In shining Chariots drawn by winged Clouds: Naked they came, no Veil their Beauty shrouds; But every Charm, and Grace expos’d to view, Left Heav’n to be survey’d, and judg’d by you. To bribe thy voice _Juno_ wou’d Crowns bestow, _Pallas_ more gratefully wou’d dress thy Brow With Wreaths of Wit! _Venus_ propos’d the choice Of all the fairest _Greeks_! and had thy Voice. Crowns, and more glorious Wreaths thou didst despise, And promis’d Beauty more than Empire prize! This when you told, Gods! what a killing fear } Did over all my shivering Limbs appear? } And I presag’d some ominous Change was near! } The Blushes left my Cheeks, from every part The Bloud ran swift to guard my fainting heart. You in my Eyes the glimmering Light perceiv’d } Of parting Life, and on my pale Lips breath’d } Such Vows, as all my Terrors undeceiv’d. } But soon the envying Gods disturb’d our Joy, Declar’d thee Great! and all my Bliss destroy! And now the Fleet is Anchor’d in the Bay, That must to _Troy_ the glorious Youth convey. Heavens! how you look’d! and what a God-like Grace At their first Homage beautify’d your Face! Yet this no Wonder, or Amazement brought, You still a Monarch were in Soul, and thought! Nor cou’d I tell which most the News augments, Your Joys of Pow’r, or parting Discontents. You kist the Tears which down my Cheeks did glide, And mingled yours with the soft falling Tide, And ‘twixt your Sighs a thousand times you said, _Cease, my_ OEnone! _Cease, my charming Maid!_ _If_ Paris _lives his Native_ Troy _to see_, _My lovely Nymph, thou shalt a Princess be!_ But my Prophetick Fears no Faith allow’d, My breaking Heart resisted all you vow’d. _Ah must we part_, I cry’d! _that killing word_ _No farther Language cou’d to Grief afford._ Trembling, I fell upon thy panting Breast, } Which was with equal Love, and Grief opprest, } Whilst sighs and looks, all dying spoke the rest. } About thy Neck my feeble Arms I cast, Not _Vines_, nor _Ivy_ circle _Elms_ so fast. To stay, what dear Excuses didst thou frame, And fansiedst Tempests when the Seas were calm? How oft the Winds contrary feign’d to be, When they, alas, were onely so to me! How oft new Vows of lasting Faith you swore, And ‘twixt your Kisses all the old run o’er? But now the wisely Grave, who Love despise, (Themselves past hope) do busily advise. Whisper Renown, and Glory in thy Ear, Language which Lovers fright, and Swains ne’er hear. For _Troy_, they cry! these Shepherds Weeds lay down, Change Crooks for Scepters! Garlands for a Crown! “But sure that Crown does far less easie sit,