Eliza An Epick poem. In Ten books. By Sir Richard Blackmore Rivers &c |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. | BOOK IX. |
| X. |
 | Eliza |  |
241
BOOK IX.
Now did the Morn her dawning Beams display,
And bid the World expect advancing Day.
The Britons did prepare at Vere's Command,
To send brave Alban to his native Land.
His Body they Embalm'd with Skill and Cost,
With Aromatick Sweets from Asia's Coast,
With rich Peruvian Drugs, and od'rous Spoils
From the bright Source of Day, and India's Spicy Isles:
Drugs which they us'd in vain his Life to save,
Preserve him Dead, and triumph o'er the Grave.
On a high Herse the beauteous Youth was laid,
And from the Camp with solemn Pomp convey'd.
Th'attending Throng did in their Looks express
Marks of great Trouble, and sincere Distress.
Troops, who to Camps and bloody Toil innur'd,
Had unconcern'd the saddest Scenes endur'd,
With Tenderness unknown began to melt,
And in their yielding Breasts victorious Sorrow felt.
The firmest Hearts with Sighs their Loss deplore,
The Soldier weeps, who never wept before.
As when brave Troops with martial Fury warm
On some strong Fortress make a gen'ral Storm,
Forc'd by the stout Defendant's dreadful Fire
After repeated On-sets to retire;
Soon as they hear the Drums by Order beat,
And doleful Trumpets sound a sad Retreat:
With troubled Looks, and melancholy Pace
They all draw off, and curse the fatal Place.
The Britons now did such sad Aspects wear,
Such was their Woe, such their unfeign'd Despair.
Their Drums did beat as doleful on the Plains,
Their Trumpets sounded as ungrateful Strains.
The Belgian Rivers wond'ring heard from far,
The Noise of conqu'ring Grief, and crys of mourning War.
The Hills around repeated all the Moans,
Prolong'd their Woe, and kept alive their Groans.
And bid the World expect advancing Day.
The Britons did prepare at Vere's Command,
To send brave Alban to his native Land.
His Body they Embalm'd with Skill and Cost,
With Aromatick Sweets from Asia's Coast,
With rich Peruvian Drugs, and od'rous Spoils
From the bright Source of Day, and India's Spicy Isles:
Drugs which they us'd in vain his Life to save,
Preserve him Dead, and triumph o'er the Grave.
On a high Herse the beauteous Youth was laid,
And from the Camp with solemn Pomp convey'd.
Th'attending Throng did in their Looks express
Marks of great Trouble, and sincere Distress.
Troops, who to Camps and bloody Toil innur'd,
Had unconcern'd the saddest Scenes endur'd,
With Tenderness unknown began to melt,
And in their yielding Breasts victorious Sorrow felt.
The firmest Hearts with Sighs their Loss deplore,
The Soldier weeps, who never wept before.
242
On some strong Fortress make a gen'ral Storm,
Forc'd by the stout Defendant's dreadful Fire
After repeated On-sets to retire;
Soon as they hear the Drums by Order beat,
And doleful Trumpets sound a sad Retreat:
With troubled Looks, and melancholy Pace
They all draw off, and curse the fatal Place.
The Britons now did such sad Aspects wear,
Such was their Woe, such their unfeign'd Despair.
Their Drums did beat as doleful on the Plains,
Their Trumpets sounded as ungrateful Strains.
The Belgian Rivers wond'ring heard from far,
The Noise of conqu'ring Grief, and crys of mourning War.
The Hills around repeated all the Moans,
Prolong'd their Woe, and kept alive their Groans.
Th'afflicted Father did his Son attend,
Till growing Day did to its Noon ascend.
The Hero stop'd. He sigh'd. He Silence broke;
And his last leave in these sad Accents took.
Alban farewel, my Joy and Hope farewel;
Who can my Loss, who can my Trouble tell?
Only those Suff'rers, those sad Sons of Woe,
Th'Extent and Depth of my Affliction know,
Who of their only hopeful Son bereft,
To their wild Grief have been despairing left.
Her Weight of Woe how will thy Mother bear?
How will thy Sisters thy sad Story hear?
But why does Vere indulge ungovern'd Grief?
Can my Complaints to Air afford Relief?
My Stock of Trouble, I in vain exhaust,
My Sighs are fruitless, and my Tears are lost.
Could Sighs recal him, 'twould be just to mourn;
To me, my Son, thou never wilt return:
But I shall soon to thy Abode remove,
Soon shall embrace thee in the Realms above.
Thus my excessive Grief may useful be,
By hast'ning my Ascent to Heav'n, and thee.
My Mind from this some Consolation draws,
That Alban fought, and fell in pure Religion's Cause.
Farewel, my Son, farewel, back I must go,
Eliza so commands, to Scenes of future Woe.
I must in Arms destructive Toil pursue,
Where still sad Objects will my Pain renew.
Till growing Day did to its Noon ascend.
The Hero stop'd. He sigh'd. He Silence broke;
And his last leave in these sad Accents took.
Alban farewel, my Joy and Hope farewel;
Who can my Loss, who can my Trouble tell?
Only those Suff'rers, those sad Sons of Woe,
Th'Extent and Depth of my Affliction know,
Who of their only hopeful Son bereft,
To their wild Grief have been despairing left.
Her Weight of Woe how will thy Mother bear?
How will thy Sisters thy sad Story hear?
243
Can my Complaints to Air afford Relief?
My Stock of Trouble, I in vain exhaust,
My Sighs are fruitless, and my Tears are lost.
Could Sighs recal him, 'twould be just to mourn;
To me, my Son, thou never wilt return:
But I shall soon to thy Abode remove,
Soon shall embrace thee in the Realms above.
Thus my excessive Grief may useful be,
By hast'ning my Ascent to Heav'n, and thee.
My Mind from this some Consolation draws,
That Alban fought, and fell in pure Religion's Cause.
Farewel, my Son, farewel, back I must go,
Eliza so commands, to Scenes of future Woe.
I must in Arms destructive Toil pursue,
Where still sad Objects will my Pain renew.
He ceas'd. And back his faithful Britons led
But left fit Troops to wait the lovely Dead.
They to the Margin of the Belgian Sea,
The hapless Youth with speedy Care convey.
They soon embark, and to an Eastern Gale
The Mariner expands the swelling Sail.
Complaining Winds fill with their Sighs the Air,
And o'er the troubled Deep the sailing Sorrow bear.
Twice had the Air obey'd victorious Night,
Twice seen restor'd, and vanquish'd twice the Light.
When to Britannia's Isle they brought the Chief,
And landed on her Shores the unexpected Grief.
But left fit Troops to wait the lovely Dead.
They to the Margin of the Belgian Sea,
The hapless Youth with speedy Care convey.
They soon embark, and to an Eastern Gale
The Mariner expands the swelling Sail.
Complaining Winds fill with their Sighs the Air,
And o'er the troubled Deep the sailing Sorrow bear.
Twice had the Air obey'd victorious Night,
Twice seen restor'd, and vanquish'd twice the Light.
When to Britannia's Isle they brought the Chief,
And landed on her Shores the unexpected Grief.
244
Near the delightful Town of ancient Fame,
That from the Martyr Alban has its Name,
Surveying all the Region did appear
The lofty Palace of the noble Vere.
Hither the Body of th'Illustrious Dead,
Was by his Servants with due Care convey'd.
Mother and Sisters, and a num'rous Train
Of noble Friends, who came to mourn the Slain;
Greedy of Grief, did from the Palace flow
Into the Fields to meet approaching Woe.
Soon as the lofty Herse in Sight appear'd,
What moving Accents? what sad Moans were heard?
As when a low'ring Tempest mounts the Air,
And stretching, forms a horrid Front of War;
The rising Winds and infant Thunder's Voice,
Prepare our Fears, and threaten dreadful Noise.
Till gath'ring Vigor, as the Clouds arise,
Ruin and perfect Uproar fill the Skies.
So when the moving Herse of luckless Vere
Did to his noble Kindred first appear,
Their gushing Tears did down their Faces flow,
And their sad Looks did their great Trouble show.
But as th'advancing Scene yet nearer drew,
Their Grief augmented, and outragious grew.
That from the Martyr Alban has its Name,
Surveying all the Region did appear
The lofty Palace of the noble Vere.
Hither the Body of th'Illustrious Dead,
Was by his Servants with due Care convey'd.
Mother and Sisters, and a num'rous Train
Of noble Friends, who came to mourn the Slain;
Greedy of Grief, did from the Palace flow
Into the Fields to meet approaching Woe.
Soon as the lofty Herse in Sight appear'd,
What moving Accents? what sad Moans were heard?
As when a low'ring Tempest mounts the Air,
And stretching, forms a horrid Front of War;
The rising Winds and infant Thunder's Voice,
Prepare our Fears, and threaten dreadful Noise.
Till gath'ring Vigor, as the Clouds arise,
Ruin and perfect Uproar fill the Skies.
So when the moving Herse of luckless Vere
Did to his noble Kindred first appear,
Their gushing Tears did down their Faces flow,
And their sad Looks did their great Trouble show.
But as th'advancing Scene yet nearer drew,
Their Grief augmented, and outragious grew.
The Mother did conspicuous Sorrow show,
Lavish of of Tears, and eminent in Woe.
Nearest in Blood, she was in Trouble chief,
A finish'd Piece of bold, inimitable Grief.
With Arguments she strove, but strove in vain,
Her swelling Tide of Passion to restrain.
For oh! how weak do Reason's Forces prove
Against soft Nature, and a Mother's Love?
The weeping Sisters did their Pain express,
Beauteous in Tears, and charming in Distress.
The spreading Woe did o'er the Crowd prevail,
All did with loud Laments the Youth bewail.
To Groans and Crys they form the ambient Air,
And to the Spheres convey their loud Despair.
