John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  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; 125

  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 her self consenting to the bliss. 130

  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 Pow’r of Heav’n to grant my Pray’r.

  Heav’n has been kind, as far as Heav’n can be; 135

  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 refus’d makes all their Bounty vain. 140

  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, accurs’d,

  In midst of water I complain of thirst.

  Why com’st thou, Juno, to these barren Rites, 145

  To bless a Bed, defrauded of delights?

  And why shou’d Hymen lift his Torch on high,

  To see two Brides in cold Embraces lye?

  Thus love-sick Iphis her vain Passion mourns:

  With equal Ardour fair Ianthe burns: 150

  Invoking Hymen’s Name, and Juno’s Pow’r,

  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 155

  For this bad Omen, or that boding sight.

  But having done whate’re she cou’d devise,

  And empty’d all her Magazine of lies,

  The time approach’d; the next ensuing day

  The Fatal Secret must to light betray. 160

  Then Telethusa had recourse to Pray’r,

  She and her Daughter with dishevell’d hair:

  Trembling with fear, great Isis they ador’d;

  Embrac’d her Altar, and her aid implor’d.

  Fair Queen, who dost on fruitful Egypt smile, 165

  Who sway’st the Sceptre of the Pharian Isle,

  And sev’n-fold falls of disembogueing Nile;

  Relieve, in this our last distress, she said,

  A suppliant Mother, and a mournful Maid.

  Thou, Goddess, thou wert present to my sight; 170

  Reveal’d 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 compass’d thee around;

  And heard the hollow Timbrels holy sound. 175

  Thy Words I noted, which I still retain;

  Let not thy Sacred Oracles be vain.

  That Iphis lives, that I my self am free

  From shame, and punishment, I owe to thee.

  On thy Protection all our hopes depend: 180

  Thy Counsel sav’d us, let thy Pow’r defend.

  Her Tears pursu’d her Words, and while she spoke,

  The Goddess nodded, and her Altar shook:

  The Temple doors, as with a blast of wind,

  Were heard to clap; the Lunar Horns, that bind 185

  The brows of Isis, cast a blaze around;

  The trembling Timbrel made a murm’ring sound.

  Some hopes these happy Omens did impart;

  Forth went the Mother with a beating Heart:

  Not much in Fear, nor fully satisfi’d; 190

  But Iphis follow’d with a larger stride:

  The whiteness of her Skin forsook her Face;

  Her looks emboldn’d, with an awful Grace:

  Her Features and her Strength together grew,

  And her long Hair to curling Locks withdrew. 195

  Her sparkling Eyes with Manly Vigour shone;

  Big was her Voice, Audacious was her Tone.

  The latent Parts, at length reveal’d, began

  To shoot, and spread, and burnish into Man.

  The Maid becomes a Youth; no more delay 200

  Your Vows, but look, and confidently pay.

  Their Gifts, the Parents to the Temple bear:

  The Votive Tables this Inscription wear:

  Iphis, the Man, has to the Goddess paid

  The Vows, that Iphis offer’d, when a Maid. 205

  Now when the Star of Day had shewn his face,

  Venus and Juno with their Presence grace

  The Nuptial Rites, and Hymen from above

  Descended to compleat their happy Love:

  The Gods of Marriage lend their mutual aid; 210

  And the warm Youth enjoys the lovely Maid.

  Pygmalion and the Statue, Out of the Tenth Book of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

  The Propætides, for their impudent Behaviour, being turn’d into Stone by Venus, Pygmalion, Prince of Cyprus, detested all Women for their Sake, and resolv’d never to marry: He falls in love with a Statue of his own making, which is chang’d into a Maid, whom he marries. One of his Descendants is Cinyras, the Father of Myrrha; the Daughter incestuously loves her own Father; for which she is changed into the Tree which bears her Name. These two Stories immediately follow each other, and are admirably well connected.

  Pygmalion loathing their lascivious Life,

  Abhorr’d all Womankind, but most a Wife:

  So single chose to live, and shunn’d to wed,

  Well pleas’d to want a Consort of his Bed.

  Yet fearing Idleness, the Nurse of Ill, 5

  In Sculpture exercis’d his happy Skill;

  And carv’d in Iv’ry such a Maid, so fair,

  As Nature could not with his Art compare,

  Were she to work; but in her own Defence,

  Must take her Pattern here, and copy hence. 10

  Pleas’d with his Idol, he commends, admires,

  Adores; and last, the Thing ador’d, desires.

  A very Virgin in her Face was seen,

  And had she mov’d, a living Maid had been:

  One wou’d have thought she could have stirr’d; but strove 15

  With Modesty, and was asham’d to move.

  Art hid with Art, so well perform’d the Cheat,

  It caught the Carver with his own Deceit:

  He knows ’tis Madness, yet he must adore,

  And still the more he knows it, loves the more: 20

  The Flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft,

  Which feels so smooth, that he believes it soft.

