Sacred Texts  Legends/Sagas  England  Index  Previous  Next 

An Arthurian Miscellany at





    To what ill purposes soever Poetry has been abus'd, its true and genuine End is by universal Confession, the Instruction of our Minds, and Regulation of our Manners; for which 'tis furnish'd with so many excellent Advantages. The Delicacy of its Strains, the Sweetness and Harmony of its Numbers, the lively and admirable manner of its Painting or Representation, and the wonderful Force of its Eloquence, cannot but open the Passages to our Breasts, triumph over our Passions, and leave behind them very deep Impressions. 'Tis in the power of Poetry to insinuate into the inmost Recesses of the Mind, to touch any Spring that moves the Heart, to agitate the Soul with any sort of Affection, and transform it into any Shape or Posture it thinks fit. 'Tis therefore no wonder that so wise a State, as that of Athens , should retain the Poets on the side of Religion and the Government . The Stage there was set up to teach the People the Scheme of their Religion , and those Modes of Worship the Government thought fit to encourage, to convey to them such Ideas of their Deities, and Divine Providence, as might engage their Minds to a Reverence of superiour, invisible Beings, and to observe and admire their Administration of humane Affairs. The Poets were look'd on as Divine, not only upon the account of that extraordinary Fury and Heat of Imagination, wherewith they were thought to be inspir'd, but likewise upon the account of their Profession and Imployment, their Business being to represent Vice as the most odious, and Virtue as the most desirable thing in the World.

   Tragedy was at its first Institution a part of the Ancient Pagans Divine Service, when the
Chorus which originally was so great a part, contain'd many excellent Lessons of Piety and Morality , and was wholly imploy'd in rectifying their mistakes about the Gods , and their Government of the World, in moderating their Passions, and purging their Minds from Vice and Corruption. This was the noble Design of the Chorus . And the Representation of great and illustrious Characters, gradually afterwards introduc'd, their Impious, or their Generous Actions, and the different Event that attended them, was to deter Men from Vice and Impiety, and encourage them to be Generous and Virtuous, be shewing them the Vengeance that at last overtook the one, and the Rewards and Praises that crown'd the other. The End of Comedy was the same, but pursu'd in another way. The business of Comedy being to render Vice ridiculous, to expose it to publick Derision and Contempt, and to make Men asham'd of Vile and Sordid Actions.

   Tragedy design'd to Scare Men, Comedy to Laugh them out of their Vices. And 'tis very plain, that Satyr is intended for the same End, the Promotion of Virtue, and exposing of Vice; which it pursues by sharp Reproaches, vehement and bitter Invectives, or by a Courtly, but not less cutting Raillery. The Odes of the Lyric Poet were chiefly design'd for the Praises of their Gods, their Heroes and extraordianry Persons, to draw Men to an Admiration and Imitation of them.

   But above all other kinds,
Epick Poetry , as it is first in Dignity, so it mostly conduces to this End. In an Epick Poem, where Characters of the first Rank and Dignity, Illustrious for their Birth or high Employment are introduc'd, the Fable, the Action, the particular Episodes are so contriv'd and conducted, or at least ought to be, that either Fortitude, Wisdom, Piety, Moderation, Generosity, some or other Nobel and Princely Virtues shall be recommended with the highest Advantage, and their contrary Vices made as odious. To give Men right and just Conceptions of Religion and Virtue , to aid their Reason in restraining their Exorbitant Appetites and Impetuous Passions, and to bring their Lives under the Rules and Guidance of true Wisdom, and thereby to promote the publick Good of Mankind, is undoubtedly the End of all Poetry.

   'Tis true indeed, that one End of Poetry is to give Men Pleasure and Delight; but this is but a subordinate, subaltern End, which is it self a Means to the greater , and ultimate one before mention'd. A Poet should imploy all his Judgment and Wit, exhaust all the Riches of his Fancy, and abound in Beautiful and Noble Expression, to divert and entertain others; but then it must be with this Prospect, that he may hereby engage their Attention, insinuate more easily into their Minds, and more effectually convey to them wise Instructions. 'Tis below the Dignity of a true Poet to take his Aim at any inferiour End. They are Men of little Genius, of mean and poor Design, that imploy their Wit for no higher Purpose, than to please the Imagination of vain and wanton People.

   I think these Poets, if they must be called so, whose Wit as they manage it, is altogether unuseful are justly reproach'd; but I am sure those others are highly to be condemned, who use all their Wit in
Opposition to Religion, and to the Destruction of Virtue and good Manners in the World. There have been in all Ages such ill Men that have perverted the right Use of Poetry, but never so many, or so bold or mischievous as in ours. Our Poets seem engag'd in a general Confederacy to ruin the End of their own Art, to expose Religion and Virtue , and bring Vice and Corruption of Manners into Esteem and Reputation. The Poets that write for the Stage (at least a great part of 'em) seem deeply concern'd in this Conspiracy . These are the Champions that charge Religion with such desperate Resolution, and have given it so many deep and ghastly Wounds. The Stage was an Outwork or Fort rais'd for the Protection and Security of the Temple, but the Poets that kept it, have revolted, and basely betray'd it, and what is worse, have turn'd all their Force and discharg'd all their Artillery against the Place their Duty was to defend. If any Man thinks this an unjust Charge, I desire him to read any of our modern Comedies, and I believe he will soon be convinc'd of the Truth of what I have said.

   The Man of Sense and the Fine Gentleman in the Comedy , who as the chiefest Person propos'd to the Esteem and Imitation of the Audience, is enrich'd with all the Sense and Wit the Poet can bestow; this Extraordinary Person you will find to be a Derider of Religion, a great Admirer of Lucretius , not so much for his Learning , as his Irreligion , a Person wholly Idle , dissolv'd in Luxury, abandon'd to his Pleasures, a great Debaucher of Women, profuse and extravagant in his Expences, and in short, this Finish'd Gentleman will appear a Finish'd Libertine .

   The Young Lady that must support the Character of a Vertuous , Well-manner'd Sensible Woman, the most perfect Creature that can be, and the very Flower of her Sex, this Accomplish'd Person entertains the Audience with confident Discourses, immodest Repartees, and prophane Raillery. She is throughly instructed in Intreagues and Assignations , a great Scoffer at the prudent Reservedness and Modesty of the best of her Sex, She despises the wise Instructions of her Parents or Guardians, is disobedient to their Authority, and at last, without their Knowledge or Consent , marries her self to the Fine Gentleman above mentioned. And can any one imagine, but that our Young Ladies and Gentlemen are admirably instructed by such Patterns of Sense and Virtue ? If a Clergy-man be introduc'd, as he often is, 'tis seldome for any other purpose, but to abuse him, to expose his very Character and Profession : He must be a Pimp , a Blockhead , a Hypocrite ; some wretched Figure he must make, and almost ever be so manag'd, as to bring his very Order into Contempt . This indeed is a very common, but yet so gross an Abuse of Wit , as was never endur'd on a Pagan Theater, at least in the ancient, primitive Times of Poetry , before its Purity and Simplicity became corrupted with the Inventions of after Ages. Poets then taught Men to reverence their Gods , and those who serv'd them. None had so little Regard for his Religion , as to expose it publickly, or if any had, their Govenments were too wise to suffer the Worship of their Gods to be treated on the Stage with Contempt .

   In our Comedies the Wives of Citizens are highly encourag'd to despise their Husbands, and to make great Friendship with some such Vertuous Gentleman and Man of Sense as is above describ'd. This is their Way of recommending Chastity and Fidelity . And that Diligence and Frugality may be sufficiently expos'd, tho' the two Virtues that chiefly support the Being of any State, to deter Men from being Industrious and Wealthy , the Diligent , Thriving Citizen is made of the most Wretched, Contemptible Thing in the World: and as the Alderman that makes the best Figure in the City , makes the worst on the Stage , so under the Character of a Justice of Peace , you have all the Prudence and Virtues of the Country , most unmercifully insulted over.

   And as these Characters are set up on purpose to ruin all Opinion and Esteem of Virtue, so the Conduct throughout, the Language, the Fable , and Contrivance seem evidently design'd for the same Noble End. There are few Fine Conceipts, few Strains of Wit or extraordinary Pieces of Raillery, but are either immodest or irreligious, and very few Scenes but have some spiteful and envious Stroke at Sobriety and Good Manners, whence the Youth of the Nation have apparently receiv'd very bad Impressions. The universal Corruption of Manners and irreligious Disposition of Mind that infects the Kingdom, seems to have been in a great Measure deriv'd from the Stage, or has at least been highly promoted by it. And 'tis great Pitty that those in whose Power it is, have not yet restrain'd the Licentiousness of it, and oblig'd the Writers to observe more Decorum . It were to be wish'd that Poets, as Preachers are in some Countries, were paid and licens'd by the State, and that none were suffer'd to write in Prejudice of Religion and the Government , but that all such Offenders, as publick Enemies of Mankind should be silenc'd and duly punish'd. Sure some Effectual Care should be taken that these Men might not be suffr'd by Debauching our Youth, to help on the Destruction of a brave Nation.

   Some of these
Poets , to excuse their Guilt, alledge for themselves, that the Degeneracy of the Age makes their leud way of Writing necessary; they pretend the Auditors will not be pleas'd, unless they are thus entertain'd from the Stage; and to please they say is the chief business of the Poet. But this is by no means a just Apology; 'tis not true, as was said before, that the Poet's chief business is to please. His chief business is to instruct, to make Mankind Wiser and Better; and in order to this, his Care should be to please and entertain the Audience with all the Wit and Art , he is Master of. Aristotle and Horace , and all their Criticks and Commentators , all Men of Wit and Sense agree, that this is the End of Poetry. But they say 'tis their Profession to Write for the Stage ; and that Poets must Starve if they will not in this way humour the Audience . The Theater will be as unfrequented , as the Churches , and the Poet and the Parson equally neglected. Let the Poet then abandon his Profession, and take up some honest, lawful Calling, where joyning Industry to his great Wit, he may soon get above the Complaints of Poverty , so common among these ingenious Men, and lye under no necessity of prostituting his Wit to any such vile Purposes as are here censur'd. This will be a course of Life more Profitable and Honourable to himself, and more useful to others. And there are among these Writers some, who think they might have risen to the highest Dignities in other Professions, had they imploy'd their Wit in those Ways. 'Tis a mighty Dishonour and Reproach to any Man, that is capable of being useful to the World in any Liberal and Virtuous Profession, to lavish out his Life and Wit in propagating Vice and Corruption of Manners , and in battering from the Stage the strongest Entrenchments and best Works of Religion and Virtue . Whoever makes this his Choice, when the other was in his Power, may he go off the Stage unpity'd, complaining of Neglect and Poverty , the just Punishments of his Irreligion and Folly.

    'Tis no dishonour to be a true Poet, if indeed a Man be one; that is, a noble Genius well cultivated, and employ'd in Writing in such a way, as reaches the End of his Art, and by discouraging Vice, promotes the Good of Mankind. But 'tis a mighty Dishonour and Shame, to employ excellent Faculties and abundance of Wit, to humour and please Men in their Vices and Follies. Such a one is more hateful, as an ill Man , than valuable, as a good Poet . The great Enemy of Mankind, notwithstanding his Wit and Angelick Faculties, is the most odious Being of the whole Creation.

   Nor is this Abuse confin'd to the Stage, the same Strain runs thro' the other kinds of Poetry. What monstrous leud and irreligious Books of Poems, as they are call'd, have been of late days publish'd, and what is the greater wonder, receiv'd in a Civiliz'd and Christian Kingdom, with
Applause and Reputation ? The sweetness of the Wit, makes the Poison go down with Pleasure, and the Contagion spreads without Opposition. Young Gentlemen and Ladies are generally pleas'd and diverted with Poetry, more than by any other way of Writing; but there are few Poems they can fix on, but they are like to pay too dear for their Entertainment. Their Fancies are like to be fill'd with impure Ideas and their Minds engag'd in hurtful Passions, which are the more lasting, by being convey'd in lively Expressions, and all the Address of an artful Poet.

   For this End among others, I undertook the writing of this Poem, hoping I might be able to please and entertain, not only wthout hurting the Reader, but to his advantage. I was willing to make one
Effort towards the rescuing the Muses out of the hands of these Ravishers , to restore them to their sweet and chast Mansions, and to engage them in an Employment suitable to their Dignity. If I succeed not my self in this good Design, I hope at least I shall awaken the Courage and Compassion of some other brave Adventurers; that may more happily attempt this honorable Work.

   To write an Epick Poem is a work of that Difficulty, that no one for near seventeen hundred years past has succeeded in it; and only those two great Wits
Homer and Virgil before. That the modern Poets have been so unsuccessful, has not, I imagin, proceeded so much from want of Genius, as from their Ignorance of the Rules of writing such a Poem; or at least, from their want of attending to them. Tho' Aristotle 's excellent Rules of Poetry were early publish'd by Victorius at Florence , and soon after farther illustrated by the Comments of several Italian Criticks , yet we do not find that Ariosto or Tasso either, were very careful to observe them. And indeed our modern Writers neither seem to have attended to those incomparable Rules, nor carefully to have consider'd the great Models that Homer and Virgil had left them. Some Readers that are not vers'd in this matter, imagin every thing written in Heroick Verse , is an Heroick Poem ; but these have not consider'd the Nature of such a Work, nor look'd into the Criticks , who have written on this Subject. I shall therefore give the Definition of an Epick or Heroick Poem, that those that have it not already, may now have a true Idea of its Nature.

   An Epick Poem is a feign'd or devis'd Story of an
Illustrious Action, related in Verse, in an Allegorical, Probable, Delightful and Admirable manner, to cultivate the Mind with Instructions of Virtue. 'Tis a feign'd or devis'd Discourse; that is, a Fable ; and so it agrees with Tragedy and Comedy . The word Fable at first signified indifferently a true or false Story, therefore Cicero for distinction, uses Fictas Fabulas in his Book de Finibus . But afterwards Custom obtain'd to use the word always for a feign'd Discourse. And in the first Ages, especially in the Eastern World, great use was made by Learned and Wise Men of these feign'd Discourses, Fables, or Apologues , to teach the ruder and more unpolish'd Part of Mankind. Theologians, Philosophers, and great Law-givers , every where fell into this way of instructing and cultivating the People in the Knowledge of Religion, Natural Philosophy, and Moral and Political Virtues. So Thales, Orpheus, Solon, Homer, and the rest of the great Men in those Ages have done, and the famous Philosopher Socrates is by some affirm'd to be the Author of many of the Fables that pass under Æsop' s name. Most of them made their Fables in Verse, that by the addition of Harmony and Numbers they might the better attain their End. Strabo and Plutarch greatly commend this way of teaching the People; and these Reasons may be given for the usefulness of it. Naked Philosophical Precepts and Doctrines are of themselves harsh and dry , hardly attended to, and ungratefully entertain'd. If the Hearers are rude and course , or very vicious , there is no hope of gaining them by a grave and solemn Discourse of Virtue, and even the better and more civiliz'd Auditors are hardly kept attentive to it. Man is naturally a lover of Pleasure , and if you would do him Good, it must be, by pleasing him; you must give him Delight , and keep his Mind in a constant agreeable Agitation, else he will not attend to the most useful Counsel and Instruction . He is pleas'd already with the Notions and Habitudes , howsoever false or vicious , that have the present Possession of him, and you must give him a great deal of Pleasure and Entertainment to engage him to hear you, when you would perswade him to the trouble, of becoming Wiser and Better. Now the first Wise Men that undertook to civilize and polish the barbarous World, found this way of Fables especially in Verse, to be mighty Acceptable to the People: The Contrivance gave them Delight , and the Novelty rais'd their Admiration . They could learn them perfectly, and repeat them often, by which means the Instructions of Virtue covertly contain'd in them, were inculcated on their Minds .

    And we find, that many Ages after Orpheus, Solon, Homer, &c. the Divine Law-giver of the Christians thought fit to teach the People by Apologues, Parables or Fables, under which he cover'd and disguis'd his Heavenly Instructions.

   The Action must be
Illustrious and Important ; Illustrious in respect of the Person, who is the Author of it, who is always some Valiant , or Wise , or Pious Prince or great Commander: But let his Character be what it will in other respects (for there is no Necessity the Hero should be a good or a wise Person) 'tis always necessary he should have Courage ; which single Quality is sufficient to make the Hero. And the Action must be important , both in respect of its Object and its End. 'Tis the Action of some great Person, about some noble and weighty Affair . 'Tis true, there are many other Persons concern'd, but tis the Action of the chief Person that gives the Being and Denomination to the Poem. This Action must be but one; when it ceases, the Poem is ended; and if it be reviv'd, and taken up again, 'tis a new Poem begins. Action is Motion; and if it ceases cannot be reviv'd, so as to be numerically the same. There are indeed many other Actions besides the Principal one, but they all depend on, and have relation to that which is Principal, with the Unity of which, the Unity of the Poem stands or falls. If this principal Action be broken , the Poem is broken too, if there be any other Action coordinate and independent on this, the Poem is monstrous, and has as many Heads, as there are found independent Actions. The Narration therefore of many Actions successively of one great Person, or the History of his Life related in Verse, is by no means an Heroick Poem , any one great action being sufficient for that. That which makes the Unity of the Action, is the regular Succession of one Part or Episode to another, not only as Antecedents and Consequents , but as it were Causes and Effects , wherein the Reader may discern that the former Episode makes the following necessary, and the Connection between them is such, that they assist and support each other, as the Members of the Body do, no Episode being out of its place, of a disproportion'd size to the Rest, or that could be spar'd from its place, without maiming, or at least deforming the Whole. If this order of the Episodes be preserv'd, and there appears none but what naturally and probably results from the principal Action, then the Action may be look'd on as one.

   The Action must be related in an
Allegorical manner; and this Rule is best observ'd, when as Divines speak; there is both a Literal Sense obvious to every Reader, and that gives him satisfaction enough if he sees no farther; and besides another Mystical or Typical Sense, not hard to be discover'd by those Readers that penetrate the matter deeper. Virgil seems most happy in this Conduct, whose Poem all along contains this double Sense, Homer has often only an Allegorical Sense without the Literal , and therefore is not so well accommodated to this Age, as he was not to that of Augustus . But Ariosto and Spencer , however great Wits , not observing this judicious Conduct of Virgil , nor attending to any sober Rules, are hurried on with a boundless, impetuous Fancy over Hill and Dale, till they are both lost in a Wood of Allegories. Allegories so wild, unnatural, and extravagant , as greatly displease the Reader. This way of writing mightily offends in this Age; and 'tis a wonder how it came to please in any. There is indeed a way of writing purely Allegorical, as when Vices and Virtues are introduc'd as Persons, the first as Furies , the other as Divine Persons or Goddesses, which still obtains, and is well enough accommodated to the present Age. For the Allegory is presently discern'd, and the Reader is by no means impos'd on, but sees it immediately to be an Allegory , and is both delighted and instructed with it. The devis'd Story must be related in a probable manner; without this all things will be harsh, unnatural, and monstrous ; and consequently most odious and offensive to the Judicious. Probability must be in the Action, the Conduct , the Manners ; and where humane means cannot, Machines are introduc'd to support it. Nothing is more necessary then Probability ; no Rule more chastly to be observ'd.

   An Epick Poem must likewise be
delightful and admirable ; and to make it so, must concur sublime Thoughts, clear and noble Expression, Purity of Language, a just and due Proportion, Relation, and Dependance between the Parts, and a beautiful and regular Structure and Connection discernable in the Whole . Without these it will not be capable of giving Delight , or raising Admiration . Admiration is the Formal Object of an Epick Poem, nothing is to be admitted there, but as it is admirable; and by this it is discriminated from all other sorts of Poetry . Every kind endeavours to please and delight , but this only attempts to please by astonishing and amazing the Reader . In an Epick Poem every thing should appear great and wonderful , the Thoughts cannot be too much Elevated , the Episodes too Noble , the Expression too Magnificent , nor the Action too Wonderful and Surprising , if Probability be preserv'd. No Riches of Fancy , no Pomp of Eloquence can be laid out too much on such a Work where the Design is throughout to raise our Admiration . To render the Action the more Admirable, Homer and Virgil have introduc'd the Gods , and engag'd them every where as Parties ; and tho' I cannot say this is Essential and Necessary to an Epick Poem, yet 'tis evident, that interesting Heaven and Hell in the matter, does mightily raise the Subject, and makes the Action appear more wonderful. The Pagan Poets had in this a great advantage, their Theology was such, as would easily mix it self with their Poems, from whence they receiv'd their greatest Beauties. Homer indeed to raise his Subject by his frequent Machines , seems to have debas'd his Religion . Virgil 's Conduct, in my Opinion, is more careful and chast. But some of our modern Criticks have believ'd 'tis scarce possible for a Christian Poet to make use of this advantage, of introducing Superiour, Indivisible Powers into the Action, and therefore seem to despair of seeing an Heroick Poem written now, that shall reach to the Dignity of those of the Pagans. They think the Christian Religion is not so well accommodated to this matter, as the Pagan was; and that if any Attempt be made this way, Religion is not so well accommodated to this matter, as the Pagan was; and that if any Attempt be made this way, Religion will suffer more, than the Poem will gain by it. My Opinion has always differ'd from these Gentlemen's, I believe a Christian Poet has as great advantages as the Pagan had; and that our Theology may enter into an Epick Poem, and raise the Subject without being it self debas'd. And this indeed was a second Reason why I undertook this Work, so full of Difficulty and Hazard. I was willing to give an Instance wherein it might appear, that the Assertion I have advanc'd, is actually true.

   In the Definition which I have given of an Heroick Poem, according to the Sense and Judgment of the
best Criticks, I have said, its End is to convey some Instruction of Virtue. But of this, I have discours'd at large at the beginning of this Preface , and there is no need of repeating it.

    'Tis not for me to proceed to Censure other Mens Performances of this Kind; whoever will be at the Pains to read the Commentators on Aristotle , and Horace's Rules of Poetry; or that will but carefully consider Rapin, Dacier, and Bossu, those great Masters among the French , and the Judicious Remarks of our own excellent Critick Mr. Rymer , who seems to have better consider'd these matters, and to have seen farther into them, than any of the English Nation; will be soon able to see wherein the Heroick Poems that have been publish'd since Virgil by the Italian, French, and English Wits have been defective, by comparing them with the Rules of Writing set down by those great Masters. Whether I have succeeded better, must be left to the determination of the Judicious Reader.

   In this Work I have endeavour'd mostly to form my self on
Virgil's Model , which I look on, as the most just and perfect , and which is most easily accommodated to the present Age, supposing the Christian Religion in the place of the Pagan . I do not make any Apology for my Imitation of Virgil in so many places of this Poem; for the same great Master has imitated Homer as frequently and closely; and I do not find that any of his Criticks have condemn'd him for his doing so. Nor is it at all improbable , but that the Greek Poet himself imitated his Predecessors of the same Nation, tho' no doubt he wonderfully improv'd their Model. Homer was not the first Writer of an Epick Poem. We find Aristotle in his Book of the Art of Poetry, makes mention of several before him: He tells us of an Epick Poem, intituled, The Little Ilias, and another the Cyprica ; and censures them both, as containing many perfect, distinct, and independent Actions. The last of these Poems is likewise mention'd by Herodotus in Euterpe , by Athenæus and Pausanias. And 'tis likely many more such Poems were written before Homer 's time, who might be well suppos'd to have imitated them in what they had done well, as well as to have improv'd them in avoiding many of their Errors.

Homer and Virgil have perform'd with Honour and universal Applause, I have attempted: What they have been able , I have been willing to do. If I have not succeeded, my disappointment will be the less, in that Poetry has been so far from being my Business and Profession , that it has imploy'd but a small part of my Time; and then, but as my Recreation, and the Entertainment of my idle hours. If this Attempt succeeds so far, as to excite some other Person that has a noble Genius, Leisure, and Application , to Honour his Country with a just Epick Poem, I shall think the Vacancies and Intervals that for about two years past, I have had from the Business of my Profession ; which notwithstanding was then greater then at any time before, have been very well imploy'd.



   I sing the Briton , and his Righteous Arms,
Who bred to Suff'rings, and the rude Alarms
Of bloody War, forsook his Native Soil,
And long sustain'd a vast Heroick Toil,
Till kinder Fate invited his Return,
To bless the Isle, that did his Absence mourn:
To re-enthrone fair Liberty, and break
The Saxon Yoke, that gall'd Britannia 's Neck.

   Tell, Sacred Muse, what made th' Infernal King
Use all his Arts, and all his Forces bring
The Generous Briton 's Triumphs to oppose,
Afflict his Friends, and aid his cruel Foes.
Tell, why the angry Pow'rs below, combine
T'oppress a Valiant Prince, and thwart his brave Design.

   Ambitious Lucifer , depos'd of late
From Bliss Divine, and high Angelick State,
Sinks to the dark, unbottom'd Deep of Hell,
Where Sin, and Death, and endless Sorrow dwell:
Here plung'd in Flame, and tortur'd with Despair
He plots Revenge, and meditates new War.
His Thoughts on deep Designs th' Apostate spent,
When this Conjuncture favour'd his Intent.
A spacious, dusky Plain lay wast and void,
Where yet Creating Power was ne'er employ'd
To fashion Elements, or strike out Light;
The silent, lonesome Walks of ancient Night.
In th' Archives kept in Heav'n's bright Towers, was found,
A sacred old Decree, wherein the Ground
Was set distinctly out, from Ages past,
For a new World, on this unbounded Wast.
Here did th' Artificer Divine of late,
The World so long before markt out, create.
And gave it to the Man he newly made,
Where all things him, as he did Heav'n, obey'd.
In Eden 's Walks he made his blest Abode,
All full of Joy, of Glory, full of God .
Nature with vast Profusion on him pours,
Unmeasur'd Bliss, from unexhausted Stores.

   Th' Apostate raging at his own Defeat
And envying this new Prince his happy Seat;
Labours to win him to his Side, to bear
Arms against Heav'n, and wage Confed'rate War.
Nor did his Arts in vain weak Man assail,
His false Seraphick Tongue, and Charms prevail.
Deluded Man from his high Station fell
Deserting Heav'n, to serve the Cause of Hell.
This fatal Conquest o'er fall'n Adam gain'd,
A mighty Empire Lucifer maintain'd;
Till the blest Prince of Peace, Heav'n's Lord and Heir,
By Pity's Tears, and charming Mercy's Prayer
Drawn down from Heav'n, freed lost Mankind, and broke
The Pow'r of Hell, and Sin's Tyrannick Yoke.
He makes Proud Lucifer his Host disband,
And wrests the Scepter from th' Usurper's Hand.
The Prince of Darkness owns the Conquerour,
And yields his Empire to a mightier Pow'r.
From Idols and their Priests the Nations freed,
Celestial Light, and Truth Divine succeed.
Religion large Dominions soon obtain'd,
And daily Conquests, and fresh Laurels gain'd.
To Albion 's Shore the early pass'd the Main,
And brought along her bright Etherial Train.
From thence she chas'd Infernal Shades away,
And o'er the Isle, diffus'd a Heav'nly Day.
The Prince of Hell at her Appearance flies,
Spoil'd of his Altars, and his Votaries.
Confin'd to Barb'rous Northern Lands he staid,
Till the fierce Saxon, Albion did invade.
Victorious Octa who his Shrines ador'd,
Rebuilt his Altars, and his Groves restor'd.
Long abdicated Gods make Albion mourn,
At theirs, and their devouring Priests Return.
Th' Arch-Traytor's Rage hence against Arthur rose,
And all th' Infernal Pow'rs his Arms oppose;
Conscious should he his glorious End acquire,
And force th' intruding Pagan to retire,
Theirs, with the Saxon Empire must expire.
They must again forsake fair Albion 's Land,
And leave Divine Religion to Command.

   Scarce had they left the happy Neustrian Coast,
Born with a Prosperous Gale, scarce had they lost
The Tops of Spires, and rising Points of Land,
When Lucifer , that did observing stand
On the high Southern Promontory's Head,
Of Vecta 's Isle, the Seas beneath him spread
With sharp Angelick Ken, views far and wide,
And soon Prince Arthur 's hateful Fleet descry'd.
The Heav'ns serenely smil'd, and every Sail
Fill'd its wide Bosom, with th' indulgent Gale.
Mercy, Deliverance, Pity, Hope displaid
Their Silver Wings, and glad Attendance paid,
Sung on the Shrowds, or with the Streamers plaid.
Rage flash'd, like Lightning, from th' Apostate's Eyes,
And Envy swell'd him to the vastest Size.
Then thus he to himself.
Was not to me in the fam'd Wars of Heav'n,
The chief Command of all the Forces giv'n,
Sent by Confederate Potentates to wage
Unheard of War, and all Heav'n's Pow'r engage?
When I, to end with Honour the Campaign,
Drew my bright Troops out, on th' Etherial Plain;
And push'd on that great, last decisive Day,
With God-like Vigour, for th' Imperial Sway.
In Lustre chief, in Danger and Command,
Did I proud Michael 's Veteran Troops withstand.
Michael , than whom a Braver Combatant,
For Skill and Strength, the Foe could never vaunt.
'Gainst fresh Battalions still pour'd on I stood,
Smeer'd with Celestial Dust, and Seraphs Blood.
Had not our Mould been Æther , Pure and Fine,
Labour'd with Care, anneel'd with Skill Divine;
The Blows of mighty Cherubs Death had cloy'd,
Unpeopled Heav'n, and the Bright Race destroy'd.
With Michael pain'd with ghastly Wounds, at length
I clos'd, and grasp'd him with Immortal Strength;
And down Heav'n's Precipice, had headlong hurl'd
The great Arch-Angel, to th' Infernal World,
Had not swift Uriel trembling at the Sight,
That fill'd all Heav'n, with Horrour and dire Fright,
Rush'd in, to save him from unequal Fight.
Their stagg'ring Army shrunk, and we had won
The Throne we fought for, But th' Almighty's Son
Brought strong Recruits, to reinforce their Host,
And win back what their General Michael lost.
'Tho' overmatcht, did I not firmly stand,
The chiefest Mark of his Revenging Hand?
Did I from Posts of greatest Danger run,
Or once his bright Triumphal Chariot shun?
Did I once shrink, when Showers of poyson'd Darts
Dipt in Eternal Wrath, shot thro' our Hearts?
When massy Rocks of Heav'nly Chrystal flew,
Which the strong Arms of mighty Seraphs threw?
Did I not run and timely Help afford,
Where Storms of Fire, and loudest Thunder roar'd?
'Tis true, o'er-born with Force, at last I fell,
But got Immortal Fame, tho' with it Hell.
Scarce was I vanquish'd and o'erthrown but late
By Power Almighty, and Eternal Fate.
Since that chief Lord, and Prince of Hell I've reign'd,
And from the Foe, his new-made World have gain'd.
And long maintain'd the Conquests I had won;
Now much lost back to his Almighty Son.
But faithful Octa has once more restor'd
This happy Isle to me its ancient Lord.
Have I been thus for great Atchievements fam'd,
My Deeds throughout all Heav'n and Hell proclaim'd;
And shall this British, despicable Wight,
Me and my Priests, force to a second Flight?
Rifle my Temples, and in Triumph bear,
Thro' shouting Throngs, the Spoils high in the Air?
Who then to me will Hymns of Praise return,
Who on my Altars Odorous Incense burn?
If I chastise not this vain Briton 's Pride,
That does insulting on the Ocean ride.
If I secure not my new conquer'd Seat,
And all his wild, ambitious Arms defeat.

