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55

The Third Book.

The Argument.

The Syrian Rome defies, both Scipio's are,
By choice, appointed to pursue the VVar.
Contagion wasts the Roman Navy, while
The Syrian Fleet's detain'd near Venus Isle,
By adverse VVinds. The Syrian Lords, a Shore
VVith Hannibal, the Cyprian Rites explore.
The VVinds again invite both Heets to Sea.
They meet, and fight. The Syrians lose the Day.
The Libyan Captain to Bethynia flies,
VVhere, to shun Treason, He by Poison Dies.
But when the Empire of the Night was done,
And sleep the Scepter yielded to the Sun,
The Ephesian Peers, as if the sprightful Wine
Had rais'd in ev'ry Breast a War, combine
With Hannibal, to shake off all Delay,
To hasten on the Fates, and take away
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Their Fears of Peace, and strait the Syrian Kings
Defy proud Minio to the Romane brings.
Minio, sublime in Syrian Blood, then sway'd
His Master's Counsels; Him the World obey'd:
Nothing above him, but the Syrian Throne
He saw, all things, beneath it, were his Own.
Whatev'r was done, whatever was design'd,
Was not the King's, but Haughty Minio's Minde.
Thus, favour'd with High Insolence, He sold
Rewards of Virtue, all things uncontroul'd
Dispos'd. His greedy Avarice supprest
All Thoughts of Bounty in his Master's Brest:
The Name of Merit in that Gulph was drown'd,
And, as he pleas'd, the suff'ring People found
Ease, or Oppression, to such Mischiefs may
A single Favorite Kings, and Crowns betray.
When He a Period to the Syrian Pride,
And Hopes of Carthage, as he then defi'd
The Pow'r of Rome, had vainly giv'n: with Rage,
Which nothing, but their Ruin, could asswage,
The Romane Prince to the Myrtôan Main
Descends, and seeks Italian Shores again.
Soon as arriv'd, the Voice of War through all
The City flies. The careful Consuls call
A frequent Senate: Scipio repeats
Syria's vain Boast of Pow'r, and vainer Threats
Of a proud Favorite, and how the Name
Of Hannibal their Courage did enflame;
What aids by Land, and Sea prepared were;
What Carthage thence might hope; what Rome might fear:
All which in Counsel weigh'd, and War decreed,
'Twas hard to say, what Shoulders should succeed,
To bear that Burthen: Scipio was then
Debarr'd by Law to take that Charge agen;
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A Name that so much Virtue did include,
That Hannibal could never be subdu'd
Without its Influence, nor Carthage cease
To emulate Rome's Triumphs, and her Peace.
Lælius great Virtues, through the World were fam'd,
And, where the Noble Scipio was not nam'd
Deserv'd the Bays. The Younger Scipio known
More by his Brother's Actions then his Own.
Desir'd to do, as He had done before
To vanquish Kingdoms, and by Conquests more
Then Years to count his Age. But some, whom fear
Of Syria's Force, and (what cost Rome so dear)
The Name of Hannibal, then mov'd, did stand
For a more knowing, and experienc'd Hand.
One whose great Virtues by his Deeds were known.
Supported by no Merits, but his Own.
And, such was Lælius held by Land, and Sea,
For whom Acilius, this Important Plea
Assumes. If We Rome's Safety seek, and more
Then Private Names, the publick Peace adore,
Whence Fathers this Dispute? whence this Delay?
Why should we leave to Fortune what we may
Prevent with Reason? when Distempers are
Grown Great, the Wise strong Remedies prepare.
Let not those Seeds of Virtue that appear
In Younger Breasts, be valu'd at the Fear
Of Publick Ruin We've already found
What Mischief Youth (not by a single Wound)
May through their Heat produce, and still do feel
The Anguish of those Wounds, the Libyan steel,
Through them inflicted: which, if now again
Torn open, will ingeminate the Pain.
One Errour all our former Ills recals,
And brings the World against Us to our Walls.
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For Rome (alass) can boast no Strength of Friends
Abroad, but what on her Success depends.
Her Virtue onely must her Wealth defend,
Her Wisdom to employ it, her Best Friend.
Then let not Favour to a Private Name
Anticipate your Reason. I disclaim
All Envy to those honour'd Heads, that have
Enrich'd Us with their Trophies, and that gave
New Titles to our Fasti. May they live
Still glorious in them, and all Time survive.