  Fir’d with this Thought, at once he strain’d the Breast,

  And on the Lips a burning Kiss impress’d.

  ’Tis true, the harden’d Breast resists the Gripe, 25

  And the cold Lips return a Kiss unripe:

  But when, retiring back, he look’d agen,

  To think it Iv’ry, was a thought too mean:

  So wou’d believe she kiss’d, and courting more,

  Again embrac’d her naked Body o’er; 30

  And straining hard the Statue, was afraid

  His Hands had made a Dint, and hurt his Maid:

  Explor’d her, Limb by Limb, and fear’d to find

  So rude a Gripe had left a livid Mark behind:

  With Flatt’ry now he seeks her Mind to move, 35

  And now with Gifts, (the pow’rful Bribes of Love:)

  He furnishes her Closet first; and fills

  The crowded Shelves with Rarities of Shells;

  Adds Orient Pearls, which from the Conchs he drew,

  And all the sparkling Stones of various Hue: 40

  And Parrots, imitating Humane Tongue,

  And Singing-birds in Silver Cages hung;


  And ev’ry fragrant Flow’r, and od’rous Green,

  Were sorted well, with Lumps of Amber laid between:

  Rich, fashionable Robes her person Deck: 45

  Pendants her Ears, and Pearls adorn her Neck:

  Her taper’d Fingers too with Rings are grac’d,

  And an embroider’d Zone surrounds her slender Waste.

  Thus like a Queen array’d, so richly dress’d,

  Beauteous she shew’d, but naked shew’d the best. 50

  Then, from the Floor, he rais’d a Royal Bed,

  With Cov’rings of Sydonian Purple spread:

  The Solemn Rites perform’d, her calls her Bride,

  With Blandishments invites her to his Side,

  And as she were with Vital Sense possess’d, 55

  Her Head did on a plumy Pillow rest.

  The Feast of Venus came, a Solemn Day,

  To which the Cypriots due Devotion pay;

  With gilded Horns the Milk-white Heifers led,

  Slaughter’d before the sacred Altars, bled: 60

  Pygmalion off’ring, first approach’d the Shrine,

  And then with Pray’rs implor’d the Pow’rs Divine:

  Almighty Gods, if all we Mortals want,

  If all we can require, be yours to grant;

  Make this fair Statue mine, he would have said, 65

  But chang’d his Words for shame; and only pray’d,

  Give me the Likeness of my Iv’ry Maid.

  The Golden Goddess, present at the Pray’r,

  Well knew he meant th’ inanimated Fair,

  And gave the Sign of granting his Desire; 70

  For thrice in chearful Flames ascends the Fire.

  The Youth, returning to his Mistress, hies,

  And, impudent in Hope, with ardent Eyes,

  And beating Breast, by the dear Statue lies.

  He kisses her white Lips, renews the Bliss, 75

  And looks and thinks they redden at the Kiss:

  He thought them warm before: Nor longer stays,

  But next his Hand on her hard Bosom lays:

  Hard as it was, beginning to relent,

  It seem’d, the Breast beneath his Fingers bent; 80

  He felt again, his Fingers made a Print,

  ‘T was Flesh, but Flesh so firm, it rose against the Dint:

  The pleasing Task he fails not to renew;

  Soft, and more soft at ev’ry Touch it grew;

  Like pliant Wax, when chafing Hands reduce 85

  The former Mass to Form, and frame for Use

  He would believe, but yet is still in pain,

  And tries his Argument of Sense again,

  Presses the Pulse, and feels the leaping Vein.

  Convinc’d, o’erjoy’d, his studied Thanks and Praise, 90

  To her who made the Miracle, he pays:

  Then Lips to Lips he join’d; now freed from Fear,

  He found the Savour of the Kiss sincere:

  At this the waken’d Image op’d her Eyes,

  And view’d at once the Light and Lover, with surprize. 95

  The Goddess present at the Match she made,

  So bless’d the Bed, such Fruitfulness convey’d,

  That e’er ten Moons had sharpen’d either Horn,

  To crown their Bliss, a lovely Boy was born;

  Paphos his Name, who, grown to Manhood, wall’d 100

  The City Paphos, from the Founder call’d.

  Cinyras and Myrrha, Out of the Tenth Book of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

  There needs no connection of this Story with the Former: for the Beginning of This immediately follows the End of the Last: The Reader is only to take notice, that Orpheus, who relates both, was by Birth a Thracian; and his Country far distant from Cyprus, where Myrrha was born, and from Arabia, whither she fled. You will see the Reason of this Note, soon after the first Lines of this Fable.

  NOR him alone produc’d 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 Horrour; and could I prevail, 5

  You shou’d 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: 10

  Since Nature cou’d 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, 15

  Her Cinamon and sweet Amomum boast,

  Her fragrant Flow’rs, her Trees with precious Tears,

  Her second Harvests, and her double Years;

  How can the Land be call’d so bless’d that Myrrha bears?

