Prince ARTHUR. An Heroic POEM. In Ten Books.  
BY RICHARD BLACKMORE, M.D. AND Fellow of the College of Physicians in London.  
LONDON: Printed for Awnsham and john Churchil at the black Swan in Pater-Noster-Row, MDCXCV.   

THE PREFACE.  
TO what ill purposes soever Poetry has been abused, its true and genuine End is by universal Confession, the Instruction of our Minds, and Regulation of our Manners; for which 'tis furnished with so many excellent Advantages. The Delicacy of its Strains, the Sweetness and Harmony of its Numbers, the lively and admirable manner of its Painting or Representation, and the wonderful Force of its Eloquence, cannot but open the Passages to our Breasts, triumph over our Passions, and leave behind them very deep Impressions. 'Tis in the power of Poetry to insinuate into the inmost Recesses of the Mind, to touch any Spring that moves the Heart, to agitate the Soul with any sort of Affection, and transform it into any Shape or Posture it thinks fit. 'Tis therefore no wonder that so wise a State, as that of Athens, should retain the Poets on the side of Religion and the Government. The Stage there was set up to teach the People the Scheme of their Religion, and those Modes of Worship the Government thought fit to encourage, to convey to them such Ideas of their Deities, and Divine Providence, as might engage their Minds to a Reverence of superior, invisible Being's, and to observe and admire their Administration of humane Affairs. The Poets were looked on as Divine, not only upon the account of that extraordinary Fury and Heat of Imagination, wherewith they were thought to be inspired, but likewise upon the account of their Profession and Employment, their Business being to represent Vice as the most odious, and Virtue as the most desirable thing in the World.  
Tragedy was at its first Institution a part of the Ancient Pagans Divine Service, when the Chorus which originally was so great a part, contained many excellent Lessons of Piety and Morality, and was wholly employed in rectifying their mistakes about the Gods, and their Government of the World, in moderating their Passions, and purging their Minds from Vice and Corruption. This was the noble Design of the Chorus. And the Representation of great and illustrious Characters, gradually afterwards introduced, their Impious, or their Generous Actions, and the different Event that attended them, was to deter Men from Vice and Impiety, and encourage them to be Generous and Virtuous, by showing them the Vengeance that at last overtook the one, and the Rewards and Praises that crowned the other. The End of Comedy was the same, but pursued in another way. The business of Comedy being to render Vice ridiculous, to expose it to public Derision and Contempt, and to make Men ashamed of Vile and Sordid Actions.  
Tragedy designed to Scare Men, Comedy to Laugh them out of their Vices. And 'tis very plain, that satire is intended for the same End, the Promotion of Virtue, and exposing of Vice; which it pursues by sharp Reproaches, vehement and bitter Invectives, or by a Courtly, but not less cutting Raillery. The Odes of the Lyric Poet were chiefly designed for the Praises of their Gods, their Heroes and extraordinary Persons, to draw Men to an Admiration and Imitation of them.  
But above all other kinds, Epic Poetry, as it is first in Dignity, so it mostly conduces to this End. In an Epic Poem, where Characters of the first Rank and Dignity, Illustrious for their Birth or high Employment are introduced, the Fable, the Action, the particular Episodes are so contrived and conducted, or at least ought to be, that either Fortitude, Wisdom, Piety, Moderation, Generosity, some or other Noble and Princely Virtues shall be recommended with the highest Advantage, and their contrary Vices made as odious. To give Men right and just Conceptions of Religion and Virtue, to aid their Reason in restraining their Exorbitant Appetites and Impetuous Passions, and to bring their Lives under the Rules and Guidance of true Wisdom, and thereby to promote the public Good of Mankind, is undoubtedly the End of all Poetry.  
'Tis true indeed, that one End of Poetry is to give Men Pleasure and Delight; but this is but a subordinate, subaltern End, which is itself a Means to the greater, and ultimate one before mentioned. A Poet should employ all his judgement and Wit, exhaust all the Riches of his Fancy, and abound in Beautiful and Noble Expression, to divert and entertain others; but than it must be with this Prospect, that he may hereby engage their Attention, insinuate more easily into their Minds, and more effectually convey to them wise Instructions. 'Tis below the Dignity of a true Poet to take his Aim at any inferior End. They are Men of little Genius, of mean and poor Design, that employ their Wit for no higher Purpose, than to please the Imagination of vain and wanton People.  
I think these Poets, if they must be called so, whose Wit as they manage it, is altogether unuseful are justly reproached; but I am sure those others are highly to be condemned, who use all their Wit in Opposition to Religion, and to the Destruction of Virtue and good Manners in the World. There have been in all Ages such ill Men that have perverted the right Use of Poetry, but never so many, or so bold or mischievous as in ours. Our Poets seem engaged in a general Con'federacy to ruin the End of their own Art, to expose Religion and Virtue, and bring Vice and Corruption of Manners into Esteem and Reputation. The Poets that write for the Stage (at least a great part of 'em) seem deeply concerned in this Conspiracy. These are the Champions that charge Religion with such desperate Resolution, and have given it so many deep and ghastly Wounds. The Stage was an Outwork or Fort raised for the Protection and Security of the Temple, but the Poets that kept it, have revolted, and basely betrayed it, and what is worse, have turned all their Force and discharged all their Artillery against the Place their Duty was to defend. If any Man thinks this an unjust Charge, I desire him to read any of our modern Comedies, and I believe he will soon be convinced of the Truth of what I have said.  
The Man of Sense and the Fine Gentleman in the Comedy, who as the chiefest Person proposed to the Esteem and Imitation of the Audience, is enriched with all the Sense and Wit the Poet can bestow; this Extraordinary Person you will find to be a Derider of Religion, a great Admirer of Lucretius, not so much for his Learning, as his Irreligion, a Person wholly Idle, dissolved in Luxury, abandoned to his Pleasures, a great Debaucher of Women, profuse and extravagant in his Expenses, and in short, this Finished Gentleman will appear a Finished Libertine.  
The Young Lady that must support the Character of a Virtuous, Well-mannered Sensible Woman, the most perfect Creature that can be, and the very Flower of her Sex, this Accomplished Person entertains the Audience with confident Discourses, immodest Repartees, and profane Raillery. She is throughly instructed in Intrigues and Assignations, a great Scoffer at the prudent Reservedness and Modesty of the best of her Sex, She despises the wise Instructions of her Parents or Guardians, is disobedient to their Authority, and at last, without their Knowledge or Consent, marries herself to the Fine Gentleman above mentioned. And can any one imagine, but that our Young Ladies and Gentlemen are admirably instructed by such Patterns of Sense and Virtue? If a Clergyman be introduced, as he often is, 'tis seldom for any other purpose, but to abuse him, to expose his very Character and Profession: He must be a Pimp, a Blockhead, a Hypocrite; some wretched Figure he must make, and almost ever be so managed, as to bring his very Order into Contempt. This indeed is a very common, but yet so gross an Abuse of Wit, as was never endured on a Pagan Theatre, at least in the ancient, primitive Times of Poetry, before its Purity and Simplicity became corrupted with the Inventions of after Ages. Poet's then taught Men to reverence their Gods, and those who served them. None had so little Regard for his Religion, as to expose it publicly, or if any had, their Governments were too wise to suffer the Worship of their Gods to be treated on the Stage with Contempt.  
In our Comedies the Wives of Citizens are highly encouraged to despise their Husbands, and to make great Friendship with some such Virtuous Gentleman and Man of Sense as is above described. This is their Way of recommending Chastity and Fidelity. And that Diligence and Frugality may be sufficiently exposed, tho' the two Virtues that chiefly support the Being of any State, to deter Men from being Industrious and Wealthy, the Diligent, Thriving Citizen is made the most Wretched, Contemptible Thing in the World: and as the Alderman that makes the best Figure in the City, makes the worst on the Stage, so under the Character of a Justice of Peace, you have all the Prudence and Virtues of the Country most unmercifully insulted over.  
And as these Characters are set up on purpose to ruin all Opinion and Esteem of Virtue, so the Conduct throughout, the Language, the Fable and Contrivance seem evidently designed for the same Noble End. There are few Fine Conceits, few Strains of Wit or extraordinary Pieces of Raillery, but are either immodest or irreligious, and very few Scenes but have some spiteful and envious Stroke at Sobriety and Good Manners, whence the Youth of the Nation have apparently received very bad Impressions. The universal Corruption of Manners and irreligious Disposition of Mind that infects the Kingdom, seems to have been in a great Measure derived from the Stage, or has at least been highly promoted by it. And 'tis great Pity that those in whose Power it is, have not yet restrained the Licentiousness of it, and obliged the Writers to observe more Decorum. It were to be wished that Poets, as Preachers are in some Countries, were paid and licenced by the State, and that none were suffered to write in Prejudice of Religion and the Government, but that all such Offenders, as public Enemies of Mankind should be silenced and duly punished. Sure some Effectual Care should be taken that these Men might not be suffered by Debauching our Youth, to help on the Destruction of a brave Nation.  
Some of these Poets, to excuse their Gild, allege for themselves, that the Degeneracy of the Age makes their lewd way of Writing necessary; they pretend the Auditors will not be pleased, unless they are thus entertained from the Stage; and to please they say is the chief business of the Poet. But this is by no means a just Apology; 'tis not true, as was said before, that the Poet's chief business is to please. His chief business is to instruct, to make Mankind Wiser and Better; and in order to this, his Care should be to please and entertain the Audience with all the Wit and Art, he is Master of. Aristotle and Horace, and all their Critics and Commentators, all Men of Wit and Sense agree, that this is the End of Poetry. But they say 'tis their Profession to Write for the Stage; and that Poets must Starve if they will not in this way humour the Audience. The Theatre will be as unfrequented, as the Churches, and the Poet and the Parson equally neglected. Let the Poet then abandon his Profession, and take up some honest, lawful Calling, where joining Industry to his great Wit, he may soon get above the Complaints of Poverty, so common among these ingenious Men, and lie under no necessity of prostituting his Wit to any such vile Purposes as are here censured. This will be a course of Life more Profitable and Honourable to himself, and more useful to others. And there are among these Writers some, who think they might have risen to the highest Dignities in other Professions, had they employed their Wit in those Ways. 'Tis a mighty Dishonour and Reproach to any Man, that is capable of being useful to the World in any Liberal and Virtuous Profession, to lavish out his Life and Wit in propagating Vice and Corruption of Manners, and in battering from the Stage the strongest Entrenchments and best Works of Religion and Virtue. Whoever makes this his Choice, when the other was in his Power, may he go off the Stage unpityed, complaining of Neglect and Poverty, the just Punishments of his Irreligion and Folly.  
'Tis no dishonour to be a true Poet, if indeed a Man be one; that is, a noble Genius well cultivated, and employed in Writing in such a way, as reaches the End of his Art, and by discouraging Vice, promotes the Good of Mankind. But 'tis a mighty Dishonour and Shame, to employ excellent Faculties and abundance of Wit, to humour and please Men in their Vices and Follies. Such a one is more hateful, as an ill Man, than valuable, as a good Poet. The great Enemy of Mankind, notwithstanding his Wit and Angelic Faculties, is the most odious Being of the whole Creation.  
Nor is this Abuse confined to the Stage▪ the same Strain runs through the other kinds of Poetry. What monstrous lewd and irreligious Books of Poems, as they are called, have been of late days published, and what is the greater wonder, received in a Civilised and Christian Kingdom, with Applause and Reputation? The sweetness of the Wit, makes the Poison go down with Pleasure, and the Contagion spreads without Opposition. Young Gentlemen and Ladies are generally pleased and diverted with Poetry, more than by any other way of Writing; but there are few Poems they can fix on, but they are like to pay too dear for their Entertainment. Their Fancies are like to be filled with impure Ideas, and their Minds engaged in hurtful Passions, which are the more lasting, by being conveyed in lively Expressions, and all the Address of an artful Poet.  
For this End among others, I undertook the writing of this Poem, hoping I might be able to please and entertain, not only without hurting the Reader, but to his advantage. I was willing to make one Effort towards the rescuing the Muses out of the hands of these Ravishers, to restore them to their sweet and chaste Mansions, and to engage them in an Employment suitable to their Dignity. If I succeed not myself in this good Design, I hope at least I shall awaken the Courage and Compassion of some other brave Adventurers, that may more happily attempt this honourable Work.  
To write an Epic Poem is a work of that Difficulty, that no one for near seventeen hundred years past has succeeded in it; and only those two great Wits Homer and Virgil before. That the modern Poets have been so unsuccessful, has not, I imagine, proceeded so much from want of Genius, as from their Ignorance of the Rules of writing such a Poem; or at least, from their want of attending to them. Tho' Aristotle's excellent Rules of Poetry were early published by Victorius at Florence, and soon after farther illustrated by the Comments of several Italian Critics, yet we do not find that Ariosto or Tasso either, were very careful to observe them. And indeed our modern Writers neither seem to have attended to those incomparable Rules, nor carefully to have considered the great Models that Homer and Virgil had left them. Some Readers that are not versed in this matter, imagine every thing written in Heroic Verse, is an Heroic Poem; but these have not considered the Nature of such a Work, nor looked into the Critics, who have written on this Subject. I shall therefore give the Definition of an Epic or Heroic Poem, that those that have it not already, may now have a true Idea of its Nature.  
An Epic Poem is a feigned or devised Story of an Illustrious Action, related in Verse, in an Allegorical, Probable, Delightful and Admirable manner, to cultivate the Mind with Instructions of Virtue. 'Tis a feigned or devised Discourse; that is, a Fable; and so it agrees with Tragedy and Comedy. The word Fable at first signified indifferently a true or false Story, therefore Cicero for distinction, uses Fictas Fabulas in his Book de Finibus. But afterwards Custom obtained to use the word always for a feigned Discourse. And in the first Ages, especially in the Eastern World, great use was made by Learned and Wise Men of these feigned Discourses, Fables or Apologues, to teach the ruder and more unpolished Part of Mankind. Theologians, Philosophers, and great Lawgivers, every where fell into this way of instructing and cultivating the People in the Knowledge of Religion, Natural Philosophy, and Moral and Political Virtues. So Thales, Orpheus, Solon, Homer, and the rest of the great Men in those Ages have done, and the famous Philosopher Socrates is by some affirmed to be the Author of many of the Fables that pass under Aesop's name. Most of them made their Fables in Verse, that by the addition of Harmony and Numbers they might the better attain their End. Strabo and Plutarch greatly commend this way of teaching the People; and these Reasons may be given for the usefulness of it. Naked Philosophical Precepts and Doctrines are of themselves harsh and dry, hardly attended to, and ungratefully entertained. If the Hearers are rude and course, or very vicious, there is no hope of gaining them by a grave and solemn Discourse of Virtue, and even the better and more civilised Auditors are hardly kept attentive to it. Man is naturally a lover of Pleasure, and if you would do him Good, it must be, by pleasing him; you must give him Delight, and keep his Mind in a constant agreeable Agitation, else he will not attend to the most useful Counsel and Instruction. He is pleased already with the Notions and Habitudes, howsoever false or vicious, that have the present Possession of him, and you must give him a great deal of Pleasure and Entertainment to engage him to hear you, when you would persuade him to the trouble, of becoming Wiser and Better. Now the first Wise Men that undertook to civilize and polish the barbarous World, found this way of Fables especially in Verse, to be mighty Acceptable to the People: The Contrivance gave them Delight, and the Novelty raised their Admiration. They could learn them perfectly, and repeat them often, by which means the Instructions of Virtue covertly contained in them, were inculcated on their Minds.  
And we find, that many Ages after Orpheus, Solon, Homer, etc. the Divine Lawgiver of the Christians thought fit to teach the People by Apologues, Parables or Fables, under which he covered and disguised his Heavenly Instructions.  
The Action must be Illustrious and Important; Illustrious in respect of the Person, who is the Author of it, who is always some Valiant, or Wise, or Pious Prince or great Commander: But let his Character be what it will in other respects (for there is no Necessity the Hero should be a good or a wise Person) 'tis always necessary he should have Courage; which single Quality is sufficient to make the Hero. And the Action must be important, both in respect of its Object and its End. 'Tis the Action of some great Person, about some noble and weighty Affair. 'Tis true, there are many other Persons concerned, but 'tis the Action of the chief Person that gives the Being and Denomination to the Poem. This Action must be but one; when it ceases, the Poem is ended; and if it be revived, and taken up again, 'tis a new Poem begins. Action is Motion; and if it ceases cannot be revived, so as to be numerically the same. There are indeed many other Actions besides the Principal one, but they all depend on, and have relation to that which is Principal, with the Unity of which, the Unity of the Poem stands or falls. If this principal Action be broken, the Poem is broken too, if there be any other Action coordinate and independent on this, the Poem is monstrous, and has as many Heads, as there are found independent Actions. The Narration therefore of many Actions successively of one great Person, or the History of his Life related in Verse, is by no means an Heroic Poem, any one great Action being sufficient for that. That which makes the Unity of the Action, is the regular Succession of one Part or Episode to another, not only as Antecedents and Consequents, but as it were Causes and Effects, wherein the Reader may discern that the former Episode makes the following necessary, and the Connection between them is such, that they assist and support each other, as the Members of the Body do, no Episode being out of its place, of a disproportioned size to the Rest, or that could be spared from its place, without maiming, or at least deforming the Whole. If this order of the Episodes be preserved, and there appears none but what naturally and probably results from the principal Action, than the Action may be looked on as one.  
The Action must be related in an Allegorical manner; and this Rule is best observed, when as Divines speak; there is both a Literal Sense obvious to every Reader, and that gives him satisfaction enough if he sees no farther; and besides another Mystical or Typical Sense, not hard to be discovered by those Readers that penetrate the matter deeper. Virgil seems most happy in this Conduct, whose Poem all along contains this double Sense, Homer has often only an Allegorical Sense without the Literal, and therefore is not so well accommodated to this Age, as he was not to that of Augustus. But Ariosto and Spencer, however great Wits, not observing this judicious Conduct of Virgil, nor attending to any sober Rules, are hurried on with a boundless, impetuous Fancy over Hill and Dale, till they are both lost in a Wood of Allegories. Allegories so wild, unnatura l, and extravagant, as greatly displease the Reader. This way of writing mightily offends in this Age; and 'tis a wonder how it came to please in any. There is indeed a way of writing purely Allegorical, as when Vices and Virtues are introduced as Persons, the first as Furies, the other as Divine Persons or Goddesses, which still obtains, and is well enough accommodated to the present Age. For the Allegory is presently discerned, and the Reader is by no means imposed on, but sees it immediately to be an Allegory, and is both delighted and instructed with it. The devised Story must be related in a probable manner; without this all things will be harsh, unnatural, and monstrous; and consequently most odious and offensive to the judicious. Probability must be in the Action, the Conduct, the Manners; and where humane means cannot, Machine s are introduced to support it. Nothing is more necessary than Probability; no Rule more chastely to be observed.  
An Epic Poem must likewise be delightful and admirable; and to make it so, must concur sublime Thoughts, clear and noble Expression, Purity of Language, a just and due Proportion, Relation, and Dependence between the Parts, and a beautiful and regular Structure and Connection discernible in the Whole. Without these it will not be capable of giving Delight, or raising Admiration. Admiration is the Formal Object of an Epic Poem, nothing is to be admitted there, but as it is admirable; and by this it is discriminated from all other sorts of Poetry. Every kind endeavours to please and delight, but this only attempts to please by astonishing and amazing the Reader. In an Epic Poem every thing should appear great and wonderful, the Thoughts cannot be too much Elevated, the Episodes too Noble, the Expression too Magnificent, nor the Action too Wonderful and Surprising, if Probability be preserved. No Riches of Fancy, no Pomp of Eloquence can be laid out too much on such a Work where the Design is throughout to raise our Admiration. To render the Action the more Admirable, Homer and Virgil have introduced the Gods, and engaged them every where as Parties; and tho' I cannot say this is Essential and Necessary to an Epic Poem, yet 'tis evident, that interesting Heaven and Hell in the matter, does mightily raise the Subject, and makes the Action appear more wonderful. The Pagan Poets had in this a great advantage, their Theology was such, as would easily mix itself with their Poems, from whence they received their greatest Beauties. Homer indeed to raise his Subject by his frequent Machine's, seems to have debased his Virgil's Conduct, in my Opinion, is more careful and chaste. But some of our modern Critics have believed 'tis scarce possible for a Christian Poet to make use of this advantage, of introducing Superior, Indivisible Powers into the Action, and therefore seem to despair of seeing an Heroic Poem written now, that shall reach to the Dignity of those of the Pagans. They think the Christian Religion is not so well accommodated to this matter, as the Pagan was; and that if any Attempt be made this way, Religion will suffer more, than the Poem will gain by it. My Opinion has always differed from these Gentleman's, I believe a Christian Poet has as great advantages as the Pagan had; and that our Theology may enter into an Epic Poem, and raise the Subject without being itself debased. And this indeed was a second Reason why I undertook this Work, so full of Difficulty and Hazard. I was willing to give an Instance wherein it might appear, that the Assertion I have advanced, is actually true.  
In the Definition which I have given of an Heroic Poem, according to the Sense and judgement of the best Critics, I have said, its End is to convey some Instruction of Virtue. But of this, I have discoursed at large at the beginning of this Preface, and there is no need of repeating it.  
'Tis not for me to proceed to Censure other men's Performances of this Kind; whoever will be at the Pains to read the Commentators on Aristotle, and Horace's Rules of Poetry; or that will but carefully consider Rapine, Dacier, and Bossu, those great Masters among the French, and the judicious Remarks of our own excellent Critic Mr. Rymer, who seems to have better considered these matters, and to have seen farther into them, than any of the English Nation; will be soon able to see wherein the Heroic Poems that have been published since Virgil by the Italian, French, and English Wits have been defective, by comparing them with the Rules of Writing set down by those great Masters. Whether I have succeeded better, must be left to the determination of the judicious Reader.  
In this Work I have endeavoured mostly to form myself on Virgil's Model, which I look on, as the most just and perfect, and which is most easily accommodated to the present Age, supposing the Christian Religion in the place of the Pagan. I do not make any Apology for my Imitation of Virgil in so many places of this Poem; for the same great Master has imitated Homer as frequently and closely; and I do not find that any of his Critics have condemned him for his doing so. Nor is it at all improbable, but that the Greek Poet himself imitated his Predecessors of the same Nation, tho' no doubt he wonderfully improved their Model. Homer was not the first Writer of an Epic Poem. We find Aristotle in his Book of the Art of Poetry, makes mention of several before him: He tells us of an Epic Poem, entitled, The Little Ilias, and another the Cyprica; and censures them both, as containing many perfect, distinct, and independent Actions. The last of these Poems is likewise mentioned by Herodotus in Euterpe, by Athenaeus and Pausanias. And 'tis likely many more such Poems were written before Homer's time, who might be well supposed to have imitated them in what they had done well, as well as to have improved them in avoiding many of their Errors.  
What Homer and Virgil have performed with Honour and universal Applause, I have attempted: What they have been able, I have been willing to do. If I have not succeeded, my disappointment will be the less, in that Poetry has been so far from being my Business and Profession, that it has employed but a small part of my Time; and then, but as my Recreation, and the Entertainment of my idle hours. If this Attempt succeeds so far, as to excite some other Person that has a noble Genius, Leisure, and Application, to Honour his Country with a just Epic Poem, I shall think the Vacancies and Intervals that for about two years past, I have had from the Business of my Profession; which notwithstanding was then greater than at any time before, have been very well employed.   

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Prince Arthur.  
BOOK I.  

I Sing the Briton, and his Righteous Arms,  
Who bred to Sufferings, and the rude Alarms  
Of bloody War, forsook his Native Soil,  
And long sustained a vast Heroic Toil,  
Till kinder Fate invited his Return,  
To bless the Isle, that did his Absence mourn:  
To re-enthrone fair Liberty, and break  
The Saxon Yoke, that galled Britannia's Neck.   

Tell, Sacred Muse, what made th' Infernal King  
Use all his Arts, and all his Forces bring  
The Generous Briton's Triumphs to oppose,  
Afflict his Friends, and aid his cruel Foes.  
Tell, why the angry Powers below, combine  
T' oppress a Valiant Prince, and thwart his brave Design.   

Ambitious Lucifer, deposed of late  
From Bliss Divine, and high Angelic State,  
Sinks to the dark, unbottomed Deep of Hell,  
Where Sin, and Death, and endless Sorrow dwell:  
Here plunged in Flame, and tortured with Despair  
He plots Revenge, and meditates new War.  
His Thoughts on deep Designs th' Apostate spent,  
When this Conjuncture favoured his Intent.  
A spacious, dusky Plain lay waste and void,  
Where yet Creating Power was ne'er employed  
To fashion Elements, or strike out Light;  
The silent, lonesome Walks of ancient Night.  
In th' Archives kept in heavens bright Towers, was found,  
A sacred old Decree, wherein the Ground  
Was set distinctly out, from Ages past,  
For a new World, on this unbounded Waste.  
Here did th' Artificer Divine of late,  
The World so long before marked out, create.  
And gave it to the Man he newly made,  
Where all things him, as he did Heaven, obeyed.  
In Eden's Walks he made his blessed Abode,  
All full of Joy, of Glory, full of God.  
Nature with vast Profusion on him pours,  
Unmeasured Bliss, from unexhausted Stores.   

Th' Apostate raging at his own Defeat  
And envying this new Prince his happy Seat;  
Labours to win him to his Side, to bear  
Arms against Heaven, and wage confederate War.  
Nor did his Arts in vain weak Man assail,  
His false Seraphic Tongue, and Charms prevail.  
Deluded Man from his high Station fell  
Deserting Heaven, to serve the Cause of Hell.  
This Fatal Conquest o'er fallen Adam gained,  
A mighty Empire Lucifer maintained;  
Till the blessed Prince of Peace, heavens Lord and Heir,  
By Pity's Tears, and charming Mercy's Prayer  
Drawn down from Heaven, freed lost Mankind, and broke  
The Power of Hell, and Sin's Tyrannic Yoke.  
He makes Proud Lucifer his Host disband,  
And wrists the Sceptre from th' Usurper's Hand.  
The Prince of Darkness owns the Conqueror,  
And yields his Empire to a mightier Power.  
From Idols and their Priests the Nations freed,  
Celestial Light, and Truth Divine succeed.  
Religion large Dominions soon obtained,  
And daily Conquests, and fresh Laurels gained.  
To Albion's Shore she early passed the Main,  
And brought along her bright Etherial Train.  
From thence she chased Infernal Shades away,  
And o'er the Isle, diffused a Heavenly Day.  
The Prince of Hell at her Appearance flies,  
Spoiled of his Altars, and his Votaries.  
Confined to Barbarous Northern Lands he stayed,  
Till the fierce Saxon, Albion did invade.  
Victorious Octa who his Shrines adored,  
Rebuilt his Altars, and his Groves restored.  
Long abdicated Gods make Albion mourn,  
At theirs, and their devouring Priests Return.  
Th' Arch-Traytor's Rage hence against Arthur rose,  
And all th' Infernal Powers his Arms oppose;  
Conscious should he his glorious End acquire,  
And force th' intruding Pagan to retire,  
Theirs, with the Saxon Empire must expire.  
They must again forsake fair Albion's Land,  
And leave Divine Religion to Command.   

Scarce had they left the happy Neustrian Coast,  
Born with a Prosperous Gale, scarce had they lost  
The Tops of Spires, and rising Points of Land,  
When Lucifer, that did observing stand  
On the high Southern Promontory's Head,  
Of Vecta's Isle, the Seas beneath him spread  
With sharp Angelic Ken, views far and wide,  
And soon Prince Arthur's hateful Fleet descried.  
The heavens serenely smiled, and every Sail  
Filled its wide Bosom, with th' indulgent Gale.  
Mercy, Deliverance, Pity, Hope displayed  
Their Silver Wings, and glad Attendance paid,  
Sung on the Shrowds, or with the Streamers played.  
Rage flashed, like Lightning, from th' Apostate's Eyes,  
And Envy swelled him to the vastest Size  
Than thus he to himself.  
Was not to me in the famed Wars of Heaven,  
The chief Command of all the Forces given,  
Sent by Confederate Potentates to wage  
Unheard of War, and all heavens Power engage?  
When I, to end with Honour the Campaign,  
Drew my bright Troops out, on th' Etherial Plain;  
And pushed on that great, last decisive Day,  
With Godlike Vigour, for th' Imperial Sway.  
In Lustre chief, in Danger and Command,  
Did I Proud Michael's Veteran Troops withstand.  
Michael, than whom a Braver Combatant,  
For Skill and Strength, the Foe could never vaunt.  
Against fresh Battalions still poured on I stood,  
Smeered with Celestial Dust, and Seraphs Blood.  
Had not our Mould been Aether, Pure and Fine,  
Laboured with Care, anneeled with Skill Divine;  
The Blows of mighty Cherubs Death had cloyed,  
Unpeopled Heaven, and the Bright Race destroyed.  
With Michael pained with ghastly Wounds, at length  
I closed, and grasped him with Immortal Strength;  
And down heavens Precipice, had headlong hurled  
The great Archangel, to th' Infernal World,  
Had not swift Uriel trembling at the Sight,  
That filled all Heaven, with Horror and dire Fright,  
Rushed in, to save him from unequal Fight.  
Their staggering Army shrunk, and we had won  
The Throne we fought for, but th' Almighty's Son  
Brought strong Recruits, to reinforce their Host,  
And win back what their General Michael lost.  
‛ Thou overmatcht, did I not firmly stand,  
The chiefest Mark of his Revenging Hand?  
Did I from Posts of greatest Danger run,  
Or once his bright Triumphal Chariot shun?  
Did I once shrink, when Showers of poisoned Darts  
Dipped in Eternal Wrath, shot through our Hearts?  
When massy Rocks of Heavenly Crystal flew,  
Which the strong Arms of mighty Seraphs threw?  
Did I not run and timely Help afford,  
Where Storms of Fire, and loudest Thunder roared?  
'tis true, o'er-born with Force, at last I fell,  
But got Immortal Fame, tho' with it Hell.  
Scarce was I vanquished and o'erthrown but late  
By Power Almighty, and Eternal Fate.  
Since that chief Lord, and Prince of Hell I've reigned,  
And from the Foe, his new-made World have gained.  
And long maintained the Conquests I had won;  
Now much lost back to his Almighty Son.  
But faithful Octa has once more restored  
This happy Isle to me its ancient Lord.  
Have I been thus for great Achievements famed,  
My Deeds throughout all Heaven and Hell proclaimed;  
And shall this British, despicable Wight,  
Me and my Priests, force to a second Flight?  
Rifle my Temples, and in Triumph bear,  
Through shouting Throngs, the Spoils high in the Air?  
Who then to me will Hymns of Praise return,  
Who on my Altars Odorous Incense burn?  
If I chastise not this vain Briton's Pride,  
That does insulting on the Ocean ride.  
If I secure not my new conquered Seat,  
And all his wild, ambitious Arms defeat.  
This having said, to Heaven he mounts upright,  
And to the Northern Pole directs his Flight.  
All fired with Rage, and full of anxious Care,  
With his swift Wings, he cuts the yielding Air.  
As when the Sun pours from his Orb of Light,  
A glorious Deluge, on the Face of Night.  
His Golden Rays shot from the Rosy East,  
Reach in a Moment, the remotest West,  
And smiling on the Mountain's Heads are seen,  
Th' immense Expansion passed, that lies between.  
The Prince of Darkness now, once Prince of Light,  
With equal Swiftness takes his Airy Flight,  
And the vast Interval of Seas, and Isles,  
Wild Deserts, spacious Forests, snowy Hills,  
Past in a Moment, does on Fioel Light;  
Of Lapland Alps, chief for amazing Height.  
Where Thor resides, who heretofore by Lot  
The Sovereign Rule o'er Winds, and Tempests got.  
Here in strong Prisons bound with heavy Chains,  
His howling, savage Subjects he restrains,  
And in Eternal Din, and Uproar reigns.  
In close Apartments, round his desert Court,  
Fierce Prisoners are confined of different Sort.  
Here Boundless Stores, and Treasures Infinite  
Of Vapours, Steams, and Exhalations, fit  
T' engender Winds, or Snow, or Hail, or Rain,  
In Subterranean Magazines remain.  
Here new fledged Winds, young yelping Monsters try  
Their Wings, and sporting round their Prisons fly.  
Here whistling East-winds prove their shriller Notes:  
Here the hoarse South-winds, strain their hollow Throats.  
Boreas the fiercest and most turbulent,  
Of the mad Race, raves in his Dungeon penned.  
At th' Adamantine Door vast Hills are thrown,  
And abrupt Rocks of Ice, piled sevenfold on.  
Capricious Whirlwinds, of more Force than Sound,  
In everlasting Eddies turning round,  
Grow Giddy, Furious and Extravagant,  
And strive to break from their close Den's restraint.  
When Thor unlocks their Prisons, out they fly,  
A lawless Rout, and with their Hellish Cry  
Out-howl the hideous Monsters of the Seas,  
Or savage Roar of the Wilderness.  
Some range the Flats, and Scour the Champain Land,  
Or roll in tottering heaps the Desert Sand.  
Some to the lofty Woods direct their Course,  
And with an uncontrolled, impetuous Force  
Overturn opposing Structures in their haste,  
Tear up tall Pines, and lay the Forest waist.  
Some to the Ocean with like Speed resort,  
And in loud Tempests on the Billows sport.  
Embroil the Coasts, and in wild Outrages  
Turn up to Heaven, the Bottom of the Seas.  
But hushed at Thor's Command they all obey,  
And to their ancient Prisons haste away.   

To him, thus Lucifer, great Prince on thee  
Fate has bestowed the Empire of the Sea,  
All there concerned, invoke thy Deity.  
The Merchants pray to thee to fill their Sails,  
every thy Priests, and purchase Prosperous Gales.  
I too thy Suppliant, ask thy Powerful Aid,  
A Haughty Prince, designing to invade  
My Faithful Subject Octa, and beguile  
Me of my Hopes of fair Britannia's Isle;  
Sails with a Numerous Fleet, with Men and Arms,  
And Octa trembles at his Proud Alarms.  
Let him in Furious Hurricanes be tossed,  
Be sunk, or wrecked, or on the Ocean lost,  
Beat him at least, from his intended Coast.  
Make him thy Vengeance feel, thy Power regard,  
And be what e'er thou askest, thy Reward.   

Great Prince, than Thor replied,  
Who rul'st the Realms of Hell with Sovereign Sway,  
Whom all th' Infernal Thrones, and Powers obey,  
I own Obedience to thy high Command,  
Who puttest this Sceptre first into my Hand.  
Thou leddest in Heaven our bright Battalions on,  
And bravely didst attempt th' Almighty's Throne;  
I saw thy mighty Deeds, and kept my Post  
Close by thee, till that Glorious Day was lost.  
Thy faded Splendour, and illustrious Scars,  
From Ghasty Wounds, received in those just Wars,  
I view with Reverence, 'tis true subdued  
Headlong we fell from heavens high Tow'rs, pursued  
With Whirlwinds, and loud Thunder, down to Hell,  
And Storms of Fire beat on us as we fell.  
Yet after that, thou leddest us to invade  
This Globous World, which we our Conquest made.  
And my Election Patronised by thee,  
This great Command and Province fell to me.   

That said, by him their heavy Gates unbar'd,  
That loud on mighty Iron Hinges jarred,  
Out rattling Eurus, and loud Boreas fly,  
And with Outrageous Tempests fill the Sky.  
They bend their Course straight to the British Coast,  
And on those Seas lay out their Anger most.  
Their Furious Wings the swelling Surges beat,  
And rouse Old Ocean from his Peaceful Seat.  
The raging Seas in high ridged Mountains rise,  
And cast their angry Foam against the Skies.  
Then gape so deep, that Day Light Hell invades,  
And shoots grey Dawning through th' affrighted Shades.  
Low bellying Clouds soon intercept the Light,  
And o'er the Britons spread a Noon Day Night.  
Exploded Thunder tears th' Embowelled Sky,  
And Sulphurous Flames a dismal Day supply.  
The Dire Convulsions, for a certain Space  
Distorted Nature, wresting from its Place  
This Globe, set to the Sun's more oblique View,  
And wrenched the Poles some Leagues yet more askew.  
Horror, Confusion, Uproar, Strife and Fear  
In all their wild amazing Shapes appear.  
Mean time old Chaos joyful at the Sight,  
Looked and smiled horrible on older Night,  
Hoping that Nature, their grand Foe would crack  
With universal Ruin, and her Wreck  
Would give them all their lost Dominions back.  
The Sailor's Clamour, and enormous Cries,  
The Crack of Masts, mixed with the outrageous Noise  
Of Storms and Thunder, rending all the Air,  
Form the last Scene of Horror and Despair.   

When the Just Arthur filled with Grief and Dread,  
And Pale Confusion, deeply sighed, and said,  
O righteous Heaven, why hast thou ranged this Day  
Against me all thy Terrors in Array!  
Armed in thy Cause, thy Temples to restore,  
And give that Aid thy sacred Priests implore.  
If thou such fierce Destruction dost dispense,  
To punish some unpardoned old Offence,  
On me let all thy Fiery Darts be spent,  
Let not my Crime involve the innocent.  
Whelm over my guilty Head these raging Seas,  
And let this Sacrifice thy Wrath appease,  
But let the British Youth return in Peace.  
That said, his Ship unmasted, without Guide,  
Driven by the Winds and Seas impetuous Tide,  
The Sight of all the scattered Navy lost,  
Strikes on the Quicksand of an unknown Coast.   

Mean time bright Uriel, heavens high Favourite,  
Left the Celestial Palaces of Light,  
Sent by supreme Command, and down he flies,  
Let by a Golden Sunbeam through the Skies.  
Meekness divine, serene and Heavenly Grace,  
And fresh immortal Youth shone on his Face.  
Godlike his Form, his Looks so charming mild  
That where he came all ravished Nature smiled.  
He straight alights on lofty Gobeum's Head,  
That wondered at the Heaven about it shed,  
From the bright Cherubin, who touched his Lyre,  
Famed for his Sweetness in the Heavenly Choir:  
Th' enchanted Winds straightway their Fury laid,  
Grew wondrous still, and strict Attention paid.  
Aerial Demons that by Twilight stray,  
Sport in loud Thunder, and in Tempest play,  
Spread their brown Wings, and fly in Clouds away.  
The Day returns, the heavens no longer scowl,  
And fierce Sea-Monsters charmed forget to howl.  
The Wind's retreat, and leave the peaceful Waves,  
To rest their Wings, and sleep in Lapland Caves.  
Soft Zephirs only stay to fan the Woods,  
And play in gentle Gales along the Floods.  
The Ocean smiles to see the Tempest fled,  
New lays his Waves, and smooths his ruffled Bed.  
All things thus hushed, great Arthur gave Command  
To quit their Ship, stuck in the barren Sand,  
And in their Boats to make the Neighbouring Land.  
They spy a Creek not far a Peaceful Seat  
Where flying Waves by furious Tempest beat,  
Find from the fierce Pursuit a safe Retreat.  
Free from th' outrageous Clamours of the Deep,  
They rest secure, and unmolested sleep.  
Stretched smooth beneath the shady Trees and Rocks,  
That guard them from the Winds impetuous Shocks.  
Here smaller Vessels may securely ride  
And all th' Assaults of angry Storm deride.  
Here they arrived, and Heaven they first adored,  
That gave the Aid, their earnest Cries implored.  
That saved them from the Winds, Waves, Rocks and Storms,  
Deaths of so many, and such hideous Forms.  
Then for their parted Friends, with humble Prayer,  
They ask heavens Pity, and indulgent Care.  
Now Arthur from the Rock, views far and wide  
The Seas beneath, if thence might be descried  
The Friends he lately lost, but views in vain,  
No Friend appears on all the Desert Main.   

Returned he thus began:  
Too dark th' Eternal's ways are, too profound,  
For the most sharp created Wit to sound.  
Clouds black, as those that rise the sacred Fence  
Of his high Throne, surround his Providence.  
Whose walks are trackless, and on every hand  
About her paths, shades and thick Darkness stand.  
Her ways are so perplexed, so wide her steps,  
Such turns and windings, and such frightful leaps;  
Such Gulfs, and interposing Rocks appear,  
There such Ascents, such dreadful Downfalls here,  
That Reason straight affrighted stops her pace,  
Is soon thrown off, and quits th' unequal Chase.  
Th' Almighty's Councils are so high and steep,  
Immense, unbounded, without bottom deep;  
Angels amazed from their high Thrones of Bliss,  
Trembling look down on this profound Abyss.  
Sometimes he seems to thwart his own intent,  
Stop and defeat his long designed event;  
Yet which way e'er he steers, his end's attained,  
By uncouth means, with greater wonder gained.  
Sometimes his high permission, leaves oppressed  
The Men most like him, and that serve him best:  
But still their Sufferings and severer Fate  
Prepare them for some glorious future state.  
Invited by sad Britain's Prayers, and Tears,  
To save her State; and ease her deadly Fears,  
We armed, deposed Religion to enthrone,  
T' enlarge the Christian Empire, not our own.  
We armed thus, to restore in Hell's despite,  
To Heaven its Worship, and to Men their Right.  
Resume your Courage then, it can't be true,  
That heavens Revenge should heavens own Cause pursue.  
These Evils are not in displeasure meant,  
Heaven is too Just, and you too Innocent.  
Success and Triumph will our Arms attend,  
And these rough ways lead to a glorious End.  
With Pleasure we hereafter shall relate  
These sufferings, that will greater Joys create.   

He said, and all his anxious Cares suppressed,  
And kept concealed his trouble in his Breast.  
With looks composed, 'twixt pleasure and despair,  
Grave but serene, he bids them all repair  
Their strength, exhausted with much toil and care.  
Of Meats and Fruits part of their Naval Store,  
That with them from their Ship they brought ashore:  
Their weary Limbs reposed, beneath the shade  
Of well spread Trees, a grateful Meal they made.  
Rich Wine of Burgundy, and choice Champagne,  
Relieve the toil they suffered on the Main.   

But what more cheered them than their Meats and Wine,  
Was wise Instruction, and Discourse Divine,  
From Godlike Arthur's Mouth, by Heaven inspired;  
That all their Breasts with sacred Passions fired.  
Great were his Thoughts, strong and sublime his Sense  
Of heavens Decrees, Foreknowledge, Providence.  
He reasoned deep of heavens mysterious Ends,  
And made stern Justice, and fair Mercy Friends.  
How high he soared, how Noble was his flight,  
Speaking of Truth divine, and Wisdom infinite!  
He opens all the Magazines above,  
Of boundless Goodness and Eternal Love.  
From these rich Stores of Heaven, these sacred Springs  
Of everlasting Joy and Peace, he brings  
Ambrosial Food, and rich Nectarean Wine,  
That cheer pure Souls, and nourish Life Divine.  
He then compared this transient mortal state,  
To the fierce Tempest they escaped so late,  
That here is every great and good Man's Fate.  
If Godlike Men for Heaven embark, and stand  
Their Course direct, to make the blissful Land;  
Straight Hell the bloody signal gives to Arm,  
Cain's cruel offspring takes the dire alarm;  
And potent Fiends by Sea their Forces join,  
T' obstruct their way, and break their brave design.  
All with consummate Malice, furious Rage,  
Against th' adventurous Voyagers engage.  
Through all the Sky they raise outrageous Storms,  
And Death stands threatening in a thousand Forms.  
Clouds charged with loud Destruction drown the day,  
And airy Daemons in wild Whirlwinds play.  
Thick Thunderclaps, and Lightning's livid glare  
Disturb the Sky, and trouble all the Air.  
Outrage, Distraction, Clamour, Tumult Reign,  
Through the Dominions of the unquiet Main.  
The labouring Bark with Heavenly Treasure fraught,  
Now almost sunk, now up in Tempests caught.  
Near Sands and Rocks, rides on the dark Abyss,  
Long beaten off from the bright Coasts of Bliss.  
At last calm Day succeeds this stormy Night,  
And the glad Voyagers find in their sight,  
The Realms of Peace, and the blessed Shores of Light.  
Here they arrive, and find a safe Retreat,  
And all their pain and labours passed forget.   

There was a Cave hard by, that Nature made  
In the hard Rock, and covered with the shade,  
Of spreading Trees, that Day could not invade.  
Hither the Pious British Prince retires,  
To offer Praises up and pure desires.  
Here rapt'rous Converse he with Heaven maintains,  
And aided by Devotion's purest strains,  
Combats Almighty Power, and Conquest gains.  
Devotion, that oft binds th' Almighty's Arms,  
And with her Prayers and Tears, her powerful charms,  
Of all its Thunder, his right hand disarms.  
She passes quick heavens lofty Crystal Walls,  
And the high Gates fly open when she calls.  
The charming Goddess of Divine Address,  
Has to th' Almighty's Presence free Access.  
Her Power can sentenced Criminals Reprieve,  
Judgement Arrest, and bid the Rebel live.  
Her Charms did once the Sun's swift Chariot stay,  
And on the Verge of Heaven, held back the falling Day.  
She makes contentious Winds forget their Strife,  
And calls back to the Dead, departed Life.  
Charmed by her Voice, Rivers have stopped their Course,  
And the chilled Fire laid down its burning Force.  
Such is Devotion's Power, which Arthur knew,  
And when distressed still to this Refuge flew.  
Much to his Conduct he, much to his Arms,  
But more he trusted to Devotion's Charms.  
Of Triumph and Success he rarely failed,  
For those on Earth, and these in Heaven prevailed.   

Now in the silent, shady Cave retired,  
He with her sacred Fury lay inspired.  
The Prince being thus entranced, a Heavenly Light  
Shoots smiling through the Wood with silent flight:  
The Trees admire the Glory on them shed,  
And seemed to start, and humbly bow their Head;  
When fresh arrived on Earth, with heavens Commands,  
Great Raphael's glorious Form by Arthur stands.  
Celestial Sweetness, Mild and Godlike Grace  
Ineffable, sat on his blooming Face.  
His Cheeks such Beauty showed, such Light and Joy his Eyes,  
As from full Bliss, fresh Youth, and Strength immortal rise.  
The purest piece of heavens Etherial Blue,  
In a rich Mantle, from his Shoulders flew.  
Celestial Linen, finely Spun and Wove  
On Looms Divine, by all the Skill above,  
Bleached on th' Empyreal Plains till White as Snow,  
Made the long Robe that to his Feet did flow.  
Immortal Gold, Illustrious as the Morn,  
And dazzling Gems by high Arch Angels worn,  
With ponderous Pearl, from heavens bright Eastern Shore,  
Adorn the shining Garments that he wore.  
A Purple Girdle, from the Morning Sky  
New rent, does round his Starry Vesture tie.  
Thus he appeared, and with the Light he gave,  
And unknown Fragrancy, filled all the Cave.   