But let not Us Heav'n's Blessings so confine,
As if Entail'd upon a single Line.
Our Laws have so ordain'd, that all, that are
Deserving, may in Publick Honours share.
Hence Libyan some; some Gallick wreaths have crown'd:
By sev'ral Lands, are sev'ral Names renown'd.
Our Fathers still the Burthen of the State
Impos'd on Shoulders, equal to the Weight.
The Greatest Heroes ever would contend,
When Prudence, more then Fortune, might commend
Their Deeds. For, though the great Alcides kill'd
Serpents in's Cradle, yet till he was Skill'd
Through many Labours, how his Strength to guide,
He never with the Libyan Monster tri'd
His God-like Courage. Let such Honours be
Bestow'd, when Dangers, in a less Degree,
Shall threaten Us, and when these Forein Storms
Cannot resist, but exercise your Arms.
What skilful Pilot, by late Tempest tost,
His Vessel torn, some Sails, and Tackle lost,
While still the rude Winds rage, the Billows roar
(Though now he hath in view his Native Shore)
Will Idle, too secure of Safety, stand,
And trust the Helm to a less Skilful Hand?
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No; let this Senate's Wisdom so provide,
That what We want of Strength, may be supply'd
By Conduct: then, if't be decreed the State
Shall suffer, We may not be blam'd, but Fate.
This said; his Silence a deep Silence through
The Senate struck, and on great Scipio drew
The Eyes of all. In him it lay to turn
Their Choice to Votes, or Fortune of the Urn.
This did Young Scipio, Lælius that desire:
As confident, the Senate would require
A Man, whose former Actions might commend
Their Choice, and Rome upon his Care depend.
After some Pause, and strugling 'twixt the Names
Of dearest Friend, and Brother, while each claims
In his divided Soul an equal Share,
Thus Africanus doth himself declare.
I should forbear to speak, did I not see
(Grave Fathers) that your Eyes are fix'd on Me;
On whom a Province lies more Weighty far,
Then was the Burthen of the Africk War:
For there Rome's Fortune with mine own did joyn;
But this Intestine Conflict's wholly mine;
While, for my Blood, I 'gainst my Soul contend;
Distinguish'd 'twixt a Brother, and a Friend.
A Friend, whom Rome may boast, that he was born
In her Embrace: whose Virtues do adorn
The Present, and the future Age will bless.
Whom, as my better Genius (I confess)
I ever entertain'd: his Counsels still
Pursu'd as Oracles, and never will
My Lælius from my Soul divide. But now
Ev'n what Acilius pleads will not allow,
That to his Conduct we this War assign.
This, onely, to our Name, the Pow'rs Divine
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Reserve. If greater Wars shall threaten Rome,
The Honour of Command will best become
My Noble Lælius; and, when War shall cease,
Hee'l be her Chiefest Ornament in Peace.
Though now the Title, Great, the Syrian King
Assumes, and to his Aid all Asia bring,
Yet, if the Libyan Captain be not there,
Too mean a Province that for Lælius were.
The Gods their Blessings, as the Stars bestow
Their Influence on Men, and Things below,
Do sev'rally dispense. Some Fatal are
To those, that be the most renown'd in War,
Yet by less Warlike fall. Not to repeat
Forein Examples, or to tell how Great
In Arms, ev'n by a Woman, Cyrus fell.
Things nearer to Us (Fathers) may compell
Your Wonder. After our best Captains slain,
Your Scipio undertook the War in Spain,
When scarce five Lustra old, and all those Lands
Subdu'd, where Hannibal those dreadful Bands
Amass'd, that shook your Walls. What since I've done
Becomes not Me to speak, whater'e I won
Under Your Auspïcies, was the Decree
Of Heav'n, should onely be atchiev'd by Me.
Nor censure me as Vain, who arrogate
So great a Partage in the Romane Fate,
To say, that, where the Libyans are your Foes,
You must a Scipio to their Arms oppose.
Carthage will ever threaten these our Walls,
Till Heav'n our Name unto her Ruin calls.
Then 'tis not, that I emulate my Friend,
But for Rome's Safety (Fathers) I contend:
And, if the Arguments of Youth disswade
Your Choice, let my maturer Age be made
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The Balance of your Doubts, my Brother's Years
Mine own exceed, when I your greater Fears
Allay'd, with Victory; and, that again
You may the same assurance entertain,
Me his Lieu-tenant make, and fear no more
Those Arms, which I subdu'd for you before.