   This having said, to Heav'n he mounts upright,
And to the Northern Pole directs his Flight.
All fir'd with Rage, and full of anxious Care,
With his swift Wings, he cuts the yielding Air.
As when the Sun pours from his Orb of Light,
A glorious Deluge, on the Face of Night.
His Golden Rays shot from the Rosy East,
Reach in a Moment, the remotest West,
And smiling on the Mountains Heads are seen,
Th' immense Expansion past, that lies between.
The Prince of Darkness now, once Prince of Light,
With equal Swiftness takes his Airy Flight,
And the vast Interval of Seas, and Isles,
Wild Desarts, spacious Forrests, snowy Hills,
Past in a Moment, does on Fioel Light;
Of Lapland Alpes , chief for amazing Height.
Where Thor resides, who heretofore by Lot
The Sovereign Rule o'er Winds and Tempests got.
Here in strong Prisons bound with heavy Chains,
His howling, savage Subjects he restrains,
And in Eternal Din, and Uproar reigns.
In close Apartments, round his desart Court,
Fierce Pris'ners are confin'd of different Sort.
Here Boundless Stores, and Treasures Infinite
Of Vapours, Steams, and Exhalations, fit
T'engender Winds, or Snow, or Hail, or Rain,
In Subterranean Magazins remain.
Here new fledg'd Winds, young yelping Monsters try
Their Wings, and sporting round their Prisons fly.
Here whistling East-winds prove their shriller Notes:
Here the hoarse South-winds, strain their hollow Throats.
Boreas the fiercest and most turbulent,
Of the mad Race, raves in his Dungeon pent.
At th' Adamantine Door vast Hills are thrown,
And abrupt Rocks of Ice, pil'd sevenfold on.
Capricious Whirlwinds, of more Force than Sound,
In everlasting Eddys turning round,
Grow Giddy, Furious and Extravagant,
And strive to break from their close Den's restraint.
When Thor unlocks their Prisons, out they fly,
A lawless Rout, and with their Hellish Cry
Out-howl the hideous Monsters of the Seas,
Or savage Roarings of the Wilderness.
Some range the Flats, and Scour the Champain Land,
Or roll in tott'ring heaps the Desart Sand.
Some to the lofty Woods direct their Course,
And with an uncontroul'd, impetuous Force
O'erturn opposing Structures in their hast,
Tear up tall Pines, and lay the Forest wast.
Some to the Ocean with like Speed resort,
And in loud Tempests on the Billows sport.
Embroil the Coasts, and in wild Outrages
Turn up to Heav'n, the Bottom of the Seas.
But husht at Thor 's Command they all obey,
And to their ancient Prisons haste away.

   To him, thus Lucifer , great Prince on thee
Fate has bestow'd the Empire of the Sea,
All there concern'd, invoke thy Deity.
The Merchants pray to thee to fill their Sails,
Enrich thy Priests, and purchase Prosperous Gales.
I too thy Suppliant, ask thy Powerful Aid,
A Haughty Prince, designing to invade
My faithful Subject Octa , and beguile
Me of my Hopes of fair Britannia 's Isle;
Sails with a numerous Fleet, with Men and Arms,
And Octa trembles at his Proud Alarms.
Let him in Furious Hurricanes be tost,
Be sunk, or wreckt, or on the Ocean lost,
Beat him at least, from his intended Coast.
Make him thy Vengeance feel, thy Power regard,
And be what e'er thou askest, thy Reward.

   Great Prince, then Thor reply'd,
Who rul'st the Realms of Hell with Soveraign Sway,
Whom all th' Infernal Thrones, and Pow'rs obey,
I own Obedience to thy high Command,
Who putt'st this Scepter first into my Hand.
Thou led'st in Heav'n our bright Battalions on,
And bravely didst attempt th' Almighty 's Throne;
I saw thy mighty Deeds, and kept my Post
Close by thee, till that Glorious Day was lost.
Thy faded Splendor, and illustrious Scars,
From Ghastly Wounds, receiv'd in those just Wars,
I view with Reverence, 'tis true subdu'd
Headlong we fell from Heav'n's high Tow'r's, pursu'd
With Whirlwinds, and loud Thunder, down to Hell,
And Storms of Fire beat on us as we fell.
Yet after that, thou led'st us to invade
This Globous World, which we our Conquest made.
And my Election Patroniz'd by thee,
This great Command and Province fell to me.

   That said, by him their heavy Gates unbar'd,
That loud on mighty Iron Hinges jarr'd,
Out ratling Eurus , and loud Boreas fly,
And with Outrageous Tempests fill the Sky.
They bend their Course strait to the British Coast,
And on those Seas lay out their Anger most.
Their furious Wings the swelling Surges beat,
And rouse Old Ocean from his Peaceful Seat.
The raging Seas in high ridg'd Mountains rise,
And cast their angry Foam against the Skies.
Then gape so deep, that Day Light Hell invades,
And shoots grey Dawning thro' th' affrighted Shades.
Low bellying Clouds soon intercept the Light,
And o'er the Briton s spread a Nood Day Night.
Exploded Thunder tears th' Embowel'd Sky,
And Sulphurous Flames a dismal Day supply.
The Dire Convulsions, for a certain Space
Distorted Nature , wresting from its Place
This Globe , set to the Sun's more oblique View,
And wrench'd the Poles some Leagues yet more askew.
Horrour, Confusion, Uproar, Strife and Fear
In all their wild amazing Shapes appear.
Mean time old Chaos joyful at the Sight,
Look'd and smil'd horrible on older Night ,
Hoping that Nature , their grand Foe would crack
With universal Ruin, and her Wreck
Would give them all their lost Dominions back.
The Sailor's Clamour, and enormous Cries,
The Crack of Masts, mix'd with th' outrageous Noise
Of Storms and Thunder, rending all the Air,
Form the last Scene of Horror and Dispair.

   When the Just Arthur fill'd with Grief and Dread,
And Pale Confusion, deeply sigh'd, and said,
O righteous Heaven, why hast thou rang'd this Day
Against me all thy Terrors in Array!
Arm'd in thy Cause, thy Temples to restore,
And give that Aid thy sacred Priests implore.
If thou such fierce Destruction dost dispence,
To punish some unpardon'd old Offence,
On me let all thy Fiery Darts be spent,
Let not my Crime involve the innocent.
Whelm o'er my guilty Head these raging Seas,
And let this Sacrifice thy Wrath appease,
But let the British Youth return in Peace.
That said, his Ship unmasted, without Guide,
Driv'n by the Winds and Seas impetuous Tyde,
The Sight of all the scatter'd Navy lost,
Strikes on the Quicksand of an unknown Coast.

   Mean time bright Uriel , Heav'n's high Favourite,
Left the Celestial Palaces of Light,
Sent by supream Command, and down he flies,
Let by a Golden Sun-beam thro' the Skies.
Meekness divine, serene and Heav'nly Grace,
And fresh immortal Youth shone on his Face.
Godlike his Form, his Looks so charming mild
That where he came all ravish'd Nature smil'd.
He strait alights on lofty Gobeum 's Head,
That wonder'd at the Heav'n about it shed,
From the bright Cherubim , who touch'd his Lyre,
Fam'd for its Sweetness in the Heav'nly Quire:
Th' enchanted Winds straightway their Fury laid,
Grew wondrous still, and strict Attention paid.
Aerial Demons that by Twilight stray,
Sport in loud Thunder, and in Tempests play,
Spread their brown Wings, and fly in Clouds away.
The Day returns, the Heav'ns no longer scowl,
And fierce Sea-Monsters charm'd forget to howl.
The Winds retreat, and leave the peaceful Waves,
To rest their Wings, and sleep in Lapland Caves.
Soft Zephirs only stay to fan the Woods,
And play in gentle Gales along the Floods.
The Ocean smiles to see the Tempest fled,
New lays his Waves, and smooths his ruffl'd Bed.

   All things thus husht, great Arthur gave Command
To quit their Ship, stuck in the barren Sand,
And in their Boats to make the Neighb'ring Land.
They spy a Creek not far a peaceful Seat
Where flying Waves by furious Tempests beat,
Find from the fierce Pursuit a safe Retreat.
Free from th' outrageous Clamours of the Deep,
They rest secure, and unmolested sleep.
Stretcht smooth beneath the shady Trees and Rocks,
That guard them from the Winds impetuous Shocks.
Here smaller Vessels may securely ride
And all th' Assaults of angry Sorms deride.
Here they arriv'd, and Heav'n they first ador'd,
That gave the Aid, their earnest Cries implor'd.
That sav'd them from the Winds, Waves, Rocks, and Storms,
Deaths of so many, and such hideous Forms.
Then for their parted Friends, with humble Prayer,
They ask Heav'n's Pity, and indulgent Care.
Now Arthur from the Rock, views far and wide
The Seas beneath, if thence might be descry'd
The Friends he lately lost, but views in vain,
No Friend appears on all the Desart Main.

   Return'd he thus began:
Too dark th' Eternal's ways are, too profound,
For the most sharp created Wit to sound.
Clouds black, as those that rise the sacred Fence
Of his high Throne, surround his Providence.
Whose walks are trackless, and on every hand
About her paths, shades and thick Darkness stand.
Her ways are so perplext, so wide her steps,
Such turns and windings, and such frightful leaps;
Such Gulphs, and interposing Rocks appear,
There such Ascents, such dreadful Downfalls here,
That Reason strait affrighted stops her pace,
Is soon thrown off, and quits th' unequal Chase.
Th' Almighty 's Councils are so high and steep,
Immense, unbounded, without bottom deep;
Angels amaz'd from their high Thrones of Bliss,
Trembling look down on this profound Abyss.
Sometimes he seems to thwart his own intent,
Stop and defeat his long design'd event;
Yet which way e're he steers, his end's attain'd,
By uncouth means, with greater wonder gain'd.
Sometimes his high permission, leaves opprest
The Men most like him, and that serve him best:
But still their Sufferings and severer Fate
Prepare them for some glorious future state.
Invited by sad Britain 's Prayers, and Tears,
To save her State; and ease her deadly Fears,
We arm'd, depos'd Religion to enthrone,
T'enlarge the Christian Empire, not our own.
We arm'd thus, to restore in Hell's despight,
To Heav'n its Worship, and to Men their Right.
Resume your Courage then, it can't be true,
That Heav'n's Revenge should Heav'n's own Cause pursue.
These Evils are not in displeasure meant,
Heav'n is too Just, and you too Innocent.
Success and Triumph will our Arms attend,
And these rough ways lead to a glorious End.
With Pleasure we hereafter shall relate
These sufferings, that will greater Joys create.

   He said, and all his anxious Cares supprest,
And kept conceal'd his trouble in his Breast.
With looks compos'd, 'twixt pleasure and despair,
Grave but serene, he bids them all repair
Their strength, exhausted with much toil and care.
Of Meats and Fruits part of their Naval Store,
That with them from their Ship they brought ashore:
Their weary Limbs repos'd, beneath the shade
Of well spread Trees, a grateful Meal they made.
Rich Wine of Burgundy , and choice Champaigne,
Relieve the toil they suffer'd on the Main.

   But what more chear'd them than their Meats and Wine,
Was wise Instruction, and Discourse Divine,
From God-like Arthur 's Mouth, by Heav'n inspir'd;
That all their Breasts with sacred Passions fir'd.
Great were his Thoughts, strong and sublime his Sense
Of Heav'n's Decrees, Foreknowledge, Providence.
He reason'd deep of Heav'n's mysterious Ends,
And made stern Justice, and fair Mercy Friends.
How high he soar'd, how Noble was his flight,
Speaking of Truth divine, and Wisdom infinite!
He opens all the Magazins above,
Of boundless Goodness and Eternal Love.
From these rich Stores of Heav'n, these sacred Springs
Of everlasting Joy and Peace, he brings
Ambrosial Food, and rich Nectarean Wine,
That chear pure Souls, and nourish Life Divine.
He then compar'd this transient mortal state,
To the fierce Tempest they escap'd so late,
That here is every great and good Mans Fate.
If God-like Men for Heav'n embark, and stand
Their Course direct, to make the blissful Land;
Strait Hell the bloody signal gives to Arm,
Cain 's cruel offspring takes the dire alarm;
And potent Fiends by Sea their Forces joyn,
T'obstruct their way, and break their brave design.
All with consummate Malice, furious Rage,
Against th' adventurous Voyagers engage.
Through all the Sky they raise outrageous Storms,
And Death stands threat'ning in a thousand Forms.
Clouds charg'd with loud Destruction drown the day,
And airy Dæmons in wild Whirlwinds play.
Thick Thunderclaps, and Lightning's livid glare
Disturb the Sky, and trouble all the Air.
Outrage, Distraction, Clamour, Tumult Reign,
Through the Dominion of the unquiet Main.
The labouring Bark with Heav'nly Treasure fraught,
Now almost sunk, now up in Tempests caught.
Near Sands and Rocks, rides on the dark Abyss,
Long beaten off from the bright Coasts of Bliss.
At last calm Day succeeds this stormy Night,
And the glad Voyagers find in their sight,
The Realms of Peace, and the blest Shores of Light.
Here they arrive, and find a safe Retreat,
And all their pain and labours past forget.

   There was a Cave hard by, that Nature made
In the hard Rock, and cover'd with the shade,
Of spreading Trees, that Day could not invade.
Hither the Pious British Prince retires,
To offer Praises up and pure desires.
Here rapt'rous Converse he with Heav'n maintains,
And aided by Devotion's purest strains,
Combates Almighty Power, and Conquest gains.
Devotion, that oft binds th' Almighty's Arms,
And with her Prayers and Tears, her powerful charms,
Of all its Thunder, his right hand disarms.
She passes quick Heav'n's lofty Crystal Walls,
And the high Gates fly open, when she calls.
The charming Goddess of Divine Address,
Has to th' Almighty's Presence free Access.
Her Power can sentenc'd Criminals Reprieve,
Judgment Arrest, and bid the Rebel live.
Her Charms did once the Sun's swift Chariot stay,
And on the Verge of Heav'n, held back the falling Day.
She makes contentious Winds forget their Strife,
And calls back to the Dead, departed Life.
Charm'd by her Voice, Rivers have stop'd their Course,
And the chill'd Fire laid down its burning Force.
Such is Devotion's Power, which Arthur knew,
And when distress'd still to this Refuge flew.
Much to his Conduct he, much to his Arms,
But more he trusted to Devotion's Charms.
Of Triumph and Success he rarely fail'd,
For those on Earth, and these in Heav'n prevail'd.

   Now in the silent, shady Cave retir'd,
He with her sacred Fury lay inspir'd.
The Prince being thus entranc'd, a Heav'nly Light
Shoots smiling through the Wood with silent flight:
The Trees admire the Glory on them shed,
And seem'd to start, and humbly bow their Head;
When fresh arriv'd on Earth, with Heav'n's Commands,
Great Raphael 's glorious Form by Arthur stands.
Celestial Sweetness, Mild and God-like Grace
Ineffable, sat on his blooming Face.
His Cheeks such Beauty shew'd, such Light and Joy his Eyes,
As from full Bliss, fresh Youth, and Strength immortal rise.
The purest piece of Heav'n's Etherial Blue,
In a rich Mantle, from his Shoulders flew.
Celestial Linnen, finely Spun and Wove
On Looms Divine, by all the Skill above,
Bleach'd on th' Empyreal Plains till White as Snow,
Made the long Robe that to his Feet did flow.
Immortal Gold, Illustrious as the Morn,
And dazling Gemms by high Arch Angels worn,
With pond'rous Pearl from Heav'n's bright Eastern Shore,
Adorn the shining Garments that he wore.
A Purple Girdle, from the Morning Sky
New rent, does round his Starry Vesture tye.
Thus he appear'd, and with the Light he gave,
And unknown Fragrancy, fill'd all the Cave.

   Then thus he spake, Hail mine and Heav'n's kind Care,
Hither I come, drawn by thy powerful Prayer.
Know Righteous Prince, th' Almighty does approve,
Your firm Adhesion, and unshaken Love.
Ends Great and Wise lodg'd in his secret Breast,
Obstruct your Wishes, and your Course molest.
Yet still pursue your great and just Intent,
No Force or Arts shall your Design prevent,
Propitious Heav'n Decrees your wish'd Event.
You on these Coasts for happy Ends are thrown,
And after this, expect the British Crown.
Your Friends and Navy on the Ocean lost,
Are all arriv'd safe on th' Armorie Coast:
By the impetuous Tempest beaten back,
But Men and Ships sav'd from the threatn'd Wreck.
You're cast on Hoel 's Land, amidst your Foes,
That hate your Cause, and your just Arms Oppose.
But fear not Hoel 's Power, though now your Foe,
By Hell incens'd, he will not long be so.
Go then directly to his Court, for there,
A Glorious Work demands your Pious Care.
That said, with outstrecht Wings he soars upright,
And through the Winds vast Empire takes his flight.
He cuts the Clouds, and by the Planets flies
Up the steep Crystal Mountains of the Skies.

   And swiftly passing through the Starry Sphears,
Before the Throne he in his place appears,
The Cherub's gone, and with him Arthur 's fears.
Who to his Lords returns, and to their Heart
Courage and Joy, his Words and Looks impart.
His God-like Language does their Fears abate,
And with fresh hopes their troubl'd Breasts dilate.

   Mean time th' Infernal Thrones and Powers resort,
At their great Monarch's Summons to his Court.
Where they in Council meet, and there debate
Important matters, high Designs of State.
Their Prince with Pride extended, mounts his Throne,
Of polish'd Gold, whence horrid splendor shone:
And mingl'd with the Shades tremendous Light,
More dreadful thus, as Fires, that Flame by Night.
In sad Magnificence, and dismal State,
He sits, and round th' Infernal Orders sate.
   Then Lucifer began:
Immortal Potentates, Illustrious Lords,
The British Youth's ambitious aim affords,
A weighty subject for your high debate;
Who seeks the ruin of your Pow'r and State.
You all have heard, how with a mighty Force
Embark'd, he straight for Albion steer'd his Course,
King Octa to attack, our Votary,
And make our Priests from our new Altars fly.
I watch'd, and aided by the Power of Thor ,
I shew'd the Miscreant another Shore.
His Fleet beat back, and haughty purpose crost,
He wanders, Shipwreckt on th' Armoric Coast.
Where faithful Hoel does the Specter hold,
Mighty in Arms, and in our Service bold.
Spirits Divine, high Peers of Hell, suggest,
By what sure Plagues he may be more distrest,
His Ruin finish'd, and his Sect opprest.

   That said, a Fury crawls from out her Cell,
The bloodiest Minister of Death and Hell.
A mostrous Shape, a foul and hideous sight,
That did all Hell with her dire looks affright.
Huge, full gorg'd Snakes on her lean Shoulders hung,
And Death's dark Courts with their loud hissing rung.
Her Teeth and Claws were Iron, and her Breath,
Like Subterranean Damps, gave present Death.
Flames worse than Hells, shot from her bloody Eyes,
And Fire and Sword Eternally she Cries.
No certain Shape, no Feature regular,
No Limbs distinct in th' odious Fiend appear.
Her squallid, bloated Belly did arise,
Swoln with black Gore, to a prodigious Size.
Distended vastly, by a mighty Flood
Of slaughter'd Saints, and constant Martyrs Blood.
Part stood out prominent, but part fell down,
And in a swagging heap, lay wallowing on the ground.
A Monster so deform'd, so fierce as this,
It self a Hell, ne'er saw the dark Abyss.
Horrour till now the ugliest Shape esteem'd,
So much out-done, a harmless Figure seem'd.
Envy and Hate, and Malice blush'd to see
Themselves Eclips'd by such Deformity.
Her Feaverish Thirst drinks down a Sea of Blood,
Not of the Impious, but the Just and Good.
'Gainst whom she burns with unextinguish'd Rage,
Nor can th' exhausted World her Wrath asswage.

   Then thus the Fury Persecution spake:
I mighty Prince of Hell, will undertake
This glorious Work, I quickly will inspire
Hoel , with my ungovernable Fire.
Without remorse he shall my Will Obey,
And crush this Briton , now his easie Prey.
Nero by me rais'd his Illustrious Name,
And Dioclesian got Immortal Fame.
I their rude, inbred Cruelty refin'd,
And stampt my perfect Image on their Mind.
My flames all Love's course mixture did destroy,
And purg'd off soft Compassion's base alloy;
I form'd and dissiplin'd their untaught Hate,
And rais'd their fierceness to a perfect State.
Where shame, and all reflecting Sense is lost,
And Hell can't purer strains of Malice boast.
Inexorable they all Cries withstood,
Ravish'd with Slaughter, and regal'd with Blood.
Hard marble Rocks might with more ease relent,
And Fire and Plague, learn sooner to repent.
Then Christian Kings my Fury entertain'd,
And taught by me, in Blood and Slaughter reign'd.
With pious Rage and fierce destructive Zeal,
I first inspir'd their Minds, and did reveal
The mystery, how deep Revenge to take,
And slay the Servants for the Master's sake.
How bloody Wrath might with Devotion joyn,
And sacred Zeal with Cruelty combine.
By me the unknown way they understood,
T'attone the Christians God, with Christian Blood.
By me they shook off Fear's and Love's Restraints;
And on God's Altars burnt his slaughter'd Saints.
I made them call, that all remorse might cease,
Murder Compassion, Desolation Peace.
Whilst my Infernal Heats their Breasts inspir'd,
To the vile Sect their own mad Zeal acquir'd,
Wider Destruction, and more fatal Harms,
Then all your Scythian , or your Gothick Arms.
And Rome , proud Rome herself, must owe to me
Her present State, and future Dignity.
The greatest Genius this, I e're could find,
And to receive my Image best inclin'd.
I will her Mind inspire, and to her Heart
Immortal hate, to Abel 's Race impart.
These Breasts she empties with her Infant Jaws,
I File her Teeth, and Shape her tender Claws.
I Nurse her on the horrid Alps high Tops,
And feed her hunger with Cerberean Sops
Dipt in Tartarean Gall, and Hemlock Juice,
That in her Veins will noble Blood produce.
Fierce Tygers, Dragons, Wolves about her stay,
They grin, and snap, and bite, and snarling play.
I to her Jaws, throw Infants newly Born;
She sucks their Blood, and by her Teeth are torn
Their tender Limbs, while I rejoyce to see
Such noble proofs of growing Cruelty.
To her wide Breast, and vast capacious Soul,
I often Torrents of black Poison rowl:
She drinks the livid Flood, and through her Veins
Mad Fury runs, and wild Distraction reigns.
I'll lead her from the Rocks, her strength full grown,
Fix her high Seat in the Imperial Town,
And give her Scarlet, and a threefold Crown.
No Blood will then her mighty Thirst asswage,
No Ravage cloy her Antichristian Rage.
Her Mitred Sons that never can relent,
From the great Cain , shall prove their high Descent.
Their Deeds of strange Infernal Cruelty,
Shall shew their Race worthy of Him and me.
Lay-Bigots, I with time and labour wrought,
Some inward Grudgings still against me fought:
'Twas hard to raise their hate to a degree,
From struggling Nature, and all Pity free.
But these Church-Zealots, of a truer breed,
Are form'd with Ease, and scarce my Labour need.
Their forward Genius without teaching grows,
And all my hopes, and ev'n my wish out-does.
How often shall thy glorious Sons, O Rome ,
With Martyrs Flames inlighten Christendom?
How often shall they, to deride their God,
Lift up in Prayer, their Hands all full of Blood?
The wasted World shall feel their loud Alarms,
Their blest Massacres, and their hallow'd Arms.
As if their high intent were to Efface,
All Footsteps left of Abel 's hateful Race.
Bloody Tribunals, Rapine, Fire and Sword,
And Desolation, dayly Sport afford.
Mankind they shall with such dire Plagues attack,
As will their Church a holy Desart make.
Such is my Zeal to serve th' infernal State,
And shall this British Prince escape my Hate?
Forbid it Hell, and here she made a pause;
The Lords in Council gave a loud applause.
The Prince of Darkness leaping from his place,
Did in his Arms, his darling Fiend Embrace.
Her Anger then rose higher, and all Hell
Uneasie seem'd, she grew so terrible.

   She strait contracts her vast dilated Size,
And through Hell's dusky Void, she upward flies.
As when rich Towns great Cost and Art employ
In Fire-works, to express their publick Joy,
For some great Vict'ry won by Land, or Sea,
Or on some Prince's Coronation Day.
The flaming Rockets hizzing fly by Night,
And fill the Sky with unknown Noise and Light.
The Sphears amaz'd stand, or move slowly on,
And wonder how the Day returns so soon,
And what new Stars rise brighter than their own.
So does the Fiend, her Snakes all hissing rise,
Through the thick haggair'd Air, and as she flies
Leaves tracks of Light, cast from her fiery Eyes.
And now arriv'd on the grey Coasts of Day,
Direct to Hoel 's court she takes her way.
Where she alighted, when the Sun had hurl'd
His glorious Orb hence, to the other World.
'Twas then when all things look'd, as if old Night
Had Nature crush'd, and seiz'd her ancient Right,
Whilst Silence, Shades, and Lights around create,
Sad solemn Pomp, t'express her Death-like state.
Winds, and wild Beasts lye in their Dens at rest,
Nor these the Woods, nor those the Seas molest.
The sleeping Vultures drop their prey, the Dove
Ceases her Cooing, and forgets to love.
The Jocond Fairies Dance their silent round,
And with dark Circles mark the trampled ground.
Tartarean Forms Skim o're the Mountains Heads,
Or lightly sweep along the dewy Meads.
Ghosts leave their Tombs hid Murders to reveal,
Or Treasures which themselves did once conceal.
Visions thro' th' Air, and careless Phantoms stray,
Or round Mens troubled Heads while sleeping play.

   The Fury Alman 's Reverend Shape assumes,
Odin 's High Priest, and so to Hoel comes.
For the Priest's Form, is fittest to engage
Princes in Blood, and move destructive Rage.
Thus chang'd the Fiend, such is her Craft, appears,
And thus began, just Hoel , all those years
I liv'd, I did with studious Care employ,
How best I might the Christian Crew destroy.
I thy great Soul in this blest Cause engag'd,
Inspir'd with Heats Divine, not yet asswag'd.
I quit Elysian Pleasures to impart,
What does with greater Joy extend my Heart;
And will do thine, Arthur , Curst be that Name,
Designing Empire, and Illustrious Fame
Embark'd with Arms, fair Albion to invade,
But by just Heav'n, is thy cheap Captive made.
Pursu'd with Thunder, and in Tempests tost,
At last he's Shipwreckt on this happy Coast.
With his sad Friends he wanders up and down,
Naked, perplext, deserted, and undone.
But yet just Heav'n Decrees him greater Harm,
But saves that Glory for your Zealous Arm.
To take his Life must be your Pious Care,
And with the Gods divided Honour share.
Thus you their En'my, and your own remove,
Secure your Peace, and please the Pow'rs above.
To Christians this can be no Injury,
That call for Torments, and are pleas'd to Dye.
They all seem fond to wear the Martyr's Crown,
And meet the Flames, with greater of their own.
No Rights, no Rules of Justice you invade,
For Ruin's their Profession, Death their Trade.
Go then, and grace the Briton , that comes on
To meet you, and receive the Martyr's Crown.
Remove this Pillar of their Church, and all
The unsupported Roof, will crack and fall.
Take this Defender of their Faith away,
The passive Rabble, tamely will Obey.
Their Lives in Sport you may at leisure take,
They quickly fall, that no Resistance make.
The Gods into your Hands have cast your Foe,
To take his Life will please Heav'n, him, and you.

   That said, she breath'd her Soul into his Breast,
And her wild Fury all his Veins possest.
Infernal Flames Rage in his poison'd Blood,
And his swoln Heart Boils with th' impetuous Flood.
The Fiend her Shape of thicken'd Air dissovles,
And disappears, Hoel surpriz'd revolves
The welcome message in his Mind, and strait
Commands his Lords and Guards should on him wait,
On the first Shooting of the tender Day,
So eager did he seem to seize the Prey.

   Now was the Eastern Sky-dy'd Purple spread,
For fair Aurora 's Radiant Feet to tread.
She mounts serene, and with mild dawning Light,
Smiles on the lowring, dusky Face of Night;
That to Victorious Day yields up her Seat,
Whilst her black Forces silently Retreat.
As when a Lyon at the dawn of Day,
Rous'd with fierce Hunger up to Hunt his Prey,
Stretches his Limbs out, Yawns, and tries his Paws,
And for sure Death prepares his cruel Jaws.
He stands, and rolls about his Angry Eyes,
Lashing his Sides to make his Fury rise.
Then Scowrs the Hills, Ranges the Forrests o'er,
And Thunders thro the Desart with his hideous Roar.
The Winds all husht sit trembling on the Trees,
And scarcely Whisper out a gentle Breeze.
Wolves dare not Howl, but grinning softly creep,
And Leopards strecht out, feign themselves asleep.
Th' affrighted Herds close in their Covert lye,
And to escape his Rage, with Terrour dye.
Thus Hoel , with infernal Rage possest,
With fierce desire speeds to the bloody Feast.
A deadly Storm does on his Forehead lowr,
Himself his Rage, Arthur his Hopes devour.
Breathing out Death he march'd, but at mid-day,
He stands by Heav'n arrested in his way.

   The Air serene a black thick Cloud appear'd,
And as it hover'd o'er their Heads, were heard
Celestial Flutes, and Harps divinely Strung,
With Hymns and Hallelujahs Set and Sung
By the best Masters of the Quire above,
With Bliss transported, and inspir'd with Love.
Whilst Hoel and his Friends pleas'd, and amaz'd,
Listen'd, and on the Scene descending gaz'd:
The broken Cloud, pours out pure Floods of Light,
Show'rs of Celestial Rays transcendent bright,
And Storms of Splendor, dazling Mortal Sight.
Th' illustrious Tempest does on Hoel beat,
Who falls astonish'd, headlong from his Seat.
Confounded with unsufferable Day,
Groveling in Glory on the shining Way,
And with bright Ruin overwhelm'd, he lay.
'Twas then, a soft, still Heav'nly Voice, that broke
From out the Cloud, to trembling Hoel spoke.
'Gainst me, what Fury did thy Arms Engage?
What mov'd thee with inexorable Rage
Vain Man, to persecute my Saints and Me?
In vain thou seek'st to baffle Heav'n's Decree.
Vain is thy Force, and impotent thy Hate,
Too weak thy Arms, to stem the Tyde of Fate.
The Torrent bears thy faint Resistance down,
Retire, or in Eternal Ruin Drown.

   Then Hoel thus, O tell me, who thou art,
Great Spirit, and thy Will to me impart.
Tell me if Errour has my Feet misled,
What safer Paths I may hereafter tread.

   The Voice reply'd:
I am the Christians God , whom you pursue.
Go meet my Servant Arthur , he shall shew
At large, what thou hast to believe, what do.
The Scene here disappear'd, his Lords come round,
And rais'd reviving Hoel from the Ground.
Who marches on, the British Prince to find,
And Act not what himself, but Heav'n design'd.
With anxious Thoughts the Vision he revolves,
And to Obey Heav'n's high Command resolves.
Whilst to his Lords the Vision he relates,
They find themselves advanc'd to Conda 's Gates.

