University of Virginia Library

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TO Sir William Davenant, IN ANSWER TO THE Seventh Canto OF THE THIRD BOOK OF HIS GONDIBERT, Dedicated to my Father.

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THE Seventh Canto OF THE THIRD BOOK

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1

Unlacky Fire, which tho from Heaven deriv'd,
Is brought too late like Cordials to the Dead,
When all are of their Sovereign sence depriv'd,
And Honour which my rage should warm is fled.

2

Dead to Heroick Song this Isle appears,
The ancient Musick of Victorious Verse:
They tast no more, than he his Dirges hears,
Whose useless Mourners sing about his Herse.

3

Yet shall this Sacred Lamp in Prison burn,
And through the darksom Ages hence invade
The wondring World, like that in Tullie's Urn,
Which tho by time conceal'd, was not decay'd.

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4

And Charles in that more civil Century,
When this shall wholly fill the Voyce of Fame,
The busie Antiquaries then will try
To find amongst their Monarchs Coins thy Name.

5

They will admire thy force 'gainst Gothick rage,
Thy Head of Athens, and thy Woman breast,
Which rescu'd these Records in a rude Age,
When the free Arts were frighted, and opprest.

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If they who read thy Victories, thus confest,
Find not thy wreathed Image, their blind Skill
In gath'ring Monarchs Medals, they'll detest,
And think they made their long Collections ill.

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7

They'll highly bless thy Vertue, by whose Fire
I keep my Lawrel warm, which else would fade,
And thus enclos'd, think me of Nature's Quire
The chief, who still sing sweetest in the shade.

8

To Fame who rules the World, I lead thee now,
Whose solid Power the thoughtful understand,
Whom tho too late, weak Princes to her Bow,
The People serve, and Poets can command.

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And Fame the only Guide to Empires past,
Shall to Verona lead thy Fancie's Eyes,
When Night so black a Robe on Nature cast,
As Nature seem'd afraid of her Disguise.

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10

Ambitious Hubert to Verona came
In the dark Reign of Universal Sleep;
And means no Tears shall quench his Angers flame,
Tho all the Dwellers must be wak'd to weep.

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Till Fame had made the Duke's Adoption known,
He painfully supprest this raging Fire:
But now it was above his Conduct grown,
And Borgio thus provok'd it to aspire.

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Thy Wealth, thou painted City, who shall save?
Black art thou now, and sleep thy business seems;
Each dark abode is silent as the Grave,
Thy sleep were perfect Death if Death had Dreams.

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Thou civil Crowd of soft Inhabitants,
Sleep and forget thy Crimes; may Adice
No more relieve thy thirsty Medows wants,
But swelling here, thy drowning Lethe be.

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Wake but to kindle lust, and boldly think
Heaven has no Eyes, but the departed Sun;
May thy new marri'd at Adult'ries wink,
Both soon seek Strangers, and each other shun.

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Sleep you who Ruin States by Trades Encrease,
Rich Traffickers who fetch those Toyes from far,
Which soften us at home, you plead for Peace,
Because our Luxuries we quit in War.

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Sleep as securely as your Carricks steer,
When in deep Seas your Gale is from the East,
You and Your Pilots want the Art to fear
The suddain Tempest breeding in my Breast.

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You Statesmen sleep, who States tame Lyons be,
For you and Lyons sleep with open Eyes,
And shut 'em when you wake, you seem to see
Through darkness, and with Wink your sight disguise.

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Sleep you Oppressors, Monsters quickly bred,
When private Will is joyn'd to publick Power,
Like Bears in Winter long by slumber fed,
You wake with Hunger, that would Herds devour.

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Sleep all, till waking each with ravisht Mind,
Shall the strange Glory of new Light admire,
And thinking 'tis the Morn, Curse when ye find,
Your City is become your Funeral Fire.

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Borgio did Hubert's Fury thus excite,
Which from his darkn'd thoughts breaks through his Eyes
As suddainly as Morning breaks from Night,
Or glorious Chiefs from sleep to Battle rise.

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And now the Morn in suddain Glory rose,
And to salute the World, shifts from his Face
Night's Veil, as fast as Brides unmash to those
Whom they saluting, would with kindness Grace.

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22

To restless Hubert, Borgio leads the way,
Near Orna's Window Hurgonil he spies,
Who there with Musick welcomes Break of Day,
And as the Lark the East salutes her Eyes.

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For there at ev'ry dawn with Lovers layes,
Till this sweet Moon shall end their nuptial Rites,
And Joyes begin, he love Reveillees payes,
Which made their morning sweet as Lovers nights,

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Such Aires the untun'd Borgio ill abides,
For Musick which is so the Soul of Love,
As Love is of our Life, his Soul derides,
Whom only Drums ambitions Noice could move.

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He oft sends back, as he does forward pass,
His fatal Looks, which did the Count less awe
Than did that Amorous, but more dreadful Face,
Which he too soon in Orna's window saw,

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For there appear'd, tho but obliquely plac'd,
As shrunk behind the Glass, a Youth, who seem'd
Repleat with all those Graces, which have grac'd
Great Courts, or greater Love has e'er esteem'd.

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Such seem'd this Amorous Youth, who soon withdrew
His Looks, and shut the Casement hastily,
As if he only watch'd to scape from view,
By stealth would see, and to be seen was shy.

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A Youth, who thus his Beauty seems to hide,
So guiltlessly in a suspicious time,
And in the Chamber of a plighted Bride,
Might blot the whitest Vertue with a Crime.

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Yet this as Loves false Fire, the Count did scorn.
Grave Tybalt, who these Rites attended, seems
So lost in Sleep, as if not yet the Morn
Were broke, and ranks his Vision with his Dreams.

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Yet Jealousie, which does by Thoughts subsist,
As Life by Air; grew stronger by their pause;
For they their Musick silently dismist,
And fearing ill Effects, must doubt the Cause.

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Musick which here at Orna's dawn had sung,
For Love's Morn breaks not in a common Sky;
But now their Lutes did seem on Willows hung,
Where near some murmuring Brook dead Lovers lye.

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Vain Jealousie, thou fruitful little Seed,
Tho single, and as small as Atoms sown,
Yet faster riseth than a forward Weed,
In many Stems soon great and fully blown.

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'Tis Love's Alarm Bell too often hung
Near Lover's Beds, and keeps 'em still awake;
Yet Noble Hurgonil, when first it rung,
Scarce seem'd to start, and now thus calmly spake.

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Since Love the valiant Aids I must not dread
A Shadows force, and I should vain appear,
To let my Eyes be by a Vision led
From Her whose Image in my Heart I wear.

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Such Maiden Stratagems each plighted Bride,
Rul'd by her Virgin Counsel does devise;
And thus my Faith in Orna must be tri'd,
Faith's Fort is best attempted by Surprise.

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She as betroath'd does till this Moon be past,
And Marriage Laws begin by Custom Sway,
And now she tempts my Jealousie to taste
How I will Reign, when she must long obey.

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That Youth her near Ally, such harmless Art
Assists, which may to Country Eyes seem bold,
But Courts Elixin Vertue does convert,
The worst and most suspected Goyn to Gold.

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Tybalt, repli'd this Tryal, Hurgonil,
Exalts you both it proves your love not light,
And shews that she wants guilt to give her Shill,
Where to direct her Jealous Tryals right.

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Your solid beautiful Love sweet shies away,
At the faint Heat of Jealousies pale Flame,
Nor even in Death will more than Souls decay,
Which dye not, but return from whence they came.

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And since her Tryal is so useless made,
Her Errour does her Innocence proclaim;
For as wetrace strange Thieves by known Thieves aid,
So our own Guilt lights us to others Shame.

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The Guilty often wake, when Jealous grown,
To watch Love's Treasons in another's Bed;
Yet after foul Adulteries in their own,
Sleep as secure from Terrors as the Dead.

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Thus as they homeward move, they timely draw
Discretion's Curtain o'r each others Eyes,
And would not see, what they with Sorrow saw,
Truth oft more modest seems in a Disguise.

