But vain are all these hopes: preserve thy breast
From falfhood only, I forgive the rest:
Too happy, if no envy'd rival boast
Those joys Arisbe for her Marius loft.
From LES LETTRES PERSANNES.
Roxana, one of Ufbeck's wives, was found (whilst be was in Europe) in bed with her lover, whom he had privately let into the feraglio. The guardian eunuch who difcovered them, had the man murdered on the Spot, and her clofe guarded 'till he received instructions from his mafter how to difpofe of her. During that interval fhe fwallowed poyfon, and is fuppofed to write the following letter whilft fhe is dying.
HINK not I write my innocence to prove,
To fue for pity, or awake thy love:
No mean defence expect, or abject pray'rs ;
Thou know'ft no mercy, and I know no tears:
I laugh at all thy vengeance has decreed,
Avow the fact, and glory in the deed.
Yes, tyrant! I deceiv'd thy fpies and thee:
Pleas'd in oppreffion, and in bondage free:
The rigid agents of thy cruel laws
By gold I won to aid my jufter caufe:
With dextrous skill eluded all thy care,
And acted more than jealousy could fear:
To wanton bow'rs this prison-house I turn'd,
And blefs'd that abfence which you thought I mourn'd.
But short those joys allow'd by niggard Fate,
Yet fo refin'd, fo exquifitely great,
That their excess compensated their date.
I die already in each burning vein
I feel the poys'nous draught, and bless the pain:
For what is life unless its joys we prove?
And where is joy, depriv'd of what we love?
Yet, ere I die, this justice I have paid
To my dear murder'd lover's injur'd shade:
Those facrilegious inftruments of power,
Who wrought that ruin these fad eyes deplore,
Already with their blood their crimes atone,
And for his life have facrific'd their own.
Thee, though restraint and absence From my revenge, my curfes ftill attend:
Despair like mine, barbarian! be thy part,
Remorse afflict, and forrow fting thy heart.
Nor think this hate commencing in
my breast,
Though prudence long its latent force fupprefs'd;
I knew those wrongs that I was forc❜d to bear,
And curs'd those chains Injuftice made me wear.
For could'ft thou hope Roxana to deceive
With idle tales, which only fools believe?
Poor abject fouls in fuperftition bred,
In ign'rance train'd, by prejudice misled;
Whom hireling dervises by proxy teach
From those whofe falfe prerogative they preach.
Didft thou imagine me fo weak of mind,
Because I murmur'd not, I ne'er repin'd,
But hugg'd my chain, and thought my jaylor kind ? That willingly those laws I e'er obey'd,
Which Pride invented, and Oppreffion made?
And whilft felf-licens'd through the world you rove,
To quicken appetite by change in love;
Each paffion fated, and each wifh poffefs'd
That Luft can urge, or Fancy can suggest :
That I should mourn thy lofs with fond regret,
Weep the misfortune, and the wrong forget?
Could I believe that heav'n this beauty gave, (Thy tranfient pleasure, and thy lasting slave ;) Indu'd with reason, only to fulfil
The harsh commands of thy capricious will?
No, Ufbeck, no, my foul difdain'd those laws;
And though I wanted pow'r t' affert my cause,
My right I knew; and still those pleasures fought,
Which Justice warranted, and Nature taught:
On Custom's fenfeless precepts I refin'd,
I weigh'd what heav'n, I knew what man design'd,
And form'd by her own rules my free-born mind.
Thus whilft this wretched body own'd thy pow'r,
Doom'd, unredress'd, its hardships to deplore;
My foul fubfervient to herself alone,
And Reason independent on her throne,
Contemn'd thy dictates, and obey'd their own.
Yet thus far to my conduct thanks are due,
At least I condefcended to seem true;
Endeavour'd still my fentiments to hide,
Indulg'd thy vanity, and footh'd thy pride..
Though this fubmiffion to a tyrant paid,
Whom not my duty, but my fears obey'd,
If rightly weigh'd, would more deserve thy blame,
Who call it Virtue, but prophane her name :
For to the world I should have own'd that love,
Which all impartial judges muft approve :
You urg'd a right to tyrannize my heart,
Which he folliciting, affail'd by art,
Whilft I, impatient of the name of flave,
To force refus'd, what I to merit gave.
Oft, as thy flaves this wretched body led
To the detefted pleasures of thy bed;
In those soft moments, confecrate to joy,
Which extacy and transport should employ ;
Clafp'd in your arms, you wonder'd ftill to find
So cold my kiffes, fo compos'd my mind:
But had thy cheated eyes difcern'd aright,
You'd found averfion, where you fought delight.
Not that my foul incapable of love,
No charms could warm, no tenderness could move;
For him, whofe love my every thought poffefs'd,
A fiercer paffion fill'd this conftant breast,
Than truth e'er felt, or falfhood e'er poffefs'd.
This ftile unusual to thy pride appears,
For truth's a stranger to the tyrant's ears;
But what have I to manage or to dread?
Nor threats alarm, nor infults hurt the dead:
No wrongs they feel, no miferies they find;
Cares are the legacies we leave behind:
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