Epistulae

PARIS, the son of Priam, sends health to helen; that health, which he can himself no otherwise enjoy, than as it is your gift. Shall I then speak? or is it unnecessary to inform you of a passion that betrays itself? Has not my love already laid itself too open? I could indeed wish it to lie conceaied, till the time comes when we can taste of joys unallayed by any mixture of fear. But it is in vain that I dissemble; for who can smother a flame that always discovers itself by its own brightness? If yet you expect that my tongue should confirm what my actions have so long declared,—I burn. This message brings

you the true sense of my heart. Forgive this kind confession; and do not peruse what remains with a severe look, but with one that best becomes your heavenly form. Already it gives me pleasure to think that my letter is well received; for this creates a hope that I may also meet with the same kind entertainment. Heaven grant that my hopes may be confirmed, and that the queen of love, who urged me to this voyage, may not have promised in vain. For, that you may not offend through ignorance, know that I came hither by a divine admonition, and that one, not the meanest of the divine powers, favors my design. The prize I seek indeed is great, yet what I may justly claim; for Venus promised you, fair as you are, to my bed. Guided by her, I abandoned the