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Eliza

An Epick poem. In Ten books. By Sir Richard Blackmore Rivers &c

Blackmore, Richard

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ELIZA:

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ELIZA:

AN Epick POEM.

BOOK I.

Let, Heav'nly Muse, Enthusiastick Fire,
With Heat Divine, my lab'ring Breast inspire;
That I may sing of Military Toil,
And of the Queen, that rul'd the British Isle;
Who zealous pure Religion to defend,
Did to the Belgick Shore her Cohorts send,
To save reform'd Batavia, and restrain
The persecuting Rage of superstitious Spain.

Stretching from Slusa to Ostenda's Strand,
Whose Tow'rs the Soil and Seas around command,
Ridges of high contiguous Hills arise,
Divide the Clouds, and penetrate the Skies.
Beneath, a Vale its Bosom does display,
Oppress'd with Riches, and profusely gay;
Where Nature throws her Gifts with lavish Hand,
And crowns, with flow'ry Luxury, the Land.

Fruits, Rivers, Meadows, Groves, and aeiry Plains
Still ecchoing with the Lays of happy Swains,
Lovely Confusion make, and charm the Eye
With beautiful Irregularity.
The Land does far and wide her Coasts extend,
And with a Kindness that becomes a Friend;
With winding Shores, and sandy Arms restrain,
Embrace and lull to Sleep the rough Germanic Main.

The Prince of Darkness, Monarch of the Air,
Hither did oft from Hell's low Caves repair;
Sometimes to give his raging Passion Vent,
And ease the Troubles that his Soul torment:
Or in the mild Retirement, to divert
The Anguish and unsufferable Smart
Of aking Sores, and Wounds incurable,
Inflicted by Victorious Michael's Steel,
Which he e'er since has felt, and must for ever feel.
Sometimes beneath the Shade of spreading Trees,
With a refreshing Zephir's gentle Breeze,
Panting with Heat, he fans Infernal Flames,
And with the Balmy Dews, and Crystal Streams,
He cools his fester'd Limbs, and Ease acquires
To Burns of dry, or Scalds of liquid Fires.
Sometimes, to sooth his Torments, and asswage
With some fresh Mischief, his insatiate Rage,
He forms the Model of a new Design,
Some Christian State or Realm to undermine:
Faction in peaceful Kingdoms to create;
Friendship destroy, and blow up mutual Hate.

To ruin Nations by destructive Vice,
Now by Ambition, now by Avarice.
Sometimes he thinks what new Reserves of Pain
He'll next break up, what Stores of Torment drain.
If Plague or Famine he shall next employ,
Earth-quakes or Storms, ripe Nations to destroy.
Blood, Desolation, Ruin, Ruptures, Wars,
Hostile Invasions, or Intestine Jars,
The Fall of Empires, persecuting Rage,
And State-Convulsions his deep Thoughts engage.

Such were the Subjects which did entertain
His anxious Mind, and press his lab'ring Brain;
When from the Hill, where then he did reside,
He in the Vale Britannia's Youth descry'd.
Soon as th'Apostate, with Seraphick Ken,
Discover'd on their March, the Valiant Men,
He with prodigious Malice, Envy, Hate,
Vastly dilated, on the Mountain sate.
Hell's rankest Vipers did their Rage exert,
And sting th'Infernal Monarch to the Heart.
The Flames of all the sulph'rous Caves beneath
Did scorch his Breast, and interrupt his Breath.
Flashes of Light'ning from his Eye-balls broke,
And from his dreadful Nostrils Clouds of Smoke.
Thus fir'd and swoln with Rage, did Satan glow,
Like a hot Furnace on a Mountain's Brow.
Such Ætna seems, so does Vesuvius look,
When terribly adorn'd with Flames and Smoke.
Then to himself thus the fall'n Angel spoke:

From Heav'n this mild Terrestrial Orb I won
With God-like Art, and Toil before unknown.
The Monarchs of the Earth did me obey,
In low Prostrations at my Altars lay.
I was rever'd as Nature's Soveraign Lord,
And as their God, by all Mankind ador'd.
Only the Tribes that in Judea dwelt,
Oppos'd my Throne, and my Resentment felt.
Long I my Shrines, with Hymns and Incense cloy'd,
In undisturb'd Tranquility enjoy'd;
'Till the Eternal's Co-eternal Son,
From me, in part, my fair Dominions won:
With Miracles of Pow'r he shook my Throne,
And on my Empire's Ruins, rais'd his own.
He did his new mysterious Creed enjoin,
Reer'd his proud Temples, and demolish'd mine.
Revolting Realms this stranger Lord obey'd,
And by Contagion, Proselytes were made.
His Evangelick Tribe, with formal Face,
Affected Looks, and sanctify'd Grimace,
Their up-start Superstition introduc'd,
And from my Shrines my Votaries seduc'd.
With swift Success they did their Churches plant,
And the vile World began to Preach and Cant.
Tho' the pure Ages of Antiquity
Condemn the Christian, and decide for me;
Tho' all Mankind to me did then adhere,
And cry'd, Can universal Judgment err?
Yet they, with promis'd Heav'nly Bliss, allur'd,
My old Religion Catholick abjur'd.

They left my ancient Temples, to adore
A God unheard of, and unknown before.

The Schism still more obtain'd; I took th'Alarm,
And to suppress the Sect, made haste to arm.
Enrag'd, with Fire and Sword I did invade
The Hereticks, who thus their Faith betray'd,
And this curs'd Separation from my Altars made.
Now mighty Rome enjoy'd Imperial Sway,
The World did her, and she did me, obey:
Those, who her Throne possess'd, by me employ'd,
The contumacious Schismaticks destroy'd.
Breathing forth Rage and Death, at my Command,
They drove the Canting Saints thro' ev'ry Land.
Fir'd with a noble Zeal, they did proscribe
Massacre, Ruin, Burn the Godly Tribe.
I lop'd the Gangreen'd Limbs, to save the Sound;
Great was my Aim, but ineffectual found.
Vast Numbers soon succeeded in the place
Of ev'ry Head cut from this Hydra Race.
The more by Force I did the Sect oppose,
The more they flourish'd, and still higher rose.
I did my Cause by these false Measures wrong,
From one destroy'd, a thousand Christians sprung.

I finding now my doubtful Empire shake,
Seeing my Honour, and my All at Stake,
My Batt'ries chang'd, and dress'd a new Attack.
Resolv'd to make them their own Fate procure,
Sink them with Wealth, and ruin them with Pow'r.

What Pagan Princes did attempt in vain,
I, by my Christian Pontiffs, did obtain.
Thy Miter'd Sons, O Rome! I did inspire
With my own Pride, my own Ambition's Fire.
With Lust of Empire, Riches, and Renown,
A double Sword, and more than double Crown.
How soon did Rome receive my pow'rful Flame?
How soon at Greatness and Dominion aim?
She by a thousand Arts deriv'd from me,
By her own Pains, and matchless Industry,
And neighbour Monarchs ignominious Sloth,
Did soon acquire a formidable Growth.
My Creature, with a glorious Arrogance
To the whole World, did her high Claim advance:
She gain'd her Cause, the Nations Homage paid,
Receiv'd her Yoke, and her Commands obey'd.
The States around did to her Laws submit,
And humble Monarchs bow'd, and kiss'd her Feet.
From East to West she made her Thunder roll,
And gather'd Tribute under either Pole.
This Mistress of the World adorn'd with Gold,
And Tyrian Purple glorious to behold;
With Orient Pearl, and wanton Persia's Pride,
The Keys of Heav'n suspended by her Side;
In State ascended her Imperial Throne,
And in her Splendor, as a Goddess shone.
To be ador'd by all, the Empress sate,
And mock'd the Captive Kings, who on her Throne did wait:
She, as she pleas'd, advanc'd, or pull'd them down,
Rais'd with a Smile, or sunk them with a Frown.

I taught elated Pontiffs to forget
The Shepherd's Cottage, and the Fisher's Net.
Peter, poor Man! would stand amaz'd to see
His Successors adorn'd with Majesty,
Warriors of mighty Fame in Triumph lead,
And on the Necks of Captive Princes tread.
That Wealth and Plenty might support her Pow'r,
She, by a thousand Arts, did Gold procure:
By Holy Rapine, her Religious Lust
Did of their Blood the Nations round exhaust.
Towns pillag'd, Kingdoms ruin'd, States undone
By her brave Troops, enrich'd the Triple Crown.
The Purgatorian Indies were her own,
Richer than thine, O Spain! and still unknown,
Still undiscover'd, but to her alone.
Here Mines of unexhausted Treasures ly,
This Ophir's Golden Shores my Rome supply.
Hither each Year their num'rous Flotas come,
And loaden, bring prodigious Riches home:
They meet no Rocks or Tempests in their way,
No Corsairs e'er infest this peaceful Sea.
She cut, with indefatigable Toil,
Channels and Drains in ev'ry neighb'ring Soil,
Whose Streams their Treasure might from Home convey,
And roll their Golden Sands into the Roman Sea.
Her Fund of Merits yielded Sums immense,
Where Malefactors purchas'd Innocence:
She future Bliss for present Money sold,
Pardons retail'd, and barter'd Heav'n for Gold.

Proud Rome now Opulent and Potent grown,
I thought it time to make her all my own:
By me instructed, she from Errors freed
Her ancient Model, and reform'd her Creed:
She cast Religion in a nobler Mould,
New Doctrines added, and expung'd the Old:
Doctrines invented, Empire to support,
Not to a Church adapted, but a Court.
By me, inlighten'd Rome did now complain,
That Christ's Religion was too course and plain:
That now 'twas time that homely Dress to quit,
Rather for Fisher-men, than Monarchs fit.
So oft she chang'd her first Religion's Frame,
'Till Rome again Old Pagan Rome became,
Nothing remain'd of Christian, but the Name.
To Carv'd and Molten Images they bow,
My Pagan Pomp, and Ceremonial Show;
My ancient Modes of Worship were restor'd,
Which the vile Sect in former Times abhor'd.
To keep them stedfast to my Int'rest, I
First taught them to entrench themselves, and ly
In never to be forc'd Infallibility.
Rome's Christian Pagans serv'd my Purpose more
Than all her Lay Imperial Heads before:
As fav'rite Friends, I did her Sons regard,
Nor fail'd their faithful Service to reward:
I slak'd with Wealth immense their mighty Thirst,
And with Dominion, their ambitious Lust.
Ecclesiastick Kings, a three-fold Crown,
And crosier'd Monarchs were before unknown.

Their constant Service did from me procure
These mighty Names, this high Imperial Pow'r.
Have I advanc'd my Sons to such a height,
Founded this Potent, Anti-Christian State,
And shall I not uphold my Empire's Weight?
Shall proud Eliza's impious Arms sustain
Fanatick States, and break the Pow'r of Spain?
And shall these Schismaticks from Rome and Hell,
Against me with Impunity rebel?
Shall these Calvinian Hereticks succeed
In this unjust, rebellious, impious Deed?
No, Hell shall all its Pow'r and Skill exhaust,
Before it sees Iberia's Empire lost.

Then from the Mountain's Brow, without delay,
With his brown Wings out-stretch'd, he made his way
To the low Realms unknown to Peace and Day.
As when, a Town beseig'd, a flaming Bomb
Discharg'd from some capacious Mortar's Womb,
On its destructive Message swiftly flies,
Inflames the Air, and terrifies the Skies:
So swiftly Satan flew, and in his Flight,
Left Clouds of Smoke behind, and Tracks of dismal Light.
He plung'd himself amidst Tartarean Shade,
And to his dusky Court in Wrath his Passage made.
Demons and Furies at his Summons come,
And sill the dire Infernal Council-Room.
A Noise confus'd rose from the mingled Crowd,
Like unform'd Thunder, murm'ring in a Cloud:
Their Prince ascends his Throne sublime, and sate,
Beneath a Sable Canopy of State.

Publick Concern dwelt on his anxious Brow,
And deadly Rage did in his Eye-balls glow;
Th'Assembly hush'd stood at their Monarch's Sight,
Still, as the peaceful Walks of ancient Night.
Thoughtful a while he sate, and unresolv'd,
And in his Mind the great Affair revolv'd:
While deep Resentment, fierce Defiance, Care,
Gave to his Looks a vengeful, troubled Air.
Like a black Storm, th'Infernal Monarch frown'd,
And low'ring, cast his haughty Eyes around:
Then from his Chair of State he Silence broke,
And thus th'assembled Senators bespoke:

You I convene, ye great Seraphick States,
To take my Measures from your Wise Debates,
For future Conduct in an high Affair,
That asks your deepest Thought, and utmost Care.
When our great Foe by Art was overcome,
By turning Christian into Pagan Rome,
O'er Europe's Realms my Empire I regain'd,
And long in unmollested Triumph reign'd;
Till a proud Monk did in Germania's Land,
My Soveraign Will, and Sacred Pow'r withstand,
And Northern Europe rent from my Command.
I, to extinguish this Phanatick Fire,
That blazing high, fresh Vigor did acquire;
Call'd all my zealous Servants to my Aid,
And on the raging Flame my Roman Engines play'd.
Batavia's Provinces th'Infection took,
Espous'd the Rebels, and my Cause forsook.

From the Morasses of Zelandia's Isle,
And from the Flags and Fens of Belgia's Soil,
Of croaking Hereticks a monst'rous Brood,
Like Egypt's Vermin, sprung from reeking Mud;
Arm'd on Pretence to set their Country free,
Rebell'd at once against their King and me.
Spain, which did impious Heresie detest,
And Faith to me inviolate profest;
Highly enrag'd by her own Wrongs and mine,
With Rome and me, to crush them, did combine;
And now her Arms are ready to subdue
These up-start States, this high and mighty Crew:
But know, Eliza's Troops have cross'd the Main,
They march distress'd Batavia to sustain.
And must this Queen, whom from my Soul I hate,
From my Revenge, protect a Rebel State?
O Hell! O all ye Potentates below!
Shall we be vanquish'd by a Woman Foe?
To Female Force shall our brave Spaniards yeild?
Driv'n by the Distaff, shall they quit the Field?

Say, O Angelick Warriors, did not we
Bear all the Fire of Heav'n's Artillery,
When we th'Almighty's Empire did invade;
When from their Lines Immortal Cannon play'd,
And thund'ring on our Host, podigious Ruin made?
Did we once tremble? did we once decline
To Face their Batt'ries rais'd by Pow'r Divine?
And when by Arms Almighty beaten back,
Did we not rally, and renew th'Attack?

Fatigu'd with Toil, and gall'd with hostile Fire,
We did in Order from th'Assault retire:
But left proud Michael's scarce Victorious Host,
For their dear Conquest no great Cause to boast.
And did our Youth with Courage so abound,
To charge such mighty Foes, tho' fenc'd around
With Crystal Works insuperably steep,
And with a dreadful Gulph, immensely deep,
And shall we tamely see Eliza's Arms
Disturb our Vot'ries? Shall her proud Alarms
Shake our high Domes, and Hereticks sustain
Against th'united Pow'rs of Rome and Spain?
Can Spirits, true to our Infernal State,
Who love Dominion, who Obedience hate;
Can Spirits of Divine and God-like Race,
Bear such a foul, indelible Disgrace?
How will insulting Michael scoff to see
Our Pow'r çontroul'd by such an Enemy?
All will hereafter our high Altars quit,
And to Triumphant Heresie submit:
All will our Ignominious Conduct blame,
All, with Contempt, will Hell's Commanders name.
You cannot such Reproach and Shame endure;
Speak then your Thoughts, how best we may secure
Our Priests and Vot'ries from Eliza's Pow'r.
Let us, if we from Belgia must retire,
First lay it all in Blood, or set it all on Fire.

Chemosh arose, a Prince of great Renown,
No bolder Chief assail'd th'Almighty's Throne;
Scarce greater Deeds by Satan's Arms were done.

Deform'd with Seams and Ignominious Scars,
From ghastly Wounds receiv'd in Heav'nly Wars;
Above the Demons that compos'd the Crowd,
The Potentate, Majestick Ruin, stood;
Elated in Destruction, proud in Hell,
He felt his Veins with Indignation swell;
He look'd around him with a haughty Air,
Th'Attention of th'Assembly to prepare.
And thus began. High Seraphs, this Debate
Concerns the Being of th'Infernal State:
'Tis of the last Importance to restrain
Eliza's Pow'r, and guard our Friends of Spain.
We must exert the utmost Skill of Hell,
This to support, the other to repel.
I would, great Satan, to promote this End,
To Caledonia pow'rful Mammon send.
He, by his Arts, the Scotians may excite
To take just Arms to vindicate their Right.
Scotia well-manag'd Anglia may embroil,
And with Intestine Wars distract the Isle.
Our Friends in either Kingdom potent are,
Disturb'd, uneasy, and dispos'd for War.
Our Scotian Lords may lead their Army forth,
And join our Loyal English in the North.
Eliza, this joint Force to overcome,
Will be compell'd to call her Army home.
This will the Belgian of her Aid bereave,
And to th'Iberian easy Conquest leave.
'Tis hard on Scotia's Promise to rely,
But Mammon may her Sons with Treasure buy.

All things in Scotia are for Money sold,
There the most potent Deity is Gold.
He'll all our Papal Friends in Scotia find,
Of an unquiet, discontented Mind;
Ill pleas'd with Anglia's Queen, and much to Arms inclin'd.

He ceas'd: Then Baal did with Choler swell,
A fiercer Spirit was not found in Hell:
Against his God in Arms he did engage,
And near to Satan charg'd scarce with inferior Rage:
With desp'rate Speech, his Maker he blasphem'd,
Revil'd his Conduct, and his Wrath contemn'd.
To the great Ministers, to all the Bless'd
In Heav'n's high Court, his Malice he express'd:
He hated all the Chiefs, but Michael most,
The glorious Gen'ral of the Heav'nly Host;
For his Victorious Arms their Force repell'd,
Broke their Designs, and the proud Faction quell'd:
Since that, he all the Foes of Heav'n caress'd,
And with his utmost Pow'r its Friends oppress'd;
And thus th'Infernal Dyet he address'd:

'Tis well to you, Immortal Seraphs, known,
What Zeal to serve your Int'rest I have shown,
What Wounds I've felt, what Labours undergone:
Still the same Fire does all my Veins dilate,
Still the same Toil and Hazards I'll repeat;
Tho' disappointed oft, I still declare
For bold Attempts in Arms, and glorious War.
In Scotia's mighty States can we confide?
On her how oft have we in vain rely'd?

If Mammon gains them by his Golden Store,
May not Eliza too, by proff'ring more?
Who can that State in Friendship long secure?
Why should you Schemes on weak Surmises build?
How do you know Spain must to Albion yield?
Have they yet try'd their Courage in the Field?
Brave and Victorious is th'Iberian Host,
And have no Battel yet to Britain lost.
It will be time to think of Scotia's Aid,
When Spain by Albion vanquish'd, is dismay'd:
Mean time let our Angelick Cohorts Arm;
Let the loud Noise of War all Hell alarm:
Let us once more Seraphick Warriors weild
Immortal Arms, and bravely take the Field:
Let us for Spain against our Foes engage,
And on the Britons pour out deadly Rage.
Michael, you'll say, his Squadrons will oppose;
Let him; we'll once more Face our Godly Foes:
Let us assail them once more with the Sword;
To Fight the Saints, some Solace will afford;
Revenge, Immortal Warriors, is the Word.
Of Mischief, you the greatest Sweetness know,
And from Revenge, what wond'rous Pleasures flow:
The only Pleasures which to Hell remain,
To sooth our Sores, and mitigate our Pain.
Draw out your valiant Legions in Array,
To Mischeif and Revenge, I'll lead the way.

He ceas'd, and Dagon rose, a Prince serene,
Of Aspect mild, and of a winning Mein.

Tho' scorch'd by Fire, and scarr'd by Hostile Arms,
Yet he retain'd in part his Heav'nly Charms:
He still preserv'd a wond'rous pleasing Air,
Graceful in Torment, in Perdition, fair.
Beneath, a Face, so gentle, so sedate,
No Breast conceal'd, a more malignant Hate.
None did his Heav'nly Soveraign more detest;
None more his impious Enemies carest:
Fluent of Words, and eloquent of Tongue,
He always mov'd, and pleas'd th'applauding Throng.
Thus he began, Seraphs, I speak my Mind
With Deference due to Spirits more refin'd;
Of clearer Judgment, and of greater Weight,
More able in the Business of the State,
And fitter to decide in this your high Debate.
If I can but suggest, or hint to these,
What they'll improve, I my Ambition please:
I ask his leave from Baal to dissent;
In vain, in Combate, we our Passion vent.
Our Heav'nly Foes, that guard Eliaza's Host,
Unvanquish'd Arms, and Aid Almighty boast:
Did to our Spears their Armor ever yeild?
Did we e'er give a Wound, or pierce a Shield?
Why should we fruitless War and Strife repeat?
Can all our Force Omnipotence defeat?
I would no more seek such unequal Fight,
Provoke more Vengeance, and more Wrath invite:
Nor can my Sense, with Chemosh Choice comply,
His is the last Expedient I would try.

The Arguments which Baal urg'd, perswade,
That 'tis in vain to trust to Scotia's Aid.
Send rather Faction to Hibernia's Isle,
Let her that Kingdom, by her Art, embroil.
Our Friends are num'rous in that faithful State,
And to Eliza bear the deepest Hate.
If they in Arms appear, the Crown of Spain
May with fresh Succours still the Fire maintain,
As Albion's Aids the Belgian War sustain.
Then his great Ends King Phillip may pursue,
And Albion's crafty Queen at her own Game out-do.

Then from a Sulphur Cave, a Fury crawl'd,
And on the Floor in loathsome Volumes sprawl'd;
So fierce, she did th'Infernal Lords affright,
And so deform'd, she prejudic'd their Sight.
Hell, at the dire Appearance, blacker grew,
And vulgar Fiends, for Fear and Shame, with-drew.
Horror it self the raging Fury fear'd,
And Terror started, when she first apppear'd.
Scylla, and all the Monsters of the Main,
Were the Descriptions true which Poets feign,
Would inoffensive, comely Figures be,
Compar'd with this compleat Deformity:
Her fiery Eyes, a red maligant Glare,
Shot from their Bloody Orbits thro' the Air:
Black Vipers crown'd her Head with horrid Grace,
The rankest Brood of all th'Infernal Race.
In odious Curls they on her Shoulders hung,
Hissing, and thrusting out their three-fork'd Tongue.

The fiery Breath that from her Nostrils came,
With Plagues and Fevers, did the Air inflame.
Whene'er the Fury yawn'd, she set to show
A dreadful Armory of Death and Woe.
She seem'd all Teeth and Jaws, prepar'd for Spoil,
Like the arm'd Tyrant that infests the Nile:
Like the full Bosom of the widest Sail
In Ships of War, swoln with a vig'rous Gale,
Far out her vast Hydropick Belly stood,
Turgid with purple Seas of Christian Blood;
Of which she drank such Draughts to slake her Thirst,
The Senate fear'd she would in sunder burst:
Her Caves with Crosses, Racks, and Fetters stor'd,
Did various Pain, and Choice of Death afford:
Her hateful Parents, Pontificial Pride,
And Lust of Gold, stood by the Fury's Side.
Fierce Inquisition, Rage, Ambition, Hate,
Revenge, and Envy, to compose her State,
A dire Retinue, on the Fiend did wait.

Then Bigottry, with Hellish Fury stung,
Did with a Voice that thro' the Palace rung,
Hell's Potentates in Council thus bespeak:
Spain to support, and Albion's Force to break,
Illustrious Princes, is your high Design;
I ask that glorious Province may be mine.
No Minister did e'er with greater Zeal,
Or more Success, promote the Cause of Hell.
Since in your Service, I was first employ'd,
I have your Foes without Remorse destroy'd.

My Mistress, Rome, will own I serv'd her more
Than all her Skill, and all her Pow'r before:
My self alone found out th'effectual Art,
Apostates to extirpate, or convert.
The rankest Weeds of baneful Heresy,
Have from the Church been rooted out by me.
My Racks have set Mens Understandings right;
My Dungeons bless'd them with convincing Light.
Rebels have been reduc'd at my Expence,
Inform'd by Whips, and tortur'd into Sense:
My Reasons always due Impressions made,
Proofs that are felt, are fittest to perswade:
I to the Mind explor'd the ready way,
And by the Senses, Knowledge did convey.
My Arguments with ease are understood,
Adapted to the Man, and clear to Flesh and Blood;
And Reason to our Senses clear and plain,
Will quickly to the Mind, Admission gain:
O what convincing Force have Prisons, Want, and Pain!
My Eloquence must still successful prove;
Those most prevail, who most the Passions move.
No Orator did e'er his Skill display,
In such a moving and Pathetick way.

I use no subtil Reas'ning of the Schools;
I mock the vain Disputes of Learned Fools:
Your Disputants ne'er made Apostates yield;
With ignominious Rout you left the Field.
You by Scholastick Weapons were out-done;
You took no Captives, and no Trophies won.

Victorious Hereticks insulted Rome,
And crown'd with Laurels, march'd in Triumph Home:
But when your Doctors did their Error see,
Laid Reason by, and threw themselves on me;
My Arguments did soon the Foe confute,
And to an Issue brought the long Dispute.
'Twas I the Art discover'd to perswade,
And for their One, Ten Thousand Converts made.

Obdurate Wretches, who would ne'er repent,
Ne'er by my melting Discipline relent;
Who to Fanatick Errors did adhere
Inflexibly resolv'd to persevere;
I contumacious Rebels did declare
Such as the World might with Advantage spare;
Such whose contagious Breath might taint th'ambient Air.
I, Traytors and Apostates to detect,
My Holy Inquisition did erect:
I my Tribunal did in State ascend,
Those to destroy, whom Tortures could not mend.
The Rebels I proscrib'd, enrol'd their Names,
And doom'd the Wretches to devouring Flames.
These Holy Methods ruin'd or reduc'd
Those who the Church's Clemency abus'd:
Thus did I settle Peace, and made by Fire
The odious Monster Heresy expire.
The Zeal too indiscreet, th'imprudent Rage
That in Crusados did our Friends engage;
Assassinations, well meant Violence,
Pious Massacres gave the World Offence:

Did universal Odium on us draw;
But I attack'd the Hereticks with Law;
In Courts of Justice did their Process make,
Accusers hear, and Depositions take:
Then by Advice of Grave and Holy Men,
Did to the Flames, the Criminals condemn.
This Zeal I'll still express; with Fire and Sword
I'll still pursue the Sect by Hell abhor'd;
'Till I exterminate the Impious Race,
Thy Plague, O Rome, and Europe, thy Disgrace.

Now, to extinguish in your anxious Breast
The deep Concern that interrupts your Rest;
Grant your Commission, I'll with speedy Flight,
Mount the dark Void, 'till I emerge in Light.
To mighty Phillip's Court I'll wing my Way,
Who does, Iberia, thy poud Scepter sway:
Who does in Pow'r and Piety excel
All the crown'd Heads, and Royal Friends of Hell:
I shall with ease that gen'rous Prince perswade,
With Hostile Force, Britannia to invade.
This done, Eliza must her Arms recal;
What Pow'r can then prevent Batavia's Fall?

Th'Infernal Senate hum'd a loud Applause,
And from his Chair of State their Monarch rose:
He with a Smile the bloody Fiend caress'd,
And full of Joy, he thus himself express'd:
Go and succeed in this thy bless'd Design;
Be Hell's the Benefit, the Honour thine.

This great Applause the Fiend did so engage,
She call'd up all her Terrors, all her Rage:
Demons surpriz'd, did their Disturbance shew,
All Hell was mov'd, so fierce the Monster grew:
Then in a milder Form the Fury dress'd,
Her Snakes call'd in, and her loose Shape compress'd;
Did her unfeather'd Dragon-Wings display,
And mount to reach the Silver Verge of Day.
As when a Faulcon, pinch'd with Hunger, 'spies
A long-neck'd Hern, that traverses the Skies;
Eager of Blood, and meditating Death,
With vig'rous Wings, he rises from beneath:
With wond'rous Swiftness cuts his aeiry Way,
And soon in Distance lost, pursues his tim'rous Prey.
So strong, so swift, so in a Line upright,
The Fury mounted to the Coasts of Light:
Then to Iberia's Realm she wing'd her Way,
And at the Court arriv'd at Dawn of Day:
When Light and Shade contend with doubtful War,
Which shall possess the Empire of the Air:
When like Success, and equal Forces lay
In even Scales, the Fortune of the Day.
Now Trav'llers from their Eyes soft Slumber shake,
And for new Labour, Swains their Beds forsake.
The roaming Lion, surfeited with Spoil,
Comes to his Den fatigu'd with bloody Toil.
Now wand'ring Ghosts and Spectres leaves the Air,
And to their low, unlightsome Seats repair.
Of thickest Shades, that bounding Beams repel
And pitchy Smoke, cast from the Mouth of Hell,

A long black Robe the Fury did prepare,
Such as th'Ignatian, cruel Order wear.
She then the ambient Air with Art compress'd,
And in a Moment Human Members dress'd:
She did the Figure, Face, and Mien assume,
Of Loyola, the Prop and Pride of Rome.

All Night th'Iberian Monarch wakeful lay,
Meeting with eager Eyes, returning Day:
To sooth reluctant Cares, and ease his Pain,
He turn'd from Side to Side, but turn'd in vain.
A thousand Terrors interrupt his Rest,
A thousand Troubles vex his anxious Breast:
The Thoughts of Belgia's long protracted War,
Corrode his Bosom, and his Heart-strings tear;
Whence daily Courriers bring him fresh Alarms
Or from Batavian or Britannick Arms.
Now to his Thoughts Eliza does appear,
Mauritius now, and now, the mighty Vere,
Who much provok'd his Hate, but more his Fear:
He thinks what wealthy Provinces were gone,
And what fair Towns were from his Empire won:
How white with Spanish Bones the Mountains grow,
Red with their Blood, how Belgick Rivers flow.
He hears their Shrieks, and lamentable Cry,
Who by his Order, did in Torment lye;
Or over whom accurss'd Assassins stood,
With Sword in Hand, prepar'd to shed their Blood:
The Ghosts of murder'd Men past by his Bed,
They show'd their Ghastly Wounds, and shook their Head.

Here Noble Horno's Form did threatning stand,
And there brave Egmont becken'd with his Hand:
Here Bergen groan'd, and there Don Carlos stood,
Shedding from every Vein Imperial Blood.
These were the Objects that enrag'd his Breast;
These Perturbations chas'd away his Rest:
If he compos'd himself with Hopes to find
Sleep to his Eyes, and Quiet to his Mind;
If Slumber softly crept, that by Surprize,
It might the Passes take, and shut his Eyes,
To calm his Thoughts, and lull his lab'ring Brain,
Some frightful Vision broke the downy Chain:
As when a Storm of Wind the Ocean moves,
And rolling Billows, this and that way shoves;
Uproar and Strife embroil the restless Deep,
Nor will the swelling Waves lye down to Sleep:
So on the King tempestuous Passions prest,
Tumultuous Thoughts did so distract his Breast,
So agitate his Soul, so drive away his Rest.

In these Inquietudes the Mornarch lay,
And with impatient Eyes demanded Day:
When the fierce Fiend did with a reverend Grace
Enter the Room, and halted in her Pace;
Then low she bow'd, and thus the King addrest;
Hail Phillip, mighty Monarch of the West;
The Realms of unmollested Peace and Joy,
Where pure Delights do never fade or cloy:
Where the bless'd Saints in fresh Cœlestial Bow'rs,
And endless Pleasures, pass their happy Hours:

I leave those anxious Cares to dispossess,
Which with their Weight your gen'rous Soul oppress;
To tell the Means, how Belgia to regain,
Extend your Pow'r by Land, and o'er the Main,
And Universal Empire give to Spain:
With fruitless Toil, for Belgia you contend,
While Albion's Queen does still fresh Succours send;
That raging Fire, you hope in vain to tame,
While Forreign Fuel still renews the Flame.
Eliza's Troops protect the Rebel State,
And still new Labour for your Arms create.
These Forreign Mounds, the Belgick State secure,
And stop the advancing Tide of Spanish Pow'r.
Would you your Glory with Success pursue,
Britannia's Kingdom you must first subdue;
Advance your Arms, and with one noble Blow,
Cut off the Spring, whence all your Suff'rings flow.
Equip your potent Fleet, embark your Arms;
Shake impious Britain, with your loud Alarms:
Transport your matchless Troops with speedy Care,
And thunder on her Coasts with unexpected War:
You will surprize the unprovided Isle;
An easy Conquest, and prodigious Spoil,
Will recompence your Hazard, and your Toil.
Rome's Holy Father will his Aid afford,
Bless all your Troops, and Consecrate your Sword:
He will your glorious Undertaking own,
And from Eliza's Head transfer the Crown:
Her Subjects Oaths he'll piously absolve,
And all her Friends in mortal Guilt involve:

He'll send his Thunder from his Sacred Tow'r,
And on her Head destructive Curses pour;
For Impious Hereticks, and such, 'tis known,
Eliza is, have forfeited their Crown.

Kind Heav'n has rais'd you to Imperial Sway;
What num'rous Nations do your Laws obey?
By Land your Armies neighbour States controul;
By Sea your Navies run from Pole to Pole,
As far as Winds can fly, or Billows roll.
You some Returns of Gratitude should make,
And for kind Heav'n's, and for Religion's sake,
This pious Labour you should undertake.
This glorious Stroke will Heresy confound,
And give the odious Fiend a deadly Wound;
Will re-establish Rome's Imperial Pow'r,
Re-build her Altars, and her Priests restore,
Who with their Tears and Pray'rs your Aid implore.
Thousands of Holy Catholicks, that groan
Beneath th'Oppression of Eliza's Throne,
Will join their Arms to pull th'Oppressor down.

When you vouchsaf'd to ask her for your Bride,
Can you forget how she, (prodigious Pride!)
Long with collusive Arts, your Passion fed;
But still despis'd so great a Monarch's Bed?
Britannia's Queen, as to the World is known,
To your Protection, owes her Life and Throne:
Yet does she succour your Invet'rate Foes,
Rebels protect, and your just Arms oppose.

If Albion you invade, you must succeed;
Just Heav'n will prosper, and applaud the Deed.
Batavia then deserted, must submit,
And lay her humble Neck beneath your Feet.
Thus o'er Europa you'll in Triumph reign
Lord of the Land, and Master of the Main:
Will gain immortal Honour and Renown;
And when you lay your Earthly Scepter down,
Will wear above, a bright Cœlestial Crown.

Then from beneath her Gown, the Fury drew
A Fire-brand partly Red, and partly Blew,
Kindled in Caves, in whose Recesses dwell
The most malignant Flames, and sharpest Fires of Hell;
Which secretly she with unerring Art,
Did at the Bosom of King Phillip dart:
That done, the Fury hast'ning to be gone,
Dissolv'd in Air, th'Appearance not her own;
No more the Object of the Monarch's Sight,
She to Britannia's Coast designs her Flight.

Th'insinuating Flame his Veins possest,
And with Infernal Heats inspir'd the Monarch's Breast:
His Blood boil'd high, and on th'impetuous Tide
Wild Fury seated, did in Triumph ride:
His Pulse beat swift, his lab'ring Heart in Pain,
Did the uneasy Task of Life sustain.
He greater Rage, and more Disorder show'd,
Than in Iberian Princes is allow'd;
From the fierce Fury's Flame, this strange Emotion flow'd.

In this Disturbance, from his Bed he rose,
To vent his Passion, and his Thoughts compose.
Sometimes he walk'd, and cast his Eyes around;
Sometimes he stood, and fixt them on the Ground.
Oft clinch'd his Hands, and with an angry Look,
He now the Wall, and now the Portal strook.
With sudden Starts, walk'd swiftly to the Door,
Then turn'd as quick, and stampt upon the Floor.

Some painful Hours the furious Monarch past
In this distracted manner, 'till at last
His Passion's high uncustomary Tide
Began to ebb, and by degrees subside.
The raging Tempest partly over-blown,
He to a Temper cool'd more like his own.
For tho' in Cruelty he did surpass
The fiercest Bigots of th'Iberian Race;
Yet was his Malice inward, cool, sedate,
And intellectual, more than passionate.
He with a Judgment more consistent, weigh'd
The Application by Ignatius made.
He saw, this high Design should he pursue,
What Acquisitions would from thence accrue,
And what the Dangers were, that might ensue.
What Profit to Religion, and to Rome;
What would to God, and what to Cæsar come.
Britannia to subdue, were to ensure
The Western World's Submission to his Pow'r:
Then uncontroul'd Iberia would command
The Ocean by her Fleets, and by her Troops the Land.

Then Rome's Religion would exalt her Head,
On Nothern Heresy Triumphant tread,
And by the Sword supported, be by all obey'd.
But Heav'n's bright Glory, and immortal Crown,
That by his pious Arms might now be won:
Much with the superstitious Monarch weigh'd,
And more his Mind, than temporal Honour sway'd.
While all the Hazards which he had in view,
Against the Profit weigh'd, were light and few.
Thus having all things in his Mind revolv'd,
He Albion to invade, at last resolv'd.

The End of the first Book.

BOOK II.

Mean time the Fiend, with out-stretch'd Wings, did rise,
And swiftly cut the interposing Skies:
O'er Hills, and Dales, and Seas, and spacious Plains,
She Wings her Way, and fair Britannia gains:
Where Male-contents had unsuccessful been
In all their Methods to depose the Queen.
Yet still with Zeal they push'd their black Design,
With hopes at last her Throne to undermine.

Upon the Strand a Noble Palace stood,
Where wealthy Thames rolls down his famous Flood.
High in the Air it reer'd its stately Head,
And both the City, and the Flood survey'd:
With great Esteem, and vast Possessions crown'd,
Illustrious Arundel the Palace own'd;
And tho' that Noble Line did still reveal,
For Rome's Tyrannick Pow'r, immoderate Zeal;
None more express'd, than this impetuous Lord;
None more the Queen, or Faith reform'd abhor'd:
None more for Roman Superstition strove,
Or labour'd more Eliza to remove.

This Noble Briton in his Palace sate,
With Westmorlandia's Earl in close Debate,
About the weighty Business of the State.
Hither the Fiend did in this Juncture come;
She did Ignatius Rev'rend Form assume,
And with his Mein, advanc'd into the Room.
She lowly bowing, thus the Peers addrest;
Great Lords, the unmollested Seats of Rest,
By high Commission, from my bless'd Abode,
Descending swiftly through the aeiry Road;
I left, and went to mighty Phillip's Court,
To tell him, how his Empire to support;
In Belgia, how his Losses to retrieve,
And Rome's pure Faith in Albion to revive.
By me engag'd, the zealous King has laid
A bless'd Design, Britannia to invade.
A num'rous Navy from the Ports of Spain
Will quickly cover all the British Main,
Too strong for Albion's Forces to sustain.
The Troops they bring, innur'd to Camps and Toil,
Always Victorious, must subdue the Isle.
You for your bless'd Deliverance, must prepare;
Make haste to Arm, and aid the friendly War.
See how the happy Hour at last is come,
When you, and all the faithful Sons of Rome,
By joining Spain, may set your Country free
From Usurpation, and from Heresy.

And can you, Noble Lords, supinely rest,
And see your Country, and your Faith opprest?

Can you (inglorious Sloth!) your Fetters wear,
And all your servile Burdens tamely bear?
Think what your great Progenitors have done,
What Trophies they for Rome and Albion won;
And is their pious Zeal and Courage gone?
Does not their noble Blood your Veins dilate?
Can you descend from them, and not be great?
Bowels of Mercy to your Country show,
And save your Sons un-born from future Woe.
The Fogs, that Cloud Britannia's Skies, dispel,
And drive the Darkness to its native Hell.
Chace far away this black Fanatick Night,
That Rome may bless the Isle with Heav'nly Light.
Haste then, prepare your valiant Troops to meet
The Iberians Landing from their conqu'ring Fleet.

She said, and to their Bosoms she convey'd
A livid Flame, that did their Breasts invade,
And in their swelling Veins Infernal Heat display'd.
The Fury then her hateful Limbs undress'd,
And broke her borrow'd Shape of Air compress'd.
Her Business done, she left the Realms of Day,
And to her low Apartment cut her way.
Much on the Lords the Fiend's contagious Fire
Had gain'd, and soon full Empire did acquire.
In haughty Words their Treason they express'd,
Their Rage and Joy the Fiend within confess'd.
Resolv'd in curss'd Rebellion to proceed,
Their Friends they summond to attend with speed.

Soon as the Lord of Day withdrew his Light;
For Treason seeks the friendly Shades of Night;
They met, and Queen Eliza's papal Foes
Chiefly the Trait'rous Consult did compose.
Experienc'd Priests innur'd to Plot and Blood,
Able Conspirators, that understood
To charm reluctant Consciences, and make
Subjects turn Rebels for Religions sake;
With eager Zeal the Summons did obey,
And at the Consult swift Attendance pay.
Bonner presided, with the Blood distain'd
Of Martyrs murder'd, while Maria reign'd.
Impetuous Watson, once a Mitred Priest,
And Morgan at the Junto did assist.
Lesly attended, who from Scotia came,
A fiery Bigot of extended Fame,
With Parsons, Campion, of th'Ignatian Gown,
Among their Order, Priests of great Renown:
An Order founded to disturb Mankind,
Cruel, Perfidious, Turbulent of Mind,
Who still the Aims of pious Kings withstood,
In Treason Eminent, and verss'd in Blood.

Some Preachers too, who Faith reform'd profest,
No way inferior to the Roman Priest,
Met at the Consult, and were much carest.
These of a Treach'rous, double-dealing Kind,
Beyond Italian Casuists refin'd;
All Sense of Oaths, and solemn Vows effac'd,
And mock'd the Queen, whose Cause they had embrac'd.

No Romanist express'd sincerer Hate,
Or to Eliza, or the Church, or State.
Tho' they had sworn Allegiance to the Crown,
They labour'd hard to pull Eliza down.
Distinguish'd by the Titles which they bore,
But by their Hatred to their Country more;
They still against the Government inveigh'd,
To Rome and Spain the Church and State betray'd,
And sacrific'd the Altars, where they pray'd.
They would no Church of peaceful Temper own,
Nor e'er assert a wise, indulgent Crown,
That Sanguinary Laws would not restore,
Or Albion rule with Arbitrary Pow'r.
Strange Zealots, could no Church or Monarch please,
Who Union sought, and aim'd at Albion's Peace;
Who did the Bigots fiery Zeal controul;
And to a Factious Part, prefer the Whole?

Then Montal came, of more than vulgar Birth,
Sprung from a House long Famous in the North,
Of Wealth and Wit possess'd, but destitute of Worth.
Of the Lay-Traytors, the ambitious Head,
Who much the Faction by his Counsel led.
As Priest-hood, all Religion he condemn'd,
Renounc'd his God, the pious Queen blasphem'd,
And all Mankind with haughty Pride contemn'd.
He every Church, and every Altar curst,
But favour'd Rome's, believing that the worst:
With Hellish Art he still embroil'd the State,
Did his own Children, his own Country hate,
And Plagues to both with wond'rous Joy create.

To Michief from his Infancy inclin'd,
An unexampl'd Hater of his Kind.
His Wickedness by Age became mature,
Acquir'd more Strength, grew more refin'd and pure.
With Spite and Spleen swoln vastly big, his Tongue
Broke thro' his Mouth, and lolling, loathsom hung.
Whence flowing Poison on the Ground distill'd,
Which harmless Dogs, that lick'd it, always kill'd.
His lawless Speech did Kings and Queens revile,
Patriots asperse, the Senate House defile,
And spread its Venom o'er the British Isle.
His Language did in Virulence excel
The desp'rate Converse of the Fiends in Hell.
The cruel Creature, Brutal, and Morose,
Liv'd in a State of War with all Mankind, his Foes.
With such Disdain he God and Man defy'd,
Ev'n Hell might envy his superior Pride.
In every Reign he suck'd the Peoples Blood,
And did his House with publick Plunder load.
His Rapine gen'ral Hatred on him drew,
And Albion's Curses did his Head pursue.

Throgmorton, Bramhal, who Promotion mist,
To be reveng'd, the Traitors did assist.
Tilney and Norton, and great Numbers more,
Reformists stil'd, whom Montal did assure,
That Change of Empire should their Fortunes mend,
At the seditious Consult did attend.
Then Arundel, their Leader, Silence broke,
And thus the Trait'rous Junto he bespoke:

My faithful Friends, the bless'd, auspicious Hour
Advances near, that breaks th'Usurper's Pow'r:
That will Britannia of her Chains release,
Remove our Burdens, and our Suff'rings ease.
Touch'd with a gen'rous Sense of all the Woes,
Which we endure from vile Calvinian Foes,
The great and pious King by Spain obey'd,
Will send resistless Forces to our Aid.
His Captains will in Wrath and Vengeance come,
And speak in Thunder proud Eliza's Doom.
Since the Castilian King, inspir'd by Heav'n,
Has to his Friends this bless'd Occasion giv'n;
Whilst he makes ready his resistless Fleet,
Let us provide, our valiant Friends to meet:
Let us enrol our Troops, our Arms prepare,
To join th'Iberian, and assist the War:
To free this Isle from an Usurper's Pow'r,
Our ancient Laws, our Freedom to restore.
Let us the Rights of Albion's Church assert,
And let no Coward's Fear, or States-man's Art,
One Friend to Liberty from this great Work divert.

This Factious Language Montal did engage,
Stir'd up his Malice, and improv'd his Rage:
With Pride elated, and with Spleen possess'd,
From his envenom'd Heart, he these bold Words express'd.
It is a great and gen'rous Act of Spain,
With timely Aid poor Britain to sustain.
How does she groan beneath th'Oppressor's Weight?
Despairing are her Looks, deplorable her State.

We falsely guided by an erring Court,
Ruin Britannia, Belgia to support.
Profusely we our Blood and Treasure spend,
Our Pow'r in forreign Nations to extend,
And a vile Crew of Rebels to defend.
We undertake a wild expensive War,
To fetch Home idle Laurels from afar;
We could these Heros want, could they our Treasure spare.
If Spain's great King, his Altars to support,
Has settled Rome's high Inquisition Court;
If Spanish Troops the Belgian Lords restrain,
And make them own th'unbounded Will of Spain;
Should not the States with passive Necks obey,
And bear what Weight their King thinks fit to lay?
If they untractable reject the Yoke,
Do they not justly Phillip's Wrath provoke?
Should Britain at her noblest Blood's Expence,
With mighty Labour, and with Sums immense,
Support the Belgian, and the Rebels aid,
While they their lawful Soveraign's Throne invade?
Death! that a Nation brave as this has been,
Should tamely bear so long this haughty Queen!
Men without Courage, Honour, Sense, and Wit,
Do at the Helm our State-Directors sit;
Have Vere or Burleigh Brains for States-men fit?
Dunces! did they in Business ever shine?
Have those State-Chits superior Heads to mine?
Those Ministers accurss'd, I'll ne'er forgive;
Old as I am, still do I hope to live,

To see (O Glorious Day!) the Britons tear
Cecil in pieces, and his Camrade Vere.

