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TO HIS FRIEND THE AVTHOVR, IN DEFENCE OF HIS Heroick Poem.

What wilt thou answer, Poet, for this wrong,
To make a King thy Subject and thy Song;
A King, whose Fame and long-liv'd actions scarce
Can be contain'd in measure of a verse?
O inconsiderate Muse! Of him is't fit
That every budget brain and common wit
Should write a farthing Pamphlet? Every one
At's death can have a verse in brasse and stone.
Thus will censorious Criticks talk, and those
That th' Empire claim of Poetrie and Prose.
Yet care not. Once GUSTAVUS was a scoffe,
And Tinker call'd; at last came bravely off:
He clipt the Eagles wings, and took from thence
A quill for thee, Fabritius: art thou since
Silent? Go, take thy pen, grave Doctour, write:
Thy Muse methinks this Poem might excite.
J. Pullen, Fellow of Magd. Coll.

TO HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOUR of this Heroick Poem.

I Nothing finde unhappie in thy Book,
But (what's not thine) the subject. When I look
Upon thy Muse, and finde it full of bloud,
Yet I conclude thy Vein is sound and good,
And shall live long by that which is not thine,
But lively represented in thy line.
That Hero's death thou dost with life declare,
And in that which thou giv'st thou'lt surely share.
R. Bulkley, Fellow of S. Johns Coll.

To my Friend Master Russell,

upon this ensuing Poem of the King of Swedens Battels.

'Twas a Proud Greek, whose vast Ambition
Pin'd for new Worlds, who vow'd his Counterfeit
Should be pourtraid on pain of death by none,
But best Apelles. Pride surnam'd him Great.
And 'twas a prouder Tuscan, misemployd
His dying thoughts about his Elegie;
Charging his Marble might be rather void,
Then not adorn'd by Prince of Poetrie.
Thus did not Sweden taint his greatnesse: He
Suffers all Prose, or Verse. Nor doth his Shade
Disturb, but help the Artist. Deitie
Accepts an offring from the meanest trade.

Friend, thy first-fruits are sacred. GUSTAVES Name
Is then (O Muses) more authenticall.
Nor shall't be Heresie in verse to claim
Aid from live Names, and still Imperiall.
He shall preserve thy Papers, and vent more
Then an enlarg'd Edition. His Name
Shall be thy Title too, and fill the doore
Of the rich Shop it lies in; like the Frame
Of some rare Frontispice, with neat device
Tying unto it the Spectatours eyes.
So both in equall tye are excellent;
Thy Book's His Elegie, He its Monument.
What loose Prose could not pay to Swedens Herse,
Thou hast discharg'd in thy Heroick Verse,
Th' Intelligencers Feet, on which he'l runne
Now round the world, like a surveying Sunne.
'Twas greater art to chuse thy Theme, then write
Some Poems. But to pen it in despite
Of others grief, or silence, argues Love
Great as thy Art. And if the People prove
Thy hand hath rudely op't a publick wound
Newly clos'd up; the Magistrate's not bound
(As Athens mulcted Phrenicus) to be
Their Censor, and to fine thy Historie.
No: Let us know, our Guilt that Matchlesse Man,
Whose Dirge thou sing'st, hath murdred. Nay, I can,
And dare tell how too: 'Twas the fond excesse
Of our big thoughts decreas'd his Happinesse;
Whose modest Soul we vext with restlesse crie
Of love pretended, Proud Idolatrie.

His purer Breast divin'd asmuch, while we
Mad men still tempted him with Prophesie.
Oh! had this Frenzie rested in the heart
Onely of us the People, little Art
Might frame a Plea. But our great Rabbins too,
(Oh Learning, what huge mischiefs mayst thou do,
Seduc'd by Pride and Flatt'rie!) nay, those Brains
That wear the Sacred Cappe, through all their veins
Descri'd infected bloud, whose tainted streams
Danger'd the Nations, whil'st noisome steams
Exhal'd as high as Heav'n. That starrie Sphere,
Stranger to vapours, could not now be cleare.
Egypt examin'd Starres, and father'd lies
On their pure Substances: all Mysteries
Are pri'd into, and stretcht. The Chiliast
Takes sev'rall shapes; now poses us in vast
Contemplative just nothings, and then slips
Into a Cassock, picks th' Apocalyps,
And showes us Wonders, which poore I dare swear
His fleering heart well knew were never there.
The unclaspt Book was read, the Signes unseal'd,
The Trumpets, Phials, and the Beast reveal'd:
The Pope and Cesar slain outright, and all
By GUSTAVE, and by Heav'n. This was his fall.
The Sinne was ours; the troubled Vertue his.
So Evil hasted Goodnesse to her blisse.
Now th' An'grams blush: and had not Pirrhus art
Excus'd the letter, when the Authours heart
Glow'd with a lie; by this time Levi had,
Like Iss'chars asse, coucht under's burden, glad,
Though strong, to be releas'd. Let this suffice,
We all confesse we slew him, and our eyes

Shall restifie our sorrows. Lypsich may,
And Lutzen tell his Life some half the way:
What we confesse, tells all; perfects the Storie
More then the Annals of his living Glorie.
Oh! this Confession well-penn'd would be
His Chronicle, his Tombe, his Elegie.
T. Riley, Fellow of Trin. Coll.

TO THE AUTHOUR OF this ensuing Poem, Master Russell.

How dares thy mortall Fancie undertake
A Theme Divine, unlesse for Vertues sake.
The Germane Eagle, to advance thy skill
In praising Swethland, lends a conqu'red quill.
Yet when thy Self and loftie Bird have done,
Neither are able to behold this Sunne.
Go strive to write, and cast away thy pen:
Repent thy self, and take it up agen.
Sometimes thy self, and sometimes Swethland blame:
And midst thy praises check his glorious Name.
Tell valiant Swethland, if thy Eagle brings
A flight too low, his Greatnesse clipt her wings.
Cæsar Williamson, Fellow of Trinit. Colledge.

To his ingenious Friend Master Russell, upon his Heroick Poem.

Let those soft Poets, who have dipt their brains
In am'rous humours, thaw to looser strains.
Let Cupid be their theme, and let them pay
Service to Venus in a wanton lay:
And let these Rhymers of our silken Age
Unlade their Fancies on an emptie page.
Mars is thy theme; thy Muse hath learn'd to talk
The Cannon-language of the Warre, and walk
A loftie March; while thy faint readers dread
And tremble at each syllable they reade.
Leade on, Stout Poet, in thy Martiall state;
And let these Pages on GUSTAVUS wait,
Armed with verse of proof: and those that aim
To wound thy Muse, or print upon thy Name
Their darts of malice, in their full pursuit,
Charm'd like those stones thrown at the Thracian Lute,
May they forget their message, and in fierce
Career dance at the musick of thy verse.
And if those eyes, with pois'ned flame that shine
Like Basilisks, shed poison on a line,
To blot a syllable that sounds the least
GUSTAVUS Warre, Jove turn them to that Beast.
Then rest GUSTAVUS: do not change thy room
Within this Book, for any marble tombe.
Each line's a golden chain to hoise thee farre
‘Bove Fate: then blaze as fastned to a starre:
And for these Leaves presented thee, a bough
Of Laurell shall adorn the Poets brow.
John Saltmarsh, Magd. Coll.

To his friend the Authour.

Ingenious friend, that dost so bravely sing
The conquests of the Swethes Victorious King;
Who by thy thundring lines dost seem to follow
Aswell the tents of Mars, as of Apollo;
And in depainting of a bloudie fight
Dost intermingle Terrour with Delight:
Though I could tell thee that thy verses worth
Abundantly will gild and set them forth;
Although I might (without base flatterie) say
Thy forehead doth deserve a wreathe of Bay;
Yet I forbear: thy modestie is such,
I dare not praise, at least, not praise thee much.
Indeed what need'st thou my too slender praise,
To usher thy so sweetly-soaring layes
Into the world; since that the very name
Gustavus will more highly grace the same,
Then if the rarest Laureats choisest quill
To pen thy praise should shew its utmost skill?
How richly is thy work rewarded! See!
Thou mak'st Gustavus live, Gustavus thee:
And by thy loftie Muse I know not now
Whether shall more be honour'd, he or thou.
Sweds Great

Anagram of GUSTAVUS

AUGUSTUS! Oh how could I dwell
Upon that Name! How often could I spell
Its every sacred syllable; and when
I've done't a thousand times, begin agen!
That Name who honours not, Oh may he be
O'rewhelm'd with never-dying infamie!
His blessed Memorie who adoreth not,
Oh may he be eternally forgot!
Thy book, my friend (if I do not mistake)
Will please and sell for Great Gustavus sake.
Stephen Jones, of S. Johns Coll.
1

THE BATTELL OF LYPSICH.

Have you not heard the ever-restlesse Ocean
Beat on the shore with waves continuall motion,
Which fill our eares with sad and murm'ring tones;
Just like the dolefull sighs and hollow grones
Of thousands, that together have conjoyn'd
T' expresse the sorrows of a wounded minde,
For some disastrous Fate; perhaps the death
Of some deare Prince, untimely reav'd of breath?
2

They fill the troubled aire with confuse cries,
Which are resounded by the trembling skies;
Which these sad tunes so often do repeat,
That now the woodie Choristers forget
Their wonted strains, and either stand as mute,
Or to these notes their warbling voices suit,
The willing aire instructing to expresse
To humane eares soul-moving heavinesse.
Sweet Philomel now thinks upon her rape
And former wrongs; that she may fitly shape
A tune of lively sorrow, and make known
The grief of others, fully, as her own.
Like this was that amazed time, when first
Our eares those more then frightfull rumours pierc't,
Of great Gustavus dismall Fate; with whom
All then did seem their hopes and hearts t'intombe;
And did expresse in sighs and drouping looks,
Sorrow enough t'have fill'd most spatious Books:
You might have read, in thought-discov'ring eyes,
Volumes of sad and mournfull Elegies:
While Fame doth with a thousand tongues resound
Such trembling murmures, as our hearts do wound.
My fainting Soul, not able to sustain
So oft redoubled blowes, nor such dire pain,
Sunk to the ground: then over all my limbes
A frigid sweat and dewie vapour swimmes:
A Death-like sleep clos'd up my eyes; and I,
As one eternally entranc'd, did lie.
3

But then methoughts my Genius did appeare,
And words of comfort whispred in mine eare:
Then led my airie Spirit by the hand,
Through darksome shades, to that Inferiour Land
And Region, where Unbodied Souls reside.
There what my fancied thoughts to me descri'd,
I now prepare unto the World in verse,
By favour of the Muses, to rehearse.
Those two so bloudie Battels there I view'd,
Lypsich and Lutzen, dreadfully renew'd:
But now more furious and a greater ire
Their bloud-enraged spirits did enfire.
Oh that those raptures, which then fill'd my brain,
Would burn in my impris'ned Soul again;
That I might so in vivid colours paint
Those dreadfull fights, as should make Mortals faint
With horrour and amaze, and when they reade
My Bloud-besprinkled verse, their hearts should bleed!
Divine Melpomene, whose chiefest glorie
Consists in sounding of a Tragick storie;
Fill me with vig'rous heat, and for a while
Let thy rapt Furie guide my iron style:
Send Virgils Genius to direct my quill,
His grave Majestick vein do thou instill;
Or rather Lucans, whose so loftie rhymes
Do best befit the Genius of these times.
But oh! what sudden numnesse do I feel
To damp my boiling bloud! and now I reel,
4

