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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| II. |
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| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
 | King Arthur |  |
He ceas'd. Fair Merula reply'd. Your Breast
Is, as I fear'd, too strongly Prepossest,
To be with new tho' truer Lights imprest.
When to Dispute a Woman takes the Field,
A Man believes he can't in Honour Yield.
I am not here a Match, the Righteous Cause
From my Defence great disadvantage draws.
But now if Clovis who's in Reason strong,
Wise in Debate, and Eloquent of Tongue,
Would change the Scene, and plead my Cause, how clear
How pure, he'd make my Innocence appear?
Such is your force in Reasoning, such your Art
That Error you to seeming Truth convert.
The strangest Paradox sustain'd by you
Ev'n to Sagacious Minds appears as true.
But why, alass, should Clovis thus Employ
Such noble Gifts their Owner to destroy?
If Reason can't let Love your Breast incline,
Oh, Pity your sad fate, or Pity mine.
What Words shall tell, what Accents shall relate,
If you are gone, my Lamentable State?
What will become of wretched Merula,
What shall I do, whither my Self convey?
What can my tedious Life afford to please,
What can asswage my Grief, or Sorrows Ease?
I must to unfrequented places creep,
And seek out secret Corners where to Weep.
I must complain to Woods, and Winds, and Air,
Conscious, alass, in vain of my Despair.
Forsaken, helpless, ruin'd, sore distrest
With mighty Woe, and Life it self Opprest,
I must behind you stay, and make my Moan
To Gallic Tyrants, or to Lords unknown.
Oh, let the dear Engagements of our Love
Dissolve your Heart, and your Compassion move.
You warm Affection once to me exprest,
And thought me fair, pretended so at least.
What dear, engaging, tender things you said,
Which in my Breast the glowing Passion fed?
What Pleasure in my Presence did you show,
And how was I still pleas'd to see you so?
And do's my Presence now so much offend,
That you to part for ever, thus contend?
Or if your Love continue, can you go
And leave me in so sad a Scene of Woe?
But if from me you can so easie part,
Let these your tender Children melt your Heart.
Think how much Woe these Infants must attend,
Without a Father, and without a Friend.
See that dear Boy, how the sweet Creature stands?
How just like you, he moves his little Hands?
See your own Shape, your very Eyes, and Face,
He has your Air, your Step, and every Grace.
Then, Clovis, on his Sister cast your look,
In whom you once such wondrous pleasure took.
How oft you kist and Danc'd her on your Knee,
And said you lov'd the Child, because she look'd like me.
These are next you, of all my Joys the chief,
But if you die will give me no Relief,
But minding me of you, revive my Grief.
When on them I shall look theyll but invite
New floods of Tears, and fresh Complaints excite.
Can't these endearing Pledges of our Love
Dissolve your Heart, and your Compassion move?
Can you these sweet Delights chuse to forsake,
And from the helpless Babes their Father take?
Think how their Lives they must in Sorrow spend,
Who will you leave your Orphans to defend?
You know your Foes will labour to Oppress
Your helpless Widow, and your Fatherless.
Can such a Father e'er Unnatural prove,
Cease to be tender, and forget to Love?
Can you lay by th'Indulgent Parent's care,
And leave these Babes abandon'd to despair?
At such Reflections do's not Nature start,
And try at every Spring to touch your Heart?
Do's not soft Pity's fire begin to burn,
Do not your yearning Bowels in you turn?
In such a case Breasts arm'd with temper'd Steel
And Hearts of Marble, should impression feel.
Then on her bended Knees she fell, and fast,
All drown'd in Tears, his Fetter'd Limbs embrac'd.
And thus she cry'd, here ever will I stay,
Here will I lie, here beg, and weep, and pray,
And strive in Sighs to breath my Life away;
Till Clovis shall our heavy Doom retrieve,
And say he do's at last consent to Live.
Then the sad Mother to her Children said,
Come, Children, help your Father to perswade.
Your Accents full of Grief, and free from Art,
Will penetrate the most obdurate heart.
Your tender Cries will sure his Soul incline,
Your Prayer will more successful prove than mine.
The Children mov'd to see her so distrest,
Burst out in Tears, and the sad Scene increast.
They did about their Father cling, and cry
With mournful Voice, why Father will you dy?
This tender sight did Pious Clovis move;
And in his Breast his mighty Passion strove.
Paternal Pity pain'd his lab'ring Soul,
And made his Bowels in Convulsions roll.
Deep Groans he in his Agony did fetch,
And all his heart-strings felt the utmost stretch.
Striving his Passion to suppress he stood,
At last broke out in Tears and wept aloud.
Now Father's, Mothers, Childrens Cries unite,
And in each others Breasts fresh grief excite.
Confed'rate Sighs and Tears conspire to show
A perfect triumph of Victorious Woe.
Yet constant Clovis still maintain'd the Field,
And tho' o'erwhelm'd with force refus'd to yield.
So when a noble Oak that long has stood
High in the Air, the Beauty of the Wood
Is shock'd by stormy Winds, he either way
Bends to the Earth his Head with mighty Sway.
His lab'ring Roots disturb the neighb'ring Ground,
And makes a heaving Earthquake all around.
Yet fast he stands, and the loud Storm defys,
His Roots still keep the Earth, his head the Skys.
So did great Clovis in the Tempest rock,
And firmly so withstood the Dreadful shock.
But when the Fury and the boyling Tyde
Of his Tumultuous Passion did subside,
Good Heav'ns he cry'd! this is too much to bear,
In such a Storm what Mortal Force can steer?
Nature Extended lys upon the Rack,
And all her shatter'd Frame begins to Crack
Th'impetuous Stress of Passion bears me down,
And the high tyde dos sinking Reason drown.
To bear this mighty weight Heav'n grant support,
All Tortures after this will be but Sport.
