The Second Punick War Between Hannibal, and the Romanes ::

The Second Punick War Between Hannibal, and the Romanes

The whole Seventeen Books, Englished from the Latine of Silius Italicus: with A Continuation from the Triumph of Scipio, To the Death of Hannibal. By Tho: Ross

Ross, Thomas

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[Could Hannibal, and Scipio, in whom]

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TO THE KING.

Martial. ad Silium; Lib. 4. Epigr. 14.

SILIUS ITALICUS OF The Second Punick VVar.

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The Seventeenth Book.

A CONTINUATION OF SILIUS ITALICUS TO The Death of HANNIBAL, In Three BOOKS

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A Continuation of SILIUS ITALICUS To the Death of HANNIBAL

The First Book.

The Second Book.

The Third Book.

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A Continuation of SILIUS ITALICUS To the Death of HANNIBAL

The First Book.

The Argument.

The Romane Piety, and Zeal to pay
(At Scipio's Return) the Vows, which they
In War had made. King Syphax Captive dies
By voluntary Famine. The sad Cries
Of Carthaginian Dames. Their Citie's quite
Disarmd. Imilce's parting Tears. By Night,
Great Hannibal his Treach'rous Country flies;
Sails to Cercinna: and, in Sacrifice,
A Day consumes. Fearing to be betray'd;
Those, whom he doubts, by Wine asleep are lay'd.

Now had great Scipio brought his Trophies Home,
And with loud Triumphs fill'd the Streets of Rome:
The People to their num'rous Altars bring
Their pleasing Off'rings, and glad Pæans sing.
Such Store of Sweets, in ev'ry Temple smoak;
As if not Libya onely felt the Yoak
Of this great Conquest: but Arabia there
Her Tribute gave, and the Sabæans were

Their Vassals. Or, as if to Prophesie,
That all the World, in Time to come, should be
By them subdu'd, and Rome, Triumphant, stand
The wealthy Store-house of each conquer'd Land;
Bulls, that with Snow, for Whiteness, might contend,
Wash'd in Clitumnus sacred Streams, ascend
The Capitol: their curled Foreheads Crown'd
With flowry Wreaths, their Horns with Fillets bound.

These all in solemn Order, round the Hill
Thrice, slowly, lead: the Joyful People fill
The trembling Air with Shouts: then enter, while
The Gods seem pleas'd, and in their Statues smile;
Pleas'd, that Devotion with Success they see
So duely mix'd, and grateful Piety
To pay those holy Vows, which first arose
From Fears of Ruin, and insulting Foes.
First, to the Queen of Gods, a Purple Vest,
Whose rich Embroid'ry all the Art exprest
Of the Sidonian Dames, and then a Crown
Of Gold, which, hapless Syphax overthrown,
His Sophonisba wore, the Matrons bring;
And, Off'ring at her Shrine, thus, Pious, sing.

Sister, and Wife of Jove, Celestial Queen,
Whom we, so long, so full of Wrath have seen;
That Rome, almost despairing of her Fate,
Saw these her Walls besieg'd; let not thy Hate
To Trojan Blood still prompt Thee to despise
Our Piety: but, with serener Eyes,
Behold Us now, and hear Us, when We pray,
And our Oblations on thine Altars lay.
Why should thy Love to Libya still enflame
Thy Rage 'gainst Us, who from Æneas came?
Let it suffice: We, to this very Time,
Have expiated, with our Blood, that Crime

Of Paris. Oh! believe him now to be
In Us, repenting his Disdain of Thee.
Be then appeas'd! thy Mercy will no less,
Then doth thy Power, thy Deity confess:
And, if at length, with other Gods, and Fate
Thou wilt comply, to bless the Romane State;
As Thou on the Supreamest Throne above
The Heav'ns art seated: so, here, next to Jove,
Thou shalt be worshipp'd, and the World shall come
To bring their Off'rings unto Thee at Rome.

The Flamen, while they thus invoke, his Hands
Display'd to Heav'n, at Jove's high Altar stands,
And thus exhorts. Oh! may We ever see
Religion thus to Crown thy Victory,
(Quirinus Progeny) these Pious Charms
(Oh Rome) will force the Gods to bless thine Arms.
Then, O, then, let thy Piety encrease,
As now, when War is ended, and thy Peace
Confirm: Impiety alone the Fates
Provokes, and flingeth open Janus Gates.
This said: an hundred Bulls at once are slain,
Which, with their Blood, an hundred Altars stain.
Their Entrails all, enquir'd for what's to come,
Promise a lasting Happiness to Rome:
That She the Head of all the World should stand,
And next to Jove the Universe command.
The Gods thus serv'd; they all begin to Feast,
And in their costly Banquets spend the rest
O'th' Day. The Senate seated are alone,
And to great Scipio's Honour, one by one,
A stately Goblet quaff of Massick Wine.
His Cheeks, mean while, with modest Blushes shine;
As if they'd Fire the Laurel on his Brow,
Unwilling those Just Praises to allow.

So, in the Gyants War, when Heav'n again
Was free from Fear, and mighty Typhon slain,
To Mirth themselves the Gods dispos'd, and, round
The Tables, Hebè with Nepenthè crown'd
Their Cups: while all Apollo's Skill proclaim,
Commend his Bow, his Shafts, and certain Aim,
By which the Gyants fell; when they upon
The Stars had seiz'd, and Jove's Celestial Throne
Almost possess'd. But, back again to Hell,
Struck with these Heav'nly Arms, the Rebels fell.

The solemn Day thus spent: the Night succeeds,
Inviting all to Rest. While Syphax bleeds
Within: the Trumpet, which their Triumphs sounds,
Grates on his Ears, strikes to his Heart, and wounds
His very Soul. Sometimes, He thinks upon
His former State, when, sitting on a Throne
Of Native Ivory, He did command
Those Nations, which the Æthiopian Land,
And Nasamon confines, with those, that by
The Carthaginian Bounds, and Hammon ly;
With all, that South-ward dwell near Nile, and those,
Where the Herculean Sea 'gainst Calpè throws
Its foaming Waves: when he could summon, to
The War, whole Myriads of Horsemen, who
On naked Steeds did ride, and gave them Law:
And between Rome, and Carthage when he saw
The World disputed was, that He had been
The Umpire of their Quarrel, and had seen
Them both his Friendship seek, until his Flame
Of Love the Ruin of his Throne became.
Sad with these Thoughts, that, in his troubled Breast,
Swell like a raging Tempest, and all Rest
Deny: at length his Sighs (that, as a Winde,
Within the Bowels of the Earth confin'd,

Shakes the whole Fabrick, untill forth it breaks
Into the Air) make Way, and thus he speaks.

Is then the Birth, and Title of a King,
(Ye Gods, from whom Kings, sprung) so vain a thing;
That, with one Shock of Fortune onely, I
Must fall so low, into Captivity,
As to become their Slave to whom, of late,
I was a Terrour? Are the Laws of Fate
Of so great Force, that whatsoe're's Design'd
By them, by all must be obey'd? must binde
The Deities themselves? Alass! if so,
Why do poor Mortals to their Temples go,
And vainly crave that Aid, which cannot be
Confirm'd, unless the Fates the same decree?
How oft did I, before I took in hand
This War, their Counsel, and Consent demand?
As oft, their Tripods what I ask'd allow'd.
And I, as often, to their Honour vow'd
Dardanian Spoils. But, since I am or'ethrown,
'Tis not my Crime they want them, but their own?
From them it was, that Sophonisba's Charms
Prevail'd, and Head-long thrust me into Arms:
Against that Faith, which I to Rome, before,
Religiously had sworn. I would no more
Of this complain, had we together dy'd.
Or, had not Masanissa both my Bride,
My Throne, and Crown enjoy'd. Ye Gods, You were
If not Unjust in this, at least, Severe.
Else wherefore did I not, when Hostile Fire
Had seiz'd my Camp, within those Flames expire?
Then might I to the Shades below have gone,
At least, a King. Then I had onely known
The Fate of being conquer'd, not the Shame:
Nor then had Rome recorded Syphax Name

Among her Captives. Nor, then, had these Hands,
That shook a Scepter o're so many Lands,
Been thus bound up in Chains. But, why do I
Complain of Life, and not resolve to Dy?
What? though they study to preserve me still,
A living Trophy here; yet is my Will
Free, as the Conquerour's: and Rome shall finde,
I still retain the Empire of my Minde,
That stands above her reach, where I alone
Will rule, and scorn to live, but on a Throne.
This said; a sudden Silence seiz'd his Soul:
And, as deep Waters in still Chanels roul,
And, murm'ring less, into the Ocean flow;
So the Resentments of his Griefs, that grow
Too great to be express'd, through ev'ry part,
Like a swift Fever, runs, till his great Heart,
Resolv'd to bear that Load no more, deny'd
Nature her common Food, and, starv'd, He dy'd.
And, as a Lion, that hath long in Blood
Maintain'd his Empire in some Libyan Wood,
Surpriz'd at last in Toils, and kept to be
The Pastime of the Cirque, raging to see
His Native Freedom lost, doth, roaring, round
His Prison walke, and (with that dreadful Sound,
Was wont all other Beasts to Terrify,
And, with their Flocks, make trembling Sheepherds fly)
Shakes all about. But, when he findes, at length,
That nor his Rage prevails, nor yet his Strength
Can his Escape procure; all proffer'd Food
He growling flies, forgets all thirst of Blood,
And, in Disdain of his Captivity,
Resolves in sullen Silence there to dy.
So that great King, to whom, not long before,
Rich Gems were from the Erythræan Shore,

For Tribute brought: to whom, with Lions Tame,
And towred Elephants, Getulians came,
And, prostrate at his Feet, Obedience pay'd:
At first in Love, then War, a Captive made,
In a dark Dungeon dy'd, and the sole Fame,
That he 'gainst Scipio fought, preserves his Name.

But while, at Rome, their Triumphs still encrease,
At Carthage the sad purchase of their Peace
Shews them a Face of things, which they deplore
As much, as those deep Wounds they had before
In War receiv'd, and Zama's fatal Plain,
On which so many Libyans were slain,
And Hannibal disarm'd. For now they see,
That nor in Peace, nor War, they can be free.
Not all the Wealth their num'rous Conquests gave,
Nor Subjects, gain'd by Hannibal, could save
Their own at Home: for, while his conqu'ring Hand
O'return'd Sagunthus, and the Iberian Land
Subdu'd, and when his Troops Pyrenè past,
The Celtæ gain'd, and Italy did waste,
Their Victories abroad (still calling for
Recruits) as costly prov'd, as if the War
Had been in Libya made: onely their Fear
Of Utter Ruin was not then so near.

It was not now enough, that they had seen
Those wealthy Trophies, that had thither been
From Sicily, from the Herculean Bars,
And farthest Nations, in preceeding Wars,
By great Amilcar sent, transported all
To Rome, and there, within the Capitol,
Among Ægates Spoils, hung up, to be
Eternal Monuments of Infamy.
Their dreadful Elephants, that had, so long,
Against all stranger Nations, been so strong

A living Wall: with all the Arms, which there,
Since Dido first Phœnician Walls did rear,
Had been stor'd up, and had a Pannick Dread.
Over the Alps, and high Pyrenè, spread,
Are yielded to their Foes, with trembling Hands:
And conquer'd Carthage, now, as Naked stands,
As when Eliza first her Walls begun,
Or when enrag'd Hyarbas over-run
(Full of Revenge) her narrow Bounds, and, while
Her Ashes yet were warm, upon her Pyle
Fix'd his victorious Arms: Nor can they see,
By Land, a Period to their Misery.
Earth hath not space enough, whereon to lay
Their Chains, which now, extended to the Sea,
Confine the Force of Carthage; that no more
It can, from Africk, to Europa's Shore
Terrour diffuse: but melts into a Name,
Like Troy, in Ruin onely known to Fame.

That Navy, which (before the Fate of Rome
Prevail'd) had brought unvalu'd Treasures Home;
Which through the Seas, from East to West, had flown,
And where the Romane Eagles were not known,
Under its swelling Wings Sidonian Dyes
Had often born, and chang'd for such Supplies,
As Meroè, and black Syenè yields,
With whatsoe're renowns those spicy Fields,
Where Ganges flows; by which the Libyan Land
(Though they dire Serpents, in the barren Sand,
Plough up) as great a Plenty ev'ry where
Enjoy'd, as theirs, whose Harvest, twice a Year,
Their Garners fills: is, by this Storm of Fate,
Contracted to so small a Number, that
They now despair, e're more, with Hostile Oars,
To fright from Latian, and Sicilian Shores

The trembling Nymphs; but must, for ever, stand
Condemn'd, as Slaves, to a parch'd Barren Land.

As some hot Plague, by a Malignant Star
Diffus'd into an Universal War,
First the wide Air infects, next Beasts, and then
The Commons, till, at last, the Best of Men
Are snatch'd away, by the same cruel Fate,
Which none but Heav'n knows, where t'will terminate:
So, when the Romane Fury, in whose Hand
Alone, the Fate of Carthage seem'd to stand,
Had strip'd them of all Force by Land, and Sea,
And nothing now was left, but to Obey;
At length, their Spirits, by a dreadful Doom,
Are seiz'd: the Best of all their Youth to Rome
(As Pledges of their Faith) must strait be born,
And Libyan Mothers Tears become the Scorn
Of Latian Dames. It had been better they
(While Hannibal in Italy did stay)
Had granted been to re-inforce his Bands.
They then their Country not with fetter'd Hands,
But arm'd had left, and might have Fighting dy'd,
Nor thus been Sacrificed to the Pride
Of an Insulting Fo, whose Malice knows
No Bounds; but, fed, still more Insatiate grows.