But to the Point, Spain's Int'rest I'll support,
To be reveng'd on this ungrateful Court:
I'll let Eliza's giddy States-men see,
How much they err'd, when they affronted me.
I'll all my Friends, and mighty Clan enrol,
All fierce in Arms, and of a British Soul.
Prodigious Numbers will at my Command
Oppose Eliza's Force by Sea and Land.
Some brave Commanders in the Fleet are mine,
Who ne'er dispute the Task that I enjoin.
Bold Captains too by Land will draw the Sword,
And shew their Brav'ry, when I give the Word.
Captains who Hatred to Eliza bear,
Ne'er yet Allegiance swore, or did themselves forswear.
These and their Troops well Arm'd at Montal's Cost,
Shall meet the Iberian Landing on the Coast.
Burleigh shall my Resentment feel, and know
He has incens'd no despicable Foe.

He said, and Bramhal rose, one better bred,
Of equal Zeal, but of a cooler Head.
To serve Britannia's Church, he seem'd intent,
But by the Church, his fiery Faction meant.
He did her true and genuine Sons detest,
But Bigots, and the half Reform'd carest.
He thought no Moderation did become
Britannia's Church, but in respect to Rome:

And thus he spoke; My Roman Friends, to you
I've ever paid th'Esteem and Honour due.
'Tis true, ye worthy Men, we disagree
In some Religious Points; but to be free,
I think the Breach is not so vastly wide,
But Wise and Mod'rate Men on either side,
Might to a happy End our Diff'rence bring,
Which does from diff'rent Modes of Language spring,
Lies more in Phrase and Form, than in the Thing.
But if our Faiths require a diff'rent Name,
'Tis plain our Civil Int'rests are the same.
I freely speak my Thoughts; I cannot own
Eliza's Title to Britannia's Throne.
To Scotia's Queen, I firmly did adhere,
Did always zealous in her Cause appear;
Nor can I e'er forgive th'enormous Deed,
Th'unjust Command, that made Maria bleed.
I to Eliza was averse before,
But now the great Opressor I abhor.
With Zeal unfeign'd, I will the Spaniard aid,
To bring due Vengeance on Eliza's Head.

Next Morgan rose, a subtile Loyalite,
Accustom'd, Feuds and Treasons to excite:
By Rome employ'd to manage State-Intreagues,
Faction foment, and form seditious Leagues.
And thus the Ignatian Priest his Friends bespoke,
To free Britannia from Eliza's Yoke;
If I could Gallia's gen'rous Monarch see,
From forreign Wars, and civil Discord free;

To him I'd humble Application make,
By Int'rest mov'd, and for Affection's sake.
I love the Gaul, and would by Gallick Pow'r
Eliza crush, and Albion's Rights restore.
But since from Gallia we should now in vain
Demand Assistance, I declare for Spain.
I would the Aid of any Prince implore,
Who to Eliza has superiour Pow'r.
Spain's mighty Prince I must with Honour name,
Who does at uncontroul'd Dominion aim,
His Neighbours does chastise, does his proud Subjects tame.
And since this great Iberian King alone
Has equal Force, th'Usurper to dethrone;
Let us our Cohorts list, our Forces join,
To meet the War, and aid the great Design.
Let not a Thought, Reformists, reach your Heart,
That Phillip e'er your Altars will subvert.
Will not the just and gentle King of Spain,
Your Sacred and you Civil Rights maintain?
He'll in Religion such Concessions make,
Form such a Scheme, and such mild Measures take,
That all you mod'rate Protestants, and we,
By mutual Condescentions may agree:
If with united Forces we assail,
Eliza's Friends we shall with ease prevail.
Let us, brave Men, this happy Hour improve,
And to our native Country shew our Love.
Let us, when Spain Britannia's Coast alarms,
Display our Ensigns, and advance our Arms.

He said. Th'Assembly murmur'd their Applause,
And eager to promote their impious Cause,
In mutual Vows they did engage, and swear
By all things, which as Sacred they revere,
They would assist th'Iberian, and to fight
Against Eliza, all their Friends excite.
Th'Assembly broke, and having War declar'd,
To his respective Mischief each repair'd.

Mean time the King to Rome Alano sent,
To let the Pontiff know his high Intent.
And to demand, besides Religious Charms,
And Sacred Blessings on his pious Arms,
Sufficient Sums of Treasure, to support
In this expensive War, th'Iberian Court.
Alano soon this Expedition made,
The Pontiff to inform, and ask his Aid.
The Priest, as order'd, did at large reveal
His Monarch's great Design, and pious Zeal.
Soon as the purpose of his Royal Son
Was to the Holy Roman Father known,
Transporting Pleasure did his Breast extend,
And Tears of Joy did from his Eyes descend.

Then to the purple Prelate thus he spoke;
On Albion to impose Iberia's Yoke,
Is such a gen'rous, great, and good Design,
As merits Honour here, hereafter Bliss Divine.
Let the great King his Enterprize pursue,
Britannia won, all Europe he'll subdue;
And both the Worlds command, the Old and New.

From Heresy he'll poison'd Nations free,
The Realms enlightened will their Errors see,
And Rome's Religion shall Europa's be.
I will employ bless'd Peter's Sacred Pow'r
To aid the King, and Conquest to assure,
My Benediction shall his Arms attend,
And on his Foes I'll fatal Curses spend.
I'll Doom to Hell and everlasting Pain
All who oppose the pious Host of Spain.
I'll on your King bestow Britannia's Crown,
Pronounce them Rebels, who Eliza own.
Ample Indulgences shall be the Right
Of all, who in this Glorious Cause shall fight.
Those who in Battel fall, who will be few,
Direct to Heav'n their Passage shall pursue.
No Purgatorian Suff'rings shall retard
Their Scenes of Pleasure, and their bright Reward.
I their redundant Merit will employ,
To purchase for their Friends, Cœlestial Joy.

I'll all my Stores of potent Reliques drain,
Cœlestial Armour, for the Host of Spain.
I'll send your Chief a consecrated Sword,
Believe a Pontiff's never-erring Word,
So full of Vertue, whosoe'er shall weild
The wond'rous Steel, will win the Glorious Field.
The brave Castilian Warriors to reward,
My Holy Magazines shall be unbar'd.
Bless'd Magazines which Heav'nly Riches hold,
The Works of Saints, more worth than Gems, or Gold.

My Treasury immense, my every Hoard,
With old Reserves of Sacred Merit stor'd,
I'll freely empty, Pardons to bestow
On all, who shall engage the British Foe.
Armies of Saints and Martyrs I'll employ
Spain to support, and Albion to destroy.
Rather than Spain's great Monarch should decline
The Prosecution of his bless'd Design;
Rather than his high Purpose should be crost,
I will my Gold and Silver Stores exhaust.
Rome of her Wealth, Iberia to sustain,
And all my Shrines I'll of their Vertue drain.
He ceas'd. Alano who with Pleasure heard
The Pontiff's zealous Words, for Spain prepar'd.

The Priest return'd, charg'd with a gracious Load
Of Gifts and Pardons from the Vicar-God;
Of pow'rful Reliques, consecrated Arms,
Blessings and Curses, superstitious Charms,
And Spells of famous Force against invading Harms.
Pleas'd with his faithful Minister's Success,
And with the Zeal the Pontiff did express,
Th'Iberian Monarch gave the high Command,
That all his Men should Arm by Sea and Land.

Castilian Tow'rs, and all the Plains around,
Now with the loud Alarm of War resound.
The Noise of Arms the distant Frontier fills,
Rings thro' the Vales, and ecchoes in the Hills.
The rat'ling Drum and Trumpet's Voice inspire,
Iberia's noble Youth with Martial Fire.

They on the Downs the Royal Standards reer,
And must'ring Cohorts in the Plains appear.
Flags from the Tow'rs, Ensigns display'd in Air,
And Bloodly Banners stream denouncing War.
Lords of high Birth, urg'd with Heroick Fire,
Their Swords and War-like Equipage require.
They order all, who on their Pow'r depend,
Furnish'd with Arms, their Leaders to attend.
The valiant Vassals, at their Lord's Command,
Forsake their Houses, and neglect their Land;
For martial Labour, quit their rural Care,
Cast by their Hooks, and flaming Fauchions wear:
They leave their Vine-yards, and their gen'rous Wine,
And for the War-like Ash, desert the Vine.
Great Gen'rals, Captains, Chiefs of highest Fame,
To serve their Prince in Arms, their Zeal proclaim.
The Names of these Victorious Warriors brought
From Frontier Towns, and Countries most remote,
Prodigious Numbers, vig'rous, young, and bold,
Who Leaders sought, and ask'd to be enroll'd.
Into the Field the shouting Squadrons came,
Or from Desire of Spoil, or Thirst of Fame:
These came their broken Fortunes to repair,
And those to learn the bloody Art of War.
Some tir'd at Home with constant Strife and Jars,
Exchang'd for Publick, their Domestick Wars.
Others from gen'rous Aims took Sword in Hand,
By valiant Deeds to rise to high Command.

With equal Labour, Industry, and Care,
The Sea-Commanders do the Fleet prepare.
The Sailor's Clamours, and the Ship-wright's Toil,
Shake all the Tow'rs along the Oazy Soil:
Their uncouth Crys disturb the Shores around,
And hollow Rocks reverberate the sound.
The troubled Ocean is amaz'd to find
Tempestuous Uproar rais'd without a Wind.
Some make the Forrest by the Ax incline;
These fell the Fir, and those the Mountain Pine.
With wond'rous Labour to the busy Docks,
Some from the Mountains draw dismember'd Oaks:
These on the Hills, when growing in the Wood,
Defy'd the Winds, and all their Storms withstood:
But now must learn their Pleasure to obey,
And for their Pastime Dance upon the Sea:
These launch new Ships, and those refit the Old;
Some beautify the Sides, and some the Stern with Gold.
Some shape a yawning Lion for the Head,
And with Vermilion dawb the Terror Red.
These a Sea-Monster carve, and those a Saint,
Others adorn the Imag'ry with Paint.
Most, that their Voyage may successful be,
Bear in their Stern their Water-Saints to Sea:
Saints, who do o'er the aeiry Meteors reign,
Preside o'er Tempests, and controul the Main;
Such Pagan Superstition governs Spain.
Provisions some, some Ammunition bring:
These mend their Sails, and those the Cannon sling.

Uninterrupted Toil by Night and Day
They underwent, their Monarch to obey,
And fit a Navy to command the Sea.
Whilst with this Zeal and Haste King Phillip arm'd,
The States and Realms around were all alarm'd.
Since to the World his Mind was undeclar'd,
Against whose Head this Vengeance was prepar'd;
All were astonish'd, troubled, and amaz'd,
And on th'Iberian Sky with Terror gaz'd;
Uncertain where this black, impending Cloud,
This gath'ring Storm its Thunder would unload.

Than great Eliza, none more Umbrage took,
Who did on Spain's vast Preparations look
With great Disturbance, for she knew of late
That Monarch's Love was turn'd to greater Hate.
She knew the slighting of his proffer'd Bed,
Had in his Breast a raging Tempest bred;
That his proud Heart was with Resentment stung,
And sought Revenge for this pretended Wrong.
She knew, she had provok'd that Monarch's Rage
To a degree, no Art could e'er asswage.
For that by her, Britannia's Sons had broke
From their gall'd Necks, the Anti-christian Yoke:
Reform'd their Worship, and their antient Creed
From impious Rome's corrupt Inventions freed.
Did pure Religion, Truth Divine pursue,
And from adult'rous Rome's unclean Embraces flew.
They Babylonian Sorceries abhor'd,
No longer Bread, instead of God, ador'd.

She knew no Ties, no Limits could restrain
The vast Ambition of aspiring Spain;
Whose Thirst of Pow'r no Conquests could allay,
Unless she reign'd with Universal Sway,
Proud Empress of the Land, and Soveraign of the Sea.
And Spain well knew, that Albion's Naval Force
Would still obstruct her Arms Tyrannick Course.
These Thoughts Eliza's just Suspicion fed,
That the dark Cloud, that reer'd its threatning Head,
Its dreadful Course would to Britannia bend,
And breaking on her Realm, its Vengeance spend.

The pious Queen, who more Concern had shown
For Albion's Ease and Honour, than her own:
Who watch'd her Subjects with the tend'rest Care,
Fed them in Peace, and guarded them in War:
Commanded all the Captains of the Main
To fit their Ships, th'Invader to sustain;
Prevent the Landing of the Hostile Troops,
And thus defeat the proud Castilian's Hopes.
Th'unpolish'd Heros at the Queen's Command,
With Toil marine, fill every Port and Strand.
The cheerful Sailors to their Ships repair,
And with their Shouts demand th'Iberian War.
The Chiefs by Land like Zeal and Ardor show,
To guard their Country, and repel the Foe.
Their Ensigns they display in all the Towns,
Enrol the Troops, and Muster on the Downs.
Drums beat, and Trumpets sound in every Street,
Or to supply the Army, or the Fleet.

When other Potentates their Subjects scare,
With fain'd Invasions, and pretended War,
To make their Kingdoms bleed at every Vein;
And to enrich themselves, their Subjects drain:
Th'indulgent Queen, when Danger was sincere,
The Mother felt, and did her Britons spare.
When for their own Defence, she ask'd their Aid,
She with Reluctance easy Burdens laid.
She publick Wants and Pressures to supply,
Her State, and private Pleasures did deny.
From publick Thrift, to Sov'raign Pow'rs unknown,
She streighten'd for her Subjects Ease, the Crown;
Their Families to spare, almost distress'd her own.
She frugal of their Treasure and their Blood,
Still quitting private Ends for publick Good;
Friends to her Empire all her Subjects made,
And in their Hearts its deep Foundations laid.

Now did the Britons, fir'd with Zeal, contend,
Who should be first their Country to defend.
Merchants exchange their gainful Trade for Arms,
And for the Camp Free-holders leave their Farms.
Preferring Danger in their Country's Cause,
War-like Atchievements, and the Camp's Applause,
Before the Pomp and Pleasures of the Court,
Indulgent Parents, and their Rural Sport,
The noble Youth inspir'd with Glory's Charms,
Prepar'd their Tents, and burnish'd bright their Arms.
Lawyers, their Gowns laid by, neglect the Laws,
To plead with Sword in Hand Britannia's Cause.

In haste they quit the loud, litigious Bar,
To undertake a far more noble War.
They shut the Volumes of the Law, to fill
With War-like Deeds the Annals of their Isle.
The valiant Judges from the Bench descend,
Against Invaders, Albion to defend:
To shew they can with Arms, and bloody Fight,
As well as Law, protect the Britons Right.
Their awful Courts they to the Camp adjourn,
And their red Robes to Martial Scarlet turn:
They brandish flaming Fauchions in the Field,
Who did before the Sword of Justice weild.
And we their Courage may in Battel trust,
Who on the Bench unshaken, dare be Just.

Of all Employments, and of all Degrees,
They run in haste, and on their Weapons seize.
The confluent Troops did wond'rous Courage show,
Impatient to engage th'Iberian Foe;
Who to the Queen should most express their Love,
And publick Zeal, the eager Britons strove.
To guard her Sacred Throne, with speed they Arm,
Spring to the Field, and round her Standard swarm.
Never can Monarchs, to repel the Foe,
E'er want their Hearts, who rule their Subjects so.

When Satan saw Britannia's Youth reveal
To serve Eliza, such an ardent Zeal;
Disturb'd, and fearing for the great Event,
To his low Realms he made a swift Descent.

Arriving there, he sought the lonesome Cell,
Where dwells a Fiend, a Favourite of Hell:
Of courteous Language, and a winning Grace,
Of lovely Shape, and beautiful of Face.
She does to all Mankind obliging seem,
And pays to all particular Esteem.
But she betrays those she has most carest,
And when she vows most Friendship, means the least.
All, who her Oaths and Promises believe,
The charming Sorceress does still deceive.
She does her Foes with Tenderness embrace,
And hides deep Hate beneath a smiling Face.
Courtiers from her have learnt their fawning way,
And Sycophants by her their Prince betray.
States-men imploring Aid, to her repair,
To cover deep Designs, and hide the Snare.
Princes apply to her, to set them free,
When solemn Vows and Int'rest disagree.
Those who their Nuptial Honour have betray'd,
Address themselves to her, to give them Aid;
Whose subtil Arts do oft successful prove,
And make even Jealousy as blind as Love.
Double her Tongue, and hollow is her Heart,
Her Looks and Mein, when most she plays a part,
Unfeign'd and easy seem, when all is Art.
Ne'er to deceive the World did yet appear
A Hypocrite so finish'd, so sincere.
Deeds gain'd by Fraud, forg'd Testaments and Wills,
Lay heap'd within her Cell in mighty Piles.

Treaties of Peace by perjur'd Princes sworn,
Contracts and written Vows in pieces torn,
And in Disorder on the Pavement spread,
Were the sweet Food, on which the Glutton fed.

Whom Satan thus bespoke: Kind Treach'ry, rise,
And quickly fly to gain Iberia's Skies.
Then to Madrita's Tow'rs direct thy Flight,
And at her Monarch's busy Court alight.
With thy engaging Arts the King perswade,
Before his Troops Britannia's Coasts invade,
To send a friendly Embassy to treat
A lasting Peace, and mutual Trust create:
Let them with Oaths and solemn Vows protest,
That Spain will ne'er Britannia's Realm molest.
That she to Albion bears no Hostile Mind,
And ne'er with Arms to vex her Coast design'd.
This may Eliza's jealous Bosom clear
From all Suspicion, and remove her Fear.
Then lull'd asleep, and safe in Leagues of Peace,
She'll stop her Levies, and neglect the Seas.
King Phillip then may seize th'unguarded Coast,
And on their naked Shore, debark his mighty Host.

He ceas'd. The Fiend reply'd, Without delay
Your high Command with Pleasure I obey.
She said, and swiftly from his Presence flew,
Th'important Expedition to pursue.
She pass'd the dark, Tartarean Atmosphere,
And saw the Regions bless'd with Day appear.

The aeiry Road her out-stretch'd Pinions beat,
And quickly gain'd the King's Imperial Seat.
She did Caraffa's Face and Form assume,
One of the Purple Sanhedrim of Rome.
Who then resided in th'Iberian Court,
The Sacred Roman Int'rest to support.
For Holy Forgeries, and Pious Fraud,
The Roman Church did this great Son applaud.
Th'insinuating Priest's Italian Art
Had gain'd the King's Esteem, and won his Heart.
The Reverend Fiend, clad in a Scarlet Gown,
That from her Shoulders to her Feet hung down,
And in the borrow'd Person of the Priest,
Audience obtain'd, and thus the King addrest.

The glorious Enterprize you have in veiw,
Britannia to invade, great King, pursue.
For this will best secure Iberia's Throne,
Extend the Church's Empire, and your own.
Tho' as a Heav'nly Angel, you are Wise,
And may as needless States-mens Thoughts despise,
Yet, Pious Prince, forgive a well-meant Zeal,
Which urges me my Judgment to reveal.
The mighty Preparations you have made
To gain your End, your Purpose have betray'd.
Britain's sharp-sighted Queen did quickly guess,
You rais'd your Troops, her Kingdom to oppress.
To break your Force, forthwith she gave Command
For Albion's Youth to Arm by Sea and Land.

If you advance, and with your Royal Fleet
Britain assail, you'll stout Resistance meet.
They on the Ocean will expect their Foes,
And Arms to Arms, and Ships to Ships oppose;
And Heav'n alone th'important Issue knows.

You therefore chosen Orators should send,
Who may with speed Britannia's Court attend:
With solemn Imprecations may abjure
Your true Intentions, and the Queen secure
From all her Fears of Spain's collected Pow'r.
They may the strictest League of Friendship make,
And what Conditions she proposes, take.
This Treaty finish'd, will the Queen amuse,
And in your Friendship Confidence produce.
She'll slacken then her Care, by Sea and Land,
And with her Doubts, she will her Troops disband.
Then unmollested you may cross the Main,
Surprize th'unguarded Coasts, and easy Conquest gain.

Should you Remorse or Scruple feel, you know
Rome's Holy Father will absolve your Vow.
Good Catholicks will ne'er your Conduct blame,
Or once reflect Dishonour on your Name.
The Means, which none can else as just defend,
Once consecrated by a pious End,
By which we shew our Heav'nly Zeal and Love,
Are purg'd from Guilt, and meritorious prove.

Apostate Princes by a righteous Doom
Of the Supream, Imperial Court of Rome
Condemn'd, proscrib'd, depos'd, and out-law'd, loose
All Right to Treaties, Promises, and Vows.
To such Allegiance is no longer due
From their own Subjects, much less Faith from you.
To such we are not bound to be sincere,
Vows are but Sounds, to charm and sooth their Ear,
And Oaths but Wind to dissipate their Fear.
The Extirpation of this impious Sect,
Whose spreading Poison does the North infect,
Will high as Heav'n, Iberia's Glory raise,
And crown King Phillip with immortal Praise.

She said, then bow'd, and as she left the place,
Breath'd her perfidious Venom in his Face.
Th'insinuating Plague seiz'd every Vein,
His Vitals poison'd, mounted to his Brain,
And o'er the King did full Dominion gain.
Her Errand done, the faithless Fiend withdrew,
Put off her red Disguise, and downward flew.
So well the Wise, Infernal Casuist
Had play'd the crafty, sly, Italian Priest,
That with her Counsel pleas'd, the Monarch rose,
And three great Lords, as proper Envoys, chose.

Carrero 'midst Italian States-men bred
Parmensis, late the Belgian Army's Head,
And Arenberg, by whom the Horse were led:

To these in Belgia did King Phillip send,
His Order Albion's Monarch to attend:
Eliza of his Kindness to assure,
And a strict League of Friendship to procure.

The End of the Second Book.

BOOK III.

The Lords obedient to the King's Command,
With Pow'rs and full Credentials in their Hand,
Soon as Aurora, with her radiant Key,
Unlock'd the Gates of Light to let out Day,
Embark'd, set sail, and stood for Albion's Coast,
And with a prosp'rous Gale the Ocean crost.
Thrice had the Sun, by his victorious Light,
Been Soveraign of the Air, and twice the Night,
When Albion's Clifts were in the Envoies Sight.
And soon they enter'd, born with Wind and Tide,
The Mouth of Thames, sublime Augusta's Pride.
As they advanc'd, they view'd on either Hand
The various Blessings of the fruitful Land:
There Meadows, burden'd with their flow'ry Load,
Twice in a Summer by the Farmer mow'd:
Conspiracies of Pleasures and Delight
Were every where discover'd to their Sight.
Each Reach and Point unfolded to their View
Some fresh surprizing Scene, some Wonder new.

Here they observe, what fertile Fields of Corn
The Kentish Hills luxuriously adorn:
Which this and that way mov'd by Zephirs Breath,
Vie in green Waves, with the salt Flood beneath.
There num'rous bleating Flocks o'er-spread the Plains,
Which still resound with loud, melodious Strains,
And Songs alternate of contending Swains.
Here lowing Herds the spacious Pastures graze,
Their Beauty much, their Numbers more amaze.
Some with their Milky Burdens over-flow'd,
In frothy Pails their bursting Dugs unload.
Some for Augusta's Feasts prepare their Chines,
Fill out their Points, and load with Fat their Loyns.

The forreign Lords the noble Stream admire,
Pleas'd both to see it flow, and to retire:
Which with alternate Kindness favour'd more
The Kentish now, and now the Essex Shore.
While in Meanders to the neighb'ring Main
The liquid Serpent drew its Silver Train,
Transported with the Wonders of the Tide,
And the delightful Banks, the Strangers cry'd,
Had but the Mantuan, whose unrivall'd Lays
Do high as Heav'n's expanded Concave raise
The rapid Tiber, and the ling'ring Po,
Once seen this sweet, this noble River flow,
His charming Lyre once more he would have strung,
And not have left, O Thames! thy Flood unsung.

They yet did greater Admiration shew,
Greater Surprize, when first they had in view
The num'rous Ships, that lay on either side,
And saw the Boyant Groves at Anchor ride.
Where British Oaks, and high Norwegian Pines
Reer'd their contiguous Heads in thicker Lines,
Than when before they on the Mountains stood,
And throng'd each other in the shady Wood.
Smooth wat'ry Lawns, and Glades of open Air
Amidst the floating Forrest did appear,
Thro' which the Sailors did their Vessels steer.
Here high Augusta's Fleets did safely ride,
Contemn'd the Billows, and the Winds defy'd.

Here lay a Fleet with stormy Weather worn,
Foul with the Voyage, and her Rigging torn,
With Asia's Pride and Luxury opprest,
With Ægypt's Drugs, and Spices from the East;
With Persian Carpets, Silks from Smirna brought,
Dy'd in Sydonia, in Damascus wrought.
Pond'rous with Riches, glorious to behold,
Rare Silver Flowers, and interwoven Gold.
With Gems and Pearl, which India does bestow,
Where the fam'd Ganges, and Hydaspes flow.
There one had brought from fair Ausonia's Soil
Rich Tuscan Wines, and pure Calabrian Oil:
The noblest Velvets of Liguria's Store,
And beauteous Coursers from the adverse Moor.

Here rode a Fleet, that had th'Æquator crost,
And with advent'rous Sails gain'd Guinea's Coast;
Fill'd on the Sun-burnt Mauritanian's Shore
With Iv'ry Wealth, and heaps of Golden Oar.
Some, who had sail'd to cold Greenlandia's Coast,
By stormy Winds and foaming Billows tost,
'Midst floating Icy Mountains to assail
The Lord of all the frozen Seas, the Whale,
'Midst various Deaths and Fears, with wond'rous Toil,
Came laden back with the slain Tyrant's Spoil.
Some fraught with Cordage, Masts, and Naval Stores,
Came from Norwegia's, or from Swecia's Shores.
Some were with Lusitanian Riches fraught;
Some did unload their various Treasures brought
From the rich Islands on the Western Main;
Some Russian Furs, some Golden Fruit from Spain.
While thus King Phillip's Lords their Way pursu'd,
They both with Wonder and with Envy view'd
The Wealth and Pleasures brought to Albion's Isle,
The Labour and the Growth of every distant Soil.

And now the Lords to high Augusta came,
And own her Glory did exceed her Fame.
With great Magnificence and solemn State,
On noble Steeds they enter'd at her Gate.
Adorn'd with Gold, in Scarlet Cloth array'd,
Their num'rous Train a glorious Progress made.
Thro' Streets thick crowded with the gazing Throng,
And Shouts of publick Joy, they pass'd along.

They were conducted to Eliza's Court,
And entertain'd in such a Princely sort,
As well th'important Embassy became
Sent by a Monarch of so great a Name.

Soon as the Morn had with her soft grey Eyes
Look'd thro' the Windows of the Eastern Skies;
Th'Iberian Envoies from their Beds arose,
And for their Audience, did their Thoughts compose.
High on her Throne Britannia's Empress sate,
Whose bright, Majestick Looks eclips'd her State.
A Crimson Canopy stood o'er her Head,
The Floor beneath a Persian Carpet spread.
Behind her shone in high Embroid'ry rais'd
Britannia's Arms by all Spectators prais'd.
The Figures wond'rous, prominent, and bold,
Were Basse Relievs in Silver and in Gold.
High on her Forehead rose her platted Hair,
Whence Diamonds, beauteous as the Morning Star,
Diffus'd their twinckling Radiance thro' the Air.
To form a Heavenly Beauty on her Head,
A lovely Blew, conspicuous Saphers spread.
And Orient Pearl mild Lustre did display,
In Imitation of the Milky Way.

Illustrious Beauties, fair Britannia's Pride,
Dispers'd their confluent Rays from either side.
These various Orbs in shining Order plac'd
The Vortex govern'd by Eliza grac'd.

Mov'd by superiour Glory, did obey
Her central Majesty's Magnetick Sway.
Here mighty Vere's distinguish'd Consort shone,
Bright by Eliza's Beams, and by her own.
She did her Monarch's high Commands attend,
A faithful Subject, and a constant Friend.

The four bright Daughters of the valiant Vere
Did in their place not far remote appear.
This shining Constellation did support
The Throne of Love, and Pride of Beauty's Court.
Their Looks Seraphick Sweetness must acquire,
Where Female Grace and Martial Heat conspire,
The Mother's Softness, and the Father's Fire.
One with a Thousand artless Charms endu'd
A beauteous Star, tho' least in Magnitude,
More by Contraction bright, a Heav'n in little shew'd.
The four were worthy of so great a Lord,
Bright and Victorious, as their Father's Sword.
So many yielding Hearts their Eyes obey'd,
That they more Captives, than their Father made.

Here Pembroke did her envy'd Fame maintain,
And grac'd the Court, more than Arcadia's Plain.
There lovely Russel was by all admir'd,
Here the fair Comptons Eyes the Nobles fir'd.
The Sackvilles there did with their Charms invade,
And here the Grevilles silent Wounds convey'd.
There bright Oarda of a noble Line
By Birth and Beauty, did distinguish'd shine.

Great Numbers more of Albion's noblest Blood,
Richly adorn'd, around their Monarch stood.
The forreign Lords this Splendor did surprize
From radiant Gems, and far more radiant Eyes.
Confederate Glories, and promiscuous Light,
Did with immoderate Day, please and oppress their Sight.

Thus on her Throne the bright Eliza sate,
And crowding Lords on this and that side wait.
The Envoies did advance, but when they saw
Britannia's Queen, they felt unusual Aw.
They on th'august Appearance trembling gaz'd,
Were at the Glory of her Court amaz'd.
Dauntless Parmensis, who to Arms innur'd,
Had long the Sight of Camps and Courts endur'd,
Turn'd of his dazled Eyes, not wont to see
So great a Presence, so much Majesty.
Approaching near the Throne, the purple Priest
With this Harangue Britannia's Queen addrest.

Great Queen, our Monarch, zealous to maintain
Strict Peace between this Court, and that of Spain;
And proud to be esteem'd Eliza's Friend,
Gave his Command, we should your Court attend;
To make new Treaties, and confirm the past,
And settle Friendship, that may ever last.
He will his Faith inviolable plight,
That with his Arms he will defend your Right.
That he will War against your Foes proclaim,
And that your Friends and his, shall be the same.

His Ships are yours, and yours his Horse-men are;
His Chariots yours, when you engage in War.
He will before our Sacred Altars swear,
By all the Holy Myst'ries we revere,
By all that pious Christians love or fear;
His Navy shall not see the British Seas
Insult your Coasts, and interrupt your Peace.
He has a nobler Enterprize in view,
Another Course of Glory to pursue.
He to his Royal Promise will be just,
And to remove all Umbrage and Distrust,
He will renounce, and solemnly abjure
Rome's Absolution, and dispensing Pow'r.

I on the Sacred Oracles protest,
And on the Faith unblemish'd of a Priest,
That Spain's most potent Monarch seems to me
In this Affair from all Collusion free:
That he no stronger Passion can reveal,
No more sincere Concern, or warmer Zeal,
Than by a strict inviolable Tie,
To bind you as a Friend, and as a firm Ally.
Just Heav'n! (to Heav'n I solemnly appeal,)
If I dissemble, or the Truth conceal,
Let Vengeance my devoted Head pursue,
Load me with Wrath, I ask it as my due.
He ceas'd. Eliza rising from her Seat,
Did with her Guards, and noble Train retreat.

Th'Ambassadors, with customary State,
Were reconducted to their Palace Gate.
They were regal'd with great Magnificence,
And vast Profusion at the Queen's Expence.
Panting beneath the Weight, strong Servants bear
Prodigious Dishes of Britannick Fare:
Which by th'Intendant in long Order plac'd,
The groaning Tables both oppress'd and grac'd.
The tasteful Meats were with great Cost procur'd,
Which all the diff'rent Elements afford:
All which the Hunts-man takes in Hills or Woods,
The Fowler in the Fields, the Fisher in the Floods.
Here stood a Boar in brawny Collars; here
Haunches of Red, or Sides of Fallow Deer.
Here Sheep almost entire, and tender Fawns,
That spread the Hills, or sported on the Lawns,
Dispos'd with Art, did grace the Table more
Than they the Parks adorn'd, or Downs before.
The British Ox, a more delicious Cheer
Than Gallia's Partridge, or Ausonia's Deer,
In various Forms, by various Artists drest,
Pleas'd all the diff'rent Palates of the Guest.
In wond'rous Plenty, by the Queen's Command,
Whate'er was curious found by Sea or Land,
Where Winds can blow, or British Merchants sail,
Did Spain's astonish'd Embassy regale.

They had for Drink with their luxurious Cheer,
Strong, mantl'ing Ale, and old Autumnal Beer.

From Vaga's Banks rich Scudamoran Wine,
Scarcely exceeded by the forreign Vine.
They had the noble Liquors from abroad,
Which in her Ports Britannia's Fleets unload.
High Silver Flagons, Chalices of Gold
Fill'd to the brim, did Gallia's Pleasures hold.
Vast Goblets wrought with wond'rous Art, and crown'd
With rare Burgundian Nectar, went around.
They drank the flowing Riches of the Vine,
On Danaw's Banks, or on the rapid Rhine.
The Growth of Xeres, and the racy Spoils
Of the rich Grape press'd in the happy Isles.
First round the Board, then in their Veins, the Bowl
With purple Honours crown'd, did circulating rowl.
Here one with bright Champaign the Table plys,
Which sparkles in the Cup, but more within their Eyes.
One od'rous Hermitage profusely brings
Wine for thy Sons, O Rome, at least for Kings.
For tho' defrauded of the Son, the Vine
Does not Britannia Honour with its Wine.
Yet all her Ports with gen'rous Juice abound
From all the Kingdoms, and the Isles around:
She revels in the Growth of every Soil,
Enjoys their Vine, and drinks her Neighbours Toil.

Nor was there wanting Musick for the Ear,
Which gave the Wine more Life, most Taste the Cheer.
Fam'd Sons of Art, who did Augusta grace,
(Such Eccles is, and famous Purcell was.)

French cheerful Hautboys, sweet Italian Lutes,
Britannia's Viols, and soft sounding Flutes,
Rare Violins, and Voices most admir'd,
To form a noble Harmony, conspir'd:
Discordant Notes and Nations did agree
To charm the Guests with Heav'nly Melody.

Now had the Air three Revolutions seen,
And thrice to Shade, to Light thrice subject been.
When great Eliza did her Orders give,
Th'Iberian Lords her Answer should receive.
Then o'er her Treasure Cecil did preside,
And with Applause that envy'd Province guide.
A Peer of Temper, Wise, Sedate, Discreet,
Matur'd in Bus'ness, and of peircing Wit.
Envy in all his Conduct, sought in vain
To find a Blot, or in his Hands a Stain.
He still against all furious Bigots strove,
Who with such wild Præcipitation drove,
That they had set the Kingdom on a Flame,
(For of all Parties, Bigots are the same.)
Had not his mod'rate Councils stem'd the Tide,
It's Fury checkt, and made its Flood subside.
He from the Rules of Justice ne'er would swerve,
With Freedom close, and open with Reserve.
With equal Skill, instructed to reveal
Dark Statesmens Counsels, and his own conceal.

This Lord the Queen's Cheif Councellor of State,
With Philip's Envoies, manag'd the Debate:

And quickly finish'd this important Task,
The Spaniard yielding all the Queen did ask.
On either side the Solemn League was sign'd,
Nor could the Wit of Man Expression find,
That might Confed'rate Crowns more strictly bind.
Th'Ambassadors, their Treach'rous Business done,
Hasten'd their Preparations to be gone.
They did rich Presents from the Queen receive,
A gracious Audience had, and took their Leave.
Mean time Eliza did not wholly give
Credit to Spain, nor wholly disbelieve.
But tho' the Treaty had not quite supprest
The jealous Thoughts, that had her Mind possest,
Yet much their Oaths and Imprecations eas'd
Her doubtful Mind, and much her Pain appeas'd.
Such was her Goodness, she could ne'er believe,
That a Crown'd Head, with Purpose to deceive,
Would solemn Vows, and sacred Contracts make,
Which, whilst he made them, he design'd to break.
She never thought, that she should ever find
In Noble Blood, and in a Royal Mind,
Falsehood so black, and Malice so refin'd.
That as consummate Wickedness could dwell
In Monarchs Breasts, as that of Fiends in Hell.
While on this dreadful Guilt she did reflect,
She did King Philip's Honour less suspect:
Believing Kings would Perjury abhor,
Not dare affront the God, they did adore,
Deride his Justice, and defy his Pow'r.

Entangled thus in false Iberia's Snare,
With less Concern she did her Fleet prepare,
Cooler her Zeal, and slacker was her Care.
So far th'Atrocious, Irreligious Deed
Of Spain's Perfidious Monarch did succeed.

Above the Limits and Ætherial Mound
Which Nature's far extended Empire bound,
From empty Space unconscious of the Day,
Where ne'er Creation did its Pow'r display;
Th'Almighty's awful Throne on Pillars rais'd
Of independent, solid Glory, blaz'd.
On his Right Hand his uncreated Son
A Co-eternal Emanation shone:
Blissful Appearance of embody'd Light,
Where Human Nature and Divine unite.
Mysterious Ties the vital Union hold,
Which Seraphims adore, but never can unfold.
On Glory high enthron'd, in God-like State
The Christian World's Victorious Founder sate.
Him, as his Heir, th'Almighty Father own'd,
And with Dominion universal crown'd.
The spacious Seas, the Isles, and farthest Land,
Subject became to his supream Command.
He equal Laws dispences from his Throne,
His Subjects spares, and pulls Oppressors down.
With ling'ring Steps his halting Justice goes,
But from his Breast spontaneous Mercy flows.
His Vot'ries he protects with tender Care,
Supplies their Wants, and hears their humble Pray'r.

In their Defence he does in Arms appear,
And stops proud Tyrants in their mad Carreer.
He backward drives wild Persecution's Flood,
To save his Church, the Purchase of his Blood.

But how Transfigur'd from himself before,
When here on Earth he liv'd despis'd and poor?
A Crown of Glory now his Head adorns,
That here was mock'd and pain'd with one of Thorns.
The Face on which vile Miscreants Spit before,
Seraphs admire, and ravish'd Saints adore.
Twelve helpless Fisher-men did Honour show
To Heav'n's Commissioner, when here below,
Attendants on Distress, and Ministers of Woe.
Arch-Angels now compose his Royal State,
And round their King ten thousand Seraphs wait.
Fair Sons of Light, bright Off-spring of the Morn,
Attend his Person, and his Court adorn.
These shining Ministers surround his Throne,
Radiant as Stars, and dazling as the Sun.
The Body, which the painful Cross before,
Between two dying Malefactors bore,
Is now of stiffen'd, pond'rous Glory made,
Which Pain no more, no more shall Spears invade.
Now from his wounded Members, whence a Flood
Ran down the Cross of Meritorious Blood,
Uninterrupted Streams of Splendor flow,
Inlightning all th'Ætherial Space below.

He does with Care his Government attend,
And to and fro his swift-wing'd Envoys send.
To Potentates, Dominions, Heav'nly Thrones,
And Pow'rs distinguish'd by superiour Crowns,
Cœlestial Chiefs, and Officers of State,
Who to observe his Nod, obsequious wait;
He does the Empire of the World divide,
Makes them o'er diff'rent Kingdoms to preside.
These, his bright Viceroys and Prorectors, go
To their respective Provinces below.
All whom the Great Redeemer does direct
His Church's Sacred Int'rest to protect.
To guard his Vot'rys, and his Vine-yard fence,
From secret Snares, and open Violence.
These to the Earth, or to their bless'd Abode,
Are always passing thro' th'Ætherial Road,
To execute their Charge, or to report
Their Expeditions at their Soveraign's Court.

Now mighty Gabriel, from Britannia's Coast
Arriv'd, and passing thro' the Heav'nly Host,
Became the foremost of the shining Crowd,
Which thronging round the Mediator stood;
And low before the Throne, the Great Arch-Angel bow'd.
Soon as he saw the Potentate appear,
The Great Redeemer on his Minister,
His watchful Prefect of Britannia's Isle,
Did with an Aspect Beatifick smile:
An Aspect that dispels all Woe and Care,
Sooths sad Distress, and solaces Despair:

The same with which he Martyrs does receive,
When thro' the Flames they first at Heav'n arrive.
Then thus he spake: Our Minister, relate
What has befall'n reform'd Britannia's State.

The Seraph answer'd: Albion's Pious Queen,
To whom Iberia has suspected been,
As purposing her Kingdom to invade,
Has with that Prince a firm Alliance made.
Ambassadors from Philip pass'd the Seas,
To fix with Albion, Terms of lasting Peace.
They did with Sacred Vows and Oaths, protest,
Castilian Arms should not her Coasts molest.
Their Imprecations, and th'Appeal they made
To this Tribunal, did the Queen perswade
With stricter Ties their Friendship to renew,
Thinking their solemn Protestations true.
Which has not wholly, yet has much dispell'd
The Thoughts, which in suspence Eliza held:
She finds her anxious Care is much allay'd,
And for Britannia's Realm, seems less afraid.

He ceas'd. The bless'd Redeemer did reply,
Let not the Queen on Roman Faith rely.
She must no Weight on this Alliance lay,
Those who have me betray'd, will her betray.
Whilst Albion's Queen the Roman Yoke rejects,
And the Religion, which I taught, protects;
Let her not fruitless Expectations feed;
Will Spain from her invet'rate Hate recede?

Will ever Rome and Hell give Philip Rest,
'Till he reform'd Britannia does molest?
Will these pretended Christians, who disclaim
My pure Religion, yet profess my Name,
From bloody Persecutions ever cease,
Or let my faithful Vot'ries be at Peace?
When Ethiopians, to be White, begin,
And spotted Leopards shew a spotless Skin,
Then proud Iberia, and apostate Rome,
To me and mine will faithful Friends become.

Go, Britain's Viceroy, let Eliza know,
She trusts a broken Reed in Philip's Vow.
The faithless King her Goodness does abuse,
And with mock Treaties does her Court amuse,
While he his Hostile Purposes pursues.
Let her her Army and her Fleet prepare
To meet th'Iberian, and repel the War.
Lest by Surprize he should oppress the Queen,
And by perfidious Arms Britannia win.
Fly, Gabriel, fly, and with Angelick Speed
On this important Embassy proceed.

Th'obedient Seraph, this high Order giv'n,
From the Immortal Battlements of Heav'n,
Did with expanded Pinions wing his way,
Bright as the Morn, and swifter than its Ray.
Thro' th'Ætherial, trackless Firmament
He on his Province made a quick Descent.

'Twas then, when Albion's Just, Religious Queen,
Unheard by any, secret, and unseen,
To Heav'n her Morning Supplications made,
For her own House, for her dear People pray'd,
And thankful for the past, ask'd future Aid.
Uncommon Ardor did her Heart extend,
While she devoutly did with Heav'n contend.
A great Effusion of Cœlestial Fire,
Did with a rapt'rous Zeal her Breast inspire.
In Anhelations of Seraphick Love,
In Pious Pangs of Extasy she strove
Blessings Divine, and Favours to procure,
And make propitious Heav'n's Protection sure.

Soon as the Queen from her Devotion rose,
And did her Thoughts for State-Affairs compose:
A sudden Glory, like the Virgin Day,
Dawn'd in the Place, and did mild Light display.
Odours Divine, ineffable Perfume,
Was suddenly diffus'd around the Room;
Such, as are breath'd from fresh Cœlestial Bow'rs,
From bless'd Jonkyles, and Heav'nly Jes'mine Flow'rs.
Then dress'd in aeiry Garments to be seen,
Her Guardian Angel did approach the Queen.
With such a charming Mein he did appear,
With such mild Looks, as Love and Mercy wear.
Such had the bless'd Redeemer, when below,
He did Salvation on Mankind bestow,
And scatt'ring Light and Life did thro' Judea go.

His Neck and Hands were both Divinely fair,
And his long Robe, that hung neglecting Care,
Was white as Snow new-moulded in the Air.
Unfading Youth, a fresh Empyreal Red,
And blooming Honours on the Seraph spread.

Who thus began: Hail, Pious Princess, Hail,
Your Arms on Earth, your Pray'rs in Heav'n prevail.
By high Command I come, to let you know,
You must not trust th'Iberian Monarch's Vow.
No Protestations, which he makes, believe,
Nor to his Oaths and Treaties, Credit give.
These are perfidious Charms design'd to keep
Your Senses shut, and lull your Court asleep.
The treach'rous King will from his Navy pour
His utmost Fury on Britannia's Shore.
Destruction he prepares, and from abroad
In Albion's Ports will heavy War unload.
Make haste, Eliza, to sustain the Blow,
Lest, you surpriz'd, too late your Error know.

He said. And with a Heav'nly Mien withdrew,
The Pions Queen his Counsel did pursue.
She, to collect her Troops by Sea and Land,
To all her Chiefs and Gen'rals gave Command.
She wisely let her Loyal Subjects know
The black Intentions of the faithless Foe:
Who Peace pretended Albion's Court to blind,
That he the Realm might unprovided find.

This all her faithful Britons did enrage,
And made them for Revenge in Arms engage.
They flew with brave Impatience to the Coast,
Eager to Combate Spain's perfidious Host.
Thus both the Crowns for Conflict did prepare,
One to invade, one to repel the War.

Mean time, while these Transactions past between
Th'Iberian Monarch, and Britannia's Queen.
In Belgia, Vere, Eliza's General, led
Britannia's Cohorts to the Belgian's Aid.
Mauritius from the Camp, in which he lay,
Advanc'd, and met the Briton on the way.
With Marks of high Esteem, with Joy sincere,
The Belgian Prince embrac'd the Noble Vere.
Th'expected British Hero he receiv'd,
As one, by whose great Valour he believ'd,
Desponding Belgia's Fate would be retriev'd.
Vere in his turn the brave Nassau address'd,
The same Respect, and the same Joy express'd.
This done, Mauritius to his lofty Tent
With the Illustrious Welcome Briton went.
Where when arriv'd, the two great Heros send,
To their inferior Gen'rals to attend.

Mean time, his wond'ring Eyes the Briton turn'd
To the rich Arras, which the Room adorn'd.
He with surprizing Pleasure did behold
The lively Figures form'd in Silk and Gold:

With Flandria's Skill inimitable wrought
By fam'd Cartones from German Masters brought.
Rare Workmanship! where Belgia's noble Loom
Was by the Pencil scarely overcome.
The unexampled Pieces did contain
The bloody Story of relentless Spain.

Here Alva sate in a high Chair of State,
A fiery Minister of Philip's Hate.
With cruel Deaths the Belgian he pursu'd,
In Plagues expert, and conversant in Blood.
Hatred, Revenge, Ambition, Falshood, Pride,
Infernal Malice, in his Look reside.
Assassins, Lictors, Headsmen, long in Pain
And Torment verss'd, an execrable Train,
Around him stood, expecting from his Hands
His cruel Orders, and his Dire Commands.
Of these, who did his Lust of Blood assist,
Each did receive a long Proscription List:
Which did the certain Fate of those contain,
Who then withstood the lawless Pow'r of Spain.
Who did outrageous Violence oppose,
And to defend their injur'd Country, rose,
And rather present Death, than ling'ring Ruin chose.
Some of thy Martyrs, Heav'nly Liberty!
Thy Glorious Confessors, were doom'd to die
In ling'ring Pains, with Engines to be rackt
Which Husband Life, and manag'd Death protract.
Some, to whom Alva did Compassion show,
Had leave to Die by one kind fatal Blow.

