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Back to the camp; but Sextus there could find
Nor peace nor ease for his distemper'd mind;
A spreading fire does in his bosom burn,
Fain would he to the absent fair return;

Sic sedit: sic culta fuit: sic stamina nevit:
Neglectæ collo sic jacuere comæ :
Hos habuit vultus: hic illi verba fuere:

Hic decor, hæc facies, hic color oris erat.
Ut solet a magno fluctus languescere flatu;
Sed tamen a vento, qui fait ante, tumet :
Sic, quamvis aberat placitæ præsentia formæ,
Quem dederat præsens forma, manebat amor.
Ardet; et injusti stimulis agitatus amoris

Comparat indigno vimque dolumque toro.
Exitus in dubio est: audebimus ultima, dixit:
Viderit, audentis forsne deusne juvet.
Cepimus audendo Gabios quoque.

Talia fatus

Ense latus cingit: tergaque pressit equi.
Accipit ærata juvenem Collatia porta :

Condere jam vultus sole parante suos.

Hostis, ut hospes, init penetralia Collatina:

Comiter excipitur: sanguine junctus erat.

Quantum animis erroris inest! parat inscia rerum
Infelix epulas hostibus illa suis.

Functus erat dapibus: poscunt sua tempora somni.
Nox erat; et tota lumina nulla domo.
Surgit, et auratum vagina deripit ensem:

Et venit in thalamos, nupta pudica, tuos.

Utque torum pressit; ferrum, Lucretia, mecum est,
Natus, ait, regis, Tarquiniusque vocor.
Illa nihil: neque enim vocem viresque loquendi,
Aut aliquid toto pectore mentis habet.
Sed tremit, ut quondam stabulis deprensa relictis,
Parva sub infesto cum jacet agne lupo.
Quid faciat? pugnet? vincetur femina pugna.
Clamet at in dextra, qui necet, ensis adest.
Effugiat? positis urgetur pectora palmis ;

Nunc primum externa pectora tacta manu.
Instat amans hostis precibus, pretioque, minisque
Nec prece, nec pretio, nec movet ille minis.
Nil agis; eripiam, dixit, per crimina vitam:
Falsus adulterii testis adulter ero.

Interimam famulum; cum quo deprensa fereris.
Succubuit famæ victa puella metu.

Quid, victor, gaudes? hæc te victoria perdet.
Heu quanto regnis nox stetit una tuis!
Jamque erat orta dies: passis sedet illa capillis;
Ut solet ad nati mater itura rogum.

Grandævumque patrem fido cum conjuge castris
Evocat; et posita venit uterque mora.

Utque vident habitum; quæ luctus causa, requirunt :

The image of Lucretia fills his breast,
Thus at her wheel she sat! and thus was drest!
What sparkling eyes, what pleasure in her look!
How just her speech, and how divinely spoke!
Like as the waves, rais'd by a boisterous wind,
Sink by degrees, but leave a swell behind:
So though by absence lessen'd was his fire,
There still remain'd the kindlings of desire;
Unruly lust from hence began to rise,
Which how to gratify he must devise;
All on a rack, and stung with mad designs,
He reason to his passion quite resigns;
Whate'er's th' event, said he, I'll try my fate,
Suspense in all things is a wretched state;
Let some assistant god, or chance, attend,
All bold attempts they usually befriend:
This way, said he, I to the Gabii trod;
Then girding on his sword, away he rode.
The day was spent, the sun was nearly set,
When he arriv'd before Collatia's gate;
Like as a friend, but with a sly intent,
To Collatinus' house he boldly went;
There he a kind reception met within
From fair Lucretia, for they were akin.
What ignorance attends the human mind!
How oft we are to our misfortunes blind!
Thoughtless of harm, she made a handsome feast
And o'er a cheerful glass regal'd her guest
With lively chat; and then to bed they went;

But Tarquin still pursued his vile intent;
All dark, about the dead of night he rose,
And softly to Lucretia's chamber goes;

Cui paret exsequias, quove sit icta malo.
Illa diu reticet, pudibundaque celat amictu

Ora. Fluunt lacrymæ more perennis aquæ.
Hinc pater, hinc conjux lacrymas solantur, et orant
Indicet et cæco flentque paventque metu.
Ter conata loqui, &c.

