Nor only promis'd Secresie, but pray'd
She might have Leave to give her offer'd Aid.
Good-will, she said, my want of Strength supplies,
And Diligence shall give what Age denies:
If strong Desires thy Mind to Fury move,
With Charms, and Med'cines I can cure thy Love:
If envious Eyes their hurtful Rays have cast,
More pow'rful Verse shall free thee from the Blast:
If Heav'n offended sends thee this Disease,
Offended Heav'n with Pray'rs we can appease.
What then remains, that can these Cares procure?
Thy House is flourishing, thy Fortune sure:
Thy careful Mother yet in Health survives,
And, to thy Comfort, thy kind Father lives.
The Virgin started at her Father's Name,
And sigh'd profoundly, conscious of the Shame:
Nor yet the Nurse her impious Love divin'd,
But yet surmis'd that Love disturb'd her Mind:
Thus thinking, she pursu'd her Point, and laid,
And lull'd within her Lap the mourning Maid;
Then softly sooth'd her thus; I guess your Grief:
You love, my Child; your Love shall find Relief.
My long-experienc'd Age shall be your Guide;
Rely on that, and lay Distrust aside:
No Breath of Air shall on the Secret blow,
Nor shall (what most you fear) your Father know.
Struck once again, as with a Thunder-clap,
The guilty Virgin bounded from her Lap,
And threw her Body prostrate on the Bed,
And, to conceal her Blushes, hid her Head;
There silent lay, and warn'd her with her Hand
To go: But she receiv'd not the Command;
Remaining still importunate to know:
Then Myrrha thus; Or ask no more, or go;
I prithee go, or staying spare my Shame;
What thou would'st hear, is impious ev'n to name.
A