As when an Epilepsie doth surprise
Some feeble mortall, and his senses ties:
Or, when as the Cumean Sibyls breast
Some dire Prophetick Spirit hath possest;
She madly rages, struggles all in vain
To shake away her Furie-caused pain:
She raves, she frets, she storms, and tears her hair,
Stamps with her feet, and like a Ghost doth stare:
Mean while, within her rage-distracted soul,
And troubled thoughts, discording Passions roll.
Thus am I rackt, while to my working heart
My Phansie doth such jarring thoughts impart.
For this to ev'ry Poet is enjoyn'd,
That he shall feel in his impressive minde
The reall Thoughts and Passions of all those,
Whom he in verse presumeth to disclose.
Judge what a world of discords circling runne
Within my breast, like Atomes in the Sunne,
That crosse, and meet, and meet, and crosse agen.
So many Passions of so many men,
And such repugning thoughts torment my minde,
As when two Armies have with furie joyn'd:
Rage and Revenge march first, with burning Ire:
Dread, Fears, and Terrours make them to retire:
Then Shame, and Valour, with malicious Hate,
Their reinforced Troups precipitate:
They charge them home: these break, and scatt'red flie
Unto their main Battalia, which stood nigh.
5

Here dire Despair was ranged, double-rankt
With Furie, and with Rashnesse strongly flankt.
These and a thousand more oppugning Phansies
Phebus in my enraged breast advances.
Faint not, my Muse, but with a fearlesse pace
March through the midst of Furies, and out-face
Armies of Terrours, vengefull Wrath, and Ire,
Affrightfull Death, devouring Sword, and Fire.
Shrink not at all to heare the hellish jawes
Of thundring Cannons roar with hideous noise,
Mixt with a thousand shot, that roughly teare
The tender welkin, and affright the eare.
Let not their clam'rous shouts and confuse cries,
Which seem to wound the aire, and pierce the skies,
Move thee at all: Let not the yelling noise
Of some half-murdred wights make thee to pause,
Or draw remorsefull pitie from thy heart:
Be like a Rock of stone; shrink not, nor start:
Be as regardlesse of their shrieks and grones,
As they themselves have been to others mones.
If to such tender thoughts thou yeeld'st, my Muse,
Thy Martiall Furie thou wilt quickly lose;
And none, but fearfull Mothers, then will praise
Thy soft-strain'd verse, and heart-relenting layes.
But now a little breathe, my Muse, and heare
The plaints of others, sounded to thy eare.
The Nymph Germania doth her self present,
With face disfigur'd, and with robes all rent,
6

And sprinkled o're with bloud: her golden locks
She tears, and furiously her breast she knocks;
Then wrings her hands, lifts up her woe-sick eyes:
And thus at last to the unpitying skies
She speaks, Oh heav'ns, how long, how long shall we
The onely subject of your vengeance be;
Plagu'd with continuall warre, dire cruelties,
A thousand slaughters, and calamities;
While miscreant Ethnicks, who deride thy power,
Are undisturb'd, and flourish to this houre?
The cursed Pagans laugh, when they behold
How many miseries on us are roll'd.
The barb'rous Turk insults with spitefull scorn,
To see us Christians by our selves so torn;
And on our bodies those deep wounds to bear,
Which he so much from us himself did fear;
To see our Forces by our selves o'return'd,
Which having joyn'd, might easily have spurn'd
Him, and his Vassall Kings; and once again,
Like their dire Scourge, resistlesse Tamerlane,
Have hew'd their Armies, as a field of corn,
Which is by reaping sickles quickly shorn:
And then their Sultan, in an Iron grate
Shut, like some monstrous Beast, should curse his Fate,
And rail upon his Grand-Impostour-Prophet,
That vagabond Arabian, Mahomet:
Then, if his courage serv'd him, valiantly
He might dash out his wretched brains, and die.
7

Then Stampoldam (now his Imperiall seat,
That over-looks the World) with flaming heat
Enkindled once, should send such direfull smoke,
As should these Infidels for ever choak:
Then in black clouds enwrapt, the fumes should whirle them,
And Devils to the lo-west hell should hurle them.
And thou bloud-sucking Tartar, who of late
Proffredst thine aid, my wounds to aggravate;
But wert rejected by that pow'rfull King,
Who his Commission from the Heav'ns did bring,
To scourge me for the sinnes of me and mine:
Dost thou rejoyce to see the Pow'rs Divine
Inflict such rig'rous Justice on my Soil,
Whose very bowels now with torments broil,
And raging Warre; like the Sicylian Hill,
Whose vaulted caverns sulph'rie flames do fill?
Thou cursed Rover, who dost spend thy dayes
In wandring up and down a thousand wayes;
Whose cold and barren Climate fears no Warre,
Not worth the sword of any Conquerer:
Cease for to triumph o're my wofull state;
Lest at my pray'rs the Heav'ns precipitate
A vengeance on thy head, shall equallise
Warres bloudie mischief and dire cruelties;
The dreadfull Pestilence, whose pois'nous blast
Into the grave thousands at once shall cast;
Or pinching Famine, whose long lingring stroke
Shall by degrees the vitall spirits choak;
8

Or, what thou fearest most, some rig'rous frost
Shall seise upon thy coldly-sited coast,
And freez the very aire, that want of breath
May make you yeeld unto unsparing Death.
But why disturb I thus my wretched heart,
By wishing unto others such like smart
As I now feel? Would this give ease to me,
Or any whit abate my miserie?
It would. Oh that the All-wise Providence
Would on these Miscreants such like plagues dispense;
That they might roar with their calamities,
And with their louder clamours drown the cries
Of my distressed children, whose sad mones
Do wound my heart, and pierce the very stones!
How many thousand Mothers at this time,
Within the limits of my wretched clime,
Weep without ceasing, and with shrillest notes
And bitter exclamations tear their throats!
How many tender Widows curse their Fates,
By raging Warre robb'd of their dearest Mates!
How many aged Fathers lift their eyes
Drown'd o're with tears, to the unpitying skies,
Admiring that the fulgent Sunne displayes
On their so wretched Land his cheerfull rayes!
Is there no pitie in the heav'ns at all?
Cannot the grief of Mortals once appall
You Spirits divine, that 'bove us do reside,
And the rapt Spheres do in their courses guide?
9

They wonder that the rolling starres still shine,
And never at their torments do repine.
If their dire imprecations might prevail,
They would have had them muffled in a vail
Of mournfull hue, and in a pitchie cloud
Swoln bigge with tears their heav'nly lustre shroud;
That with their hearts the whole earth might agree,
And once again a confus'd Chaos be.
Who can these blame that thus excessive mone,
Who have been spoiled of more lives then one;
That in so short a time (alas!) have lost
That which so many cares and yeares hath cost?
Cease, cease, my Children: your so wofull crie
Will make my swelling heart in sunder flie.
Who can endure such shrieks as pierce my eares?
Who can, unmoved, view such flouds of teares?
I dare not upward lift my fainting eyes,
Left they descrie new woes, new miseries:
For wheresoe're I turn me to behold,
My cities are in flames and smoke enroll'd.
Huge heaps of Ruines, Warres dire Monuments,
Cruell Bellona every where presents.
All this great mischief and disastrous woe
From Rome, as from a pois'nous spring, doth flow.
And thou, proud Frier, whose ambitiousnesse
A Triple Diadem can scarce depresse;
Thrice cursed be thy deadly pride, that thus
With warres and ruines hast o'rewhelmed us.
10

Most flintie-breasted Tigre, that canst brook,
With heart unpitying, and unmoved look,
To see so many at thy feet to die,
And fall lower then hell, to keep thee high!
To see so many Nations choisest flowers
Cut down by sudden death, in so few houres!
And all this will not move thee to relent,
Nor winne thee to revoke thy proud intent.
Thy Predecessours Christians could enflame
With courage, to a warre of better fame:
'Gainst Saracens t' advance their warlike bands,
And to reconquer from those Pagans hands
Captiv'd Judea, and the Diadem
Of weeping and forlorn Jerusalem.
Surely these Infidels accursed Tribe
Do covertly with some rich presents bribe
Thy avarice, that by thy devilish art
Our Christian unitie thou mightst dispart.
Time will descrie the truth, and Heav'ns just Power
Will on thy head (I hope) just vengeance showre.
Here, with a sigh, as if her soul were prest
To flie away, her mournfull speech she ceas'd.
Then did I turn mine eyes about, to see
Whose part was next in this sad Tragedie.
LYPSICH, that fatall town, did then appeare,
Whose walls & tow'rs trembled, methoughts, with fear,
As if some aguish earthquake now did strive
Her very bowels piece-meal for to rive.
11

Surely there was just cause of horrid fear,
So many Furies being now so neare,
Who threatned had to trample under feet
All that their armed Rage could finde or meet.
Upon a spatious plain, that did present
Unto the eye a smooth and large extent,
Two Armies stood, marshall'd in fair aray,
Their waving Colours to the winde display:
Their well-contrived Ranks yet even were,
Their Files compleatly straight, their Battels square:
Their equall spears, their weapons glistring bright
Did yeeld, methoughts, a dreadfull-pleasing sight.
Here the Renowned Great GUSTAVUS stands,
Strongly environ'd with those warlike Bands,
Which the cold Region of the North had sent,
And unto them such hardned bodies lent,
As, like the roughnesse of their native Soil,
Cannot be broken with laborious toil.
The big-bon'd Lappians, who with nimble pace
The swiftest and the wildest beasts can chase:
Whose precious skinnes and furres of richest price
They send abroad for rarest merchandise.
The Finlanders were there, who, clad in buffe,
Did think their sturdie limbes arm'd proof enough:
Better to wound their foes they were prepar'd,
Then to defend, or stand upon their guard.
The warlike Goths, once of renowned Fame,
Whose Ancestours with fire and sword did tame
12

Great Rome it self, and her usurped crown
Snatcht from her head, and proudly trampled down;
Making her fields to drink the bloud that flow'd
From her own children, who in heaps were strow'd
Upon the crimson-stained ground. Their steel
The sunne-burnt Spaniards too did deadly feel:
Within whose barren and scorcht Territorie,
There still remain some Ensignes of their glorie.
Here were they now, and seemed to reclaim
Their Predecessours long-obscured Fame.
And here were troups of Vandals seen, that made
The Ancient World ev'n of their Name afraid;
And had as many Kingdomes over-runne
Almost, as doth the all-incircling Sunne.
Those that inhabit neare the Dofrine Hills,
From whose cold tops the snow continuall drills,
Had to this Battell sent an armed Troup,
That scorn'd at dangers once to shrink or stoup.
The duskie-colour'd Swethes stood next their King,
Who now had made their wondred Name to ring
Through farthest Regions, which so long a time
Had seem'd congealed with their frozen clime.
Here likewise might you other Nations finde,
Drawn by the vigour of a Martiall minde:
Irish, French, English, and the hardie Scot,
Whose noted valour ne're will be forgot.
There likewise were the German-Saxons seen,
Who heretofore asmuch renown'd had been,
13

