Here ftay, my Muse; for if I should recite
Her mournful language, I fhould make you weep
Like her, a flood, and fo not fee to write
Such lines as I, and th' age requires, to keep
Me from stern death, or with victorious rhyme
Revenge their master's death, and conquer Time.
By this time, chance and his own industry
Had help'd Philetus forward, that he grew
Acquainted with her brother, fo that he
Might, by this means, his bright Conftantia view;
And, as time ferv'd, fhew'd her his misery :
This was the first act in his tragedy.

Thus to himself, footh'd by his flattering state,
He faid; "How fhall I thank thee for this gain,
"O Cupid! or reward my helping fate,
"Which sweetens all my forrows, all my pain?

"What husbandman would any pains refuse,
"To reap at last fuch fruit, his labour's use ?”
But, when he wifely weigh'd his doubtful state,
Seeing his griefs link'd like an endless chain
To following woes, he would when 'twas too late
Quench his hot flames, and idle love difdain.
But Cupid, when his heart was set on fire,
Had burnt his wings, who could not then retire.

The wounded youth and kind Philocrates
(So was her brother call'd) grew foon fo dear,
So true and conftant in their amities,

And in that league fo ftrictly joined were,

That death itself could not their friendship fever,
But, as they liv'd in love, they died together.

If one be melancholy, th' other 's fad
If one be fick, the other's furely ill;
And if Philetus any forrow had,
Philocrates was partner in it still:

Pylades' foul, and mad Oreftes', was
In these, if we believe Pythagoras.

Oft in the woods Philetus walks, and there
Exclaims against his fate, fate too unkind:
With speaking tears his griefs he doth declare,
And with fad fighs inftructs the angry wind
To figh; and did ev'n upon that prevail;
It groan'd to hear Philetus' mournful tale.

The crystal brooks, which gently run between
The fhadowing trees, and, as they through them pafs,
Water the earth and keep the meadows green,
Giving a colour to the verdant grafs,

Hearing Philetus tell his woeful state,
In fhew of grief run murmuring at his fate.
Philomel anfwers him again, and shews,
In her beft language, her fad history,
And in a mournful sweetness tells her woes,
Denying to be pos'd in mifery:

Conftantia he, the Tereus, Tereus, cries;
With him both grief, and grief's expreffion, vies,

Philocrates must needs his fadness know,

Willing in ills, as well as joys, to share,

Nor will on them the name of friends beftow,
Who in light fport, not forrow, partners are.

Who leaves to guide the ship when storms arise,
Is guilty both of fin and cowardice,

D 4

But

But when his noble friend perceiv'd that he
Yielded to tyrant passion more and more,
Defirous to partake his malady,

He watches him, in hope to cure his fore
By counfel, and recall the poisonous dart,
When it, alas! was fixed in his heart.

When in the woods, places beft fit for care,
He to himself did his past griefs recite,

Th' obfequious friend ftrait follows him, and there
Doth hide himself from fad Philetus' fight;

Who thus exclaims (for a fwoln heart would break, If it for vent of forrow might not speak):

"Oh! I am loft, not in this defart wood, "But in Love's pathless labyrinth; there I

My health, each joy and pleasure counted good, "Have loft, and, which is more, my liberty;

"And now am forc'd to let him facrifice

"My heart, for rash believing of my eyes.

"Long have I staid, but yet have no relief; "Long have I lov'd, yet have no favour shown; "Because she knows not of my killing grief, "And I have fear'd to make my forrows known. "For why, alas ! if she should once but dart "Difdainful looks, 'twould break my captiv'd heart. "But how should she, ere I impart my love, "Reward my ardent flame with like defire ? "But when I fpeak, if she should angry prove, "Laugh at my flowing tears, and scorn my fire? “Why, he who hath all sorrows borne before, "Needeth not fear to be opprest with more."

Philocrates

Philocrates no longer can forbear,

"Oh !" faid he,

Runs to his friend, and fighing,
"My dear Philetus! be thyself, and swear
"To rule that paffion which now mafters thee,
"And all thy reason; but, if it can't be,
"Give to thy love but eyes,

that it may fee."

Amazement strikes him dumb; what shall he do?
Should he reveal his love, he fears 'twould prove
A hindrance; and, fhould he deny to show,
It might perhaps his dear friend's anger move :
These doubts, like Scylla and Charybdis, ftand,
Whilft Cupid, a blind pilot, doth command.
At last resolv'd; "How fhall I feek," faid he,
"T' excufe myself, dearest Philocrates!
"That I from thee have hid this fecrecy ?

"Yet cenfure not; give me firft leave to eafe [known," "My cafe with words: my grief you should have "Ere this, if that my heart had been my own.

"I am all love; my heart was burnt with fire
"From two bright funs, which do all light disclose
“First kindling in my breast the flame Defire:
"But, like the rare Arabian bird, there rofe

"From my heart's afhes never-quenched Love,
"Which now this torment in my foul doth move.

"Oh! let not then my paffion cause your hate,
"Nor let my choice offend you, or detain
"Your ancient friendship; 'tis alas too late
"To call my firm affection back again :

"No phyfick can re-cure my weakened state,
"The wound is grown too great, too desperate."

"But

"But counsel," faid his friend," a remedy
"Which never fails the patient, may at least,
"If not quite heal your mind's infirmity,
"Affwage your torment, and procure some rest.
"But there is no physician can apply
"A medieine ere he know the malady."

"Then hear me," said Philetus; "but why? Stay, "I will not toil thee with my history;

"For to remember forrows past away, "Is to renew an old calamity.

"He who acquainteth others with his moan,
"Adds to his friend's grief, but not cures his own.”

"But," faid Philocrates, " 'tis best, in woe,
“To have a faithful partner of their care;
"That burthen may be undergone by two,
"Which is perhaps too great for one to bear.

"I fhould mistrust your love, to hide from me
"Your thoughts, and tax you of inconftancy."

What shall he do? or with what language frame
Excufe? He must resolve not to deny,
But open his close thoughts and inward flame :
With that, as prologue to his tragedy,

He figh'd, as if they 'd cool his torments' ire,
When they, alas! did blow the raging fire.

"When years first styl'd me twenty, I began
"To sport with catching fnares that Love had fet
"Like birds that flutter round the gin, till ta’en,
"Or the poor fly caught in Arachne's net,

"Even fo I sported with her beauty's light,
"Till I at laft grew blind with too much fight.