THAT MENELAUS WAS THE CAUSE OF HIS OWN

WRONGS.

When Menelaus from his house is gone,

Poor Helen is afraid to lie alone;

And to allay these fears (lodg'd in her breast)
In her warm bosom she receives her guest.
What madness was this, Menelaus, say?
Thou art abroad, whilst in the house doth stay,
Under the self-same roof, thy guest, and love:
Madman unto the hawk thou trust'st the dove.
And who but such a gull, would give to keep
Unto the mountain wolf, full folds of sheep?
Helen is blameless, so is Paris too,
And did what thou, or I myself would do.
The fault is thine, I tell thee to thy face,
By limiting these lovers, time and place.

From these the seeds of all thy wrongs are grown:
Whose counsels have they follow'd but thine own?
Alack! what should they do? abroad thou art;
At home thou leav'st thy guest to play thy part.
To lie alone, the poor queen is afraid;

In the next room an amorous stranger staid;
Her arms are ope t' embrace him, he falls in:
And, Paris, I acquit thee of the sin.

AND IN ANOTHER PLACE SOMEWHAT RESEMBLING

THIS.

Orestes liked, but not loved dearly
Hermoine, till he had lost her clearly.
Sad Menelaus! why dost thou lament

Thy late mishap? I pry'thee be content.

Thou know'st the amorous Helen, fair and sweet;
And yet without her didst thou sail to Crete.
And thou wast blythe, and merry all the way;
But when thou saw'st she was the Trojan's prey,
Then wast thou mad for her, and for thy life,
Thou canst not now one minute want thy wife.
So stout Achilles, when his lovely bride,
Briseis, was dispos'd to great Atride,
Nor was he vainly mov'd, Atrides too
Offer'd no more, than he of force must do.
I should have done as much, to set her free
Yet I (heaven knows) am not so wise as he.

VULCAN was JUPITER's Smith, an excellent workman, on whom the Poets father many rare works, among which I find this one.

MARS AND VENUS.

This tale is blaz'd through heaven, how once un'ware,
Venus and Mars were took in Vulcan's snare.
The god of war doth in his brow discover
The perfect and true pattern of a lover.
Nor could the goddess Venus be so cruel
To deny Mars; (soft kindness is a jewel
In any woman, and becomes her well)
In this the queen of love doth most excel.

(O Heaven!) how often have they mockt and flouted The smith's polt-foot (whilst nothing he misdoubted ;) Made jests of him, and his begrimed trade;

And his smoog'd visage, black with coal-dust made,
Mars, tickled with loud laughter, when he saw
Venus like Vulcan limp, to halt and draw
One foot behind another, with sweet grace,.
To counterfeit his lame uneven pace.
Their meetings first the lovers hide with fear
From every jealous eye, and captious ear.
The god of war, and love's lascivious dame,
In public views were full of bashful shame.
But the sun spies how this sweet pair agree,
(O what, bright Phoebus, can be hid from thee?)
The Sun both sees and blabs the sight forthwith,
And in all post he speeds to tell the smith.
✪ Sun! what bad examples dost thou show?
What thou in secret seest must all men know?
For silence, ask a bribe from her fair treasure ;

She'll grant thee that shall make thee swell with pleasure.
The god, whose face is smoog'd with smoke and fire,
Placeth about their bed a net of wire;

So quaintly made, that it deceives the eye.
Straight (as he feigns) to Lemnos he must hie,
The lovers meet, where he the train hath set,
And both lie fast catch'd in a wiry net:
He calls the gods, the lovers naked sprall,
And cannot rise; the queen of love shows all.
Mars chafes, and Venus weeps, neither can flinch;
Grappled they lie, in vain they kick and wince.

Their legs are one within another ty'd,
Their hands so fast, that they can nothing hide.
Amongst these high spectators, one by chance,
That saw them naked in this pitfall dance,
Thus to himself said; if it tedious be,
Good god of war, bestow thy place on me.

THE HISTORY HOW THE MINOTAUR WAS BEGOT..

