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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| XII. |
 | King Arthur |  |
Think not that I could Ease and Life refuse,
And Ignominious Death and Torment chuse,
That I of Bosom Friends could farewel take,
And Children dearer then my Life forsake,
Did not th'Almighty this hard task Enjoyn,
And lend the mighty Aid of Grace Divine.
Down to the Yoke I struggling nature bend
Rather than his Supream Command offend.
I am not fond of Shame, nor do I take
Pleasure in Torment, for the Torment's sake.
I do not Court the Cross, nor Wrongs invite
Nor in Distress, and Ruin take delight.
I in Obedience, not in Pain rejoyce
And rather Suff'ring make, than Sin my Choice.
Nor may our transient Sorrow be compar'd
With that bright Crown, that shall our Love Reward,
With Heav'n's transporting, and unmeasur'd Bliss
And Life Eternal in Exchange for this,
'Tis for the Prize we chuse the Painful Race,
And for the Crown that we the Cross embrace.
Here on a dark and dangerous Sea we steer
Tost on th'uncertain Waves of Hope and Fear.
Oft dash'd on Rocks, oft in wild Tempests lost,
Oft chas'd by Corsairs to an unknown Coast.
And shall th'affrighted Voyager recoil
When Heav'n in Pity to his Fears and Toil,
Shall kindly tow him to the happy Strand,
And on the Shores of Light the shatter'd Vessel Land?
Would Trav'llours fry'd with Lybia's burning Heat
Faint with their Labour, Hunger, Thirst and Sweat,
Complain if one in Pity would Convey
Them to their wish'd for home a shorter Way?
Men who from Heav'n derive their noble Birth
Cast on a Forreign Clime live here on Earth;
Where the wild Natives with loud Clamor chase
To Woods and Caves the mild and God-like Race.
They are insulted, vext, pursu'd and spoil'd,
Both for their own and Master's sake revil'd.
And should not these be willing to retreat
From such a rude, Inhospitable Seat?
Should Strangers us'd so ill, and so Opprest
Be courted to their Home and to their Rest?
Should such as these at their departure grieve,
And drag'd, like lingring Lot, this Sodom leave?
What dismal Seats the dying Saints forsake,
To what a Blissful Place their Flight they take?
There where th'Almighty's Beatific view
Will crown their Wishes and their Hopes out-do.
Where Joys and Pleasures shall their Breasts extend,
Pleasures unmixt, and Joys that never end.
And Ignominious Death and Torment chuse,
That I of Bosom Friends could farewel take,
And Children dearer then my Life forsake,
Did not th'Almighty this hard task Enjoyn,
And lend the mighty Aid of Grace Divine.
Down to the Yoke I struggling nature bend
Rather than his Supream Command offend.
I am not fond of Shame, nor do I take
Pleasure in Torment, for the Torment's sake.
I do not Court the Cross, nor Wrongs invite
Nor in Distress, and Ruin take delight.
I in Obedience, not in Pain rejoyce
And rather Suff'ring make, than Sin my Choice.
Nor may our transient Sorrow be compar'd
With that bright Crown, that shall our Love Reward,
With Heav'n's transporting, and unmeasur'd Bliss
And Life Eternal in Exchange for this,
227
And for the Crown that we the Cross embrace.
Here on a dark and dangerous Sea we steer
Tost on th'uncertain Waves of Hope and Fear.
Oft dash'd on Rocks, oft in wild Tempests lost,
Oft chas'd by Corsairs to an unknown Coast.
And shall th'affrighted Voyager recoil
When Heav'n in Pity to his Fears and Toil,
Shall kindly tow him to the happy Strand,
And on the Shores of Light the shatter'd Vessel Land?
Would Trav'llours fry'd with Lybia's burning Heat
Faint with their Labour, Hunger, Thirst and Sweat,
Complain if one in Pity would Convey
Them to their wish'd for home a shorter Way?
Men who from Heav'n derive their noble Birth
Cast on a Forreign Clime live here on Earth;
Where the wild Natives with loud Clamor chase
To Woods and Caves the mild and God-like Race.
They are insulted, vext, pursu'd and spoil'd,
Both for their own and Master's sake revil'd.
And should not these be willing to retreat
From such a rude, Inhospitable Seat?
Should Strangers us'd so ill, and so Opprest
Be courted to their Home and to their Rest?
Should such as these at their departure grieve,
And drag'd, like lingring Lot, this Sodom leave?
What dismal Seats the dying Saints forsake,
To what a Blissful Place their Flight they take?
There where th'Almighty's Beatific view
Will crown their Wishes and their Hopes out-do.
228
Pleasures unmixt, and Joys that never end.
| King Arthur | |