I rave; nor canst thou Venus' offspring be, Love's mother could not bear a son like thee. From hardened oak, or from a rock's cold womb, At least thou art from some fierce tigress come; Or on rough seas, from their foundation torn, Got by the winds, and in a tempest born: Like that, which now thy trembling sailors fear; Like that, whose rage should still detain thee here. Behold how high the foamy billows ride! The winds and waves are on the juster side. To winter weather, and a stormy sea, I'll owe what rather I would owe to thee. Death thou deserv'st from heaven's avenging laws; But I'm unwilling to become the cause. To shun my love, if thou wilt seek thy fate, 'Tis a dear purchase, and a costly hate. Stay but a little, till the tempest cease, And the loud winds are lulled into a peace. May all thy rage, like theirs, inconstant prove! And so it will, if there be power in love. Know'st thou not yet what dangers ships sustain? So often wrecked, how darest thou tempt the main? Which were it smooth, were every wave asleep, Ten thousand forms of death are in the deep. In that abyss the gods their vengeance store, For broken vows of those who falsely swore; There winged storms on sea-born Venus wait, To vindicate the justice of her state. Thus I to thee the means of safety show; And, lost myself, would still preserve my foe. False as thou art, I not thy death design; O rather live, to be the cause of mine! Should some avenging storm thy vessel tear, (But heaven forbid my words should omen bear!) Then in thy face thy perjured vows would fly, And my wronged ghost be present to thy eye; With threatening looks think thou behold'st me stare, Gasping my mouth, and clotted all my hair. Then, should forked lightning and red thunder fall, What couldst thou say, but, I deserved them all? Lest this should happen, make not haste away; To shun the danger will be worth thy stay. Have pity on thy son, if not on me; My death alone is guilt enough for thee. What has his youth, what have thy gods deserved, To sink in seas, who were from fires preserved? But neither gods nor parent didst thou bear; Smooth stories all, to please a woman's ear, False as the tale of thy romantic life. Nor yet am I thy first-deluded wife; Left to pursuing foes Creusa stayed, By thee, base man, forsaken and betrayed. This, when thou told'st me, struck my tender heart,[16] That such requital followed such desert. Nor doubt I but the gods, for crimes like these, Seven winters kept thee wandering on the seas. Thy starved companions, cast ashore, I fed, Thyself admitted to my crown and bed. To harbour strangers, succour the distrest, Was kind enough; but, oh, too kind the rest! Curst be the cave which first my ruin brought,