Some were condemn'd the Dagger's Point to feel,
Some the sharp Ax, and some the painful Wheel.
On which alive some broken lay, the most
Obtain'd the Favour to be strangled first.
Some of the Orders of this cruel Lord
Condemn'd whole Towns, and Cities to the Sword,
Whom to protect in Safety he before,
Perfidious Man! in solemn Manner swore.

There Holy Fathers on Destruction bent,
And anxious, unknown Torments to invent,
Met at a pious Consult to support,
Their new erected Inquisition Court.
On their stern Brows dire Persecution sate,
Infernal Malice, and immortal Hate.
Intent on Blood, in Cruelty refin'd,
They Plagues decreed, and bloody Orders sign'd.
Their Dungeons there appear'd, Religious Schools,
Where Men are taught by expeditious Rules:
Where bloody Lictors Heav'nly Doctrines Preach,
Instruct with Engines, and with Torment teach.

Here cruel Instruments of Steel or Wood,
Of new invented Deaths, a vast Collection stood.
There lay in heaps, Hooks, Pincers, pond'rous Chains,
Plenty of curious Plagues, and choice converting Pains.
Here Martyrs dauntless from Almighty Aid,
Are thro' th'insulting Throng to Death convey'd.
Their Air compos'd, their Looks Divinely mild;
None seem'd afraid, and some with Pleasure smil'd.

They look'd with Pity on the mocking Crowd,
And seem'd to pray for those, who sought their Blood.
In other Figures did the Briton see
Triumphant Martyrs on the fatal Tree:
As did their Flames, so the bless'd Martyrs strove
To reach their Central Seat of Rest above.
They with Heroick Fortitude expire,
And mount to Heav'n in ruddy Cars of Fire.
Relentless Ruffians vent Infernal Rage,
They no Distinction make of Sex or Age.
Accurs'd Assassins Belgia's Race destroy,
Riot in Blood, and horrid Death enjoy.
Their Priests with Holy Murder never cloy'd,
Urge and intreat that more may be destroy'd.
They, that their Doctrines may Belief obtain,
Destructive Wonders show, and Miracles of Pain.
While Vere with deep Compassion mov'd, survey'd
This woven Tragedy, the Hero said,
To Arms how justly did the Belgians fly,
To check this monst'rous Rage, this barb'rous Cruelty?
How am I pleas'd the Brittish Youth to lead,
And bring th'afflicted States Eliza's Aid?
Their Enterprize is Glorious, who oppose
Their Arms to Heav'n's and Human Nature's Foes.

The Briton next with Admiration saw,
Wrought in another piece the Great Nassau;
The Glorious Founder of the Belgick State,
To whom Iberia bore Infernal Hate.

Whose Blood, Immortal Shame! the Villain's Hand
Shed, by the Spanish Tyrant's curs'd Command.
To be distinguish'd, on a rising Ground,
His valiant Chiefs and Cohorts pour'd around,
Reform'd Batavia's Great Supporter stood;
His Gesture shew'd him speaking to the Crowd.
He to th'attentive Troops himself addrest,
One Hand extended, one upon his Breast.
With Vehemence, but with becoming Grace,
With all the Eloquence of Mein and Face,
He labour'd to excite their Martial Rage,
And make his Troops impatient to engage.
He propagates his Passion, and inspires
The Soldier's Bosom, and improves his Fires.
There wanted Words indeed, the only part
Which did exceed the Master's wond'rous Art:
And yet he seem'd so much to speak, that Vere
Admir'd that he no Voice, or Sound could hear.
The attentive Throng, that on the Gen'ral gaz'd,
Felt in their glowing Breasts their Courage rais'd.
Their bright'ning Eyes express their inward Fire,
The Foe they threaten, and the War require.
Viewing their Gen'ral they dismiss their Fears,
And let in Courage at their list'ning Ears.

Here the provincial Deputies conven'd
In Council, did the Wise Nassau attend.
They by their Looks and Gestures seem'd to plight
Their mutual Faith, to guard their mutual Right;

Their Freedom and Religion to maintain
Against th'enormous Violence of Spain.
The Great Nassau conspicuous did appear,
Did seem to speak, as they did seem to hear.
He look'd, as he their Courage did excite,
Conjur'd them for their Safety to unite,
Their Altars to defend, and save their civil Right.
They look'd determin'd, and resolv'd no more
To bear th'Iberian Yoke, or Roman Shrines adore.
By shaking Hands, and by a kind Embrace,
By all that can be known by Mein and Face,
They did in Vows and solemn Leagues engage,
By Arms to curb th'Iberian Tyrant's Rage.
That they their Blood would for their Country spend,
Assert their Altars, and their Rights defend.

Wrought in the Margin, to attentive Vere,
Emblems of Peace, and Union did appear.
Here a great Giant strove with Sweat and Pain,
To break a Sheaf of Arrows, but in vain.
Concord appear'd, wrought in another place,
Of wond'rous Strength, and beautiful of Face:
Which does in Wisdom, and in Force excel,
What Pagan Poets of their Pallas tell.
On one side Vict'ry, with a charming Grace,
Did on her Head a Crown of Laurel place.
Prolifick Plenty on the other side
Pour'd Golden Fruit around, and scatter'd flow'ry Pride.

Mean time, to this sublime Pavilion came
The Chiefs of highest Post, and greatest Fame:
To whom Mauritius, and the mighty Vere,
Their well-consider'd Purpose did declare,
Soon as the Morn should o'er the Night prevail,
Their Ensigns to advance, the Spaniard to assail,
While this Resolve the valiant Gen'rals hear,
All Marks of Pleasure in their Looks appear,
To the respective Posts they all repair;
Require the Day, and wait the promis'd War.
All Jealousy and Envy to remove,
And to maintain uninterrupted Love,
Noble Mauritius, and the valiant Vere,
The Pow'r and Honour did agree to share.
The Troops did each alternately obey,
And each, as Chief Commander, had his Day.

Unwilling yet to stand the Briton's Fire,
As he advanc'd, the Spaniard did retire.
At length he stood on famous Bruga's Plain,
Resolv'd th'invading Briton to sustain.
There he encamp'd on advantageous Ground,
And high Entrenchments did the Camp surround.
The British Army, full of Martial Rage,
Follow'd th'Iberian, eager to engage.
As swelling Billows on the Main appear,
A furious Tempest pressing hard their Reer,
When their embattled Legions march from far,
To storm some lofty Mould with liquid War;

Such an Appearance Vere's Brigades did make,
As they advanc'd th'Iberian to attack.
At the last Effort of expiring Day,
They reach'd the Camp, where Spain's Battallions lay.

Now, Muse, the mighty Hero's Names record,
Who to suppress the Belgian, drew the Sword.
Who to the War from distant Regions came,
Some with Church-Bigots to enrol their Name,
And some in hopes of Spoil, and some in quest of Fame.
Parmensis absent in Britannia's Land,
Mansfelt th'Iberian Army did command.
The valiant Warriour was of German Birth,
Skilful in Arms, and of applauded Worth.
Hara, whose Veins contain'd a Noble Flood
Of Spanish mixt with Lusitanian Blood;
Esteem'd for Conduct, Courage, Toil, and Force,
Was Chief Commander of the Spanish Horse.
Valdes, a Native of Asturia's Land,
Did next th'Iberian Cavalry command:
In Blood to Alva, more in haughty Pride,
In Falshood, Rage, and Cruelty, ally'd.

Varex, a Chief who Philip's Favour won,
Not by his brave, but cruel Wonders done.
Who less in Arms, than in Massacres skill'd,
Had Belgia's Land with Death and Carnage fill'd:
Who did the Guiltless and Unarm'd invade,
And violating Faith, rich Towns in Ashes laid;

Enroll'd and led in Arms the vig'rous Swains
From fair Granada's Hills, and Alcantara's Plains;
Where perjur'd Spain slew unbelieving Moors,
Or drove them from th'unhospitable Shores:
Expos'd them to the Seas, a dire Command,
Yet Seas less Cruel, than Iberia's Land.
They were to Waves, and Shelves, and Sands, resign'd,
To the Discretion left of every Wind;
Which sometimes growing calm, do Spain upbraid,
Whose undecaying Rage is ne'er allay'd.
Lavish and wastful of Infernal Hate,
Iberia never found her Stock abate.

From Mexico Alphonso lately came,
Where he had left the Tyrant's hateful Name.
And now the Chief did at the Altar vow,
That he no Mercy would to Belgia show.
India, Granada, Belgia, in their turn,
The dire Effects of Spanish Fury mourn.
These suff'ring Realms have been the bloody Stage
Of cruel Spain's inexorable Rage.
Noble Hernandes, of undaunted Heart,
A Man of Honour, and in Arms expert,
Who in the Siege of Metz did by a Ball,
A Musket sent it from the City Wall,
Loose his left Eye, but gain'd a mighty Name,
Among the Warriours of superiour Fame,
Brought his Battallions from the fruitful Land,
Which fair Sevilla's lofty Tow'rs command.

Perez, a Chief, in Martial Action bred,
To Belgia's Fields his valiant Cohorts led.
Arm'd with the Fauchion, and the glitt'ring Spear,
From the rich Banks of fam'd Guadalquevir.
Chimay, himself a Noble Belgian Lord,
Yet Belgia's Rights and Liberties abhor'd,
To serve the Spaniard's arbitrary Pow'r,
Did in the Host a high Command procure.
The fiery Bigot did in Arms appear,
Pleas'd to assist his Country's Ravisher.
A Malice which would all Belief exceed,
Did not Britannia now such Monsters breed.
Garcio, a Gen'ral brave, expert and bold,
Whose Name 'midst Spanish Heros is enroll'd,
Brought his stout Cohorts from the fertile Plain,
Where Noble Tagus draws her Crystal Train.

From high Toledo, once of wond'rous Fame
For temper'd Arms, her Lord Carrero came:
Whose impious Life Iberian Story fills
With Breach of Vows, and Forgery of Wills.
Velez, who still with Martial Honour fought,
His fierce Brigades from Salamanca brought:
Where Youth their Hours in idle Labour spend,
Rome's Pow'r and false Religion to defend.
Where Loyalites with grave and formal Look,
Teach Craft by Rule, and Politicks by Book.
Youthful Daranda, urg'd with sanguine Hopes
Of winning Laurels, led his valiant Troops

From fam'd Gibralta, whose high Tow'rs survey,
And guard the Entrance of th'Herculian Sea;
Which runs amidst the Land, and with its Tide,
Does the Iberian from the Moor divide.

They did besides, as Chief Commanders, own
Ibarra, Herman, Sanches, Barlamon,
Megen and Lara, Men of great Renown.
These mighty Chiefs the Battel did prepare,
And wait behind their Lines-approaching Vere.
Mean time his Flandrian Army to augment,
King Philip, anxious for the great Event,
Commanded Albert, Austria's Duke, to drain
The Towns and Forts of Italy and Spain,
And lead the assembled Troops to Belgia's Plain.

The End of the Third Book.

BOOK IV.

New Inspiration, Heav'nly Muse, afford,
That I in grateful Numbers may record;
May from Oblivion's Shade the Chiefs retrieve,
And make their Names to coming Ages live;
Who left the Pleasures of Britannia's Isle,
The soft Endearments of their native Soil,
For War's Alarms, and honourable Toil.
Who in reform'd Religion's Glorious Cause,
Fought on the Belgian Plains, with Earth's and Heav'n's Applause.

Valiant Horatio, to the Britons dear,
The mighty Brother of the mighty Vere,
Held in Eliza's Army high Command;
He rais'd in Essex Fields his War-like Band.
A Hero to his Brother next admir'd,
Whose Noble Veins true British Courage fir'd:
The other Captains were exceeded far
By the Great Veres, two Thunder-bolts of War.

Alban, th'Illustrious Gen'ral's only Son,
Whose Vertues universal Love had won,

A beauteous Youth, worthy a milder Doom,
A Hero promis'd, and a Vere to come,
Left his fair Sisters to their Mother's Care,
And for the Field did his bright Arms prepare,
From his great Sire, to learn the Art of War.

Brave Troops advanc'd from fair Wiltonia's Plains,
And aeiry Downs, on which unnumber'd Swains,
With cheerful Toil, their fertile Acres Till,
And with harmonious Lays the Vally fill.
Where, for their woolly Riches, every Year
Ten Thousand Sheep the wealthy Farmers shear.
Whose Spoils are truly Albion's Golden Fleece,
Outvying that of Legendary Greece.
These sent abroad from Britain's noble Loom,
Bring forreign Wealth, and distant Pleasures home.
Silks, Pearl, and Spices, from the wanton East,
Rich Drugs, with Gold and Silver, from the West.
Cecil in Arms, and War-like Conduct great,
Son to the famous Counsellor of State,
Enroll'd these valiant Troops, and pass'd them o'er
From the Britannick, to the Belgick Shore.
They did a strange Alacrity express,
To aid reform'd Batavia in Distress.

Augusta's Youth, Divine Religion's Cause,
From the bright Court and busy City draws.
The Merchants to their gainful Burse prefer
The Tented Field, to learn from mighty Vere

To settle War-like Factories abroad,
Who may their Fleets with glorious Laurels load:
May fix a Commerce of a nobler sort,
Send Trophies home, and martial Fame import.
These ardent Squadrons were by Sidney led,
(Who has not Sidney's Praises heard or read?)
Whose Pen and Sword both Laurels did acquire,
Whom Camps and Courts did equally admire.
None more did famous Men of Letters court,
None their Polite Republick more support.
He, their Protector, cherish'd every Bard,
And all their Flights profusely did reward.
The tuneful Tribe his Triumphs did adorn,
And at his Altars all their Incense burn.
None in the Poets Songs more brightly shone,
Immortal by their Pens, Immortal by his own.
All to his Standard Veneration paid,
Brought to his Mint their Works to be essay'd.
No Poet's then were reckon'd Sterling Lays,
Which bore no Stamp or Mark of Sidney's Praise.
Ye Bards, this noble Patron would you know?
Sidney was then, what Montague is now.

The valiant Greville, an Illustrious Name,
From whom a noble Race of Patriots came,
Whose Merit Sidney with true Friendship crown'd;
As well for Letters, as for Arms renown'd,
Inspir'd with Zeal, his Weapons did demand,
To follow Sidney to the Belgick Land.

In Arms th'Iberian's Progress to arrest,
Repel the Tyrant, and relieve th'Opprest.
He, Warwick's Hero, from his Castle went,
And pitch'd on Dunmore Plain his War-like Tent:
Muster'd upon the Legendary Ground
His Tenants, and his Country-men around:
Then march'd to pierce the threefold Roman Beast,
The Monster, and unsufferable Pest,
That worse, than ancient Plagues, Europa did infest.

Valiant Mordano, of a high Descent,
To free his Neighbours from Oppression, went.
The Brave Young Man by all Men was admir'd,
With the true Courage of his Nation fir'd.
He for the dusty Field forsook his Farms,
Ignoble Pleasures, for Heroick Arms:
To all thy Beauties, Albion, did prefer
More glorious Danger, and more charming War.
Part of the Guards did great Eliza send,
Who on her Royal Person did attend
These Young Mordano, their intrepid Head,
In Belgian Fields to Martial Hazard led.

Norris, a Chief, not of Plebeian Birth,
Of envy'd Honour, and uncommon Worth,
To the Great Man of the same Name ally'd,
Belgia's Defender, and Britannia's Pride;
Whose glorious Deeds fatigu'd the Wings of Fame,
And high as Heav'n advanc'd the Hero's Name;

Brought the bold Youth from all the Towns that stood
On the rich Banks of Isis' famous Flood:
From fair Oxonia, whose high Turrets rise,
Yet to her Fame unequal, 'midst the Skies:
The Source of Science, which does every way
Polifick Streams thro' Albion's Isle convey:
And greater Riches on the Mind bestows,
Than Isis gives the Land, thro' which it flows.

Lomel, a Gen'ral of a noble Line,
Whose Deeds in Story will for ever shine.
Sedate and Valiant, Courteous and Polite
In Britain's Court, but bravely rough in Fight;
Rais'd his bold Troops, one part in Sussex Soil,
One in the Nothern Region of the Isle:
Who could unhurt hard Martial Labour bear,
And suffer all Inclemencies of Air.
These could with Parents, Friends, and Country part,
Freedom and pure Religion to assert.

Gouramno, long to Camps and Arms innur'd,
Whose mighty Deeds had deathless Fame procur'd;
His valiant Troops on Cam's fam'd Current bred,
From Albion's Shore, to forreign Triumphs led.
Hamel, a Noble Caledonian Knight,
Proud to defend Religion, Law, and Right,
Led his Battallions from th'Orccadian Isles,
To merit Fame, and share Iberian Spoils.
Ingol and Palma, Chiefs of mighty Name,
In Belgick Plains encreas'd their Martial Fame;

With Fairfax, Ruta, Conway, Lovelace, Ball,
Gale, Silvius, Parker, Ogle, Herbert, all
Ready at Honour's, and at Danger's Call.

Mauritius, of a Noble House, that shines
With mighty Worthies, Heros, Heroines,
Great Patriots, Conqu'rors of a God-like Race,
Who in long Order Belgia's Annals grace;
Batavia's Founder of Immortal Fame,
And, Albion, hence thy Great Deliverer came:
A Prince, of whom the Belgians justly boast,
As Chief, commanded Belgia's Valiant Host.
Brave Fredrick, in the early Bloom of Youth,
Reform'd Religion and Cœlestial Truth,
Freedom and Right, in Battel to defend,
Did his Great Brother to the Field attend.

The famous Hollock, in Germania bred,
Next to Mauritius, did the Belgians Head.
Ernest and Loick took with great Applause
The Field, in Belgia's and Religion's Cause.
In both their Veins, to their great Honour, flow'd
Illustrious Streams of high Nassovian Blood.
One Gen'ral was of Foot, and one of Horse,
Each prais'd for Courage, Vigilance, and Force.
Horno and Goren, both of Geldria's Land,
Bevert and Solms had Posts of high Command.

Brave Maximilian pass'd the rapid Rhine,
And with his Squadron did Mauritius join.

A Pious Zeal did this Great Prince perswade,
To bring th'oppress'd reform'd Batavians Aid.
This Leader Valiant, Beautiful, and Young,
Adorn'd with every Princely Vertue, sprung
From the Illustrious Hannoverian House,
Which did with Zeal reform'd Belief espouse:
Did still against encroaching Pow'rs contend,
Curb proud Oppressors, and the Oppress'd defend:
The House on which Britannia casts her Eye,
Hoping for vacant Thrones a long Supply.
She happy in a new Eliza's Reign,
Wishes, but Oh! her Wishes are in vain,
That her Victorious Monarch's Human Frame,
Was as Immortal, as her Deathless Fame.
But since she must (ah, fatal must!) encrease
The Glorious Dead, Oh! may it be in Peace.
May the afflictive Blow be long deferr'd,
Let it be late e'er the sad Cry be heard;
Oh! may Britannia long, may Europe long be spar'd!
And when we feel th'inevitable Stroke,
Oh! let not Britain bear the Gallick Yoke.
Let not the Sons of Belial's curs'd Design
Succeed to break the Royal, Legal Line:
Men of a cruel persecuting Kind,
Averse to Goodness, and to Reason blind:
Who our late Chains and Bondage would restore,
Rome's Superstition, and proud Gallia's Pow'r:
Who Slav'ry court, pull their own Altars down,
To raise a Roman Bigot to the Throne.

Monsters beyond what ever Ægypt saw,
Beyond what ever err'd from Nature's Law;
They would no Pains, no Crimes, no Danger shun,
To see their Country ruin'd, and undone.
But let the Heros of the Legal Line
On Britain's Throne with envy'd Honour shine.
And from the Noble undecaying Root,
For ever may Illustrious Branches shoot,
Britannia to adorn with Royal Fruit.
May they, with tender Care Religion guard,
Suppress the Wicked, and the Good reward.
May they like William, and like Anna Reign,
Curb Roman Pride, and Tyranny restrain.
This valiant Youth a Band of Germans brought,
Who for reform'd Religion bravely fought,
And from the noblest Cause, the noblest Laurels sought.

Soon as the Morn, to let in dawning Light,
Drew up the Sable Curtain of the Night:
Great Vere arose, and negligent of Rest,
His vig'rous Limbs in burnish'd Armour drest:
A Crimson Scarf, with Golden Fringes grac'd,
Eliza's Gift, adorn'd his comely Wast.
His flaming Sword to Death a faithful Friend,
On whom familiar Vict'ry did attend,
Whose fatal Force unnumber'd Warriors felt,
Hung by his Side in a rich Silver Belt.
Hard polish'd Steel his Back and Breast encas'd,
And his bright Helmet round his Head was brac'd;

Whose Repercussions of the glancing Light,
Improv'd the Sun, which thus grown doubly bright,
By keen Reflection dazled more the Sight.
This grasp'd his glitt'ring Lance, the other Hand,
With Martial Grace, his Staff of high Command.
Such Flame, such Ardor sparkled in his Eyes,
As from a perfect inbred Courage rise.
And which are never seen, but where we find
True Vertue mixt with Nobleness of Mind.

As Cæsar look'd when on Pharsalian Plains,
Heroick Heat distending all his Veins;
He march'd to Battel, where the Lot was hurl'd,
Which must decide the Empire of the World:
Such as Illustrious Michael did appear,
When griping fast his long Immortal Spear,
The Glorious Warrior at his Army's Head,
The bright Brigades of Heav'n to Combate, led:
Such Looks in Arms did the Great Briton wear,
So Seraph-like his Port, so Cæsar-like his Air.

A Mauritanian led his famous Steed,
Prais'd for his wond'rous Beauty, Strength, and Speed.
The true-bred Mare was of Britannia's Isle,
The Noble Sire was brought from Thracia's Soil.
All Men the gen'rous Creature did admire,
Wanton with Life, and bold with native Fire.
With thund'ring Feet he paws the trembling Ground,
He strikes out Fire, and spruns the Sand around.

Does with loud Neighings make the Vally ring,
And with becoming Pride his Foam around him fling.
So light he treads, he leaves no Mark behind,
As if indeed descended from the Wind:
And yet so strong, he does his Rider bear,
As if he felt no Burden, but the Air.
A Cloud of Smoke from his wide Nostrils flies,
And his hot Spirits brighten in his Eyes.
At the shrill Trumpet's Sound he pricks his Ears,
With brave Delight surveys the glitt'ring Spears,
And covetous of War, upbraids the Coward's Fears.

Now did the Hero at his Army's Front,
With Martial Mein his noble Courser mount;
Which bounding and curvetting o'er the Sand,
Did neither wholly go, nor wholly stand.
So easy on his Back the Hero sate,
As if he gave more Life, nor added Weight.
The Pride of Arms advanc'd, and was to view
At once a Pleasure, and a Terror too.
Now the Battallions move at his Command,
And fill the Heav'ns with Clouds of Dust and Sand.
Spears, Helmets, Muskets, with the Sun-beams play,
Their flashing Glances thro' the Field convey,
And bandy to and fro reverberated Day.
When on their March embattled Clouds appear,
What formidable Gloom their Faces wear?
How wide their Front? how deep and black their Reer?
How do their threat'ning Heads each other throng?
How slow the crowding Legions move along?

The Winds with all their Wings can scarcely bear
Th'oppressive Burden of th'impending War.
So on their March did Vere's Battallions show,
As great their Terror, and their Pomp as slow.

And now the Cannon in the Army's Van,
With their loud Peals the bloody Fight began.
Their roaring Voice rent all the ambient Air,
The Promulgation of advancing War.
Dreadful Salutes pass'd from the Briton's side,
To which th'Iberian terribly reply'd.
The thund'ring Noise, the wide-mouth'd Cannon made,
Did all the Towns and Tow'rs around invade.
Prodigious Fire was made on either part,
The Shepherds Heard, and on the Downs did start.
The Sound augmenting, all the Region fills,
By Repetition from the ecchoing Hills.
The wond'ring Skies with forreign Light'ning shone,
And rung with Peals of Thunder, not their own.
As high Vesuvius, when the Ocean laves
His fiery Roots with Subterranean Waves,
Disturb'd within, does in Convultions roar,
And casts on high his undigested Oar:
Discharges Massy surfeit on the Plains,
And empties all his rich Metalick Veins.
His ruddy Entrails, Cinders, Pitchy Smoke,
And intermingled Flames the Sun-beams choak.
The dreadful Roaring, and the awful Sight,
Shakes all Campania, and her Swains affright.

Such on the Batt'ries did their Guns appear,
As frightful to behold, as horrible to hear.

And now their mutual Cannonading past,
Which did a while with wond'rous Fury last:
Th'impatient Britons, at their Chief's Command,
Began the bold Attack with Sword in Hand.
Mordano, who did Death and Danger face
With Courage worthy of his Noble Race,
Himself the foremost of his bold Brigade,
Dauntless went on, and the first On-set made.
Mindless of Death, brave to Intemperance,
The noble Chief did to the Lines advance.
The Great Young Man was by old Captains prais'd,
Who at his fearless Progress stood amaz'd.
He press'd the high Entrenchments, to assail
Thro' Storms of Fire, and Show'rs of Leaden Hail.
By his resistless Valour, mounted up,
And cut his Passage to the Rampart's Top.
Then with his Fauchion strong Anselmo slew,
And cleft the Valiant Barlamon in two.

Then Noble Garcio, Valiant, Young, and Proud
Of his rich Lands, and pure Castilian Blood,
Who from the Banks of Golden Tagus came,
By brave Atchievements, to advance his Name,
To stop the Briton's Progress, swiftly flew,
And at his Breast a lighted Fire-ball threw.
His Head inclin'd, the British Youth did hear
The erring Ball pass hizzing by his Ear.

Th'enrag'd Castilian curs'd his luckless Chance,
And to a closer Combate did advance.
He rais'd his flaming Fauchion in the Air,
And for a fatal Blow did all his Strength prepare.
But first he cross'd himself, and then he cry'd,
Propitious Saints, who o'er the War preside,
On whose Protection I confide in Fight,
Assist my Arm, and guide this Stroke aright:
Then did his Sword descend with fearful Sway,
And thro' the Briton's Armor made its way.
It cut his Side, and thro' the wounded Veins,
The ebbing Blood his plated Thigh distains.
This did Mordano's Rage so much provoke,
That gath'ring all his Force for one brave Stroke,
He rais'd his reeking Sword with Slaughter Red,
And aim'd his Blow between the Breast and Head:
Which did the Pipe, that Breath conveys, divide,
And cut the Jugulars from side to side:
And had it met the Juncture of the Bone,
The Spaniard's Head had from his Shoulders flown:
He fell, and lay expiring in his Blood,
That gushing from his Veins around him flow'd.

Nor did a milder Fate Ibarra meet,
Who lay extended at the Conq'ror's Feet.
Gonzala next from fair Ibero's Flood,
And Ascoli the Briton's Arms withstood.
Unhappy Youths both by his Fauchion dy'd,
In Blood before, and now in Fate ally'd.

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Brave Bourgon took the Field in quest of Fame,
But slain, he fell, to raise Mordano's Name.

Then strong Daranda, to sustain his Troops,
And disappoint the brave Young Briton's Hopes,
Attack'd his Squadrons with a fierce Brigade,
And great Destruction with his Weapons made.
Mordano now fatigu'd, and out of Breath,
By feasting with his Sword Voracious Death,
And feeble with the great Effusion grown,
Both of Iberian Blood, and of his own,
Fainted and sunk; Cecil, who near him fought,
Advanc'd, and in his Arms the Warrior caught.
With tender Care he to the Camp convey'd,
And on his Bed the noble Briton laid.
Cecil did swiftly to the Fight return,
By Valiant Deeds Britannia to adorn.
Eager of War, he mingled with the Crowd,
And deep Revenge for brave Mordano vow'd.
With gallant Rage th'Iberian he invades,
And sought Daranda 'midst the thick Brigades.
The Spaniard saw, and did his Arms oppose,
Whence on the Lines a noble Combate rose.
Of equal Stature, equal Fame, and Age,
The British and th'Iberian Chiefs engage.
Hard on the Briton brave Daranda prest,
And push'd his glitt'ring Pike against his Breast.
The Armour to the Weapon did not yield,
But with the Thrust the stagg'ring Briton reel'd.

101

But soon recov'ring, with a back-hand Blow
He hop'd to cut the Spaniard's Head in two.
His Head indeed the erring Weapon mist,
But did divide the Sinews of the Wrist.
He dropt his Arms, and by a second Wound
Deep in his Breast he fell, and bit the Ground.
He fetch'd his Breath in Sobs, and double Sighs,
And often strove, but strove in vain to rise:
His Eyes defrauded of their vital Ray,
Labour for Life, and catch the flying Day.
From the wide Wound a purple River flows,
And Life departs in strong convulsive Throws.

Herrera next, and noble Manoel,
One did in Arms, and one in Arts excel,
By valiant Cecil's fatal Weapon fell.
One's Breast he pierc'd with his destructive Spear,
Whose bloody Point did thro' the Back appear.
He, with his Sword the other did invade,
And in the middle cleft the Shoulder-Blade:
Whence his disabled Arm depending swung,
And from the Joint in fearful manner hung.
When Valdes saw what Ruin Cecil made,
In what high Heaps the slain Iberians laid,
He brought his Cohort to the Spaniard's Aid.
The British Chief with Numbers over-born,
Did to his Line with wond'rous Rage return.
Supply'd with Troops, the Combate he renew'd,
On famous Valdes dire Revenge pursu'd,
Whence on the Works a dreadful Fight ensu'd.

102

Thy trembling Cities, Belgia, heard from far
The Muskets Vollies, and the Shouts of War.
The Soldiers Cries, the Drum's and Trumpet's Voice,
A horrid Medly made of loud discordant Noise.
Dreadful Confusion, complicated Sounds,
And confluent Horrors scare the list'ning Towns.
Ecchoes with Ecchoes Combate in the Skies,
Clamors with Clamors meet, and Cries with Cries.
On rolling Waves of Air, and adverse Tides
Born to and fro Triumphant Uproar rides.
Rencount'ring Sounds th'Ætherial Deep embroil,
From Heav'n to Earth, from Earth to Heav'n recoil.
Unseen Destrustion swiftly thro' the Skies,
In Leaden Tempests back and forwards flies.
Their pond'rous Balls in Vollies they unload,
And Massy Death in Flame and Smoke explode.
On either side thus terribly they fir'd,
Neither advanc'd, and neither Foe retir'd.
On the same Ground inflexible they stood,
Fearless of Death, and obstinate in Blood.
While this Dispute the Warriors did maintain,
Many brave Men on either side were slain.
Among the Britons, Roceter lay dead,
Ah! much lamented Youth! the fatal Lead
His yielding Helmet past, and pierc'd his Head.
Gilbert, for Beauty and for Arms, the Pride
Of all the Towns on fair Sabrina's Tide,
Untimely Fate! here much applauded dy'd.
A fatal Culv'rins Shot! unusual Death!
Took from the upper, all the Jaw beneath.

103

The lovely Youth became a ghastly Sight,
And those he charm'd before, does now affright.

Haughton, for finer Conversation nam'd,
For shining Wit, and Erudition fam'd,
Lay, helpless Man! extended on the Ground,
And pour'd his vital Purple from his Wound.
The deadly Bullet thro' his Forehead past,
An Inch above the Eye-brows, and effac'd
The Haunts and Tracks of Learning in the Brain,
The num'rous Lodgings, which did entertain
All Mem'ry's crowded Guests, and Fancy's aeiry Train.

Dudley was slain, in high Augusta Born,
Whose courtly Breeding did the Town adorn.
Polite of Manners, easy of Access,
Of graceful Mein, and elegant Address.
By every Warrior prais'd, and every Dame,
He made Campaigns and Love with equal Fame.
But Death, that Courts and Breeding does neglect,
Show'd to so fine a Person no Respect.
He a deep Wound in his right Side receiv'd,
Which of his Life, the well-bred Chief bereav'd.

Cary lay hurt, who danc'd with great Applause,
And by his aeiry Feet, to Fame and Honour rose.
So smooth, so strong, so swift he did advance,
That Seraphs so would tread, would Seraphs dance.
He did excel in Genius, Skill, and Rule,
All Gallia's Court, Europa's Dancing-School.

104

Shot from a Cannon's Mouth an envious Stone
His Ancle struck, to pieces crush'd the Bone.
To stop the Gangreen, that began to climb
Londello's Hand took off the putrid Limb.
To save his Life, the Artist's Skill prevail'd,
But ah! the Fair their mighty Loss bewail'd.

Harmonious Westan bravely charg'd the Foe,
And did intrepid Resolution show.
The fatal Ball in at his Navel went,
And in the adverse Reins its Fury spent.
He Breathless on the Ground extended lay,
His Lifeless Eyes forsaken by the Day.
Thy Deeds, brave Man! how should my Praises Crown,
Had I a Voice to sing then, like thy own?

Here too did Clifford's Course of Glory end,
A Man of Honour, and a faithful Friend.
None the Theorbo with a softer Hand,
Few with a stronger did the Sword command.
Whene'er he took the Lute, or grasp'd the Spear,
He touch'd the Heart with Pleasure, or with Fear.
By the same Hand, the Lute, the Lance, the Foe,
Did tremble in their turn, and like Emotion show.
The envious Ball pass'd thro' from Ear to Ear,
And did the tuneful Drums to pieces tear,
Which aeiey Accents beat, to make us hear.
It did the curious Instruments confound,
And all the winding Labarynths of Sound,

105

The charming Musick-Rooms, that entertain
The Soul high seated in her Throne the Brain.

The greater part of these Assailants slain,
Sidney advanc'd the Living to sustain.
He led his Troops to drive th'Iberian back,
And made with great Applause his fierce Attack.
And now the Fight with Fury was renew'd,
And either side unshaken Courage shew'd.
To charge the Foe the eager Britons flew,
And missive Fires, and Hand Granadoes threw.
They, to oblige th'Iberian to retire,
Sent whistl'ing Show'rs of Lead, and Storms of artful Fire.
Redoubled Vollies rent the ambient Air,
And flying Clouds now faster flew for Fear.
Mean time th'unbroken Spaniard kept his Ground,
Volly for Volly gave, and Wound for Wound.
The Britons thus resisted grew enrag'd,
Flew to the Files, and in close Fight engag'd.
Between the Foes arose a sharp Contest,
While Beard to Beard they stood, and Breast to Breast.
Swords clash'd with Swords uplifted in the Air,
And mingl'ing Flashes form'd a frightful Glare.
Arms rub'd on Arms, Fauchions on Helmets rung,
While hov'ring Vict'ry undetermin'd hung.

Sidney enrag'd that Conquest was delay'd,
Broke thro' their Ranks and horrid Slaughter made.
Cleaving the thick Battallions did advance,
His Sword in one Hand, and in one his Lance.

106

Splendid in Arms, to bring his Friends Relief
Hernandes hasten'd, but the British Chief,
Full on the Neck of his Illustrious Foe
Discharg'd a furious Horizontal Blow;
The gasping Head leap'd off amidst the Crowd,
Sprinkling their Faces with the scatt'ring Blood.
The Lips still speaking, as they flew, appear'd;
Some thought they low imperfect Accents heard.
The ghastly Trunk lay quiv'ring on the Plain,
Emptying its Vital Tide from every Vein.

Cressier, who came from Arragonian Hills,
Who with his Deeds Iberian Story fills,
With dauntless Courage did oppose his Breast,
To Sidney's Arms, his Progress to arrest.
Th'advancing Eriton with a Blow oblique,
Th'Iberian's Face did with great Fury strike.
The Spaniard's Nose receiv'd the Fauchion's Edge,
Which did in sunder cut the rising Bridge.
The Blood that follow'd part distain'd his Breast,
And trickling down his Throat ran inwardly the rest.
Luzon ran in, and took the second Blow,
By which the Briton else had slain the Foe;
And thro' the Squadrons bore him from the Field
For Cure, to Men in Art Chyrurgick skill'd.

Next young Salanzar Sidney's Fauchion felt,
Who on the high Galician Mountains dwelt:
The Sword descended with a transverse Blow,
And split his fore and hinder Head in two:

107

It cut the wide Cannal along the Brain,
Which here performs the Duty of a Vein:
A spacious Road contriv'd with wond'rous Art,
By Which the refluent Blood regains the Heart.
The Warrior fell, and pour'd out on the Plain
A bloody Torrent intermixt with Brain.
But Sidney burning with too fierce a Flame,
Too avaricious of Heroick Fame,
With so much Vigor carry'd on the War,
And midst the thick Brigades advanc'd so far,
That the Battallions of th'insulting Foes,
On every side the Warrior did enclose.
Long did he stand fatigu'd, and out of Breath,
By giving or repelling Wounds and Death.
Bravely the disproportion'd War withstood,
Polluted with his own, and Hostile Blood.
'Till every way with num'rous Squadrons press'd,
The valiant Briton was at length distress'd.
Brave Greville saw, and for his Friend afraid,
Attack'd the crowded Ranks to bring him Aid.
He did a while the doubtful Field retrieve,
Timely Assistance to the Briton give,
And with fresh Warmth the drooping War revive.
Now Vere's Battallions half their Number slain,
And those with Labour spent, who did remain;
Retreated fighting to their former Ground,
With just Applause, tho' not with Conquest crown'd.

Vere, when he saw his valiant Troops return,
Did with a Noble Indignation burn.

108

In Person he advanc'd with Sword in Hand,
And that his Men should follow, gave Command.
Waving his Fauchion with a Martial Air,
He march'd along, denouncing dreadful War.
When a She Lion, at the Dawn of Day,
Comes to her Den distended with her Prey,
And finds the Huntsman's Hand has stol'n her Whelps away.
The Noble Beast with Rage distracted roars,
Ranges the Woods and o'er the Mountains scowrs;
Angry she casts around her threat'ning Eyes,
And if by Chance the Robber she espies,
To tear the Wretch in pieces, she with Fury flies.
So did Great Vere advance against his Foes,
And to their dreadful Fire his Breast oppose.
Thro' Storms of loud Destruction, Flames and Smoke,
And whistl'ing Deaths th'intrepid Hero broke.
Thro' all the Shapes of Terror on he flew,
Mounted the Rampart, and the first he slew
Was strong Avallos, of a Noble Race,
Whose valiant Deeds Cordubian Annals grace.
When mighty Vere th'Iberian Chief assail'd,
Nothing his famous Bilbo Blade avail'd.
Nothing his Beads, or consecrated Arms,
Vain were his little Idols, vain the Charms
Of his Religious Reliques, and the Store
Of Holy Trinkets, which the Warrior wore.
The Briton's Sword pass'd his bright Armor thro',
And cut the Sinews of his Neck in two:
Broke up th'Arterial Channels that maintain
A Vital Commerce 'twixt the Heart and Brain.

109

He fainting fell, and as he struck the Ground
His Arms and Armour gave a ringing Sound.

Next Cerdan Vere's Victorious Fauchion felt,
Who on the Plains of Saragossa dwelt.
His Father, who the Soil around did own,
Amass'd vast Wealth for this his only Son.
To keep him safe at home, their Joy and Hope,
And of their Noble House the single Prop,
Close on his Neck his tender Parents hung,
His weeping Sisters round their Brother clung.
With Pray'rs and Tears, and every moving Art,
They strove the Youth from Danger to divert.
But so determin'd Cerdan was for Arms,
So deaf to mournful Love's disswading Charms,
He from his Parents dear Embraces sprung,
His importuning Sisters from him flung,
And took the Field in shining Armor clad;
And this his first and last Campaign he made.

Then did the Hero's fatal Fauchion slay
Suarez and Lucar, who oppos'd his way,
Caronda, Orgas, Illan, Davilla;
Among th'Iberians, Men of great Renown,
For their high Birth, and for their Valour known.
Now did the Spanish Troops begin to ply,
Not able to repel so great an Enemy.
When Britain's Valiant Youth did onward rush,
And Spain's Brigades with so much Vigor push,

110

That from the Entrenchments they were beaten back,
Unable to sustain the fierce Attack.

To break their Ranks, Vere cut his bloody Way,
And did in heaps th'opposing Squadrons lay.
His Conq'ring Arms, where e'er he pass'd, prevail'd,
And Death with so much Luxury regal'd,
With such Profusion, that no Sword before
Appeas'd her Thirst, or eas'd her Hunger more.
Rivers of Blood, Limbs from their Bodies chopt,
Dismember'd Trunks, Heads from their Shoulders lopt,
With Weapons intermixt, and scatter'd Brains,
Where e'er he went, oppress'd the Belgick Plains.
As when a pointed Flame of Light'ning flies
With mighty Noise exploded from the Skies;
The ruddy Terror with resistless Strokes
Invades the Mountain-Pines, and Forrest-Oaks:
Wide Lanes across the Woods, and ghastly Tracks
Where e'er it goes, the swift Destruction makes.
So mighty Vere's Victorious Fauchion past,
Such Lanes it made, so laid the Squadrons wast.
Where e'er the Conquering Warrior bent his Course,
He left dire Marks of his destructive Force.
The British Squadrons had their Leader lost
Cover'd with Smoke, and hid with rising Dust,
Had not his Fauchion flashing thro' the Cloud,
The Conq'ror's Progress to his Army show'd.
While thus the Briton, by his rapid Course,
Did from their Ground the pale Iberian's Force;

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The Pioneers the Trenches level laid,
And for th'advancing Horse a Passage made.,

Brave Lomel mounted on a Cole-black Steed,
Whose Fire and Strength confess'd his noble Breed;
His bold Brigades, to pass th'Entrenchment, led,
And shone in burnish'd Armor at their Head.
The Spanish Squadrons drawn in close Array,
Stood in Battallia to oppose his way.
Waving on high his bright destructive Blade,
Intrepid Lomel did the Foe invade;
He wounded with his Spurs his gen'rous Steed,
And plung'd amidst the War with furious Speed.
With his resistless Sword the Squadron cleft,
And all behind amazing Ruin left.
Moro and Castro, both of Noble Blood,
Who Neighbours liv'd on Guadiana's Flood,
Lomel in vain with their joint Force withstood.
One with his Sword th'advancing Gen'ral slew,
One with his Hand he from the Saddle drew,
And headlong on the Ground the Warrior threw.
His Courser's Feet, as Lomel forward prest,
Struck his last Breath from the brave Spaniard's Breast.
Polluted gloriously with Dust and Blood,
He broke the Ranks, and thro' the Battel rode.
Where e'er the mighty Hero forc'd his way,
In mingled Ruin Horse and Horse-men lay.

Illustrious Hara, long for Arms renown'd,
With Rage beheld the Foe with Conquest crown'd:

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He spur'd his Courser's Sides, and void of Fear,
Advanc'd to stop the British Chief's Career.
The Gen'rals met, th'Event the Armies wait;
On either's Brow, Rage and Defiance sate.
Th'Iberian wav'd his bright Toledo Blade,
Which flashing Glory thro' the Air convey'd.
The Sword descended on the Briton's Crest,
Whose faithful Steel its Fury did resist.
Then did the Briton for his valiant Foe,
With his whole Strength prepare a mortal Blow.
He wav'd his dreadful Fauchion, but the Sight
The Spaniard's fiery Steed did so affright,
That rais'd upright, he did the Wound receive,
Destin'd of Life the Rider to bereave:
His Neck half sever'd, down the gen'rous Beast
Fell, and his Rider with his Weight opprest.
A Crowd ran in to save him, and with pain
Bore the bruis'd Hero from the bloody Plain.

Hollock mean time did in another part
Wise Conduct show, and noble Fire exert.
He like a Tempest on th'Iberian flew,
Broke their close Ranks, and pass'd like Thunder thro',
Loick and Horno thro' the Battel press'd,
And at the Spaniard's Cost, their Fame encreass'd.
Mauritius to the Fight his Squadrons brought,
And with a true Nassovian Courage fought.
Many brave Spaniards striving to repel
The mighty Belgian, by his Fauchion fell:

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Who did a while a noble War maintain,
And loaded with the Dead the dusty Plain.
The Belgian Troops Mauritius at their Head,
Undaunted follow'd, where the Gen'ral led.
Greedy of Danger, and on Fame intent,
They on the yielding Foe their Fury spent.

Now from the Field th'Iberian Army flew,
And on the Ground their scatter'd Weapons threw.
Horses and Riders, Arms and Harness lay,
An ignominious Medly, on the way.
The Britons follow'd, and Victorious Vere
With his light Horse hung close upon the Reer.
Prodigious Numbers fell, while thus pursu'd,
And their entire Destruction had ensu'd,
Had not beneath her Sable Wings, the Night
Conceal'd the vanquish'd from the Victor's Sight.
The Britons came in Triumph back, to rest
Their Martial Limbs with glorious Toil opprest.

Soon as the Virgin Morn had from the East,
In Orient Light, and Heav'nly Roses drest,
The lab'ring Swains, and early Trav'ler blest:
Great Vere arose, and gave due Thanks to Heav'n,
That to his Troops had this great Triumph giv'n.
With a just Sense of Providence, he own'd
Th'Almighty had his Arms with Conquest crown'd.
For past Protection he his God ador'd,
And future Blessings piously implor'd.

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This done, his Pious Orders he declar'd,
That his slain Troops should be with Care interr'd.
Who treach'rous Spain's Tyrannick Arms withstood,
For pure Religion dy'd, and publick Good.
He gave Command, that to the lasting Praise
Of the brave Dead, their living Friends should raise
Upon their Graves high heaps of Turf or Stone,
And make their glorious Fate to future Ages known.
He charg'd the Masters of the healing Art,
Whose Drugs to Men in Torment, Ease impart;
To use their utmost Care and Skill to Cure
The wounded Warriors, and the Sick restore.

Now the Illustrious Prince Mauritius sent,
And Vere invited to his noble Tent,
Whither the Gen'ral well attended went;
With decent Joy each other they embrac'd,
And on each other did the Honour cast
Of Arms, or Conduct, in the Battel past.
Much they discours'd of the successful Day,
How they attack'd, and how the Foe gave way.
What Captains signaliz'd their Valour most;
What Troops regain'd the Ground that others lost.
The Chiefs the Valour of their Squadrons rais'd,
The Prince the Briton, Vere the Belgian prais'd.
The Prince brave Sidney highly did commend,
And Vere as much Hollock, the Prince's Friend.

Then did Mauritius with due Honour name
Britannia's Queen, and rais'd to Heav'n her Fame.

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He own'd Eliza pure Religion's Prop,
The Spaniard's Terror, and the Belgian's Hope.
Then much demanded of the famous Queen,
Much of her Person, and Majestick Mein;
Much of great Cecil ask'd, the chief Support
And Ornament of Great Eliza's Court.
At last the Prince requested noble Vere,
While busy Servants did the Feast prepare,
To tell what Cares the Queen had under-gone,
From Papal Foes to guard her envy'd Throne.
With how much Patience, and with how much Toil
She planted pure Belief in Albion's Isle:
What Snares she 'scap'd, and thro' what Dangers run;
The British Chief comply'd, and thus begun.

