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With hafte to meet him fprung the joyful fair,
His blameless wife, Aëtion's wealthy heir.
The nurse stood near; in whose embraces prefs'd,
His only hope, hung, fmiling, at her breast;
Whom each foft charm and early grace adorn,
Fair as the new-born ftar that gilds the morn.
Silent, the warriour smil'd; and, pleas'd, resign'd
To tender paffions all his mighty mind.
His beauteous princess caft a mournful look,
Hung on his hand, and then, dejected, spoke.
Her bofom labour'd with a boding figh,
And the big tear-ftood trembling in her eye.

"Too daring prince! ah! whither doft thou run? Ah! too forgetful of thy wife and son!

And think'st thou not how wretched we fhall be?
A widow I, an helpless orphan he !

For, fure, fuch courage length of life denies;
And thou must fall, thy virtue's facrifice.
Greece in her fingle heroes ftrove in vain ;
Now hosts oppose thee-and thou must be flain.
Oh grant me, gods! ere Hector meets his doom,
All I can ask of heav'n—an early tomb !
So fhall my days in one fad tenour run,
And end with forrows as they first begun.
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger fhare-
Oh! prove a husband's and a parent's care.
That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy,
Where yon wild fig trees join the wall of Troy:
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have giv❜n,
Or led by hopes, or dictated from heav'n.
Let others in the field their arms employ ;
But ftay, my Hector, here, and guard his Troy."
The chief reply'd" That poft fhall be my care;

Nor that alone, but all the works of war.

How would the fons of Troy, in arms renown'd, And Troy's proud dames, whofe garments fweep the ground,

Attaint the luftre of my former name,

Should Hector bafely quit the field of fame!
My early youth was bred to warlike pains:
My foul impels me to the martial plains.

Still foremoft let me ftand, to guard the throne,
To fave my father's honours, and my own.-
Yet come it will! the day decreed by fates!
(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!)
The day when thou, imperial Troy !-muft bend,
Muft fee thy warriours fall, thy glories end.
And, yet, no dire prefage fo wounds my mind,
My mother's death, the ruin of my kind,
Not Priam's hoary hairs defil'd with gore,
Not all my brothers gafping on the thore,
As thine, Andromache !-Thy griefs I dread!
I fee thee trembling, weeping, captive led,
In Argive looms our battles to defign,

And woes, of which so large a part was thine.
There, while you groan beneath the load of life,
They cry-" Behold the mighty Hector's wife !"
Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to fee,
Embitters all thy woes, by naming me.

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The thoughts of glory paft, and prefent fhame,
A thoufand griefs, fhall waken at the name!
May I lie cold before that dreadful day,
Prefs'd with a load of monumental clay!
Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting fleep,
Shall neither hear thee figh, nor fee thee weep.'
Thus having spoke, th' illuftrious chief of Troy
Stretch'd his fond arms to clafp the lovely boy.
The babe clung, crying, to his nurse's breast,
Scar'd with the dazzling helm and nodding creft.
With fecret pleature each fond parent fmil'd,
And Hector hafted to relieve his child;
The glitt'ring terrours from his brows unbound,
And plac'd the bearing helmet on the ground.
Then kifs'd the child; and, lifting high in air,
Thus to the gods preferr'd a parent's pray'r.

"O thou, whofe glory fills th' ethereal throne!
And all ye deathlefs pow'rs!-protect my fon!
Grant him, like me, to purchafe juft renown,
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,
Againft his country's foes the war to wage,
And rife the Hector of the future age.
So, when, triumphant from fuccefsiul toils,
Of heroes flain he bears the reeking fpoils,

Whole

Whole hofts may hail him with deferv'd acclaim,
And fay-This chief tranfcends his father's fame;
While, pleas'd amidst the general fhouts of Troy,
His. mother's confcious heart o'erflows with joy.'
He fpoke: and, fondly gazing on her charms,
Reftor'd the pleafing burden to her arms.
Soft on her fragrant breaft the babe she laid,
Hufh'd to repofe, and with a smile furvey'd :
The troubl'd pleasure, foon chaftis'd with fear,
She mingl'd with the fmile-a tender tear.
The foften'd chief with kind compaffion view'd,
And dry'd the falling drops; and thus purfu'd.
"Andromache! my foul's far better part!
Why with untimely forrows heaves thy heart?
No hoftile hand can antedate my doom,
Till fate condemn me to the filent tomb:
Fix'd is the term of all the race of earth ;
And fuch the hard condition of our birth.
No force can then refift, no flight can fave;
All fink alike, the fearful and the brave.
No more-but haften to thy tasks at home;
There guide the spindle, and direct the loom.
Me glory fummons to the martial scene;
The field of combat is the sphere for men:
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,
The first in danger, as the firft in fame."

Thus having faid, th' undaunted chief refumes
His tow'ry helmet, black with fhading plumes.
His princefs parts with a prophetic figh,
Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye,
That ftream'd at ev'ry look; then, moving flow,
Sought her own palace, and indulg'd her wo.
There, while her tears deplor'd the god-like man,
Through all her train the foft infection
The pious maids their mingl'd forrows fhed,
And mourn'd the living Hector as the dead.

JOHN

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VI. Facetious Hiftory of John Gilpin,

Gilpin was a citizen

Of credit and renown;

A train-band captain eke was he

Of famous London town.

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John Gilpin's fpoufe faid to her dear-
Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.

To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
All in a chaife and pair.
My fifter and my fifter's child,
Myfelf and children three,
Will fill the chaife; fo you must ride
On horfeback after we.'

He foon reply'd-1 do admire
Of womankind but one;
And you are the, my deareft dear,
Therefore it fhall be done.

I am a linen-draper bold,

As all the world does know;
And my good friend Tom Callender,
Will lend his horfe to go.'

Quoth Mrs Gilpin- That's well faid;
And, for that wine is dear,
We will be furnifh'd with our own,
Which is fo bright and clear.'

John Gilpin kifs'd his loving wife;
O'erjoy'd was he to find,

That though on pleasure fhe was bent,
She had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaife was brought,

But yet was not allow'd

To drive up to the door, left all

Should fay that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaife was staid,
Where they did all get in;

Six precious fouls; and all

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To dash through thick and thin.

Smack

Smack went the whip, round went the wheel,

Were never folks fo glad;

The ftones did rattle underneath,

As if Cheapfide were mad.

John Gilpin at his horfe's fide,
Seiz'd faft the flowing mane,
And up he got in hafte to ride,
But foon came down again.

For faddle-tree scarce reach'd had he,
His journey to begin,

When, turning round his face, he faw
Three cuftomers come in..

So down he came; for lofs of time,
Although it griev'd him fore,
Yet lofs of pence, full well he knew,
Would grieve him still much more.
Twas long before the customers
Were fuited to their mind,
When Betty fcream'd into his ears-
The wine is left behind!'

• Good lack !' quoth he; yet bring it me,
My leathern belt likewife,

In which I bear my trufly fword
When I do exercife.'

Now Mrs Gilpin-careful foul !
Had two fione-bottles found,
To hold the liquor which the lov'd,
And keep it fafe and found.

Each bottle had two curling ears,
Through which the belt he drew;
He hung one bottle on each fide,
To make his balance true.

Then, over all, that he might be
Equipp'd from top to toe,

His long red cloak, well brufh'd and neat,
He manfully did throw.

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