“O patroness, preserver of my life! (Dear when my mistress, and much dearer wife) Your favours to so vast a sum amount, ’Tis past the power of numbers to recount; Or, could they be to computation brought, The history would a romance be thought: And yet, unless you add one favour more, Greater than all that you conferr’d before, But not too hard for love and magic skill, Your past are thrown away, and Jason’s wretched still. The morning of my life is just begun, But my declining father’s race is run; From my large stock retrench the long arrears, And add them to expiring Aeson’s years.”

Thus spake the generous youth, and wept the rest Moved with the piety of his request, To his aged sire such filial duty shown, So different from her treatment of her own, But still endeav’ring her remorse to hide, She check’d her rising sighs, and thus replied: