DAPHNE AND APOLLO:

IMITATED FROM THE FIRST BOOK OF OVID'S

METAMORPHOSES.

"Nympha, precor, Penei, mane.

APOLLO.

BATE, fair fugitive, abate thy speed, Dismiss thy fears, and turn thy beauteous head;

With kind regard a panting lover view; Less swiftly fly, less swiftly I'll pursue: Pathless, alas! and rugged is the ground, Some stone may hurt thee, or some thorn may

This care is for himself, as sure as death!
One mile has put the fellow out of breath ;
He'll never do, I'll lead him t'other round;
Washy he is, perhaps not over sound.

APOLLO.

You fly, alas! not knowing who you fly;
Nor ill-bred swain, nor rusty clown, am I:
I Claros isle and Tenedos command-

DAPHNE.

Thank you: I would not leave my native land.

APOLLO.

What is to come, by certain arts I know.

10

DAPHNE.

Pish! Partridge has as fair pretence as you.

APOLLO.

Behold the beauties of my locks

DAPHNE.

A fig!

That may be counterfeit, a Spanish wig.
Who cares for all that bush of curling hair,
Whilst your smooth chin is so extremely bare?

I sing

APOLLO.

DAPHNE.

That never shall be Daphne's choice:

Syphacio had an admirable voice.

APOLLO.

Of every herb I tell the mystic power;
To certain health the patient I restore;
Sent for, caress'd-

DAPHNE.

Ours is a wholesome air;

You'd better go to town, and practise there:
For me, I've no obstructions to remove:
I'm pretty well, I thank your father Jove:
And physic is a weak ally to love.

APOLLO.

For learning fam'd, fine verses I compose.

DAPHNE.

So do your brother quacks and brother beaux.
Memorials only, and reviews, write prose.

APOLLO.

From the bent yew I send the pointed reed,
Sure of its aim, and fatal in its speed.-

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30

* An almanack maker and astrologer at the beginning of the eighteenth century. See Swift's Miscellanies.

DAPHNE.

Then, leaving me, whom sure you would not kill, In yonder thicket exercise your skill:

Shoot there at beasts; but for the human heart, Your cousin Cupid has the only dart.

APOLLO.

Yet turn, O beauteous maid! yet deign to hear
A love-sick deity's impetuous prayer;

O let me woo thee as thou wouldst be woo'd!

DAPHNE.

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First, therefore, don't be so extremely rude.
Don't tear the hedges down, and tread the clover,
Like a hobgoblin, rather than a lover.

Next to my father's grotto sometimes come;
At ebbing-tide he always is at home.

Read the Courant with him, and let him know 50
A little politics, how matters go

Upon his brother rivers, Rhine or Po.

As any maid or footman comes or goes,

Pull off your hat, and ask how Daphne does:
These sort of folks will to each other tell,

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That you respect me; that, you know, looks well.
Then, if you are, as you pretend, the god
That rules the day, and much upon the road,
You'll find a hundred trifles in your way,
That you may bring one home from Africa:
Some little rarity, some bird, or beast;
And now and then a jewel from the east ;
A lacquer'd cabinet, some china ware,
You have them mighty cheap at Pekin fair!
Next, nota bene, you shall never rove,
Nor take example by your father Jove.
Last, for the ease and comfort of my life,

70

Make me your (Lord! what startles you?) your wife.
I'm now (they say) sixteen, or something more;
We mortals seldom live above fourscore:
Fourscore; you're good at numbers, let us see,
Seventeen suppose, remaining sixty-three ;
Aye, in that span of time you'll bury me.
Mean time, if you have tumult, noise, and strife,
(Things not abhorrent to a married life,)
They'll quickly end, you'll see; what signify
A few odd years to you that never die?
And, after all, you're half your time away,
You know your business takes you up all day;
And, coming late to bed, you need not fear,
Whatever noise I make, you'll sleep, my dear!
Or, if a winter-evening should be long,
E'en read your physic-book, or make a song.
Your steeds, your wife, diachalon, and rhyme,
May take up any honest godhead's time.
Thus, as you like it, you may love again,
And let another Daphne have her reign.
Now love, or leave, my dear; retreat, or follow:
I Daphne (this premis'd) take thee Apollo.
And may I split into ten thousand trees,
If I give up on other terms than these!

She said; but what the amorous god replied
(So fate ordain'd) is to our search denied;
By rats, alas! the manuscript is eat,
O cruel banquet! which we all regret.
Bavius, thy labours must this work restore;
May thy good-will be equal to thy power!

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90

WO mice, dear boy, of genteel fashion,
And (what is more) good education,
Frolic and gay, in infant years,

Equally shar'd their parents' cares.
The sire of these two babes (poor creature!)
Paid his last debt to human nature;
A wealthy widow left behind,

Four babes, three male, one female kind.
The sire being under ground and buried,

'Twas thought his spouse would soon have
married;

Matches propos'd, and numerous suitors,
Most tender husbands, careful tutors,
She modestly refus'd, and shew'd

She'd be a mother to her brood.

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Mother! dear mother! that endearing thought Has thousand and ten thousand fancies brought. Tell me, oh! tell me, (thou art now above) How to describe thy true maternal love, Thy early pangs, thy growing anxious cares, Thy flattering hopes, thy fervent pious prayers, 20 Thy doleful days and melancholy nights, Cloister'd from common joys and just delights: How thou didst constantly in private mourn, And wash with daily tears thy spouse's urn; How it employ'd your thoughts and lucid time, That your young offspring might to honour climb;