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Wise Nature does reprove our Jealousie,
'Tis Fear, and Fear none willingly express,
The Jealous shrink like Spies from every Spy,
Aud what they find with Honours less confess.

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But why (misterious Love) to blemish Truth
In truest Lovers hast thou Art devis'd?
Even in the Artless Sex, for that fair Youth
Was Gartha in a manly shape disguis'd.

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Whose Beauty stoop'd to Hermegild's advice,
And she of Vlpha, Orna's Woman bought
The Jewel Honour at a common price,
And was by stealth to Orna's Chamber brought.

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There shein Night's black Bosom lay,
As in dark Lanthorns Light for Treason lyes,
And so when she peep'd forth, 'twas to betray,
As those were made to shine for a Surprise.

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Calm Orna fearless slept, since free from Sin,
And little did her Womans duty doubt,
Nor heard when she had took the Traytors in,
Who through her Windows let her Honour out.

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And still she slept with as becalm'd a Breast,
As thoughtless Martyrs in a Monument,
Whilst Gartha (whose Success her Cares encreas'd)
Shifts her Disguise, and to her Palace went.

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Where Hubert longhigly expects that she
The reason of her Absence should unfold,
Who big with Plot longs for delivery,
And thinks Successes lost that are not told.

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With Hermegild she hastily arrives,
Where when she Hubert and bold Borgio spi'd,
Her Anger seem'd to threaten Lovers Lives,
And at her Frowns has many a Lover dy'd.

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The two fierce Leaders gravely thoughtful grow
Like scar'd Astrologers, as griev'd to take
From this new Comet in her threatening Brow,
The Empires Doom, and thus her Passion spake.

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Wild Rumour, which from Court to Broscia fled.
Has brought you here bright in your Angers Flame.
You, Hubert, who in War have others led,
Now for your own chief Guide chuse common Fame.

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At Gondibert's Success, and new Renown
Your sick Ambition in a Fever seems;
Which from the Camp so drives you to the Town.
As fev'rish men shift Beds to change their Dreams.

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Back to your Camp, and come not here to boast
Of numerous Ensigne, which but seldom are
By Valour gain'd, tho oft by Cowards lost,
Rags which the Beggar Honour wears in War.

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Dull force cannot wise Courts with threatnings fright,
Who breed strong not in Helmets but in Heads,
Those Battles which you know not why you fight,
And whilst you frown in Fields, smile in their Beds.

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More had she said, but studious Hermegild
Begg'd with his Looks, grown pale with Lovers Cares,
That her bold Passion would to Prudence yield,
And thus to Hubert he his Mind declares.

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Think not great Prince, that our Designs are slow,
But think your Courage makes a dang'rous hast;
The Cures of Inward Wounds then doubtful grow
To Art, when outwardly they heal too fast.

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The Duke's Adoption is a tender Wound,
Which cannot rough and hasty hands endure,
By gentle search are narrow Arteries found,
Where we the Spirits closer Walks secure.

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Think not the Wounds ill searcht, which Artists close,
Whilst you to open it grow rashly bold;
As men ill cur'd haste desp'ratly to Blows,
Because new Wounds may launce and cure the old.

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Your Station is on Hills, your Glories all
Watch as a Beacon, that does bid 'em Arm,
And here your Name but whisper'd, serves to call
The sleeping Faction like a new Alarm.

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Retire, tho like the Sun declin'd you keep
Your Circle still, and give to others Light,
Since we must wish your Enemies a-sleep,
Give us betimes the benefit of Night.

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Preserve your Camp, no Force but of the Mind
Can make our way, and when such Force you doubt,
Think then that Giants, loth to die, can bind
And master Souls with Limbs from going out.

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Hubert's lost Patience, he did thus restore,
Then Gartha with such Reverence he did chide,
As Indian Priests in Storms check and adore
Their Idols Rage, but Hubert thus repli'd.

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Who doubts your Wisdom, Hermegild, which long
Has led fience Armies, and calm Councils taught,
Must the worlds Mistress grave Experience wrong,
As if she wanted Worth, which all have sought.