Then thus he spoke, Hail mine and heavens kind Care,  
Hither I come, drawn by thy powerful Prayer.  
Know Righteous Prince, th' Almighty does approve,  
Your firm Adhesion, and unshaken Love.  
Ends Great and Wise lodged in his secret Breast,  
Obstruct your Wishes, and your Course molest.  
Yet still pursue your great and just Intent,  
No Force or Arts shall your Design prevent,  
Propitious Heaven Decrees your wished Event.  
You on these Coasts for happy Ends are thrown,  
And after this, expect the British Crown.  
Your Friends and Navy on the Ocean lost,  
Are all arrived safe on th' Armoury Coast:  
By the impetuous Tempest beaten back,  
But Men and Ships saved from the threatened Wreck.  
You're cast on Hoel's Lands, amidst your Foes,  
That hate your Cause, and your just Arms Oppose.  
But fear not Hoel's Power, though now your Foe,  
By Hell incensed, he will not long be so.  
Go then directly to his Court, for there,  
A Glorious Work demands your Pious Care.  
That said, with outstretched Wings he soars upright,  
And through the Winds vast Empire takes his flight▪  
He cuts the Clouds, and by the Planets flies  
Up the steep Crystal Mountains of the Skies.   

And swiftly passing through the Starry Spheres,  
Before the Throne he in his place appears,  
The Cherub's gone, and with him Arthur's fears.  
Who to his Lords returns, and to their Heart  
Courage and Joy, his Words and Looks impart.  
His Godlike Language does their Fears abate,  
And with fresh hopes their troubled Breasts dilate.   

Mean time th' Infernal Thrones and Powers resort,  
At their great Monarch's Summons to his Court.  
Where they in Council meet, and there debate  
Important matters, high Designs of State.  
Their Prince with Pride extended, mounts his Throne,  
Of polished Gold, whence horrid splendour shone:  
And mingled with the Shades tremendous Light,  
More dreadful thus, as Fires, that Flame by Night.  
In sad Magnificence, and dismal State,  
He sits, and round th' Infernal Orders sat:   

Then Lucifer began:  
Immortal Potentates, Illustrious Lords,  
The British Youth's ambitious aim affords,  
A weighty subject for your high debate;  
Who seeks the ruin of your Power and State.  
You all have heard, how with a mighty Force  
Embarked, he straight for Albion steered his Course,  
King Octa to attack, our Votary,  
And make our Priests from our new Altars fly.  
I watched, and aided by the Power of Thor,  
I showed the Miscreant another Shore.  
His Fleet beat back, and haughty purpose croft,  
He wanders, Shipwreckt on th' Armoric Coast.  
Where faithful Hoel does the Sceptre hold,  
Mighty in Arms, and in our Service bold.  
Spirits Divine, high Peers of Hell, suggest,  
By what sure Plagues he may be more distressed,  
His Ruin finished, and his Sect oppressed.   

That said, a Fury crawls from out her Cell,  
The bloodiest Minister of Death and Hell.  
A monstrous Shape, a foul and hideous sight,  
That did all Hell with her dire looks affright.  
Huge, full gorged Snakes on her lean Shoulders hung,  
And Death's dark Courts with their loud hissing rung.  
Her Teeth and Claws were Iron, and her Breath,  
Like Subterranean Damps, gave present Death.  
Flames worse than Hells, shot from her bloody Eyes,  
And Fire and Sword Eternally she Cries.  
No certain Shape, no Feature regular,  
No Limbs distinct in th' odious Fiend appear.  
Her squalid, bloated Belly did arise,  
Swollen with black Gore, to a prodigious Size.  
Distended vastly, by a mighty Flood  
Of slaughtered Saints, and constant Martyrs Blood.  
Part stood out prominent, but part fell down,  
And in a swagging heap, lay wallowing on the ground.  
A Monster so deformed, so fierce as this,  
Itself a Hell, ne'er saw the dark Abyss.  
Horror till now the ugliest Shape esteemed,  
So much outdone, a harmless Figure seemed.  
Envy and Hate, and Malice blushed to see  
Themselves Eclipsed by such Deformity.  
Her Feverish Thirst drinks down a Sea of Blood,  
Not of the Impious, but the Just and Good.  
Against whom she burns with unextinguished Rage,  
Nor can th' exhausted World her Wrath assuage.   

Then thus the Fury Persecution spoke:  
I mighty Prince of Hell, will undertake  
This glorious Work, I quickly will inspire  
Hoel, with my ungovernable Fire.  
Without remorse he shall my Will Obey,  
And crush this Briton, now his easy Prey.  
Nero by me raised his Illustrious Name,  
And Dioclesian got Immortal Fame.  
I their rude, inbred Cruelty refined,  
And stamped my perfect Image on their Mind.  
My flames all Love's course mixture did destroy,  
And purged off soft Compassion's base alloy;  
I formed and disciplined their untaught Hate,  
And raised their fierceness to a perfect State.  
Where shame, and all reflecting Sense is lost,  
And Hell can't purer strains of Malice boast.  
Inexorable they all Cries withstood,  
Ravished with Slaughter, and regaled with Blood.  
Hard marble Rocks might with more ease relent,  
And Fire and Plague, learn sooner to repent.  
Then Christian Kings my Fury entertained,  
And taught by me, in Blood and Slaughter reigned.  
With pious Rage and fierce destructive Zeal,  
I first inspired their Minds, and did reveal  
The mystery, how deep Revenge to take,  
And slay the Servants for the Master's sake.  
How bloody Wrath might with Devotion join,  
And sacred Zeal with Cruelty combine.  
By me the unknown way they understood,  
T' atone the Christians God, with Christian Blood.  
By me they shook off Fear's and Love's Restraints;  
And on God's Altars burned his slaughtered Saints.  
I made them call, that all remorse might cease,  
Murder Compassion, Desolation Peace.  
Whilst my Infernal Heats their Breasts inspired,  
To the vile Sect their own mad Zeal acquired,  
Wider Destruction, and more fatal Harms,  
Then all your Scythian, or your Gothick Arms.  
And Rome, proud Rome herself, must owe to me  
Her present State, and future Dignity.  
The greatest Genius this, I e'er could find,  
And to receive my Image best inclined.  
I will her Mind inspire, and to her Heart  
Immortal hate, to Abel's Race impart.  
These Breasts she empties with her Infant Jaws,  
I File her Teeth, and Shape her tender Claws.  
I Nurse her on the horrid Alps high Tops,  
And feed her hunger with Cerberean Sops  
Dipped in Tartarean Gall, and Hemlock Juice,  
That in her Veins will noble Blood produce.  
Fierce Tigers, Dragons, Wolves about her stay,  
They grin, and snap, and bite, and snarling play.  
I to her Jaws, throw Infants newly Born;  
She sucks their Blood, and by her Teeth are torn  
Their tender Limbs, while I rejoice to see  
Such noble proofs of growing Cruelty.  
To her wide Breast, and vast capacious Soul,  
I often Torrents of black Poison roll:  
She drinks the livid Flood, and through her Veins  
Mad Fury runs, and wild Distraction reigns.  
I'll lead her from the Rocks, her strength full grown,  
Fix her high Seat in the Imperial Town,  
And give her Scarlet, and a threefold Crown.  
No Blood will then her mighty Thirst assuage,  
No Ravage cloy her Antichristian Rage.  
Her Mitred Sons that never can relent,  
From the great Cain, shall prove their high Descent.  
Their Deeds of strange Infernal Cruelty,  
Shall show their Race worthy of Him and me.  
Lay-Bigots, I with time and labour wrought,  
Some inward Grudge still against me fought:  
'Twas hard to raise their hate to a degree,  
From struggling Nature, and all Pity free.  
But these Church-Zealots, of a truer breed,  
Are formed with Ease, and scarce my Labour need.  
Their forward Genius without teaching grows,  
And all my hopes, and even my wish outdoes.  
How often shall thy glorious Sons, O Rome,  
With Martyrs Flames enlighten Christendom?  
How often shall they, to deride their God,  
Lift up in Prayer, their Hands all full of Blood?  
The wasted World shall feel their loud Alarms,  
Their blessed Massacres, and their hallowed Arms.  
As if their high intent were to Efface,  
All Footsteps left of Abel's hateful Race.  
Bloody Tribunals, Rapine, Fire and Sword,  
And Desolation, daily Sport afford.  
Mankind they shall with such dire Plagues attack,  
As will their Church a holy Desert make.  
Such is my Zeal to serve th' infernal State,  
And shall this British Prince escape my Hate?  
Forbid it Hell, and here she made a pause;  
The Lords in Council gave a loud applause.  
The Prince of Darkness leaping from his place,  
Did in his Arms, his darling Fiend Embrace.  
Her Anger then rose higher, and all Hell  
Uneasy seemed, she grew so terrible.   

She straight contracts her vast dilated Size,  
And through Hell's dusky Void, she upward flies.  
As when rich Towns great Cost and Art employ  
In Fireworks, to express their public Joy,  
For some great victory won by Land, or Sea,  
Or on some Prince's Coronation Day.  
The flaming Rockets hizzing fly by Night,  
And fill the Sky with unknown Noise and Light.  
The Spheres amazed stand, or move slowly on,  
And wonder how the Day returns so soon,  
And what new Stars rise brighter than their own.  
So does the Fiend, her Snakes all hissing rise,  
Through the thick haggaired Air, and as she flies  
Leaves tracks of Light, cast from her fiery Eyes.  
And now arrived on the grey Coasts of Day,  
Direct to Hoel's Court she takes her way.  
Where she alighted, when the Sun had hurled  
His glorious Orb hence, to the other World.  
'Twas then when all things looked, as if old Night  
Had Nature crushed, and seized her ancient Right,  
Whilst Silence, Shades, and Lights around create,  
Sad, solemn Pomp, t'express her Deathlike state.  
Winds, and wild Beasts lie in their Dens at rest,  
Nor these the Woods, nor those the Seas molest.  
The sleeping Vultures drop their prey, the Dove  
Ceases her Cooing, and forgets to love.  
The Jocund Fairies Dance their silent round,  
And with dark Circles mark the trampled ground.  
Tartarean Forms Skim o'er the Mountain's Heads,  
Or lightly sweep along the dewy Meads.  
Ghosts leave their Tombs hid Murders to reveal,  
Or Treasures which themselves did once conceal.  
Visions through th' Air, and careless Phantoms stray,  
Or round men's troubled Heads while sleeping play.   

The Fury Alman's Reverend Shape assumes,  
Odin's High Priest, and so to Hoel comes.  
For the Priest's Form, is fittest to engage  
Princes in Blood, and move destructive Rage.  
Thus changed the Fiend, such is her Craft, appears,  
And thus began, just Hoel, all those years  
I lived, I did with studious Care employ,  
How best I might the Christian Crew destroy.  
I thy great Soul in this blessed Cause engaged,  
Inspired with Heats Divine, not yet assuaged.  
I quit Elysian Pleasures to impart,  
What does with greater Joy extend my Heart;  
And will do thine, Arthur, Cursed be that Name,  
Designing Empire, and Illustrious Fame  
Embarked with Arms, fair Albion to invade,  
But by just Heaven, is thy cheap Captive made.  
Pursued with Thunder, and in Tempests tossed,  
At last he's Shipwreckt on this happy Coast.  
With his sad Friends he wanders up and down,  
Naked, perplexed, deserted, and undone.  
But yet just Heaven Decrees him greater Harm,  
But saves that Glory for your Zealous Arm.  
To take his Life must be your Pious Care,  
And with the Gods divided Honour share.  
Thus you their En'my, and your own remove,  
Secure your Peace, and please the Powers above.  
To Christians this can be no Injury,  
That call for Torments, and are pleased to Die.  
They all seem fond to wear the Martyr's Crown,  
And meet the Flames, with greater of their own.  
No Rights, no Rules of Justice you invade,  
For Ruins their Profession, Death their Trade.  
Go then, and grace the Briton, that comes on  
To meet you, and receive the Martyr's Crown.  
Remove this Pillar of their Church, and all  
The unsupported Roof, will crack and fall.  
Take this Defender of their Faith away,  
The passive Rabble, tamely will Obey.  
Their Lives in Sport you may at leisure take,  
They quickly fall, that no Resistance make.  
The Gods into your Hands have cast your Foe,  
To take his Life will please Heaven, him, and you.   

That said, she breathed her Soul into his Breast,  
And her wild Fury all his Veins possessed.  
Infernal Flames Rage in his poisoned Blood,  
And his swollen Heart Boils with th' impetuous Flood,  
The Fiend her Shape of thickened Air dissolves,  
And disappears, Hoel surprised revolves  
The welcome message in his Mind, and straight  
Commands his Lords and Guards should on him wait,  
On the first Shooting of the tender Day,  
So eager did he seem to seize the Prey.   

Now was the Eastern Sky-dyed Purple spread,  
For fair Aurora's Radiant Feet to tread.  
She mounts serene, and with mild dawning Light,  
Smiles on the lowering, dusky Face of Night;  
That to Victorious Day yields up her Seat,  
Whilst her black Forces silently Retreat.  
As when a Lion at the dawn of Day,  
Roused with fierce Hunger up to Hunt his Prey,  
Stretches his Limbs out, Yawns, and tries his Paws,  
And for sure Death prepares his cruel Jaws.  
He stands, and rolls about his Angry Eyes,  
Lashing his Sides to make his Fury rise.  
Then Scowrs the Hills, Ranges the Forests o'er,  
And Thunders thro' the Desert with his hideous Roar.  
The Winds all hushed sit trembling on the Trees,  
And scarcely Whisper out a gentle Breeze.  
Wolves dare not Howl, but grinning softly creep,  
And Leopards stretched out, feign themselves asleep.  
Th' affrighted Herds close in their Covert lie,  
And to escape his Rage, with Terror die.  
Thus Hoel, with infernal Rage possessed,  
With fierce desire speeds to the bloody Feast.  
A deadly Storm does on his Forehead lowr,  
Himself his Rage, Arthur his Hopes devour.  
Breathing out Death he marched, but at midday,  
He stands by Heaven arrested in his way.   

The Air serene a black thick Cloud appeared,  
And as it hovered o'er their Heads, were heard  
Celestial Flutes, and Harps divinely Strung,  
With Hymns and Hallelujahs Set and Sung  
By the best Masters of the Choir above,  
With Bliss transported, and inspired with Love.  
Whilst Hoel and his Friends pleased, and amazed,  
Listened, and on the Scene descending gazed;  
The broken Cloud, pours out pure Floods of Light,  
Showers of Celestial Rays transcendent bright,  
And Storms of Splendour, dazzling Mortal Sight.  
Th' illustrious Tempest does on Hoel beat,  
Who falls astonished, headlong from his Seat.  
Confounded with unsufferable Day,  
Grovelling in Glory on the shining Way,  
And with bright Ruin overwhelmed, he lay.  
'Twas then, a soft, still Heavenly Voice, that broke  
From out the Cloud, to trembling Hoel spoke.  
Against me, what Fury did thy Arms Engage?  
What moved thee with inexorable Rage  
Vain Man; to persecute my Saints and Me?  
In vain thou seekest to baffle heavens Decree.  
Vain is thy Force, and impotent thy Hate,  
Too weak thy Arms, to stem the Tide of Fate.  
The Torrent bears thy saint Resistance down,  
Retire, or in Eternal Ruin Drown.   

Then Hoel thus, O tell me, who thou art,  
Great Spirit, and thy Will to me impart.  
Tell me if Error has my Feet misled,  
What safer Paths I may hereafter tread.   

The Voice replied:  
I am the Christians God, whom you pursue.  
Go meet my Servant Arthur, he shall show  
At large, what thou hast to believe, what do.  
The Scene here disappeared, his Lords come round,  
And raised reviving Hoel from the Ground.  
Who marches on, the British Prince to find,  
And Act not what himself, but Heaven designed.  
With anxious Thoughts the Vision he revolves,  
And to Obey heavens high Command resolves.  
Whilst to his Lords the Vision he relates,  
They find themselves advanced to Conda's Gates.   

Arthur mean time, to whom great Raphael's word,  
Unshaken Hopes, and Courage did afford;  
Proceeded on his Way, but sent before  
Ambassadors to Hoel, to explore  
His temper, and the Genius of his Court,  
That he just steps might take by their Report.  
He chose out to discharge this weighty Trust,  
Valiant Pollador, Roderick the Just;  
And Faithful Galbut, Friends that in distress,  
(A thing unknown to Courts) their Love express.  
Soon after Hoel had his Entrance made,  
At the same City they arrived, and stayed  
But little, for th' admission which they prayed.  
Then Hoel first the Britons thus addressed,  
Let no sad Thought your pious Prince molest.  
A Message sent from Heaven preventing yours,  
To me great Joy, Safety to him procures.  
Friendship and Love, fill my enlightened Mind,  
From Hatred purged, from Treachery refined.  
Return, and let your Valiant Leader know,  
His God has to a Friend, transformed his Foe.  
Tell him he's safe from all intended Harms,  
And that I hast, t' Embrace him in my Arms.   

With Regal Bounty, he to all presents  
Rich Swords, and various splendid Ornaments.  
To Arthur sends a Chariot, dazzling bright,  
That to the Sun returned redoubled Light.  
And Horses of th' Iberian Noble Race,  
That right Descent from the swift Eurus trace.  
Bold, Generous, Sprightly, as th' Illustrious Breed,  
That in th' Etherial, blue Enclosures Feed.  
That thro' heavens Wast, with the Sun's Chariot play,  
And govern Time, by carrying round the Day.  
Their Furniture of Gold, their Bridles Gold,  
And golden Bits, their champing Mouths did hold.  
They hast and all their Diligence employ,  
To fill Just Arthur's Mind, with Peace and Joy.  
To him returning they impart at large,  
The kind, endearing Things they had in Charge.  
As when his Sons to jacob did relate,  
That joseph lived, and lived in Regal State;  
Telling of all his Riches, Power, Renown,  
Egypt's Support, and Prop to Pharoah's Crown.  
Resistless Floods of sudden Pleasure Roll  
Along his Veins, and break in on his Soul.  
He sinks beneath the pressure of his Joy,  
And Ioseph's Life, does almost his destroy.  
Then Doubts and Fears, his Joys, high Tide oppose,  
From which Contention fiercer Tempests rose.  
While his cross Passions fight with equal Power,  
Each Triumphs in his turn, as Conqueror.  
The Patriarch in this Distraction lost,  
Is in each Storm with equal Danger tossed.  
But when the Chariots and rich Train he saw,  
He did from thence fresh Life and Vigour draw.  
His Breast from all contending Passions freed,  
Calm Joy, and unmolested Peace succeed.  
Enough the Patriarch was heard to Cry,  
I'll hast to Ioseph's Arms, and in them Die.  
So when Just Arthur heard the Message first,  
His wavering Mind with Fears and wise Distrust,  
And rising Tides of sudden Joy was tossed,  
Uncertain which strong Passion pressed him most.  
But when he saw the Presents Hoel sent,  
His Doubts suppressed, he grew more Confident.  
And his calm Mind eased of his anxious Cares,  
T' embrace his new, and generous Friend prepares.   

And now advancing Night the Sky invades,  
While close pursued by the Victorious Shades.  
The Rays that faintly from the Ground recoil,  
On the green Fields, let fall their pearly spoil.  
When Arthur to his secret Joys retires,  
Where his exhaling Soul to Heaven aspires,  
In sacred Anhelations, and inflamed Desires.  
Fixed Contemplation feeds his Hope and Love,  
With rapt'rous Preludes to the Joys above.  
His ravished Eyes view the unmeasured Bliss,  
In the next Life enjoyed, believed in this.  
So David often passed the silent Night,  
And in his Transports felt sublime Delight,  
Surpassing all that mighty Monarches have,  
That his own Crown, and all his Triumphs gave.  
While base Birds the humble Valley love,  
And sing contented with their little Grove;  
The Eagles' generous Pride does nobly rise  
To Heaven, and thence does this low World despise.  
Scorning a Vulgar Bough, he thinks he sees  
Woods in the Clouds, and hanging Groves of Trees.  
Thither he hasts, and leaves th' ignoble Brood,  
That aim no higher, to their Shrubs and Wood  
If to his Prey he stoops, ashamed he flies  
Back to his airy Dwelling in the Skies.  
Where in the Clouds he hides his Royal Head,  
Safe from the Snares, that watchful Fowlers spread▪  
So Men of courser Mould, and base Birth,  
Pleased with the Dust lie groveling on the Earth.  
For Food their Souls all foul and bloated, seek  
The Damps and Steams, that from its Bowels reek.  
While Men divinely Born, still upwards move,  
And scorn this World, that courts in vain their Love.  
In Flames of Zeal, and Pangs of pure Desire,  
These to the Seats of Light and Peace aspire.  
Where they converse with the blessed Minds above,  
And wonder what on Earth invites men's Love.  
This Molehill Earth has lost its former Charms,  
Molehill for Bulk, and Stings wherewith it swarms.  
With Wonder they observe how Mortals Pride,  
Can into Kingdoms this small Heap divide.  
How one t' enlarge the Empire he has got,  
Invades the Borders of his Neighbour's spot.  
How this proud Monarch of a Turf, is vexed  
With restless cares, to dispossess the next.  
As heavens vast Globes that fill the World with Light,  
Seem little Balls to distant Mortals sight,  
That in the most capacious Planets, we  
No room for States, and large Dominions see.  
So these more noble Minds advanced so high,  
Believe the same of us, that from the Sky,  
The low-hung Earth's contracted Body Spy.  
They keep above free from the fatal Nets,  
That for unwary Feet the Tempter sets.  
Free from the Earth's dark smoke, and endless Noise,  
They dwell in Peace, and feed on Heavenly Joys.  
Such Pleasures Arthur while retired, enjoyed,  
And wished he ever might be thus employed.   

And now th' radiant Gates of th' Eastern Sky,  
Unbar'd by bright Aurora, open fly.  
Straight issues out the Sun with mighty Force,  
As Giants do, prepared to run his Course.  
The joyful Britons all things ready make,  
And their new Friend to meet, their Journey take.  
Scarce had the Sun his glittering Chariot driven,  
Up the steep Brow, and sharp Ascent of Heaven.  
When the glad Princes did each other meet,  
And Hoel thus did first the Stranger greet.   

As a faint Traveller in Arabian Sands,  
Scorched with the burning Sunbeams, panting stands,  
Views the dry Desert with despairing Eyes,  
And for the Springs, and distant Rivers Sighs.  
As Sailors long for Land, heavens Aid implore,  
And with their greedy wishes grasp the Shore;  
When beaten from the hospitable Coast,  
And in loud Storms upon the Ocean tossed;  
Where Ruin in so many Shapes appears,  
They scarcely can attend to all their Fears.  
I've wished to see you with the like desire,  
The Oracle of whom I must inquire,  
The way to Peace, and Everlasting Bliss,  
Which lost in Night, and unknown Paths, I miss.  
When first I set out with an hostile Mind,  
And Evils which I dread to name, designed;  
The Powers that guard your sacred Life alarmed,  
Soon interposed, and my wild Hand disarmed.  
Kind Heaven that both our Safeties did design,  
Turned from your Head the Blow, the Gild from mine.  
For on the way a Glory dreadful Bright  
Around me shone, and with excessive Light.  
As they do Stars, the weaker Sunbeams drowned:  
I as transfixed, fell headlong to the Ground.  
'Twas then a wondrous Heavenly Voice I heard,  
The words were these, but no blessed Face appeared.  
Against me what Fury does thy Arms engage?  
What moves thee with inexorable Rage  
Vain Man, to persecute my Saints and me?  
In vain thou strivest to baffle heavens Decree.  
Vain is thy Force, and Impotent thy Hate,  
Too weak thy Arms to stem the Tide of Fate.  
The Torrent bears thy faint Resistance down,  
Retire, or in Eternal Ruin drown.  
I straight cried out, O tell me who thou art  
Great Spirit, and thy Will to me impart.  
Tell me if Error has my Feet misled,  
What safer Paths I may hereafter tread.  
The Voice replied:  
I am the Christians God, whom you pursue,  
Go find my Servant Arthur, he shall show  
At large, what thou hast to believe, what do.   

Prince Arthur paused a while, then Silence broke,  
And friendly thus th' Armoric King bespoke.  
Th' Eternal's Providence I must adore,  
That has compelled me to th' Armoric Shore.  
That I might here, serve such a glorious End,  
And to the Christian Cause gain such a Friend.  
Goodness Divine, King Hoel does invite  
By Miracles, t' enjoy Celestial Light.  
Cast on your Coasts, with Pleasure I will stay,  
To aid and guide you in your Heavenly way.  
To whom th' Armoric Monarch thus Replied;  
While we to Nannetum together ride,  
Instruct, O Pious Prince, my willing Mind:  
It is a task your God has you designed.  
Unfold his Heavenly Will, and let me know,  
What Worship to him, what Belief, I owe.  
To whom the Prince, this favour must I ask,  
Before I undertake the pious Task:  
That you'll dispatch your Servants to the Coast,  
To seek my Friends out, in the Tempest lost.  
And if by chance cast on th' Armoric Shore,  
They wander up and down, distressed and poor,  
Your angry Subjects, may not them annoy,  
Nor with devouring Flames, their Ships destroy.  
This Friendship shown, I'll with a cheerful Mind,  
Attempt the Task by you, and Heaven enjoined.  
When the past Night did with her dusky Train  
Advance, o'er shadowing all th' Aerial Plain;  
A sudden Transport did my Soul engage,  
And all my Limbs shook with the sacred Rage.  
Strait caught up from the Body, through the Skies  
To the third Heaven, my ravished Soul did rise.  
Where Things ineffable I saw, and heard  
Divine Instruction, which my Mind prepared  
To aid you in your Heavenly Way, and show  
What Worship, to th' Eternal Mind is due.  
Strait Hoel to the Shores his Servants sent,  
Who might the Harms, that Arthur feared, prevent.  
Who might the hapless Britons kindly treat,  
And safe conduct them to his Royal Seat.  
Such Love the King to Arthur's Friends expressed,  
Who now prepared t' obey the King's Request.    

Prince Arthur.  
BOOK II.  

ATtentive Hoel's Eyes on Arthur's Face  
Were fixed, who thus began with Godlike grace.  
Before th' unshaken Pillars of the Earth  
Were Reered, before prolific Nature's Birth,  
Before the Register of Time begun,  
Or heavens bright Forces thronged about the Sun,  
Was a wild Void, that no set Bounds restrained,  
Where Silence, Night, and Desolation reigned.  
Where yet no glimmering tract of Light appeared,  
No Discord yet, or Harmony was heard.  
From Ages past lay in th' Eternal's Mind,  
A finished Model of a World, designed  
To be Erected by Almighty Hands,  
Where now this Round, Capacious Fabric stands.  
The deep Foundations laid, in Heaven they said  
A strange new World was making, Fame soon spread  
The tidings through the Palaces of Bliss,  
To see a work so wonderful as this,  
Millions of Angels to heavens Turrets fly,  
And on the Crystal Terras of the Sky,  
Stood in bright Throngs, and on Creation gazed,  
And at the Sight were ravished, and amazed.   

Almighty Vigour strove through all the Void,  
And such prolific Influence employed,  
That ancient, barren Night did pregnant grow,  
And quickened with the World in Embryo.  
The struggling Seeds of unshaped Matter lie,  
Contending in her Womb for Victory.  
No Order, Form, or Parts distinct and clear,  
Did in the Crude Conception, yet appear.  
Thick Darkness did the unripe Light Embrace,  
That faintly glanced on Chaos shady Face.  
The unfledged Fire has no bright Wings to rise,  
But scarce distinguished, with the Water lies.  
It's sprightly, ruddy Youth not yet attained,  
The glittering Seeds, Mother of Fire, remained  
Like golden Sands, thick scattered on the Shore,  
Of the wild Deep, and shone in burning Oar.  
In glowing Heaps the Stars lay dusky bright,  
Rude and unpolished Balls of unwrought Light.  
The Spheres piled up about their Poles were Furl'd,  
Designed the Swaddling Bands of th' Infant World.  
The Sky dispersed, lay in Etherial Oar,  
And azure Veins, betrayed th' Empyreal Store.  
The watery Treasures in th' unfashioned Birth,  
Lay in the rough Embraces of the Earth.  
But at the great Command will Thaw, and throw  
The Dross off, and like melted Metals flow.  
Besides vast numbers of loose Atoms stray,  
And in the restless Deep of Chaos play.  
In dark Encounters they for Empire strive,  
And gain what Chance, and wild Confusion give.  
Which jointly here possess the sovereign Sway,  
Pleased with those Subjects most, that least Obey.  
Order, a banished Rebel, flies the Place,  
And Strife and Uproar fill the noisy Space.  
Tumult and Misrule please at Chaos Court,  
And everlasting Wars his Throne Support.  
Troops armed with Heat have here a Battle won,  
But Moist and Cold the Victor soon dethrone.  
Here heavier Seeds rush on in numerous Swarms,  
And crush their Lighter Foes, with ponderous Arms.  
The Lighter strait Command with equal Pride,  
And on wild Whirlwinds in mad Triumph ride.  
None long submits to a Superior Power,  
Each yields, and in his turn is Conqueror.  
If some grown mild from fierce Contention cease,  
And with calm Neighbours court a separate Peace;  
If Truce they make, and in kind Leagues combine,  
Their short Embraces some rude Shocks disjoin.  
Th' Eternal's Voice composed these Atoms jars,  
And justling Elements intestine Wars.  
He sets imprisoned Heat and Vigour free,  
And suits and ranges Natures that agree.  
He through the Mass a mighty Ferment spread,  
And where it came mis-shaped Confusion fled.  
Dark Chaos now throws off his gloomy Face,  
Puts on fresh Beauty, and a Heavenly Grace.  
Th' Almighty spoke, and straight the Sprightly Light  
With lovely Looks broke from th' Abyss of Night;  
On Golden Wings it mounts, and in its way  
Its Smiles diffuse new Morn, and unripe Day.  
Aloft vast spreading Sheets of Ether rise,  
Matter for Spheres, and pure transparent Skies.  
The Sky that for its Compass scarce finds room,  
Spun thin, and wove on Nature's finest Loom.  
The newborn World in its soft Bosom wraps,  
And all around its Starry Mantle laps.  
The Sun's vast Globe that till the Birth of Day,  
All Rough and Cloudy in wild Chaos lay;  
Well wrought and polished, is advanced on high;  
The vagrant Beams that strayed about the Sky,  
Now beckoned by Creating Power obey,  
And the bright Forces hither hast away.  
Then hovering on the Spongy Globe they wait,  
And round their new appointed Mansion fate.  
The thirsty Orb drinks in the liquid Beams,  
And now but one vast Sea of Glory seems.  
Itself a Heaven with dazzling Lustre bright,  
Pours out pure Floods of overflowing Light.  
Here as in Furnaces of boiling Gold,  
Stars dipped come back, full as their Orbs can hold  
Of glittering Light, here too the Moon all drowned,  
Does with the Golden Metal fill her Round.  
Sometimes half dipped it but in part adorns  
Her Face, and shines with Blunt, Refulgent Horns.  
Th' Etherial Plain now cultivated bears,  
A shining Harvest of Illustrious Stars.  
That at a distance seem small Lights, but near  
Capacious Realms, and glorious World's appear.  
The Spheres spread forth their Bosoms, now refined,  
And Belly out, like Sails swollen big with Wind.  
The Air beat out, and purified does lie,  
A Crystal deep between the Earth and Sky.  
Through this thin Void the Sun's indulgent Beams,  
Flow gently on the Earth in Golden Streams.  
That kindly steal away the Watery Store,  
And rob the Earth, but to enrich it more.  
The Earth with its own Burden tired, and pressed  
Down with its weight, lies in the midst at rest.  
A Deep broke up, God calls the Waters, they  
Feel the Command, and with quick flight Obey.  
In mighty Heaps the foaming Deluge flows,  
High liquid Walls and curling Ridges shows.  
Some Waters with a smooth and gentle Tide,  
On the Earth's plain and level Surface glide.  
Others that meet a Steep abrupt Descent;  
Roll down in Floods more loud and turbulent.  
At last they fall from the high Precipice,  
In noisy Floods into the dark Abyss.  
Till the vast Deluge with its liquid Stone,  
Fills up the Deep, and Crowns the Ambient Shore.  
Now their tall Heads the rising Mountains show,  
And wide mouthed Valleys sink themselves, as low.  
The Earth as yet all bare and naked lay,  
For heavens Command th' imprisoned Spirits stay.  
God spoke, and strait a lovely Spring appears,  
And every Field fresh, verdant Clothing wears.  
Green Herbs adorn the Hills aspiring Heads,  
And smiling Flowers paint the Enameled Meads.  
Trees starting up, lifted their Heads so high,  
They met the Clouds descending from the Sky.  
Some ranged in beauteous Order, Stately stood,  
Others pressed close, and thronged into a Wood  
Some where the Sun gives more indulgent Heat,  
Transparent Gums, and Odorous Juices Sweat.  
The fragrant Balsom-Tree distils around,  
Her healing Riches on the neighbouring Ground.  
The humble Jess ' mine breath Perfumes abroad,  
And wanton Zephyrs bear the balmy Load.  
Pure Crystal Rivers through the Meadows flow,  
Their flowery Banks smile on them, as they go.  
Their watery Train in Snaky Windings slides,  
And in their Streams the scaly Nation glides.  
Birds glad to try their Wings rise from the Earth,  
And with their Songs they Celebrate their Birth.  
Beasts in their various Kind's all Mild, and Tame,  
Stood gazing round, and wondered whence they came.  
The Bleating Flocks wander on every Hill,  
And lowing Herds the Echoing Valleys fill.  
The sporting Lion Paws the wanton Bear,  
Wolves seek the Woods, the Lawns the timorous Deer.  
The Crested Snake rolls on the flowery Plain,  
The shining Volumes of his Spiral Train.  
Leviathan in th' Ocean takes his place,  
Prince of the Waters, and the Finny Race.  
Rolling amidst the Waves, he takes his Sport,  
As a great Sea-God in his watery Court.  
Swimming to Land he drives high Seas before,  
Like a great Island floating near the Shore.  
In wanton pastime he sucks in with Ease,  
Then spouts against the Skies th' exhausted Seas:  
Like some prodigious Water-Engine made  
To play on Heaven, if Fires should Heaven invade.  
So fair, so rich a Paradise as this,  
Almighty Power called from the dark Abyss:   

To keep the Birthday of the World, the Spring  
Does all her Joys and fragrant Riches bring.  
Nature appearing in her brightest Dress,  
Does all her Sweets and Heavenly Charms express.  
The Spheres in tuneful Measures Roll above,  
And heavens bright Orbs in beauteous Order move.  
The smiling Earth discovers perfect Joy,  
Where nothing noxious can its Peace annoy.  
The Air's so soft, such balmy Odours fly,  
So sweet the Fruits, so pure and mild the Sky,  
The Blissful States, too great to be expressed,  
By all the Pleasures of the wanton East,  
By th' Arab's Sweets from Zephirs tender Wings  
Gently shaken off, or what the Merchant brings  
Of Foreign Luxury with tedious Toil,  
From Asia's Coast, or soft Campania's Soil.  
Thus after five days Labour Nature stood,  
God viewed his Creatures, and pronounced them Good.  
But still there wanted one that might adore  
Divine Perfections, and heavens Gifts implore.  
That might himself, and his great Author know,  
Obey his God, and rule as God below.  
Then Man was made, the Author framed and wrought  
The purer Mould with more Concern and Thought.  
His Mind made up of pure Etherial Air,  
Came from the Hands Divine all Bright and Fair.  
And lodged in Clay did at its Entrance give  
So quick a touch, as made that Clay to live.  
And both united with such wondrous Art,  
In part he's Angel, Animal in part.  
In whom the Bounds of both the Worlds are seen,  
Where Earth does terminate, and Heaven begin.  
One part, like sprightly Flames, will upward move▪  
Kin to the blessed, unbodyed Minds above.  
The other, only shaped and quickened Earth,  
From moulded Dust receives its humble Birth.  
Yet Life divine, and high Perfection gains,  
Ennobled by the Guest it entertains.  
His Form erect, and Cherub-like his Face,  
Where Sweetness tempered Stern and Manly Grace.  
Miled to be loved, and awful to be feared,  
He, like some new discovered God, appeared.  
Then did th' Almighty to his Bosom give,  
To bless him perfectly, his Consort Eve.  
Of a more soft and nicely tempered Mould,  
Her strokes were tender, his more strong and bold.  
Sweetness that ravished, milder than the Morn,  
And perfect Beauty did her Looks adorn.  
She like a Goddess, with the Heavenly Charms,  
Of blushing Innocence, comes to his Arms.  
What Joys Divine did on the Favourite wait,  
These happy Hours that knew his Native State!  
His Work thus finished, and Creation done,  
Th' Almighty rests on his Eternal Throne.  
Strait the loud Shouts and Acclamations given,  
Shook the high Towers and jarring Gates of Heaven.  
There stood an Alabaster Mount that shone,  
In th' Air sublime, from the Imperial Throne  
Removed at distance, and between them lay,  
All paved with Stars, a broad, frequented way.  
Hither for great Assemblies they repair,  
From all the Regions of the Etherial Air.  
Here they in perfect Love and Peace debate,  
Th' Affairs that most affect their sacred State.  
Hither the Princes of the Heavenly Court,  
Followed with Throngs unnumbered now resort.  
There met, a solemn Jubilee they Vote,  
In Honour of the Wonders lately wrought.  
Strait a Procession public was enjoined,  
And thus performed t' adore th' Eternal Mind.   

Trumpets marched first, and chiefly that whose Sound  
Shall strike Convulsions through the trembling ground:  
Break their dark Prisons down, and call away  
Th' awakened Dead, on the great Judgement Day.  
Next Heavenly Viols, soft harmonious Flutes,  
Resounding Dulcimers, and tuneful Lutes  
And Harps, like that which hangs the glittering Pride,  
As Poets feign, of young Apollo's side.  
With perfect Skill here chosen Cherubs play,  
And Celebrate th' Almighty's Resting Day.  
Then the blessed Voices came with Hymns of Praise,  
Angelic Music, sweet Melodious Lays,  
Such as bright Spirits in high Raptures sing,  
Around the Throne of their Eternal King.  
Now the first Rank of Potentates and Peers,  
Mighty Arch-Angels, and high Thrones appears.  
Crowns of substantial, massy Glory made,  
Adorned with Gems, and Flowers that never Fade,  
And Greene's of Heavenly growth all wreathed between,  
Are on the Heads of this bright Order seen:  
Fresh Greene's and Flowers, such as their Gardens bring,  
Blest with mild Rays, and Everlasting Spring.  
Vials of Incense in their Hands they bore,  
And the sweet Clouds in Wheels roll up the Air.  
Odours not to be told, fanned from them fly,  
And wondrous Fragrancy Perfumes the Sky.  
Each had his Lyre, that from his Shoulders hung,  
With Golden Wire, like radiant Sunbeams, strung.  
Such was their Splendour, with such grace they trod,  
In Looks and Motion each appeared a God.  
Hither thick Crowds of vulgar Angels made,  
And to admire this glorious Order stayed,  
And, as they passed, humble Obeisance paid.  
Then lower Ranks in long Procession passed,  
With Crowns and Badges of Distinction graced.  
And all so Splendid, all so Rich and Gay,  
That Heaven before ne'er saw, so bright a Day.  
Unfading Roses of a Heavenly Red,  
On the bright Pavement were profusely spread.  
Elysian Jess'mine, and blest Am'rant lay,  
In odorous heaps along the Milky way.  
The Fountains all such Cost was then bestowed,  
With unexhausted Springs of Nectar flowed.  
And now advanced before th' Imperial Throne,  
That losty with excessive Brightness shone,  
They from th' uneasy Lustre of the Light,  
Protected with spread Wings their dazzled sight.  
In prostrate Adoration down they fell,  
Oppressed with Glory unsupportable.  
Entranced, Transported, Ravished there they lie,  
And with blessed Hallelujahs fill the Sky.  
In Songs Sublime they praise th' Eternal Mind,  
His Works from all the Ages passed designed,  
His Greatness, Wisdom, Empire unconfined.  
His Justice, that no Force or Prayer can move:  
His spotless Truth, and Everlasting Love.  
They Sing th' Eternal Son's Immortal Praise,  
And to an equal height the sacred Spirit raise.  
Then all arising from the sacred Choir,  
Overflowing with unbounded Joys, retire  
To the blessed Shades of the Celestial Bowers,  
Where oft they choose to pass their happy Hours.  
Their Hunger here delicious Banquets met,  
With vast Profusion on rich Tables set,  
Banquets Divine, not such as Mortals Eat.  
High Dishes in long Pomp and Order stood,  
Filled with choice Fruits, rare Meats, all Angel's Food.  
Ambrosial Juices, sweet Nectarean Wine,  
Ravished their Taft, and made their Faces Shine.  
The Sons of God thus cheered, dissolve in Joy,  
Whilst his high Praises their blessed Tongues employ.  
In Joys and Triumphs so the Day they spend,  
Such Mirth and Show the Festival attend;  
Then when the Evening came, or what instead  
Of Evening there, does in its turn succeed.  
Glorious illuminations made on high,  
By all the Constellations of the Sky,  
In bright Degrees, and shining Orders placed,  
Spectators charmed, and the blessed Dwellings graced.  
Through all th' inlight'ned Air rare Fireworks flew,  
Which the Celestial Youth with Shouting threw.  
Comets fly up with their red sweeping Train,  
Then fall in Starry Showers, and glittering Rain.  
In th' Air ten Thousand Meteors blazing hung,  
That from heavens gilded Battlements were slung.  
Here furious, flying Dragons hissing came,  
Here harmless Fires play in a lambent Flame.  
Such Universal Joy in Heaven they showed,  
And in such hallowed Mirth the day conclude.  
In such Delights they pass their time above,  
And so shall we, if like them, we Obey and Love.   

In all the Joys that happy Minds attain,  
Blessed Adam first began to live and reign.  
He to fair Eden's Paradise resorts,  
Where every Sense its proper Pleasure courts.  
The joyful Spring by soft Favonius fanned,  
Diffused her Riches with a wanton Hand.  
From newblown Flowers luxurious Odours fly,  
And Heavenly Landscapes meet his ravished Eye.  
The twining Branches wove him shady Bowers,  
And Hony-Dews fall in delicious Showers.  
Birds with their Songs their Sovereign salute,  
From Boughs that bend beneath their Golden Fruit.  
Pure Streams to him their Crystal Waters bring,  
And the glad Fish leap up, to see their King.  
The harmless Beasts their humble Homage paid,  
And the sole Monarch of the World obeyed▪  
Uninterrupted Peace his Mind possessed,  
And Joys unutterable filled his Breast.  
He viewed his great Creator's glorious Face,  
Clearly reflected from fair Nature's Glass.  
On her bright Form he saw, th' Impressions shine,  
Of Wisdom Infinite, and Power Divine,  
Whence all things, as free Examinations flow,  
As Streams their Being to their Fountain owe.  
Which binds fast Nature's vast unshaken Frame,  
Lest it dissolve to Nothing, whence it came.  
Whilst in his Thoughts the pleasing Objects Roll,  
Fresh Pleasures Feed his still transported Soul.  
His Eyes thus fixed, the great Seducer's Skill,  
Could not engage his Thoughts, or move his Will.  
A Day Serene smiled on his Heavenly Mind,  
Dark with no Cloud, and undisturbed with Wind.  
No Gild, no Frown from Heaven disturbs his Soul,  
Calm as deep Rivers in still Evenings roll.  
No Storms of Passion, such as us molest,  
Annoys the Peaceful Region of his Breast.  
No boiling Lust swelled the overflowing Blood,  
To bear down Reason with th' impetuous Flood.  
His spotless Mind knew yet no other Fire,  
Then those pure Flames, that Heavenly Minds inspire.  
O happy Man! above description blest,  
Had he maintained the Station he possessed.  
Upon the Crystal River's flowery side,  
That winding did in slow Meanders glide;  
As loath to leave the Blissful Place, there stood  
A Tree that rose above th' Hesperian Wood,  
Its Fruit seemed pleasant, but forbidden Food.  
For he that with enormous Bounty pours  
On Man, fresh Pleasures in incessant Showers;  
That nothing can disturb his flowing Joys,  
Unless Variety suspends his Choice.  
Bids him not Eat the fatal Fruit, to prove  
His due Obedience, and his constant Love.  
The grand Apostate for high Crimes displaced,  
From Heaven by fierce Almighty Vengeance chased,  
Till down th' unfathomed Precipice he fell  
Confounded, to the fiery Gulf of Hell:  
With Rage and Envy sees Man's happy State,  
Whence he for ever lost had fallen so late,  
Himself undone urged with infernal Spite,  
And dire Revenge, makes Ruin his delight.  
That he from Heaven might this fair Province gain,  
That Sin and Death might wider Sway attain,  
And he his baleful Empire might extend,  
Concealed beneath the specious Air of Friend,  
Does to Man's Choice the fatal Tree commend.  
As such whose Worth transcends the greatest price,  
The Flower and Beauty of his Paradise.  
Pleasing to Taste, but much more to the Mind,  
Which those that Eat, should boundless Knowledge find.  
Then points up to the fair forbidden Meat,  
Bids him be Wise, and boldly take, and Eat.  
He tempts him with the flattering Hopes of Bliss,  
Great as his God's, and lasting too, as his.  
This gaudy Scene of Glory charmed his Eye,  
And his proud thoughts at Godlike Greatness fly.  
The bright Illusion turned his giddy Head,  
And with vast Hopes his vain Ambition fed.  
Thus gazing at the Glory of a God,  
The Precipice was hid on which he trod.  
The splendid Phantom now advances nigh,  
And in his reach appears Divinity.  
Which strait he grasps at, and to hold the more,  
Empties his Hand of what it held before.  
But sooner might he grasp unbodyed Minds,  
And with closed Arms clasp in the raging Winds.  
The glorious Shadow from his Hands does slide,  
Mocks his Embraces, and defeats his Pride.  
He Eat, but did no other Pleasures find,  
Than the sad Terrors of a guilty Mind.  
His cheated Hopes can no new Knowledge boast,  
But of the Ill he feels, and Good he lost.   

Thus fell lost Man, strait troubled Nature moaned,  
And shaking, with a strong Convulsion groaned.  
Even Paradise looked Sad, the Herds repined,  
And lofty Cedars shook without a Wind.  
The Roses fade, the Golden Apples turned  
Pallid, and all the Sick Creation mourned.  
To the thick Trees in vain fallen Adam made,  
To hide his blacker Gild beneath their Shade.  
Close Trees may so their well mixed Branches spread,  
That Sunbeams cannot pierce their shady Head.  
But God's clear Eye needs not so gross a Ray,  
His Glory sheds a more Illustrious Day.  
But had he been from his bright Eye concealed,  
The crying Gild had to his Ear revealed  
Apostate Man, that Voice to Heaven does rise  
Loud, as the Thunderclaps, for which it cries.  
What a black Train of Woes and hideous Fears,  
Headed by one bold Crime, to Man appears.  
The Serpent's Venom spreads through all his Veins,  
And Sin's Contagion unresisted Reigns.  
A Deathlike Damp shoots through his poisoned Blood,  
And fears cold Chains Arrest the beating Flood.  
A dreadful Face of Things confounds his Eye,  
He cannot stay secure, nor can he fly.  
Black thoughts of Vengeance seize his guilty Heart,  
And Conscience wounds him, with her poisoned Dart.  
Amidst the Trees he starts at every Noise,  
Grows pale, and thinks he hears th' Almighty's Voice.  
The trembling Branches make him tremble more,  
Now feebler, than the Fig-leaves, which he wore.   