What sad Distress, what lamentable Strains
Did vex the Mountains, and afflict the Plains?
Profusely all their Stock of Sorrow spend;
In Sighs and Tears for Victory contend.
From lavish Eyes immod'rate Treasures flow,
The mourning Train with Emulation show
Pride in Expence of Grief, and Vanity in Woe.
Lavish of of Tears, and eminent in Woe.
Nearest in Blood, she was in Trouble chief,
A finish'd Piece of bold, inimitable Grief.
245
Her swelling Tide of Passion to restrain.
For oh! how weak do Reason's Forces prove
Against soft Nature, and a Mother's Love?
The weeping Sisters did their Pain express,
Beauteous in Tears, and charming in Distress.
The spreading Woe did o'er the Crowd prevail,
All did with loud Laments the Youth bewail.
To Groans and Crys they form the ambient Air,
And to the Spheres convey their loud Despair.
What sad Distress, what lamentable Strains
Did vex the Mountains, and afflict the Plains?
Profusely all their Stock of Sorrow spend;
In Sighs and Tears for Victory contend.
From lavish Eyes immod'rate Treasures flow,
The mourning Train with Emulation show
Pride in Expence of Grief, and Vanity in Woe.
Soon as in Turn the next advancing Night
Had from the Air expell'd retreating Light:
The beauteous Hero from the Palace Gate
Was brought to be Interr'd in decent State.
A solemn Train of Mourners march'd, that wore
Long Sable Robes, and trembling Streamers bore.
Next Alban in a lofty Herse was born,
Which Milk-white Plumes did nodding high adorn.
His Helmet, Spurs, his Spear, and Sword, and Shield,
Arms which had done such Wonders in the Field,
But oh! no more shall do, in Order plac'd
The Hero's Herse with Martial Honour grac'd.
His num'rous Friends in noble Blood ally'd,
Or by the Father's, or the Mother's side,
A mournful Throng, who on the Herse did wait,
In part compos'd the Hero's Funeral State.
Thus to the Town rever'd from Alban's Name,
In solemn Pomp the sad Procession came.
Th'afflicted Train enter'd the Sacred Dome,
And plac'd the lovely Corps before the Tomb.
Then Fleetan, fam'd for Eloquence Divine,
And Heav'nly Piety, did thus begin.
Had from the Air expell'd retreating Light:
The beauteous Hero from the Palace Gate
Was brought to be Interr'd in decent State.
A solemn Train of Mourners march'd, that wore
Long Sable Robes, and trembling Streamers bore.
Next Alban in a lofty Herse was born,
Which Milk-white Plumes did nodding high adorn.
His Helmet, Spurs, his Spear, and Sword, and Shield,
Arms which had done such Wonders in the Field,
But oh! no more shall do, in Order plac'd
The Hero's Herse with Martial Honour grac'd.
246
Or by the Father's, or the Mother's side,
A mournful Throng, who on the Herse did wait,
In part compos'd the Hero's Funeral State.
Thus to the Town rever'd from Alban's Name,
In solemn Pomp the sad Procession came.
Th'afflicted Train enter'd the Sacred Dome,
And plac'd the lovely Corps before the Tomb.
Then Fleetan, fam'd for Eloquence Divine,
And Heav'nly Piety, did thus begin.
The num'rous Nations of the Earth obey,
Victorious Death! thy uncontested Sway.
Monarchs to thy resistless Pow'r submit;
They lay their Crowns and Scepters at thy Feet.
Bound to thy Chariot-Wheels, thou dragg'st along
In leaden Chains, of captive Chiefs a Throng,
To whom a Force superior to their own,
Till they had thine experienc'd, was unknown.
Thou passest thro' the Royal Guards, that wait
Before the timerous Tyrant's Palace Gate,
And stalk'st with horrid Grace thro' all his Rooms of State.
Let him be arm'd with sevenfold temper'd Steel,
Yet must his Veins thy fatal Arrow feel.
His subtile Wit, his wise, projecting Head
Turn'd for Intreagues of State, in Business bred,
By no Expedient can the Statesman save;
For who knows where to dig, to countermine the Grave?
Thou dost the Miser's proffer'd Gold disdain,
Scar'd and affrighted, he attempts in vain,
That thou may'st turn thy Steps from his Abode,
To melt thee with his Tears, and bribe thee with his God.
None e'er shall thy impartial Stroke decline,
What Judge has Ears so deaf, or Hands so clean as thine?
Victorious Death! thy uncontested Sway.
Monarchs to thy resistless Pow'r submit;
They lay their Crowns and Scepters at thy Feet.
Bound to thy Chariot-Wheels, thou dragg'st along
In leaden Chains, of captive Chiefs a Throng,
To whom a Force superior to their own,
Till they had thine experienc'd, was unknown.
Thou passest thro' the Royal Guards, that wait
Before the timerous Tyrant's Palace Gate,
And stalk'st with horrid Grace thro' all his Rooms of State.
Let him be arm'd with sevenfold temper'd Steel,
Yet must his Veins thy fatal Arrow feel.
His subtile Wit, his wise, projecting Head
Turn'd for Intreagues of State, in Business bred,
By no Expedient can the Statesman save;
For who knows where to dig, to countermine the Grave?
Thou dost the Miser's proffer'd Gold disdain,
Scar'd and affrighted, he attempts in vain,
247
To melt thee with his Tears, and bribe thee with his God.
None e'er shall thy impartial Stroke decline,
What Judge has Ears so deaf, or Hands so clean as thine?
With equal Kindness thy cold Arms embrace
All the Degrees of Adam's levell'd Race.
Monarchs disrob'd, unscepter'd, and uncrown'd,
Lie mingled with their Vassals under Ground.
All Ensigns of Distinction here are lost,
Who knows Imperial, from Ignoble Dust?
The Politician lays his crafty Head
Close by the Fool, in the same dusty Bed.
Nor does one Mark remain, to make it known
Which the Wise Man, and which the Fool did own.
Scholars no longer of their Wisdom proud
Mix their learn'd Ashes with th'unletter'd Crowd.
Prelates, who now no longer Distance keep,
With the poor Curate condescend to sleep.
No Dust of noble Rank insults the Base,
Or justles, in the quiet Tomb, for Place.
The Rich and Poor, the Master and the Slave,
Rest undistinguish'd in the friendly Grave.
The Footstool now is equal to the Throne,
No Ashes here superior Ashes own.
All the Degrees of Adam's levell'd Race.
Monarchs disrob'd, unscepter'd, and uncrown'd,
Lie mingled with their Vassals under Ground.
All Ensigns of Distinction here are lost,
Who knows Imperial, from Ignoble Dust?
The Politician lays his crafty Head
Close by the Fool, in the same dusty Bed.
Nor does one Mark remain, to make it known
Which the Wise Man, and which the Fool did own.
Scholars no longer of their Wisdom proud
Mix their learn'd Ashes with th'unletter'd Crowd.
Prelates, who now no longer Distance keep,
With the poor Curate condescend to sleep.
No Dust of noble Rank insults the Base,
Or justles, in the quiet Tomb, for Place.
The Rich and Poor, the Master and the Slave,
Rest undistinguish'd in the friendly Grave.
The Footstool now is equal to the Throne,
No Ashes here superior Ashes own.
Thou dost, O Death! a peaceful Harbour lie
Upon the Margin of Eternity;
Where the rough Waves of Time's impetuous Tide
Their Motion loose, and quietly subside.
Weary, they roll their drousy Heads asleep
At the dark Entrance of Duration's Deep.
Hither our Vessels in their Turn retreat,
Here still they find a safe, untroubled Seat,
When worn with adverse Passions, furious Strife,
And the hard Passage of tempestuous Life.
The Slaves of Life thou easest of their Chains,
Dost break their Prisons, and asswage their Pains.
Thou dost to Man unfeign'd Compassion show,
Sooth all his Grief, and solace all his Woe.
Thy Spiceries with noble Drugs abound,
That every Sickness cures, and every Wound.
That which anoints the Corps, will only prove
The sov'raign Balm our Anguish to remove.
The cooling Draught administer'd by thee,
O Death! from all our Suff'rings sets us free.
Impetuous Life is by thy Force subdu'd,
Life, the most lasting Fever of the Blood.
The Weary in thy Arms lie down to rest,
No more with Breath's laborious Task opprest.
Hear, how the Men that long Life-ridden lie
In constant Pain, for thy Assistance cry;
Hear, how they beg and pray for leave to Die.
Some miserable Creatures loath to wait,
Heart-sick of Life, and panting for their Fate;
Do thee, O Death! by guilty Force arrest,
And courting thy Approaches to their Breast,
Do from thy ling'ring Hand exhort the Dart,
And plunge it deep into their bleeding Heart:
Thus lancing home the Sore, they hope Relief,
Letting out Life, the Core of all their Pain and Grief.
Upon the Margin of Eternity;
Where the rough Waves of Time's impetuous Tide
Their Motion loose, and quietly subside.
248
At the dark Entrance of Duration's Deep.
Hither our Vessels in their Turn retreat,
Here still they find a safe, untroubled Seat,
When worn with adverse Passions, furious Strife,
And the hard Passage of tempestuous Life.
The Slaves of Life thou easest of their Chains,
Dost break their Prisons, and asswage their Pains.
Thou dost to Man unfeign'd Compassion show,
Sooth all his Grief, and solace all his Woe.
Thy Spiceries with noble Drugs abound,
That every Sickness cures, and every Wound.
That which anoints the Corps, will only prove
The sov'raign Balm our Anguish to remove.
The cooling Draught administer'd by thee,
O Death! from all our Suff'rings sets us free.
Impetuous Life is by thy Force subdu'd,
Life, the most lasting Fever of the Blood.
The Weary in thy Arms lie down to rest,
No more with Breath's laborious Task opprest.
