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ROXANA to PHILOCLES.

From LES LETTRES PERSANNES,

By the Same.

Roxana, one of Ufbeck's wives, was found (whilst he was in Europe) in bed with her lover, whom she had privately let into the feraglio. The guardian eunuch who difcovered them, had the man murdered on the Spot, and her clofe guarded till he received instructions from his mafter how to difpofe of her. During that interval fhe fwallowed poyfon, and is fuppofed to write the following letter whilst She is dying.

HINK not I write my innocence to prove,

TH

To fue for pity, or awake thy love :

No mean defence expect, or abject pray'rs;

Thou know'st no mercy, and I know no tears:
I laugh at all thy vengeance has decreed,
Avow the fact, and glory in the deed.

Yes, tyrant! I deceiv'd thy fpies and thee;
Pleas'd in oppreffion, and in bondage free :
The rigid agents of thy cruel laws

By gold I won to aid my juster caufe:
With dextrous fkill eluded all thy care,

And acted more than jealoufy could fear :
To wanton bow'rs this prifon-house I turn'd,

And blefs'd that abfence which you thought I mourn'd.

But

But fhort thofe joys allow'd by niggard Fate, Yet fo refin'd, fo exquifitely great,

That their excess compensated their date.

I die already in each burning vein

I feel the poys'nous draught, and bless the pain:
For what is life unless its joys we prove?

And where is joy depriv'd of what we love?

Yet, ere I die, this justice I have paid

To my dear murder'd lover's injur'd shade:
Thofe facrilegious inftruments of power,
Who wrought that ruin these fad eyes deplore,
Already with their blood their crimes attone,
And for his life have facrific'd their own.

Thee, tho' restraint and absence may defend
From my revenge, my curfes ftill attend :
Defpair like mine, barbarian! be thy part,
Remorfe afflict, and forrow fting thy heart.

Nor think this hate commencing in my breast,
Tho' prudence long its latent force fupprefs'd;
I knew those wrongs that I was forc'd to bear,
And curs'd thofe chains Injustice made me wear.

For could'st thou hope Roxana to deceive
With idle tales, which only fools believe?
Poor abject fouls in fuperftition bred,

In ign'rance train'd, by prejudice misled;
Whom hireling dervises by proxy teach
From those whofe false prerogative they preach.

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Didft thou imagine me fo weak of mind,
Because I murmur'd not, I ne'er repin'd,

But hugg'd my chain, and thought my jaylor kind?
That willingly those laws I e'er obey'd,

you rove,

Which Pride invented, and Oppreffion made?
And whilst self-licens'd through the world
To quicken appetite by change in love;
Each paffion fated, and each wish possess'd,
That Luft can urge, or Fancy can fuggeft;
That I should mourn thy lofs with fond regret,
Weep the misfortune, and the wrong forget?

Could I believe that heav'n this beauty gave, (Thy tranfient pleasure, and thy lasting slave ;) Indu'd with reason, only to fulfil

The harsh commands of thy capricious will?
No, Ufbeck, no, my foul difdain'd those laws;
And tho' I wanted pow'r t'affert my cause,
My right I knew; and still those pleasures fought,
Which Juftice warranted, and Nature taught:
On Custom's fenfeless precepts I refin'd,

I weigh'd what heav'n, I knew what man defign'd,
And form'd by her own rules my free-born mind.

Thus whilft this wretched body own'd thy pow'r,
Doom'd, unredrefs'd, its hardships to deplore;
My foul fubfervient to herself alone,
And Reafon independent on her throne,
Contemn'd thy dictates, and obey'd their own.

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Yet

Yet thus far to my conduct thanks are due,
At least I condescended to seem true;
Endeavour'd still my fentiments to hide,
Indulg'd thy vanity, and footh'd thy pride.
Tho' this fubmiffion to a tyrant paid,
Whom not my duty, but my fears obey'd,
If rightly weigh'd, would more deserve thy blame,
Who call it Virtue, but prophane her name:
For to the world I fhould have own'd that love,
Which all impartial judges must approve :
You urg'd a right to tyrannize my heart,
Which he folliciting, affail'd by art,
Whilft I, impatient of the name of flave,
To force refus'd, what I to merit gave.

Oft, as thy slaves this wretched body led
To the detefted pleasures of thy bed;
In those foft moments, confecrate to joy,
Which extacy and transport should employ;
Clafp'd in your arms, you wonder'd still to find
So cold my kiffes, fo compos'd my mind:
But had thy cheated eyes difcern'd aright,
You'd found averfion, where you fought delight.
Not that my foul incapable of love,

No charms could warm, no tendernefs could move;
For him, whofe love my ev'ry thought poffefs'd,
A fiercer paffion fill'd this conftant breast,
Than truth e'er felt, or falfhood e'er profess'd.

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This

This file unufual to thy pride appears, For truth's a ftranger to the tyrant's ears; But what have I to manage or to dread ? Nor threats alarm, nor infults hurt the dead ; No wrongs they feel, no miferies they find; Cares are the legacies we leave behind: In the calm grave no Usbecks we deplore, No tyrant husband, no oppreffive pow'r. Alas! I faint-Death intercepts the reft: The venom'd drug is bufy in my breast : Each nerve's unftrung: a mift obfcures the day: My fenfes, ftrength, and ev'n my hate decay: Tho' rage a while the ebbing spirits stay'd, "Tis paft-they fink beneath the tranfient aid. Take then, inhuman wretch! my laft farewel; Pain be thy portion here, hereafter, hell: And when our prophet shall my fate decree, Be any curfe my punishment, but thee.

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