Man's Soul, by this rude Shock from's Centre driven,  
Stands so askant, and so remote from Heaven,  
'Tis scarcely warmed by its weak, Oblique Ray,  
And has at best but a cold, darksome Day.  
Fallen from its bright Etherial Seat on high,  
Down to the lowest Regions of the Sky,  
It feels th' attractive Earth's Magnetic Force,  
And round this low-hung Ball directs its Course.  
As when a Planet, once all fair and bright,  
Sickens, and shines with pale and faded Light;  
By some fierce Storm bred in its Bowels rend,  
As Clouds are by the Thunder in 'em penned.  
The mighty Orb disjointed cracks, and all  
The broken Parts in Noisy Ruin fall.  
The hideous, Burning Hull does floating lie,  
And with the wondrous Wreck affrights the Sky.  
Sometimes it blazes with a dismal Light,  
And then grown dim, seems lost and drowned in Night.  
Then sinking does the Starry Sky forsake,  
Contented some inferior Seat to take.  
Where Heaven new moulds the Heap, and from th' Abyss,  
Calls forth perhaps a Moon, or Earth, like this.  
So Man seduced by the Impostor fell,  
From heavens bright Coasts, to the black Verge of Hell.  
There he his Lustre lost, and Godlike Grace,  
Shows the sad Ruins of a Heavenly Face.  
Where Peace dwelled undisturbed, and smiling Light,  
Confusion now, Chaos and horrid Night.  
Black, frowning Clouds, and murmuring Thunder rose,  
O'er the vexed Region of his guilty Soul.  
Fierce, driving Storms, and bleak Tempestuous Wind  
Beat on the wasteful Desert of his Mind.  
Revenge, Despair, Grief, Jealousy, and Fear,  
Have in their Turns, supreme Dominion here.  
Reason dethroned must the Commands obey  
Of this wild Rout, that holds the Sovereign Sway.   

Mean Time, th' Almighty does his Summons send,  
Through Heaven for all his Angels to attend.  
High in the Midst of the Etherial Skies,  
A Mount of rocky Diamond did rise:  
Insuperably steep, and too sublime  
For the tired Wings of Cherubims to climb.  
Overlooking heavens wide Vales and spacious Plains  
It stands, and unmolested Peace maintains.  
Here the Almighty's bright Tribunal stands,  
Whence his Decrees are sent, and high Commands.  
Hence he gives Laws to all the Worlds below,  
And hence eternal Right and Justice flow.  
Hence Punishments proceed, and just Rewards,  
Hence Orders come to all th' Angelic Guards,  
To keep the Peace of Heaven, and next secure  
On Earth th' afflicted, from th' Oppressor's Power.  
And now the Thrones and Powers the Valley fill,  
And stand adoring round the sacred Hill.  
Adam's Rebellion they had newly heard,  
And God's fierce Wrath in dreadful Signs appeared.  
Lightnings and Thunder's issue from his Throne,  
Lightnings scarce heard of, Thunder seldom known  
Tremendous Murmurs, and a mighty Sound  
Of wondrous Ruin from the Hill rebound.  
T' express incensed Omnipotence conspire  
Whirlwinds, thick Darkness and consuming Fire,  
United Terrors, that with Fury broke  
From the blessed Mount, whence thus th' Almighty spoke.   

The Man I made, and with my Image graced,  
And next to your Angelic Order placed,  
Revolting to th' Apostate Prince of Hell,  
Against my Throne has yielded to Rebel.  
The Death I threatened, now I must inflict;  
So Justice bids, nor is its Rule too strict.  
You're here from all the Regions of the Sky,  
To hear the Rebel doomed, and see him Die.   

He spoke, and through all Heaven a Terror struck,  
The Spheres, and all the Frame of Nature shook.  
The Moon grew Pale, the Sun all Dim appeared,  
And all the Sons of God stood Mute, and feared.  
Th' Almighty his Vindictive Arm makes bare,  
Stretched out his Hand, and did for Death prepare.  
Mercy Shrieked out, and trembling on her Face  
Fell down, and did with Tears his Feet Embrace,  
Offspring Divine, in Heaven the most belov'd,  
By whom even Fate unchangeable is moved.  
Her Looks so moving, such Celestial Grace,  
So mild, and sweet an Air dwell on her Face,  
So tender and engaging all her Charms,  
That oft th' Almighty's Fury she disarms.  
Her Language melts Omnipotence, arrests  
His Hand, and thence his Vengeful Lightning wrists.   

Then thus she spoke:  
Shall the successful, sly Impostor boast,  
That by his Power the new Creation's lost?  
Shall he thus Triumph in his impious Deed,  
And all our Hope's defeat from Adam's Seed?  
Must this fair Race be lost, so lately made,  
And Hell made Bold your Empire to invade?  
Adam has sinned, and heavens high Grace abused,  
But sinned betrayed, and by Hell's Fraud seduced.  
Can't Wisdom Infinite, Expedients find,  
To punish Gild, and yet preserve Mankind?  
Compassion, with stern Justice mixed, will draw  
Honour to heavens just Government, and Awe  
All from offending the Established Law.   

At this, the Eternal Son rose from his Place,  
The bright Effulgence of his Father's Face,  
His fair and express Image, full of Grace.  
In whom Divine, Substantial Glory dwelled,  
And who Almighty Life and Vigour felt.  
Th' Essential Wisdom, th' Everlasting Word,  
The Universal Heir, and Sovereign Lord.  
And thus he Silence broke, mine be the Task  
To do what Justice and Compassion ask.  
To rescue Man, myself will Man become,  
Assuming Substance from a Virgin's Womb.  
A willing Sacrifice, I'll Death Embrace,  
Justice t' atone, and Ransom Adam's Race.   

The Father strait assented, Mercy smiled,  
To see the Serpent of his Prey beguiled.  
Justice well pleased, accepts the offered Price,  
And heavens atoned by its own Sacrifice.  
The heavens with loud rebounding Shouts did ring,  
And the glad Angels in new Anthems sing,  
The Intercessor, and mysterious King.  
The rolling Years their Circles fill apace,  
And well-breathed Time runs its appointed Race.  
Till it brought on the Hour when all should see,  
The Son make good to Man, his blessed Decree.   

That our expected Hope might be enjoyed,  
Divinity appears with Man alloyed.  
His Native Glory darts destructive Light,  
And bright Oppression pours on Mortal's Sight;  
He therefore draws a humane Veil between,  
That tempered Lustre might not Kill, when seen.  
Here two Extremes of distance infinite,  
In one ineffable, mysterious Knot unite.  
God lives concealed, within a Mould of Clay,  
And does in Dust himself, and's Glory lay.  
He that in all th' expanded Skies wants room,  
Lies now encompassed with a Virgins Womb.  
Immensity is wrapped in Swaddling Bands,  
The Prince by whom the World's wide Fabric stands,  
Supported in his Mother's Arms we see;  
And vast Eternity begins to be.  
He leaves his Starry Seat, and glittering Crown,  
And lays his dazzling Robes of Glory down.  
Then in an humble travelling Dress is seen  
Seeking, as unknown Strangers do, an Inn.  
Lord of the World, to whom proud Monarches owe  
Their Crowns and Sceptres, he that does bestow  
Honours and Wealth profusely on the Great,  
Can't for his own Repose, find out a Seat,  
But must from Men, to kinder Beasts, Retreat.  
No other Court receives the newborn King,  
That to debase himself, did choose to bring  
No other Pomp, but naked Innocence;  
Nothing for Ornament, or for Defence.  
He that the Wants of all the World supplies,  
Himself oppressed with Pain and Hunger, Cries.  
He Man's Assistance asks in vain, to whom  
For Aid and Comfort all th' afflicted come.  
Angels that did the Royal Stranger know,  
The greatest Signs of Joy and Triumph show.  
The Outguards of their Camp saw marching round  
Celestial Splendour rising from the Ground.  
And gave th' alarm, the shining Squadrons fly  
To th' Out-lines, and the Frontiers of the Sky:  
To see the wondrous Mediator Born,  
Whom they Adore, though stupid Hebrews Scorn.  
Some with spread Wings shoot swiftly through the Air,  
And to the Shepherds first the Tidings bear,  
That a great Shepherd was at bethlehem Born,  
Whose Deeds and Triumphs should that Name Adorn.  
Tho' Angels Sing, obdurate Men are mute,  
Nor will their Saviour, and their King Salute.   

Yet some few famous Sages come from far,  
Conducted by a brigter Morning Star,  
Left all the Wealth and Wonders of the East,  
To see a greater Sun rise in the West.  
To find the Prince to Herod they resort;  
For where should Kings be found, but in a Court?  
But the directing Star that led their Way,  
Stands still, and points down with a streaming Ray,  
To a mean Stable, where the Stranger lay.  
Where they with humble Adoration View,  
The Infant Intercessor, known to few.  
Whom they present with Odoriferous Gums,  
Choice Spices, and Arabia's rich Perfumes.  
The Sun of Righteousness begins to rise,  
And Streaks with radiant Lines the Purple Skies.  
Here did he from his healing Wings display,  
The tender dawn of Everlasting Day.  
Pale Terror through the Courts of Darkness flew,  
And Hell's sad Regions doubled Sorrow show.  
Th' Infernal Spirits wand'ring in the Air,  
As Thunderstruck, in Anger and Despair,  
With Shrieks and hideous Yell fly the Sight,  
And the keen Horror of the Heavenly Light.  
Like obscene Birds of Night, they hast away  
And shun in Clefts and Caves the Rising Day.  
The Prince of Darkness now begins to fear,  
The Dissolution of his Empire's near.  
Th' ambiguous Oracles with Fear struck Dumb  
Proclaimed by Silence, the Messiah come.   

Troubled and Sad th' Infernal Counsel sat,  
Thoughful how best t' avert th' impending Fate.  
Various Projections, deep Designs were laid,  
How best the dreaded Foe they might invade.  
They first the Fury Jealousy dispatch,  
To Herod's Court that might Occasion watch,  
To kindle strong Suspicions in his Breast,  
That th' Infant from him should his Sceptre wrest  
She did so well perform her Hellish Part,  
Herod soon yielded to her subtle Art.  
For while the Sages leave their Eastern home,  
And to admire the wondrous Infant come.  
Herod, afraid his ravished Crown to lose,  
The Royal Infant's hated Life pursues.  
What to pale Tyrants dreadful won't appear,  
When Love and Innocence can move their Fear.   

'Tis true,  
A King he is, whose Empire's vast Extent,  
Shall pass all Bounds, and last when Time is spent.  
Submissive Monarches shall their Sceptres lay  
Before his Feet, and his Just Laws Obey.  
Kingdoms oppressed shall his strong Aids invoke,  
And thrust their Necks beneath his gentle Yoke.  
The Roman Eagles shall the Conqueror own,  
And Caesar Court him to Ascend his Throne.  
Admired by all, he shall in Triumph go  
Where fruitful Nile, or famed Hydaspes flow,  
Unchecked by Africa Heats, or Scythian Snow.  
Nations invited by his Fame, shall come,  
More than e'er made their Court to Conquering Rome,  
In splendid Embassies to sue for Peace,  
And World's unknown his Empire shall increase.  
The Earth shall banished Justice now regain,  
And Love and Truth attend the happy Reign.  
Soft Peace and Joy the cheerful Earth shall Crown,  
And Savage Beasts shall lay their Fierceness down.  
The Lion, Wolf, and Lamb, no more their Prey,  
And little Infants shall Promiscuous play.  
The years in Golden Harness smiling pass,  
And keeping beauteous Order run their Race.  
Nor shall his Kingdom cease, or Subjects die,  
For when Time finds its empty Channel dry,  
And all its disappearing Streams shall Sleep,  
Lost and engulphed in vast Duration's Deep.  
Then shall this King his full Dominion gain,  
And in Eternal Peace, and Triumph Reign.  
But 'tis not Worldly Empire he designed,  
His Sceptre is his Grace, his Throne the Mind.  
King's unmolested may their Sceptres sway,  
And Peaceful Subjects without Strife obey.  
They may unrivalled, and unenvied reign,  
And all their Pomp, and Regal State maintain.  
The great Redeemer has his Court unseen,  
And reigns in Light, and Heavenly Love within.   

But from the false Usurper's Cruelty  
Officious Angels warn their Prince to fly.  
He and his happy Parents leave their Home,  
And all to Egypt's safer Border's come.  
Egypt, tho' for its Monsters famous grown,  
Is now by treacherous Palestine outdone.  
For here they find a more secure Abode,  
Egypt once jacob saved, and now his God.  
The wand'ring God returns, the Tyrant dead,  
To rich Judea's Soil from whence he fled.  
Where he begins his Kingdom to assert,  
And his miraculous Virtue to exert.  
The Blind received their Sight, their Feet the Lame,  
And the Dumb spoke to celebrate his Fame.  
Loud Storms and Winds were hushed at his Command,  
And fierce wild Beasts did tame and harmless stand.  
The wondering Dead arise, and hasty come,  
Obsequious to his Call, from out their Tomb.  
With fresh-created Fish and Loaves he fed  
Th' admiring Crowd, that lay around him spread.  
To the Decrepit he new Force appoints,  
And with strong Nerves new-braced their withered Joints.  
His Breath oft cooled fierce Fevers raging Flames,  
And his sole Word the deadly Poison tames.  
Round him in Crowds the sick and feeble throng,  
The sick grow easy, and the feeble strong.  
Fresh healing Virtue he diffused around,  
And dying Men rose leaping from the ground.  
The Languishing revived, th' Afflicted cheered,  
Took healthful Looks, and smiled when he appeared.  
Demons at his Command vexed Men forsake,  
And to th' Infernal Caves and burning Lake,  
Their hasty Flight with piercing Screeches take.   

Such Miracles did his high Office prove,  
And Universal Admiration move,  
Of all the chiefest was his wondrous Love.  
He whom rebellious Men might justly fear,  
In all his chosen Terrors would appear,  
With Military Pomp, and Trumpets Sound,  
His shining Host of Cherubs poured around;  
Armed with keen Lightning, and the sharpest Sword,  
That all his Magazines of Wrath afford,  
To lay all Wast before him, and Efface  
All Footsteps of Apostate Adam's Race,  
He, unexampled Love! Attempts to win  
Man from the Curse of Death, and Curse of Sin,  
With Pity, more than that of Mother's Hearts,  
With Mercy's Charms, and Love's persuasive Arts.  
His high design was with his Heavenly Light,  
To chase away th' Impenetrable Night,  
That covered this lost World, and reinspire  
Man's Frozen Breast with fresh Celestial Fire.  
Th' Almighty's faded Image to repair,  
That its bright Lines might shine distinct and fair.  
To raise lapsed Minds to that high State of Love,  
Of Light and Bliss, the Blessed enjoy above.  
To pull all bold Usurping Passions down,  
And settle Reason in its ancient Throne.  
To break Sins heavy Chains, its Slaves release,  
And fix 'twixt Earth and Heaven a lasting Peace.   

The Jews amused with Worldly Empire's Charms,  
Hoping some Monarch with Victorious Arms,  
With Roman Pomp and Grandeur would arise,  
The great Redeemer's humble State despise.  
Inspired from Hell, his Message they refuse,  
Deride his Person, and his Deeds accuse.  
He that Supplies on all in want bestowed,  
Feasting with Miracles the hungry Crowd:  
Finds from th' obdurate Hebrew no relief,  
But with the Twelve Companions of his Grief,  
He walked on his Eternal Purpose bend,  
Scattering his Heavenly Gifts wherever he went.  
Yet did unwelcome through their Regions stray,  
From those ungrateful Cities thrust away,  
Whence he had Devils and Diseases cast,  
Him, and his proffered Heaven they from them chased.  
At last his spotless Innocence traduced,  
He stands before the Roman Throne accused;  
On Caesar's King Pilate in Judgement sits,  
Condemns him, yet his Innocence acquits.  
To please th' inexorable Jews he sheds  
Blood, and heavens dreadful Curses on their Heads.  
That done, he washed his guilty Hands in vain,  
The Blood he spilt, alone could Purge that Stain.   

No Form of Cruelty his Foes omit,  
They give sharp Stripes, and on his Face they Spit;  
Which now adoring Angels blush to see,  
Not for its Splendour, but Deformity.  
To please united Cruelty and Scorn,  
On's wounded Head they fix a Crown of Thorn.  
They dress him in a Purple Robe, that gone,  
His Blood with richer Purple dies his own.  
A Reed his Hand must for a Sceptre sway,  
Which with a Rod of Ir'n shall that Contempt repay.  
They bow in Scorn before him, whilst he sat  
A Pageant Prince, the mockery of State.  
What various Shapes of Cruelty are shown,  
Under, and on his Cross he's made to groan.  
And yet he bears a heavier Load within,  
The pressure of the World's united Sin.  
Stretched on the cursed Tree his Body hangs,  
Groaning its Life away in dying Pangs.  
Forsaken both of Earth and Heaven, his Breath  
He wasted in the pains of lingering Death:  
Whilst on his Soul the blackest Horrors dwell,  
That feels the Pains, without the Gild of Hell.  
The Barbarous Hebrews for whose sake he died,  
Stand by, and see their sovereign Crucified,  
Without the slight Compassion of a Tear,  
Scarce in the Crowd does one sad Face appear.  
Their Insolence dares mock his dying Moans,  
Sport with his Torments, and deride his Groans.  
Though solid Rocks touched with Compassion rend,  
The more obdurate Jew does not relent.   

For Man he Dies, that Heaven may be atoned,  
He dies, the Universe afflicted groaned,  
heavens Everlasting Frame shook with the Fright,  
And the scared Sun shrunk back, and hid his Light.  
Through th' Earth's dark Vaults a shivering Horror fled,  
That whilst Convulsed threw up th' awakened Dead.  
Thin pallid Ghosts come sweeping o'er the Grass,  
And howling Wolves Glare on them as they pass.  
Hoarse Thunder Rolls in Subterranean Caves,  
Chaos to hearken stills his Raging Waves.  
Even Hell gaped horribly, such was the fright,  
And through the Chasm let through prodigious Night.  
Night that extinguished the Meridian Ray,  
And with its gloomy Deluge choked the Day.  
Sad Moans were heard, Shrieks, Howl, Midnight Cries,  
And Globes of Fire hung Blazing in the Skies.  
A fierce Convulsion through the Temple went,  
The Pillars trembled, and the Veil was Rend.  
The heavens and Earth both suffered when he died,  
As Nature's Self were with him Crucify'd.  
Down by their Sides the silent Angels laid  
Their Golden Harps, and neither Sung nor played;  
Their drooping Wings, and Looks dejected show  
Sadness, as much, as those blessed Realms can know.   

Thrice the swift Sun his radiant Chariot drove  
O'er the blue Hills, and outstretched Plains above.  
As oft the Moon had shot her paler Light,  
In silver Threads through the brown Vest of Night.  
When the Reviving Saviour leaves his Tomb,  
And, as newborn, breaks from the Earth's dark Womb▪  
The Chains of Death shook off, he from the Ground,  
Does with new Force, Anteus like, rebound.  
He comes in Triumph from the Conquered Grave,  
And this blessed proof of Resurrection gave.  
Oft to his mournful Friends their Lord appeared,  
And their sad Minds with Heavenly Pleasures cheered.  
He than the Plan of his wise Kingdom laid,  
Who should submit, and who should be obeyed.  
To these he gave a Power to lose, and bind,  
And with fixed Bounds that Sacred Power confined.  
He set the Rights his Subjects should enjoy,  
Which Princes must Protect, but not Annoy.  
And by wise Laws fix all things that relate,  
To the Support of his new founded State.   

That done, pursued by their admiring Eyes,  
Born on a shining Cloud he did arise,  
In Heavenly Pomp Triumphant through the Skies.  
The Clouds dividing in Obsequious Haste,  
Smiled, yielded by his Glory, as he had passed.  
Great Michael, Raphael, and the rest that boast,  
The chief Commands in the Celestial Host,  
Great Princes, Thrones, and high Seraphic States,  
With splendid Equipage poured from the Gates;  
Sublime in high Celestial Chariots road,  
Far out of Heaven, to meet th' ascending God.  
The Powers and high Dominions with their Train,  
Shone glorious bright on all th' Etherial Plain.  
On a fair Hill that the wide Vale commands,  
The numberless, angelic Army stands.  
Drawn up in shining Lines, and Warlike Bands.  
The Trumpets all salute him passing by,  
And in the Air displayed the Banners fly.  
And now arrived at heavens Eternal Gate,  
Attended with his long Triumphal State,  
The blessed Inhabitants due Honours give,  
And all in Arms their conquering Prince receive.  
Disposed in glorious Ranks each Order shines,  
And all the way the bright Militia Lines.  
On's Chariot Wheels the thronging Cherubs hang,  
With whose loud Shouts the heavens high Arches rang.  
Thus did he to th' Eternal's Palace ride  
The Guards stood to their Arms on either Side.  
Entering he took his Place, and Brightly shone  
On the Right Hand of his great Father's Throne.  
Where he shall our great Intercessor stay,  
Till the last Summons to the Judgement Day.   

He ceased, and Hoel in his Arms embraced,  
His Godlike Friend, and cried, I'm highly graced  
With this Divine Discourse, what Thanks to you,  
Illustrious Prince, what Thanks to Heaven are due?  
Blessed Peace came rolling on the raging Waves,  
And your late Wreck, me and my Kingdom saves.  
Kind Heaven for me hath called forth Joy and Light,  
From those fierce Storms, and that outrageous Night,  
That forced your Vessels on th' Armoric Shore,  
Your Loss I mourn, but heavens Designs adore.  
Long have I strayed in gloomy Darkness lost,  
Deep Gulfs, thick Woods, and trackless Mountains crossed;  
In endless Mazes, and in endless Night,  
Without a Glimpse of Day, or Ray of Light.  
The Gates of Light thrown open, you display  
The first reviving Beams of Heavenly Day.  
Which darts across the Shades in shining Streaks,  
And on my Mind in tender Dawning breaks.  
How much I wish to see this Light Divine,  
Rise to its Noon, and in full splendour shine?  
You've opened heavens Eternal Springs, whence flow  
Those sacred Rivulets which you bestow  
On the parched Region of this barren Breast,  
Now with pure Streams of living Waters blest.  
I drink them in with Joy, but thirst for more,  
And for this thankful, still more Aid implore.   

He ceased, the Prince who to oblige him strove,  
Thus spoke, all Seasons offered I'll with Joy improve,  
To give more Light, and kindle greater Love.  
My Toil and Sufferings when reviewed, will please,  
Caused by the stormy Winds and angry Seas,  
If I can thus assist your Heavenly Course,  
Through gloomy Night, thick Mists, and Tempests force,  
Through all the Snares of Hell, till you attain  
Th' Eternal Haven, where blessed Spirits Reign.  
Now to the Foot of heavens steep Precipice,  
Ready to plunge into the deep Abyss,  
The Red-faced Sun had rolled the sinking Day,  
Shooting along the Plains a level Ray.  
The loving Turtle to his Airy Nest,  
Flies with his moaning Mate, to Coe, and rest.  
The timorous Hare steals from the Brakes to Feed,  
And from the Yoke the labouring Ox is freed.  
With strutting Teats the Herds come lowing home,  
And Beasts of Prey o'er Hills and Forests Roam.  
And now the Princes that had passed the Day  
In various talk to Conda came, to stay  
Till the appearance of the Morning Ray.    

Prince Arthur.  
BOOK III.  

NOW the Victorious Sun the Night invades,  
Chase from Hill to Hill, the flying Shades.  
Up rose the Princes, and were soon prepared  
To take their Way, attended with their Guard.  
In the same Chariot friendly they abide,  
And feeding grateful Conversation ride.  
The British Captains, and th' Armoric Train,  
On either Side their generous Courser's rain.  
They passed not far, when Hoel thus addressed,  
With pleasing Looks, his Pious, British Guest.  
Your losty Subject now, brave Prince, resume,  
How shall your Lord from Heaven to Judgement come,  
What follows, what precedes the general Doom?   

The Briton then began.  
Before the Son of God appears on high,  
Prodigious Signs are seen through all the Sky.  
New lighted Comets shake their Fiery Hair,  
Or trail their flaming Trains along the Air.  
Vast Circling Flakes of Fire the World amaze,  
And intermixed, prodigious Meteors blaze.  
The Sky shines terrible with Lightning's Flame.  
And Thunder shakes the universal Frame.  
Th' impetuous roar o'erturns heavens lofty Towers  
And starry Fragments fall in burning Showers,  
Rend Clouds, pour Seas of raging Sulphur down,  
Whose livid Flames th' extinguished Sunbeams drown  
Cross the red Air the flaming Torrents fly,  
Gushing from all the fiery Springs on high.  
The melting Orbs, and Firmaments conspire,  
To make up one Tempestuous Sea of Fire,  
The glowing Spheres dissolve with Heat and all  
In mighty Floods of liquid Crystal fall.  
The lofty Digues gape wide, that stood around,  
And from the dark Abyss did Nature bound;  
Chaos came pouring through the hideous Crack,  
And Nature's Ruins, and th' amazing Wreck  
Of burning Worlds, by floating on his Waves:  
Scarce its high Mounds th' Empyreal Region saves.  
heavens spacious Balls are on each other hurled,  
Ruin with Ruin crushed, and World overturned with World.  
Confusion, Noise, and Horror fill the Air,  
The Earth, loud Cries, Distraction, and Despair.  
Fierce Storms of raging Vapours, that aspire,  
Mixed with hot Steams, from subterranean Fire,  
That Lakes of Sulphur burning all beneath,  
That kindled Naphtha, and hot Metals Breath;  
The Earth's gripped Bowels with Convulsions rack,  
And with loud Noise their trembling Prisons crack.  
Imprisoned Thunder roars for wider room,  
Proclaiming loud the World's approaching Doom.  
The Globe distorted, burst, disjointed, rend,  
Gives to the burning Exhalations Vent.  
Through gaping Clefts, the flaming Tempest flies,  
And Hurricanes of Fire confound the Skies.  
Great Cities, Mountains, Rocks, and shattered Hills,  
Vast abrupt Tracks of Land, and sinking Isles,  
Sapped by the Flame, that underneath destroys;  
Fall down with mighty Cracks, and dreadful Noise;  
Prodigious Ruin filling all the Caves,  
And dashing high the subterranean Waves.   

Aetna, Vesuvius, and the fiery kind,  
Their Flames within blown up with stormy Wind;  
With dire Concussions, and loud roar complain  
Of deadly Gripes, and fierce consuming pain.  
The labouring Mounts Belch drossy Vomit out,  
And throw their melted Bowels round about.  
Broad Sheets of Flame, Pillars of Pitchy Smoke,  
And glowing Stones, the Airy Region choke.  
Down their scorched Sides metallic Torrents flow,  
And form a dismal, flaming Sea below.  
The fiery Deluge rolls along the Ground,  
Dreadful for Colour, horrible for Sound.  
Huge Stones, and vast unmelted Cakes of Oar,  
The thick, unwieldy Tide encumber more.  
Horror in Triumph, smeared with Smoke and Blood,  
Rides cross the Ridge of the Tremendous Flood.  
It burns new Channels riding o'er the Plain,  
And turns o'er Cities with its ponderous Train.  
Down to the Deep it rolls its massy Waves,  
Outroars the Ocean, and its Waters braves.  
Plunged in the Seas it unextinguished lies,  
And o'er the Waves the glowing Wedges rise.  
Th' affrighted Seas the burning Horror fly,  
And the bare Shores beneath the Deluge Fry.  
Into the Air th' exhaling Ocean goes,  
Where Waters slept, a Lake of Sulphur glows.  
All the hot Seeds, and hidden Stores of Fire,  
From subterranean Prisons freed, conspire  
With their bright Arms to lay all Nature waste,  
And to the general Conflagration haste.  
A fiery Chaos Reigns with lawless Power,  
And unresisted Flames the World devour.  
These Signs first given, amidst the Starry Shears,  
With all the Pomp of Heaven the Judge appears.  
Before his Chariot Wheels that roll on high,  
Whirlwinds, and Clouds discharging Thunder fly,  
And curling Lightnings run along the Sky.  
Immortal Thrones, poured out from heavens bright Gates,  
Dominions, Powers, Seraphic Potentates,  
Crowned Saints, and Martyrs ranged in glorious Rows,  
Attend his Chariot, and his State compose.  
The dazzling Pomp stretches across the Sky,  
From utmost East to West, and passing by  
The Heavenly Orbs, comes on descending flow,  
Into the Airy Region here below.  
O'er all the Sky, heavens mighty Army shines,  
And here it halts in deep embarteled Lines.  
In bright Celestial Armour Clad, they stand,  
Their Swords of tempered Flame drawn in their hand.  
They mark a Camp of spacious Circuit out,  
And cast up Crystal Ramparts round about.  
On some fit Eminence, they raise on high  
Their Lord's August Pavilion in the Sky.  
His bright, sublime Tribunal here they place,  
On which he sits, with awful, Godlike Grace.  
Such Flames of Fire, wheeling in Clouds of Smoke,  
Issue from thence, as from Mount Sinai broke.  
Arrayed with Majesty, and clothed with Light,  
He Glory darts too fierce for Angel's Sight.  
In Hallelujahs they his Greatness sing,  
And the shook Spheres, with loud hosannah's Ring.  
Thus on the Throne, the Saviour sits prepared,  
To Judge the World, to punish and reward.  
And now th' unnumbered Armies ready stand,  
Grasping revenging Firebrands in their Hand,  
And only wait their Leader's high Command.  
The Signal given, a general Shout, shall shake  
The heavens around, greater than Armies make  
Rushing to Battle, or was heard in Rome,  
When Conquering Caesar came in Triumph home.  
Their furious Arms, devouring Tempests throw  
On all the guilty, trembling World below.  
They pour down mighty, fiery Cataracts,  
Flaming Bitumen, and Sulphureous Lakes;  
Red showers of fiery Arrows hissing fly,  
And flashing Lightning flames around the Sky.  
Fires from above, combined with Fires below,  
O'er all the Earth in ruddy Torrents flow.  
Vengeance Divine, wastes Nature's burning Store,  
And drowns the Earth in Fire, all drowned in Gild before.  
The Heat dissolves the Fabric of the World,  
The broken parts fall down, confusedly hurled:  
Chaos restored does in wild Triumph reign,  
And ruin'd Worlds his hideous Throne sustain.   

Some great Archangel now springs forth on high,  
And with the loudest Trumpet of the Sky,  
Summons th' astonished, gazing World to come  
To Judgement, and the Universal Doom.  
The dreadful Noise shakes heavens Etherial Mounds,  
And in loud Echoes from the Spheres rebounds.  
In Echo's terrible, and piercing Shrill,  
That the low World with dire Amazement fill.  
The guilty Fiends shriek out at these Alarms,  
That in the Air fly thick in murmuring Swarms.  
Their Prince himself trembles, and dares not stay,  
But spreads his broad, dun Wings, and shoots away.  
They sink confounded to th' Infernal Deep,  
Or into Clefts, and hollow Mountains creep.  
They find the fatal Hours arrived at last,  
That shall revenge their bold Rebellions past.  
When to their Torments they shall be Restrained,  
And lie beneath, on flaming Billows chained.  
When Hell no more its Prisoners shall release,  
And Sin's black Empire must for ever cease.   

No less the dreadful Sound, and awful Sight,  
Confound proud Tyrants, and their Guards affright.  
What Horror now distracts each guilty Soul,  
In their sad Breasts, what Storms of Vengeance roll.  
How will they bear this dismal Scene of Woe,  
Where will they stay secure, or whither go?  
Terror, Distraction, Anguish, fierce Despair  
Drink up their Vitals, and their Heartstrings tear.  
Ten Thousand poisoned Darts strike through their Reins,  
And wound them with unsufferable Pains.  
The Vulture bred within their Bowels gnaws,  
And Conscience gripes them with her Harpys Claws.  
Such Wounds, such Stings, such Pangs must now be born,  
Of everlasting Death, the sad Forlorn.  
What strange Confusion in their Looks appears,  
What wild Amazement, Gild and deadly Fears.  
What howling Lamentation, what dire Cries,  
What doleful Shrieks, and Yell fill the Skies?   

Besides, the Trumpet shakes the trembling ground,  
The startled Dead awaken at the Sound.  
The Grave resigns its ancient Spoils, and all  
Death's Adamantine Prisons burst, and fall.  
The Souls that did their forced Departure mourn,  
To the same Bodies with swift Flight return.  
Whose scattered Parts God calls together, they  
To their appointed Meeting hast away.  
The crowding Atoms reunite apace,  
All without tumult, know, and take their place.  
Th' assembled Bones leap quick into their Frame,  
And the warm Blood renews a brighter Flame.  
The quickened Dust feels fresh and youthful Heats,  
While its old Task, the beating Heart repeats.  
The Eyes enlivened with new Vital Light,  
Open, admiting whence they had their sight.  
The Veins too, twine their bloody Arms around  
The Limbs, and with red, leaping Life abound.  
Hard twisted Nerves new brace, and faster bind  
The close knit Joints, no more to be disjoined.  
Strong, new-spun Threads Immortal Muscles make,  
That justly fixed, their ancient Figure take.  
Brisk Spirits take their upper Seats, and dart  
Through their known Channels thence, to every part.  
The Men now draw their long forgotten Breath,  
And striving break th' unwieldy Chains of Death.  
Victorious Life to every Grave resorts,  
And rifles Death's unhospitable Courts.  
It's Vigour through those dark Dominions spread,  
From all their gloomy Mansions frees the Dead.  
Now ripe Conceptions through the Earth abound,  
And new sprung Men stand thick on all the ground.  
The Sepulchers are quick, and every Tomb  
Labours with Life, and grows a fruitful Womb.   

But how the Dead are changed, their Bodies more  
Unlike each other, than their Souls before!  
How monstrous foul the guilty Dead arise,  
Each struck with Horror from his Neighbour flies!  
How much deformed they look, all stained with Sin,  
Black and mis-shaped without, but more within.  
Ugly and Fiendlike, from their Graves they Crawl,  
And on the ground, like bloated Vermin, sprawl.  
And like them too, their Bodies have their Birth,  
From putrid Damps and Vapours in the Earth.  
So Serpents that entangled lay asleep,  
From out their Beds disturbed, and wakened creep.  
They hiss, and cast their fiery Eyes around,  
And with their loathsome Bellies mark the ground.  
For flight their poisonous Volumes they display,  
And urged with Fear and Anguish, hast away.  
So this foul Brood are forced their Graves to leave,  
And to the Ground their groveling Bellies cleave.  
Earthy and Black, confined so long to Night,  
They dread the Horrors of the cheerful Light.  
Amazing change! see, some of these were they,  
Whose Heads were Crowned, whose Hands did Sceptres sway.  
These did rich Purple, and fine Linen wear,  
And every Meal fed on delicious Fare.  
That hideous Thing, that for a Covert seeks,  
With hollow Eyes, fallen Jaws, and ghastly Cheeks,  
That monstrous Thing, was once, when kept with Care,  
Proud of its Beauty, and looked wondrous Fair.  
Set off with all the Ornaments that please  
The Eye, and pampered with Luxurious Ease.  
But how the guilty Crowd, wrecked with Despair,  
With dismal Cries fill all the Echoing Air;  
When they the Trumpet's dreadful Summons hear,  
And find the Universal Judgement near!  
Back to their Graves, the ugly Monsters fly,  
And in those Coverts would for ever lie.  
They call aloud for Death, and wish they might  
Melt to thin Air, be drowned, and lost in Night.   

But when Blessed Minds their Bodies meet, no Pair  
Can look more Beautiful, and charming Fair.  
The happy Souls shoot swiftly through the Sky,  
And to the Graves and Sepulchers they fly.  
Where they their long forsaken Bodies greet,  
Which, like old Friends, they with fresh Pleasure meet▪  
Bodies, that seem, they are so Pure and Bright,  
All thickened Glory, close compacted Light;  
Purged and refined from all that's course and gross,  
As melted Gold throws off the base Dross.  
Smiling they rise, such Charms, so sweet a Grace  
They show, as dwell not on a Mortal Face.  
These rising Stars their Heavenly Beams display,  
Bright Harbingers of Everlasting Day.  
Such Beauties, such mild Glories shall we see,  
In the glad Spring of Immortality.  
Yet these blessed Sons of Light, that Angellike,  
Would mortal Eyes, with deadly Lustre strike,  
Were those, that once their Excellence disguised,  
Lived here oppressed, and like their Lord, despised.  
Welcome to them this long expected Hour,  
Safe by their Judge's Favour, from his Power.  
High Tides of Joy into their Bosoms run,  
And Everlasting Life they feel begun.  
This shall past Griefs in deep Oblivion drown,  
Complete their Triumphs, and their Virtue's Crown.  
These in the Spring, great Care and Toil bestowed,  
And watered with their Tears, the Seed they sowed.  
The Harvest now their happy Hours employs,  
In reaping Pleasures and Immortal Joys.  
Bright Cherubims descending through the Air  
To these blessed Men with speedy Flight Repair,  
Then to the gen'ral Doom aloft they fly,  
And on their Wings convey them through the Sky.  
In all the way encouraging their Charge,  
Telling of all the Joys of Heaven at large.  
Placed in the Presence of their Lord they stand  
In their appointed Seats, at his Right-hand.   

Whilst other Angels from the Deep of Hell,  
Drive up the Fiends that in those Regions dwell.  
With Swords of keenest Flame compelling some,  
And dragging others to the gen'ral Doom.  
In Anguish and Despair the yelling Fiends  
Curse, Gnash, and By't th' Eternal Chain that binds  
So close, and straight, then turn their Heads away,  
From the fierce Terror of so bright a Day.  
And impious Men in no less Horror fly  
To all the Shades, and Coverts they descry.  
Mountains and Rocks their fruitless Cries invite,  
To fall, and hide them from the Judge's Sight.  
For rise they must, and lose their vain Desire,  
Caught up in Whirlwinds, and in Storms of Fire.  
Before the Judge the Prisoners stand in Sight,  
And take the Lefthand, as the Just the Right.   

Th' Eternal Books before the Judge are brought,  
Where all men's long forgotten Deeds are wrote.  
And first are read the Virtues of the Just,  
Their Zeal for Heaven, their Courage, Hope, and Trust.  
The Prayers, the Tears, the Alms themselves concealed,  
Before applauding Angels are revealed.  
The righteous Judge their Innocence declared,  
Allots the glorious Kingdom he prepared  
For pure and holy Minds a blessed Reward.  
Their Guardian Angels at their Lord's Command,  
Crown the glad Saints with an Officious Hand.   

Who now in perfect Bliss their time employ  
Discoursing, to promote their mutual Joy,  
How first they left the pleasurable way,  
Where wanton Streams of soft Delights convey  
Charmed Souls, that with the treacherous Tide must go,  
To the dead Lake of Pain and endless Wo.  
How first they liked the dark and lonesom Road  
That leads to Bliss, and the blessed Minds Abode.  
How when in Shades they mourned, a Heavenly Ray  
Darted a welcome, though imperfect Day.  
How virtue's guidance they implored and gained,  
And what blessed Converse with her they maintained.  
How through dark Paths she did their Feet conduct,  
Correct the wanderers, and the rest instruct.  
How by her Aids they bore tempestuous Shocks,  
Climbed o'er opposing Hills, and hanging Rocks.  
Till they at length the Peaceful Realms did gain,  
Where Joys Divine, and endless Transports Reign.  
How sweet and fair Crowned Innocence appears,  
No more tossed on the Waves of Hopes and Fears?  
On mortal Face such Beauties never shone,  
Like those of Virtue, seated on her Throne.   

Next this, th' Apostate Angels are accused,  
That open Force, or secret Arts they used  
To set their Leader on th' Eternal's Throne,  
Subvert Christ's Empire, and advance their own.  
That Man by them seduced, did first Rebel,  
Relinquished Heaven, and to their Party fell.  
That they the cursed Defection did support,  
And new Born Men, to new Rebellions Court.  
That they, with indefatigable Care,  
Fresh Heats fomented, and renewed the War.  
Whence Plagues and Desolation wide, and vast,  
And uncontrolled Destruction laid all waist.  
Hence Noah's universal Deluge came,  
And hence the World lies now overwhelmed in Flame.  
For these black Crimes they're sentenced to the pains,  
Of fiercer Fire, and doomed to heavier Chains.   

Next Cain's Rebellious Offspring are accused,  
As heavens inveterate Foes, that long abused  
Goodness Divine, whom Everlasting Love  
And Life Eternal, had no Charms to move.  
They would no reconciling Terms embrace,  
Alike by Threats unchanged, or Acts of Grace.  
They did with Wine and Noise the Method find,  
To Calm a Conscious, self-revenging Mind.  
To lay asleep th' uneasy Judge within,  
Till they with Care and Pains, grew bold in Sin.  
For when the sacred Spirit did convey  
Into their Breasts, a secret Heavenly Ray,  
That did, where cherished, soon bring on the Day:  
With hasty Care they choked the new sprung Light,  
Calling to Aid the Shades of Hell, and Night.  
Divine Compassion's Force they never felt,  
Nor would in Flames of Love Eternal melt.  
Their Hearts untouched did all heavens strokes repel,  
Tempered, and hardened in the Forge of Hell.  
No Overtures of Peace, no Offers made,  
Tho' of an endless Kingdom, could persuade  
The unrelenting Rebels to lay down  
Their impious Arms, to take a Heavenly Crown.  
They still asserted with their latest Breath,  
Their fixed Confed'racy with Hell, and Death.  
'Tis on them charged, that others too that fell,  
Drawn by their Arts, embarked for Death and Hell.  
They led them to the flowery Banks, and showed  
The flattering Tide, where smiling Pleasures flowed.  
Where the charmed Voyagers did careless ride,  
Bewitching Syren's singing on their side.  
Till the false Flood betrayed them thither, where  
It falls into the Gulf of black Despair.   

Here secret Crimes are published, and his Name  
That loved the Sin, but feared th' attendant Shame.  
The sly Adulterer, that till the late  
Approach of Night, and silent Shades did wait,  
For the Caresses of the Harlot's Fed,  
And at the early dawn of Twilight fled;  
Is here upbraided for his careful flight  
Of men's, whilst he contemned th' Almighty's sight.   

Th' audacious Wretch that did heavens Laws deride,  
And all its Thunder and dire Threats defied;  
That did cloyed Nature to fresh Gild excite,  
Beyond her own even Vicious Appetite:  
Anti-Platonic that could pleasure take  
In naked Vice, and sinned for sinning's sake;  
That could abstracted from Enjoyment, sport  
With Gild, and Vice even in Idea court.  
That did himself, so much he loved the Fame,  
The secret Triumphs of his Lusts proclaim,  
Strives in the Crowd to hide his guilty Head,  
Whilst his high Charge, and black Indictment's read.  
Th' astonished Wretch Sinks, Trembles, Dies to see  
Enraged Omnipotence, and frowning Majesty.  
Such deadly Torments on his Bowels feed,  
Such Agonies he feels, as far exceed  
All Shapes of Horror, Mortals ever saw,  
Poets invent, or troubled Fancies draw.  
That there's a God, he gives a full Assent,  
On the most sure, but saddest Argument.  
He can his Being, and his Power attest,  
From the Almighty Vengeance in his Breast.  
Thus he at last believes, and trembles too,  
On the same grounds that tortured Spirits do.  
The Droll'ry that derided heavens just Cause,  
He hears repeated, but without Applause.  
His Jests and bold Discourses will not fit  
This place, nor pass, even with his Friends, for Wit.  
Will he his feeble Arguments produce,  
And make them here, renew their former Use?  
Will he assert his Innocence, and plead  
'Twas only harmless Nature he obeyed?  
That he to Vice did not his Mind enslave,  
But only pleased the Appetites Heaven gave.  
Will he inform the Judge, it cannot be  
A Being Good, and Merciful, as He,  
Can so much Rigour to his Errors show,  
And make a Creature for Eternal Woe?  
The Wretch's bold Objections will appear,  
His wanton Fancy's wild Caprices here.  
Able no more to stifle with their Night,  
The Natural Dictates of his inbred Light.  
They can't the deadly Stings within control,  
Nor ease the Horrors of his tortured Soul.   

And now less hardy Prisoners are Arraigned,  
That had not this obdurate temper gained.  
Of such a Pendulous, Distracted Mind,  
That oft to Heaven, and oft to Hell inclined.  
To make up Peace, they would with neither part,  
But shared between them a divided Heart.  
These travelled on so long the happy Way,  
That leads to Life, and pure Etherial Day:  
Till they reached heavens bright Confines, could descry  
The Peaceful World of Immortality.  
But then discouraged at the steep Ascent,  
And the straight Gate, through which the Trav'llers went,  
Gave back, and did of their past Toil repent.  
But how they now abhor the Cowardice,  
That made them almost Conquerors, miss the Prize:  
Made them desert a prosperous Cause as lost,  
That could so many Spoils, and Triumphs boast.  
Cursed Sloth, that could persuade them to forsake  
Christ's Camp, when such a Kingdom was at Stake.   

Each hears his aggravated Crimes at large,  
Devils accuse, and Conscience backs the Charge.  
They can't excuse, or hide their Crimes, nor fly,  
Nor what's the Refuge of the wretched, die.  
Now let their past Enjoyments Secure give,  
Let Wit, and Wine their deadly Fears relieve.  
Let their dear Riches their Assistance lend,  
Honour and Pomp th' ambitious Man defend.  
Let them solicit with their loudest Cries,  
Those Gods, they served, to save their Votaries.  
Blessed Heaven, that Man with such a swift Career,  
Pursues those Toys, that are so useless here.   

The Judge will all his Terrors now assume,  
And thus pronounce the Prisoners dreadful Doom.  
For ever cursed Souls from me depart,  
As you did oft my Cause, I you desert.  
Go, burn in Everlasting Fire prepared  
For Devils, take that sad, but just Reward.  
Sink to the Bottomless Abyss of Hell,  
Where Agonies, and endless Sorrow dwell.  
Go to those Mansions of Despair, and lie  
In never ceasing Torments, go, and die.   

The Rebels this expected Sentence past,  
With Thunder and Tempestuous Fire are chased,  
To Hell's black Gulf, through all th' Etherial Wast.  
Where they shall see no cheerful Ray of Light,  
Doomed to the Horrors of Eternal Night.  
Th' Almighty's Arrows Fester in their Heart,  
Drink up their Blood, and gall with deadly Smart.  
His Wrath consumes the wretch, his Power sustains,  
And like fierce Poison o'er their Vitals, Reigns.  
They wast their Souls in Cries, and howling Moans,  
And spend Eternity in fruitless Groans.   