Hear, how the Men that long Life-ridden lie
In constant Pain, for thy Assistance cry;
Hear, how they beg and pray for leave to Die.
Some miserable Creatures loath to wait,
Heart-sick of Life, and panting for their Fate;
Do thee, O Death! by guilty Force arrest,
And courting thy Approaches to their Breast,
Do from thy ling'ring Hand exhort the Dart,
And plunge it deep into their bleeding Heart:
249
Letting out Life, the Core of all their Pain and Grief.
Gen'rous Deliverer of oppress'd Mankind,
With whom the Sons of Woe a kind Reception find:
Tyrannick Life's poor Fugitives do cry
To thee for Ease, to thee for Safety fly.
For Vagabonds, that o'er the Country roam,
Forlorn, unpity'd, and without a Home,
Thy friendly Care provides a Lodging-Room.
The Comfortless, the Naked, and the Poor,
Much pinch'd with Cold, with grievous Hunger more,
Thy Subterranean Hospitals receive,
Asswage their Anguish, and their Wants relieve.
Cripples with Aches, and with Age opprest,
Crawl on their Crutches to the Grave, for Rest.
Exhausted Travellers, that have undergone
The scorching Heats of Life's intemp'rate Zone,
Hast for Refreshment to their Beds beneath,
And stretch themselves in the cool Shades of Death.
Poor Lab'rers, who their daily Task repeat,
Tir'd with their still returning Toil and Sweat,
Lie down at last, and at the wish'd-for Close
Of Life's long Day, enjoy a sweet Repose.
Wise Men to be deliver'd from the Crowd,
Tumultuous, restless, troublesome, and loud,
Would fain retire, and slip into the Tomb,
Would take among the Dead a private Room;
Where they might scape th'uneasy Noise and Strife,
The Uproar and Impertinence of Life.
Where no unwelcome Visitants intrude,
To interrupt their happy Solitude.
With whom the Sons of Woe a kind Reception find:
Tyrannick Life's poor Fugitives do cry
To thee for Ease, to thee for Safety fly.
For Vagabonds, that o'er the Country roam,
Forlorn, unpity'd, and without a Home,
Thy friendly Care provides a Lodging-Room.
The Comfortless, the Naked, and the Poor,
Much pinch'd with Cold, with grievous Hunger more,
Thy Subterranean Hospitals receive,
Asswage their Anguish, and their Wants relieve.
Cripples with Aches, and with Age opprest,
Crawl on their Crutches to the Grave, for Rest.
Exhausted Travellers, that have undergone
The scorching Heats of Life's intemp'rate Zone,
Hast for Refreshment to their Beds beneath,
And stretch themselves in the cool Shades of Death.
Poor Lab'rers, who their daily Task repeat,
Tir'd with their still returning Toil and Sweat,
Lie down at last, and at the wish'd-for Close
Of Life's long Day, enjoy a sweet Repose.
Wise Men to be deliver'd from the Crowd,
Tumultuous, restless, troublesome, and loud,
Would fain retire, and slip into the Tomb,
Would take among the Dead a private Room;
Where they might scape th'uneasy Noise and Strife,
The Uproar and Impertinence of Life.
250
To interrupt their happy Solitude.
Thy Realms, indulgent Death, have still possest
Profound Tranquility and unmolested Rest.
No raging Tempests, which the Living dread,
Beat on the silent Regions of the Dead.
They undisturb'd their peaceful Mansions keep,
And Earthquakes only rock them in their Sleep.
Here peevish Discontent no more complains,
Here Anguish sooth'd forbears her mournful Strains.
No cruel Tyrant's Racks, no wretched Slave
Howling in Torment, e'er molest the Grave.
The moving Tales of Woe are here unknown,
Pain speechless grows, and Grief forgets to moan.
Terror and Fear their Outcrys here decline,
And Care for ever ceases to repine.
No Suff'rers wring their Hands, or tear their Hair,
No bitter Execrations of Despair,
Ring thro' the Graves, and fright the Dwellers there.
Passions, which in the silent Tomb are pent,
Their Fierceness loose, and strive no more for Vent.
Profound Tranquility and unmolested Rest.
No raging Tempests, which the Living dread,
Beat on the silent Regions of the Dead.
They undisturb'd their peaceful Mansions keep,
And Earthquakes only rock them in their Sleep.
Here peevish Discontent no more complains,
Here Anguish sooth'd forbears her mournful Strains.
No cruel Tyrant's Racks, no wretched Slave
Howling in Torment, e'er molest the Grave.
The moving Tales of Woe are here unknown,
Pain speechless grows, and Grief forgets to moan.
Terror and Fear their Outcrys here decline,
And Care for ever ceases to repine.
No Suff'rers wring their Hands, or tear their Hair,
No bitter Execrations of Despair,
Ring thro' the Graves, and fright the Dwellers there.
Passions, which in the silent Tomb are pent,
Their Fierceness loose, and strive no more for Vent.
Thy Pow'r is only able to asswage,
O Death! the barb'rous Persecutor's Rage.
The fierce Destroyer can no longer rave,
Can sign no Bloody Orders in the Grave.
Proud Princes ne'er excite with War's Alarms,
Thy Subterranean Colonies to Arms.
They have no Troops or Treasure to expend,
O'er Frontier Realms their Conquest to extend.
There Insolence and Lust of Empire cease,
And leave the dead and living World in Peace.
Subjects distress'd, from her Compassion find,
Praise thee as Just, Beneficent, and Kind:
For when their haughty and aspiring Lord,
To gain new Conquest with his lawless Sword,
Their Veins has empty'd, and their Treasure spent;
Theirs and their Neighbours Ruin to prevent,
Thou dost arrest him at his Army's Head,
And to the dusty Prisons of the Dead,
The captive Tyrant dost in Triumph lead.
O Death! the barb'rous Persecutor's Rage.
The fierce Destroyer can no longer rave,
Can sign no Bloody Orders in the Grave.
Proud Princes ne'er excite with War's Alarms,
Thy Subterranean Colonies to Arms.
251
O'er Frontier Realms their Conquest to extend.
There Insolence and Lust of Empire cease,
And leave the dead and living World in Peace.
Subjects distress'd, from her Compassion find,
Praise thee as Just, Beneficent, and Kind:
For when their haughty and aspiring Lord,
To gain new Conquest with his lawless Sword,
Their Veins has empty'd, and their Treasure spent;
Theirs and their Neighbours Ruin to prevent,
Thou dost arrest him at his Army's Head,
And to the dusty Prisons of the Dead,
The captive Tyrant dost in Triumph lead.
Thou dost our Follies and our Faults detect,
And teachest Man his Errors to correct.
Thou dost restore our intellectual Light,
For when thy awful Form appears in Sight,
All Men grow Wise, and judge of Things aright.
Good Heav'ns, what just Impressions dost thou give?
How soon deluded Mortals undeceive?
This World, O Death! in thy just Ballance laid,
With all its Pomp and Pow'r is duly weigh'd.
Then disabus'd, its great Admirers see
Their Splendor, Wealth, and Pow'r, in Weight agree
With barren Clouds, and emty Vanity.
They see the Folly of their fruitless Care,
How short their Rest, how long their Labours are;
How false their flattering Joys, their Sorrows how sincere.
That Man may guilty Pleasure's Snare escape:
Thou dost expose her frightful native Shape;
Her Mask pull'd off, thou shew'st the fatal Harms,
The Ruin hid beneath her borrow'd Charms.
Thus suff'ring Human Nature to befriend,
Thou to the Woes and Errors put'st an End,
Which Men, in this their Mortal State attend.
But then, if we regard the gen'ral Doom,
Th'Immortal Life and State of Things to come;
Thou dost, to cause their Pleasure, or their Fear,
To diff'rent Men, in diff'rent Shapes appear.
And teachest Man his Errors to correct.
Thou dost restore our intellectual Light,
For when thy awful Form appears in Sight,
All Men grow Wise, and judge of Things aright.
Good Heav'ns, what just Impressions dost thou give?
How soon deluded Mortals undeceive?
This World, O Death! in thy just Ballance laid,
With all its Pomp and Pow'r is duly weigh'd.
Then disabus'd, its great Admirers see
Their Splendor, Wealth, and Pow'r, in Weight agree
With barren Clouds, and emty Vanity.
They see the Folly of their fruitless Care,
How short their Rest, how long their Labours are;
How false their flattering Joys, their Sorrows how sincere.
252
Thou dost expose her frightful native Shape;
Her Mask pull'd off, thou shew'st the fatal Harms,
The Ruin hid beneath her borrow'd Charms.
Thus suff'ring Human Nature to befriend,
Thou to the Woes and Errors put'st an End,
Which Men, in this their Mortal State attend.
But then, if we regard the gen'ral Doom,
Th'Immortal Life and State of Things to come;
Thou dost, to cause their Pleasure, or their Fear,
To diff'rent Men, in diff'rent Shapes appear.
Thou to th'Unjust the King of Terrors art,
For when thou brandishest thy Bloody Dart,
How cold a Damp strikes thro' their guilty Heart?
When thou dost aking Pain and Sickness send,
The Lictors which thy awful Court attend,
Some haughty Son of Violence to seize,
Pamper'd with Blood, and cloy'd with Wealth and Ease;
When at thy Bar arraign'd he lifts his Hand,
How does the conscious Malefactor stand?
How much distress'd, how wild the Wretch appears,
Grip'd with Remorse, and shiv'ring with his Fears?
But who can tell th'unsufferable Smart,
That wounds his Reins, and penetrates his Heart?
Who can a just and full Conception form,
Of his Amazement, of his inward Storm,
When he perceives he must resign his Breath,
Doom'd to the dark and dreadful Seats beneath;
Where he the Pangs of endless Death must bear,
And the fierce Insults of enrag'd Despair.