But now the Fatal Day arrives, and Fears)
Wound ev'ry Breast, fill ev'ry Eye with Tears.
The weeping Mothers with dishevel'd Hair
Run through the Streets, and, vainly, beat the Air
With loud Complaints. Sometimes they call upon
The Gods: then strait exclaim, that there are None,
At least, that they are Deaf; else might their Tears
Prevail, and their Oppressions touch their Ears.
Sometimes the Authour of the War, and those
Infernal Altars, that, at first, their Foes

Provok'd, they curse. Sometimes those Men they blame,
Whose Envy, without Reason, to the Name
Of Hannibal, had fix'd Victorious Rome
In that great Height, and brought those Ruins Home,
Which Jove himself once fear'd; whose onely Hand,
With Thunder Arm'd, could Hannibal withstand,
And keep the Capitol. But Oh (Ye Gods)
What boots it now (say they) that so great Ods
Carthage did once enjoy, above the World:
Since, from the Height of Glory, She is hurl'd
Into the depth of Shame. But thus you still
Are Prone to give things Great, yet never will
Preserve them so. In vain (alass!) the Toils
Of our great Fathers have, with wealthy Spoils,
Enrich'd your Temples, and, with noble Wounds,
The Pow'r of Carthage stretch'd beyond the Bounds
Of Africa, and with such dreadful Aw
Her Name had spread, that all the World their Law
Expected from her Hand. But (Oh!) how small
A Shadow, now, remains to Us of all
Our former Glories? We are Mothers made,
That, by this Blessing, We might be betray'd
To a far greater Curse, and add more weight
Unto our Ruin, and Unhappy Fate.
Had these upon your cruel Altars dy'd,
Religion might perhaps have satisfi'd
Our Loss, and We, at least, might Home return
With this Content, that in their Native Urn
Their Ashes were preserv'd. But these are born
To be the Grief of Carthage, and the Scorn
Of Rome, whose now they are, and not our Own:
Nor will they be for such hereafter known;
But taught their Country's Manners to disclaim,
And bury in the Gown the Tyrian Name.

As thus they sadly to the Gods complain,
The Winde the Romane Navy to the Main
Invites. The Masters for the Captives call;
While at their Feet the weeping Parents fall,
And, Prostrate, thus implore. If yet that Ire
Appeased be, that did your Breasts inspire
At Zama's Field; wherein our Fates gave Way
To Yours, and Crown'd You with an happy Day;
Now mildely hear our Pray'rs: and, as you are
Rais'd, by the Gods, to this great Height in War,
That by their Blessing You may Higher rise,
Be Merciful, like them: do not despise
The Tears of such, as fall; their Cries the Scale
Of Fortune often turn, and may prevail
With Heav'n to break the Chain of your Success,
If, whom the Gods afflict, You shall oppress.
The bravest Souls no longer will pursue
Their Rage, then while it serves them to subdue.
And, when the Conquer'd do submit, they finde
A Sanctuary in a Noble Minde.
When therefore our Unhappy Sons shall come
(Sons not for Carthage born, but Conqu'ring Rome)
Within your Walls, Oh! be not too Severe,
Lay easy Chains upon them, think they were
Once free, as You: so may a better Fate
Your Issue bless; so may You propagate
Your lasting Names to Honour, and, near crost
By Fortune, keep that Freedom We have lost.
As thus they plead, from their Embraces torn,
Two hundred Noblest Tyrian Youths are born
Away to Sea, at Rome ordain'd to stand
The faithful Plegdes of their Native Land.

But, while all other Breasts with Grief, and Care,
Are fill'd, and ev'ry one, with sad Despair

Of future Liberty, resolves the Yoke
To bear with Patience, and no more provoke
Those Arms, which, after such expense of Blood,
And Wealth (too late, alass!) they understood
Superiour to their own: Revenge puts on
Amilcar's Shape, and thus, by Night, his Son
Excites to War. O Hannibal, canst Thou
(After the Fame of thy so early Vow
To prosecute this War) sit still, and see,
By Rome, upon thy Country's Liberty
Such heavy Yoaks impos'd? Canst thou, my Son,
Tamely desist from what Thou hast begun?
And see that Wealth, which, from so many Lands,
By our great Ancestours Victorious Hands
Together heap'd, enabled Thee to spread
Thy Conqu'ring Ensigns o're Pyrene's Head;
And o're the pathless Alps to make thy Way,
Become the Prize of Rome; Yet thou that Day
Survive? At length, awake, and let me finde
Thy Valour, fierce, and active, as the Winde
On Adriatick Seas. Let not the Tears
Of trembling Mothers, or the vainer Fears
Of Utter Ruin, move thee to conspire
So much with Hanno's Wish, or Rome's Desire.
That Hannibal should now sit still, is more,
Then all the Victories they had before:
Those onely did subdue thine Arms; but This
Over thy Minde a greater Conquest is:
And all, that Scipio now, at Rome, doth boast;
Where he at Zama, when the Field was lost,
Thee flying shews, and, afterward regains,
And thy Pale Image loads with golden Chains,
(As he great Syphax led in Triumph) Thou,
Resolving thus to bear it, dost allow.

Nor will the World condemn what Hanno saies;
While, in the Senate, he upon thee layes
The Crimes of all these Ills; records the Rites,
We once perform'd to Hecatè; excites
The People's Rage, while he doth on them call:
Where now is your Victorious Hannibal?
Where is that Arm, that could alone defend
These Walls? that durst with Fate it self contend?
Where are Sagunthus Spoils? or those, which He
From Spain hath brought? or conquer'd Italy?
If yet that Arm survive, let him from Rome,
Rescue our Captiv'd Sons, and bring them Home.
Or if those Spoils, which he at Thrasimen,
Trebia, or Cannæ gain'd, remain; why then
Do We for our exacted Talents grieve?
Nor rather, with that Wealth, our selves relieve?
But, if, consum'd through his Ambition, We
Have, with our Riches, lost our Liberty;
Why should that guilty Head, to whom we ow
These Ruins, and the Curse of all our Wo,
Amongst Us still remain; and, with a Pride,
Great as the Conquerours, our Tears divide?
Consider this: and, as infused Oil
Doth heighten Flames, hence let thy Fury boil;
Create more Spleen within Thee; make Thee rude,
As Caucasus, till thou hast fully shew'd
Th'amazed World, thou wert not born to bear
The Romane Yoak. But do, what others dare
Not think, and 'gainst the Latine Name, where're
There shall be War, do Thou in Arms appear;
Till Fate absolve thy Vow, and Thou shalt be
Crown'd with a Noble Death, or Victory.

When thus the Fury had her self inspir'd
Into his Soul, with Night She strait retir'd

To Hell. While He, now void of all Repose,
Soon as from Tithon's Bed Aurora rose,
To that fam'd Stygian Temple doth repair,
Where, when a Childe, his Father made him swear
The War. Soon as He comes into the Grove,
Strange, horrid Murmurs, round about him, move.
The Goddess call'd to Minde, what he before
Had offer'd there, and now expected more.
Then over all the Place a Cloud She casts,
Which thither calls the Night again, and blasts
The rising Day. At length, She open throws
The Temple-Gates, while on he, Fearless, goes;
Till at the Entrance, from her Gloomy Cell,
The aged Priestess thus bespeaks him. Tell,
What is it, that so early hither Thee
Invites? and, who thou art? For well I see
Thou com'st to offer to the Pow'rs below,
And therefore, with this Horrour, they foreshow
Thy Welcome: tell me then, what is thy Name?

Though, now, thou know'st Me not, I'me sure my Fame
(Said Hannibal) long since hath fill'd thine Ears.
I am that Hannibal, who, e're my Years
Two Lustra had fulfill'd, a War, before
These Stygian Altars, 'gainst the Romans swore;
The rest the World hath told Thee: and I now
(In prosecution of that Sacred Vow)
Am come to know, what yet remains by Me
To be pursu'd, and what the Fates decree.
The Priestess thus. I know Thee now: nor can
The Universe afford another Man
More dear unto the Pow'rs, which we adore:
But we our Rites cannot perform before
The following Night hath finish'd half her Reign.
Now therefore to thy House make haste again,

And my Advice embrace. For often Wo
Have of the Gods enquir'd concerning Thee,
Whose thread of Life is twisted with the Fate
Of Carthage, and in That her better State
Consists: and hence it is Imperious Rome
By her Embassadours, who, now, are come,
Will not so much for Masanissa plead,
As joyn with Hanno, to obtain thy Head,
Or cast Thee into Chains: therefore till Night
Returns, be Wary, and prepare for Flight;
And when Bootes hath his lazy Wain
Turn'd half about the Pole, hither again
Repair, and I shall then enquire the Minde
O'th'Gods, and what they have for Thee design'd.

Pensive with this Advice, strait Home He goes,
And, ruminating on his Country's Woes,
His Chamber enters, with a troubl'd Face;
When, almost drown'd in Tears, to his Embrace
Imilcè flys, and thus begins: What now
Thy Minde disturbs? what on thy Angry Brow
Creates that Cloud? which, wheresoe're it be
Discharg'd (my Hannibal) must Ruin Me.
I know 'tis War: for such the dire Alarms
Of lost Sagunthus snatch'd I hee from mine Arms.
So from my Bed, before the Night was done,
To meet their Sallies, thou wert wont to run.
While Fury arm'd thee, and pale Death did wait
Upon Thee, as upon the Hand of Fate.
But then Thou wert protected; Heav'n did then
For Thee, and Carthage fight: if now agen
The Gods would hear our Pray'rs, and bless Thee so,
How gladly would I yield to let Thee go?
But they (alass!) are Angry, and no more
Will lend their Thunder, as they did before,

Unto Thine Arm. Rome now their Ears hath charm'd
Against Thee, and Thy Fortune quite disarm'd.
Naked against the World Thou now dost stand:
All have submitted to Her Conqu'ring Hand.
Carthage is Hers, nor Libya, nor Spain,
Pyrenè, nor the Celtæ can again
Afford Thee Aid. The Macedonian King,
Who to our fainting Hopes appear'd to bring
Some Shadows of Relief, while He o'reran
The Bounds of Athens, and a War began
With that sad Omen, that Sagunthus turn'd
To Ashes, and the Abydenians burn'd,
On Pyles of their own Wealth, is forc'd at last
To yield to Fortune, and himself to cast
A Prostrate at Rome's Feet, and Peace implore.
Content with those great Acts, that He before
Had done, He now resolves, at Home, t'attend
His Fate: and, would my Hannibal now lend
A Pity to these Tears, Thou should'st no more
That Hand of Fortune try, which Thee before
In one Day thrust from that great Height, to which
The Toil of seventeen Years had rais'd Thee. Rich
In Fame thou art, and, though all else is gone,
That's such a Treasure, that for it alone
The World may envy Thee, and Times to come
Shall put thy Name in Balance against Rome,
And all her Generals. But what of Life
(After such Deeds) remains, unto thy Wife,
And Son should be allow'd: and, if thy Breast
With Thoughts of sworn Revenge be still possest,
(Since Fortune courts the Young, and Thou art now
In Years, to which She seldom doth allow
Her Smiles) derive thine Anger to thy Son,
Instruct him here, at Home, what's to be done

To perfect thy Desires, and at thy Death,
Into His Breast, with thy Departing Breath,
Inspire (my Hannibal) thy mighty Spirit,
That so He may entirely Thee Inherit,
And live the Fear of Rome. But, if Thou fly
From hence, and leave Us to the Cruelty
Of Our insulting Foes, Our Captiv'd Names
Will strait become the Talk of Romane Dames,
'Midst their Triumphal Feasts; or be in Scorn
Suppress'd, as if We never had been born.

This, with a thousand Sighs, and all the Charms
Of Kisses, mix'd with Tears, between his Arms,
Speaking, She sinks: while, with that constant Face,
With which He entred, in a strict Embrace,
He holds Her up, and thus replies; Thy Love
(My dear Imilcè) is so much above
The Value of my Life, that I would all
Those Dangers stand, which can upon Me fall,
T'enjoy Thee here: But this our Enemies
Will not allow. Domestick Treacheries
Have now so far above the Arms of Rome
Prevail'd, that I a Captive shall, at Home,
In Peace, be made, and hence in Chains be born,
(Snatch'd from thy dear Embrace) to be the Scorn
Of second Triumphs, and when that is done
(A Pride peculiar unto Rome alone)
I shall not dy like Syphax, from the View
Of all the World; but they will something New
For Me invent. Whatever was by Us,
Before, Inflicted on their Regulus,
Will be esteem'd too Little; I shall be
In Parts divided through all Italy,
And feel, in each, a Death, and yet not all
Their Malice satiate, when to Minde they call

The Fun'rals of their Friends. But, that I may
Their Plots avoid, and keep a better Way
Still open to my Fall, I now must fly
M'Ingrateful Country, or resolve to dy,
This Day, before thine Eyes: for in this Hand
Of Mine, alone, my Fate shall ever stand.
Nor shall the World believe, the Life, and Death
Of Hannibal depends upon the Breath
Of Rome. As this He spake, She stop'd the rest
With Kisses, and, reclining on his Brest
Her drooping Head (whil'st Tears, like April-rain,
Into his Bosom flow, by Sighs again
Dry'd up) Since so it is (said She) no more
Will I (my Hannibal) thy Stay implore.
Go, and be Happy! may those Gods, who Thee,
With such Severity, deny to Me,
Protect Thee, when Alone: go, Happy! may
Thy wish'd Return be speedy! But I Pray
For what I cannot Hope; those Gods, who now
Us separate (alass!) will not allow,
That We should meet again. As from her Tongue
These last Words fell, about his Neck She flung
Her Arms, and, after many Kisses past,
While both contended, who should give the Last,
With a long Silence (for with Grief each Heart
Too big for Language swell'd) at length they part.