Now the abstrusest Paths of Providence,  
That gave the wisest Men so great Offence,  
Are so unriddled, and made easy here;  
The Night dispelled, they shine as Noonday, clear.  
Justice that did till now her Grace's shroud,  
And walked on Earth, encircled with a Cloud;  
That did such by, and uncouth Ways frequent,  
Perplexed with Windings, frightful for Ascent;  
See this bright Goddess to her Throne restored,  
Unveils her Majesty to be adored.  
Her Cloud thrown off, her Form is all Divine,  
No Lustre now, her Glory can outshine.  
Such are the Beauties of her Charming Face,  
Fair Mercy's Self, looks not with sweeter Grace.  
Rivals no longer, they are here combined,  
And in so strict a Bond of Friendship joined;  
They seem distinguished only by their Name,  
Their Charms alike, their Votaries the same,  
And both are Worshipped with an equal Flame.   

Justice to all in such due measures shown,  
The Judge returns to his Celestial Throne.  
And as he goes, crowned Saints, and Seraphs sing  
Loud Songs of Praise to their Triumphant King.  
He enters Heaven attended with his Train,  
That in the new jerusalem shall Reign.   

The City stands on pure expanded Fields  
Of rising Ether, that wide Prospect yields  
O'er all the Gulf, and outstretched Vales below,  
O'er all th' Inferior, spacious Orbs can show.  
The Walls are Marble of the richest Vein,  
And their high Towers overlook the Azure Plain.  
Of polished Gold the glorious Structures rise,  
With gilded Spires, and Turrets in the Skies.  
From Heavenly Quarries on their Front appear  
Rich Stones, like Winter Stars, but far more clear.  
Immortal Rubies, Diamonds, Saphires meet,  
In beauteous Mixture, and bright Orders set  
Rare Works, where Cost immense, and Art combine,  
Built and adorned by th' Architect Divine,  
To be for holy Minds a blessed Abode,  
Th' Imperial Seat, and Residence of God.  
The Streets are all of fine, Etherial Glass,  
Pure, like the spotless Minds, that through them pass.  
Through these Eternal, living Rivers flow,  
Trees on their Banks, in goodly Ranges grow,  
That with their golden Fruit, immortal Health bestow.  
Twelve Gates of Orient Pearl unshaken stand,  
Shut, and unbarred by the Almighty's Hand.  
A Steepy Gulf is placed beneath the Walls,  
And down as low as Hell's Abyss, it falls;  
Lest Hostile Fiends should leave their burning Lake,  
And bold Excursions to these Regions make.  
The Air's Serene, and fit for happy Minds,  
Secure from Thunder, and th' Assaults of Winds.  
No Clouds, but those of curling Incense rise,  
By playing Zephirs tossed about the Skies;  
That with their gentle Breath sweet Odours blow,  
That from Blessed Woods, and Heavenly Gardens flow.  
No noxious Damps, the Region's so sublime,  
From Hell's Infernal Caves, can hither Climb.  
No foul terrestrial Steams pollute the Air,  
No Breathes ascend, but those of Praise, and Prayer.  
Essential Glory from th' Almighty's Face,  
With its resplendent Efflux, lights the Place.  
All heavens fair Orbs, thin'd and beat out in Light,  
Would not spread out a Day, so pure and bright,  
As that, the Saints Illustrious Order sheds,  
From the encircling Glory round their Heads.  
The vanquished Sun would there seem Dark, his Light  
Whence our course Day proceeds, would there make Night.  
So Glorious are the Dwellings of the Saints,  
Outdone by nothing, but th' Inhabitants.   

On lofty Thrones the Heavenly Princes sit,  
In Robes as white, as new fallen Snow, and writ  
In Golden Characters, their Foreheads bear  
Their Saviour's Name, their Breasts his Image wear.  
Immortal Vigour shines on every Face,  
They look with Mild, but with Majestic Grace.  
Thick Beams of Light stream out from every Head,  
Each Saint does his own Heaven about him spread,  
His radiant Feet on pointed Glory tread.   

Safe on the Shore with Pleasure they behold,  
How the thick Waves are on each other rolled,  
What Dangers of a strange amazing Shape,  
What fatal Rocks, they scarcely did escape.  
They hear the Winds grow loud and turbulent,  
See Clouds swollen big, with Thunder in 'em penned,  
With which the lowering Sky is overcast,  
Hang down upon the Seas that they have passed.  
Viewing these Woes themselves did once endure,  
They stand surprised, as if not yet secure.  
Amazed at all the Glory they possess,  
Wonder almost suspends their Happiness.  
They on so sweet, and rich a Climate thrown,  
Forget their Dangers, now for ever gone.  
Th' Almighty they enjoy, at whose Right Hand  
Fullness of Joy, and Life Eternal stand.  
Down from his Throne, as Light does from the Sun,  
Rivers of fresh Delight for ever run.  
With ravished Eyes they drink in Heavenly Beams,  
That from his Face flow down in Glorious Streams.  
They gaze so on the Beatific Sight,  
Till they become all Intellectual Light.  
So long they his substantial Brightness view,  
Till they all grow Divine, and Godlike too.  
So quick they feel the mighty Influx come,  
The most Capacious, thirsty Souls want room.  
They widen and extend themselves to hold  
Those Floods of Joys, that to their Breasts are rolled;  
Till they a vast, unmeasured Bliss possess,  
And strive beneath th' unwieldy Happiness.  
If but a Glimpse of Heaven whose Glory streams  
Through the thick Clouds in weak, refracted Beams,  
Can please so much, what Joys have those above  
Where perfect Knowledge kindles perfect Love?  
Transports Ineffable their Minds employ  
Deluged in Glory, lost in Tides of Joy.   

Here Innocence will all its Lustre show,  
The mournful Looks thrown off, it wore below.  
Sorrows for ever banished hence repair  
To the low, Guilty Regions of the Air.  
There no black Clouds of Discontent appear,  
That spread themselves o'er these dark Valleys here.  
No Groans are heard, no Tears fall down the Face,  
To interrupt the Joy, of this blessed Place.  
No crossing Arms, or sad dejected Eyes,  
Seek out the secret Corners of the Skies.  
If Course, Terrestrial Pleasures, court the Sense  
With such strong Charms, that few can make Defence,  
When backward Nature's forced by Wit, and Art,  
All her delicious Treasures to impart.  
When the short Days in all Delights are spent,  
That soft, Luxurious Asia can invent.  
What are the Nobler Pleasures, that transport  
The blessed that reign in this Celestial Court?  
That no Decay, or Intermission know,  
Debased, when likened to the best below.  
The Clouds all broke, the Tempest chased away,  
The Smiling Skies disclose a cheerful Day.  
They've changed the Defart's dry and barren Sand,  
For all the Riches of a fruitful Land.  
Where with Immortal Food they ever fed,  
And drink pure Pleasures at the Fountain's Head.  
Hatred, Distress, and Grief, are banished hence;  
The sad Companions once, of Innocence.  
No dying Martyrs Flames, or private Cries  
Of Innocents' oppressed, disturb the Skies.   

Here our Delights are mixed with base Alloy,  
We have at best but a Tempestuous Day.  
Our Sweets are still attended with a Sting.  
And great Enjoyments, greater Sorrows bring  
Delights, those Beautiful, Illustrious play  
Around us, and when grasped, they glide away.  
Here tempting Joys, our fond Embraces fly,  
Choice, Foreign Flowers, they only Blow, and Die.  
They show themselves, but will not with us dwell,  
But, like hot Gleams, approaching Storms foretell.  
Pure unmixed Pleasures on us never flowed,  
But Stream like watery Sunbeams, through a Cloud.  
But those above, see no unlovely day,  
Their Joys no mixture know, nor fear Decay.  
In those blessed Realms they know no thoughtful Care,  
Ever to Triumph is th' Employment there.  
There no Vicissitude of Day, and Night,  
No Years, or Ages, measure heavens Delight;  
Time has quite finished, and gone through its Round,  
It did their Grief, but can't their Pleasure Bound.  
Its Streams here disembogued for ever lie  
Lost in th' Abyss of Immortality.  
They no sad fears of future Sorrows know,  
Completely Happy, and for ever so.  
For Ever!  
We strive in vain to hold this Boundless Space;  
Too wide and vast, for Mortals to Embrace.  
Our Arms may clasp the Earth with greater Ease,  
And spread themselves ashore round all the Seas.  
When Ages have their widest Circle run,  
Heaven wears not, still its Joys are but begun.  
The Heros here forget their toil and pain,  
And in Eternal Peace, and Triumph reign.   

No more the Scoffer mocks their pious Care,  
As Native Dulness, and ungrounded Fear.  
How different Fate he and the Impious Kind,  
Chained in the dark Infernal Prisons, find?  
Near the wild Deep where restless Atoms fight,  
And th' unfrequented Coasts of ancient Night,  
Where Nature ne'er on Pregnant Matter fate,  
To hatch warm Life, and its strait Bounds dilate.  
There stands the vast, unbottomed Gulf of Hell,  
Where Sin and Death, in all their Terrors dwell.  
Beyond the Verge of Day, these Regions lie,  
As low and black, as Heaven is bright and high.  
Horror, and Night hang dismal o'er the place,  
And grisly Forms fill all the gloomy space.  
Dead Seas of ponderous Darkness lie around,  
And the sad Realms from Light's grey Frontiers bound.  
Darkness that blunts the sharpest pointed Ray,  
And unannoyed, repels th' Invading Day.  
The sluggish Air is choked with sultry Gleams,  
With poisonous Damps, and suffocating Steams;  
That from wide Lakes of boiling Sulphur rise,  
Laden with Groans, and Everlasting Cries.  
No such malignant Breathes, such deadly Reeks,  
The delving Miner that hid Treasure seeks,  
E'er let out from a Subterranean Cell,  
As those that break from the black mouth of Hell.  
A fiery Sea burns fiercely all beneath,  
Blown up, and kindled by th' Almighty's Breath.  
In flaming Heaps the livid Ocean rolls,  
And scalding Waves involve despairing Souls.  
The boiling Floods terrific Colours show,  
Some deeply Red, and others faintly Blue.  
These with the Shades contend, but can't dispel  
The Darkness that surrounds the burning Cell.  
Or if they do, they dart pale, dismal Light,  
Worse than the Horrors of the blackest Night.  
The troubled Whirlpool belches Burnings out,  
And throws red Seas of Sulphur round about.  
Columns of Smoke, with spiral Flames of Fire  
Inwreatched, from wide-mouthed Furnaces aspire.  
Hence the black Region is annoyed with Fumes,  
Stench, Reeks, and Flame, that kills, but not consumes.  
So when a Mount, hot with metallic Seeds,  
In its rich Sides a secret Burning feeds;  
Sultering within, it casts up Pitchy Smoke,  
And the dead Air ascending Vapours choke.  
In mighty Floods, the wide Volcano's throw  
Their melted Treasures out, and overflow  
With glowing Torrents all the Neighbouring ground,  
That lies beneath a burning Deluge drowned.  
Through all the Air the liquid Riches fly,  
And Floods of Fire dash thick against the Sky.   

All Hope for ever banished flies this place,  
And fixed Despair sits Pale on every Face.  
Grief, Anguish, Terror, Shame, Confusion here,  
In Forms more terrible than Death, appear.  
Here hateful Sin throws off its flattering Charms,  
And shows a Monster in the Sinner's Arms.  
It now no more can please awakened Eyes,  
Stripped of stolen Beauties, and the fair Disguise  
Of promised Good, it does its self disclose  
Its hideous Shape, and ghastly Visage shows.  
Th' affrighted sinner seeing, feign would fly  
Th' Embraces of such foul Deformity.  
He would forget their past Endearments now,  
And from the Monster strives in haste to go.  
But 'twill not be; those Friends on Earth must dwell  
For ever, sad Companions too, in Hell.   

This fiery Gulf, was as their just reward,  
For Lucifer, and his black Host prepared;  
Where now the Fiends, once fairest Sons of Light,  
Lie plunged in Flame, chained in Eternal Night.  
These wretched Minds, once pure and free from Stain,  
In the brightest Palaces of Heaven did Reign.  
Arrayed with dazzling Brightness, there they dwelled,  
Blest with their great Creator's sight, and felt  
The beaming Influx breaking from his Face,  
And shared the Pleasures of that Blissful Place.  
Till with the task of blessed Obedience tired,  
They to th' Eternal's Sacred Throne aspired.  
Incensed with such ambitious Aims, their Lord  
Strikes through the Rebels with his flaming Sword.  
Headlong he casts them from the Seats above,  
No longer now, the Creatures of his Love.  
Flaming, and Thunderstruck, the Traitors fell,  
And sunk down to the fiery Jaws of Hell.  
As when strong rising Flames Resistance find,  
Beat downwards, by a fierce, impetuous Wind.  
The liquid Pyramids with labour bend  
Their tops, and sink still struggling to ascend.  
So did these Being's of a Heavenly Race,  
Fall from the Regions of their Native Place.  
Still working up, they sunk in Pain and Toil,  
For downwards thrown, their Natures still recoil.  
So difficults an Angels Fall, and thus  
Sinkings to them, what rising is to us.   

But who has Strength t'oppose th' Almighty's Hand,  
Who can against his deadly Terrors stand?  
He with a single Word, an angry Frown,  
Subdued this Host, and cast them headlong down.  
Confounded, and amazed they sink, and all  
heavens Plagues, and Wrath, pursued them in their Fall.  
Here they must lie far from the Coasts of Bliss,  
Chained in the Dungeons of the dark Abyss.  
Where now they feel what Guilt's Demerits are,  
Weltering in Fire, and tortured with Despair.  
How much they curse the sad Exchange, black Night,  
And endless Death, for Heavenly joy and Light.  
Sunk deep in liquid Fire they list their Eyes,  
Red both with Heat and Anguish, to the Skies.  
Then rave aloud, to think what Joys they've lost,  
To think how dear their bold Rebellion cost.  
Nor is the Change of these two Dwellings such,  
So great, but they themselves, are changed as much.  
See how deformed they are, to what before,  
Stripped of the Glory that in Heaven they wore.  
How much they look too like their guilty State,  
How foul, and how unlike themselves of late.  
Such fatal Changes one bold Crime can make,  
heavens lost, nay more left for a burning Lake.   

Man's Crime th' Infernal Gates did open lay,  
And raised, and paved, a broad and easy Way;  
Leading across the Gulf from Earth to Hell,  
Where now, lost Men, with impious Spirits dwell.  
A Way that's thronged with mighty Crowds of those,  
That for Delight and Ease, this Passage chose.  
In Sports and Mirth they journey on, and find  
All the Delights that please a Vicious Mind.  
The Way's so wondrous smooth, so prone and broad,  
They rather fall, than travel down this Road.  
But how surprising is their Journey's End,  
To what dire Seats does this smooth Passage tend?  
Down to th' Infernal Gulf they sporting glide,  
Born on enchanting Pleasures wanton Tide.  
A sad Exchange they meet, outrageous Seas  
Of Sulphurous Fire, for Luxury and Ease.  
In Darkness chained, on flaming Billows tossed,  
Too late they find themselves for ever lost,  
Hopeless they rave, and Curse the easy Way,  
That did their Feet to these sad Realms betray.   

Hither the damned, the final Sentence passed,  
With Cherubs bright, revenging Swords are chased.  
Pursued with everlasting Wrath, they take  
Their woeful Refuge, in the burning Lake.  
Transfixed on unextinguished Fire they lie,  
Burn without Waste, without expiring die.  
Those Agonies, those Terrors here they know,  
That from a self-revenging Conscience flow.  
Gripped with the sad Remembrance of their Sin,  
They feel the Stygian Viper gnaw within.  
With deadly Stings, th' Almighty wounds their Hearts,  
And in their Breasts sticks deep his Fiery Darts.  
Along their Veins tempestuous Vengeance rolls,  
Pouring Despair, and Horror on their Souls.  
Who can with everlasting Burnings dwell,  
And bear the Gild, and Punishment of Hell?  
What Strength or Courage can support the Load  
Of Wrath inflicted by th' Almighty God?   

Hear how the Damned devoured with Plagues, begin  
To Curse aloud their Judge, Themselves, their Sin.  
Transported with their Anguish, Grief, and Shame,  
They gnash their Teeth, and bite the raging Flame.  
Then sunk in deep Despair, such Sighs they breathe,  
Such dismal Groans, that but to hear, is Death.  
A secret Fire their Breasts, like Aetna, feed,  
And like that too, do their own Thunder breed.  
Their Hellish Nature it's own punishment,  
Is a worse Plague, than Furies can invent.  
Their Lusts, like Vultures, tear their inward parts,  
And never-ceasing Torments, rend their Hearts.  
Their vicious Appetites, not yet destroyed,  
Still crave the Pleasures, they on Earth enjoyed.  
Though those are gone, the fierce, untamed Desire  
Remains, and burns worse than their Lake of Fire.  
But what's the most afflicting Plague of Hell,  
With all these Woes, they must for ever dwell.  
For Ever! fatal State, for Ever! who  
Can bear the Doom of Everlasting Woe?  
What deadly Pangs, what fierce Convulsions rend  
Their Breasts, who know their Pains shall never end.  
How the despairing Damned cry out, is this  
The place we chose, instead of Heavenly Bliss?  
Is this black Prison, these tormenting Chains,  
This Lake of Fire, and these Eternal Pains,  
The dismal Recompense our Crimes afford,  
And must we thus cursed, tortured, and abhorred,  
In these consuming Flames, these Torments lie,  
To all the Ages of Eternity?  
Cursed be the fatal Crimes, that we obeyed,  
That stole our Hearts, and have our Lives betrayed.  
Cursed be the transient false Delights that showed  
The Charms, that we so greedily pursued;  
Till down the steepy Precipice, we fell  
Into this deep Abyss of Death, and Hell;  
Cursed be the treacherous Joys, that leave us now  
Doomed to Despair, lost in Eternal Wo.   

He ended, Hoel highly pleased, expressed  
The grateful Sense, that filled his joyful Breast.  
Methinks he cried, I view th' Infernal Caves,  
And see the damned float on the raging Waves  
In the dire Lake, where flaming Brimstone rolls,  
And hear the dismal Groans of tortured Souls.  
Then looking up, I see the Blessed above,  
Dissolved in Raptures of Eternal Love.  
I seem to view their bright, triumphant Throngs,  
And hear their Harps, and sweet Harmonious Songs.  
Then he the Briton various questions asks,  
Who with great Joy performs the pious Tasks,  
He teaches sacred mysteries yet behind,  
And stamps the Christian Image on his Mind.    

Prince Arthur.  
BOOK IU.  

IN such divine Discourse, on things sublime,  
The Royal Pair with Pleasure passed their Time.  
Now the day wears, the Sunbeams faintly bound,  
And taller Shadows stretch along the ground.  
Advanced, the rising Eminence they gain,  
That gave full prospect o'er the fertile Plain,  
Where the Imperial Seat of Hoel stands,  
And all the Soil and Towns around, commands.  
Fair Liger the Armoric Region's Pride,  
Does through the Vale in smooth Meanders glide,  
And rolls his Silver Volumes by its side.  
Here the Nannetian Heroes did of old,  
For Arms and Wisdom famed, the Sceptre hold.  
Arthur the Structures height, and Pomp admires,  
The lofty Walls, strong Towers, and glittering Spires.  
He views the rich and fruitful Region round,  
Where wanton Nature sat in pleasure crowned,  
Scattering with lavish Bounty on the Soil,  
Riches and Joys, without the Owner's Toil.   

To Martial Sports by thirst of Honour led,  
The active Youth o'er all the Fields are spread.  
Some of robuster Limbs advance their Name  
In wrestling Rings, the famed Olympic Game.  
Some rain their managed Steeds with manly grace,  
Some swift in running strain to win the Race.  
Some hurling ponderous Balls their Fellows brave,  
Some twang the Bow, and some the Colours wave.  
But all desert their Games, and Warlike sport,  
And round the Kings, run shouting to the Court.  
Which was an ancient, stately Pile, that stood  
On the sweet Banks of Liger's peaceful Flood.  
Alighted here, th' Armoric Prince expressed,  
All signs of welcome to his Royal Guest.  
He leads him to a fair and spacious Room,  
Hung with rich Pieces, from the finest Loom.  
Rare Workmanship, where famed Sydonian Art  
Did all her Force, and happy Strokes impart.  
Each piece fresh Pleasure, and new Wonder feeds,  
Filled with th' Armoric Kings Heroic Deeds.  
Their great Exploits in single Combat done;  
The Towns they conquered, and the Fields they won.  
Pleased with the Skill, and Story, Arthur stands,  
And much of this, and much of that, demands.   

Mean time, within a Supper they prepare,  
With great Magnificence, and Regal Fare.  
Strong, brawny Servants sweat, and panting strode,  
O'erburdened with the Meats unwieldy Load.  
The Ivory Tables groan beneath the weight  
Of high piled Dishes, all of massy Plate,  
In decent Order set, and Princely State.  
All things appear, that curious search can find,  
Or in the Finny, or the Feathered Kind:  
That Hills, or ransacked Forests can impart,  
Profusely heaped, set off with costly Art.  
Of Polished Gold Capacious Goblets shine,  
With sparkling Stones enriched, and sparkling Wine.  
Delicious Fruit crowned with fresh Laurel stood  
In lofty Pyramids, a golden Wood  
Great Lights in silver Sconces placed on high,  
Shine round the Room, and more than Day supply.  
The Kings both sat, the Britons take their place,  
The other side th' Armoric Captain's grace.  
Cheerful and highly pleased they Sat, and Eat,  
And now the Art they praise, and now the Meat.  
Choice Instruments, some Strung, and some of Wind  
Were heard, in sweet melodious Consort joined  
The lively Oboe, and the sweet-mouthed Flute,  
The sprigtly Violin, and warbling Lute;  
With the sonorous Viol, mingling sound,  
Soft Airs, and Heavenly Harmony compound.   

But that which Arthur with most pleasure heard,  
Were noble Strains, by Mopas sung the Bard,  
Who to his Harp in lofty Verse began;  
And through the secret Maze of Nature ran.  
He the great Spirit sung, that all things filled,  
That the tumultuous Waves of Chaos stilled.  
Whose Nod disposed the jarring Seeds to Peace,  
And made the Wars of hostile Atoms cease.  
All Being's we in fruitful Nature find,  
Proceeded from the great Eternal Mind;  
Streams of his unexhausted Spring of Power,  
And cherished with his Influence, endure.  
He spread the pure Cerulean Fields on high,  
And Arched the Chambers of the Vaulted Sky.  
Which he, to suit their Glory with their height,  
Adorned with Globes, that reel, as drunk with Light.  
His Hand directed all the rolling Spheres,  
He turned their Orbs, and polished all the Stars.  
He filled the Sun's vast Lamp with golden Light,  
And bid the silver Moon, adorn the Night.  
He spread the Airy Ocean without Shores,  
Where Birds are wafted with their feathered Oars.  
Through the transparent Deep light Vapours rise  
From the warm Earth, and cloud the smiling Skies.  
He sung how some chilled in their Airy flight,  
Fall scattered down in pearly Dew by Night.  
How some raised higher, sit in secret Steams  
On the reflected points of bounding Beams;  
Till chilled with Cold, they Shade th' Etherial Plain,  
Then on the thirsty Earth descend in Rain.  
How some, whose parts a slight Contexture show,  
Sink hovering through the Air, in fleecy Snow.  
How part is spun in silken Threads, and Clings  
Entangled in the Grass in glewy Strings.  
How others stamped to Stones, with rushing sound  
Fall from their Crystal Quarries, to the ground.  
How some are laid in Trains, that kindled fly  
In harmless Fires by Night, about the Sky.  
How some in Winds blow with impetuous Force,  
And carry Ruin where they bend their Course.  
While some conspire to form a gentle Breez,  
To fan the Air, and play among the Trees.  
How some enraged grow turbulent, and loud,  
Penned in the Bowels of a frowning Cloud;  
That cracks, as if the Axis of the World  
Was broke, and heavens bright Towers were downwards hurled.  
He sung how Earth's wide Ball at Jove's Command,  
Did in the midst on Airy Columns stand.  
And how the Soul of Plants, in Prison held,  
And bound with sluggish Fetters lies concealed,  
Till with the Spring's warm Beams almost released  
From the dull weight, with which it lay oppressed,  
Its Vigour spreads, and makes the teeming Earth  
Heave up, and labour with the sprouting Birth:  
The active Spirit freedom seeks in vain,  
It only works and twists a stronger Chain.  
Urging its Prison's sides to break away,  
It makes that wider, where 'tis forced to stay.  
Till having formed its living House, it rears  
Its Head, and in a tender Plant appears.  
Hence springs the Oak, the Beauty of the Grove,  
Whose stately Trunk, fierce Storms can scarcely move.  
Hence grows the Cedar, hence the swelling Vine  
Does round the Elm its purple Clusters twine.  
Hence painted Flowers the smiling Gardens bless,  
Both with their fragrant Scent, and gaudy Dress.  
Hence the white Lily in full Beauty grows,  
Hence the blue Violet, and blushing Rose.  
He sung how Sunbeams brood upon the Earth,  
And in the Glebe hatch such a numerous Birth.  
Which way the genial warmth in Summer Storms,  
Turns putrid Vapours, to a Bed of Worms.  
How Rain transformed by this prolific Power,  
Falls from the Clouds, an animated Shower.  
He sung the Embryo's growth within the Womb,  
And how the Parts their various Shapes assume.  
With what rare Art the wondrous Structure's wrought,  
From one crude Mass to such Perfection brought,  
That no part useless, none misplaced we see,  
None are forgot, and more would Monstrous be.   

Such was the Splendour of King Hoel's Feast,  
Which ended, Arthur strait retires to rest.  
Hoel not so, but with the Britons sat,  
Ask of Albion's past, and present State.  
Much he inquires of their intestine Jars,  
Much of the Picts, and of the Saxon Wars.  
At last, requested Lucius to relate,  
Prince Arthur's Story, and King Uter's Fate.  
Lucius began, the rest attentive wait.   

How sad a task do your Commands impose,  
That must renew unsufferable Woes?  
That must our Grief with fresh Affliction feed,  
And make your generous Heart with pity bleed.  
Whilst I the dismal Scene of Ills disclose,  
And bleeding Albion's ghastly Wounds expose.  
The cruel Foes in telling would relent,  
And with their Tears, the Spoils they caused, lament.  
Pity would Picts and Saxon Breasts invade,  
And make them mourn, o'er the dire Wounds they made.  
But since you're pleased to hear our Country's Fate,  
I'll pay Obedience, and our Woes relate.   

Great Empires, like their Founders, Mortal are,  
And the sad marks of Age, and Sickness bear.  
Their strong Foundations mouldering wear away,  
And sapped by Time's devouring Teeth, decay.  
Triumphant Rome, with Pomp and Grandeur crowned,  
Proudly surveyed the Conquered World around.  
The Cold and Burning Zone obeyed her Arms,  
And either Pole trembled at her Alarms.  
Where Storms can beat, or angry Billows foam,  
Where Sails can fly, or savage Beasts can roam,  
Proud Tyber's swelling Tide no Banks withstood,  
That o'er the Globe rolled her Victorious Flood.  
To so sublime a pitch of Power and Fame,  
Rome's wise and valiant Sons advanced her Name.  
Sons, that she bore when vigorous Youth did crown  
Her Limbs with Beauty, and with Strength full grown.  
Enervated with Age and Vice at last,  
She found her Strength, and Youthful Vigour waste.  
Decrepit grown, a puny withered Race  
Feeble of Head and Arms, her Womb disgrace.  
Of all her Romans, Rome remains bereft,  
Old Names alone, with modern Vices left.  
The Noble Scipios, and brave Caesar's gone,  
A starv'ling Brood puts their great Titles on.  
Her Legions now can no new Triumphs sing,  
Her molting Eagles hang their sickly Wing.  
To break her Yoke the Provinces rebel,  
Those she invaded, now she can't repel.  
Fierce Northern Storms chastise old Tyber's Pride,  
And to its Banks chase the retreating Tide;  
Loud, foaming Torrents, from high Scythian Hills,  
From bleaky Continents, and frozen Isles,  
In one vast Sea combined, come pouring down  
And Rome's fair Cities, and rich Valleys drown.  
A barbarous Flood of Vandals, Goths, and Hunns,  
Their Banks broke down, the Provinces overruns.  
As a tall Oak that Young and Verdant, stood  
Above the Grove, itself a Nobler Wood  
His wide extended Limbs the Forest drowned,  
Shading its Trees, as much, as they, the Ground.  
Young, murmuring Tempests in his Boughs are bred,  
And gathering Clouds frown round his lofty Head.  
Outrageous Thunder, stormy Winds, and Rain  
Discharge their Fury, on his Head, in vain.  
Earthquakes below, and lightning from above  
Rend not his Trunk, nor his fixed Root remove:  
But then his Strength worn by destructive Age  
He can no more his angry Foes engage,  
He spreads to Heaven his naked, withered Arms  
As Aid imploring, from invading Harms.  
From his dishonoured Head the slightest Storm  
Can tear its Beauties, and his Limbs deform.  
He rocks with every Wind, while on the ground  
Dry Leaves, and broken Arms lie scattered round.  
So Rome decayed.  
Britannia's warlike Youth on this pretence,  
Is called off from her own, to Rome's defence.  
Till the exhausted, weak, deserted Isle,  
Tempted fierce Neighbours, to an easy Spoil.  
Britannia of her Valiant Son's bereft,  
Exposed to every Ravisher is left.  
The savage Foes, that did her Anger dread,  
And from her Arms, to wild's and Mountains fled,  
Now leave the Coverts, where they skulking stayed,  
And roaring out, th' unguarded Land invade.  
A cruel Rout of Northern Scots, and Picts,  
The direful marks of barbarous Rage inflicts.  
Their Arms from Blood and Ravage never cease,  
Where once they basely crouched, and fawned for Peace.  
Wide Ruin, Desolation, Rapine, Spoil  
Rage in the Bowels of th' unhappy Isle.  
So Wolves, the faithful Mastiffs gone, grow bold,  
And fiercely leap into th' unguarded Fold.  
The trembling Flock they seize with eager Claws,  
And tear their mangled Limbs with ravening Jaws.  
Till they stand panting with th' uneasy load,  
Overcloyed with Carnage, and oppressed with Blood.   

Britannia thus dishonoured, spoiled, distressed,  
And by her proud, insulting Foes oppressed,  
Is forced of stronger Neighbours to implore  
That Aid and Help, she used to lend before.  
Urged by her Fate, and hard Necessity,  
She dreads th' Expedient, that she's forced to try.  
Hard fate of Princes, that to prop their State  
Oppressed and sinking, heap on greater weight!  
Fatal Distemper, where we seek for Ease  
From Drugs, more dangerous than the sharp Disease.   

A Warlike Race in frozen Climates bred,  
Leaving their wild's, by Valiant Captains led,  
A fertile Soil, and milder Regions sought,  
And won the happy Seats for which they fought.  
Bold by Success, that waited on their Arms,  
They still advanced in thick, Victorious Swarms.  
Till Seas as wild, opposed their Torrent's Force,  
And watery Banks restrained their rapid Course.  
They stretched their Seats along the Belgian Coast,  
No Soil, can more of Nature's Favour boast.  
No Region's blest with more Indulgent Beams,  
With fatter Glebe, with more, or sweeter Streams.  
The Warlike Saxons here their Empire reered,  
With Plenty crowned, and by their Neighbours feared.   

King Vortigern unable to oppose  
The barbarous Picts, and fierce Albanian Foes,  
With humble Language, and rich Presents prayed  
This mighty Nation, to afford him Aid.  
The Saxon Princes with his prayer complied,  
Britannia was too fair, to be denied.  
As Friends they landed on our naked Coasts,  
And still poured on their fresh, unnumbered Hosts.  
They chased indeed the barbarous Picts away,  
But seized, themselves, the Kingdom as their Prey.  
The Lion's Title to the Crown they plead,  
As Friends received, as Conquerors obeyed.  
No more let States vexed with Intestine Wars,  
Call in great Princes to compose their Jars.  
What Britons by their sad Deliverance won,  
Was by a stronger Foe, to be undone.  
'Tis true, oppressed, they did their Wrongs resent,  
But 'twas too late, their Counsels to repent.  
Britannia's weak, precarious King obey  
The proud Protector's Arbitrary Sway.  
Our Forts, and Navies, and the chief Commands,  
Were, on Pretence of Caution, in their Hands.  
Th' insatiate Leeches do for ever crave,  
And for their Service, ask us, all we have.  
Our strength is spent, and barbarous Avarice  
Draws all our Wealth into her deep Abyss.  
Rapine and Murder all our Cities fill,  
Our haughty Friends take leave to Spoil and Kill.  
These dire Protectors armed with Lawless Power,  
The Plowman's Hopes, and Merchant's Gains devour.  
What we prepare, the ravenous Harpys eat,  
And from our frighted Children tear their Meat.  
We starve and die, while they possess our Food,  
Grow Sleek with Ease, and Fat with Spoil and Blood.  
Villains dishonour Virgins in our sight;  
And bloody Ruffians break our Doors by Night.  
To seek redress, and of our wrongs complain,  
Was but to add Derision to our Pain.  
How bitter then were sad Britannia's Moans,  
What deep fetched Sighs were heard, what deadly Groans?  
Betrayed and ruined by a treacherous Friend,  
We saw the Error that we could not mend.  
We cursed our Folly, but we cursed too late,  
And all that our mistake should imitate.  
We wished ten Thousands Woes and Plagues might light  
On their cursed Heads, that should again invite  
Victorious Kings, with Foreign Arms to bless  
Their Native Country, and their Wrongs redress,  
They'll readily assist your Cause, and fight  
To do, to injured States, and Princes, Right.  
But still they keep, what by their Arms, is won,  
Great Monarches conquer for themselves alone.  
They want a fair Pretente to seize the Prey,  
They come as Friends, but will as Masters stay.  
Thus Albion fared, may Heaven her Sons restrain,  
From splitting on this fatal Rock again.   

In vain we strove to break the servile Yoke,  
Our impotent Attempts new Wrongs provoke.  
At last, no greater Evils left to fear,  
We took fresh Hope, and Courage from Despair.  
Fury from Ruin sprung raged in our Veins,  
And Death's seemed lighter than the Saxon Chains.  
Each freeborn Briton thought the Choice more brave,  
To die their Victim, than to live their Slave.  
We that could ne'er the Tyrant's Yoke endure,  
Boyl with Revenge, now Slaves to Foreign Power.  
King Uter's Breast swells with distracting Rage;  
Whose wounded Soul, no Language could assuage.  
Ashamed his Country's Freedom to outlive,  
He takes the Councils, Grief and Fury give.  
His Knights together called attentive wait,  
While Uter sits on his high Chair of State.  
His troubled Looks revealed his inward Wound,  
And Storms of Fury on his Forehead frowned.   

Who thus began, you see what Tides of woe,  
What angry Seas o'er all your Country flow.  
Th' insulting Saxon claims our Land, and draws  
From greater power, the Justice of his Cause.  
Through all our Towns our Foes triumphant ride,  
Wearing their awful Title by their side.  
They shed your Blood, and helpless Maids deflower,  
Exhaust your Treasure, and your Land devour.  
A faithless Nation, that no Rule of Right  
Reveres as Sacred, but superior Might.  
We oft our Fate in bloody Fields have tried,  
But Heaven has victory, to our Arms denied.  
Egyptian Plagues lay waste our ruin'd Land,  
No Moses here, holds his controlling Wand.  
Humbly invoked Heaven will perhaps relent,  
And of its fierce, accustomed wrath repent.  
Perhaps the Saxons Crimes with louder Cries,  
For greater Vengeance importune the Skies.  
Let us however make one strong Effort more,  
Our Country's Peace, and Freedom to restore.  
We'll take the Field, 'twill gain us greater Fame,  
To perish there, then here, with Grief and Shame.  
My British Heart can't brook th' Inglorious Chain,  
I'll fall with Honour, or with Honour reign.   

Tumultuous Passions, Wrath, Revenge, and Shame  
Invade our Breasts, and our galled Souls inflame.  
Straight, with one Voice we all for Arms declare,  
And every Breast already feels the War.  
Resolved to make the vanquished Saxons fly,  
Or in the just and brave Attempt to die.  
With Fury urged, we part from Uter's sight,  
Resolved for Freedom, and our Native Right.  
Through all the Towns we spread the loud Alarm,  
And animated all our Men to Arm,  
To vindicate their ravished Country's cause,  
To banish Foreign Gods, and Foreign Laws.  
'Tis strange, how soon the Britons Blood was fired,  
What Life and Hope their drooping Hearts inspired.  
They saw fair Liberty extended lie,  
The Saxon Whips and Torments lying by.  
They view her squalid Face, exhausted Veins,  
And beauteous Limbs eat in, with rusty Chains.  
They heard her mournful Groans, and piercing Cries,  
Her interrupted Sobs, and dying Sighs.  
They saw from gaping Wounds the gushing Blood  
every the Pavement, with a noble Flood.  
While Pity, Mercy, Hope in Sorrow drowned  
To finish the sad Scene, stood weeping round.  
The Britons rave, resolving her defence,  
And vow her Rescue at their Blood's expense.  
In Albion this fair Emp'ress still obeyed,  
An uncontested Sceptre ever swayed.  
As Universal Soul she Life diffused,  
And Warmth to all the heaving Mass infused.  
She ever gave to all true Britons Hearts  
More Vigour, than their own warm Blood imparts.  
'Tis quick'ning Liberty, that gives us Breath,  
Her Absence more, than that of Life, is Death.  
Such love to Liberty the Britons show,  
Such were her Charms, and may they still be so.  
May never Briton ceasing to be Brave,  
Submit his Neck, content to be a Slave.  
May those be doubly cursed that would betray  
Their Country's Freedom, to a Foreign Sway.   

Our Men enraged, in numerous Bodies meet,  
Arm, Arm, was heard the Cry in every Street:  
The Ploughman hastens to a nobler Toil,  
Unyokes his Ox, and leaves untilled the Soil.  
Abandons all his Hopes, and rustic Care,  
Lays down his Goad, and shakes the warlike Spear.  
The Tradesman quits his Shop, and takes the Field,  
And makes his thirst of Gain, to thirst of Honour yield.  
Armed Tenants crowd about their Valiant Lords,  
And full of Courage, wave their threatening Swords.  
Near Sorbiodunums stately Walls, a Town  
For Strength and Beauty, of the first Renown,  
Whose spacious Plains rich Seas of waving Corn,  
And lowing Herds, and woolly Flocks adorn;  
Our Universal Rendezvous was set,  
Where all our Squadrons, and Battalions met.   

Mean time the Cautious Saxon was alarmed,  
And to dispel the gathering Tempest, armed.  
Octa the famous Hengist's Son, a bold  
And warlike Prince, did then the Sceptre hold.  
Hengist that did the first our Land invade,  
And brought to Albion his destructive Aid.  
The Fifth from mighty Odin, whose great Name,  
Had tired the flaggy Wings of weary Fame.  
The Stock, from which a Race Illustrious springs  
Of numerous Hero's, and Victorious Kings.  
That founded Empires, and that living led  
Their Conquering Armies, and their God, when dead.  
They soon the Hills by their long Marches gain,  
And with their Troops overspread the spacious Plain.  
We with their hasty March alarmed, prepare  
To guard our Camp, and wait th' approaching War.  
Our Parties now in rude Rencounters tried  
Their Courage, still th' advantage on our side.  
Th' advancing Host at last appeared in sight,  
But Toil and wearing Day, deferred the Fight.   

Now Night advancing, draws her Sable Train  
Along the Air, and Shades th' Etherial Plain.  
King Uter with his Lords in Council sat,  
Things of th' important Juncture to debate.  
Where Measures were concerted to oppose  
With warlike Arts, and Force, th' impending Foes.  
Their Provinces the great Commanders share,  
And from the Council to their Posts repair.  
Where they their Troops dispose, and Orders give,  
How the Invading Saxon to receive.  
Encamped we lay on advantageous Ground,  
With strong Entrenchments, and high Works around.  
Our cheerful Troops great Joy and Courage show,  
And from the Works defy the powerful Foe.  
All things disposed with Military Care,  
We wait in Arms, th' approach of Day and War.   

Now did the Morn disclose her smiling Ray,  
And from the East let forth th' important Day.  
To bloody Labour all things did invite,  
And sounding Trumpets Martial Heat excite.  
heavens starry Roof resounds with warlike Noise,  
With Horse's Thunder, and their Rider's Voice.  
The Saxons and the Britons stand prepared,  
Those to Attack, and these, their Posts to Guard.  
King Octa leads his numerous Army on,  
And at their Head in dazzling Armour shone.  
Drawn on the Right our ranged Battalions stood,  
Our Left a River Guards, the Rear, a Wood  
Octa here makes his warlike Columns halt,  
Detaching Horsa to begin th' Assault.  
Whose chosen Troops a furious Onset make,  
With no less Bravery, ours sustained th' Attack.  
They mount our Works, and our high Ramparts Scale,  
And with projected Fires our Men Assail.  
Our Troops unbroken stout Resistance make,  
And always forced th' Invading Saxon back.  
As when a Mould repels th' Invading Seas,  
Protects the Ships, and gives the Harbour Peace.  
The foaming Tempest on high Billows rides,  
And Storms with watty Troops, it's lofty Sides.  
Th' unshaken Structure all their Fury braves,  
And stops the Current of th' Insulting Waves,  
The angry Seas break on th' Opposing Shore,  
And beaten back with Indignation roar.  
No less unmoved our Valiant Britons stood,  
Against the Insults of the Saxon Flood.  
Fresh Bodies still poured on, their loss supply,  
But still Repulsed, they from our Trenches fly.  
Enraged, about our Lines King Octa flew,  
To find where best he might th' Assault renew.  
To see what place lay most exposed, and where  
Our Troops did on the Works but thin appear.  
As when a Wolf pinched by Nocturnal Cold,  
And Hunger-starved, scours round the lofty Fold.  
He licks his rabid Jaws, and seems possessed  
Already of his Prey, and bloody Feast.  
He offers oft to enter, while the Lambs  
Affrighted, tremble round their bleating Dams.  
So Octa thirsts for Blood, and scouring round,  
Surveys our Lines, and well observes the Ground.  
Now with fresh Rage his Troops our Walls ascend,  
Which we with Showers of Darts and Stones defend.  
What Shouts, what noise of Arms the Air confound?  
What Ruin, what slain Heaps deform the ground?  
The Earth grows slippery all distained with Blood,  
Which fills the Ditches with a Crimson Flood.  
The Dead make Bulwarks, which the living Climb,  
That in the Air, rise like our Walls, sublime.  
Overpowered and weakened by the Men they lost,  
And Faint with Toil, the Britons quit their Post.  
Thrice the Invading Saxon forced our Lines,  
And to their Arms, thrice Victory inclines.  
The Valiant Uter that had still withstood  
Their fiercest Troops, all smeared with Dust and Blood.  
Who still to Posts of greatest danger flew,  
And with unerring Arms their Squadrons slew.  
Who spread fresh Life and Vigour where he came,  
And in our Breasts renewed the Martial Flame.  
For where we saw his shining Arms appear,  
Our Men revived, and strait forgot to fear;  
Observing his disordered Troops retired,  
His boiling Soul distracting Passion fired.  
He spurs his furious Steed, and Thundering through  
The thickest Ranks of the Victorious Foe,  
Stay, foolish Britons, stay, he cries from far,  
Save yet your Country, and renew the War.  
Come follow me your King, I'll lead you on,  
And chase the Saxons from the Posts they've won.  
The Britons Hearts were touched with generous shame,  
Love to their Country, and to Martial Fame,  
With noble Ardour does their Souls inflame.  
Their Leaders Rally all the Troops that fled,  
And Charge the Foe, King Uter at their Head.  
With unresisted Fury they Attack  
The Saxon Troops, resolved to force them back.   

Now what Destruction, what wide Ruin reign,  
What heaps of slaughtered Saxons load the Plain?  
Now armed with hissing Death thick Arrows flew,  
And outstretched Arms as fatal javelins threw.  
Then what vast Havoc did the Sword employ?  
What Troops did Uter's single Hand destroy?  
What severed Limbs lay scattered on the ground,  
What Streams of Blood gush from each ghastly wound,  
What Shields and Spears in the red Deluge drowned?   

Here first brave Arthur did his Courage prove,  
His Age then fitter, for the Field of Love.  
Godlike his Face, and Godlike was his Mind,  
To virtuous Deeds, and warlike Games inclined.  
The Down-of-Manhood on his Face appears,  
And blooming Beauty graced his youthful years.  
Yet wise and manly, far beyond his Age,  
His early Deeds the Hero did presage.  
Till now the Woods and Forests were his Joy,  
Where he the Savage Kind strove to destroy,  
That did the Herds, and bleating Flocks annoy.  
He chased the Fox, the ravenous Wolf and Bear  
His Country's Pest, died by his fatal Spear.  
The People blest him, as a Saviour sent,  
And thought kind Heaven, some great deliverer meant.  
He ne'er before had braced the Helmet on,  
Nor in the Field in polished Armour shone.  
His Sword had ne'er been stained with humane Gore,  
Nor had he gripped the Shield, or Gauntlet wore  
His Country's Cause, and Military Fame,  
Invite the Youth to chase a nobler Game.  
No more his thoughts his rural Sports pursue,  
Tyrants and savage Men he'll now subdue.  
For warlike Toil he leaves the gameful Wood,  
And fleshed his Courage first in Saxon Blood.  
The greatest Captains the brave Youth esteemed,  
He fought like Mars, though Mercury he seemed.  
Like some fair Cherub, or the Beamy God,  
He waved his flaming Sword, and through their Squadrons road.  
His youthful Veins Heroic Ardour fired,  
And more than humane Force his Breast inspired,  
For the great Deeds his fatal Arms achieved,  
Were by th' amazed Spectators scarce believed.   

At last amidst the Foe advanced too far  
Alone he long sustained th' unequal War.  
Surrounding Throngs the fainting Youth oppressed,  
And Showers of Death flew pointed at his Breast.  
His weary Arm supports his Shield with Pain,  
And his bruised Armour Streams of Blood distain.  
Here the young Hero had been crushed, and all  
Our Hopes and Joy had perished in his Fall;  
Had not brave Malgo a Dimetian Chief,  
Forced the thick Foes, and flown to his Relief.  
Then, when the warlike Youth was most distressed,  
And Elfrick's Sword was falling on his Crest  
With dreadful Sway, Malgo its Fury broke,  
And on his Shield received the mighty Stroke.  
The Prince thus guarded from the fatal Blow,  
Bold Malgo's Spear transfixed th' audacious Foe.  
Grovelling in Death he murmured on the Ground,  
And poured his Life out, from his gaping Wound.   