    Arthur mean time, to whom great Raphael 's word,
Unshaken Hopes, and Courage did afford;
Proceeded on his Way, but sent before
Embassadors to Hoel , to explore
His temper, and the Genius of his Court,
That he just steps might take by their Report.
He chose out to discharge this weighty Trust,
Valiant Pollador , Roderick the Just;
And Faithful Galbut , Friends that in distress,
(A thing unknown to Courts) their Love express.
Soon after Hoel had his Entrance made,
At the same City they arriv'd, and staid
But little, for th' admission which they pray'd.
Then Hoel first the Briton s thus addrest,
Let no sad Thought your pious Prince molest.
A Message sent from Heav'n preventing yours,
To me great Joy, Safety to him procures.
Friendship and Love, fill my enlighten'd Mind,
From Hatred purg'd, from Treachery refin'd.
Return, and let your Valiant Leader know,
His God has to a Friend, transfrom'd his Foe.
Tell him he's safe from all intended Harms,
And that I hast, t' Embrace him in my Arms.

   With Regal Bounty, he to all presents
Rich Swords, and various splendid Ornaments.
To Arthur sends a Chariot, dazling bright,
That to the Sun return'd redoubled Light.
And Horses of th' Iberian Noble Race,
That right Descent from the swift Eurus trace.
Bold, Gen'rous, Sprightly, as th' Illustrious Breed,
That in th' Etherial, blue Enclosures Feed.
That thro Heav'n's Wast, with the Sun's Chariot play,
And govern Time, by carrying round the Day.
Their Furniture of Gold, their Bridles Gold,
And golden Bits, their champing Mouths did hold.
They hast and all their Diligence employ,
To fill Just Arthur 's Mind, with Peace and Joy.
To him returning they impart at large,
The kind, endearing Things they had in Charge.
As when his Sons to Jacob did relate,
That Joseph , liv'd, and liv'd in Regal State;
Telling of all his Riches, Power, Renown,
Egypt 's Support, and Prop to Pharoah 's Crown.
Resistless Floods of sudden Pleasure Roll
Along his Veins, and break in on his Soul.
He sinks beneath the pressure of his Joy,
And Joseph 's Life, does almost his destroy.
Then Doubts and Fears, his Joys, high Tyde oppose,
From which Contention fiercer Tempests rose.
While his cross Passions fight with equal Power,
Each Triumphs in his turn, as Conquerour.
The Patriarch in this Distraction lost,
Is in each Storm with equal Danger tost.
But when the Chariots and rich Train he saw,
He did from thence fresh Life and Vigour draw.
His Breast from all contending Passions freed,
Calm Joy, and unmolested Peace succeed.
Enough the Patriarch was heard to Cry,
I'll hast to Joseph 's Arms, and in them Dye.
So when Just Arthur heard the Message first,
His wavering Mind with Fears and wise Distrust,
And rising Tydes of suddain Joy was tost,
Uncertain which strong Passion press'd him most.
But when he saw the Presents Hoel sent,
His Doubts suppress'd, he grew more Confident.
And his calm Mind eas'd of his anxious Cares,
T' embrace his new, and generous Friend prepares.

   And now advancing Night the Sky invades,
While close pursu'd by the Victorious Shades.
The Rayes that faintly from the Ground recoil,
On the green Fields, let fall their pearly spoil.
When Arthur to his secret Joys retires,
Where his exhaling Soul to Heav'n aspires,
In sacred Anhelations, and inflam'd Desires.
Fixt Contemplation feeds his Hope and Love,
With rapt'rous Preludes to the Joys above.
His ravish'd Eyes view the unmeasur'd Bliss,
In the next Life enjoy'd, believ'd in this.
So David often pass'd the silent Night,
And in his Transports felt sublime Delight,
Surpassing all that mighty Monarchs have,
That his own Crown, and all his Triumphs gave.
While baser Birds the humble Valley love,
And sing contented with their little Grove;
The Eagle's generous Pride does noble rise
To Heav'n, and thence does this low World despise.
Scorning a Vulgar Bough, he thinks he sees
Woods in the Clouds, and hanging Groves of Trees.
Thither he hasts, and leaves th' ignoble Brood,
That aim no higher, to their Shrubs and Wood.
If to his Prey he stoops, ashamed he flies
Back to his airy Dwelling in the Skies.
Where in the Clouds he hides his Royal Head,
Safe from the Snares, that watchful Fowlers spread.
So Men of courser Mould, and baser Birth,
Pleas'd with the Dust lye grov'ling on the Earth.
For Food their Souls all foul and bloated, seek
The Damps and Steams, that from its Bowels reek.
While Men divinely Born, still upwards move,
And scorn this World, that courts in vain their Love.
In Flames of Zeal, and Pangs of pure Desire,
These to the Seats of Light and Peace aspire.
Where they converse with the blest Minds above,
And wonder what on Earth invites Mens Love.
This Molehill Earth has lost its former Charms,
Molehill for Bulk, and Stings wherewith it swarms.
With Wonder they observe how Mortals Pride,
Can into Kingdoms this small Heap divide.
How one t' enlarge the Empire he has got,
Invades the Borders of his Neighbour's spot.
How this proud Monarch of a Turf, is vext
With restless cares, to dispossess the next.
As Heav'ns vast Globes that fill the World with Light,
Seem little Balls to distant Mortals sight,
That in the most capacious Planets, we
No room for States, and large Dominions see.
So these more noble Minds advanc'd so high,
Believe the same of us, that from the Sky,
The low-hung Earth's contracted Body Spy.
They keep above free from the fatal Nets,
That for unwary Feet the Tempter sets.
Free from the Earth's dark smoke, and endless Noise,
They dwell in Peace, and feed on Heav'nly Joys.
Such Pleasures Arthur while retir'd, enjoy'd,
And wish'd he ever might be thus employ'd.

   And now th' radiant Gates of th' Eastern Sky,
Unbar'd by bright Aurora , open fly.
Strait issues out the Sun with mighty Force,
As Gyants do, prepar'd to run his Course.
The joyful Briton s all things ready make,
And their new Friend to meet, their Journy take.
Scarce had the Sun his glitt'ring Chariot driv'n,
Up the steep Brow, and sharp Ascent of Heav'n,
When the glad Princes did each other meet,
And Hoel thus did first the Stranger greet.

   As a faint Traveller in Arabian Sands,
Scorcht with the burning Sun-beams, panting stands,
Views the dry Desart with despairing Eyes,
And for the Springs, and distant Rivers Sighs.
As Sailers long for Land, Heav'n's Aid implore,
And with their greedy wishes grasp the Shore;
When beaten from the hospitable Coast,
And in loud Storms upon the Ocean tost;
Where Ruin in so many Shapes appears,
They scarcely can attend to all their Fears.
I've wish'd to see you with the like desire,
The Oracle of whom I must enquire,
The way to Peace, and Everlasting Bliss,
Which lost in Night, and unknown Paths, I miss.
When first I set out with an hostile Mind,
And Evils which I dread to name, design'd;
The Powers that guard your sacred Life alarm'd,
Soon interpos'd, and my wild Hand disarm'd.
Kind Heav'n that both our Safeties did design,
Turn'd from your Head the Blow, the Guilt from mine.
For on the way a Glory dreadful Bright
Around me shone, and with excessive Light,
As they do Stars, the weaker Sun-beams drown'd:
I as trantfixt, fell headlong to the Ground.
'Twas then a wondrous Heav'nly Voice I heard,
The words were these, but no blest Face appear'd.
'Gainst me what Fury does thy Arms engage?
What moves thee with inexorable Rage
Vain Man, to persecute my Saints and me?
In vain thou striv'st to baffle Heav'n's Decree.
Vain is thy Force, and Impotent thy Hate,
Too weak thy Arms to stem the Tide of Fate.
The Torrent bears thy faint Resistance down,
Retire, or in eternal Ruin drown.
I strait cry'd out, O tell me who thou art
Great Spirit, and thy Will to me impart.
Tell me if Error has my Feet misled,
What safer Paths I may hereafter tread.
   The Voice reply'd:
I am the Christians God, whom you pursue,
Go find my Servant Arthur , he shall shew
At large, what thou hast to believe, what do.

   Prince Arthur paus'd a while, then Silence broke,
And friendly thus th' Armoric King bespoke.
Th' Eternal's Providence I must adore,
That has compell'd me to th' Armoric Shore.
That I might here, serve such a glorious End,
And to the Christian Cause gain such a Friend.
Goodness Divine, King Hoel does invite
By Miracles, t' enjoy Celestial Light.
Cast on your Coasts, with Pleasure I will stay,
To aid and guide you in your Heav'nly way.
To whom th' Armoric Monarch thus Reply'd;
While we to Nannetum together ride,
Instruct, O Pious Prince, my willing Mind:
It is a task your God has you design'd.
Unfold his Heav'nly Will, and let me know,
What Worship to him, what Belief, I owe.
To whom the Prince, this favour must I ask,
Before I undertake the pious Task:
That you'll dispatch your Servants to the Coast,
To seek my Friends out, in the Tempest lost.
And if by chance cast on th' Armoric Shore,
They wander up and down, distress'd and poor,
Your angry Subjects, may not them annoy,
Nor with devouring Flames, their Ships destroy.
This Friendship shewn, I'll with a cheerful Mind,
Attempt the Task by you, and Heav'n enjoyn'd.
When the past Night did with her dusky Train
Advance, o'er shadowing all th' Aierial Plain;
A sudden Transport did my Soul engage,
And all my Limbs shook with the sacred Rage.
Straight caught up from the Body, through the Skies
To the third Heav'n, my ravish'd Soul did rise.
Where Things ineffable I saw, and heard
Divine Instruction, which my Mind prepar'd
To aid you in your Heav'nly Way, and shew
What Worship, to th' Eternal Mind is due.
Straight Hoel to the Shores his Servants sent,
Who might the Harms, that Arthur fear'd, prevent.
Who might the hapless Briton s kindly treat,
And safe conduct them to his Royal Seat.
Such Love the King to Arthur 's Friends exprest,
Who now prepar'd t'obey the King's Request.


   Attentive Hoel 's Eyes on Arthur 's Face
Were fixt, who thus began with God-like grace.
Before th' unshaken Pillars of the Earth
Were Reer'd, before prolifick Nature 's Birth,
Before the Register of Time begun,
Or Heav'n's bright Forces throng'd about the Sun,
Was a wild Void , that no set Bounds restrain'd,
Where Silence, Night, and Desolation reign'd.
Where yet no glimmering track of Light appear'd,
No Discord yet, or Harmony was heard.
From Ages past lay in th' Eternal 's Mind,
A finish'd Model of a World , design'd
To be Erected by Almighty Hands,
Where now this Round, Capacious Fabrick stands.
The deep Foundations laid, in Heav'n they said
A strange new World was making, Fame soon spread
The tydings through the Palaces of Bliss,
To see a work so wonderful as this,
Millions of Angels to Heav'n's Turrets fly,
And on the Crystal Terras of the Sky,
Stood in bright Throngs, and on Creation , gaz'd,
And at the Sight were ravish'd, and amaz'd.

    Almighty Vigour strove through all the Void,
And such prolifick Influence employ'd,
That ancient, barren Night did pregnant grow,
And quicken'd with the World in Embrio.
The struggling Seeds of unshap'd Matter ly,
Contending in her Womb for Victory.
No Order, Form, or Parts distinct and clear,
Did in the Crude Conception, yet appear.
Thick Darkness did the unripe Light Embrace,
That faintly glanc'd on Chaos shady Face.
The unfledg'd Fire has no bright Wings to rise,
But scarce distinguish'd, with the Water lies.
It's sprightly, ruddy Youth not yet attain'd,
The glitt'ring Seeds, Mother of Fire, remain'd
Like golden Sands, thick scatter'd on the Shore,
Of the wild Deep, and shone in burning Oar.
In glowing Heaps the Stars lay dusky bright,
Rude and unpolish'd Balls of unwrought Light.
The Sphears pil'd up about their Poles were Furl'd,
Design'd the Swadling Bands of th' Infant World.
The Sky dispers'd, lay in Etherial Oar,
And azure Veins, betray'd th' Empyreal Store.
The watry Treasures in th' unfashion'd Birth,
Lay in the rough Embraces of the Earth.
But at the great Command will Thaw, and throw
The Dross off, and like melted Metals flow.
Besides vast numbers of loose Atoms stray,
And in the restless Deep of Chaos play.
In dark Encounters they for Empire strive,
And gain what Chance, and wild Confusion give.
Which joyntly here possess the Sov'raign Sway,
Pleas'd with those Subjects most, that least Obey.
Order, a bansh'd Rebel, flies the Place,
And Strife and Uproar fill the noisy Space.
Tumult and Misrule please at Chaos Court,
And everlasting Wars his Throne Support.
Troops arm'd with Heat have here a Battel won,
But Moist and Cold the Victor soon dethrone.
Here heavier Seeds rush on in numerous Swarms,
And crush their Lighter Foes, with pond'rous Arms.
The lighter strait Command with equal Pride,
And on wild Whirlwinds in mad Triumph ride.
None long submits to a Superiour Power,
Each yields, and in his turn is Conquerour.
If some grown mild from fierce Contention cease,
And with calm Neighbours court a seperate Peace;
If Truce they make, and in kind Leagues combine,
Their short Embraces some rude Shocks disjoyn.
Th' Eternal 's Voice compos'd these Atoms jars,
And justling Elements intestine Wars.
He sets imprison'd Heat and Vigor free,
And suits and ranges Natures that agree.
He through the Mass a mighty Ferment spread,
And where it came mis-shap'd Confusion fled.
Dark Chaos now throws off his gloomy Face,
Puts on fresh Beauty, and a Heav'nly Grace.
Th' Almighty spake , and strait the Sprightly Light
With lovely Looks broke from th' Abyss of Night;
On Golden Wings it mounts, and in its way
Its Smiles diffuse new Morn, and unripe Day.
Aloft vast spreading Sheets of Ether rise,
Matter for Sphears, and pure transparent Skies.
The Sky that for its Compass scarce finds room,
Spun thin, and wove on Nature's finest Loom.
The new-born World in its soft Bosom wraps,
And all around its Starry Mantle laps.
The Sun's vast Globe that till the Birth of Day,
All Rough and Cloudy in wild Chaos lay;
Well wrought and polish'd, is advanc'd on high;
The vagrant Beams that stray'd about the Sky,
Now becken'd by Creating Power obey,
And the bright Forces hither hast away.
Then hov'ring on the Spungy Globe they wait,
And round their new appointed Mansion sate.
The thirsty Orb drinks in the liquid Beams,
And now but one vast Sea of Glory seems.
It self a Heav'n with dazling Lustre bright,
Pours out pure Floods of overflowing Light.
Here as in Furnaces of boiling Gold,
Stars dipt come back, full as their Orbs can hold
Of glitt'ring Light, here too the Moon all drown'd,
Does with the Golden Metal fill her Round.
Sometimes half dipt it but in part adorns
Her Face, and shines with Blunt, Refulgent Horns.
Th' Etherial Plain now cultivated bears,
A shining Harvest of Illustrious Stars.
That at a distance seem small Lights, but near
Capacious Realms, and gloroius Worlds appear.
The Sphears spread forth their Bosoms, now resin'd,
And Belly out, like Sails swoln big with Wind.
The Air beat out, and purify'd does lye,
A Crystal deep between the Earth and Sky.
Through this thin Void the Sun's indulgent Beams,
Flow gently on the Earth in Golden Streams.
That kindly steal away the Watry Store,
And rob the Earth, but to enrich it more.
The Earth with its own Burden tir'd, and prest
Down with its weight, lies in the midst at rest.
A Deep broke up, God calls Waters, they
Feel the Command, and with quick flight Obey.
In mighty Heaps the foaming Deluge flows,
High liquid Walls and curling Ridges shows.
Some Waters with a smooth and gentle Tyde,
On the Earth's plain and level Surface glide.
Others that meet a Steep abrupt Descent;
Roll down in Floods more loud and turbulent.
At last they fall from the high Precipice,
In noisy Floods into the dark Abyss.
Till the vast Deluge with its liquid Store,
Fills up the Deep, and Crowns the Ambient Shore.
Now their tall Heads the rising Mountains show,
And wide mouth'd Vallies sink themselves, as low.
The Earth as yet all bare and naked lay,
For Heav'n's Command th' imprison'd Spirits stay.
God spake , and straight a lovely Spring appears,
And every Field fresh, verdant Cloathing wears.
Green Herbs adorn the Hills aspiring Heads,
And smiling Flowers paint the Enamell'd Meads.
Trees starting up, lifted their Heads so high,
They met the Clouds descending from the Sky.
Some rang'd in beauteous Order, Stately stood,
Others press'd close, and throng'd into a Wood.
Some where the Sun gives more indulgent Heat,
Transparent Gums, and Od'rous Juices Sweat.
The fragrant Balsom-Tree distills around,
Her healing Riches on the neighbouring Ground.
The humble Jess'mine breaths Perfumes abroad,
And wanton Zephyrs bear the balmy Load.
Pure Crystal Rivers through the Meadows flow,
Their flowry Banks smile on them, as they go.
Their watry Train in Snaky Windings slides,
And in their Streams the scaly Nation glides.
Birds glad to try their Wings rise from the Earth,
And with their Songs they celebrate their Birth.
Beasts in their various Kinds all Mild, and Tame,
Stood gazing round, and wonder'd whence they came.
The Bleating Flocks wander on every Hill,
And lowing Herds the Ecchoing Vallies fill.
The sporting Lyon Paws the wanton Bear,
Wolves seek the Woods, the Lawns the timorous Deer.
The Crested Snake rolls on the flowry Plain,
The shining Volumes of his Spiral Train.
Leviathan in th' Ocean takes his place,
Prince of the Waters, and the Finny Race.
Rolling amidst the Waves, he takes his Sport,
As a great Sea-God in his watry Court.
Swimming to Land he drives high Seas before,
Like a great Island floating near the Shore.
In wanton pastime he sucks in with Ease,
Then spouts against the Skies th' exhausted Seas:
Like some prodigious Water-Engine made
To play on Heav'n, if Fires should Heav'n invade.
So fair, so rich a Paradise as this,
Almighty Power call'd from the dark Abys:

   To keep the Birth-day of the World, the Spring
Does all her Joys and fragrant Riches bring.
Nature appearing in her brightest Dress,
Does all her Sweets and Heav'nly Charms express.
The Sphears in tuneful Measres Roll above,
And Heav'n's bright Orbs in beauteous Order move.
The smiling Earth discovers perfect Joy,
Where nothing noxious can its Peace annoy.
The Air's so soft, such balmy Odours fly,
So sweet the Fruits, so pure and mild the Sky,
The Blissful States, too great to be exprest,
By all the Pleasures of the wanton East,
By th' Arab 's Sweets from Zephirs , tender Wings
Gently shook off, or what the Merchant brings
Of Forreign Luxury with tedious Toil,
From Asia 's Coast, or soft Campania 's Soil.
Thus after five days Labour Nature stood,
God view'd his Creatures, and pronounc'd them Good.
But still there wanted one that might adore
Divine Perfections, and Heav'n's Gifts implore.
That might himself, and his great Author know,
Obey his God, and rule as God below.
Then Man was made, the Author fram'd and wrought
The purer Mould, with more Concern and Thought.
His Mind made up of pure Etherial Air,
Came from the Hands Divine all Bright and Fair.
And lodg'd in Clay did at its Entrance give
So quick a touch, as made that Clay to live.
And both united with such wondrous Art,
In part he's Angel, Animal in part.
In whom the Bounds of both the Worlds are seen,
Where Earth does terminate, and Heav'n begin.
One part, like sprightly Flames, will upward move,
Kin to the blest, unbody'd Minds above.
The other, only shap'd and quicken'd Earth,
From moulded Dust receives its humble Birth.
Yet Life divine, and high Perfection gains,
Ennobled by the Guest it entertains.
His Form erect, and Cherub-like his Face,
Where Sweetness temper'd Stern and Manly Grace.
Mil'd to be lov'd, and awful to be fear'd,
He, like some new discover'd God , appear'd.
Then did th' Almighty to his Bosom give,
To bless him perfectly, his Consort Eve .
Of a more soft and nicely temper'd Mould,
Her strokes were tender, his more strong and bold.
Sweetness that ravish'd, milder than the Morn,
And perfect Beauty did her Looks adorn.
She like a Goddess, with the Heav'nly Charms,
Of blushing Innocence, comes to his Arms.
What Joys Divine did on the Fav'rite wait,
These happy Hours that knew his Native State!
His Work thus finish'd, and Creation done,
Th' Almighty rests on his Eternal Throne.
Straight the loud Shouts and Acclamations giv'n,
Shook the high Towers and jarring Gates of Heav'n.
There stood an Alabaster Mount that shone,
In th' Air sublime, from the Imperial Throne
Remov'd at distance, and between them lay,
All pav'd with Stars, a broad, frequented way.
Hither for great Assemblies they repair,
From all the Regions of th' Etherial Air.
Here they in perfect Love and Peace debate,
Th' Affairs that most affect their sacred State.
Hither the Princes of the Heav'nly Court,
Follow'd with Throngs unnumber'd now resort.
There met, a solemn Jubilee they Vote,
In Honour of the Wonders lately wrought.
Straight a Procession publik was enjoyn'd,
And thus perform'd t'adore th' Eternal Mind.

   Trumpets march'd first, and chiefly that whose Sound
Shall strike Convulsions thro' the trembling ground:
Break their dark Prisons down, and call away
Th' awaken'd Dead, on the great Judgment Day.
Next Heav'nly Viols, soft harmonious Flutes,
Resounding Dulcimers, and tuneful Lutes
And Harps, like that which hangs the glitt'ring Pride,
As Poets feign, of young Apollo 's side.
With perfect Skill here chosen Cherubs play,
And Celebrate th' Almighty's Resting Day.
Then the blest Voices came with Hymns of Praise,
Angelick Musick, sweet Melodious Lays,
Such as bright Spirits in high Raptures sing,
Around the Throne of their Eternal King.
Now the first Rank of Potentates and Peers,
Mighty Arch-Angels, and high Thrones appears.
Crowns of substantial, massy Glory made,
Adorn'd with Gems, and Flow'rs that never Fade,
And Greens of Heav'nly growth all wreath'd between,
Are on the Heads of this bright Order seen:
Fresh Greens and Flow'rs, such as their Gardens bring,
Blest with mild Rays, and Everlasting Spring.
Vials of Incense in their Hands they bare,
And the sweet Clouds in Wheels roll up the Air.
Odours not to be told, fann'd from them fly,
And wondrous Fragrancy Perfumes the Sky.
Each had his Lyre, that from his Shoulders hung,
With Golden Wire, like radiant Sun-beams, strung.
Such was their Splendour, with such Grace they trod,
In Looks and Motion each appear'd a God.
Hither thick Crowds of vulgar Angels made,
And to admire this glorious Order staid,
And, as they pass'd, humble Obeisance paid.
Then lower Ranks in long Procession pass'd,
With Crowns and Badges of Distinction grac'd.
And all so Splendid, all so Rich and Gay,
That Heav'n before, ne'er saw so bright a Day.
Unfading Roses of Heav'nly Red,
On the bright Pavement were profusely spread.
Elysian Jess'mine, and blest Am'rant lay,
In od'rous heaps along the Milky way.
The Fountains all such Cost was then bestow'd,
With unexhausted Springs of Nectar flow'd.
And now advanc'd before th' Imperial Throne,
That lofty with excessive Brightness shone,
They from th' uneasie Lustre of the Light,
Protected with spread Wings their dazled sight.
In prostrate Adoration down they fell,
Opprest with Glory unsupportable.
Entranc'd, Transported, Ravish'd, there they ly,
And with blest Hallelujahs fill the Sky.
In Songs Sublime they praise th' Eternal Mind,
His Works from all the Ages past design'd,
His Greatness, Wisdom, Empire unconfin'd.
His Justice, that no Force or Prayer can move:
His spotless Truth, and Everlasting Love.
They Sing th' Eternal Son's Immortal Praise,
And to an equal height the sacred Spirit raise.
Then all arising from the sacred Quire,
O'erflowing with unbounded Joys, retire
To the blest Shades of the Celestial Bowers,
Where oft they choose to pass their happy Hours.
Their Hunger here delicious Banquets met,
With vast Profusion on rich Tables set,
Banquets Divine, not such as Mortals Eat.
High Dishes in long Pomp and Order stood,
Fill'd with choice Fruits, rare Meats, all Angels Food.
Ambrosial Juices, sweet Nectarean Wine,
Ravish'd their Tast, and made their Faces Shine.
The Sons of God thus chear'd, dissolve in Joy,
Whilst his high Praises their blest Tongues employ.
In Joys and Triumphs so the Day they spend,
Such Mirth and Show the Festival attend;
Then when the Ev'ning came, or what instead
Of Evening there, does in its turn succeed.
Glorious Illuminations made on high,
By all the Constellations of the Sky,
In bright Degrees, and shining Orders plac'd,
Spectators charm'd, and the blest Dwellings grac'd.
Through all th' inlight'n'd Air rare Fireworks flew,
Which the Celestial Youth with Shouting threw.
Comets fly up with their red sweeping Train,
Then fall in Starry Showers, and glitt'ring Rain.
In th' Air ten Thousand Meteors blazing hung,
That from Heav'n's gilded Battlements were flung.
Here furious, flying Dragons hissing came,
Here harmless Fires play in lambent Flame.
Such Universal Joy in Heav'n they shew'd,
And in such hallow'd Mirth the day conclude.
In such Delights they pass their time above,
And so shall we, if like them, we Obey and Love.

   In all the Joys that happy Minds attain,
Blest Adam first began to live and reign.
He to fair Eden 's Paradise resorts,
Where every Sense its proper Pleasure courts.
The joyful Spring by soft Favonius fan'd,
Diffus'd her Riches with a wanton Hand.
From new-blown Flowers luxurious Odours fly,
And Heav'nly Landskips meet his ravish'd Eye.
The twining Branches weave him shady Bowers,
And Hony-Dews fall in delicious Showers.
Birds with their Songs their Soveraign salute,
From Boughs that bend beneath their Golden Fruit.
Pure Streams to him their Crystal Waters bring,
And the glad Fish leap up, to see their King.
The harmless Beasts their humble Homage paid,
And the sole Monarch of the World obey'd.
Uninterrupted Peace his Mind possest,
And Joys unutterable fill'd his Breast.
He view'd his great Creator's glorious Face,
Clearly reflected from fair Nature's Glass.
On her bright Form he saw, th' Impressions shine,
Of Wisdom Infinite, and Pow 'r Divine,
Whence all things, as free Emanations flow,
As Streams their Being to their Fountain owe.
Which binds fast Nature's vast unshaken Frame,
Lest it dissolve to Nothing, whence it came.
Whilst in his Thoughts the pleasing Objects Roll,
Fresh Pleasures Feed his still transported Soul.
His Eyes thus fixt, the great Seducer's Skill,
Could not engage his Thoughts, or move his Will.
A Day Serene smil'd on his Heav'nly Mind,
Dark with no Cloud, and undisturb'd with Wind.
No Guilt, no Frown from Heav'n disturbs his Soul,
Calm as deep Rivers in still Evenings roll.
No Storms of Passion, such as us molest,
Annoys the Peaceful Region of his Breast.
No boiling Lust swell'd the o'erflowing Blood,
To bear down Reason with th' impetuous Flood.
His spotless Mind knew yet no other Fire,
Then those pure Flames, that Heav'nly Minds inspire.
O happy Man! above description blest,
Had he maintain'd the Station he possest.
Upon the Crystal River's flowry side,
That winding did in slow Meanders glide;
As loath to leave the Blissful Place, there stood
A Tree that rose above th' Hesperian Wood,
Its Fruit seem'd pleasant, but forbidden Food.
For he that with enormous Bounty pours
On Man, fresh Pleasures in incessant Showers;
That nothing can disturb his flowing Joys,
Unless Variety suspends his Choice.
Bids him not Eat the fatal Fruit, to prove
His due Obedience, and his constant Love.
The grand Apostate for high Crimes displac'd,
From Heav'n by fierce Almighty Vengeance chas'd,
Till down th' unfathom'd Precipice he fell
Confounded, to the fiery Gulph of Hell:
With Rage and Envy sees Man's happy State,
Whence he for ever lost had fall'n so late.
Himself undone urg'd with infernal Spight,
And dire Revenge, makes Ruin his delight.
That he from Heav'n might this fair Province gain,
That Sin and Death might wider Sway attain,
And he his baleful Empire might extend,
Conceal'd beneath the specious Air of Friend,
Does to Man's Choice the fatal Tree commend.
As such whose Worth transcends the greatest price,
The Flower and Beauty of his Paradise.
Pleasing to Tast, but much more to the Mind,
Which those that Eat, should boundless Knowledge find.
Then points up to the fair forbidden Meat,
Bids him be Wise, and boldly take, and Eat.
He tempts him with the flatt'ring Hopes of Bliss,
Great as his God's, and lasting too, as his.
This gaudy Scene of Glory charm'd his Eye,
And his proud thoughts at God-like Greatness fly.
The bright Illusion turn'd his giddy Head,
And with vast Hopes his vain Ambition fed.
Thus gazing at the Glory of a God,
The Precipice was hid on which he trod.
The splendid Phantome now advances nigh,
And in his reach appears Divinity.
Which straight he grasps at, and to hold the more,
Empties his Hand of what it held before.
But sooner might he grasp unbody'd Minds,
And with clos'd Arms clasp in the raging Winds.
The glorious Shadow from his Hands does slide,
Mocks his Embraces, and defeats his Pride.
He Eat, but did no other Pleasures find,
Than the sad Terrors of a guilty Mind.
His cheated Hopes can no new Knowledge boast,
But of the Ill he feels, and Good he lost.

   Thus fell lost Man, straight troubled Nature moan'd,
And shaking, with a strong Convulsion groan'd.
Ev'n Paradise look'd Sad, the Herds repin'd,
And lofty Cedars shook without a Wind.
The Roses fade, the Golden Apples turn'd
Pallid, and all the Sick Creation mourn'd.
To the thick Trees in vain fall'n Adam made,
To hide his blacker Guilt beneath their Shade.
Close Trees may so their well mixt Branches spread,
That Sun-beams cannot pierce their shady Head.
But God's clear Eye needs not so gross a Ray,
His Glory sheds a more Illustrious Day.
But had he been from his bright Eye conceal'd,
The crying Guilt had to his Ear reveal'd
Apostate Man, that Voice to Heav'n does rise
Loud, as the Thunder-claps, for which it cries.
What a black Train of Woes and hideous Fears,
Headed by one bold Crime, to Man appears.
The Serpent's Venom spreads through all his Veins,
And Sin's Contagion unresisted Reigns.
A Death-like Damp shoots through from his poisn'd Blood,
And fear's cold Chains Arrest the beating Flood.
A dreadful Face of Things confounds his Eye,
He cannot stay secure, nor can he fly.
Black Thoughts of Vengeance seize his guilty Heart,
And Conscience wounds him, with her poison'd Dart.
Amidst the Trees he starts at every Noise,
Grows Pale, and thinks he hears th' Almighty's Voice.
The trembling Branches make him tremble more,
Now feebler, than the Fig-leaves, which he wore.