Now Night the middle of her Course had run,
Between the Rising, and the Falling Sun;
When Libya's anxious Champion at the Fane
(All things prepar'd for Flight) arrives again;
There findes the Priestess; from her hoary Head
Tresses, like curling Serpents, overspread
Her wrinckled Neck: a Mantle cross her Breast,
In which forsaken Dido's Death, exprest

By her fair Sister's Hand, and there bequeath'd
As Sacred (with the Sword, She, Frantick, sheath'd
In her own Bosom) fastn'd by a Charm
On her left Shoulder, and her other Arm
Quite Naked, waving round a Stygian Wand,
With which, by adding Words, She could command
The Pow'rs of Hell, She meets him at the Door,
And leads him in. The Sacrifice before
Prepar'd, and She (no Minutes now delay'd)
Invoking some Infernal Names, to aid
The Work, strait horrid Voices rend the Air;
Some mornful Groans; some Sighs of sad Despair:
Then, as if Hell were near, the Noise of Chains,
With doleful Cries, which their inflicted Pains
Extort. For all the Ghosts of Cadmus Race,
Whom Guilt had stain'd, frequenting still the Place,
To the un-kindled Altars brought Supplies
Of Bloodlike Flames, which of themselves to rise
Appear, and by their gloomy Light, and Smell
Of Sulphur, shew, that they were brought from Hell.
At length, the Sacrifice was open lay'd,
Whose Entrails when the Priestess had survay'd,
She thus the Gods declar'd. “If Hannibal
“Be from his Country free, He never shall
“Become a Slave to Rome. His very Name
“Shall make the Syrian Armies own'd by Fame,
“And Italy once more shall fear, lest She
“By his Invasive Arms should ruin'd be.
“Scipio shall not more Fortunate at Rome
“By th'World be held, then Hannibal at Home.
“One Year shall give a Period to their Breath,
“And each finde Satisfaction in his Death.
“In Latian Ground shall Scipio's Ashes ly,
“On Libyssæan Hannibal shall dy.

With this ambiguous Oracle, his Minde
As Great, and High, as when he first design'd
The War, as if the Gods were still the Same,
Away he speeds? Thoughts of his former Fame,
And Victories, all present Fears allay,
And, with reviving Hopes, his Faith betray
To a vain Confidence, That He, alone,
If arm'd, could shake the World, and Rome unthrone.
Ambition, and Revenge think nought too great
For their Attempt, and, whil'st he doth repeat
The Actions, which atchiev'd his former Fame,
He counts all Easy, that's within his Aim,
Nor weighs th'Incertainty of Fates to come.
Those civil Factions, that, before, at Home,
Weak'ned his Arms, now, undistinguish'd, groan
Under that Yoke, which Rome for Him, alone,
So long prepar'd: so that ev'n He might boast
A Victory, when Envious Carthage lost
Her Liberty, and Captiv'd Hanno found,
No other Hand could cure that Fatal Wound,
But Hannibal's alone; who, now, got Free,
Would search the World to finde a Remedy.

Thus, chearful with the Gods, misunderstood,
(As a fierce Tyger, thirsting after Blood,
Far from his Covert rangeth, seeking Prey)
O're the Vocanian Plains he took his Way,
And, through the Thapsian Fields, his Course pursu'd:
Where (still the Gods resolving to delude
His Thoughts with dubious things) he Waking dreams
Of future Fates, and, swiftly Posting, seems
This Language, from the Genius of the Place,
To hear. Fly hence, fly Hannibal apace.
Let Asia, no longer now attend
Thine Arm, the World's great Quarrel to defend.

Delay the Mother is of Doubts, and Fears,
And he, that long the Yoke of Bondage bears,
Forgets, that he was Free, and entertains
A Servile Love of Safety with his Chains.
Thy Presence shall encrease the Noble Fire
In Syrian Breasts, and they, at length, conspire
'Gainst Rome with Thee, and Carthage entertain
An Hope by Thee her Freedom to regain.
That War, which Thou didst, with so great Applause,
Wages as Thine Own, is made the Common Cause
Of the whole World, and all Mankinde is now
Provok'd to be Assertours of thy Vow.
Of Romane Blood, all Seas, all Lands shall taste,
And Thapsus, 'mong the Chief, in Fame be plac't.

No sooner did the Blushes of the Morn
The Stars extinguish, and the Day was born,
When they arriv'd near to that Fatal Shore,
Where trembling Seamen hear the Billows roar
Against those Syrts, which, moving to and fro,
Bring certain Ruin, wheresoe're they go.
Charybdis, nor dire Scylla's Rage, so great
A Danger to Sicilian Vessels threat:
Sometimes themselves, above the Waves, they heave,
And stand like Promontories to deceive
Unskilful Mariners; strait, falling back,
Choak up the Chanel, and prepare a Wrack
Under smooth Waters, where, with all their Pride
Display'd, tall Ships of late might safely ride.
But Hannibal less fears the Treach'rous Sand,
Or raging Seas, then the more Treach'rous Land,
Which, Confident of better Fate, he quits,
And to a little Bark himself commits.
The Seas, as Conscious, that he was too Great
To be their Sacrifice, their Rage forget.

The Syrts retire, and the Conspiring Gales
Pursue the Bark, and swell her pregnant Sails.
The careful Pilot for Cercina steers,
Scarce knowing, that the Fraight his Vessel bears,
Once balanc'd the whole World; yet wonders Heav'n,
In that tempestuous Track, a Course so ev'n
Allow'd: so much the flatt'ring Destinies,
With a smooth Vizor of Success, disguise
Intended Ruin; that ev'n Hannibal
Measures, from hence, what ever might befal
Himself, and, while they yet the Africk Shore
(On which the Fates resolv'd henever more
Should tread) in View retain'd: I now am Free
(Perfidious Country) both from Rome, and Thee;
My better Fortune now (saith He) doth stand
Not in a Senate's Vote, but in this Hand,
This Hand, which (maugre thy Ingratitude)
Shall Thee (if Me the Gods do not delude)
Redeem; and Thou, at length, confess, that none
Can breake thy Yoke, but Hannibal alone.

Now from the flying Ship the Land withdrew:
The Libyan Shore descends; no more in View
Those Altars, which Ulysses once did rear,
To rescue his forgetful Friends, appear.
Unhappy Men! who in those Dang'rous Fields
Found out those strange Delights, that Lotus yields,
Whose Taste all other Pleasures far exceeds,
Man nothing more to make him Happy needs;
In this all dear Delights at once they found,
And Memory of Friends, and Country drown'd.
No sooner these were lost, but to their Eyes
Cercîna, 'midst the Waves, began to rise.
Approaching near the Port, some Ships they found,
Whose Carthaginian Owners, Homeward bound,

Soon as the Prince they spy'd upon the Shore,
Haste to salute Him, and almost Adore.
The Memory of his high Deeds, within
Their Breasts still liv'd: how great He once had been,
To Minde they call, and pay unto his Name
Those Honours, which, they know, his Merits claim;
Though now his State be less: for with a Cloud
O'recast, or else Eclips'd, the Sun's allow'd
To be the same in Virtue, as before,
When it shin'd Brightest; nor was He the more
To be neglected, 'cause the borrow'd Rays
Of Train, at which the Common People gaze,
And great with Envy swell, aside are lay'd.
He still is that fam'd Hannibal, who made
So many Barb'rous Nations to submit
To his Commands, and Native Rites forget;
While fierce Massylians, with Iberians, stood
In Fight, Revengers each of others Blood;
While rude Cantabrians, with the Celtæ, came
T'assert his Quarrel, and beneath his Name
United liv'd, as if one Clime their Birth
Had giv'n, and nurtur'd them on Fertile Earth.

Here all are busy to express their Care
To entertain Him, and to such, as were
Inquisitive to know, what did invite
Him thither, cunning, He, reply'd: I might
(Indeed) have gone to Tyre another Way;
But none so near I judg, since I this Day
Must spend in Sacrifice, to th'Pow'rs above,
That what I there must prosecute, may prove
Propitious to the State, which thither Me
Hath sent, and since, within this Island, We
Few Trees for Shelter finde, let Me entreat
Your Sails, this Day, to shroud Us from the Heat

O'th'scorching Sun. No sooner said, but all
Their Hands employ; some from the Masts let fall
The Sails; some lift them with their Yards to Land,
On which extended streight, for Tents, they stand.
And now whatever Rare the Isle affords,
Makes up the Feast, and round the hast'ned Boards
Lyæus flows: and first, To Liberty
A Bowl is crown'd, which all as greedily
Quaff off, as if in it they thought to finde
Their Wish, and Sense of Bondage from the Minde
Expel. And, as the sparkling Liquour warms
Their Blood, each man, as if he were in Arms,
Defies the Pow'r of Rome; now scorns to bear
That Yoak, which, in a Sober mind, his Fear
Would prompt him to imbrace, and what before
He durst not Think, he now dares Act, and more.
All former Fears are banish'd: This exclaims
'Gainst Hanno's Pride; and That his Countrey blames
For want of Courage, bids the Prince again
Attempt to take away that Fatal Stain,
For which, as in th'inflaming Juice he steeps
His Brains, he in a Drunken Pity weeps.

But Hannibal, whose Thoughts were far from thence
Remov'd, and entertain'd a nobler Sense
Of what they suffer'd, then themselves, mean while,
Looks on their Follies with a scornful Smile,
And, with repeated Cups, still feeds the Flame;
Untill, as he design'd, he overcame
Their Strength, and, while their Hands as yet retain'd
The Blushing Bowls, Sleep all their Senses chain'd.

The End of the First Book of the Continuation.

The Second Book.

The Argument.

To Hannibal Isalces doth relate
King Masanissa's Love, and the sad Fate
Of Sophonisba. Rome dreads the Report
Of a new War. In the Ephesian Court
Scipio, and Hannibal are entertain'd,
And meet, as Friends. The City, Temple, and
Its Wealth describ'd. Great Alexander's Deeds
Eumolpus sings. Whence a Discourse proceeds,
Who the best Captains were. Past Actions are
Revolv'd. The King resolves upon a War.

While thus pretended Piety beguiles
The Vulgar, and the glad Deceiver smiles
At the Success; Secure, that none could bear
The Tidings of his Flight, before the Fear
Of being stop'd was past, to Sea again
He hastens, hoises Sail, while yet the Reign

Of Night continu'd, and the Tyrian Star
Lent faithful Beams to guide the Mariner,
And as, well pleas'd with what had past, his Friends
Discours'd, how much their Mirth had made Amends
For all Delays, his sure Numidian Guide
(Who once attended on great Syphax Bride)
Began. But He inspir'd above the Rest
To Me appear'd, who did so much detest,
And scorn their Names, who, through a shameful Dread
Of Dying, had submitted to be led
In Triumph, and, in Chains, before they Dy'd,
Had tamely Sacrific'd unto the Pride
Of Roman Conqu'rours. How He did declame,
For this, 'gainst Syphax! how adore the Name
Of Noble Sophonisba! who did bear
A Face'as Chearful, as I carry here,
(Said He) and, to avoid that Shame, was seen
To drink her Death, and fall a Glorious Queen.
I well observ'd his Zeal, and, I confess,
(Reply'd Great Hannibal) could little less
Then weep, at Mention of so dear a Name.
But since we onely have, by Common Fame,
Her Story heard, and You a Witness wore
Of all that past, to Us her Fate declare.

Then He. When Syphax was o'rethrown, and all
Numidia lost, through his Unhappy Fall,
False Masanissa less ambitiously
Aspir'd unto his Empire, then to be
Successour in his Bed, and when h' had gain'd
The Queen into his Pow'r (the King enchain'd,
And kept a Trophy to Young Scipio's Pride)
Impatient till h' enjoy'd so fair a Bride,
His Minde he thus discovers: If the Throne
Of Syphax, or Numidia's Wealth, alone,

Had been the Object of mine Arms, I now
Whate're the Gods, or Fortune could allow
To my Desires, possess'd: but know my Aim
(Fair Queen) is Higher, and a Nobler Flame
Reigns in my Breast, the Romane General
May this (perchance) an Happy Conquest call,
Because his Eagles, now, securely fly
O're the Numidian Plains. But nothing I
Have gain'd, though this late Victory restore
Whatever Syphax did, from Me, before
Usurp; though Hammon, and Tarpeian Jove
Conspire to make Me great, unless your Love
This Happiness confirm. For this did I
From Libya's to the Romane Ensigns fly,
Knowing no other Means to win You from
My Rival's Arms, and since He is by Rome
Thrown from that glorious Height, and can no more
Be Worthy held of what He did before
In You enjoy (since none, but He, that wears
A Crown, and in his Hand a Scepter bears,
Can Merit such a Bliss) that You may live
A Queen, and (what lost Carthage cannot give,
Nor Sophonisba take, but from my Hand)
Be still ador'd through the Numidian Land.
Accept my Love, by which, You can alone
Shun Romane Chains, and still possess a Throne.

To this the Queen (though an extream Disdain
Of what He oster'd in Her Soul did Reign)
Fearing to be a Spectacle at Rome,
More then to Dy, replies. 'Tis to presume
Too much upon your Victory, if You
Imagine it as Easy, to Subdue
This Heart, as late our Arms: and though, by Force,
You have already made a sad Divorce,

Yet know the Memory of Syphax Name
Will, in this Breast, admit no other Flame,
While He survives. But, rather then be led
To Rome in Triumph, I confess the Bed
Of any born of Libyan Blood may be
Prefer'd: yet, if the adverse Fates decree,
That, to avoid that Shame, I must the Crime
Of hasty Nuptials add, a little Time
(Me thinks) you ought, in Justice, to allow,
To expiate, with Tears, my former Vow.

With this Reply, which neither gave Assent
To his Demand, nor yet deny'd, Her Tent
He quits, advising Her to shun Delays,
In her Resolve; for that, e're many Days
Should pass, the Captives must be sent to Rome,
And Her Consent would, then, too Tardy come.