Here Vortipor advancing did attack  
Their plying Troops, and forced the Saxon back.  
While Octa's wavering Men began to yield,  
And to pursuing Uter quit the Field.  
As when a Lion, that with Fury ran  
To seize by Night, some weary Caravan,  
That lay encamped on an Arabian wild,  
Repulsed by Fires, and of his Prey beguiled,  
With hideous Roar he raves at his Defeat,  
Oft stands, looks back, and makes a sour Retreat.  
King Octa's Soul like Indignation fired,  
That raving with his vanquished Men retired.  
But, oh, how soon was this serener Day  
By Clouds, and rising Tempests chased away?  
How short a space could we our Conquest boast,  
How soon were all our Hopes of Freedom lost?   

Won by the potent Charms of Saxon Gold,  
Carvil his Prince, and Native Country sold.  
He in Indulgent Uter's Bosom lay,  
And did the Secrets of his Breast betray.  
He on his Conduct, and his Faith relied,  
In Peace and War alike his treacherous Guide.  
He held the most important Trusts of State,  
Nor could his Treason's Uter's Love abate.  
Unhappy Prince, that still his Foes believed,  
Only by Ruin to be undeceived!  
To Friends ingrate, his Foes be entertained,  
Thus lost the one, but not the other gained.  
Wisely undone, he knew his Friends too late,  
By his own Prudence managed to his Fate.  
Our Prayers and Warnings tired his Ears in vain,  
perfidious Councils only could obtain.  
Rough Truth, and loyal Bluntness galled his Ear,  
That only soft, melodious Sounds could bear.  
His firm and loyal Friends, though hardly used,  
Looked on enraged, to see their Prince abused.  
Though some grown cold, ceased to lament his Fate,  
For Will and Choice, Compassion still abate.  
Pity a Prince whose Virtues shone so bright,  
Should let so dark a Cloud obscure their Light!  
To him and us this Weakness fatal proved,  
That Men suspected were employed and loved.  
So Carvil was.  
Who laboured after Octa's late Retreat,  
To more than balance his, with our Defeat.  
The Traitor during all the bloody Day,  
Found not the Means, our Army to betray.  
But when the Sun drew off his radiant Train,  
And left the Empress of the Night to reign.  
Then Carvil opened his black Scene of Gild,  
Wherein such Seas of British Blood were spilt.  
He by confiding Hands to Octa sent,  
To let the Saxon know his dire Intent  
To give him Entrance to our Camp by Night,  
Whither his Arms he did with speed invite.  
Octa whose Arts and purchased Treasons won,  
More Towns and Battles, than his Sword had done.  
So fair a Season offered, not delayed,  
But straightway marched our Army to invade.  
Carvil mean time his Creatures had prepared,  
To yield the Posts, their Duty was to guard.  
Revolving Cynthia with her doubtful Light,  
Had now o'erpassed the Noon of wearing Night.  
When Octa's chosen Troops approached the Gate,  
Where to admit their Arms the Traitors wait.  
The furious Saxon strait our Camp invades,  
Beneath the Covert of the silent Shades.  
Their unexpected Arms our Men assail,  
Dissolved in Sleep, and wearied with their Toil.  
What Carnage now the raging Saxons make,  
Our Camp converted to a bloody Lake.  
They first the brave Dunwallo resting found,  
His Cuirass, Helm, and javelin lying round,  
And with their Spears transfixed him on the ground.  
His generous Soul flew upwards with Disdain,  
To be massacred, not in Battle slain.  
Morisso next with clattering Swords alarmed  
Waked with the Noise, but naked and unarmed  
His Side pierced through by Horsa's Javelin, fell  
Enraged he should his Life, so cheaply sell.  
Then Offa's Spear pierced Capor's Bosom through,  
His Soul to Heaven thro' the wide Passage flew,  
Leaving his Body drowned in purple Gore,  
None served his Prince, or loved his Country more.  
Edwal a Leader of unblemished Fame,  
Who from the Banks of fair Sabrina came  
Fell by Morino's Spear, and by his Side  
Brave Adomar, by Balda's Javelin died.  
Then Meirick in his Breast a fatal Wound  
Received, and lay extended on the Ground.  
Next cattle who excelled in youthful Charms;  
Was slain by great Romondo's conquering Arms,  
The glittering Steel did through his Bowels pass,  
The Youth expired, and with him Amel's Race.  
And now what Slaughter reigned, what Heaps of dead,  
What Ruin o'er the blood Camp was spread?   

Through the brown Shades at last, they found the way  
To the Pavilion, where King Uter lay.  
Who soon awakened with the Clamour, rose,  
And formed his Troops th' Invaders to oppose.  
Long their unequal Force he did repel,  
Till pierced by Cerdick's fatal Spear, he fell.  
Urged to retire, Arthur our Prayer withstood,  
Thou faint with Labour, Wounds and Loss of Blood:  
We pressed him our remaining Hopes to spare,  
And not of Albion's Fortune to despair.  
He does at last to our entreaties yield,  
And with Reluctant Steps forsakes the Field.  
We through the Wood retreated, where the shade  
With Cynthia's Rays, uncertain Twilight made.  
When the succeeding Day declined, we came  
To Alda's Gates, a Port of ancient Fame.  
Where we the Night in various Sorrows spent,  
Now Uter, now our Country we Lament.  
Just Catel's now, now great Dunwallo's Fate,  
And faithful Edwal's fall, fresh Grief create.   

While our sad Minds endured so rude a Storm,  
Entering the Room great Gabriel's Godlike Form,  
Mild Glory, and Celestial day diffused,  
Advanced, he these kind words to Arthur used.  
Now Albion sinks beneath the Saxon weight,  
So Heaven Decrees, 'tis so ordained by Fate.  
But after ten times the Revolving Sun,  
His Crooked Race, has through the Zodiac run,  
The Clouds dispelled, propitious Heaven shall smile,  
On Uter's House, and this reviving Isle.  
Octa shall feel just heavens revenging Stroke,  
And Albion's Youth shall break the Saxon Yoke.  
Mean time, brave Prince, whom universal Love  
Attends beneath, and Grace Divine above.  
To Neustrian Odar's Court with speed repair,  
Go, Albion's Hopes, and my great Trust and Care.  
Go, Albion's Hopes with Triumph to return,  
And Rescue those, that shall your absence mourn.  
That said, his Heavenly Glory he withdrew,  
And to th' Immortal Seats of Happy Spirits flew.   

Now the fair Morn smiles with a Purple Ray,  
Clearing before the Sun the Eastern Way.  
Whose radiant Train pours from the Gates of Light,  
And the new Day does to new Toil invite.  
We the Celestial Message to obey,  
On a stout Ship, that in the Haven lay  
Ready to Sail, embark and hast away.  
The Sky serene, a fresh and prosperous Gale,  
Sprang from the Shore, and swelled out every Sail.  
Albion's white Cliffs and Towers we quickly lost,  
Standing our Course straight to the Neustrian Coast.  
Where when the Sun twice starting from the East,  
Had ran his Race, and reached the falling West.  
We safe arrived at fair Cartinia's Port,  
And took our way from thence to Odar's Court.  
Other, a Prince indulgent, valiant, good,  
Allied to Uter by the Mother's Blood,  
The barbarous Goths Incursions, then withstood.  
His beauteous Queen with Joy the Prince received,  
Her Words our Grief, her Gifts our Wants relieved.  
Here we to ease our troubled Minds remained,  
Till Arthur perfect Strength and Vigour gained.  
Then taking leave we strait direct our way  
Unto the Camp, where Odar's Forces lay.   

And as we passed to mitigate our Grief,  
And to our Woes to give Divine Relief.  
From his blessed Tongue such Heavenly Language flows,  
As did the greatness of his Mind disclose.  
We thought some Godlike Cherub to us spoke,  
When from his Lips these high Expressions broke.  
heavens Offspring with divine Contentment blest,  
Enjoy the Empire of a guiltless Breast.  
Tho' spoiled by prosperous Robbers, still they find,  
The large Possessions of a peaceful Mind.  
Content alone can all their wrongs redress,  
Content, that other name for Happiness.  
Free from Desire, they are as free from want,  
And from the Cares, that envied Greatness haunt.  
'Tis equal, if our Fortunes should augment,  
And stretch themselves to the same vast Extent  
With our Desires, or those Desires abate,  
Shrink, and Contract themselves, to fit our State.  
Poised on their own unshaken Base they view,  
All the Vicissitudes, that Time can show.  
They, like tall Mountains, are advanced so high,  
That the low Clouds do all beneath them fly.  
Hence while loud Storm's inferior Seats molest,  
They undisturbed, enjoy soft Peace and Rest.  
These Men that suit their wishes to their State,  
And pleased still with themselves, enjoy their Fate:  
Whose modest Passions Reason's Nod obey,  
Are greater Kings, than those who Sceptres sway.  
They can the Triumphs of a Court despise,  
And the rich Toys, that charm deluded Eyes.  
They rather choose to tame their Thirst, than have  
All the Supplies their Feverish Drought can crave.  
Desires for Freedom first make humble Suit,  
And modestly demand th' unlawful Fruit.  
But when set loose, they know not where to stay,  
But lawless through the World's Dominions stray.  
So subterranean Vapours, that contained  
In some close Cavern, are with Ease restrained,  
When once released, ungovernable grow,  
And prove fierce Storms, that no Resistance know.  
Th' unhappy Man slave to his wild Desire,  
By feeding it, foments the raging Fire.  
His Gains augment his unextinguished Thirst,  
With Plenty Poor, and with Abundance Cursed.  
But greater Minds, that can themselves subdue,  
Preserve their Peace, and still their Joys renew.  
They never by a Vile, or Impious Course,  
Protect their Wealth, from rising Tempests force.  
They face the Storm, and stand its fiercest Shocks;  
Bold as the Winds, unshaken as the Rocks.  
No Tempest that invades th' ambitious Breast,  
Can the calm Region of their Mind molest.  
So Winds, that Rivulets disturb, will play  
In harmless Breezes, on the wider Sea.   

Sour Discontent that quarrels with our Fate,  
May give fresh smart, but not the old abate.  
Envenomed with its Sting each harmless loss,  
Grows wondrous sharp, and proves a deadly cross.  
Th' uneasy Passion's disingenuous Wit  
The Ill reveals, but hides the Benefit.  
It makes a Toy press with prodigious weight,  
And swells a Molehill, to a Mountain's height.  
So melancholy Men lie down, and groan,  
Pressed with the burden of themselves alone.  
Crushed with Fantastic Mountains they despair,  
Their Heads are grown vast Globes too big to bear.  
A little Spark becomes a raging Flame,  
And each weak Blast, a Storm too fierce to tame.  
So peevish is the quarrelsome Disease,  
No prosperous Fortune can procure it Ease.  
Their Breasts are ne'er from inbred Tempests free,  
Restless as Winds, and troubled as the Sea:  
The Pleasure now they seek would bring Content;  
But when enjoyed, 'twas somewhat else, they meant.  
Some absent Happiness they still pursue,  
Dislike the present Good, and long for New.  
The Man now thinks he sees his Bliss, and flies  
With greedy Arms to grasp the gaudy Prize.  
But then enquiring what his Hopes have won,  
Vain Man, he finds the cheating Shadow gone.  
Oft does the fair Illusion by him stand,  
But when pursued gives back, and mocks his hand.  
Sometimes he sees the beckoning Phantom here,  
That, when he follows, does elsewhere appear.  
The Wretch though Tantalized, and always crossed,  
Yet still pursues, though still that Labour's lost.  
The Godlike Arthur with such pious words,  
Divine Instruction, and Delight affords.   

And while his Language with a Heavenly Flame  
Thus warmed our Breasts, to Odar's Camp we came;  
Where to the Neustrian King the Prince addressed,  
Who all the highest Signs of Love expressed.  
The Royal Exile he embraced with Tears,  
And by these tender words himself endears.  
King Uter's Fall, your loss, and Albion's Fate,  
Wound me with Grief too mighty to relate.  
Long to Misfortunes, and great Wrongs inur'd,  
I pity those, that have like Ills endured.  
You are a Stranger here, but not your Name,  
Your early Worth is told aloud by Fame.  
Arthur's preserved to be the Saxons dread,  
And Rear oppressed Britannia's drooping Head.  
While you are safe, Britannia must revive,  
And Uter still in Valiant Arthur live.  
While you survive, King Octa's Fears remain,  
And Albion hopes to break her ponderous Chain.  
Heroes are for Heroic Deeds designed,  
And noble Work, attends a noble Mind  
Mean time, while here your Choice is to reside,  
No Succours, no Supplies shall be denied.  
And if your Britons banished from their home,  
Drawn by their Prince's Fame, shall hither come;  
Briton and Neustrian shall like Treatment find,  
I'll be to both, without Distinction, kind.  
And when mild Days shall your Return invite,  
My Arms shall Aid you, to assert your Right.   

The Prince replied:  
Divine Compassion melts your Royal Breast,  
And makes your Bounty flow on all distressed.  
Like Heaven, you Succours to th' Afflicted grant,  
Comfort their Sorrows, and supply their Want.  
You Crush Oppressors, to th' Oppressed are kind,  
Such generous Deeds reveal a Godlike Mind.  
O'er Uter's House the Saxon Power prevails,  
And sad Britannia her dire Fate bewails.  
The World's supreme Director so ordains,  
Hence in my Soul no murmuring Passion reigns.  
Pleased or Contented still I meet my Fate,  
Would not be Impious, though Unfortunate.  
Your generous Offer of Protection here,  
With such engaging Language, such an Air,  
As Love and Friendship seek out to Endear;  
Persuade, that here my Refuge is designed,  
Till Albion grows more Just, and Heaven more Kind.  
Here your Example shall my Mind prepare,  
For all the high Concerns of Peace and War.  
Till Albion call us back, I'll here remain,  
And in your Service shall grow fit to Reign:  
Here in the Camp the pious Briton stayed,  
To whom the Neustrian Chiefs great Honour paid.  
For his high Merit could not be concealed,  
His Valiant Deeds the Hero soon revealed.  
Loud Fame his Godlike Virtues did proclaim,  
And either Camp resounds with Arthur's Name.  
He still the Posts of highest Danger sought,  
And Death and victory followed, where he fought.  
When he advanced, the Goths unnumbered Swarms  
Fled from the Terror of his fatal Arms.  
Like Love and Wonder, Camp and Court express,  
That did the Hero, this the Saint confess.  
His Sword still won fresh Laurels in the Field,  
And to his Virtues even Court Vices yield.  
And 'tis more easy to reduce a Fort,  
Or win a Battle, then reform a Court.  
He the fixed Mounds of trembling Europe stood,  
And still repelled the Goths impetuous Flood.  
When he appeared, their Men, tho' fierce and bold,  
Grow I'll with Fear, as when at home with Cold.  
Through the admiring World his Fame was spread,  
The Christians Joy, and barbarous Nations Dread.  
Where gagged with Ice the Waves no longer roar,  
But with stiff Arms embrace the silent Shore.  
Where naked Hills in frozen Armour stand,  
Where raging Sirius Fries the thirsty Land,  
And rich Pactolus rolls his golden Sand;  
Thither his Triumphs and Illustrious Name,  
His generous Deeds, and loud Applauses came.  
His wondrous Virtues, wondrous Love engage,  
That reached Perfection, long before his Age.  
Other embraced him, as an Angel sent  
To guard his Throne, and threatened Fall prevent.  
He owned his bright Example did support,  
Th' esteem of Virtue in the Neustrian Court.  
Their Peace at home proceeded from his Care,  
And from his Courage their Success in War.  
When we, our hopes of sinking Albion lost,  
Made by Divine Command the Neustrian Coast,  
The Gothick Arms that Kingdom had overrun,  
Surprised their Forts, and fairest Cities won.  
All Banks born down, so high the Deluge rose,  
Before King Other could its Course oppose.  
'Twas then the young Deliverer Arthur came,  
To drive the Goths, and win Immortal Fame.  
He soon reduced the Cities, and restored  
A peaceful Country, to its peaceful Lord.   

Mean time the British Knights oppressed at home,  
Drawn by his Fame, to find a Leader come.  
So thick they Land, our Troops were numerous grown,  
And Arthur led an Army of his own.  
Ten times the Sun had passed his oblique way,  
By turns contracting, and increasing Day,  
Darting to either Pole a warmer Ray.  
And now the British Lords, who though oppressed  
The Western Region of their Isle possessed.  
Whither retreating they remained secure,  
And from their Hills defied the Saxon Power;  
Encouraged by his warlike Fame, invite  
The Valiant Arthur to assert his Right.  
To make a bold Descent upon their Coast,  
And win the Regions back that Uter lost.   

Ten chosen Orators were strait dispatched,  
The chief whose charming Tongue was never matched,  
Was the great Tylon, whose Immortal Worth,  
Raises to Heaven the Isle that gave him Birth.  
A sacred Man, a venerable Priest,  
Who never spoke, and Admiration mistress  
Of Good and Kind he the just Standard seemed,  
Dear to the Best, and by the worst esteemed.  
A generous Love diffused to Humane Kind,  
Divine Compassion, Mercy unconfined,  
Still reigned Triumphant in his Godlike Mind?  
Greatness and Modesty their Wars compose,  
Between them here a perfect Friendship grows.  
His Wit, his Judgement, Learning, equal rise,  
Divinely humble, yet Divinely Wise.  
He seemed Express on heavens high Errand sent,  
As Moses Meek, as Aaron Eloquent.  
Nectar Divine flows from his Heavenly Tongue,  
And on his Lips charming Persuasion hung.  
When he the sacred Oracles revealed,  
Our ravished Souls in blessed Enchantments held,  
Seemed lost in Transports of Immortal Bliss,  
No simple Man could ever speak like this.  
Armed with Celestial Fire his sacred Darts  
Glide through our Breasts, and melt our yielding Hearts.  
So Southern Breezes, and the Spring's mild Ray,  
Unbind the Glebe, and thaw the Frozen Clay.  
He triumphed o'er our Souls, and at his Will  
Bid this touched Passion rise, and that be still.  
Wolves, Tigers, grisly Lions did admire,  
As Poets feign, Orpheus' melodious Lyre.  
Charmed with sweet Tylon's Voice, a Kind more wild,  
More fierce and savage, grow divinely Mild.  
Lord of our Passions he with wondrous Art,  
Can strike the secret movements of our Heart;  
Release our Souls, and make them soar above,  
Winged with Divine Desires, and Flames of Heavenly Love.  
He still conveyed sublime, Seraphic Sense,  
In unaffected Strains of Eloquence.  
Easie and wonderful is all he says,  
Does both Delight, and Admiration raise.  
His pious Soul did in sad Accents mourn  
Britannia's Chains, and Pagan God's return.  
But hoped, kind Heaven would free, by Arthur's hand  
Of Barbarous Laws, and Gods, th' afflicted Land.  
With the great Tylon young Pollandor went,  
Famed for his Valour, and of high Descent.  
With these wise Galbut and Mordennan join,  
Whose Virtues vie with their Illustrious Line.  
Valiant Giralden worn with War and Age,  
Does in th' Important Embassy engage.  
Gisan was added, a Dobunian Knight,  
Bold in the Senate, and as Brave in Fight.  
Hobar, Mansellan, Cadel, Milo, Skilled  
In Arms and Eloquence, the number filled.  
Such Orators they chose, fit to excite  
The Pious Arthur, and his Arms invite.   

Thus Tylon to the pious Prince addressed,  
And found the passage open to his Breast.  
Britannia crushed beneath the Saxon Yoke,  
Does with her mournful Prayer your Arms invoke.  
Enslaved by Foreign Power, Distressed, Undone,  
She sues for Aid to you, her Valiant Son,  
And hopes for Succour from your Sword alone.  
Octa all Right, and ancient Law subverts,  
And uncontrolled Tyrannic Power asserts.  
His Lawless Will grasps Arbitrary Sway,  
And British Slaves, without Reserve, Obey.  
The sacred Bounds and Lines, which Right and Law  
Round all those just and happy Kingdoms draw;  
Which from the Wast of Tyranny they gain,  
Where Uproar, Rage, and wild Confusion reign,  
These broken down, Octa does open lay,  
And throw the goodly Island up a Prey  
To Furies, that in lawless Kingdoms stray.  
Britannia by the Conqueror ravished first,  
Then given to Priests, and Soldiers raging Lust;  
Wretched Britannia, sunk in deep Despair,  
Beats her white Breasts, and tears her golden Hair.  
Dying with Anger, Shame and Grief, she lies,  
And Floods of Tears gush from her beauteous Eyes.  
Which swell the silver Tide of mournful Thames,  
And grieve old Ocean with the troubled Srreams.  
Hear, pious Prince, how to the Neustrian Shore,  
Complaining Waves roll the sad Treasure over.  
How murmuring Winds waste o'er Britannia's Sighs,  
Can Arthur disregard his Country's Cries?  
With words like these, and such a moving Art  
As can't be told, he touched the Prince's Heart.  
With so much Life, he spoke sad Albion's Moans,  
We thought we felt her smart, and heard her Groans.  
Nor did the pious Prince their Prayer oppose,  
But soon resolved to ease Britannia's Woes.  
To Other he revealed his high Intent,  
Who Ships, and Men, and Arms rejoicing lent:  
Supplying all things our Descent required,  
And heaping Gifts, more than ourselves desired.  
Our Ships prepared, with cheerful Zeal and Care,  
We went on Board, and soon embarked the War.  
Our Anchors weighed, and Topsails loosed a Gale  
Sprang up, and swelled the Womb of every Sail.  
Old Ocean pleased our bounding Vessels laves,  
That with sharp Keels cut through the foaming Waves.  
Th' astonished Saxons see, and fear from far,  
The long Succession of the Sailing War.  
They spread through all the Isle the loud Alarm,  
And trembling Octa hasts his Men to Arm.  
We Sailed not long before the Sea ran high,  
And gathering Clouds deformed the lowering Sky.  
The fearful Storm arose, wherein we lost  
Th' extinguished Day, and on the Billows tossed,  
We drove, till forced upon th' Armoric Coast.  
He ceased, and now the Shades of wearing Night,  
Did the pleased Audience to their Rest invite.    

Prince Arthur.  
BOOK V.  

LOvely Aurora makes a mild Essay  
With glimmering Dawn, to introduce the Day:  
Her rosy Steps the Sun pursues, and Spreads  
His smiling Glories on the Mountain's Heads.  
The Prince's rose, and Hoel thus expressed  
His friendly Passion, to his Royal Guest.  
Your Virtues show you are by Heaven designed  
A great deliverer of oppressed Mankind.  
You give to Realms with Wars molested, Peace,  
And from their Chains tormented Slaves release.  
Fair Liberty's and blessed Religion's Cause  
Reviving Hopes from your Protection draws.  
Your prosperous Arms invading Plagues repel,  
And monstrous Gods, and monstrous Tyrants quell.  
King Odar's Realm and mine you save, in his  
You settle Peace, and Truth divine in this.  
And now compassion arms your valiant Hand  
To free from barbarous Rage, your native Land.  
To vanquish Pagan Darkness, and display  
Immortal Light, and pure Etherial Day.  
Myself will here abide, and Succours lend  
O'er all the Realm Christ's Empire to extend.  
Conan my Son shall on your Triumphs wait,  
And when returned, your glorious Deeds relate.  
I'll now command that with incessant Care,  
My Men assist, your Losses to repair.  
Then I'll conduct you to the Druids Grove,  
Which Men of heavenly Contemplation love.  
Where solemn Walks and awful shade invite  
Composed Devotion, and Divine Delight,  
Exclude the Sun's, to let in purer Light.  
There with your pious Conversation blest,  
New Light will fill my Mind, new Joy my Breast.  
The Orders given the Navy's Wants required  
The Princes to the Druids Grove retired.  
Where Arthur's Language did the King inspire,  
With holy Transports, and Seraphic Fire.   

Mean time th' Armoricans and Britons meet,  
All Zealous to Equip the shattered Fleet.  
Part to the Groves and woody Hills repair,  
And with loud Labour fill the echoing Air.  
Axes high raised by brawny Arms descend  
With mighty Sway, and make the Forest bend.  
The Mountain's murmur, and the nodding Oaks,  
Groan with their Wounds, from thick redoubled Strokes.  
The falling Trees desert the neighbouring Sky,  
Where now the Clouds may unmolested fly.  
A shady Harvest lies dispersed around,  
And lofty Ruin loads th' encumbered Ground.  
Part, the hewn Trees draw down with wondrous Toil,  
T' enrich the Ocean with the Mountains Spoil.  
So fast they came, and in such Order stood,  
As Orpheus' Lyre had called th' obsequious Wood  
From their fixed Seats to dance upon the Flood.  
Part raise the Masts, now to be shaken more  
With furious Winds, then on their Hills before.  
Part shape new Ribs, and with industrious Care,  
Ships broken Backs, and ghastly Wounds repair.  
Part their bruised Sides anoint with unctuous Pitch,  
Part the carved Sterns, with Paint and Gold enrich.  
Part Cables twist, part smeared with Smoke and Sweat,  
With vast Cyclopian Strokes huge Anchors beat.  
While thus the Britons did their Ships repair,  
Th' Infernal Prince enraged and wrecked with Care,  
Swift, as exploded Lightning from the Skies,  
A second time to Lapland Mountains flies.  
Where the rough Monarch's noisy Palace stands,  
Whose awful Nod, the raging Winds commands.  
To him thus Lucifer, kind Prince, to you  
A second time I for Assistance sue.  
The cursed Prince that by your high Command  
Your furious Subjects drove on Hoel's Land;  
Aided by Hoel does his Fleet repair,  
Ready to Albion to transport the War.  
Let adverse Winds blow on the troubled Main,  
Retard their Project, and their Ships detain.  
Till Octa has prepared his warlike Fleet,  
The proud Invader on the Seas to meet.   

He ceased, the Emperor of the Winds replies,  
When you shall ask what rebel Power denies.  
Your Realms you rule with uncontested Sway,  
Your Post is to command, mine to obey.  
That said, he calls his wand'ring Subjects home,  
Eurus and Notus strait obedient come.  
Last sluggish Auster to his Den with wet  
And flabby Wings, does heavily retreat,  
To whom their Prince, let now your Labours cease,  
Indulge your Wings, be reconciled to Peace.  
Close in your Darksome Prisons sleeping lie,  
To gain more Breath to blow, more Strength to fly.  
Then down their howling Throats black Sops he threw,  
Of Poppies and cold Nightshade made, that grew  
On the dark Banks, where Lethe's lazy Deep  
Does its black Stores, and drowsy Treasure keep,  
Rolls its slow Flood, and rocks the nodding Waves asleep.  
The strong Enchantments quick Admission find,  
And the wild Rout benumbing Fetters bind.  
They murmur in their Sleep, and strive in vain  
To spurn away th' unwieldy leaden Chain.  
Then calling Boreas, says, fly Boreas, fly,  
Blow o'er the Lands and on the Billows lie.  
Make haste, and to th' Armoric Coast repair,  
Be thine the spacious Empire of the Air.  
Unrivalled, unmolested Reign alone,  
Till all thy Force is spent, and all thy Breath is gone.  
No Hostile, windy Powers contest thy Reign,  
And uncontrolled Dominion of the Main.   

Scarce had he ended, when up Boreas' springs,  
And through the Air spreads out his furious Wings.  
He o'er warm Climes diffuses Northern Spoils,  
And the cold Treasures of the frozen Isles.  
With blustering War he frights old Ocean's Court,  
Buffets the Waves, and raises Storms in Sport.  
In vain th' impatient Britons spread their Sails,  
Loud Boreas keeps them back with adverse Gales.  
Proud Lucifer urged with his Rage and Spite,  
Back to Britannia takes his airy Flight.  
To find the Saxon Monarch, and inspire  
His trembling Soul with fresh Infernal Fire.  
And now the Night does her black Throne ascend,  
And dusky Shades her silent State attend.  
While pale-faced Cynthia with her starry Train,  
Dart down their trembling Lustre on the Main.  
The weary labourers their stiff Limbs repose,  
And Sleeps soft Hand their drowsy Eyelids close.  
All Rest enjoy, but Octa anxious lay,  
Wakeful, and longing for returning Day.  
His dreadful Crimes affright his startled Soul,  
And in his Breast black Tides of Horror roll.  
Dire Shapes, and staring Ghosts pass threatening by.  
And Streaks of Fire across th' Apartment fly.  
He hears the Shreaks of those his bloody Hand  
Had murdered, or that died by his Command.  
He hears the Widows Sighs, and Orphans Moans,  
Himself had made, and tortured Prisoners Groans.  
The Grounds of pale Despair he sometimes draws,  
From Arthur's Valour, and his Righteous Cause.  
Sometimes he fears his injured Subjects Rage,  
Their vengeful Arms against him will engage.  
Then starts, and thinks he hears Prince Arthur's Fleet  
Is on the Coast, proclaimed in every Street.   

Then Lucifer does Odin's Shape assume,  
And with Stern Grace enters King Octa's Room.  
His vigorous Limbs had dazzling Armour on,  
And round his Head his polished Helmet shone.  
His conquering Sword hung down with awful Grace,  
And Scars of Honour seamed his manly Face.  
His warlike Hand gripped his Vulcanian Shield,  
With rare Devices portrayed on the Field.  
With Martial State he strides along the Room,  
And shakes at every Step his lofty Plume.  
Advancing to the Bed where Octa lay,  
He spoke, Son Octa, from celestial Day,  
From the blessed Groves, and mild, Elysian Seats,  
Thy Father Odin to thy Aid retreats.  
To ease thy restless Mind of anxious Cares,  
Support thy Hopes, and dissipate thy Fears.  
Stand thou unmoved at Arthur's proud Alarms,  
Conquest attends thine, and thy Saxons Arms.  
He'll sink beneath the Sea's insulting Wave,  
Or Landing, find on Shore a surer Grave.  
Think on the Spoils and Trophies you have born,  
And spreading Laurels on your Temples worn.  
Let none that's sprung from my Victorious Race,  
At Danger shrink, and my great Stock debase.  
Go, hast thy Royal Navy to prepare,  
Let Ships with Ships encounter, War with War.  
On the wide Main th'Invader's Fleet oppose,  
Better to meet, than here expect your Foes.  
Go Chase their scattered Navy o'er the Deep,  
And thus in Peace, thy envied Empire keep.  
He ceased, and with Majestic Pace retired,  
And left King Octa with fresh Life inspired.   

Who with the Sun arose, resolved to meet  
With all his Naval Power, Prince Arthur's Fleet.  
He gave Command, the Captains strait resort  
To their tall Ships, and leave the wanton Court.  
A forward Zeal the busy Sailors show,  
Some mend old Ships, and some Equip the new.  
With flaming Reeds some their pitched Bellies fry,  
Some hoist the Yards, and Canvas Wings apply.  
Some from its Cradle launch a rocking Hull,  
Some at the Cables strain, and howling pull  
Vast Anchors up, some Stores and Arms entomb,  
And stow with hidden War the Ship's dark Womb.  
The Shores around, and all the Oazy Soil  
Resound with Clamour, and the Sailors Toil.  
Well Rigged and Manned, the Ships from every Port  
To their appointed Rendezvous resort.  
The Rivers disembogue, besides their Flood,  
Into the Seas a lofty, painted Wood   

And now the Moon had twice the silver Field  
Of her fair Orb, with borrowed Glory filled.  
Since the uneasy Britons had remained  
By adverse Winds, within their Port detained.  
Boreas that had his Blasts profusely blown,  
His Storms all spent, and bleaky Treasures gone,  
With tired and flaggy Pinions now retreats,  
To fetch Recruits from wild Laplandian Seats.  
Auster does next with milder Blasts prevail,  
And for the Britons blows a prosperous Gale.  
Now each rough Hero of the Ocean stands  
On the high Deck, giving Austere Commands.  
Prince Arthur to Embark approached the Shore,  
Where the reposing Seas no longer Roar.  
But at his Feet obsequious Billows lay,  
As Conscious of the Power they must Obey.  
Then their broad Backs, subsiding they submit,  
Proud to sustain their future Monarch's Fleet.  
The lofty Ships on rolling Billows bound,  
The Waves in soft Embraces clinging round.  
As when the Trojans, in the Mantuan Song  
From Africa Sands, to Latium sailed along.  
Old Ocean rose up from his rocky Throne,  
A Crystal Sceptre, and a reedy Crown  
His Power confessed, his dewy Head he reered  
Above the Flood, and smiling on the Waves appeared.  
New gathered Banks of Quicksands he removed,  
And kindly through the Deep, the Navy shoved.  
So the calm Ocean seemed with equal care,  
On its pleased Waves, the British Fleet to bear.  
Huge, rolling Porpoisses spout Seas away,  
And friendly Dolphins round the Squadrons play.  
The floating Castles dance upon the Tide,  
And on its foaming Ridge Triumphant ride.  
In glorious Lines the painted Squadrons move,  
As if the Poet's Gods lapsed from above,  
In gilded Clouds, were dancing on the Seas  
In Masquerade, with the green Deities.   

Twice the great Ruler of the Day had hurled  
His flaming Orb, around th' enlightened World.  
When at the early Dawning of the Day,  
The Navies in each others Prospect lay.  
The Saxon Squadrons cover all the Main,  
And with their Prows divide the liquid Plain,  
Plying to Windward, Arthur's Men prepare  
Their Navy, to receive th' advancing War.  
Down on their Feet King Octa bravely bore,  
Whose long-winged Navy strercht, from Shore to Shore.  
Both Fleets in Lines of War stood cross the Deep,  
And ready to Engage, just Order keep.  
They hoist their bloody Flags on either side,  
And Death her Jaws does for her Feast provide.  
Now the shrill Trumpets sprightly Voice, and all  
The Harmony of War, to Combat call.  
The Saxon Sailors with a hideous Cry,  
Affright the Deep, and rend the Eachoing Sky.  
The barbarous Yell and outrageous Sound  
From Rock to Rock, and Shore to Shore rebound.  
A furious Fight between the Fleets began,  
And bold Selingbert first Attacks their Van.  
Now bearded Darts, and fatal Javelins fly,  
And Balls of Fire hiss through th' enlightened Sky.  
Each on his Foe missive Destruction pours,  
And Death receives, and gives in feathered Showers.  
Thus milder Fate at distance sparing slew,  
Till to a closer Fight Selingbert flew,  
And on his Foe his massy Grapples threw.  
Which clenching fast their ponderous, griping Claws,  
The rude Embrace, both Ships together draws.  
The Saxons flew on Board with furious Arms,  
And on the Decks appear in numerous swarms.  
Vogan enraged, did fatal Wounds dispense,  
With lavish Hand, and made a brave Defence.  
With Battleaxes, Swords, unwieldy Crows,  
They clear the Decks of the insulting Foes.  
Beat down with ghastly Wounds, some gaspingly,  
Others their Arms cast down, for Mercy cry.  
Into the Waves some their pale Bodies throw,  
And fly from Death above, to Death below.  
Down the Ships sides Torrents of Saxon Blood,  
With unknown Crimson Dye th' astonished Flood.  
Upon the Decks, that slaughtered Heaps deform,  
Enraged Selingbert pours a second Storm,  
Which like a Summer's Shower soon disappeared,  
By Valiant Vogan and his Britons cleared.  
Selingbert thus defeated, boils with Rage,  
But forced at last, his Ship to disengage;  
He bears away, and quits th' unequal Fight,  
Providing for his safety, by his Flight.   

Octa mean time his Men for Fight prepares,  
And fiercely down, on Arthur's Squadron bears.  
The spacious sides of his high Ship consumed  
Whole Forests, and whole Mountains Spoils entombed.  
Itself a Fleet across the Billows stood,  
Engrossed the Winds, and pressed the labouring Flood.  
The lofty, gilded Palace shone from far,  
Presenting to the Foe a glorious War.  
Bold Octa, and the Valiant Arthur meet,  
Which struck a vast Concern through either Fleet.  
On this important Action seemed to wait  
The British Hero's, and Britannia's Fate.  
Both sides with Shouts their fatal Weapons fling,  
And winged with Death thick Showers of Arrows sing.  
Unerring Darts in hissing Tempest fly,  
And carry swift Destruction through the Sky.  
Ships rush to Battle with enormous Shocks,  
As Towers with Towers encountered, Rocks with Rocks,  
So in the Northern Seas when Storms arise  
High Rocks of Snow, and sailing Hills of Ice  
Against each other with a mighty Crash,  
Driven by the Winds, in rude Rencounter dash.  
The Sea afflicted foams, the Waves on high,  
Tossed by the battering Islands, lave the Sky.  
The Crystal Towers break with a fearful Crack,  
And on the Billows spread their foaming Wreck.  
Vast Sheets of rocky Ice, and broken Isles,  
Oppress the labouring Ocean with their Spoils.  
On both sides now they call forth all their Rage,  
Resolved in closer Combat to engage.  
Then Death and Slaughter in sad Triumph reigned,  
And Seas of Blood the slipp'ry Decks distained.  
Some the Pale Dead into the Ocean heave,  
Some in the Ships low Caves the wounded leave.  
Prodigious Numbers fell on either Side,  
Thin on the Decks they looked, but thick upon the Tide.  
For neither Chief e'er met a greater Foe,  
Both wondrous Skill, and wondrous Courage show.  
While victory poising equal Hope and Fear,  
With doubtful Wings hung hovering in the Air.   

The wise Prince Arthur whilst on Shore equips,  
Their use till then unknown, a sort of Ships,  
That since the Deeds of that Important Day,  
Among lost Arts in deep Olivion lay.  
Till Captains that in after Ages lived,  
The long forgotten Stratagem revived.  
Bitumen, Sulphur, and Vulcanian Spoils,  
From labouring Mountains, and from unctuous Soils.  
Naptha and Pitch with Skill and Labour wrought,  
With hidden Stores of Flame the Vessel fraught.  
Like rolling Clouds where Lightning's Seeds remain,  
Their swelling Wounds a fiery Birth contain.  
Arthur so strange a Ship to Octa sent,  
With such Infernal Treasures in it penned.  
Which with its grappling Engines fixed, and fired,  
The bold Commander to his Friends retired.  
The Fire with unextinguished Rage, consumes,  
The Subterranean Wealth the Ship entombs.  
Vast sheets of Flame, and Pitchy Clouds arise,  
And burning Vomit, spouts against the Skies.  
Tempests of Fire th' astonished heavens annoy,  
Fierce, as those Storms, that from their Clouds destroy;  
As Aetna from its glowing Roots was torn,  
And by its own wild Hurricanes was born  
From its old Seat, to float upon the Waves,  
With Vulcan's Magazines, and Cyclops smoking Caves.  
The burning Plague adhered to Octa's side,  
And the scorched Ribs the hot Contagion fried.  
The spreading Mischief's growth no Force restrains,  
The Plague resisted more severely Reigns.  
To the tall Masts the raging Flame aspires,  
And neighbour sits to heavens contiguous Fires.  
Octa at last his flaming Ship forsakes,  
And in stout Horsa's Vessel Refuge takes.  
Here he once more his Royal Standard Rears,  
Where on the Deck undaunted he appears,  
With cheerful Looks dissembling inward Fears.  
He strives the Saxons Courage to excite,  
To press the Foe, and still maintain the Fight.  
But strives in vain, assisted by the Wind,  
The spreading Burnings no Resistance find.  
Resistless Flames advance with lawless Power  
From Ship to Ship, and through the Fleet devour.  
Naked, and half-burnt Hulls with hideous Wreck,  
Affright the Skies, and fry the Ocean's back.  
Scorched Bodies, broken Masts, and smoking Beams,  
Promiscuous Ruin, float along the Streams.  
Deformed Destruction, and wild Horror ride  
In fearful Pomp, upon the Crimson Tide.  
At last King Octa, dreading longer stay,  
Commanding all to follow, tows away;  
The Saxon Captains cheerfully obey.   

But Lucifer enraged at this Defeat,  
Plots to protect, and cover their Retreat.  
Summoned to his Pavilion, strait repair  
The Daemons, that infest th' Inferior Air.  
With bloated Fiends, that in dark Caves abide,  
And o'er the Subterranean Damps preside.  
Last the flow Powers come from their misty Dens,  
That rule the Marshes, Lakes, and stagnant Fens.  
To whom their Prince, see, how King Octa tows  
His shattered Ships, pressed by Victorious Foes.  
Go, and protect him from the fierce Pursuit,  
And give him time, his Navy to recruit.  
Let all your Damps, and lazy Fogs arise,  
And with your sluggish Treasures cloud the Skies.  
Let your thick Mists repel th' unwelcome Light,  
And o'er the Ocean spread a friendly Night.   

The humble Powers their haughty Prince obey,  
Some from dark Caverns far remote from Day,  
From each embowelled Mount, and hollow Vault  
Crude Exhalations, and raw Vapours brought.  
Some from deep Quagmires, Ponds, and sedgy Moors,  
Drive the dull Reeks, and shove the haizy Stores.  
To their appointed Station all repair,  
And with their heavy Wings encumber all the Air.  
The ponderous Night's impenetrable Steems,  
Exclude the Sun, and choke his brightest Beams.  
The hovering Clouds the Saxon Fleet embrace,  
And wondrous Darkness stops the Briton's Chase.  
Octa, Aeneas like, a misty Night  
Around him cast, escapes the Briton's Sight.  
Now had the Sun diffused the early Day,  
From his bright Orb, and chased the Fogs away.  
To their known Shore the Saxon Navy flies,  
And in their Ports and Rivers safely lies.   

Arthur, who while the Shades prevailed, had lain  
Under an easy Sail, upon the Main;  
Discovering that the Saxon Fleet was lost,  
Tacked, and directly stood for Albion's Coast.  
He sailed not long, before his Joyful Men  
Could from the Masts, their native Country ken.  
First the Bolerian Promontory rears  
His Head, and as a lofty Wedge appears,  
That down into the Deep, had from the Shore,  
Run from Danmonian Mines and melted Oar.  
Here when the Oazy Shore by ebbing Tides,  
Is naked left, around its glittering Sides,  
Pale Tinny Oar, and Copper's brighter Vein,  
Casts Glimmering Lustre o'er the liquid Plain.  
Next they discover the aspiring Hills,  
Whose Precious Sides Metallic Treasure fills.  
In their dark Caves Cyclopian labourers sweat,  
And their vast Blows the echoing Hills repeat.  
With ghastly Wounds they rend the groaning Earth,  
And from its Bowels wrest the massy Birth.  
By racking Engines, and redoubled Blows,  
She's forced her hidden Riches to disclose.  
Under wide Caldrons, some whole Forest pile,  
And melt in purging Flames the wealthy Spoil.  
Some in their hot Aetnean Forges sweat,  
And glowing Wedges on huge Anvils beat.  
Their mighty strokes shake all the bellowing ground,  
The neighbouring Mountains, and the Vales around,  
With subterranean Toil and Noise resound.  
They pass the crooked Shore, which Fame of old  
Enriched with ponderous Pearl, and scattered Gold.  
They view the Rocks with Gems and Treasure blest,  
In verdant Sampire, and Eringo dressed.  
Danmonian Crows leaving the Neighbouring Hills,  
In numerous, noisy Flights, their Feet and Bills  
With Native Crimson died, overspread the Sky,  
And o'er the Fleet in Ominous Circles fly.  
Not far removed, its sides a Mountain shows,  
Where winding Shores a spacious Bay enclose.  
His lofty Head, that flying Clouds invades,  
From Shore to Shore the dusky Ocean shades.  
Long this wild Seat, as ancient Fame obtained,  
A fierce Gigantic Race of Men maintained;  
Tall as the Hill, on which the Monsters dwelled,  
Whose groaning sides their striding motion felt:  
Torn from wild Beasts raw Skins, and grisly Hides,  
A horrid Dress, adorned their hideous sides.  
Half roasted Swine their savage Jaws devour,  
That slain their squalid Chins with flowing Gore.  
In thorny Dens the outstretched Monsters lie,  
Half eaten Limbs, and mangled Bodies by.  
With Rapes and Thefts, and endless Murders cloyed,  
A fearful Plague, the Region they destroyed.  
Weathering the Point with favourable Gales,  
Along the Shore the Conquering Navy Sails.  
Into the rough Hibernian Seas they came,  
That howling Monsters, and dire Gulfs defame.  
Which to avoid, close to the Shore they keep,  
Where fair Sabrina to her Parent Deep,  
Drawing her silver Train along does glide,  
Diluting with fresh Streams the Briny Tide.  
Lovely Sabrina that for refluent Tides,  
Fair Cities, verdant Meadows, flowery Sides,  
For Finned Inhabitants, and pleasant Streams,  
Yields only to her fairer Sister Thames.  
Passing these Seas, they view the fertile Soil,  
Tilled by Silurian Farmers skilful Toil:  
Where the vexed Sea fair Clamorgania laves,  
And rolls along the Sand its foaming Waves.  
Here Rhemnius gliding by Carphilli's Walls,  
Proud of its Roman strength, into the Ocean falls.  
Then Ratostibium from the hilly Lands,  
Rolls down its rapid Tide, and troubled Sands.  
Next they descry an isle of wondrous Fame.  
Which the succeeding Ages Barry name.  
In its high sides that to the Sea appear,  
Dreadful to tell, th' astonished Sailors hear  
Aetnean Labour, where the bellowing Rocks  
Shake with Gigantic Toil, and Thundering Strokes  
Of groaning Smiths, sometimes a mighty sledge  
On a vast Anvil, beats a flaming wedge.  
Now Bellows formed of vast, capacious Hides,  
All Boreas blow from their Aeolian sides.  
Now the resisting Flames and Fiery Store,  
By Winds assaulted, in wide Forges roar,  
And raging Seas flow down of melted Oar.  
Sometimes they hear long Iron Bars removed,  
And to the sides, huge heaps of Cinders shoved.  
As we advanced the Coast in Prospect lay,  
Which the Dimetian Lords did then obey.  
Here th' opening Land invites with outstretched Arms,  
The troubled Seas, free from the loud Alarms  
Of the rough, windy Powers, to take their Ease,  
And on its Bosom lie diffused in Peace.  
The flowing Waters smooth their surrowed Face,  
And gently roll into the Land's Embrace.  
To secret Creeks the weary Billows creep,  
And stretched on Oazy Beds securely sleep.  
No happy Land along th' European Coast,  
Can such a fair and spacious Haven boast.  
In this wide Station, the Dimetians pride,  
The biggest Ships, and greatest Fleets may ride,  
Safe from the Insults of the Winds and Tide.  
Two lofty Castles with their gilded Towers,  
enlighten, and defend the subject Shores.  
Here the Victorious Britons safe arrive,  
With all the Joy, long-wished for Harbours give.  
In frequent Throngs the glad Dimetians stand  
Upon the Coast, thick as th' unnumbered Sand.  
Their Acclamations and loud Shouts rebound,  
From trembling Hills, and shake the Shores around.  
The Ships lay rocking, and their Masts bend more  
With Britons Breath, than with the Winds before.  
The joyful Britons and their Friends debark,  
And near the Shore a spacious Camp they mark.  
The pious Prince at a fair Castle stayed,  
That Malgo the Dimetian Lord obeyed.   