The End of the Fourth Book.

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BOOK V.

When Great Eliza, to Britannia's Throne
From a base Prison rais'd, Illustrious shone:
Reform'd Religion, like returning Morn,
With dawning Beams did Albion's Isle adorn;
And chasing Rome's Infernal Shades away,
Diffus'd a radiant Promise of the Day.
With pure Religion from her Youth embu'd,
The Pious Queen Cœlestial Truth pursu'd.
With a sincere Devotion she ador'd
The Christian Founder, and obey'd his Word;
But impious Rome's Idolatry abhor'd.
Since watchful Heav'n so oft did interpose,
To guard her from the Rage of Papal Foes;
Had oft inclin'd, with providential Care,
A cruel Court, her precious Life to spare;
And had at last, the Tempest over-blown,
In Peace advanc'd her to th'Imperial Throne;
Mov'd by Cœlestial Piety, she thought
She should Divine Religion's Cause promote.
Should that reform'd and purer Church restore,
Which her bless'd Brother did assert before;

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And which to persecute with Sword and Fire,
Fierce Roman Zeal Maria did inspire.
To pure Belief Britannia to convert,
Was the Concern, which nearly touch'd her Heart.
This was the Heav'nly End she had in view,
Which she with Care and Conduct did pursue.
To the bless'd Task unwearied did attend;
For Princes only can their People mend.

Some Lords, who felt the Anguish and the Pain
Of Wounds inflicted in the former Reign;
Did now with hot, revengeful Passion burn,
To make the Oppressors suffer in their turn:
These injur'd Men, thus Human Nature's made,
To use her Pow'r, the Pious Queen perswade:
Without Distinction, Pity, or Respect,
To treat the cruel, persecuting Sect:
They urge, the Tyrants, who had never shown
Bowels of Mercy, could have Right to none.
That those should now their just Reward receive,
Who did Britannia of her Sons bereave,
And of Infernal Hate, the horrid Tokens leave.
Who in their Neighbours Ruin did engage,
With Salvage Fierceness, and relentless Rage.
Fam'd Roman Saints, who with Religious Spoil,
And Meritorious Murders, fill'd the Isle:
Who tortur'd, burnt, massacr'd, ruin'd all
That would not Rome, the World's great Empress call,
And to her Wafer-God in low Prostration fall.

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They did the Danger to the Queen display,
That would attend a mild and gentle Way:
If those around her Person she employ'd,
Who hate her Worship, and her Friends destroy'd,
She would her Friends dismay, revive her Foes,
And tempt them to disturb her Realm's Repose.
That faithless Zealots of the Roman Breed,
To Crowns reform'd, were Traytors by their Creed.
That their Religion plunges them in Blood,
And makes them call the blackest Actions good.
That while she gave them Posts of Pow'r and Trust,
She deadly Vipers in her Bosom nurst.
That thus her Sacred Life she did expose
To the known Mercy of her cruel Foes.
That all should lose their Heads, who had embu'd
Their impious Hands in Sacred Martyrs Blood.
That Albion's Queen should act an open Part,
Should Rome's renounce, and her own Faith assert.
That all the Roman Shrines should be destroy'd,
And fierce Maria's Laws be render'd void.

But the Great Cecil, a discerning Head,
In Glorious Edward's Court, and Councils bred,
More mod'rate Maxims to Eliza gave,
Which might Religion and her Empire save.
He thought rough Methods would the State embroil,
And with seditious Uproar fill the Isle.
That if the Pious Monarch should at once
Pure Christian Faith Profess, and Rome's renounce;

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Should she at once Church-grievances redress,
And Anti-christian Romanists suppress,
Their Temples raze, their Altars overturn,
And with Contempt their Sacred Reliques spurn:
This soon the Roman Bigots would alarm,
Exasperate their Priests, and make their Vot'ries Arm;
Who lately cheer'd, and favour'd by the Crown,
Were num'rous, strong, and formidable grown,
And might in Arms prove dang'rous to the Throne.
That three great Pow'rs, Ausonia, France, and Spain,
Would Rome's Religion, and Decrees maintain.
That Britain's green, unsettled Government,
Her Factions growing, and her Treasure spent,
Could not collect sufficient Force to bear,
At once a Forreign, and Domestick War.
Therefore the Queen should with mild Means asswage
The great Disease, which sharper would enrage.
By soft and gentle Steps, should to the Cure
Slowly advance, and sooth the angry Sore,
'Till milder grown, and for the Lance mature.
Harsh Methods with the Zealots should forbear,
Manage their Doubts and Jealousies with Care,
And not incense, and drive them to Despair.
Should treat the greatest Leaders of the Sect,
Not with Caresses, nor with Disrespect,
The Mean between Endearment and Neglect.
Should in the Ship allow them some Command,
But never let them in the Steerage stand.
That on her Favour they may still depend,
Serve her as Queen, and love her as a Friend.

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Safely, mean time, she might slow Changes make,
And by degrees their Church in pieces take.
'Till she had pull'd the Roman Fabrick down,
Their Altars ruin'd, and restor'd her own.
Thus Cecil, Bacon of Immortal Name,
Bedford, Northampton, all advis'd the same.

Britannia's Queen, as Heav'nly Seraphs, Wise,
Gracious, and Good, was pleas'd with this Advice.
She by degrees did her great Ends promote,
For Moderation she a Vertue thought.
She knew, that rash Attempts, and Zeal too warm,
Would sooner ruin Albion, than reform.
She ne'er imagin'd, that to be Discreet,
From want of Courage came, or want of Wit.
None yet to her the Secret did reveal,
That those who keep a Temper, lose their Zeal,
That none but those who Wound, are fit to Heal.
The Queen believ'd the Steady, Wise, Sedate,
Were fittest Men for Counsellors of State.
That States-men of an over-heated Brain,
And Bigots of a persecuting Strain,
Do in Religion desp'rate Measures take,
And ruin Kingdoms for a Party's sake.
She therefore cooler Counsels did approve,
Did step by step in Reformation move.
As when Physicians by discreet Degrees,
Attack an old and obstinate Disease,
Good Med'cines so apply'd, the Sick restore,
Which rough Attempts may kill, can never cure.

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So the Wise Queen by wary Methods strove
Britannia's great Distempers to remove,
When deeply rooted, and invet'rate grown,
They undermin'd the Church, or shook the Throne.

Th'illustrious Confessors in Prisons thrown,
Who lay impatient of the Martyr's Crown,
Did the Pollutions of the Dungeon chuse,
Rather than thine, O Rome! and Life refuse,
Rather than yield to thy bewitching Charms,
Or be defil'd in thy adult'rous Arms;
Were by the Queen, freed from their pond'rous Chains,
Their foul Apartments, and tormenting Pains.
They did with Praise the Queen's Indulgence own,
Who Freedom gave, which robb'd them of a Crown.

The Gospel, which a Pris'ner was, no less
Than those, who did its Sacred Truth profess,
Was next enlarged, and suffer'd to display
Immortal Light, and Beatifick Day:
More than Ægyptian Darkness to dispel,
The complicated Shades of Rome and Hell.
Rome stop'd with Art, this Heav'nly Source of Light,
With Art conceal'd it from the People's Sight,
Which all her foul Impostures would detect,
And make Mankind with Scorn her Yoke reject.
She therefore did, her Empire to secure,
Confine the Foe, that would subvert her Pow'r.

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But now the Sacred Volumes open laid,
O'er all the Isle convincing Light convey'd,
And soon to Truth unnumber'd Converts made.
The Usurpations of apostate Rome,
Her impious Frauds did naked now become.
Enlighten'd Albion from her Fetters broke,
And from her Neck cast off the Roman Yoke.
From Pagan Rights, and Superstition freed,
She purg'd her Tempels, and reform'd her Creed.
As when some vile, invidious Persons stop
A Crystal Brook, and dam the Current up,
The Fields around, defrauded of Supply,
Are chopt with Drought, and lose their verdant Dye:
If some just Neighbours, Friends to publick Good,
Remove th'obstructing Dam, and free the Flood,
The flowing Water o'er the Vally spreads,
And with a welcome Tide regales the thirsty Meads.
Each joyful Field caress'd by fruitful Streams,
With verdant Births, and gay Conception teams.
So when Eliza's Hand in Rome's Despight,
Drew up the Sluces of imprison'd Light,
Outgush'd a Torrent of Cœlestial Day,
Which under Floods of Light, did all Britannia lay.
Christ's Vine-yard smil'd, and every Heav'nly Vine,
Bore noble Clusters, bless'd with gen'rous Wine.

The Kingdom thus dispos'd, the Pious Queen
Did Britain's noble Lords and States convene.
With their Concurrence did by Law restore,
The pure Belief that Albion own'd before;

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When her fam'd Brother Britain's Throne possess'd,
And with paternal Care his Kingdom bless'd.
The Garden Christ enclos'd when here below,
Thro' which he bad his living Waters flow,
Which Flowers from Heav'n transplanted did adorn,
And Golden Fruit on Trees Immortal born;
Was soon o'er-run, O ignominious Sloth!
By thy curss'd Henbane of luxuriant Growth.
O Rome! who did'st pollute the Fountain's Head,
Which endless Life in Crystal Streams convey'd.
The Pious Queen did with successful Care
Th'infected Waters purge, and made their Current clear.
Of every baneful Tree, and noxious Weed
Of Rome's Plantation, she the Garden freed,
And sow'd the Sacred Ground with new Cœlestial Seed.
A Seed which cheer'd with Heav'n's prolifick Streams,
And with the Sun of Righteousness his Beams,
A glorious Harvest brought in Hell's Despight,
Of Bliss eternal, and immortal Light.
Not Rome with all her Vigilance could stop
The swift Production of the Heav'nly Crop;
Britannia's present Joy, and future Hope.
Thus the Good Queen, like her bless'd Lord before,
To their first Use his Temples did restore.
O'er-turn'd their Seats, who there prophanely sold
Unhallow'd Ware, and barter'd Toys for Gold.
She scourg'd the greedy Money-changers home,
And broke the Market, and base Trade of Rome.

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Rome's haughty Head, the eldest Son of Pride,
Who with our Princes did their Pow'r divide;
Who Albion rul'd with Arbitrary Sway,
And made our proudest Kings their Laws obey.
Britannia's States with just Contempt depose,
Impatient of their Wrongs, and various Woes:
They pull the Purple Tyrant from his Throne,
And now no Pow'r, but their Eliza's own.

The black Brigades, that did on Rome depend,
Assert her Power, and impious Cause defend:
The standing Legions of the Roman Court,
Who did her Empire in our Isle support:
These bloodly Troops Eliza did Disband,
And made them subject to her sole Command.
And wond'rous 'tis, that jealous Kings endure,
And in their Bosom nurse a forreign Pow'r.
The Holy Drones devour'd Britannia's Isle,
Plunder'd their Hives, and suck'd their Neighbours Toil.
Poor Albion felt a complicated Pest,
Bore all the Plagues of Ægypt in the Priest:
These Roman Locusts long to Spoil innur'd,
Each fruitful Tree, and verdant Plant devour'd.
Like a black, lazy Fog, Rome's Priest-hood lay
On all the Land, and choak'd Cœlestial Day.
Infernal Darkness covers all the Isle,
Whence bounding Beams, their Labour lost, recoil.
Triumphant Night here made her black Abode,
And pond'rous Shades did mournful Albion load.

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The Roman Vermin turgid with the Blood
Suck'd from Britannia's Veins, their native Food,
With pamper'd Bellies crawl'd, and loathsom Feet,
Thro' every Palace, and thro' every Street.
The grievous Plague did every Place molest,
As well the Court, as Cottages infest.
They poison'd every Stream, and every Flood,
And turn'd Britannia's Rivers into Blood.
This complicated Woe, the Roman Priests,
Whose hostile Troops a forreign Leader lists,
To guard his strong Ecclesiastick Forts,
The great Monastick Pow'r, that Rome supports:
The Citadels she wisely does erect,
To curb the conquer'd Natives, and protect
The Settlements, which she abroad has made,
Where she, and her Religion are obey'd:
These standing Troops, that bridled Albion's Land,
And made us own a forreign Lord's Command,
The Pious Queen with glorious Courage broke,
And freed her Kingdom by the noble Stroke.
For now she wore an Independent Crown,
Rul'd Church and State, and call'd her Realm her own.
A great Example this to Princes set,
To free their Thrones, and break the Roman Net.

Now in the Church, a Den of Thieves before,
The Britons Heav'n, as Heav'n commands, adore.
Eas'd of her Pagan Ceremonial Load,
Divine Religion all her Graces show'd.

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Shining with Gems, in gaudy Garments dress'd,
With superstitious Luxury oppress'd,
Glitt'ring with Tinsel, and with Paint besmear'd,
She, as a gay Adulteress, appear'd.
But now the adventitious Lustre gone,
Her Pomp and State suppress'd, Religion shone,
Stripp'd of false Beauties, brighter by her own.
She shews her Form Divine, her Heav'nly Charms,
And Pious Breasts with pure Devotion warms.

We now no more permit the Roman Priest,
To turn Divine Religion into Jest.
No more the Mimicks at the Altars stand
Shewing their Holy Tricks, and Pious Slight of Hand.
No more they cringe, and from their artful Throats,
Like Pagans, mutt'ring strange, mysterious Notes,
Conjure their Wafer to become a God,
And charm their Saviour from his bless'd Abode.
Such an Affront, since Nature first began,
Was never offer'd, or to God, or Man.
No Creed did ever so licentious grow,
Or brought insulted Reason down so low.
Nothing did greater Prejudice create,
Or more the Honour of the Church abate.
Nothing more made the Pagan World condemn,
And with Derision treat the Christian Scheme.
Britannia's Sons convinc'd, and undeceiv'd
No more their wild Absurdities believ'd.
They would no more adore their Wine and Meat,
Or (monst'rous Worship!) their Redeemer eat.

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They would no more, by Rome's Command, at once
Suppress their Reason, and their Sense renounce.
No more a tame and blind Submission pay,
And her Commands without Reserve obey.
The Peoples pious Zeal each Temple frees
From pictur'd Gods, and tawdry Deities.
From their high Places with officious Care
Their gaudy Images Reformists bear.
And in the Flames with loud Applause consume
Th'Abominations of polluted Rome.

Officious Fame did early Tidings bring
To haughty Rome's Ecclesiastick King,
Of what new Scenes in Albion did appear,
And how his Empire was demolish'd there.
Hearing the Loss of fair Britannia's Isle,
The purple Pontiff did with Choler boil.
He found his Veins with Indignation swell,
And felt within the Fire and Rage of Hell.
Legions of speenful Spirits fill'd his Breast,
And dire Revenge his troubled Soul possest.
As the vast Rage of vanquish'd Lucifer,
When dreadful Thunder charg'd his flying Reer,
When by th'Almighty's conq'ring Squadrons driv'n
O'er the blue Plains, and from the Brow of Heav'n
Push'd into Hell, he saw his ruin'd Host
Plung'd in hot Vengeance, and for ever lost.
Such was the Rage the Roman Monarch felt,
Such Pain and Anguish in his Bosom dwelt;

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When first he knew Britannia's Sons had shook
From their uneasy Necks, the Roman Yoke.

With an elated, pontificial Air,
He roll'd his Eyes, and rising from his Chair,
Vastly disturb'd the Pontiff walk'd around,
And with his Crosier often struck the Ground;
And thus, so Fame reports, he spoke aloud:
And is Eliza then my Foe avow'd?
Has Heresy so great a Conquest won?
Is fair Britannia from my Empire gone?
And does a wild Phanatick Spinstress dare
Against the Sacred Rights of Rome declare?
A giddy Girl affront Saint Peter's Chair?
Did she not only mount Britannia's Throne,
While yet our Will and Pleasure was unknown,
Before she sought our Favour to obtain,
Or first address'd to Rome for Leave to reign?
But does th'audacious Woman now presume
To change the pure Religion too of Rome?
Does she (enormous Wickedness!) rebel,
Bold to declare for Heresy and Hell?
Shall I my Title to Britannia quit,
And on her Throne let this Usurper sit?
This young Enthusiast: Death? shall she defile
The Sacred Shrines of Rome, pollute the Isle,
And fill her Sacrilegious Hands with Spoil?
Shall Heresy, that lately lay as Dead,
Warm'd in Eliza's Bosom reer her Head,
Display her Vipers, and her Venom spread?

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Shall this new Monster, swoln with Roman Blood,
By Hell engender'd out of Slime and Mud,
Midst pois'nous Weeds and Plants, Religion's Bane,
On the curss'd Banks of the foul Lake Lemaine,
Which does thy Fame, Avernus, far excel,
Is a more plain and broader Road to Hell;
Shall this fell Monster's Breath Britannia blast?
Her rav'ning Jaws lay our Dominions waste?
Must she our Temples enter uncontroul'd,
And on the Sacred Ground her loathsome Limbs unfold?
Must she be worshipp'd, where our Statues stood,
And round her Altars twist her vip'rous Brood?
Shall she erect her odious, hissing Head,
And thro' our Domes her foul Contagion spread?
And will no British Champion now engage,
Able to quell th'Infernal Monster's Rage?
Is no brave Hero in Britannia found,
To give this Dragon's Head a deadly Wound?
If this be Albion's Fate, my self will prove
A second George, this Monster to remove.

Should this contagious Heresy obtain,
And unmolested in Britannia reign;
Should this proud Woman, Rome's Imperial Right
By Force usurp'd, maintain in Rome's Despight;
We should not only lose that fruitful Isle,
From whence we drew such Wealth and noble Spoil,
But neighb'ring Countries will th'Infection take,
And Revolutions in our Empire make.

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It will more Kingdoms to Defection draw,
And make them lose to Rome their Pious Awe.
The haughty Maid, I therefore must depose,
And from her Oaths and Vows her Subjects loose.
The rash Usurper shall my Terror dread,
And hear my Thunder roll around her Head.
Could the Great Men, that once this Crosier sway'd,
Ador'd by all Men, and by all obey'd;
Make mighty Nations tremble with their Frowns,
And to precarious Kings distribute Crowns?
Could they oft make repenting Monarchs come,
To beg Forgiveness at thy Court, O Rome?
And humbly prostrate at thy Feet, implore
Thy gracious Lords, their Scepters to restore;
To reinstate them in their vacant Throne,
And make their Subjects their Obedience own?
And shall my high Commands be disobey'd?
My Throne insulted by a Frantick Maid?
No, she shall find Rome does not idle grow,
I now decree th'irrevocable Blow;
Like Heav'n's, my Stroke is certain, tho' 'tis slow.
She'll know, when I chastise her black Offence,
How dreadful 'tis Christ's Vicar to incense.
The hardy Rebel shall her Error own,
Who with consummate Malice rarely known,
Provokes the Thunder of the triple Crown.
And when she feels my Hand's destructive Weight,
She plung'd in deep Distress, will cry too late
For my Compassion on her woeful State.

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I to her Pray'r inexorably deaf,
And with her Ruin pleas'd, will mock her idle Grief.

Such Language, so 'tis said, and so believ'd,
Vented his Passion, and his Rage reliev'd.
Then the Arch-Priest on deep Revenge intent,
To his chief Servants to attend him sent.
On his high Throne th'elated Pontiff sate,
His Crosier'd Lords, high Officers of State,
And Potentates in Red around him wait.
Then was Eliza's black Indictment read,
As one that had renounc'd the Christian Head:
In Heresy so contumacious grown,
That she had pull'd the Roman Altars down,
And dar'd assert an Independent Crown.
Her Condemnation was pronounc'd aloud,
With great Applauses of the Mitred Crowd.
Then thro' the Roman World they made it known,
That Albion's Queen had forfeited her Crown.
That she of impious Heresy had been
By Rome condemn'd, and was no more a Queen.
That all her Subjects from their Bonds were loos'd,
And ow'd no Homage to a Prince depos'd.
That whosoe'er to serve her should presume,
Were all black Traytors judg'd to Heav'n and Rome,
And Hell's eternal Vengeance was their Doom.
Thus did the furious Roman Pontiff rage,
And with Church-Weapons War with Albion wage.
From Rome's high Hills, thus on the Royal Maid
His Light'nings flew, and wrathful Thunder plaid.

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When first the Queen did this loud Tempest hear,
Serene her Breast, and placid was her Air.
Brought up with Danger, and in Suff'ring bred,
She no uneasy or weak Passion fed,
But drew her Life out in an even Thread.
Fortune in every Shape she overcame,
That often chang'd, the Queen was still the same.
She unelated met its flowing Tide,
She undisturb'd beheld the Flood subside.
Nor glorious Conquest, nor an adverse Stroke,
The equal Balance of her Temper broke.
As Alpine Hills which o'er the Clouds arise,
And reer their Heads amidst contiguous Skies,
Enjoy serene, uninterrupted Day,
And floating Tempests all beneath survey;
Their lofty Peaks no threat'ning Meteors wear,
Nor pond'rous Fogs, which cloud inferiour Air:
The stedfast Heaps the raging Winds defy,
So deep they fix their Roots, and raise their Heads so high.
Eliza so her Heav'nly Mind possest,
Sedate in Danger, and in Storms at rest.

From Rome's Displeasure great Disorders rose,
Which interrupted oft her Realm's Repose.
Rome sought with indefatigable Toil
To wound Religion, and the State embroil.
New Troubles in Britannia to create,
Which with Convulsions grip'd th'uneasy State.
A thousand Ways the restless Faction strove
From Albion's Throne Eliza to remove.

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In curss'd Cabals the bloody Priests prepare
Against her open, or clandestine War.
Scotia's young Queen, the Gallick Dauphin's Bride,
Did in the loose Parisian Court reside,
Albion's next Heiress by the Female Side.
Her strict Adherance to the Roman Cause,
Among the Bigots gain'd her great Applause.
She was the Idol, which they did adore,
They long'd to see their Darling wafted o'er
To Albion's Empire, from the Gallick Shore.
That they their Worship might again impose,
And into Martyrs kindly turn their Foes.
Lukewarm Reformists of a medly Kind,
Half of the Roman Leven, half refin'd,
With these, their Int'rests and their Labour join'd.
Weary of Rest, they court the Roman Yoke,
The Slaves demand the Chains, from which they broke.
For want of Servitude uneasy grown,
They wish again a Tyrant on the Throne.

That Romanists should Roman Masters love,
Does not surprize, or Admiration move.
But that Reformists (such would these be thought)
Should with such Zeal the Cause of Rome promote,
Should help a Roman Tyrant to Enthrone,
Should pull their Queen, their own Religion down,
And wish their Country ruin'd and undone:
This presses Reason with such Violence,
So contradicts our Nature, and our Sense,

135

That Ages past no such Examples give,
And those to come, with Pain will this believe.
This monst'rous Brood Religion's great Disgrace,
The Stain and Scandal of the British Race;
Amazing Deed! with Rage Infernal fir'd,
Against their Country, Queen, and God conspir'd.
Some by mistaken Notions were misled,
Others were poor, and Traytors turn'd for Bread.
They made to Lands or Merit no Pretence,
Of Zeal intemp'rate, but of mod'rate Sense.
Desp'rate of Fortune, profligate of Life,
The needy Crew stir'd up seditious Strife.
As Ruffians set their Neighbour's House on Fire,
That they some wealthy Plunder may acquire,
And in the Uproar unobserv'd retire.
So these vile Wretches Albion would embroil,
To load their Shoulders with the publick Spoil.

These, who the Queen's Religion did profess,
Did Roman Ruffians in their Arms caress.
And tho' they swore Allegiance to her Crown,
They labour'd hard to undermine her Throne.
They did the Church divide, disturb the State,
And bore the Queen, e'en more than Roman Hate.
From their black Mouths envenom'd Arrows flew,
And curss'd Invectives did the Queen pursue.
They monst'rous Maxims taught, unknown to Fame,
That Moderation would the World inflame.
That Temper was in Politicks a Vice,
And to be Prudent, was to be Unwise.

136

A thousand Ways they wound Eliza's Name,
Her Conduct now, and now her Justice blame;
And with seditious Fire Britannia's Realm inflame.
Black Libels labour'd in the Forge of Hell,
Off-springs of Malice inexpressible,
Slanders invented by consummate Spite,
Our Bonners such, such Scotia's Leslys write:
Did every Day affront the Pious Queen,
Britannia's Prop, and pure Religion's Screen.
With strange Fecundity their teeming Brain
New Falshoods hatch'd, her Honour to disdain.
The Lords Anointed their black Tongues revile,
And spread their odious Poison thro' the Isle.
With sly Suggestions now, now bolder grown,
With open Slanders they affront the Throne.
All our Misfortunes this invidious Tribe,
To want of Counsel, or of Care ascribe.
Whate'er Disgrace Britannia's Arms receive,
They greater make, and greedily believe.
With Marks of Joy and Triumph in their Face,
They all bad Tidings eagerly embrace.
And with unnatural Strains of Pleasure hear
Reports, that make their Country's Ruin near.
But when Eliza's Arms Victorious prove,
Good Heav'ns! what Indignation does it move?
What troubled Looks, what an uneasy Air,
What Disappointment do their Faces wear?
How great is now their Grief? their Anguish how sincere?
What Pains they take, what Arts and Shifts they use,
The Honour of Britannia to reduce?

137

To make th'Advantage mean and little show;
Against their Country partial for the Foe.

Once thro' Augusta pass'd an erring Fame,
The Cause unknown, from whence at first it came.
That Scotia's Queen, whose Right to Albion's Throne
The Gallick King protected, as his own:
Who in Lutetia lately had proclaim'd,
And Scotia's Daughter Queen of Britain nam'd:
Had Gallia left, and with a potent Fleet
Did on the Seas Eliza's Navy meet.
The last was vanquish'd, and Maria's Host
They said was Landing on Britannia's Coast.
The spreading Fame was groundless, 'tis allow'd,
But this the Temper of the Faction show'd.
Immoderate Pleasure all their Looks confest,
Unbridled Transports strove within their Breast,
Brake thro' their Eyes, and scorn'd to be supprest.
With what an arrogant, revengeful Air,
With what licentious Language did they dare
Insult the Queen, the Government affront,
And all the Bounds of Modesty surmount?
With Menaces and Insolence unknown,
They treat the firm Adherents to the Crown.
Intoxicated with too full a Draught
Of new fermenting Joy, their usual Craft,
And Mask laid by, they openly proclaim'd
The trayt'rous End, at which the Faction aim'd.
Th'expected Revolution turn'd their Head,
And too strong Pleasure downright Phrenzy bred.

138

Oh! how they glory'd that the Time was come,
When by Resumption all the Plagues of Rome,
Which were by impious Alienations gone,
Should be again anext to Albion's Throne.
A Time would bring our banish'd Suff'rings back,
And of our Woes full Restitution make.
Lost Servitude recover, and restore
The glorious Chains, Britannia wore before.
Sink pure Religion, and the Nation free
From all ignoble Marks of Liberty.
When Britain's Sons might in Oppression rest,
With Rome's kind Lords, and Gallia's Friendship blest,
Enrich'd by Robbers, and with Whips carest.
How were they pleas'd to bring a Queen from France,
One finely bred, one that could Sing and Dance?
For rough unpolish'd Britain cannot breed
A Princess fit, in Empire to succeed.
Besides, they boasted France would be our Friend,
Would guard our Navy, and our Coasts defend.
Would still espouse the Quarrels of our Court,
And with her Arms Britannia's Rights support.
Notions so strange, their over-heated Brain,
Passions so wild, their Breasts did entertain.
But then convinc'd of this untrue Report,
No Art their sinking Spirits could support.
Thus disappointed of their Friends Relief,
Words are not able to express their Grief.

Their Hopes eluded of their Darling Queen,
Their Triumphs sunk, and chang'd the chearful Scene.

139

They rave, that ling'ring Gallia makes delay,
Does not their Idol to their Arms convey.
Does all their Hopes, and all their Joy retard,
And does not more their earnest Crys regard.
They hop'd to see Brigades from Gallia's Soil,
Lodg'd in the Bowels of their native Isle.
That these kind Neighbours would their Aid afford,
To lay Britannia waste with Fire and Sword.
Now disappointed of their black Design,
Refusing Consolation, they repine.
This one would judge does all Belief exceed,
And yet Britannia did such Monsters breed.
These late Reformists of a Mungrel Race,
Who unsincerely did our Faith embrace,
Whom only Worldy Int'rest did convert,
Of Rome's Religion, or of none at Heart.
These to reform'd Religion did pretend,
And Britain's Church with wond'rous Heat defend.
But tho' they seem'd the Champions of her Cause,
They shun'd her Worship, and despis'd her Laws.
They in her Sacred Temples never pray'd,
Nor at her Altars once Attendance pay'd.
For to the British Church their Court they make,
Not for Religion's, but for Faction's sake.

Against the Pious Queen these Men inveigh'd,
Th'important Secrets of the State betray'd.
A private trayt'rous Commerce did support,
With the young Queen, and Gallia's watchful Court.

140

Sollicitations they did still renew,
And Gallia's King with endless Pray'rs pursue,
To send his Arms, Eliza to subdue.
To seize the Isle ripe for Defection grown,
And fix Maria on Britannia's Throne.
The subtile Gaul the Faction did befriend;
They on his Pow'r, as their chief Prop, depend.
They oft Assistance did receive from France,
Which knew their Int'rest did her own advance.
And now to aid them strongly she inclin'd,
Often to Land on Albion's Shores design'd.
But still entangled with Domestick Cares,
Intestine Broils, or Fears of forreign Wars:
She could no Season favourable find
To put in Practice, what she long design'd.

The Faction grown impatient of delay,
For Gallia's Forces would no longer stay,
Resolv'd by Force to pull Eliza down,
And on Maria's Head to place the Crown:
The Priests their Trayt'rous Juntos did convene
To raise Rebellion, and dethrone the Queen.
Much in their num'rous Friends they did confide,
Much on the Zeal of their great Lords rely'd.
Peircy descended from a Noble Root,
Whose Branches laden with illustrious Fruit,
In Ages past adorn'd Britannia's Isle,
And next, the Lord of Westmorlandia's Soil,
Were Peers of Valour, and with Passion warm'd
Against Eliza, and the Faith reform'd.

141

Fierce Dacres of the North, a Papal Lord,
No less Eliza, and her Church abhor'd,

To these the Faction Application made,
And their pretended Jujuries display'd.
With their envenom'd Breath the Priests enrage,
And in Rebellion these great Lords engage.
They told them Rome, to sanctify their Cause,
Depos'd Eliza by her Sacred Laws.
That she a stubborn Heretick condemn'd,
No longer might their Soveraign be esteem'd.
Her Subjects from Allegiance were absolv'd,
And on Maria's Head the Crown devolv'd.
That they a proud Usurper should dethrone,
Who sways a Royal Scepter, not her own.
That thus their Loyalty they would reveal
To Queen Maria, and to Heav'n their Zeal.
That 'twas their bounden Duty to expel
From Albion's Isle the Colonies of Hell.
To raise Divine Religion's drooping Head,
Dispel Calvinian Fogs, and Rome's bright Lustre spread.
That this would vanquish Heresy, and send
Back to her gloomly Cell the foul Infernal Fiend.
That Britain, by this great Heroick Deed,
From the pernicious Hydra would be freed.
That this was therefore, what the Briton's ow'd,
Both to their native Country, and their God.
That if for want of Courage they declin'd
The meritorious Task, which Heav'n enjoin'd;

142

Should they the Golden Hour supinely miss,
Which offer'd Laurels now, and future Bliss,
They would deserve their ignominious Chain,
And all th'Oppressions of Eliza's Reign,
That dreadful Vengeance would their Heads pursue,
And all the heavy Plagues and Curses due
To those, who own a proud Usurper's Sway,
And both their Country, and their Faith betray.

Language, like this, these Noble Britons fir'd,
And with seditious Heats their Breasts inspir'd.
So much their Priesthood did their Conscience sway,
They boldly follow'd, where they led the way;
And thought it Treason now, their Soveraign to obey.
That highly 'twould advance their Country's Good,
To waste it with the Sword, and lay it all in Blood.
That bless'd by Rome their Arms must needs succeed,
And Heav'n would crown the meritorious Deed.
They took the Field, and brandishing their Arms,
They spread the Terror of their loud Alarms.
Of Scotia's Queen they Proclamation made,
And their bold Engsigns in the North display'd.
Hoping Great Nobles would from Scotia come,
To aid their Queen, and serve the Cause of Rome.
The Faction thus Rebellious War proclaim'd,
And with licentuious Tongues their Friends inflam'd.
The Roman Bigots run exclaiming loud,
Maria reigns, and round their Leaders crowd.

143

Thus reer'd Rebellion her Infernal Head,
With sounding Trumpets her Battalions led,
And bloody Banners on the Hills display'd.

The Queen, on Albion's Safety still intent,
Her Arms to quell the Insurrection sent.
Sussex the Loyal Squadrons did command,
And march'd with speed to Northern Humber's Land.
As by Consent the Time and Place were set,
On the Brigantian Plains the Armies met.
The Gen'rals drew the Battel in Array,
And War its Iron Terrors did display.
The Loyal Troops began their fierce Attack,
And by the Rebels twice were driven back:
But at the third they forc'd them to retreat,
With a great Slaughter did their Troops defeat,
And soon a signal Vict'ry did compleat.
By this Disgrace, the rest outrageous grew,
Left open Arms, and to clandestine flew.

I enter here, great Prince, a spacious Field,
That does ten thousand Shapes of Horror yield.
Which way soe'er I cast my Eyes around,
Some dismal Prospect does my Sight confound.
Amazing Forms, Variety of Fear,
And Tragick Scenes on ev'ry Hand appear.
Here holy Villains in Cabals are seen
Consulting, how to Murder Britain's Queen.
Here Traytors hold sure Poison in their Hand,
Here bloody Ruffians with their Daggers stand.

144

By various Ways they did the Queen invade,
And for her Life a thousand Snares were laid.
Dangers where e'er she went, and Deaths unseen,
Thick as her Guards, surround the pious Queen.
The rising Sun ne'er past th'Horizon's Line
But saw against her Life some black Design.
If one curs'd Plot eluded miss'd Success,
Th'unwearied Faction did a new one dress:
Fresh Dangers, link'd in one continu'd Chain,
Threat'ned her Life, and gave us endless Pain.
The Series is too long to be exprest;
This Instance take, a Measure of the rest.

Parreus, one scarce known of what Descent,
Who had in lewd luxurious Courses spent
His small Estate, turn'd Robber to supply
His wasteful Lusts, and was condemn'd to die.
The Queen, who Mercy to a Fault has shown,
Gave him that Life, which hazarded her own.
Th'ungrateful Monster, by the Faction prest,
(The horrid Guilt his own black Mouth confest)
And won by Gold, and promis'd Heav'nly Joy,
Engag'd in Oaths Eliza to destroy.
His Conscience started on a cool Review,
And like a Harpy at his Bosom flew.
It grip'd him with Remorse, and set to show
The frightful Prospect of his Hellish Vow.
Th'enormous Guilt of faithless Hands embru'd
Both in his Queen's and Benefactor's Blood,

145

Appear'd so black, the Traytor backward flew,
And to th'atrocious Deed did great Reluctance shew.
But then conversing with the Mitred Priest
To be confirm'd, the Pious Casuist
With soothing Words his Conscience did asswage,
Strok'd down its Fierceness, and appeas'd its Rage.

He told him, since Eliza was become
A Heretick, and so adjudg'd by Rome;
She could no Title to Britannia own,
But as a Tyrant fill'd another's Throne.
Th'Assassination of th'usurping Queen,
At such a distance was remov'd from Sin,
That 'twas a Pious and Heroick Deed
Worthy of Heav'n, to make the Tyrant Bleed.
That Saints and Heros were by Heav'n design'd
To free from Plagues and Monsters, Human Kind.
With Monsters, worse than Tyrants, none were curst,
That of all Tyrants Britain's was the worst.
But to remove all Jealousy of Guilt,
In case her Blood by his bless'd Hand was spilt,
And fully to confirm his wav'ring Mind,
The Pious Priest did this expedient find.
He for his Son a Pardon did procure
From Rome's proud Head, who claims transcendent Pow'r
With Heav'n's most Sacred Precepts to dispense,
And purge the blackest Actions from Offence.
To give the worst of Crimes Divine Desert,
And bloody Villains into Saints convert.

146

He with his Holy, Apostolick Seal,
Approv'd and authoriz'd the Traytor's Zeal.
And on the Wretch the Honour did confer,
Of Rome's immediate Executioner.
When to his Son these Pow'rs the Prelate brought,
Be free, he cry'd, from every anxious Thought.
Here ample Pow'rs are to Pareus giv'n,
Take this Commission, take this Seal of Heav'n;
Take too this Dagger, by the Pontiff blest,
With the strong Vertue of our Shrines possest,
It has a thousand Reliques touch'd at least.
Take it, and let the curs'd Eliza feel
Deep in her Heart the consecrated Steel.
Then in his Arms he his dear Son embrac'd,
Kiss'd him with Tenderness, and bad him haste
To Albion's Isle, and with a steddy Mind
Perform the glorious Task by Heav'n enjoin'd.
Go, then he cry'd, discharge the solemn Vow,
And purchase Heav'n by one Religious Blow.
And when thy Hand attempts the noble Deed,
May Heav'n thy Holy Enterprize succeed.

On his Infernal Purpose fully bent,
The desp'rate Ruffian to Britannia went,
And oft about Eliza's Court was seen,
Watching a Season to assault the Queen.
Oft he design'd to strike the fatal Blow,
But he as often let the Season go.
For when her Royal Majesty he saw
Her God-like Looks imprinted such an Awe,

147

And so enervated the Traytor's Hand,
It wanted Force the Weapon to command.
At last detected, he his Crime confess'd,
And Rome's Illustrious Martyr-roll encreass'd.
This threat'ning Stroke, the Queen in Danger vers'd
Escap'd, and more too long to be rehears'd.
So long, so great the Labour was to chase
Rome's Priests away, their Worship to efface,
And fix reform'd Religion in it's Place,

He said. And grateful Thanks Mauritius paid
For the Narration, which the Briton made.
And now the Dishes on the Table set,
The Prince invites the British Chief to Eat.
They sate. The Gen'rals on each side were plac'd,
The Belgians one, and one the British grac'd.
They Eat with Pleasure, and their Goblets crown'd
With gen'rous Nectar went in Healths around:
While Martial Drums did beat, and chearful Trumpets sound.
At close of Day each Warrior to his Tent,
Pleas'd with the Noble Entertainment, went.

The End of the Fifth Book.

149

BOOK VI.

Now Arms and Stores, and Equipage aboard,
Their Topsails loosen'd, and their Ships unmoor'd,
Th'Iberians from the Shores their Navy hawl,
And down the River to the Ocean fall.
Now wealthy Tagus to the briny Flood
Rolls with his golden Sands, a martial Wood.
Their Ships so tall, so vast, so num'rous were,
Their Fleet a floating City did appear.
Another Venice, whose high Turrets rise
Amidst the Waves to beautify the Skies.
The second Night presents a Southern Gale,
Which Ships demand that to Britannia sail.

The Morn her Saffron Banner did display
From Heav'n's high Tow'rs to signify the Day:
Th'Iberian Fleet charg'd with a mighty Host,
Hoist all their Sails, and stand for Albion's Coast.
The Ship's wide Caves collected Vengeance bear,
Turgid with Death, and prominent with War.

150

The wanton Zephirs with the Pendants play,
Which loose in Air their waving Pride display.
The Streamers gay Defiance spread on high,
At once adorn, and terrify the Sky.
Th'unweildy Ships were on the Billows tost,
And all the Blasts, the Winds could blow, engrost.
The longest breath'd, and the most vig'rous Gales,
Are all employ'd to swell the spacious Sails.
The lofty Firs which pregnant Canvas wear,
Bear thro' the floating Clouds the floating War.
Oaks which by Land did fiercest Winds disdain,
Become obedient to them on the Main.
The lab'ring Gales with Pain the Navy shove,
And o'er the Billows heave the bounding Grove.
Strip'd of their Boughs, the naked Pines advance,
And to the Musick of the Trumpet dance.
The suff'ring Land had long endur'd before,
The heavy Burden of Iberian Pow'r;
And now the Waves their Fleet's Oppression bear,
Th'Incumbrance of the Sea, and Grievance of the Air.
They pass in long Succession o'er the Deep,
And with their Flags contiguous Æther sweep:
Their gilded Sides and Sterns improve the Day,
And with augmented Glory Heav'n repay.
His Rays recoil'd so bright, th'astonish'd Sun
Started, unmindful that they were his own.
With so much Splendor, such a pompous Train,
They put to Sea, as if the Fleet of Spain
Advanc'd to Wed, not to Subdue the Main.

151

Of Conquest sure the Spaniards, sail'd, mean while
The Guardian Angel of the British Isle,
Who to protect her Coasts with anxious Care
Flew to and fro patrouling in the Air,
At distance false Iberia's Fleet espy'd,
Which on the passive Waves did proudly ride.

With even Pinions hov'ring in the Sky
Thus spoke the watchful Angel. I descry
The vast Armada of presumptuous Spain,
Which lab'ring Billows seem to bear with Pain.
With how much Pride, and how much Arrogance,
With what contempt of Heav'n their Ships advance?
Shall this perfidious Navy meet Success?
Shall impious Arms the Pious Queen oppress?
Will Heav'n e'er unconcern'd, or Neuter stand
While faithless Pride due Vengeance does demand?
No, my Commission is to ward the Blow,
To stop the Progress of the haughty Foe.
'Till Albion's Queen her Navy has prepar'd,
And Forces rais'd her threatned Coasts to guard.

He said, and with Immortal Wings display'd,
Thro' yielding Air his Passage swiftly made,
To the bleak Mountains of the Snowy North,
Where Winds are form'd, and Tempests have their Birth.
Whether to try their Strength, young Storms resort,
Root Forrests up, and break the Rocks in sport.
Where hoary Winter in his frozen Cell,
Midst Hills of Ice, does unmollested dwell:

152

From his white Peaks and Crystal Tow'rs, defies
The distant Sun, that Southern Kingdoms fries.
He from their hollow Caves the Winds releast,
Well breath'd for Toil, and vig'rous grown by Rest.
Bad them expand their Wings, and make their way
With utmost Swiftness to th'Atlantick Sea.
To stop the Progress of Iberia's Host,
And drive the Navy from the British Coast.

Out Boreas rush'd, and meditating War
Muster'd his loud Battalions in the Air.
Swift he advanc'd with his collected Force,
Directing to the South his furious Course,
O'er spacious Seas and Lands the Tempest blows,
Desarts of Ice, and solitary Snows.
High Domes and stately Palaces defac'd
Demolish'd Towns, and laid the Forrest waste.
The lofty Pines did from the Clouds descend,
And ghastly Ruin on the Hills extend.
The noblest Oaks, which on the Mountains stood
The great Defence and Glory of the Wood,
Did on the Ground (sad Desolation) lye,
And with their Roots turn'd up amaze the Sky.

The furious Winds the Southern Ocean gain,
And beat with all their Wings the troubled Main.
They drive before them all the Atmosphere,
Whose pressing Weight does on the Billows bear,
And to the Clouds the wat'ry Columns reer.

153

Then the unstable Mountains fall as low,
And down as far as Night's Apartment flow;
The secret Horrors of the Gulf display,
And far enlarge the Frontier of the Day:
Disturb the ancient Waters of the Deep,
Which did in Peace their low Dominions keep,
And on their Central Beds extended lay asleep.
Th'unconstant Ocean with alternate Waves
Th'Ætherial Region now, and now th'Infernal laves.
Against the Skies their Foam the Billows throw,
And to the Clouds send back their Rain, in Snow.
The Earth's Foundation strong Convulsions shake,
Disjoint its Frame, and Hell's Partition break.
Whence pitchy Shades rise thro' the gaping Ground,
Pollute the Skies, and Heav'n with Hell confound.
Such Noise, such Uproar, such Distraction reign,
And so embroil the Land, the Air, the Main,
That Nature with th'unequal Force opprest,
In agonizing Throws her Fears confest,
That Conqu'ring Chaos would subvert her Throne,
Ruin her Empire, and restore his own.
In vain the Pilots in the Steerage stand,
The Ships obey alone the Winds Command.
Some their Masts broken, and their Rigging torn,
Are at the Pleasure of the Tempest born.
Some run a-ground, and some with dreadful Shocks
Are dash'd to pieces on opposing Rocks.
The roaring Waves and clam'rous Seamens Toil,
The watry Deep, and airey Gulf embroil.

154

The Ships, the Ocean, and the furious Storm
Unite their Noise, and perfect Discord form.
In vain the Sailors with the Tempest strive,
They cut their Masts, and let their Vessels drive.
Thus, by the adverse Winds, the Fleet of Spain
Was beaten back, and scatter'd o'er the Main.

This done, great Gabriel, Albion's Friend, empow'r'd
By high Commission from the Christians Lord,
Who all the raging Meteors does command,
And holds the spacious Ocean in his Hand;
Who all the willing Elements does sway,
Whose awful Voice the Storms and Seas obey;
Bad the outrageous Winds the Deep forsake,
And to the Frozen North their Passage make.
The Winds obedient, leave in Peace the Waves,
And fly submissive to their Nothern Caves.
With their cold Wings they sweep th'Etherial Road,
Impatient to regain their bleak Abode.
Panting for Breath, and with their Toil opprest,
They to their hollow Hills repair for Rest.
The Tempest fled, the tow'ring Waves subside,
And gentle Breezes play along the Tide.
With Grief the shatter'd Spaniards quit the Main,
And to refit their Ships, their Ports regain.

Urg'd by Revenge and by intenser Hate,
Th'Iberians vow'd again to try their Fate.
The adverse Winds that did oppose their Course,
Blew up their Rage, and gave it double Force.

155

As when a Lion roaring out for Food,
Resolv'd for Slaughter, and intent on Blood,
Forsakes the Forrest, and his cover'd Hold,
To drive the Shepherd, and destroy the Fold;
If he by chance should meet a clam'rous Band
Of well-arm'd Huntsmen, who his Course withstand;
Weary and wounded, sow'rly he retreats,
Looks back, and roaring Menaces repeats.
So to his Coasts the griev'd Iberian flew
To heal his Navy, and the War renew.
The busy Crew with wond'rous Toil and Care
Mend their torn Rigging, and their Ships repair.
They draw from all their Stores and Magazines
The Hemp for Cables, and for Masts the Pines.
For supplemental Ribs with vig'rous Strokes
Athletick Shipwrights fell the neighb'ring Oaks.
Hills bless'd with shady Honours they uncrown,
And from the Mountains pull their Glory down.

In ancient Times, when Ægypt's haughty Lord
Oppress'd the Tribes, who Jacob's God ador'd;
Tho' various Plagues the cruel Tyrant felt,
No tender Passion did his Bowels melt.
The more he suffer'd Heav'n's afflicting Hand,
To vex the Tribes, the more he gave Command.
In unrelenting Malice persever'd,
Harden'd with Ruin, and with Vengeance sear'd.
So tho' th'Almighty did on Tempests ride
To guard Britannia from Iberian Pride.