   Man's Soul, by this rude Shock from's Center driv'n,
Stands so a-skaunt, and so remote from Heav'n,
Tis scarcely warm'd by its weak, Oblique Ray,
And has at best but a cold, darksome Day.
Fall'n from its bright Etherial Seat on high,
Down to the lowest Regions of the Sky,
It feels th' attractive Earth's Magnetick Force,
And round this low-hung Ball directs its Course.
As when a Planet, once all fair and bright,
Sickens, and shines with pale and faded Light;
By some fierce Storm bred in its Bowels rent,
As Clouds are by the Thunder in 'em pent.
The mighty Orb disjoynted cracks, and all
The broken Parts in Noisy Ruin fall.
The hideous, burning Hull does floating lie,
And with the wondrous Wreck affrights the Sky.
Sometimes it blazes with a dismal Light,
And then grown dim, seems lost and drown'd in Night.
Then sinking does the Starry Sky forsake,
Contented some inferior Seat to take.
Where Heav'n new moulds the Heap, and from th' Abyss,
Calls forth perhaps a Moon, or Earth, like this.
So Man seduc'd by the Impostor fell,
From Heav'n's bright Coasts, to the black Verge of Hell.
There he his Lustre lost, and God-like Grace,
Shews the sad Ruins of a Heav'nly Face.
Where Peace dwelt undisturb'd, and smiling Light,
Confusion now, Chaos and horrid Night.
Black, frowning Clouds, and murmuring Thunder rose,
O'er the vext Region of his guilty Soul.
Fierce, driving Storms, and bleak Tempestuous Wind
Beat on the wasteful Desart of his Mind.
Revenge, Despair, Grief, Jealousie, and Fear,
Have in their Turns, supreme Dominion here.
Reason dethron'd must the Commands obey
Of this wild Rout, that holds the Sovereign Sway.

   Mean Time, th' Almighty does his Summons send,
Thro' Heav'n for all his Angels to attend.
High in the Midst of the Etherial Skies,
A Mount of rocky Diamond did rise:
Insuperably steep, and too sublime
For the tir'd Wings of Cherubims to climb.
O'er-looking Heav'ns wide Vales and spacious Plains
It stands, and unmolested Peace maintains.
Here the Almighty's bright Tribunal stands,
Whence his Decrees are sent, and high Commands.
Hence he gives Laws to all the Worlds below,
And hence eternal Right and Justice flow.
Hence Punishments proceed, and just Rewards,
Hence Orders come to all th' Angelick Guards,
To keep the Peace of Heav'n, and next secure
On Earth th' afflicted, from th' Oppressor's Power.
And now the Thrones and Pow'rs the Vally fill,
And stand adoring round the sacred Hill.
Adam 's Rebellion they had newly heard,
And God's fierce Wrath in dreadful Signs appear'd.
Lightnings and Thunders isue from his Throne,
Lightnings scarce heard of, Thunder seldom known.
Tremendous Murmurs, and a mighty Sound
Of wondrous Ruine from the Hill rebound.
T'express incens'd Omnipotence conspire
Whirlwinds, thick Darkness and consuming Fire,
United Terrors, that with Fury broke
From the blest Mount, whence thus th' Almighty spoke.

   The Man I made, and with my Image grac'd,
And next to your Angelick Order plac'd,
Revolting to th' Apostate Prince of Hell,
Against my Throne has yielded to Rebel.
The Death I threaten'd, now I must inflict,
So Justice bids, nor is its Rule too strict.
You're here from all the Regions of the Sky,
To hear the Rebel doom'd, and see him Dye.

   He spake, and thro' all Heav'n a Terror strook,
The Sphears, and all the Frame of Nature shook.
The Moon grew Pale, the Sun all Dim appear'd,
And all the Sons of God stood Mute, and fear'd.
Th' Almighty his Vindictive Arm makes bare,
Stretch'd out his Hand, and did for Death prepare.
Mercy Shreek'd out, and trembling on her Face
Fell down, and did with Tears his Feet Embrace,
Offspring Divine, in Heav'n the most belov'd,
By whom ev'n Fate unchangeable is mov'd.
Her Looks so moving, such Celestial Grace,
So mild, and sweet an Air dwell on her Face,
So tender and engaging all her Charms,
That oft th' Almighty's Fury she disarms.
Her Language melts Omnipotence, arrests
His Hand, and thence his Vengeful Lightning wrests.

   Then thus she spake:
Shall the successful, sly Impostor boast,
That by his Power the new Creation's lost?
Shall he thus Triumph in his impious Deed,
And all our Hopes defeat from Adam 's Seed?
Must this fair Race be lost, so lately made,
And Hell made Bold your Empire to invade?
Adam has sinn'd, and Heav'n's high Grace abus'd,
But sinn'd betray'd, and by Hell's Fraud seduc'd.
Can't Wisdom Infinite, Expedients find,
To punish Guilt, and yet preserve Mankind?
Compassion, with stern Justice mixt, will draw
Honour to Heav'n's just Government, and Awe
All from offending the Establish'd Law.

   At this, the Eternal Son rose from his Place,
The bright Effulgence of his Father's Face,
His fair and express Image, full of Grace.
In whom Divine, Substantial Glory dwelt,
And who Almighty Life and Vigour felt.
Th' Essential Wisdom, th' Everlasting Word,
The Universal Heir, and Soveraign Lord.
And thus he Silence broke, mine be the Task
To do what Justice and Compassion ask.
To Rescue Man, my self will Man become,
Assuming Substance from a Virgin's Womb.
A willing Sacrifice, I'll Death Embrace,
Justice t'attone, and Ransom Adam 's Race.

   The Father straight assented, Mercy simil'd,
To see the Serpent of his Prey beguil'd.
Justice well pleas'd, accpets the offer'd Price,
And Heav'n's aton'd by its own Sacrifice.
The Heav'ns with loud rebounding Shouts did ring,
And the glad Angels in new Anthems sing,
The Intercessor, and mysterious King.
The rolling Years their Circles fill apace,
And well-breath'd Time runs its appointed Race.
Till it brought on the Hour when all should see,
The Son make good to Man, his blest Decree.

   That our expected Hope might be enjoy'd,
Divinity appears with Man alloy'd.
His native Glory darts destructive Light,
And bright Oppression pours on Mortal's Sight;
He therefore draws a humane Veil between,
That temper'd Lustre might not Kill, when seen.
Here two Extreams of distance infinite,
In one ineffable, mysterious Knot unite.
God lives conceal'd, within a Mould of Clay,
And does in Dust himself, and's Glory lay.
He that in all th' expanded Skies wants room,
Lies now encompass'd with a Virgins Womb.
Immensity is wrapt in Swadling Bands,
The Prince by whom the World's wide Fabrick stands,
Supported in his Mother's Arms we see;
And vast Eternity begins to be.
He leaves his Starry Seat, and glitt'ring Crown,
And lays his dazling Robes of Glory down.
Then in an humble travelling Dress is seen
Seeking, as unknown Strangers do, an Inn.
Lord of the World, to whom proud Monarchs owe
Their Crowns and Scepters, he that does bestow
Honours and Wealth profusely on the Great,
Can't for his own Repose, find out a Seat,
But must from Men, to kinder Beasts, Retreat.
No other Court receives the new-born King,
That to debase himself, did choose to bring
No other Pomp, but naked Innocence;
Nothing for Ornament, or for Defence.
He that the Wants of all the World supplies,
Himself oppress'd with Pain and Hunger, Cries.
He Man's Assistance asks in vain, to whom
For Aid and Comfort all th' aflicted come.
Angels that did the Royal Stranger know,
The greatest Signs of Joy and Triumph show.
The Out-guards of their Camp saw marching round
Celestial Splendor rising from the Ground.
And gave th' alarm, the shining Squadrons fly
To th' Out-lines, and the Frontiers of the Sky:
To see the wond'rous Mediator Born,
Whom they Adore, though stupid Hebrews Scorn.
Some with spread Wings shoot swiftly thro' the Air,
And to the Shepherds first the Tydings bear,
That a great Shepherd was at Beth'lem Born,
Whose Deeds and Triumphs should that Name Adorn.
Tho' Angels Sing, obdurate Men are mute,
Nor will their Saviour, and their King Salute.

   Yet some few famous Sages come from far,
Conducted by a brigter Morning Star,
Left all the Wealth and Wonders of the East,
To see a greater Sun rise in the West.
To find the Prince to Herod they resort;
For where should Kings be found, but in a Court?
But the directing Star that led their Way,
Stands still, and points down with a streaming Ray,
To a mean Stable, where the Stranger lay.
Where they with humble Adoration View,
The Infant Intercessor, known to few.
Whom they present with Odoriferous Gums,
Choice Spices, and Arabia 's rich Perfumes.   
The Sun of Righteousness begins to rise,
And Streaks with radiant Lines the Purple Skies.
Here did he from his healing Wings display,
The tender Dawn of Everlasting Day.
Pale Terror through the Courts of Darkness flew,
And Hell's sad Regions double Sorrow shew.
Th' Infernal Spirits wandring in the Air,
As Thunder-struck, in Anger and Despair,
With Shreeks and hideous Yellings fly the Sight,
And the keen Horrour of the Heav'nly Light.
Like obscene Birds of Night, they hast away
And shun in Clefts and Caves the Rising Day.
The Prince of Darkness now begins to fear,
The Dissolution of his Empire's near.
Th' ambiguous Oracles with Fear struck Dumb
Proclaim'd by Silence, the Messiah come.

   Troubled and Sad th' Infernal Counsel sate,
Thoughtful how best t'avert th' impending Fate.
Various Projections, deep Designs were laid,
How best the dreaded Foe they might invade.
They first the Fury Jealousie dispatch,
To Herod 's Court that might Occasion watch,
To kindle strong Suspicions in his Breast,
That th' Infant from him should his Scepter wrest.
She did so well perform her Hellish Part,
Herod soon yielded to her subtle Art.
For while the Sages leave their Eastern home,
And to admire the wondrous Infant come.
Herod , afraid his ravish'd Crown to loose,
The Royal Infant's hated Life pursues.
What to pale Tyrants dreadful won't appear,
When Love and Innocence can move their Fear.

   'Tis true,
A King he is, whose Empire's vast Extent,
Shall pass all Bounds, and last when Time is spent.
Submissive Monarchs shall their Scepters lay
Before his Feet, and his Just Laws Obey.
Kingdoms opprest shall his strong Aids invoke,
And thrust their Necks beneath his gentle Yoke.
The Roman Eagles shall the Conqueror own,
And Cæsar Court him to Ascend his Throne.
Admir'd by all, he shall in Triumph go
Where fruitful Nile , or fam'd Hydaspes flow,
Uncheckt by Africk Heats, or Scythian Snow.
Nations invited by his Fame, shall come,
More than e'er made their Court to Conquering Rome ,
In splendid Embassies to sue for Peace,
And Worlds unknown his Empire shall increase.
The Earth shall banish'd Justice now regain,
And Love and Truth attend the happy Reign.
Soft Peace and Joy the chearful Earth shall Crown,
And Savage Beasts shall lay their Fierceness down.
The Lyon, Wolf, and Lamb, no more their Prey,
And little Infants shall Promiscuous play.
The years in Golden Harness smiling pass,
And keeping beauteous Order run their Race.
Nor shall his Kingdom cease, or Subjects dye,
For when Time finds its empty Channel dry,
And all its disappearing Streams shall Sleep,
Lost and engulph'd in vast Duration's Deep.
Then shall this King his full Dominion gain,
And in Eternal Peace, and Triumph Reign.
But 'tis not Worldly Empire he design'd,
His Scepter is his Grace, his Throne the Mind.
Kings unmolested may their Scepters sway,
And Peaceful Subjects without Strife obey.
They may unrivall'd, and unenvy'd reign,
And all their Pomp, and Regal State maintain.
The great Redeemer has his Court unseen,
And reigns in Light, and Heavenly Love within.

   But from the false Usurper's Cruelty
Officious Angels warn their Prince to fly.
He and his happy Parents leave their Home,
And all to Egypt 's safer Border's come.
Egypt tho' for its Monsters famous grown,
Is now by treach'rous Palestine out-done.
For here they find a more secure Abode,
Egypt , once Jacob sav'd, and now his God.
The wandring God returns, the Tyrant dead,
To rich Judæ's Soil from whence he fled.
Where he begins his Kingdom to assert,
And his mirac'lous Virtue to exert.
The Blind receiv'd their Sight, their Feet the Lame,
And the Dumb spake to celebrate his Fame.
Loud Storms and Winds were husht at his Command,
And fierce wild Beasts did tame and harmless stand.
The wondring Dead arise, and hasty come,
Obsequious to his Call, from out their Tomb.
With fresh-created Fish and Loaves he fed
Th' admiring Crowd, that lay around him spread.
To the Decrepit he knew Force appoints,
And with strong Nerves new-brac'd their wither'd Joynts.
His Breath oft cool'd fierce Feavers raging Flames,
And his sole Word the deadly Poyson tames.
Round him in Crowds the sick and feeble throng,
The sick grow easie, and the feeble strong.
Fresh healing Vertue he diffus'd around,
And dying Men rose leaping from the ground.
The Languishing reviv'd, th' Afflicted cheer'd,
Took healthful Looks, and smil'd when he appear'd.
Demons at his Command vext Men forsake,
And to th' Infernal Caves and burning Lake,
Their hasty Flight, with piercing Screeches take.

   Such Miracles did his high Office prove,
And Universal Admiration move,
Of all the chiefest was his wondrous Love.
He whom rebellious Men might justly fear,
In all his chosen Terrors would appear,
With Military Pomp, and Trumpets Sound,
His shining Host of Cherubs pour'd around;
Arm'd with keen Lightning, and the sharpest Sword,
That all his Magazins of Wrath afford,
To lay all Wast before him, and Efface
All Footsteps of Apostate Adam 's Race,
He, unexampl'd Love! Attempts to win
Man from the Curse of Death, and Curse of Sin,
With Pity, more than that of Mothers Hearts,
With Mercy's Charms, and Love's preswasive Arts.
His high design was with his Heav'nly Light,
To chase away th' Impenetrable Night,
That cover'd this lost World, and re-inspire
Man's frozen Breast with fresh Celestial Fire.
Th' Almighty's faded Image to repair,
That its bright Lines might shine distinct and fair.
To raise laps'd Minds to that high State of Love,
Of Light and Bliss, the Blest enjoy above.
To pull all bold Usurping Passions down,
And settle Reason in its ancient Throne.
To break Sins heavy Chains, its Slaves release,
And fix 'twixt Earth and Heav'n a lasting Peace.

   The Jews amus'd with Worldly Empire's Charms,
Hoping some Monarch with Victorious Arms,
With Roman pomp and Grandeur would arise,
The great Redeemer's humble State despise.
Inspir'd from Hell, his Message they refuse,
Deride his Person, and his Deeds accuse.
He that Supplies on all in want bestow'd,
Feasting with Miracles the hungry Crowd:
Finds from th' obdurate Hebrew no relief,
But with the Twelve Companions of his Grief,
He walk'd on his Eternal Purpose bent,
Scatt'ring his Heav'nly Gifts where'er he went.
Yet did unwelcom through their Regions stray,
From those ungrateful Cities thrust away,
Whence he had Devils and Diseases cast,
Him, and his proffer'd Heav'n, they from them chas'd.
At last his spotless Innocence traduc'd,
He stands before the Roman Throne accus'd;
On Cæsar's King Pilate in Judgment sits,
Condemns him, yet his Innocence acquits.
To please th' inexorable Jews he sheds
Blood, and Heav'n's dreadful Curses on their Heads.
That done, he wash'd his guilty Hands in vain,
The Blood he spilt, alone could Purge that Stain.

   No Form of Cruelty his Foes omit,
They give sharp Stripes, and on his Face they Spit;
Which now adoring Angels blush to see,
Not for its Splendor, but Deformity.
To please united Cruelty and Scorn,
On's wounded Head they fix a Crown of Thorn.
They dress him in a Purple Robe, that gone,
His Blood with richer Purple dyes his own.
A Reed his Hand must for a Scepter sway,
Which with a Rod of Ir'n shall that Contempt repay.
They bow in Scorn before him, whilst he sate
A Pageant Prince, the mockery of State.
What various Shapes of Cruelty are shewn,
Under, and on his Cross he's made to groan.
And yet he bears a heavier Load within,
The pressure of the World's united Sin.
Stretcht on the cursed Tree his Body hangs,
Groaning its Life away in dying Pangs.
Forsaken both of Earth and Heav'n, his Breath
He wasted in the pains of lingring Death.
Whilst on his Soul the blackest Horrors dwell,
That feels the Pains, without the Guilt of Hell.
The Barb'rous Hebrews for whose sake he dy'd,
Stand by, and see their Sov'raign Crucify'd,
Without the slight Compassion of a Tear,
Scarce in the Crowd does one sad Face appear.
Their Insolence dares mock his dying Moans,
Sport with his Torments, and deride his Groans.
Though solid Rocks touch'd with Compassion rent,
The more obdurate Jew does not relent.

   For Man he Dies, that Heav'n may be aton'd,
He dies, the Universe afflicted groan'd,
Heav'n's Everlasting Frame shook with the Fright,
And the scar'd Sun shrunk back, and hid his Light.
Thro' th' Earth's dark Vaults a shiv'ring Horror fled,
That whilst Convuls'd threw up th' awaken'd Dead.
Thin pallid Ghosts come sweeping o'er the Grass,
And howling Wolves Glare on them as they pass.
Hoarse Thunder Rolls in Subterranean Caves,
Chaos to hearken stills his Raging Waves.
Ev'n Hell gap'd horribly, such was the fright,
And thro' the Chasm let thro' prodigious Night.
Night that extinguish'd the Meridian Ray,
And with its gloomy Deluge choak'd the Day.
Sad Moans were heard, Shreeks, Howlings, Midnight Cries,
And Globes of Fire hung Blazing in the Skies.
A fierce Convulsion thro' the Temple went,
The Pillars trembled, and the Veil was Rent.
The Heav'n's and Earth both suffer'd when he dy'd,
As Nature's Self were with him Crucify'd.
Down by their Sides the silent Angels laid
Their Golden Harps, and neither Sung nor play'd;
Their drooping Wings, and Looks dejected show
Sadness, as much, as those blest Realms can know.

   Thrice the swift Sun his radiant Chariot drove
O'er the blue Hills, and out-stretch'd Plains above,
As oft the Moon had shot her paler Light,
In silver Threads thro' the brown Vest of Night.
When the Reviving Saviour leave his Tomb,
And, as new-born, breaks from the Earth's dark Womb.
The Chains of Death shook off, he from the Ground,
Do's with new Force, Antæus like, rebound.
He comes in Triumph from the Conquer'd Grave,
And this blest proof of Resurrection gave.
Oft to his mournful Friends their Lord appear'd,
And their sad Minds with Heav'nly Pleasures cheer'd.
He then the Plan of his wise Kingdom laid,
Who should submit, and who should be obey'd.
To these he gave a Power to loose, and bind,
And with fix Bounds that Sacred Power confin'd.
He set the Rights his Subjects should enjoy,
Which Princes must Protect, but not Annoy.
And by wise Laws fixt all things that relate,
To the Support of his new founded State.

   That done, pursu'd by their admiring Eyes,
Born on a shining Cloud he did arise,
In Heav'nly Pomp Triumphant thro the Skys.
The Clouds dividing in Obsequious Haste,
Smil'd, yielded by his Glory, as he pass'd.
Great Michael , Raphael , and the rest that boast,
The chief Commands in the Celestial Host,
Great Princes, Thrones, and high Seraphick States,
With splendid Equipage pour'd from the Gates;
Sublime in high Celestial Chariots rode,
Far out of Heav'n, to meet th' ascending God .
The Pow'rs and high Dominions with their Train,
Shone glorious bright on all th' Etherial Plain.
On a fair Hill that the wide Vale commands,
The numberless, angelick Army stands.
Drawn up in shining Lines, and Warlike Bands.
The Trumpets all salute him passing by,
And in the Air display'd the Banners fly.
And now arriv'd at Heav'n's Eternal Gate,
Attended with his long Triumphal State,
The blest Inhabitants due Honours give,
And all in Arms their conquering Prince receive.
Dispos'd in glorious Ranks each Order Shines,
And all the way the bright Militia Lines.
On's Chariot Wheels the thronging Cherubs hang,
With whose loud Shouts the Heav'n's high Arches rang.
Thus did he to th' Eternal's Palace ride
The Guards stood to their Arms on either Side:
Entring he took his Place, and Brightly shone
On the Right Hand, of his great Father's Throne.
Where he shall our great Intercessor stay,
Till the last Summons to the Judgment Day.

   He ceas'd, and Hoel in his Arms embrac'd,
His God-like Friend, and cry'd, I'm highly grac'd
With this Divine Discourse, what Thanks to you,
Illustrious Prince, what Thanks to Heav'n are due?
Blest Peace came rolling on the raging Waves,
And your late Wreck, me and my Kingdom saves.
Kind Heav'n for me hath call'd forth Joy and Light,
From those fierce Storms, and that outrageous Night,
That forc'd your Vessels on th' Armoric Shore,
Your Loss I mourn, but Heav'n's Designs adore.
Long have I stray'd in gloomy Darkness lost,
Deep Gulphs, thick Woods, and trackless Mountains crost;
In endless Mazes, and in endless Night,
Without a Glimpse of Day, or Ray of Light.
The Gates of Light thrown open, you display
The first reviving Beams of Heav'nly Day.
Which darts across the Shades in shining Streaks,
And on my Mind in tender Dawning breaks.
How much I wish to see this Light Divine,
Rise to its Noon, and in full splendor shine?
You've open'd Heav'n's Eternal Springs, whence flow
Those sacred Rivulets, which you bestow
On the parch'd Region of this barren Breast,
Now with pure Streams of living Waters blest.
I drink them in with Joy, but thirst for more,
And for this thankful, still more Aid implore.

   He ceas'd, the Prince who to oblige him strove,
Thus spake, all Seasons offer'd I'll with Joy improve,
To give more Light, and kindle greater Love.
My Toil and Sufferings when review'd, will please,
Caus'd by the stormy Winds and angry Seas,
If I can thus assist your Heav'nly Course,
Thro' gloomy Night, thick Mists, and Tempests force,
Thro' all the Snares of Hell, till you attain
Th' Eternal Haven, where blest Spirits Reign.
Now to the Foot of Heav'n's steep Precipice,
Ready to plunge into the deep Abyss,
The Red-fac'd Sun had roll'd the sinking Day,
Shooting along the Plains a level Ray.
The loving Turtle to his Airy Nest,
Flies with his moaning Mate, to Coe, and rest.
The timorous Hare steals from the Brakes to Feed,
And from the Yoke the lab'ring Ox is freed.
With strutting Teats the Herds come lowing home,
And Beasts of Prey o'er Hills and Forrests Roam.
And now the Princes, that had pass'd the Day
In various talk to Conda came, to stay
Till the appearance of the Morning Ray.


   Now the Victorious Sun the Night invades,
Chasing from Hill to Hill, the flying Shades.
Up rose the Princes, and were soon prepar'd
To take their Way, attended with their Guard.
In the same Chariot friendly they abide,
And feeding grateful Conversation ride.
The British Captains, and th' Armorick Train,
On either Side their generous Coursers rein.
They past not far, when Hoel thus addrest,
With pleasing Looks, his Pious, British Guest.
Your lofty Subject now, brave Prince, resume,
How shall your Lord from Heav'n to Judgement come,
What follows, what precedes the general Doom?

   The Briton then began.
Before the Son of God appears on high,
Prodigious Signs are seen thro' all the Sky.
New lighted Comets shake their Fiery Hair,
Or trail their flaming Trains along the Air.
Vast Circling Flakes of Fire the World amaze,
And intermixt, prodigious Meteors blaze.
The Sky shines terrible with Lightning's Flame.
And Thunder shakes the universal Frame
Th' impetuous roar, o'erturns Heav'n's lofty Towers
And starry Fragments fall in burning Showers,
Rent Clouds, pour Seas of raging Sulphur down,
Whose livid Flames th' extinguish'd Sun-beams drown.
Cross the red Air the flaming Torrents fly,
Gushing from all the fiery Springs on high.
The melting Orbs, and Firmaments conspire,
To make up one Tempestuous Sea of Fire.
The glowing Sphears dissolve with Heat and all
In mighty Floods of liquid Crystal fall.
The lofty Digues gape wide, that stood around,
And from the dark Abyss did Nature bound;
Chaos comes pouring thro' the hideous Crack,
And Nature's Ruins, and th' amazing Wreck
Of burning Worlds, by floating on his Waves:
Scarce its high Mounds th' Empyreal Region saves.
Heav'n's spacious Balls are on each other hurl'd,
Ruin with Ruin crush'd, and World o'erturn'd with World.
Confusion, Noise, and Horror fill the Air,
The Earth, loud Cries, Distraction, and Despair.
Fierce Storms of raging Vapours, that aspire,
Mixt with hot Steams, from subterranean Fire,
That Lakes of Sulphur burning all beneath,
That kindled Naphtha , and hot Metals Breath;
The Earth's grip'd Bowels with Convulsions rack,
And with loud Noise their trembling Prisons crack.
Imprison'd Thunder roars for wider room,
Proclaiming loud the World's approaching Doom.
The Globe distorted, burst, disjoynted, rent,
Gives to the burning Exhalations Vent.
Thro' gaping Clefts, the flaming Tempest flies,
And Hurricanes of Fire confound the Skies.
Great Cities, Mountains, Rocks, and shatter'd Hills,
Vast abrupt Tracks of Land, and sinking Isles,
Sap'd by the Flame, that underneath destroys;
Fall down with mighty Cracks, and dreadful Noise;
Prodigious Ruine filling all the Caves,
And dashing high the subterranean Waves.
Ætna , Vesuvius , and fiery kind,
Their Flames within blown up with stormy Wind;
With dire Concussions, and loud roar complain
Of deadly Gripes, and fierce consuming pain.
The lab'ring Mounts Belch drossy Vomit out,
And throw their melted Bowels round about.
Broad Sheets of Flame, Pillars of Pitchy Smoak,
And glowing Stones, the Airy Region choak.
Down their scorcht Sides metallick Torrents flow,
And form a dismal, flaming Sea below.
The fiery Deluge rolls along the Ground,
Dreadful for Colour, horrible for Sound.
Huge Stones, and vast unmelted Cakes of Oar,
The thick, unweildy Tyde encumber more.
Horrour in Triumph, smear'd with Smoak and Blood,
Rides cross the Ridge of the tremendous Flood.
It burns new Channels riding o'er the Plain,
And turns o'er Cities with its pond'rous Train.
Down to the Deep it rolls its massy Waves,
Outroars the Ocean, and its Waters braves.
Plung'd in the Seas it unextinguish'd lies,
And o'er the Waves the glowing Wedges rise.
Th' affrighted Seas the burning Horrour fly,
And the bare Shores beneath the Deluge Fry.
Into the Air th' exhaling Ocean goes,
Where Waters slept, a Lake of Sulphur glows.
All the hot Seeds, and hidden Stores of Fire,
From subterranean Prisons freed, conspire
With their bright Arms to lay all Nature wast,
And to the general Conflagration hast.
A fiery Chaos Reigns with lawless Power,
And unresisted Flames the World devour.

   These Signs first giv'n, amidst the Starry Shears,
With all the Pomp of Heav'n the Judge appears.
Before his Chariot Wheels that roll on high,
Whirlwinds, and Clouds discharging Thunder fly,
And curling Lightnings run along the Sky.
Immortal Thrones, pour'd out from Heav'n's bright Gates,
Dominions, Powers, Seraphic Potentates,
Crown'd Saints, and Martyrs rang'd in glorious Rows,
Attend his Chariot, and his State compose.
The dazling Pomp stretches across the Sky,
From utmost East to West, and passing by
The Heav'nly Orbs, comes on descending slow,
Into the Airy Region here below.
O'er all the Sky, Heav'n's mighty Army shines,
And here it halts in deep embattel'd Lines.
In bright Celestial Armour Clad, they stand,
Their Swords of temper'd Flame drawn in their hand.
They mark a Camp of spacious Circuit out,
And cast up Crystal Ramparts round about.
On some fit Eminence, they raise on high
Their Lord's August Pavilion in the Sky.
His bright, sublime Tribunal here they place,
On which he sits, with awful, God-like Grace.
Such Flames of Fire, wheeling in Clouds of Smoak,
Issue from thence, as from Mount Sinai broke.
Array'd with Majesty, and cloath'd with Light,
He Glory darts too fierce for Angels Sight.
In Hallelujahs they his Greatness sing,
And the shook Sphears, with loud Hosannahs Ring.
Thus on the Throne, the Saviour sits prepar'd,
To Judge the World, to punish and reward.

   And now th' unnumber'd Armies ready stand,
Grasping revenging Firebrands in their Hand,
And only wait their Leader's high Command.
The Signal giv'n, a general Shout, shall shake
The Heav'n's around, greater than Armies make
Rushing to Battel, or was heard in Rome ,
When conquering Cæsar came in Triumph home.
Their furious Arms devouring Tempests throw
On all the guilty, trembling World below.
They pour down mighty, fiery Cataracts,
Flaming Bitumen, and Sulphurous Lakes;
Red showers of fiery Arrows hissing fly,
And flashing Lightning flames around the Sky.
Fires from above, combin'd with Fires below,
O'er all the Earth in ruddy Torrents flow.
Vengeance Divine, wasts Nature's burning Store,
And drowns the Earth in Fire, all drown'd in Guilt before.
The Heat dissolves the Fabrick of the World,
The broken parts fall down, confusedly hurl'd:
Chaos restor'd does in wild Triumph reign,
And ruin'd Worlds his hideous Throne sustain.

   Some great Archangel now springs forth on high,
And with the loudest Trumpet of the Sky,
Summons th' astonish'd, gazing World to come
To Judgment, and the Universal Doom.
The dreadful Noise shakes Heav'n's Etherial Mounds,
And in loud Ecchoes from the Sphears rebounds.
In Ecchoes terrible, and piercing Shrill,
That the low World with dire Amazement fill.
The guilty Fiends shreek out at these Alarms,
That in the Air fly thick in murmuring Swarms.
Their Prince himself trembles, and dares not stay,
But spreads his broad, dun Wings, and shoots away.
They sink confounded to th' Infernal Deep,
Or into Clefts, and hollow Mountains creep.
They find the fatal Hour's arriv'd at last,
That shall revenge their bold Rebellions past.
When to their Torments they shall be Restrain'd,
And lye beneath, on flaming Billows chain'd.
When Hell no more its Pris'ners shall release,
And Sin's black Empire must for ever cease.

   No less the dreadful Sound, and awful Sight,
Confound proud Tyrants, and their Guards affright.
What Horrour now distracts each guilty Soul,
In their sad Breasts, what Storms of Vengeance roll.
How will they bear this dismal Scene of Wo,
Where will they stay secure, or whither go?
Terrour, Distraction, Anguish, fierce Despair
Drink up their Vitals, and their Heart-strings tear.
Ten Thousand poison'd Darts strike thro' their Reins,
And wound them with unsufferable Pains.
The Vulture bred within their Bowels gnaws,
And Conscience gripes them with her Harpys Claws.
Such Wounds, such Stings, such Pangs must now be born,
Of everlasting Death, the sad Forlorn.
What strange Confusion in their Looks appears,
What wild Amazement, Guilt and deadly Fears.
What howling Lamentation, what dire Cries,
What doleful Shreeks, and Yellings fill the Skies?

