O! shameful Sight, if shameful that we name,
Which Gods with Envy view'd, and could not blame,
But for the Pleasure wish'd to bear the Shame.
Each Deity, with Laughter tir'd, departs,
Yet all still laugh'd at Vulcan in their Hearts.
Thro' Heav'n the News of this Surprizal run,
But Venus did not thus forget the Sun.
He, who stol'n Transports idly had betray'd,
By a Betrayer was in kind repay'd.
What now avails, great God, thy piercing Blaze,
That Youth, and Beauty, and those golden Rays?
Thou, who can'st warm this Universe alone,
Feel'st now a Warmth more pow'rful than thy own:
And those bright Eyes, which all things should survey,
Know not from fair Leucothöe to stray.
The Lamp of Light, for human Good design'd,
Is to one Virgin niggardly confin'd.
Sometimes too early rise thy Eastern Beams,
Sometimes too late they set in Western Streams:
'Tis then her Beauty thy swift Course delays,
And gives to Winter Skies long Summer Days.
Now in thy Face thy love-sick Mind appears,
And spreads thro' impious Nations empty Fears
For when thy beamless Head is wrapt in Night,
Poor Mortals tremble in despair of Light.
'Tis not the Moon, that o'er thee casts a Veil,
'Tis Love alone, which makes thy Looks so pale.
Leucothöe is grown thy only Care,
Not Phaeton's fair Mother now is fair.
The youthful Rhodos moves no tender Thought,
And beauteous Porsa is at last forgot.
Fond Clytie, scorn'd, yet lov'd, and sought thy Bed,
Ev'n then thy Heart for other Virgins bled.
Leucothöe has all thy Soul possest,
And chas'd each rival Passion from thy Breast.
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