Ovids heroical epistles, Englished by Iohn Sherburne. Gent.

THE ARGVMENT OF PHILLIS her EPISTLE to DEMOTHOON.

DEmophoon the son of Theseus and Phaedra, retur∣ning homewards from the Trojan warres, was by adverse stormes driven on the Thracian shores; where he was to••ally entertained both at Boord and Bed, by Phillis, daughter of Lycurgus and Crustumena, King and Queene of Thrace: with whom, after bee had a while re∣mained, hearing of the death of Mnestheus, the deposer of his father, he went to take possession of his rea••me of Athens. Yet with vowes and prowises to returne unto her within the space of one mo••eth. B••t being detained past the appoyn••ed time, with sundry b••sinesses of a distracted kingdome, be gave occasion unto Phillis, impatient of de∣layes, and griefes, to write unto him this Epi••••le: wherein she conjures him to be mindfull of his promise, and to return to her as her just & vowed husband; which if ••ee refuse, she desperately concludes by death to vindicate the wrongs done unto her mayden Chastitie.

THine Hostesse R••odop••ian Phillis, thee Blames absent past thy promis'd time to bee. Soone as the Moones horns met in a full round, Thouswor'st againe to anchor on my ground.

Foure times sh'hath been i'th full, foure in the waine, Yet seas bring no Actean ships againe. If you'l but count the time, as lovers doe, You'l finde my plaint comes not too soon to you. Long did I hope: for slowly we believe Ill haps, which now too sore my soule doth grieve. Oft to my selfe I've ly'd for thee, oft thought The windes thy swoln sayles back again had brought. Oft Theseus curst, as one that caus'd thy stay, And yet perhaps he hindred not thy way. Oft fear'd, to Haebrus whil'st you bent your course, Your Barke might suffer in the foaming sourse. Oft for thy health have I with bended keees, And spice-flam'd Altars, prayd to th'Deities. Oft seeing windes with heavens and seas agreed; I've sayd, if he be well, hee'l come with speed. Lastly, whats'ere might hasting loves restraine, I thought: nay, I was witty stayes to faine. Yet thee, the witnest powers no whit do sway; Nor com'st, as tooke with love of me, thy way. Both winds, and sayles thou gav'st unto the winde, Thy words want faith, thy sayles returne•• finde. What have I done, save rashly lov'd thee pray? And through that crime, I have deserv'd thy stay. One fault I had, that thee receiv'd untrue, And yet that fault hath worth and merit due. Wher's now thy vows, thy faith, hands joyn'd to hand? And th'God with thy false mouth so oft prophan'd? Where's Hymen now, both pledge and suretie too Of our blest match, that should e're long ensue? First by the sea, with windes tost to and fro, Through which thou oft hadst gone, wer't then to go. Next by thy Grandsire (if thou didst not faigne Him too) thou swor'st, that doth mov'd seas restraine.

By Venus, by loves Torches and his Bow, Weapons that have procur'd me all this woe, By Iuno, that takes charge of married wights, And by the Taper bearing Goddesse rites. If each of these wrong'd powers shold venge on thee Their wrath, thou could'st not beare their crueltie. Nay, that the keele with which I was forsooke, Might able be, I rig'd thy shippes late broke, And gave thee Oares that thou might'st plow the main Thus wounds, by mine own weapons I sustain. Thy flattering words thy Gods thy kindred all, Within the compasse of my faith did fall. Trusted thy teares; can teares be said to faine? Ev'n those had craft, and when thou would'st, would raine, What needed there so many pledges be Betweene us? halfe might soone have captiv'd mee. Nor that in need I helpt thee, am I moov'd This should the summe of my rash love have prov'd But foully thee in bed to entertain. And there to dally causes all my paine, The night 'fore that would it had beene my last Phyllis might then have honest dy'd and chast. My hopes were better 'cause I thought I might Through this deserve thee, and that hope's but right. To wrong an easie mayd, no praise can prove; My simplenesse did well deserve thy love. A lover, and a maid, hast thou betraid; Heavens grant that this, thy chiefest praise be sayd. In Athens when thy statue shall be plac't, And thy great Father 'fore his spoyles so grac't, When Scyron, and Procrustes, shall be read, The Mimtaure, and Scinis conquered, Thobes wan by warre, the Centaures bick'ring, And knockt at Palace of the shady King:

Mongst these, shall stand thy Image, with this Style. This, this is he who Phyllis did beguile. Of all thy fathers facts thou bear'st in minde But one of Ariadne left behinde, What he condemn'd that thou esteem'st as rare; And onely of thy fathers fraud, art heire. But she (nor spite I it) hath a better mate, And drawne by harnest tygers rides in state. The once scorn'd Thracians now my bed despise, 'Cause before them I did a stranger prize. Whilst some cry out, let her to Athens goe; There's those can rule the warlike Thrace we trowe. The end still crownes the act: may his intent Be crost yet, that still judges from th'event. For should'st to come to me but crosse the flood, They'l say againe I sought my countryes good, But I have not, yet thou nor to my court Or Bystons glassie streames dost make resort. Thy gestures in my minde still fixed bee, Which thou didst use when first thou wentst from me, How dar'dst thou then embrace me so, & joyne Such long-breath'd kisses, with these lips of mine? And with my teares, thy moist teares mixe, & waile As loath to part, thy too too prosp'rous gale, And to me say, now ready to be gone, Phyllis, see thou expect thy Demophon. Shall I expect thee that wilt nere againe Returne, or shippes deny'd unto my Maine? And yet I doe: oh, come to me though late, That thy vow'd faith may prove but false in dare. What wish I wretch? perhaps some strange maid thee Retaines, and love, that lightly favours mee, Thou hast forgot thy Phyllis sure; if thou But ask'st who I am, or from whence wouldst know:

Why I am she, Demophoon that same friend, In need that did thee boord, and harbour lend, Whose wealth did thine increase, who to thee poore Gave many gifts, and would have giv'n farr more, Who yeelded thee Lycurgus spacious land, A rule unsitting for a womans hand, As farre as Rhodope, and Haemus goes, And sacred Haebrus with his soft streames flowes. Whose chaster Zone thou to unloose had'st power, And Virgin bud to crop (disastrous houre) Tysiphone did howle those rites among, And th'ominous owle screecht our sad mariage song. Alecto there crownd with her snakes did stand, The rapers light with her sepulchroll brand, Oft to the Rockes and sedgie shores I hie, And view the vastle as with a wandring eye, Oft in the day, oft in the starry night, I looke what winds 'gainst stubborne waves doe fight, What sayles so ere from farre I comming see, I deeme them straight my houshold Gods to bee. Downe then I runne, spite of resisting waves, Farre as the sea with streames the moist shore laves, But nearer they, the worser I remaine, I faint and fall downe midst my following traine. A Bay there is, that like a bent bow lyes, Whose farthest points in rugged hornes doe rise. From thence my selfe I meant t'have thrown and wil, Since me th'hast thus deceiv'd perform it still, May yeelding streames me to thy shores convay, And uninter'd me may thine eies survay. Then though then adamant thou harder bee, Thoult say, would thus thou hadst not followed mee. Oft have I thought by poyscous, draughts to dye, Or by a sword to act ••y Tragedy.

Or 'bout my necke that did it selfe bequeath To thy false armes a fatall cord to wreath, With mature death ile recompence my wrong, Nor in the choise thereof will dally long. And that thou mayst be knowne as th'cause Ile have This, or the like inscription on my grave. Demophoon Phyllis guest did Phyllis kill, He gave the cause, she th'••and, that wrought the ill.