King Arthur An Heroick Poem. In Twelve Books. By Richard Blackmore. To which is Annexed, An Index, Explaining the Names of Countrys, Citys, and Rivers, &c |
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 | King Arthur |  |
204
Tis true I still have Pagan Gods defy'd.
I ne'er would Incence on their Altars throw,
Nor in their Groves, nor in their Temples bow.
I ne'er have Worship to your Idols shewn
Stupid, as are the Rocks from whence they're hewn.
Gods Deify'd by Superstitious Fear,
Gods whom Creating Statuarys reer.
Who Pyrrhus and his Wife have far outdone,
Transforming into Gods the senseless Stone.
To th'unseen Mind I've still Obedience paid,
Who this, and those bright Worlds above us made.
This Independent Being I adore,
One God I rev'rence, but revere no more.
He in whose Power and Goodness I believe
Will from your Rage this Mortal Life retrieve
Or in Exchange will Life Eternal give.
I own, I did with humble prayer perswade
The Pious Briton Gallia to invade,
His Arms in our Deliv'rance to employ
To save a Realm you labour to destroy.
How have you triumph'd and Insulting stood
With Garments rowl'd in Slaughter'd Christians blood?
Haughty Proscriptions, Murders, Banishment
And all the Plagues that Tyrants can Invent,
At your Command the Christians have destroy'd,
Yet your Insatiate Rage was never cloy'd.
Tormentors with their cruel labour tir'd
To gain their own, the Suff'rers rest desir'd.
205
And Prisons only are inhabited.
All Europe ecchoes with Lutetia's Groans,
And every Land receives her straggling Sons.
We justly arm'd to set our Country free
From unexampl'd Rage, and barb'rous Cruelty.
Subjects should Kings revere and raise their Fame,
But cruel Monsters lose that sacred Name.
A Father do's not arm'd with lawless Power,
Instead of feeding them, his Sons devour.
Wolves should they Crooks usurp, no Shepherds are,
Nor Spoilers Princes, tho' they Scepters bear.
Wild Violence, and Power outrageous grown
Proclaim the Tyrant, and the King dethrone.
Scepter'd Destroyers do themselves depose,
And all their Right to our Obedience lose.
This is your Case, this sinking Gallia's Fate,
We, mov'd by Pity to her Suff'ring State
Call'd in the Generous Briton with Intent
Her universal Ruin to prevent.
This I have done, and Glory in the Deed,
And tho' I fall may Arthur's Arms succeed.
Stedfast in Christian Faith I've always stood,
And ready am to seal it with my Blood.
I will not Life from Clotar e'er demand
Nor ask Deliv'rance from his cruel Hand.
For my expected Suff'rings I prepare,
You've Power indeed, but want a Heart to spare.
| King Arthur | |