   Besides, the Trumpet shakes the trembling ground,
The startled Dead awakwn at the Sound.
The Grave resigns its ancient Spoils, and all
Death's Adamantine Prisons burst, and fall.
The Souls that did their forc'd Departure mourn,
To the same Bodies with swift Flight return.
Whose scatter'd Parts God calls together, they
To their appointed Meeting hast away.
The crowding Atoms re-unite apace,
All without tumult, know, and take their place.
Th' assembled Bones leap quick into their Frame,
And the warm Blood renews a brighter Flame.
The quicken'd Dust feels fresh and youthful Heats,
While its old Task, the beating Heart repeats.
The Eyes enliven'd with new Vital Light,
Open, admiring whence they had their sight.
The Veins too, twine their bloddy Arms around
The Limbs, and with red, leaping Life abound.
Hard twisted Nerves new brace, and faster bind
The close knit Joynts, no more to be disjoyn'd.
Strong, new-spun Threds Immortal Muscles make,
That justly fixt, their ancient Figure take.
Brisk Spirits take their upper Seats, and dart
Thro' their known Channels thence, to every part.
The Men now draw their long forgotten Breath,
And striving break th' unweildy Chains of Death.
Victorious Life to every Grave resorts,
And rifles Death's unhospitable Courts.
Its Vigour thro' those dark Dominions spread,
From all their gloomy Mansions frees the Dead.
Now ripe Conceptions thro' the Earth abound,
And new sprung Men stand thick on all the ground.
The Sepulchres are quick, and every Tomb
Labours with Life, and grows a fruitful Womb.

   But how the Dead are chang'd, their Bodies more
Unlike each other, than their Souls before!
How monstrous foul the guilty Dead arise,
Each struck with Horrour from his Neighbour flies!
How much deform'd they look, all stain'd with Sin,
Black and mis-shap'd without, but more within.
Ugly and Fiend-like, from their Graves they Crawl,
And on the ground, like bloated Vermin, sprawl.
And like them too, their Bodies have their Birth,
From putred Damps and Vapours in the Earth.
So Serpents that entangled lay asleep,
From out their Beds disturb'd, and waken'd creep.
They hiss, and cast their fiery Eyes around,
And with their loathsome Bellies mark the ground.
For flight their poisonous Volumes they display,
And urg'd with Fear and Anguish, hast away.
So this foul Brood are forc'd their Graves to leave,
And to the Ground their grov'ling Bellies cleave.
Earthy and Black, confin'd so long to Night,
They dread the Horrours of the chearful Light.
Amazing change! see, some of these were they,
Whose Heads were Crown'd, whose Hands did Scepters sway.
These did rich Purple, and fine Linnen wear,
And every Meal fed on delicious Fare.
That hideous Thing, that for a Covert seeks,
With hollow Eyes, fal'n Jaws, and ghastly Cheeks,
That monstrous Thing, was once, when kept with Care,
Proud of its Beauty, and look'd wondrous Fair.
Set off with all the Ornaments, that please
The Eye, and pamper'd with Luxurious Ease.
But how the guilty Crowd, wreckt with Despair,
With dismal Cries fill all the Ecchoing Air;
When they the Trumpet's dreadful Summons hear,
And find the Universal Judgment near!
Back to their Graves, the ugly Monsters fly,
And in those Coverts would for ever ly.
They call aloud for Death, and wish they might
Melt to thin Air, be drown'd, and lost in Night.

   But when Blest Minds their Bodies meet, no Pair
Can look more Beautiful, and charming Fair.
The happy Souls shoot swiftly thro' the Sky,
And to the Graves and Sepulchers they fly.
Where they their long forsaken Bodies greet,
Which, like old Friends, they with fresh Pleasure meet.
Bodies, that seem, they are so Pure and Bright,
All thicken'd Glory, close compacted Light;
Purg'd and refin'd from all that's course and gross,
As melted Gold throws off the baser Dross.
Smiling they rise, such Charms, so sweet a Grace
They shew, as dwell not on a Mortal Face.
These rising Stars their Heav'nly Beams display,
Bright Harbingers of Everlasting Day.
Such Beauties, such mild Glories shall we see,
In the glad Spring of Immortality.
Yet these blest Sons of Light, that Angel-like,
Would mortal Eyes, with deadly Lustre strike,
Were those, that once their Excellence disguis'd,
Liv'd here oppress'd, and like their Lord, despis'd.
Welcom to them this long expected Hour,
Safe by their Judge's Favour, from his Power.
High Tides of Joy into their Bosoms run,
And Everlasting Life they feel begun.
This shall past Griefs in deep Oblivion drown,
Compleat their Triumphs, and their Virtues Crown.
These in the Spring, great Care and Toil bestow'd,
And water'd with their Tears, the Seed they sow'd.
The Harvest now their happy Hours employs,
In reaping Pleasures and Immortal Joys.
Bright Cherubims descending thro' the Air
To these blest Men with speedy Flight Repair,
Then to the gen'ral Doom aloft they fly,
And on their Wings convey them thro' the Sky.
In all the way encouraging their Charge,
Telling of all the Joys of Heav'n at large.
Plac'd in the Presence of their Lord they stand
In their appointed Seats, at his Right-hand.

   Whilst other Angels from the Deep of Hell,
Drive up the Fiends that in those Regions dwell.
With Swords of keenest Flame compelling some,
And dragging others to the gen'ral Doom.
In Anguish and Despair, the yelling Fiends
Curse, Gnash, and Bite th' Eternal Chain that binds
So close, and strait, then turn their Heads away,
From the fierce Terrour of so bright a Day.
And impious Men in no less Horror fly
To all the Shades, and Coverts they descry.
Mountains and Rocks their fruitless Cries invite,
To fall, and hide them from the Judge's Sight,
For rise they must, and lose their vain Desire,
Caught up in Whirlwinds, and in Storms of Fire.
Before the Judge the Pris'ners stand in Sight,
And take the Left-hand, as the Just the Right.

   Th' Eternal Books before the Judge are brought,
Where all Mens long-forgotten Deeds are wrote.
And first are read the Vertues of the Just,
Their Zeal for Heav'n, their Courage, Hope, and Trust.
The Prayers, the Tears, the Alms themselves conceal'd,
Before applauding Angels are reveal'd.
The righteous Judge thier Innocence declar'd,
Allots the glorious Kingdom, he prepar'd
For pure and holy Minds a blest Reward.
Their Guardian Angels at their Lord's Command,
Crown the glad Saints with an Officious Hand.

   Who now in perfect Bliss, their time employ
Discoursing, to promote their mutual Joy,
How first they left the pleasurable way,
Where wanton Streams of soft Delights convey
Charm'd Souls, that with the treach'rous Tyde must go,
To the dead Lake of Pain and endless Wo.
How first they lik'd the dark and lonesome Road
That leads to Bliss, and the blest Minds Abode.
How when in Shades they mourn'd, a Heav'nly Ray
Darted a welcome, tho imperfect Day.
How Vertue's guidance they impolor'd and gain'd,
And what blest Converse with her they maintain'd.
How thro' dark Paths she did their Feet conduct,
Correct the wanderers, and the rest instruct.
How by her Aids they bore tempestuous Shocks,
Climb'd o'er opposing Hills, and hanging Rocks
Till they at length the Peaceful Realms did gain,
Where Joys Divine, and endless Transports Reign.
How sweet and fair Crown'd Innocence appears,
No more tost on the Waves of Hopes and Fears?
On mortal Face such Beauties never shone,
Like those of Virtue, seated on her Throne.

   Next this, th' Apostate Angels are accus'd,
That open Force, or secret Arts they us'd
To set their Leader, on th' Eternal's Throne,
Subvert Christ's Empire and advance their own.
That Man by them seduc'd, did first Rebel,
Relinquish'd Heav'n, and to their Party fell.
That they the curst Defection did support,
And new Born Men, to new Rebellions Court.
That they, with indefatigable Care,
Fresh Heats fomented, and renew'd the War.
Whence Plagues and Desolation wide, and vast,
And uncontroll'd Destruction laid all waste
Hence Noah 's universal Deluge came,
And hence the World lies now o'erwhelm'd in Flame.
For these black Crimes they're sentenc'd to the pains,
Of fiercer Fire, and doom'd to heavier Chains.

   Next Cain 's Rebellious Offspring are accus'd,
As Heav'n's inveterate Foes, who long abus'd
Goodness Divine, whom Everlasting Love
And Life Eternal, had no Charms to move.
They would no reconciling Terms embrace,
Alike by Threats unchang'd, or Acts of Grace.
They did with Wine and Noise the Method find,
To Calm a Conscious, self-revenging Mind.
To lay asleep th' uneasie Judge within,
Till they with Care and Pains, grew bold in Sin.
For when the sacred Spirit did convey
Into their Breasts, a secret Heav'nly Ray,
That did, where cherish'd, soon bring on the Day:
With hasty Care they choak'd the new-sprung Light,
Calling to Aid the Shades of Hell, and Night.
Divine Compassion's Force they never felt,
Nor would in Flames of Love Eternal melt.
Their Hearts untouch'd did all Heav'n's strokes repel,
Temper'd, and harden'd in the Forge of Hell.
No Overtures of Peace, no Offers made,
Tho' of an endless Kingdom, could perswade
The unrelenting Rebels, to lay down
Their impious Arms, to take a Heav'nly Crown.
They still asserted with their latest Breath,
Their fixt Confed'racy with Hell, and Death.
'Tis on them charg'd, that others too that fell,
Drawn by their Arts, embark'd for Death and Hell.
They led them to the flowry Banks, and show'd
The flatt'ring Tide, where smiling Pleasures flow'd.
Where the charm'd Voyagers did careless ride,
Bewitching Syren 's singing on their side.
Till the false Flood betray'd them thither, where
It falls into the Gulph of black Despair.

   Here secret Crimes are publish'd, and his Name
Who lov'd the Sin, but fear'd th' attendant Shame.
The sly Adulterer, that till the late
Approach of Night, and silent Shades did wait,
For the Caresses of the Harlot's Fed,
And at the early dawn of Twilight fled;
Is here upbraided, for his careful flight
Of Mens, whilst he contemn'd th' Almighty's sight.

   Th' audacious Wretch that did Heav'n's Laws deride,
And all its Thunder and dire Threats defy'd;
That did cloy'd Nature to fresh Guilt excite,
Beyond her own ev'n Vicious Appetite:
Anti-Platonic that could pleasure take
In naked Vice, and sinn'd for sinning's sake;
That could abstracted from Enjoyment, sport,
With Guilt, and Vice ev'n in Idea court.
That did himself, so much he lov'd the Fame,
The secret Triumphs of his Lusts proclaim,
Strives in the Crowd to hide his guilty Head,
Whilst his high Charge, and black Indictment's read.
Th' astonish'd Wretch Sinks, Trembles, Dies to see
Enrag'd Omnipotence, and frowning Majesty.
Such deadly Torments on his Bowels feed,
Such Agonies he feels, as far exceed
All Shapes of Horrour, Mortals ever saw,
Poets invent, or troubl'd Fancies draw.
That there's a God, he gives a full Assent,
On the most sure, but saddest Argument.
He can his Being, and his Power attest,
From the Almighty Vengeance in his Breast.
Thus he at last believes, and trembles too,
On the same grounds that tortur'd Spirits do.
The Droll'ry that derided Heav'n's just Cause,
He hears repeated, but without Applause.
His Jests and bold Discourses will not fit
This place, nor pass, ev'n with his Friends, for Wit.
Will he his feeble Arguments produce,
And make them here, renew their former Use?
Will he assert his Innocence, and plead
'Twas only harmless Nature he obey'd?
That he to Vice did not his Mind enslave,
But only pleas'd the Appetites Heav'n gave.
Will he inform the Judge, it cannot be
A Being Good, and Merciful, as He,
Can so much Rigour to his Errors show,
And make a Creature for Eternal Wo?
The Wretch's bold Objections will appear,
His wanton Fancy's wild Capriches here.
Able no more to stifle with their Night,
The Natural Dictates of his inbred Light.
They can't the deadly Stings within controul,
Nor ease the Horrors of his tortur'd Soul.

   And now less hardy Pris'ners are Arraign'd,
That had not this obdurate temper gain'd.
Of such a Pendulous, Distracted Mind,
That oft to Heav'n, and oft to Hell inclin'd.
To make up Peace, they would with neither part,
But shar'd between them a divided Heart.
These travell'd on so long the happy Way,
That leads to Life, and pure Etherial Day:
Till they reach'd Heav'n's bright Confines, could descry
The Peaceful World of Immortality.
But then, discourag'd at the steep Ascent,
And the strait Gate, thro' which the Trav'llers went,
Gave back, and did of their past Toil repent.
But how they now abhor the Cowardize,
That made them almost Conquerors, miss the Prize:
Made them desert a prosperous Cause as lost,
That could so many Spoils, and Triumphs boast.
Curst Sloth, that could perswade them to forsake
Christ's Camp, when such a Kingdom was at Stake.

   Each hears his aggravated Crimes at large,
Devils accuse, and Conscience backs the Charge.
They can't excuse, or hide their Crimes, nor fly,
Nor what's the Refuge of the wretched, dy.
Now let their past Enjoyments Succour give,
Let Wit, and Wine their deadly Fears relieve.
Let their dear Riches their Assistance lend,
Hounour and Pomp th' ambitious Man defend.
Let them solicite with their loudest Cries,
Those Gods, they serv'd, to save their Votaries.
Blest Heav'n, that Man with such a swift Career,
Pursues those Toys which are so useless here.

   The Judge will all his Terrors now assume,
And thus pronounce the Pris'ners dreadful Doom.
For ever cursed Souls from me depart,
As you did oft my Cause, I you desert.
Go, burn in Everlasting Fire, prepar'd
For Devils, take that sad, but just Reward.
Sink to the Bottomless Abyss of Hell,
Where Agonies, and endless Sorrow dwell.
Go to those Mansions of Despair, and lie
In never ceasing Torments, go, and die.

   The Rebels this expected Sentence past,
With Thunder and Tempestuous Fire are chas'd,
To Hell's black Gulph, thro' all th' Etherial Wast.
Where they shall see no chearful Ray of Light,
Doom'd to the Horrours of Eternal Night.
Th' Almighty's Arrows Fester in their Heart,
Drink up their Blood, and gall with deadly Smart.
His Wrath consumes the wretch, his Power sustains,
And like fierce Poison o'er their Vitals, Reigns.
They waste their Souls in Cries, and howling Moans,
And spend Eternity in fruitless Groans.

   Now the abstrusest Paths of Providence,
That gave the wisest Men so great Offence,
Are so unriddl'd, and made easie here;
The Night dispell'd, they shine as Noon-day, clear.
Justice that did till now her Graces shrowd,
And walk'd on Earth, encircled with a Cloud;
That did such by, and uncouth Ways frequent,
Perplex'd with Windings, frightful for Ascent;
See this bright Goddess to her Throne restor'd,
Unveils her Majesty to be ador'd.
Her Cloud thrown off, her Form is all Divine,
No Lustre now, her Glory can out-shine.
Such are the Beauties of her Charming Face,
Fair Mercy's Self, looks not with sweeter Grace.
Rivals no longer, they are here combin'd,
And in so strict a Bond of Friendship joyn'd;
They seem distinguish'd only by their Name,
Their Charms alike, their Votaries the fame,
And both are Worship'd with an equal Flame.

   Justice to all in such due measures shown,
The Judge returns to his Celestial Throne.
And as he goes, crown'd Saints, and Seraphs sing
Loud Songs of Praise to their Triumphant King.
He enters Heav'n attended with his Train,
Who in the new Jerusalem shall Reign.

   The City stands on pure expanded Fields
Of rising Ether , that wide Prospect yields
O'er all the Gulph, and outstretcht Vales below,
O'er all th' Inferiour, spacious Orbs can show.
The Walls are Marble of the richest Vein,
And their high Towers o'er-look the Azure Plain.
Of polish'd Gold the glorious Structures rise,
With gilded Spires, and Turrets in the Skies.
From Heav'nly Quarries on their Front appear
Rich Stones, like Winter Stars, but far more clear.
Immortal Rubies, Diamonds, Saphirs meet,
In beauteous Mixture, and bright Orders set
Rare Works, where Cost immense, and Art combine,
Built and adorn'd by th' Architect Divine,
To be for Holy Minds a blest Abode,
Th' Imperial Seat, and Residence of God.
The Streets are all of fine, Etherial Glass,
Pure, like the spotless Minds, that thro' them pass.
Thro' these Eternal, living Rivers flow,
Trees on their Banks, in goodly Ranges grow,
That with their golden Fruit, immortal Health bestow.
Twelve Gates of Orient Pearl unshaken stand,
Shut, and unbarr'd by the Almighty's Hand.
A steepy Gulph is plac'd beneath the Walls,
And down as low as Hell's Abyss, it falls;
Lest Hostile Fiends should leave their burning Lake,
And bold Excursions to these Regions make.
The Air's Serene, and fit for happy Minds,
Secure from Thunder, and th' Assaults of Winds.
No Clouds, but those of curling Incense rise,
By playing Zephirs tost about the Skies;
That with their gentle Breath sweet Odours blow,
That from Blest Woods, and Heav'nly Gardens flow.
No noxious Damps, the Region's so sublime,
From Hell's Infernal Caves, can hither Climb.
No foul terrestrial Steams pollute the Air,
No Breaths ascend, but those of Praise, and Prayer.
Essential Glory from th' Almighty's Face,
With its resplendent Efflux, lights the Place.
All Heav'n's fair Orbs, thin'd and beat out in Light,
Would not spread out a Day, so pure and bright,
As that, the Saints Illustrious Order sheds,
From the encircling Glory round their Heads.
The vanquish'd Sun would there seem Dark, his Light
Whence our course Day proceeds, would there make Night.
So Glorious are the Dwellings of the Saints,
Outdone by nothing, but th' Inhabitants.

   On lofty Thrones the Heav'nly Princes sit,
In Robes as white, as new-fall'n Snow, and writ
In Golden Characters, their Foreheads bear
Their Saviour'sName, their Breasts his Image wear.
Immortal Vigour shines on ev'ry Face,
They look with Mild, but with Majestick Grace.
Thick Beams of Light stream out from ev'ry Head,
Each Saint does his own Heav'n about him spread,
His radiant Feet on pointed Glory tread.

   Safe on the Shore with Pleasure they behold,
How the thick Waves are on each other rowl'd.
What Dangers of a strange amazing Shape,
What fatal Rocks, they scarcely did escape.
They hear the Winds grow loud and turbulent,
See Clouds swoln big, with Thunder in 'em pent,
With which the lowring Sky is over-cast,
Hang down upon the Seas which they have past.
Viewing these Woes themselves did once endure,
They stand surpriz'd, as if not yet secure.
Amaz'd at all the Glory they possess,
Wonder almost suspends their Happiness.
They on so sweet, and rich a Climate thrown,
Forget their Dangers, now for ever gone.
Th' Almighty they enjoy, at whose Right Hand
Fulness of Joy, and Life Eternal stand.
Down from his Throne, as Light does from the Sun,
Rivers of fresh Delight for ever run.
With ravish'd Eyes they drink in Heav'nly Beams,
That from his Face flow down in Glorious Streams.
They gaze so on the Beatifick Sight,
Till they become all Intellectual Light.
So long they his substantial Brightness view,
Till they all grow Divine, and God -like too.
So quick they feel the mighty Influx come,
The most Capacious, thirsty Souls want room.
They widen and extend themselves, to hold
Those Floods of Joys, that to their Breasts are roll'd;
Till they a vast, unmeasur'd Bliss possess,
And strive beneath th' unweildy Happiness.
If but a Glimpse of Heav'n, whose Glory streams
Thro' the thick Clouds in weak, refracted Beams,
Can please so much, what Joys have those above,
Where perfect Knowledgekindles perfect Love?
Transports Ineffable their Minds employ
Delug'd in Glory, lost in Tides of Joy.

   Here Innocence will all its Lustre show,
The mournful Looks thrown off, it wore below.
Sorrows for ever banish'd hence repair
To the low, Guilty Regions of the Air.
There no black Clouds of Discontent appear,
That spread themselves o'er these dark Vallies here.
No Groans are heard , no Tears fall down the Face,
To interrupt the Joy, of this blest Place.
No crossing Arms, or sad dejected Eyes,
Seek out the secret Corners of the Skies.
If Course, Terrestrial Pleasures, court the Sense
With such strong Charms, that few can make Defence,
When backward Nature's forc'd by Wit, and Art,
All her delicious Treasures to impart.
When the short Days in all Delights are spent,
That soft, Luxurious Asia can invent.
What are the Nobler Pleasures, that transport
The blest, that reign in this Celestial Court?
That no Decay, or Intermission know,
Debas'd, when liken'd to the best below.
The Clouds all broke, the Tempest chas'd away,
The Smiling Skies disclose a chearful Day.
They've changed the Desart's dry and barren Sand,
For all the Riches of a fruitful Land:
Where with Immortal Food they're ever fed,
And drink pure Pleasures at the Fountain's Head.
Hatred, Distress, and Grief, are banish'd hence,
The sad Companions once, of Innocence.
No dying Martyrs Flames, or private Cries
Of Innocents opprest, disturb the Skies.

   Here our Delights are mixt with base Allay,
We have at best but a Tempestuous Day.
Our Sweets are still attended with a Sting,
And great Enjoyments, greater Sorrows brings.
Delights, those Beautiful Illustrious, play
Around us, and, when grasp'd, they glide away.
Here tempting Joys, our fond Embraces fly,
Choice, Forraign Flowers, they only Blow, and Die.
They shew themselves, but will not with us dwell,
But, like hot Gleams, approaching Storms foretel.
Pure unmixt Pleasures on us never flow'd,
But Stream, like watry Sun-beams, thro' a Cloud.
But those above, see no unlovely Day,
Their Joys no mixture know, nor fear Decay.
In those blest Realms they know no thoughtful Care,
Ever to Triumph is th' Employment there.
There's no Vicissitude of Day, and Night,
No Years, or Ages, measure Heav'n's Delight;
Time has quite finish'd, and gone thro' its Round,
It did their Grief, but can't their Pleasure Bound.
Its Streams here disembogued for ever ly
Lost in th' Abyss of Immortality.
They no sad fears of future Sorrows know,
Compleatly Happy, and for ever so.
For Ever!
We strive in vain to hold this Boundless Space;
Too wide and vast, for Mortals to Embrace.
Our Arms may clasp the Earth with greater Ease,
And spread themselves ashore round all the Seas.
When Ages have their widest Circle run,
Heav'n wears not, still its Joys are but begun.
The Heros here forget their toil and pain,
And in Eternal Peace, and Triumph reign.

   No more the Scoffer mocks their pious Care,
As Native Dulness, and ungrounded Fear.
How different Fate he and the Impious Kind,
Chain'd in the dark Infernal Prisons, find?
Near the wild Deep where restless Atoms fight,
And th' unfrequented Coasts of ancient Night,
Where Nature ne'er on Pregnant Matter sate,
To hatch warm Life, and its straight Bounds dilate.
There stands the vast, unbottom'd Gulph of Hell,
Where Sin and Death, in all their Terrors dwell.
Beyond the Verge of Day, these Regions ly,
As low and black, as Heav'n is bright and high.
Horror, and Night hand dismal o'er the place,
And grizly Forms fill all the gloomy space.
Dead Seas of pond'rous Darkness lie around,
And the sad Realms, from Light's grey Frontiers bound.
Darkness that blunts the sharpest pointed Ray,
And unannoy'd, repels th' Invading Day.
The sluggish Air is choak'd with soultry Gleams,
With poisonous Damps, and suffocating Steams;
That from wide Lakes of boiling Sulphur rise,
Laden with Groans, and Everlasting Cries.
No such malignant Breaths, such deadly Reeks,
The delving Miner that hid Treasure seeks,
E'er let out from a Subterranean Cell,
As those which break from the black mouth of Hell.
A fiery Sea burns fiercely all beneath,
Blown up, and kindled by th' Almighty's Breath.
In flaming Heaps the livid Ocean rolls,
And scalding Waves involve despairing Souls.
The boiling Floods terrific Colours shew,
Some deeply Red, and others faintly Blue.
These with the Shades contend, but can't dispel
The Darkness that surrounds the burning Cell.
Or if they do, they dart pale, dismal Light,
Worse than the Horrors of the blackest Night.
The troubled Whirlpool belches Burnings out,
And throws red Seas of Sulphur round about.
Columns of Smoke, with spiral Flames of Fire
Inwreath'd, from wide-mouth'd Furnaces aspire.
Hence the black Region is annoy'd with Fumes,
Stench, Reeks, and Flame, that kills, but not consumes.
So when a Mount, hot with Metallic Seeds,
In its rich Sides a secret Burning feeds;
Soultring within, it casts up Pitchy Smoke,
And the dead Air ascending Vapours choak.
In mighty Floods, the wide Volcano's throw
Their melted Treasures out, and overflow
With glowing Torrents all the Neighbouring ground,
That lies beneath a burning Deluge drown'd.
Thro' all the Air the liquid Riches fly,
And Floods of Fire dash thick against the Sky.

   All Hope for ever banish'd flies this place,
And fixt Despair sits Pale on every Face.
Grief, Anguish, Terrour, Shame, Confusion here,
In Forms more terrible than Death, appear.
Here hateful Sin throws off its flatt'ring Charms,
And shews a Monster in the Sinner's Arms.
It now no more can please awaken'd Eyes,
Stript of stoll'n Beauties, and the fair Disguise
Of promis'd Good, it does it's self disclose
Its hideous Shape, and ghastly Visage shows.
Th' affrighted sinner seeing, fain would fly
Th' Embraces of such foul Deformity
He would forget their past Endearments now,
And from the Monster strives in hast to go.
But 'twill not be; those Friends on Earth must dwell
For ever, sad Companions too, in Hell.

   This fiery Gulph, was as their just reward,
For Lucifer , and his black Host prepar'd;
Where now the Fiends, once fairest Sons of Light,
Lye plung'd in Flame, chain'd in Eternal Night.
These wretched Minds, once pure and free from Stain,
In the brightest Palaces of Heav'n did Reign.
Array'd with dazling Brightness, there they dwelt,
Blest with their great Creator's sight, and felt
The beaming Influx breaking from his Face,
And shar'd the Pleasures of that Blissful Place.
Till with the task of blest Obedience tir'd,
They to th' Eternal's Sacred Throne aspir'd.
Incens'd with such Ambitious Aims, their Lord
Strikes thro' the Rebels with his flaming Sword.
Headlong he casts them from the Seats above,
No longer now, the Creatures of his Love.
Flaming, and Thunder-struck, the Traytors fell,
And sunk down to the fiery Jaws of Hell.
As when strong-rising Flames resistance find,
Beat downwards, by a fierce, impetuous Wind:
The liquid Pyramids, with labour bend
Their tops, and sink still struggling to ascend.
So did these Beings of a Heav'nly Race,
Fall from the Regions of their Native Place.
Still working up, they sunk in Pain and Toil,
For downwards thrown, their Natures still recoil.
So difficult's an Angel 's Fall, and thus
Sinking's to them, what rising is to us.

   But who has Strength t'oppose th' Almighty 's Hand,
Who can against his deadly Terrours stand?
He with a single Word, an angry Frown,
Subdu'd this Host, and cast them headlong down.
Confounded, and amaz'd they sink, and all
Heav'n's Plagues, and Wrath, pursu'd them in their Fall.
Here they must lie far from the Coasts of Bliss,
Chain'd in the Dungeons of the dark Abyss:
Where now they feel what Guilt's Demerits are,
Weltring in Fire, and tortur'd with Despair.
How much they curse the sad Exchange, black Night ,
And endless Death , for Heav'nly Joy and Light.
Sunk deep in liquid Fire they lift their Eyes,
Red both with Heat and Anguish, to the Skies.
Then rave aloud, to think what Joys they've lost,
To think how dear their bold Rebellion cost.
Nor is the Change of these two Dwellings such,
So great, but they themselves, are chang'd as much.
See how deform'd they are, to what before,
Stript of the Glory that in Heav'n they wore.
How much they look too like their guilty State,
How foul, and how unlike themselves of late.
Such fatal Changes one bold Crime can make,
Heav'n's lost, nay more left for a burning Lake.

   Man's Crime th' Infernal Gates did open lay,
And rais'd, and pav'd, a broad and easie Way;
Leading a-cross the Gulph from Earth to Hell,
Where now, lost Men , with impious Spirits dwell.
A Way that's throng'd with mighty Crowds of those,
That for Delight and Ease, this Passage chose.
In Sports and Mirth they journey on, and find
All the Delights that please a Vicious Mind.
The Way's so wondrous smooth, so prone and broad,
They rather fall, than travel down this Road.
But how surprizing is their Journey's End,
To what dire Seats does this smooth Passage tend?
Down to th' Infernal Gulph they sporting glide,
Born on enchanting Pleasures wanton Tyde.
A sad Exchange they meet, outrageous Seas
Of Sulphurous Fire, for Luxury and Ease.
In Darkness chain'd, on flaming Billows tost,
Too late they find themselves for ever lost;
Hopeless they rave, and curse the easie Way,
That did their Feet to these sad Realms betray.

   Hither the damn'd , the final Sentence past,
With Cherubs bright, revenging Swords are chas'd.
Pursu'd with everlasting Wrath, they take
Their woful Refuge, in the burning Lake.
Transfixt on unextinguish'd Fire they ly,
Burn without Wast, without expiring dy.
Those Agonies, those Terrors here they know;
That from a self-revenging Conscience flow.
Grip'd with the sad Remembrance of their Sin,
They feel the Stygian Viper gnaw within.
With deadly Stings, th' Almighty wounds their Hearts,
And in their Breasts sticks deep his fiery Darts.
Along their Veins tempestuous Vengeance rolls,
Pouring Despair, and Horrour on their Souls.
Who can with everlasting Burnings dwell,
And bear the Guilt, and Punishment of Hell?
What Strength or Courage can support the Load
Of Wrath, inflicted by th' Almighty God?

   Hear how the Damn'd devour'd with Plagues, begin
To Curse aloud their Judge, Themselves, their Sin.
Transported with their Anguish, Grief, and Shame,
They gnash their Teeth, and bite the raging Flame.
Then sunk in deep Despair, such Sighs they breath,
Such dismal Groans, which but to hear, is Death.
A secret Fire their Breasts, like Ætna , feed,
And like that too, do their own Thunder breed.
Their Hellish Nature its own punishment,
Is a worse Plague, than Furies can invent.
Their Lusts, like Vulture, tear their inward parts,
And never-ceasing Torments, rend their Hearts.
Their vicious Appetites, not yet destroy'd
Still crave the Pleasures, they on Earth enjoy'd:
Though those are gone, the fierce, untam'd Desire
Remains, and burns worse than their Lake of Fire.
But what's the most afflicting Plague of Hell,
With all these Woes, they must for ever dwell.
For Ever! fatal State, for Ever who
Can bear the Doom of Everlasting Wo?
What deadly Pangs, what fierce Convulsions rend
Their Breasts, who know their Pains shall never end.
How the despairing Damn'd cry out, is this
The Place we chose, instead of Heav'nly Bliss?
Is this black Prison, these tormenting Chains,
This Lake of Fire, these Eternal Pains,
The dismal Recompence our Crimes afford,
And must we thus curst, tortur'd, and abhor'd,
In these consuming Flames, these Torments ly,
To all the Ages of Eternity?
Curst be the fatal Crimes, that we obey'd,
That stole our Hearts, and have our Lives betray'd.
Curst be the transient false Delights that shew'd
The Charms, which we so greedily pursu'd;
Till down the steepy Precipice, we fell
Into this deep Abyss of Death, and Hell;
Curst be the treacherous Joys, that leave us now
Doom'd to Despair, lost in Eternal Wo.