156

Did on the Seas in Wrath the Spaniard meet,
And with his Breath disperse their shatter'd Fleet;
Th'Iberian Pharoah more outrageous grew,
His black Design more eager to pursue.
Their Ships refitted, they their Anchors weigh,
Once more their Pendants, and their Flags display.
With turgid Sails enclose a prosp'rous Wind,
And leave the less'ning Hills, and flying Shores behind.

Mean time the Queen, Britannia's Coast to guard,
Had both her Army, and her Fleet prepar'd.
She her high Order sent by Dawn of Morn,
To the great Vere to hasten his Return;
That he might Albion with his Arms defend,
If on her Coast th'Iberian should descend.
The mighty Hero did without delay
Prepare Eliza's Orders to obey.
He making haste to reach the Belgian Strand,
Horatio left his Army to command.
He did direct they should their Camp secure,
And well entrench'd, expect th'Iberian Pow'r.
To Belgia's Shores he came with speedy Toil,
Eager to sail, and make Britannia's Isle:
But there the Chief long with Regret remain'd,
By adverse Winds on Belgia's Coast detain'd.

The Queen did more on Aid Divine depend,
Than on her Arms, her Kingdom to defend.
She to th'Almighty's Pleasure did refer
The Turns of Empire, and th'Events of War.

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She knew, he lov'd the just, tho' weaker Side,
Rais'd Vertue press'd, and sunk Tyrannick Pride.
That from their Thrones he does at Pleasure thrust
Proud Kings, and rolls their Purple in the Dust:
That to the Ground he haughty Princes treads,
And of their Lawrels strips victorious Heads:
That mighty Kings their Impotence may know,
And Conqu'rours learn, whence all their Vict'ries flow.
Unless kind Heav'n's Assistance they obtain,
The Warrior fights, the Statesman wakes in vain.

Britain's Good Queen, for true Devotion fam'd,
Thro' all the Realm a solemn Fast proclaim'd
Heav'n's Wrath to deprecate, and to invoke
Cœlestial Aid to ward th'impending Stroke.
The Queen's Command the Britons did obey,
Strictly Devout did solemnize the Day,
And all their Sins lament, and for Remission pray.
They humbly prostrate did their God adore,
With pious Ardour heav'nly Aid implore.
With sacred Violence and holy Rage,
Did seize his Mercy, and his Pow'r engage.
Devoutly thus they did with Heav'n contend,
And strive with fervent Zeal, to make their God their Friend.

Now did the Britons, riding on the Main,
Eager to fight, demand the Fleet of Spain.
The valiant Howard, an illustrious Name,
Whose noble House has rais'd Britannia's Fame,

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Had Chief Command of Albion's Royal Fleet;
Few braver Men did ever Danger meet.

Next in Command great Drake his Flag display'd,
To whose true Merit high Respect was paid.
He to the Terrors of the Ocean known,
In labour verss'd, in Danger fearless grown,
Met Death in all her Shapes, but dreaded her in none.
He undiscover'd Regions to explore,
With hardy Sails pass'd Tides unknown before:
Thro' rapid Currents, liquid Defiles,
Eddies, stupendious Gulphs, and horrid Seas,
Did to the World's remotest Frontier go,
To Albion's Youth did Nature's Wonders show,
And made each Indian World, the Great Eliza know.

Brave Hawkins and the valiant Frobisher,
Shefield and Preston, famous Sons of War;
Illustrious Seimour of a Noble Race,
Fruitful of Heros, who Britannia grace.
Rawleigh for Letters, as for Arms renown'd,
All Chiefs by Sea, with frequent Triumphs crown'd;
Were high Commanders by Eliza made,
And next to Drake, were by the Fleet obey'd.

The Scouts the Signal gave, that they descry'd
Th'Iberian Fleet advancing on the Tide.
The Britons see the faithless Foe from far,
And with a brave Impatience wait the War.

159

By slow Degrees th'Iberian coming near,
Did on the Seas with such a Face appear,
As all, but Albion's Youth, might be allow'd to fear.
The Billows ne'er so vast a Burden bore,
The straining Winds ne'er toil'd so hard before.
Ships of prodigious Bigness load the Flood,
Each seem'd a Castle, and her Masts a Wood.
The Foes could scare their num'rous Navy count,
So endless was their Reer, and so immense their Front.
The glorious Squadrons awful Order keep,
And move in slow Procession on the Deep.
Their Ensigns proudly streaming in the Air,
The Fleet half Gilt, half Painted, seem'd to wear
Rather the Face of Triumph, than of War.
As if already Britain's Isle subdu'd
Had to the Conq'rour for Protection su'd:
That Philip's Fleet Possession came to take,
And on the British Seas a publick Entrance make.
Stretching from Gallia's to Britannia's Coast,
The mighty Navy all the Main engrost.
On either Shore their Ships extended ride,
The Channel cover, and detain the Tide.

Wise Howard saw them pass, but lay behind
To give his Fleet th'Advantage of the Wind.
But then advancing from the British Shore,
Stood off to Sea, and on the Spaniard bore.
In Strength out-done, in Ships out-number'd far,
The Valiant Hero sought th'unequal War.

160

Immortal Drake, who led the British Van,
Boldly bore down, and the fierce Fight began.
He to a close and bloody Combate came,
Venting his Wrath in Thunder, Smoke and Flame.
Rechaldo did the Spaniard's Van Command,
And Drake's first On-set dauntless did withstand.
As a tall Pine his shady Head displays,
And proudly all the subject Grove surveys;
So did the Spaniard with disdainful Pride,
O'er-looking all the British Squadron ride.
High on his tow'ring Deck, he Drake withstood,
And to the Briton's Ship oppos'd a lofty Wood.
With Scorn the Spaniard look'd on Drake below,
He heard and felt, but scarcely saw the Foe.
Drake did his Fury on th'Iberian pour,
As from a Batt'ry rais'd against a Tow'r.
The mighty Foe with Indignation burns,
And Peal for Peal, and Fire for Fire returns.
Broadside and Broadside they together ly,
And with alternate Deaths each other ply.
With dreadful Noise the bellowing Cannon play,
And mutual Wounds in mutual Fire convey.
The valiant Drake pursu'd the bloody Strife,
Thoughtless of Wounds, and negligent of Life.
Till Great Rechaldo rack'd from Head to Stern,
And with the Briton's furious Tempest torn,
Shatter'd, disabled, and a useless Load,
Was by his Gallies from the Battel tow'd.

161

Leiva, a Chief accustom'd to the Main,
Lopez and Silva, famous Names in Spain,
Brought their high Ships Rechaldo to sustain.
Dora, Moncado, for their Courage known,
And Bovadil, a Chief of great Renown,
Sprung all their Sails, and by their Gallies Aid
They got the Wind the Briton to invade.
Encompass'd thus, and charg'd on every side,
Great Drake enrag'd, his thund'ring Cannon ply'd.
Roaring Destruction from his Vessel broke,
And pond'rous Deaths flew thick in Clouds of Smoke.
His British Heart with Martial Rage inspir'd,
So fast, so fierce, so close the Gen'ral fir'd,
That he the Spaniard at a distance held,
And all who dar'd approach his Ship, repell'd.
As when a Lion on Numidian Plains
Is compass'd round by Dogs and clam'rous Swains,
He from his Eyes Defiance casts around,
Roars out, and proudly traverses the Ground.
Demanding gen'rous Combate, does invite
The distant Huntsmen to a closer Fight.
They stand aloof, and missive Weapons throw,
But none dare grapple with the noble Foe.
So did the Iberian Combatants from far
On the brave Briton pour ungen'rous War.
But their whole Fleet did not a Chief afford,
Who durst advance, and lay the Foe on Board.

Thus Drake was press'd. Hawkins and Frobisher,
Both Men of Valour, and expert in War,

162

Both Flag-Commanders, brought the Gen'ral Aid;
And with great Fury did the Foe invade.
On either side the Foe outrageous grew,
And Deaths unseen in dreadful Tempests flew.
Destruction they exchange, by Turns they give
Exploded Ruin, and by Turns receive.
The Cannons Roar did distant Regions scare,
Shake all the Shores, and torture all the Air;
With a strange Tempest did becalm the Deep,
Compose the Waves, and lay the Winds asleep.
Long did the Fight with wond'rous Ardor last,
From Fleet to Fleet prodigious firing past:
As still it did, where Drake had Chief Command,
If Hostile Squadrons would his Onset stand:
Till the Iberian by the Briton's Fire
Severely gall'd, did from his Rage retire.
Their Fleet retreated with declining Day,
Stood off, and up the Channel made their way.
Impetuous Drake did on their Squadrons bear,
And play'd pursuing Vengeance on their Reer.
Mean time a vast Cantabrian Galeon,
Who did great Valdez as Commander own,
Maim'd and unmasted in the furious Chase,
Kept with th'Iberian Fleet unequal Pace.
The lazy Load unfit to make her way,
It self a Forrest, on the Billows lay:
The Ocean groan'd beneath the mighty Hull,
Both of the Army, and its Treasure full.
Great Drake advancing, took the floating Fort,
And sent the Captives to the neighb'ring Port.

163

Drake and his Crew their Wishes did obtain,
He had the Honour, and his Men the Gain.
The joyful Youth th'Iberian Riches shar'd,
Their Labour's Golden Fruit, and first Reward.
On their own Shores they now the Indies got,
The Wealth they us'd to fetch, the Spaniard kindly brought.
The friendly Night her Sable Mantle cast
Around th'Iberian, by the Briton chas'd.
The interposing Shade extended lay,
To interrupt the Conqu'ror's Course, and stay
The bloody Labour of the glorious Day.

Twice did the Sun these airy Regions clear
From Shade, and twice the adverse Hemisphere.
When the Britannick Fleet again descry'd
The Spanish Navy cov'ring all the Tide.
The British Captains crowded all their Sail,
And with Assistance of a Western Gale,
Up with th'Iberian Navy quickly came,
And loud Broadsides their Presence did proclaim.
Th'Iberian Fleet, drawn out in long Array,
Did o'er the Deep its dreadful Wings display.
Th'extended Squadrons all the Channel crost,
From Vecta's Isle to Gallia's wond'ring Coast.
Perez, Medina's Duke, who did command
The mighty Fleet, did in the Center stand.
Howard, th'illustrious General did assail,
Discharging massy Show'rs of fatal Hail.
His murth'ring Ord'nance on the Spaniard hung,
And in prodigious Peals his Terrors rung.

164

His Thunder's Voice the Foes with Horror strook,
And all the vast Iberian Forrest shook.
Tho' on the Hills their lofty Firs and Oaks
Had scap'd Ætherial Wrath, and Meteors furious Strokes,
Yet on the Seas a harder Fate they meet,
By British Light'nings torn, and riving Thunder spilt.
With Martial Rage the Noble Spaniard burn'd,
And pond'rous Fate in Storms of Fire return'd.
Prodigious Clamour and promiscuous Sound,
Did from the frighted Main, and ecchoing Rocks rebound.
Terrestrial Light'nings thro' the Air did fly,
And by returns of loud Artillery,
The Sea repaid the Clouds, and reimburs'd the Sky.
The proud Iberians to th'invading Foes,
Castles embattled, and tall Forts oppose.
Their gilded Tow'rs above the Clouds arise,
And add new Glories to the wond'ring Skies.

The Balls that from their Decks the Spaniards threw,
Above the Briton's low-built Navy flew.
Their roaring Guns discharg'd their Shot in vain,
They only rak'd the Air, and vext the Main.
Their Ships were so sublime, and every Hull,
Was with their Troops, and Mariners so full,
That an unerring Fate did still attend
The thick Broadsides, the British Ships did send.
Death ne'er of Disappointment did complain,
Or on the Briton's Fire rely'd in vain.
Dismember'd Trunks, torn Limbs, and scatter'd Brain,
A ghastly Medly, did their Decks destain.

165

Down the high sides red Rivers flow'd of Blood,
And with Iberian Purple dy'd the Flood.
The Noise of Seamen on their Toil intent,
Of falling Masts, of Sails and Rigging rent,
The dreadful Groans of wounded Mariners,
The Cannons Roar, and Spaniards clam'rous Fears,
Such formidable Scenes of Horror made,
As on the Main were ne'er before display'd.
The British Vessels all low built and light,
All nimble Sailors, and as fit for Fight:
Active for all the Duties of the Sea,
To tack about, to charge or bear away.
With great Success assail'd th'encumber'd Foe,
Unfit for War, tho' terrible for Show:
Their mighty Ships lay on the suff'ring Flood,
Unweildy as the Hills, where once they stood.
A match for Tempests they the Ocean press'd,
Dissabled by their Strength, by their own Weight distress'd.
Again th'Iberian Fleet began to yield,
And to the Briton quit the liquid Field.

Satan, who on the Promontory stood
Of Vecta's Isle, and over-look'd the Flood;
Beheld the Combate, and with anxious Care
Waited the Issue of th'important War.
Seeing his Spanish Friends so much distress'd,
And by the Conqu'ring Briton's Navy press'd,
He calls the busy Demons of the Air,
Who Meteors manage, and who Storms prepare.

166

Who verss'd in Thunder, Snow, and Hail, and Rain,
Can either trouble, or compose the Main:
Can as they bring, or chase the Mists away,
By turns extinguish, and revive the Day.
Th'Aeirial Spirits at their Lord's Command
Arrive obsequious, and around him stand.
To whom their Prince. Industrious Spirits fly,
Make haste to darken all th'Inferior Sky.
Afford your Aid to choak th'offensive Light,
Spread o'er the Spanish Navy welcome Night,
And save our faithful Friends from ignominious Flight.

He spoke. They bow. Their Bat-like Wings display,
And fly their Monarch's Order to obey.
Some penetrate each hollow Cave and Cell,
Where raw and undigested Vapours dwell.
Some pond'rous Damps from Kentish Marshes bear,
And lazy Mists, that hung in Sussex Air.
Some Exhalations fetch, that hover'd round
The neighb'ring Rocks, and Heads of Mountains crown'd;
Which had not Wings of Strength enough to climb
The Atmosphere, and float in Air sublime.
The Demons did their black Collection pour
On all the Sea, th'Iberian to secure.
A wond'rous Fog arose, and friendly Night
Embrac'd the Spaniard, and conceal'd his Flight,
Who all his Sails employ'd, and all his Oars,
To make the Streights, and gain Caleta's Shores.
Where they believ'd they should Parmensis meet,
Should be assisted with his Flandrian Fleet:

167

Thus reinforc'd, they still resolv'd to Land
Their num'rous Army on the British Strand.

Mean time, on fam'd Tilburia's verdant Plains,
Which well reward the Toil of neighb'ring Swains,
A fertile Region, which with brackish Waves,
Fair Thames infected by the Ocean, laves.
The British Army in Battalia lay,
And did Great Leicester as their Head, obey.
If Albion's Navy with long Labour spent,
Should not defeat the haughty Foes Descent:
The Britons took this advantageous Post,
To offer Battel to th'advancing Host.

Heither Britannia's War-like Empress came,
To Head her Troops, and animate their Flame.
She came resolv'd to Face the faithless Foes,
Her precious Life for Britain to expose.
That she her Kingdom might from Ruin shield,
The Warrior Queen in Person took the Field.
A noble Courser bore th'Imperial Maid,
And with a conscious Pride the Hand obey'd,
Which held the Reins of Empire, and a Scepter sway'd.
Th'embroider'd Trappings, which on either side
Hung glorious down, encreas'd his native Pride.
Pleas'd with the dazling Ornaments he wore,
But with the bright, Majestick Rider more.
He paw'd the Vally, foam'd, curvetted, neigh'd,
He champt his Golden Bit, and with his Bridle play'd.

168

With Martial Mein the Scepter'd Virgin rode,
The Steed scarce press'd the Grass, on which he trod.
This held the Courser's Reins, the other Hand
Grasp'd her Gilt Staff, which shew'd Supream Command.
She pass'd the Squadrons and Battalions thro',
Drawn out in long Array for her Review.
She thro' the Muskets rode, and thro' a Wood
Of bristling Pikes, that in Battalia stood.
She did a Leader Amazon appear,
Forgetful of her Sex, and ignorant of Fear.
Th'intrepid Queen view'd with a cheerful Air
The Iron Wings, and the sowr Brows of War.
Her God-like Presence did the Troops inspire,
Heighten their Courage, and dilate their Fire.

Heroick Bards in tuneful Fables sing,
That War-like Pallas to her Friends did bring
New Fire and Force, when she appear'd in sight
To aid their Arms, and Courage to excite.
This truly may be sung of Albion's Queen,
Who by her Presence and Seraphick Mein,
By moving Language, and a gracious Air,
Did with fresh Life invigorate the War:
She did the Soldiers and their Leaders praise,
Encourage all, and by Pathetick Ways,
Their Hopes enliven, and their Ardor raise.
She by the Wonders, which their Arms had done,
By all their Trophies gain'd, and Laurels won,
Conjur'd her Chiefs, their Honour to maintain,
And guard their Country from the Pow'r of Spain.

169

Her Chiefs were most renown'd, for Albion then
A wond'rous Harvest bore of Wise and Valiant Men.
The mighty Bertu, whose illustrious Name
Rivall'd the Captains of the highest Fame,
Whose honourable Deeds, and martial Skill
Adorn his noble House, and Britain's Annals fill;
In whom Eliza plac'd a mighty Trust,
Was second in Command, in Merit first.
Great Norris oft with Belgick Laurels crown'd,
Thro' all Europa's Realms for Arms renown'd;
Brave Knowls, and Noble Grey, who in the Line
Of British Heros do conspicuous shine.
Cary and Bingham, famous Chiefs by Land,
Were Captains in the Host of high Command.
On these great Warriors oft in Battel try'd,
And for their Conduct fam'd, the Queen reply'd.

As the great Queen excites the Soldier's Fire,
If Britain's Safety should his Arms require,
So on the Business of the Sea intent,
She did a War-like Stratagem invent,
To disappoint the treach'rous Foe's Descent.
Drake by the Queen's Direction, ready made
Destructive Fires, the Spaniard to invade.
He chose eight Frigats, with long Labour worn,
With Tempests shatter'd, or with Cannon torn.
He did their Sides thick with Bitumen smear,
Their Decks and Sterns with Pitch and unctious Tar.
Their Holds he fill'd with all the burning Stores
From European, or from Indian Shores.

170

Which distant Swecia or Norwegia yield,
From wounded Pines, and weeping Firs distill'd;
The fiery Product of the frozen North,
Which owe to Ice and Snows their wond'rous Birth;
Puzzola's Entrails, and the sulph'rous Spoil
Rais'd from the Caverns of Calabria's Soil,
And smoky Furnace of Sicila's Isle.
All Things combustible which Nature gives,
Or which for surer Ruin Art contrives,
They with amazing Labour bring aboard,
And in their Holds Vesuvian Treasures hoard.
The Spanish Fleet, which favour'd by the Night
And rising Fogs, escap'd the Conq'ror's Sight,
Made to the Doroberian Streights their way,
And at an Anchor near Caleta lay.

'Twas Night, when Nature was in Sables drest,
Tempestuous Winds in hollow Caves did rest.
Impending Rocks with Slumber seem'd to bow,
And drousy Mountains hung their heavy Brow.
The weary Waves roll'd nodding on the Deep,
Or stretch'd on Oasy Beds they murmur'd in their Sleep.
But Drake not so. He with Impatience lay
Waiting Eliza's Orders to obey.
A Western Breeze sprang up. Drake gave Command.
His valiant Men with Firebrands in their Hand,
The Frigats stow'd with hidden Ruin steer,
To make th'Iberians, and advancing near,
The bold Commanders set their Ships on Fire,
And in their Long-boats to their Fleet retire.

171

The kindled Vengeance reers its dreadful Head,
And all around Ætnean Terrors spread.
With dismal Wings the crackling Flames arise,
Shoot out their ruddy Tongues, and lick the Skies.
The Airy Regions shines with hideous Light,
And horrid Day dispels less horrid Night.
The Flames so wide their Terror did extend,
So high the bright Destruction did ascend,
As if the Deep did to the Clouds aspire
In burning Waves, and Pyramids of Fire.
The Conflagration did around display
Suppositious and unnatural Day.
Industrious Swains believing Night was fled,
Break of their Slumber, and forsake their Bed:
Then wondring stand, to see the Air so bright,
Not with the Sun's, but with the Ocean's Light:
To see a strange, untimely Day arise,
A spurious Birth, not conscious of Skies.

The Western Winds, the burning Frigats bear,
And on the Spaniards drive the blazing War.
Soon as the sailing Flames (amazing Sight!)
Approach'd their Navy, in the Dead of Night,
Strange Consternation struck the trembling Host;
They all believ'd their Troops and Navy lost.
No Faces in Distress did ever wear
Terror so strong, or such bold Strokes of Fear.
Horror was ne'er to such Advantage seen,
Ne'er show'd so dire a Look, so wild a Mein.

172

The great Destraction, that possess'd their Eyes
The Sailor's Clamors, and the Soldier's Crys,
Their uncouth Howling, and their hideous Yell,
No Fancy can conceive, no Language tell.
Some cut their Cables by their Chief's Command,
Some to the breathing Winds their Sails expand.
Shov'd by the Gale, and wing'd with speedy Fear,
They from contagious Flames, and bright Perdition steer.
The Spaniard's Haste was render'd by his Fright
So rash, and so precipitate his Flight,
That none by Night his Neighbour could avoid,
They were by Friends, as well as Foes destroy'd.

A dreadful Out-cry on the Deep began,
Ships fell on Ships, Gallies on Gallies ran.
Rigging with Rigging met, and Mast with Mast,
And Sails, with fatal Friendship, Sails embrac'd.
Diego, Oquendo, thus entangled lay,
And to a Ship on Fire became a Prey.
The raging Flame did first their Sails invade,
Which to the Decks the catching Plague convey'd.
Soon did the burning Spaniards blaze on high,
At once enlighten, and affright the Sky.
With fruitless Toil the Crew oppose the Flame,
No Art can now the spreading Mischief tame.
Some choak'd and smother'd, did expiring ly,
Burn with their Ships, and on the Water fry.
Some, when the Flames could be no more withstood,
So wild Despair directed, midst the Flood

173

Themselves in haste from their tall Vessels threw,
And from a dry, to liquid Ruin flew.
Sad Choice of Death, when those, who shun the Fire,
Must to as fierce an Element retire.
Uncommon Suff'rings did these Wretches wait,
Both burnt and drown'd they met a double Fate.
The Britons gave the Spanish Navy Chase,
Which lay dispers'd o'er all the Ocean's Face.
They to the Seas or Shores their Passage made,
Whither the Winds and Waves their Ships convey'd.
Perez no more his Squadrons could collect,
They all Commands, but those of Fear, neglect.

The Morn did now her Purple Standard reer,
To which the must'ring Sun Beams did repair.
Th'advancing Britons did their Order keep,
And view'd the Ruin which deform'd the Deep.
Here glowing Planks, and ghastly Ribs of Oak,
Here smoaking Beams and Masts in sunder broke,
Nor Coal entirely, nor entirely Wood,
Roll on the Billows, and pollute the Flood.
Here gilded Sterns, there ample Lanterns float,
And curious Shapes by Master-Carvers wrought.
There half burnt Lions on the Waters grin,
And sooty Leopards loose their spotted Skin.
The gazing Fishes are amaz'd to see
The Monsters of the Forrest swim the Sea.
Here a Religious Wreck the Ocean loads,
With broken Limbs of Saints, and ruin'd Gods.

174

Reliques of famous Vertue, Holy Beads,
Bless'd Trinkets, glowing Trunks, and smoaking Heads
Of consecrated Guardian Images,
A superstitious Lumber, spread the Seas.

Britannia's Chiefs with eager speed pursue
Th'Iberians, who in sep'rate Squadrons flew.
They run with all their Sails, and all their Oars,
Some seek the Gallick, some the Belgick Shores.
Driv'n by their Passion's, and the Ocean's Tide,
Midst unknown Shallows some for Safety ride.
Some to the Quick-sands for Protection row,
Sands less perfidious than King Philip's Vow.
Midst Rocks and Shelves some trembling Chiefs remain;
Rocks less obdurate, Shelves less false than Spain.
Some run aground in their too rash Retreat,
Whom the insulting Waves in pieces beat.
Some by the Billows on the Rocks were tost,
Some in the Deep, some on the Strand were lost.
A Gale sprung up, which to the Ocean bore
The Ships, which scap'd the Flandrian faithless Shore.
Perez resolv'd round by the Nothern Main,
And the Hibernian Seas to sail for Spain.
At his Command away the Captains bear
To the North Ocean wild, as their Despair.
Hard on their Reer the Conqu'ring Britons hung,
And with their Thunder on the Spaniard rung.

During the Chase two Ships became their Prey,
One Lucon, one Mandrana did obey.

175

The first three hundred Priests and Prelates bore,
A Sacred Cargo, and Religious Store.
The Ship a floating Convent did appear,
With Superstition stow'd, and holy Geer.
The bless'd Adventures of the Burse of Rome,
Carry Religion out, but Treasure home.
New Lights, old Reliques, consecrated Toys,
Rome's Growth or Labour, and abundant Choice
Of manufactor'd Saints they send abroad,
But homeward bound, they Gold and Silver load.
Corrupted Creeds and damag'd Faith export,
And fill with impious Commerce every Port.
They o'er the World, to find a Market, range,
And their cheap Heav'n, for Earthly Treasure change.
Now Rome believing her Religious Trade
Again in Albion would be open laid;
And that the unprovided Isle would bear,
A vast Consumption of their Godly Ware;
To Britain sent this Holy Colony,
A gracious Promise of a large Supply.
By adverse War the Roman Factors crost,
And made a Prize, their pious Labour lost.

The other Ship Alorcon bore, a Guide
Empow'r'd by Rome's Commission to preside
O'er the intended Inquisition Court,
Which Philip's Arms in Albion would support:
Who with paternal Pity might Torment,
And make Britannia's stubborn Sons relent.

176

The pious Father for Conversions brought
Crosses and Racks with Skill and Labour wrought.
Instructive Whips, perswasive Rods of Wire,
And Demonstrations harden'd in the Fire.
Here stood high Fats with Confutations stor'd,
And pow'rful Reasons form'd of Steel or Cord.
Here heap'd in Piles awak'ning Scourges lay,
Which Heav'nly Light upon the Back display,
And Hereticks convince the shortest Way.
There Pincers, Pullies, Wheels, a Sacred Load
Of choice Mechanick Arguments were stow'd.
Strong Reas'ning Engines of Religious Use,
Which Error scare, and Faith by Force produce.
Which have to Rome ten thousand Converts giv'n;
They draw Men up, or screw them into Heav'n.
Here stood vast Tuns of Fetters, Hooks and Chains
A Bless'd Collection of convincing Pains.

Lugo and Floris shatter'd by the Fight,
Were by the Victors taken in their Flight.
To Edenburga's Frith they chac'd the Foe,
Where to the Main Boderia's Waters flow.
The Britons many sunk, and many fir'd,
Till cloy'd with Conquest, they at length retir'd.
Their melancholy Course the Spaniards stood,
And with a lighter Burden press'd the Flood.
Eliza's Fleet was gone Triumphant home;
But Rocks and Seas untry'd, were yet to come.
The British Storm its Fury spent, was fled;
But Heav'n's black Vengeance gather'd o'er their Head.

177

Their bulky Ships were midst the Billows tost
On Scotia's wild, impracticable Coast.
Now with their Sails, now with their lab'ring Oars
They pass the dreadful Gulphs, and faithless Shores.
They left behind the Caledonian Hills,
And craggy Cluster of Orcadian Isles.
They past the boisterous Hyperborean Seas,
Turn'd Scotia's Cape, and made the Hebudes:
On whose abrupt, unhospitable Shore
Sea-Monsters yell, and raging Billows roar.
They sail'd not long on this impetuous Tide,
Before their Men Hibernia's Isle descry'd,
In all the Pangs of Terror and Distress,
They view the Desart Sands, and watry Wilderness.

A sudden Storm did from the South arise,
And horrid Black began to hang the Skies.
By slow Advances loaded Clouds ascend,
And cross the Air their low'ring Front extend.
Heav'n's loud Artillery began to play,
And Wrath Divine in dreadful Peals convey.
Th'Ætherial Engines Cannonade the Main,
And pour new Thunder on the Fleet of Spain.
Darkness and raging Winds their Terror join,
And Storms of Rain with Storms of Fire combine.
The trembling Spaniards now invoke in vain,
Their Saints Marine to ease them of their Pain.
Mangled with superstitious Cruelty,
Their Priests in vain to their dull Saviours Cry.

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Their Reliques good for Storms or Thunder fail,
Nothing their Beads, or Wheaten Gods prevail.
With fruitless Pray'rs they ply their Sacred Wood,
Fair Weather Idols, to compose the Flood.
Some run a-Shore upon the shoaly Land,
Some Perish by the Rocks, some by the Sand.
The floating Wrecks of ruin'd Ships encrease
The native Horror of Hibernian Seas:
The Storm its Fury spent, the Waves subside,
The Sky became serene, sedate the Tide.
With the few shatter'd Ships which did remain,
Perez half Dead with Anguish, made with Pain,
By ignominious Stealth, the Ports of Spain.
As when a mighty Band of Lybian Swains,
Who trusting to their Numbers, o'er the Plains
Advance, a gen'rous Lion to destroy,
Of Conquest sure anticipate the Joy.
The Wood they compass round, they set the Toil,
And not yet Victors share the yellow Spoil.
But by the noble Foe beat back, and maim'd,
The Swains retreat, confounded and asham'd.
So the presumptuous Spaniard did return,
Did Triumph so before, and so did after mourn.

Soon as the Malecontents in Albion heard
That Spain's Armada on the Coasts appear'd:
Immod'rate Joy dilated every Breast,
Marks of unbridled Transport all exprest,
But Montal seem'd o'er-joy'd above the rest.

179

Among their Friends with Zeal they spread th'Alarm,
Each other cheer, each other urge to Arm.
To Kentish Shores their Ensigns they advance;
Whence trayt'rous Commerce now is held with France.
They Rendezvous upon the Marshy Ground,
Encamp their Troops, and raise Intrenchments round.
Hither from every Town their Men repair,
Resolv'd to meet and aid the Landing War.
Their Arundel Rome's Bigots did command,
The next great Chief was Lord of Westmorland.
Of half Reformists Montal was the Head,
And Bramhal next was by their Troops obey'd.
Their Treason all in desp'rate Speech express,
Sure of Iberia's, and their own Success.
They tell, how they Eliza will depose,
How they will treat those they esteem'd their Foes.
What Suff'rings they for Burleigh did prepare,
What ignominious Chains for Valiant Vere.

Thrice had the Sun display'd victorious Light,
Retreating thrice submitted to the Night;
Whilst in their Camp the Rebels did remain,
Eager to join th'expected Troops of Spain:
When to their Grief, 'twas to the Rebels known,
That the Iberian vanquish'd Fleet was gone.
That a brave Army did with Loyal Rage
March o'er the Hills, their Cohorts to engage.
Great Consternation, and amazing dread
The Leaders seiz'd, and thro' the Army spread.

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Not bold enough to undertake the Fight,
The Troops dispers'd, and Safety sought by Flight.

Montal mean time stay'd raving in his Tent,
And ignominious Suff'rings to prevent,
To his old Crimes, and his new Treason due,
In his own Blood he did his Hands embrue.
Wildly he star'd, and with all Hell possest,
He plung'd his Sword deep in his impious Breast.
The irreligious Wretch in Torment lay,
While greedy Death did on his Vitals prey.
Harden'd in Guilt, relentless he appear'd,
Believ'd no future State, no Vengeance fear'd:
Did Heav'n and Hell as idle Tales deride,
Mock'd the great Doom, and Wrath Divine defy'd.
In Blasphemies he his last Breath resign'd,
And dy'd renouncing God, and cursing all Mankind.

The End of the Sixth Book.

181

BOOK VII.

The Pious Queen, who Aid Divine implor'd,
Bless'd with Success, propitious Heav'n ador'd.
She did th'Almighty her Protector own,
The Guardian of her Life, and Bulwark of her Throne.
She prais'd her Saviour God, at whose right Hand
Obedient Vict'ry does for Orders stand,
And never flies without the high Command.
By his Direction she displays her Wings,
Imperial Crowns and envy'd Laurel brings
To mighty Heros, and to Fav'rite Kings.
When Hosts embattel'd in the Field engage,
And Warriors rous'd, discharge their Martial Rage,
Heav'n's Delegate with watchful Care attends
The happy Chief, whom Gracious Heav'n befriends.
Now kindly hov'ring o'er the General's Head
She does her Wings for his Protection spread.
Now she in Circles flying round the Air,
Marks out the Crown the Hero is to wear.
Sometime descending on his Head, does rest,
And with her own fair Plumes adorns his Crest.

182

At length she claps her bright Seraphick Wings,
Declares the Victor, and his Triumph Sings.

None than the Pious Queen did better know,
That Heav'n the Crowns and Laurels does bestow,
Which grace the Monarch's, or the Conqu'ror's Brow.
As she in secret her Deliverer own'd,
Who had Britannia's Arms with Conquest crown'd;
She did a Day of Sacred Thanks proclaim,
When all her Subjects might exalt his Name.
Might the Defender of the Realm adore,
Applaud his Goodness, and extol his Pow'r.
Might grateful Songs to Heav'n return, and raise
The Lord of Army's Name, with loud confed'rate Praise.

Pious Eliza on the Solemn Day
To Paul's Illustrious Temple took her way:
Clad in Imperial Robes, and dazling bright
With Gold and Gems, she pleas'd and griev'd the Sight.
High in her Chariot from her Palace Gate,
She pass'd with great Magnificence and State.
A noble Set of gen'rous Milk-white Steeds,
Such as Batavia's Nothern Region breeds,
With so much Pride the glorious Monarch drew,
As if they shar'd the Joy, and their high Station knew.

The Kings at Arms, who Honour's Court controul,
Emblazon Coats, and Pedegrees enrol:
Heralds and painted Pursevants, that wear
Distinguish'd Vests, and gilded Maces bear:

183

Trumpets and Drums, which Martial Breasts inflame,
Hautboys and Fifes th'advancing Pomp proclaim.
Trophies and Spoils, Marks of successful War,
Flags, Ensigns, Streamers trembling in the Air,
Were thro' the shouting Crowd in Triumph born,
Destin'd the Sacred Temple to adorn.
Angusta's Pretor, with a wealthy Train,
Adorn'd with Scarlet, and a Golden Chain;
Mounted on Steeds with splended Trappings grac'd,
And low depending Foot-cloaths richly lac'd;
Advanc'd to meet her at the City Gate,
Then turn'd, and march'd the foremost of her State.

Where most the Street dilates, the Pomp did march
Thro' a Triumphal, high erected Arch,
On which were pourtray'd by a Master Hand,
Eliza's Conquests won by Sea and Land.
Here noble Mottos, worthy of the Queen,
And rare Inscriptions were with Wonder seen;
Which did display her Princely Vertues, writ
By Men of Letters, and distinguish'd Wit:
(The Priors, and the Congreves of the Times,)
Some in sententious Prose, and some in Rimes.
There Britain's Queen, in a high Chair of State,
Awful, Serene, mildly Majestick sate.
On one side Justice with her Sword did stand,
Soft Mercy kneeling by, held the Stern Figure's Hand:
Wise Moderation one side did adorn,
And plump abundance, with her flow'ry Horn.

184

Vict'ry, descending thro' the yielding Skies,
(How charming was her Form, how bright her Heav'nly Eyes!)
Did in her Hand a Crown of Laurel bear,
And o'er Eliza's Head, hung hov'ring in the Air.
A snaky Hydra, late Europa's Dread,
Which at a thousand Necks divided bled,
In Gore and Blood extended lay beneath,
The monst'rous Form look'd terrible in Death.
Here thro' the Waves the vanqush'd Spaniard flew,
There Conqu'ring Drake in Thunder did pursue.
There Seas of Water mix with Seas of Blood,
And Crimson Billows reek amidst the Flood:
There half-burnt Ships which on the Ocean ride,
With ignominious Wreck deform the Tide.
Here great Oquendo sunk, still half in Air
The half-drown'd Masts and Rigging did appear.
From burning Diego there, th'aspiring Flame
To Heav'n advanc'd victorious Preston's Name.
A Squadron here ran on the Belgick Strand,
Some split on Rocks, some perish'd in the Sand.
There dreadful Wreck, Planks, Rigging, Masts, and Oars,
O'er-spread the Scotian, or th'Hiberian Shores.
On Bruga's Plain, there did great Mansfelt stand,
Here mighty Vere the Britons did command.
There did the Chief the vanquish'd Foe pursue,
And from his Terrors, there the Spaniard flew.

Princes and noble Lords, who in their Hand
Carry'd white Staves, Ensigns of high Command.

185

Victorious Chiefs, as well by Land as Sea,
Shar'd and encreas'd the Triumph of the Day.
Peers richly clad, high Officers of State,
And famous Gen'rals on the Queen did wait.
Those who in Courts of Judgment did preside,
And British Rights by ancient Rule decide,
The Moderator, whose superior Sway
Did make inferior Courts his Will obey,
Did to the true Intent the Letter draw,
And with soft Mercy temper'd rig'rous Law;
Clad in black Robes, did in long Order pass,
And with an awful Line the fam'd Procession grace.
Prelates and Metropolitans to pay
A just Regard to this auspicious Day,
To laud the Pow'r that did their Church sustain,
Heighten'd the Triumph with their reverend Train.

As the Victorious Monarch pass'd along,
On her Triumphant Wheels the Britons hung.
The eager Throng, which did her Chariot press,
Did by retarding it, the Pomp encrease.
Loud Acclamations to the Clouds did rise,
And propagate the Triumph thro' the Skies.
Thames heard the Joy, and with a speedy Stream,
Convey'd it to the Ocean, whence it came.
From every Quarter of the cheerful Town,
To see their Queen, the joyful Britons run.
The confluent Tides to a high Deluge grow,
And Waves of thronging Heads roll to and fro.

186

The gazing Clusters to the Windows clung,
And on the Roofs sublime, and Ridges hung:
Whence with luxurious Pomp they fed their Sight,
And with their greedy Looks devour'd Delight.
Their starting Eyes the Multitude did strain,
And from their eager Pleasure suffer Pain.
Medals of Gold and Silver, where she past,
Were midst the shouting Crowd profusely cast,
In which the Conquest by the Britons won,
Were in bold Work, and rare Devices shown.
With costly Ornaments the People grac'd
The stately Buildings, where the Triumph pass'd.
The noblest Velvets from Liguria brought,
Hangings in Arras, Silks in Persia wrought,
Scarlet and Tissues glorious to behold,
And Cloath of Silver richly flower'd with Gold,
Which to adorn the Fronts they did employ,
At once confess'd Augusta's Wealth, and Joy.

At length the Queen in this Triumphant State,
Midst Shouts of Joy, came to the Temple Gate:
Where soon as enter'd, on the Marble Floor,
Bending her Knees, she did her God adore.
With a loud Voice did praise propitious Heav'n,
Which to her Arms had glorious Conquest giv'n.
Had fought by Land and Sea on Albion's side,
And terribly rebuk'd Iberia's Pride.
The Queen ascended her high Throne, and sate
Above the Throng, beneath a Crimson State.

187

The spacious Dome with Sacred Anthems rung,
Set by rare Masters, by rare Voices sung.
The deep-mouth'd Organ with the Viol join'd,
Sweet Violins, soft Flutes, and every Kind
Of Vocal Wood and String, their Harmony combin'd.
The joyful Seraphs to the Frontier fly,
And on the Crystal Out-lines of the Sky,
The list'ning Choir of Heav'n stood stooping down,
To hear Terrestrial Praises, like their own.

Then Albion's famous Metropolitan,
A Prudent, Steady, Pious, Heav'nly Man,
Zealous for Truth, inflexibly upright,
From his high Seat display'd Cœlestial Light.
Thus the great Primate with his usual Force
Of Eloquence, began his Wise Discourse.

The awful Depths of Providence Divine,
Unfathomable by weak Reason's Line,
We with profound Submission should adore;
Should own the Justice of transcendent Pow'r,
Which the most piercing Wit can ne'er explore.
Short-sighted Man has lame, imperfect Views
Of Things which Wisdom infinite pursues.
Knows not to what the dark Proceedings tend,
Nor sees the Means connected with the End.
Benighted in this Sacred Wilderness,
And stopt by Heights unconscious of Access,
Astonish'd Reason chooses to decline
The awful Windings of the Maze Divine.

188

Th'inexplicable Springs of Empire rest
Deeply conceal'd within th'Almighty's Breast.
That deep Abyss its Secrets will contain,
And all our bold Researches will disdain,
Till the great Doom and Gen'ral Judgment Day
Shall the full Scheme of Providence display.
Then we shall see how every Branch and Line
Wisely contriv'd, advance the great Design,
And serve the glorious Ends of Government Divine.
Then Providence her Heav'nly Head will reer,
Dispel the Clouds which hang around her here,
And brighter than the Sun, in his full Height, appear.
We shall the Reasons of his Conduct know,
Which does confound, perplex, and pain us now.

Why happy Vice in Peace and Plenty reigns,
Whilst persecuted Goodness lies in Chains:
Why great Oppressors are so long allow'd
To waste Mankind, and glut themselves with Blood:
Why prosp'rous Pride and cruel Violence
With Empire crown'd, and bless'd with Wealth immense,
Should triumph midst Victorious Troops secure,
While Innocence is plagu'd, despis'd, and poor.
Why God neglects his suff'ring Servants Cries,
And sluggish Justice unawaken'd lies.
Why God-like Men with fruitless Moans complain,
And Heav'nly Vertue, Heav'n invokes in vain.
This Conduct which does so perplext appear,
So dark, and so inextricable here,

189

Will at the final Day be understood,
Will be extol'd as Wise, and Just, and Good.
Then in th'Almighty's Conduct we shall see
Beauty Divine, and perfect Harmony.

Things chiefly here in the same Order go,
As Rivers in their known frequented Channels flow.
Common Effects from common Causes spring,
And Nature runs her customary Ring.
The Strong subdue the Weak by usual Fate,
The Wise and Subtile Triumph in Debate.
Experienc'd Troops, th'Undisciplin'd defeat,
And in the Race, the Prize the Swiftest get.
But least Mankind to wrong Conceptions prone,
Should Heav'n's superior Will and Pow'r disown;
Should impious Thoughts unworthy God imbibe,
Should Providence dishonour, and ascribe
Private Events, and publick Turns of State
To a fixt Chain of Things, and necessary Fate:
He sometimes bids his Servant Nature take
A Path unknown, and her old Course forsake:
Bring forth Events by unexpected Ways,
Awe to produce, Astonishment to raise;
That God's controuling Will Mankind may fear,
Adore his Wisdom, and his Pow'r revere.
Nor does th'Almighty interpose his Pow'r,
Or interrupt the common Order more;
Nor in a more conspicuous manner bar
Nature's known Course, than in Events of War,
By which contending Realms their Cause to Heav'n refer.

190

The Lord of Hosts, who Persons ne'er respects,
His high Tribunal in the Field erects:
To which the Nations injur'd and oppress'd,
Make their Appeal, to have their Wrongs redress'd.
The Judge Supream does o'er their Arms preside,
Direct the War, and frequently decide,
Not for the strongest, but the justest Side.
He oft defeats vain-glorious Tyrants Hopes,
And great Oppressors in their Progress stops,
Who trust in famous Chiefs, and old Victorious Troops.
He disappoints the Counsels of the Wise,
Gives Vict'ry to the Weak, and to the Slow the Prize.

He lets ambitious Kings the World oppress,
Prolong their Reign, and gives their Arms Success.
Lets Scepter'd Spoilers Rapine long enjoy
Their Lust of Blood, and Thirst of Empire cloy:
While Heav'n its Vengeance close imprison'd keeps,
While Light'nings idle lie, and drousy Thunder sleeps.
Till pious Minds are anxious how to clear
The Providence Divine, which they revere.
At length his Wrath digested by delay,
Strengthen'd, sublim'd, and ripen'd by its Stay,
Th'Almighty from his oldest Phiol pours,
And on the Tyrant's Head amazing Vengeance show'rs.
Progressive Years will show the dreadful Day,
When Heav'n its Indignation will display:
Time, which will faithful and obedient be
To Heav'n's Commission, and Divine Decree,

191

Which is intrusted with the fatal Hour,
Will, tho' it halts, and lingers, bring it sure,
When the Almighty will in Arms appear,
And with his wrathful Sword, and fatal Spear,
Arrest th'Oppressor in his fierce Career.
He with a Frown abases haughty Pride,
And holds within its Banks Ambition's Tide.
But if its Inundation over-spreads
The Farms around, and drowns the neighb'ring Meads,
At his Rebuke back the proud Deluge goes,
And with its ancient Bounds contented flows.
Kings by a Series of Success secure,
And by their past, of future Triumph sure;
Who proudly to the Field in Arms advance,
As rais'd above the Reach of fickle Chance;
As Vict'ry dar'd attempt no other Flight,
And by Prescription Conquest was their Right;
These he assails, while they his Threats deride,
Pamper'd with long Success, and surfeited with Pride;
Giddy with Height, presumptuously secure,
Distracted with intoxicating Pow'r,
And for Destruction grown by num'rous Crimes mature.
He to the Dust the haughty Warrior dooms,
Pollutes his Laurels, and defiles his Plumes.
In Wrath th'Almighty thro' their Army goes,
Intimidates their Troops, and animates their Foes.
He of their Courage mighty Chiefs disarms,
And tim'rous Breasts with Martial Vigour warms.
Captains in Death experienc'd, easy grown
In Danger, and to every Terror known,

192

He can with Troops imaginary scare,
With arm'd Illusions, and offenceless War
Of fighting Meteors form'd, and Military Air.

Against our Foes th'Almighty War declar'd,
And his Cœlestial Equipage prepar'd.
He from his lofty Adamantine Tow'rs,
From his high Ars'nals, and eternal Stores,
Drew Arms Immortal, which the Sun out-shine,
Temper'd in deadly Flames of Wrath Divine,
Old Stocks of Vengeance, which digesting lay,
And Rage reserv'd for this Tremendous Day.
Girt with Almighty Strength, with Light array'd,
He from the Height of Heav'n his bloody Flag display'd.
His Conqu'ring Bow, and dreadful Quiver took,
And terribly his Spear th'Eternal Warrior shook.
He bow'd the Heav'ns, and from his bless'd Abode
Down the Ætherial Precipice he rode.
The starting Planets from his Presence flew,
Heav'n's Pillars trembled, and the Sun withdrew.
His dazling Chariot of Cœlestial Gold,
Drawn on by bridled Winds, and manag'd Tempests roll'd.
Thick Clouds and awful Darkness round him hung,
Loud Claps of Thunder thro' the Æther rung,
And dreadful Storms of Fire before him flew along.
As he descended in the lower Air,
Her Lord's dread Presence did all Nature scare.
To shun the Terrors of the fatal Day,
She at her Centre in Convulsions lay.

