"Love fled, affrighted, from his Savage Breast, / A Place too cruel for so kind a Guest."

— Chudleigh [née Lee], Mary, Lady Chudleigh (bap. 1656, d. 1710)

Place of Publication
Printed by T. H. for R. Bonwicke, W. Freeman [etc.]
"Love fled, affrighted, from his Savage Breast, / A Place too cruel for so kind a Guest."
Metaphor in Context
In other Countries we have Trophies rais'd;
The wise Zenobia can't enough be prais'd;
She famous, as her August Tadmor, grew,
Almost as much as its first Founder knew.
No guilty Passion e're her Glory stain'd,
She still with Justice and with Mildness reign'd,
And when inslav'd, she never once complain'd.
Still was the same in each Extreme of Fate,
Humble when high, and when depress'd sedate.
In latter Times a great Example's found,
A Cottage-Virtue for her Merit crown'd;
An Athenais, by her Learning led
To the bright Honours of a Royal Bed!
Admir'd, tho' poor, both for her Mind and Face,
In both you might surprizing Beauties trace:
But 'twas the First wise Theodosius gain'd,
Such Charms he lik'd, as still the same remain'd,
Which neither Age, nor Sickness, cou'd remove,
Which still would shine, still would attract his Love.
Italian Shores with Female Praise resound,
Amalasuntha there was suff'ring found;
A Lady blest by Nature and by Art:
She'd all the Treasures Knowledge could impart,
A Mind well furnish'd, and gen'rous Heart.
But these, alas! could not a Husband move,
Could not perswade his barbarous Soul to love.
Her shining Qualities glar'd much too bright,
They shew'd those Vices he had hid in Night.
Provok'd, and blushing at the shameful View,
He at the guiltless Cause invenom'd Arrows threw.
Love fled, affrighted, from his Savage Breast,
A Place too cruel for so kind a Guest.

The gentle God to Paphian Shrines retir'd,
And there his Goddess Mother's Aid requir'd:
They join'd their Skill, their utmost Pow'r they try'd;
But he both them, and all their Arts defy'd,
Stood unconcern'd while his fair Princess dy'd,
By him destroy'd, who shou'd have sav'd her Life;
O Wretch! unworthy of so good a Wife:
Inhuman Prince, her Charms had Tygers mov'd,
She'd been for them, by fiercest Lions lov'd;
Thro' wildest Desarts might have safely stray'd,
And there been by the bestial World obey'd,
By none, but treacherous Man, have ever been betray'd.
Virtue's no Shield, it rather does expose;
The Bad are still the Good's inveterate Foes.
Merit in them does always Envy raise,
They hate the Persons they are forc'd to praise.
Searching "breast" and "guest" HDIS (Poetry)
Date of Entry

The Mind is a Metaphor is authored by Brad Pasanek, Assistant Professor of English, University of Virginia.