King Arthur An Heroick Poem. In Twelve Books. By Richard Blackmore. To which is Annexed, An Index, Explaining the Names of Countrys, Citys, and Rivers, &c |
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 | King Arthur |  |
He said. The King reply'd, Remorseless Wretch,
Canst thou in Death such Consolation fetch,
From thy black Guilt, which should thy Conscience Scare,
And fill thy Breast with Terror and Despair?
Tho' thou with Guilt and Prejudice are blind
Thou in thy Torments wilt thy Error find.
This Hand shall send thee to the sad Reward
By Righteous Heav'n for Men of Blood prepar'd.
Then thro' the Frank, extended on the Dust,
His Spear, the King with Indignation thrust.
Thro' his Left Pap it did its passage make,
Transfixt his Breast and stuck within his Back.
He fetcht thick dying throbs, and double Sighs,
While endless Night seal'd up his swimming Eyes.
Canst thou in Death such Consolation fetch,
From thy black Guilt, which should thy Conscience Scare,
And fill thy Breast with Terror and Despair?
Tho' thou with Guilt and Prejudice are blind
Thou in thy Torments wilt thy Error find.
This Hand shall send thee to the sad Reward
By Righteous Heav'n for Men of Blood prepar'd.
Then thro' the Frank, extended on the Dust,
His Spear, the King with Indignation thrust.
Thro' his Left Pap it did its passage make,
Transfixt his Breast and stuck within his Back.
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While endless Night seal'd up his swimming Eyes.
| King Arthur | |