So though by absence lessen'd was his fire,
There still remain'd the kindlings of desire;
Unruly lust from hence began to rise,
Which how to gratify he must devise;
All on a rack, and stung with mad designs,
He reason to his passion quite resigns;
Whate'er's th' event, said he, I'll try my fate,
Suspense in all things is a wretched state;
Let some assistant god, or chance, attend,
All bold attempts they usually befriend :
This way, said he, I to the Gabii trod;
Then girding on his sword, away he rode.
The day was spent, the sun was nearly set,
When he arriv'd before Collatia's gate;
Like as a friend, but with a sly intent,
To Collatinus' house he boldly went ;
There he a kind reception met within
From fair Lucretia, for they were akin.
What ignorance attends the human mind!
How oft we are to our misfortunes blind!
Thoughtless of harm, she made a handsome feast,
And o'er a cheerful glass regal'd her guest
With lively chat; and then to bed they went ;

But Tarquin still pursued his vile intent ;
All dark, about the dead of night he rose,
And softly to Lucretia's chamber goes;

His naked sword he carried in his hand,

That what he could not win, he might command; With rapture on her bed himself he threw,

And as approaching to her lips he drew,

Dear cousin, ah, my dearest life, he said,

'Tis I, 'tis Tarquin, why are you afraid?

Trembling with fear, she not a word could say,
Her spirits fled, she fainted quite away;
Like as a lamb beneath a wolf's rude paws,

Appall'd and stunn'd, her breath she hardly draws;
What can she do? resistance would be vain,

She a weak woman, he a vig'rous man.
Should she cry out? his naked sword was by ;
One scream, said he, and you this instant die :
Would she escape? his hands lay on her breast,
Now first by hands of any stranger prest:
The lover urg'd by threats, rewards, and prayers;
But neither prayers, rewards, nor threats, she hears :
Will you not yield? he cries; then know my will —
When these my warm desires have had their fill,

in

By your dead corpse I'll kill and lay a slave,
And in that posture both together leave;
Then feign myself a witness of your shame,
And fix a lasting blemish on your fame.
Her mind the fears of blemish'd fame control,
And shake the resolutions of her soul;
But of thy conquest, Tarquin, never boast,
Gaining that fort, thou hast a kingdom lost;
Vengeance thy complicated guilt attends,
Which both in thine, and fam❜ly's ruin ends.
With rising day the sad Lucretia rose,
Her inward grief her outward habit shows;
Mournful she sat in tears, and all alone,
As if she'd lost her only darling son;
Then for her husband and her father sent,
Who Ardea left in haste to know th' intent;
Who, when they saw her all in mourning drest
To know the occasion of her grief, request;
Whose funeral she mourn'd desir'd to know,
Or why she had put on those robes of woe?
She long conceal'd the melancholy cause,
While from her eyes a briny fountain flows:
Her aged sire, and tender husband, strive
To heal her grief, and words of comfort give;
Yet dread some fatal consequence to hear,

And begg'd she would the cruel cause declare."

Our readers will easily perceive by this short specimen, how very unequal Mr. Massey is to a translation of Ovid. In many places he has deviated entirely from the sense, and every part fallen infinitely below the strength, elegance, and spirit of the original. We must beg leave, therefore, to remind him of the old Italian proverb,—“ Il tradattores Tratatore,”—and hope he will never for the future traduce and injure any of those poor ancients who never injured him, by thus pestering the world with such translations as even his own school-boys ought to be whipped for. (1)

(1) ["It was the merit which Goldsmith discovered in criticising a despi. cable translation of Ovid's Fasti by a pedantic schoolmaster, and his ' Enquiry into Polite Literature,' which first introduced him to the acquaintance of Dr. Smollett."-AIKIN.]

XIII.-MARRIOTT'S

FEMALE CONDUCT; AN ESSAY ON THE ART OF PLEASING."

[From the Critical Review, 1759. "Female Conduct; being an Essay on the Art of Pleasing. To be practised by the Fair Sex, before and after Marriage. A Poem, in two books. Inscribed to Plautilla. By Thomas Marriott, Esq." 8vo.]