As th' ancient Goths, or the advent'rous Gaul,
That did so oft the Romane Hosts appall.
Such was their number, that ev'n they alone
As a full Armie might themselves have shown.
Oppos'd to these, an Armie as compleat
For fair proportion, and full out as great,
Presents its dreadfull Front, that seem'd to breathe
Nought lesse then ruines, wounds, and speedie death.
Tillie, whom long experience in the warre
Had often taught to be a Conquerer,
Did range these Troups; and, as he thought, so right,
And in so firm a posture, that they might
With ease o'recome their undervalu'd Foes,
Who now were marching on to meet their blowes.
'T was vain with long orations to delay
Their burning courage, which could brook no stay.
Like two vast Woods, whose waving tops do dance
With gentle windes, these mightie Hosts advance.
The very lustre that their arms did cast,
Would have a coward kill'd with lightning blast:
But to a Souldiers eye not any fight
Could be presented, that would more delight
His loftie sprite. And look how Sols bright beams,
By art redoubled, kindle burning streams:
So the refracted rayes of fulgent steel
Make Souldiers hearts new burning courage feel.
Scarce can the fierie Steeds endure the ground,
Now that they heare the echoing Trumpet found:
14

They champ their curbing bits, and proudly neigh,
Vext that their masters do their Furie stay.
The Footmen fain would double their flow pace,
But that they fear their order to displace.
Now is the Signall given: with a shout
As loud as thunder, all the warlike Rout
Do make the aire and fields adjacent ring.
Then to a charged Cannon Swethlands King
Gave fire: straight doth the swift-wing'd bullet flie
Unto their foes with a rough Embassie;
And in so high a tone delivers it,
As might so great a King as him befit;
Speaking like awfull thunder, whose dread found
Our eares amazes, and our hearts doth wound.
To second this, were other bullets sent
From fired Cannons, that so rudely rent
The first front of their Battell, that you might
See their fair order now dismangled quite:
And like a confus'd heap it doth appeare,
Till resuppli'd by the advancing Rear.
Th' Imperials are not slack, but roundly they
With answ'ring shot their former losse repay:
A Rank of Cannons, all at once enfir'd,
Did presently attain their mark desir'd.
The angrie Swethes their hellish furie feel,
Whose rough encounter made them more then reel;
It makes a spatious breach, and the weak wall
Of bodies batt'red piece-meal now doth fall
15

In ruin'd heaps, and with a crimson juice,
That like a torrent flow'd, the ground embrews.
Help me, my tragick Muse, infuse new strains,
And re-infire my quite amazed Brains.
Methinks I feel my vigour to relent,
Stricken with horrour and astonishment,
To think upon those direfull slaughters, when
Those hellish Engines did so many men
Dismangle in a trice, and with a blast
Their noble souls from their stout bodies cast.
Here a brave Captain, as he fairly stands,
With words encouraging his warlike Bands,
His head snatcht off among them flies, and there
Speaks in a language now of dread and fear.
Here, as another waves his sword on high,
To dare his foe, a fierie Ball doth flie
Full in his face, and makes him with a dash
With his own sword himself in sunder slash.
There stood another, who enrag'd did breathe
Against his Foes revengefull threats of death:
But as his words yet in the aire did flie,
A double Cannon makes a loud replie,
And with a greater anger farre did strive
His words again into his throat to drive:
What he in vain had threatned to his Foes,
Makes his own Souldiers feel by reverst blowes:
His shiv'red skull and arms all shatt'red flew
Backward, and some that stood too neare him flew.
16

Here one, whom some great shot affrighted, shrunk;
But all in vain: upon his armed trunk
The swift-wing'd Bullet lights; and from his heart,
With fear and wounds, his soul at once doth start.
A rank of Brothers and neare friends here stood,
Never more true then now alli'd in bloud,
Rent by the furie of two Culverings,
That arms from shoulders, heads from bodies flings;
Then altogether mixt them in a Masse,
And with their Limbes strowes the discolour'd grasse.
Some Demicannons 'mong a troup of Horse
Did likewise shew their cruel murd'ring force.
Their Iron Cuirace was of small avail:
Corslets of Steel and Coats of well-wrought Mail
Could not divert the furie of such strokes,
As would have stricken down the tallest oaks,
That in the Caledonian woods are found,
Or spread their roots in the Hercinian ground.
Some Riders wounded are, while th'untoucht Horse,
Feeling his reins now slack, with all his force
Kicks, flings, and starts untill his Master reels;
Then, most ingratefull, spurns him with his heels.
Sometime the terrour of the shot doth light
Upon the Horse; the Rider scapes not quite:
For though the bullet spare him, yet his Steed
Ne're rests, till of his troubling burden freed:
Then casts him on the clotted sand, and straight
Beginning for to sink, with all his weight,
17

O're him that erst he bore he now falls over,
And him that rid him once he now doth cover:
To him his back afforded once a room,
And now his bodie makes for him a tombe.
Brave Sp'rits, but too (alas!) unfortunate,
How doth my Muse lament your unfit Fate,
Snatcht by those dev'lish Engines fierie force,
That murders without mercie or remorse;
That cut you off at one disastrous blow,
Ere that you could your fearlesse faces show
Unto your Enemies, and make them feel
Some mortall strokes from your sharp-edged steel!
Curst be that Hell-sprung wit, that did devise
This fierie Engine, whose dire Batteries
Scorn all resisting force that can be tri'd,
And most approved valour do deride;
That humane bodies rend like fields of corn,
Which by the cutting sithe are quickly shorn;
Not so content, but all-dismangled dash them,
And in a thousand confus'd pieces pash them:
Here making one, with his disshatt'red Head
His best and dearest friend to strike stark dead.
Renowned Archimede of Syracuse,
Who by an Engine of thine own didst bruise
Thousands of foes at once; when from a Tower
Whole loads of stones upon their heads did showre:
Thy rare invention now may seem a toy,
Compar'd with this, which doth farre more destroy
18

At further distance; and, like dreadfull thunder,
Hath often killed some with fear and wonder.
But thee posteritie shall ever praise,
Because thy new device thou didst not blaze
To after-times; but didst at first intend
That with thy life the same should have an end.
But now against that more then hated Name,
From whom this sulphurie invention came,
Let ev'ry Age their furie so enlarge,
As volleys of dire curses to discharge:
Let brimstone burn his odious brains; let smoke
His very memorie for ever choak.
By this time did the Armies nearer preasse:
The thundring Cannons for a while did cease,
And gave permission to th' enraged bands
To trie the vigour of their eager hands.
Then both at once impetuously do rush,
And 'gainst each other fiercely counterpush:
As when two Seas against each other roam,
And break their billowes into spatt'red foam;
Making the aire to tremble, and the shore
With dreadfull sounds and frequent Echoes roar:
Such was the noise, when these two Hosts did close,
And made the aire to ring with strokes and blowes.
Now Pistols, Musquers, and Caliver play:
Through fire and smoke they finde themselves a way.
No shot falls now amisse: in this close fight,
The random-guided Bullets surely light,
19

And drench themselves in bloud: no armour here
Can stop their force, which is by much too neare.
Now forward on the close-rankt Pikes advance
With steadie arm, and fearlesse countenance,
Shaking their pointed spears, which in the breast
Of their encountring foes do quickly rest.
Here was true Furie seen and val'rous Spight;
To which if you compare the other fight,
It well might seem but Sport, or Play at most:
When as the shot at distance doth accoast
The unseen Foe, and as it were by chance,
Guided at randome, at the mark doth glance:
While fierie flashes and thick clouds of smoke
Do blinde their eyes, and the pure aire do choak;
Preventing them from seeing of their foe,
And who it was that gave their mortall blow.
Nor here can any one with shining blade
Revenge the death of his slain Camerade:
But all their vengefull splene they do at large,
And at adventure, in the aire discharge.
But 'mong the sturdie Pikes 'twas otherwise:
Their Furie is directed by their eyes:
And at the sight of their enraged foe,
Redoubled courage in their hearts did slow.
Here were two Captains met; with pike and targe,
Like furious Rammes, they do each other charge;
Till at the last the thorough-piercing steel
Made one of them begin to faint and reel:
20

His valour doth outlive his strength; for so,
When now he cannot wound his conqu'ring foe,
Forward he falls; that he may ne're be found
To have shrunk back, or yeelded any ground.
Then being down, threatnings in vain doth breathe;
Calls on his souldiers to revenge his death:
Who, fir'd with shame and rage, with one joynt push
The short-surviving Conquerer o'rerush.
He falls upon his foe, whom but of late
With steadie spear his arm did penetrate.
Now with loud shouts and vengefull cries, they rear
Their angrie spirits farre above all fear:
Full on the points of spears they forward runne:
There is not one that wounds or death doth shunne.
Now had they rais'd within a little while,
Over these Chieftains corps a fun'rall pile
Of slaughtred bodies: For it seem'd they meant
Their Captains should not want a Monument.
Two brave Conductours here brought on their bands,
To trie the vigour of their hearts and hands.
The valour of their souldiers they excite
Not now with words, but with exampled fight.
Had you but seen two Bulls in furie meet,
Spurning the yellow sand with angrie feet;
And forward then with headlong force to rush,
Till that their horns do make the bloud to gush
From many wounds, and their black-speckled Hide
By this be with another colour di'd:
21

Then might you have conjectur'd, with what spight
And burning rage these two brave Souldiers fight.
This on his sword relies, with it doth hew
And nimbly cut the others spear in two.
But he as lightly from his side doth snatch
A readie pistoll, which did over-match
His neare-hand-threatning sword, and in a trice
Quite through his breast the fire-sent bullet flies.
See! here another with his stretcht-out pike
Quite through the bodie of his foe doth strike:
But ere he back again the same could pluck,
He with another through the heart is struck.
And now his vanquisht foe with joyfull eye
Beholds his Victour on the ground to lie.
There might you see a noble-courag'd Swethe
Advance himself without all fear of death:
His furious ire made him alone intend
To kill and would, not caring to defend.
A big-bon'd Germane meets him at the point,
And with their spears they rush so equall joint,
That both at once were wounded, both withall
Began to sink, and both at once did fall.
Not farre from hence you might have seen a crew
Of sturdie lads, that thrust, and hack, and hew.
An Ensigne they had slain; but could not yet
Into their hands his waving colours get.
Oft had they stoupt to take them from the ground:
But from their foes such hindrance still they found,
22

Who doubled on their heads such frequent blowes,
That look who stoupt, again he never rose.
Now was the furie of the fight grown hot,
The aire resounded with their frequent shot.
Fair Victorie on both their Hosts doth gaze,
And doth behold their courage with amaze:
Now these observes, then those again beheld;
Knowes not as yet to which her self to yeeld:
Like to some novice Virgin, whom a Crew
Of am'rous Youths with eager suits pursue;
Her minde from fixing for a while she drawes,
And yet delights on ev'ry one to pause;
Denies not any, yeeldeth unto none:
To all alike her equall love is shown.
Have you not seen a field of yellow wheat,
Upon whose tops some gentle windes do beat.
They seem to bend, and backward for a while,
Compell'd by force, they orderly recoil:
Then reassuming vigour, with a blast
They bend themselves forward again in haste:
Such was the manner of these warlike Forces,
Who seem'd to charge with interchanging courses.
Now forward rusht the Swethlanders: anon
They back retire: th Imperialists come on,
And with such furie charge them, as if they
At that encounter would have wonne the day.
But finding good resistance, this their heat
Is quickly cool'd, and backward they retreat.
23

