CRUEL COMPASSION

by: Aristaenetus

      HE god of the love-darting bow,
      Whose bliss is man's heart to destroy,
      Oft contrives to embitter our woe
      By a specious resemblance of joy.--
       
      Long--long had Architeles sigh'd
      The fair Telesippe to gain:
      She coolly his passion denied,
      Yet seem'd somewhat moved at his pain.
       
      At length she consented to hear;
      But 'twas done with a view to beguile:
      For her terms were most harsh and severe,
      And a frown was as good as her smile.
       
      "You may freely," says she, "touch my breast,
      And kiss, while a kiss has its charms;
      And (provided I am not undrest)
      Encircle me round in your arms.
       
      "In short, my favour you please,
      But expect not, nor think of the last:
      Lest enraged I revoke my decrees,
      And your sentence of exile be cast."--
       
      "Be it so," cried the youth, with delight,
      "Thy pleasure, my fair one, is mine:
      Since I'm blest as a prince at your sight,
      Sure to touch thee, will make me divine.
       
      "But why keep one favour alone,
      And grant such a number beside?"--
      "Because the men value the boon
      But only so long as denied.
       
      "They seek it with labour and pain;
      When gain'd, throw it quickly away!
      For youth is unsettled and vain,
      And its choice scarce persists for a day."
       
      --Thus pines the poor victim away,
      Forced to nibble and starve on a kiss;
      Served worse than e'en eunuchs--for they
      Can never feel torture like this.
       
      TRANSLATED BY RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN (1751-1816) AND MR. HALHED

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