For when thou brandishest thy Bloody Dart,
How cold a Damp strikes thro' their guilty Heart?
When thou dost aking Pain and Sickness send,
The Lictors which thy awful Court attend,
Some haughty Son of Violence to seize,
Pamper'd with Blood, and cloy'd with Wealth and Ease;
When at thy Bar arraign'd he lifts his Hand,
How does the conscious Malefactor stand?
How much distress'd, how wild the Wretch appears,
Grip'd with Remorse, and shiv'ring with his Fears?
But who can tell th'unsufferable Smart,
That wounds his Reins, and penetrates his Heart?
Who can a just and full Conception form,
Of his Amazement, of his inward Storm,
When he perceives he must resign his Breath,
Doom'd to the dark and dreadful Seats beneath;
253
And the fierce Insults of enrag'd Despair.
But then the Just, the Pious, and the Pure
Suff'rers, to whom thy Mercy does procure
Ease from their Pain, and from their Labour Rest,
Will entertain thee as a welcome Guest.
Thou art a bless'd Deliverer to these,
And not a King of Terror, but of Peace.
Strangers, who thro' an unknown Region roam,
Embrace the Guide, that kindly leads them Home.
The Just and Good, Men of Cœlestial Race,
Weary of this inhospitable Place,
From their Confinement here, by thy kind Aid
Make their Escape, and are to Bliss convey'd.
Why should the Righteous with Reluctance go
From such a dismal Scene of Guilt and Woe?
From such a sad and tragick Theatre,
Where Salvage Men each other rend and tear.
Where Malice with Dissimulation mixt,
An odious Figure, her Abode has fixt.
Where Envy gnaws her meagre Limbs, and shakes
Turgid with Poison all her spotted Snakes.
Where Guilt and Fear do sad Companions dwell,
And mournful Sorrow has her lonesome Cell.
Where Avarice creates eternal Cares,
And Lust of Pow'r foments destructive Wars.
Where Bigottry and Persecution Rage,
And for Chimæras, Men in Blood engage.
Suff'rers, to whom thy Mercy does procure
Ease from their Pain, and from their Labour Rest,
Will entertain thee as a welcome Guest.
Thou art a bless'd Deliverer to these,
And not a King of Terror, but of Peace.
Strangers, who thro' an unknown Region roam,
Embrace the Guide, that kindly leads them Home.
The Just and Good, Men of Cœlestial Race,
Weary of this inhospitable Place,
From their Confinement here, by thy kind Aid
Make their Escape, and are to Bliss convey'd.
Why should the Righteous with Reluctance go
From such a dismal Scene of Guilt and Woe?
From such a sad and tragick Theatre,
Where Salvage Men each other rend and tear.
Where Malice with Dissimulation mixt,
An odious Figure, her Abode has fixt.
Where Envy gnaws her meagre Limbs, and shakes
Turgid with Poison all her spotted Snakes.
Where Guilt and Fear do sad Companions dwell,
And mournful Sorrow has her lonesome Cell.
Where Avarice creates eternal Cares,
And Lust of Pow'r foments destructive Wars.
Where Bigottry and Persecution Rage,
And for Chimæras, Men in Blood engage.
254
The God-like Voyagers, who steer for Heav'n,
By adverse Tides are back and forward driv'n,
Tost on the Billows of a treach'rous Sea,
They midst a thousand Dangers beat their way:
Where now the Storms, and now the Rocks they fear,
And where a hostile Crew of Men appear,
An Earth-born Race, to Spoil and Blood inclin'd,
The fiercest Creatures of the Monster-kind:
Who push'd by Malice, and Infernal Rage,
Against the Just and Good, their Force engage.
From all their Foes, the Voyagers to save,
Death, their kind Pilot, steers, them to the Grave:
The Haven which displays before their Sight,
The Golden Shores of everlasting Light:
Where landed, they with all their Wishes blest,
Cease to complain, and from their Suff'rings rest.
Ravish'd with Joys Divine, that still endure,
They now defy their Foes confed'rate Pow'r,
And reign from all Attempts of Earth, and Hell secure.
By adverse Tides are back and forward driv'n,
Tost on the Billows of a treach'rous Sea,
They midst a thousand Dangers beat their way:
Where now the Storms, and now the Rocks they fear,
And where a hostile Crew of Men appear,
An Earth-born Race, to Spoil and Blood inclin'd,
The fiercest Creatures of the Monster-kind:
Who push'd by Malice, and Infernal Rage,
Against the Just and Good, their Force engage.
From all their Foes, the Voyagers to save,
Death, their kind Pilot, steers, them to the Grave:
The Haven which displays before their Sight,
The Golden Shores of everlasting Light:
Where landed, they with all their Wishes blest,
Cease to complain, and from their Suff'rings rest.
Ravish'd with Joys Divine, that still endure,
They now defy their Foes confed'rate Pow'r,
And reign from all Attempts of Earth, and Hell secure.
Good Heav'n is pleas'd brave Alban to remove,
To those Cœlestial Seats of Light and Love.
This pious Hope, this Christian right Belief,
Should in due Bounds restrain your swelling Grief.
'Tis true, a noble Branch we justly mourn
From Vere's great Stock by Fate untimely torn.
This Hero blasted in the Blossom lies,
The lovely Flow'r, hard Fate! but blows, and dies.
Does its gay Honours to our Eyes display,
And while we praise its Beauty, sinks away.
Could Death by Wit or Features have been charm'd,
By Courage, like his Father's, been disarm'd;
Thy Son, O mighty Vere! had long been spar'd,
Long had these Rites, this Sorrow been defer'd.
But since to endless Bliss the Youth is gone,
Let us not mourn his Suff'rings, but our own.
Could we retrieve the Blessing we have lost,
We Alban should enjoy, at Alban's Cost.
He must descend from high Cœlestial Bliss,
From that bless'd World, to please his Friends in this.
He must Delights ineffable forego,
Leave Seats of Life, and Joy, for these of Guilt and Woe.
To those Cœlestial Seats of Light and Love.
This pious Hope, this Christian right Belief,
Should in due Bounds restrain your swelling Grief.
'Tis true, a noble Branch we justly mourn
From Vere's great Stock by Fate untimely torn.
This Hero blasted in the Blossom lies,
The lovely Flow'r, hard Fate! but blows, and dies.
Does its gay Honours to our Eyes display,
And while we praise its Beauty, sinks away.
255
By Courage, like his Father's, been disarm'd;
Thy Son, O mighty Vere! had long been spar'd,
Long had these Rites, this Sorrow been defer'd.
But since to endless Bliss the Youth is gone,
Let us not mourn his Suff'rings, but our own.
Could we retrieve the Blessing we have lost,
We Alban should enjoy, at Alban's Cost.
He must descend from high Cœlestial Bliss,
From that bless'd World, to please his Friends in this.
He must Delights ineffable forego,
Leave Seats of Life, and Joy, for these of Guilt and Woe.
He ceas'd; and in a Parian Sepulcher
The sad Attendants did the Youth Inter.
His troubled Friends to Vere's high Seat return'd,
Where her great Loss th'afflicted Mother mourn'd.
She to Advice inexorably deaf,
Despis'd the friendly Offers of Relief,
Determin'd in Despair, and obstinate in Grief.
Many sad Months the mournful Mother spent,
And did in Tears and Sighs her Passions vent.
And wonder 'tis, whence she receiv'd Supplies
To feed th'incessant Torrent of her Eyes.
At last reluctant Anguish did abate,
And Grief's high Deluge did in part retreat.
She did Eliza at her Court attend,
Who with concordant Woe, receiv'd her faithful Friend.
The sad Attendants did the Youth Inter.
His troubled Friends to Vere's high Seat return'd,
Where her great Loss th'afflicted Mother mourn'd.
She to Advice inexorably deaf,
Despis'd the friendly Offers of Relief,
Determin'd in Despair, and obstinate in Grief.
Many sad Months the mournful Mother spent,
And did in Tears and Sighs her Passions vent.
And wonder 'tis, whence she receiv'd Supplies
To feed th'incessant Torrent of her Eyes.
At last reluctant Anguish did abate,
And Grief's high Deluge did in part retreat.
She did Eliza at her Court attend,
Who with concordant Woe, receiv'd her faithful Friend.
256
Mean time in Belgia's Soil the mighty Vere,
To give the Spaniard Battel, did prepare.
Resolv'd his Course of Glory to pursue,
He on the Plains his valiant Cohorts drew,
And made his Army pass in long Review.
Then brandishing in Air his glitt'ring Lance,
He gave Command his Ensigns should advance.
The Britons great Alacrity did show,
Eager to seek, and to engage the Foe.
With Joy they quit the Camp, thy wond'ring Flood
O Legia! to distain with Spanish Blood.
Delightful Bruga with her lofty Head,
The Vale around, and winding Streams survey'd,
Where now th'Infernal Monarch anxious stood,
And with Angelick Ken the Region view'd.
Thence he the hateful British Host descry'd,
With haughty Grief, and discontented Pride.
A sullen Frown his troubled Brow possest,
Revenge and deadly Rage disturb'd his Breast.
And thus he spoke:—
To give the Spaniard Battel, did prepare.
Resolv'd his Course of Glory to pursue,
He on the Plains his valiant Cohorts drew,
And made his Army pass in long Review.
Then brandishing in Air his glitt'ring Lance,
He gave Command his Ensigns should advance.
The Britons great Alacrity did show,
Eager to seek, and to engage the Foe.
With Joy they quit the Camp, thy wond'ring Flood
O Legia! to distain with Spanish Blood.
Delightful Bruga with her lofty Head,
The Vale around, and winding Streams survey'd,
Where now th'Infernal Monarch anxious stood,
And with Angelick Ken the Region view'd.