The Swethes and Almains now with doubled might
Renew the vigour of this bloudie fight;
March o're the bellies of their slaughtred foes,
And strictly preasse them with unsparing blowes.
But here a Regiment, in this their Rage,
Fearing themselves too farre for to engage
Among their circling enemies, did sound
A fair retreat, and yeeld their conqu'red ground.
Thus did the well-experienc'd Swethes, who knew
When to retire, and when they might pursue.
They did not their rough charges here perform,
Like to the rage of some unguided storm;
Or like the furie of an headlesse, rude,
Confused, and disord'red multitude:
But as one bodie, with so many hands
Move all at once, obeying the commands
Of one Conductour, who, ev'n as a Soul,
These Organs doth direct, guide, and controll.
It is not Furie, nor a fearlesse Heart,
That winnes the day; but Valour mixt with Art.
This did the Saxons finde, who now begun
Disorderly to waver, and to shunne
The rage of their approaching foe, who farre
Did them excell in discipline of warre;
And had in often combatings and fights
Learn'd many Martiall Stratagems and slights.
Long did the Saxon Troups stiffely sustain
Their rough encounter, and a while maintain
24

The Conquest doubtfull. Their dismangled bands
They fill again with other fighting hands;
Advancing forward with a fearlesse face,
Each striving to defend his fellows place,
Who at his feet did now half-murdred lie,
Staining the verdant grasse with crimson die.
But still their foes prest on, who too well knew
The least advantage gained to pursue.
Then did they stagger, and scarce willing are
Their shatt'red ranks and order to repair;
But flying back in heaps, by force and fear
They break the ranges of their troups in Rear.
Words now and threatnings are of small avail:
Their Duke himself could not as then prevail
With fair entreatings, nor with rough commands,
To stay the flight of his disscatt'red bands.
Where flie you Cowards? Think you thus to shunne
The slaughtring sword? You cannot sure out-runne
The nimble horse, who now without all trouble
Will cut you off, and tread you down like stubble.
Turn, turn again; once more your forces trie:
Stand to your arms; this is the way to flie
From threatning dangers. Boldly your breasts oppose,
And not your backs to your encountring foes.
See! the brave Swethes still fairly stand in range,
Nor yet for fear or dread will breake or change.
Shall we forsake them, that have come thus farre
To undertake for us this dang'rous warre?
25

The world will brand us with eternall shame,
And after-Ages will deride our Name.
Fear made them deaf; and now their Princes words
Are drown'd with noise of shot and clatt'ring swords.
They flie in heaps and quite disord'red ranks,
Like to some floud that hath born down his banks.
Tillie rejoycing at so wisht a fight,
Beholding half his enemies in flight,
Spake thus insulting; Courage, heartie Blades,
My noble Souldiers, and brave Camerades:
The day is ours: let these base Cowards flie,
And now let us these other squadrons plie;
The sturdie Swethes, whose Kings victorious Name
Keeps them from flying, with a forced shame:
But charge them home, and with unsparing hands
Rush boldly on their now half-stagg'ring Bands.
This having said, he, with a sp'rit as high
As these his words, among his foes doth flie;
Who him receive with courage nothing lesse,
But with a greater ire his rage represse:
As when the angrie Ocean with a shock
Strives for to break some firmly fixed rock,
Which stands unmoved, and his swelling pride
And vain-spent Malice seemeth to deride;
Making his waves, which did so rashly roam,
To dash themselves into a spatt'red foam:
Thus was the Crabats furie broke in sunder,
Who fell upon the Swedish troups like thunder.
26

And their brave Gen'rall, who had thought his sight
Sufficient was his enemies to fright,
Scap'd not unwounded: for the leaden showre
Fear'd not at all his mortall-feared Power;
Though it be still unknown, from whose hand came
The force that wounded so renown'd a Name.
'Tis not a single wound that can restrain
Or check his valour; but enrag'd again
With doubled furie, he assails his foes,
Who will not yeeld him any thing but blowes.
By this time great GUSTAVUS watchfull eye
An opportune advantage doth espie
To break the squadrons of their ranged Horse,
Who charged them so oft with headlong force.
A Regiment their stations quickly change,
And now stood ord'red in a treble range:
The first rank couched on their knees: the next
Stood half-way bended: but the third erects
His armed trunk upright. Thus as one rank,
Were all their musquets levelled point-blank.
At both their wings stood troups of readie Horse,
Prepar'd to second with a speedie course.
Then at a word did all give fire, and powre
Among th' enraged Horse a leaden showre,
That flew as thick as hail, when Boreas blast
Doth from the clouds his frozen treasure cast.
Had I an hundred tongues, an Iron heart,
And all the help the Muses can impart;
27

Yet could I not in this my stagg'ring verse
The shadow of that slaughter now rehearse:
When in the twinkling of an eye did fall
So many wounded wights, Horse, Man and all.
And that fair Squadron, which so lately stood
Like to some thick and closely-ranged wood,
Confusedly doth now appeare, and scatt'red.
Their order spoil'd, their ranks in sunder shatt'red:
As when in Autumne some tempestuous blast
From half-dead trees their feeble leaves doth cast,
And with another garment then her own
The under-sited ground is thickly strown:
Thus was the field with bleeding bodies spread,
That had been wounded by the piercing lead.
But while the rest, fill'd with amaze and wonder,
To see th' effects of this so sudden thunder,
Knew not which way to turn or bend their faces;
A Regiment of Horse with doubled paces
Flie in amongst them; in their teeth discharge
A second volley; make the breach more large.
Then forward on with rage and force they push,
And their fear-strucken foes soon over-rush;
Who now had lost all minde and heart to fight,
And did betake them to a sudden flight.
This their example made their other Bands
Begin to faint, and fight with trembling hands.
And as their feeble vigour doth decrease,
The Swethlanders doth double: on they preasse
28

With greater courage now, then ere before:
The ground doth swimme with streams of humane gore.
At last, not able for to fill so fast
Their slaught'red ranks, as the rough Swethes did waste;
Backward they throng in heaps, disord'red quite,
Not willing now nor able for to fight.
But while that all tumultuouly do strive
To scape away, they do the formost drive
Headlong before them: over these they stumble,
And so the next, and next to them doth tumble.
(Strange for to see!) here lay a Souldier dead,
O're whom an heap of living bodies spread.
Sure he enjoy'd a farre more noble Tombe,
Then those which do th' Egyptian Kings inhume;
The loftie Pyramids, whom loud-tongu'd Fame
One of the world's chief wonders still doth name:
Or then that so renowned Sepulchre,
Which doth Mausolus Kingly bones interre.
All these where cov'red with dead marble stones:
But here is one intomb'd with living bones.
The fiery steeds, that never mercie knew,
Proudly themselves in spatt'red bloud embrew.
Here 'gainst a sprawling bodie one doth spurn,
And from his former wounds makes bloud return.
Another there a living head doth crush,
And from the same makes bloud and brains to gush.
Meanwhile their masters with unsparing hands,
Now none resist, murder at once whole Bands.
29

And where the sword doth fail, the trampling horse
Quickly dispatches with an headlong course.
The former slaughter of this bloudie day,
Compar'd with this, might seem Bellona's play.
The Sunne no longer could endure this sight,
But in compassion did withdraw his light:
And that he might their further rage prevent,
With speedie wings the welcome Night he sent;
Who, muffled in a vail of sable hue,
Quite o're the heads of these fierce Victours flew;
And then before them casteth such a mist,
As made their hands and vengefull Heat desist.
So a fierce Lion, a Getulian Swain
(If antique stories do not misse, or feigne)
Did with his garment muffle o're the head;
Then this so furious Beast did stand as dead:
Stirres not one jot; but, as amazed quite,
Loses his cruell furie with his sight:
And while that he thus strangely seems to pause,
The fearfull Swain scapes his devouring jawes.
30

THE BATTELL OF LVTZEN.

The hel-born Furies, who delight in bloud,
And had of late swumme in a purple floud,
Which not at all their vengefull thirst abates,
Do now again invoke the Pow'rfull Fates
To hasten forward such another day,
Where they in midst of fire and smoke might play;
And with their pois'nous breath and fierie brands
Inflame GUSTAVUS and th' Imperiall Bands.
31

The All-disposing Providence above,
Whose presence makes the trembling heav'ns to move,
Doth yeeld to these infernall Hagges desire.
Let none presume a reason to require:
It was his will; let that alone suffice:
And sure 'twas just; though that the feeble eyes
Of our dimme mortall judgement never can
With punctuall knowledge heav'nly actions scanne.
Weep, mournfull Germanie; For once again
Thy childrens bloud thy wretched fields must stain:
And to augment thy losse, that Pow'rfull King,
Who hopes of peace and victorie did bring,
Must there receive his mortall wound, with whom
Shall thousands more receive their Fatall doom.
Thy freedome, which thou hast so long time sought,
Must with more streams of humane bloud be bought.
Oh happie England, who wilt scarce confesse,
Drunk with securitie, thy happinesse;
That dost enjoy such Quietnesse, such Ease,
Such calme Tranquillitie, and blessed Peace;
And that not purchas'd by laborious Toil,
By fire, and sword, by ruine, and by spoil;
Nor by the losse of thy choice Youth, whose Fate
Thou wouldst not fear 'gainst Heav'n t'expostulate:
But it hath cost thee nothing: for behold,
On thee th' Almightie hath his blessings roll'd,
Without all labour or desert of thine,
Meerly by instinct of his love divine;
32

And hath enricht thee with a gracious King,
At whose blest Birth Angels of peace did sing:
Oh look upon thy neighbour Germanie,
Drown'd with a floud of tears and miserie;
Whose towns are ruin'd, and whose Cities burn,
Whose fields do flow with bloud, whose people mourn:
Think but on this all you that cannot weep,
Who in the arms of happie Peace do sleep.
Is't irksome to your eares? Your tender Heart
At these molesting sounds (methinks) doth start:
From Warres and Woes y' have been so long secure,
That now you cannot their rough Name endure.
Are you become like to the Sybarite,
Whose soft'ned spirit, sottish appetite
Could no harsh noise endure, nor that shrill sound,
That doth from hamm'red Steel and Brasse rebound?
And therefore such Artificers as those,
That did molest their eares with clatt'ring blowes,
By a preventing law they did compell
Farre off in some obscurer place to dwell.
Shall these my verses, that with clatt'ring ding
The strokes of Warre and furious Rage do sing,
Displease our British eares, who are of late
(It seems) grown tender and effeminate?
Your Amorettoes think them farre too rough,
Not smooth, nor pleasing, nor half low enough:
They cannot screw them any wayes to suit
Or consort with their sweet-tun'd warbling Lute:
33