At these last Words, as when our Libyan Darts
A Tygress strike, at first, amaz'd, She starts,
And growling stands, but when the wounding Steel
Is deeply fix'd, and She begins to feel
The Anguish of a Wound, She rends the Air
With Cries, and, lab'ring with her Teeth to tare
The Weapons forth, augments her Pain, then flies
To some known Covert, and there, Raving, dies.
Struck to the Heart (as if She then had seen
The Gorgon's Head, or, like Amphîon's Queen,
Congeal'd to Marble) Statue-like She stands,
A while, and Silent weeps. At length, her Hands
Invade her Head, from which She, frantick, tears
The lovely Hair, and, furiously, impairs
The Beauty of that Face, which by two Kings
Had been ador'd. At last, Her self She flings
Upon her Bed, and, with a mournful Cry,
On her dear Syphax calls. Which hearing, I

Stept in, and found her turning to and fro,
Her Eyes: now dry, and fir'd with Anger, so,
When Pentheus scorn'd the Trieterick Feast,
Agave's Looks Her inward Rage exprest.
Amaz'd, a while, I Silent stood: till She,
Sighs making Way for Words, at length to Me
Her Speech directs. 'Tis not, because Uncrown'd,
(Isalces) that I grieve; a deeper Wound
My Soul afflicts, and I am wrack'd between
Two dire Extreams. Oh! had I never seen
Numidia's Court, or had I ne're been led,
By Hymen's Tapers, to my Syphax Bed,
The World, perhaps, had never heard that one,
Born of Great Hasdrubal, was from a Throne
To Rome a Captive led, but I must now
(Oh cruel Fate!) renounce my Nuptial Vow,
To yield up (what my Lord esteem'd above
Numidia's Throne) the Treasure of my Love
To Masanissa, and in his Embrace
Those Sacred Ties dissolve, or in the Face
Of Rome, the greatest Trophy of the War,
Exposed be, and the Triumphal Car
Of the proud Conquerour, in Chains attend.
Ye Gods! what greater Mischief can Ye send
Upon this Head? Your Thunder cannot give
A Blow so Fatal, if you let Me live
To see that Day. As thus She spake, her Eyes,
With sudden Streams of Tears, her Tongue surprize.

When I perceiv'd, that Masanissa's Flame
(Though yet an Enemy) was still the same,
He had before profess'd; hoping the Charms
Of such a Beauty might regain his Arms
To Carthage, as they Syphax had withdrawn
From Romane Leagues, after a Solemn Pawn

Of Faith, before the Gods: I thus begun.

Had Heav'n left any other Means to shun
The Pow'r of Rome, and that prodigious Shame,
Which proudly they on all of Tyrian Name
Inflict, I should resolve, whate're it be,
To share Your Fortune. But since, now, You see
The Conquerour your Captive is, You may
Redeem your Self, and give a better Day
To Your lost Country. 'Twas for this alone,
Hasdrubal plac'd you on Numidia's Throne,
The Cause is still the Same, nor is't a Crime,
Which Fate Necessitates, and which in Time
You may a Signal Piety avow
To all the World. Ev'n Syphax will allow
It such, and dy Content, if You restore
Entire to Libya what She lost before.

Perswaded thus; as when a Sea-man findes
Nothing, but certain Ruin from the Windes,
Which on the Ocean storm, resolv'd no more
To trust their Fury, for some Neighb'ring Shore
He steers, and, to secure Himself, doth choose,
Upon a Sand, the lab'ring Bark to loose:
So, from Rome's Rage, the Queen resolves to throw
Her self, for Safety, on a gentler Fo;
Who now approach'd, while She puts on a Face
Might move his Pity, and a God's Embrace.
So, when her Memnon dy'd, Aurora threw
Over her Rosy Cheeks a Veil of Dew,
Through which dissolving Chrystal, from Her Eyes
Day did more sadly, yet more Fragrant rise.
Soon as He entred, Prostrate at his Feet
She falls, and thus now sues his Love to meet.

If my distracted Piety did swell
Too High, if what I utter'd did not well

Beseem a Captive (mighty Prince) I here
Beseech You pardon Me, not wont to bear
So weighty Griefs, and, since th'Immortal Gods,
Above my Syphax Fate, on You these Odds
(Due to your Valour, and good Fortune) have
Bestow'd, whatever be my Doom, I crave
It may proceed from You. And as you are
A King, and with my Lord did lately share
In the Numidian Name, let Me not be
Expos'd to any Roman's proud Decree.
As I am onely Wife to Syphax, I
Would rather any Libyan's Mercy try,
Then trust a Stranger. But withall you know
What I, a Carthaginîan, Daughter to
Great Hasdrubal, may from a Roman fear.
If then no other Remedy appear
Within your Pow'r, I here beseech you still,
By Death to free Me from the Romans Will.

Scarce this (with all Allurements, that could move
At once the Conqu'rour's Pity, and his Love)
She had declar'd, when He wipes off her Tears
With fervent Kisses, and her future Fears
Allays, with Promise to preserve her Free
From Roman Hands. But pleads Necessity
(To be Secure) that Night to Consummate
Their Nuptial Rites. Unwillingly, to Fate,
And his Desires She yields, and at the Time
Her doubtful Heart, as Conscious of a Crime,
Calls back her Blood, then sends it forth again
Into her Cheeks (so shines a Scarlet Stain
On Ivory) asham'd to have it said,
One Day a Captive her, and Bride had made.
And now the Weary Horses of the Sun
To the Tartessiack Shore their Course had run;

When Masanissa, with all Sacred Rites,
The Presence of the Marriage God invites.
But no good Omen shew'd him to be there;
The Fire the Incense flies; the Altars are
Smooth'rd in Stygian Smoak; a dreadful Sound
Through all the Temple runs, and shakes the Ground.
And, as from thence into their Chamber they
Retire, the Holy Tapers, all the Way,
With Sputt'ring Flames (as if Alecto shed
Sulphure upon them) lead them to their Bed.
All this, intent upon his Mistress Eyes,
He either did not see, or did Despise.
Concluding what He should enjoy would all
Those Miseries out-weigh, that could befal
Before this Fatal Night was spent. The Fame
Of Masanissa's hasty Nuptials came
To Scipio's Ear; He, fearing to give Way
To such a growing Mischief, soon as Day
Had chas'd away the Stars, by Lælius sends
A Summons, and, thus sharply reprehends
His Levity. 'Tis my Belief, (said He)
That when We first contracted Amity
In Spain, and then in Africa, when Thou
Didst both thy Self, and all those Hopes, which now
Thou callst thine Own, to Me commit, that then
Something in Me thou did'st 'bove other Men
Worthy that Trust conceive. But I in none
Of all these Virtues, that did prompt Thee on
To seek my Friendship, more of Glory plac't,
Then in my Temperance: That with a Chast,
And Sober Minde, I could suppress the Flame
Of hottest Lust; and this, I then did aim,
To other thy rare Virtues might be joyn'd.
For trust Me, Noble Prince, We cannot finde

So much of Danger from our Armed Foes,
As from those stronger Pleasures, that enclose
Us round: and whotsoer'e repells their dire
Assaults, and can by Temp'rance his Desire
Within Himself Subdue, a Victory
Of greater Honour gains, then that, which We
O're Syphax have obtain'd. Those Noble Things,
Which Thou, with Valour worthy greatest Kings,
Hast in my Absence done, I did, of late,
To all of Name in Arms commemorate
With all due Praise, and still shall keep in Minde.
But I had rather Thou on what's behinde
Would'st with thy Self reflect, then Blush to hear
Me give't a Name. It plainly doth appear
To all the World, that Syphax was or'ethrown,
And Captiv'd by the Auspicies alone
O'th' Roman People. Whatsoever He
Possess'd: his Kingdom, Wife, and People, We
May challenge as our Prize, and none a Share
Of Right, can claim. Though Sophonisba were
No Carthaginian born; or did not We
Her Father Gen'ral of their Armies see:
Yet must She (who a King, that was our Friend,
An Enemy hath made, and in the End
Against Us drawn to Arms) be sent to Rome,
And there the Senate's, and the People's Doom
Attend. Strive therefore to subdue thy Minde,
Shake this lewd Passion off, so much inclin'd
To draw Thee into Ruin; nor the Grace
Of all thy Virtues, with one Vice, Deface;
Nor by one Crime deprive thy Self of all
Those Thanks, at Rome, for which thy Merits call.

Struck to the Heart (as if some sudden Flame
Were darted through his Blood) the Fire of Shame

Flies to his Face: Yet nothing He replies,
But strait retires with Sighs, and swelling Eyes;
And, knowing, that what Scipio had decreed
Must stand Irrevocable, sends, with Speed,
For Me, and with a Box, into my Hand
A fatal Poison puts, with this Command:
Bear this to my Dear Sophonisba, say,
That Masanissa was resolv'd to pay
That Faith to Her, which kindest Husbands ow
To their Dear Wives. But, since the Fates have so
Decreed, that They now countermand his Will,
To whom it is subjected; He is still
Resolv'd his second Promise firm shall stand:
And, that, Alive, into a Roman's Hand
She may not fall, advise, that with her Drink
She intermix this Poison. Bid Her think
Upon the General (her Father) and
Her Country: think how, once, She did command
The Hearts of two great Kings, to whom Sh'hath been
In Marriage joyn'd, and let Her Dy a Queen.
The baneful Drug to my Dear Mistress I,
With this harsh Message, brought. Prepar'd to Dy,
And with Undaunted Minde the Worst to bear,
That Fate could add, She, with Attentive Ear,
Listn'd to what I said, and, as She took
In her fair Hand the Poison, with a Look
Moor Chearful, then when She a Bride was made
To Masanissa, I accept (She said)
His Nuptial Present: nor is it to Me
At all Unwelcome, since (my Husband) He
Can nothing Greater on his Wife bestow:
But yet, withall, I pri'thee let Him know,
That Sophonisba would more pleas'd have Dy'd,
If, at her Death, She had not been his Bride:

For then my Country might upon my Tomb
Have writ, that, thus, I Triumph'd over Rome.
No sooner spoke, but to her Lips She joyn'd
The deadly Cup, and, Greedy there to finde
A speedy Death, swallows it; all and, while
We, Trembling, stand about Her, with a Smile,
Which made her Lovely ev'n in Death (her Heart
Recalling now the Blood, from ev'ry Part,
To its Relief) She sinks, and, as She lies
Upon her Couch, gives one Great Sigh, and dies.

As the Numidian this sad Story told,
The Day began to rise. They now behold
The Tyrian Coast, by which they Steer unto
That City, whence the Carthaginians drew
Their fam'd Original, when Dido from
Her Brother fled. Receiv'd, as if at Home,
With all the Joy, that could express the Pride
They had conceiv'd, in being near ally'd
To that Great Hannibal, who late the Fear
Of all the World had been; when he had there
Himself refresh'd, again He hoists his Sails
For Antioch: from thence, with prosp'rous Gales,
At Ephesus arriv'd; where, glad to finde
The Syrian King, who, with a dubious Minde,
His Hate, conceiv'd against the Roman Name,
Pursu'd, at length he fix'd, and by his Fame
In Arms, appearing like a Martial Star,
Guided his wand'ring Thoughts into a War.

And now, o're all the Syrian Cities, Fame
Her lofty Head had rais'd, and with the Name
Of Hannibal awak'd the God of War:
When strait the sev'ral Nations, which from far
Their Tribute to the Syrian Crown did bring,
And gave the Title, Great, unto their King,

Fly into Arms, and to th'Ephesian Court
The Princes, and Embassadours resort.
All promise Aid; secure, that He was come,
To stand a Bulwark 'gainst the Force of Rome,
And Asian Tow'rs defend with greater Odds,
Then all their Arms, or Tutelary Gods.
All his great Merits plead, and, fondly, raise
The Value of his Virtues with their Praise.
No Errours are allow'd in all, that He
Hath done. So little do the Vulgar see
A Fault, where they affect, or know to State
The Reasons of their sudden Love, or Hate.
Carthage (though now in Chains) Unpiti'd stands:
The Gods are prais'd, that her Ingrateful Hands
He had escap'd. For his late Overthrow,
And Fight, they cast not on the Publick Fo,
But Home-bred Treachery; as not the Crime
Of Fortune, but the Envy of the Time.
Envy, which still detracts from greatest Deeds,
And on the Ruins of the Virtuous feeds;
Which first, against the God's rebellious Wars
Had rais'd, and made the Giants storm the Stars.
She Honour still pursues wheree're it goes:
Wheree're it treads, She Stygian Poison throws;
That its fair Foot-steps quickly doth Deface,
And raiseth her own Trophies in its Place.

With this Applause the Court, and City, ring.
Some invocate the Gods, others the King
Importune to the War. Then strait their Bands
They List, and levy Troops in sev'ral Lands.
Nor were those Aids to Syrian Bounds confin'd:
But Names, and Nations to their Arms were joyn'd,
Who, when the Strength of Rome was greater far,
The Fates decreed, should in a future War

Her Pow'r, though back'd by all the World, restrain,
And with a Consul's Blood her Eagles stain.
With those the Medes, who ev'n on Conqu'ring Foes
Their Manners, and their Habit did impose,
From whom the Persians first Tiaras wore,
And, falling Prostrate, did their Kings adore:
Whose mighty Monarchs their Imperial Throne
Had fix'd upon the Walls of Babylon,
Till, weak'ned with Delights, that Empire, which
A Woman rais'd to so admir'd a Pitch,
By Men less Valiant lost, the Prize became
Of the Pellæan Youth, and crown'd his Name.

And, as if all, that Asia could prepare,
Where Hannibal appear'd, too little were
T'attend his Fate; as if the Earth alone
Too Narrow were, for Him, to Fight upon.
Though Europe gave her Aids, and Warlike Thrace,
Must'ring her Chariots, did the War Embrace,
Cilician, and Phœnician Ports are throng'd
With Ships for War, and those where Hero long'd
So oft to see Læander from the Seas
Rising (like Hesp'rus, when he sought to please
The Paphian Queen) untill returning Day
Reviv'd her Fears, and call'd her Love away.

But when the Rumour of so great a War,
So many Nations joyn'd, though distant far,
Touch'd the Italian Coast: as swift, as Thought,
To Rome it flies, and, soon as thither brought,
Fear through all Quarters runs, in sev'ral Shapes
Affrights their Mindes, commits a thousand Rapes
Upon their Sense, and greater Prodigies,
Then all before, abused Fancy sees,
What ever did Portend their former Ills,
Seems now again to fright the World, and fills

The People's Ears. Sometimes the Alps are said
To tremble, while Trinacrian Flames invade
Th'Italian Shore: as if, from Ætna's Womb,
Th'Infernal Gods, themselves, had threatned Rome.
Etrurian Augurs, strait, consulted are,
And, from these vain Reports, divine a War;
While Nature, sporting, to confirm their Fears,
Makes Lions bring forth Lambs, and Wolves teem Bears.
Then, as if Carthage had her Chains again
Thrown off, and arming her Revenge with Spain,
The Boii, Celtæ, and those Nations all,
That Rome had reason still her Foes to call,
Did Italy Invade: the Roman Dames
Run to the Temples, and with Holy Flames
The Altars Crown, and thus to Heav'n complain.