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Such who play with Truth, are punisht by
Derided Anguish, till they serious turn,
As wanton Scepticks, who Effects deny!
Of Fire, see others smiling whilst they burn.

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Your Faith to me, your love of Gartha hinde,
Which doubting, I her force of Beauty doubt
A Light held up, when Courts tempestuous Winds
Threaten to blow Heavens Lampe, the Planets out.

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Think my Impatience is the Armies Sin,
And if when Gartha with my wrong's is warm'd,
Your Power can hardly keep her Passions in,
How should I stop three angry Legions arm'd?

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Her Anger Heavenly is, for as kind Heaven
Grieves that our own advantage we decline
By doing ill; so her Rebukes are given,
Because she suffers when the Loss is mine.

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Victorious Maid, I find deep Wounds of Cares
On your fair Brow; but so by Beauty shown,
As youthful Victors wear their boasted Scars,
To make their Vertue more than Beauty known.

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Tell me the Empire's safe, and tell me where
You and your Faction have so early met;
To humble those who are so proud to fear,
That at your Dawn their Sun must ever set.

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Gartha from each to all now shifts her Eyes,
As if too wild, and proud to be confin'd,
So proud with Praise, that she does Praise despise,
And spreads like Sails swell'd with a prosp'rous Wind.

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Her Words abound, as Maids first Stories flow,
When to stoln Lovers they from Parents scape,
And fast she speaks, as Scouts chas'd by the Foe
Declare their Number, and their Battles shape.

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She tells how scarce from man she knew,
When so audacious made by her Disguise,
How soon her treble Voyce a Tenour grew,
Her bashful Looks, bolder than Eagles Eyes.

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She makes her secret Progress fully known,
And how false Ulpha aided the Success;
Whose Treason though she scorn'd, she grac'd her own,
As Traytors Greatness makes their Treason less.

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Whilst thus her mourning Conquest she reports,
Their forward hopes shrunk back & seem'd dismaid
To be instead of Sovereign Gold, with Courts
Small Plots (the common Coyn of Statesmen) paid.

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Then thus spoke Hermegild to highest Heights,
The lowest Steps must be the first Degrees,
The strongest stoop to carry greater Weights,
And from conceal'd small Roots, spring lofty Trees.

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Nature disguis'd, does oft from Lowness rise,
To high Effects; so does her Servant Art,
Courts which by Art subsist, and low Disguise
Oft dress a King to play a Subject's part.

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These Clouds which threaten Hurgonil, e'r long
Shall o'r the sleeping Duke a Tempest breed;
As weaker Winds may suddainly grow strong,
And split a Mast, which first scarce shook a Reed.

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The World is not subdu'd by Victories,
Nor by the Voyce of Publick Councils sway'd,
'Tis being wild best conquer'd by Surprise,
And easi'st rul'd, when to the Yoke betray'd.

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Wise Courts for Man have many a little Snare
In Cities (now grown wild as Forrests) spread
To take the useful Beast alive, whom War
Destroyes, tho he be useless being dead.

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Now Borgio, who with Hopes swell'd Sails had steer'd,
Grows troublesom, as Sails then strong winds change
Like Sails he slackn'd, when his Hope laveer'd,
And seem'd as much a storm, as storms seem strange.

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82

Invite, said he, State Student to your Feast
Of Ruling Councils, an insipid Food.
When Canibal Ambition is your Guest,
Who is not fed with Precepts, but with Blood.

83

Poorly you make us fall from publick Heights,
To private Depths; and all your great Designs,
Are subt'ly shrunk to Lovers little Slights,
Your Indian Voyage was to Copper Mines.

84

The Duke's Adoption by the King is seal'd,
The Count by Marriage plight to Orna ti'd,
Fast by Confederate the Crown is held,
And we watch hard to scare a sleeping Bride.

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85

Accurs'd be Courts where you, wise Statesmen, make
Your selves, and not your Master great, you keep
Your Watch with false Alarms, and only wake
To breed those Fears, which hinder others sleep.