   He ended, Hoel highly pleas'd, exprest
The grateful Sense, which fill'd his joyful Breast.
Methinks he cry'd, I view th' Infernal Caves,
And see the damn'd float on the raging Waves
In the dire Lake, where flaming Brimstone rolls,
And hear the dismal Groans of tortur'd Souls.
Then looking up, I see the Blest above,
Dissolv'd in Raptures of Eternal Love.
I seem to view their bright, triumphant Throngs,
And hear their Harps, and sweet Harmonious Songs.
Then he the Briton various questions asks,
Who with great Joy performs the pious Tasks,
He teaches sacred Myst'ries yet behind,
And stamps the Christian Image on his Mind.


   In such divine Discourse, on things sublime,
The Royal Pair with Pleasure pass'd their Time.
Now the day wears, the Sun-beams faintly bound,
And taller Shadows stretch along the ground.
Advanc'd, the rising Eminence they gain,
That gave full prospect o'er the fertile Plain,
Where the Imperial Seat of Hoel stands,
And all the Soil and Towns around, commands.
Fair Liger the Armoric Region's Pride,
Does thro' the Vale in smooth Meanders glide,
And rolls his Silver Volumes by its side.
Here the Nannetian Heroes did of old,
For Arms and Wisdom fam'd, the Scepter hold.
Arthur the Strictures height, and Pomp admires,
The lofty Walls, strong Towers, and glitt'ring Spires.
He views the rich and fruitful Region round,
Where wanton Nature fate in pleasure crown'd,
Scattering with lavish Bounty on the Soil,
Riches and Joys, without the Owner's Toil.

   To Martial Sports by thirst of Honour led,
The active Youth o'er all the Fields are spread.
Some of robuster Limbs advance their Name
In wrestling Rings, the fam'd Olympick Game.
Some rein their manag'd Steeds with manly grace,
Some swift in running strain to win the Race.
Some hurling pond'rous Balls their Fellows brave,
Some twang the Bow , and some the Colours wave.
But all desert their Games, and Warlike sport,
And round the Kings, run shouting to the Court.
Which was an ancient, stately Pile , that stood
On the sweet Banks of Liger 's peaceful Flood.
Alighted here, th' Armoric Prince exprest,
All signs of welcom to his Royal Guest.
He leads him to a fair and spacious Room,
Hung with rich Pieces, from the finest Loom.
Rare Workmanship, where fam'd Sydonian Art
Did all her Force, and happy Strokes impart.
Each piece fresh Pleasure, and new Wonder feeds,
Fill'd with th' Armoric Kings Heroick Deeds.
Their great Exploits in single Combate done;
The Towns they conquer'd, and the Fields they won.
Pleas'd with the Skill, and Story, Arthur stands,
And much of this, and much of that, demands.

   Mean time, within a Supper they prepare,
With great Magnificence, and Regal Fare.
Strong, brawny Servants sweat, and panting strode,
O'erburden'd with the Meats unweildy Load.
The Iv'ry Tables groan beneath the weight
Of high pil'd Dishes , all of massy Plate,
In decent Order set, and Princely State.
All things appear, which curious search can find,
Or in the Finny , or the Feather'd Kind:
That Hills , or ransack'd Forests can impart,
Profusely heap'd, set off with costly Art.
Of Polish'd Gold capacious Goblets shine,
With sparkling Stones enrich'd, and sparkling Wine.
Delicious Fruit crown'd with fresh Laurel stood
In lofty Pyramids, a golden Wood.
Great Lights in silver Sconces plac'd on high,
Shine round the Room, and more than Day supply.
The Kings both sate, the Briton s take their place,
The other side th' Armoric Captains grace.
Chearful and highly pleas'd, they Sit, and Eat,
And now the Art they praise, and now the Meat.
Choice Instruments , some Strung, and some of Wind
Were heard, in sweet melodious Consort joyn'd,
The lively Hoboy , and the sweet-mouth'd Flute,
The sprightly Violin , and warbling Lute ;
With the sonorous Viol , mingling sound,
Soft Airs, and Heav'nly Harmony compound.

   But that which Arthur with most pleasure heard,
Were noble Strains, by Mopas sung the Bard,
Who to his Harp in lofty Verse began;
And thro' the secret Maze of Nature ran.
He the great Spirit sung, that all things fill'd,
That the tumultuous Waves of Chaos still'd.
Whose Nod dispos'd the jarring Seeds to Peace,
And made the Wars of hostile Atomes cease.
All Beings we in fruitful Nature find,
Proceeded from the great Eternal Mind;
Streams of his unexhausted Spring of Power,
And cherish'd with his Influence, endure.
He spread the pure Cerulean Fields on high,
And Arch'd the Chambers of the Vaulted Sky.
Which he, to suit their Glory with their height,
Adorn'd with Globes , that reel, as drunk with Light.
His Hand directed all the rolling Sphears ,
He turn'd their Orbs , and polish'd all the Stars .
He fill'd the Sun 's vast Lamp with golden Light,
And bid the silver Moon adorn the Night.
He spread the Airy Ocean without Shores,
Where Birds are wasted with their feather'd Oars.
Thro' the transparent Deep light Vapours rise
From the warm Earth, and cloud the smiling Skies.
He sung how some, chill'd in their Airy flight,
Fall scatter'd down in pearly Dew by Night.
How some, rais'd higher, sit in secret Steams
On the reflected Points of bounding Beams;
Till chill'd with Cold, they shade th' Etherial Plain,
Then on the thirsty Earth descend in Rain .
How some, whose parts a slight Contexture show,
Sink hov'ring thro' the Air, in fleecy Snow .
How part is spun in silken Threads, and Clings
Entangled in the Grass in glewy Strings.
How others stampt to Stones , with rushing sound
Fall from their Crystal Quarries , to the ground.
How some are laid in Trains, that kindled fly
In harmless Fires by Night, about the Sky.
How some in Winds blow with impetuous Force,
And carry Ruin where they bend their Course:
While some conspire to form a gentle Breez,
To fan the Air, and play among the Trees.
How some enrag'd grow turbulent, and loud,
Pent in the Bowels of a frowning Cloud;
That cracks, as if the Axis of the World
Was broke, and Heav'n's bright Towers were downwards hurl'd.
He sung how Earth's wide Ball at Jove 's Command,
Did in the midst on Airy Columns stand.
And how the Soul of Plants , in Prison held,
And bound with sluggish Fetters lies conceal'd,
Till with the Spring's warm Beams, almost releast
From the dull weight, with which it lay opprest,
Its Vigour spreads, and makes the teeming Earth
Heave up, and labour with the sprouting Birth:
The active Spirit freesom seeks in vain,
It only works and twists a stronger Chain.
Urging its Prison's sides to break away,
It makes that wider, where 'tis forc'd to stay.
Till having form'd its living House, it rears
Its Head, and in a tender Plant appears.
Hence springs the Oak , the Beauty of the Grove,
Whose stately Trunk, fierce Storms can scarcely move.
Hence grows the Cedar , hence the swelling Vine
Does round the Elm its purple Clusters twine.
Hence painted Flowers the smiling Gardens bless,
Both with their fragrant Scent, and gawdy Dress.
Hence the white Lilly in full Beauty grows,
Hence the blue Violet , and blushing Rose .
He sung how Sun-beams brood upon the Earth,
And in the Glebe hatch such a numerous Birth.
Which way the genial warmth in Summer Storms
Turns putrid Vapours to a Bed of Worms .
How Rain transform'd by this prolifick Power,
Falls from the Clouds, an animated Shower.
He sung the Embryo 's growth within the Womb,
And how the Parts their various Shapes assume.
With what rare Art the wondrous Structure's wrought,
From one crude Mass to such Perfection brought,
That no part useless, none misplac'd we see,
None are forgot, and more would Monstrous be.

   Such was the splendor of King Hoel 's Feast,
Which ended, Arthur straight retires to rest.
Hoel not so, but with the Briton s fate,
Asking of Albion 's past, and present State.
Much he inquires of their intestine Jars,
Much of the Picts , and the Saxon Wars.
At last, requested Lucius to relate,
Prince Arthur 's Story, and King Uter 's Fate.
Lucius began, the rest attentive wait.

   How sad a task do your Commands impose,
That must renew unsufferable Woes?
That must our Grief with fresh Affliction feed,
And make your generous Heart with pity bleed.
Whilst I the dismal Scene of Ills disclose,
And bleeding Albion 's ghastly Wounds expose.
The cruel Foes in telling would relent,
And with their Tears, the Spoils they caus'd, lament.
Pity would Picts and Saxon Breasts invade,
And make them mourn, o'er the dire Wounds they made.
But since you're pleas'd to hear our Country's Fate,
I'll pay Obedience, and our Woes relate.

   Great Empires, like their Founders, Mortal are,
And the sad marks of Age, and Sickness bear.
Their strong Foundations mouldring wear away,
And sap'd by Time's devouring Teeth, decay.
Triumphant Rome , with Pomp and Grandeur crown'd,
Proudly survey'd the Conquer'd World around.
The Cold and Burning Zone obey'd her Arms,
And either Pole trembled at her Alarms.
Where Storms can beat, or angry Billows foam,
Where Sails can fly, or savage Beasts can roam,
Proud Tyber 's swelling Tide no Banks withstood,
That o'er the Globe roll'd her Victorious Flood.
To so sublime a pitch of Power and Fame,
Rome 's wise and valiant Sons advanc'd her Name.
Sons, that she bore when vigorous Youth did crown
Her Limbs with Beauty, and with Strength full grown.
Enervated with Age and Vice at last,
She found her Strength, and Youthful Vigour wast.
Decrepit grown, a puny wither'd Race
Feeble of Head and Arms, her Womb disgrace.
Of all her Romans , Rome remains berest,
Old Names alone, with modern Vices left.
The Noble Scipios , and brave Cæsars gone,
A starv'ling Brood puts their great Titles on.
Her Legions now can no new Triumphs sing,
Her molting Eagles hang their sickly Wing.
To break her Yoke the Provinces rebel,
Those she invaded, now she can't repel.
Fierce Northern Storms chastise old Tyber 's Pride,
And to its Banks chase the retreating Tide;
Loud, foaming Torrents, from high Scythian Hills,
From bleaky Continents , and frozen Isles ,
In one vast Sea combin'd, come pouring down
And Rome 's fair Cities, and rich Valleys drown.
A barbarous Flood of Vandals , Goths , and Huns ,
Their Banks broke down, the Provinces o'er-runs.
As a tall Oak that Young and Verdant, stood
Above the Grove, it self a Nobler Wood.
His wide extended Limbs the Forest drown'd,
Shading its Trees, as much, as they, the Ground.
Young, murmuring Tempests in his Boughs are bred,
And gathering Clouds frown round his lofty Head.
Outrageous Thunder, stormy Winds, and Rain,
Discharge their Fury, on his Head, in vain.
Earthquakes below, and Light'ning from above
Rend not his Trunk, nor his fixt Root remove:
But then his Strength, worn by destructive Age,
He can no more his angry Foes engage.
He spreads to Heav'n his naked, wither'd Arms
As Aid imploring, from invading Harms.
From his dishonour'd Head the slightest Storm
Can tear its Beauties, and his Limbs deform.
He rocks with every Wind, while on the ground
Dry Leaves, and broken Arms lye scatter'd round.
So Rome decay'd
Britannia 's warlike Youth on this pretence,
Is call'd off from her own, to Rome 's defence.
Till the exhausted, weak, deserted Isle,
Tempted fierce Neighbours, to an easie Spoil.
Britannia of her Valiant Son's berest,
Expos'd to every Ravisher is left.
The savage Foes, that did her Anger dread,
And from her Arms, to Wilds and Mountains fled,
Now leave the Coverts, where they sculking staid,
And roaring out, th' unguarded Land invade.
A cruel Rout of Northern Scots , and Picts ,
The direful Marks of barb'rous Rage inflicts.
Their Arms from Blood and Ravage never cease,
Where once they basely crouch'd, and fawn'd for Peace.
Wide Ruin, Desolation, Rapine, Spoil
Rage in the Bowels of th' unhappy Isle.
So Wolves, the faithful Mastiffs gone, grow bold,
And fiercely leap into th' unguarded Fold.
The trembling Flock they seise with eager Claws,
And tear their mangled Limbs with ravening Jaws.
Till they stand panting with th' uneasie load,
O'ercloy'd with Carnage, and opprest with Blood.

    Britannia thus dishonour'd, spoil'd, distrest,
And by her proud, insulting Foes opprest,
Is forc'd of stronger Neighbours to implore
That Aid and Help, she us'd to lend before.
Urg'd by her Fate, and hard Necessity,
She dreads th' Expedient, that she's forc'd to try.
Hard fate of Princes, that to prop their State
Opprest and sinking, heap on greater weight!
Fatal Distemper, where we seek for Ease
From Drugs, more dang'rous than the sharp Disease.

   A Warlike Race in frozen Climates bred,
Leaving their Wilds , by Valiant Captains led,
A fertile Soil, and milder Regions sought,
And won the happy Seats for which they fought.
Bold by Success, which waited on their Arms,
They still advanc'd in thick, Victorious Swarms.
Till Seas as wild, oppos'd their Torrent's Force,
And watry Banks restrain'd their rapid Course.
They stretcht their Seats along the Belgian Coast,
No Soil, can more of Nature's Favour boast.
No Region's blest with more Indulgent Beams,
With fatter Glebe . with more, or sweeter Streams .
The warlike Saxons here their Empire reer'd,
With Plenty crown'd, and by their Neighbours fear'd.

   King Vortigern unable to oppose
The barb'rous Picts , and fierce Albanian Foes,
With humble Language, and rich Presents pray'd
This mighty Nation, to afford him Aid.
The Saxon Princes with his prayer comply'd,
Britannia was too fair, to be deny'd.
As Friends they landed on our naked Coasts,
And still pour'd on their fresh, unnumber'd Hosts.
They chas'd indeed the barb'rous Picts away,
But seiz'd, themselves, the Kingdom as their Prey.
The Lyon 's Title to Crown they plead,
As Friends receiv'd, as Conquerors obey'd.
No more let States vext with Interstine Wars,
Call in great Princes to compose their Jars.
What Briton s by their sad Deliverance won,
Was by a stronger Foe, to be undone.
'Tis true, opprest, they did their Wrongs resent,
But 'twas too late, their Counsels to repent.
Britannia 's weak, precarious King obey
The proud Protector 's Arbitrary Sway.
Our Forts, and Navies, and the chief Commands,
Were, on Pretence of Caution , in their Hands.
Th' insatiate Leeches do for ever crave,
And for their Service, ask us, all we have.
Our Strength is spent, and barb'rous Avarice
Draws all our Wealth into her deep Abyss.
Rapine and Murder all our Cities fill,
Our haughty Friends take leave to Spoil and Kill.
These dire Protectors arm'd with Lawless Power,
The Plowman 's Hopes, and Merchant 's Gains devour.
What we prepare, the ravenous Harpys eat,
And from our frighted Children tear their Meat.
We starve and dye, while they possess our Food,
Grow Sleek with Ease, and Fat with Spoil and Blood.
Villains dishonour Virgins in our fight;
And bloody Ruffians break our Doors by Night.
To seek redress, and of our wrongs complain,
Was but to add Derision to our Pain.
How bitter then were sad Britannia 's Moans,
What deep-fetch'd Sighs were heard, what deadly Groans?
Betray'd and ruin'd by a treacherous Friend,
We saw the Error, that we could not mend.
We curst our Folly, but we curst too late,
And all that our mistake should imitate.
We wish'd ten Thousand Woes and Plagues might light
On their curst Heads, who should again invite
Victorious Kings, with Foreign Arms to bless
Their Native Country, and their Wrongs redress,
They'll readily assist your Cause, and fight
To do, to injur'd States , and Princes , right.
But still they keep, what, by their Arms, is won,
Great Monarchs conquer for themselves alone.
They want a fair Pretente to seize the Prey,
They come as Friends, but will as Masters stay.
Thus Albion far'd, may Heav'n her Sons restrain,
From splitting on this fatal Rock again.

   In vain we strove to break the servile Yoke,
Our impotent Attempts new Wrongs provoke.
At last, no greater Evils left to fear,
We took fresh Hope , and Courage from Despair.
Fury from Ruin sprung rag'd in our Veins,
And Death 's seem'd lighter than the Saxon Chains.
Each free-born Briton thought the Choice more brave,
To die their Victim , than to live their Slave.
We that could ne'er the Tyrant 's Yoke endure,
Boyl with Revenge, now Slaves to Forreign Power.
Kings Uter 's Breast swells with distracting Rage;
Whose wounded Soul, no Language could asswage;
Asham'd his Country's Freedom to out-live,
He takes the Councils, Grief and Fury give.
His Knights together call'd attentive wait,
While Uter fits on his high Chair of State.
His troubled Looks reveal'd his inward Wound,
And Storms of Fury on his Forehead frown'd.

   Who thus began; you see what Tides of wo,
What angry Seas o'er all your Country flow.
Th' insulting Saxon claims our Land, and draws
From greater power, the Justice of his Cause.
Thro' all our Towns our Foes triumphant ride,
Wearing their awful Title by their side.
They shed your Blood , and helpless Maids deflower,
Exhaust your Treasure , and your Land devour.
A faithless Nation, that no Rule of Right
Reveres as Sacred, but superiour Might.
We oft our Fate in bloody Fields have try'd,
But Heav'n has Vict'ry, to our Arms deny'd.
Egyptian Plagues lay wast our ruin'd Land,
No Moses here, holds his controlling Wand.
Humbly invok'd, Heav'n will perhaps relent,
And of its fierce, accustom'd wrath repent.
Perhaps the Saxons Crimes with louder Cries,
For greater Vengeance importune the Skies.
Let us howe'er make one strong Effort more,
Our Country's Peace, and Freedom to restore.
We'll take the Field, 'twill gain us greater Fame,
To perish there, then here, with Grief and Shame.
My British heart can't brook th' Inglorious Chain,
I'll fall with Honour , or with Honour reign.

   Tumultuous Passions, Wrath , Revenge , and Shame
Invade our Breasts, and our gall'd Souls inflame.
Strait, with one Voice, we all for Arms declare,
And every Breast already feels the War.
Resolv'd to make the vanquish'd Saxons fly,
Or in the just and brave Attempt to dy.
With Fury urg'd, we part from Uter 's sight,
Resolv'd for Freedom, and our Native Right.
Thro' all our Towns we spread the loud Alarm,
And animated all our Men to Arm,
To vindicate their ravish'd Country's cause,
To banish Forraign God s, and Forraign Laws .
'Tis strange, how soon the Briton s Blood was fir'd,
What Life and Hope their drooping Hearts inspir'd.
They saw fair Liberty extended ly,
The Saxon Whips and Torments lying by.
They view her squallid Face, exhausted Veins,
And beauteous Limbs eat in with rusty Chains.
They heard her mournful Groans, and piercing Cries,
Her interrupted Sobs, and dying Sighs.
They saw from gaping Wounds, the gushing Blood
Enrich the Pavement, with a noble Flood.
While Pity, Mercy, Hope in Sorrow drown'd
To finish the sad Scene, stood weeping round.
The Briton s rave, resolving her defence,
And vow her Rescue at their Blood's expence.
In Albion this fair Emp'res still obey'd,
An uncontested Scepter ever sway'd.
As Universal Soul she Life diffus'd,
And Warmth to all the heaving Mass infus'd:
She ever gave to all true Briton s Hearts
More Vigour, than their own warm Blood imparts.
'Tis quick'ning Liberty , that gives us Breath,
Her Absence more, than that of Life , is Death .
Such love to Liberty the Briton s show,
Such were her Charms, and may they still be so.
May never Briton ceasing to be Brave,
Submit his Neck, content to be a Slave.
May those be doubly curst, that would betray
Their Country's Freedom, to a Forraign Sway.

   Our Men enrag'd, in numerous Bodies meet,
Arm, Arm, was heard the Cry in every Street.
The Ploghman hastens to a nobler Toil,
Unyokes his Ox , and leaves untill'd the Soil.
Abandons all his Hopes, and rustick Care,
Lays down his Goad , and shakes the warlike Spear .
The Tradesman quits his Shop , and takes the Field ,
And makes his thirst of Gain , to thirft of Honour yeild.
Arm'd Tenants crowd about their Valiant Lords ,
And full of Courage, wave their threat'ning Swords.
Near Sorbiodunum 's stately Walls, a Town
For Strength and Beauty, of the first Renown,
Whose spacious Plains rich Seas of waving Corn ,
And lowing Herds , and woolly Flocks adorn;
Our Universal Rendezvous was set,
Where all our Squadrons, and Battalions met.

   Mean time the Cautious Saxon was alarm'd,
And to dispel the gathering Tempest, arm'd.
Octa the famous Hengist 's Son, a bold
And warlike Prince, did then the Scepter hold.
Hengist that did the first our Land invade,
And brought to Albion his destructive Aid.
The Fifth from mighty Odin , whose great Name,
Had tir'd the flaggy Wings of weary Fame.
The Stock, from which a Race Illustrious springs
Of numerous Hero's, and Victorious Kings.
That founded Empires , and that living led
Their Conquering Armies , and their God , when dead.
They soon the Hills by their long Marches gain,
And with their Troops o'erspread the spacious Plain.
We with their hasty March alarm'd, prepare
To guard our Camp, and wait th' approaching War.
Our Parties now in rude Rencounters, try'd
Their Courage, still th' advantage on our side.
Th' advancing Host at last appear'd in sight,
But Toil and wearing Day, defer'd the Fight.

   Now Night advancing, draws her Sable Train
Along the Air, and Shades th' Etherial Plain.
King Uter with his Lords in Council fate,
Things of th' important Juncture to debate.
Where Measures were concerted to oppose
With warlike Arts, and Force, th' impending Foes.
Their Provinces the great Commanders share,
And from the Council to their Posts repair.
Where they their Troops dispose, and Orders give,
How the Invading Saxon to receive.
Encampt we lay on advantageous Ground,
With strong Entrenchments, and high Works around.
Our chearful Troops great Joy and Courage show,
And from the Works defie the powerful Foe.
All things dispos'd with Military Care,
We wait in Arms, th' approach of Day and War.

   Now did the Morn disclose her smiling Ray,
And from the East let forth th' important Day.
To bloody Labour all things did invite,
And sounding Trumpets Martial Heat excite.
Heav'n 's starry roof resounds with warlike Noise,
With Horses Thunder, and their Riders Voice.
The Saxons and the Briton s stand prepar'd,
Those, to Attack, and these, their Posts to Guard.
King Octa leads his numerous Army on,
And at their Head in dazling Armour shone.
Drawn on the Right our rang'd Battalions stood,
Our Left a River Guards, the Rear, a Wood.
Octa here makes his warlike columns halt,
Detaching Horsa to begin th' Assault.
Whose chosen Troops a furious Onset make,
With no less Brav'ry, ours sustain'd th' Attack.
They mount our Works, and our high Ramparts Scale,
And with projected Fires our Men Assail.
Our Troops unbroken stout Resistance make,
And always forc'd th' Invading Saxon back.
As when a Mold repels th' Invading Seas,
Protects the Ships, and gives the Harbour Peace.
The foaming Tempest on high Billows rides,
And Storms with watry Troops, it's lofty Sides.
Th' unshaken Structure all their Fury braves,
And stops the Current of th' Insulting Waves.
The angry Seas break on th' Opposing Shore,
And beaten back with Indignation roar.
No less unmov'd our Valiant Briton s stood,
Against the Insults of the Saxon Flood.
Fresh Bodies still pour'd on, their loss supply,
But still Repuls'd, they from our Trenches fly.
Enrag'd, about our Lines King Octa flew.
To find where best he might th' Assault renew:
To see what place lay most expos'd, and where
Our Troops did on the Works but thin appear.
As when a Wolf pinch'd by Nocturnal Cold,
And Hunger-starv'd, scours round the lofty Fold.
He licks his rabid Jaws, and seems possest
Already of his Prey, and bloody Feast.
He offers oft to enter, while the Lambs
Affrighted, tremble round their bleating Dams.
So Octa thirsts for Blood, and scouring round,
Surveys our Lines, and well observes the Ground.
Now with fresh Rage his Troops our Walls ascend,
Which we with Showers of Darts and Stones defend
What Shouts , what noise of Arms the Air confound?
What Ruin , what slain Heaps deform the ground?
The Earth grows slippery all distain'd with Blood,
Which fills the Ditches with a Crimson Flood.
The Dead make Bulwarks, which the living Climb,
That in the Air, rise like our Walls, sublime.
O'erpower'd and weaken'd by the Men they lost,
And faint with Toil, the Briton s quit their Post.
Thrice the invading Saxon forc'd our Lines,
And to their Arms, thrice Victory inclines.
The valiant Uter that had still withstood
Their fiercest Troops, all smear'd with Dust and Blood.
Who still to Posts of greatest danger flew,
And with unerring Arms their Squadrons slew.
Who spread fresh Life and Vigour where he came,
And in our Breasts renew'd the Martial Flame.
For where we saw his shining Arms appear,
Our Men reviv'd, and straight forgot to fear;
Observing his disorder'd Troops retir'd,
His boiling Soul distracting Passion fir'd.
He spurs his furious Steed, and Thundring thro'
The thickest Ranks of the Victorious Foe,
Stay, foolish Briton s, stay, he cries from far,
Save yet your Country , and renew the War.
Come follow me your King, I'll lead you on,
And chase the Saxons from the Posts they've won.
The Briton s Hearts were touch'd with generous shame,
Love to their Country , and to Martial Fame,
With noble Ardor does their Souls inflame.
Their Leaders Rally all their Troops that fled,
And Charge the Foe, King Uter at their Head.
With unresisted Fury they Attack
The Saxon Troops, resolv'd to force them back.

   Now what Destruction , what wide Ruin reign,
What heaps of slaughter'd Saxons load the Plain?
Now arm'd with hissing Death thick Arrows flew,
And out-stretcht Arms as fatal Javelins threw.
Then what vast Havock did the Sword employ?
What Troops did Uter 's single Hand destroy?
What sever'd Limbs lay scatter'd on the ground,
What Streams of Blood gush from each ghastly wound,
What Shields and Spears in the red Deluge drown'd?

   Here first brave Arthur did his Courage prove,
His Age then fitter for the Field of Love.
God-like his Face , and God-like was his Mind ,
To virtuous Deeds, and warlike Games inclin'd.
The Down of Manhood on his Face appears,
And blooming Beauty grac'd his youthful years.
Yet wise and manly, far beyond his Age,
His early Deeds the Hero did presage.
Till now the Woods and Forrests were his Joy,
Where he the Savage Kind strove to destroy,
That did the Herds, and bleating Flocks annoy.
He chas'd the Fox , the ravenous Wolf and Bear
His Country's Pest , dy'd by his fatal Spear .
The People blest him, as a Saviour sent,
And thought kind Heav'n , some great Deliv'rer meant.
He ne'er before had brac'd the Helmet on,
Nor in the Field in polish'd Armour shone.
His Sword had ne'er been stain'd with humane Gore,
Nor had he grip'd the Shield , or Gauntlet wore
His Country's Cause, and Military Fame,
Invite the Youth to chase a nobler Game.
No more his Thoughts his rural Sports pursue,
Tyrants and savage Men he'll now subdue.
For warlike Toil he leaves the gameful Wood,
And flesht his Courage first in Saxon Blood.
The greatest Captains the brave Youth esteem'd,
He fought like Mars , though Mercury he seem'd.
Like some fair Cherub , or the Beamy God,
He wav'd his flaming Sword, and thro' their Squadrons rode.
His youthful Veins Heroick Ardor fir'd,
And more than humane Force his Breast inspir'd,
For the great Deeds his fatal Arms atchiev'd,
Were by th' amaz'd Spectators scarce believ'd.

   At last amidst the Foe advanc'd too far,
Alone he long sustain'd th' unequal War.
Surrounding Throngs the fainting Youth opprest,
And Showers of Death flew pointed at his Breast.
His weary Arm supports his Shield with Pain,
And his bruis'd Armour Streams of Blood distain.
Here the young Hero had been crush'd, and all
Our Hopes and Joy had perish'd in his Fall;
Had not brave Malgo a Dimetian Chief,
Forc'd the thick Foes, and flown to his Relief.
Then, when the warlike Youth was most distrest,
And Elfrick 's Sword was falling on his Crest
With dreadful Sway, Malgo its Fury broke,
And on his Shield receiv'd the mighty Stroke.
The Prince thus guarded from the fatal Blow,
Bold Malgo 's Spear transfixt th' audacious Foe.
Groveling in Death he murmur'd on the Ground,
And pour'd his Life out, from his gaping Wound.

   Here Vortipor advancing did attack
Their plying Troops, and forc'd the Saxon back.
While Octa 's wavering Men began to yield,
And to pursuing Uter quit the Field.
As when a Lyon , that with Fury ran
To seize by Night, some weary Caravan,
That lay encampt on an Arabian wild,
Repuls'd by Fires, and of his Prey beguil'd,
With hideous Roar he raves at his Defeat,
Oft stands, looks back, and makes a sour Retreat.
King Octa 's Soul like Indignation fir'd,
That raving, with his vanquish'd Men retir'd.
But, oh, how soon was this serener Day
By Clouds, and rising Tempests chas'd away?
How short a space could we our Conquest boast,
How soon were all our Hopes of Freedom lost?

   Won by the potent Charms of Saxon Gold,
Carvil his Prince, and Native Country fold.
He in Indulgent Uter 's bosom lay,
And did the Secrets of his Breast betray.
He on his Conduct, and his Faith rely'd,
In Peace and War alike his treach'rous Guide.
He held the most important Trusts of State,
Nor could his Treasons Uter 's Love abate.
Unhappy Prince, that still his Foes believ'd,
Only by Ruin to be undeceiv'd!
To Friends ingrate, his Foes he entertain'd,
Thus lost the one, but not the other gain'd.
Wisely undone, he knew his Friends too late,
By his own Prudence manag'd to his Fate.
Our Prayers and Warnings tir'd his Ears in vain,
Perfidious Councils only could obtain.
Rough Truth , and loyal Bluntness gall'd his Ear,
That only soft, melodious Sounds could bear.
His firm and loyal Friends, though hardly us'd,
Look'd on enrag'd, to see their Prince abus'd.
Thoough some grown cold, ceas'd to lament his Fate,
For Will and Choice, Compassion still abate.
Pity a Prince whose Virtues shone so bright,
Should let so dark a Cloud obscure their Light!
To him and us this Weakness fatal prov'd,
That Men suspected were imploy'd and lov'd.
So Carvil was.
Who labour'd after Octa 's late Retreat,
To more than balance his, with our Defeat.
The Traytor during all the bloody Day,
Found not the Means, our Army to betray.
But when the Sun drew off his radiant Train,
And left the Empress of the Night to reign.
Then Carvil open'd his black Scene of Guilt,
Wherein such Seas of British Blood were spilt.
He by confiding Hands to Octa sent,
To let the Saxon know his dire Intent
To give him Entrance to our Camp by Night,
Whither his Arms he did with speed invite.
Octa whose Arts purchas'd Treasons won,
More Towns and Battles, than his Sword had done.
So fair a Season offer'd, not delay'd,
But straightway march'd our Army to invade.
Carvil mean time his Creatures had prepar'd,
To yield the Posts, their Duty was to guard.

