to my Brothers, and my Husband send; Your hand began, your hand the work must end. But why such Cruelty? come then, and save Afflicted Greece, and me your humble Slave. How much more decently might you employ Your ill-spent Rage against Neptunian Troy! Then furl your Sails, once more your Anchors cast; Leave not your Country, nor your Honour blast. But go, or stay; with you I ought to move, Made yours by Right of War, and Right of Love.