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Falshood condemn'd you free from publick good,
Bind Truth to the Authority of Schools,
Least in your Priests you should be understood,
Priests you make false, and they confirm you Fools.

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Tho humbly first you low as Serpents crawl,
Yet soon you show your power, which is your Sting.
Wildly you catch at him, when you must fall
Who by your Weights grows weak, your govern'd King.

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Greedy as Lyons o'r your trembling Prey,
Rowling your Eyes about with Jealous Care,
For fear some other strong Devourer may
In what you long have hunted, quickly share.

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You sell the Peace that with your Blood you bought,
Then in your Clossets other Quarrels feign
To break that Peace, for which like Fools wefought
And make the People purchase it again.

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At this old Hermegild renounc'd his Age,
For heat of Anger made his Visage young,
And soon in Words he would let loose his Rage,
But Gartha sooner thus prevents his Tongue.

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Is this your Lyon Hubert, whom you bring
In terrour from his Canvas Cage, your Tent,
That by instinct he may to free the King
Roar, if he find him not of Kings Descent.

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Or would he cure Courts tame Civility?
Or must the Ladies yield to him for fear?
Soon a dispis'd dead Lyon shall he be,
If he pronounce his Savage Doctrine here.

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Rebels to Courts, the Force of useful Power,
Where Statesmen should be safe tho vext with Cares,
To rescue whom your Fury would devour,
They breed not War for you, but you for Wars.

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Courts form'd not War to keep the World alarm'd,
Or vex the Quiet, but to tame the Rude,
To Right whom Tumults wrongfully have harm'd,
And Conquer those who have the good subdu'd.

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Courts your wise Masters, did invent the odds
Of Camps o'r Crowds, you muster'd by your wills,
Would now like Ruffian Giants brave your Gods,
Who smile in Clouds to see you heave at Hills.

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How wildly would the World be Rul'd, if left
By Civil Courts to your uncivil Sway?
Justice would hardly dare to blush at Theft,
Nor Priests to sigh, when Priests become their Prey.

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What are your Battles where Ambition tries
Those Titles which avoid the Test of Law,
Battles, the Worlds confused Lotteries,
Where for the Prize thousands together draw.

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Like mighty Murtherers you Honour boast,
Ofener by Chance than Valour give Defeats;
Vainly like Gamesters count not what you lost,
But what you won, hiding your base Retreats.

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By wretched Rapine urg'd to bold Attacks,
And when a City even by Treaty yields,
You oft out-do the Fame of Gothick Sacks,
And where they City's left, leave desart Fields.

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And when your conquering Train comes home quite tir'd
With emptying Cities, and with filling Graves,
Your Foreign Vices are at first admir'd,
'Till low you fall in Riots as your Slaves.

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Now Hubert did arrest her pleading hand,
Which earnest grew, & did her Tongue out-plead,
His Looks did Borgio's Silence soon command,
And on her Hand he Tears of kindness shed.

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And that sweet Pledge with fervent Kisses held,
As fast as Lovers then that fair Hand hold,
Which has the long sought Promise newly seal'd,
Whē Rivals hopes grow warm, & theirs grow cold.

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103

He said she was Heavens private Mirrour wrought,
For Kings that they might secret Truths discern;
He prais'd the Court, that her such greatness taught
As only Courts can teach, and Princes learn.

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Now with one Mind to several Cares they hie;
She hastes to Court to hasten Orna's shame:
And both the Chiefs disguis'd to Brescia fly,
Thro Mists returning as in Crowds they came.

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Hubert will wait till her Designs appear
In larger Growth, for He was bred to sow
Courts little Fields, and well he knew that there
Small Rivals oft to mighty Mischiefs grow.

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106

They look but wrong on Courts who can derive
No great Effects from outward Littleness;
Thro Foolish Scorn they turn the Prospective,
And so contract Courts little things to less.

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Man's little Heart in narrow space does hide
Great Thoughts, such as have spacious Empire sway'd
The little Needle does vast Carricks guide,
And of small Atoms were the Mountains made.