193

The Hills, their Consternation was so great,
Flew o'er the Vallies, and forgot their Weight.
The panting Mountains follow, struck with fear,
And with them in their Flight, the Beasts and Forrest bear.
The Rocks, some left their Shores, their old Abode,
And travell'd o'er the Land with all their Marble Load.
Some with the Terror melted where they stood,
Others shrunk down, and div'd beneath the Flood.
Rivers ran backward at th'Almighty's Sight,
And careless of their Duty, by their Flight
Did with protentous Tides the wond'ring Nations fright.
No less amaz'd, the Waters of the Deep
Did sink their Waves, and into Caverns creep,
Or trembling on the Shores did lie pretending Sleep.

Let us our great Deliverer's Love rehearse,
Whose Breath did o'er th'extended Deep disperse
Th'insulting Fleet, and formidable Host,
Who Conquest sung, before they saw our Coast.
His Terrors drove their Ships on fatal Strands,
Push'd them on Rocks, or fixt them in the Sands.
Many he gave into our Hands a Prey,
The rest on Shores unknown were cast away,
Or in Despair did on the Ocean stray.
Witness, O Belgia, thy destructive Coast,
What mighty Ships were midst thy Shallows lost?
Witness, ye Caledonian Rocks and Hills;
Ye congregated, wild Orcadian Isles!
What floating Shipwrecks did you then survey?
On all your Shores what scatter'd Ruin lay?

194

Ye Hyperborian and Hibernian Seas,
Ye Nothern Gulphs, and desart Hebudes,
The vast Destruction of our Foes declare,
For you are conscious of the fatal War.
Tell, how you saw th'amaz'd Iberians fly;
You view'd their Anguish, and you heard their Cry.
Tell, what Distress the vanquish'd Navy felt,
What deep Despair on their sad Faces dwelt,
When they Britannia's Conqu'ring Arms to shun,
Did to your Terrors, for Protection run.

As the Almighty on Britannia's Side
Engag'd by Sea, to humble Philip's Pride;
So has he bless'd victorious Vere by Land;
How well has he perform'd Eliza's high Command?
Bruga can tell how he distain'd her Plains
With a red Torrent from Iberian Veins:
How on the Field that dreadful glorious Day
Unnumber'd Heaps of slaughter'd Spaniards lay.
With what Confusion, and destracted Haste
O'er Belgia's Soil the routed Army pass'd.
Tidings from Bruga to the Sea were brought,
How the brave Vere commanded, how he fought.
How firmly in their Ranks the Britons stood,
How the Iberians flew, and how our Troops pursu'd.
The Ocean did the News from Land requite,
Telling the Wonders of the Naval Fight.

195

How is the great Oppressor's Pride abas'd?
How were his Troops, how were his Navy chas'd?
How is his Glory sunk? how are his Arms disgrac'd?
Ye Princes, who attend the Spoiler's Throne,
When first the News was to your Monarch known;
Say, what Distraction did his Soul surprize,
What Floods of Tears gush'd from his mournful Eyes?
Not long before he spoke these haughty Words;
I'll Prince of Princes be, and Lord of Lords.
The World shall own my universal Sway,
It serves one God, and shall one King obey.
Above the Heav'ns I'll sit with Glory crown'd,
And humble Seraphs shall my Throne surround.
I Kings by Turns will sink, by Turns create,
As they my Favour court, or move my Hate.
The scepter'd Slaves shall bow before my Throne,
And fly to serve me, when my Will is known;
Cheer'd if I smile, and troubled if I frown.
I my Divinity assert, and all
Shall prost'rate Vot'ries at my Altars fall,
And me their Soveraign Lord, and Saviour call.
Thus with Infernal Pride and Arrogance,
Th'elated Monarch did his Pow'r advance.

Yet thou, O Tyrant, from thy lofty Throne,
Shalt to the lowest Hell be trampled down;
Shalt to the silent Courts of Death descend;
And in the Tomb thy mould'ring Limbs extend.
That Space shall bound thy vast Ambition's Lust,
And mix thy Royal, with Ignoble Dust.

196

The Grave shall bid, for the great Tyrant's sake,
Her drousy, subterranean Guests awake,
And from their active Feet, their Leaden Fetters shake.
Princes and Monarchs, who have long possest
Their silent Beds in unmollested Rest,
Shall rise, and all their dark Apartments rend;
The Grave shall these illustrious Envoies send
To meet the great Oppressor in his way,
They, as commanded, to the King shall say,
Where are the Guards that waited at thy Gate?
Where are the Ensigns of Imperial State?
Where are the Laurels, which thy Temples crown'd?
Where the deep Crowd, which did thy Throne surround?
Are all thy Slaves and boasted Creatures lost?
Where are thy Navies and victorious Host?
Have all the mighty Chiefs their Monarch left?
Art thou of all thy Pomp and State bereft?
Where are thy envy'd Wisdom, Wealth, and Pow'r?
Did they forsake thee in the fatal Hour?
Where are thy Friends, who did such Zeal express?
Have they all left thee in thy last Distress?
Art thou obedient to Mortality?
Art thou as helpless and forlorn as we?
Good Heav'ns! how strange, how sad a Change is this!
A cold dark Grave ends all Terrestrial Bliss.
How wilt thou, mighty Prince, endure thy Fate?
The Grave affords no Robes, or Rooms of State.
We Dead do all Magnificence neglect,
Scepters and Crowns, as idle Toys, reject.

197

How will a proud Luxurious Monarch bear
Our dusty Lodgings, and our noisom Air?
O King! th'Apartment down to which you go,
Is lonely, strait, unlightsom, damp, and low.
How will you bear so hard, so sad a Doom
Which now consigns you to a narrow Tomb,
Who in the spacious World demanded Room?

Unthoughtful Princes, can your Host secure
Your guilty Heads from God's resistless Pow'r?
Should the Immortal Warrior from the Sky
Descend, and wave his Conqu'ring Sword on high;
Should he uplift his Adamantine Shield,
And arm'd with pointed Light'nings, take the Field;
Should his strong Hand shake his destructive Spear?
What Hero's Heart would not dissolve with Fear?
If Combate he demands, what Chief will dare
Step out, and undertake the dreadful War?
Who can his wrathful Terrors undergo?
Who can resist, or who elude the Blow?
Can mortal Man, whose animated Clay,
By its own Fire, does moulder and decay,
Who thro' his Nostrils breathes precarious Life away;
Can a vain Man sustain th'Almighty's Stroke?
Withstand his Rage, or face his angry Look?
Must not the Wretch at his dread Presence shake,
At which the shudd'ring Rocks and troubled Mountains quake?
He cannot stand against his God in Fight,
Nor scape pursuing Vengeance by his Flight.

198

For should the Wretch, wing'd with the Morning Ray,
Reach the grey Frontier of expiring Day;
Where from Incursions of encroaching Light,
High Mounds of ancient Shade protect the Realms of Night:
There his extended Arm would overtake,
And there the Fugitive his Captive make.
Should he descend, and for Protection, dwell
In the low Caves, and dark Abyss of Hell;
Nor Hell could show a solitary Room,
Nor all the Shades of Night afford a Gloom,
In which the guilty Fugitive might lie
Safely conceal'd from Heav'n's All-searching Eye.
Unsufferable Wrath, and fierce Despair,
Sadly confess th'Almighty's Presence there.
Give him the low Apartments of the Deep,
Where far from Day Primœval Waters sleep,
And unembroil'd with Storms, their peaceful Empire keep.
He could not fly that God, who does command
The Depths, who holds the Ocean in his Hand.
Should he on Seraphs Wings, convey his Fears
Thro' the blue Desarts and the trackless Spheres:
Should he to unfrequented Æther fly,
Behind some dusky, sinking Planet lie,
Or lurk in secret Corners of the Sky;
Th'Almighty, who enthron'd on high, surveys
Created Nature, which at once displays
Her various Worlds and Wonders to his Sight,
The Realms of Darkness, and the Fields of Light,
Will find the Sinner, and will make him know
He cannot from his Guilt, nor Guilt's Avenger go.

199

God oft a great Oppressor does permit
On his proud Throne in Majesty to sit.
Lets him abroad Victorious Armies send
O'er distant Realms, his Empire to extend.
Till he elated with his War's Success,
Does Lust of universal Sway express.
But tho' he long does this Oppressor spare,
Suppress his Anger, and his Stroke defer,
Almighty Patience will not always bear.
Tho' he afflicted Vertue long neglects,
The Pris'ner's Cries, and Martyr's Pray'r rejects;
Tho' his destructive Vengeance sleeping lies,
The God-like Suff'rer's Trust and Patience trys,
Yet 'twill awake at length, and terribly arise.
When Judah's slumbering Lion from his Rest
Is rous'd, to save th'Afflicted and Opprest,
How dreadful will his kindled Wrath appear?
Will he the proud and cruel Tyrant spare?
The wasted World shall see the happy Day,
When God will his Arrears of Justice pay.
Will make his Debt of threaten'd Ruin good,
And on the Oppressor's Head avenge the People's Blood.

Thus the Almighty in his Wrath arose,
Thus he rebuk'd our proud Iberian Foes,
Who had Europa's Kingdoms long oppress'd,
Whose Pow'r and Wealth so wastly was encreas'd,
That no fixt Bounds curb'd their encroaching Pride,
Till wrathful Heav'n chastis'd th'Ambitious Tide.

200

When their Presumption had our Land possess'd,
Heav'n from their rav'ning Jaws the Prey releass'd.
How did our God his mighty Arm extend?
Spain to controul, and Albion to defend?
How the Oppressor of the Nations sinks?
How deep, O Vengeance, of thy Cup he drinks?
How does his Courage and his Strength decline
By this destructive Draught of Wrath Divine?
Bitter as Gall it down his Throat descends,
Corrodes his Heart, with struggling Life contends,
And with Convulsive Throws his tortur'd Bowels rends.
How has th'Almighty, who our Battel led,
Discharg'd his Thunder on the Iberian's Head?
How terribly chastis'd the Son of Pride,
Who on the Strength of his own Arm rely'd?
How has he broke the roaring Lion's Jaws,
Dash'd out his Teeth, enervated his Paws?
How has he scatter'd o'er the Land or Main,
The Fleets and Armies of perfidious Spain?
Thus did the Lord of Hosts in Arms appear
To chase our Foes, and dissipate our Fear.
Let us exalt his Name in Songs of Praise,
To Heav'n our great Deliverer's Honour raise.
His Arms asserted Britain's Righteous Cause;
Let our Obedience to his Sacred Laws,
Our thankful Sense of Favours past attest,
Better by pious Deeds, than Words exprest.
Let Light Divine o'er all the Nation spread,
Let pure Religion raise her glorions Head,
In Vertue's Heav'nly Paths let grateful Britons tread.

201

To Albion thus new Blessings you'll procure,
And Heav'n's propitious Aid in future War secure.

Let your uncessant Pray'rs to Heav'n ascend,
That God would still our Pious Queen defend.
That he in Pity to Britannia's Isle,
To all the Nations of Europa's Soil,
At Liberty's and pure Religion's Pray'r,
Would make Eliza his peculiar Care.
A Queen, who thoughtless of her private Ease,
Has watch'd o'er Britain's Sons in War and Peace.
Who has no Interest, but her People's known,
Hast still esteem'd their Happiness her own.
Has God-like Pleasure truly understood,
Known what a Heav'n there is in doing Good.
She the Immense Leviathan has strook,
And in his cruel Nostrils fixt her Hook,
Who in the spacious Deep Tyrannick Pastime took.
Her Arms have curb'd the great Destroyer's Pow'r,
And left Britannia from her Rage secure.
As we are hers, may she be Seraphs Care,
Good God! a Life of such Importance spare,
And late upon her Head a Heav'nly Crown confer.

The pious Primate ceas'd. The tuneful Choir
With a new Anthem fed Devotion's Fire.
The Queen arose, and pass'd in Princely State
Thro' loud Applauses to her Palace Gate.

202

Augusta's Youth remaining Day employ,
In various Demonstrations of their Joy.
Some did in Crowds to the fam'd Fields repair,
Where Bethelem's Turrets rise amidst the Air.
Where learned Tyson's pow'rful Drugs remove
The Wild Effects of lawless Pride and Love.
Do the strong Influence of the Moon unbind,
Recall lost Reason, and restore the Mind.
Hither the Youth on this great Day resort
By various Passions led to various Sport.
Some in a num'rous Circle pour'd around,
Enclose, for wrestling Combatants, the Ground.
Who for their diff'rent Country's Fame contest,
Where now the North prevails, and now the West.
Loud Shouts of Joy alternately arise,
And raise th'unbloody Victor to the Skies.
Others step forth, and with a martial Air
Flourish their Staves, solliciting the War.
The nimble Youth now strike, and now defend,
And with redoubled Blows their Vigor spend.
Till Blood from either's wounded Head descends,
Which Crowns the Victor, and the Combate Ends.
Some active Youths their Name by Whorlbat raise,
They some for Leaping, some for Vaulting praise.
Others in Throngs fly to the Fields around,
And for their several Games chuse proper Ground.
Some fond of Conquest throw an Iron Wedge,
Some hurl huge Balls, some toss a Massy Sledge.
Some pond'rous Stones back o'er their Shoulders fling,
These Darts project, and those employ the Sling.

203

A Band of Archers here at Rovers shoot,
Another there wounds the high turfy Butt.
Some swift of Foot run Races o'er the Plain,
And eager of the Prize their Sinews strain.
Some pleas'd with Goff the Ball with Vigor strike,
These exercise the Colours, those the Pike.

When Evening came, they pass'd the cheerful Night
In various Scenes of Triumph and Delight.
The Limbs of Trees, the Hills and Forrest's Spoils
For Fires of Joy stand thick in lofty Piles.
The Woods, which lent their Oaks to quell the Foe,
Furnish Materials for the Triumph now.
Surrounding Youth set the high Piles on Fire,
To Heav'n their Shouts, to Heav'n the Flames aspire.
Long live the Queen, the joyful Britons cry,
Long live the Queen, the ecchoing Spheres reply.
Bright Lights in order plac'd each House adorn,
The Day recover, and prevent the Morn.
Harmonious Bells which high in Turrets hung,
Thro' all the Town in tuneful Changes rung.
The Conduits with Immense Profusion play'd,
And high in Air Red Jets of Wine convey'd.
The Crowd their ample Bowls with Nectar crown'd,
And Loyal Healths with loud Applause went round.

Before th'Imperial Palace tow'ring stood,
Rare Works of Fire encas'd in painted Wood.
Whence rival Glories did to Heav'n arise,
And Earth-born Thunder rung along the Skies.

204

The Heav'ns amaz'd with borrow'd Lustre shone,
With Lights and Meteors of a Race unknown,
With Forreign Stars, as thick and splendid as their own.
Such Noise, such Flames fill'd all the ambient Air,
The very Triumph seem'd another War,
And with the dreadful Joy did all the People scare.
Triumphant Laurels form'd of verdant Flame,
Advanc'd the Conqueror's and the Artist's Fame.
Nor did th'amaz'd Spectators less admire,
Th'Inscriptions writ in Characters of Fire.

Britannia's Monarch at th'approach of Night
Did to a Treat magnificent invite
All the great Lords that on her Court did wait,
Her own, and Forreign Ministers of State.
Strong Servants panting with the pond'rous Feast,
And with unweildy Luxury opprest,
Brought mighty Dishes of delicious Fare,
And on the groaning Tables plac'd the Cheer.
All Beasts, that Britain's fertile Pastures breed,
That range the Parks, or on the Mountains feed.
All kinds of curious Fish, that Pleasure take
In the swift Stream, or in the standing Lake;
Which in our own, or distant Nations dwell,
With Scales adorn'd, or fortify'd with Shell.
All sorts of wild, or tame Domestick Fowl,
Which finer Tasts as choice Delights enrol,
With all the feather'd Pleasures of the Sky,
Which by the Net, and by the Faulcon die;

205

All kinds of rare and more luxurious Meat
Which Albion yields, and Forreign Nations eat,
The Guests with unexampled Plenty treat.
All sorts of gen'rous and delicious Juice,
Which cheer the drooping Heart, and Mirth produce,
The happy Growth of fair Britannia's Isle,
Of Europe's neighb'ring Realms, or distant Asia's Soil,
Regal'd the cheerful Guests, who all exprest
Great Admiration of the splendid Feast.

And as their Taste was pleas'd with Wine and Cheer,
Consorts of Heav'nly Musick charm'd their Ear.
Yet all with more transporting Pleasure heard
Spencer the fam'd, unrival'd English Bard,
Who with a tuneful, and Seraphick Tongue,
Thus in a lofty Stile began his noble Song.

Angels and Arms he sung, Cœlestial Fight,
And dire Commotion in the Realms of Light.
He sung, how Satan with Ambition seiz'd,
In Heav'n uneasy, and in Bliss displeas'd,
With Lust of Independent Empire fir'd,
Against his Soveraign and his God conspir'd.
How he the Plan of his Rebellion laid,
Pretended Wrongs and Grievances display'd.
How he on Ruin set, in Mischief Wise,
Upbraided with inglorious Cowardise,
Seraphick Chiefs, who tamely did obey
Th'Almighty's hard Commands, and arbitrary Sway.

206

With his engaging Tongue, and subtile Art,
He of the Host seduc'd a mighty part,
Who flew to Arms, their Treason to assert.
He sung, how Satan on the fatal Day
Did his Battalions draw in bright Array,
Did on th'Ætherial Field unheard-of War display,
The Army, part the Azure Vally fills,
Part over-spread Heav'n's everlasting Hills.
The Rebel Host in Steel Immortal clad,
Advance th'Almighty's Empire to invade.

He sung, how God by this Affront inflam'd,
Hung out his wrathful Flag, and War thro' Heav'n proclaim'd.
How faithful Michael rows'd with these Alarms,
Renown'd for Conduct, and Superior Arms,
The Chief to whom supream Command was giv'n
O'er all the glorious Regiments of Heav'n,
Drew from the Crystal Ars'nals of the Sky
Immortal Cannon, dread Artillery.
How he his Spear presaging Ruin shook,
What wrathful Majesty possess'd his Look.
With what a Port and formidable Air
The Seraph Chief did to the Field repair.
How he his bright embattel'd Myriads led,
To charge proud Satan at his Army's Head.
How Nature trembled, what Concern it show'd,
While raging Seraphs rang'd in Battel stood.
Here valiant Michael did his Host dispose,
And Orders gave how to assail the Foes.

207

There haughty Satan ready to engage,
In threat'ning Frowns express'd Immortal Rage.

He sung, how first great Michael's Batt'ries plaid
From Heav'n's blue Hills, and vast Destruction made,
Chiefs heap'd on Chiefs, Cherub on Cherub laid.
How Satan shaking his distinguish'd Lance,
To be reveng'd, did to the Foe advance;
At Michael's Breast with his collected Strength,
Push'd his bright Spear of formidable Length.
Temper'd with Skill Divine th'Immortal Shield
Which Michael bore, could to no Weapon yield.
Satan enrag'd, repeats his Thrust in vain,
His Foes hard Arms all Hostile Force disdain,
Offenceless Seraphs feel no Wounds or Pain.
Then Michael couch'd his Adamantine Spear,
On Satan rush'd with such a fierce Career,
He threw him Headlong on the Heav'nly Ground,
And left within his Side a ghastly Wound.
A mighty Shout ran thro' the Loyal Host,
The flying Rebels yield the Battel lost.

He sung, how thro' the Desarts of the Sky
The vanquish'd Host did in Confusion fly.
How the victorious Seraphs did pursue,
What Storms of Fire, what Thunderbolts they threw,
What Darts, what Light'nings at the Rebels flew.
What Rout, what Ruin, what Angelick Spoil,
Did where they pass'd, th'Ætherial Plains defile.

208

With what a Rage the Conqu'ring Warriors chast
The Rebel Seraphs thro' the Azure waste.
Until they stop'd on Heav'n's impending Brow;
Seas all beneath of flaming Sulphur flow.
How the lost Traytors in Disorder stood
On the high Banks of this amazing Flood:
Till Michael in his high Cœlestial Car
Discharg'd new Vengeance, and reviv'd the War.
Who with his Terrors, and superior Might,
Push'd all their Squadrons from th'Ætherial Height
Into th'Infernal Lake, where all their Host
Plung'd deep in Flame remain for ever lost.

Then sung the Bard, how still with Rage possest,
Satan expell'd from Heav'n did Earth infest.
How meditating Ruin, Spoil, and Blood,
He fir'd with Wrath, pursu'd the Just and Good.
Did with malicious Vigilance employ
A thousand Arts, the Righteous to destroy.
Did War foment, and impious Kings engage,
To lay them waste with unrelenting Rage.
How Satan prompted Ægypt's King to chase
With deadly Fury Jacob's Sacred Race.
How haughty Pharo with a mighty Force,
Chariots of Iron and unnumber'd Horse,
The trembling Hebrews in their Flight o'er-took,
And thro' their Tribes amazing Terror strook.
When God the yielding Ocean did divide,
And roll'd in heaps the Waves on either side.

209

When stiff'ning Waters heard the high Command,
Did Craggy Rocks, and Crystal Mountains stand,
And left an open Space of dry and naked Land.
When Pharo's Host advanc'd into the Sea,
And dar'd attempt the horrid Defile.
At the Almighty's Nod the Waters felt
Their Chain was broken, and began to melt.
What fear did Pharo seize, when first he saw
The Crystal Rocks dissolve, the Mountains thaw!
The must'ring Waves did on th'Ægyptian bear,
And charg'd their troubled Host with liquid War.
In vain th'Ægyptians from the Terror fly,
In vain to senseless Gods for Safety cry.
The roaring Sea their flying Army stops,
And whelms its Billows o'er their sinking Troops:
Does o'er their Horse and Horsemen roll its Flood,
And makes its Waters quench their Thirst of Blood.
Chariots and Armor sunk beneath the Tide,
Which bury'd in its Caves perfidious Pharo's Pride

The wond'rous Bard proceeding chose to sing
The Wars of Deborah, and proud Caanan's King;
His Song advanc'd the wond'rous Woman's Name,
And next to hers, the mighty Barak's Fame:
Did in Sublime, Enthusiastick Verse,
Hers, and her valiant Gen'ral's Deeds rehearse:
The Wonders by their Arms near Kishon done,
What Valour there was shown, what Glory won.
How they, O Kishon, swell'd thy wond'ring Flood,
And drown'd the Fields around with Hostile Blood.

210

How Jabin's Troops flew from th'unequal Fight,
As Fear and Terror did direct their Flight.
How they to shun great Barak's Conqu'ring Sword,
Rashly, O Kishon, try'd thy Waves to Ford.
What Numbers on the Field of Battel dy'd,
What Numbers perish'd in the fatal Tide.

The End of the Seventh Book.

211

BOOK VIII.

The Morn with Purple of Cœlestial Dye,
Hung the high Chambers of the Eastern Sky.
Pious Eliza, with her usual Care,
Retir'd for sacred Praise, and secret Pray'r.
Rapture Divine did on the Queen descend,
And Heav'nly Infflux did her Breast extend.
Extatick Heat her lab'ring Heart oppress'd,
And struggling Joy the Pow'r within confess'd.
While with her God the Royal Virgin strove,
In pious Pangs of ardent Zeal and Love;
Too full of Heav'n, and with excessive Day
O'er-whelm'd, the Queen in blissful Transports lay.
While thus entranc'd, she lifting up her Eyes,
Saw Gabriel's Form descending thro' the Skies.
A shining Cloud of bright compacted Air
The Chariot form'd, which did the Seraph bear.
Charms inexpressible, Cœlestial Grace,
And perfect Joy smil'd in his youthful Face.

212

Advancing, he Eliza thus address'd:
Hail Queen, with Heav'n's peculiar Favour bless'd.
Th'Eternal Mind regards your pious Care,
Approves your Service, and accepts your Pray'r.
To show how much your Zeal and Heav'nly Love,
And pure Devotion are esteem'd above,
I by supream Commission thence descend,
You to those happy Regions to attend.
That you may see the Triumphs of the Blest,
Of future Joys, a present Earnest Taste.
Fear not, in Safety this Cœlestial Car
Shall thro' th'Ætherial Void Eliza bear.
Take in your Hand this Tuft of fragrant Flowers
From the bless'd Gardens, and Immortal Bow'rs.
These powerful Odors will your Strength support,
While you on high ascend to reach th'Eternal's Court.
I'll thro' the vast Expansion with you ride,
Verss'd in the Road, I'll be your faithful Guide.

He said, and with a mild Seraphick Mein,
In the bright Chariot plac'd Britannia's Queen.
On high they mounted swifter than the Wind,
And left withdrawing Earth, and subject Clouds behind.
They pass'd th'inferior District of the Moon,
And the wide Vortex govern'd by the Sun.
They thro' the vast extended Empires soar
Rul'd by Erratick Stars, Magnetick Pow'r:
Thro' liquid Realms, and solitary Wilds,
Blue Plains of Æther, and transparent Fields.

213

From Sphere to Sphere, from World to World they pass'd,
And view'd the glorious Lights in wond'rous Order plac'd.
They reach'd the starry Sky, and milky Way,
Regions of Peace, and unmollested Day.
Where casting round her Eyes th'admiring Queen
A thousand Worlds beheld before unseen.
Each little Star, that twinckles in the Skies,
Scarcely discern'd by Astronomick Eyes,
Is now a glorious World, whose central Sway
Planets of various Magnitudes obey.
Their Orbs are all attended, like the Sun's,
With great Variety of changing Moons.
The Stars, which one confed'rate Light display,
With glim'ring Glory mark the Heav'nly Way,
Are sep'rate Empires to th'admiring Queen,
With Fields immense of Æther spread between.
She sees how all the Orbs direct their Course,
And how the Less obeys the Greater's Force.

The Queen sustain'd by the great Seraph, past
These various Worlds and Wonders, till at last
On the high Convex of the outmost Sphere,
She saw the new Jerusalem appear.
Th'Imperial City, where the Christian's God
Has his high Throne, his Saints their bless'd Abode.
Ten thousand Beauties charm'd her ravish'd Sight,
Glory Divine, and Beatifick Light.
She did with Joy ineffable behold
The Adamantine Gates, and Tow'rs of Heav'nly Gold;

214

The Crystal Walls, th'Immortal Palaces,
Dwellings of Pleasure, Seats of Love and Peace.
Eternal Green, and Flow'rs unfading crown'd
The fair Ætherial Fields, which lay around.
Empyreal Roses, Amaranth Divine,
And sacred Lillies did their Beauties join.
Here happy Groves of fragrant Myrtle stood,
Sweet Bow'rs of Jes'mine there, there a bless'd Cedar Wood.
Whence Odors inexpressible proceed,
Which cheer the Heart, and Life eternal feed.
Rivers of Living Waters bless'd the Sight,
And Streams of unconceivable Delight;
On whose sweet Banks dwells everlasting Spring,
And beauteous Trees, which Fruit Immortal bring.

Passing, she saw in what extatick Joy,
Cœlestial Guests their happy Hours employ.
In Transports some with undecaying Flow'rs,
And Heav'nly Garlands crown'd in blissful Bow'rs,
Or spread beneath the Tree of Life, that stood
Upon the Living Water's peaceful Flood,
Did with Angelick Food their Palates feast,
And tasted Pleasures not to be exprest.
They drank rich Nectar, and reviving Wine,
Press'd from the gen'rous Fruits of Growth Divine.
Some on the Fields spread in Triumphant Bands,
With Eyes uplifted, and extended Hands,
Sing Hallelujahs, and Cœlestial Lays,
And fill the list'ning Heav'ns with great Jehovah's Praise.

215

Immerss'd in Bliss ineffable they lie,
O'er-pow'r'd with Joy, and lost in Exstacy.
Some with their bended Knees the Æther press,
And to th'Almighty's Throne their Pray'r address,
Which awful stood amidst Empyreal Sky
On Pillars rais'd insuperably high.
How long they cry'd, God, Holy, Just, and True,
Wilt thou defer thy threat'ned Vengeance due
To proud Oppressors, who thy Martyrs kill,
The World with Blood, and cruel Ruin fill,
Yet boast they serve thee, and obey thy Will.

Some in the happy Walks their Hours employ,
With Heav'nly Converse feeding mutual Joy.
They Suff'rings past with present Bliss compar'd,
And their small Service with its vast Reward.
The Shortness of the Race, which here they run.
With the bless'd Prize of endless Glory won.
They cry, we now our past Impatience blame,
We should, if Heav'n would bear it, blush for Shame,
Our former light Affliction to compare,
With the vast Weight of Glory which we bear.
To the bright Crowns, which now our Heads adorn,
What are the trifling Suff'rings we have born?
All-gracious God! how are we over-paid
For the Advances we in Vertue made?
How far does thy Reward superior prove,
To the short Labour of our pious Love?
Love, which was Labour, now becomes our Crown,
For Love Divine is Bliss, when fully grown.

216

Our Work and Wages differ not in Kind,
Vertue is Heav'n, when 'tis from Guilt refin'd.
Mixtures of Crime did once our Peace destroy,
But perfect Purity, is perfect Joy.
How from our Hearts we Pity, oft they said,
Mankind below by flatt'ring Vice betray'd.
Ah foolish Men! who for Terrestrial Toys,
Enchange this Heav'n, these everlasting Joys.
Who for a Moment's guilty Pleasure, lose
Eternal Peace, and Pain Eternal chuse.

Not far remote, upon a spacious Field,
By his superior Port, and brighter Shield,
Distinguish'd Michael drew in long Array,
Heav'n's bright Brigades, that his Command obey.
Th'Illustrious Cohorts with Seraphick Grace,
In long Review before their Gen'ral pass.
Immortal Youth in their bless'd Faces smil'd,
How terrible their Strength? their Looks how mild?
What fatal Arms each Glorious Warrior wears?
How keen their Swords? how long and bright their Spears?
How awful did th'extended Front appear?
How dreadful was their Deep unmeasurable Reer?
The Bless'd were thus employ'd, these Scenes were seen
Before the City, by the wond'ring Queen.

The everlasting Gates lift up their Heads,
Thro' which the Seraph Guide Eliza leads.
He shews her all the Wonders of the Place,
Bright with the Glory of th'Almighty's Face.

217

He leads the Stranger to th'August Abode,
And the high Throne of the Redeemer God.
She heard, and with extatick Joy beheld
Myst'ries Divine, Things not to be reveal'd.

Then spoke the Guide: Eliza, pious Queen,
Since pure Religion's Cause has ever been
Your chief Concern, your Joy, your tender Care,
I by supream Commission will declare,
When Heav'n is pleas'd Eliza to remove,
From Albion's Throne to these bless'd Seats above;
What shall befal reform'd Divine Belief,
Whence it shall suffer, whence receive Relief.
The three great Kings, who next shall fill the Throne,
Shall Faith reform'd and pure Religion own.
Shall Heav'n's Dominion o'er the Isle extend,
Invaders curb, and Albion's Church defend.
Rome shall attempt, but shall attempt in vain
Her Empire o'er Britannia to regain:
Employ a thousand Arts with fruitless Toil,
To sink th'establish'd Worship of the Isle.
The fourth (unhappy Prince!) who mounts the Throne,
Shall be, imperious Rome, thy zealous Son.
Then shall reform'd Religion droop her Head,
And impious Rome's impending Tempest dread.
Distress'd Britannia will with Sighs and Tears
Implore th'Almighty to avert her Fears.
She will his Pity, and his Pow'r invoke,
To save her Sons from Rome's oppressive Yoke.

218

To Guard her Realm, her Altars to secure
From Anti-christian, and Tyrannick Pow'r.
Th'Eternal will their Pray'r in Mercy hear,
Will raise a Just, and great Deliverer,
Who will her Faith defend, and dissipate her Fear.
A mighty Hero of Nassovian Blood,
A Lover of Mankind, and publick Good,
At Heav'n's Command will from Batavia come,
To guard Britannia from insulting Rome.
Belgia will then her Gratitude express,
And in her Turn save Britain in Distress.
Your Kindness to her, States and pious Aid,
By this great Monarch's Arms shall be repaid.
This glorious Prince shall Faith reform'd support
Against the Rage of Rome, and Gallia's haughty Court.

Now a great Warrior sprung from Bedford's Line,
Midst Albion's Heros will conspicuous shine.
He in this Martial King's auspicious Reign,
With his victorious Navy will maintain
Britannia's ancient Empire of the Main.
The Gaul's proud Fleet he'll drive from Albion's Isle,
And spread the Gallick Shores with Gallick Spoil.
He to their Coasts in Thunder will advance,
Rebuke the Pride, and curb the Pow'r of France.
His Arms a French Invasion shall defeat,
As yours compell'd the Spaniard to retreat.

William will Britain's ravish'd Rights restore,
She shall his Goodness feel, her Foes his Pow'r.

219

For Kings and Queens he will the way prepare,
Destin'd to make the Church and State their Care.
Their Thanks the grateful Britons shall express,
And for their Anna, shall their William bless.
When he shall lay the Royal Scepter down,
And change Britannia's for an Heav'nly Crown,
A new Eliza by th'Almighty's Grace,
Shall fill, great Nassau! thy Imperial Place.
William in Anna shall himself survive,
While Anna reigns, his Vertues are alive.
She'll William's Aims pursue with great Renown,
She will no Int'rest, but Britannia's own.
She Roman Foes, she Gallick will defeat;
What William left unfinish'd, she'll compleat.
Britons will reap such Blessings from her Reign,
Of their Deliverer's Loss they'll scarce complain.

In her Illustrious Court there will appear
A Wiser Cecil, and a Greater Vere.
One verss'd in Human Nature, Wise, Sedate,
Shall steer with steady Hand the fluctuating State.
Shall by his Skill, and masterly Address
Faction compose, and Bigottry suppress.
Shall angry Mens intemp'rate Heats controul,
And make contending Parties serve the Whole.
One great in Arms by Anna's high Command,
Shall lead her Cohorts to Germania's Land.
Shall Faith reform'd, and Liberty defend,
And Anna's Terrors far and wide extend.

220

At Schellemburg what Laurels will he gain?
And what Immortal Fame at Bleinheim's glorious Plain?
He'll die with Hostile Blood the Danube's Tide,
And with his Waves o'er-whelm the Gallick Pharo's Pride.
He'll from his Fetters free the grateful Rhine,
And to her Banks repel ambitious Sein.
The rescu'd Princes, who shall then command
The num'rous Nations of Germania's Land,
All from the Soil, where fam'd Danubius flows,
To Alba's Banks, and Scandinavian Snows,
All who shall fear destructive War's Alarms,
Or feel the dire Effect of Gallick Arms,
Shall this Restorer of Europa bless,
And thank his Arms for Liberty and Peace.
Yet unelated will the Conqu'ror come
Laden with Spoils, and far-fetch'd Laurels home.
Unalter'd by Success, he'll free appear
From Pride in Triumph, as in Fight from Fear.
He'll hear unchang'd th'Applauses of the Throng,
The Thanks of Princes, and the Poet's Song.
His unexampled Moderation's Charms
Will crown him more, than his Victorious Arms.
This will the Hero's Character compleat,
And as successful, show him truly Great.

Anna, the Prop of pure Religion's Cause,
Anna, th'Assertor of Britannia's Laws,
Kind to her Subjects, faithful to her God,
Will Mercy show at home, and Pow'r abroad.

221

What Spain is now, the World shall Gallia see,
And Anna, what Eliza is, shall be.
Another Philip shall o'er Gallia reign,
With whom compar'd this perjur'd King of Spain,
Is Faithful, Kind, Beneficent, and Good,
Free from Ambition, and from Thirst of Blood,
Conquest will ne'er his Lust of Pow'r asswage,
Nor Seas of Blood his persecuting Rage.
At Universal Empire he shall aim,
Pow'r is the Title, that asserts his Claim.
Truth, Honour, Justice, shall no Vertues be,
When they with Gallia's Int'rest disagree.
Such Breach of Faith and Vows are yet unknown,
As this perfidious Prince will with Derision own.
To be ador'd, by Sycophants he'll sit,
Honours Divine and Blasphemy admit.
Regal'd with Ruin, and on Blood intent,
He'll Strangers Plague, and his own Slaves torment.
But Anna's Arms shall his proud Course restrain,
As now Eliza's curb the Pow'r of Spain.

But e'er that Queen th'Imperial Crown shall wear,
She shall a Son, another William, bear;
Whose Princely Vertues by a Noble Bloom,
Promise a great Deliverer to come.
The opening Bud the Hero shall disclose,
Riper than e'er an Age so tender shows.
His wond'rous Genius soon will be display'd;
How few for Rule and Empire so are made?

222

Fit for the Scepter, or the Sword to weild;
To guide the State, or conquer in the Field.
His Royal Parents Joy and only Prop,
Proud Gallia's Envy, and Britannia's Hope.
High Expectations will possess the Isle,
Fair Liberty will sing, and pure Religion smile.
All will believe, this wond'rous Child by Heav'n
For mighty Deeds and high Events is giv'n.
That he'll Religion, Law, and Right maintain,
Like William combate, like Eliza reign.
But O, ye Britons, you'll your selves destroy
Your present Blessing, and your future Joy.
Your crying Provocations you'll repeat,
Till by your Guilt you your own Hopes defeat.
Your fierce Divisions, mutual Hate and Strife,
Corrupted Manners, and flagitious Life,
Shall God's fierce Wrath and Jealousy provoke,
Till he afflicts you with the fatal Stroke.
Till he the Apple of your Eye remove,
And take your Darling Prince to Bliss above.

The Child will in a burning Fever lie,
But by your more malignant Guilt will die.
Some the Disease, Physicians some accuse,
For what their own destructive Crimes produce.
Tis Albion's Sin, that with Infernal Fire
Kindles the Flame, by which her Hopes expire.
How will the Britons their sad Fate lament?
Oh! may they of the Cause as much repent!

223

How will they groan beneath the heavy Cross?
And how bewail th'irreparable Loss?
How will they wring their Hands, and tear their Hair?
How with the Accents of extream Despair,
From Windsor's Tow'rs distract the ecchoing Air?
What Efforts of inimitable Grief,
What Crys of Suff'rers hopeless of Relief,
What wild Distress, and lamentable Strains
Will propagate the Sorrow thro' the Plains?
From Town to Town the catching Grief shall go,
O'er all the Isle shall spread contagious Woe.
Thus shall afflicted Britons mourn their Fate,
But, as their manner is, when 'tis too late.
Unhappy Albion, thankless and unwise,
Before 'tis gone, wilt thou no Blessing prize?
While this sad Story Gabriel did relate,
Eliza pity'd Albion's future Fate.

Then from th'Almighty's bless'd Imperial Seat,
With Britain's Queen, the Seraph did retreat.
They many rolling Worlds and Empires past,
Which glorious hung thro' all th'Ætherial Waste.
At length the pious Queen the Earth descry'd,
Till now by Distance, to her Sight deny'd:
This dusky Planet, this Terrestrial Ball
Appear'd so mean, so dispicably small,
It seem'd unworthy of a Place or Name,
Among the Worlds, that form this universal Frame.

When the bless'd Seraph, by a swift Return,
His Royal Charge had to her Palace born,

224

From Earth the radiant Minister withdrew,
And back to Heav'n for new Instructions flew.
Long in her Thoughts Britannia's Queen revolv'd
These Heav'nly Scenes, doubtful and unresolv'd,
If while the wond'rous Vision she had seen,
Out of, or in the Body she had been.

Mean time, till Heav'n had Philip's Force suppress'd,
And Queen Eliza's Fleet with Triumph bless'd;
Britannia's Host, Vere's Order to obey,
Close in their Camp near famous Bruga lay.
Britons and Belgians in defensive Arms
Waited th'Event of Philip's Sea-alarms.
That if the Storm, that gather'd on the Main,
On Albion's Shore should spend its Rage in vain;
And if the fam'd, unconquerable Fleet,
(So was the vast Armada stil'd) should meet
A Foe, whose Courage might their Hopes defeat,
And force them with Dishonour to retreat:
The Troops at Vere's Return to Belgia's Soil
Might to new Triumphs press, and nobler Spoil.

Soon as the News was to the Spaniard known,
That mighty Vere was from his Army gone,
Leaving that Country, to protect his own;
Th'assembled Gen'rals did their Sense declare,
This was the Season to renew the War.
They thought no Chief did in the Host remain
Able th'advancing Spaniard to sustain.

225

To storm the Briton's Camp, Wise Mansfelt mov'd,
And all the rest the great Design approv'd.
They drew their Troops, to reinforce their Host,
From the strong Places of the neighb'ring Coast.
They empty'd all the Garrisons that stood
On Iper's Banks, and winding Legia's Flood.
From Vurna's Tow'rs, and Novoporto's Strand,
To Dunkirk's Port, and Graveling's spreading Sand.
Confirm'd in Hope his Forces would prevail,
Mansfelt prepar'd the Britons to assail.

Now did the Morn, before returning Day,
With Heav'nly Roses spread the Eastern Way.
On War intent the Valiant Gen'ral rose,
And for the Combate did his Host dispose.
Grasping his Pike, bright as a Winter Star,
He led the Cohorts, and advanc'd the War.
O'er all the Field the close embattel'd Swarms
Diffus'd the dazling Terror of their Arms.
Its threat'ning Front the Army did extend,
And to the Briton's Camp its Tempest bend.
Pillars of Dust the marching Legions move,
Clouds from beneath ascend to those above.
From their high Lines the War-like Briton saw
Th'approaching Host, unmov'd by Fear or Awe.
Pleas'd with the View, and coveting the Fight,
They to th'Attack Iberia's Troops invite.
They irritate the Foe, and from afar
Mock their slow March, and ask a closer War.

226

Before the Briton's Camp the Army stood
Rang'd in Battalia, while the Gen'ral view'd
With prudent Care the high Entrenchments round,
The Posture of the Foe, and Nature of the Ground.
Mansfelt return'd to Valdes, gave Command
To make the On-set with his Valiant Band.

Strong Valdes, griping hard his trembling Lance,
To storm the high Entrenchments, did advance.
His fierce Battalions drawn in close Array,
Follow'd the Chief, who boldly led the way.
Soon as he came within the Cannon's Swoop,
Rang'd in dire Order on the Rampart's top;
The hollow Engines charg'd with Death unseen,
Roar, and their known destructive Task begin.
The gaping Brass sends out imprison'd Lead,
Rakes their Brigades, and lays in Rows the Dead.
Th'Iberian Band great Consternation shew'd,
When they the ghastly Face of Slaughter view'd.
Doubtful a while, and undetermin'd staid,
Asham'd to fly, and to advance afraid.
Recov'ring Heart, th'Iberian Troops at last,
To mount th'Entrenchment, in Battalia past;
But broken by the Briton's dreadful Fire,
Did in Confusion to their Friends retire.

Herman, who always with great Honour fought,
Next to the Charge his Vet'ran Cohorts brought.
The Valiant Chief the Britons Fury bore,
With Brains bespatter'd, and distam'd with Gore.

227

While the undaunted Hero forward prest,
A fatal Bullet enter'd deep his Breast;
And buried, in his gen'rous Heart did rest.
Stretch'd on the Ground th'expiring Warrior lay,
Hanging with eager Eyes on parting Day.

Alvaz, whose Courage did distinguish'd shine,
Bravely advanc'd to mount th'opposing Line.
Megen and Perez, follow'd Sword in Hand,
Gouramno flew, their Progress to withstand.
He with his high rais'd Sword did Alvaz meet,
And laid the Spaniard prostrate at his Feet.
A while he strove with the strong Pangs of Death,
Then in a deep-fetch'd Groan resign'd his Breath.
Intent on dire Revenge, with wond'rous Rage
Megen came on, the Briton to engage.
He did his Strength in Battel fam'd exert,
And hop'd to pierce Gouramno's Noble Heart.
His vig'rous Thrust the Briton did sustain,
Which had with ease a vulgar Warrior slain.
Gouramno fir'd, lifts his destructive Blade,
Which had so many mournful Widows made;
So many Parents of their Sons bereft,
So many Children without Fathers left;
And with prodigious Force assail'd the Foe,
Discharging on his Crest a fatal Blow:
The Warrior deeply wounded in the Head,
Fell, and encreas'd the Number of the Dead.
Perez press'd forward with Iberian Pride,
By high Descent to ancient Kings ally'd,

228

But War and Death do no Distinction know
Of Rich or Poor, of High Descent or Low.
The mighty Spaniard by Gouramno slain,
Did with his Noble Blood the Dust distain.
Her Valiant Sons let not Iberia blame,
Accuse their Conduct, or reproach their Name;
The fatal Field does no Disgrace afford,
For tho' they fell, 'twas by Gouramno's Sword.

Their Leaders slain, the daunted Troops retir'd:
The Gen'ral all with Indignation fir'd,
Gave the Command, that Lara should ascend
The Works, which Valiant Fairfax did defend.
The Noble Spaniard with a Martial Air,
Boldly advanc'd, and undertook the War.
His cheerful Troops, Estramadura's Pride,
On whose known Courage all their Host rely'd,
March'd fearless on, near yet in Combate quell'd,
One Hand their Sword, one their Granado held.
While Fairfax strove th'Invader to repel,
Thick on the Ground the slaughter'd Spaniards fell;
Yet their brave Troops his furious Fire sustain'd,
And the wide Ditch around th'Entrenchment gain'd.
The Lines they mounted, and amidst the Foe
Did flaming Tempests of Granados throw.
Then with their Swords they cut their bloody Way,
And strove, like Valiant Warriors, for the Day.
This sharp Assault the Briton did withstand,
Maintain'd his Ground, and still the Rampart mann'd.

229

The Britons did their native Courage show,
Bore all their Fire, and charg'd in turn the Foe.
The Warriors firm, resolv'd, and obstinate,
Prolong'd the Combate, with uncertain Fate.
The Spaniard now, and now the Britons yield,
And in their turn they win, and lose the Field.
While Vict'ry undetermin'd did decide
For neither part, and War from side to side,
With equal Kindness roll'd its quick alternate Tide.
When Mansfelt, anxious for the great Event,
A fresh Supply of Troops to Lara sent.
Thus strongly reinforc'd, he with his Fire
Oblig'd th'out-number'd Britons to retire.

Horatio, who with a Wise Gen'ral's Care,
Watch'd all the Turns, and Motions of the War.
Seeing his Friends hard press'd, retreat in Fight,
Brought up his Cohorts to prevent their Flight.
They with Horatio's Presence reinspir'd,
With his Example, Looks, and Language fir'd,
Felt in their Breasts their kindled Courage glow,
And with redoubled Fury charg'd the Foe.
A noble Fight within the Camp arose,
And Death did all her dreadful Shapes disclose.
Files engag'd Files, Cohort on Cohort rush'd,
Some wav'd their Swords, some with their Lances push'd.
In close Array the fighting Pike-men stood,
A military Grove, a warring Wood.
Loud Rage, Distraction, Clamours, mingled Crys,
Disturb the peaceful Region of the Skies.

230

The Belgian Hills thro' all the ecchoing Air,
Return the dreadful Sound, and multiply the War.
Here Lara rag'd, there brave Horatio's Hand
Hew'd down the Troops, that did his Arms withstand.
There Sanches carry'd his impetuous Storm,
Here Herbert's Sword did wond'rous Deeds perform.

