Nor him alone produced the fruitful queen; But Cinyras, who like his sire had been A happy prince, had he not been a sire. Daughters and fathers, from my song retire! I sing of horror; and, could I prevail, You should not hear, or not believe my tale. Yet if the pleasure of my song be such, That you will hear, and credit me too much, Attentive listen to the last event, And with the sin believe the punishment: Since nature could behold so dire a crime, I gratulate at least my native clime, That such a land, which such a monster bore, So far is distant from our Thracian shore. Let Araby extol her happy coast, Her cinnamon and sweet amomum boast; Her fragrant flowers, her trees with precious tears, } Her second harvests, and her double years; } How can the land be called so blessed, that Myrrha bears?} Not all her odorous tears can cleanse her crime, Her plant alone deforms the happy clime; Cupid denies to have inflamed thy heart, Disowns thy love, and vindicates his dart; Some fury gave thee those infernal pains, And shot her venomed vipers in thy veins. To hate thy sire, had merited a curse; But such an impious love deserved a worse. The neighbouring monarchs, by thy beauty led, Contend in crowds, ambitious of thy bed; The world is at thy choice, except but one, Except but him thou canst not choose alone. She knew it too, the miserable maid, } Ere impious love her better thoughts betrayed, } And thus within her secret soul she said:-- } Ah, Myrrha! whither would thy wishes tend? Ye Gods, ye sacred laws, my soul defend From such a crime as all mankind detest, And never lodged before in human breast! But is it sin? Or makes my mind alone The imagined sin? For nature makes it none. What tyrant then these envious laws began, Made not for any other beast but man! The father-bull his daughter may bestride, The horse may make his mother-mare a bride; What piety forbids the lusty ram, Or more salacious goat, to rut their dam? The hen is free to wed her chick she bore, And make a husband, whom she hatched before. All creatures else are of a happier kind, } Whom nor ill-natured laws from pleasure bind, } Nor thoughts of sin disturb their peace of mind. } But man a slave of his own making lives; The fool denies himself what nature gives; Too busy senates, with an over-care To make us better than our kind can bear, Have dashed a spice of envy in the laws, And, straining up too high, have spoiled the cause. Yet some wise nations break their cruel chains, And own no laws, but those which love ordains; Where happy daughters with their sires are joined, And piety is doubly paid in kind.