Thence he the hateful British Host descry'd,
With haughty Grief, and discontented Pride.
A sullen Frown his troubled Brow possest,
Revenge and deadly Rage disturb'd his Breast.
And thus he spoke:—
Have proud Eliza's Captains on the Main
Vanquish'd the Fleet invincible of Spain?
Has she or sunk, or burnt, or run ashore
A greater Navy, than the Winds before
E'er shov'd along, or lab'ring Billows bore?
Has her Success disperss'd Britannia's Fears?
Curse on her Howards, Prestons, Frobishers.
Be Hawkins curss'd, and doubly curss'd be Drake,
Who with unheard-of Flames did such Destruction make.
Why did not we, ye mighty Pow'rs beneath,
Masters of Torment, Ministers of Death;
Why did not we, th'Iberian Fleet to save,
High in the Air our flaming Rivers lave?
Why did not we our Caves Infernal drain,
And Storms of Sulphur on the Briton rain?
O foul Dishonour! everlasting Shame!
Could Drake, poor Wight, in Stratagems of Flame,
Spirits of our Abilities excel,
Who long have practis'd Fire, and long convers'd with Hell?
How did that Drake compel our Friends to run
Thro' wild Jernian Gulphs, and horrid Seas unknown?
What Northern Land, what unfrequented Isle,
Has not been conscious of Iberian Toil?
What Shores not loaded with their scatter'd Spoil?
Ye Gods, who sit on Sable Thrones below,
Ye Pow'rs to whom unnumber'd Nations bow,
Shall we be Conquer'd by so mean a Foe?
Shall a proud Queen th'Apostate Sect sustain?
Eliza sink the Monarchy of Spain?
Shall she our Wise and Great Designs defeat?
Still her proud Triumphs at our Cost repeat?
Shall she th'Iberian with her Arms pursue?
And still uphold Batavia's Rebel Crew?
Does hateful Vere again their Army head?
Shall he the Britons to new Conquests lead?
Shall he return Victorious to his Isle,
Laden with Laurels, and Castilian Spoil?
Should the Iberian Host be overcome
By this invet'rate Foe to Hell and Rome,
Mine with the Spanish Empire must decline,
Rome must her Throne to Heresy resign.
No, the vain Chief at his Expence shall find,
Hell's Monarch grows not weaker, or more kind.
Tho' thou hast long escap'd, yet now thy Fate
Shall yield, O Vere, to my superior Hate.
I'll the proud Progress of the Victor stop,
Fell'd by my Hand, this lofty Oak shall drop,
Britannia's darling Pride, and vile Batavia's Hope.
Vanquish'd the Fleet invincible of Spain?
Has she or sunk, or burnt, or run ashore
A greater Navy, than the Winds before
E'er shov'd along, or lab'ring Billows bore?
Has her Success disperss'd Britannia's Fears?
Curse on her Howards, Prestons, Frobishers.
Be Hawkins curss'd, and doubly curss'd be Drake,
Who with unheard-of Flames did such Destruction make.
257
Masters of Torment, Ministers of Death;
Why did not we, th'Iberian Fleet to save,
High in the Air our flaming Rivers lave?
Why did not we our Caves Infernal drain,
And Storms of Sulphur on the Briton rain?
O foul Dishonour! everlasting Shame!
Could Drake, poor Wight, in Stratagems of Flame,
Spirits of our Abilities excel,
Who long have practis'd Fire, and long convers'd with Hell?
How did that Drake compel our Friends to run
Thro' wild Jernian Gulphs, and horrid Seas unknown?
What Northern Land, what unfrequented Isle,
Has not been conscious of Iberian Toil?
What Shores not loaded with their scatter'd Spoil?
Ye Gods, who sit on Sable Thrones below,
Ye Pow'rs to whom unnumber'd Nations bow,
Shall we be Conquer'd by so mean a Foe?
Shall a proud Queen th'Apostate Sect sustain?
Eliza sink the Monarchy of Spain?
Shall she our Wise and Great Designs defeat?
Still her proud Triumphs at our Cost repeat?
Shall she th'Iberian with her Arms pursue?
And still uphold Batavia's Rebel Crew?
Does hateful Vere again their Army head?
Shall he the Britons to new Conquests lead?
Shall he return Victorious to his Isle,
Laden with Laurels, and Castilian Spoil?
Should the Iberian Host be overcome
By this invet'rate Foe to Hell and Rome,
258
Rome must her Throne to Heresy resign.
No, the vain Chief at his Expence shall find,
Hell's Monarch grows not weaker, or more kind.
Tho' thou hast long escap'd, yet now thy Fate
Shall yield, O Vere, to my superior Hate.
I'll the proud Progress of the Victor stop,
Fell'd by my Hand, this lofty Oak shall drop,
Britannia's darling Pride, and vile Batavia's Hope.
Lopez in Poison skill'd, I will employ,
This Bulwark of Apostates to destroy.
His potent Drugs shall serve my Int'rest more
Than Mansfelt's Arms, and all Iberia's Pow'r.
This noble Genius ever well inclin'd,
By me for mighty Services design'd,
I form'd with Labour, and with Skill refin'd.
In Characters of Malice, Pride, and Fraud,
Stamp'd on his Mind, my Image I applaud.
All Dregs and Dross of Vertue purg'd away,
His perfect Wickedness knows no Allay:
His native, unsophisticated Vice,
Even rivals that, which has from Hell its Rise.
He unpolluted, has like us remain'd,
Unmix'd with Good, and with Remorse unstain'd.
To take off Vere, he'll be with ease engag'd,
Who is against him mortally enrag'd.
The Gen'ral with Displeasure has deny'd
To please his Avarice, and sooth his Pride.
Will not his great ambitious Suit espouse,
To be Controuler of Eliza's House:
Which to obtain, he came to Belgia's Shore,
Vere's Int'rest with Eliza to implore.
I sure shall gain him by a fair Reward,
Who by his Rage is for the Task prepar'd.
Vere once destroy'd, none can his Place supply,
Their Leader gone, the heartless Troops must fly.
This Bulwark of Apostates to destroy.
His potent Drugs shall serve my Int'rest more
Than Mansfelt's Arms, and all Iberia's Pow'r.
This noble Genius ever well inclin'd,
By me for mighty Services design'd,
I form'd with Labour, and with Skill refin'd.
In Characters of Malice, Pride, and Fraud,
Stamp'd on his Mind, my Image I applaud.
All Dregs and Dross of Vertue purg'd away,
His perfect Wickedness knows no Allay:
His native, unsophisticated Vice,
Even rivals that, which has from Hell its Rise.
He unpolluted, has like us remain'd,
Unmix'd with Good, and with Remorse unstain'd.
To take off Vere, he'll be with ease engag'd,
Who is against him mortally enrag'd.
The Gen'ral with Displeasure has deny'd
To please his Avarice, and sooth his Pride.
259
To be Controuler of Eliza's House:
Which to obtain, he came to Belgia's Shore,
Vere's Int'rest with Eliza to implore.
I sure shall gain him by a fair Reward,
Who by his Rage is for the Task prepar'd.
Vere once destroy'd, none can his Place supply,
Their Leader gone, the heartless Troops must fly.
He ceas'd. And at the tender Dawn of Day,
He with Angelick Swiftness cut his way,
Directly to the Tent where Lopez lay.
Lopez from fruitful Lusitania came,
And gain'd in Med'cine a superior Name,
But by inglorious Methods rais'd his Fame.
He to obtain th'Iberian Faction's Praise,
Did to a thousand mean and sordid Ways,
To base and ignominious Arts submit,
A Party-Doctor, and a Party-Wit.
The Meteor with an Air of Greatness shone,
In Equipage a Lord, but of Descent unknown.
He in Pretence the Faith Reform'd profess'd,
But in his Soul the Romanist caress'd,
And in that Cause he Zeal unfeign'd express'd.
For Britain's Church he drank, blasphem'd and swore,
Yet never enter'd once her Temple-Door,
But mock'd the canting Tribe, who there did Heav'n adore.
A Man of unrecorded Insolence,
Ill-manner'd, loose, and noisy without Sense.
Defaming all, in his own Praises loud,
Vain without Skill, and without Merit proud.
He with Contempt the greatest Subjects us'd,
And mad with Pride, e'en Kings and Queens abus'd.
Griping and False, two Qualities of Hell,
He would his Friend for Gold, for Gold his Country sell.
Yet so voluptuous, that great Lords in pain
Might call him from his Wine, but call in vain.
Of all Mankind he was distrustful grown,
Thinking their Aims and Passions like his own.
He on his Bolts and Bars, and Arms rely'd,
For wronging all, he could in none confide.
In Human Soul ne'er purer Malice dwelt,
None e'er so fierce Revenge, or Rage so heighten'd felt.
Of all the warring Passions in his Breast,
Lust of Dominion reign'd above the rest.
Hence did he ask Eliza to enrol
Him as the Chief, her Household to controul.
His arrogant Request the Queen refus'd;
But how enrag'd his Soveraign he abus'd?
With what Reflections did his perjur'd Tongue
Asperse her Servants, and her Conduct Wrong?
Bloated with Riot, Pride, Revenge, and Wine,
He and his Friends in lewd Debauches join,
To make the Queen, whose Reign Britannia blest,
The Drunkard's Song, and scoffing Traytor's Jest.
And yet he did, prodigious Madness! dare
To cross the Seas, and ask Illustrious Vere
To aid him, his Pretentions to support,
And recommend him to Eliza's Court.
Sagacious Vere admir'd his monst'rous Pride,
And with disdain th'immodest Suit deny'd.
He with Angelick Swiftness cut his way,
Directly to the Tent where Lopez lay.
Lopez from fruitful Lusitania came,
And gain'd in Med'cine a superior Name,
But by inglorious Methods rais'd his Fame.