   Revolving Cynthia with her doubtful Light,
Had now o'erpass'd the Noon of wearing Night.
When Octa 's chosen Troops approach'd the Gate,
Where to admit their Arms the Traytors wait.
The furious Saxon straight our Camp invades,
Beneath the Covert of the silent Shades.
Their unexpected Arms our Men assail,
Dissolv'd in Sleep, and wearied with their Toil.
What Carnage now the raging Saxons make,
Our Camp converted to a bloody Lake.
They first the brave Dunwallo resting found,
His Cuirass , Helm , and Javelin lying round,
And with their Spears transfixt him on the ground.
His generous Soul flew upwards with Disdain,
To be massacred, not in Battle slain.
Morisso next with clattering Swords alarm'd
Wak'd with the Noise, but naked and unarm'd
His Side pierc'd thro' by Horsa 's Javelin, fell
Enrag'd he should his Life, so cheaply sell.
Then Offa 's Spear peirc'd Capor 's Bosome through,
His Soul to Heav'n thro the wide Passage flew,
Leaving his Body drown'd in purple Gore,
None serv'd his Prince, or lov'd his Country more.
Edwal a Leader of unblemish'd Fame,
Who from the Banks of fair Sabrina came
Fell by Morino 's Spear, and by his Side
Brave Adomar , by Balda 's Javelin dy'd.
Then Meirick in his Breast a fatal Wound
Receiv'd, and lay extended on the Ground.
Next Catel who excell'd in youthful Charms,
Was slain by great Romondo's conquering Arms,
The glitt'ring Steel did thro' his Bowels pass,
The Youth expir'd, and with him Amel 's Race.
And now what Slaughter reign'd, what Heaps of dead,
What Ruin o'er the blood Camp was spread?

   Thro' the brown Shades at last, they found the way
To the Pavilion , where King Uter lay.
Who soon, awaken'd with the Clamour, rose,
And form'd his Troops th' Invaders to oppose.
Long their unequal Force he did repel,
Till, pierc'd by Cerdick 's fatal Spear, he fell.
Urg'd to retire, Arthur our Prayer withstood,
Tho' faint with Labour, Wounds, and Loss of Blood.
We prest him our remaining Hopes to spare,
And not of Albion 's Fortune to despair.
He does at last to our entreaties yield,
And with Reluctant Steps forsakes the Field.
We thro' the Wood retreated, where the shade
With Cynthia 's Rays, uncertain Twilight made.
When the succeeding Day declin'd, we came
To Alda 's Gates, a Port of ancient Fame.
Where we the Night in various Sorrows spent,
Now Uter , now our Country we Lament.
Just Catel 's now, now great Dunwallo 's Fate,
And faithful Edwal 's fall, fresh Grief create.

   While our sad Minds endur'd so rude a Storm,
Entring the Room, great Gabriel 's God-like Form,
Mild Glory, and Celestial day diffus'd,
Advanc'd, he these kind words to Arthur us'd.
Now Albion sinks beneath the Saxon weight,
So Heav'n Decrees, 'tis so ordain'd by Fate.
But after ten times the Revolving Sun,
His Crooked Race, has thro' the Zodiack run,
The Clouds dispell'd, propitious Heav'n shall smile,
On Uter 's House, and this reviving Isle.
Octa shall feel just Heav'n 's revenging Stroke,
And Albion 's Youth shall break the Saxon Yoke.
Mean time, brave Prince, whom universal Love
Attends beneath, and Grace Divine above.
To Neustrian Odar 's Court with speed repair,
Go, Albion 's Hopes, and my great Trust and Care.
Go, Albion 's Hopes with Triumph to return,
And Rescue those, which shall your absence mourn.
That said, his Heav'nly Glory he withdrew,
And to th' Immortal Seats, of Happy Spirits flew.

   Now the fair Morn smiles with a Purple Ray,
Clearing before the Sun the Eastern Way.
Whose radiant Train pours from the Gates of Light,
And the new Day does to new Toil invite.
We the Celestial Message to obey,
On a stout Ship, that in the Haven lay
Ready to Sail, embark and hast away.
The Sky serene, a fresh and prosperous Gale,
Sprang from the Shore, and swell'd out ev'ry Sail.
Albion 's white Cliffs and Towers we quickly lost,
Standing our Course strait to the Neustrian 's Coast.
Where when the Sun twice starting from the East,
Had ran his Race, and reach'd the falling West,
We safe arriv'd at fair Cartinia 's Port,
And took our way from thence to Odar 's Court.
Odar , a Prince indulgent, valiant, good,
Ally'd to Uter by the Mother's Blood,
The barbarous Goths Incursions, then withstood.
His beauteous Queen, with Joy the Prince receiv'd,
Her Words our Grief, her Gifts our Wants reliev'd.
Here we to ease our troubled Minds remain'd,
Till Arthur perfect Strength and Vigour gain'd.
Then taking leave, we straight direct our way
Unto the Camp, where Odar's Forces lay.

   And as we pass'd to mitigate our Grief,
And to our Woes to give Divine Relief.
From his blest Tongue such Heav'nly Language flows,
As did the greatness of his Mind disclose.
We thought some God-like Cherub to us spoke,
When from his Lips these high Expressions broke.
Heav'n 's Offspring with divine Contentment blest,
Enjoy the Empire of a guiltless Breast.
Tho' spoil'd by prosp'rous Robbers, still they find,
The large Possessions of a peaceful Mind.
Content alone can all their wrongs redress,
Content , that other name for Happiness .
Free from Desire, they are as free from want,
And from the Cares, that envied Greatness haunt.
'Tis equal, if our Fortunes should augment,
And stretch themselves to the same vast Extent
With our Desires, or those Desires abate,
Shrink, and Contract themselves, to fit our State.
Pois'd on their own unshaken Base they view,
All the Vicissitudes, that Time can shew.
They, like tall Mountains, are advanc'd so high,
That the low Clouds do all beneath them fly.
Hence while loud Storm's inferiour Seats molest,
They undisturb'd, enjoy soft Peace and Rest.
These Men that suit their Wishes to their State,
And, pleas'd still with themselves, enjoy their Fate:
Whose modest Passions Reason 's Nod obey,
Are greater Kings , than those who Scepters sway.
They can the Triumphs of a Court despise,
And the rich Toys, that charm deluded Eyes.
They rather choose to tame their Thirst, than have
All the Supplies their Feaverish Drought can crave.
Desires for Freedom first make humble Suit,
And modestly demand th' unlawful Fruit.
But when set loose, they know not where to stay,
But lawless thro' the World's Dominions stray.
So subterranean Vapours , that contain'd
In some close Cavern , are with Ease restrain'd,
When once releas'd, ungovernable grow,
And prove fierce Storms, which no Resistance know.
Th' unhappy Man, slave to his wild Desire,
By feeding it, foments the raging Fire.
His Gains augment his unextinguish'd Thirst,
With Plenty Poor , and with Abundance Curst .
But greater Minds, which can themselves subdue,
Preserve their Peace, and still their Joys renew.
They never by a Vile, or Impious Course,
Protect their Wealth from rising Tempests force.
They face the Storm, and stand its fiercest Shocks,
Bold as the Winds, unshaken as the Rocks.
No Tempest that invades th' ambitious Breast,
Can the calm Region of their Mind molest.
So Winds, that Rivulets disturb, will play
In harmless Breezes, on the wider Sea.

   Sour Discontent that quarrels with our Fate,
May give fresh smart, but not the old abate.
Envenom'd with its Sting, each harmless loss,
Grows wondrous sharp, and proves a deadly cross.
Th' uneasie Passion 's disingenious Wit
The Ill reveals, but hides the Benefit .
It makes a Toy press with prodigious weight,
And swells a Molehill, to a Mountain's height.
So melancholy Men lie down, and groan,
Prest with the Burden of themselves alone.
Crusht with Phantastick Mountains, they despair,
Their Heads are grown vast Globes too big to bear.
A little Spark becomes a raging Flame,
And each weak Blast, a Storm too fierce to tame.
So peevish is the quarrelsome Disease,
No prosp'rous Fortune can procure it Ease.
Their Breasts are ne'er from inbred Tempests free,
Restless as Winds, and troubled as the Sea:
The Pleasure now they seek would bring Content;
But when enjoy'd, 'twas somewhat else, they meant.
Some absent Happiness they still pursue,
Dislike the present Good, and long for New.
The Man now thinks he sees his Bliss, and flies
With greedy Arms to grasp the gaudy Prize.
But then, enquiring what his Hopes have won,
Vain Man, he finds the cheating Shadow gone.
Oft does the fair Illusion by him stand,
But when pursu'd, gives back, and mocks his hand.
Sometimes he sees the beck'ning Phantome here,
That, when he follows, does elsewhere appear.
The Wretch, though Tantaliz'd, and always crost,
Yet still pursues, though still that Labour's lost.
The God-like Arthur with such pious words,
Divine Instruction, and Delight affords.

   And while his Language, with a Heav'nly Flame
Thus warm'd our Breasts, to Odar 's Camp we came;
Where to the Neustrian King the Prince addrest,
Who all the highest Signs of Love exprest.
The Royal Exile he embrac'd with Tears,
And by these tender words himself endears.
King Uter 's Fall, your loss, and Albion 's Fate,
Wound me with Grief too mighty to relate.
Long to Misfortunes, and great Wrongs inur'd,
I pity those, that have like Ills endur'd.
You are a Stranger here, but not your Name,
Your early Worth is told aloud by Fame.
Arthur 's preserv'd to be the Saxons dread,
And Rear opprest Britannia 's drooping Head.
While you are safe, Britannia must revive,
And Uter still in Valiant Arthur live.
While you survive, King Octa 's Fears remain,
And Albion hopes to break her pond'rous Chain.
Heroes are for Heroick Deeds design'd,
And noble Work, attends a noble Mind.
Mean time, while here your Choice is to reside,
No Succours, no Supplies shall be deny'd.
And if your Briton s banish'd from their home,
Drawn by their Prince's Fame, shall hither come;
Briton and Neustrian shall like Treatment find,
I'll be to both, without Distinction, kind.
And when mild Days shall your Return invite,
My Arms shall Aid you, to assert your Right.

   The Prince reply'd:
Divine Compassion melts your Royal Breast,
And makes your Bounty flow on all distrest.
Like Heav'n , you Succours to th' Afflicted grant,
Comfort their Sorrows, and supply their Want.
You Crush Oppressors, to th' Opprest are kind,
Such gen'rous Deeds reveal a God-like Mind.
O'er Uter 's House the Saxon Power prevails,
And sad Britannia her dire fate bewails.
The World's supream Director so ordains,
Hence in my Soul no murmuring Passion reigns.
Pleas'd or Contented still I meet my Fate,
Would not be Impious , though Unfortunate.
Your gen'rous Offer of Protection here,
With such engaging Language, such an Air,
As Love and Friendship seek out to Endear;
Perswade, that here my Refuge is design'd,
Till Albion grows more Just, and Heav'n more Kind.
Here your Example shall my Mind prepare,
For all the high Concerns of Peace and War .
Till Albion call us back, I'll here remain,
And in your Service shall grow fit to Reign:
Here in the Camp the pious Briton staid,
To whom the Neustrian chiefs great Honour paid.
For his high Merit could not be conceal'd
His Valiant Deeds the Hero soon reveal'd.
Loud Fame his God-like Virtues did proclaim,
And either Camp resounds with Arthur 's Name.
He still the Posts of highest Danger sought,
And Death and Vict'ry follow'd, where he fought.
When he advanc'd, the Goths unnumber'd Swarms
Fled from the Terrour of his fatal Arms.
Like Love and Wonder, Camp and Court express,
That did the Hero, this the Saint confess.
His Sword still won fresh Laurels in the Field,
And to his Virtues ev'n Court Vices yield.
And 'tis more easie to reduce a Fort,
Or win a Battel, than reform a Court.
He the fixt Mounds of trembling Europe stood,
And still repell'd the Goths impetuous Flood,
When he appear'd, their Men, tho' fierce and bold,
Grow chill with Fear, as when at home with Cold.
Thro' the admiring World his Fame was spread,
The Christian's Joy, and barb'rous Nations Dread.
Where gagg'd with Ice, the Waves no longer roar,
But with stiff Arms embrace the silent Shore.
Where naked Hills in frozen Armour stand,
Where raging Sirius Fries the thirsty Land,
And rich Pactolus rolls his golden Sand;
Thither his Triumphs and Illustrious Name,
His gen'rous Deeds, and loud Applauses came.
His wondrous Virtues, wondrous Love engage,
That reach'd Perfection, long before his Age.
Odar embrac'd him, as an Angel sent
To guard his Throne, and threaten'd Fall prevent.
He own'd his bright Example did support,
Th' esteem of Virtue in the Neustrian Court.
Their Peace at home proceeded from his Care,
And from his Courage their Success in War.
When we, our hopes of sinking Albion lost,
Made by Divine Command the Neustrian Coast,
The Gothick Arms that Kingom has o'errun,
Surpriz'd their Forts, and fairest Cities won.
All Banks born down, so high the Deluge rose,
Before King Odar could its Course oppose.
'Twas then the young Deliv'rer Arthur came,
To drive the Goths , and win Immortal Fame.
He soon reduc'd the Cities, and restor'd
A peaceful Country, to its peaceful Lord.

   Mean time the British Knights opprest at home,
Drawn by his Fame, to find a Leader come.
So thick they Land, our Troops were numerous grown,
And Arthur led an Army of his own.
Ten times the Sun had pass'd his oblique way,
By turns contracting, and increasing Pay,
Darting to either Pole a warmer Ray:
And now the British Lords, who though opprest
The Western Region of their Isle possest.
Whither retreating, they remain'd secure,
And from their Hills defy'd the Saxon Power;
Encourag'd by his war-like Fame, invite
The Valiant Arthur to assert his Right.
To make a bold Descent upon their Coast,
And win the Regions back that Uter lost.

   Ten chosen Orators were straight dispatcht,
The chief whose charming Tongue was never matcht,
Was the great Tylon , whose Immortal Worth,
Raises to Heav'n the Isle that gave him Birth.
A sacred Man, a venerable Priest,
Who never spake, and Admiration mist.
Of Good and Kind the just Standard seem'd,
Dear to the Best , and by the worst esteem'd.
A gen'rous Love diffus'd to Humane Kind,
Divine Compassion, Mercy unconfin'd,
Still reign'd Triumphant in his God-like Mind ?
Greatness and Modesty their Wars compose,
Between them here a perfect Friendship grows.
His Wit, his Judgment, Learning, equal rise,
Divinely Humble, yet Divinely Wise.
He seem'd Express on Heav'n's high Errand sent,
As Moses Meek, as Aaron Eloquent.
Nectar Divine flows from his Heav'nly Tongue,
And on his Lips charming Perswasion hung.
When he the sacred Oracles reveal'd,
Our ravish'd Souls in blest Enchantments held,
Seem'd lost in Transports of Immortal Bliss,
No simple Man could ever speak like this.
Arm'd with Celestial Fire his sacred Darts
Glide thro' our Breasts , and melt our yielding Hearts .
So Southern Breezes, and the Spring's mild Ray,
Unbind the Glebe , and thaw the Frozen Clay.
He triumph'd o'er our Souls , and at his Will
Bid this touch'd Passion rise, and that be still.
Wolves , Tygers , grisly Lyons did admire,
As Poets feign, Orpheus 's melodious Lyre.
Charm'd with sweet Tylon 's Voice, a Kind more wild,
More fierce and savage, grow divinely Mild.
Lord of our Passions he with wondrous Art,
Can strike the secret movements of our Heart ;
Release our Souls , and make them soar above,
Wing'd with Divine Desires , and Flames of Heav'nly Love .
He still convey'd sublime, seraphick Sense,
In unaffected Strains of Eloquence .
Easie and wonderful is all he says,
Does both Delight, and Admiration raise.
His pious Soul did in sad Accents mourn
Britannia 's Chains, and Pagan Gods return.
But hop'd, kind Heav'n would free, by Arthur 's hand
Of barb'rous Laws , and God s, th' afflicted Land.
With the great Tylon young Pollandor went,
Fam'd for his Valour, and of high Descent.
With these wise Galbut and Mordennan joyn,
Whose Virtues vye with their Illustrious Line.
Valiant Giralden worn with War and Age,
Does in th' Important Embassy engage.
Gisan was added, a Dobunian Knight,
Bold in the Senate , and as Brave in Fight.
Hobar , Mansellan , Cadel , Milo , Skill'd
In Arms and Eloquence , the number fill'd.
Such Orators they chose, fit to excite
The Pious Arthur , and his Arms invite.

   Thus Tylon to the pious Prince addrest,
And found the Passage open to his Breast.
Britannia crush'd Saxon Yoke,
Does with her mournful Prayer your Arms invoke.
Enslav'd by Foreign Power, Distrest, Undone,
She sues for Aid to you, her Valiant Son,
And hopes for Succour from your Sword alone.
Octa all Right, and ancient Law subverts,
And uncontrol'd Tyrannick Power asserts.
His Lawless Will grasps Arbitrary Sway,
And British slaves without Reserve, Obey.
The sacred Bounds and Lines, which Right and Law
Round all those just and happy Kingdoms draw;
Which from the Wast of Tyranny they gain,
Where Uproar, Rage, and wild Confusion reign,
These broken down, Octa does open lay,
And throw the goodly Island up a Prey
To Furies, that in lawless Kingdoms stray.
Britannia by the Conquerour ravish'd first,
Then giv'n to Priests, and Soldiers raging Lust;
Wretched Britannia , sunk in deep Despair,
Beats her white Breasts, and tears her golden Hair.
Dying with Anger, Shame and Grief, she lies,
And Floods of Tears gush from her beauteous Eyes.
Which swell the silver Tide of mournful Thames ,
And grieve old Ocean with the troubled Streams.
Hear, pious Prince, how to the Neustrian Shore,
Complaining Waves roll the sad Treasure o'er.
How murmuring Winds waft o'er Britannia 's Sighs,
Can Arthur disregard his Countries Cries?
With words like these, and such a moving Art
As can't be told, he touch'd the Prince's Heart.
With so much Life, he spake sad Albion 's Moans,
We thought we felt her smart, and heard her Groans.
Nor did the pious Prince their Prayer oppose,
But soon resolv'd to ease Britannia 's Woes.
To Odar he reveal'd his high Intent,
Who Ships , and Men , and Arms rejoycing lent:
Supplying all things our Descent requir'd,
And heaping Gifts, more than our selves desir'd.
Our Ships prepared, with chearful Zeal and Care,
We went on Board, and soon embark'd the War.
Our Anchors weigh'd, and Topsails loos'd, a Gale
Sprang up, and swell'd the Womb of every Sail.
Old Ocean pleas'd our bounding Vessels laves,
that with sharp Keels cut thro' the foaming Waves.
Th' astonish'd Saxons see, and fear from far,
The long Succession of the Sailing War.
They spread thro' all the Isle the loud Alarm,
And trembling Octa hasts his Men to Arm.
We Sail'd not long before the Sea ran high,
And gathering Clouds deform'd the lowring Sky.
The fearful Storm arose, wherein we lost
Th' extinguish'd Day, and on the Billows tost,
We drove, till forc'd upon th' Armoric Coast.
He ceas'd, and now the Shades of wearing Night,
Did the pleas'd Audience to their Rest invite.


Lovely Aurora makes a mild Essay
With glimm'ring Dawn, to introduce the Day:
Her rosie Steps the Sun pursues, and Spreads
His smiling Glories on the Mountains Heads.
The Princes rose, and Hoel thus exprest
His friendly Passion, to his Royal Guest.
Your Virtues shew you are by Heav'n design'd
A great Deliv'rer of opprest Mankind.
You give to Realms with Wars molested, Peace,
And from their Chains tormented Slaves release.
Fair Liberty 's and blest Religion 's Cause
Reviving Hopes from your Protection draws.
Your prosp'rous Arms invading Plagues repel,
And monstrous God s, and monstrous Tyrants quell.
King Odar's Realm and mine you save, in his
You settle Peace, and Truth Divine in this.
And now compassion arms your valiant Hand
To free from barbarous Rage, your native Land.
To vanquish Pagan Darkness, and display
Immortal Light, and pure Etherial Day.
My self will here abide, and Succours lend
O'er all the Realm Christ 's Empire to extend.
Conan my Son shall on your Triumphs wait,
And when return'd, your glorious Deeds relate.
I'll now command that with incessant Care,
My Men assist, your Losses to repair.
Then I'll conduct you to the Druids Grove,
Which Men of heav'nly Contemplation love.
Where solemn Walks and awful shade invite
Compos'd Devotion, and Divine Delight,
Exclude the Sun's, to let in purer Light.
There with your pious Conversation blest,
New light will fill my Mind, new Joy my Breast.
The Orders giv'n the Navy 's Wants requir'd ,
The Princes to the Druids Grove retired.
Where Arthur 's Language did the King inspire,
With holy Transports, and Seraphick Fire.

   Mean time th' Armoricans and Briton s meet,
All Zealous to Equip the shatter'd Fleet.
Part to the Groves and woody Hills repair,
And with loud Labour fill the ecchoing Air.
Axes high rais'd by brawny Arms descend
With mighty Sway, and make the Forrest bend.
The Mountains murmur, and the nodding Oakes ,
Groan with their Wounds, from thick redoubled Strokes.
The falling Trees desert the neighbouring Sky,
Where now the Clouds may unmolested fly.
A shady Harvest lies disperst around,
And lofty Ruine loads th' encumber'd Ground.
Part, the hewn Trees draw down with wondrous Toil,
T'enrich the Ocean with the Mountains Spoil.
So fast they came, and in such Order stood,
As Orpheus Lyre had call'd th' obsequious Wood
From their fixt Seats to dance upon the Flood.
Part raise the Masts , now to be shaken more
With furious Winds, then on their Hills before.
Part shape new Ribs, and with industrious Care,
Ships broken Backs, and ghastly Wounds repair.
Part their bruis'd Sides anoint with unctious Pitch,
Part the carv'd Sterns, with Paint and Gold enrich.
Part Cables twist, part smear'd with Smoak and Sweat,
With vast Cyclopian Strokes huge Anchors beat.
While thus the Briton s did their Ships repair,
Th' Infernal Prince enrag'd and wreckt with Care,
Swift, as exploded Lightning from the Skies,
A second time to Lapland Mountains flies.
Where the rough Monarch's noisy Palace stands,
Whose awful Nod, the raging Winds commands.
To him thus Lucifer , kind Prince, to you
A second time I for Assistance sue.
The cursed Prince that by your high Command,
Your furious Subjects drove on Hoel 's Land;
Aided by Hoel does his Fleet repair,
Ready to Albion to transport the War.
Let adverse Winds blow on the troubled Main,
Retard their Project, and their Ships detain.
Till Octa has prepar'd his warlike Fleet,
The proud Invader on the Seas to meet.

   He ceas'd, the Emperor of the Winds replies,
When you shall ask what rebel Power denies.
Your Realms you rule with uncontested Sway,
Your Post is to command, mine to obey.
That said, he calls his wandring Subjects home,
Eurus and Notus straight obedient come.
Last sluggish Auster to his Den with wet
And flabby Wings, does heavily retreat,
To whom their Prince, let now your Labours cease,
Indulge your Wings, be reconcil'd to Peace.
Close in your Darksome Prisons sleeping lie,
To gain more Breath to blow, more Strength to fly.
Then down their howling Throats blacksops he threw,
Of Poppies and cold Nightshade made, that grew
On the dark Banks, where Lethe 's lazy Deep
Does its black Stores, and drousie Treasure keep,
Rolls its slow Flood, and rocks the nodding Waves asleep.
The strong Enchantments quick Admission find,
And the wild Rout benumming Fetters bind.
They murmur in their Sleep, and strive in vain
To spurn away th' unweildy leaden Chain.
Then calling Boreas , says , fly Boreas , fly,
Blow o'er the Lands and on the Billows lie.
Make hast, and to th' Armoric Coast repair,
Be thine the spacious Empire of the Air.
Unrivall'd, unmolested Reign alone,
Till all thy Force is spent, and all thy Breath is gone.
No Hostile, windy Powers contest thy Reign,
And uncontroll'd Dominion of the Main.

   Scarce had he ended, when up Boreas springs,
And thro' the Air spreads out his furious Wings.
He o'er warm Climes diffuses Northern Spoils,
And the cold Treasures of the frozen Isles.
With blustring War he frights old Ocean's Court,
Buffets the Waves, and raises Storms in Sport.
In vain th' impatient Briton s spread their Sails,
Loud Boreas keeps them back with adverse Gales.
Proud Lucifer urg'd with his Rage and Spight,
Back to Britannia takes his airy Flight.
To find the Saxon Monarch, and inspire
His trembling Soul with fresh Infernal Fire.
And now the Night does her black Throne ascend,
And dusky Shades her silent State attend.
While pale-fac'd Cynthia with her starry Train,
Dart down their trembling Lustre on the Main.
The weary Lab'rers their stiff Limbs repose,
And Sleep's soft Hand their drowsie Eyelids close.
All Rest enjoy, but Octa anxious lay,
Wakeful, and longing for returning Day.
His dreadful Crimes affright his startled Soul,
And in his Breast black Tides of Horrour roll.
Dire Shapes, and staring Ghosts pass threatning by,
And Streaks of Fire across th' Apartment fly.
He hears the Shreaks of those his bloody Hand
Had murder'd, or that dy'd by his Command.
He hears the Widdows Sighs, and Orphans Moans,
Himself had made, and tortur'd Pris'ners Groans.
The Grounds of pale Despair he sometimes draws,
From Arthur 's Valour, and his Righteous Cause.
Sometimes he fears his injur'd Subjects Rage,
Their vengeful Arms against him will engage
Then starts, and thinks he hears Prince Arthur 's Fleet
Is on the Coast, proclaim'd in ev'ry Street.

   Then Lucifer does Odin 's Shape assume,
And with Stern Grace enters King Octa 's Room.
His vig'rous Limbs had dazling Armour on,
And round his Head his polish'd Helmet shone.
His conquering Sword hung down with awful Grace,
And Scars of Honour seam'd his manly Face.
His warlike Hand grip'd his Vulcanian Shield,
With rare Devices pourtray'd on the Field.
With Martial State he strides along the Room,
And shakes at every Step his lofty Plume.
Advancing to the Bed where Octa lay,
He spake, Son Octa , from celestial Day,
From the blest Groves, and mild, Elysian Seats,
Thy Father Odin to thy Aid retreats.
To ease thy restless Mind of anxious Cares,
Support thy Hopes, and dissipate thy Fears.
Stand thou unmov'd at Arthur 's proud Alarms,
Conquest attends thine, and thy Saxons Arms.
He'll sink beneath the Sea's insulting Wave,
Or Landing, find on Shore a surer Grave.
Think on the Spoils and Trophies you have born,
And spreading Laurels on your Temples worn.
Let none that's sprung from my Victorious Race,
At Danger shrink, and my great Stock debase.
Go, hast thy Royal Navy to prepare,
Let Ships with Ships encounter, War with War .
On the wide Main th' Invader's Fleet oppose,
Better to meet, than here expect your Foes.
Go chase their scatter'd Navy o'er the Deep,
And thus in Peace, thy envy'd Empire keep.
He ceas'd, and with Majestick Pace retir'd,
And left King Octa with fresh Life inspir'd.

   Who with the Sun arose, resolv'd to meet
With all his Naval Power, Prince Arthur 's Fleet.
He gave Command, the Captains straight resort
To their tall Ships, and leave the wanton Court.
A forward Zeal the busie Sailors shew,
Some mend old Ships, and some Equip the new.
With flaming Reeds some their pitch'd Bellies fry,
Some hoist the Yards, and Canvas Wings apply.
Some from its Cradle launch a rocking Hull,
Some at the Cables strain, and howling pull
Vast Anchors up, some Stores and Arms entomb,
And stow with hidden War the Ship's dark Womb.
The Shores around, and all the Oazy Soil
Resound with Clamour, and the Sailors Toil.
Well Rigg'd and Mann'd, the Ships from every Port
To their appointed Rendezvous resort.
The Rivers disembogue, besides their Flood,
Into the Seas a lofty, painted Wood.

   And now the Moon had twice the silver Field
Of her fair Orb, with borrow'd Glory fill'd.
Since the uneasie Briton s had remain'd
By adverse Winds, within their Port detain'd.
Boreas that had his Blasts profusely blown,
His Storms all spent, and bleaky Treasures gone,
With tir'd and flaggy Pinions now retreats,
To fetch Recruits from wild Laplandian Seats.
Auster does next with milder Blasts prevail,
And for the Briton s blows a prosperous Gale.
Now each rough Hero of the Ocean stands
On the high Deck, giving Austere Commands.
Prince Arthur to Embark approach'd the Shore,
Where the reposing Seas no longer Roar.
But at his Feet obsequious Billows lay,
As Conscious of the Power they must Obey.
Then their broad Backs , subsiding they submit,
Proud to sustain their future Monarch's Fleet.
The lofty Ships on rolling Billows bound,
The Waves in soft Embraces clinging round.
As when the Trojans , in the Mantuan Song
From Africk Sands, to Latium sail'd along.
Old Ocean rose up from his rocky Throne,
A Crystal Scepter, and a reedy Crown
His Power confest, his dewy Head he reer'd
Above the Flood, and smiling on the Waves appear'd.
New gather'd Banks of Quicksands he remov'd,
And kindly thro' the Deep, the Navy shov'd.
So the calm Ocean seem'd with equal care,
On its pleas'd Waves, the British Fleet to bear.
Huge, rolling Porpoisses spout Seas away,
And friendly Dolphins round the Squandrons play.
The floating Castles dance upon the Tide,
And on its foaming Ridge Triumphant ride.
In glorious Lines the painted Squadrons move,
As if the Poets Gods laps'd from above,
In gilded Clouds, were dancing on the Seas
In Masquerade, with the green Deities.

   Twice the great Ruler of the Day had hurl'd
His flaming Orb , around th' enlighten'd World.
When at the early Dawning of the Day,
The Navies in each other's Prospect lay.
The Saxon Squadrons cover all the Main,
And with their Prows divide the liquid Plain,
Plying to Windward, Arthur 's Men prepare
Their Navy, to receive th' advancing War.
Down on their Feet King Octa bravely bore,
Whose long-wing'd Navy stretcht, from Shore to Shore.
Both Fleets in Lines of War stood cross the Deep,
And ready to Engage, just Order keep.
They hoist their bloody Flags on either side,
And Death her Jaws does for her Feast provide.
Now the shrill Trumpets sprightly Voice, and all
The Harmony of War, to Combate call.
The Saxon Sailors with a hideous Cry,
Affright the Deep, and rend the Ecchoing Sky.
The barb'rous Yellings and outrageous Sound
From Rock to Rock, and Shore to Shore rebound.
A furious Fight between the Fleets began,
And bold Selingbert first Attacks their Van.
Now bearded Darts, and fatal Javelins fly,
And Balls of Fire hiss throgh th' inlightned Sky.
Each on his Foe missive Destruction pours,
And Death receives, and gives in feather'd Showers.
Thus milder Fate at distance sparing slew,
Till to a closer Fight Selingbert flew,
And on his Foe his massy Grapples threw.
Which clenching fast their pond'rous, griping Claws,
The rude Embrace, both Ships together draws.
The Saxons flew on Board with furious Arms,
And on the Decks appear in numerous swarms.
Vogan enrag'd, did fatal Wounds dispence,
With lavish Hand, and made a brave Defence.
With Battle-Axes, Swords, unweildy Crows,
They clear the Decks of the insulting Foes.
Beat down with ghastly Wounds, some gasping ly,
Others their Arms cast down, for Mercy cry.
Into the Waves some their pale Bodies throw,
And fly from Death above, to Death below.
Down the Ships sides Torrents of Saxon Blood,
With unknown Crimson Dye th' astonish'd Flood.
Upon the Decks, that slaughter'd Heaps deform,
Enrag'd Selingbert pours a second Storm,
Which like a Summers Shower soon disappear'd,
By Valiant Vogan and his Briton s clear'd.
Selingbert thus defeated, boils with Rage,
But forc'd at last, his Ship to disengage;
He bears away, and quits th' unequal Fight,
Providing for his safety, by his Flight.

