PENELOPE to ULYSSES. Paraphras'd from OVID. Stephen Duck Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T90234 K073280.000 Duck, Stephen, 1705-1756. Poems on several occasions: By Stephen Duck. London printed for the author 1736 pp. 237-247. xl,334,[2]p. ; 4⁰.

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PENELOPE to ULYSSES . Paraphras'd from OVID . THESE Lines I send , impatient of your Stay , To you , my Lord , who kill me with Delay ; Yet crave not any Answer back , beside Yourself , the best of Answers to your Bride . Sure Troy , so hateful to the Grecian Dames , Is ruin'd now , with dire , consuming Flames ; Tho' scarcely Troy , nor all her King could boast , Was worth the Trouble , which her Ruin cost . O ! had lewd PARIS sunk beneath the Tide , When , o'er the Seas , he sought the Spartan Bride ; I had not then accus'd the ling'ring Day , Nor weav'd , to charm the tedious Night away ; Nor in the Bed , deserted and forlorn , Lain weeping , cold and comfortless , till Morn . WHENE'ER of Dangers in your Camp I heard , Those Dangers threaten'd you , I always fear'd : For Love , like mine , no cold Indiff'rence bears ; It feeds on tim'rous Thoughts , and anxious Cares . I fansy'd , furious Trojans round thee came ; And trembling , ever dreaded HECTOR's Name : If any said , ANTILOCHUS was slain , ANTILOCHUS was he who caus'd my Pain : Or , if in borrow'd Arms PATROCLUS bled , I wept , because his Craft no better sped : When Rhodian Blood had bath'd the Lycian Spear , The Rhodian Tlepolemus . Youth again renew'd my Care : In fine , whatever Grecian Chief was kill'd , My fearful Heart , like frigid Ice , was chill'd ; Lest flatt'ring Fame my doubtful Ears should cheat , And , for my Lord's , proclaim another's Fate : But Heav'n , propitious to my chaste Desire , Preserv'd you safe , and Troy consum'd with Fire . BUT now the other Grecian Chiefs return , And on their smoking Altars Off'rings burn ; Their useless Arms they consecrate to Peace , And Trojan Spoils the Grecian Temples grace : Each youthful Bride some pleasing Gift affords , To welcome home their safe-returning Lords ; Their safe-returning Lords , in Songs of Joy , Resound the vanquish'd Fates of ruin'd Troy : The wond'ring Sages crowd around to hear , The trembling Girls admire the Tales of War : The Wives stand list'ning , while their Husbands tell , How Greece had conquer'd , and how Ilion fell : One stains a Table with the purple Draught , And shews the furious Battles , which you fought ; Paints , with the Wine , which from the Glass he pours , Camps , Rivers , Hills , and all the Trojan Tow'rs : And , This , says he , is the Sigean Plain ; And here the silver Simois rolls his Train ; There stood old PRIAM's stately Palace , here ACHILLES pitch'd his Tent , ULYSSES there : Here mangled HECTOR , dreadful in his Fall , Affrights the Steeds , that drag him round the Wall . Your Son , who sent by me to NESTOR's Court , To seek his Father , brought me this Report From NESTOR's Mouth , and how the Thracian Lord , In Sleep , became a Victim to your Sword ; How DOLON fell into your crafty Snare — But , O ! ULYSSES , you too boldly dare ; Too fearless , thro' the Camp of Foes you rove , Mindful of Wiles , forgetful of your Love ; Slaying so many in the gloomy Night , One Friend alone , to aid you in the Fight . It was not thus you rashly us'd to go Among the midnight Terrors of the Foe ; Fondly of me you formerly have thought , With Prudence acted , and with Caution fought . Heav'n knows , with Fear my trembling Bosom beat , To hear my Son your daring Deeds relate ; Till told how you victoriously return'd , Safe , to your Camp , with Thracian Spoils adorn'd . BUT what avails it me , your Arms have thrown Troy's stately Walls , and lofty Turrets down ? As when they stood , if I am robb'd of thee , Troy's fall'n to others , standing still to me ; To others , who , with captive Oxen , toil To turn the Glebe , and till the Trojan Soil ; And