This said, loud Clamours, with a full Assent,
The Temple shook, and through the City went.
Thence through all Italy the swift alarms
Of War excite the active Youth to Arms.
No Region from those Hills, whose frozen Heads
The Stars invade, to where blew Neptune spreads
His frothy Arms about the Rhegian Walls,
Their Aid denies. The Name of Scipio calls
The most Luxurious from their Choice Delights,
And to meet Dangers, under Him invites.
All, who their Country; all, who Honour love,
His Ensigns seek to follow, and to prove
What Fortune, and the Gods for them ordain.
And now with num'rous Ships the Neighb'ring Main
Oppress'd, groans under their vast Weight, and feels
The Fate of Carthage from their brasen Keels.
Which, oft as the rebellious Billows rise,
Dash them to pieces: while the Winde supplies
With favourable Blasts their swelling Wings,
And to the Asian Coast the Army brings.
While Rome for future Triumphs thus provides,
Envy, (the Plague of Courts) not Reason guides
The Syrian Counsels. What the Wise perswade,
The Ignorant reject. The Courtier's made
The Souldier's Judg. What he concludes doth finde
Its Influence upon the Prince's Minde.
Not all the Mighty things, which Hannibal
Had done, which Rome ev'n trembled to recall
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To Memory, could make his Sense prevail
To quit the Syrian Kingdoms, and assail
The Fo at Home. Though whosoever so
Invaded is, lends Courage to his Fo,
And Strength to vanquish him. But strangely Blinde
To his own Fall, the Syrian King's inclin'd,
Rather on his own People, all those Ills
To bring, with which Invasive Fury fills
A miserable Land. And strait his Fleet
Is order'd under Hannibal to meet
The Romane, where Iônian Billows move
About that Island, where the Wife of Jove
Was born, and by the Careful Nymphs was bred,
Till call'd by Hymen to her Brother's Bed.
She, although Conscious of the Fates to come,
Retaining still her Antient Hate to Rome,
Her Empire of the Air with Mischief fills,
And on the neighb'ring Isles sad Plagues distills.
Th'unhappy Season with her Wrath conspires,
'Twas when the Dog breath'd his Contagious Fires
On fainting Men, depriving Beasts of Food,
And turning into Poison purest Blood.
Th'attracted Air their Entrails scorcheth, fills
Their Veins with Flames, and, e're expired, kills,
Such hasty Fates, that Time doth scarce know how
'Twixt Life, and Death, his Minutes to allow.
While some, whom decent Piety invites
T'interr their Friends, for their own Funeral's Rites
Prepare, and strait from their departing Breath
Infected fall, and share a sudden Death.
The Romane Souldier, whose great Valour scorn'd
To stoop to Foes, whose Trophies had adorn'd
His Native House, who ne're before had known
To yield his Arms, now weak, and feeble grown,
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Let's fall his Shield, and Conqu'ring Sword, and dies,
Ev'n in his Arms, disarm'd. This Plague's Surprize
So sudden is, that, as the Master stands
To time, with his loud Voice, the Seamen's Hands,
On his half-Deck he prostrate falls, before
The Word's exprest. Extended at the Oar,
The Seaman, in a lab'ring Posture, dies,
Not known, if Dead, or rowing, as he lies.
From this so fatal Coast, that did afford
To Death far greater Triumphs, then the Sword,
The Romane Navy, flying the Disease,
Retires, and trusts their Safety to the Seas.
But Venus, fearing lest Saturnia's Hate
From this might greater Mischief propagate,
If then the Syrian Fleet should on them fall,
Thus to her Aid the God of Winds doth call.
Great Æolus, whose mighty Empire lies
O're all the vast Extent, beneath the Skies,
Assist Me now. I ask not, That thou make
Earth tremble, and the World's firm Fabrick shake;
Nor that her Stony Entrails thou so wide
Should'st rend, that Ghosts below may be descri'd;
Nor that the Seas (as in the Giant's Wars)
Thou hurl in wat'ry Mountains 'gainst the Stars.
Juno for such Revenge perhaps may call
'Gainst Us, t'exalt her single Hannibal.