Brave Maximilian in another part,
Did the true Courage of his House exert.
He midst a thousand Terrors undismay'd,
To Danger no Respect, to Death no Rev'rence paid.
With martial Ardor flashing in his Eyes,
The Hannoverian Tempest onward flies.
Lodron, a Lord in Arms of great Renown,
With his first Honour did the German crown:
Beneath the Ear he felt the fatal Wound,
And gasping lay, and grov'ling on the Ground.
He fetch'd deep Throbs, and everlasting Night
Her Sable Curtain drew before his Sight.
Taxis advancing to avenge his Friend,
Did in the Dust his lifeless Limbs extend.
The Illustrious German's Fauchion split his Head;
He fell without a Groan or Struggle, dead.
Th'intrepid Prince broke thro' the thick Brigade,
He Slain on Slain, Weapon on Weapon laid,
And horrid Carnage thro' their Army made.

Alban mean time, to every Briton dear,
Prince Maximilian's, and Horatio's Care:

231

Eager in Battel to exalt his Fame,
Midst God-like Heros to enrol his Name,
Greedy of Glory, studious to appear
An Off-spring worthy of the mighty Vere,
Near Maximilian did the Foe engage,
And Wonders did, exceeding far his Age.
Which newly had disclos'd the Manly Grace,
And blooming Beauties of his downy Face.
He in his Looks display'd unrival'd Charms,
Sweet as a Cherub, and as bold in Arms.
Hugo, a valiant, young Gallician Lord,
Fell the first Victim of brave Alban's Sword.
Gay Burgos next, distinguish'd from the rest
By his rich Silver Belt, and checker'd Vest;
Deep wounded in his Thigh by Alban's Spear,
Fainting with Torture, halted to the Reer.
He slew Ferraro next, the noble Stroke
Between the Eyebrows thro' the Forehead broke.
With this Success the youthful Hero flush'd,
And by immoderate Fire and Courage push'd;
He onward press'd, and plung'd himself too far
Amidst the Ranks, to seek unequal War.

Now did the thick Battalions of the Foes,
On every side the brave young Lord enclose.
The noble Youth a stout Resistance made,
While Hostile Arms did every way invade.
He undismay'd th'ungen'rous War withstood,
Tho' wounded much, and faint with flowing Blood,

232

The Hannoverian Prince to Alban dear,
As Alban was to him, or he to Vere,
Soon as he saw, for his brave Friend afraid,
Broke thro' the thick Brigade to bring him Aid.
Gale, Lovelace, ogle Norris, all enrag'd
To see the valiant Vere too far engag'd;
With Sword in Hand did thro' the Cohorts spring,
To find the Youth, and timely Succour bring.
These famous Heros soon the Storm despell'd,
And with resistless Arms the Foe repell'd.
But ah, unhappy Youth! ah, rigid Fate!
Thy gen'rous Friends, brave Alban, came too late.
The wounded Briton pale, and stagg'ring stood,
Weak with Profusion of his noble Blood.
Great Maximilian with officious Haste,
Alban, while sinking, in his Arms embrac'd.
With tender Care he from the Battel led
His wounded Friend, and laid him on his Bed.
The Hannoverian Chief o'er-whelm'd with Grief,
That he too late came to the Youth's Relief,
With Floods of Tears bewail'd the fatal Blow,
And with his Anguish did distracted grow.
His raving Grief to Indignation turn'd,
And in his Breast revengeful Choler burn'd.
Back to the Battel all enrag'd he flew,
And of the Foe prodigious Numbers slew.

Mean time renown'd Horatio did maintain
A noble Fight, and by his Arms were slain
Many brave Youths, and famous Chiefs of Spain.

233

But tho' the Gen'ral did such Courage show,
He could not from the Camp remove the Foe.
For prudent Mansfelt did with watchful Care,
Still with new Succours feed the fainting War.
Mauritius, who dispensing Orders stood,
And the sharp Strife, and bloody Labour view'd;
Who had perform'd a chief Commander's part,
With wary Wisdom, and applauded Art,
Rous'd his Brigades, and marching at their Head,
The Belgian Cohorts to the Combate led.
The Fight was doubtful, when the great Nassau
Did with a steddy Courage charge the Foe.
He plung'd amidst the Ranks, and certain Fate
Did the great Chief's victorious Weapons wait.
Unnumber'd Warriors did his Fury feel,
And in their Veins receiv'd the fatal Steel:
As raging Storms, which o'er the Mountains pass,
Lay flat the Forrests, and the Groves deface;
So did the Belgian, Mansfelt's Troops repel,
Before him so the slaughter'd Spaniards fell.
The Britons strengthen'd with the Belgian's Aid,
Did with new Fire th'Iberian Troops invade.
The noble Charge soon chang'd the doubtful Field,
The heartless Spaniard now began to yield.
They quit the Fight, and o'er th'Entrenchment run,
And leave the Briton's Camp, to gain their own.
Hard on the Reer the Briton's Tempest beat,
And gall'd them sore in their confus'd Retreat.

234

The valiant Chiefs, the Vict'ry thus acquir'd,
Left the Pursuit, and to their Camp retir'd.
They Thanks to Heav'n with joyful Mind express,
That bless'd their Arms, and crown'd them with Success.
But O, how much their Pleasure did abate,
When first they heard of Alban's hapless Fate!
Greatly afflicted, sad Mauritius went,
Attended with the Chiefs, to Alban's Tent.
Where to their boundless Grief, the Gen'rals found
The noble Youth expiring of his Wound.
Each to his Tent with a sad Heart return'd,
Much valiant Vere's, much Britain's Loss they mourn'd.
Only Horatio with the Youth did stay,
The last dear Offices of Love to pay.

Some Hours brave Alban agonizing lay,
His Strength declining by a swift Decay:
Cold Sweats, deep Sighs, short, interrupted Breath,
Sadly presag'd the near approach of Death.
The Sons of Art, ah fruitless Art! stood by,
And look'd, as they too destin'd were to die.
His Heart its vital Labour scarce sustain'd,
And Life's dim Lamp a doubtful Flame maintain'd.
He with his Fate contended, but as soon
As Sable Night advanc'd, and reach'd her Noon,
The dying Youth fetch'd deep, redoubled Sighs,
And endless Night seal'd up his beauteous Eyes.
Thus did expire in sad Horatio's Arms,
Whatever War or Beauty have of Charms.

235

In part his Beauty did the Youth survive,
In part his Charms in Death remain'd alive.
So the gay Tulep, and the sweet Jonkyle,
Cut by the Gard'ner's unrelenting Steel,
Lie, gaudy Ruin, smiling on the Ground,
Still with their lovely Hue, and flow'ry Honours crown'd.
Mournful Horatio clos'd his Nephew's Eyes,
Bath'd him with Tears, and dry'd him with his Sighs.

With Waters sweet, with odoriferous Gums,
Arabia's Drugs, and India's rich Perfumes,
They wash'd th'Youth, who tho' bereav'd of Breath,
Preserv'd a pleasing Look, and smil'd in Death.
In finest Linnen in Hollandia made,
They with officious Care the Body laid.
With high rais'd Pillows, prop'd his lovely Head,
And o'er the Corps a Velvet Cov'ring spread.
Around the Bed his mournful Servants stood,
And Torrents from their Eyes of liquid Sorrow flow'd.
They seem'd forlorn, and hopeless of Relief,
Stupid with Woe, benumm'd and stiff with Grief.
So a young Deer, whose Front the sprouting Horn
With the first Velvet Honours does adorn,
Prais'd for his Beauty, for his Vigor fear'd,
At once the Pride and Envy of the Herd.
Ah! hapless Fate! by cruel Huntsmen slain,
Lies, lovely Victim, bleeding on the Plain.
So a young Cedar, whose conspicuous Head
The fragrant Groves on Mocha's Hills survey'd;

236

Which strait and tall, the present Glory stood,
The Hopes and promis'd Guardian of the Wood;
Fell'd by the Steels untimely Stroke descends,
And on the Ground his beauteous Limbs extends.

Great Vere, who newly heard, that on the Main
Britannia's Ships had vanquish'd those of Spain;
Was by the Queen remanded to his Post,
To gain the Camp, and head the British Host.
For Britain now secure from Spain's Alarms,
No more demanded Vere's auspicious Arms.
The Gen'ral there arriv'd the second Night
After the hapless, tho' successful Fight.
As by degrees Horatio did relate
Brave Alban's valiant Deeds, and luckless Fate,
Vere, who with mighty Sorrow was opprest,
His Eyes uplifted, struck his troubled Breast.
How did the Sadness of his Looks confess
His bitter Anguish, and his vast Distress?
The afflicted Father, with the Hero strove,
The firmest Courage, with the tend'rest Love.
But Love with Grief united won the Field,
And the soft Parent made the Warrior yield.
With Reason arm'd, he labour'd to arrest
And calm the Perturbations of his Breast.
But with unequal Arms for Conquest strove,
For Reason never was a Match for Love.
How did the Storm on Tides of Passion roll?
How did it urge, and agitate his Soul?

237

But tho' the swelling Tides so high did flow,
He did no unbecoming Passion show;
Just was his Grief, and decent was his Woe.
Some Hours this Stress of Sorrow did endure,
But languish'd by degrees, and lost its Pow'r.
Reason and grave Discourse are spent in vain
To ease our Suff'rings, and asswage our Pain.
Sick Minds must by degrees themselves restore,
Tis Time alone can mighty Trouble cure.

His Passion's Tide subsiding, Vere at last
Some Questions ask'd about the Battel past.
To sooth his Sorrow, bad Horatio tell
Again how Alban fought, and how he fell.
Horatio more distinctly did relate
The Youth's great Actions, and unhappy Fate.
This done, the sad, afflicted Hero went,
Attended with his Chiefs, to Alban's Tent.
He saw his Son extended on the Bed,
His Cheeks defrauded of their native Red.
The tender Chief, (such all Great Heros are,)
Who was for Pity fram'd, as much as War,
At this sad Sight again began to melt,
And in his Breast his struggling Passion felt.
Alban's cold Lips the stooping Hero kist,
But then no longer could the Storm resist.
Within his lab'ring Heart, and yielding Breast,
The rising Father could not be supprest.
A Stream of Tears broke from his mournful Eyes,
And from his Bosom deep repeated Sighs.

238

The Chiefs around their great Affliction show,
And weep to see a Scene of so much Woe.
At last sad Vere, his Hand upon his Breast,
In moving Accents thus himself exprest.

Ah Alban! hapless Alban! hapless Vere!
Ah heavy Woe! too heavy Woe to bear!
Of the dear Object of my Eyes bereft,
Am I to Sorrow doom'd, to Woe despairing left?
There pale and breathless lies my Pride and Hope,
Of my declining Years the only Prop.
On Danger why did Alban rush so far?
Why did he seek such disproportion'd War?
More cautious Steps why did not Alban take,
Or for his own, or for his Father's sake?
Were not my Joy, my Hope, my All at Stake?
How much I wish the fatal Steel had mist
My Alban's, and had pierc'd the Father's Breast?
I would with Joy have chosen to resign
My Life, O Alban! to have rescu'd thine.
But why my Sorrow do I tell in vain?
In fruitless Accents of my Fate complain?
Why do I Alban's youthful Conduct name?
Why cast on him of my Offence the Blame?
Too much on him for Comfort I rely'd,
Too much he was my Joy, too much my Pride.
Perhaps my Alban was to me too dear,
And Heav'n in Love will not a Rival bear.
Divine Religion does pronounce it fit,
I should my Will to that of Heav'n submit.

239

Th'Almighty's high Command I must obey,
And bear what Burdens he thinks fit to lay.
Eternal Truth and Justice cannot err,
Still is it Righteous, when 'tis most severe.
Shall I the universal Judge arraign?
Of Wisdom Infinite, and Sov'raign Pow'r complain?
I must adore the Government Divine,
What Heav'n is pleas'd to take, I must resign;
The high Decree is past, and Vere must not repine.

The End of the Eighth Book.

241

BOOK IX.

Now did the Morn her dawning Beams display,
And bid the World expect advancing Day.
The Britons did prepare at Vere's Command,
To send brave Alban to his native Land.
His Body they Embalm'd with Skill and Cost,
With Aromatick Sweets from Asia's Coast,
With rich Peruvian Drugs, and od'rous Spoils
From the bright Source of Day, and India's Spicy Isles:
Drugs which they us'd in vain his Life to save,
Preserve him Dead, and triumph o'er the Grave.
On a high Herse the beauteous Youth was laid,
And from the Camp with solemn Pomp convey'd.
Th'attending Throng did in their Looks express
Marks of great Trouble, and sincere Distress.
Troops, who to Camps and bloody Toil innur'd,
Had unconcern'd the saddest Scenes endur'd,
With Tenderness unknown began to melt,
And in their yielding Breasts victorious Sorrow felt.
The firmest Hearts with Sighs their Loss deplore,
The Soldier weeps, who never wept before.

242

As when brave Troops with martial Fury warm
On some strong Fortress make a gen'ral Storm,
Forc'd by the stout Defendant's dreadful Fire
After repeated On-sets to retire;
Soon as they hear the Drums by Order beat,
And doleful Trumpets sound a sad Retreat:
With troubled Looks, and melancholy Pace
They all draw off, and curse the fatal Place.
The Britons now did such sad Aspects wear,
Such was their Woe, such their unfeign'd Despair.
Their Drums did beat as doleful on the Plains,
Their Trumpets sounded as ungrateful Strains.
The Belgian Rivers wond'ring heard from far,
The Noise of conqu'ring Grief, and crys of mourning War.
The Hills around repeated all the Moans,
Prolong'd their Woe, and kept alive their Groans.

Th'afflicted Father did his Son attend,
Till growing Day did to its Noon ascend.
The Hero stop'd. He sigh'd. He Silence broke;
And his last leave in these sad Accents took.
Alban farewel, my Joy and Hope farewel;
Who can my Loss, who can my Trouble tell?
Only those Suff'rers, those sad Sons of Woe,
Th'Extent and Depth of my Affliction know,
Who of their only hopeful Son bereft,
To their wild Grief have been despairing left.
Her Weight of Woe how will thy Mother bear?
How will thy Sisters thy sad Story hear?

243

But why does Vere indulge ungovern'd Grief?
Can my Complaints to Air afford Relief?
My Stock of Trouble, I in vain exhaust,
My Sighs are fruitless, and my Tears are lost.
Could Sighs recal him, 'twould be just to mourn;
To me, my Son, thou never wilt return:
But I shall soon to thy Abode remove,
Soon shall embrace thee in the Realms above.
Thus my excessive Grief may useful be,
By hast'ning my Ascent to Heav'n, and thee.
My Mind from this some Consolation draws,
That Alban fought, and fell in pure Religion's Cause.
Farewel, my Son, farewel, back I must go,
Eliza so commands, to Scenes of future Woe.
I must in Arms destructive Toil pursue,
Where still sad Objects will my Pain renew.

He ceas'd. And back his faithful Britons led
But left fit Troops to wait the lovely Dead.
They to the Margin of the Belgian Sea,
The hapless Youth with speedy Care convey.
They soon embark, and to an Eastern Gale
The Mariner expands the swelling Sail.
Complaining Winds fill with their Sighs the Air,
And o'er the troubled Deep the sailing Sorrow bear.
Twice had the Air obey'd victorious Night,
Twice seen restor'd, and vanquish'd twice the Light.
When to Britannia's Isle they brought the Chief,
And landed on her Shores the unexpected Grief.

244

Near the delightful Town of ancient Fame,
That from the Martyr Alban has its Name,
Surveying all the Region did appear
The lofty Palace of the noble Vere.
Hither the Body of th'Illustrious Dead,
Was by his Servants with due Care convey'd.
Mother and Sisters, and a num'rous Train
Of noble Friends, who came to mourn the Slain;
Greedy of Grief, did from the Palace flow
Into the Fields to meet approaching Woe.
Soon as the lofty Herse in Sight appear'd,
What moving Accents? what sad Moans were heard?
As when a low'ring Tempest mounts the Air,
And stretching, forms a horrid Front of War;
The rising Winds and infant Thunder's Voice,
Prepare our Fears, and threaten dreadful Noise.
Till gath'ring Vigor, as the Clouds arise,
Ruin and perfect Uproar fill the Skies.
So when the moving Herse of luckless Vere
Did to his noble Kindred first appear,
Their gushing Tears did down their Faces flow,
And their sad Looks did their great Trouble show.
But as th'advancing Scene yet nearer drew,
Their Grief augmented, and outragious grew.

The Mother did conspicuous Sorrow show,
Lavish of of Tears, and eminent in Woe.
Nearest in Blood, she was in Trouble chief,
A finish'd Piece of bold, inimitable Grief.

245

With Arguments she strove, but strove in vain,
Her swelling Tide of Passion to restrain.
For oh! how weak do Reason's Forces prove
Against soft Nature, and a Mother's Love?
The weeping Sisters did their Pain express,
Beauteous in Tears, and charming in Distress.
The spreading Woe did o'er the Crowd prevail,
All did with loud Laments the Youth bewail.
To Groans and Crys they form the ambient Air,
And to the Spheres convey their loud Despair.
What sad Distress, what lamentable Strains
Did vex the Mountains, and afflict the Plains?
Profusely all their Stock of Sorrow spend;
In Sighs and Tears for Victory contend.
From lavish Eyes immod'rate Treasures flow,
The mourning Train with Emulation show
Pride in Expence of Grief, and Vanity in Woe.

Soon as in Turn the next advancing Night
Had from the Air expell'd retreating Light:
The beauteous Hero from the Palace Gate
Was brought to be Interr'd in decent State.
A solemn Train of Mourners march'd, that wore
Long Sable Robes, and trembling Streamers bore.
Next Alban in a lofty Herse was born,
Which Milk-white Plumes did nodding high adorn.
His Helmet, Spurs, his Spear, and Sword, and Shield,
Arms which had done such Wonders in the Field,
But oh! no more shall do, in Order plac'd
The Hero's Herse with Martial Honour grac'd.

246

His num'rous Friends in noble Blood ally'd,
Or by the Father's, or the Mother's side,
A mournful Throng, who on the Herse did wait,
In part compos'd the Hero's Funeral State.
Thus to the Town rever'd from Alban's Name,
In solemn Pomp the sad Procession came.
Th'afflicted Train enter'd the Sacred Dome,
And plac'd the lovely Corps before the Tomb.
Then Fleetan, fam'd for Eloquence Divine,
And Heav'nly Piety, did thus begin.

The num'rous Nations of the Earth obey,
Victorious Death! thy uncontested Sway.
Monarchs to thy resistless Pow'r submit;
They lay their Crowns and Scepters at thy Feet.
Bound to thy Chariot-Wheels, thou dragg'st along
In leaden Chains, of captive Chiefs a Throng,
To whom a Force superior to their own,
Till they had thine experienc'd, was unknown.
Thou passest thro' the Royal Guards, that wait
Before the timerous Tyrant's Palace Gate,
And stalk'st with horrid Grace thro' all his Rooms of State.
Let him be arm'd with sevenfold temper'd Steel,
Yet must his Veins thy fatal Arrow feel.
His subtile Wit, his wise, projecting Head
Turn'd for Intreagues of State, in Business bred,
By no Expedient can the Statesman save;
For who knows where to dig, to countermine the Grave?
Thou dost the Miser's proffer'd Gold disdain,
Scar'd and affrighted, he attempts in vain,

247

That thou may'st turn thy Steps from his Abode,
To melt thee with his Tears, and bribe thee with his God.
None e'er shall thy impartial Stroke decline,
What Judge has Ears so deaf, or Hands so clean as thine?

With equal Kindness thy cold Arms embrace
All the Degrees of Adam's levell'd Race.
Monarchs disrob'd, unscepter'd, and uncrown'd,
Lie mingled with their Vassals under Ground.
All Ensigns of Distinction here are lost,
Who knows Imperial, from Ignoble Dust?
The Politician lays his crafty Head
Close by the Fool, in the same dusty Bed.
Nor does one Mark remain, to make it known
Which the Wise Man, and which the Fool did own.
Scholars no longer of their Wisdom proud
Mix their learn'd Ashes with th'unletter'd Crowd.
Prelates, who now no longer Distance keep,
With the poor Curate condescend to sleep.
No Dust of noble Rank insults the Base,
Or justles, in the quiet Tomb, for Place.
The Rich and Poor, the Master and the Slave,
Rest undistinguish'd in the friendly Grave.
The Footstool now is equal to the Throne,
No Ashes here superior Ashes own.

Thou dost, O Death! a peaceful Harbour lie
Upon the Margin of Eternity;
Where the rough Waves of Time's impetuous Tide
Their Motion loose, and quietly subside.

248

Weary, they roll their drousy Heads asleep
At the dark Entrance of Duration's Deep.
Hither our Vessels in their Turn retreat,
Here still they find a safe, untroubled Seat,
When worn with adverse Passions, furious Strife,
And the hard Passage of tempestuous Life.
The Slaves of Life thou easest of their Chains,
Dost break their Prisons, and asswage their Pains.
Thou dost to Man unfeign'd Compassion show,
Sooth all his Grief, and solace all his Woe.
Thy Spiceries with noble Drugs abound,
That every Sickness cures, and every Wound.
That which anoints the Corps, will only prove
The sov'raign Balm our Anguish to remove.
The cooling Draught administer'd by thee,
O Death! from all our Suff'rings sets us free.
Impetuous Life is by thy Force subdu'd,
Life, the most lasting Fever of the Blood.
The Weary in thy Arms lie down to rest,
No more with Breath's laborious Task opprest.
Hear, how the Men that long Life-ridden lie
In constant Pain, for thy Assistance cry;
Hear, how they beg and pray for leave to Die.
Some miserable Creatures loath to wait,
Heart-sick of Life, and panting for their Fate;
Do thee, O Death! by guilty Force arrest,
And courting thy Approaches to their Breast,
Do from thy ling'ring Hand exhort the Dart,
And plunge it deep into their bleeding Heart:

249

Thus lancing home the Sore, they hope Relief,
Letting out Life, the Core of all their Pain and Grief.

Gen'rous Deliverer of oppress'd Mankind,
With whom the Sons of Woe a kind Reception find:
Tyrannick Life's poor Fugitives do cry
To thee for Ease, to thee for Safety fly.
For Vagabonds, that o'er the Country roam,
Forlorn, unpity'd, and without a Home,
Thy friendly Care provides a Lodging-Room.
The Comfortless, the Naked, and the Poor,
Much pinch'd with Cold, with grievous Hunger more,
Thy Subterranean Hospitals receive,
Asswage their Anguish, and their Wants relieve.
Cripples with Aches, and with Age opprest,
Crawl on their Crutches to the Grave, for Rest.
Exhausted Travellers, that have undergone
The scorching Heats of Life's intemp'rate Zone,
Hast for Refreshment to their Beds beneath,
And stretch themselves in the cool Shades of Death.
Poor Lab'rers, who their daily Task repeat,
Tir'd with their still returning Toil and Sweat,
Lie down at last, and at the wish'd-for Close
Of Life's long Day, enjoy a sweet Repose.
Wise Men to be deliver'd from the Crowd,
Tumultuous, restless, troublesome, and loud,
Would fain retire, and slip into the Tomb,
Would take among the Dead a private Room;
Where they might scape th'uneasy Noise and Strife,
The Uproar and Impertinence of Life.

250

Where no unwelcome Visitants intrude,
To interrupt their happy Solitude.

Thy Realms, indulgent Death, have still possest
Profound Tranquility and unmolested Rest.
No raging Tempests, which the Living dread,
Beat on the silent Regions of the Dead.
They undisturb'd their peaceful Mansions keep,
And Earthquakes only rock them in their Sleep.
Here peevish Discontent no more complains,
Here Anguish sooth'd forbears her mournful Strains.
No cruel Tyrant's Racks, no wretched Slave
Howling in Torment, e'er molest the Grave.
The moving Tales of Woe are here unknown,
Pain speechless grows, and Grief forgets to moan.
Terror and Fear their Outcrys here decline,
And Care for ever ceases to repine.
No Suff'rers wring their Hands, or tear their Hair,
No bitter Execrations of Despair,
Ring thro' the Graves, and fright the Dwellers there.
Passions, which in the silent Tomb are pent,
Their Fierceness loose, and strive no more for Vent.

Thy Pow'r is only able to asswage,
O Death! the barb'rous Persecutor's Rage.
The fierce Destroyer can no longer rave,
Can sign no Bloody Orders in the Grave.
Proud Princes ne'er excite with War's Alarms,
Thy Subterranean Colonies to Arms.

251

They have no Troops or Treasure to expend,
O'er Frontier Realms their Conquest to extend.
There Insolence and Lust of Empire cease,
And leave the dead and living World in Peace.
Subjects distress'd, from her Compassion find,
Praise thee as Just, Beneficent, and Kind:
For when their haughty and aspiring Lord,
To gain new Conquest with his lawless Sword,
Their Veins has empty'd, and their Treasure spent;
Theirs and their Neighbours Ruin to prevent,
Thou dost arrest him at his Army's Head,
And to the dusty Prisons of the Dead,
The captive Tyrant dost in Triumph lead.

Thou dost our Follies and our Faults detect,
And teachest Man his Errors to correct.
Thou dost restore our intellectual Light,
For when thy awful Form appears in Sight,
All Men grow Wise, and judge of Things aright.
Good Heav'ns, what just Impressions dost thou give?
How soon deluded Mortals undeceive?
This World, O Death! in thy just Ballance laid,
With all its Pomp and Pow'r is duly weigh'd.
Then disabus'd, its great Admirers see
Their Splendor, Wealth, and Pow'r, in Weight agree
With barren Clouds, and emty Vanity.
They see the Folly of their fruitless Care,
How short their Rest, how long their Labours are;
How false their flattering Joys, their Sorrows how sincere.

252

That Man may guilty Pleasure's Snare escape:
Thou dost expose her frightful native Shape;
Her Mask pull'd off, thou shew'st the fatal Harms,
The Ruin hid beneath her borrow'd Charms.
Thus suff'ring Human Nature to befriend,
Thou to the Woes and Errors put'st an End,
Which Men, in this their Mortal State attend.
But then, if we regard the gen'ral Doom,
Th'Immortal Life and State of Things to come;
Thou dost, to cause their Pleasure, or their Fear,
To diff'rent Men, in diff'rent Shapes appear.

Thou to th'Unjust the King of Terrors art,
For when thou brandishest thy Bloody Dart,
How cold a Damp strikes thro' their guilty Heart?
When thou dost aking Pain and Sickness send,
The Lictors which thy awful Court attend,
Some haughty Son of Violence to seize,
Pamper'd with Blood, and cloy'd with Wealth and Ease;
When at thy Bar arraign'd he lifts his Hand,
How does the conscious Malefactor stand?
How much distress'd, how wild the Wretch appears,
Grip'd with Remorse, and shiv'ring with his Fears?
But who can tell th'unsufferable Smart,
That wounds his Reins, and penetrates his Heart?
Who can a just and full Conception form,
Of his Amazement, of his inward Storm,
When he perceives he must resign his Breath,
Doom'd to the dark and dreadful Seats beneath;

253

Where he the Pangs of endless Death must bear,
And the fierce Insults of enrag'd Despair.

But then the Just, the Pious, and the Pure
Suff'rers, to whom thy Mercy does procure
Ease from their Pain, and from their Labour Rest,
Will entertain thee as a welcome Guest.
Thou art a bless'd Deliverer to these,
And not a King of Terror, but of Peace.
Strangers, who thro' an unknown Region roam,
Embrace the Guide, that kindly leads them Home.
The Just and Good, Men of Cœlestial Race,
Weary of this inhospitable Place,
From their Confinement here, by thy kind Aid
Make their Escape, and are to Bliss convey'd.
Why should the Righteous with Reluctance go
From such a dismal Scene of Guilt and Woe?
From such a sad and tragick Theatre,
Where Salvage Men each other rend and tear.
Where Malice with Dissimulation mixt,
An odious Figure, her Abode has fixt.
Where Envy gnaws her meagre Limbs, and shakes
Turgid with Poison all her spotted Snakes.
Where Guilt and Fear do sad Companions dwell,
And mournful Sorrow has her lonesome Cell.
Where Avarice creates eternal Cares,
And Lust of Pow'r foments destructive Wars.
Where Bigottry and Persecution Rage,
And for Chimæras, Men in Blood engage.

254

The God-like Voyagers, who steer for Heav'n,
By adverse Tides are back and forward driv'n,
Tost on the Billows of a treach'rous Sea,
They midst a thousand Dangers beat their way:
Where now the Storms, and now the Rocks they fear,
And where a hostile Crew of Men appear,
An Earth-born Race, to Spoil and Blood inclin'd,
The fiercest Creatures of the Monster-kind:
Who push'd by Malice, and Infernal Rage,
Against the Just and Good, their Force engage.
From all their Foes, the Voyagers to save,
Death, their kind Pilot, steers, them to the Grave:
The Haven which displays before their Sight,
The Golden Shores of everlasting Light:
Where landed, they with all their Wishes blest,
Cease to complain, and from their Suff'rings rest.
Ravish'd with Joys Divine, that still endure,
They now defy their Foes confed'rate Pow'r,
And reign from all Attempts of Earth, and Hell secure.

Good Heav'n is pleas'd brave Alban to remove,
To those Cœlestial Seats of Light and Love.
This pious Hope, this Christian right Belief,
Should in due Bounds restrain your swelling Grief.
'Tis true, a noble Branch we justly mourn
From Vere's great Stock by Fate untimely torn.
This Hero blasted in the Blossom lies,
The lovely Flow'r, hard Fate! but blows, and dies.
Does its gay Honours to our Eyes display,
And while we praise its Beauty, sinks away.

255

Could Death by Wit or Features have been charm'd,
By Courage, like his Father's, been disarm'd;
Thy Son, O mighty Vere! had long been spar'd,
Long had these Rites, this Sorrow been defer'd.
But since to endless Bliss the Youth is gone,
Let us not mourn his Suff'rings, but our own.
Could we retrieve the Blessing we have lost,
We Alban should enjoy, at Alban's Cost.
He must descend from high Cœlestial Bliss,
From that bless'd World, to please his Friends in this.
He must Delights ineffable forego,
Leave Seats of Life, and Joy, for these of Guilt and Woe.

He ceas'd; and in a Parian Sepulcher
The sad Attendants did the Youth Inter.
His troubled Friends to Vere's high Seat return'd,
Where her great Loss th'afflicted Mother mourn'd.
She to Advice inexorably deaf,
Despis'd the friendly Offers of Relief,
Determin'd in Despair, and obstinate in Grief.
Many sad Months the mournful Mother spent,
And did in Tears and Sighs her Passions vent.
And wonder 'tis, whence she receiv'd Supplies
To feed th'incessant Torrent of her Eyes.
At last reluctant Anguish did abate,
And Grief's high Deluge did in part retreat.
She did Eliza at her Court attend,
Who with concordant Woe, receiv'd her faithful Friend.

256

Mean time in Belgia's Soil the mighty Vere,
To give the Spaniard Battel, did prepare.
Resolv'd his Course of Glory to pursue,
He on the Plains his valiant Cohorts drew,
And made his Army pass in long Review.
Then brandishing in Air his glitt'ring Lance,
He gave Command his Ensigns should advance.
The Britons great Alacrity did show,
Eager to seek, and to engage the Foe.
With Joy they quit the Camp, thy wond'ring Flood
O Legia! to distain with Spanish Blood.
Delightful Bruga with her lofty Head,
The Vale around, and winding Streams survey'd,
Where now th'Infernal Monarch anxious stood,
And with Angelick Ken the Region view'd.
Thence he the hateful British Host descry'd,
With haughty Grief, and discontented Pride.
A sullen Frown his troubled Brow possest,
Revenge and deadly Rage disturb'd his Breast.
And thus he spoke:—

Have proud Eliza's Captains on the Main
Vanquish'd the Fleet invincible of Spain?
Has she or sunk, or burnt, or run ashore
A greater Navy, than the Winds before
E'er shov'd along, or lab'ring Billows bore?
Has her Success disperss'd Britannia's Fears?
Curse on her Howards, Prestons, Frobishers.
Be Hawkins curss'd, and doubly curss'd be Drake,
Who with unheard-of Flames did such Destruction make.

257

Why did not we, ye mighty Pow'rs beneath,
Masters of Torment, Ministers of Death;
Why did not we, th'Iberian Fleet to save,
High in the Air our flaming Rivers lave?
Why did not we our Caves Infernal drain,
And Storms of Sulphur on the Briton rain?
O foul Dishonour! everlasting Shame!
Could Drake, poor Wight, in Stratagems of Flame,
Spirits of our Abilities excel,
Who long have practis'd Fire, and long convers'd with Hell?
How did that Drake compel our Friends to run
Thro' wild Jernian Gulphs, and horrid Seas unknown?
What Northern Land, what unfrequented Isle,
Has not been conscious of Iberian Toil?
What Shores not loaded with their scatter'd Spoil?
Ye Gods, who sit on Sable Thrones below,
Ye Pow'rs to whom unnumber'd Nations bow,
Shall we be Conquer'd by so mean a Foe?
Shall a proud Queen th'Apostate Sect sustain?
Eliza sink the Monarchy of Spain?
Shall she our Wise and Great Designs defeat?
Still her proud Triumphs at our Cost repeat?
Shall she th'Iberian with her Arms pursue?
And still uphold Batavia's Rebel Crew?
Does hateful Vere again their Army head?
Shall he the Britons to new Conquests lead?
Shall he return Victorious to his Isle,
Laden with Laurels, and Castilian Spoil?
Should the Iberian Host be overcome
By this invet'rate Foe to Hell and Rome,

258

Mine with the Spanish Empire must decline,
Rome must her Throne to Heresy resign.
No, the vain Chief at his Expence shall find,
Hell's Monarch grows not weaker, or more kind.
Tho' thou hast long escap'd, yet now thy Fate
Shall yield, O Vere, to my superior Hate.
I'll the proud Progress of the Victor stop,
Fell'd by my Hand, this lofty Oak shall drop,
Britannia's darling Pride, and vile Batavia's Hope.

Lopez in Poison skill'd, I will employ,
This Bulwark of Apostates to destroy.
His potent Drugs shall serve my Int'rest more
Than Mansfelt's Arms, and all Iberia's Pow'r.
This noble Genius ever well inclin'd,
By me for mighty Services design'd,
I form'd with Labour, and with Skill refin'd.
In Characters of Malice, Pride, and Fraud,
Stamp'd on his Mind, my Image I applaud.
All Dregs and Dross of Vertue purg'd away,
His perfect Wickedness knows no Allay:
His native, unsophisticated Vice,
Even rivals that, which has from Hell its Rise.
He unpolluted, has like us remain'd,
Unmix'd with Good, and with Remorse unstain'd.
To take off Vere, he'll be with ease engag'd,
Who is against him mortally enrag'd.
The Gen'ral with Displeasure has deny'd
To please his Avarice, and sooth his Pride.

259

Will not his great ambitious Suit espouse,
To be Controuler of Eliza's House:
Which to obtain, he came to Belgia's Shore,
Vere's Int'rest with Eliza to implore.
I sure shall gain him by a fair Reward,
Who by his Rage is for the Task prepar'd.
Vere once destroy'd, none can his Place supply,
Their Leader gone, the heartless Troops must fly.

He ceas'd. And at the tender Dawn of Day,
He with Angelick Swiftness cut his way,
Directly to the Tent where Lopez lay.
Lopez from fruitful Lusitania came,
And gain'd in Med'cine a superior Name,
But by inglorious Methods rais'd his Fame.
He to obtain th'Iberian Faction's Praise,
Did to a thousand mean and sordid Ways,
To base and ignominious Arts submit,
A Party-Doctor, and a Party-Wit.
The Meteor with an Air of Greatness shone,
In Equipage a Lord, but of Descent unknown.
He in Pretence the Faith Reform'd profess'd,
But in his Soul the Romanist caress'd,
And in that Cause he Zeal unfeign'd express'd.
For Britain's Church he drank, blasphem'd and swore,
Yet never enter'd once her Temple-Door,
But mock'd the canting Tribe, who there did Heav'n adore.
A Man of unrecorded Insolence,
Ill-manner'd, loose, and noisy without Sense.

260

Defaming all, in his own Praises loud,
Vain without Skill, and without Merit proud.
He with Contempt the greatest Subjects us'd,
And mad with Pride, e'en Kings and Queens abus'd.
Griping and False, two Qualities of Hell,
He would his Friend for Gold, for Gold his Country sell.
Yet so voluptuous, that great Lords in pain
Might call him from his Wine, but call in vain.
Of all Mankind he was distrustful grown,
Thinking their Aims and Passions like his own.
He on his Bolts and Bars, and Arms rely'd,
For wronging all, he could in none confide.
In Human Soul ne'er purer Malice dwelt,
None e'er so fierce Revenge, or Rage so heighten'd felt.
Of all the warring Passions in his Breast,
Lust of Dominion reign'd above the rest.
Hence did he ask Eliza to enrol
Him as the Chief, her Household to controul.
His arrogant Request the Queen refus'd;
But how enrag'd his Soveraign he abus'd?
With what Reflections did his perjur'd Tongue
Asperse her Servants, and her Conduct Wrong?
Bloated with Riot, Pride, Revenge, and Wine,
He and his Friends in lewd Debauches join,
To make the Queen, whose Reign Britannia blest,
The Drunkard's Song, and scoffing Traytor's Jest.
And yet he did, prodigious Madness! dare
To cross the Seas, and ask Illustrious Vere
To aid him, his Pretentions to support,
And recommend him to Eliza's Court.

261

Sagacious Vere admir'd his monst'rous Pride,
And with disdain th'immodest Suit deny'd.

Now Lopez, as his manner was, opprest
And gorg'd with Wine, was troubled in his Rest.
Panting, and snoring, and half choak'd he lay,
And labour'd with the Surfeit of the Day.
Satan did Campion's Form assume, and drest
His Body in a black, depending Vest;
And easy was the Change, he turn'd Ignatian Priest.
Ent'ring the Place, he with loud Accents spoke,
And scarce the Sleep profound of Lopez broke.
Of undigested Riot full, with Pain
He shook the Vapours from his cloudy Brain.
To Lopez thus disturb'd, and rows'd from Rest,
The fall'n Arch-Angel thus himself addrest.

I am with speed arriv'd in Belgia's Soil,
An Envoy from our Friends in Albion's Isle,
Dear Lopez, to demand thy speedy Aid,
By which Britannia may be happy made.
You see, th'Apostates do the Seas command,
No less their Arms Victorious are by Land;
And how shall Spain dismay'd, their Force withstand?
If they advance their Ensigns with Success,
And by superior Force our Friends oppress,
These Regions from Iberia will be rent,
And Rome her ruin'd Votries must lament.
Calvinian Arms our Altars will assail,
Eliza's Force o'er Europe must prevail.

262

I from the Friends of Rome and Spain am sent,
To ask your Aid, their Ruin to prevent.
Would some brave Man remove this hateful Vere,
We should no more Eliza's Army fear.
If Vere were gone, the British Troops dismay'd,
Would cease to give the Rebel Belgians Aid.
Vere is the Soul, that does their Host inspire,
Teaches them Conduct, as he gives them Fire.
Enthusiasts in the Field they trust their Guide,
And for their Safety in his Arms confide.
They conquer by th'Opinion of their Chief,
The Strength of Armies is their own Belief.
Tho' in the Field he's still with Conquest crown'd,
Clandestine Arms may give the fatal Wound.
Some meritorious Hand should shed his Blood,
For Albion's Freedom, for the Church's Good.
Lopez, that bless'd, Religious Hand be thine;
Merit true Honour, and Applause Divine.
This Phiol take, no Indian Monarchs use
A Poison, which will surer Death produce.
These are the Arms our Holy Men employ,
The Church's great Oppressors to destroy.
By any Means we must our Faith defend,
All Means are just, that serve a pious End.
Intrepid Man, this noble Province chuse,
Remove the Gen'ral with this potent Juice.
Infect his Gloves, his Sadle, or his Chair,
Thou Lopez, and thy Fate shall conquer Vere.

263

He ceas'd. And of his borrow'd Form undrest,
Swift and unseen he enter'd Lopez Breast,
And all his Vitals, all his Veins possest.
Lopez enrag'd, and leaping from his Bed,
Rub'd with his Hand, his wild, distemper'd Head.
And hot with Hell, and unconcocted Wine,
He eagerly embrac'd the black Design.
He did resolve to show without Debate,
To Vere, and to his House Immortal Hate.
Infernal Rage, Revenge, excess of Wine,
To turn his Brain, their Forces did combine.
Thwarted Ambition, disappointed Pride
O'er his lost Reason, did in Triumph ride.
His Friends before did in proud Lopez see
Convincing Marks of growing Lunacy,
More than suspected now he did appear,
The Lunatick was finish'd, and sincere.
The raving Man, in whose distracted Brain,
No Tracks of sober Reason did remain,
Ran to the Host, and mingling with the Crowd,
He held his Phiol up, and cry'd aloud,
Where is the hated Vere, Vere I demand,
His certain Fate I carry in my Hand.
This Glass contains Britannia's Liberty,
This Rome restores, this sets Europa free.
O Rome! I'll give thee universal Sway,
I'll make the subject World thy Will obey.
Fear not, O Rome! I Nature can controul;
Thy Empire I'll extend from Pole to Pole.

264

I'll on the Necks of captive Heros tread,
Will Chiefs in Chains, and Kings in Fetters lead.
Proud Monarchs I have made my Leisure wait,
I'm more than Man, my Due is God-like State.
Heav'ns! shall the odious Family of Vere
Not pay me Worship, nor my Int'rest fear?
Death! Hell! shall that curss'd House employ their Force,
To sink my Fame, and stop my Glory's Course?
No, Britons, see I've in this Glass prepar'd,
For Vere's Affronts to me, a just Reward.
Britons, prepare, Madmen, make hast to fly,
Your impious Chief shall by this Poison die.

Thus Lopez rav'd, and by his Looks betray'd
The Symptoms of a craz'd and ruin'd Head.
His dangerous Speech the Britons could not bear,
But seiz'd, and sent him to Laurentio's Care.
Laurentio had in Med'cine upper Fame,
Yet wanted Skill the Lunatick to tame.
He kept him dark, and shav'd his Head in vain,
No Hellebore could e'er restore his Brain.
Drugs rarely Help can to that Madness bring,
Which does from Pride, and cross'd Ambition spring.
Satan did haughty Lopez over-strain,
Heated too much, too much inspir'd his Brain:
He ruin'd thus the Agent he employ'd,
And by immod'rate Zeal, his own curss'd Plot destroy'd.

Great Vere pursu'd his March along the Plain,
Impatient to engage th'Host of Spain.

265

Soon with his Britons he advanc'd so near,
That Spain's Brigades did in their Sight appear.
Where Deynsa's Fields their flow'ry Wealth display,
And winding Legia does its Flood convey,
In a strong Camp th'Iberian Army lay.
Few Days had pass'd, since Albert, Austria's Lord,
Whose valiant Deeds Iberian Bards record,
Had with his Cohorts those of Mansfelt join'd,
And form'd a mighty Host of both combin'd.
Here Albert, so King Philip did command,
Resolv'd the Britons Progress to withstand;
Who onward march'd with martial Rage inspir'd,
And eager of the Fight, the Foe requir'd.

Now, Muse, record the Heros, who from far
Came with fam'd Albert to the Belgian War.
From all the Kingdoms thro' Iberia spread,
Obedient now to one Imperial Head.
From all the Realms, that own the Pow'r of Spain,
Or on th'Etruscan, or the Adrian Main.
Noble Mendoza, an Illustrious Name,
His Birth procur'd him Wealth, his Valour Fame,
Who in th'Italian Wars with Honour fought,
His Vet'ran Squadrons from the Region brought,
Where Arragonian Hills sublime arise,
Familiar with the Clouds, and conscious of the Skies.

Velasco was a Chief of high Renown,
For his great Deeds thro' all Europa known:

266

Whose swelling Veins a Current did distend,
Which did from proud Castilian Kings descend.
He rais'd his Troops where fam'd Iberus flows,
And verdant Pleasures on the Soil bestows.
Brave Gomez brought his Men, whom warm desire
Of Fame, for great Atchievements did inspire,
From high Madrita, and the Soil around,
With Cities cover'd, and with Plenty crown'd.

Vergas, a Chief in Cruelty and Pride,
As well as Consanguinity ally'd
To Alva's Duke, whose persecuting Rage
No Spoils, no Deaths, no Ruin could asswage;
To suff'ring Belgia's Sons, a hateful Name,
With his fierce Cohorts from Valentia came:
Inspir'd by Hell, he deeply had embru'd
His barb'rous Hands in Belgia's guiltless Blood.
With Fraud and Force he labour'd to support
Rome's new-erected Inquisition-Court;
A dreadful Source of Violence and Blood,
Which with a purple Sea the Nations over-flow'd.

The mighty Gusman, terrible to Sight,
Fear'd for his pond'rous Arms and Strength in Fight;
Himself a War, from Catalonia's Land
Brought to the Belgick Plains his War-like Band.
Queveda nobly born, a Murcian Lord,
As well for Letters fam'd, as for the Sword,
Rais'd his Battalions in the fruitful Soil,
Where Cinga flows, and Julian Farmers toil;

267

Which near the Perenean Mountains lies,
Whose Snowy Heads above the Clouds arise,
And keep eternal Winter in the Skies.
Fierce Oran, whom bless'd Martyrs Blood did stain
More than his Enemies in Battel slain,
Left Tambre, and the Legendary Lands,
Where superstitious Compostella stands.

Guarda, a Gen'ral long to Camps innur'd,
Who by his Conduct had great Fame procur'd,
Follow'd in Arms Imperial Charles, to gain
The Art of War, and on Pavia's Plain
Immortal Honour by his Valour got;
His stout Battalions from the Country brought,
Where Ana dips her Silver Streams, and laves
Metallick Beds with Subterranean Waves.
Great Montezuma, by the Mother's side
To the Peruvian Monarchy ally'd,
Who had himself King Philip's Viceroy, sway'd
The Indian World, that Spain's Command obey'd.
A Gen'ral was of universal Fame,
Brave were his Deeds, unblemish'd was his Name.
For in his Veins the gentle Indian Blood
Temper'd the Spanish, and its Rage subdu'd.
He brought his Valiant Squadrons from the Coast,
On which the loud Cantabrian Waves are tost.

Many Great Chiefs from fair Ausonia's Soil,
And from the Towns of fam'd Sicilia's Isle,

268

From all the Realms, that Spanish Laws obey'd,
To Belgia's Fields their num'rous Cohorts led;
Rome's bloody Inquisition to maintain,
And fix the dreadful Tyranny of Spain.
Farneze, whose Arms had envy'd Honour got,
To Belgia's Plains Lombardia's Warriors brought;
Where Oglia's Stream, and thine, fair Adda, flow,
Who dress'd Milano's Vine, and drank the Po.