He to obtain th'Iberian Faction's Praise,
Did to a thousand mean and sordid Ways,
To base and ignominious Arts submit,
A Party-Doctor, and a Party-Wit.
The Meteor with an Air of Greatness shone,
In Equipage a Lord, but of Descent unknown.
He in Pretence the Faith Reform'd profess'd,
But in his Soul the Romanist caress'd,
And in that Cause he Zeal unfeign'd express'd.
For Britain's Church he drank, blasphem'd and swore,
Yet never enter'd once her Temple-Door,
But mock'd the canting Tribe, who there did Heav'n adore.
A Man of unrecorded Insolence,
Ill-manner'd, loose, and noisy without Sense.
260
Vain without Skill, and without Merit proud.
He with Contempt the greatest Subjects us'd,
And mad with Pride, e'en Kings and Queens abus'd.
Griping and False, two Qualities of Hell,
He would his Friend for Gold, for Gold his Country sell.
Yet so voluptuous, that great Lords in pain
Might call him from his Wine, but call in vain.
Of all Mankind he was distrustful grown,
Thinking their Aims and Passions like his own.
He on his Bolts and Bars, and Arms rely'd,
For wronging all, he could in none confide.
In Human Soul ne'er purer Malice dwelt,
None e'er so fierce Revenge, or Rage so heighten'd felt.
Of all the warring Passions in his Breast,
Lust of Dominion reign'd above the rest.
Hence did he ask Eliza to enrol
Him as the Chief, her Household to controul.
His arrogant Request the Queen refus'd;
But how enrag'd his Soveraign he abus'd?
With what Reflections did his perjur'd Tongue
Asperse her Servants, and her Conduct Wrong?
Bloated with Riot, Pride, Revenge, and Wine,
He and his Friends in lewd Debauches join,
To make the Queen, whose Reign Britannia blest,
The Drunkard's Song, and scoffing Traytor's Jest.
And yet he did, prodigious Madness! dare
To cross the Seas, and ask Illustrious Vere
To aid him, his Pretentions to support,
And recommend him to Eliza's Court.
261
And with disdain th'immodest Suit deny'd.
Now Lopez, as his manner was, opprest
And gorg'd with Wine, was troubled in his Rest.
Panting, and snoring, and half choak'd he lay,
And labour'd with the Surfeit of the Day.
Satan did Campion's Form assume, and drest
His Body in a black, depending Vest;
And easy was the Change, he turn'd Ignatian Priest.
Ent'ring the Place, he with loud Accents spoke,
And scarce the Sleep profound of Lopez broke.
Of undigested Riot full, with Pain
He shook the Vapours from his cloudy Brain.
To Lopez thus disturb'd, and rows'd from Rest,
The fall'n Arch-Angel thus himself addrest.
And gorg'd with Wine, was troubled in his Rest.
Panting, and snoring, and half choak'd he lay,
And labour'd with the Surfeit of the Day.
Satan did Campion's Form assume, and drest
His Body in a black, depending Vest;
And easy was the Change, he turn'd Ignatian Priest.
Ent'ring the Place, he with loud Accents spoke,
And scarce the Sleep profound of Lopez broke.
Of undigested Riot full, with Pain
He shook the Vapours from his cloudy Brain.
To Lopez thus disturb'd, and rows'd from Rest,
The fall'n Arch-Angel thus himself addrest.
I am with speed arriv'd in Belgia's Soil,
An Envoy from our Friends in Albion's Isle,
Dear Lopez, to demand thy speedy Aid,
By which Britannia may be happy made.
You see, th'Apostates do the Seas command,
No less their Arms Victorious are by Land;
And how shall Spain dismay'd, their Force withstand?
If they advance their Ensigns with Success,
And by superior Force our Friends oppress,
These Regions from Iberia will be rent,
And Rome her ruin'd Votries must lament.
Calvinian Arms our Altars will assail,
Eliza's Force o'er Europe must prevail.
I from the Friends of Rome and Spain am sent,
To ask your Aid, their Ruin to prevent.
Would some brave Man remove this hateful Vere,
We should no more Eliza's Army fear.
If Vere were gone, the British Troops dismay'd,
Would cease to give the Rebel Belgians Aid.
Vere is the Soul, that does their Host inspire,
Teaches them Conduct, as he gives them Fire.
Enthusiasts in the Field they trust their Guide,
And for their Safety in his Arms confide.
They conquer by th'Opinion of their Chief,
The Strength of Armies is their own Belief.
Tho' in the Field he's still with Conquest crown'd,
Clandestine Arms may give the fatal Wound.
Some meritorious Hand should shed his Blood,
For Albion's Freedom, for the Church's Good.
Lopez, that bless'd, Religious Hand be thine;
Merit true Honour, and Applause Divine.
This Phiol take, no Indian Monarchs use
A Poison, which will surer Death produce.
These are the Arms our Holy Men employ,
The Church's great Oppressors to destroy.
By any Means we must our Faith defend,
All Means are just, that serve a pious End.
Intrepid Man, this noble Province chuse,
Remove the Gen'ral with this potent Juice.
Infect his Gloves, his Sadle, or his Chair,
Thou Lopez, and thy Fate shall conquer Vere.
An Envoy from our Friends in Albion's Isle,
Dear Lopez, to demand thy speedy Aid,
By which Britannia may be happy made.
You see, th'Apostates do the Seas command,
No less their Arms Victorious are by Land;
And how shall Spain dismay'd, their Force withstand?
If they advance their Ensigns with Success,
And by superior Force our Friends oppress,
These Regions from Iberia will be rent,
And Rome her ruin'd Votries must lament.
Calvinian Arms our Altars will assail,
Eliza's Force o'er Europe must prevail.
262
To ask your Aid, their Ruin to prevent.
Would some brave Man remove this hateful Vere,
We should no more Eliza's Army fear.
If Vere were gone, the British Troops dismay'd,
Would cease to give the Rebel Belgians Aid.
Vere is the Soul, that does their Host inspire,
Teaches them Conduct, as he gives them Fire.
Enthusiasts in the Field they trust their Guide,
And for their Safety in his Arms confide.
They conquer by th'Opinion of their Chief,
The Strength of Armies is their own Belief.
Tho' in the Field he's still with Conquest crown'd,
Clandestine Arms may give the fatal Wound.
Some meritorious Hand should shed his Blood,
For Albion's Freedom, for the Church's Good.
Lopez, that bless'd, Religious Hand be thine;
Merit true Honour, and Applause Divine.
This Phiol take, no Indian Monarchs use
A Poison, which will surer Death produce.
These are the Arms our Holy Men employ,
The Church's great Oppressors to destroy.
By any Means we must our Faith defend,
All Means are just, that serve a pious End.
Intrepid Man, this noble Province chuse,
Remove the Gen'ral with this potent Juice.
Infect his Gloves, his Sadle, or his Chair,
Thou Lopez, and thy Fate shall conquer Vere.
263
He ceas'd. And of his borrow'd Form undrest,
Swift and unseen he enter'd Lopez Breast,
And all his Vitals, all his Veins possest.
Lopez enrag'd, and leaping from his Bed,
Rub'd with his Hand, his wild, distemper'd Head.
And hot with Hell, and unconcocted Wine,
He eagerly embrac'd the black Design.
He did resolve to show without Debate,
To Vere, and to his House Immortal Hate.
Infernal Rage, Revenge, excess of Wine,
To turn his Brain, their Forces did combine.
Thwarted Ambition, disappointed Pride
O'er his lost Reason, did in Triumph ride.
His Friends before did in proud Lopez see
Convincing Marks of growing Lunacy,
More than suspected now he did appear,
The Lunatick was finish'd, and sincere.
The raving Man, in whose distracted Brain,
No Tracks of sober Reason did remain,
Ran to the Host, and mingling with the Crowd,
He held his Phiol up, and cry'd aloud,
Where is the hated Vere, Vere I demand,
His certain Fate I carry in my Hand.
This Glass contains Britannia's Liberty,
This Rome restores, this sets Europa free.
O Rome! I'll give thee universal Sway,
I'll make the subject World thy Will obey.
Fear not, O Rome! I Nature can controul;
Thy Empire I'll extend from Pole to Pole.
I'll on the Necks of captive Heros tread,
Will Chiefs in Chains, and Kings in Fetters lead.
Proud Monarchs I have made my Leisure wait,
I'm more than Man, my Due is God-like State.
Heav'ns! shall the odious Family of Vere
Not pay me Worship, nor my Int'rest fear?
Death! Hell! shall that curss'd House employ their Force,
To sink my Fame, and stop my Glory's Course?
No, Britons, see I've in this Glass prepar'd,
For Vere's Affronts to me, a just Reward.
Britons, prepare, Madmen, make hast to fly,
Your impious Chief shall by this Poison die.
Swift and unseen he enter'd Lopez Breast,
And all his Vitals, all his Veins possest.
Lopez enrag'd, and leaping from his Bed,
Rub'd with his Hand, his wild, distemper'd Head.
And hot with Hell, and unconcocted Wine,
He eagerly embrac'd the black Design.
He did resolve to show without Debate,
To Vere, and to his House Immortal Hate.
Infernal Rage, Revenge, excess of Wine,
To turn his Brain, their Forces did combine.
Thwarted Ambition, disappointed Pride
O'er his lost Reason, did in Triumph ride.
His Friends before did in proud Lopez see
Convincing Marks of growing Lunacy,
More than suspected now he did appear,
The Lunatick was finish'd, and sincere.
The raving Man, in whose distracted Brain,
No Tracks of sober Reason did remain,
Ran to the Host, and mingling with the Crowd,
He held his Phiol up, and cry'd aloud,
Where is the hated Vere, Vere I demand,
His certain Fate I carry in my Hand.
This Glass contains Britannia's Liberty,
This Rome restores, this sets Europa free.