while , with crooked Ploughs , they discompose Th'ill-bury'd Ashes of their slaughter'd Foes ; While Phrygian Fields , grown fat with native Blood , Bear fruitful Crops , where stately Ilion stood ; While verdant Harvests hide their ruin'd Wall , I mourn my absent Lord , who wrought its Fall ; Nor can I know the Land , where you reside , Nor who , nor what detains you from your Bride . WHATEVER Sailers on our Coast appear , ( Hopeful to find some Tidings of my Dear ) I fly to them , and ask 'em o'er and o'er , If e'er they saw you on some foreign Shore ? Then to their Hands a Letter I impart , To give it you , the Partner of my Heart ; If Chance , or Destiny should ever prove So kind to lead them to my absent Love . WE sought for you at ancient NESTOR's Court ; But sought in vain , we heard no true Report : We sent to ask the Spartans too ; but they Knew not the Climate , where you , ling'ring , stay . O ! had APOLLO sav'd his sacred Town — Ye Gods ! why did I ever wish it down ? If that were standing , and ULYSSES there , I nothing , but the Chance of War , should fear : I should not then be singly curst to cry ; Others would fear the War , no less than I . But now a thousand Whimsies feed my Care , Nor know I what to hope , or what to fear ; Yet fearing all , that Fancy can suggest , Unnumber'd Troubles rack my anxious Breast : Upon the Land whatever Dangers reign , I fear those Dangers make you there remain ; Upon the Seas whatever Storms increase , I fear those Storms detain you on the Seas . While thus my foolish Thoughts uncertain rove , Perhaps you revel with a foreign Love ; Perhaps you ridicule your Bride at home , Tell how she spins , or drudges in the Loom : Suspicious Thoughts ! that vex my jealous Mind , Begone , and vanish into empty Wind ! If cruel Fate did not obstruct the Way , My Lord would never make so long Delay . Your long Delay my Father often blames , And often chides me for my constant Flames : My constant Flames shall ever true remain ; Let Fathers chide , and Suiters court in vain . At length my Sire , who finds he can't remove My Faith from you , nor shake my settled Love , Remits his Anger , soften'd with my Pray'rs ; Yet still a Crowd of Suiters teaze my Ears ; From various Realms they come to seek your Crown , And feast , and reign securely in your Throne : 'Twould tire me ev'n to count their Number o'er , MEDON , PISANDER , and a hundred more ! All bent on Love , and Robbers of the State , And All , by your pernicious Absence , great ! To crown your Shame , the Beggar IRUS preys Upon your Sheep , and all the fattest slays : And ev'n your Shepherd , faithless to his Lord , Slaughters your Lambs , to grace the Suiter's Board : Nor have we Strength , their Rapine to oppose ; For how can Three resist so many Foes ? Your feeble Wife , your Father worn with Age , Your tender Son , too weak to check their Rage ; For whom they lately crafty Ambush laid , And menac'd Death on his devoted Head ; When , mocking all their Stratagems , he crost The Seas , to seek you on the Pylian Coast . O ! may the Gods extend his vital Date , And guard his Life , till ours submit to Fate : So may he close our Eyes with decent Care ; Such is your Servant's , such his Nurse's Pray'r . SINCE then your aged Father , feeble grown , Amidst your Foes , cannot defend your Crown ; Your Wife , too weak to chase the Foes away , Your Son , too young to bear the Regal Sway ; Haste , haste , ULYSSES , to your Royal Seat ; For you alone can cure our troubled State : Think of your Son , who wants you to inspire His Soul with all the Virtues of his Sire : Think , on the Brink of Fate your Father lies : Return , my Lord , return and close his Eyes : Think of your faithful Wife , whose youthful Face , At your Departure , blush'd with blooming Grace : But now I blush with blooming Grace no more ; Tears , for your Absence , cloud my Beauty o'er . O ! may you soon return , before I prove An ancient Dame , unworthy of your Love .