High from his Horfe the fprawling Foe he rears,
And thwart his Courfers Neck the Prize he bears.
The Trojans fhout, the Latines turn their Eyes;
While fwift as lightning airy Tarchon flies.
Who breaks his Lance, and views his Armour round,
To find where he might fix the deadly Wound;
The Foe writhes doubling backward on the Horse,
And to defend his Throat oppofes force to force.
As when an Eagle high his courfe does take,
And in his griping Tallons bears a Snake,
A thoufand Folds the Serpent cafts, and high [Sky,
Setting his fpeckled Scales, goes whiftling thro' the
The fearless Bird but deeper goars his Prey,
And thro' the Clouds he cuts his airy Way.
So from the midst of all his Enemies,
Triumphant Tarchon snatch'd and bore his Prize.
The Troops that shrunk, with Emulation prefs
To reach his Danger now, to reach at his Success.
Then Aruns, doom'd in fpight of all his Art,
Surrounds the nimble Virgin with his Dart..
And, flily watching for his Time, would try
To join his Safety with his Treachery.
Where-e'er her Rage the bold Camilla fends,
There creeping Aruns filently attends.
When, tir'd with conquering, the retires from fight,
He fteals about his Horfe, and keeps her in his fight.
In all her Rounds from him the cannot part,
Who fhakes his treacherous, but inevitable Dart,
Chloreus, the Priest of Cybele, did glare
In Phrygian Arms remarkable afar.
A foaming Steed he rode, whofe hanches cafe,
Like Feathers, Scales of mingled Gold and Brass.
He, clad in foreign Purple, gaul'd the Foe
With Cretan Arrows from a Lycian Bow.
Gold was that Bow, and Gold his Helmet too :
Gay were his upper Robes, which loosely flew.
Each Limb was cover'd o'er with fomething rare,
And as he fought he glister'd ev'ry where.
Or that the Temple might the Trophies hold,
Or else to shine her felf in Trojan Gold
Him the fierce Maid purfues thro' all her Foes ;
Regardless of the Life he did expofe:
Him Eyes alone, to other Dangers blind,
And manly Force employs, to please a Virgin'sMind,
His Dart now Aruns, from his Ambuh, throws;
And thus to Heav'n he fends his coward Vows.
Apollo, oh thou greatest Deity!
Patron of bleft Soractis, and of me;
(For we are all thy own, whole Woods of Pine
We heap in Piles, which to thy Glory fhine;
And when we trample on the Fire, our Soles,
By thee preferv'd, contemn the glowing Coals;)
My mighty Patron make me wipe away
The fhame of this dishonourable Day.
Nor Spoils nor Triumph from the Deed I claim,
But trust my future Actions with my Fame.
This raging Female Plague but overcome,
Let me return unthank'd, inglorious home.
Apollo heard, to half his Pray'r inclin'd:
The rest he mingles with the fleeting Wind-
He gives Camilla's Ruin to his Pray'r:
To fee his Country, that was loft in Air.
As finging o'er the Field the Jav❜lin flies,
Upon the Queen the Army turn their Eyes.
But fhe, intent upon her golden Prey,
Nor minds, nor hears it cut the hiffing way,
'Till in her Side it takes its deadly reft;
And drinks the Virgin Purple of her Breaft.
The trembling Amazons run to her Aid,
And in their Arms they catch the falling Maid.
More quick than they the frightned Aruns flies,
And feels a Terror mingled with his Joys.
He trufts no more his Safety to his Spear;
Ev'n her expiring Courage gives him fear.
So runs a Wolf fmear'd with fome Shepherd's Blood,
And ftrives to gain the shelter of a Wood,
Before the Darts his panting fides assail,
And claps between his Legs his shiv'ring Tail;
Confcious of the audacious bloody Deed,
As Aruns feeks his Troops ftretch'd on his fpeed,
Where in their Centre, quaking, he attends,
And skulks behind the Targets of his Friends.