O Rome! I'll give thee universal Sway,
I'll make the subject World thy Will obey.
Fear not, O Rome! I Nature can controul;
Thy Empire I'll extend from Pole to Pole.
264
Will Chiefs in Chains, and Kings in Fetters lead.
Proud Monarchs I have made my Leisure wait,
I'm more than Man, my Due is God-like State.
Heav'ns! shall the odious Family of Vere
Not pay me Worship, nor my Int'rest fear?
Death! Hell! shall that curss'd House employ their Force,
To sink my Fame, and stop my Glory's Course?
No, Britons, see I've in this Glass prepar'd,
For Vere's Affronts to me, a just Reward.
Britons, prepare, Madmen, make hast to fly,
Your impious Chief shall by this Poison die.
Thus Lopez rav'd, and by his Looks betray'd
The Symptoms of a craz'd and ruin'd Head.
His dangerous Speech the Britons could not bear,
But seiz'd, and sent him to Laurentio's Care.
Laurentio had in Med'cine upper Fame,
Yet wanted Skill the Lunatick to tame.
He kept him dark, and shav'd his Head in vain,
No Hellebore could e'er restore his Brain.
Drugs rarely Help can to that Madness bring,
Which does from Pride, and cross'd Ambition spring.
Satan did haughty Lopez over-strain,
Heated too much, too much inspir'd his Brain:
He ruin'd thus the Agent he employ'd,
And by immod'rate Zeal, his own curss'd Plot destroy'd.
The Symptoms of a craz'd and ruin'd Head.
His dangerous Speech the Britons could not bear,
But seiz'd, and sent him to Laurentio's Care.
Laurentio had in Med'cine upper Fame,
Yet wanted Skill the Lunatick to tame.
He kept him dark, and shav'd his Head in vain,
No Hellebore could e'er restore his Brain.
Drugs rarely Help can to that Madness bring,
Which does from Pride, and cross'd Ambition spring.
Satan did haughty Lopez over-strain,
Heated too much, too much inspir'd his Brain:
He ruin'd thus the Agent he employ'd,
And by immod'rate Zeal, his own curss'd Plot destroy'd.
Great Vere pursu'd his March along the Plain,
Impatient to engage th'Host of Spain.
Soon with his Britons he advanc'd so near,
That Spain's Brigades did in their Sight appear.
Where Deynsa's Fields their flow'ry Wealth display,
And winding Legia does its Flood convey,
In a strong Camp th'Iberian Army lay.
Few Days had pass'd, since Albert, Austria's Lord,
Whose valiant Deeds Iberian Bards record,
Had with his Cohorts those of Mansfelt join'd,
And form'd a mighty Host of both combin'd.
Here Albert, so King Philip did command,
Resolv'd the Britons Progress to withstand;
Who onward march'd with martial Rage inspir'd,
And eager of the Fight, the Foe requir'd.
Impatient to engage th'Host of Spain.
265
That Spain's Brigades did in their Sight appear.
Where Deynsa's Fields their flow'ry Wealth display,
And winding Legia does its Flood convey,
In a strong Camp th'Iberian Army lay.
Few Days had pass'd, since Albert, Austria's Lord,
Whose valiant Deeds Iberian Bards record,
Had with his Cohorts those of Mansfelt join'd,
And form'd a mighty Host of both combin'd.
Here Albert, so King Philip did command,
Resolv'd the Britons Progress to withstand;
Who onward march'd with martial Rage inspir'd,
And eager of the Fight, the Foe requir'd.
Now, Muse, record the Heros, who from far
Came with fam'd Albert to the Belgian War.
From all the Kingdoms thro' Iberia spread,
Obedient now to one Imperial Head.
From all the Realms, that own the Pow'r of Spain,
Or on th'Etruscan, or the Adrian Main.
Noble Mendoza, an Illustrious Name,
His Birth procur'd him Wealth, his Valour Fame,
Who in th'Italian Wars with Honour fought,
His Vet'ran Squadrons from the Region brought,
Where Arragonian Hills sublime arise,
Familiar with the Clouds, and conscious of the Skies.
Came with fam'd Albert to the Belgian War.
From all the Kingdoms thro' Iberia spread,
Obedient now to one Imperial Head.
From all the Realms, that own the Pow'r of Spain,
Or on th'Etruscan, or the Adrian Main.
Noble Mendoza, an Illustrious Name,
His Birth procur'd him Wealth, his Valour Fame,
Who in th'Italian Wars with Honour fought,
His Vet'ran Squadrons from the Region brought,
Where Arragonian Hills sublime arise,
Familiar with the Clouds, and conscious of the Skies.
Velasco was a Chief of high Renown,
For his great Deeds thro' all Europa known:
Whose swelling Veins a Current did distend,
Which did from proud Castilian Kings descend.
He rais'd his Troops where fam'd Iberus flows,
And verdant Pleasures on the Soil bestows.
Brave Gomez brought his Men, whom warm desire
Of Fame, for great Atchievements did inspire,
From high Madrita, and the Soil around,
With Cities cover'd, and with Plenty crown'd.
For his great Deeds thro' all Europa known:
266
Which did from proud Castilian Kings descend.
He rais'd his Troops where fam'd Iberus flows,
And verdant Pleasures on the Soil bestows.
Brave Gomez brought his Men, whom warm desire
Of Fame, for great Atchievements did inspire,
From high Madrita, and the Soil around,
With Cities cover'd, and with Plenty crown'd.
Vergas, a Chief in Cruelty and Pride,
As well as Consanguinity ally'd
To Alva's Duke, whose persecuting Rage
No Spoils, no Deaths, no Ruin could asswage;
To suff'ring Belgia's Sons, a hateful Name,
With his fierce Cohorts from Valentia came:
Inspir'd by Hell, he deeply had embru'd
His barb'rous Hands in Belgia's guiltless Blood.
With Fraud and Force he labour'd to support
Rome's new-erected Inquisition-Court;
A dreadful Source of Violence and Blood,
Which with a purple Sea the Nations over-flow'd.
As well as Consanguinity ally'd
To Alva's Duke, whose persecuting Rage
No Spoils, no Deaths, no Ruin could asswage;
To suff'ring Belgia's Sons, a hateful Name,
With his fierce Cohorts from Valentia came:
Inspir'd by Hell, he deeply had embru'd
His barb'rous Hands in Belgia's guiltless Blood.
With Fraud and Force he labour'd to support
Rome's new-erected Inquisition-Court;
A dreadful Source of Violence and Blood,
Which with a purple Sea the Nations over-flow'd.
The mighty Gusman, terrible to Sight,
Fear'd for his pond'rous Arms and Strength in Fight;
Himself a War, from Catalonia's Land
Brought to the Belgick Plains his War-like Band.
Queveda nobly born, a Murcian Lord,
As well for Letters fam'd, as for the Sword,
Rais'd his Battalions in the fruitful Soil,
Where Cinga flows, and Julian Farmers toil;
Which near the Perenean Mountains lies,
Whose Snowy Heads above the Clouds arise,
And keep eternal Winter in the Skies.
Fierce Oran, whom bless'd Martyrs Blood did stain
More than his Enemies in Battel slain,
Left Tambre, and the Legendary Lands,
Where superstitious Compostella stands.
Fear'd for his pond'rous Arms and Strength in Fight;
Himself a War, from Catalonia's Land
Brought to the Belgick Plains his War-like Band.
Queveda nobly born, a Murcian Lord,
As well for Letters fam'd, as for the Sword,
Rais'd his Battalions in the fruitful Soil,
Where Cinga flows, and Julian Farmers toil;
267
Whose Snowy Heads above the Clouds arise,
And keep eternal Winter in the Skies.
Fierce Oran, whom bless'd Martyrs Blood did stain
More than his Enemies in Battel slain,
Left Tambre, and the Legendary Lands,
Where superstitious Compostella stands.
Guarda, a Gen'ral long to Camps innur'd,
Who by his Conduct had great Fame procur'd,
Follow'd in Arms Imperial Charles, to gain
The Art of War, and on Pavia's Plain
Immortal Honour by his Valour got;
His stout Battalions from the Country brought,
Where Ana dips her Silver Streams, and laves
Metallick Beds with Subterranean Waves.
Great Montezuma, by the Mother's side
To the Peruvian Monarchy ally'd,
Who had himself King Philip's Viceroy, sway'd
The Indian World, that Spain's Command obey'd.
A Gen'ral was of universal Fame,
Brave were his Deeds, unblemish'd was his Name.
For in his Veins the gentle Indian Blood
Temper'd the Spanish, and its Rage subdu'd.
He brought his Valiant Squadrons from the Coast,
On which the loud Cantabrian Waves are tost.
Who by his Conduct had great Fame procur'd,
Follow'd in Arms Imperial Charles, to gain
The Art of War, and on Pavia's Plain
Immortal Honour by his Valour got;
His stout Battalions from the Country brought,
Where Ana dips her Silver Streams, and laves
Metallick Beds with Subterranean Waves.
Great Montezuma, by the Mother's side
To the Peruvian Monarchy ally'd,
Who had himself King Philip's Viceroy, sway'd
The Indian World, that Spain's Command obey'd.
A Gen'ral was of universal Fame,
Brave were his Deeds, unblemish'd was his Name.
For in his Veins the gentle Indian Blood
Temper'd the Spanish, and its Rage subdu'd.
He brought his Valiant Squadrons from the Coast,
On which the loud Cantabrian Waves are tost.
Many Great Chiefs from fair Ausonia's Soil,
And from the Towns of fam'd Sicilia's Isle,
From all the Realms, that Spanish Laws obey'd,
To Belgia's Fields their num'rous Cohorts led;
Rome's bloody Inquisition to maintain,
And fix the dreadful Tyranny of Spain.