I onely covet to preserve mine Own,
And to effect the rest, let Fates alone.
She when nor Arms, nor Valour can prevail,
My Race with Hell, and Furies will assail.
Could She infect the Place I hold above,
She'd bring Her Plagues into the Court of Jove:
What's mine on Earth her Malice doth surround.
Thou see'st what gloomy Vapours, from the Ground,
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She draws, Death hatching, in their pregnant Wombs,
And threatning Mischief to all's Mine, and Rome's.
Scarse can my Power, my sacred Isles defend.
My Cyprian, my dear Paphian Temples tend
To Ruin, and our Votaries, for fear,
Of dire Contagion, all our Shrines forbear.
No Innocence is spar'd: my Birds, that from
Aurora's bosom to my Lap would come,
And the Refreshments of the choicest Springs,
Would, billing, scatter from their Silver Wings,
As to our sacred Groves they would repair,
Fall flying Victims, in the poisn'd Air.
But this thy Power great Æölus can cure,
And, what is now corrupted, render pure.
Then purge Infection from this Ambient Air,
Make it Serene, and the lost Health repair
Of this once Happy Clime, and Neighb'ring Isles,
And thy Reward (with that, She sweetly smiles)
Shall be the fairest Nymph of all my Train.
No sooner said (for who can ought refrain
When Venus pleads) but Æölus unbindes
From their dark Prisons, the Etesian Windes,
Whose Active Force, not onely chas'd away
All noxious Clouds, and Mists, and gave the Day
A wholsom Face; but, with a constant Gale,
Against all Labour of the Oars prevail,
To keep the Syrian Fleet (the more to please
The Cyprian Goddess) in her Neighb'ring Seas.
Twice twenty Daies, the Idle Ships, before
The Island lay, and Anchor'd near the Shore.
When a Desire to see the fam'd Delights
Of Cyprian Groves, the Syrian Lord's invites,
And Hannibal to Land. No place did more
Indulge to Love, or Venus Pow'r adore.
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The Goddess this to all the World prefers,
And is best pleas'd, when Mortals calls it Hers.
All Deities, that can Earth's Wealth improve,
Here pay their Tribute to the Queen of Love.
The Medows Flora, the Fields Ceres fills
With her rich Plenty, Bacchus crowns the Hills.
The greedy Swains no wealthy Orchards rear:
For Nature choicest Fruits doth, ev'ry where,
Largely bestow, the Bounty of the Soil
Gives all they can desire, without their Toil.
All other Pleasures, which Affection moves,
They finde most ample in their Sacred Groves.
Eternal Shades of Trees, whose Arms above
Embrace, and Roots beneath are making Love:
No Birds of Prey upon the Branches dwell;
Or, if they there frequent, 'tis strange to tell,
How soon their cruel Nature they forego,
And Kindness to all other Creatures show.
All in their Kinds are pair'd; no Bird alone:
No Turtles, by their Mates deserted, Moan.
Nothing, that Mischief breeds, can there be found.
Love onely hath the Pow'r t'inflict a Wound.
From Native Grottoes, that all Art exceed,
Their Chrystal Fountains sev'ral Chanels feed
With cooling Streams, which, as they murm'ring pass,
Still Verdant keep the Lover's Seats of Grass.
All this survai'd, their Temple's sacred Rites
To Wonder, and Devotion them invites.
The Chief was Paphos, which their Senses Charms
Above Belief. The Goddess there her Arms,
Her Chariot, harness'd Doves, and whatsoe're
On Earth she values, keeps. Her Trophies here
Of such, as 'gainst her Pow'r rebell'd, the Gates
Adorn; their Names, and Fate the Priest relates:
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A Priest, who yet five Lustra had not seen,
Yet, since he three had told, her Priest had been:
But must no longer at her Altar stand,
Or take the sacred Censer in his Hand,
When from his Birth twice twenty Years expir'd;
For Youth is by the Goddess most desir'd:
Such all her Votaries, and Clients are;
The Aged seldom at her Shrines appear.
These view'd, and past; to a fair Porch they came,
Where Miracles the Deity proclaim.
Bodies to other things transform'd by Love,
Whose strange Originals their Change did prove:
Some, whose Obdurate Hearts had made them Stone;
Some, Beasts; some, Birds; some, Trees; their Figures none
Had lost, but, as when chang'd, their Shapes retain,
And Monuments of her great Pow'r remain.
