Add yet unnumber'd ills that lie unseen
In the pernicious draught; the word obscene,
Or harsh, which once elanc'd must ever fly
Irrevocable! the too prompt reply,

Seed of severe distrust and fierce debate,

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What we should shun, and what we ought to hate. Add too, the blood impov'rish'd, and the course Of health suppress'd by wine's continu'd force.

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Unhappy man! whom sorrow thus, and rage To diff'rent ills alternately engage; Who drinks, alas! but to forget; nor sees That melancholy sloth, severe disease, Mem'ry confus'd, and interrupted thought, Death's harbingers, lie latent in the draught; And in the flow'rs that wreath the sparkling bowl, Fell adders hiss, and pois'nous serpents roll. 141

Remains there aught untry'd that may remove
Sickness of mind, and heal the bosom ?-Love?
Love yet remains; indulge his genial fire,
Cherish fair Hope, solicit young Desire,

And boldly bid thy anxious soul explore
This last great remedy's mysterious pow'r.

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Why, therefore, hesitates my doubtful breast ?

Why ceases it one moment to be blest?

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Fly swift, my Friends; my Servants, fly; employ
Your instant pains to bring your master joy.
Let all my wives and concubines be drest;
Let them to-night attend the royal feast;

All Israel's beauty, all the foreign fair,
The gifts of princes or the spoils of war:
Before their monarch they shall singly pass,
And the most worthy shall obtain the grace.

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I said: the feast was serv'd; the bowl was crown'd;
To the King's pleasure went the mirthful round.
The women came: as custom wills, they past: 160
On one (O that distinguish'd one!) I cast

The fav'rite glance! O! yet my mind retains
That fond beginning of my infant pains.

Mature the virgin was, of Egypt's race,

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Grace shap'd her limbs, and beauty deck'd her face:
Easy her motion seem'd, serene her air;

Full, tho' unzon'd, her bosom rose: her hair
Unty'd, and ignorant of artful aid,

Adown her shoulders loosely lay display'd, 169
And in the jetty curls ten thousand Cupids play'd.
Fix'd on her charms, and pleas'd that I could love,
Aid me, my Friends, contribute to improve
Your monarch's bliss, I said: fresh roses bring
To strow my bed, till the impov'rish'd Spring
Confess her want: around my am'rous head
Be drooping myrrh and liquid amber shed,
Till Arab has no more: from the soft lyre,

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Sweet flute, and ten-string'd instrument, require
Sounds of delight: and thou, fair Nymph, draw nigh,
Thou in whose graceful form and potent eye
Thy master's joy, long sought, at length is found,

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And as thy brow, let my desires be crown'd.

O fav'rite Virgin, that hast warm'd the breast
Whose sov'reign dictates subjugate the east!

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I said; and sudden from the golden throne, 185 With a submissive step, I hasted down. The glowing garland from my hair I took, Love in my heart, obedience in my look, Prepar'd to place it on her comely head, O fav'rite Virgin! (yet again I said) Receive the honours destin'd to thy brow; And O, above thy fellows, happy thou! Their duty must thy sov'reign word obey, Rise up, my love, my fair one, come away. What pang, alas! what ecstasy of smart Tore up my senses and transfix'd my heart, When she, with modest scorn, the wreath return'd, Reclin'd her beauteous neck, and inward mourn'd! Forc'd by my pride, I my concern supprest, Pretended drowsiness, and wish of rest; And sullen, I forsook th' imperfect feast; Ord'ring the eunuchs, to whose proper care Our Eastern grandeur gives th' imprison'd fair, To lead her forth to a distinguish'd bow'r, And bid her dress the bed and wait the hour. Restless I follow'd this obdurate maid, (Swift are the steps that Love and Anger tread) Approach'd her person, courted her embrace, Renew'd my flame, repeated my disgrace; By turns put on the suppliant and the lord; Threaten'd this moment, and the next implor'd.

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Offer'd again the unaccepted wreath,

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And choice of happy love, or instant death.
Averse to all her am'rous king desir'd,
Far as she might she decently retir'd,
And darting scorn and sorrow from her eyes,
What means, said she, King Solomon the wise?
This wretched body trembles at your pow'r;
Thus far could Fortune, but she can no more.
Free to herself my potent mind remains,
Nor fears the victor's rage, nor feels his chains.
'Tis said that thou canst plausibly dispute,
Supreme of seers, of angel, man, and brute;
Canst plead, with subtle wit and fair discourse,
Of passion's folly and of reason's force :
That to the Tribes attentive, thou canst know
Whence their misfortunes or their blessings flow:
That thou in science as in pow'r art great,
And truth and honour on thy edicts wait.
Where is that knowledge now, that regal thought,
With just advice and timely counsel fraught?
Where now, O Judge of Israel, does it rove P
What in one moment dost thou offer? Love-
Love? why, 'tis joy or sorrow, peace or strife;
'Tis all the colour of remaining life,

And human mis'ry must begin or end
As he becomes a tyrant or a friend.

Would David's son, religious, just, and grave,
To the first bride-bed of the world receive
A foreigner, a Heathen, and a slave ?

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Or, grant thy passion has these names destroy'd,
That Love, like Death, makes all distinction void,
Yet in his empire o'er thy abject breast,

His flames and torments only are exprest,
His rage can in my smiles alone relent,
And all his joys solicit my consent.

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Soft love, spontaneous tree, its parted root Must from two hearts with equal vigour shoot, Whilst each delighted, and delighting, gives The pleasing ecstacy which each receives: Cherish'd with hope, and fed with joy, it grows, Its cheerful buds their opening bloom disclose, And round the happy soil diffusive odour flows. If angry Fate that mutual care denies, The fading plant bewails its due supplies; Wild with despair, or sick with grief, it dies. By force beasts act, and are by force restrain'd; The human mind by gentle means is gain'd. Thy useless strength, mistaken King, employ: Sated with rage, and ignorant of joy,

Thou shalt not gain what I deny to yield,

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Nor reap the harvest, tho' thou spoil'st the field.
Know, Solomon, thy poor extent of sway;
Contract thy brow, and Is'rael shall obey;
But wilful Love thou must with smiles appease,
Approach his awful throne by just degrees, 266
And if thou would'st be happy, learn to please.

Not that those arts can here successful prove,
For I am destin'd to another's love.