Farneze, whose Arms had envy'd Honour got,
To Belgia's Plains Lombardia's Warriors brought;
Where Oglia's Stream, and thine, fair Adda, flow,
Who dress'd Milano's Vine, and drank the Po.
And from the Towns of fam'd Sicilia's Isle,
268
To Belgia's Fields their num'rous Cohorts led;
Rome's bloody Inquisition to maintain,
And fix the dreadful Tyranny of Spain.
Farneze, whose Arms had envy'd Honour got,
To Belgia's Plains Lombardia's Warriors brought;
Where Oglia's Stream, and thine, fair Adda, flow,
Who dress'd Milano's Vine, and drank the Po.
Valiant Gonzaga, of a noble House,
Who did with Ardor Spain and Rome espouse,
Led the brave Youth of fair Campania's Soil
To Martial Hazard, and destructive Toil,
From the rich Lands, which Capua's Tow'r obey,
And which thy Domes, Parthenope, survey:
From the bless'd Soil where Baiæ once did stand,
A beauteous City, now a heap of Sand:
Where Marks Magnificent are still descry'd
Of Roman Glory, and of ruin'd Pride:
To give the Soil Immortal Fame, conspire
The Sybil's Fury, and the Mantuan's Fire.
The wond'rous Poet does its Honour raise,
By his dead Ashes, and his living Lays.
Este, a famous Chief, allur'd with Hopes
Of Belgia's noble Spoil, to form his Troops,
Enroll'd the Youth around the Massick Hill,
Who drink Vulturnus, and Falernum till;
Whose Cœlebrated Vine did once inspire
Rome's War-like Youth, and rais'd their native Fire,
And warm'd her Poets in Immortal Lays
To sing her Triumphs, and record her Praise.
Romera rais'd to Honour by his Sword,
To win the Favour of his Spanish Lord,
Brought his Battalions from Otranto's Land,
Which once the Bruttian Princes did command;
From all the Coasts and Towns Marine, that lay
On the Lametian, or Tarentine Bay:
From all the Cities which adorn the Shores,
Where turbid Adria's breaking Billow roars:
From rich Lucania's celebrated Land,
From fam'd Salerno's, and Brundusio's Strand.
Who did with Ardor Spain and Rome espouse,
Led the brave Youth of fair Campania's Soil
To Martial Hazard, and destructive Toil,
From the rich Lands, which Capua's Tow'r obey,
And which thy Domes, Parthenope, survey:
From the bless'd Soil where Baiæ once did stand,
A beauteous City, now a heap of Sand:
Where Marks Magnificent are still descry'd
Of Roman Glory, and of ruin'd Pride:
To give the Soil Immortal Fame, conspire
The Sybil's Fury, and the Mantuan's Fire.
The wond'rous Poet does its Honour raise,
By his dead Ashes, and his living Lays.
Este, a famous Chief, allur'd with Hopes
Of Belgia's noble Spoil, to form his Troops,
Enroll'd the Youth around the Massick Hill,
Who drink Vulturnus, and Falernum till;
Whose Cœlebrated Vine did once inspire
Rome's War-like Youth, and rais'd their native Fire,
269
To sing her Triumphs, and record her Praise.
Romera rais'd to Honour by his Sword,
To win the Favour of his Spanish Lord,
Brought his Battalions from Otranto's Land,
Which once the Bruttian Princes did command;
From all the Coasts and Towns Marine, that lay
On the Lametian, or Tarentine Bay:
From all the Cities which adorn the Shores,
Where turbid Adria's breaking Billow roars:
From rich Lucania's celebrated Land,
From fam'd Salerno's, and Brundusio's Strand.
Lerma, the Viceroy of Sicilia's Isle,
Brought his fierce Cohorts from the fab'lous Soil,
Where Mountains shake, as ancient Poets sing,
And Vallies with Cyclopian Anvils ring.
From fair Messina, and Palermo's Town,
And from the charming Banks of Helicon,
Whose Youth are said, with great Applause to wield
The Warriors Arms, or sing the glorious Field.
Xerxes could scarce so many Nations boast,
When he to Thracian Bosphorus march'd his Host;
And led all Asia forth to War and Spoil,
To crush the envy'd States of Grecia's Soil.
Brought his fierce Cohorts from the fab'lous Soil,
Where Mountains shake, as ancient Poets sing,
And Vallies with Cyclopian Anvils ring.
From fair Messina, and Palermo's Town,
And from the charming Banks of Helicon,
Whose Youth are said, with great Applause to wield
The Warriors Arms, or sing the glorious Field.
Xerxes could scarce so many Nations boast,
When he to Thracian Bosphorus march'd his Host;
And led all Asia forth to War and Spoil,
To crush the envy'd States of Grecia's Soil.
Before the Warriors left the Realms of Spain,
They their chief Saints propitious Aid to gain,
In low Prostration at their Altars pray'd,
From Church to Church devout Procession made.
Then march'd with Reliques arm'd, whose potent Charms
Might guard their Persons from invading Harms;
Ecclesiastick Armor, by the Priest
Directed, Death and Danger to resist.
In silken Bags their Bodies to defend,
They the strong Spells did on their Breasts suspend.
One had Ambrosio's Tooth of wond'rous Pow'r,
One Dominick's Toe, one Bridget's Finger wore.
This had a Bone of Saint Francisco's Heel,
A sure Defence against the sharpest Steel.
This kept a Wart, that grew on Andrew's Hand,
Of mighty Force, ev'n Cannon to withstand.
Some pieces had of Vincent's stiffen'd Blood,
Which all the Pow'r of missive Fires withstood,
It was for Battel, Storms, and Fevers, good.
Durango's Bosom held two precious Hairs
Of Anchorite Jerome's Beard, to guard his Fears.
The Warrior once had three, but one he gave
At Gana's Pray'r, brave Gana's Life to save.
This famous Relique, so 'twas said, was found
A present Cure for the most dang'rous Wound.
Pastrana's guarded Bosom did contain
Some pow'rful Filings of Saint Peter's Chain;
Iron on which the Chief did more depend,
Than on the Steel, which did his Limbs defend.
But those believ'd themselves the most secure,
Who of the Sacred Wood some Fragment bore.
The Priests, the People's Treasure to engross,
Not only sold the Merit, but the Cross:
By that the guilty Consciences are charm'd,
By this the Body is from Danger arm'd.
They their chief Saints propitious Aid to gain,
In low Prostration at their Altars pray'd,
From Church to Church devout Procession made.
270
Might guard their Persons from invading Harms;
Ecclesiastick Armor, by the Priest
Directed, Death and Danger to resist.
In silken Bags their Bodies to defend,
They the strong Spells did on their Breasts suspend.
One had Ambrosio's Tooth of wond'rous Pow'r,
One Dominick's Toe, one Bridget's Finger wore.
This had a Bone of Saint Francisco's Heel,
A sure Defence against the sharpest Steel.
This kept a Wart, that grew on Andrew's Hand,
Of mighty Force, ev'n Cannon to withstand.
Some pieces had of Vincent's stiffen'd Blood,
Which all the Pow'r of missive Fires withstood,
It was for Battel, Storms, and Fevers, good.
Durango's Bosom held two precious Hairs
Of Anchorite Jerome's Beard, to guard his Fears.
The Warrior once had three, but one he gave
At Gana's Pray'r, brave Gana's Life to save.
This famous Relique, so 'twas said, was found
A present Cure for the most dang'rous Wound.
Pastrana's guarded Bosom did contain
Some pow'rful Filings of Saint Peter's Chain;
Iron on which the Chief did more depend,
Than on the Steel, which did his Limbs defend.
But those believ'd themselves the most secure,
Who of the Sacred Wood some Fragment bore.
The Priests, the People's Treasure to engross,
Not only sold the Merit, but the Cross:
271
By this the Body is from Danger arm'd.
But that resistless Aid might be procur'd,
And Conquest o'er the British Host assur'd,
From his high Shrine in Compostella's Dome,
Whose Fables vie with thine, unblushing Rome!
They took Saint Jago with Devotion down,
The great Protector, whom th'Iberians own.
Much Cost upon the Image they bestow'd,
And beautify'd with Gold, the Tutelary Wood.
Then on a high Triumphal Chariot born,
Which Paint, and gilded Carving did adorn,
Eight noble Steeds with Trappings richly lac'd,
With plated Harness, and Gold Tassels grac'd,
Around the Towns th'auspicious Timber drew,
Which Praises from th'adoring Crowd pursue.
And Conquest o'er the British Host assur'd,
From his high Shrine in Compostella's Dome,
Whose Fables vie with thine, unblushing Rome!
They took Saint Jago with Devotion down,
The great Protector, whom th'Iberians own.
Much Cost upon the Image they bestow'd,
And beautify'd with Gold, the Tutelary Wood.
Then on a high Triumphal Chariot born,
Which Paint, and gilded Carving did adorn,
Eight noble Steeds with Trappings richly lac'd,
With plated Harness, and Gold Tassels grac'd,
Around the Towns th'auspicious Timber drew,
Which Praises from th'adoring Crowd pursue.
Then on their March the Spaniards did proceed,
To bloody Labour by their Gen'ral led:
Till their Brigades had Mansfelt's Forces join'd,
And form'd the mighty Army, they design'd.
To the fair Banks of Legia's famous Stream,
Albert's and Mansfelt's Troops united came.
Here they a Camp by Nature strong possest,
Resolv'd the Britons Progress to arrest.
To bloody Labour by their Gen'ral led:
Till their Brigades had Mansfelt's Forces join'd,
And form'd the mighty Army, they design'd.
To the fair Banks of Legia's famous Stream,
Albert's and Mansfelt's Troops united came.
Here they a Camp by Nature strong possest,
Resolv'd the Britons Progress to arrest.
The End of the Ninth Book.
| Eliza | |