Above the rest, an Iv'ry Statue stands,
Fair ev'n to Wonder. Hannibal demands,
What Nymph it was of that Celestial Form?
To whom the Priest replies. A Soul did warm
This Iv'ry once. The Storie's very strange,
Yet this fair City, and these Walls the Change
Attest. When first Pygmalion in this Isle
Arriv'd, a Votary to Venus, while
Our Cyprian Virgins such a Freedom us'd,
That jealous Lovers thought themselves abus'd,
He, flying Hymen, to his House retires.
But still retaining in his Breast the Fires
Of Love, his troubled Fancy to divert,
This Statue, with more then Promethean Art,
He frames, and, as all Parts he, wondring, views,
Desires of Hymen in his Breast renews,
And Venus thus invokes. Give Me (He said)
For Wife, as Beautiful, and Chast a Maid,
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Great Goddess, and, if thou my Pray'r wilt hear,
A Temple to thy Name my Race shall rear.
No sooner said, but th'Object of his Love
Receives a Soul, and strait began to move.
Her Eyes no more are fix'd; but lively Raies
Eject, and first on her kinde Maker gaze.
Then on her polish'd Limbs, which purple Veins
Now warm, and soften with their beauteous stains.
In brief; She lives Pygmalion's dearest Flame,
And from their Nuptial Bed great Paphos came.
Who, when the Fates the borrow'd Soul again
Requir'd, his Iv'ry Mother, in this Fane
Vow'd to the Goddess, plac'd, and we still here,
With holy Incense, Honour, once a Year.
When this, with other Wonders, they had seen,
The Adyta they enter, which within
No Images adorn. But Venus stood
Alone, and kept her Altars free from Blood.
They Tears of Myrrha, onely, offer there,
And Sighs of Lovers. The included Air
Is ever warm, and wheresoe're they turn,
They meet soft Kisses, but no Lips discern.
Amaz'd the Strangers stand, though strangely pleas'd:
When them from Wonder thus the Priest releas'd.
The Goddess, for this secret Place alone,
This Miracle reserves, thus made her Own.
When She her dear Ascanius had convey'd
Up to Cythêra, and on Violets lai'd
The sleeping Boy; Her Aromatick Show'rs
Of sweetest Roses, round about She pow'rs.
Then gazing on his Face, her former Flame,
Her lov'd Adonis to her Fancy came.
Scarce could She, then, withstand his Beautie's Charms,
Scarce from his dear Embrace refrain her Arms.
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But fearing to disturb the Boy's sweet Rest,
Her Lips upon the Neighb'ring Roses prest.
They strait grow Warm, and, rising from the place,
Turn'd into Kisses, fly about her Face.
The Goddess, willing that the World should share,
So sweet a Pleasure, scatters through the Air,
With a large Hand, the new-created Seed,
Which, as from fertile Glebe arising, breed.
But the first Born She plac'd within this Fane,
Which warm, as now you feel them, still remain.
This said, a sudden Noise permits no more,
But summons them abruptly to the Shore,
The Wind came fair: the busy Seamen weigh
Their barbed Anchors, and stand off to Sea.
The Time no longer stay will now afford,
The churlish Masters hasten all aboard.
Torn from Delight, the Syrian Nobles are
Displeas'd, and rather wish another War.
But Hannibal, whose great Heroick Brest,
A Nobler Flame, then that of Love possest;
With as much Joy the Fetters of those Charms
Shakes off, as Towns besieg'd, from Hostile Arms
Themselves by Sallies free, and all the Woes
That threatned them, revert upon their Foes.
Honour, which Noble Deeds in War attends,
Exciting his great Soul, he first ascends
His Ship, and offers to the God of Seas
Warm Entrails, then at large his Sails displaies.
Loud Clamours from his high Example, through
The Fleet are spread, whil'st all his Course pursue.
And now the Land retires, the Cyprian Shore
Is lost, and all the Flames which they before
Cherish'd, are quite extinct in ev'ry Breast,
Wholly with Thoughts of future War possest.
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A War, wherein Rome's Fortune stood alone
Against the World: and were there more then One,
Might with them all contend. So Great was She,
Till lessen'd by her Crims of Victory.
Twice had the Sun descended to the Sea;
Twice the wing'd Hours had rais'd again the Day.