Now her brown Wings the silent Night displays  
Light sprinkled over with Cynthia's silver Rays.  
Silence and Darkness all to Rest invite,  
And sleeps soft Chains make fast the Gates of Light.  
Prince Arthur sleeps, by Summons from on high,  
From trembling Joints his active Spirits fly  
To the round Palace of th' Immortal Soul,  
And through the Rooms and dark Apartments roll.  
The busy Crowd fills all the labouring Brain,  
Bright Fancy's Workhouse, where close Cells contain  
Of Forms and Images an endless Train,  
Which thither through the waking Senses glide,  
And in fair Mem'ry's Magazine abide.  
Composed of these, light Scenes and Shows appear,  
That still employ the restless Theatre.  
Divinely moved the Airy Figures take  
Their several Ranks, and this bright Vision make.  
Prince Arthur on a verdant Eminence  
Conversing with King Uter stood, from whence  
He views with wondering Eyes, great Lords and States,  
Crowned Heads, Victorious Princes, Potentates,  
Heros and Heroines, a glorious Train,  
That in long Order filled the subject Plain.  
Prince Arthur on the Royal Scene intent,  
Demands what this August Assembly meant.  
For what end thither come, and who they were  
That at th' Illustrious Congress did appear.   

King Uter then replied: Know pious Son,  
That after various bloody Battles won,  
You Beauteous Ethelina shall espouse,  
The fairest Branch of all King Octa's house.  
A Christian Princess of a Pagan Line,  
Whose Virtues equal with her Beauty shine.  
You shall Triumphant mount the British Throne,  
Which has not yet, so great a Monarch known.  
Swell not with Pride, th' Imperial Seat you gain,  
Brings envied Honour, but unenvied Pain.  
Your People rule with equal Laws, and know  
You're happy, when you make your Subjects so.  
Let them a Good, Indulgent Father find,  
Be mercifully Just, severely Kind.  
Let your bright Virtues Imitators draw,  
Glorious Examples have more Force, than Law.  
Seek not an uncontrolled and lawless Sway,  
Subjects from Love, but Slaves from Fear obey.  
And whom the People fear, they quickly hate,  
Which Passions in their Prince the like Create.  
Hence mutual Jealousies, and deep Designs,  
Hence strong Distrust the mouldering State disjoins.  
Diffusing good on all Mankind, you'll show  
You imitate heavens Government below.  
The Benefactor will most Honour bring,  
And the Deliverer's greater than the King.  
Believe no Foreign hostile Power can move  
Your Throne, supported by your Subjects Love.   

The bright Assembly that surrounds the Hill,  
And with their Numbers all the Valley fill,  
Are Albion's Hero's, who in future days  
Their own, and Albion's Name, to Heaven shall raise.  
The Regal Orders that the rest outshine  
With glittering Crowns, are the Imperial Line,  
That after you, on Albion's Throne shall sit,  
Their Names in Fate's Eternal Volumes writ.  
The Kings that in the foremost Rank appear,  
Who frowning and unpleasant Aspects were;  
Whose waning Crowns with faded Lustre shine,  
Shall after you succeed, first Constantine  
Conanus, and the rest of British Line.  
These look not with their Native Splendour bright,  
But dimly shine, with delegated Light.  
Heroick Deeds by great Forefathers done,  
Cast all their Glory on them, not their own.  
To narrow Bounds their scanty Empire shrinks,  
And Britons Grandeur, with their Virtue sinks.  
At last their Crimes, offended Heaven provoke,  
To Crush their Nation with the Saxon Yoke.   

Here Arthur sighed, that his degenerate Race,  
Should with inglorious Deeds their Stock debase.   

When Uter cried, Observe the Saxon Line,  
Where mighty Kings the British Rank outshine.  
Crowns on their Heads, and Sceptres in their Hand,  
All great in War, and born for high Command.  
Their Arms the British Empire shall Assail,  
And aided by the Britons Crimes prevail.  
This mighty Nation quickly shall believe  
The Christians God, and Heavenly Light receive.  
That's Ethelbert the first of Saxon Race,  
That shall pure Faith, and Truth Divine embrace.  
He shall destroy in their own Temples Flames,  
Their senseless Gods, of barbarous, Northern Names.  
In vain their Priests on helpless Idols call,  
They, and their Groves by the same Axes fall.  
Fragments of broken Altars, and the spoil  
Of ruin'd Gods, fill all th' applauding Isle.  
All shall adore the great mysterious King,  
And of his Cross the glorious Triumphs sing.  
The Spring of Life gilded with Heavenly Beams  
Purge guilty Minds, with pure Baptismal Streams.  
From hence the Light shall break that shall dispel  
The Pagan Shades, that on the Saxons dwell.  
Proud Lucifer subdued, flies in despair,  
With all th' Infernal Powers about the Air,  
That with their broad, extended Wings retreat,  
To seek a safe, and unmolested Seat:  
To fix on Scythian Hills their gloomy Throne,  
Or on the Sands fried by the burning Zone.  
As when the Storks prepare to change their Clime,  
The long-necked Nation in the Air sublime  
Wheeling, and towering up in Circles fly,  
And with their cackling Cries disturb the Sky.  
In lingering Clouds they hang, and Leisure give,  
For all their feathered People to arrive.  
To th' Airy Rendezvous all haste away,  
And their known Leaders noisy Call obey.  
Then through the heavens their trackless Flight they take,  
And for new Worlds, their present Seats forsake.  
So here the Fiends assembled in the Air,  
Quit Albion's Soil, and to wild Lands repair.   

Remark that Prince, that in the midst appears,  
Seven bright imperial Diadems he wears;  
That's the great Egbert, whose heroic Might,  
Shall the dismembered Island reunite.  
His Arms shall give him universal Sway,  
And all the Saxons shall his Power obey.   

See there the great Northumberian Monarch stands,  
Edwine his Name that all the Isle commands.  
A happy Prince, if his good Angel's Art  
Diverts the Mercian Ruffian's bloody Dart.  
Saxons and Britons shall obey his Arms,  
Himself, the lovely Ethelburga Charms.  
Her beauteous Eyes the mighty Monarch fire  
Her Words, his Soul with Christian Flames inspire.  
Blessed Ethelburga of unrivalled Worth,  
That plants Religion in the barren North.   

See Alfred there, all shall his Praises sing,  
A pious Soldier, and an humble King.  
Hero and Bard, able in lofty Verse  
His own great Deeds, and Triumphs to rehearse.  
Obeyed by all his unresisted Arms,  
Shall to their Coasts repel the Danish Swarms.  
Into the Seas swept by his potent Hand,  
Those Northern Locusts leave th' afflicted Land.  
The People his wife Laws shall cultivate,  
Form their rude Minds, and smooth th' unpolished State.  
Upon the Verdant Plain where Isis' Streams  
Hast to th' Embraces of her Sister Thames.  
This mighty Prince shall a famed Empire Found,  
Where Learning sits with branching Laurels Crowned.  
Where sacred Arts with all their Lettered Train,  
In lofty Schools shall unmolested Reign.  
Banished from Greece and Rome, no safe Retreat  
They'll find, till settled in this Peaceful Seat.  
Ages to come, this Seat will Oxford name,  
Of which no Time, or Place, shall bond the Fame.  
Remotest Nations shall her Wonders know,  
Far as Great Britain's potent Navies go.  
Learning, her Native growth shall Strangers fetch,  
And taught by her, their own rude Countries teach.  
Th' admiring World shall Albion then adore,  
Revere her Armies, but her Learning more.  
As when the Wisdom of th' Eternal Mind,  
Rude Chaos laboured, and the Mass refined;  
The scattered Rays that wandered in the Air,  
Did to the Sun's capacious Orb repair;  
The shining Colonies poured thick around  
Here fixed, and did a glorious Empire Found.  
So here the broken Beams of glimmering Arts,  
Assembling all their Light from distant parts,  
To make bright Oxford's Luminary stay,  
That o'er the World shall spread Celestial Day.   

Remark Elfeda there, a Martial Dame,  
That by her Arms shall win Immortal Fame.  
At last the Princes of the Saxon Line,  
From Heavenly Love and Purity decline.  
Their Christian Virtues, and pure Zeal abate,  
And with them sickens their decaying State.  
With Christian Names, their Pagan Crimes they keep,  
And deaf to heavens loud Threats securely sleep.  
Till the fierce Dane sent by supreme Command,  
A vengeful Scourge does on their Borders Land.  
The Saxon's Guardian Angels called away,  
Leave them to hostile Arms, an easy Prey.  
Thus Heaven afflicts a Land, when Impious grown,  
And from their Throne pulls haughty Monarches down.  
This dreadful Curse, shall by relenting Heaven,  
Be soon from sad Britannia's Empire driven.  
The Cruel, slothful Dane shall soon decline,  
To make way for a nobler Norman Line.   

That Prince observe, that moves with so much Grace,  
Is the great William of the Norman Race.  
A mighty Prince, a Leader Brave, and Wise,  
Whose towering Fame shall soar above the Skies.  
Heaven does for him Britannia's Crown design,  
From which great Stock shall branch a numerous Line  
Of mighty Princes, that shall Rule this Isle,  
Enriching it with Conquered Nations Spoil.   

The Valiant second Henry, see him there,  
What Majesty does in his Looks appear?  
Through wild Hibernia he shall force his way,  
And add four Kingdoms to the British Sway.   

Brave Richard see, who from the sacred Coast,  
Shall drive the Barbarous, Unbelieving Host.  
In Gaul this Monarch's Arms shall be renowned,  
Dreaded in Battle, and with Conquest Crowned,  
Long time in Peace his Crown might be enjoyed.  
Could he the Arrow at Chaluz, avoid.   

Now, Son, your Eye to that brave Warrior turn,  
Whose Beams so much the Norman Line adorn.  
How great a Presence, what a Port he bears?  
How much a mighty conqueror he appears?  
That Prince is Edward, whose Victorious Arms  
judea save from Pagan Foes Alarms.  
How he returns through the Trinacrian Isle,  
Through high Parthenope's delicious Soil,  
Through loud Applauses of admiring Rome,  
Reeking in hostile Blood triumphant home!  
The beauteous Person next that Monarch seen,  
Is Eleonora his Illustrious Queen.  
In Storms she's with him on the Ocean tossed,  
To seek out horrid War on Asia's Coast.  
Midst barbarous Arms his Wife, Adviser, Friend,  
She his prodigious Labours shall attend.  
And when her Lord, so Heaven permits, shall feel  
Within his Veins, the Murd'rer's poisoned Steel.  
She to the spreading Plague her Lips applies,  
And gives that Ease, which Asia's Balm denies.  
Invading Death her healing Kisses charm,  
And with new Life the sinking Monarch warm.  
No other Prince that in this Age shall reign,  
Shall equal Honour to brave Edward's Gain,  
But great Adolphus of th' Illustrious Race  
Of Heros, which the House of Nassau Grace.  
This mighty Prince shall gain th' Imperial Sway,  
And wide Germania shall his Laws obey.  
The Godlike Virtues, and Heroic Fire,  
That shall the brave Nassovian House inspire,  
Shall make Adolphus shine in this high Sphere,  
Preluding to the great Deliverer  
The pious William; yonder he's in Sight,  
In whom Nassovian Blood, and ours unite.   

There warlike Edward stands, that with his Host,  
Shall cross the Ocean to the gallic Coast.  
Where he his Conquering Ensigns shall display,  
And make the haughty Franks his Laws obey.  
There Queen Philippe shines, th' Albanians Dread,  
Worthy of Britain's Crown, and Edward's Bed.  
While Foreign Kingdoms Edward's Arms subdue;  
Hers through the North the vanquished Seats pursue.  
See the Black Prince in Armour by her side,  
Proud Gallia's Terror, and fair Albion's Pride.  
What Triumphs wait him in Pictavian Fields?  
What never-fading Laurels Croissy yields?   

That Henry mark, the glorious Conqueror,  
That Gallia shall reduce by Albion's Power.  
Immortal Prince, if Arms can make thee so,  
For thee in Norman Fields what Laurels grow?  
How great he'll seem his Arms distained with Blood,  
Chase the Franks o'er Sein's affrighted Flood.  
At Agincourt what Wonders shall be done,  
What Towns of Force, what Battles shall be won,  
Before in Triumph he ascends their Throne?   

Our Blood the Royal Channel now regains,  
Derived through Tudor our brave Offspring's Veins;  
Which with the Norman joined, the Confluent Tide  
As long, as that of Time, shall downward glide.  
From their Embrace to rule Britannia springs,  
A glorious Race of Queens, and potent Kings.  
See, the first Tudor that ascends the Throne,  
After the glorious Field at Bosworth won.  
The Sceptre he shall sway with great Applause,  
And Rule the Isle with Wise and Equal Laws.  
Young Edward there, Albion's Delight appears  
Learned, Pious, Manly Wise above his years.  
Then Liberty in all her lovely Charms,  
Shall sit secure from Tyranny's Alarms.  
Religion purged from Rome's Adulterous Stain,  
Shall in her pure, and Native Splendour Reign.  
No greater Mind to Albion's Crown succeeds,  
Revered for Brave, and loved for Pious Deeds.  
Blessed Albion, if kind Heaven would long permit  
So great a Monarch, on thy Throne to sit.  
But, oh, how short Delights attend him here,  
Such Heavenly Guests are shown, and disappear.  
Dear both to Earth and Heaven, he'll soon remove  
His Throne from hence, to Reign in Bliss above.  
With what Complaints, with what despairing Cries,  
Shall sad Britannia Mourn his Obsequies?   

There, see, the bright Elizabetha rise,  
Enlightening with her Rays the British Skies.  
Th' Indulgent Parent of her People, she  
Loves, Feeds, and Guards Britannia's Family.  
heavens and her People's Rights she shall protect,  
And for Britannia's Ease, her own neglect.  
Her Sons she shall embrace with pious Care,  
And from her Coasts send back th' Iberian War.  
Blessed times, when she that wears th' Imperial Crown,  
Regards her People's Safety, as her own.   

Intently now on that great Monarch gaze,  
So much distinguished by his brighter Rays.  
This is the Man, the brave Nassovian, whom  
I named, the great Deliverer to come.  
Succeeding Prophets under your great Name,  
This our great Offspring shall aloud proclaim;  
Raised from a noble Branch of Tudor's Line,  
From Thamisis transplanted to the Rhine.  
Amazed Posterity, will scarce believe  
The wondrous Deeds this Hero shall achieve.  
The European World by Rome and Gaul oppressed,  
By his long-wished-for Arms shall be released.  
He'll far outshine his own Heroic Race,  
Europe's Protectors, who shall Tyrant's chase,  
And Monsters vanquish with Herculean Toil,  
And rescue from their bloody Jaws, their Spoil.  
The beardless Hero's first victorious Arms,  
Shall free his Country from the Gauls Alarms.  
As he advances, Seas of gallic Blood  
Shall with red Streams swell Mosa's wondering Flood.  
Their slaughtered Ranks shall lie along the Rhine,  
And with strange Purple stain th' astonished Vine.   

For in this Age  
Just Heaven shall cause a haughty Prince to rise,  
Cruel, as Lucifer, and like him wise.  
heavens Laws, and Power, the Tyrant shall deride,  
Breaking in Sport, the Oaths wherewith he's tie.  
Th' insatiate Monster pleased with humane Gore,  
And urged with Hellish Rage, shall first devour  
His gallic Slaves, and with a merc'less Hand,  
Spread fearful Ruin o'er his fruitful Land.  
Raging with Fire and Sword he shall invade  
His Neighbour's Cities, to his Gold betrayed.  
No Spoil, no Carnage, shall his Fury cloy,  
But drunk with Blood, he shall around destroy,  
Like spreading Fires, or Torrents roaring down,  
From melting Snows, that all the Valley drown.  
Like Hell, he shall derive his chiefest Joy,  
From the divine Permission to destroy.  
Mischief and Ruin, he shall Conquest name,  
And from Destruction raise a dismal Fame.  
Regions laid waste, Orphans and Widows Cries,  
Proclaim his Power, and barbarous Victories.  
So dire a Plague, shall Heaven permit to reign,  
To scourge the impious World, but to restrain  
The savage Spoiler, shall this Prince employ;  
Monsters grow up, for Heros to destroy.  
The valiant Youth sinking Batavia saves,  
Their surest Digue against the gallic Waves.  
After oppressed Britannia shall invite,  
The famed Deliverer to assert her Right.  
His Arms the lowering Tempest shall dispel,  
That threatening Albion, rolls from Rome and Hell.  
Fair Liberty her drooping Head shall rear,  
And blessed Religion on her Throne appear.  
His Reign fresh Life to Albion shall impart,  
And teach her Son's War's long-forgotten Art.  
Britons dissolved in soft, inglorious Ease,  
In courtly Vices, and luxurious Peace,  
He shall inspire with a new martial Flame,  
And lead them on, to gain their Ancient Fame.  
Now Albion's Youth polish their rusty Arms,  
And once more, Gallia dreads their loud Alarms.  
Victorious Britons, as of old, shall come  
Laden with Spoils, and crowned with Laurels, home.   

He ceased; but near the great Nassovian stood  
A Heroine, by mien of Royal Blood.  
Her Form Divine, and Seraph-like her Face  
Where Heavenly Sweetness, strove with Princely Grace.  
But a black Cloud on her fair Temples lies,  
And on the ground she fixed her beauteous Eyes.  
Prince Arthur on th' Illustrious Form Intent,  
Asked who she was, and what the Sadness meant,  
That her dejected Eyes did overspread,  
What the thick Mist that hovered round her Head.   

King Uter with Reluctance thus replies,  
While flowing Tears gushed from his mournful Eyes,  
Ah, Son, demand no more their Fates to know,  
That must produce such universal Woe.  
Telling that Offspring's Story, I reveal  
A Scene of Grief, I laboured to conceal.  
This Wonder to the World, as soon as shown,  
Is taken up to her Celestial Throne.  
Ah! what sad Accents, what a mournful Cry,  
What lamentable Sounds will fill the Sky,  
When her high Hearse shall from her Palace go  
Through weeping Throngs, in all the Pomp of Woe.  
So sad a Cry did wondering Nile affright,  
When Egypt's firstborn Youth were slain by Night.  
What Strains of Sorrow will Augusta show?  
What Floods of Tears, sad Thamisis, will flow  
Into thy Stream, while gliding by the Dome,  
Where fresh erected stands her lofty Tomb.  
Son, mind her Presence, what a Godlike Air?  
What Throngs of Graces in her Eyes appear?  
No nobler Genius, no well fashioned Mind  
E'er took a Turn more happily designed,  
From an Etherial Mould more laboured and refined.  
Mild as the blessed above, without serene  
As Eden's Air, and calm as Heaven within.  
No lovelyer Star adorns the British Sphere,  
Ah! might she longer in her Orb appear,  
That her Celestial Influence might Flow  
In cheering Streams on all the Isle below!  
New warmth to Albion her kind Beams afford,  
To Albion guarded, as before restored,  
By the Nassovian Angels flaming Sword.  
My fairest Offspring! ah, her rigid Doom!  
She shall Maria be: Come, quickly come,  
Bring me white Lilies, Roses newly blown,  
Lilies and Roses, like Maria's own.  
These on her Hearse I'll scatter, and perfume  
With odorous Herbs and Flowers the precious Tomb.  
Let me my Sorrow thus express, 'tis true,  
A fruitless Deed, but all that Love can do.   

The Tides of Grief that here swelled Arthur's Breast,  
Broke Sleeps soft Fetters, and dissolved his Rest.  
The Airy Objects, that without did wait,  
Now rush in by the Senses open Gate.  
His waking Thought, the wondrous Scene reviews,  
And various Passions in his Mind renews.    

Prince Arthur.  
BOOK VI.  

NOw in the East the Saffron Morn arose,  
And called the labourer from his soft repose.  
Through all the Region flew Loquacious Fame;  
And the glad tidings spread, wherever she came.  
Prince Arthur's Landed, is the general Cry,  
Strait to their Arms the cheerful Britons fly.  
The great Restorer all prepare to meet,  
And warlike Noise resounds in every Street.  
His eager Friends impatient of delay,  
Had long expected this Auspicious Day.  
They knew he was Embarked to bring them Aid,  
And for his quick, and safe Arrival prayed.  
Oft on the Rocks and highest Hills they stood,  
And all around the Subject Ocean viewed  
With longing Eyes, hoping the sight to gain  
Of Arthur's Conquering Navy on the Main.  
And when no Fleet, no Arthur they descried,  
They chid the Winds, and interposing Tide.  
With less impatience stayed th' Ithacian Dame,  
Till to her Arms her wished Ulysses came.  
The Sestian Maid not with such Passion stood,  
To spy her Lover cutting through the Flood.  
The Zealous Men while adverse Boreas reigned,  
And from the Coasts Prince Arthur's Fleet detained,  
When mild Aurora with her rosy Light,  
Began to streak the dusky Face of Night,  
Oft from their Beds, up to the Windows flew,  
And thence the Fanes and flying Clouds would view,  
To see if yet more favourable Gales  
Rose from the South, to swell Prince Arthur's Sails.  
Anxious they look around, but when they find  
Their hopes retarded by an adverse Wind,  
Their Sorrow in repeated Sighs expressed,  
They to their Beds return, but not to Rest.   

Thus they expected Arthur's powerful Aid,  
And such their Sorrow was, their Hopes delayed.  
But now, at last the Prince's Fleet arrived,  
Raises their Courage, and their Hopes revived.  
The joyful Throngs Prince Arthur's Praise proclaim,  
This every Tongue employs, even Children aim,  
That scarce have learned to speak, to lisp his Name.  
Some praise his Stature, and his Godlike Face,  
His awful Presence, and Majestic Grace,  
His Courage some, and Conduct in the Field,  
And think great Caesar's Fame to his, must yield.  
His Clemency and Pity some admire,  
And all the Virtues, that his Mind inspire.  
The Actions of his Childhood some repeat,  
In which they still discovered something Great.  
And now, what they expected he appears,  
The Hero promised in his tender years.  
Others relate the ancient Prophecies,  
Wherein was told a Monarch should arise  
Of mighty Power, and Universal Fame,  
That should to Heaven advance the British Name.  
Things weighed, and well compared, they all consent  
Arthur's the conqueror, that the Prophets meant.  
Some tell their Friends, their Courage to support,  
What mighty Guards surround the Prince's Court.  
What Succours hired were from Germania brought,  
Succours, as oft Victorious, as they fought.  
Fierce Alpine Allobrogs with slaughter fed,  
In Snows and everlasting Winter bred.  
Men of stupendous Bulk, pampered and cloyed  
With Blood of Nations, which their Arms destroyed.  
Armed with broad, flaming Swords, and mighty Spears;  
Their Caps were Wolves, their Coats rough Skins of Bears.  
Who stretched on Beds did ne'er their Limbs repose,  
But from the naked ground still vigorous rose.  
Of Aspect terrible, their squalid Face  
Thick, matted Beards with bristly Terror grace.  
None e'er escaped, that did their Arms provoke,  
They Mow whole Squadrons with a single stroke.  
This monstrous Kind of Men did Fame invent,  
And Arthur's Troops so dreadful represent,  
To raise the Britons Hearts before depressed,  
And strike a Terror through the Saxon's Breast.  
With Joy transported all for Arms declare,  
And all the Accoutrements of War prepare.  
The Shepherds on the Hills forsake their Flocks,  
And leave their brouzing Goats upon the Rocks.  
Instead of Crooks, that did their Flocks command,  
Long warlike Spears they brandish in their Hand.  
The British Youth their Courage raised, rejoice  
To see the Banners fly, and hear the Trumpet's Voice.  
The Farmer's leave the Hopes their Field afford,  
To reap fresh Laurels with their Conquering Sword.  
The noise of War does from the Hills rebound,  
And midst the Miners Echoes under ground.  
Who strait alarmed, at nobler Labour Sweat,  
And into Swords their glowing Metal beat.  
Their Forges, Anvils and wide Bellows breath,  
Are all employed in various kinds of Death.  
Some shape the Halberd, and broad Fauchion's Blade,  
And Darts by some, and Arrows Heads are made.  
Some forming Battleaxes heave the Sledge,  
Some into Shields strike out a flaming Wedge.  
To fashion Helmets some the Hammer ply,  
Some labour, Pieces for the Leg and Thigh.  
With Lances armed, some their hot Courser's rain,  
And to the War Curvet along the Plain.  
Some with their clenching Gauntlets grasp the Shield,  
Shake their long Spears, and rush into the Field.  
Across their Shoulders some their Quivers hung,  
Their Arrows trimmed, and Bows for Death new strung.  
As when black Clouds darkening the Summer Sky,  
Loaded with Crystal Tempests slowly fly,  
Th' Artillery discharged with mighty Sound  
Th' exploded Hailstones, leap upon the ground,  
Thunder amidst the Woods, and from the Hills rebound.  
So with the Britons all the Region swarms,  
So thick their Troops, so loud the noise of Arms.  
The groaning Earth complains, and trembling feels  
The trampling Hoofs, and Chariots fervid Wheels.   

In order now, Celestial Muse, declare  
What Troops, and who those ancient Britons were,  
Who for their Country's Liberty combined,  
And their Brigades with Arthur's Forces joined.  
From Time's dark Prisons set the Hero's free,  
And may their glorious Names Immortal be,   

First warlike Cadwall the Dimetians Head,  
His Forces from the neighbouring Region led.  
Their Troops advance from the bleak Northern Shore,  
On which the Hibernian Sea's loud Billows roar.  
And where Octopitarum through the Waves  
Wedging his Way, the opposing Ocean braves.  
Fair Maridunum pours her Squadrons forth,  
Where the famed Sorc'rer Merlin had his Birth.  
They came who dwelled round high Plinlimmon's Sides,  
Where Stuccia flows, and swift Turobius glides.   

King Meridoe the Oordovican leads  
Down from the British Alps, whose snowy Heads  
Imaus like, stand towering in the Air,  
And midst the Stars eternal Winter bear.  
And from the Soil laved by Conovius Flood,  
And Menai's Banks, where then Segontium stood.  
Great Numbers swarmed from Mona's noble Isle,  
Deformed for Aspect, but of fertile Soil.  
Where once in shady Groves erected stood,  
The Druids Altars stained with humane Blood.  
The Troops their March from Mediolanum take,  
From Helen's Way, and the Tegeian Lake.  
Through which fair Deva's Streams so swiftly pass,  
They uncorrupted shun th' impure Embrace.  
Here the sublime Mervinian Mountains rise,  
And with sharp-pointed Tops transfix the Skies.   

Next Morogan the bold, Silures brought,  
None for their Country's Freedom better fought.  
They bravely Valens and his Troops withstood,  
And died Sabrina's Streams with Roman Blood.  
With like Success Veranius they defeat,  
And forced his vanquished Eagles to retreat.  
This cause, as much their Courage did provoke,  
To free their Country from the Saxon Yoke.  
They take in haste their Swords and Bucklers down,  
And march to meet the Prince from every Town.  
From all the Cities on the verdant side  
Of Nidus, and on Loghor's Crystal Tide.  
They march from Bovium, and the neighbouring Shore,  
Thick, as the Waves, that there insulting roar.  
Down from the Hilly Lands the Britons came,  
Which now th' Inhabitants Brechinia name.  
Where the black Mount stands lofty in the Air,  
And forky Peak, since called great Arthur's Chair.  
They march from Bulleum, Haga, and the Lake,  
Where when broad Sheets of Ice dissolving crack,  
The rattling Noise rebounds from Neighbouring Hills,  
And with loud Thunder all the Region fills.  
From Ariconium, and the flowery Space,  
Which wanton Vaga's winding Arms embrace.  
Where Lugus his transparent Bosom spreads,  
And where Liddenus murmurs through the Meads.  
Where thick Hesperian Woods with Apples crowned,  
Of golden Hue, every the Fields around.  
Which the most generous British Wine produce,  
Ausonia scarce affords a nobler Juice.  
They leave the Fields famed for the purest Corn,  
And the rich Plains that Wooly Flocks adorn,  
Which bless the Farmer with a nobler Fleece,  
Than what Apulia boasts, or fertile Greece.  
They leave the golden Vale, and happy Ground  
Which Dorus laves, and lofty Woods surround,  
The warlike Youth from Venta came and those  
That Muno's Flood and Isca's Streams enclose.  
With those that round the Oazy Moor are bred,  
And near the Golden Rocks refulgent Head.  
Out from her Gates her Youth fair Isca pours.  
Crowned with gilt Spires, rich Domes, and lofty Towers.  
Where Golden Roofs, and chequered Floors abound,  
Deep Vaults, and spacious Chambers under ground.  
A stately Theatre the Town o'erlooks,  
And noble Works convey the neighbouring Brooks,  
By Conquering Romans built, that far from home  
They might enjoy the Sports and Pomp of Rome.  
Such was the ample City's ancient Fame,  
Now worn by time it scarce preserves its Name.  
Those from Gobanium march, a Town that stood  
On Isca's and Gevini's confluent Flood.  
In cheerful Troops the stout Cornavians came,  
From the rich Soil we now Salopia name.  
From either side of fair Sabrina's Tide,  
Whose silver Streams the fruitful Land divide.  
From Usocona, end the Towns that lay  
On the famed Roman Military way.  
From Uriconium, yet a Noble Town,  
And old Rutunium, then of good Renown.  
Galbut their Leader at their Head appears  
A lovely Youth, and Wise above his Years:  
Descended from a Noble ancient Race  
Of Heros, who the British Annals grace.  
He by Forefathers Beams Illustrious shone,  
Great by their Deeds, but greater by his own.  
Zeal for his Country, and the British Cause,  
The generous Youth to glorious Danger draws.  
For this he crossed the Ocean, to implore  
Prince Arthur's Arms, their Freedom to restore.  
The Prince embraced him, as his Favourite Friend,  
And did his Zeal and Vigilance commend.  
He stayed the dear Companion of his Toil,  
Both on the Seas, and on th' Armoric Soil.  
And when the Saxon, and the British Fleet,  
(A dreadful day) did on the Ocean meet,  
By Arthur's side upon the Deck, he stood  
Distained with scattered Brains, and reeking Blood.  
The Youth at danger unconcerned appeared,  
And nothing but his Country's Sufferings feared.  
He leaped out first on the Dimetian Strand,  
And welcomed Arthur to his Native Land.  
Where taking leave, he to his Country came,  
To Head his Men, and win yet greater Fame.   

Devana sends brave Troops, a noble Town,  
For lofty Works, and splendid Structures known.  
Where once the Roman Conquerors did reside,  
And envied not Italia's Wealth and Pride.  
The bold Inhabitants on Deva's Bank,  
And they who Danus, and Merseia drank;  
With those that had their Seats, along the Soil  
Which Briny Riches gives with easy Toil;  
Draw out and Muster on the Neighbouring Plain,  
Resolved the British Honour to regain.  
Bothan their Captain was a Warlike Knight,  
A brave Asserter of his Country's Right.  
A noble, but ungovernable Fire,  
(Such is the Hero's) did his Breast inspire.  
His honest Rage, his Friends could scarcely Rule,  
Hot for the Camp, but not for Counsel Cool.  
Fit to assist to pull a Tyrant down,  
But not to please the Prince that mounts the Throne.  
Impatient of Oppression, still he stood  
His Country's Mounds, against th' invading Flood.  
Impetuous, as a Tempest in its Course,  
He not to Conduct trusted, but to Force.  
Unskilled in Court Intrigues, on which the wise  
And crafty Statesman, as his strength, relies;  
He still expected that a loud Applause,  
Should follow Bravery, and a Righteous Cause,  
His Country praised him; no Britannic Lord,  
Was as his People's Patron more adored.  
And Now in Arms they throng about their Head,  
None to the Prince such numerous Forces led.   

The Coritanians, that the Soil possessed,  
By fair Darventio's fruitful Waters blest,  
And Repandunum, where clear Trenta's Tide  
Does into Dovoes silver Bosom glide.  
Those near high Peak, in heavenly Waters drowned,  
And in the Dale, which craggy Rocks surround;  
Their Zeal and Courage raised by loud Alarms,  
Forsook their Seats, and Fields, and flew to Arms.  
These valiant Men that Fame and Freedom sought,  
To join the Prince's Arms Canvallo brought.  
Noble Canvallo, who did with him bring  
The Majesty, and Presence of a King.  
Of lofty Stature, and a graceful Air,  
By's own Sex feared, and favoured by the Fair.  
Th' Inglorious Pleasures of the wanton Court,  
That drained his Wealth, did not the Patriot hurt,  
Fit for the Camp, or Business of the State,  
But soft Enjoyments Love to both abate.  
Alarmed with Public Danger, he arose  
Like a roused Lion, from his long Repose.  
Armed, and equipped with gaeat Magnificence,  
He mounts his fiery Turk, bought at a vast Expense.  
His princely Train, and splendid Equipage,  
Wher'ere he passed the Eyes of all engaged.   

The Atrebatians From the happy Land,  
Which then sublime Gallena did command.  
Where winding Thamisis does bless the Soil,  
The Wealth and Glory of the British Isle.  
In Warlike Bands advance to Arthur's Aid,  
And rich Bertudor, as their Head obeyed,  
Who still against the Pagan Interest strove,  
Rich in Possessions, and his People's Love.  
His happy Tenants, and the Farmer's round,  
His Hospitable House still open found.  
Each Week ten Oxen from the Stall he drew,  
A hundred Sheep, and forty Swine he slew;  
Fat Venison, Fowl, and Fish, an endless Store,  
To feed his Guests, his Servants, and the Poor.  
He to the Woods, and Forests was inclined,  
To hunt the Fox, and chase the flying Hind.  
Pleased with his Friends, and with his rural Sport,  
He wisely shunned, the Dangers of the Court.  
But for the Christian Cause, and public Peace,  
He quits the Forests, and his Wealth and Ease.  
His Helmet braced, and on his Arm his Shield,  
He marched before his Troops into the Field.  
And that my Verse may to his Name be just,  
Of all the Lords Bertudor was the first,  
That to the Camp, his valiant Forces brought,  
Tho' not inur'd to War, and tho' remote.   

The Durotriges from the western Coast,  
Where the Britannic Ocean's Waves are tossed.  
Their Troops assembled, for the Prince declare,  
And march from all the Towns, to meet the War.  
From Dornavaria, and the Seats that stand  
On Froma's Stream, and wealthy Blackmoor Land:  
From Vendogladia, and the towers that rose  
On the fat Glebe, where pleasant Stourus flows.  
Sakil their Leader, an Illustrious Peer,  
Was to his Prince, and to his Country dear.  
He their Maecenas cheers the British Bards,  
Learns them to Sing, and then their Songs rewards.  
So Heaven to makes Men good, does Grace bestow,  
And then rewards them for their being so.  
Him as their Head the Athenian Sons adore,  
The Muse's Favourite, but the People's more.  
To form great Men, his Palace was the School,  
His Life good Breeding's, and good Nature's Rule.  
To him the needy Men of Wit resort,  
And find a Friend in an unlettered Court.  
The Poet's Nation, did Obsequious wait  
For the kind Dole, divided at his Gate.  
Laurus amidst the meager Crowd appeared,  
An old, revolted, unbelieving Bard,  
Who thronged, and shoved, and pressed, and would be heard.  
Distinguished by his louder craving Tone,  
So well to all the Muse's Patrons known,  
He did the Voice of modest Poets drown.  
Sakil's high Roof, the Muse's Palace rung  
With endless Cries, and endless Songs he sung.  
To bless good Sakil Laurus would be first,  
But Sakil's Prince, and Sakil's God he cursed.  
Sakil without distinction threw his Bread,  
Despised the flatterer, but the Poet fed.  
His Sword the Muse's great Defender draws,  
T' assert Britannia's, and Religion's Cause.   

Orson their Head, the bold brigants brings,  
Subject of late, to the North-Saxon Kings.  
Now for their Liberty they boldly speak,  
And through the Foe, to join Prince Arthur, break.  
Osron's Example all the Region fired,  
With noble Heats, and Martial Thoughts inspired.  
None in the Field did greater Courage show,  
Whither he charged, or else sustained the Foe.  
Yet none more fit in Council to preside,  
And in a Storm, the labouring State to guide.  
A mighty Genius of uncommon Mould,  
As Caesar Eloquent, as Caesar Bold.  
He could th' unstable People's Tumults stop,  
And a declining Kingdom underprop.  
Matured by Age, and business of the State,  
The hoary Oracle in Council sat.  
Where he the British Nestor was esteemed,  
And all his Language, Inspiration seemed.  
This finished Statesman did the Prince persuade  
To pass the Seas, the Saxon to invade.  
And at his Landing quick Assistance brought,  
And for his Country none more bravely fought.   

The farthest Western Soil, which with their Wave  
The British, and Hibernian Oceans lave.  
From Isca's Noble Stream, far as the Shore  
Where round Bolerium's Head the Billows roar,  
By the Danmonian Britons was possessed,  
And with King Cador's, temperate Empire blest,  
This warlike People, at their King's Command,  
Now take up Arms, and muster through the Land.  
The good King Cador worn with War and Age,  
No longer does the Foe in Arms engage.  
Macor his Son supplied the Father's Place,  
Whose Virtues equalled his Illustrious Race.  
To serve Prince Arthur, and his righteous Cause,  
His Sword the brave Danmonian Hero draws.  
A beauteous Youth, whose Breast a strong desire  
Of Fame, and Martial Glory did inspire.  
Eager of War, he the Danmonians led,  
And shone in splendid Armour at their Head.  
His coming, Joy to all the Britons gives,  
And in his Arms, the Prince his Friend receives.  
To whom to be endeared, he always strove,  
By all expressions of Respect and Love.  
The Valiant Youth he did with Honour's grace,  
To his high Merit due, and noble Race.  
Macor, mean time, Prince Arthur did adore,  
None served his Cause, or sought his Favour more.   

Tracar, and Ormes in the Camp arrive,  
Whose Presence to the rest, fresh Courage give.  
Their Wisdom was by Fame aloud proclaimed,  
The Britons none with greater Honour named.  
Both fit about a Monarch to abide,  
To aid his Counsels, and the State to guide.  
None more admired for clear, unerring Sense,  
For Piercing Sight, and charming Eloquence.  
Great Spirits both, but of a different Mould,  
Ormes impetuous, Turbulent, and Bold;  
But Tracar was composed, sedate, and cool,  
His Passions subject to a stricter Rule.  
Ormes was haughty, inaccessible,  
And knew his Riches, and his Sense too well.  
Tracar was courteous, easy of Access,  
Of great Humanity, and mild Address.  
Ormes was therefore honoured not desired,  
Tracar beloved, and equally admired.  
Ormes would still advance unbounded Power,  
Tracar his Country's Liberty secure.  
Tracar had Letters, Ormes Native Fire:  
Both had by Birth, what Labour can't acquire.  
Arthur to neither Rival Wit inclines,  
But used them both, to serve his wise Designs.  
Such Love the Britons to the Prince expressed,  
Who when he found his Numbers thus increased,  
Advanced his Ensigns, and to Isca came,  
Where the Silureses dwelled, the chief for Fame.  
Hither fresh Squadrons to the Prince resort,  
Which from that time is called great Arthur's Court  
Five times the Sun had his Diurnal Race  
Completed, when from this delightful place  
The pious Prince his Ensigns moved, and came  
To Glevum, seated on Sabrina's Stream.  
Decamping hence, his armed Battalions gain  
Prince Arthur at their Head, the fertile Plain  
By easy Marches, where Gallena stood,  
Which Thamisis laves with its noble Flood.   

Thus stood the Britons, after his Defeat,  
Octa with Grief did to his Coasts Retreat.  
As when by chance a Royal Eagle spies,  
From some high Mountain's Top, amidst the Skies;  
A flight of Swans, obscuring all the Air,  
Swift as the Lightning, which he's said to bear,  
Upon the Prey his Airy Flight he takes,  
And with sharp Pounces vast Destruction makes.  
Some fall struck dead, some wounded slowly fly,  
While Snowy Clouds of Feathers fill the Sky.  
Those that the fierce Invader's Strokes survive,  
With all the speed, Fear to their Wings can give;  
To their belov'd Cayster's Banks return,  
And in their reedy Seats, their Wounds and Losses mourn.  
So fared the Saxons, and their shattered Fleet,  
Octa forthwith Commands his Lords to meet  
In Council, where they in long order sat  
T' advise what best might save their threatened State.   

Cissa first spoke, an able Counsellor  
Let us assemble all our present power,  
And strait advance the Britons to Attack,  
Who to our Arms can small Resistance make.  
Sore with their Wounds, and weary with their Toil,  
They tempt the Saxons to an easy Spoil.  
Boldly fall on, before their Troops are eased,  
With Food and Rest, and with Recruits increased.  
Your Wisdom thus, and Courage will appear,  
Who though defeated, have not learned to fear.  
The Foe surprised must to your Mercy yield,  
Or to their Ships Retreating, quit the Field.  
He ceased, then Osred, who had always won  
By his wise Counsel great Applause, begun:  
Our late Defeat has too much Terror struck,  
Through all our Troops, too much our Empire shook,  
And too much fleshed the Foe, to let me join  
In this Advice, my Counsels more incline  
To draw into the Field our utmost Power  
From all the Saxon States, and to secure  
Our Empire, let us labour to persuade  
The Pict, and Scotish King, to give us Aid.  
The Cause and Interest is the same of all,  
They and their Gods, if we are crushed, must fall.  
Our Arms united in a numerous Host,  
We may before of certain Conquest boast.  
The trembling Foe unable to withstand  
Such mighty Armies, will forsake the Land.  
But if supported with vain hopes they stay,  
They fall into our hands an easy Prey.   

Pascentius next, a wise Nestorian head,  
Whose Looks, and Words profound Attention bred:  
Thus spoke spoke 'tis true our Troops while thus dismayed,  
And of Prince Arthur's Fame, and Arms afraid,  
From present Action justly may dissuade.  
Seeking the Foe we too great Danger run,  
Emboldened by his Victory lately won.  
And thus far Osred's Thoughts and mine you see  
Conspire, as in the rest they disagree.  
If with our utmost Force we meet our Foes,  
To too much hazard we our State expose.  
Th' uncertain Game of War they little know,  
That Stake an Empire on a single Throw.  
While we delay to gather all our Force,  
And to the Picts and Scots, shall have recourse;  
Prince Arthur will advance, and mightier grow,  
Like rolling Balls, that gather up the Snow,  
Or Rivers taking Streams in, as they flow.  
The Britons led by ancient Prophecies,  
Expect that near this time, a Prince shall rise  
Heroic, Wise, a mighty Conqueror,  
That all their lost Dominions shall restore,  
And o'er the World, extend their Naval Power.  
Something like this, our Augurs seem to fear,  
From Prodigies, and Signs that oft appear.  
Those hopes they all of Arthur now express,  
Drawn by his Fame abroad, and late Success.  
While this Belief, tho' false, the Briton warms,  
He grows less fearful of the Saxon Arms.  
He'll be more bold in Fight, while thus inspired,  
And with such Zeal, and Expectation fired.  
Intoxicated thus Men Wonders do,  
And by bold Deeds, make their vain Fancies true.  
He therefore serves King Octa, that creates,  
An Understanding first, between the States.  
An Embassy may to the Prince be sent,  
To treat how Blood and ruin to prevent,  
They may propose the Kingdom to divide,  
And offer Octa's Daughter for his Bride,  
Fair, Ethelina, whose perverted Mind,  
To Christian Worship is too much inclined.  
He ceased, and his Advice did chiefly please,  
And of the Council most declared for Peace.   

The Lords dispersed, King Octa unresolved,  
Long in his Mind his troubled Thoughts revolved.  
With strong contending Tides of Passion pressed,  
Now War he looks on, now on Peace, as best.  
Long he appeared on Osred's Counsel bend,  
And to the Neighbouring Saxon Princes sent,  
That all, the strong Necessity might know  
Of joining Arms, against the Common Foe.  
At the same time an Embassy he sends,  
To make the Pict, and Scotish King his Friends.  
That of their powerful Aid he might not fail,  
If Arthur, and his Britons should prevail.  
But when he heard, that Arthur had as far  
As Glevum's Walls, advanced the threatening War,  
Observing that the Saxons were dismayed,  
And not yet strengthened by his Neighbour's Aid,  
He now declared, it was his settled Sense,  
A Treaty with the Briton to Commence.   

Then Orators he sent without delay,  
Who to the Britons Camp direct their way.  
Titullan, Selred, and wise Theocles  
For this Negotiation chiefly please.  
Heldured of the Embassy was one,  
Osrick and Thedred noble Ormar's Son.  
Arriving at the Prince's Camp, they found  
The British Youth in Crowds dispersed around.  
For then with various Sports, and manly Play,  
The Britons solemnised, th' auspicious Day,  
Of Arthur's Birth, o'er all the Fields they spread,  
To different Games, by different Passions led.  
Here Chariots raising Clouds of Dust appear,  
And run with smoking Wheels their swift Career.  
Here the robust Danmonian Nation swarms,  
Hurling their massy Balls with vigorous Arms.  
Here the Dobunians to advance their Fame,  
Toil at their Country's old laborious Game.  
Long Ashen Staves across their Shoulders lie,  
Then swayed with both their Hands, strike thro' the Sky.  
A mounting Orb of Thongs, or well sowed Hide,  
While at due distance ranged, on th' other Side  
The Foe inclining stands, to wait its Fall,  
And with like Force, strike Back the bounding Ball.  
Encircled Wrestlers here their Manhood try,  
And with loud Shouts, that rend the labouring Sky,  
The standing Ring proclaims the Victory.  
Some to a Cudgel prise their Fellows dare,  
Who straight spring out to meet the wooden War.  
They brandish in the Air their threatening Staves,  
Their Hands, a woven Guard of Osier saves,  
In which they fix their Hazel Weapon's End,  
Thus armed, the nimble Combatants contend  
For Conquest, giving and receiving Blows,  
And down their Heads a crimson River flows.  
Here flowery Garlands their proud Temples crown,  
Whose airy Feet the Race had newly won.  
Such were the Britons Sports, as through the Throng  
The Saxon Orators passed slow along.  
Who straight were to th' August Pavilion led,  
Where Arthur sat, his Lords around him spread.   

To whom Edburga thus,  
The Saxon King, whose ardent wishes are  
To save Britannia, from Destructive War.  
Who rather seeks t' enjoy the Fruits of Peace,  
Then by his Arms his Empire to increase.  
Makes such Advances for these glorious Ends,  
As may the Britons make his lasting Friends.  
The Saxons, and the Britons shall command  
Their equal Shares, of the divided Land.  
Such Barrier shall be fixed, as shall secure  
The Britons, jealous of the Saxon Power.  
To give Britannia Peace, we condescend  
To yield up what our Arms can well defend.  
Such steps King Octa makes for Peace, beside  
That both may yet with closer Bonds be tied,  
Bright Ethelina, Octa's chief Delight,  
Shall be the Link, the Nations to unite.  
This so much envied Favourite of Fame,  
Whom all with Love, and Admiration name.  
Octa consents shall be your beauteous Bride,  
To you already, in her Faith Allied.  
These Measures all Contentions may adjust,  
Friendship confirm, and fix a mutual Trust.  
But if rejected, Octa does declare  
He's guiltless of the dire effects of War.  
Upon the Christians Head, will rest the Gild  
Of all the Blood, that by the Sword is spilt.   