Valiant Gonzaga, of a noble House,
Who did with Ardor Spain and Rome espouse,
Led the brave Youth of fair Campania's Soil
To Martial Hazard, and destructive Toil,
From the rich Lands, which Capua's Tow'r obey,
And which thy Domes, Parthenope, survey:
From the bless'd Soil where Baiæ once did stand,
A beauteous City, now a heap of Sand:
Where Marks Magnificent are still descry'd
Of Roman Glory, and of ruin'd Pride:
To give the Soil Immortal Fame, conspire
The Sybil's Fury, and the Mantuan's Fire.
The wond'rous Poet does its Honour raise,
By his dead Ashes, and his living Lays.
Este, a famous Chief, allur'd with Hopes
Of Belgia's noble Spoil, to form his Troops,
Enroll'd the Youth around the Massick Hill,
Who drink Vulturnus, and Falernum till;
Whose Cœlebrated Vine did once inspire
Rome's War-like Youth, and rais'd their native Fire,

269

And warm'd her Poets in Immortal Lays
To sing her Triumphs, and record her Praise.
Romera rais'd to Honour by his Sword,
To win the Favour of his Spanish Lord,
Brought his Battalions from Otranto's Land,
Which once the Bruttian Princes did command;
From all the Coasts and Towns Marine, that lay
On the Lametian, or Tarentine Bay:
From all the Cities which adorn the Shores,
Where turbid Adria's breaking Billow roars:
From rich Lucania's celebrated Land,
From fam'd Salerno's, and Brundusio's Strand.

Lerma, the Viceroy of Sicilia's Isle,
Brought his fierce Cohorts from the fab'lous Soil,
Where Mountains shake, as ancient Poets sing,
And Vallies with Cyclopian Anvils ring.
From fair Messina, and Palermo's Town,
And from the charming Banks of Helicon,
Whose Youth are said, with great Applause to wield
The Warriors Arms, or sing the glorious Field.
Xerxes could scarce so many Nations boast,
When he to Thracian Bosphorus march'd his Host;
And led all Asia forth to War and Spoil,
To crush the envy'd States of Grecia's Soil.

Before the Warriors left the Realms of Spain,
They their chief Saints propitious Aid to gain,
In low Prostration at their Altars pray'd,
From Church to Church devout Procession made.

270

Then march'd with Reliques arm'd, whose potent Charms
Might guard their Persons from invading Harms;
Ecclesiastick Armor, by the Priest
Directed, Death and Danger to resist.
In silken Bags their Bodies to defend,
They the strong Spells did on their Breasts suspend.
One had Ambrosio's Tooth of wond'rous Pow'r,
One Dominick's Toe, one Bridget's Finger wore.
This had a Bone of Saint Francisco's Heel,
A sure Defence against the sharpest Steel.
This kept a Wart, that grew on Andrew's Hand,
Of mighty Force, ev'n Cannon to withstand.
Some pieces had of Vincent's stiffen'd Blood,
Which all the Pow'r of missive Fires withstood,
It was for Battel, Storms, and Fevers, good.
Durango's Bosom held two precious Hairs
Of Anchorite Jerome's Beard, to guard his Fears.
The Warrior once had three, but one he gave
At Gana's Pray'r, brave Gana's Life to save.
This famous Relique, so 'twas said, was found
A present Cure for the most dang'rous Wound.
Pastrana's guarded Bosom did contain
Some pow'rful Filings of Saint Peter's Chain;
Iron on which the Chief did more depend,
Than on the Steel, which did his Limbs defend.
But those believ'd themselves the most secure,
Who of the Sacred Wood some Fragment bore.
The Priests, the People's Treasure to engross,
Not only sold the Merit, but the Cross:

271

By that the guilty Consciences are charm'd,
By this the Body is from Danger arm'd.

But that resistless Aid might be procur'd,
And Conquest o'er the British Host assur'd,
From his high Shrine in Compostella's Dome,
Whose Fables vie with thine, unblushing Rome!
They took Saint Jago with Devotion down,
The great Protector, whom th'Iberians own.
Much Cost upon the Image they bestow'd,
And beautify'd with Gold, the Tutelary Wood.
Then on a high Triumphal Chariot born,
Which Paint, and gilded Carving did adorn,
Eight noble Steeds with Trappings richly lac'd,
With plated Harness, and Gold Tassels grac'd,
Around the Towns th'auspicious Timber drew,
Which Praises from th'adoring Crowd pursue.

Then on their March the Spaniards did proceed,
To bloody Labour by their Gen'ral led:
Till their Brigades had Mansfelt's Forces join'd,
And form'd the mighty Army, they design'd.
To the fair Banks of Legia's famous Stream,
Albert's and Mansfelt's Troops united came.
Here they a Camp by Nature strong possest,
Resolv'd the Britons Progress to arrest.

The End of the Ninth Book.

273

BOOK X.

Mean time great Vere, impatient of Delay,
Approach'd the Camp, where Albert's Forces lay;
And gave the Word for Fight th'ensuing Day.
The Chief retir'd, with rapt'rous Ardor pray'd
For Heav'n's high Favour, and propitious Aid.
He to the Throne of Grace Divine apply'd,
And on Almighty Strength for Victory rely'd.
Right and Religion (bless'd Cœlestial Pair!)
He recommends to God's peculiar Care,
And humbly does to Heav'n, the Cause of Heav'n refer.

Few Hours upon his Bed the Hero lay,
To gain new Vigor for returning Day.
His Senses bound by Slumber's secret Chain,
Of Images, a Visionary Train
Engag'd his Spirits, and employ'd his Brain.
The Hero, so he thought, with wond'ring Eyes,
Saw a bright Scene descending from the Skies;
Which by degrees sunk thro' th'Ætherial Way,
And did three Heav'nly Forms at length display.

274

Edward, in Robes of Majesty array'd,
Who with Renown Britannia's Scepter sway'd;
Edward, the Royal Child, the Pious Saint,
Who pure Religion did in Albion plant.
In a fair Cloud of thicken'd Æther sate,
Adorn'd with Ensigns of Imperial State.
He did a Crown around his Temples wear;
One Hand a Globe, one did a Scepter bear.
On one side near ally'd in noble Blood
To the Young Monarch, in a shining Cloud
Seimour, Britannia's great Protector stood.
Cranmer the third bless'd Image did appear,
Cranmer to Edward, and to Albion dear.
Whose early Care embu'd the Royal Youth,
With Piety Divine, and Heav'nly Truth.
Who, thro' the Isle diffus'd Cœlestial Light,
Dispell'd Infernal Fogs, and Roman Night.
Long Rev'rend Garments white as Snow, he wore
This Hand a Bible, that a Crosier bore.
His Martyr's Crown did dazling Beams display,
A Crown of Light condens'd, and solid, pond'rous Day.

Thus did the Royal Youth the Chief bespeak;
Your Sword, to your Immortal Fame, shall break
The Yoke, brave Briton, whose oppressive Weight
Has gall'd and griev'd so long the Belgick State.
Success and Conquest shall those Arms attend,
Which Faith Reform'd and Liberty defend,
And thro' th'applauding World Eliza's Name extend.

275

For her, the Glory is reserv'd to quell
The great Oppressor, and the Storm dispel,
Whose black, collected Terrors have so long
O'er Europe's trembling Kingdoms threatning hung.
She shall a wond'rous Course of Glory run,
And with Renown compleat, what I begun.
She publick Right, she pure Religion's Cause
Shall vindicate, with Europe's loud Applause.
Move thy auspicious Ensigns, Valiant Vere,
Let the proud Foe Eliza's Thunder hear.
Go, with thy vig'rous and victorious Troops
Extinguish Rome's and proud Iberia's Hopes.
Favour'd by Heav'n, go in thy War-like Might,
Lead forth Eliza's Host to glorious Fight.
Advance, and in propitious Heav'n confide,
Thy Arms, 'tis so decreed, shall sink Iberia's Pride.
He said. The shining Forms did upwards move,
These Regions left, for those of Bliss above.
Illustrious Vere awak'ning, did with Joy
On the well-boding Dream his Thoughts employ.

The Sun prevailing o'er the vanquish'd Night,
Rais'd his fair Orb, but shone with paler Light;
As troubled for the Ruin to ensue,
The bloody Labour, which he soon must view.
Intrepid Vere rose with that rising Sun,
He had his Course of Glory too to run.
But Vere arose with a more cheerful Air,
A happy Presage of successful War.

276

With Noble Ardor, and Heroick Fire,
He did his Courser and his Arms require.
The Valiant Chief in Steel illustrious clad,
Eager Iberia's Cohorts to invade,
Mounted his gen'rous Beast with Martial Mien,
Bright as the Noon, and as the Morn serene.
Proudly the Steed did the great Warrior bear,
He praunc'd, and whiten'd with his Foam, the Air,
Pleas'd with the Pomp of Arms, and the stern Face of War.
Britannia's Glory Vere, his Courser spur'd,
Brandish'd in Air his bright victorious Sword;
The Army follows, as he gave the Word.
His Troops obedient march, and ask the Fight,
While Drums and Trumpets Martial Fire excite.
Ensigns and Standards flowing in the Air,
Denounce decisive Wrath, and bloody Toil declare.
Great Vere, the Terror and the Pride of Arms,
Advanc'd in all his Military Charms.
In his warm Veins he felt his Courage rise,
And his own Ardor brighten'd in his Eyes.
Dreadful his Mien, and noble was his Air,
His Aspect such as Warring Seraphs wear.
Majestick Rage the Hero's Look possess'd,
Peculiar to the Great, and not to be express'd.

As the brave Britons march'd to bloody Fight,
A sudden Prodigy surpriz'd their Sight.
Calm was the Morning, and the Sky serene,
When they with Wonder saw th'advancing Scene.

277

Two gloomy Clouds ascended in the Air,
Their low'ring Brows did Hostile Aspects wear.
One from the North, one from the Southern Skies,
With equal Wrath did menacing arise.
The Clouds advanc'd, and over Legia's Flood,
With adverse Fronts denouncing Combate stood.
Deep their distended Bellies hung in Air,
Pregnant with Ruin, and included War:
Between their Fronts, but narrow Space did lie
Of Air unclouded, and of open Sky.

While Vere on this portentous Scene intent,
Survey'd the Heav'ns, and waited the Event:
Th'impending Cloud which mounted from the North,
Open'd, and let two mighty Lions forth.
Friends they appear'd, preparing to engage
Some Foe of Strength, and worthy of their Rage.
Each lash'd his Side, each shook his shaggy Main,
Preluding to a terrible Campaign.
In Hostile Wrath they did expand their Jaws,
And for destructive Fight prepar'd their fearful Paws.

Whilst from the adverse Cloud in Fire and Smoke,
Dreadful to see, a hideous Monster broke.
The Terror had the Neck, and Head, and Eyes
Of an old Dragon of prodigious Size.
His horrid Mouth o'er-flow'd with Blood and Gore,
And on his Head a treble Crown he wore.
Unnumber'd raging Snakes his Temples crown'd,
Which hiss'd, and loathsome Poison cast around.

278

His Breast and Back were of the Wolfish Kind,
And a fierce Tyger form'd the Parts behind.
The yellow Warriors urg'd with gen'rous Rage,
Flew thro' the Sky, the Monster to engage.
Dire Fight ensu'd, Wounds and portentous Spoil,
And ruful Conflict did the Air embroil.
A while the monst'rous, complicated Beast,
Sustain'd the Foes, which fiercely on him prest.
At length with Wounds and bloody Labour worn,
He fainted, sunk, and was in pieces torn.
His mangled Limbs, his Snakes, and flowing Blood,
Amazing Ruin! fell on Legia's Flood,
Which seem'd, prodigious Prospect! to distain
The wond'ring River, and its Tide detain.
The conqu'ring Lions thus appeas'd their Rage,
Vanish'd in Air, and left the Tragick Stage.
The Clouds disperss'd, the Heav'ns became serene,
No part remaining of the airy Scene.

The Prodigy did to attentive Vere,
And to his Host, as boding Good, appear.
That, as the conqu'ring Lions did predict,
Britain's and Belgia's Force should Spain afflict.
This did expand their Fire, their Zeal excite,
And made it painful to abstain from Fight.
As when strong Winds blow from the Sun-burnt Shore
Of ancient Carthage, or the tawny Moor:
The swelling Surges of the Tuscan Sea
Begin to rage, and watry Strife display.

279

Th'embattel'd Waves long liquid Wings extend,
And to Ausonia's Coast their threat'ning Terrors bend.
So did the British Tempest take its Course,
So to the Spaniard bend its dreadful Course.

Now Spain's and Albion's Hosts appear'd in Sight,
And Vere dispos'd his valiant Troops for Fight.
The Spaniard stood in terrible Array,
And Regimented Deaths their Horrors did display.
Gloomy and deep was each embattel'd Throng,
The awful Front unmeasurably long.
A Rivulet between the Armies ran,
Which Albert hop'd, would stop the Briton's Van.
Hither in Arms advanc'd intrepid Vere,
And brandish'd in the Air his trembling Spear:
Soon as th'Iberians did the Weapon view,
They the Contagion took, and trembled too.
Albert from Cannon planted in the Van,
To stop th'invading Foe, the Fight began.
To make the Britons from the Stream retire,
They from their Batt'ries sent prodigious Fire.
The Briton's Cannon equal Fire return'd,
And all the Air with flaming Conflict burn'd.
As when near Java's, or Borneo's Isle,
Conscious, O Albion! of thy Merchant's Toil;
Beneath the sultry, Equinoctial Line,
Where the Chinese and Indian Ocean join;
Two low'ring Tempests in th'Horizon rise,
And with their Fronts oppos'd, ascend the Skies;

280

The angry Clouds extended in the Air,
Defiance frown, and menace horrid War.
With Claps of Thunder they declare the Fight,
And flourish Flames the Conflict to invite.
So did the Hosts, stretch'd to a vast Extent,
A dreadful Front on either side present.
A hundred brazen Mouths in Smoke and Flame
Eject loud Deaths, and growing War proclaim.
As Vere advanc'd, his Thunder led the Van,
Black Clouds and Storms of Fire before him ran.
From Host to Host destructive Bullets pass,
Shot from their bellowing Cylinders of Brass:
Artful Volcanos, which with dreadful Roar
From their deep Wombs discharge the fatal Oar.
Sulphur and Nitre fir'd distract the Skies,
And to and fro, Vesuvian Terror flies.
In Cloud and ruddy Flame from side to side
Destruction did in horrid Triumph ride.

As Vere advanc'd to ford th'opposing Stream,
A pond'rous Ball that from a Cannon came,
Beneath his Courser's Belly graz'd, and threw,
The Glebe on high, which round the Gen'ral flew:
Th'affrighted Britons trembling stood, and fear'd
The heap of Earth their Leader had interr'd.
But when his Cohorts saw intrepid Vere,
The Cloud of Glebe disperss'd, unhurt appear;
Who cover'd thus with Dust more Glorious shone,
And by the Danger past was dearer grown;

281

Good Heav'ns! they cry'd, what Misery, what Woe
Have we escap'd by this eluded Blow?
Bless'd be the Guardian Angel's watchful Care,
Who to preserve the precious Life of Vere,
And save the Valiant Chief for Glorious Fight,
Beat down the Ball, and made it err aright.
But while the boldest Britons shook with Fear,
Unshaken, unconcern'd, undaunted Vere
At once his Troops did thro' the Water lead,
And thro' the Fire, which Albert's Cannon made.
Bold he advanc'd thro' Smoke and Sulphur Flames,
Despising Vet'ran Troops, and haughty Gen'rals Names.
He form'd the Lines, and did his Host excite
To closer Combate, and decisive Fight.
Of the Left Wing Horatio was the Head;
The Right the Valiant Belgian Prince obey'd.
Britannia's Gen'ral in the Centre stands
To guide the Fight, and give out high Commands.
He as a Master did his Troops dispose,
And bad the Battel move, to dispossess the Foes.

The Spanish Chief beheld the frowning Air,
And wrathful Aspect of th'advancing War.
But thought his Host in their strong Camp secure
From Belgia's Anger, and Britannia's Pow'r.
His Army's Right lay stretch'd to Legia's Flood,
The Left extended to a distant Wood;
And on a rising Ground th'embattel'd Centre stood.
In Number placing his presumptuous Hopes,
In his strong Camp and old victorious Troops.

282

Sure of Success, the Briton he defy'd,
And with Iberia's customary Pride,
Did as a rash Attempt, their fearless March deride.
Th'embattel'd Host of haughty Spain to guard,
And Vere's advancing Cohorts to retard,
Dreadful in Arms the king of Terrors stood,
Threatning his Mein, his Garments roll'd in Blood.
Shot from his Eyes a red, destructive Glare
Of kindled Sulphur, flash'd along the Air.
Ruddy Eruptions from his Nostrils came,
And from his num'rous Mouths thick Smoke and baleful Flame.
His countless Hands uplifted in the Field,
Ten thousand Spears, ten thousand Swords did weild.
Wild Ruin, sad Distress, untimely Fate,
And weeping Woe, did on the Monarch wait.
His formidable Shape the Britons saw,
They view'd the Danger, but they felt no Awe.
Death ne'er in more tremendous Forms appear'd,
Ne'er show'd more Pomp, yet ne'er was less rever'd.
No Threats of Death the Britons could arrest,
Combate they forc'd, and bold on Danger prest.
To Hazard they advanced, neglecting Care,
And dauntless rush'd on the sharp Edge of War.

First brave Horatio with his stout Brigade,
So Vere commanded, did the Foe invade.
He wav'd his Sword, accustom'd to prevail,
And march'd his Troops th'Iberian to assail.
Thro' flying Deaths, and Storms of Hostile Shot
Boldly advanc'd, and a close Combate sought.

283

He with a Brav'ry oft in Battel shown,
Took all their Fire, returning not his own,
Till he advanc'd so near th'embattel'd Foe,
That Fate might be ascertain'd of his Blow.
Then on th'Iberian he his Fury spent,
And mid'st the Cohorts dreadful Vollies sent.
His Arms of Fire sure Ruin did convey,
Death had no room to err, or miss its way.
The Foe beat down by Show'rs of Leaden Ball,
Like Rows of Trees before a Tempest fall,
Then brandishing his Faulchion, to pursue
The dreadful Blow, he mid'st the Battel flew.
His valiant Britons at their Chiefs Command,
Slung all their Guns, and follow'd Sword in Hand.
With his bright Blade Horatio made his way:
Velez advanc'd th'Invader's Course to stay.
Before the Spaniard undertook the War,
To fam'd Saint Jago he address'd his Pray'r:
A little Idol he devoutly kiss'd,
Hung in the Bosom, Danger to resist.
With Courage brave Horatio he assail'd,
But from the harden'd Helm th'eluded Sword recoil'd.
Enrag'd Horatio made the Spaniard feel
A stronger Arm, and more destructive Steel.
The Briton's Blade, which ne'er did Fate deceive,
Of his right Hand th'Iberian did bereave.
Grasping his Sword, his Hand fell on the Plain,
He thus dismember'd, left the Field in Pain,
And Tracks of reeking Blood did all his way distain.

284

Luna, a Murcian Lord, with mighty Rage
Did next the great Horatio's Arms engage.
He of the pure Illustrious Current proud,
Which in his Veins unstain'd with Mixture flow'd
Of Jewish, Gothick, or Morisco Blood;
To Belgia's Fields came with a noble Train,
And left his Palace, and his Lands in Spain.
In Nuptial Bands he newly had been ty'd,
But left his Country, and his lovely Bride:
Having a late Suspicion entertain'd,
That her Iberian Blood had once been stain'd
With a base Stream (indelible Disgrace!)
Deriv'd from Princes of the Gothick Race.
He to the Combate boldly did advance,
And at Horatio pass'd his glitt'ring Lance.
Resisted by the Plate, the Weapon broke;
The valiant Briton with a noble stroke,
That sever'd half his Neck, the Spaniard slew;
From his divided Veins a Torrent flew.
His high, Iberian unpolluted Blood
Now with the Vulgar mix'd, and undistinguish'd flow'd.

Elsewhere Gouramno urg'd with Martial Fire,
Which did the Hero from his Youth inspire;
Adorn'd with Seams and honourable Scars,
And gloriously deform'd by frequent Wars;
Did bright in Arms a noble Fight maintain,
With the fam'd Vet'ran Infantry of Spain.
His brandish'd Sword did ne'er in vain descend;
Still sure Destruction did the Blow attend.

285

He did the Plain with dreadful Slaughter spread,
And to the Living climb'd o'er heaps of Dead.
Darting, like Light'ning, thro' th'embattel'd Files,
He cover'd all the Field with Hostile Spoils.
Ortes, a valiant Andalusian Lord,
Fell by the mighty Chief's Victorious Sword.
He struck his Head off with a single Wound,
Which star'd, and gasp'd, and bounded on the Ground;
Thro' the Neck Veins, cut by the fatal Blade,
The lab'ring Heart warm leaping Life convey'd,
And all its Works of Blood the vital Engine play'd.

Vergas with Fury did the Briton meet;
But wounded, fell before the Conqu'ror's Feet.
Gouramno's Sword went deep into his Side,
And did the proud Iberian's Spleen divide.
Conzo and Chimay brought their Friend Relief,
And from the Combate bore the bleeding Chief.
Faint both with Loss of Blood, and Sense of Pain,
Th'Iberian Chief could scarcely Life maintain.
He drew in Throbs his interrupted Breath,
And shudd'ring felt the cold Embrace of Death.
Perceiving now the King of Terrors near,
Stung with Remorse, and grip'd with conscious Fear,
The Chief reflected on his horrid Guilt,
The Towns he pillag'd, and the Blood he spilt.
He call'd to Mind how by his fierce Command,
His bloody Troops had ravag'd Belgia's Land.
How he by Rapine, Treasure had amass'd,
Fair Cities sack'd, and laid rich Countries wast.

286

Now to avert Heav'n's Vengeance, and the Rage
Of his insulting Conscience to asswage,
To Cities ruin'd by his Violence,
Expiring he bequeath'd his Wealth immense.
Next Salo, hapless Youth! of noble Blood,
Who left the Banks of fair Duero's Flood,
In Belgia's Plains fell by Gouramno's Arms,
And envious Death effac'd his blooming Charms.

Hamel, where Danger was, did still appear
With Death familiar, but unknown to Fear:
Eager of Fame, and negligent of Wound,
He still amidst the thickest Foes was found.
Reeking with Slaughter, and with Dust distain'd,
He cleft the Files, and on the Spaniard gain'd.
Vasquez to Albert near in Blood ally'd,
And Guarda by brave Hamel's Weapon dy'd.
One in Sevilla, one in Ronda dwelt,
This his bright Lance, that his broad Faulchion felt.
Lorca was in th'way by luckless Chance,
Where the great Chief did thro' th'Ranks advance.
While for his Life, the Spaniard sore afraid,
With piteous Looks and moving Accents pray'd,
As Hamel raging thro' the Battel prest,
He with his Lance transfix'd the Coward's Breast.
Lorca out-stretch'd, lay gasping on the Plain,
And pour'd his Vitals out in tort'ring Pain.

Not far from Hamel, Ingol bravely fought,
And glorious Hazard with Impatience sought.

287

He was to Danger easy of Access,
And if it did not first to him Address,
He did on Danger run, and on Destruction press.
He with his fatal Sword his Passage made,
Ruin behind its ghastly Pomp display'd.
Marignan glorious in refulgent Arms,
And Borgia's valu'd for his youthful Charms,
Were by the valiant Britons's Weapon slain;
Next Motto wounded fell, and bit the Plain.

Then did the Briton with his Faulchion slay
The great Alphonso, who oppos'd his way;
While in tormenting Pains the Chief did lie,
Of Life despairing, and afraid to Die,
Horror and dread his conscious Mind possest,
And Fears of Vengeance fill'd his guilty Breast.
He now reflected how in India he
Had left the dreadful Marks of Spanish Cruelty.
Pain'd with his Wound, and grip'd with inward Care,
The agonizing Chief thus vented his Despair.
I did a thousand various Deaths employ,
A mild and gentle People to destroy.
I rob'd the Indian of his wealthy Store,
And by my Racks extorted Silver Oar.
To sooth my Rage, ah, Cruelty accurst!
To cloy with Gold my avaricious Thirst,
I did their peaceful Towns with Slaughter load,
And bath'd the Indian World in Indian Blood.

288

Till both the Christian's, and the Spaniard's Name
To those poor inoffensive Men became,
As Hell and Torments are to us, the same.
That Hell, those Torments I must undergo,
That did no Mercy to the Indian show.
I must th'Almighty's heavy Vengeance bear,
Doom'd to Immortal Anguish and Despair:
This said, the Chief distracted in his Thought,
Fail'd in his Speech, and rattled in his Throat;
Death o'er his Eyes, did a thick Gloom display,
Enthron'd the Night, and dispossess'd the Day.

Silvius, whom all Men did with Honour name,
By great Atchievements now improv'd his Fame.
His Sword Colonna of his Life bereft,
Who his rich Acres on the Adda left,
Next Barlotte's Head his fatal Faulchion cleft.
Noble Pastrana next with Courage fir'd,
Sought the brave Briton, and the Fight requir'd.
The blooming Youth inspir'd with Thirst of Fame,
To Belgia's Fields from fair Almeria came.
Waving his bright Toledo in the Air,
He for his Foe did suddain Fate prepare.
Before the Warrior left the Realms of Spain,
He at a Royal Bull-feast, on the Plain,
Near high Madrita, did great Honour gain.
The Youth procur'd by his victorious Spear
The Envy of the Men, and Favour of the Fair.
A Crimson Scarf across his Shoulder shone,
With which bright Zara did her Lover crown.

289

Which now he kiss'd, and on the pow'rful Charm
Depended much, much on his vig'rous Arm.
The Spaniard praying, that he might prevail,
Did with a noble Fire the Foe assail.
His Faulchion slightly cut the Briton's Side,
Whence trickling Blood the Hero's Armor dy'd.
Silvius enrag'd, return'd a deadly Stroke,
Which thro' the Shoulder of the Spaniard broke;
The Warrior fell, and thus expiring cry'd,
Ah, Zara! thou must be another's Bride.
Ah, cruel Fate! Zara farewel, and dy'd.

These valiant Chiefs the Combate did maintain
With Albert's Foot, the Flow'r and Pride of Spain.
During the sharp Dispute, on either side
Many great Chiefs, and vulgar Warriors dy'd.
The valiant Dromar on the Belgick Plain,
Ah! much lamented, hapless Youth! was slain.
The fatal Bullet thro' his Forehead pass'd,
Broke thro' his Brain, the Seat of Sense effac'd.
He dropt his Arms, and fell bereft of Breath,
Untimely Triumph! beauteous Spoil of Death!
Thy Deeds, brave Youth, thy rigid Fate survive,
Thy Name, enroll'd with mighty Chiefs, shall live
Distinguish'd from the unrecorded Throng,
In British Annals, and in British Song.

There Ruta, Ruta did in Arms excel,
Asserting Right, and pure Religion fell.

290

There Conway dy'd by great Velasco's Spear,
His luckless Fate, he was to all so dear,
Griev'd all the Host, and touch'd e'en mighty Vere.
Their valiant Credan by Gonzaga slain.
Discolour'd with his Blood the dusty Plain,
Still in his Martial Face his Fury did remain.
Mansellan their excel'd in Arms by few,
There his last Breath the brave Morgano drew,
Fam'd Lerma one, and one Queveda slew.

Palma mean time did with a bold Brigade,
By Vere's Command, th'Iberian Horse invade,
He march'd to Combate with a dauntless Air,
With glorious Danger pleas'd, and more than vulgar War.
With so much Courage, such resistless Force
The valiant Chief assail'd th'Iberian Horse,
That soon he broke the num'rous Foe, and spread
Thy wond'ring Banks, O Legia, with the Death.
By this brave Deed he gain'd Immortal Fame,
And equal'd Captains of the greatest Name.
The Troops he led did wond'rous Courage show,
And with resistless Fury charg'd the Foe.
With noble Rage they the hot Fight maintain'd,
Broke thro' the Files, and on th'Iberian gain'd.
Prodigious Heaps of slaughter'd Spaniards slain
Lay welt'ring in their Blood o'er all the Plain.

Dead of his Wound, Durango press'd the Field
The valiant Chief was by a Bullet kill'd,

291

Which thro' his harden'd Cuirass made its way,
And deep within his Bowels buried lay.
Hierges extended lay upon the Ground,
He from a Lance receiv'd his fatal Wound.
The Steel his Arm near the right Shoulder pass'd,
Where the large Vessels are for Safety plac'd.
It cut th'Arterial Vital Tubes in two,
And from their gaping Trunks a purple River flew.
Gomez was kill'd, a Chief of great Renown,
Who in the Field in Gold and Tissue shone.
Odours more sweet from his rich Garments flow'd,
Than from a Myrtle Grove, or Spicy Wood.
Rare Essences, rich Ointments, high Perfume,
Embalm'd the Chief, while living, for his Tomb.
The fatal Ball thro' his bright Armor prest,
Pierc'd the right Pap, and lodg'd within his Breast.
Coughing a while, and spitting frothy Blood
From wounded Lungs, the reeling Hero stood:
Then down he fell, and soon prevailing Death
For ever barr'd the Passes of his Breath.
Caraffa, Porta, and great Numbers more
On Legia's Banks lay reeking in their Gore.
Enrag'd to see such heaps of Spaniards slain,
The advancing Briton's Fury to sustain,
Mendoza, to the Fight his Squadrons brought,
And worthy of his Fame with Courage fought.
Brave Montezuma of distinguish'd Fame
With his stout Troops to aid Mendoza came.
Fearless of Danger with his brandish'd Sword
He charg'd the Briton, and the Fight restor'd.

292

These did the Progress of the Victor stay,
And chang'd a while the Fortune of the Day.

Ogle mean time, and Ball of great Renown,
For Skill and Courage well in Belgia known;
Did with a noble Fire, and mighty Force
Charge in another part th'Iberian Horse.
With Sword in Hand they to the Combate flew,
And at their first Assault great Numbers slew.
But by the Foe, who kept the rising Ground
Out-number'd, and encompass'd almost round,
The British Troops began at length to yield,
And in disorder leave th'unprosp'rous Field.

Soon as the watchful Vere's discerning Eye
Observ'd the British Troops begin to ply,
And to the advancing Spaniard yield the Ground,
The noble Chief with Indignation frown'd:
He all enrag'd, his gen'rous Courser spur'd,
And waving high in Air his flaming Sword,
He with a Mein, that great Resentment show'd,
To his disorder'd Squadrons swiftly rode.
He us'd this Language to prevent their Flight,
Revive their Courage, and restore their Fight.

What mean my Fellow-Soldiers to retreat?
That you are Britons, can you thus forget?
Can you forget your ancient Martial Fame?
And stain the Honour of the English Name?

293

In Belgia's Fields what Wonders have you done?
Will you pollute the Laurels you have won?
Does not your Valour Europe's Rights defend?
Do not your Altars on your Arms depend?
If from Iberia's Troops you turn away,
And lose (which Heav'n forbid) this great important Day;
What Plagues and Ruin, what Distress and Woe,
Will in a Torrent o'er the Nations slow?
Europa must Iberian Fetters wear,
Britain must sink, and Belgia must despair.
False Worship you oppose, and lawless Might,
The Cause of Earth, the Cause of Heav'n you fight.
Fair Liberty and pure Religion wait
From this Day's Combate to receive their Fate.
What Shriecks they give, what lamentable Cries?
What Trouble, what Despair possess their Eyes?
With Wings out-stretch'd, they stand prepar'd to fly,
To leave the Earth, and reach their native Sky,
While they, O Britons! see your wav'ring Troops,
On whose victorious Arms they build their Hopes.
Advance, O Britons! and renew the Fight,
Protect these Heav'nly Guests, and stop their Flight.
Engage their Stay, whose bright, Cœlestial Train
Does all that Earth can wish, or Heaven bestow, contain.
Should you the Danger of the Battel shun,
To be secure, say whither will you run?
You cannot, dare not reach Britannia's Isle;
Here you must perish in a forreign Soil.
The Conqu'ror's Sword will reach you as you fly,
Your ignominious Corps on Belgia's Fields must ly.

294

You must conceal'd in Hills and Woods remain,
Flying the Foe, be by the Peasant slain.
Britons, reflect, and let your Bosoms burn
With their known Fire, and to the War return.
I'll lead your Squadrons to renew the Fight,
You are secure in Battel, not in Flight.
You Danger shun, while you at Conquest aim,
The way that leads to Safety, leads to Fame.

He march'd, and waving his Victorious Sword,
To conquer or to die, he gave the Word.
His Speech, his Air, his Mein the Squadrons sir'd,
And with new Courage all their Breasts inspir'd.
Onward they march'd th'Iberian to engage,
With greater Vigor, and with fiercer Rage.
The mighty Vere with Martial Ardor warm'd,
Deeds, which will scarce obtain Belief, perform'd.
Not ancient Greece or Rome have greater shown,
Not at Pharsalia's Fields, or those of Marathon.
With Slaughter red the God-like Hero past,
Broke the thick Lines, and laid the Squadrons waste.
O'er slaughter'd Heaps th'advancing Warrior strode,
Did all the Field with bleeding Ruin load,
And with his fatal Weapons cut an open Road.
Obsequious Death did near the Conqu'ror stay,
Watching with Eager Eyes his Faulchion's Sway,
And where that fell, enjoy'd her certain Prey.

When the great Vere had with his conqu'ring Sword
Confirm'd the Squadrons, and their Fire restor'd.

295

The watchful Gen'ral thro' the Army flew,
To take of all the Field a perfect Veiw.
In every place the Hero did appear,
And where it languish'd most, renew'd the War.
Serene of Mind, he prudent Orders gives,
The Foe disheartens, and his Friends revives.
In such Proportions where his Flegm and Fire,
As high, Heroick Vertue does require.
So just a Mixture did the Balance hold,
As made his Thought sedate, his Action bold.
He as the Army's animating Soul,
Did every part enliven and controul:
Did fainting Members with new Life enspire,
Whole in the Whole, and in each Part entire.
His Vigilance had Danger still in view,
He watch'd its Motion, and did close pursue,
Which follow'd others, as from him it flew.
Where ever Danger saw his awful Face,
Judging it self unsafe, it left the place.
Oft to elude the sharp-ey'd Gen'ral's Sight,
From Post to Post it took a suddain Flight:
And with its Place, it often chaing'd its Shape,
But ne'er could his pursuing Eye escape.
During the bloody Business of the Day,
He with his Arms did still obstruct its way:
Till beaten from the Host of valiant Vere,
It turn'd upon the Foe, and fix'd its Terrors there.

As the great Briton thro' the Squadrons flew,
And countless Numbers of the Spaniard slew,

296

Gusman, a mighty Catalonian Lord,
Of Bulk stupendous, wav'd his pond'rous Sword.
He did his vast Gigantick Shoulders reer
Above the Host, and tow'ring in the Air,
Did a tall, walking Obelisk appear.
Th'Iberian Army on his Strength rely'd,
Did in his Sword, as in their God, confide.
When the great Gen'ral left his native Land,
In Belgick Fields his Squadrons to command:
He did before their Sacred Altars eat
His Idol made of consecrated Wheat;
And with uplifted Hands devoutly swear,
His conqu'ring Sword should slay the hateful Vere:
Now of his Strength, and his past Vict'ries proud,
To execute his Vow, he march'd, exclaiming loud.
Great Vere observ'd, and with a Conqu'ror's Air,
Advanc'd to undertake Gigantick War.
Highly concern'd, the Hosts on either side,
To give them Space for Combate, did divide.
The Britons felt uncustomary Awe;
When they the huge Iberian Champion saw.
A suddain Terror thro' their Army went,
And all stood trembling for the vast Event.
His strong extended Arm did high in Air,
Horrid to see, his massy Faulchion reer.
Across the Briton's Crest the Weapon fell,
Whose faithful Steel its Fury did repel.
Then Vere incens'd, discharg'd a noble Blow
On the left Shoulder of the tow'ring Foe,
And deep into his Viens it pass'd his Armor thro'.

297

The gaping Wound th'enrag'd Iberian pain'd,
And his bright Armor flowing Blood distain'd.
Th'exulting Britons gave a loud Applause,
And to the Clouds their Shouts of Joy arose.

Th'Iberian Chief accustom'd to dispence,
Not to feel Wounds, this Stroke did so incense,
That he did all his Fire and Force collect,
And at the Briton's Head the Blow direct.
In this last Stroke on dire Revenge intent,
He all his Rage, and his whole Vigour spent.
The Briton bent his Body, and declin'd
The dreadful Storke for suddain Death design'd.
Sway'd with the Blow, that no Resistance found,
The Champion almost tumbled to the Ground:
When the great Briton with a furious Stroke,
Which thro' his Coat of Mail and Cuirass broke,
Did all his vast inferior Ribs divide,
And pierc'd his Liver thro' his wounded Side.
From him, his Arms the bleeding Champion threw,
And roaring out in Pain, back to his Army flew.
Thus turning back, he did the Host-affright,
And by his own, he put his Friends to Flight.
So when an Elephant in Asia bred,
Does at a shouting Indian Army's Head,
On his vast Back in moving Castles bear
Sublime Destruction, and airial War:
If as the living Mountain does advance,
He in his Breast, or Trunk, receives by chance
A painful Wound from some Invader's Lance:

298

Unwilling to sustain a fresh Attack,
He on his Masters turns his Terrors back.
And in his hasty Flight, the bellowing Beast
Treads whole Battalions down, and scares the rest.

Now Albert's Horse forsake the bloody Field,
And to the raging Foe the Battel yield.
The British Squadrons led by conqu'ring Vere,
Discharg'd their Fury on the flying Reer.
On Legia's Banks the vanquish'd Spaniards stood,
Their Flight arrested by th'opposing Flood;
Which then augmented by immod'rate Rain,
Its Channel fill'd, and threat'ned all the Plain.
Albert enrag'd, did mid'st the Squadrons fly,
And with loud Voice did to the Warriors cry,
By ignominious Flight will Spaniards stain
The Martial Glory of Victorious Spain?
Brave Vet'ran Troops, who long have Camps endur'd,
Strangers to Fear, and to Success innur'd,
Who can so many glorious Triumphs boast,
Who ne'er gave Ground, ne'er yet a Battel lost;
Will you, brave Men, from Danger turn you Face?
Will you your Honour stain, your Arms disgrace?
Shall the Fanatick, Impious Troops of Vere
From your inglorious Brows your Laurels tear?
Shall Hereticks your Altars over-turn?
Shall sacred Rome our Want of Courage mourn?
You certain chuse, uncertain Death to shun,
To sure Destruction you from Danger run.

299

If to the Flood for Safety you retreat,
You there will meet inevitable Fate.
But thro' the Britons you may cut your way,
Your Swords may turn the Fortune of the Day.
Rally, Iberians, and the Foe sustain,
Protect your Altars, and the Rights of Spain.
Let not the Foe insult with haughty Pride
Iberia's Captains, and her Arms deride.

These Words reviv'd the Spaniards Martial Flame,
Till the Victorious Britons nearer came:
Whose threat'ning Terrors, when the Spaniards view'd,
Their Courage languish'd, and their Fear renew'd.
When mighty Vere appear'd, the dreadful Sight
Fix'd their Disorder, and improv'd their Fright.
Th'advancing Conqu'ror's Weapon to elude,
They spur their Steeds, and plunge amidst the Flood.
To Fate's Embraces they for Safety fly,
Rather than stand the Briton, chuse to die.
Their Faces from the dreadful Foe to hide,
They leap among the Waves, and dive beneath the Tide.
A certain Death to Danger they prefer,
For Man no Passion feels, so bold as Fear.

As tim'rous Deer, which thro' the Forrest fly,
Perceiving by his Roar a Lyon nigh,
Double their Speed, and to their airy Feet,
Wing'd with their Fear, their Safety they commit:
The Herd, if in their Flight by Chance withstood
By some extended Lake, or swelling Flood,

300

List'ning and trembling on the Margin stand,
Doubtful, if they should trust the Flood or Land.
But soon the roaring Foe in Sight appears,
Confirms their Terror, and exalts their Fears.
Soon does his Presence their sad Doubt decide,
The Lion to escape, they chuse the Tide.
Unnumber'd Troops, who thro' the Waters prest,
Did swell the River, and its Tide arrest.
Legia's encumber'd Billows did with Pain
The pond'rous Load of confluent War sustain.
So thick the Cuirasiers on Legia rode,
They seem'd an Iron Bridge across the Flood.
No flying Warriors Looks did ever wear
Such various Shapes of Horror and Despair.
No wond'ring Stream such floating Ruin bore,
Such spoils, such ignominious Rout before.
Ne'er did the Rhine, the Tiber, or the Po,
The Granicus, or red Scamander show,
So exquisite a Scene of Military Woe.

The hindmost Coursers on the foremost rode,
And paw'd and press'd them with their fatal Load.
Rising and flouncing, they their Vigor spend,
And for the Shore with fruitless Toil contend.
The wearied Coursers with their Riders sink,
And Legia's fatal waves together drink.
The shreiking Warriors did each other throng,
And sinking in the Flood, around each other clung.
Here on the Waves dismounted Horsemen ride,
Appear a while, then sink beneath the Tide.

301

Their lab'ring Coursers there at Distance groan,
Whit'ning the Billows with a Foam unknown.
Their eager Eyes and lab'ring Sinews strain,
And strive to gain the Shore with fruitless Pain.

Varex his Courser with long Labour spent
Beneath the Flood his sinking to prevent,
With eager Arms clasp'd young Lozano round,
Fatal Embrace! together both are drown'd.
There noble Scipio, there Spinella sink,
One in the midst, one at the River's brink.
Alvarez thrice did from the Bottom rise,
And catch'd the neighb'ring Land with eager Eyes:
But hopeless e'er to gain the adverse Shore,
Once more the Warrior sunk, and rose no more.
Cortez, tho' now a famous Chief by Land,
Once in th'Iberian Navy had Command:
But twice escaping Shipwreck on the Main,
Had vow'd he ne'er would trust the Waves again.
Now sinking midst the Flood the Warrior cry'd,
In vain to shun his Fate has Cortez try'd.

Carrero sunk o'er-turn'd amidst the Crowd,
But rose, and reach'd the Surface of the Flood.
Oran his Friend, by chance was swimming nigh;
The drowning Warrior fix'd on Oran's Thigh.
Save me, my Friend, he cry'd with piteous Look;
Oran much griev'd, with his sharp Faulchion struck
His Hand off at the Wrist, and let him drown;
He lost Carrero's Life, to save his own.

302

Gonzaga's Steed fatigu'd, and out of Breath,
The Chief with Horror saw a approaching Death:
Then lifting up his Eyes, the Warrior view'd
A Rainbow shining in an adverse Cloud,
He struck his troubled Breast, he deeply sigh'd,
And in despairing Accents thus he cry'd.
Why does this Rain bow mock Gonzaga's Fate,
And greater Anguish in my Soul create?
What profits me this Fœd'ral, Heav'nly Bow,
Which says the World no Deluge more shall know,
While Legia's Waters o'er Gonzaga flow?
He said. The weary Courser's Vigor spent,
He, and his Rider to the Bottom went.

What an amazing Sight, what dreadful Cries
From sinking Warriors, to the Clouds arise?
Horror attended with its Train of Fears,
In all his ghasty Shapes, and all his Pomp appears.
Triumphant Fate does on the Billows ride,
And o'er the Spaniard whelms the fatal Tide.
Legia did such a dismal Aspect wear
Of wild Confusion, Ruin and Despair,
That Legia's Story will a Place obtain,
Next to the Wonders of the famous Main,
Where the Ægyptian King's presumptuous Host
Were in the Waves, like faithless Philip's lost.
Prodigious Numbers in their Flight expire,
Or by the Water, or the Britons Fire,
Who rang'd upon the Banks in Battel stood,
And sent their fatal Vollies midst the Flood.

303

Tempests of Death thick on the Spaniard flew,
And Wounds from Land the swimming Troops pursue.
Against them diff'rent Elements conspire,
Those who escape the Water, die by Fire.

Mean time Mauritius with his valiant Band,
Charg'd the Brigades, where Mansfelt did Command:
The Belgian Prince did wond'rous Courage show,
Sprung thro' the Ranks, and plung'd amidst the Foe.
Onward he flew with reeking Slaughter red,
And thick in bloody Heaps th'Iberian Cohorts laid.
Howling Distress, inexorable Fate,
And Desolation on his Arms did wait.
Nuno, and Phœnix on the Belgick Plain,
Lay luckless Warriors, by his Weapons slain.
Campo and Villa, who his Course withstood,
Stretch'd wounded on the Sand, and welter'd in their Blood.
Este advanc'd, the Hero to repel,
But to the Ground, his Neck half sever'd, fell.
Farneze rush'd in, a Chief of great Renown,
To save brave Este's Life, but lost his own.
Great Numbers more by the fam'd Belgian slain,
Did with their ebbing Blood the Field distain.

The valiant Mansfelt at the Sight enrag'd,
Brought up his Battel, and the Prince engag'd.
Hence did a fierce and bloody Strife arise,
Distracting Uproar, and amazing Cries,
Rung thro' the Hills, and vex'd th'ecchoing Skies.

304

Hollock and Solms with Dust and Blood distain'd,
By their brave Deeds immortal Honour gain'd.
Intrepid Loick and the young Nassau,
Did, worthy of their Birth, great Courage show,
As now they charg'd, and now repell'd the Foe.
Ernest Romera, Bevart Soto slew,
And Goran's Lance pierc'd proud Camillo thro'.

Now Troop to Troop, Warrior to Warrior stood,
With Swords uplifted, and deform'd with Blood.
On either side prodigious Numbers kill'd
Lay in their Gore, extended o'er the Field.
With like Success each other they assail'd,
The Spaniard now, the Belgian now prevail'd.
An undetermin'd Fight they long maintain'd,
And by alternate Fate the Battel lost and gain'd.
So when beneath the Line a Hurricane
Does with airial War embroil the Main;
The adverse Winds their Rage in Combate spend,
And for the Empire of the Deep contend.
Victors by turns the Ocean they controul,
By turns the Billows this, and that way roll.
The doubtful Conflict hangs in even Scales,
And neither Foe is vanquish'd, or prevails.
At length when Mansfelt saw that Albert's Host
Had to Victorious Vere the Battel lost;
He did with Indignation yield the Day,
And from the conqu'ring Belgian flew enrag'd away.

305

When Albert's Horse were driven from the Field,
His Foot disheart'ned, soon resolv'd to yield.
Th'unequal War not able to sustain,
They threw their Arms and Ensigns on the Plain.
Numerous Brigades dismay'd, and sunk with Fear,
Implor'd the British Chiefs their Lives to spare,
And cry'd for Mercy to Victorious Vere.
The Noble Conqu'ror gave the gracious Word,
And bad his valiant Britons spare the Sword.
O! had the Horse Great Vere's Compassion known,
Not thought his Temper cruel, like their own,
They might his Mercy, like the Foot, have try'd,
And not have perish'd in the fatal Tide.
Th'Iberian Foot disarm'd, were Captives led;
The Victors scarce their Number did exceed.

Thus as I could I've sung the Great Campaign,
An Army taken, and an Army slain;
One of the Glorious Wonders of Eliza's Reign.

The End of the Tenth Book.