When they that Coast, where Sida doth obtrude
High Rocks (Her strong Defence) against the rude
Assaults of Raging Billows made: and there
Beheld what both their Wonder, and their Fear
At once creates. The Seamen think they've lost
Their Course, and touch upon some un-known Coast.
Or Nature, from the Bowels of the Main,
Some Cyclas thrusts, or floating Grove again.
But as they nearer came, within that Wood
They saw for Fight prepar'd, an Army stood,
So numerous they were, that what before
Their Wonder was, is now their Terrour more.
Their Order such, as when her borrow'd Raies
With growing Horns the Silver Moon displaies.
But her full Glory, their Guilt, brasen Prows
Surpast, and gave the Morning, as it rose,
A brighter Face; and, where they made their Way,
With a new Light anticipate the Day.
The Syrian Navy, whether clog'd with Fear,
Or their vast Bulk, though still they forward steer.
Went slowly on, till Hannibal so far
Advanc'd before, that he provok'd the War.
At his Approach, the Romane Souldiers fill
The Air with Shouts, that seem the Winds to still,
And fright Pamphylian Nymphs, while he goes on
Fearless, as if his Valour could alone,
With all their Force contend. When a Disdain
To see him dare so much, a Rage more vain
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Creates in a brave Rhodian, who forsakes
His Station, and the Combate undertakes.
Both ply their Oars; both seek to gain the Wind.
While Fortune, that, in this alone, inclin'd
To favour Hannibal, extends his Sails
With following Gusts so, that his speed prevails,
And bears his Gally on against his Fo,
With so great Violence, the barbed Proe
Strikes through his Side, and with the furious Shock
Shakes his whole Bulk, as bruis'd against a Rock.
As from some Engine shot, the Splinters fly,
Through all the Ship; and One the Captain's Eye
So deeply wounds, it sinks into his Brain,
And leaves upon the Deck his Body slain.
With him the Courage of the rest doth dy,
And a base Fear perswades them streight to fly.
While Hannibal pursues, with Storms of Fire
From Pitchy Lamps, and Darts, as they retire.
Black waves of Smoak the flying Vessel hide;
And her sad Fate invites from either side.
Fresh Squadrons to the Fight. These to maintain
Their Conquest; those to take Revenge. The Main
Foams with their active Oars, and the Sea-Gods,
Affrighted, seek their most remote Abodes.
Fearing the future Horrour of the Day,
And bloody Seas, their safety might betray.
Both Navies now are met, Proes against Proes;
Sides against Sides they strike, and, grapling close,
So firmly, that, as Foot to Foot they stand,
And, with their Swords, deal Wounds, as if on Land.
But where the swelling Surges interpose,
Or Winds so, that the Gallies cannot close,
Darts, Arrows, Jav'lins, flaming Lamps they throw,
And Death, and Wounds, in sev'ral Shapes, bestow:
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The Romanes now; the Syrians now give Way:
Yet neither fly, but equally the Day
Are confident to gain, and their Retreat,
Like Rams, doth greater Force, and Rage beget.
Till Scipio, to whose Fortune Syria's Fate
Must yield, and thence her future Ruin date,
A Squadron of Italian Gallies brought
'Gainst Apollonius, who too rashly sought
So brave a Fo. Like Thunder, tearing Clouds,
Their meeting Vessels crack: th'entangled Shrouds
Some, that would sink, above the Waves retain;
While others to the Bottom of the Main
Descend, and in their Arms the Souldiers drown'd
Finde a sad Fate without Revenge, or Wound.
But some, whose present Courage stood above
Surprize of Danger, 'gainst such Fortune, strove
To dy among their Foes, and leaping on
Their Decks, there, fighting, fall. Some backward thrown
Are lost in the Assault: others, whose Skill
In Swimming, and their Rage kept floating still,
Attempt to Board again. Eumenes late
A Captain, who his Tyrian Gallie's Fate
A while surviv'd, first seiz'd a Romane's Oar,
By which he nimbly climbing up (before
Perceiv'd) the Deck had gain'd; when strait, one Hand
Lop'd off, the other still his Hold maintain'd,
Untill a second Wound took that away:
Yet this sad Loss could not his Minde betray
To want of Courage, but his Teeth supply'd
Their Room, until a Fauchion did divide
His Body from his Head, which still did keep
Its Hold: the Trunck fell back into the Deep.