If these our Walls yet merit to remain
(Great Father Jove) if Sybil's Prophecies
Shall be confirm'd, and thou dost not despise
Tarpeian Tow'rs,: Ah! then, why should not We,
After so many Wounds, and Toils, be Free?
Was Rome exalted to so High a State,
Through so much Blood, that She might be to Fate
A richer Sacrifice? and must She fall
By None, but by the Hand of Hannibal?
Rather to those her Walls her Pow'r confine,
And with the Tarquins let Porsenna joyn:
Or to the Rage of Senones, or Flames
Of Brennus give Us up. Let not those Names,
That with such Valour have your Temples, here,
So oft preserv'd, and were esteem'd so Dear
To Heav'n, be now made Victims to the Hate
Of One proud Man; who, to accelerate
Our Ruin, hath disturb'd the Peace of all
The World. If Fates Decree, that Rome must fall,

Give Her a Fo, whose Virtues may exceed
Her Own, and let our Crimes, and Vices bleed
By a more Pious Hand, such, as from Blame
May free your Justice, with a better Name.
He, Perjur'd, from those Holy Altars flies,
Where Peace was sworn, and doth that League despise,
Which in the Name of all the Gods was sign'd,
And now his Arms hath with a People joyn'd,
Where We that Fate, which He at Capua found,
Shall undergo; where Vices will abound,
As Victories encrease, and We shall be
Lost, by our Triumphs, in their Luxury.
Thus will perfidious Carthage, not by Arms,
See her Revenge on Us, but Asia's Charms.

Mean while great Scipio, who their former Fears
Had drown'd in Carthaginian Mothers Tears,
(Whom Heav'n, to balance Hannibal, to Rome
Had lent, and in his Hand had plac'd the Doom
Of all the World) with gently-breathing Gales,
From the Italian Shore, to Asia Sails,
T'explore the King's Intent. At length, He came
To that fam'd City, where Diana's Name
In a fair Temple more Devotion moves,
With gentile Rites, the Thoantéan Groves.
No weeping Mother here to Heav'n complains,
While her Son's Blood the Cruel Altar stains.
But the bright Goddess, under Silver Shrines,
As Pleas'd appears, as when Her Brother joyns,
With full reflected Beams, her radiant Horns,
And, more then all the Stars, the Night adorns.

In a large Plain, through which Mæander brings
His Winding Waters, in a thousand Rings,
To the Myrtôan Main, the City stands;
First built (they say) by Amazonian Bands,

That from Thermodöon, with Moon-like Shields,
Victorious march'd, through the Trachéan Fields,
Commanded by an Oracle before,
To build a City, where a Fish, and Boar
Should, Dying, shew the Place; Fate was their Guide
This Way: where, sitting on the Ground, they spy'd
Some busily employ'd their Living Prey
To broil, late taken from th'adjoyning Sea.
When strait a Fish throws, with a sudden Leap,
A burning Coal, upon a Neighb'ring Heap
Of Straw; which turn'd to Flame, a sleeping Boar
Beneath it they beheld. Earth None before
More Terrible had bred; as Big, as that,
Which both Diana's, and Althæa's Hate
On Meleager drew. But this was there
With better Omen found, t'Instruct them, where,
The Goddess would on Earth most Pleas'd abide,
And make fam'd Ephesus great Asia's Pride.
They all, amaz'd, his weighty Bulk admire:
And, as He, Grunting, starteth from the Fire,
A ready Hand a well-aim'd Jav'lin throws,
Which in his Shoulder fix'd (as He arose)
A Deadly Wound. But yet awhile He fled,
And they with Shouts pursu'd, till, falling Dead,
The Oracle was by his Death fulfill'd,
And they their City there resolv'd to build.

Now do the Sacred Ploughs the Walls design,
And to the Stars the lofty Turrets joyn
Their shining Tops. The Goddess to renown,
And to Immortalize their Labours, down
From Heav'n her Image sent, which with it more
Of Riches brought, then if another Show'r
(Like that of Danäe's) Jove powr'd again
Upon the Place: or, if to Silver Rain

The very Stars dissolv'd. For soon as Fame
The Presence of the Goddess, and her Name
Through Asia had divulg'd: Devotion brings
From Ganges, and Hydaspes greatest Kings,
Who sweetest Spices, which their Fields adorn,
Cull'd from the Bosom of the Rising Morn,
With Gold, and Ivory, devoutly lay
Upon her Shrine, and as their Tribute pay
All Treasures, that the Womb of Asian Earth
Enrich: all, that the Seres, at the Birth
Of Day, could gather from their silken Trees:
What the Sabæan, or Arabian sees,
Dropping from fragrant Boughs: with whatsoe're
From shining Rocks, or Shells the Indians bare
To Eastern Kings, into the Sacred Fane
Are heap'd: which now no longer can contain
Its Wealth. And therefore they a Work begun,
Then which the Rising, nor the falling Sun,
None greater view'd; whose Structure did excell,
What ever Fame of Babylon doth tell,
Or Pharian Pyramids; which by one Age
Could not accomplish'd be, but did engage
Succeeding Kings, who in that Work alone
Employ'd the Riches of the Syrian Throne,
And puzzled Art, to finde out Waies, to show
Their Pious Bounty. There, as White as Snow,
Tall, polish'd Alablaster Pillars shine
(As purest Emblems of that Pow'r Divine,
Was there ador'd) upon whose carved Heads
An Ebon Roof the curious Builder spreads.
This, like black Night, hung or'e the Place, untill
Myriads of Silver Stars the Frame did fill;
And, to express her Empire in the Skies,
With a full Orb, a Crystal Moon did rise.

Through this, as Mother to Succeeding Day,
Clear Light flow'd in, and did at large display
The Temple's Glory. There you might behold
High Altars, not adorn'd, but built with Gold.
The Hearths were of the bright Pyropus made,
Whose Flames the Sacrifices on them lay'd,
Seem'd of themselves to burn: all other Fire
As vanquish'd by their Lustre, to retire;
All Gems thus were, or beautiful, or Rare
(As if their Native Quarries had been there)
In greatest Plenty shine, in ev'ry part
So plac'd, their Value is encreas'd by Art,
Their lively Figures as exactly stand,
Compos'd of sev'ral Stones, as if the Hand
Of some rare Painter, to express his Skill
In Colours, did the Walls, and Pavement fill.
Through a large Plain of Em'rads, with her Crue
Of Cretan Nymphs, Diana doth pursue
The flying Game: their Arms, and Shoulders bare;
Their Tyrian Vests tuck'd to their Knees, their Hair
In lovely Tresses, yet neglected flows
Upon their Backs: some arm'd with golden Bows;
Some carry Darts, some Spears, whose points, insteed
Of Steel, with Diamonds, make the Beasts to bleed.
This wounds a Panther, that a Tyger, this
A Lion kills, not any Hand doth miss
The Beast at which it aims, and thus with Chase
Of various kindes, they beautify the Place.

Above the rest a secret Chappel (where
The Eunuch-Priests alone permitted were
To enter) did delight, and Terrour move.
In a fair Fountain shadow'd by a Grove
Of varied Agats made, encompast round
With naked Nymphs, the Hart, Actæon, found

Bright Cynthia bathing; 'bout her Snow-white Thighs
The purling Waters play: with fixed Eyes
At first, He peeping stands behinde a Tree,
But Curious, anon, more near to see,
He farther steps, and stepping is betrai'd
By rusling Leaves. Startling, the Delian Maid
Looks back, and spying him, Anger, and Shame
To be so seen, at once her Face enflame.
As Red She looks, as when her Brother's Light
Deni'd, She doth Thessalian Dames affright.
And now her Rage no longer will delay
His Fate, but strait his Form she takes away:
Longer his Head, and Ears, upon his Brow
Large Horns, his Arms, and Thighs more slender grow;
No more Erect, but prone t'wards Earth he goes:
In all a Beast, but yet, alass, he knows
He is not what he was; when strait the Cry
Of his Molossian Hounds perswades to fly.
The Nymphs, all laughing, urge them to pursue
The Chase: He flies, they follow, and in View,
Pinch'd in the Haunch, (to shew Diana's Power)
He falls, and they their Master chang'd devour.

Here his two Guests, then which the World had none
Then Greater seen, whose Presence more his Throne
Renown'd, then all the Trophies he had gain'd,
The King with Chearful Welcom entertain'd,
And to their Eyes, as to invite his Foes
To a new Conquest, prodigally shews
His Empire's Riches, For no King before
That had the Syrian Scepter sway'd, did more
Possess: He was of all the Richest Heir,
That did Great Alexander's Trophies share,
And that vast Wealth not onely kept Entire,
But greater, which his Conquests did acquire,

Heap'd on his Throne. As if, to entertain
Those famous Heroes, Fortune did ordain,
That past, and present Ages should combine
To yield their Spoils, and in that Honour joyn.

It was a Day, when to commemorate
The King's Nativity, th'Ephesian State
With annual Rites their Loyal Joys exprest.
The King (as Custom was) a Stately Feast
Prepares: the Nobles all, invited, come,
And there the Fates of Carthage, and of Rome
(Scipio, and Hannibal) the Banquet grace,
And now meet, not to Fight, but to Embrace.
So when Ænéas fled from Ruin'd Troy,
And sought a fore in Conquest to enjoy,
Met by Tydîdes on th'Oenotrian Shore,
They laid aside that Fury, which before
Reign'd in their Breasts, which Xanthus Yellow Flood,
And the Dardanian Plains had stain'd with Blood,
And, with new Friendship, what they both had done
In Arms, repeat, since that sad War begun.
They now are glad each others Face to know:
Each counts the other Worthy such a Fo:
Whose constant Courage nothing of Success
In War could heighten, nor of Loss depress.
Whose Virtue in all Fortunes was the same,
And ow'd its Titles to no other Name.
Who, in pursuit of Honour, sought not to
Destroy a Noble Fo, but to subdue.
And, when in Arms, would do what Man could dare
T'attempt, and after Victory would spare
The Conquer'd Blood: nor vainly sought to praise
His own brave Deeds, and blast another's Bays.
Such in th'Ephesian Court these Heroes shin'd,
And with as free, and strict Embraces, joyn'd

Their Valiant hands, as if nor Trebia's Flood,
Nor Cannæ had been stain'd with Roman Blood
By Carthaginian Swords; Nor Hannibal
So lately had beheld his Countrie's Fall
In Zama's Wounds. Nor Scipio his Fate
Deprest upbraids: nor Hannibal his Hate,
At Stygian Altars sworn, discovers now.
But Sacred Concord on each Heroe's Brow
Sits, as Enthron'd, and over all the rest
Her Wings display's, t'inaugurate the Feast.

And now the Face of Mirth appears through all
The Court. Th'invited in a spacious Hall
At Iv'ry Tables sit, and richly there
Their Senses feed, with whatsoever Rare
The Asian World affords. The Seas, the Earth,
And Air, to gratulate so high a Birth,
Their choicest Tribute send, and all, that Art
To heighten Nature's Bounty could impart,
Was liberally employ'd. Amaz'd to see
The strange Excess of Syrian Luxury,
Soon cloy'd with diff'rent Thoughts, the Heroes are
Affected, and perpend the future War.
The Romans, pleas'd to think how weak in Fight
Those Arms will prove, which softned with Delight,
All Virtue so disarm'd: How easily
The Roman Swords, their Way to Victory
Would finde, where Honour led them on, and Spoils
So wealthy, were the Trophies of their Toils.

But Hannibal, more sadly thoughtful, calls
To Minde the Fate of Capua, and the falls
Of those brave Libyan Bands, that had so far
Advanc'd his Name, till a more cruel War
Of Ease, and Riot, at effeminate Boards,
Un-nerv'd their Valour, dull'd their Conqu'ring Swords,

Blasted those Laurels, that before had crown'd
Their warlike Brows, and, as in Lethé, drown'd
All Mem'ry of themselves, in these soft Charms
So lost, they quite forgot the Use of Arms.

As thus they ruminate, Eumolpus brings
His Iv'ry Lute, and to the warbling Strings
Accords his Voice, and chants, in smoothest Lays,
The King's Descent, and Alexander's Praise.
How first the Horned God his Libyan Grove,
And Sacred Springs, for fair Olympia's Love,
Forsook, and how, from that Divine Embrace,
Small Pella was by a Celestial Race
Renown'd, and while descending to the Earth
'Mong other Pow'rs Divine, t'assist his Birth,
Th'Ephesian Goddess, busyed wholly there,
Kept not her Famous Temple in her Care,
An Impious Hand, to build it self a Name,
With Sacrilegious Flames th'admired Frame
Destroy'd. But, when Lucina's Care had giv'n
To Earth a mighty Conquerour, to Heav'n
A future Deity, and he began
To shew the World, that he was more then Man,
By his great Deeds, to his Immortal Name
As humbly prostrate, as to the bright Flame
Of rising Day, th'admiring Persian bow'd.
To him Sabæans, and Arabians vow'd
Their richest Gums: to him the Parthians brought
Their Bowes un-bent, and conque'rd Quivers, fraught
With fatal Shafts: him all, from Ganges Shore,
To those, that Nile's mysterious Streams adore,
Their Lord obey'd, and, next the God of Wine,
For Wonders done acknowlegd'd as Divine.

But when he was for Earth too mighty grown,
And summon'd hence to a Celestial Throne,

Heav'n, that the Syrian Monarchy might stand
For ever firm, into Seleucus Hand
The sacred Scepter gave. Since none, but he
Was worthy to succeed a Deity,
Who could Himself subdue. An act that far
Transcends whatever can be done in War,
And Man Immortal makes. For, who the Force
Of Beauty can withstand, or can divorce
Love from his wounded Breast, may justly more
Of Conquest boast, then Gods have done before.
Yet He, when by expiring Sighs he found
Those very Eyes his Pious Son did wound,
That his own Souls surpriz'd, and that the Name
Of Stratonîca had the hidden Flame
Reveal'd (to shew how much a Noble Minde
'Bove Cupidinean Shafts prevails) resign'd
Into his Arms his Love, and rescu'd from
The hand of Fate, a Race of Kings to come.
Hence to our Royal Line this solemn Day
We consecrate, and grateful Honours pay.

