Extinguish then thy passion, hopeless maid, And recollect thy reason for thy aid. Know what thou art, and love as maidens ought, And drive these golden wishes from thy thought. Thou canst not hope thy fond desires to gain; Where hope is wanting, wishes are in vain. And yet no guards against our joys conspire; No jealous husband hinders our desire; My parents are propitious to my wish, And she herself consenting to the bliss. All things concur to prosper our design; All things to prosper any love but mine. And yet I never can enjoy the fair; 'Tis past the power of heaven to grant my prayer. Heaven has been kind, as far as heaven can be; Our parents with our own desires agree; But nature, stronger, than the gods above, Refuses her assistance to my love: She sets the bar that causes all my pain; One gift refused makes all their bounty vain. And now the happy day is just at hand, To bind our hearts in Hymen's holy band; Our hearts, but not our bodies; thus accursed, In midst of water I complain of thirst. Why comest thou, Juno, to these barren rites, To bless a bed defrauded of delights? And why should Hymen lift his torch on high, To see two brides in cold embraces lie?-- Thus love-sick Iphis her vain passion mourns; With equal ardour fair Ianthe burns; Invoking Hymen's name, and Juno's power, To speed the work, and haste the happy hour. She hopes, while Telethusa fears the day, And strives to interpose some new delay; Now feigns a sickness, now is in a fright For this bad omen, or that boding sight. But having done whate'er she could devise, And emptied all her magazine of lies, The time approached; the next ensuing day The fatal secret must to light betray. Then Telethusa had recourse to prayer, She and her daughter with dishevelled hair; Trembling with fear, great Isis they adored, Embraced her altar, and her aid implored. Fair queen, who dost on fruitful Egypt smile, } Who sway'st the sceptre of the Pharian isle, } And sevenfold falls of disemboguing Nile; } Relieve, in this our last distress, she said, A suppliant mother, and a mournful maid. Thou, goddess, thou wert present to my sight; Revealed I saw thee by thy own fair light; I saw thee in my dream, as now I see, With all thy marks of awful majesty; The glorious train that compassed thee around; And heard the hollow timbrel's holy sound. Thy words I noted, which I still retain; Let not thy sacred oracles be vain. That Iphis lives, that I myself am free From shame and punishment, I owe to thee. On thy protection all our hopes depend; Thy counsel saved us, let thy power defend. Her tears pursued her words, and, while she spoke, The goddess nodded, and her altar shook;