Epistulae

Let others to recover health run through fire and sword: let them hope for relief from bitter draughts. You have no need of these: avoid only the guilt of perjury, perform the promised vow, and preserve both yourself and me. The not knowing that you were in fault, will excuse what is past; the form by which you bound yourself may have slipped out of your mind. But now you are fully admonished, both by my words, and those fetters, which, as often as you endeavour to break from them, bind you the faster. But could you get happily clear of even these, still remember that you must invoke her aid in

the pressing hours of child-bed. She will attend; and, calling to mind the promise you made, enquire to what husband the birth belongs. If then you make a vow for your recovery, the Goddess will disregard it, knowing you to be false; if you confirm it by an oath, she still knows you can forget your engagements to the Gods themselves. I am not so much concerned for my own fate: a still greater care burthens my mind, and fills me with fear and anxiety for your life. Why do your trembling parents mourn your doubtful fate, while you keep them in ignorance of your daring crime? And why are they kept in ignorance? It is proper that you disclose all to your mother. There is nothing, Cydippe, of which you need be ashamed. Repeat all to her in order; say that I first saw you as you were engaged in the solemnities of the buskined Goddess. Tell her that, as soon as I saw you, (if perhaps you gave any attention to what I then did,) my eyes were immoveably fixed upon every limb and feature; that, while I was thus lost in admiration, (the sure sign of a growing love,) my cloak insensibly dropped from my shoulders; and that afterwards you perceived an apple, uncertain whence, come rolling towards you, but cunningly marked with ensnaring words; which, as they were read in the sacred presence of Diana, made the Goddess a witness that your faith is tied down to me.