Thus the Iönian sung; and as among
The rest, the lofty Subject of His Song
The Libyan applauds: the Romane thus
To him began. Though 'twixt the Gods, and Us,
Great is the difference, yet Virtue may
Raise Men, to those Felicities, which they
In Heav'n enjoy, and none so worthy are
Of that high Bliss, as those whose Name in War
Hath plac'd them here, on Earth, above the rest
Of Humane Race. Fate cannot such devest
Of Immortality. For, with Applause,
The World adores them, and obeys their Laws.
From these all Arts, and Virtues, that the Minde
Of Man enrich, at first took Birth, and finde

Their just Rewards. For when Immortal Jove
Had fram'd the World, though all the Stars above
In Order plac'd, and strugling Nature saw
All things created here, her certain Law,
And Times obey; yet, guided by their Will,
Mankinde among themselves a Chaos still
Retain'd. No Bounds of Justice to repress
The Hand of Rapine: Vices in, Excess,
Reign'd in all Mindes, the Names of Right, and Wrong
Unknown to all; the Virtuous were the Strong.
Nor then did Man to greater Good aspire,
Then what seem'd such, suggested by Desire.
But, lest a Custom, in Licencious Deeds,
The use of Reason, and Celestial Seeds
Should quite deprave; that true Promethean Fire,
The Breasts of some Brave Heroes did inspire
Those Monsters to subdue, and to compel
The too Licencious under Laws to dwell:
The Ill to punish, and the Good to Crown
With due Rewards. Hence Honour, and Renown
The Mindes of Mortals, first, from baser Earth
Rais'd towards Heav'n, from whence they took their Birth.
But since Lyæus, and Alcides Wars
The World with Trophies, and the Heav'n with Stars
Adorn'd, who (tell me) hath the greatest Name
In Arms deserv'd, and an Immortal Fame.

If such their Praise, if such their Merits are,
The Libyan replies: No Hand in War,
So worthy Fame, so mighty things hath done,
As the Peltæan Youth: whose Valour won
More Victories, then Time had Years to Crown
His Life allow'd: The Force of whose Renown
His Laws on farthest Nations did obtrude,
And Kingdoms, which he never saw, subdu'd.

For who, that heard, how great his Conquests were,
How small his Force, would not, with Reason, fear
Those Arms, which Persia's Monarch (compast round
With Troops, so numerous, that all the Ground
'Twixt Tigris, and Euphrates, scarce could yield
Them room to stand) subdu'd in open Field.
Scorning to Fortune, or to Night to ow
A Victory, He, in full Day, the Fo
Assails, while God, and Men together stand
Spectatours of the Wonders of his Hand,
And see each Macedonian Souldiers bring
A Nation captivated to their King.
But, not to speak of Battels, where his Skill,
And Conduct, all subjected to his Will,
No Town, no City (though the Sea, and Land
Conspir'd against his Force) could Him withstand;
Our Tyrian Walls alone the Glory have
To have resisted well: and that They gave
A longer Stand to th'Torrent of his Rage,
Then all the Persian Pow'rs, that did engage
Against his Arms. No Object was above
His Courage; whose Example would remove
All Obstacles, that others might deterr:
And though in great Designs he would confer,
The Best, he follow'd his own Thoughts alone,
And so made all his Victories his Own.
And may He have the Praise: for none hath more
In Arms deserv'd, perhaps no God before.

Next him that Noble Epirote, that came
To the Tarentines Aid, the Crown may claim.
His Courage, when a Youth, Pantauchus found
Above his Strength, though for his Strength renown'd.
While in two Armies View (as once before
His mighty Ancestour, on Xanthus Shore,

Great Hector slew) He, his proud Fo subdu'd,
And, to the wondring Macedonians, shew'd
All things, that they had seen in former Times
In their so glorious Prince, except his Crimes.
Nor were his Victories by Arms alone,
Where Fortune more, then Virtue oft is known
To give the Bays. His Wisdom Conquest findes,
Where his Sword could not reach, and or'e the Mindes
Of Men his Triumph gains; and thus he drew
From Romane Leagues Italian People to
His side. They thought themselves more Safe within
His Camp, then they in fenced Towns had bin
Under the Romane Laws. For he first taught
That Art, and Camps to their Perfection brought.

But if a Third you Seek, who hath no less,
Then these deserv'd (though Envious Gods Success
Deny'd) Me here, Me Hannibal behold,
Who with as early Courage, and as bold
Attempts, a War against the Romane Name
Pursu'd, and from the farthest Gades came,
To seek a Fo, which future Times might call
Most Worthy, to contend with Hannibal.
Not soft Sabæans, or Arabians, or
A People, that the Rites, and Toils of War
So little knew, that charg'd with rich Perfume,
More then with Sweat, or Dust, did more presume
On Numbers, then their Arms; or such, whose Ease
And Lusts, must prove the Conquerour's Disease,
And future Ruin. I through Nations born
In War, and nurtur'd in it, with a Scorn
Of Fate, and Fortune, or'e Pyrene, o're
The dreadful Alps, Victorious Ensigns bore.
And found that Fo, with whom I might contend
With greater Fame, who boast, that they descend

From Mars himself, and to the World no less
Appear, by their great Valour, and Success.
Nor was it, when some other Citie's Pride
With Rome for Empire strove, and did divide
Their scatter'd Force: but when all Italy
Her Strength united to encounter Me.
I shall not open those deep Wounds again,
Which then (an Enemy) I gave, or stain
Our Sacred Mirth with mention of each Flood,
Whose Streams ennobled were with Latian Blood,
Shed there by Me (and still perhaps, when I
Am nam'd, affrighted to their Fountains fly)
I'le onely say, more then three Lustra there
(In spite of all the Arts, and Arms, that were
Employ'd against Me) I Victorious stai'd,
And, (after many Towns, and Cities made
My Vassals, and three Valiant Consuls Fall)
Shook Jove Himself within the Capitol
With Terrour of my Arms, and, had not Rome,
By a base Envy of my Deeds at Home,
More then by her Own Valour, been reliev'd,
Our Carthaginian Mothers had not griev'd,
To see their Sons in Chains, but had by Me
Been made, what Romans are, at least, been Free.

To this the Roman, with a Smile, replies.
If Thee the Glory of thy Victories,
With these Immortal Heroes, thus hath joyn'd,
I pri'thee say: what Place shall be assign'd
To Me, who after I through Spain had fought
My Way, and, Conqu'ring, into Libya brought
The War, the Greatest of Numidian Kings
Subdu'd, and Captive made, and, on the Wings
Of that fresh Victory, tow'rds Carthage (where
But by thy Hand alone they did Despair

To be secur'd) march'd on, and, in one Day,
Took all thy former Laurels quite away.

'Tis true (said Hannibal) but, since the Fate
Of Virtue is, to want an Advocate,
If once Deprest, think me not Vain, when I
Those Merits plead, that are transcended by
Thy Fortune onely. Had I conquer'd Thee,
The World no other Conquerour, but me,
Had known, ev'n Those I nam'd their Place had lost
In Fame, and Rome the Triumphs She doth boast.

As thus they mutually their Merits plead,
The Sun began to hide his Flaming Head
In the Hesperian Main, and the opprest
With Mirth and Wine, the Night invites to Rest.
To which, when all retir'd, the King (whose Heart
Was fix'd on War) to Hannibal, apart,
Thus breaks his last Resolve. I should forget
My Honour (Hannibal) if what, as yet,
I have consulted onely, I should now
Delay. The Prosecution of thy Vow
Is with my State involv'd, and Rome shall see,
'Tis not thy Fortune We Embrace, but Thee.
That, which, through Servile Fear, hath been deni'd
By thine own Carthage, shall be here supply'd
By Me, and since we know how Various are
The Chances, and Events of Dubious War,
Why should we think the Fates will Favour more
The Romans now, then they have Thee before?
Fortune assists the Bold, and whosoer'e
Attempteth Coldly, loseth by his Fear.
'Tis therefore now decreed no more shall Rome
On Zama's Field, and Nabis Fall presume,
We Nations, great as any She hath known,
The Parthians, Medes, admired Babylon

Already have subdu'd and Warlike Thrace
(Where Mars inhabits) doth our Laws embrace.
My better Fortune, what thy Fate hath crost,
Shall give thee, and redeem what Thou hast lost.

This said; t'enjoy the Benefits of Night
They both withdrew: but nothing could invite
The Libyan Prince to rest. His thoughts pursue
His hop'd Revenge, and in themselves renew
The promis'd War. Impatient of Delay
He counts the Minutes, and desired Day
Implores. As promis'd Nuptials waking keep
A longing Lover, and quite banish Sleep,
Untill Enjoyment satiates his Desire,
And both gives Fuel, and abates the Fire.

The End of the Second Book of the Continuation.

The Third Book.

The Argument.

The Syrian Rome defies, both Scipio's are,
By choice, appointed to pursue the VVar.
Contagion wasts the Roman Navy, while
The Syrian Fleet's detain'd near Venus Isle,
By adverse VVinds. The Syrian Lords, a Shore
VVith Hannibal, the Cyprian Rites explore.
The VVinds again invite both Heets to Sea.
They meet, and fight. The Syrians lose the Day.
The Libyan Captain to Bethynia flies,
VVhere, to shun Treason, He by Poison Dies.

But when the Empire of the Night was done,
And sleep the Scepter yielded to the Sun,
The Ephesian Peers, as if the sprightful Wine
Had rais'd in ev'ry Breast a War, combine
With Hannibal, to shake off all Delay,
To hasten on the Fates, and take away

Their Fears of Peace, and strait the Syrian Kings
Defy proud Minio to the Romane brings.
Minio, sublime in Syrian Blood, then sway'd
His Master's Counsels; Him the World obey'd:
Nothing above him, but the Syrian Throne
He saw, all things, beneath it, were his Own.
Whatev'r was done, whatever was design'd,
Was not the King's, but Haughty Minio's Minde.
Thus, favour'd with High Insolence, He sold
Rewards of Virtue, all things uncontroul'd
Dispos'd. His greedy Avarice supprest
All Thoughts of Bounty in his Master's Brest:
The Name of Merit in that Gulph was drown'd,
And, as he pleas'd, the suff'ring People found
Ease, or Oppression, to such Mischiefs may
A single Favorite Kings, and Crowns betray.
When He a Period to the Syrian Pride,
And Hopes of Carthage, as he then defi'd
The Pow'r of Rome, had vainly giv'n: with Rage,
Which nothing, but their Ruin, could asswage,
The Romane Prince to the Myrtôan Main
Descends, and seeks Italian Shores again.

Soon as arriv'd, the Voice of War through all
The City flies. The careful Consuls call
A frequent Senate: Scipio repeats
Syria's vain Boast of Pow'r, and vainer Threats
Of a proud Favorite, and how the Name
Of Hannibal their Courage did enflame;
What aids by Land, and Sea prepared were;
What Carthage thence might hope; what Rome might fear:
All which in Counsel weigh'd, and War decreed,
'Twas hard to say, what Shoulders should succeed,
To bear that Burthen: Scipio was then
Debarr'd by Law to take that Charge agen;

A Name that so much Virtue did include,
That Hannibal could never be subdu'd
Without its Influence, nor Carthage cease
To emulate Rome's Triumphs, and her Peace.
Lælius great Virtues, through the World were fam'd,
And, where the Noble Scipio was not nam'd
Deserv'd the Bays. The Younger Scipio known
More by his Brother's Actions then his Own.
Desir'd to do, as He had done before
To vanquish Kingdoms, and by Conquests more
Then Years to count his Age. But some, whom fear
Of Syria's Force, and (what cost Rome so dear)
The Name of Hannibal, then mov'd, did stand
For a more knowing, and experienc'd Hand.
One whose great Virtues by his Deeds were known.
Supported by no Merits, but his Own.
And, such was Lælius held by Land, and Sea,
For whom Acilius, this Important Plea
Assumes. If We Rome's Safety seek, and more
Then Private Names, the publick Peace adore,
Whence Fathers this Dispute? whence this Delay?
Why should we leave to Fortune what we may
Prevent with Reason? when Distempers are
Grown Great, the Wise strong Remedies prepare.
Let not those Seeds of Virtue that appear
In Younger Breasts, be valu'd at the Fear
Of Publick Ruin We've already found
What Mischief Youth (not by a single Wound)
May through their Heat produce, and still do feel
The Anguish of those Wounds, the Libyan steel,
Through them inflicted: which, if now again
Torn open, will ingeminate the Pain.
One Errour all our former Ills recals,
And brings the World against Us to our Walls.

For Rome (alass) can boast no Strength of Friends
Abroad, but what on her Success depends.
Her Virtue onely must her Wealth defend,
Her Wisdom to employ it, her Best Friend.
Then let not Favour to a Private Name
Anticipate your Reason. I disclaim
All Envy to those honour'd Heads, that have
Enrich'd Us with their Trophies, and that gave
New Titles to our Fasti. May they live
Still glorious in them, and all Time survive.
But let not Us Heav'n's Blessings so confine,
As if Entail'd upon a single Line.
Our Laws have so ordain'd, that all, that are
Deserving, may in Publick Honours share.
Hence Libyan some; some Gallick wreaths have crown'd:
By sev'ral Lands, are sev'ral Names renown'd.
Our Fathers still the Burthen of the State
Impos'd on Shoulders, equal to the Weight.
The Greatest Heroes ever would contend,
When Prudence, more then Fortune, might commend
Their Deeds. For, though the great Alcides kill'd
Serpents in's Cradle, yet till he was Skill'd
Through many Labours, how his Strength to guide,
He never with the Libyan Monster tri'd
His God-like Courage. Let such Honours be
Bestow'd, when Dangers, in a less Degree,
Shall threaten Us, and when these Forein Storms
Cannot resist, but exercise your Arms.
What skilful Pilot, by late Tempest tost,
His Vessel torn, some Sails, and Tackle lost,
While still the rude Winds rage, the Billows roar
(Though now he hath in view his Native Shore)
Will Idle, too secure of Safety, stand,
And trust the Helm to a less Skilful Hand?