They are too loftie for a Womans voice,
And drown all sweetnesse with a ratling noise.
Some hollow-sounding Drumme, or Trumpet shrill,
Or thundring Cannons, that the eare do fill
With frightfull sounds, fit Instruments would be
To Echo forth my lines melodiously.
The smaller shot shall serve for repetition,
While clatt'ring swords shall represent division:
And the more Discords that my verses show,
The better Harmonie from thence will flow.
Then cheerfully my loftie Muse proceed:
There will be some that will thy verses reade;
Such gen'rous spirits, in whose manly breasts
An ardent love of Fame and Honour rests;
Who still retain some sparks of that desire,
Which did their Ancestours brave hearts enfire,
When they did make Pagans and Cypriots feel
The direfull force of their resistlesse steel:
Or when so often, to their lasting glorie,
They did o're-runne the Gallick Territorie;
Or when the Worlds Disturber they did tame,
Who Europes Monarchie alone doth claim:
Such men as these will farre above thy merit
Approve thy lines, applaud thy loftie spirit,
That thus hast chosen with industrious brains
To shew thy vigour in Heroick strains;
And not in soft-tun'd Ditties, or such layes
As Ladies onely and their servants praise.
34

The Sunne had finisht now his annuall Race,
Since Fatall Lypsich with a mournfull face
Beheld GUSTAVUS, and his warlike Force
Her fertile plains die with a bloudie sourse;
Which scarce as yet fully exhaust appeares,
And scarce had Lypsich wip'd away her tears,
When lo, not farre, upon a neighb'ring plain
Bellona sounds her dreadfull trump again:
And Lutzen is appointed for the stage,
Where Mars intends to act a second Rage;
Lutzen, that Fatall Town, whose very sound
I feel my grief-disturbed heart to wound.
There Great GUSTAVUS, so renown'd, became
(Dire alteration!) onely now a Name;
Once of such power, that his conqu'ring hands
Could tame stout Nations, and subdue their Bands.
CESAR himself would blush, and never dare
His Conquests with GUSTAVUS to compare.
For had he liv'd to see what skilfull hands
And valiant hearts are in the Germane Lands,
Who go not naked now, but clad in steel,
And will not easily be made to reel;
Sure he had startled, and his conqu'ring course
Had been prevented by a stronger force.
Let not black Envie then presume or dare
GUSTAVUS worthie glorie to empair,
Who conqu'red had in such a narrow time
So many Lands, in such a warlike Clime.
35

Let the Proud Spaniard to his lasting shame
His many Conquests of the Indians name:
And let him boast, how many Millions too
Of unresisting People there he slew;
While a few Belgian Merchants in despight
Of all his Pride, Ambition, Pow'r, and Might,
Will not be tamed, nor be made to yeeld,
But still affront his Armies in the field;
Having no Kingdome, but a narrow State;
Yet his Imperiall Greatnesse Check and Mate.
What Honour then belongs to Swethlands King,
Who to subjection could such Nations bring,
That had been so inured unto Warres,
And ever exercis'd in bloudie Jarres!
Had Mars himself, attended with a Band
Of dreadfull Furies, entred in their Land;
They would have met him with a fearlesse heart,
Nor should his Name or Pow'r have made them start.
But whither takes my roving Muse her flight?
I must not here a Panegyrick write,
Nor spend my self in such admiring laies,
As sound nought else but Great Gustavus praise.
A Battell is my scope, so dire, so fierce,
That my sad Muse doth tremble to rehearse;
And seeks an hundred slights, a while to stay
The black recitall of this bloudie day:
Like to some tim'rous Hart, that from the crie
Of Hounds and Huntsmen hastily doth flie:
36

Now here, now there he turns; then back again
Breaks through the woods, scuds o're the spatious plain,
And tries a thousand shifts, ere at the last
Himself on hazard of a fight he'l cast.
Thus my slow Muse digressions doth premise,
And large preambles (as you see) devise;
Onely to stay a while, ere she recite
The sad narration of black Lutzens fight.
Swethlands Heroick King his Martiall train
Neare Naumburg Citie spreads upon a plain:
Of fighting yet no hopes there did appeare:
His purpose onely was to march more neare,
And joyn his Forces with the Saxon Bands;
That so the surer with united hands
They might to all their foes attempts replie,
And not be forc'd coy Fortunes grace to trie.
'Tis found too deer a bargain in these dayes,
By valour onely for to purchase praise.
He's valiant now, that winnes the Victorie,
Be it by Number, Slight, or Subteltie,
By Stratagem, by Cunning, or by Skill,
By Courage, Furie, or by what you will.
And sure 'tis vain for an Heroick Breast,
That will not but on equall terms contest;
That scorns advantages to seek, or take,
But would that Valour should him Victour make;
While that his subtil foe doth sliely watch
All proff'red opportunities to catch,
37

And thinks it no disgracefull cowardize,
To wound or kill him as he sleeping lies.
Might Valour of it self alone suffice
To winne the day in ev'ry enterprise,
The noble Swethes with Great GUSTAVUS Name
Would like the Macedons the whole world tame.
Think it no wonder, that their Mightie King,
Whose presence onely oft did conquests bring,
Should notwithstanding, like to one afraid,
Expect, and wish, and seek for further aid.
It was not fear, but Martiall Policie,
That made him thus to others help complie.
Had he been ever thus, and ne're transcended,
This temp'rate Vertue had him safe defended:
He might have liv'd and flourisht to this houre,
And still should Rome have feared Swethlands Power.
But 'tis a wonder that he could so rule
His burning Sp'rit, and it so often cool
By mod'rate counsell, checking Policie.
Admire who will that he so soon did die:
My sorrow-strucken Muse admireth more
That he so vent'rous was not slain before.
As now he marches with his valiant Bands,
Some stragling Pris'ners fell into his hands,
Who did ascertain him, that not one Foe
Did of their march and neare approaching know:
Not farre off Wall'nstein with th' Imperiall Host,
Securely lay enquartred in that coast,
38

Not once supposing that his Enemie
Was in the field, or now had marcht so nigh.
When Swethlands King heard this intelligence,
Rapt with exceeding joy, his first pretence
He changes, now resolves without more aid
His foes thus unexpecting to invade:
Then to his Captains shews his new intent,
Who to his high designe gave soon consent.
Onely Knipphausen a stout Colonell,
And long experienc'd, lik'd it not so well:
And sure he did his judgement strictly joyn
Unto the rules of modern discipline.
The course of Warre is like a game at Dice;
Where Skill with doubtfull Fortune mixed lies.
It is the scope of cunning Management,
Fortunes deceitfull hazards to prevent;
And ne're to her blinde Favour once to stand,
But when compelling accidents command.
They that renouncing skill commit their game
To unknown Chance, deserve to lose the same.
This fickle Goddesse, that the world so fears
With doubtfull hazards, ne're more blinde appeares,
Then when in Warlike actions and in fight
She doth expresse her over-ruling Might.
Skill joynd with Valour, and a Pow'rfull Host
Can but the conquest promise at the most.
The Victorie is never sure till wonne;
And none can triumph till the fight be done.
39

The wisest Captains in these modern dayes
Do seek to winne the conquest by delaies.
'Tis no disgracefull Cowardize to stand
(Though uncompell'd) on the defensive hand.
It is the surest course and safest held,
To shunne a Battell, but to keep the field.
They that can best prevent their furious foes,
Shall winne the Conquest without stroke or blowes.
My noble Prince, this is my free advice:
But if your Royall will shall enterprise
Some more sublime designe, my heart and hand
Shall readily obey your just command;
And I would rush alone through midst of Foes,
Though that a thousand deaths should counterpose.
Thus grave Knipphausen spake with stayed look,
And minde unmoved. But the fierie Duke,
Bernard of Saxon Weimar, who could ne're
Endure the shadow of a seeming fear;
Whose burning courage could not brook delayes,
His resolution in such words displayes;
Now is the wished time, th' expected houre
Yeelded to us by Heav'ns disposing Power,
That we may now our former-vanquisht foe
Extirpate quite with his last overthrow.
Their hearts are quail'd alreadie; and shall we
Want hearts to meet them who desire to flee?
Shall we, that have so many Conquests wonne,
So many Lands and Provinces o're-runne,
40

Begin to faint, and shew we are afraid,
And dare not these half-stagg'ring foes invade?
Oh shame to think! Could we do more then thus,
If they had vanquisht and quite conquer'd us?
Shall we be so ingratefull unto Heaven,
Who unto us such victories hath given,
To make us fearlesse in so just a cause,
And to proceed without demurre or pause?
Shall we neglect so fair and fit occasion
T'assail our foes with undescri'd invasion?
Long, long we may expect, ere once again
The Heav'nly Fates such favour will us deigne:
And be assur'd, that if we do retreat,
We quite shall damp our souldiers vig'rous heat,
And make our Enemies become more bold,
When they shall once our tim'rous march behold.
These words, like oyl pour'd on the greedie fire,
Made Great GUSTAVUS burn with fiercer ire.
He gives command, that with the swiftest speed
His Royall Armie forward should proceed.
The hollow-sounding drumme and trumpet shrill
The Souldiers eares with cheerfull clamours fill;
While with the aire the waving colours play,
And by their motion point them out the way.
Forward they troup to Lutzens bloudie soil,
And with glad thoughts and hopes the time beguile.
Oft did the strictnesse of th' enclosing way
Their hastie speed and expedition stay:
41

Egg'd on with hopes of victorie and spoil,
They did refuse no sweating pains and toil.
Had you but seen those valiant Bands advance
With nimble feet, with cheerfull countenance,
And doubled pace, you would have rather guess'd
That they were hasting to some welcome feast,
Then marching to their grave, which was th' event
Of many thousands that then gladly went.
But notwithstanding all the haste they made,
So many lets and obstacles delaid
Their num'rous Bands, that now the setting Sunne
Swifter then they his usuall race had runne,
And did begin to drown his shining beams
Within the Oceans vast incircling streams.
Some troups of horse that nearest lay, began
To skirmish with the Swethes approaching Vanne,
Who with much losse of time had lately past
A narrow bridge, which stopt them in their haste.
These light-arm'd Crabats first of all did feel
The deadly force of their victorious steel.
From them an Ensigne too they did surprise
Depainted with an ominous device;
With happy Fortune, and Joves princely Fowl,
Whose Name did once the spatious world controll.
But the Finlandian Duke so small a prize
Beheld with sad and discontented eyes,
Griev'd that so soon the All-endark'ning night
Did stay their hands, and hide their foes from sight.
42

Once the Dayes Charioter his circling pace
Vouchsaf'd to stop in middle of his race;
While Judahs Champion with unsparing hands
Hew'd down the Ethnicks Heav'n-accursed Bands:
But the blest name of Christians hath a force
To winne from heav'n an undeserv'd remorse;
And that they may so great a slaughter shunne,
Sol his diurnall Race will swifter runne.
Now doth th' Imperiall Grand Commander heare
Frequent Alarms resounded in his eare:
Post after Post are sent to certifie
Of their so neare-approaching Enemie.
Here three at once quite spent and out of breath,
Yet told their mindes by looks as pale as Death.
Th' amazed Duke startled when he did heare
That the bold Swethes had gotten now so neare:
Then frets with anger, when he calls to minde
How all his troups lay scatt'red and disjoyn'd.
'Twas now no time to sleep, though the moist Night
The tired senses did to rest invite.
He recollects his spirits, and his eyes
Up to the Heav'ns he elevateth thrice:
At last spake thus; Thou Pow'r Omnipotent,
Great God of Hosts, that dost our Foes prevent;
Thou All-foreseeing Sentinell, whose eye
Through thickest clouds our Enemies doth spie:
Perpetuall Glorie and divinest Fame
Be rendred to thy ever honour'd Name,
43

