Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/182

104 I, thy own Thisbe but one Word implore, One Word thy Thisbe never ask'd before. At Thisbe's Name, awak'd, he open'd wide His dying Eyes; with dying Eyes he try'd On her to dwell, but clos'd them slow and dy'd. The fatal Cause was now at last explor'd. Her Veil she knew, and saw his sheathless Sword: From thy own Hand thy Ruin thou hast found, She said, but love first taught that Hand to wound. Ev'n I for thee as bold a Hand can show, And Love, which shall as true direct the Blow. I will against the Woman's Weakness strive, And never thee, lamented Youth, survive, The World may say, I caus'd, alas! thy Death, But saw thee breathless, and resign'd my Breath. Fate, tho' it conquers, shall no Triumph gain, Fate, that divides us, still divides in vain. Now, both our cruel Parents, hear my Pray'r, My Pray'r to offer for us both I dare; Oh! see our Ashes in one Urn confin'd, Whom Love at first, and Fate at last has join'd. The Bliss, you envy'd, is not our Request; Lovers, when dead, may sure together rest. Thou, Tree, where now one lifeless Lump is laid, E'er long o'er two shalt cast a friendly Shade. Still let our Loves from thee be understood, Still witness in thy purple Fruit our Blood. She spoke, and in her Bosom plung'd the Sword, All warm and reeking from its slaughter'd Lord. The Pray'r, which dying Thisbe had preferr'd, Both Gods, and Parents with Compassion heard. The Whiteness of the Mulberry soon fled, And rip'ning, sadden'd in a dusky Red: While both their Parents their lost Children mourn, And mix their Ashes in one golden Urn. Thus