No; let this Senate's Wisdom so provide,
That what We want of Strength, may be supply'd
By Conduct: then, if't be decreed the State
Shall suffer, We may not be blam'd, but Fate.

This said; his Silence a deep Silence through
The Senate struck, and on great Scipio drew
The Eyes of all. In him it lay to turn
Their Choice to Votes, or Fortune of the Urn.
This did Young Scipio, Lælius that desire:
As confident, the Senate would require
A Man, whose former Actions might commend
Their Choice, and Rome upon his Care depend.

After some Pause, and strugling 'twixt the Names
Of dearest Friend, and Brother, while each claims
In his divided Soul an equal Share,
Thus Africanus doth himself declare.

I should forbear to speak, did I not see
(Grave Fathers) that your Eyes are fix'd on Me;
On whom a Province lies more Weighty far,
Then was the Burthen of the Africk War:
For there Rome's Fortune with mine own did joyn;
But this Intestine Conflict's wholly mine;
While, for my Blood, I 'gainst my Soul contend;
Distinguish'd 'twixt a Brother, and a Friend.
A Friend, whom Rome may boast, that he was born
In her Embrace: whose Virtues do adorn
The Present, and the future Age will bless.
Whom, as my better Genius (I confess)
I ever entertain'd: his Counsels still
Pursu'd as Oracles, and never will
My Lælius from my Soul divide. But now
Ev'n what Acilius pleads will not allow,
That to his Conduct we this War assign.
This, onely, to our Name, the Pow'rs Divine

Reserve. If greater Wars shall threaten Rome,
The Honour of Command will best become
My Noble Lælius; and, when War shall cease,
Hee'l be her Chiefest Ornament in Peace.
Though now the Title, Great, the Syrian King
Assumes, and to his Aid all Asia bring,
Yet, if the Libyan Captain be not there,
Too mean a Province that for Lælius were.
The Gods their Blessings, as the Stars bestow
Their Influence on Men, and Things below,
Do sev'rally dispense. Some Fatal are
To those, that be the most renown'd in War,
Yet by less Warlike fall. Not to repeat
Forein Examples, or to tell how Great
In Arms, ev'n by a Woman, Cyrus fell.
Things nearer to Us (Fathers) may compell
Your Wonder. After our best Captains slain,
Your Scipio undertook the War in Spain,
When scarce five Lustra old, and all those Lands
Subdu'd, where Hannibal those dreadful Bands
Amass'd, that shook your Walls. What since I've done
Becomes not Me to speak, whater'e I won
Under Your Auspïcies, was the Decree
Of Heav'n, should onely be atchiev'd by Me.
Nor censure me as Vain, who arrogate
So great a Partage in the Romane Fate,
To say, that, where the Libyans are your Foes,
You must a Scipio to their Arms oppose.
Carthage will ever threaten these our Walls,
Till Heav'n our Name unto her Ruin calls.
Then 'tis not, that I emulate my Friend,
But for Rome's Safety (Fathers) I contend:
And, if the Arguments of Youth disswade
Your Choice, let my maturer Age be made

The Balance of your Doubts, my Brother's Years
Mine own exceed, when I your greater Fears
Allay'd, with Victory; and, that again
You may the same assurance entertain,
Me his Lieu-tenant make, and fear no more
Those Arms, which I subdu'd for you before.

This said, loud Clamours, with a full Assent,
The Temple shook, and through the City went.
Thence through all Italy the swift alarms
Of War excite the active Youth to Arms.
No Region from those Hills, whose frozen Heads
The Stars invade, to where blew Neptune spreads
His frothy Arms about the Rhegian Walls,
Their Aid denies. The Name of Scipio calls
The most Luxurious from their Choice Delights,
And to meet Dangers, under Him invites.
All, who their Country; all, who Honour love,
His Ensigns seek to follow, and to prove
What Fortune, and the Gods for them ordain.

And now with num'rous Ships the Neighb'ring Main
Oppress'd, groans under their vast Weight, and feels
The Fate of Carthage from their brasen Keels.
Which, oft as the rebellious Billows rise,
Dash them to pieces: while the Winde supplies
With favourable Blasts their swelling Wings,
And to the Asian Coast the Army brings.

While Rome for future Triumphs thus provides,
Envy, (the Plague of Courts) not Reason guides
The Syrian Counsels. What the Wise perswade,
The Ignorant reject. The Courtier's made
The Souldier's Judg. What he concludes doth finde
Its Influence upon the Prince's Minde.
Not all the Mighty things, which Hannibal
Had done, which Rome ev'n trembled to recall

To Memory, could make his Sense prevail
To quit the Syrian Kingdoms, and assail
The Fo at Home. Though whosoever so
Invaded is, lends Courage to his Fo,
And Strength to vanquish him. But strangely Blinde
To his own Fall, the Syrian King's inclin'd,
Rather on his own People, all those Ills
To bring, with which Invasive Fury fills
A miserable Land. And strait his Fleet
Is order'd under Hannibal to meet
The Romane, where Iônian Billows move
About that Island, where the Wife of Jove
Was born, and by the Careful Nymphs was bred,
Till call'd by Hymen to her Brother's Bed.
She, although Conscious of the Fates to come,
Retaining still her Antient Hate to Rome,
Her Empire of the Air with Mischief fills,
And on the neighb'ring Isles sad Plagues distills.
Th'unhappy Season with her Wrath conspires,
'Twas when the Dog breath'd his Contagious Fires
On fainting Men, depriving Beasts of Food,
And turning into Poison purest Blood.
Th'attracted Air their Entrails scorcheth, fills
Their Veins with Flames, and, e're expired, kills,
Such hasty Fates, that Time doth scarce know how
'Twixt Life, and Death, his Minutes to allow.
While some, whom decent Piety invites
T'interr their Friends, for their own Funeral's Rites
Prepare, and strait from their departing Breath
Infected fall, and share a sudden Death.
The Romane Souldier, whose great Valour scorn'd
To stoop to Foes, whose Trophies had adorn'd
His Native House, who ne're before had known
To yield his Arms, now weak, and feeble grown,

Let's fall his Shield, and Conqu'ring Sword, and dies,
Ev'n in his Arms, disarm'd. This Plague's Surprize
So sudden is, that, as the Master stands
To time, with his loud Voice, the Seamen's Hands,
On his half-Deck he prostrate falls, before
The Word's exprest. Extended at the Oar,
The Seaman, in a lab'ring Posture, dies,
Not known, if Dead, or rowing, as he lies.
From this so fatal Coast, that did afford
To Death far greater Triumphs, then the Sword,
The Romane Navy, flying the Disease,
Retires, and trusts their Safety to the Seas.

But Venus, fearing lest Saturnia's Hate
From this might greater Mischief propagate,
If then the Syrian Fleet should on them fall,
Thus to her Aid the God of Winds doth call.

Great Æolus, whose mighty Empire lies
O're all the vast Extent, beneath the Skies,
Assist Me now. I ask not, That thou make
Earth tremble, and the World's firm Fabrick shake;
Nor that her Stony Entrails thou so wide
Should'st rend, that Ghosts below may be descri'd;
Nor that the Seas (as in the Giant's Wars)
Thou hurl in wat'ry Mountains 'gainst the Stars.
Juno for such Revenge perhaps may call
'Gainst Us, t'exalt her single Hannibal.
I onely covet to preserve mine Own,
And to effect the rest, let Fates alone.
She when nor Arms, nor Valour can prevail,
My Race with Hell, and Furies will assail.
Could She infect the Place I hold above,
She'd bring Her Plagues into the Court of Jove:
What's mine on Earth her Malice doth surround.
Thou see'st what gloomy Vapours, from the Ground,

She draws, Death hatching, in their pregnant Wombs,
And threatning Mischief to all's Mine, and Rome's.
Scarse can my Power, my sacred Isles defend.
My Cyprian, my dear Paphian Temples tend
To Ruin, and our Votaries, for fear,
Of dire Contagion, all our Shrines forbear.
No Innocence is spar'd: my Birds, that from
Aurora's bosom to my Lap would come,
And the Refreshments of the choicest Springs,
Would, billing, scatter from their Silver Wings,
As to our sacred Groves they would repair,
Fall flying Victims, in the poisn'd Air.
But this thy Power great Æölus can cure,
And, what is now corrupted, render pure.
Then purge Infection from this Ambient Air,
Make it Serene, and the lost Health repair
Of this once Happy Clime, and Neighb'ring Isles,
And thy Reward (with that, She sweetly smiles)
Shall be the fairest Nymph of all my Train.
No sooner said (for who can ought refrain
When Venus pleads) but Æölus unbindes
From their dark Prisons, the Etesian Windes,
Whose Active Force, not onely chas'd away
All noxious Clouds, and Mists, and gave the Day
A wholsom Face; but, with a constant Gale,
Against all Labour of the Oars prevail,
To keep the Syrian Fleet (the more to please
The Cyprian Goddess) in her Neighb'ring Seas.
Twice twenty Daies, the Idle Ships, before
The Island lay, and Anchor'd near the Shore.
When a Desire to see the fam'd Delights
Of Cyprian Groves, the Syrian Lord's invites,
And Hannibal to Land. No place did more
Indulge to Love, or Venus Pow'r adore.

The Goddess this to all the World prefers,
And is best pleas'd, when Mortals calls it Hers.
All Deities, that can Earth's Wealth improve,
Here pay their Tribute to the Queen of Love.
The Medows Flora, the Fields Ceres fills
With her rich Plenty, Bacchus crowns the Hills.
The greedy Swains no wealthy Orchards rear:
For Nature choicest Fruits doth, ev'ry where,
Largely bestow, the Bounty of the Soil
Gives all they can desire, without their Toil.
All other Pleasures, which Affection moves,
They finde most ample in their Sacred Groves.
Eternal Shades of Trees, whose Arms above
Embrace, and Roots beneath are making Love:
No Birds of Prey upon the Branches dwell;
Or, if they there frequent, 'tis strange to tell,
How soon their cruel Nature they forego,
And Kindness to all other Creatures show.
All in their Kinds are pair'd; no Bird alone:
No Turtles, by their Mates deserted, Moan.
Nothing, that Mischief breeds, can there be found.
Love onely hath the Pow'r t'inflict a Wound.
From Native Grottoes, that all Art exceed,
Their Chrystal Fountains sev'ral Chanels feed
With cooling Streams, which, as they murm'ring pass,
Still Verdant keep the Lover's Seats of Grass.
All this survai'd, their Temple's sacred Rites
To Wonder, and Devotion them invites.
The Chief was Paphos, which their Senses Charms
Above Belief. The Goddess there her Arms,
Her Chariot, harness'd Doves, and whatsoe're
On Earth she values, keeps. Her Trophies here
Of such, as 'gainst her Pow'r rebell'd, the Gates
Adorn; their Names, and Fate the Priest relates:

A Priest, who yet five Lustra had not seen,
Yet, since he three had told, her Priest had been:
But must no longer at her Altar stand,
Or take the sacred Censer in his Hand,
When from his Birth twice twenty Years expir'd;
For Youth is by the Goddess most desir'd:
Such all her Votaries, and Clients are;
The Aged seldom at her Shrines appear.
These view'd, and past; to a fair Porch they came,
Where Miracles the Deity proclaim.
Bodies to other things transform'd by Love,
Whose strange Originals their Change did prove:
Some, whose Obdurate Hearts had made them Stone;
Some, Beasts; some, Birds; some, Trees; their Figures none
Had lost, but, as when chang'd, their Shapes retain,
And Monuments of her great Pow'r remain.

Above the rest, an Iv'ry Statue stands,
Fair ev'n to Wonder. Hannibal demands,
What Nymph it was of that Celestial Form?
To whom the Priest replies. A Soul did warm
This Iv'ry once. The Storie's very strange,
Yet this fair City, and these Walls the Change
Attest. When first Pygmalion in this Isle
Arriv'd, a Votary to Venus, while
Our Cyprian Virgins such a Freedom us'd,
That jealous Lovers thought themselves abus'd,
He, flying Hymen, to his House retires.
But still retaining in his Breast the Fires
Of Love, his troubled Fancy to divert,
This Statue, with more then Promethean Art,
He frames, and, as all Parts he, wondring, views,
Desires of Hymen in his Breast renews,
And Venus thus invokes. Give Me (He said)
For Wife, as Beautiful, and Chast a Maid,

Great Goddess, and, if thou my Pray'r wilt hear,
A Temple to thy Name my Race shall rear.
No sooner said, but th'Object of his Love
Receives a Soul, and strait began to move.
Her Eyes no more are fix'd; but lively Raies
Eject, and first on her kinde Maker gaze.
Then on her polish'd Limbs, which purple Veins
Now warm, and soften with their beauteous stains.
In brief; She lives Pygmalion's dearest Flame,
And from their Nuptial Bed great Paphos came.
Who, when the Fates the borrow'd Soul again
Requir'd, his Iv'ry Mother, in this Fane
Vow'd to the Goddess, plac'd, and we still here,
With holy Incense, Honour, once a Year.
When this, with other Wonders, they had seen,
The Adyta they enter, which within
No Images adorn. But Venus stood
Alone, and kept her Altars free from Blood.
They Tears of Myrrha, onely, offer there,
And Sighs of Lovers. The included Air
Is ever warm, and wheresoe're they turn,
They meet soft Kisses, but no Lips discern.
Amaz'd the Strangers stand, though strangely pleas'd:
When them from Wonder thus the Priest releas'd.

The Goddess, for this secret Place alone,
This Miracle reserves, thus made her Own.
When She her dear Ascanius had convey'd
Up to Cythêra, and on Violets lai'd
The sleeping Boy; Her Aromatick Show'rs
Of sweetest Roses, round about She pow'rs.
Then gazing on his Face, her former Flame,
Her lov'd Adonis to her Fancy came.
Scarce could She, then, withstand his Beautie's Charms,
Scarce from his dear Embrace refrain her Arms.

But fearing to disturb the Boy's sweet Rest,
Her Lips upon the Neighb'ring Roses prest.
They strait grow Warm, and, rising from the place,
Turn'd into Kisses, fly about her Face.
The Goddess, willing that the World should share,
So sweet a Pleasure, scatters through the Air,
With a large Hand, the new-created Seed,
Which, as from fertile Glebe arising, breed.
But the first Born She plac'd within this Fane,
Which warm, as now you feel them, still remain.