That thus hast sent thy messenger of Night
To stay these cruell Hereticks from fight,
That 'gainst all Pietie and humane Lawes
Would trample under feet thy Cath'lick cause.
This said, he hastens unto consultation
For best directions, and for preparation:
He sends abroad his letters, and commands
For quick assembling of his scatt'red Bands:
Now thinks he on the fittest place t'advance
His greater Shot and fierie Ordinance.
Some Mounts were rais'd alreadie to his hand,
Where some of Ceres airie Engines stand;
But now rough Mars doth shoulder for the place,
And on the same his warlike Engines trace.
The Pioners had with laborious spade
About these Batt'ries strong Entrenchments made,
To guard them from their foes, who otherwise
Might with some headlong onset them surprise.
Meanwhile did Swethlands grieved King command
His Royall Armie on the place to stand.
Here for a space their Martiall Rage and Spight
Lay buried in the drowsy arms of Night.
It was not yet the wished time, which they
Resolv'd to make a black and bloudie day.
In fair Battalia lay these warlike Bands,
With wearied limbes stretcht on the frigid sands:
Their Musquets neare them, readie to be found
At first alarm: upon the champian ground
44

Their Spears most orderly erected stood,
Like to some square and even-planted wood.
Here one his Helmet casteth from his head,
And for a pillow underneath doth spread:
Another there upon a rugged stone
His drowsie head most willingly hath thrown.
Now did the dampish Earth their Spirits cool,
Who scarce of late their burning heat could rule.
Here on his back a tired Souldier lies,
And doth behold the starres with stedfast eyes;
As if in them he searched to descrie
What was appointed for his Destinie;
And ev'ry starre, that twinkling doth appeare,
He thinks doth tremble with presaging fear:
Then turns aside, and folds acrosse his arms,
And seeks to drown these thoughts with sleepie charms.
Here did a Souldier with amazed heart
And troubled thoughts, like one affrighted, start:
His dreaming Phansie made him to suppose
That he was round encompassed with foes;
And too too plainly (as he thought) he view'd
How they in sunder had their squadrons hew'd:
He snatcht his readie Weapon, and begun
To look how he their feared rage might shunne:
As round he casts his terrour-stricken eyes,
Nothing but cause of horrour he descries:
He sees his Fellows on the ground are spread
No otherwise then wounded men and dead:
45

He had no heart nor power to flie; but stayes
Till time and space diminisht his amaze.
Many brave Chieftains on the earth did lie,
Having no other Cov'ring but the Skie,
No easier Pillow then the rugged Ground,
No softer Mantle then their Arms they found:
They stretcht their limbes, as if they sought what room
And space would serve them for a future tombe.
Renown'd GUSTAVUS, whom delicious ease
And Courtly softnesse never once could please,
In middle of his armed bands did rest;
Whose troubled thoughts a thousand cares molest:
His Royall heart with sadnesse almost sinks,
As oft as on his weightie charge he thinks:
A World of lives now hazarded did lie
Upon the single fortune of his Die.
Remembring this, his over-burd'ned Soul
Innum'rous Fears and doubtfull thoughts doth roll:
It by no humane tongue can be exprest,
How many cares his noble heart distrest,
Who for so many thousands did endure
All that such troubled motions could procure:
The burning agitations of his breast
Depriv'd his sp'rits of their desired rest;
And those moist vapours, which the brain did send
To cause refreshing sleep, their heat did spend.
So doth Sols scorching beams, which are reflected
Upon the land where Memphis is erected,
46

Where Nilus fertilising stream doth flow,
Where their high tops the Pyramids do show:
Those liquid vapours, which the Earth in rain
Expects to be returned down again,
Are by the Sunnes so pow'rfull heat made rare,
And then do vanish into subtil aire.
Now the soft-gliding Starres were seen t'have runne
Half round the Earth, when Swethlands Prince begun
With eyes erected to the Heav'ns, t'invoke
Th' All-pow'rfull God of warre: and thus he spoke,
Dreadfull Jehovah, who didst first inspire
Into my heart this vig'rous heat and fire,
And didst inflame me with a Rage divine,
That I might tame these enemies of thine,
And free those Christians, who with grones and cries
Have pierc'd so often the all-cov'ring skies:
Be pleased now this Enterprise to blesse,
And our Designes to crown with good successe.
Thou know'st (O Lord) I neither fight for Fame,
Nor yet on Earth to winne a Glorious Name:
'Twas not the scope of these my painfull toils,
Thus to enrich my self with ill-got Spoils:
Nor do I thus with Warres these Lands o'rewhelm,
That I might stretch the limits of my Realm:
But 'twas the instinct of thy Pow'r above,
That to this high Designe my heart did move.
If any other sinister intent
Be in my heart, let not thy aid be lent:
47

No further do we pray for Victories,
Then in thy Name we onely enterprise.
The sable Night being vanisht, a black Day
Begins his fatall lustre to display:
But Phebus, who foresaw what dire mishap
Was drawing on, his mournfull face did wrap
Within a muffled vail, a foggie mist,
Which did the piercing of his beams resist;
And thus he seemed to extend the night
By this obscuring of his cheerfull light.
But notwithstanding such a sad presage,
Did both these Armies boil with longing rage
To meet each other, and to trie whose steel
Should soonest make their opposites to reel.
Rang'd in Battalia, both the Armies stood,
Resolv'd ere long to march in streams of bloud.
Th' Imperiall Viceroy did present a fair
And spatious Front rankt with exactest care:
To such a distance both their Wings did stretch,
As sixteen furlongs full their breadth could reach.
The Right Wing Coloredo did command,
Under whose Banner ord'red now they stand,
Readie prepared at their Captains Breath
Boldly to meet inevitable Death.
The Duke of Friedland did his colours spread
In the Main Battell, which by him was led.
Count Henrick Holck Felt Marshall for that day
In the Left Wing his Banner did display.
48

Here divers Nations had from Countreys farre
Been sent to trie the Fortune of the Warre.
There might you see the Austrian, whose Name
Is branded with an execrated Fame,
For that their Princes in ambitious rage
Did with these warres the Germane Lands engage;
And to enrich themselves with others spoil,
So many States with discords did embroil:
The cold Hungarian, whose bord'ring lands
Are ever harried with Turkish Bands,
Who his best Cities have alreadie wonne,
And half his Territories overrunne;
Though he could scarce be spar'd, yet here he came,
In this fierce fight to winne perpetuall Fame:
The bold Bohemian, whose fruitfull soil
Had been the stage of bloudie Mars erewhile,
Who had them taught to think most dang'rous fights
But warlike sports and tragick-pleasing fights.
Next unto these was seen the Palatine,
Whose spoiled Countrey borders on the Rhine;
Who, as he flowing by, their ruines views,
With tears and crystall drops his banks bedews,
And grieves to think his waves could not o'rewhelm
And quench the fires of that deplored Realm.
The stout Bavarian doth likewise claim
Within this catalogue a noted Name:
Him did Revenge fire with a Martiall spight
Gladly to trie the hazard of a Fight.
49

The sunne-burnt Spaniards too were present there;
And if proud looks their Enemies could fear,
Sure, though but few they were, yet they alone
A greater Armie would have overthrown.
Th' Italian, now renowned more by farre
For am'rous Courtship, then for skill in Warre,
Yet hither came, resolved for to die,
Or to defend Romes hated Monarchie.
And now, my Muse, repeat each great Commander,
That did attend Swedens Imperiall Standard:
For sure it is not fit their Names should die,
Or yet in dark oblivion buried lie.
Duke Bernard, the sole Glorie of the day,
The Left Wing did for their prime Guide obey.
The King himself did the Right Wing command,
And at the Head of Steinbocks Troups did stand.
The Battell was conducted by Grave Neel,
A valiant Swethe, and clad in shining steel.
Betwixt them and the Rear a compleat Band
Of Musquettiers did Hinderson command,
A hardie and experienc'd Scot, whom Fame
Hath in these warres eternis'd with a Name.
The Battell of the Rear Knipphausen led,
A Noble Souldier, and a skilfull Head;
To whose fair conduct did their Enemies owe
The greatest part of their sad overthrow.
The Right Wing Bulach led, a Colonell
Of no small Spirit, as his foes can tell.
50

Ernest of Anhalt did the Left Wing guide,
A man in Warres well exercis'd and tri'd.
Behinde their backs, and in the utmost Rear,
A Regiment of Horse reserved were,
Which are by Oeme conducted, whose stout heart
Not any dangers could have made to start.
Now had GUSTAVUS speech his souldiers fir'd,
And double vigour into them inspir'd:
Make me (sayes he) your Pattern; if you see
That once I shrink, I give you leave to flee.
This having spoken, without further pause,
With speedie hand his shining blade he drawes:
Then waving't o're his head, he doth advance
Toward his Foes with fearlesse countenance.
And now their throats those fierie Engines stretch,
Whose sound and furie such a distance reach,
And ere one can behold or see his Foe,
Doth wound him deadly with a farre-sent blow.
In Ætna's sulph'rie cell inclos'd doth lie
(If we will credit grave Antiquitie)
A Monstrous Giant, who is prison'd there,
For that to fight 'gainst Heav'n he did not fear:
As often as he turns his sides for room,
He fills Trinatria with a pitchie fume,
Disgorging from his hellish jawes such smoke
And duskie flames, as the pure aire do choak.
Ev'n thus black Lutzen for a time did shroud
Her mournfull face within a pitchie cloud,
51

Proceeding from the Cannons fierie breath,
That ne'r speaks lesse then slaughtring, wounds & death.
No sight doth now appeare, but the bright blaze
Which the inflamed sulph'rie dust doth raise.
Here many Noble Spirits, who did scorn
To shrink for dangers, were in sunder torn
By those resistlesse Balls, whose furious Course
Cannot be stopt by any humane force.
Oh how my Muse deplores the Fates of those,
Who nothing wisht but to behold their foes;
That so their Valour, when they once had tri'd,
Might by their Enemies be testifi'd!
Some murd'ring shot their noble thoughts prevents,
And furiously their corps in sunder rents;
And, which their manly hearts could not endure,
Kills them within a cloud of smoke obscure.
The angrie Steeds, offended at the noise
That thundred from the Cannons iron jawes,
Do fling and spurn; and scarce the curbing rein
Can their proud sp'rits in any rank contain:
They fain would rush through midst of smoke and fire,
As if their breasts did burn with greater Ire.
The slaughtred heaps that round about them lie,
Cannot at all their Courage terrifie:
The brazen Trumpet Echoes in their eares,
Whose pleasing sound doth fright away all feares.
What Muse is able to rehearse or tell
What direfull slaughters in this fight befell;
52

