Hecuba, _being with Child of_ Paris, _dream’d she was delivered of a Firebrand:_ Priam, _consulting the Prophets, was answer’d the Child shou’d be the Destruction of_ Troy, _wherefore_ Priam _commanded it should be deliver’d to wild Beasts as soon as born; but_ Hecuba _conveys it secretly to Mount_ Ida, _there to be foster’d by the Shepherds, where he falls in love with the Nymph_ OEnone, _but at last being known and own’d, he sails into_ Greece, _and carries_ Helen _to_ Troy, _which_ OEnone _understanding, writes him this Epistle._ To thee, dear _Paris_, Lord of my Desires, Once tender Partner of my softest Fires; To thee I write, mine, while a Shepherd’s Swain, But now a Prince, that Title you disdain. Oh fatal Pomp, that cou’d so soon divide What Love, and all our sacred Vows had ty’d! What God, our Love industrious to prevent, Curst thee with power, and ruin’d my Content? Greatness, which does at best but ill agree With Love, such Distance sets ‘twixt Thee and Me. Whilst thou a Prince, and I a Shepherdess, My raging Passion can have no redress. Wou’d God, when first I saw thee, thou hadst been This Great, this Cruel, Celebrated thing. That without hope I might have gaz’d and bow’d, And mixt my Adorations with the Crowd; Unwounded then I had escap’d those Eyes, Those lovely Authors of my Miseries. Not that less Charms their fatal pow’r had drest, But Fear and Awe my Love had then supprest: My unambitious Heart no Flame had known, But what Devotion pays to Gods alone. I might have wondr’d, and have wisht that He, Whom Heaven shou’d make me love, might look like Thee. More in a silly Nymph had been a sin, This had the height of my Presumption been. But thou a Flock didst feed on _Ida’s_ Plain, And hadst no Title, but _The lovely Swain_. A Title! which more Virgin Hearts has won, Than that of being own’d King _Priam’s_ Son. Whilst me a harmless Neighbouring Cotager You saw, and did above the rest prefer. You saw! and at first sight you lov’d me too, Nor cou’d I hide the wounds receiv’d from you. Me all the Village Herdsmen strove to gain, } For me the Shepherds sigh’d and su’d in vain, } Thou hadst my heart, and they my cold disdain. } Not all their Offerings, Garlands, and first born Of their lov’d Ewes, cou’d bribe my Native scorn. My Love, like hidden Treasure long conceal’d, Cou’d onely where ‘twas destin’d, be reveal’d. And yet how long my Maiden blushes strove Not to betray my easie new-born Love. But at thy sight the kindling Fire wou’d rise, And I, unskill’d, declare it at my Eyes. But oh the Joy! the mighty Ecstasie Possest thy Soul at this Discovery. Speechless, and panting at my feet you lay, And short breath’d Sighs told what you cou’d not say.