Epistulae

being inhuman; and only struggle against loving a man, whom I scarcely can hope ever to possess.

Why do I vainly strive to tear up the thirsty sand with a bending plough, and cherish a hope which every thing conspires to deteat? I am a stranger to the artifices of love; witness beaven, that I never yet by any decent abused my faithful husband. And now that I privately commit my thoughts to writing, my hand engages in a new and unusual task. Happy are they whom practice hath rendered expert; I, un-killed in intrigue, imagine the way to vice hedged round with thorns. This fear perpetually haunts me; even now I am covered with blushes, and imagine the eyes of all fixed upon me. Nor is this apprehension wholly groundless; for already the rumor spreads among the crowd: and Æthra accidentally overheard some whispers. It is fit you dissemble

all, unless you think it better to desist; but why desist? you who can to well dissemble. Love still, but secretly: the absence of Menelaus gives more freedom, but does not allow of all. He is gone upon a long journey, called by urgent affairs; a great and weighty concern occasioned his sudden departure: at least so it appeared to me. I, seeing him unresolved what to do, said, Go and return with all possible dispatch.

He, pleased with the omen, fondly kissed me: To your care, says he, I recommend my palace, my kingdom, and the Trojan guest. Scarcely could I refrain from laughter; and, while I strove to stifle it, I would only answer, It shall be so. He, it is true, spread his sails for Crete with a favorable wind; yet do not, from this, fancy yourself wholly secure. My husband, though absent, has still watchful eyes over me. Are you unacquainted with the proverb, that princes have long hands? My fame too is a great obstacle; for the more lavish you are in my praise, the more reasonable ground has he for suspicion. That glory, once so grateful, is now my bane; far better it had been to be less known to fame. Nor wonder at his absence, or that I am here left with you: he trusted to my virtue and unspotted life. My beauty and shape implied danger; but my probity and fame made him secure. You desire me not to lose so fair a season, or neglect the opportunity given by the simple good-natured man. I am willing, but afraid; my resolution is still unfixed, and my breast glows with all the anguish of

suspense. My husband is absent; you pine in a solitary bed, and we are each blest with a form that mutually pleases. The nights are long; we often converse; one house contains us; and you are kind and pressing. Let me die, if all things do not conspire to crown our loves; and yet I do not know what fear still holds me back. It would be better to employ force, than court with words; my bashfulness might have been overcome by a gentle violence. Wrongs are sometimes grateful even to those who suffer them; it is thus I would be made happy by a seeming force: but let us strive rather to suppress in its birth the growing flame; a little water easily extinguishes the kindling spark. Strangers are incapable of a lasting love; their passion wanders like themselves; and while we fondly believe it to be sure and unchanged, all is over. Hypsipyle and the Minoian maid are examples of this, who both were left to