ROXANA to PHILOCLES. From LES LETTRES PERSANNES, By the Same. Roxana, one of Ufbeck's wives, was found (whilst he was in Europe) in bed with her lover, whom she 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 whilst She is dying. HINK not I write my innocence to prove, TH To fue for pity, or awake thy love : No mean defence expect, or abject pray'rs; Thou know'st no mercy, and I know no tears: Yes, tyrant! I deceiv'd thy fpies and thee; By gold I won to aid my juster caufe: And acted more than jealoufy could fear : And blefs'd that abfence which you thought I mourn'd. But But fhort thofe 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: 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: Thee, tho' restraint and absence may defend Nor think this hate commencing in my breast, For could'st thou hope Roxana to deceive In ign'rance train'd, by prejudice misled; Didft thou imagine me fo weak of mind, But hugg'd my chain, and thought my jaylor kind? you rove, Which Pride invented, and Oppreffion made? 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? I weigh'd what heav'n, I knew what man defign'd, Thus whilft this wretched body own'd thy pow'r, } } } Yet Yet thus far to my conduct thanks are due, Oft, as thy slaves this wretched body led No charms could warm, no tendernefs could move; } This This file unufual to thy pride appears, For truth's a ftranger 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: In the calm grave no Usbecks we deplore, No tyrant husband, no oppreffive pow'r. Alas! I faint-Death intercepts the reft: The venom'd drug is bufy in my breast : Each nerve's unftrung: a mift obfcures the day: My fenfes, ftrength, and ev'n my hate decay: Tho' rage a while the ebbing spirits stay'd, "Tis paft-they fink beneath the tranfient aid. Take then, inhuman wretch! my laft farewel; Pain be thy portion here, hereafter, hell: And when our prophet shall my fate decree, Be any curfe my punishment, but thee. |