This said, a sudden Noise permits no more,
But summons them abruptly to the Shore,
The Wind came fair: the busy Seamen weigh
Their barbed Anchors, and stand off to Sea.
The Time no longer stay will now afford,
The churlish Masters hasten all aboard.
Torn from Delight, the Syrian Nobles are
Displeas'd, and rather wish another War.

But Hannibal, whose great Heroick Brest,
A Nobler Flame, then that of Love possest;
With as much Joy the Fetters of those Charms
Shakes off, as Towns besieg'd, from Hostile Arms
Themselves by Sallies free, and all the Woes
That threatned them, revert upon their Foes.
Honour, which Noble Deeds in War attends,
Exciting his great Soul, he first ascends
His Ship, and offers to the God of Seas
Warm Entrails, then at large his Sails displaies.
Loud Clamours from his high Example, through
The Fleet are spread, whil'st all his Course pursue.
And now the Land retires, the Cyprian Shore
Is lost, and all the Flames which they before
Cherish'd, are quite extinct in ev'ry Breast,
Wholly with Thoughts of future War possest.

A War, wherein Rome's Fortune stood alone
Against the World: and were there more then One,
Might with them all contend. So Great was She,
Till lessen'd by her Crims of Victory.

Twice had the Sun descended to the Sea;
Twice the wing'd Hours had rais'd again the Day.
When they that Coast, where Sida doth obtrude
High Rocks (Her strong Defence) against the rude
Assaults of Raging Billows made: and there
Beheld what both their Wonder, and their Fear
At once creates. The Seamen think they've lost
Their Course, and touch upon some un-known Coast.
Or Nature, from the Bowels of the Main,
Some Cyclas thrusts, or floating Grove again.
But as they nearer came, within that Wood
They saw for Fight prepar'd, an Army stood,
So numerous they were, that what before
Their Wonder was, is now their Terrour more.
Their Order such, as when her borrow'd Raies
With growing Horns the Silver Moon displaies.
But her full Glory, their Guilt, brasen Prows
Surpast, and gave the Morning, as it rose,
A brighter Face; and, where they made their Way,
With a new Light anticipate the Day.

The Syrian Navy, whether clog'd with Fear,
Or their vast Bulk, though still they forward steer.
Went slowly on, till Hannibal so far
Advanc'd before, that he provok'd the War.
At his Approach, the Romane Souldiers fill
The Air with Shouts, that seem the Winds to still,
And fright Pamphylian Nymphs, while he goes on
Fearless, as if his Valour could alone,
With all their Force contend. When a Disdain
To see him dare so much, a Rage more vain

Creates in a brave Rhodian, who forsakes
His Station, and the Combate undertakes.
Both ply their Oars; both seek to gain the Wind.
While Fortune, that, in this alone, inclin'd
To favour Hannibal, extends his Sails
With following Gusts so, that his speed prevails,
And bears his Gally on against his Fo,
With so great Violence, the barbed Proe
Strikes through his Side, and with the furious Shock
Shakes his whole Bulk, as bruis'd against a Rock.
As from some Engine shot, the Splinters fly,
Through all the Ship; and One the Captain's Eye
So deeply wounds, it sinks into his Brain,
And leaves upon the Deck his Body slain.
With him the Courage of the rest doth dy,
And a base Fear perswades them streight to fly.
While Hannibal pursues, with Storms of Fire
From Pitchy Lamps, and Darts, as they retire.
Black waves of Smoak the flying Vessel hide;
And her sad Fate invites from either side.
Fresh Squadrons to the Fight. These to maintain
Their Conquest; those to take Revenge. The Main
Foams with their active Oars, and the Sea-Gods,
Affrighted, seek their most remote Abodes.
Fearing the future Horrour of the Day,
And bloody Seas, their safety might betray.

Both Navies now are met, Proes against Proes;
Sides against Sides they strike, and, grapling close,
So firmly, that, as Foot to Foot they stand,
And, with their Swords, deal Wounds, as if on Land.
But where the swelling Surges interpose,
Or Winds so, that the Gallies cannot close,
Darts, Arrows, Jav'lins, flaming Lamps they throw,
And Death, and Wounds, in sev'ral Shapes, bestow:

The Romanes now; the Syrians now give Way:
Yet neither fly, but equally the Day
Are confident to gain, and their Retreat,
Like Rams, doth greater Force, and Rage beget.
Till Scipio, to whose Fortune Syria's Fate
Must yield, and thence her future Ruin date,
A Squadron of Italian Gallies brought
'Gainst Apollonius, who too rashly sought
So brave a Fo. Like Thunder, tearing Clouds,
Their meeting Vessels crack: th'entangled Shrouds
Some, that would sink, above the Waves retain;
While others to the Bottom of the Main
Descend, and in their Arms the Souldiers drown'd
Finde a sad Fate without Revenge, or Wound.

But some, whose present Courage stood above
Surprize of Danger, 'gainst such Fortune, strove
To dy among their Foes, and leaping on
Their Decks, there, fighting, fall. Some backward thrown
Are lost in the Assault: others, whose Skill
In Swimming, and their Rage kept floating still,
Attempt to Board again. Eumenes late
A Captain, who his Tyrian Gallie's Fate
A while surviv'd, first seiz'd a Romane's Oar,
By which he nimbly climbing up (before
Perceiv'd) the Deck had gain'd; when strait, one Hand
Lop'd off, the other still his Hold maintain'd,
Untill a second Wound took that away:
Yet this sad Loss could not his Minde betray
To want of Courage, but his Teeth supply'd
Their Room, until a Fauchion did divide
His Body from his Head, which still did keep
Its Hold: the Trunck fell back into the Deep.

Th'Example of his Death made some to burn
With Rage: some, chill with Fear, their Proes to turn.

And fly. While Hannibal their Flight, in vain,
Upbraids, and hales them to the Fight again.
But, when they saw Pamphilius possest
With so great Terrour, that he first the rest
Forsook: no Sense of Honour could restrain
Their Flight. But, scatter'd over all the Main,
The base Cilicians spread their Sails to Fear,
Scarce knowing to what Land, or Coast they steer.

But the brave Libyan, who as much to fly
Abhorr'd, as those base Cowards fear'd to dy,
With three stout Tyrian Gallies, makes through all
The Latian Ships t'attaque their Admiral:
Thinking, that Act alone would best become
His Valour, when he seem'd t'assault ev'n Rome
Her Self; and from his Conquest, or his Fall,
The World might say, 'Twas done like Hannibal.
But Fortune the Success deny'd, and brought
A furious War upon him, where he fought.
Wheree're he turns, their Numbers him surround,
So, as besieg'd he stands. No place is found,
Where a brave Deed a single Arm may boast.
All Valour in their Multitudes is lost.
This Face of Danger his last Fury wakes.
As, when too close pursu'd, a Tiger takes
His Stand, resolv'd to dy reveng'd; he views
His Foes, all Wounds receives; at length doth chose
Against that Hand to spend his Stock of Rage,
That 'gainst his Life most forward doth engage.
So a Pretorian Ship, that 'bove the rest,
With Show'rs of Piles, and Darts did him infest,
With a Prodigious Storm he laies aboard,
And all the Plagues, that Libya could afford,
(To which her thirsty Sands do give a Birth)
Upon it throws, enclos'd in Pots of Earth.

From which (when fall'n, and broken on the Decks)
Myriads of Serpents rais'd their marble Necks.
The Souldiers, in the Fight, with Wonder are
Surpriz'd, as if Medusa made the War.
Their dreadful Hiss suppress'd all warlike Sounds,
And when their Stings, or Teeth inflict their Wounds,
Strange kinds of sudden Death ensue; while some,
Whose Nerves the deadly Poison doth benum,
Like Statues fixed stand: Others beheld
Their well-shap'd Limbs above Proportion swell'd,
Till their encreasing Bow'ls their Bellies burst:
Some seem t'have swallow'd Flames, and a dire Thirst
Firing their bloodless Entrails, to allay
Its Rage, they headlong leap into the Sea.
This through one Wound sees all his blood to flow,
His Veins soon empty made; That doth not know
Hee's hurt, nor feels a Wound, when Death strait creeps
Into his Heart, and he for ever sleeps.

But, though each Serpent thus a sev'ral kinde
Of Death inflicts, yet, to one Ship confin'd
Free from their Venemous Assault, the rest,
The Libyan with all sorts of Arms opprest,
Till Juno, strugling still with Fate (resolv'd
No Romane Hand should boast his Fall) involv'd
The Day in Horrour; chas'd the Light away
Before its Time; and over all the Sea
The Wings of Night extends: the Pregnant Clouds
Discharge their Cataracts, and from the Shrouds
The roaring Winds the swelling Canvase tare
The Romane Ships, as if in Civil War,
'Gainst one another strike, and now contend
How from themselves they may themselves defend.
At length dispers'd o're all the Main they flee,
And, by this Danger, from a greater free,

Safe to the Lycian Shore the Libyan came,
Reserv'd by Fate to be Bithynia's Shame.

But Fortune had not thus her Aid deny'd
By Sea alone unto the Syrian Side,
But, where by Land the King his Armies led,
His Ensigns from the Romane Eagles fled.
His Thracian Kingdoms now no more his Law
Obey'd, but the Ausonian Fasces saw
In Triumph, through their Conquer'd Cities, go,
And Him, of late their Lord, esteem'd their Fo.
His Grecian Friends the Leagues, that they had sworn,
Reject, and now his weaker Friendship scorn.
Scarce would the Syrian Cities entertain
Their flying King, at his return. So vain
The People's Favour, and their Faith, when crost
By Fortune, and his Pow'r a King hath lost!
This Levity the Libyan Prince revolv'd
Much in his troubled Thoughts, at length, resolv'd
No more the Dang'rous Envy of that Court
To try, but to Bithynia's King resort;
A King, who wanted then so brave a Hand
Against Etolians to defend his Land.
Prompted to this by his unhappy Fate,
Thither he speeds, and findes (alas!) too late
The Malice of his Foes could not extend
To reach his Death, but by a Treach'rous Friend;
A Friend, who to his Valour ow'd his Crown,
And, by that Fatal Victorie's Renown,
Made Jealous Rome to hasten on his Fall,
By such an Act, as all the World may call
Her Infamy. For he, that conquer'd Foes
Destroys, when he may spare, doth Honour lose.

But to the Romane Arms all Asia now
Submits, and all their Laws impos'd allow.

No King, but basely yields to their Demands:
No City, where they March, their Pow'r withstands.
And what did most with Hannibal's sad Fate
Conspire, his Ruin to accelerate,
Was, that Flaminius, whose rash Sire before
The Libyan Arms on Thrasimenus Shore
Renown'd, a Legate to Bithynia came,
And to his base Revenge the Senate's Name
Usurp'd. Their Peace, and Amity to all
Deny'd, that should protect brave Hannibal.
The King, consulting with his Fears, forgets
All Ties of Honour: on his Safety sets
A greater Value. Those late Trophies gain'd,
By which the Libyan Prince his Throne sustain'd,
Seem to upbraid him with a Debt, which He
Cannot discharge, but by this Treachery.
Those Glories, that too near his Crown dilate
Their Lustre into Crimes, degenerate.
They Guilty are, whose Merits stand above
Reward: in lower Sphears Men safest move.

These Thoughts drew on the Noble Libyan's Fate,
Whose strong Suspicious made him (but too late)
T'attempt Escape. The dubious Faith of Kings,
Which varies with the Face of Humane Things,
Gave him to fear a Change, and to prepare
Strange Lab'rinths under Ground, to shun the Snare
But all in Vain, declining Fortune made
Traitours of nearest Friends, and he's betrai'd
In all, that he designs. Arm'd Troops enclose
His House, and stop his Way wheree're he goes.

But his Resolved Minde 'bove Fortune stands,
And still reserves his Fate in his Own Hands.
Though now betrai'd He is, and left by all,
He's still so great, that none can Hannibal,

But Hannibal, destroy. And, to prevent
Surprize, into a secret place he went,
Where, first the Gods accus'd, and Hanno's Pride,
(That to his growing Conquests Aid deni'd)
The Syrians Folly, and base Prusias last
Perfidious Act (which all the rest surpast
In Infamy) with Execrations blam'd,
The Aid of his Great Father's Spirit he claim'd:
And a dire Poison (without farther Pause)
More Fierce then that, which, from the raging Jaws
Of Gerberus, upon Earth's Bosom fell,
When Great Alcides drag'd him chain'd from Hell,
He swallows down. This baneful Drug, before
Prepar'd by a Massylian Witch, he wore
Lock'd on his Sword, which, if that chanc'd to fail,
Might, as his surer Destiny, prevail
Against all Humane Force: and, as he found
It seiz'd his Vitals by an Inward Wound,
He these last Words expir'd. Now lay aside
Thy Fears (O Rome) no more will I thy Pride
Oppose, but with this Satisfaction Dy,
That, thus Degenerate, Thy self, wilt my
Revenge effect. Not Arms, but Virtue made
Thy Fathers Great; which since in Thee decai'd,
Thy Ruin must ensue. They, Nobly, scorn'd
By Treason to destroy a Fo, and warn'd

The Epirote of Poison, when he stood
Arm'd at their Gates, and Triumph'd in their Blood.
But Me, opprest with Fortune, and my Years,
Betrai'd a feeble Victim to thy Fears,
A Cons'lar Legate forceth thus to fly
From Life, 'gainst Laws of Hospitality,
And a King's Faith. But this vile Stain (O Rome)
More lasting, then thy Trophies, shall become:

And, when thy Deeds in War, in future Time,
The World shall read, thy Glories this one Crime
Shall blast, and all account Thee from my Fall
Unworthy such a Fo, as Hannibal.
More He'd have said, but through his swelling Veins
Death creeps, and binds in Adamantine Chains
The Spirits of Life, which with this Language ends:
His Soul to other Heroes Ghosts descends.

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library

A Continuation of SILIUS ITALICUS To the Death of HANNIBAL

The First Book.

The Argument.

The Second Book.

The Argument.

The Third Book.

The Argument.