Th'Example of his Death made some to burn
With Rage: some, chill with Fear, their Proes to turn.
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And fly. While Hannibal their Flight, in vain,
Upbraids, and hales them to the Fight again.
But, when they saw Pamphilius possest
With so great Terrour, that he first the rest
Forsook: no Sense of Honour could restrain
Their Flight. But, scatter'd over all the Main,
The base Cilicians spread their Sails to Fear,
Scarce knowing to what Land, or Coast they steer.
But the brave Libyan, who as much to fly
Abhorr'd, as those base Cowards fear'd to dy,
With three stout Tyrian Gallies, makes through all
The Latian Ships t'attaque their Admiral:
Thinking, that Act alone would best become
His Valour, when he seem'd t'assault ev'n Rome
Her Self; and from his Conquest, or his Fall,
The World might say, 'Twas done like Hannibal.
But Fortune the Success deny'd, and brought
A furious War upon him, where he fought.
Wheree're he turns, their Numbers him surround,
So, as besieg'd he stands. No place is found,
Where a brave Deed a single Arm may boast.
All Valour in their Multitudes is lost.
This Face of Danger his last Fury wakes.
As, when too close pursu'd, a Tiger takes
His Stand, resolv'd to dy reveng'd; he views
His Foes, all Wounds receives; at length doth chose
Against that Hand to spend his Stock of Rage,
That 'gainst his Life most forward doth engage.
So a Pretorian Ship, that 'bove the rest,
With Show'rs of Piles, and Darts did him infest,
With a Prodigious Storm he laies aboard,
And all the Plagues, that Libya could afford,
(To which her thirsty Sands do give a Birth)
Upon it throws, enclos'd in Pots of Earth.
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From which (when fall'n, and broken on the Decks)
Myriads of Serpents rais'd their marble Necks.
The Souldiers, in the Fight, with Wonder are
Surpriz'd, as if Medusa made the War.
Their dreadful Hiss suppress'd all warlike Sounds,
And when their Stings, or Teeth inflict their Wounds,
Strange kinds of sudden Death ensue; while some,
Whose Nerves the deadly Poison doth benum,
Like Statues fixed stand: Others beheld
Their well-shap'd Limbs above Proportion swell'd,
Till their encreasing Bow'ls their Bellies burst:
Some seem t'have swallow'd Flames, and a dire Thirst
Firing their bloodless Entrails, to allay
Its Rage, they headlong leap into the Sea.
This through one Wound sees all his blood to flow,
His Veins soon empty made; That doth not know
Hee's hurt, nor feels a Wound, when Death strait creeps
Into his Heart, and he for ever sleeps.
But, though each Serpent thus a sev'ral kinde
Of Death inflicts, yet, to one Ship confin'd
Free from their Venemous Assault, the rest,
The Libyan with all sorts of Arms opprest,
Till Juno, strugling still with Fate (resolv'd
No Romane Hand should boast his Fall) involv'd
The Day in Horrour; chas'd the Light away
Before its Time; and over all the Sea
The Wings of Night extends: the Pregnant Clouds
Discharge their Cataracts, and from the Shrouds
The roaring Winds the swelling Canvase tare
The Romane Ships, as if in Civil War,
'Gainst one another strike, and now contend
How from themselves they may themselves defend.
At length dispers'd o're all the Main they flee,
And, by this Danger, from a greater free,
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Safe to the Lycian Shore the Libyan came,
Reserv'd by Fate to be Bithynia's Shame.
But Fortune had not thus her Aid deny'd
By Sea alone unto the Syrian Side,
But, where by Land the King his Armies led,
His Ensigns from the Romane Eagles fled.
His Thracian Kingdoms now no more his Law
Obey'd, but the Ausonian Fasces saw
In Triumph, through their Conquer'd Cities, go,
And Him, of late their Lord, esteem'd their Fo.
His Grecian Friends the Leagues, that they had sworn,
Reject, and now his weaker Friendship scorn.
Scarce would the Syrian Cities entertain
Their flying King, at his return. So vain
The People's Favour, and their Faith, when crost
By Fortune, and his Pow'r a King hath lost!