The Prince replied,  
Affairs of that Importance to the State,  
Require our thoughtful Care and calm Debate.  
The two Proposals by King Octa made,  
For lasting Friendship, shall be duly weighed.   

Twice had the Sun broke from the Purple East,  
Twice was he seen dilated in the West.  
When Arthur seated on his Chair of State,  
Thus spoke, the Saxons with Attention wait.  
An honourable Peace my Thoughts prefer,  
To all the Triumphs of a Bloody War.  
ay, and my Britons, those just Terms approve,  
King Octa makes t' establish Peace and Love,  
To spare each Nation's Blood, and save the Isle  
From Desolation, and destructive Spoil.  
Indulgent Heaven is to both Nations kind,  
That has your King to peaceful Thoughts inclined.  
Ten Lords of Saxon, ten of British Blood,  
May meet at Spina near Cunetio's Flood  
T' adjust the Limits of each Nation's Power,  
And Barriers fix, that may their Peace secure.  
You for an Interview, the place will name,  
Where I may see the beauteous Saxon Dame.  
He ceased, and all the Audience poured around,  
To this assented with a murmuring Sound.  
A sudden Joy did in their Eyes appear,  
While smiling Peace, triumphed o'er vanquished War.   

Mean time the Infernal Monarch wings his Flight,  
To the White Hills, whence his Angelic Sight  
Might all the Fields, and subject plains survey,  
Where in their Camp, the hateful Britons lay.  
While with malicious Eyes around he viewed,  
The Christian Army filled with Joy, he stood  
With Rage dilated, and with Envy blown,  
Like glowing Aetna, on Plinlimon thrown.  
Flashes of Fire from his red Eyeballs flowed,  
Like Lightning breaking from a lowering Cloud.  
So when a Toad, squat on a Border spies,  
The Gardener passing by, his bloodshot Eyes  
With Spite, and Rage inflamed, dart Fire around  
The verdant Walks, and on the flowery Ground,  
The bloated Vermin loathsome Poison spits,  
And swollen and bursting with his Malice sits.  
So the fallen Angel sat, and thus begun,  
Am I, and all th' infernal Powers outdone?  
And must this Briton still pursue his Course,  
And thus elude my Arts, and all my Force?  
What Christian Towns, and States have I destroyed,  
Forced by my Power, or by my Arts decoyed?  
How few remaining Christian Regions are,  
Where no deep Marks of my Revenge appear?  
What glorious Ruin did my Romans spread  
O'er Asia's Christians; I the Lombard's led,  
And furious Huns, to rich Ausonia's Soil;  
And filled the Land with Blood, and Christian Spoil,  
My Maxamin's, and Nero's, mighty Names,  
What Desolation, by devouring Flames,  
What Slaughter by the Sword, these Heros made,  
With what Success did they the Saints invade?  
And if the Fame be true that spreads in Hell,  
In Gaul a Prince shall arise, that shall excel  
All these, and more in Blood and Spoil delight,  
And all Hell's Furies to his Aid invite.  
Let that great Prince arise, and may his Birth,  
Be honoured with Convulsions of the Earth,  
Eclipses, Comets, Meteors, Lightnings, Storms,  
Murders, and Monsters of tremendous Forms.  
Not are there Triumphs of my Power alone,  
Much weaker Spirits, have great Conquests won.  
Spirits of Lower Order, small renown,  
In Hell of little Figure, scarcely known.  
Inferior, subaltern Divinities,  
Could often their just Fury to appease,  
To wreck their Rage, and honest Malice cloy,  
Whole Armies of this hateful Sect destroy:  
First tempt th' ungrateful Murmurers to Rebel,  
And then with Plagues and Darts invisible,  
With Fire, and Earthquakes lay all waist, disseise  
Their God, and ruin all his Votaries.  
And shall this Briton all my Force defy,  
And introduce his banished Deity?  
High States of Hell, ye mighty Gods below,  
In your August Assemblies who will Bow,  
Who Acclamations make when I appear,  
Who dread my Power, my Greatness who revere?  
If still this Briton shall resist my Power,  
And all my Arts eluded, rest secure?  
But if by irresistible Deceree  
Pronounced by Fate, and unchanged Destiny;  
Arthur at last must mount the British Throne,  
Beat down our Altars, and erect his own.  
At least new hardships shall obstruct his Way,  
And my Revenge his Triumphs shall delay.  
That said he Flew, his Snaky Wings displayed,  
Down to his Palace midst th' Infernal Shade.   

From all their gloomy Regions to his Court,  
At his Command, th' Infernal Lords resort.  
To whom their Monarch from his glowing Throne,  
Thus with a haughty, troubled Look begun.  
Thus far in vain all our Attempts are made,  
To crush the Britons that our State invade.  
At Sea, they Triumph o'er King Octa's Fleet,  
At Land, Success above their Hopes, they meet.  
Octa defeated, dreads Prince Arthur's Arms,  
And sues for Peace, by Ethelina's Charms.  
If this should once prevail, Britannia's lost,  
We, and our Priests, must fly this impious Coast.  
Helped by th' Almighty Enemy of Hell,  
They yet our Arms escape, our Power repel.  
Then Monarch's War with vast advantage wage,  
When Heaven its Power does on their part Engage.  
This sure Expedient's left us to annoy  
The Britons, and their towering Hopes destroy.  
Let us provoke them to some dire Offence,  
Which may against their Armies, Heaven incense.  
Then the Seraphic Guards, that round them lie,  
Or else patroling through the Region fly,  
Scouring the Hills and Vales; with flaming Arms,  
The Christians to protect from our Alarms;  
These will displeased, withdraw their powerful Aid,  
And we with Safety may their Camp invade.  
What subtle Spirit of seducing Art,  
And skill in tempting, will perform this part?   

Then filthy Asmodai who Men inspires  
With wanton Passions, and unclean Desires,  
Whose lewd Adorers stand before his Shrine,  
Transformed to lustful Goats, and loathsome Swine,  
Thus spoke: This grateful Province I embrace,  
I from their Minds will virtuous Passions chase.  
My stronger Force shall all chaste Thoughts expel,  
And heavens weak Flames, shall yield to those of Hell.  
To solemn Groves, and lonesom Hermit's Cells,  
Where boasted Chastity in Triumph dwells,  
To Cloistered Monks Admission I command,  
And can a Camp my powerful Charms withstand?  
On me such chosen Spirits shall attend,  
Whose Skill and Power will most promote my End.  
The Gods of Riot, Luxury, and Wine,  
In this Attempt shall all their Forces join.  
Doubt not great Prince, when we their Camp Assail,  
Nature is on our side, we shall prevail.  
Th' Infernal Diet with his Language moved,  
With loud Applause the wise Design approved.   

Strait Asmodai attended with a Train  
Of soft Luxurious Spirits, to the Plain  
Directs his Flight, where the glad Britons lay;  
With labouring Wings he mounts the steepy Way,  
And quickly reached the tender Verge of Day.  
In Companies distinct the Britons sat,  
Pleased with their wished Success, and prosperous Fate.  
When to the Camp the Crew Infernal came,  
Grasping in either hand Tartarean Flame.  
About from Tent to Tent the Demons flew,  
And midst the Troops their flaming Torches threw.  
The wanton Fires about their Bosoms play,  
And to their Hearts lascivious warmth convey.  
The soft Contagion glides along their Veins,  
And in their Breasts the pleasing Poison reigns.  
Strait all in Riot and Debauches join,  
Dissolve in Mirth, and sit inflamed with Wine.  
The Captains Snore on Scarlet spread beneath,  
And with their labouring Breasts contend for Breath.  
Tables overturned and broken Swords betwixt,  
And Dishes fallen, with Armour intermixed,  
Helmets and Harness, and bruised Goblets by,  
A mad Confusion, make of War, and Luxury:  
Acted with lustful Fires, from Town to Town  
Commanders and their Men promiscuous run.  
With Outrages and ravished Virgins Spoils,  
The vicious Army all the Land defiles.  
Whoredoms in Pagan Cities they commit,  
And at their Sacrifices feasting sit.  
Heated with lewd Religion, Lust, and Wine  
They in the Worship of their Idols join.  
Then to the Camp the hot Adulterers lead  
Their Pagan Women and avow the Deed.  
Th' Angelic Guards th' enormous vices saw,  
And in Displeasure from their Camp withdraw,  
All Hell with Shouts of Triumph did resound,  
That Such Success had all their Wishes crowned   

The Prince of Hell straight summons from beneath  
The chief supporter of the Throne of Death,  
Vengeful Megaera, she without Delay  
From Hell's Abyss ascends, and in her Way  
Gathers raw Damps and Steams from noisome Graves,  
And putrid Reeks, from Subterranean Caves;  
Where spotted Plagues first draw their poisonous Breath,  
The Nurseries of Pain, and Magazines of Death.  
These Seeds of Torment, and devouring Heats,  
From whose Contagion vanquished Life retreats,  
Megaera in compacted Hides dark Wombs,  
For this infernal Purpose made, entombs.  
In their distinct Repositories laid,  
Sad choice of Death, she various Plagues conveyed.  
Armed for Destruction thus the Fury Came,  
And brought from Asmodai's, a different Flame.  
Then Wolves were heard in neighbouring Hills to howl,  
Th' illboding Raven and the screaching Owl  
Sung o'er the Camp by Night, the Sun by Day,  
Distained with Blood, shone with a dismal Ray.  
The cruel Fury straight her Flight did take  
To find her Prince, to whom th' Apostate spoke.  
Go, glut thy Rage, and let the Britons know,  
Hell's Monarch is not yet a vanquished Foe.  
Pass thro' their Camp with thy accustomed Hast,  
And on them all thy deadly Treasures waste.   

Straight did the vengeful Minister prepare,  
T' infect the Camp, and poison all the Air.  
Her Bottles turgid with imprisoned Death  
She opened, and released the fatal Breath.  
In livid Wheels the dire Contagion flies,  
And putrid Exhalations taint the Skies.  
The Region's choked with Pestilential Steams,  
Malignant Reeks, raw Damps, and sultry Gleams.  
Now with their Breath the hot Infection slides  
Into their Breasts, and through their Vitals glides.  
Their Labouring Hearts spout out the flowing Blood,  
And fry the Limbs with an Aetnean Flood.  
The raging Pestilence chases through the Veins  
Retreating Life, and dressed in purple Reigns.  
While other Plagues run colder to the Heart,  
And through their Breast strike like a poisoned Dart.  
Racked with tormenting Pain some gasping lie,  
Some only breath th' envenomed Air, and die.  
Their Hearts with i'll, congealing Blood oppressed,  
Throb a few moments in their panting Breast,  
Then yield, and from their Vital Labour rest.  
In vain for Help, in vain for Drugs they cry,  
Friends and Physicians come, but with them die.  
Through all the Camp the fierce Destruction's spread,  
Deforming every Tent with Heaps of Dead.   

Mean time the pious Arthur prostrate laid,  
Thus in a Flood of Tears dissolving prayed:  
Great King of Heaven, thy Arm thou makest bare,  
T' invade the Britons with resistless War.  
Thy glittering Sword brandished with dreadful Sway,  
Does thro' our Camp with wide Destruction Slay.  
Why did thy Aids the Shipwreckt Britons save,  
From Rocks and Tempests, and th' insulting Wave,  
If we must only see our Native Isle,  
And with our Dead th' encumbered Land defile?  
Th' insulting Heathen will Blaspheme thy Name,  
And in their Songs advance their Idols Fame.  
To their vain Gods loud Praises they'll return,  
And Hecatombs upon their Altars burn.  
Spare yet thy Britons, let some Relics live,  
That may due Honours to thy Temples give.  
Let the Destroyer cease at thy Command,  
And Death at thy Rebuke arrested, stand.  
And may the Crimes that Heaven provoke, be known,  
That our deep Sorrows may its Wrath atone.   

The pious Prince's humble Cries succeed,  
And glorious Raphael with Angelic speed  
Descends, his Sword of Flame drawn in his Hand,  
To chase the fierce Destroyer from the Land.  
A Crystal Vial full of Odorous Fumes,  
Ambrosial Balm, and rich Etherial Gums;  
His other hand poured out upon the Air,  
To cure the Damps, and noxious Vapours there.  
Megaera flies the bright Archangel's Sword,  
The Plague was stayed, and Health and Life restored.  
Then to the room swift Raphael Wings his way,  
Where Arthur still devoutly prostrate lay.   

To whom the Seraph thus:  
Heaven by the Britons daring Crimes incensed,  
Almighty Wrath severely has dispensed!  
Your unprotected Camp it did expose,  
To the dire Rage of your Infernal Foes.  
Who by Divine Permission soon overspread  
Your guilty Camp, with putrid Heaps of Dead.  
Th' Angelic Guards returned to Heaven, complained  
That your flagitious Troops you ne'er restrained.  
Your Captains boldly Whoredoms, Riots, Rapes  
Commit, and yet each Criminal escapes.  
Thus you avow the Ills, by others done,  
And their unpunished Gild, becomes your own.  
Had your Vindictive Arm been first employed,  
heavens had not thus your guilty Troops destroyed.  
But now th' Eternal yielding to your Prayer,  
Has sent me from his Throne, with speedy Care  
To stay the Plague, and make the Fiend retreat,  
That spreads the Poison, to her Stygian Seat.  
heavens now appeased, may ne'er the Britons dare  
By their Revolting, to renew the War.  
The Seraph disappeared, and Arthur raised  
Upon his Feet, th' Eternal Goodness praised.    

Prince Arthur.  
BOOK VII.  

THE Prince of Hell that on the Mountain stayed,  
And with Infernal Joy around surveyed  
The Camp, where Death did in sad Triumph reign,  
With wide Destruction, covering all the Plain.  
Thus to himself: At last I have prevailed.  
Against this Sect, though other Arts have failed.  
Their Troops half ruined with the Plague, afford  
An easy Conquest, for King Octa's Sword;  
I'll break the Peace, although advanced so far,  
And finish their Destruction by new War.  
Arthur, prepare against the Saxon Arms,  
'Tis time enough for Ethelina's Charms.  
Heros delayed, and disappointed, prise  
The Crown, that got too cheaply, they despise.  
Pleasures the farther off, the greater seem,  
And Toil and Danger, best preserve Esteem.  
That service I will do, by taking care  
To give fresh Fuel to th' expiring War.  
That said, he leaves the Crystal Plains of Light,  
And to th' Infernal Regions takes his Flight.   

There stands a Rock, dashed with the breaking Wave  
Of troubled Styx, where was a gloomy Cave  
Flowing with Gore, the fierce Bellona dwells,  
And bound with Adamantine Fetters, Yells.  
Around stand Heaps of mosly Sculls, and Bones,  
Whence issue loud Laments, and dreadful Groans.  
Torn Limbs, and mangled Bodies are her Food,  
Her Drink whole Bowls of Wormwood, Gall, and Blood.  
Long curling Snakes her Head with Horror crown,  
And on he rsquallid Back hang lolling down.  
This gripes a bloody Dart, the other Hand  
Grasps of Infernal Fire, a flaming Brand.  
Treason, and Usurpation near allied,  
Haughty Ambition, and elated Pride,  
And Cruelty, with bloody Garlands crowned,  
Rapine, and Desolation stand around.  
With these Injustice, Violence, Rage's remain,  
And ghastly Famine, with her meager Train.  
This Savage Rout to Gallia now resort,  
Drawn by the Fame of proud Versallia's Court.  
There these Attendants on their Master wait,  
And with their odious Forms, compose his horrid State.  
To this wild Den now did th' Apostate fly,  
Resolving all Bellona's Aid to try.  
At his Approach the Monsters cease their Din,  
And bow at distance with a dreadful Grin.  
The Stygian Prince, the Fury soon unchains,  
Straight double Rage boils in her swelling Veins.   

Then thus he spoke, to Octa's Palace fly,  
Attended with perfidious Treachery,  
And various Discord, let thy Arts persuade  
That Prince, the ruin'd Britons to invade.  
Go raise new Tumults, and dissolve the Peace,  
For this high Task Bellona I release.   

Charged with these dire Commands, she flies away,  
To the Superior Regions, blest with Day.  
Near Peak's aspiring Mount, and spacious Wood,  
And the green Banks of Dovus Crystal Flood.  
A wide-mouthed Den, th' admiring Traveller sees  
With thorny Shrubs overspread, and shady Trees;  
That downward goes unfathomably deep,  
Beneath the subterranean Vaults, that keep  
Imprisoned Damps, and Winds tumultuous Store,  
And the low Caves, where falling Waters roar.  
It passes through the Bowels of the Earth,  
And the rich Beds, where Metals have their Birth,  
Till it reveals the gloomy Mouth of Hell,  
Bellona freed from her infernal Cell,  
Through this dire Gulf ascends with hasty Flight,  
And soon emerges in the Fields of Light.  
The Air grew dark, the Rocks, and Mountains struck  
With Horror, at the Fury's Presence shook.  
The Spheres disordered roll, the starting Sun  
Springs from the Heavenly Course he used to run.  
The Moon all drowned in Blood, and blazing Stars,  
Portended Tumults, and destructive Wars.   

Strait to King Octa's Court the Fury comes,  
And Acha Octa's Mother's Shape assumes.  
Then thus she spoke.  
From blessed Elysian Gardens I descend  
To teach thee how to gain a glorious End  
Of all thy Labours, and thy warlike Toil,  
And fix thy Empire o'er the British Isle.  
Heaven has decreed that here thy Race shall reign,  
And therefore has the hateful Britons slain  
With a destructive Plague, and poisoned Darts  
Shot from above, into their impious Hearts.  
Not half their Troops survive, make hast my Son  
Their Ruin to complete, by Heaven begun.  
Run then to Triumph, hast to certain Spoil,  
And chase the cursed Nation from the Isle.  
You see how much your League the Gods offend,  
Let not their Enemy, be Octa's Friend.  
They must not be to us by Blood allied,  
Nor Ethelina be a Briton's Bride.  
That said, a spotted Viper from her Head,  
She to his Bosom secretly conveyed.  
The poisonous Vermin, with infernal Art  
Glides through his Breast, and twines about his Heart.  
The secret Poison wanders through his Veins,  
And warlike Fury o'er his Spirits reigns.  
Hence straightway to the Picts and Scottish Court,  
The Fury, and her hellish Train resort.  
Where they to bloody Wars sound loud Alarms  
And make the barbarous Nations fly to Arms.   

Mean time, the Saxon Monarch raving flew  
About the Court, and soon together drew  
The chiefest Lords, and thus himself expressed,  
It was resolved to give the Britons Rest;  
The Land between the Nations to divide,  
And that the Princess should be Arthur's Bride.  
But Heaven against his Treaty does declare,  
And singly with the Britons wages War.  
In vain we offer what they can't enjoy,  
We spare the Men, Heaven labours to destroy.  
Avenging Gods from their high Regions came,  
Armed with bright Swords of keen, Etherial Flame,  
And fatal Darts of pointed Lightnings made,  
And with sure Death the British Camp invade.  
Their trembling Relics fall our certain Prey,  
Heaven sounds th' Alarm, and we must Heaven obey.  
Tho we by Sea their Power could not withstand,  
Our Gods more potent are, then theirs by Land.  
Th' unfinished Conquest we may soon complete  
Or from this Isle oblige them to retreat.  
This fair occasion let our Arms improve  
To fix our Power, and all our Fears remove.  
He ceased, and all his Captain's War desired,  
And sprang into the Field with Martial Heat inspired.   

Strait Orders are dispatched for all to Arm,  
And through the Cities sounds the loud Alarm.  
The tremb'ling Husbandman his Toil forbears,  
Fells his tall Ash, and shapes long Staves for Spears.  
Some sighing o'er their Anvils forge the Blades  
Of Swords, instead of Hooks, and rural Spades.  
Huge Gauntlets some, some hollow Helmets beat,  
And some o'er brazen Backs, and Breastplates sweat.  
Some shape their Darts, and some their Javelins Points,  
Or fit their polished Armour's Manly Joints.  
Shap'ning their Arrows Heads, some stand inclined,  
Some on revolving Stones their Axes grind.  
Some serve on foot, some take the Horseman's Lance,  
And to the Field their foaming Coursers prance.  
In haste, some from their high roofed Halls hung round,  
With all the horrid Pride of War, and crowned  
With dusty Trophies, take their massy Shield,  
And flaming Sword, and fly into the Field.  
Some clasp their Helmets on, some snatch their Spear,  
And polished Buckler, and in Arms appear.  
Ensigns displayed, and Trumpets voice delight  
The Saxon Youth, and martial Minds excite.  
The lighted Beacons from the Hills declare,  
As blazing Comets do, approaching War,  
The flaming Signals given, the Regions round  
With Hors'men, Arms, and warlike noise resound.  
As when  
In some great Town a Fire breaks out by Night,  
And fills with crackling Flames, and dismal Light,  
With Sparks, and Pitchy Smoke th' astonished Sky,  
Th' affrighted Guards, that first the Flame espy,  
Strait giveth giveth Alarm, and spread the dreadful Cry.  
Th' amazed Inhabitants the Signal take.  
And run in Crowds half clothed, and half awake,  
To stop the spreading Ruin, and to tame  
With spouting Engines the destructive Flame.  
So when the frightful Cry of War begun,  
Into the Fields in Troops the Saxons run.   

Now Muse relate, and in their Order name  
The People, that from different Regions came.  
What famed Commanders did their Squadrons head,  
And what great Lords their valiant Subjects led,  
First the stout Cantian Saxon, from the Land,  
That bravely once did Caesar's Arms withstand,  
Where Joyful Nature, sits in Plenty crowned,  
Hesperian Woods, and Sylvan Scenes surround,  
Her shady Throne, that with rich Fruit abound.  
Of these some on the flowery Banks reside,  
Of fair Medvaga, that with wanton Pride,  
Forms silver Mazes with her crooked Tide.  
The Durobrovian Youth of warlike Fame,  
And bold Vagniacans, together came,  
With those about the fruitful Region bred,  
Where Durovernum, reers her stately Head.  
They march from Thanotos, and from her Towers,  
Her valiant Youth sublime Rutupia pours.  
Rutupia, whose rich Gems, and Pearly Store  
Enticed Victorious Caesar, to her Shore.  
Their chief Commanders were great Amades,  
Valiant Theodriek, Osred, and with these  
Hengist, a splendid Youth, the Blood, and Name  
Of the first Saxon, of Illustrious Fame,  
That from the Belgic Shore, to Albion came.  
From the fat Glebe they come, and flowery Land  
Which the stout Trinobantes, did Command.  
Augusta sends her warlike Youth, a Town  
Of ancient Fame, to Foreign Merchants known,  
Even then for Naval Power of great Renown.  
But since her stately Head is raised so high,  
Her glorious Towers surmount the wondering Sky.  
Her Royal Fleets the watery World control,  
Where the vast Ocean can his Billows roll,  
Far as the Indies, and from Pole to Pole.  
Her Power by trembling, Neighbour States is feared,  
By distant Empires, and new Worlds revered.  
Her bellowing Oaks, with louded Thunder roar,  
Than what annoyed them, on their Hills before,  
Shaking the gallic, and the Belgian Shore.  
Britannia's Head she reigns in Wealth and Ease,  
Mart of the World, and Emp'ress of the Seas.  
Edgar and Cissa, both Illustrious Names,  
From the delightful Banks of famous Thames,  
Into the Field, Augusta's Squadrons bring,  
None fought more bravely for the Saxon King.   

They from the Forests come, whose Sports invite  
Augusta's Youth, that in the Woods delight.  
From the sweet Gardens of the fruitful East,  
With smiling Flowers, and odorous Saffron blest.  
From Camelodunum pop'lous once, and proud  
Of its famed Colony of Roman Blood.  
From round Canonium, armed with Swords and Shields,  
The warlike People March, and from the Fields  
Where Idumanum verdant Wealth bestows,  
Whose wanton Tide in wreathing Volumes flows,  
Still forming Reedy Islands, as it goes.  
Brave Sebert led them, valiant Oga's Son,  
Whose Arms had great Renown in Battle won.  
The cheerful Youth from Verolamium came,  
A Town of ancient, and illustrious Fame.  
Where fortified with Trenches, Lakes and Wood,  
The valiant Casibellan, once withstood  
The Roman Arms, obliged at last to yield,  
Where Caesar fights, who can maintain the Field?  
Since cherished by th' indulgent Conqueror,  
The City was advanced in Wealth and Power.  
Its Towers, gilt Fanes, and Palaces did rise,  
Darting Terrestrial Glories through the Skies.  
Now where the City stood, the Ploughman toils,  
And as he works, turns up old Roman Spoils,  
Medals and Coins, every th' admiring Clown,  
Pavements and Urns, by ancient Figures known.   

From the rich Seats they came, from whence their Sword  
The Coritanian chased, the rightful Lord.  
From all the Towns, around the spacious Wood  
Near which sublime Tripontium's Castles stood.  
From Bannavenna well-armed Squadrons came,  
And Durobrevis, on Aufona's Stream.  
Their chief Commanders were brave Alopas,  
And valiant Egbert, both of Horsa's Race.  
They came, who dwelled along the Southern Coast,  
On which the Germane Ocean's Waves are tossed.  
The Soil the brave Icenian Britons blest  
With Peace, and envied Plenty, once possessed.  
Venta they left, where Garienus Tide,  
Does to the Bosom of Bardunus glide,  
An ancient, wealthy Town that did abound,  
With warlike Youth, and ruled the Soil around.  
High Branodunum does her Squadrons send,  
Where Roman Arms, did once the Coast defend.   

They leave the Towns along fair Theta's Flood,  
And happy Soil, where Gariononum stood.  
Those from the Banks of winding Stourus came,  
And the rich Town, that bore Faustinus name.  
They come from Oza's Banks, and from the Land  
Which lofty Combritonium did Command.  
This numerous Saxon Youth, that then obeyed  
King Ella's Laws, advance to Octa's Aid.  
Ella their Valiant Prince, was at their Head,  
And to the Field, his warlike People led.   

From Camboritum, and the Neighbouring Hills,  
The cheerful Youth drawn out, the Region fills:  
From Camboritum, than a warlike Town,  
Since for the Muse's Seat, much better known.  
Her learned Sons have gained Immortal Fame,  
And high as Heaven, have raised Britannia's Name.  
Redwal, whose Lands a vast Revenue yield,  
Led them, completely armed into the Field.   

They leave the reedy Lakes, and marshy Soil,  
Once happy by the British Farmers Toil.  
Now the vexed Land a Foreign Master knows,  
Which o'er the Country, like a Deluge flows,  
That from the Sea, the Banks born down, is rolled,  
And o'er their Fields advances uncontrolled.  
The Valiant Youth from all the Region goes,  
Which Trent and Lindis, confluent Streams, enclose.  
High Margadunum, all her Squadrons lends,  
And stately Lindum, which her Power extends  
O'er the wide Province, her Battalions sends.  
Mighty Ebissa, from the Fenny Land  
Into the Field, did lead this warlike Band.  
Orla, and Imerick, a Valiant Lord,  
Famed for his Strength, and vast unwieldy Sword,  
Drew all their Squadrons, and Battalions forth,  
From all their Towns, that lay the farthest North.   

King Cerdic from the West his Army brought,  
Who for the Saxon Empire bravely fought.  
He all the Saxon Heros far excessed,  
Whose conquering Arms, were never yet repelled.  
A great Commander, Brave and Fortunate,  
That founded first the Western Saxon State.  
Those seated on Halenus verdant Banks  
Draw out, and Muster their Victorious Ranks.  
They March from Tresantona's Crystal Flood,  
From Venta's Downs, and Regnums spacious Wood  
From rich Clusentum, and fair Vecta's Isle,  
From Briga and Segontium's fertile Soil.  
On Sorbiodunums Plains armed Youth appears,  
With nodding Plumes, and moving Groves of Spears.  
The famous Captain, who had chief Command,  
That with his Prince came to invade the Land,  
Was Lothar, born on Belgic Mosa's Flood,  
Whose noble Veins were filled with Royal Blood:  
Him did fair Emme Cerdic's Sister bear,  
And dying, left him to her Brother's Care.  
With all this Strength King Octa takes the Field,  
Nor doubts, but Arthur to his Arms must yield.   

The Britons now a solemn Fast proclaim  
To mourn their Gild, and take th' attendant Shame.  
To own the dreadful Plague, their Crimes desert,  
And by their Grief, like Judgements to avert.  
That Heaven appeased, from its relenting Hand  
May drop its Bolt, and spare the threatened Land.  
Sorrow untaught on every Face appeared,  
And only Sighs and sad Laments were heard.  
They weep aloud, and mourn their impious Fall,  
And with united Prayers for Mercy call.  
The prostrate Penitents for Pardon Cry,  
And from heavens Justice, to its Pity fly.  
To Grief, and flowing Tears, no Bounds are given,  
Th' Artillery alone, that Conquers Heaven.  
Righteous Resolves fill every humble Mind,  
And all in Vows of blessed Obedience joined.  
The mournful Camp's a Scene of pious Woe  
Where through their Eyes, their Hearts dissolving flow.  
Their loud and fervent Supplications, rise  
Above the Clouds, and penetrate the Skies.  
Contending thus with Heaven they weep, and pray,  
And strive to turn th' impending Storm away,  
That charged with Vengeance o'er their Camp appeared,  
More Plagues they had deserved, and therefore feared.   

Prince Arthur, that in Piety was chief,  
And now chief mourner, thus expressed his Grief,  
Th' attentive Britons hear, and hope Relief.  
Of Wrath Divine, what Vials have been poured,  
And emptied on our Heads, that hath devoured  
The guilty Britons, and our Camp consumed;  
Where piled in Heaps, the Dead, the Dead entombed!  
Th' Eternal's Sword around did widely waste,  
And carried Death, and Ruin where it past.  
It reeked in Blood, and shone with Slaughter died  
Red, as the Crimson Sins, that for its Vengeance cried.  
This day we deprecate the Curse, and all  
With wounded Souls, for heavens Compassion call.  
To still the Storms of Wrath that on us beat,  
And cause the fiery Torrent to retreat.  
The God we Worship Jealous is, and Pure,  
His Wrath advances slow, but reaches sure.  
His threatening Arm does long extended stay,  
But than descends with the more fearful Sway.  
Who then can his consuming Fire withstand,  
Who bear the strokes of his Revenging Hand?  
There's hope your Prayers have found Success above,  
And Heaven atoned, will this fierce Plague remove.  
May ne'er our impious Crimes, his Arm provoke  
To end our Ruin, by a second stroke.   

He ceased. His Men their sacred Vows renew,  
And for Devotion to their Tents withdrew.  
Where while Celestial Warmth their Breasts extend,  
The Day in Prayers, and Hymns of Praise they end.  
Heaven the Returning Penitents embraced,  
And far away th' Infernal Legions chased.  
Their Guardian Angels once more take their Post,  
Drawn out in bright Array, around their Host.   

Twice had the Sun with dawning Glories blest  
The World, and called the labourer from his rest,  
As oft the Night her Sable Vesture, set  
With pearly Dew, ascends her Throne of Jet.  
When certain Tidings Arthur's Camp alarmed,  
That Octa's Men against the Britons armed,  
Believing that the Britons thus distressed,  
By Saxon Arms, might be with Ease oppressed.  
With Octa Leagues, and Overtures of Peace,  
When War shall offer more advantage, cease.  
The Tidings soon through all the Army ran,  
Whence in their Minds tormenting Fears began.  
They thought their weakened Troops, could not oppose  
The fierce Attack, of their insulting Foes.  
The trouble spreads, all, their sad State bewail,  
That those the Plague had spared, the Sword should now assail.   

The pious Prince with heavy Grief oppressed,  
To Heaven thus vents the trouble of his Breast.  
Thou that from dark Egyptian Prisons freed,  
As Shepherds do their Flocks, didst Israel lead.  
Who from between the Cherubs, didst display  
Thy Heavenly Glories, to direct their Way.  
Whose mighty Arm extended, did secure  
Their trembling Host, pursued by Pharoah's Power.  
Shine forth, and with thy Beams dispel this Night,  
Whose horrid Shades, my labouring Soul affright.  
Stir up thy Strength, thy Foes, and ours invade,  
And bring thy shining Myriads to our Aid.  
Thou God of Light, reveal thy glorious Face,  
Thy Rays will from the Sky, this Tempest chase.  
Thee, all the unnumbered Hosts of Heaven obey,  
Drawn in embattled Lines, and bright Array  
Along th' Etherial Plains, and here below  
Monarches to thee, precarious Empires owe.  
Pressed by our Enemies, to thee we fly,  
How long wilt thou neglect thy People's Cry?  
Bathed in our Tears, and pleased with Grief, we moan  
Our solitary State, for God is gone.  
Our Foes around, despise our Mournful State,  
And on those Loads that press us, heap more Weight.  
Our Enemies enraged, no Mounds between,  
On us, like rising Waves, come roaring in.  
Against the Relics thy fierce Wrath has spared,  
The Foe's Inexorable Sword's prepared.  
On me with Scorn th' insulting Scoffers look,  
As one, whom Heaven displeased has now forsaken.  
The Pagans make my Woes their sportful Theme.  
Reproach thy Votaries, and thy Name blaspheme.  
Stir up thy Power, thy glittering Arms assume,  
Bowing the heavens, to our Deliverance come.  
As from th' aspiring Mountains, raised around  
jerusalem, while it stood, Protection found.  
So let a Guard, from thy bright Host detached,  
T' encamp about our Army be dispatched.  
Thou God of Truth arise, let th' Heathen see,  
Thy Wrath pursues perfidious Treachery.   

While thus Prince Arthur heavens Protection sought,  
The Godlike Raphael, this kind Message brought.  
Thy Prayer prevails, O Prince, be not dismayed,  
Th' Almighty's Arm is stretched out for your Aid.  
Highly your Crimes heavens Majesty displeased,  
But your Repentance hath his Wrath appeased.  
His People's Faults do but his Rod employ,  
But his fierce Vengeance shall his Foes destroy.  
Let not the Saxon's Numbers be their Pride,  
You're stronger far, for God is on your Side  
Abundantly your Loss is thus Supplied.  
Arise, and let the Britons Courage take,  
Their Arms shall drive th' advancing Saxon back.   

The Prince with Raphael's heavenly Message cheered,  
Octa's unequal Force, no longer feared.  
His cheerful Looks the drooping Britons saw,  
And thence reviving Warmth, and Courage draw.  
His Godlike Language calms their troubled Minds,  
And with its Charms reluctant Passions binds.  
He to their frozen Veins new Life procures,  
Dispels their Doubts, and fainting Hopes assures.  
The Britons that before did scarcely dare  
T' expect it, now resolve to meet the War.  
They now no more the Fears of Danger own,  
While Heaven assists, and Arthur leads them on.   

Mean time illboding Prodigies affright  
King Octa, and dissuade his Men from Fight,  
The Birds of Heaven the gazing Augurs scare,  
Crossing with inauspicious Flights the Air!  
The Fowl as sacred kept, projected Meat,  
Coldly regard, and sullenly retreat.  
From hollow Oaks, obscene Night Ravens sung,  
And clustering Bees upon their Ensigns hung.  
Bullocks with Garlands crowned reluctant come,  
Break from the Altar, and run lowing home.  
Near silver Thamisis sweet Banks, there stood  
Awful for solemn Shade, a lofty Wood  
Where they adored their God Irmansul named,  
A warlike Idol, through Germania famed.  
His Right Hand did a flowery Garland bear,  
His Left held up a Balance in the Air.  
His Breast a grisly Bear's fierce Figure bore,  
And in his Shield a Lion seemed to roar.  
Fresh gathered Flowers dispersed in Heaps around,  
Gay Superstition, paint their sacred Ground.  
Hither the Saxons, and their Priests repair,  
T' atone their God, with Victims and with Prayer.  
His Aid against the Britons to invoke,  
While the tall Oaks with Clouds of Incense smoke.  
The Priests the Wood to burn the Victim lay,  
And a crowned Bullock at the Altar slay.  
Their reeking Hands, ransack in vain the Breast,  
To find the Heart of the prodigious Beast.  
The Priests grow pale, and from their Altars start,  
Finding a Victim slain without a Heart.   

But that which most the gazing Saxons scare,  
Are Armies seen engaging in the Air.  
The highest ground of all th' heavenly Way,  
The Sun had gained, darting a downright Ray.  
When two black Clouds appeared, one from the East  
threatening arose, the other from the West.  
They stretched their lowering Fronts across the Sky,  
And frowning, seemed each other to defy.  
Between a Glade of free and open Air,  
Did, as betwixt two spacious Woods, appear.  
Then issuing from the Womb of either Cloud,  
Two Armies met, and drawn in Battle stood.  
The sickening Sun shone with a gloomy Ray,  
Scared with the bloody Business of the Day.  
Between them strait began a furious Fight,  
And glittering Arms supplied the want of Light.  
Eager of Glory from Heroic Deeds,  
The Airy Knights spur on their foaming Steeds.  
They rush to Battle with a full Career,  
And tilting break their Lances in the Air.  
Swords clashing Swords, and Shields rencountring Shields,  
Fill with the Din of War th' Etherial Fields.  
Vaulting the Air, thick Showers of Arrows fly,  
And warlike Labour troubles all the Sky.  
A Bloody Field was fought, and Heaps of Slain  
Seemed to overspread the wide Etherial Plain.  
Chariots overturned, and scattered Harness by,  
Steeds, and dismounted Riders, mingled lie.  
From gaping Wounds, a Crimson Sea of Blood,  
Along the Heavenly Pavement reeking flowed.  
At last the Squadrons, in the Eastern Sky  
Fell in Disorder, and began to fly.  
The Conquerors hung upon their Backs, and chased  
Their Troops, with mighty Rout through all the Wast.  
Into the Clouds and Heavenly wild's they fled,  
And left upon the Bloody Field their Dead.  
Next off the Theatre the Victors go,  
And into shapeless Air dissolving flow.  
The labouring Scene, and Actors disappeared,  
And of the War the Airy Stage was cleared.   

Octa that viewed th' important Prodigy,  
Trembled to see the Eastern Army fly.  
He wisely hid his Fears within his Breast,  
And to his Captains thus himself expressed.  
Let not vain Prodigies the Saxons scare,  
Formed by the wanton Demons of the Air.  
Wrapped in dark Clouds, the Will of heavens concealed,  
To Mortals only by th' Event revealed.  
Think not fantastic Portents can declare  
The Fate of Kingdoms, and Results of War.  
These only weak, and vulgar Minds affright,  
Like Phantoms, borrowing Horror from the Night.  
Which, as capricious Nature's Play, the wise  
From timorous Superstition free, despise.  
The valiant on their Arms make Fortune wait,  
And carve out to themselves propitious Fate.  
Neglect these Dreams, the Gods are ever kind  
To the best Troops, and to th' undaunted Mind.  
Great Caesar thus contemned his Augurs Tales,  
Fights, and o'er Foes, and Portents too, prevails.  
Thus Octa strove their Passion to appease,  
And give them what himself enjoyed not, Ease.   

At a small Village now unknown by Name,  
There dwelled a Sorcerer of wondrous Fame.  
The Pagan Briton Merlin, that of late  
For his dire Art, driven from the British State;  
Did with the Pagan Saxons safely dwell,  
And kept his Correspondence up with Hell.  
With potent Juices, and infernal Charms,  
The black Magician, Plagues, and Mortal Harms,  
And various Kind's of Mischiefs did inflict  
On those, whom Heaven was pleased he should afflict.  
He in the silent Night while Mortals sleep,  
By Hedg-rows, Lakes, or o'er the Hills would creep.  
To gather baleful Herbs, with which he drew  
Familiar Fiends, that round, like Ravens, flew.  
Mounting his Magic Wand, he through the Air  
To rich Nocturnal Feasts would oft repair,  
Spread on green Hills, or near some shady Wood,  
Or Grassy Banks of some sweet River's Flood;  
Where when th' infernal Company are met,  
Rich Meats, and Wines on stately Tables set  
They seem to taste, and by the Moon's pale Light,  
Spend in Fantastic Luxury, the Night.  
But from th' imaginary Banquet come,  
At the grey Dawning, lank and meager, home.   

King Octa's Servants at their Lord's Command,  
With their unrighteous Wages in their Hand,  
To Merlin come, and soon prevailed to bring  
The famed Magician, to their anxious King.  
Whom Octa thus bespoke,  
The Miracles, your sacred Art has shown,  
Make you through all the wondering Island known.  
Let your prodigious Power my Army Guard,  
Honour and Riches shall be your Reward.  
The Foe we'll now engage but let him first  
Be here by you, and your Enchantments cursed.  
Curse then this impious Enemy your Breath  
Will blast their Strength, and fatal prove as Death.  
Your Curse and that of Fate, is deemed the same,  
And whom you bless the World does blest proclaim.  
Assault their Camp with all your magic Powers,  
You'll curse your mortal Foes, as well, as ours.  
Revenge your Wrongs, and by your potent Charms,  
Draw off the Guardian Gods, that help their Arms.  
Come with me then, I will a Mountain show,  
From whose high Top you may their Army view.  
There we'll atone the Gods with Prayer and thence  
You shall your Curses on the Foe dispense.   

Then Octa to a Mount the Sorc'rer led,  
Whence through the Vale he saw the Britons spread.  
Seven Altars they erect, and in the Flames,  
Seven Bullocks sacrifice, and seven Rams.  
Here Octa and his Lords, their Gods adored,  
And kneeling round the Flames, their Aid implored.  
At last, the Night advancing to her Noon,  
Merlin conducted by the silver Moon,  
From Octa, to a neighbouring Hill withdraws,  
T' observe infernal Rites, and magic Laws.  
He seeks out noxious Plants, whose powerful Juice,  
Magicians for their strong Enchantments use.  
Green Henbane, Wormwood, Hemlock, Savine Top  
In whose pressed Juice he dipped his magic Sops,  
With Plants that to the Moon their Virtue owe,  
And Toadstools, that from Storms of Thunder grow.  
Which mixed with humane Fat, red Hair, and Blood,  
He offers up cast on the Burning Wood  
Then with his potent Wand, he walks around,  
And with dire Circles, marks th' enchanted ground.  
Then did he with a muttering Voice rehearse  
Wondrous, mysterious Words, and potent Verse.  
Th' infernal Charms all Nature did affright,  
The waning Moon strait sickened at the Sight.  
The Hill with Horror trembled, and around  
With howling Wolves the neighbouring Woods resound.  
Then Storms of Rain ensue, swift Lightnings fly,  
And dreadful Thunderclaps torment the Sky.  
Spectres, and Ghosts break from their hollow Tomb,  
And glaring round the Necromancer come.  
All Hell was moved, the Powers drawn from their Seats  
Arise, while Merlin his dire words repeats.  
Whom with his Charms he labours to engage  
Against the Britons, and excites their Rage.  
His powerful Arts incline them to employ  
United force, their Army to destroy.  
But Hell and all its Friends, vain Rage express,  
And Curse in vain, when Heaven desires to Bless.  
Merlin his impious Ceremonies done,  
Returns to Octa with the rising Sun.  
Before the Saxon Lords he stood, prepared  
To Curse their Foes, and merit his Reward.  
When the Magician's Breast an unknown Fire  
Lapsed from above did suddenly inspire.  
A warmth Divine his Spirits did invade,  
And once a Sorcerer, a Prophet made.  
The Heavenly Fury Merlin did constrain  
To Bless, whom he to Curse designed in vain.   

How Beautiful the Briton's Tents appear?  
What goodly Heads his Tabernacles Rear?  
As the rich Vales they spread their verdant Pride,  
Or flowery Gardens by the River's side.  
As shady Aloes in th' Arabian Woods,  
Or lofty Cedars planted by the Floods.  
Indulgent Heaven upon the Briton pours  
Prolific Dews, and sweet refreshing Showers.  
His Seed shall flourish midst surrounding Streams,  
Blest with mild Air, and pure reviving Beams.  
His Prince's Glory, shall his People's Love,  
And Neighbour Monarches Fear, and Envy, move.  
He, like a fearless Unicorn shall stand  
Sure of his strength, and all the Fields command.  
Those hostile Nations who oppose his Power,  
He with resistless Fury shall devour.  
He'll break their crashing Bones, his Bow he'll bend,  
And through their Flesh, his piercing Arrows send.  
He couches like a Lion on the Sand,  
Like a vast Lion in a Desert Land.  
Stretching his fearful Limbs at Ease he lies,  
What Creature dares provoke him to arise?  
Bless him, and be of happy Men the first,  
Curse him, and thou thyself shalt be accursed.   

He ceased. King Octa though incensed, suppressed  
His Trouble and Displeasure in his Breast,  
And to the Sorcerer, thus himself addressed.  
By solemn Execrations, to devote  
The Britons to Destruction, you were sought.  
But, you this impious Nation choose to Bless,  
And all your Words presage their Arms success.  
Withdraw a second time, perhaps you'll find  
The Gods, by your Enchantments more inclined.  
Perhaps some Error might at first displease,  
A second Essay will the Powers appease.   

The Sorcerer a second time retreats,  
And all his potent Charms with Care repeats.  
He added every poisonous Juice, and Spell  
He knew had force to shake the Realms of Hell.  
Merlin his impious Rites performed, returns,  
And acted by Satanick Fury burns.  
All Hell within shook the Magician's Breast,  
But by a Power Divine strait dispossessed;  
Th' affrighted Demons fled, and in their stead  
A pure Celestial Spirit did succeed.  
Transports Divine, his labouring Soul engage,  
And thus he spoke, moved with Prophetic Rage.  
In vain with Divination, we assail  
The Christian Arms, where all Enchantments fail.  
Our Curses by the powerful Breath of Heaven,  
Back on our Heads, with fatal Force are driven.  
Those God has blest, no Guards nor Bulwarks need,  
Nor can their Arms, whom he has cursed, succeed.  
Unchangeably he's on his Purpose bend,  
Nor does he, like unstable Man, repent.  
The Christian Army will prevail, that said,  
Observing Octa's Fury rise, he fled.   

The King incensed, cried, cursed Magician fly,  
Spite of thy Charms, and thee, shall Victory,  
And Triumph, on the Saxon Arms attend,  
Against such Troops what Signs can ill portend?  
Thy impious Tongue Propitious Heaven belies;  
And for the Britons forges Prophecies.  
Thyself of British Blood, the British Cause  
Stronger than Wrongs, or even Religion draws.  
So oft poor Slaves, who to a neighbr'ing State  
Fly for Protection from a Tyrant's Hate,  
If he does War against those Neighbours wage,  
And with his Arms, upon their Frontiers rage.  
Joy at th' Oppressor's Conquests and Success,  
Against their own Protector's, they express.   