His naked sword he carried in his hand,

That what he could not win, he might command;

With rapture on her bed himself he threw,

And as approaching to her lips he drew,

Dear cousin, ah, my dearest life, he said,

'Tis I, 'tis Tarquin, why are you afraid?
Trembling with fear, she not a word could say,
Her spirits fled, she fainted quite away;

Like as a lamb beneath a wolf's rude paws,
Appall'd and stunn'd, her breath she hardly draws;
What can she do? resistance would be vain,
She a weak woman, he a vig'rous man.
Should she cry out? his naked sword was by;
One scream, said he, and you this instant die:
Would she escape? his hands lay on her breast,
Now first by hands of any stranger prest:
The lover urg'd by threats, rewards, and prayers;
But neither prayers, rewards, nor threats, she hears:
Will you not yield? he cries; then know my will—
When these my warm desires have had their fill,
By your dead corpse I'll kill and lay a slave,
And in that posture both together leave;
Then feign myself a witness of your shame,
And fix a lasting blemish on your fame.
Her mind the fears of blemish'd fame control,
And shake the resolutions of her soul;
But of thy conquest, Tarquin, never boast,
Gaining that fort, thou hast a kingdom lost;
Vengeance thy complicated guilt attends,
Which both in thine, and fam❜ly's ruin ends.
With rising day the sad Lucretia rose,
Her inward grief her outward habit shows;
Mournful she sat in tears, and all alone,
As if she'd lost her only darling son;
Then for her husband and her father sent,
Who Ardea left in haste to know th' intent;

Who, when they saw her all in mourning drest
To know the occasion of her grief, request;
Whose funeral she mourn'd desir'd to know,
Or why she had put on those robes of woe?
She long conceal'd the melancholy cause,
While from her eyes a briny fountain flows:
Her aged sire, and tender husband, strive
To heal her grief, and words of comfort give;
Yet dread some fatal consequence to hear,

And begg'd she would the cruel cause declare."

Our readers will easily perceive by this short specimen, how very unequal Mr. Massey is to a translation of Ovid. In many places he has deviated entirely from the sense, and in every part fallen infinitely below the strength, elegance, and spirit of the original. We must beg leave, therefore, to remind him of the old Italian proverb,-"Il tradattores Tratatore," and hope he will never for the future traduce and injure any of those poor ancients who never injured him, by thus pestering the world with such translations as even his own schoolboys ought to be whipped for.*

["It was the merit which Goldsmith discovered in criticising a despicable translation of Ovid's Fasti by a pedantic schoolmaster, and his Inquiry into Polite Literature, which first introduced him to the acquaintance of Dr. Smollet."-AIKIN.]

XIII.-MARRIOTT'S

"FEMALE CONDUCT; AN ESSAY ON THE ART OF PLEASING."

"Female Conduct; being an

[From the Critical Review, 1759. Essay on the Art of Pleasing. To be practised by the Fair Sex, before and after Marriage. A Poem, in two books. Inscribed to Plautilla. By Thomas Marriott, Esq." 8vo.]

THIS performance is dedicated to her royal highness the Princess of Wales, as the distinguished patroness of female virtue. In the preface, the author gives some account of the poem, and endeavors to anticipate the malevolence of the critics. He expresses apprehension on one subject, which, however, we will venture to say is groundless; that is, "some people will say he is too much a poet." He might also have spared his apology, for having used "every art of persuasion and argument, either by repetition, amplification, tale, fable, example, or allegory, and every pleasing manner of conveying precepts, and enforcing doctrines." Mr. Marriott needs no excuse for that which cannot be displeasing. This poem, we are informed, is intended for the use and amusement of the female sex only: and the author hopes the salutary precepts and precautions it contains, may prove an antidote to the poison of Ovid, and all modern productions of the like pernicious nature. We hope so too, and commend the author for the morality of his undertaking.

Prefixed to the poem we find an ode on the death of the Duke of Marlborough, together with an imitation of the eighth ode of the fourth book of Horace, intended to be sent to his grace at the beginning of the new year. In this piece, the most remark

* [Charles Spencer, second duke of Marlborough. He died at Munster, in Westphalia, in October 1758.]

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