Ida of cedars and tall trees stands full,
Where fed the glory of the herd, a bull
Snow-white, save 'twixt his horns one spot there grew
Save that one stain, he was of milky hue.
This fair steer did the heifers of the groves
Desire to bear, as prince of all the droves.
But most Pasiphae, with adulterous breath,.
Envies the wanton heifers to the death.
"Tis said, that for this bull the doting lass
Did use to crop young boughs, and mow fresh grass;
Nor was the amorous Cretan queen afeard,
To grow a kind companion to the herd.
Thus thro' the champaign she is madly borne,
And a wild bull to Minos gives the horn.
'Tis not for bravery he can love or loath thee,
Then why, Pasiphae, dost thou richly clothe thee?
Why should'st thou thus thy face and looks prepare?
What mak'st thou with thy glass ordering thy hair,
Unless thy glass could make thee seem a cow?
But how can horns grow on that tender brow?
If Minos please thee, no adulterer seek thee;
Or if thy husband Minos do not like thee,
But thy lascivious thoughts are still encreas'd,
Deceive him with a man, not with a beast.
Thus by the queen the wide woods are frequented,
And leaving the king's bed, she is contented
To use the groves, borne by the rage of mind,
Even as a ship with a full eastern wind.
Some of these strumpet heifers the queen slew,
Her smoking altars their warm bloods imbrue ;
Whilst by the sacrificing priest she stands,
And gripes their trembling entrails in her hands :.
At length, the captain of the herd beguil'd
With a cow's-skin, by curious art compil'd,
The longing queen obtains her full desire,
And in her infant's form bewrays the sires.

This MINOTAUR, when he came to growth, was inciosed in the Labyrinth, which was made by the curious Arts-master DEDALUS, whose tale likewise we thus pursue.

When Dedalus the labyrinth had built,

In which t' include the queen Pasiphae's guilt,
And that the time was now expired full,
T'inclose the Minotaur, half man, half bull;
Kneeling, he says, just Minos, end my moans,
And let my native soil entomb my bones:
Or if, dread sovereign, I deserve no grace,
Look with a piteous eye on my son's face;
And grant me leave, from whence we are exil'd,
Or pity me, if you deny my child.

This, and much more, he speaks, but all in vain ;
The king both son and father will detain :
Which he perceiving says; Now, now, 'tis fit,
To give the world cause to admire my wit:
Both land and sea are watch'd by day and night;
Nor land nor sea lies open to our flight,
Only the air remains; then let us try
To cut a passage thro' the air, and fly.
Jove be auspicious in my enterprize :
I covet not to mount above the skies;
But make this refuge, since I can prepare
No means to fly, my lord, but thro' the air.
Make me immortal, bring me to the brim
Of the black Stygian water Styx, I'll swim.
Oh! human wit, thou canst invent much ill,
Thou searchest strange arts; who would think, by skilf,
A heavy man, like a light bird, should stray,
And thro' the empty heavens find a way ?

He placeth in just order all his quills,

Whose bottoms with resolved wax he fills;

Then binds them with a line, and being fast ty'd,
He placeth them like oars on either side.
The tender lad the downy feathers blew,
And what his father meant, he nothing knew.
The wax he fasten'd, with the strings he play'd,
Nor thinking for his shoulders they were made;
To whom his father spake (and then look'd pale)
With these swift ships, we to our land must sail.
All passages doth cruel Minos stop,

Only the empty air he still leaves ope.

That way must we; the land and the rough deep
Doth Minos bar, the air he cannot keep.
But in the way, beware thou set no eye
On the sign Virgo, nor Bootes high :
Look not the black Orion in the face,

That shakes his sword, but just with me keep pace.
Thy wings are now in fast'ning; follow me,

I will before thee fly; as thou shalt see
Thy father mount, or stoop, so I aread thee;
Make me thy guard, and safely I will lead thee.
If we should soar too near great Phœbus' seat,
The melting wax will not endure the heat;
Or if we fly too near the humid seas,

Our moisten'd wings we cannot shake with ease.
Fly between both, and with the gusts that rise,
Let thy light body sail amidst the skies.
And ever as his little son he charms,

He fits the feathers to his tender arms:
And shows him how to move his body light,
As birds first teach their little young ones flight.
By this he calls to counsel all his wits,
And his own wings unto his shoulders fits:
Being about to rise, he fearful quakes,
And in this new way his faint body shakes.
First, ere he took his flight, he kiss'd his son,
Whilst by his cheeks the brinish waters run.
There was a hillock, not so tow'ring tall
As lofty mountains be, nor yet so small
To be with valleys even, and yet a hill;
From this, thus both attempt their uncouth skill,
The father moves his wings, and with respect
His eyes upon his wandering son reflect.
They bear a spacious course, and the apt boy,
Fearless of harm, in his new tract doth joy,
And flies more boldly. Now upon them look
The fishermen, that angle in the brook;

And with their eyes cast upwards, frighted stand.
By this, is Samos isle on their left hand;
Upon the right, Lebinthos they forsake,

Astypale and the fishy lake;

Shady Pachine full of woods and groves;

When the rash youth, too bold and vent'ring roves Loseth his guide, and takes his flight so high,