She ftrives to draw the Dart, but wedg'd among
Her Ribs, deep to the Wound the Weapon clung;
Then fainting rouls in Death her clofing Eyes,
While from her Cheeks the chearful Beauty Alies.
To Acca thus fhe breaths her laft of Breath:
Acca that fhar'd with her in all, but Death:
Ah Friend! you once have feen me draw the Bow
But Fate and Darkness hover round me now.
Make hafte to Turnus, bid him bring with speed
His fresh Referves, and to my Charge fucceed,
Cover the City, and repel the Foe.
Thus having faid, her Hands the Reins forego;
Down from her Horse she finks, then gasping lies
In a cold Sweat, and by degrees the dies:
Her drooping Neck declines upon her Breaft,
Her fwimming Head with Slumber is oppreft;
The lingring Soul th' unwelcome Doom receives,
And murm'ring with Difdain, the beauteous Body
To my HEART.
HAT ail'ft thou, oh thou trembling Thing,
To Pant and Languish in my Breast,
Like Birds that fain wou'd try the callow Wing,
And leave the downy Neft?
Why haft thou fill'd thy felf with Thought,
Strange, new, fantaftick as the Air?
Why to thy Peaceful Empire haft thou brought
That reftless Tyrant, Care?
But oh alas, I ask in vain ;
Thou answer'ft nothing back again,
But in foft Sighs Amyntor's Name.
Oh thou Betrayer of my Liberty,
Thou fond Deceiver, what's the Youth to thee!
What has he done, what has he faid,
That thus has conquer'd or betray'd?
He came and faw, but 'twas by fuch a Light
As fcarce diftinguifht Day from Night;
Such as in thick-grown Shades is found,
When here and there a piercing Beam
Scatters faint fpangl'd Sun-fhine on the Ground,
And cafts about a melancholy Gleam;
But fo obfcure, I cou'd not fee
The charming Eyes that wounded thee;
But they, like Gems, by their own Light
Betray'd their value through the Gloom of Night.
I felt thee heave at every Look,
And ftop my Language as I fpoke.
I felt thy Blood fly upward to my Face,
While thou unguarded lay,
Yielding to every Word, to every Grace,
Fond to be made a Prey.
I left thee watching in my Eyes,
And lift'ning in my Ear,
Discovering Weakness in thy Sighs,..
Uneafie with thy Fear:
Suffering Imagination to deceive,
I found thee willing to believe,
And with the treacherous Shade confpire,
To let into thy felf a dangerous Fire.
Ah foolish Wanderer, fay, what would't thou do, If thou fhould'ft find at fecond View,
That all thou fanciest now were true?
If thou should't find by Day those Charms, Which thus obferv'd threaten undoing Harms;
If thou should't find that awful Mien
Not the Effects of firft Address,
Nor of my Converfation difetteem,
But noble native Sullennefs;
If thou should'ft find that foft good-natur'd Voice' (Unus'd to Infolence and Noife)
Still thus adorn'd with Modefty,
And his Mind's Virtues with his Wit agree;
Tell me, thou forward lavish Fool,
What Reafon cou'd thy Fate controul,
Or fave the Ruin of thy Soul?
Cease then to languish for the coming Day,
That may direct his wand'ring Steps that way,
When I again fhall the lov'd Form furvey.
CATO's Answer to LABIENUS, when he advis'd him to confult the Oracle of Jupiter Ammon.
Being a Paraphraftical Translation of part of the Ninth Book of Lucan, beginning at
Quid quari, Labiene jubes, &c.
By Mr. WOLSEL E Y.
WHAT fhou'd I ask my Friend, which beft wou'd To live inflav'd, or thus in Arms die free? If any Force can Honour's Price abate? Or Virtue bow beneath the Blows of Fate? If Fortune's Threats a fteady Soul difdains? Or if the Joys of Life be worth the Pains? If it our Happiness at all import
Whether the foolish Scene be long or short?
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