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 |  |
The Monarch then sprang forward to Assail,
Lansac, confiding in his Coat of Mail.
The Fauchion thro' the Coat soon passage found,
His Shoulder cleft, and made a ghastly Wound.
The fainting Gaul fell headlong from his seat
And lay extended at the Courser's feet.
Then thus the Pious King the Frank bespoke,
At last thy Crimes have met th'avenging stroke.
How many Christians has thy Savage hand
Rack'd and destroy'd, pleas'd with thy Lord's Command?
No Torments, no Destruction could asswage
Thy thirst of Blood, and Persecuting Rage.
Think on the Arts thy Malice did invent,
T'afflict the Poor, and vex the Innocent.
Now thou must suffer for th'atrocious Guilt,
For all the Blood thy impious hand has spilt.
Then his bright Spear he thro' his Body thrust,
Spur'd on his Steed, and crush'd him in the Dust.
Lansac, confiding in his Coat of Mail.
The Fauchion thro' the Coat soon passage found,
His Shoulder cleft, and made a ghastly Wound.
The fainting Gaul fell headlong from his seat
And lay extended at the Courser's feet.
Then thus the Pious King the Frank bespoke,
At last thy Crimes have met th'avenging stroke.
How many Christians has thy Savage hand
Rack'd and destroy'd, pleas'd with thy Lord's Command?
No Torments, no Destruction could asswage
Thy thirst of Blood, and Persecuting Rage.
Think on the Arts thy Malice did invent,
T'afflict the Poor, and vex the Innocent.
Now thou must suffer for th'atrocious Guilt,
For all the Blood thy impious hand has spilt.
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Spur'd on his Steed, and crush'd him in the Dust.
| King Arthur | |