    Octa mean time his Men for Fight prepares,
And fiercely down, on Arthur 's Squadron bears.
The spacious sides of his high Ship consum'd
Whole Forrests, and whole Mountains Spoils entomb'd.
It self a Fleet across the Billows stood,
Engross'd the Winds, and press'd the labouring Flood.
The lofty, gilded Palace shone from far,
Presenting to the Foe a glorious War.
Bold Octa , and the Valiant Arthur meet,
Which strook a vast Concern thro' either Fleet.
On this important Action seem'd to wait
The British Hero's, and Britannia 's Fate.
Both sides with Shouts their fatal Weapons fling,
And wing'd with Death thick Showers of Arrows sing.
Unerring Darts in hissing Tempests fly,
And carry swift Destruction thro' the Sky.
Ships rush to Battle with enormous Shocks,
As Towers with Towers encounter'd, Rocks with Rocks,
So in the Northern Seas when Storms arise
High Rocks of Snow, and sailing Hills of Ice
Against each other with a mighty Crash,
Driv'n by the Winds, in rude Rencounter dash.
The Sea afflicted foams, the Waves on high,
Toss'd by the batt'ring Islands , lave the Sky.
The Crystal Towers break with a fearful Crack,
And on the Billows spread their foaming Wreck.
Vast Sheets of rocky Ice, and broken Isles,
Oppress the lab'ring Ocean with their Spoils.
On both sides now they call forth all their Rage,
Resolv'd in closer Combat to engage.
Then Death and Slaughter in sad Triumph reign'd,
And Seas of Blood the slipp'ry Decks distain'd.
Some the Pale Dead into the Ocean heave,
Some in the Ships low Caves the wounded leave.
Prodigious Numbers fell on either Side,
Thin on the Decks they look'd, but thick upon the Tide.
For neither Chief e'er met a greater Foe,
Both wondrous Skill, and wondrous Courage show.
While Vict'ry poising equal Hope and Fear,
With doubtful Wings hung hov'ring in the Air.

   The wise Prince Arthur wislt on Shore equips,
Their use till then unknown, a sort of Ships,
That since the Deeds of that Important Day,
Among lost Arts in deep Oblivion lay.
Till Captains that in after Ages liv'd,
The long forgotten Stratagem reviv'd.
Bitumen, Sulphur, and Vulcanian Spoils.
From lab'ring Mountains, and from unctious Soils.
Naptha and Pitch with Skill and Labour wrought,
With hidden Stores of Flame the Vessel fraught.
Like rolling Clouds where Lightning's Seeds remain,
Their swelling Wounds a fiery Birth contain.
Arthur so strange a Ship to Octa sent,
With such Infernal Treasures in it pent.
Which with its grappling Engines fixt, and fir'd,
The bold Commander to his Friends retir'd.
The Fire with unexstinguish'd Rage, consumes,
The Subterranean Wealth the Ship intombs.
Vast sheets of Flame, and Pitchy Clouds arise,
And burning Vomit, spouts against the Skies.
Tempests of Fire th' astonish'd Heav'ns annoy,
Fierce, as those Storms, that from their Clouds destroy;
As Ætna from its glowing Roots was torn,
And by its own wild Hurricanes was born
From its old Seat, to float upon the Waves,
With Vulcan 's Magazins, and Cyclops 's smoaking Caves.
The burning Plague adher'd to Octa 's side,
And the scorcht Ribs the hot Contagion fry'd.
The spreading Mischief's growth no Force restrains,
The Plague resisted more severely Reigns.
To the tall Masts the raging Flame aspires,
And neighbour sits to Heav'n's contiguous Fires.
Octa at last his flaming Ship forsakes,
And in stout Horsa 's Vessel Refuge takes.
Here he once more his Royal Standard Rears,
Where on the Deck undaunted he appears,
With chearful Looks dissembling inward Fears.
He strives the Saxons Courage to exite,
To press the Foe, and still maintain the Fight.
But strives in vain, assisted by the Wind,
The spreading Burnings no Resistance find.
Resistless Flames advance with lawless Power
From Ship to Ship, and thro' the Fleet devour.
Naked, and half-burnt Hulls with hideous Wreck,
Affright the Skies, and fry the Ocean's back.
Scorcht Bodies, broken Masts, and smoaking Beams,
Promiscuous Ruin, float along the Streams.
Deform'd Destruction, and wild Horrour ride
In fearful Pomp, upon the Crimson Tyde.
At last King Octa , dreading longer stay,
Commanding all to follow, tows away;
The Saxon Captains chearfully obey.

   But Lucifer enrag'd at this Defeat,
Plots to protect, and cover their Retreat.
Summon'd to his Pavilion , straight repair
The Dæmons , that infest th' Inferiour Air.
With bloated Fiends, that in dark Caves abide,
And o'er the Subterranean Damps preside.
Last the slow Powers come from their misty Dens,
That rule the Marshes, Lakes, and stagnant Fens.
To whom their Prince, see, how King Octa tows
His shatter'd Ships, prest by Victorious Foes.
Go, and protect him from the fierce Pursuit,
And give him time, his Navy to recruit.
Let all your Damps, and lazy Fogs arise,
And with your sluggish Treasures cloud the Skies.
Let your thick Mists repel th' unwelcome Light,
And o'er the Ocean spread a friendly Night.

   The humble Powers their haughty Prince obey,
Some from dark Caverns far remote from Day,
From each embowell'd Mount, and hollow Vault,
Crude Exhalations, and raw Vapours brought.
Some from deep Quagmires, Ponds, and sedgy Moors,
Drive the dull Reeks, and shove the haizy Stores.
To their appointed Station all repair,
And with their heavy Wings encumber all the Air.
The ponderous Night's impenetrable Steems,
Exclude the Sun, and choak his brightest Beams.
The hov'ring Clouds the Saxon Fleet embrace,
And wondrous Darkness stops the Briton 's Chase.
Octa , Æneas like, a misty Night
Around him cast, escapes the Briton 's Sight.
Now had the Sun diffus'd the early Day,
From his bright Orb, and chas'd the Fogs away.
To their known Shore the Saxon Navy flies,
And in their Ports and Rivers safely lies.

    Arthur , who while the Shades prevail'd, had lain
Under an easie Sail, upon the Main;
Discovering that the Saxon Fleet was lost,
Tack'd, and directly stood for Albion 's Coast.
He sail'd not long, before his Joyful Men
Could from the Masts, their native Countrey ken.
First the Bolerian Promontory rears
His Head, and as a lofty Wedge appears,
That down into the Deep, had from the Shore,
Run from Danmonian Mines and melted Oar.
Here when the Oazy Shore by ebbing Tides,
Is naked left, around its glitt'ring Sides,
Pale Tinny Oar, and Copper's brighter Vein,
Casts Glimmering Lustre o'er the liquid Plain.
Next they discover the aspiring Hills,
Whose Precious Sides Metallick Treasure fills.
In their dark Caves Cyclopian Lab'rers sweat,
And their vast Blows the ecchoing Hills repeat.
With ghastly Wounds they rend the groaning Earth,
And from its Bowels wrest the massy Birth.
By racking Engines, and redoubled Blows,
She's forc'd her hidden Riches to disclose.
Under wide Caldrons, some whole Forrests pile,
And melt in purging Flames the wealthy Spoil.
Some in their hot Ætnean Forges sweat,
And glowing Wedges on huge Anvils beat.
Their mighty strokes shake all the bellowing ground,
The neighb'ring Mountains, and the Vales around,
With subterranean Toil and Noise resound.
They pass the crooked Shore, which Fame of old
Enrich'd with pond'rous Pearl, and scatter'd Gold.
They view the Rocks with Gems and Treasure blest,
In verdant Samphire , and Eringo drest.
Danmonian Crows leaving the Neighb'ring Hills,
In numerous, noisy Flights, their Feet and Bills
With Native Crimson dy'd, o'erspread the Sky,
And o'er the Fleet in Ominous Circles fly.
Not far remov'd, it's sides a Mountain shows,
Where winding Shores a spacious Bay enclose.
His lofty Head, that flying Clouds invades,
From Shore to Shore the dusky Ocean shades.
Long this wild Seat, as ancient Fame obtain'd,
A fierce Gigantick Race of Men maintain'd;
Tall as the Hill, on which the Monsters dwelt,
Whose groaning sides their striding motion felt:
Torn from wild Beasts raw Skins, and grisly Hydes,
A horrid Dress, adorn'd their hideous sides.
Half roasted Swine their savage Jaws devour,
That stain their squallid Chins with flowing Gore.
In thorny Dens the outstretcht Monsters ly,
Half eaten Limbs, and mangled Bodies by.
With Rapes and Thefts, and endless Murders cloy'd,
A fearful Plague, the Region they destroy'd.
Weathering the Point with favourable Gales,
Along the Shore the Conquering Navy Sails
Into the rough Hibernian Seas they came,
That howling Monsters, and dire Gulphs defame.
Which to avoid, close to the Shore they keep,
Where fair Sabrina to her Parent Deep,
Drawing her silver Train along does glide,
Diluting with fresh Streams the Briny Tyde.
Lovely Sabrina that for refluent Tydes,
Fair Cities, verdant Meadows, flow'ry Sides,
For Finn'd Inhabitants, and pleasant Streams,
Yields only to her fairer Sister Thames .
Passing these Seas, they view the fertile Soil,
Till'd by Silurian Farmers skilful Toil:
Where the vext Sea fair Clamorgania laves,
And rolls along the Sand its foaming Waves.
Here Rhemnius gliding by Carphilli 's Walls,
Proud of its Roman strength, into the Ocean falls.
Then Ratostibium from the hilly Lands,
Rolls down its rapid Tyde, and troubled Sands.
Next they descry an Isle of wondrous Fame.
Which the succeeding Ages Barry name.
In its high sides that to the Sea appear,
Dreadful to tell, th' astonish'd Saylors hear
Ætnean Labour, where the bellowing Rocks
Shake with Gigantick Toil, and Thundering Strokes
Of groaning Smiths , sometimes a mighty sledge
On a vast Anvil, beats a flaming wedge.
Now Bellows form'd of vast, capacious Hydes,
All Boreas blow from their Æolian sides.
Now the resisting Flames and Fiery Store,
By Winds assaulted, in wide Forges roar,
And raging Seas flow down of melted Oar.
Sometimes they hear long Iron Bars remov'd,
And to the sides, huge heaps of Cynders shov'd.
As we advanc'd the Coast in Prospect lay,
Which the Dimetian Lords did then obey.
Here th' opening Land invites, with outstretcht Arms,
The troubled Seas, free from the loud Alarms
Of the rough, windy Powers, to take their Ease,
And on its Bosom lye diffus'd in Peace.
The flowing Waters smooth their furrow'd Face,
And gently roll into the Land's Embrace.
To secret Creeks the weary Billows creep,
And stretcht on Oazy Beds securely sleep.
No happy Land along th' European Coast,
Can such a fair and spacious Haven boast.
In this wide Station, the Dimetians pride,
The biggest Ships, and greatest Fleets may ride,
Safe from the Insults of the Winds and Tide.
Two lofty Castles with their gilded Towers,
Inlighten, and defend the subject Shores.
Here the Victorious Briton s safe arrive,
With all the Joy, long-wish'd for Harbours give.
In frequent Throngs the glad Dimetians stand
Upon the Coast, thick as th' unnumber'd Sand.
Their Acclamations and loud Shouts rebound,
From trembling Hills, and shake the Shores around.
The Ships lay rocking, and their Masts bend more
With Briton s Breath, than with the Winds before.
The joyful Briton s and their Friends debark,
And near the Shore a spacious Camp they mark.
The pious Prince at a fair Castle staid,
That Malgo the Dimetian Lords obey'd.

   Now her brown Wings the silent Night displays
Light sprinkled o'er with Cynthia 's silver Rays.
Silence and Darkness all to Rest invite,
And sleep's soft Chains make fast the Gates of Light.
Prince Arthur sleeps, by Summons from on high,
From trembling Joynts his active Spirits fly
To the round Palace of th' Immortal Soul,
And thro' the Rooms and dark Apartments roll.
The busie Crowd fills all the labouring Brain,
Bright Fancy's Work-house, where close Cells contain
Of Forms and Images an endless Train,
Which thither thro' the waking Senses glide,
And in fair Mem'ry's Magazine abide.
Compos'd of these, light Scenes and Shows appear,
That still employ the restless Theater.
Divinely mov'd the Airy Figures take
Their several Ranks, and this bright Vision make.
Prince Arthur on a verdant Eminence
Conversing with King Uter stood, from whence
He views with wondring Eyes, great Lords and States,
Crown'd Heads, Victorious Princes, Potentates,
Heroes and Heroines, a glorious Train,
That in long Order fill'd the subject Plain.
Prince Arthur on the Royal Scene intent,
Demands what this August Assembly meant.
For what end thither come, and who they were
That at th' Illustrious Congress did appear.

   King Uter then reply'd: Know pious Son,
That after various bloody Battels won,
You Beauteous Ethelina shall espouse,
The fairest Branch of all King Octa 's house.
A Christian Princess of a Pagan Line,
Whose Virtues equal with her Beauty shine.
You shall Triumphant mount the British Throne,
Which has not yet, so great a Monarch known.
Swell not with Pride, th' Imperial Seat you gain,
Brings envy'd Honour, but unenvy'd Pain.
Your People rule with equal Laws, and know
You're happy, when you make your Subjects so.
Let them a Good, Indulgent Father find,
Be mercifully Just, and severely Kind.
Let your bright Virtues Imitators draw,
Glorious Examples have more Force, then Law.
Seek not an uncontroll'd and lawless Sway,
Subjects from Love, but Slaves from Fear obey.
And whom the People fear, they quickly hate,
Which Passions in their Prince the like Create.
Hence mutual Jealousies, and deep Designs,
Hence strong Distrust the mould'ring State disjoyns.
Diffusing good on all Mankind, you'll show
You imitate Heav'n's Government below.
The Benefactor will most Honour bring,
And the Deliverer's greater than the King.
Believe no Foreign hostile Power can move
Your Throne, supported by your Subjects Love.

   The bright Assembly that surrounds the Hill,
And with their Numbers all the Vally fill,
Are Albion 's Hero's, who in future days
Their own, and Albion 's Name, to Heav'n shall raise.
The Regal Orders that the rest outshine
With glittering Crowns, are the Imperial Line,
That after you, on Albion 's Throne shall fit,
Their Names in Fate's Eternal Volumes writ.
The Kings that in the foremost Rank appear,
Who frowning and unpleasant Aspects were;
Whose waning Crowns with faded Lustre shine,
Shall after you succeed, first Constantine
Conanus , and the rest of British Line.
These look not with their Native Splendour bright,
But dimly shine, with delegated Light.
Heroick Deeds by great Forefathers done,
Cast all their Glory on them, not their own.
To narrow Bounds their scanty Empire shrinks,
And Briton s Grandeur, with their Virtue sinks.
At last their Crimes, offended Heav'n provoke,
To crush their Nation with the Saxon Yoke.

   Here Arthur sigh'd, that his degenerate Race,
Should with inglorious Deeds their Stock debase.

   When Uter cry'd, Observe the Saxon Line,
Where mighty Kings the British Rank outshine.
Crowns on their Heads, and Scepters in their Hand,
All great in War, and born for high Command.
Their Arms the British Empire shall Assail,
And aided by the Briton s Crimes prevail.
This mighty Nation quickly shall believe
The Christians God, and Heav'nly Light receive.
That's Ethelbert the first of Saxon Race,
That shall pure Faith, and Truth Divine embrace.
He shall destroy in their own Temples Flames,
Their sensless Gods, of barb'rous, Northern Names.
In vain their Priests on helpless Idols call,
They, and their Groves by the same Axes fall.
Fragments of broken Altars, and the spoil
Of ruin'd Gods, fill all th' applauding Isle.
All shall adore the great mysterious King,
And of his Cross the glorious Triumphs sing.
The Spring of Life gilded with Heav'nly Beams
Purge guilty Minds, with pure Baptismal Streams.
From hence the Light shall break that shall dispell
The Pagan Shades, that on the Saxons dwell.
Proud Lucifer subdu'd, flies in despair,
With all th' Infernal Powers about the Air,
That with their broad, extended Wings retreat,
To seek a safe, and unmolested Seat:
To fix on Scythian Hills their gloomy Throne,
Or on the Sands fry'd by the burning Zone .
As when the Storks prepare to change their Clime,
The long-neck'd Nation, in the Air sublime
Wheeling, and towring up in Circles fly,
And with their cackling Cries disturb the Sky.
In lingring Clouds they hang, and Leisure give,
For all their feather'd People to arrive.
To th' Airy Rendezvous all hast away,
And their known Leaders noisy Call obey.
Then thro' the Heav'ns their trackless Flight they take,
And for new Worlds, their present Seats forsake.
So here the Fiends assembled in the Air,
Quit Albion 's Soil, and to wild Lands repair.

   Remark that Prince, that in the midst appears,
Seven bright imperial Diadems he wears;
That's the great Egbert , whose heroick Might,
Shall the dismember'd Island reunite.
His Arms shall give him universal Sway,
And all the Saxons shall his Power obey.

   See there the great Northumbrian Monarch stands,
Edwine his Name that all the Isle commands.
A happy Prince, if his good Angel's Art
Diverts the Mercian Ruffian's bloody Dart.
Saxons and Briton s shall obey his Arms,
Himself, the lovely Ethelburga Charms.
Her beauteous Eyes the mighty Monarch fire
Her Words, his Soul with Christian Flames inspire.
Blest Ethelburga of unrival'd Worth,
That plants Religion in the barren North.

   See Alfred there, all shall his Praises sing,
A pious Souldier, and an humble King.
Hero and Bard , able in lofty Verse
His own great Deeds, and Triumphs to reherse.
Obey'd by all his unresisted Arms,
Shall to their Coasts repel the Danish Swarms.
Into the Seas swept by his potent Hand,
Those Northern Locusts leave th' afflicted Land.
The People his wise Laws shall cultivate,
Form their rude Minds, and smooth th' unpolish'd State.
Upon the Verdant Plain where Isis Streams
Hast to th' Embraces of her Sister Thames .
This mighty Prince shall a fam'd Empire Found,
Where Learning sits with branching Laurels Crown'd
Where sacred Arts with all their Letter'd Train,
In lofty Schools shall unmolested Reign.
Banish'd from Greece and Rome , no safe Retreat
They'll find, till setled in this Peaceful Seat.
Ages to come, this Seat will Oxford name,
Of which no Time, or Place, shall bound the Fame.
Remotest Nations shall her Wonders know,
Far as Great Britain 's potent Navies go.
Learning, her Native growth shall Strangers fetch,
And taught by her, their own rude Countries teach.
Th' admiring World shall Albion then adore,
Revere her Armies, but her Learning more.
As when the Wisdom of th' Eternal Mind,
Rude Chaos labour'd, and the Mass refin'd;
The scatter'd Rays that wander'd in the Air,
Did to the Sun's capacious Orb repair;
The shining Colonies pour'd thick around
Here fixt, and did a glorious Empire Found.
So here the broken Beams of glimmering Arts,
Assembling all their Light from distant parts,
To make bright Oxford 's Luminary stay,
That o'er the World shall spread Celestial Day.

   Remark Elfeda there, a Martial Dame,
That by her Arms shall win Immortal Fame.
At last the Princes of the Saxon Line,
From Heav'nly Love and Purity decline.
Their Christian Virtues, and pure Zeal abate,
And with them sickens their decaying State.
With Christian Names, their Pagan Crimes they keep,
And deaf to Heav'n's loud Threats securely sleep
Till the fierce Dane sent by supream Command,
A vengeful Scourge does on their Borders Land.
The Saxon 's Guardian Angels call'd away,
Leave them to hostile Arms, an easie Prey,
Thus Heav'n afflicts a Land, when Impious grown,
And from their Throne pulls haughty Monarchs down.
This dreadful Curse, shall by relenting Heav'n,
Be soon from sad Britannia 's Empire driv'n.
The Cruel, slothful Dane shall soon decline,
To make way for a nobler Norman Line.

   That Prince observe, that moves with so much Grace,
Is the great William of the Norman Race.
A mighty Prince, a Leader Brave, and Wise,
Whose towring Fame shall soar above the Skies.
Heav'n does for him Britannia 's Crown design,
From which great Stock shall branch a numerous Line
Of mighty Princes, that shall Rule this Isle,
Enriching it with Conquer'd Nations Spoil.

   The Valiant second Henry , see him there,
What Majesty does in his Looks appear?
Through wild Hibernia he shall force his way,
And add four Kingdoms to the British Sway.

   Brave Richard see, who from the sacred Coast,
Shall drive the Barb'rous, Unbelieving Host.
In Gaul this Monarch's Arms shall be renown'd,
Dreaded in Battel, and with Conquest Crown'd,
Long time in Peace his Crown might be enjoy'd.
Could he the Arrow at Chaluz avoid.

   Now, Son, your Eye to that brave Warriour turn,
Whose Beams so much the Norman Line adorn.
How great a Presence, what a Port he bears?
How much a mighty Conq'rour he appears?
That Prince is Edward , whose Victorious Arms
Judea save from Pagan Foes Alarms.
How he returns thro' the Trinacrian Isle,
Thro' high Parthenope 's delicious Soil,
Thro' loud Applauses of admiring Rome ,
Reeking in hostile Blood triumphant home!
The beauteous Person next that Monarch seen,
Is Eleonora his Illustrious Queen.
In Storms she's with him on the Ocean tost,
To seek out horrid War on Asia 's Coast.
Midst barbarous Arms his Wife, Adviser, Friend,
She his prodigious Labours shall attend.
And when her Lord, so Heav'n permits, shall feel
Within his Veins, the Murd'rer's poison'd Steel.
She to the spreading Plague her Lips applies,
And gives that Ease, which Asia 's Blam denies.
Invading Death her healing Kisses charm,
And with new Life the sinking Monarch warm.
No other Prince that in this Age shall reign,
Shall equal Honour to brave Edward 's Gain,
But great Adolphus of th' Illustrious Race
Of Heros, which the House of Nassau grace.
This mighty Prince shall gain th' Imperial Sway,
And wide Germania shall his Laws obey.
The God-like Virtues, and Heroick Fire,
That shall the brave Nassovian House inspire,
Shall make Adolphus shine in this high Sphear,
Preluding to the great Deliverer
The pious William ; yonder he's in Sight,
In whom Nassovian Blood, and ours unite.

   There war-like Edward stands, that with his Host,
Shall cross the Ocean to the Gallick Coast.
Where he his Conquering Ensigns shall display,
And make the haughty Franks his Laws obey.
There Queen Philippa shines, th' Albanians Dread,
Worthy of Britain 's Crown, and Edward 's Bed.
While Forraign Kingdoms Edward 's Arms subdue;
Hers thro' the North the vanquish'd Scots pursue.
See the Black Prince in Armour by her side,
Proud Gallia 's Terrour, and fair Albion 's Pride.
What Triumphs wait him in Pictavian Fields?
What never-fading Laurels Croissy yields?

   That Henry mark, the glorious Conquerour,
That Gallia shall reduce by Albion 's Power.
Immortal Prince, if Arms can make thee so,
For thee in Norman Fields what Laurels grow?
How great he'll seem his Arms distain'd with Blood,
Chasing the Franks o'er Sein 's affrighted Flood.
At Agencourt what Wonders shall be done,
What Towns of Force, what Battels shall be won,
Before in Triumph he ascends their Throne?

   Our Blood the Royal Channel now regains,
Deriv'd thro' Tudor our brave Offspring's Veins;
Which with the Norman joyn'd, the Confluent Tide
As long, as that of Time, shall downward glide.
From their Embrace to rule Britannia springs,
A glorious Race of Queens, and potent Kings.
See, the first Tudor that ascends the Throne,
After the glorious Field at Bosworth won.
The Scepter he shall sway with great Applause,
And Rule the Isle with Wise and Equal Laws.
Young Edward there, Albion 's Delight appears
Learn'd, Pious, Manly Wise above his years.
Then Liberty in all her lovely Charms,
Shall sit secure from Tyranny's Alarms.
Religion purg'd from Rome 's Adulterous Stain,
Shall in her pure, and Native Splendor Reign.
No greater Mind to Albion 's Crown succeeds,
Rever'd for Brave, and lov'd for Pious Deeds.
Blest Albion , if kind Heav'n would long permit
So great a Monarch, on thy Throne to sit.
But, oh, how short Delights attend him here,
Such Heav'nly Guests are shown, and disappear.
Dear both to Earth and Heav'n, he'll soon remove
His Throne from hence, to Reign in Bliss above.
With what Complaints, with what despairing Cries,
Shall sad Britannia Mourn his Obsequies?

   There, see, the bright Elizabetha rise,
Inlightning with her Rays the British Skies.
Th' Indulgent Parent of her People, she
Loves, Feeds, and Guards Britannia 's Family.
Heav'n's and her People's Rights she shall protect,
And for Britannia 's Ease, her own neglect.
Her Sons she shall embrace with pious Care,
And from her Coasts send back th' Iberian War.
Blest times, when she that wears th' Imperial Crown,
Regards her Peoples Safety, as her own.

   Intently now on that great Monarch gaze,
So much distinguish'd by his brighter Rays.
This is the Man, the brave Nassovian , whom
I nam'd, the great Deliverer to come.
Succeeding Prophets under your great Name,
This our great Offspring shall aloud proclaim;
Rais'd from a noble Branch of Tudor 's Line,
From Thamisis transplanted to the Rhine .
Amaz'd Posterity, will scarce believe
The wond'rous Deeds this Hero shall atchieve.
Th' European World by Rome and Gaul opprest,
By his long-wish'd-for Arms shall be releast.
He'll far outshine his own Heroick Race,
Europe 's Protectors, who shall Tyrants chase,
And Monsters vanquish with Herculean Toil,
And rescue from their bloody Jaws, their Spoil.
The beardless Hero's first victorious Arms,
Shall free his Country from the Gauls Alarms.
As he advances, Seas of Gallick Blood
Shall with red Streams, swell Mosa 's wondring Flood.
Their slaughter'd Ranks shall lie along the Rhine ,
And with strange Purple stain th' astonish'd Vine.

   For in this Age
Just Heav'n shall cause a haughty Prince to rise,
Cruel, as Lucifer , and like him wise.
Heav'n's Laws, and Power, the Tyrant shall deride,
Breaking in Sport, the Oaths wherewith he's tide.
Th' insatiate Monster pleas'd with humane Gore,
And urg'd with Hellish Rage, shall first devour
His Gallick Slaves, and with a merc'less Hand,
Spread fearful Ruin o'er his fruitful Land.
Raging with Fire and Sword he shall invade
His Neighbour's Cities, to his Gold betray'd.
No Spoil, no Carnage, shall his Fury cloy,
But drunk with Blood, he shall around destroy,
Like spreading Fires, or Torrents roaring down,
From melting Snows, that all the Vally drown.
Like Hell, he shall derive his chiefest Joy,
From the divine Permission to destroy.
Mischief and Ruin, he shall Conquest name,
And from Destruction raise a dismal Fame.
Regions laid wast, Orphans and Widdows Cries,
Proclaim his Power, and barb'rous Victories.
So dire a Plague, shall Heav'n permit to reign,
To scourge the impious World, but to restrain
The savage Spoiler, shall this Prince employ;
Monsters grow up, for Heroes to destroy.
The valiant Youth sinking Batavia saves,
Their surest Digue against the Gallick Waves.
After opprest Britannia shall invite,
The fam'd Deliverer to assert her Right.
His Arms the lowring Tempest shall dispel,
That threatning Albion , rolls from Rome and Hell.
Fair Liberty her drooping Head shall rear,
And blest Religion on her Throne appear.
His Reign fresh Life to Albion shall impart,
And teach her Sons War's long-forgotten Art.
Briton s dissolv'd in soft, inglorious Ease,
In courtly Vices, and luxurious Peace,
He shall inspire with a new martial Flame,
And lead them on, to gain their Ancient Fame.
Now Albion 's Youth polish their rusty Arms,
And once more, Gallia dreads their loud Arms,
Victorious Briton s, as of old, shall come
Laden with Spoils, and crown'd with Laurels, home.

   He ceas'd; but near the great Nassovian stood
A Heroine, by mien of Royal Blood.
Her Form Divine, and Seraph-like her Face
Where Heav'nly Sweetness, strove with Princely Grace.
But a black Cloud on her fair Temples lies,
And on the ground she fixt her beauteous Eyes.
Prince Arthur on th' Illustrious Form Intent,
Ask'd who she was, and what the Sadness meant,
That her dejected Eyes did overspread,
What the thick Mist that hover'd round her Head.

   King Uter with Reluctance thus replies,
While flowing Tears gush'd from his mournful Eyes,
Ah, Son, demand no more their Fates to know,
That must produce such universal Woe.
Telling that Offspring's Story, I reveal
A Scene of Grief, I labour'd to conceal.
This Wonder to the World, as soon as shown,
Is taken up to her Celestial Throne.
Ah! what sad Accents, what a mournful Cry,
What lamentable Sounds will fill the Sky,
When her high Herse, shall from her Palace go
Thro' weeping Throngs, in all the Pomp of Woe.
So sad a Cry did wondring Nile affright,
When Egypt 's first-born Youth were slain by Night.
What Strains of Sorrow will Augusta show?
What Floods of Tears, sad Thamisis , will flow
Into thy Stream, while gliding by the Dome,
Where fresh erected stands her lofty Tomb.
Son, mind her Presence, what a God-like Air?
What Throngs of Graces in her Eyes appear?
No nobler Genius, no well fashion'd Mind
E'er took a Turn more happily design'd,
From an Etherial Mould more labour'd and refin'd.
Mild as the blest above, without serene
As Eden 's Air, and calm as Heav'n within.
No lovelyer Star adorns the British Sphear,
Ah! might she longer in her Orb appear,
That her Celestial Influence might Flow
In chearing Streams on all the Isle below!
New warmth to Albion her kind Beams afford,
To Albion guarded, as before restor'd,
By the Nassovian Angel's flaming Sword.
My fairest Offspring! ah, her rigid Doom!
She shall Maria be: Come, quickly come,
Bring me white Lillies, Roses newly blown,
Lillies and Roses, like Maria 's own.
These on her Herse I'll scatter, and perfume
With od'rous Herbs and Flowers the precious Tomb.
Let me my Sorrow thus express, 'tis true,
A fruitless Deed, but all that Love can do.

   The Tides of Grief that here swell'd Arthur 's Breast,
Broke Sleeps soft Fetters, and dissolv'd his Rest.
The Airy Objects, that without did wait,
Now rush in by the Senses open Gate.
His waking Thought, the wondrous Scene reviews,
And various Passions in his Mind renews.

Go to "Prince Arthur" Part II

Next: Prince Arthur: Part II, by Richard Blackmore [1695]