When humane Bodies onely do oppose
Against the Cannons castle-rending blowes,
Whose Furie would make hardest rocks to shiver,
Whose very sound doth make the earth to quiver,
Whose hellish breath is able to command
Most firm-cemented stones to fly like sand?
Squadrons of men were too weak walls to stay
Such dreadfull force, as would have found a way
Through Rocks of hardest iron, and would make
A spatious Tower with its blast to shake.
No wonder then to see the field so spread
With scatt'red limbes, and bodies strucken dead;
When as the Cannon and the Culvering
Their flaming furie round about do fling.
A murd'ring Curto here a rank doth spoil,
And there another sweeps away a file:
A brace of Demi-cannons here doth play,
Which through a squadron make a rugged way.
So blustring Boreas, when his rage he doubles,
And Sea and Land with furious motion troubles,
From sturdiest Oaks their rended branches throwes,
And all the field with these his ruines strowes.
The unaffrighted Swethes marcht forward still,
And up again those breaches quickly fill.
Valiant GUSTAVUS with an angrie eye
Sees how his foes their greater shot did ply
With too too much advantage: for he found
Their Pieces mounted on the higher ground;
53

And on firm platforms the Imperialist
His Ordinance could traverse as he list,
While that the Swedish more uncertainly
Did in their motion at their Foes let flie.
The Swethes had left them now no other way
To hinder this their so unequall play,
But on their Cannons mouthes to march, and so
To stop their throats, and make them overthrow
Their own defenders. For these Engines are
Of such a hellish temper, that they care
Neither for friend nor foe, but both alike
With equall slaughter will their furie strike.
In ancient fights, when as they us'd t'advance
In their first front a square of Elephants,
Who wheresoe're their unresisted force
They chanc'd to bend, they made an headlong course,
And with their massie Bodies over-laid
All that their furie would have checkt or staid:
Sometime on their own Squadrons they would turn,
And under feet their chiefest friends would spurn
With such a vengefull Rage, as if that those
They had mistaken for their deadliest foes.
Thus in these modern Warres it oft doth chance,
That the loud-roaring Shot and Ordinance
Being once reverst upon their friends will thunder,
And without mercie tear their ranks in sunder.
Courage, my Hearts, cries Swethlands noble King;
And then his troups through show'rs of lead doth bring
54

Just in the Cannons face, who roar'd and spake
So loud, that all the neighb'ring Hills did quake.
But in their way a traverse ditch was made,
From whence with frequent shot their Enemies plaid
Full in their teeth. This trench them safe did hide,
And made them all the Swedish shot deride;
Till the provoked Swethes came storming on,
And made them wish them further off and gone.
At that same time the Crabats had a minde
To fall upon their carriages behinde,
To seise upon their Arms and Ammunition,
And to blow up their Powder and Provision.
Bulach observes them with a watchfull eyes;
He charg'd them home, and made them quickly flie.
These light-arm'd Crabats never use to stand
For any space, and fight it hand to hand;
But if at first encounter they have mist,
They then resolve no longer to resist;
But turning faces do retire amain,
Waiting till Fortune shall be pleas'd again
Some fitter opportunitie to send,
And then th' are readie for to reoffend.
Thus the wilde Hawk, whom never humane art
Hath yet instructed with a constant heart,
With short and sudden flights pursues her prey,
And will not long in such an action stay:
If that she cannot winne them with a snatch,
For some more fit occasion she will watch.
55

But while that Bulach did return his Horse
To their first station with a wheeling course,
They break their order, and had now begun
Not in fair Squadrons, but in heaps to runne.
Surely it is no easie thing to force
So many Regiments of head-strong Horse
To keep a full proportion in their speed,
And not beyond their ord'red bounds proceed.
But then the Heav'ns, unwilling to permit
Their Foes should spie a season too too fit
To reassail them, at the instant space
Did with a vap'rie mist surround the place,
And hides them, till their confus'd cornets are
Ralli'd again, and made compleat and square.
Thus Venus once her warlike Sonne did shroud
Within the circle of an hollow cloud;
Which armour, though but weak it was, prevents
The blowes of Fortune, and all fear'd events.
Now bold GUSTAVUS and th' Imperiall Horse
Had met each other with an headlong course.
A Regiment they were of Cuiriassiers,
Whose compleat Armour freed them from all fears.
But thou GUSTAVUS, in whose haughtie breast
Not any spark of fear could ever rest,
Thy offred Armour didst refuse, and chose
Thy Royall Bodie naked to expose
Against a storm of lead, which oft doth passe
Through hardest steel, through iron, & through brasse.
56

'Tis not a valiant Heart, and Coat of Buffe,
That in these warres is Armour proof enough.
Rare Jewels do deserve a costly Case,
And to be lodg'd within the safest place:
But Thou, the rarest Jewell of this Age,
O're-sway'd I know not by what Martiall Rage,
Would'st not at all thy Princely limbes inclose
In any Arms or Steel repulsing blowes.
Was it because thy too too narrow Fate
The Cassiopeian starre did antedate,
Whose glorious rayes were seen but for a time
To be displaid over thy warlike clime?
Or was it, as w' have all conjectur'd since,
Our great unworthinesse of such a Prince,
That thus hath short'ned thy victorious dayes,
Which hath all Europe stagg'red with amaze?
If ardent wishes might have proved charms,
Thou should'st have had impenetrable arms,
Of such well-temp'red Steel, and of such might,
As should a Culvering deride and slight;
As should have made a Cannons Massie Ball
Without transpiercing back again to fall;
Of firmer Metall, then that solid Plate
Which Vulcans Cyclops once did fabricate
For Venus Sonne, when he the Latian soil
With farre-sent warres and slaughters did embroil;
Of better temper, and compacted more
Then that same Armour which Demetrius wore,
57

Which the Greek Artist did so firm contrive,
That without fracture it could backward drive
A massie arrow from an Engine shot,
And never shrink, nor give, nor yeeld a jot.
But these our wishes of no vertue were:
They with our breath are vanisht into aire.
For see! Renown'd GUSTAVUS murdred lies.
Here with full tears my Muse doth close her eyes,
Not willing longer to behold the light;
But fain with him would vanish out of sight.
He that could never conqu'red be, is slain;
And He that ne're would yeeld, is pris'ner ta'ne.
He, upon whom the hopes of thousands stood,
Is sunk, and now lies weltring in his bloud.
The Armies life is stricken with pale death:
Like-dying men they struggle (see!) for breath.
He, from whose hand was sent that cursed lead,
That with GUSTAVUS struck so many dead,
Liv'd not to triumph, no nor scarce to view
What he had done: a Storm of Bullets flew
Like lightning at him, and his wretched Soul
An hundred wayes did from his Bodie roll.
But soon as e're th' Imperialist had found
That Great GUSTAVUS had his mortall wound,
With doubled Furie and Couragiousnesse
Th' amazed Swethes they did both charge and preasse,
Who now began to shrink and backward start.
Oh! can you blame them, when th' had lost their Heart;
58

Him, whom his Foes still fear'd, though he were slain,
And thought it Valour for to wound again
That Royall Corps, whose very Breath and Name
So many Armies heretofore could tame?
Just at this time a duskie Mist did fall:
The Heav'ns lamented his sad Funerall,
And so amaz'd his Foes, that they forget
To bear away his Bodie: For as yet
Among a heap of slaughtred Corps it lies;
A ruefull Spectacle to mortall eyes,
To see him laid so low, that was of late
The glorious Head of such a mightie State.
But by this time the Swethes had recollected
Their Sp'rits, and now again their hearts erected.
Stollhanshe, enraged with a furious course,
Leads on a Regiment of nimble Horse,
Who gave th' Imperialist a charge so hot,
And with such frequent volleys of their shot,
As they not able to endure, begun
To yeeld their ground, such furious blowes to shunne.
Then the sad Swethes did raise a mournfull crie,
When on the ground their murdred King they eye;
Whose bloud-distained Corps in heavie sort
From furie of the Battell they transport.
Meanwhile the Swedish Foot did backward beat
Th' Imperialist, and made them to retreat.
Grave Neels, a valiant and couragious Swethe,
That never car'd for wounds, nor fear'd for death,
59

His Yellow Regiment so bravely led,
That now they might have di'd their Name quite red.
And Winckle too with his Blew Regiment
At that same time so stoutly forward bent,
That now the Wall'nsteiners did gladly choose
Their ground and Cannon both at once to lose.
But then the Mist to such a thicknesse grew,
That the enraged Swethes could not pursue
This their advantage; but were then compell'd
To stand and pause untill the mist dispell'd.
At that same time a sudden strange affright
On part of the Imperiall Troups did light,
That with such terrour struck their courage dead,
That straight they turn'd their bridles, and then fled;
Not once their eyes reflecting back, to view
If any foes behinde them did pursue.
Some mutt'ring tongues a fearfull rumour spread,
That all their Troups were fully vanquished.
Some fifteen hundred Horse were then beheld
With swift Career to gallop out of field.
Fear taught them haste, and made them cruell too;
For in their headlong speed their friends they slew:
Their Bedets and their Women in the Rear
They trampled down, and some they kill'd with fear.
There many Ladies, who that day did wait
With trembling hearts upon their Husbands Fate,
Fling from their Coaches, then their Harnesse part;
(What will not fear enforce a tender heart?)
60

In Manly posture did these Females stride
Their sturdie Beasts, and so away they ride.
These fear-tormented Wights my Warlike Muse
Doth scorn to follow, when none else pursues.
Return we to those Noble Hearts, who ne're
Would shrink a jot, though all the world should fear;
That now in midst of fire and smoke did strive
Their Enemies before them for to drive.
Now Pappenheim being come, did reinforce
Th' Imperiall troups with new supplies of Horse:
He added Courage to their stagg'ring Bands,
And made them charge again with willing Hands.
He rang'd himself in the Sinister Wing,
Which (as he thought) opposed Swethlands King.
But as his Cornets now stood ord'red fair,
And he himself did for the Charge prepare,
A Bullet from a Falconet is sent,
Whose deadly force his arm and shoulder rent:
Soon it transcoloured his shining Steel
With bloud, and made this haughtie Captain reel;
He that the town of Magdenburg did spoil,
And levell'd all her buildings with the soil;
Whose Execrations, as we may presume,
Did hasten on his unexpected Doom.
But when his Captains and Commanders saw
Their Generall his latest breath to draw,
He's slain, He's slain, aloud they all did crie;
Then facing it about, away they flie,
61

Ere they had fought one stroke, or in the field
The faces of their Enemies beheld.
But those Imperials, whom his presence set
On a fresh charge, stood to it stiffly yet,
And with such massie Squadrons overlaid
The Swedish Troups, that they were backward swaid.
Here Coloredo, and Tersica too,
With Picolomini, the fight renew
With no small! Furie, and with many hands
Which light upon Grave Neels and Winckles Bands.
The first of these above the knee being hurt,
His Souldiers from the Battell did transport,
Though after this he did not long survive.
And thou brave Winckle wert fetcht off alive
With double wounds. But thy Vice-Colonell
Was stricken down, and did not scape so well.
Though thus th' Imperialist victoriously
Did for a while the Swedish Squadrons plie,
And now his Cannon had resum'd again,
Which erst he lost; yet for it was he fain
T' exchange so many of his bravest men,
The flow'r of all his Infantrie, and then
So soon their deer-bought bargain to give over,
Which the bold Swethes quickly from them recover.
There did old Bruner on th' Imperiall part,
A skilfull Captain, lose both life and heart.
The young Count Wall'nstein by some unknown hand
Was likewise there shot dead upon the sand.
62