This Levity the Libyan Prince revolv'd
Much in his troubled Thoughts, at length, resolv'd
No more the Dang'rous Envy of that Court
To try, but to Bithynia's King resort;
A King, who wanted then so brave a Hand
Against Etolians to defend his Land.
Prompted to this by his unhappy Fate,
Thither he speeds, and findes (alas!) too late
The Malice of his Foes could not extend
To reach his Death, but by a Treach'rous Friend;
A Friend, who to his Valour ow'd his Crown,
And, by that Fatal Victorie's Renown,
Made Jealous Rome to hasten on his Fall,
By such an Act, as all the World may call
Her Infamy. For he, that conquer'd Foes
Destroys, when he may spare, doth Honour lose.
But to the Romane Arms all Asia now
Submits, and all their Laws impos'd allow.
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No King, but basely yields to their Demands:
No City, where they March, their Pow'r withstands.
And what did most with Hannibal's sad Fate
Conspire, his Ruin to accelerate,
Was, that Flaminius, whose rash Sire before
The Libyan Arms on Thrasimenus Shore
Renown'd, a Legate to Bithynia came,
And to his base Revenge the Senate's Name
Usurp'd. Their Peace, and Amity to all
Deny'd, that should protect brave Hannibal.
The King, consulting with his Fears, forgets
All Ties of Honour: on his Safety sets
A greater Value. Those late Trophies gain'd,
By which the Libyan Prince his Throne sustain'd,
Seem to upbraid him with a Debt, which He
Cannot discharge, but by this Treachery.
Those Glories, that too near his Crown dilate
Their Lustre into Crimes, degenerate.
They Guilty are, whose Merits stand above
Reward: in lower Sphears Men safest move.
These Thoughts drew on the Noble Libyan's Fate,
Whose strong Suspicious made him (but too late)
T'attempt Escape. The dubious Faith of Kings,
Which varies with the Face of Humane Things,
Gave him to fear a Change, and to prepare
Strange Lab'rinths under Ground, to shun the Snare
But all in Vain, declining Fortune made
Traitours of nearest Friends, and he's betrai'd
In all, that he designs. Arm'd Troops enclose
His House, and stop his Way wheree're he goes.
But his Resolved Minde 'bove Fortune stands,
And still reserves his Fate in his Own Hands.
Though now betrai'd He is, and left by all,
He's still so great, that none can Hannibal,
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But Hannibal, destroy. And, to prevent
Surprize, into a secret place he went,
Where, first the Gods accus'd, and Hanno's Pride,
(That to his growing Conquests Aid deni'd)
The Syrians Folly, and base Prusias last
Perfidious Act (which all the rest surpast
In Infamy) with Execrations blam'd,
The Aid of his Great Father's Spirit he claim'd:
And a dire Poison (without farther Pause)
More Fierce then that, which, from the raging Jaws
Of Gerberus, upon Earth's Bosom fell,
When Great Alcides drag'd him chain'd from Hell,
He swallows down. This baneful Drug, before
Prepar'd by a Massylian Witch, he wore
Lock'd on his Sword, which, if that chanc'd to fail,
Might, as his surer Destiny, prevail
Against all Humane Force: and, as he found
It seiz'd his Vitals by an Inward Wound,
He these last Words expir'd. Now lay aside
Thy Fears (O Rome) no more will I thy Pride
Oppose, but with this Satisfaction Dy,
That, thus Degenerate, Thy self, wilt my
Revenge effect. Not Arms, but Virtue made
Thy Fathers Great; which since in Thee decai'd,
Thy Ruin must ensue. They, Nobly, scorn'd
By Treason to destroy a Fo, and warn'd
The Epirote of Poison, when he stood
Arm'd at their Gates, and Triumph'd in their Blood.
But Me, opprest with Fortune, and my Years,
Betrai'd a feeble Victim to thy Fears,
A Cons'lar Legate forceth thus to fly
From Life, 'gainst Laws of Hospitality,
And a King's Faith. But this vile Stain (O Rome)
More lasting, then thy Trophies, shall become:
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And, when thy Deeds in War, in future Time,
The World shall read, thy Glories this one Crime
Shall blast, and all account Thee from my Fall
Unworthy such a Fo, as Hannibal.
More He'd have said, but through his swelling Veins
Death creeps, and binds in Adamantine Chains
The Spirits of Life, which with this Language ends:
His Soul to other Heroes Ghosts descends.
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