Wondrous! that female Weakness should outdo
A manly Strength; the Wonder yet is true.
'Twas doubtful, if her Triumphs in the Field
Did to her Form's triumphant Glories yield;
Whether her Face could with more Ease decoy
A Crowd of Lovers, or her Feet destroy.
For once Apollo she implor'd to show
If courteous Fates a Consort would allow:
A Consort brings thy Ruin, he reply'd;
O! learn to want the Pleasures of a Bride!
Nor shalt thou want them to thy wretched Cost,
And Atalanta living shall be lost.
With such a rueful Fate th' affrighted Maid
Sought green Recesses in the wood-land Glade.
Not sighing Suitors her Resolves could move,
She bad them show their Speed, to show their Love.
He only, who could conquer in the Race,
Might hope the conquer'd Virgin to embrace:
While he, whose tardy Feet had lagg'd behind,
Was doom'd the sad Reward of Death to find.
Tho' great the Prize, yet rigid the Decree,
But blind with Beauty, who can Rigour see?
Ev'n on these Laws the Fair they rashly sought,
And Danger in Excess of Love forgot.
There sat Hippomenes, prepar'd to blame
In Lovers such Extravagance of Flame.
And must, he said, the Blessing of a Wife
Be dearly purchas'd by a Risk of Life?
But when he saw the Wonders of her Face,
And her Limbs naked, springing to the Race,
Her Limbs, as exquisitely turn'd, as mine,
Or if a Woman thou, might vie with thine,
With lifted Hands, he cry'd, forgive the Tongue
Which durst, ye Youths, your well-tim'd Courage wrong.
I knew not, that the Nymph for whom you strove,
Deserv'd th' unbounded Transports of your Love.
He