There Fulda's Abbot di'd, whose sacred head
Was pierced by the rude and impious lead,
That never to distinguish yet would learn,
Nor be conjur'd a Mitre to discern
From a steel Helmet, but impartially
At all alike his unstaid force doth flie.
Here had the fiercest of the Battell been,
Here likewise was the greatest slaughter seen.
The sturdie Swethes had learn'd to fight and die;
But never yet had learn'd to shrink or flie:
The ground, which erst their warlike hands defended,
They cover with their Bodies now extended.
Death well might winne from them their lives; but loe,
Their ground he cannot force them to forgo.
But now Knipphausen, who with watchfull eye
The slaughter of his Vantguard did descrie,
Most readie is to stop encroaching fear:
He sends them up two Brigades from the Rear:
The one Count Thurn, the other Mitzlaffe led,
Who gladly did their waving Colours spread,
And marching forward with a speedie pace,
Their now triumphing Enemies do face.
Having within a reaching distance got,
They did salute them with their thundring shot,
Which without ceasing they so roundly pli'd,
That now th' Imperials hearts were terrifi'd:
Being so lately tired, they could not
For any space endure a Charge so hot.
63

What could be done by Valour or by Skill,
Was there perform'd; they stand it out, untill
The eager Swethes by force and weightinesse
Expell'd them from the place they did possesse.
Once more th' Imperiall Cannon they had wonne;
And turning them, to thunder now begun
Against the Wall'nsteiners. At that same houre,
Bernard, that noble Duke, with all his Power
Of Horse and Foot fiercely assails those bands
And Regiments, where Coloredo stands;
Who did as then, like some unmoved rock,
Receive th' impression of his mightie shock:
At which the Duke did slacken his first heat,
And back again did orderly retreat.
But here once more the vap'rie mist descended,
And for a while both sides from blowes defended.
But when this cloudie curtain drawn aside
Gave space to both the Armies to be ey'd,
Wall'nstein did two of his chief Captains send
To see what now the Swethlanders intend.
At that time Bernard and Knipphausen joyn'd,
And both together had their Troups combin'd:
Their shatt'red Regiments they did repair
With fresh supplies, and made them straight & square.
These Scouts return'd, and to their Duke relate
How that the Swedish meant to iterate
The fight afresh, and did in Battell ray
Their bloudie Ensignes once again display,
64

And orderly were marching on amain,
Resolving for to conquer or be slain.
Duke Bernard doth espie th' Imperiall Horse
Retreating from them in an even course;
Then twentie Cannons did he make to roar
With such a vengefull furie, that they tore
Both Horse and Man, defac'd both rank and file,
And their fair Martiall order quickly spoil,
Making their troups confusedly to show,
While on the grasse their mingled bloud doth flow;
And which before not any colour knew,
But the fresh green, is di'd with purple hue.
Here the proud Steed, who scorn'd & spurn'd the ground,
Stretcht dead upon the same is quiet found:
And there another, who did fiercely neigh,
And bravely did his reared crest display,
Is with a fire-wing'd bullet stricken dead,
And mangled lies without a crest or head:
Here was a file of Horsemen cut in sunder
By direfull force of this resistlesse thunder,
While th' untoucht Horse do start and fling about,
And so the next disorderly do rout.
The Swedish Cornets soon th' advantage spie,
And with a sudden charge upon them flie.
Before it thundred; now a storm of hail
And smaller shot their stagg'ring troups doth quail;
And then these haughtie Cavaliers begun
With swift and more disord'red pace to runne.
65

Their Infantrie no better then did fare;
These also by the Swethes repulsed are,
Who now prest on, and pli'd their Volleys round,
And shouldred out th' Imperials from their ground.
As when two Currents do adversely roll,
And seek each others motion to controll:
A while they seem pois'd with an equall force,
And both alike repell their spatt'ring sourse;
Till one of them assisted with a blast,
The others waves doth headlong backward cast:
Thus did the Swethes by force and Martiall toil
Compell th' Imperials backward to recoil.
But those that in the mud-wall'd Gardens lay,
Farre more securely for a while did play,
Under protection of those earthen Banks,
Upon the Swethlanders encroaching ranks.
But they, enrag'd at this unequall fight,
Advanced tow'rds them with a vengefull spight;
And like a Tempest storm'd upon their trenches,
Which soon with slaught'red bloud their furie drenches.
And now the Sunne, wearied with this sad sight,
Began from them to hide his shining light:
He now did seem with his declining beams
To kisse the Oceans azure-colour'd streams;
When lo a rumour was disperst by some,
That Pappenheims Foot-Regiments were come:
Duke Bernard then rallies again his Horse,
Resolv'd t'assail them with his utmost force.
66

But when the Signall was again resounded,
The cheerfull Souldiers, as no whit astounded,
Strictly did each embrace his Camerade,
And, Must we charge them once again? they said;
Then let us bravely and with manly Hearts,
And like true Souldiers, act our latest parts.
Then with such rage and furie did they close,
As if they had reserved all their blowes
For this last onset; and those new-come Bands
Did quickly feel their over-weightie hands:
They found that though the light did still decrease,
Yet the stout Swethes would not their furie cease.
After they had sustained for a while
Their rough encounter, and no little spoil,
They did betake them to a shamefull flight
Under protection of the wings of Night,
Leaving the field to their victorious foes,
Who on the same their wearied limbes repose.
Among his wounded Friends and Enemies,
On the cold ground the conqu'ring Souldier lies;
And ne're complaineth of so hard a Bed,
Where Victorie her pleasing arms hath spread.
FINIS.
67

AN ELEGIE UPON THE IMMATURE AND MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF that most Christian Souldier and Renowned Prince, GVSTAVVS THE GREAT, King of Swethes, Goths, and Vandals; &c.

[_]

Composed immediately after the first rumour of his death,

69

What strange sad silence doth the world astound?
Why doth not Fames still echoing trumpet sound?
She's grown forgetfull, or else hoarse, I fear,
That we no more victorious sounds can heare.
'Twas but of late, when as the thundring noise
Of doubled triumphs, conquests, and applause
Fill'd our Horizon, and the aire did ring
With shouts of praise to Sweds victorious King.
Was this a dream and fanci'd apparition,
And now is vanisht like a fleeting vision?
Could all the world be thus deluded? No:
'Twas surely reall, and no feigned show.
Those bloudie battels and those dismall fights
We lately heard, were not like vap'rie sights,
Compos'd of airie breath, which to the eye
Two dreadfull Armies grappling do descrie.
These, these were reall; and thy direfull steel
(Victorious Prince) shall after-ages feel:
70

And those deep wounds, which in thy furious ire
Thou didst inflict by force of thundring fire,
Shall leave wide scarres upon the Germane land,
Which shall for ever to their terrour stand.
This thou hast done alreadie, and amaz'd
Remotest kingdomes, where thy deeds are blaz'd.
But on a sudden, loe! thou dost appeare
To stop in middle of thy full career:
All tongues are silent, and our greedie eares
Heare nothing now but terrours, doubts, and fears.
Or Fame her self is dead; or he that gave
Life unto Fame, is sunk into his grave.
Fame cannot die. Oh! can he die, whose look
So many thousands dead at once hath strook?
What mortall durst give him a wound, whose eye
Hath made grimme Death to start and turn awrie?
Sure he's not dead: Swethland for grief would roar,
And make their grones heard to our English shore,
If he were dead, whom they have priz'd more deare
Then their own proper lives, and did not fear
To runne like Lions, at their Princes words, Upon!
Upon the mouthes of Cannons, points of Swords.
He's dead, I fear: For can he living be,
And we no spoils nor further conquests see?
Can he be living, and not heard to thunder,
To batter cities, trample kingdomes under;
Whose very soul was fire Æthereall pure,
Such as no mortall bodies can endure?
71

His breath was direfull smoke, and from his hands
Flew show'rs of iron balls, that quell'd whole lands.
Can that Sulphurious dust, more quick then winde,
Once toucht with flame, in prison be combin'd?
Not steel, nor iron, nor the hardest brasse
Can stay its furie for the shortest space.
Though mightie mountains prest this living flame,
Yet would it tear them, and an entrance frame,
His Hellish breath and dismall noise to vent;
Nor would it cease, till all its furie's spent.
Thus hath it been with Europes Northern Starre,
And Sweds Victorious Prince, made all for warre:
Whose Spirit, toucht with fire from heav'n, did blaze
Like to some Comet, sent for to amaze
And scourge us mortall wights; whose direfull breath
Doth shoot down vengeance, terrours, plagues, & death.
Had Turk, and Tartar, and the Triple Crown
That awes the Christian world, and treadeth down
Monarchs as slaves, themselves in one combin'd;
This Heav'n-sent Furie had, like lightning winde,
Shot through them all; and, like to scatt'red corn,
Their feeble squadrons had been rent and torn:
Till his Celestiall vigour were quite spent,
No Warres, no Ruines could his ire content.
But now his date is out, and his Commission
Is stopt from heav'n with a new Prohibition.
He's dead. Oh bitter word, enough to make
Stones for to weep, and iron hearts to ake!
72

So soon? alas! in so unwisht an houre
Is all our joy quell'd by some secret power?
Why do not we then breathe such dolefull grones,
And poure such melting tears, as should hard stones
Dissolve into salt drops; that they and we
Might so expresse one mournfull Elegie?
What! are we spent and drie? I see no teares;
I heare no grones; no wailings pierce my eares.
Oh pardon me! I fear my faltring tongue,
Distract with troubled sorrow, doth you wrong.
'Tis slender grief that doth by weeping vent;
And 'tis not much that can by tears be spent.
But this, this sorrow, like a mortall wound,
Strikes deep, and doth our senses quite astound;
Lies like a lump of lead or heavie weight
Upon our heart, and pincheth it so strait,
That neither sigh nor grone can issue thence;
But lies as dead, and quite berest of sense.
Since then 'tis so we cannot weep, let's borrow
From others help, so to expresse our sorrow.
Ye glistring lamps above, ye Northern starres,
That roll about the Pole your frozen Carres;
In Thetis waves plunge over head and eares,
That ye may have your fill of brinish teares,
And by sad influence make the heav'ns to lowre,
And to the earth send down a weeping showre;
But chiefly on that place, that cursed ground,
Where Adolph first receiv'd his mortall wound.
73

Let never grasse nor verdant herb grow there;
Nor any tree, nor ground it self appeare.
Let it be all a lake, whose face may look
Just like the colour of th' Infernall brook;
Like pitchie Styx, or black-stream'd Acheron;
Or like Cocytus, or dark Phlegethon:
That it may seem to all a mourning vail,
That doth the surface of that ground empale.
And let its murm'ring waves make such a noise,
As may expresse to us the dolefull voice
Of some that crie, that roar, that shriek, that grone;
Of some that mourn, that weep, that wail, that mone:
That after-ages to their children may
Tell this sad storie, when they passe that way;
These souls do mourn for Swethlands conqu'ring King:
But these, whose clamours fearfully do ring,
Are such as in this place di'd by his power,
And thus expresse their horrour to this houre.
Meanwhile, Renowned Prince, sleep thou secure,
No further pains nor travels to endure.
The dreadfull Cannons, which so oft did roar
And thunder in thy eares, shall now no more
Disturb thy rest, nor force thee to arise
In sudden haste: glut now with sleep thine eyes,
While that a Quire of Angels in a ring
Shall round about thee blessed musick sing.
FINIS.
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