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And yet, after all I have said, after this peremptory refusal to be yours, and fully weighing the case of my extorted promise, I must own that I still dread the wrath of avenging Diana, and suspect that the present calamity comes from her hand. For why, as oft as the nuptial rites are to be solemnised, do the languid joints of the bride sink under a load of sickness? Thrice glad Hymen approaching the sacred altars fled: thrice he turned away frighted from my chamber-door. The lamps too, thrice filled up by the wearied hand, are with difficulty lighted; scarcely are they to be lighted up by the flaming torch. Ointments often distil upon his hair crowned with garlands; and his mantle, of bright saffron dye, sweeps the ground. But no sooner did he reach our gates, than nought was to be seen but tears, a dread of my approaching fate, and every thing the reverse of his joyful rites. Instantly he tears the crown from
his mournful forehead, and wipes the rich essence from his flowing tresses. He is ashamed to appear joyful in so disconsolate a crowd; and the red that was in his mantle, mounts into his face. But my limbs are wasted by the raging heat of a fever, and the coverings seem to press upon me with double weight. I see my parents weeping over me with earnest looks; and, instead of the nuptial, am threatened with the funeral torch. Compassionate my sufferings, O Goddess that delightest in the painted bow; and grant me relief by the healthrestoring aid of your brother. It is a reproach upon you, that he should ward off the causes of death, while you bear the blame of my untimely fate. Did I ever, as you bathed in a shady fountain, impertinently gaze at you in your retirement? Did I neglect to offer sacrifice to you alone of all the heavenly powers? Or did my mother ever treat Latona with contempt? I have offended in nothing but reading what led me into an unwilling perjury, and understanding too well the force of those ensnaring lines. But do you also, Acontius, if
the love you pretend is not mere dissimulation, offer incense for me; and let the hands that have done me so much hurt, be now employed for my relief. Why does the Goddess, so much incensed that the maid promised to your embrace brace has not yet fulfilled her vow, herself obstruct the execution of that promise? Every thing is to be hoped from the living. Why does the cruel Goddess threaten to take away my life, and blast all your promising hopes? Nor would I have you imagine that he to whom I am destined for a wife, is suffered to cherish my sickly limbs with his gentle hand. He sits indeed at my bed-side, for that is allowed him; but he at the same time remembers that mine is the bed of a virgin. Besides, he seems to be sensible of my coldness; for tears often fall from him, without any apparent cause. He caresses me with less boldness, and seldom snatches kisses: when he calls me his dear, it is with a faltering tongue.