  Not all her od’rous Tears can cleanse her Crime, 20

  Her Plant alone deforms the happy Clime.

  Cupid denies to have inflam’d thy Heart,

  Disowns thy Love, and vindicates his Dart

  Some Fury gave thee those infernal Pains,

  And shot her venom’d Vipers in thy Veins 25

  To hate thy Sire, had merited a Curse;

  But such an impious Love deserv’d a worse.

  The Neighb’ring Monarchs, by thy Beauty led,

  Contend in Crowds, ambitious of thy Bed:

  The World is at thy Choice, except but one, 30

  Except but him thou canst not chuse alone.

  She knew it too, the miserable Maid,

  E’er impious Love her better Thoughts betray’d,

  And thus within her secret Soul she said:

  Ah Myrrha! whither wou’d thy Wishes tend? 35

  Ye Gods, ye sacred Laws, my Soul defend

  From such a Crime, as all Mankind detest,

  And never lodg’d before in Humane Breast!

  But is it Sin? Or makes my Mind alone

  Th’ imagin’d Sin? For Nature makes it none. 40

  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, 45

  Or more salacious Goat, to rut their Dam?

  The Hen is free to wed her Chick she bore,

  And make a Husband, whom she hatch’d before.

  All Creatures else are of a happier Kind,

  Whom nor ill-natur’d Laws from Pleasure bind, 50

  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 busie Senates, with an over-care

  To make us better than our Kind can bear, 55

  Have dash’d a Spice of Envy in the Laws,

  And straining up too high, have spoil’d 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 join’d, 60

  And Piety is doubly paid in Kind.

  O that I had been born in such a Clime,

  Not here, where ’tis the Country makes the Crime!

  But whither wou’d my impious Fancy stray?

  Hence Hopes, and ye forbidden Thoughts away! 65

  His Worth deserves to kindle my Desires,

  But with the Love, that Daughters bear to Sires.

  Then had not Cinyras my Father been,

  What hinder’d Myrrha’s Hopes to be his Queen?

  But the Perverseness of my Fate is such, 70

  That he’s not mine, because he’s mine too much:

  Our Kindred-Blood debars a better Tie;

  He might be nearer, were he not so nigh.

  Eyes and
their Objects never must unite,

  Some Distance is requir’d to help the Sight: 75

  Fain wou’d I travel to some Foreign Shore,

  Never to see my Native Country more,

  So might I to my self my self restore;

  So might my Mind these impious Thoughts remove,

  And ceasing to behold, might cease to love. 80

  But stay I must, to feed my famish’d Sight,

  To talk, to kiss; and more, if more I might:

  More, impious Maid! What more canst thou design,

  To make a monstrous Mixture in thy Line,

  And break all Statutes Humane and Divine? 85

  Canst thou be call’d (to save thy wretched Life)

  Thy Mother’s Rival, and thy Father’s Wife?

  Confound so many sacred Names in one,

  Thy Brother’s Mother, Sister to thy Son!

  And fear’st thou not to see th’ Infernal Bands, 90

  Their Heads with Snakes, with Torches arm’d their Hands,

  Full at thy Face th’ avenging Brands to bear,

  And shake the Serpents from their hissing Hair?

  But thou in time th’ increasing Ill controul,

  Nor first debauch the Body by the Soul; 95

  Secure the sacred Quiet of thy Mind,

  And keep the Sanctions Nature has design’d.

  Suppose I shou’d attempt, th’ Attempt were vain;

  No Thoughts like mine his sinless Soul profane:

  Observant of the Right; and O, that he 100

  Cou’d cure my Madness, or be mad like me!

  Thus she: But Cinyras, who daily sees

  A Crowd of Noble Suitors at his Knees,

  Among so many, knew not whom to chuse,

  Irresolute to grant, or to refuse. 105

  But having told their Names, enquir’d of her,

  Who pleas’d her best, and whom she would prefer?

  The blushing Maid stood silent with Surprize,

  And on her Father fix’d her ardent Eyes,

  And looking sigh’d; and as she sigh’d, began 110

  Round Tears to shed, that scalded as they ran.

  The tender Sire, who saw her blush, and cry,

  Ascrib’d it all to Maiden-modesty;

  And dry’d the falling Drops, and yet more kind,

  He strok’d her Cheeks, and holy Kisses join’d: 115

  She felt a secret Venom fire her Blood,

  And found more Pleasure than a Daughter shou’d;

  And, ask’d again, what Lover of the Crew

  She lik’d the best; she answer’d, One like you.

  Mistaking what she meant, her pious Will 120

  He prais’d, and bad her so continue still:

  The Word of Pious heard, she blush’d with shame

  Of secret Guilt, and cou’d not bear the Name.