Epistulae

dowry, remember the field that was to be ploughed up before you could carry off the golden fleece. My dowry is that golden ram, beautiful by his rich wool; which if I should demand back, would you ever consent? I bring for a dowry your own safety, and that of all the Grecian youths. Go now, perjured man, and boast the ill-gotten wealth of Sisyphus. To me you owe your life, that you have a spouse, a powerful father-in-law, or even that you can be ungrateful. But hold: I will quickly be revenged. Yet what avails it to threaten before-hand? Rage drives me upon the deepest destruction. I will yield to all the madness of rage, however I may afterwards repent. I even now repent the aid I granted to a perfidious wretch. The God who rages in my breast can alone penetrate these designs: I only know that my mind conceives something vast and worthy of myself.

LAODAMIA of Thessaly wishes health to her Thessalian husband, and ardently prays that the Gods may convey this health whither she sends it. It is said that you are detained at Aulis by contrary winds; ah! cruel winds, where were ye when he first parted from me? It was then the seas ought to have opposed themselves to your oars: that was the proper season for the waves to rage. I would nave given him many kisses, many admonitions; for I had an abundance of admonitions to give. You were suddenly hurried

from me; an inviting gale called forth the sails, a gale grateful to the mariners, not to me; a gale that exactly suited their views, but not those of an unhappy lover. I was torn from the embraces of my dear Protesilaus; my faltering tongue gave you its last charge in broken words, and scarcely was I able to utter the mournful adieu. The north-wind sprang up, and stretched the swelling sails. My Protesilaus was soon carried far from me. While my husband remained in sight, I found a pleasure in looking at him, and incessantly pursued your eyes with mine. Even after I could no longer see you, I still could behold your sails: the sails kept my eyes long fixed upon them. But when I could no more perceive either you or the flying sails, and nothing appeared to my aching sight beside the sea, light fled also with you; a darkness hung round me, nor were my tottering knees longer able to support my pale frame. My father-in-law Iphiclus, the good old Acastus, and my sorrowful mother, hardly recovered me by sprinkling my face with cold water. They were taken up in a kind good-natured office, but ungrateful to me, who mourn that I was not suffered to finish a wretched life. With my senses, my grief also returned; and a just love preyed upon my chaste heart. I now neg-