Must first be reconcil'd: The common Cause
Prevail'd; and Pity yielding to the Laws,
Fair Iphigenia the devoted Maid
Was, by the weeping Priests, in Linnen-Robes array'd;
All mourn her Fate; but no Relief appear'd:
The Royal Victim bound, the Knife already rear'd:
When that offended Pow'r, who caus'd their Woe,
Relenting ceas'd her Wrath; and stop'd the coming Blow.
A Mist before the Ministers she cast,
And, in the Virgin's room, a Hind she plac'd.
Th' Oblation slain, and Phœbe reconcil'd,
The Storm was hush'd, and dimpled Ocean smil'd:
A favourable Gale arose from Shore,
Which to the Port desir'd, the Grecian Gallies bore.
The House of Fame.
Full in the midst of this created Space,
Betwixt Heav'n, Earth, and Skies, there stands a Place,
Confining on all three, with triple Bound;
Whence all Things, tho' remote, are view'd around;
And thither bring their undulating Sound.
The Palace of loud Fame, her Seat of Pow'r,
Plac'd on the Summet of a lofty Tow'r;
A thousand winding Entries long and wide,
Receive of fresh Reports a flowing Tide.
A thousand Crannies in the Walls are made;
Nor Gate, nor Bars exclude the busie Trade.
'Tis built of Brass, the better to diffuse
The spreading Sounds, and multiply the News:
Where Eccho's in repeated Eccho's play:
A Mart for ever full and open Night and Day.
Nor Silence is within, nor Voice express,
But a deaf Noise of Sounds, that never cease.
Confus'd, and chiding, like the hollow Roar
Of Tides, receding from th' insulted Shore.