The Bitterness and Sting of Death is gone,
When this sad part is past, this Suff'ring done.
Is, as I fear'd, too strongly Prepossest,
To be with new tho' truer Lights imprest.
When to Dispute a Woman takes the Field,
A Man believes he can't in Honour Yield.
I am not here a Match, the Righteous Cause
From my Defence great disadvantage draws.
But now if Clovis who's in Reason strong,
Wise in Debate, and Eloquent of Tongue,
Would change the Scene, and plead my Cause, how clear
How pure, he'd make my Innocence appear?
Such is your force in Reasoning, such your Art
That Error you to seeming Truth convert.
The strangest Paradox sustain'd by you
Ev'n to Sagacious Minds appears as true.
But why, alass, should Clovis thus Employ
Such noble Gifts their Owner to destroy?
If Reason can't let Love your Breast incline,
Oh, Pity your sad fate, or Pity mine.
What Words shall tell, what Accents shall relate,
If you are gone, my Lamentable State?
What will become of wretched Merula,
What shall I do, whither my Self convey?
What can my tedious Life afford to please,
What can asswage my Grief, or Sorrows Ease?
I must to unfrequented places creep,
And seek out secret Corners where to Weep.
222
Conscious, alass, in vain of my Despair.
Forsaken, helpless, ruin'd, sore distrest
With mighty Woe, and Life it self Opprest,
I must behind you stay, and make my Moan
To Gallic Tyrants, or to Lords unknown.
Oh, let the dear Engagements of our Love
Dissolve your Heart, and your Compassion move.
You warm Affection once to me exprest,
And thought me fair, pretended so at least.
What dear, engaging, tender things you said,
Which in my Breast the glowing Passion fed?
What Pleasure in my Presence did you show,
And how was I still pleas'd to see you so?
And do's my Presence now so much offend,
That you to part for ever, thus contend?
Or if your Love continue, can you go
And leave me in so sad a Scene of Woe?
But if from me you can so easie part,
Let these your tender Children melt your Heart.
Think how much Woe these Infants must attend,
Without a Father, and without a Friend.
See that dear Boy, how the sweet Creature stands?
How just like you, he moves his little Hands?
See your own Shape, your very Eyes, and Face,
He has your Air, your Step, and every Grace.
Then, Clovis, on his Sister cast your look,
In whom you once such wondrous pleasure took.
How oft you kist and Danc'd her on your Knee,
And said you lov'd the Child, because she look'd like me.
223
But if you die will give me no Relief,
But minding me of you, revive my Grief.
When on them I shall look theyll but invite
New floods of Tears, and fresh Complaints excite.
Can't these endearing Pledges of our Love
Dissolve your Heart, and your Compassion move?
Can you these sweet Delights chuse to forsake,
And from the helpless Babes their Father take?
Think how their Lives they must in Sorrow spend,
Who will you leave your Orphans to defend?
You know your Foes will labour to Oppress
Your helpless Widow, and your Fatherless.
Can such a Father e'er Unnatural prove,
Cease to be tender, and forget to Love?
Can you lay by th'Indulgent Parent's care,
And leave these Babes abandon'd to despair?
At such Reflections do's not Nature start,
And try at every Spring to touch your Heart?
Do's not soft Pity's fire begin to burn,
Do not your yearning Bowels in you turn?
In such a case Breasts arm'd with temper'd Steel
And Hearts of Marble, should impression feel.
Then on her bended Knees she fell, and fast,
All drown'd in Tears, his Fetter'd Limbs embrac'd.
And thus she cry'd, here ever will I stay,
Here will I lie, here beg, and weep, and pray,
And strive in Sighs to breath my Life away;
Till Clovis shall our heavy Doom retrieve,
And say he do's at last consent to Live.
224
Come, Children, help your Father to perswade.
Your Accents full of Grief, and free from Art,
Will penetrate the most obdurate heart.
Your tender Cries will sure his Soul incline,
Your Prayer will more successful prove than mine.
The Children mov'd to see her so distrest,
Burst out in Tears, and the sad Scene increast.
They did about their Father cling, and cry
With mournful Voice, why Father will you dy?
This tender sight did Pious Clovis move;
And in his Breast his mighty Passion strove.
Paternal Pity pain'd his lab'ring Soul,
And made his Bowels in Convulsions roll.
Deep Groans he in his Agony did fetch,
And all his heart-strings felt the utmost stretch.
Striving his Passion to suppress he stood,
At last broke out in Tears and wept aloud.
Now Father's, Mothers, Childrens Cries unite,
And in each others Breasts fresh grief excite.
Confed'rate Sighs and Tears conspire to show
A perfect triumph of Victorious Woe.
Yet constant Clovis still maintain'd the Field,
And tho' o'erwhelm'd with force refus'd to yield.
So when a noble Oak that long has stood
High in the Air, the Beauty of the Wood
Is shock'd by stormy Winds, he either way
Bends to the Earth his Head with mighty Sway.
His lab'ring Roots disturb the neighb'ring Ground,
And makes a heaving Earthquake all around.
225
His Roots still keep the Earth, his head the Skys.
So did great Clovis in the Tempest rock,
And firmly so withstood the Dreadful shock.
But when the Fury and the boyling Tyde
Of his Tumultuous Passion did subside,
Good Heav'ns he cry'd! this is too much to bear,
In such a Storm what Mortal Force can steer?
Nature Extended lys upon the Rack,
And all her shatter'd Frame begins to Crack
Th'impetuous Stress of Passion bears me down,
And the high tyde dos sinking Reason drown.
To bear this mighty weight Heav'n grant support,
All Tortures after this will be but Sport.
The Bitterness and Sting of Death is gone,
When this sad part is past, this Suff'ring done.
| King Arthur | |