THIS performance is dedicated to her royal highness the Princess of Wales, as the distinguished patroness of female virtue. In the preface, the author gives some account of the poem, and endeavours to anticipate the malevolence of the critics. He expresses apprehension on one subject, which, however, we will venture to say is groundless; that is, "some people will say he is too much a poet." He might also have spared his apology, for having used "every art of persuasion and argument, either by repetition, amplification, tale, fable, example, or allegory, and every pleasing manner of conveying precepts, and enforcing doctrines." Mr. Marriott needs no excuse for that which cannot be displeasing. This poem, we are informed, is intended for the use and amusement of the female sex only; and the author hopes the salutary precepts and precautions it contains, may prove an antidote to the poison of Ovid, and all modern productions of the like pernicious nature. We hope so too, and commend the author for the morality of his undertaking.

Prefixed to the poem we find an ode on the death of the Duke of Marlborough, together with an imitation of the eighth ode of the fourth book of Horace, intended to be sent to his grace at the beginning of the new year.(1) this piece, the most remarkable circumstance is this: Mr.

In

(1) [Charles Spencer, second duke of Marlborough. He died at Munster, in Westphalia, in October 1758.]

Marriott, thinking Horace begins and ends too abruptly, has ventured to introduce the original with two Latin lines of his own composition, and added six at the end, to render Horace more complete. He might, however, have saved himself the trouble of lacing his own lines in the margin: the reader would have distinguished them without this precaution. Perhaps the public may be curious to see this improvement on a Roman classic. He begins, then, in this

manner:

"Annus quando novus nascitur, illius
Natalisque dies orbe revolvitur ;-

He concludes thus:

"Orco, Musa, pios eripiens nigro,

Arces, carminibus, tollit ad igneas;

Nomen grande tuum fiet amabilis,

Vatum materies, Musa tuis dabit

Mercedem meritis, Te faciet sacrum,

Sublimem, astra supra, Te vehet, ardua."

The poem itself is divided into two books, and contains many curious particulars.

is very sublime:

His account of Portia's death

"Fam'd Portia, worthy of her mate and sire,

Express'd such friendship, when she swallowed fire;
Soon as she heard of her dear Brutus' death,

Her consort breathless, she disdain'd to breath;

Each instrument of death, to her deny'd,

'Shall Portia be debarr'd from death?' she cry'd,
Then drank live embers, and intrepid died."

We wish Mr. Marriott would explain the manner in which the ancients drank live embers. In p. 59, he candidly owns, that he has laboured hard in bringing these poems to perfection:

66 Hear me, fair pupil, ne'er despise the bard

Whose muse for your instruction labours hard.”

In the next page we meet with this curious paradox :

"Her witty child, let the fond mother boast,

You show most wit, when you conceal it most."

This, for aught we know, may be the author's own case; for he seems to have a particular knack at concealing his

wit.

There is something so agreeable, yet familiar, in his precepts!

"Red heels, a wise man's head will ridicule."

"From smart cock'd hat, let no vain streamers fly."

"I only warn you-ne'er your teeth neglect;
White teeth will make amends for each defect."

"To singing add the force of music too."

This is a very necessary injunction; for it is very common to hear singing without music.

"Make not your houses Babels, ah! no more
Let numerous torches smear th' indecent door!”

"A curtsey makes impression, if made well,

Learn then to curtsey with an air genteel."

Rather than pick out any more flowers of this kind, with which the poem abounds, we will make a few extracts, from which the poet's genius may be more justly estimated : "Let no provoking words your wrath attend, Lest passion should in dire disaster end; How tragical had been Zantippe's fate, Had Socrates not been her peaceful mate! You may just hint a fault, while you commend His well-known merit, like a faithful friend. If distant hints from you he'll not receive, Desist; no curtain-lectures to him give; Think not to tame him, like some savage beast, By oft disturbing his nocturnal rest :

Though much he may repeated lessons need,

Sacred to concord is the genial bed:

Thence far be sour, contentious, jarring noise!
There dwell in silence, reconciling joys;

There love's bright lamp is fed with new desire,
Rekindled there, it never will expire.

"Once I through thin partition chanc'd to hear

A curtain-lecture, with astonish'd ear:

It wak'd, and scar'd me, in the dead of night,

Ere I my senses could recover quite;