Octa at this Defeat with Fury burned,  
And to his Army with his Lords returned.  
Amidst his Troops he road, and thus he spoke,  
His Voice high raised their Courage to provoke.  
Saxons, you now to certain Conquest go,  
To glean the Relics of a ruin'd Foe.  
The Gods do loudly for your cause declare,  
And call you, but to finish their own War.  
Think on the Deeds by your great Nation done  
The Towns they took, their glorious Battles won,  
And the Rich Countries by their Arms o'er run,  
From this fair Island shall the Britons chase,  
From these sweet Fields, great Odin's warlike Race?  
From these sweet Fields, for which our Leaders fought,  
Which with the noblest Saxon Blood were bought.  
Shall we with ignominious Flight retreat,  
O'er the rough Main, to seek some milder Seat?  
Or shall we back to our cold Region go,  
To hide in Caves, and dwell in Hills of Snow?  
Can my victorious Friends the Britons dread,  
Who from your conquering Arms so oft have fled,  
A vanquished Nation, by an Exile led?  
Appear like Saxons, add this Conquest more,  
To all th' immortal Laurels won before.  
Thus you'll the Grounds of lasting Empire lay,  
And still the Briton shall your Laws obey.  
Vain with Success at Sea, they draw their Swords,  
And for Dominion strive with us, their Lords.  
Let now your Arms chastise their wanton Pride,  
And then in unmolested Peace abide.  
He said, and brandished high his threatening Lance,  
And springing forward, bids his Men advance.   

Now from the Hills th' embattled Saxon Swarms,  
And covers all the Plain with hostile Arms.  
As when the great Commanders, Orders give  
To quit the strait Dominions of their Hive,  
The Bees pour out a numerous Colony;  
From their sweet Cells, the busy Youth on high  
Wheel in the Air, and darken all the Sky.  
While brazen Pan's charm and compose their Heat,  
In some tall neighbouring Tree they fix their Seat.  
Thither th' unnumbered Vulgar strait resort,  
And clustering Crowds, surround their Monarch's Court.  
So thick the Saxons on the Field appear,  
Following their Leader with an endless Rear.  
The gloomy Throngs look terrible from far,  
Disclosing slow, the horrid Face, of War.  
The thick Battalions move in dreadful Form,  
As lowering Clouds advance before a Storm.  
So when the Sea grown black, the hazy Sky,  
And rising Winds, foretell a Tempest nigh.  
Th' experienced Mariners with hasty care  
Furl their spread Sails, and for a Storm prepare.  
Strait in the black Horizon, to the Skies  
The dusky Billows threatening Heads arise.  
Th' unnumbered Troops upon each others throng,  
And with a gloomy Aspect march along.  
Advancing, they their boundless Front extend  
O'er all the Main, and fearful Wreck portend.  
The Saxon Host thus in its March appears,  
And where it came, thick Groves of bristling Spears,  
Broad Iron Backs, and Breastplates, brazen Shields,  
Mail-Coats, and burnished Helms overspread the Fields.  
Chariots of War in Clouds of Dust advance,  
And tossing up their Foam, the thundering Coursers Prance.  
Their Army's Wings stretched out, they to the Foes  
A long extended Ridge of War oppose.  
The British Squadrons though outnumbered far,  
Run boldly on the horrid Edge of War.  
To make their Front, the thin Battalions ran,  
But stretched not equal to the Saxon Van.  
Both Armies thus, ranged in Battalia stood,  
And Death prepared her thirsty Jaws for Blood.   

From the Celestial Host, a glorious Band  
Of Seraphs was detached by high Command.  
Hither the shining Warriors did repair,  
And drawn in long Array, stood in the Air.  
Their Blades divinely tempered flamed on high,  
And blazing Shields enlighten all the Sky;  
Impenetrable Shields, drawn from the Towers  
Of heavens high Ars'nal, filled with warlike Stores.  
Th' Angelic Cuirassiers, in Armour shone  
Of Adamant, from Rocks Empyreal hewn.  
High milk white Plumes, like Snowy Clouds arise,  
From their bright Crests, and Nod against the Skies.  
Rich Helmets, of Immortal beaten Gold  
Adorn their Heads, Brass of Etherial mould  
Refined above, their jointed Gauntlets made;  
Brass, that the Teeth of Time can ne'er invade.  
Broad silver Belts richly embroidered over,  
Rare Seraphs work, their shining Shoulders bore  
And round them Sky-dyed Purple Scarves they wore.  
Michael a Prince in Heaven of first renown,  
Who, like a Sun, high in his Chariot shone;  
This bright Detachment did in Chief Command,  
Charged to maintain strict Guard, and to withstand  
Th' Attempts, that might by Hellish Fiends be made,  
Sent by their Prince the Christian to invade.   

While Lucifer on the white Mountain's Head,  
His black, Infernal Crew about him spread;  
With Malice, Rage, and Pride extended sat  
High on his dusky Throne, resolved to wait,  
And see, if this important' Day's Event,  
Would answer with success, his cursed intent.   

In glittering Arms the dazzling Prince appears,  
Before his Troops, the Saxon sees, and fears.  
His Helm of polished Steel braced round his Head,  
Did over the Field, a glorious Terror spread.  
Bright Stones, and high raised Needle Work adorn  
The shining Belt across his Shoulders worn.  
His fatal Sword. the Bane of Gothick Pride,  
With fearful Grace hung by his warlike Side.  
Other the Neustrian of this famous Blade  
Inur'd to Victory, a Present made  
To Arthur, when from Albion first he came,  
To Odar's Camp, to win Heroic Fame.  
Lodar did with this Gift King Other grace,  
A valiant Hero of the Neustrian Race.  
His radiant Shield, of Brass its outmost Fold,  
Th' inmost tempered Steel, the midst of Gold,  
Was the rare Work of Lycon's skilful Toil,  
From which unpeirced, the sharpest Darts recoil.  
Bright, like a Sun, it did fierce Glory dart,  
Where might be seen portrayed with wondrous Art,  
Strong Towns besieged, and famous Battles won,  
And great Exploits by ancient Heros done;  
Who to defend their Country, bravely fought,  
By Men inspired, in sacred Volumes wrote.   

Here th' Israelites, kind heavens peculiar Care,  
Their famous Gen'ral joshua leads to War.  
The Rocky Desert passed with wondrous Toil,  
With Marches worn, and heavy with the Spoil  
From vanquished Baashan and King Sihon won,  
Where their illustrious Triumphs first begun,  
Advance their Ensigns, Canaan to invade,  
Ripe by their full grown Sins for Conquest made.  
To Iordan's Streams they come, strait to his Head  
His Waves rolled back, obsequious jordan fled.  
The naked Channel shows his sandy Face,  
And gives the Favourite Nation leave to pass.  
Th' astonished Canaanites, like jordan, fly,  
And weep to see their Guardian River dry.   

Here valiant Gideon, with his Troop by Night,  
Marched out t' attack the haughty Midianite.  
The Foe, like Locusts, numberless was poured  
Around the Vale, and all its Fruits devoured.  
But dreading Gideon's Arms, the Spoilers fly,  
And by his Sword, and by their own, they die.  
King Zeba, and Zalmunna, with a throng  
Of Captive Princes, draw their Chains along.   

Here in the plain, stretched like some spacious Wood,  
In long Array, the thronged Philistines stood.  
Goliath issuing from their opening Files,  
Of Bulk stupendous, hideous with the Spoils  
Of yellow Lions slain, and shaggy Bears,  
Towering before their shouting Host, appears.  
With haughty Air, the wondrous Figure strode,  
His Sword his Trust, and his right Hand his God.  
Beneath his Weight the Valley seemed to shake,  
But his pale Foes did more than seem to quake  
Gnashing his Teeth the grinning Monster stood,  
Himself an Army, and his Spear a Wood  
Sufficient Stores whole Mines could scarcely yield,  
For his wide Cuirass, and prodigious Shield.  
Where Figures portrayed of fierce Monsters shone,  
But none so fierce, and monstrous as his own.  
High in the Clouds his brazen Helm did show  
Like some vast Temple's gilded Cupilo.  
His mighty Legs, that brazen Boots embraced,  
Tall Pillars seemed, with Corinth Metal cased.  
Thus armed he stood, and by his Mein did seem  
To curse aloud, to threaten and blaspheme.  
His beckoning Hand held proudly up, invites  
To combat, all the trembling Hebrew Knights.  
Tho vast of Bulk he bigger swells with Pride,  
He cursed their Army, and their Gods defied.  
Here, Godlike David, in the flowery Bloom  
Of Youth, and Beauty, brings the Monster's Doom.  
To kindle Love, or Pity fitter far,  
Then the rough Passions, that attend on War.  
And likelier by his Youth's engaging Charms  
To wound the Anakite, then with his Arms.  
Yet bravely he embraced th' unequal War,  
And scorned his Rage that cursed him from afar.  
The fatal Stone by the young Hero flung,  
Cut through the Air, and sure of Triumph sung.  
It pierced the Cyclops Head, his Carcase fell  
Swift to the Ground, his Soul, as swift to Hell.  
Fallen on his Face, he bites the trembling Ground.  
And Brains, and Gore break through the gaping Wound.  
Wallowing he lay a vast extended Load,  
Like a great Island, in a Sea of Blood.  
His ghastly Eyeballs strive with parting Light,  
And swim, and roll into eternal Night.  
Here Saul received the charming conquering Boy,  
The Captains blushed for Shame, and wept for Joy.  
His Brothers grieved to see the glorious Day,  
Prompted with Pride, and Envy shrunk away.  
Here Iudah's Daughter flowery Garlands bring,  
They crown young David, and presage him King.  
In Songs and Dances they his Deeds proclaim,  
And Saul's is lessened, to advance his Fame.   

Here mighty Samson, hot with Martial Rage,  
A numerous Army does alone engage.  
His Sword high waved, reeking in Sweat and Blood,  
O'er slaughtered Heaps, th' invading Conqueror strode  
His fatal Arms, his Foes no longer bear,  
But their whole Host flies from his single Spear.  
Confusedly o'er the Field lay spread about,  
Wide Ruin, Spoils, and ignominious Rout.   

Here valiant David's Troops victorious come,  
From their Assyrian Expedition home.  
Vast were the Spoils, that from the glorious Day  
Won on Damascus' Plains, they bore away.  
King Hadadezer's Arms in Triumph born,  
And Purple Robes by their soft Princes worn,  
And sparkling Gems, that did their Ears adorn.  
Rich Collars, Chains, and blazing Shields of Gold,  
Vast Silver Bowls, that richer Metal hold.  
High gilded Dishes, graven or embossed,  
Treasure immense, that Syria had engrossed.  
Purple Pavilions once in lofty Rows,  
And Crimson Beds, where Monarches did repose.  
Unnumbered Camels, laden and oppressed,  
With all th' Luxury of the wanton East,  
Beneath the Booty groaned along the Road,  
Themselves a Prey, as was their precious Load.  
Here ran gilt Chariots drawn by generous Steeds,  
Such as the noble Soil of Asia breeds.  
Here Royal Captives, and chained Lords appear,  
And vulgar Slaves, pressed with an endless Rear.   

Here the great Constantine of British Race,  
O'er Tyber's Bridge, does fierce Maxentius chase.  
With Roman Blood the swelling Rivers died,  
And Helms, and Shields roll down the Crimsom Tide.  
Spears, broken Armour, Men, and Coursers slain,  
The Streams encumber, and the Flood detain.  
Great Constantine in glittering Armour shines,  
And pressing on, breaks through the Roman Lines.  
Maxentius Hopes are blasted in the Bloom,  
He flies, and opens wide the Gates of Rome,  
To the Victorious Christian, and his God,  
Where for a while, he made his blessed abode.    

Prince Arthur.  
BOOK VIII.  

THus in resplendent Arms Prince Arthur shines,  
Darting bright Terror through the Saxon Lines.  
All at his fearful Presence were amazed,  
And on the glorious Foe with Wonder gazed.  
Confusion seized them, and a chilling Damp  
Went to their Hearts through all the trembling Camp.  
And now the vaulted Sky rings with the Noise  
Of Soldiers Shouting, and shrill Trumpets Voice.  
The British Prince waving his flaming Blade,  
The Saxon's strong Battalions did invade.   

First Baldred fell a bold and daring Knight,  
That rushing forward did his Fate invite.  
The Javelin through his Shield of treble Hide,  
And Coat of Mail, pierced deep into his Side.  
Eska the second Triumph did afford,  
His Head struck off by Arthur's conquering Sword.  
Next grovelling on the Ground great Ina lies,  
And the brave Orla of stupendous Size.  
Whose Clubs like that Alcides used to wield,  
Laid whole Brigades, on Heaps upon the Field.  
Neither their Arms, nor Stature, nor Descent,  
From mighty Osca could their Fate prevent.  
As Pharo boasted loud, and threatened Death,  
The Javelin pierced his Throat, and stopped his Breath.  
Kinullar next the conquering Prince withstood,  
A valiant Captain, and of noble Blood.  
Resisted by his Shield the Saxon's Spear  
Flew off, and passed obliquely through the Air.  
Here on the Prince Cissa exclaiming loud,  
Rushed in, and pressed him with a numerous Crowd.  
Thick showers of Javelins with a mighty Sound,  
Like Storms of Hail, from his bright Shield rebound.  
The Prince enraged caught up his Spear in haste,  
Which he at Cissa with such Fury cast  
It pierced his famous Buckler's seventh Fold,  
And his Rich Coat daubed thick with ponderous Gold.  
Then deep between the Paps the Weapon went,  
And its last Force in his warm Bosom spent.  
Flat on his Face the Bleeding Saxon lies,  
And rat'ling in his Throat stretched out, and dies.  
Mollo rushed in and with his hand did wrest  
The bloody Weapon from his Brother's Breast,  
And boldly to attack the Prince advanced,  
But from his shield th' unprosperous Weapon glanced.  
The Prince's spear through Mollo's Shield of Brass  
Through His Habergion, and his Breast did pass.  
Mollo of Sense bereaved fell to the Ground,  
And spewed black Blood, both for his Mouth and Wound,  
Striving th' invading Hero to repel,  
Alcinor, Peda, and Darontes fell,  
Three Men of wondrous Strength and warlike Fame,  
Who from the farthest Snows of Scythia came;  
Descended all from Otha's noble Line,  
Whose glorious Deeds in Saxon Records shine.  
He was victorious Odin's constant Friend,  
And all his Toils, and Conquests did attend,  
Then Cerdic with his Troops the Prince withstands,  
Sustained by Sebert, and th' East Saxon Bands.  
Now these, now those, the British Prince attack,  
And press on every side, to force him back.  
As when two adverse Hurricanes arise,  
mustering their stormy Forces in the Skies.  
Of equal Fury, and of equal Force,  
Against each other bend their rapid Course.  
The Clouds their Lines extend in black Array,  
And Front to Front a fearful War display.  
Exploded Flames against each other fly,  
And fiery Arches Vault th' enlightened Sky.  
Conflicting Billows, against Billows dash,  
Thunder against Thunder roars, Lightnings against Lightnings flash.  
Nor Flames, nor Winds, nor Waves, nor Clouds will yield,  
But equal strength maintains a doubtful Field.  
Britons and Saxons thus in Battle strove,  
And neither from their Ground the Foe remove.   

Then Valiant Cadwal threatening from afar  
High in his Chariot, plunged into the War.  
His strong, extended Arm his Javelin flung;  
Cutting the Air, the hissing Weapon sung.  
Falling on Kingills Shield it pierced the Hide  
Of treble Fold, and entered deep his Side.  
Fainting and staggering Kingill backwards reeled  
Then fell with sounding Arms upon the Field.  
Gasping he lay, and from his ghastly Wound,  
His Crimson Life ebbed out upon the Ground.  
And next his fatal Shaft at Bertac flew  
With mighty Force, and pierced his Breastplate through.  
The secret Springs of Life the pointed Dart.  
Broke open, and transfixed his generous Heart.  
His Wound from gaping Channels inward bled,  
And on his Shoulder hung his lolling Head.  
He fell, and Shivering gasped his latest Breath,  
And fainting sunk into the Arms of Death:  
A noble Youth worthy of milder Fate,  
But Death's blind Strokes distinguish not the great.  
At last the Saxon Troops in Throngs surround,  
The valiant King, Thus far with Conquest crowned.  
Thick Showers of Darts from every Side invade,  
And in his Shield a bristling Harvest stayed.  
Th' undaunted Hero long their Force sustained,  
And held at Bay; th' unequal War maintained:  
Like a chafed Boar that in a sheltering Wood,  
The clamorous Dogs surround King Cadwall stood.  
A noble Rage did in his Breast arise,  
And Streaks of Fire break from his burning Eyes.  
So when by Night th' Islandian Ocean roars,  
And rolls its angry Waters to the Shores.  
Flashes of Light, and fiery Lustre glance  
From raging Waves, that in bright Troops advance.  
With his refulgent Sword the Warrior flew,  
Upon the Crowd, and cut his Passage through.  
Soga and Kenrick from the Hilly Land  
Where Sorbiodunums lofty Castles stand;  
Two constant Friends, whom Fate could not divide,  
Together by the Britons Weapon died.  
Then Redburg Alfry and Theodrick fell,  
Striving in vain the Victor to repel.  
Great Numbers more he slew, whose vulgar Name  
To those, in after Ages never came.  
As a high Rock, which the vast Ocean laves,  
Exposed to stormy Winds, and raging Waves,  
On its fixed Base unshaken does defy  
Th' united Fury of the Seas, and Sky.  
So 'midst surrounding Foes, brave Cadwall stood,  
About him flowed a Sea of Hostile Blood.  
He slew Rovennar, with his mighty Sword,  
And Saradan a great west Saxon Lord.  
Valiant Elmunor, to his Country dear,  
And Osith died, by his projected Spear.   

Octa enraged to see the numerous Spoils  
Round Cadwall spread, sprung through the thronging Files.  
Rushing with Fury on, and threatening high  
He thus aloud, did to the Briton cry.  
Cadwall on me let all your Force be spent,  
Hither be all your pointed Javelins sent.  
Here see a Foe that will your Pride abate,  
Or in the glorious Combat meet his Fate:  
At this his massy Spear with Vigour sent,  
Through valiant Cadwalls shining Buckler went.  
Through all the Plates of Brass, and all the Plies  
Of thick Bull's Hide, th' impetuous Weapon flies.  
Which bruised his Thigh, and springing from his Veins  
A crimson Stream his polished Armour Stains.  
Cadwall incensed his Spear at Octa flung,  
Which in his tempered Shield arrested hung.  
A second hissing Weapon Octa cast,  
Which th' interposing Buckler never passed.  
But glancing on the Steel, away it flew  
And with an oblique Stroke, Idwallo slew.  
Then Cadwall chafed, exerting all his Force,  
His second sends, with unresisted Course.  
Through Octa's brazen Shield it Passage found,  
Inflicting on his Side, a painful Wound.  
Their missive Weapons spent with equal Chance,  
To closer Fight the Combatants advance.  
Equal in Strength, alike in Combat brave,  
Their Swords on high, like circ'ling Flames they wave.  
Both traversing the Ground for Fight prepare,  
And with Heroic Ardour meet the War.  
And Octa first discharged a noble Stroke  
On Cadwalls Crest, which through his Helmet broke:  
Cadwall amazed, recoiled, and backwards reeled,  
And scarce his Spear his tottering Limbs upheld.  
A loud Applause rang through the shouting Host;  
The Britons raged, and thought their Hero lost;  
But he recovering from th' amazing Blow,  
Collects his Strength to meet the insulting Foe.  
His brandished Blade fell with prodigious Sway,  
And through the yielding Cuirasse, forced its Way.  
The gaping Wound poured out a Vital Tide,  
And Crimson Streams his burnished Armour died.  
Octa his wounded Body wreaths in Pain,  
And viewing on his Limbs the Bloody Stain,  
With angry Eyes calls back his Life again.  
And then assaults the Foe with doubled Rage,  
Who meets his Arms, as eager to engage.  
Fresh Strokes, fresh Wounds, they give on either side,  
While victory does for neither Sword decide.  
Weak with their Wounds, and with bruised Armour pained  
An equal, noble Combat they maintained.  
Feeble and Breathless still they keep the Field,  
Unable more their blunted Arms to wield.   

And now the Throng rushed in, the Combat done  
By neither Hero lost, by neither won.  
And rending with their Shouts the tortured Air,  
Back to their Files, the Combatants they bear.  
So when two valiant Cocks in Albion bred,  
That from th' insulting Conqueror never fled.  
A Match in Strength, in Courage, and in Age,  
And with keen Weapons armed alike Engage;  
Each other they assault with furious Beaks,  
And their trimmed Plumes distain with bloody Streaks.  
Each nimble Warrior from the Pavement bounds,  
And winged with Death, their Heels deal ghastly Wounds.  
By turns they take, by turns fierce Strokes they give,  
And with like Hopes and Fears, for Conquest strive.  
Both obstinate maintain the Bloody Field,  
Both can in Combat die, but neither yield.  
Till with their bleeding Wounds grown weak and faint,  
And choked with flowing Gore they gasp, and pant.  
Disabled on the Crimson Floor they lie,  
Both Honour win, but neither Victory.   

Then Morogan, his Javelin in his Hand,  
Charged the fierce Troops where Ella did Command.  
Wigmunda, first his deadly Weapon felt,  
Who on the flowery Banks of Oza dwelled,  
Fallen on the ground, the Saxon groaned aloud,  
And dying, lay deformed with Dust and Blood.  
Next Ethelbright he slew, the Javelin past,  
Through the brave Leader's Hand, where sticking fast  
He from the Battle fled, and through the throng  
Complaining loud, trailed his huge Spear along.  
To fight the Briton, Thedred did advance  
And in his Buckler broke his ponderous Lance.  
High in the Air the scattered pieces flew,  
When Morogan, his ample Falchion drew;  
He missed the mighty stroke aimed at his Crest,  
But cloven his Shoulder down into his Chest:  
Through the prodigious Wound, a Sea of Blood  
Spouts from his Veins, and down his Armour flowed,  
Weltering in Gore, upon the Ground he stretched,  
And his last Breath in thick Convulsions fetched.  
Next he his Spear at great Merthellan throws,  
Through Breast, and Back, the deadly Weapon goes.  
Then warlike Ella, with excessive Rage  
All fired, advanced the Briton to engage.  
As two chafed Lions on a Lybian Plain,  
Contending which shall o'er the Desert reign,  
With raging Eyes, and fierce erected Hair,  
Scour over the Sands, to meet the horrid War;  
So furious Ella, and great Morogan,  
Eager of Conquest, to the Combat ran.  
The Saxon first his massy Javelin flung,  
With the vast Stroke, the Briton's Target rung,  
The Tempered Steel the Weapon did repel,  
Which flew aside, and at a Distance fell.  
The Briton next, did his bright Javelin throw,  
Ella his Head inclined, eludes the Blow.  
Ella with all his Might his second cast,  
Which mist, but struck the Plume off, as it past  
The Briton stopped, and lifted from the Field  
A ponderous Stone, which both his Hands did wield,  
So vast, that two in our degenerate Days,  
Tho Men of Strength, the like can scarcely raise;  
With all his Strength he throws the craggy Stone,  
Which through King Ella's Leg-piece, crushed the Bone.  
The wounded Warrior fell upon the Plain,  
Adda advanced, the Conqueror to Sustain;  
While Gomel with his Men did Ella bear  
From the hot Place of Action, to the Rear,  
Where Charioteer, and Steeds, and Chariot stay,  
Waiting his coming from the Bloody Day.  
Mean time great Morogan, had Adda slain,  
The Spear had through his Forehead pierced his Brain.  
Biting the Ground, th' expiring Saxon lies,  
And Death's unwelcome shade overspreads his Eyes.  
And with like Courage, and with like Success,  
The brave Prince Conan did the Saxons press,  
Which Osred led, great Numbers he destroyed,  
Whose putrid Blood, the slippery Field annoyed.  
Sefred, Carantes, Molinoc he slew,  
And Ethelfrid, in Arms surpassed by few.  
Oswy, and Bassa, all of warlike Fame,  
And many more, of unrecorded Name.  
Thus Valiant Conan, triumphed in the Field,  
And all he met, did to his Courage yield.  
Until a skulking, unknown hand, at last  
Did unperceived, a pointed Javelin cast:  
Deep in his Arm, th' inglorious Weapon goes,  
His Wound the Blood upon his Armour shows,  
He drew the Steel out, from his bleeding Veins,  
And from the Field, retired in torturing Pains.   

Mean time, outnumbered in another part,  
Macors Danmonian Troops began to start.  
Macor to stop their ignominious Flight,  
And give them Spirit to renew the Fight;  
Now sharp Reproaches used, and bitter Threats,  
And now with Prayers he earnestly entreats.  
Enraged, ashamed, and fearing open Rout,  
Exclaiming loud, he wildly flew about.  
He stays them with his Hands, and Voice, and Eyes,  
And to confirm their sinking Courage, cries,  
Whither will my Danmonians madly run,  
And leave behind a victory almost won?  
What panic Fear does my brave Friends invade?  
Till now, you never knew to be afraid.  
Think on the Bravery you have always shown,  
And Laurels you and your great Fathers won.  
By their great Deeds, and yours, by Cador's Name,  
By all my Hopes and yours which are the same.  
By the Danmonian Fame, I all conjure  
Trust not to Flight, your Arms must you secure.  
Who will maintain their Ground, if you recoil?  
Thus do you mean to guard your Native Soil?  
To what new Seats will you from Albion fly?  
Or will you in the Rocks and Mountains lie?  
Britons return from your inglorious Flight,  
Rally your Forces, and renew the Fight.  
To Safety, and to Fame the way I'll show,  
See, here it lies, across the thickest Foe.   

He said, and strait amidst the Troops he flew,  
Osher the first he met, the first he slew.  
He pierced his Belly through the yielding Shield,  
And out his Bowels gushed upon the Field.  
To aid his Friend, constant Eballan flies,  
But wounded by the Briton, with him dies.  
Then while Adulphas, Bertham's Offspring stands,  
Poising a ponderous Stone in both his Hands,  
The mighty Fragment of a craggy Rock,  
And aimed at Macor's Head, a deadly Stroke.  
Through his pierced Side the Javelin made its Way,  
And buried, in his bleeding Liver lay.  
Then you brave Youths, Egbert, and Alopas,  
Both noble Branches of great Horsa's Race,  
Their Age the same, the same their youthful Charms,  
Fell in the British Fields by Macor's Arms.  
This 'twixt the Ribs received the fatal Dart,  
Where transverse Bounds the Breast and Belly part.  
Lopped from the Shoulder with a fearful Wound,  
THE other's Right Arm lay quivering on the Ground.   

Now the Danmonians who began to run,  
Seeing the Wonders by their Leader done,  
With Shame and generous Indignation burn,  
And to the War with doubled Rage return.  
Then Macor let his Spear at Redwall fly  
In his bright Chariot, passing swiftly by.  
It passed his Shield, and went into his Reins,  
A Purple Flood, springs from his wounded Veins,  
And mixed with Dust, the fervid Wheels detains.  
Projected headlong on the Ground he lay,  
Fetched a deep Groan, and gasped his Life away.  
With like Success his Men no more afraid,  
Of Saxon Arms, their thickest Files invade.  
So when dissolved by Summer Rays, the Snow  
Does down the Sides of Alpine Mountains flow,  
Below the several Rills, and Currents join,  
And different Streams in one great Flood combine.  
Then does the Deluge rear its foaming Head,  
Overflow the Banks, and o'er the Meadows spread.  
No lofty Mounds arrest th' insulting Tide,  
But o'er the flowery Vale, the Waves triumphant ride,  
So the Danmonian scattered Troops unite,  
And with associate Arms, revive the Fight.   

Here to restrain Macor's victorious Course,  
Bartha, opposed a fresh collected Force.  
From his strong Arm his singing Javelin flew,  
And passing through his Neck Guitardan slew.  
He hurled his Ball of Iron at the Head  
Of stout Gomallador, and struck him dead.  
His Helm in Pieces flew, his Bones were crashed.  
And from his Scull his Blood and Brains were dashed.  
Macor incensed, advances to the Fight,  
And prayed to Heaven, to guide his Weapon right.  
Nor did he pray in vain, th' unerring Dart  
Transfixed his Breast, and sunk into his Heart.  
Strong Bartha fell, the Blood his Armour stains,  
And shivering Death crept cold along his Veins.   

But to revenge so great a Captain's Fall,  
Lothar aloud does on his Saxons call.  
First Lodoic he slew, who stood the Shock,  
Of War before unshaken as a Rock.  
Strong Mandubrace, of whom the Britons tell  
Such mighty Deeds, by the brave Saxon fell.  
Beauteous Codunan the Silurians Pride,  
And warlike Hanomer together died.  
Their Leaders brave alike, alike enraged  
The Britons, and the Saxon close engaged  
An obstinate, and bloody Fight maintain,  
And Heaps of Dead, lie thick upon the Plain.  
Dark Clouds of Dust through th' airy Region fly,  
And warlike Noise bounds from the vaulted Sky.  
Helms mixed with Helms, and Arms with Arms unite  
Their bright Reflection, to oppress the Sight.  
Now Man at Man, Squadrons at Squadrons rush,  
And Files at Files with Spears protended push.  
Sword's clash with Swords, Bucklers on Bucklers bray,  
And through the Field a horrid Din convey.  
Slaughter and Death in dreadful Pomp appear,  
And Brains, and Gore, the slippery Field besmear:  
So when two adverse Tides their Waves advance,  
With equal Fury, and with equal Chance;  
The foaming Forces, doubtful Fight maintain,  
Where both by Turns loose, what by Turns they gain.  
On this Side now retreats the vanquished Tide,  
And on its back th' insulting Billows ride.  
Rallying its roaring Troops with swift Career,  
It soon returns, and reassumes the War.  
The Conqueror before is forced to yield,  
And rolling back its Waves deserts the Field.  
Alternate Conquest, and alternate Flight,  
Between the Foes prolong a doubtful Fight.  
So thick the Troops, so fast and close were pressed,  
The wedged Batalions standing Breast to Breast,  
They scarce have space their Hands or Arms to move  
But like contending Waves each other shove.  
Here Macor urges, presses, and invades,  
Here Lothur stops him with his strong Brigades.  
Equal in Arms, in Beauty, and in Age,  
But not allowed each other to engage,  
On both the valiant Youths a different Fate,  
From a far greater Foe does shortly wait.   

King Cerdick then advanced exclaiming loud  
And with his rapid Chariot cuts the Crowd.  
And to the Troops that stopped his way, he cried  
Open to right and left, your Ranks divide,  
Macor and I this Contest will decide.  
Nor did the Saxon Troops his Will oppose,  
But open, and an Ample Space disclose.  
Then leaping to the Ground his ponderous Oak,  
Pointed with polished Steel, he threatening shook.  
At such a Sight th' amazed Danmonians start,  
And their i'll Blood congealed about their Heart.  
Macor undaunted, traverses the Ground,  
And at the Saxon aims a fatal Wound.  
Then through the Air his Spear projected flew,  
And from its Sheath his slaming Sword he drew.  
The Buckler's Brims the glancing Weapons razed  
And flying off, on the right Shoulder grazed.  
Then Cerdick's Javelin poised, and aimed with Care,  
Flew from his Arm, and hissing cut the Air.  
Who cried out as it went, go swiftly fly,  
And the hard Metal of his Armour try.  
While Cerdick thus insults th' impetuous Oak,  
Through Buckler, Coat of Mail and Cuirass broke,  
And pierced his Breast where the deep Springs abide,  
Whence Life leaps out upon its circ'ling Tide.  
The Vital Streams through his bruised Armour spout,  
While he in vain wrists the warm Weapon out.  
After the parting Dart, together crowd  
From the wide Wound, his Soul, and Life, and Blood.  
He fell, his Arms upon his Armour rung,  
And Death in cold Embraces round him clung.  
Thus fell the brave Danmonian who had slain,  
Such Numbers piled on Heaps upon the Plain.  
His Friends with Sighs, and Tears upon a Shield,  
Bear his pale Corpse off from the bloody Field.   

Cerdick his Weapon warm with Macor's Blood,  
Advanced with Fury not to be withstood.  
With his drawn Sword he does the Foe invade,  
And midst their Ranks prodigious Havoc made.  
The Britons all enraged at Macor's Fall,  
With Showers of Darts the raging Saxon gall.  
On every Side the Monarch they assail,  
With thick Brigades, but cannot yet prevail.  
As when a mighty Stag, that long had stood,  
The unmolested Monarch of the Wood,  
Safe in its Coverts, and protecting Shade,  
Against the Foe, that would his Peace invade:  
If at an ancient Oak he stands at last  
At Bay, by furious Dogs too closely chased;  
Fearless he looks and to his clamorous Foes,  
Does his thick Grove of Native Arms oppose  
The Dogs with distant Cries infest the Ears,  
And from a far the Huntsmen cast their Spears.  
None daring to approach the generous Beast,  
Project aloof their Darts against his Breast,  
Thus Cerdick stood, nor dared the boldest Knight,  
Advance to undertake a closer Fight.  
They cast their Darts at distance, and from far  
Shower on his Brazen Shield a rattling War.  
With their loud Cries the ambient Air they rend,  
And raging, all their missive Weapons, spend.   

Mean time around, King Cerdick's javelins flew,  
And Arthur's Men, with vast Destruction slew.  
Cadwan he killed, whose Arms great Fame had won,  
And Vortiger great Ganumara's Son.   

Then Vogan fell and Ottocar who trace  
Their high Descent from Hoel's ancient Race.  
Great Numbers died where the chafed Saxon flew,  
And with his Sword cut his wide Passage through  
So when a generous Bull for Clown's Delight,  
Stands with his Line restrained, prepared for Fight.  
Hearing the Youths loud Clamours, and the Rage,  
Of barking Mastiffs eager to engage.  
He snuffs the Air, and paws the trembling Ground,  
Views all the Ring, and proudly walks it round.  
Defiance lowering on his brinded Brows,  
Around disdainful Looks, the grisly Warrior throws.  
His haughty Head inclined with easy Scorn,  
Th' invading Foe high in the Air is born,  
Tossed from the Combatant's victorious Horn.  
Raised to the Clouds, the sprawling Mastiffs fly,  
And add new Monsters to th' affrighted Sky.  
The clamorous Youth, to aid each other call,  
On their broad Backs to break their Fav'rite's fall.  
Some stretched out on the Field lie dead and some  
Dragging their Entrails on, run howling Home.  
But if at last on all Sides he's engaged,  
By fresh and fiercer Foes, straight all enraged  
He flies about, some with his Horns He gores,  
Some strikes, and moved with Indignation roars.  
With Disproportioned Numbers pressed at length,  
He breaks his Chain collecting all his Strength.  
Then Dogs and Masters scared promiscuous fly,  
And fallen in Heaps, the pale Spectators lie.  
He walks in Triumph, nods his conquering Head,  
And proudly views the Spoils about him spread.   

Hyalca fell, a Lord of Neustrian Birth,  
Struggling with Death, he bites the hostile Earth.  
Rivollan dies, the brave Armorican,  
Who swifter than a driving Tempest ran.  
Mador, not daring Cerdick to engage  
Fled from his Post to scape the Conqueror's Rage.  
Cerdick pursued him close, exclaiming loud,  
And to overtake him, breaks th' opposing Crowd.  
As when a Lion on the Mountain's spies,  
A well grown Stag, his furious Bristles rise,  
And yawning horribly, with Hunger pressed,  
Away he flies to tear the trembling Beast.  
He leaps upon him with his dreadful Paws,  
And buries in his Sides his fearful Jaws.  
So raging Cerdick flew fallen Mador dies,  
And everlasting Night shuts up his Eyes.   

Ludvalla, from the high Silurian Hills  
Eldubert slew, Poel Edella kills,  
Chelrick Adarc, Tudor pierced Alwy through,  
Oswoll Pricarden, Oven Kensey slew.  
Bladoc kills Athelmar in single Fight  
Of goodly Stature, and a valiant Knight.  
Edwin gave Vortimer his fatal Wound,  
Who from his Steed, fell headlong to the Ground,  
Lovellines Blood the great Barnulfa spills  
Kentwin Rodollan, Pricel Ussa kills.  
Now equal Ruin raged on either Side,  
And victory mutual Favours did divide,  
Flowing, and Ebbing with an equal Tide.  
With like Success, by turns the doubtful Field  
The Victors and the vanquished, win and yield.  
Such was the bloody Labour of the Day,  
And in such even Scales their Fortune lay.   

Now certain Fame had reached Prince Arthur's Ear,  
That his loved Macor died by Cerdick's Spear.  
No Tidings more his Fury could provoke,  
Or strike into his Breast a deeper Stroke.  
His Looks revealed his Wound, and Grief, and Rage,  
His conquering Arms in deep Revenge engage.  
With his refulgent Sword he hewed his way,  
Like grass mown down the slaughtered Saxons lay.  
His Strokes are all as sure, as those of Fate,  
And Death and victory on his Progress wait.  
His Arms the Field with vast Destruction clear.  
Wide Lanes made by his Sword and spacious Voids appear.  
Through their thick Ranks the raging Tempest flies,  
And fearful Ruin all around him lies.  
In vain his fatal Javelin never flew,  
Ebissa, Edgar, Ethelburg he slew.  
And Ethelwoll who fled the Conqueror's Sight,  
But the swift Dart over took him in his Flight.   

His deadly Spear at Kenfred was designed,  
Who stooping down the hissing Death declined.  
Then at the Conq'rour's Feet he prostrate falls,  
And in sad Accents for Compassion calls.  
Spare, Godlike Briton, and let Kenfred live,  
Me to my Father and my Children give.  
Treasures immense of Silver and of Gold,  
My Iron Chests, and buried Coffers hold.  
These Riches from the Sun, so long concealed  
Shall to discharge my Ransom be revealed.  
Mine's but a single Life, if that be spared,  
It cant the Progress of your Arms retard,  
On this does not depend your Empire's Fate,  
Nor can my Life or Death affect your State,   

He said to whom the British Prince replied,  
The Silver and the Gold your Cellars hide,  
You to your Sons and Daughters must bequeath,  
Expect yourself, the present Stroke of Death.  
That said, he took his Helmet by the Crest,  
And drawing back his Head, into his Breast  
Up to the Hilts, he plunged his fatal Sword,  
And from the Wound a crimson River poured.  
Colmar hard by Odin's and Frea's Priest,  
Distinguished by his Dress, from all the rest,  
And by the Garland round his Temples known,  
In glittering Arms, and splendid Garments shone.  
Up flew his Heels while from the Field he fled,  
Nazaleod set his Foot, upon his Head,  
And stroke into the Ground quite through his Breast  
His pointed Spear, and his rich Spoils possessed.  
Then Arthur with his Spear, pierced Rufa through,  
Then Osmor, Seward Ethellar he flew  
Osa Beorno, Kendred, Ediswall,  
Penda, Kenelmar, Osbert, Ethelbal.  
Pale Oswald fled, the conqueror to prevent,  
But through his Back the swifter Javelin went.  
His flaming Sword, did ne'er in vain descend  
But sure Destruction did its Sway attend.  
The reeking Conqueror in Triumph reigned,  
Glutted with Slaughter, and with Blood distained.  
Th' unnumbered Dead, that round the Briton lay  
More than their living Troops, obstruct his way.  
To reach their Men, that from his Fury fled,  
He climbs their slaughtered piles, and scales the Dead.  
Sometimes the Saxons with new Fury burn,  
And rallying Squadrons to the War return:  
They pour around the Prince their numerous Swarms,  
And strive to crush him with unequal Arms.  
As when Tempestuous Storms overspread the Skies,  
In whose dark Bowels in born Thunder lies.  
The watery Vapours numberless conspire,  
To smother, and oppress th' imprisoned Fire.  
Which thus collected gathers greater Force,  
Breaks out in Flames, and with impetuous Course  
From the Cloud's gaping Womb in Light'ning flies,  
Flashing in ruddy Streaks, along the Skies.  
So Arthur's flaming Sword cuts through the Cloud,  
Around him spread, and rends th' opposing Crowd.  
With dazzling Arms, he flies upon the Foe,  
Flashes amidst the throngs, and terribly Thunders through.  
Authum and Alfrid, with fresh Troops sustain,  
Their staggering Squadrons, and the War maintain,  
To these Prince Arthur winged with Fury flew,  
And first stout Alfrid with his Spear he slew.  
Thro the left Groin, the Weapon made its Way,  
And stretched along the Ground, the bleeding Saxon lay.  
At Authum's Crest he dealt a furious Stroke,  
The Saxon tottered at th' amazing Shock,  
And fell upon his Knee, and while he prayed  
And for his Life would many Things have said,  
His severed Head off, from his Shoulder flies,  
And bounded on the Field, his Body lies  
At a great Distance, quivering on the Ground,  
And Streams of Blood spring from his ghastly Wound.  
As when the Summer's Sultry Heats draw forth,  
Th' exhaling Moisture from the thirsty Earth,  
When scorching Rays the gaping Plains have fried,  
And from their Banks contracted Streams subside.  
If then a Fire invades a spaeious Wood,  
Where Ancient Oaks have long securely stood;  
The conquering Flames advance with lawless Power,  
And with contagious Heat the Trees devour.  
The spreading Burning lays the Forest waste,  
And sooty Spoils lie smoking where it past.  
So Arthur with resistless Rage around,  
Destroys and loads with slaughtered Heaps the Ground.  
Next did the Prince at bold Edburga aim,  
Who from the fertile Banks of Abum came  
Prince Unna's Son to vast Possessions born,  
Broad Flowers of Gold his shining Coat adorn,  
The piercing Steel deep in his Bosom sunk,  
And Life's pure Stream at the warm Fountain drunk,  
His Arms did next valiant Titullan meet,  
Who fell and quivered at the Conquerour's Feet.  
Osrick and beauteous Hengist next appear,  
The first his Falchion slew, the last his Spear.  
Next stout Eldanor did his Fate provoke,  
And off his Head flew, at a single Stroke.  
And next he threw at Labert, as he fled  
The Weapon struck him, as he turned his Head.  
In Gore and Brains the glittering Javelin reeks,  
And from his Veins a Purple Torrent breaks.   

Mean time King Cerdic did around destroy,  
And with thick Deaths his massy Falchion cloy.  
Him from afar the British Hero spies,  
And winged with Fury to assault him flies.  
Cerdic mean time undaunted did appear,  
And forward stepped, shaking his dreadful Spear.  
Like one of Anak's mighty Sons he stalked,  
Or some tall Oak, that after Orpheus walked.  
Fixed like a vast Colossus by his Weight,  
He stood, expecting his approaching Fate.  
Lowering, like rising Tempests from a far,  
He rages, and invites th' advanc'ing War.  
Now the Britannic Hero did appear,  
Within the Reach of his prodigious Spear.  
King Cerdic cursed, and by his Gods defied  
The Briton, and aloud to Odin cried;  
The glittering Arms, by this gay Robber worn,  
Great Odin soon thy Temple shall adorn.  
Assist great Founder of our State the Dart  
I cast, and guide it to his impious Heart.  
Then from his vigorous Arm his massy Spear  
Projected sung, and hissed along the Air.  
Offa from the tempered Shield the Weapon flew,  
Wounded Glendoran, and Alantor flew.  
Then his long Spear the pious Briton cast,  
Th' impetuous Steel through all the Thickness passed  
Of Brazen Plates, rolled Linen, tough Bulls Hide,  
And entering deep, did in his Groin abide.  
The fainting Saxon fell upon his Knees,  
Pained with his ghastly Wound, and trembling fees  
The Conquering Prince advancing to assuage,  
By striking off his Head, his veng'ful Rage.  
Here the brave Lothar that had Wonders done,  
And by his Arms Immortal Praises won,  
For through the Host, the loud Applauses rung  
Of mighty Deeds achieved by one so young.  
Transported with his pious Care, to bring  
Assistance to his Uncle, and his King;  
Spurred his hot Courser on, and forwards pressed  
Offering to Arthur's Arms; his valiant Breast.  
He bravely undertook th' unequal Foe,  
To ward from Cerdic's Head, the fatal Blow.  
Then his long Spear he threw, with Manly Force,  
But Arthur's Buckler stopped th' impetuous Course.  
Th' applauding Saxons gave a Shout to see  
The Noble Youth's excessive Bravery.  
But to his Prince's Aid in vain he flies,  
Who by his former Wound expiring lies,  
And everlasting Sleep shuts up his Eyes.   

But then the British Hero's Javelin fled  
At Lothar, but it pierced his Courser's Head.  
Raised in the Air upright, the generous Beast,  
Gathered his shivering Feet up to his Breast,  
Then springing struck them out, and staggering round  
Fell headlong with his Rider to the Ground.  
A mighty Groan the dying Courser fetched,  
And on the Ground a breathless Carcase stretched.  
And here Immortal Elda shall my Verse  
Thy unexampled Deed of Love rehearse.  
Love which will universal Wonder raise,  
And scarcely find Belief in future Days.  
For whilst the British Hero stepped with Speed,  
To take off, with his Falchion, Lothar's Head,  
Who with his Steed oppressed, and wounded lies,  
Fair Elda rushed between, and thus she cries,  
Before your fatal Sword takes Lothar's Life,  
Victorious Prince, hear his unhappy Wife.  
Fallen on her Knees she did her Helm unlace,  
And showed the charming Beauties of her Face.  
The blooming Looks of Spring, and lovely Red  
Of opening Roses on her Cheeks were spread.  
Her Eyes, that sparkled like the Stars above,  
Appeared both th' Armoury, and Throne of Love.  
Where thousands of alluring Graces wait,  
And mingling Charms form Love's triumphal State.  
Bright Ethelina her, and all excelled,  
She the next Place in Beauty's Empire held.  
Nor did her Looks, less Admiration move,  
While mild Confusion, Sorrow, Fear and Love,  
With Beauteous Conflict, for the victory strove.  
A Shower of Tears flowed down her lovely Face,  
Which from her Grief, received yet sweeter Grace.   

At the great Conq'rour's feet she threw her Charms,  
And lifting up to Heaven, her snowy Arms  
Aloud she spoke, a wretched Woman's Prayer  
Great Briton here, and my dear Lothar spare.  
Since first his Bride within his Arms I lay,  
Scarce two full Golden Months are stolen away,  
Which in Love's Calendar scarce make a Day.  
With Prayers, and Tears, and tender Words I strove,  
And all th' engaging Arts of mournful Love;  
To keep him from the Dangers of the Field,  
And when th' obdurate Man refused to yield,  
About him my despairing Arms I flung,  
And on his Neck, overwhelmed with Grief I hung.  
I than conjured him, to avoid with Care  
Your fatal Arms, so much renowned in War.  
Away he goes, and as he said, adieu,  
He touched my Life, and my stretched Heartstrings drew.  
For still I feared that the heroic Fire  
And thirst of Fame, that did his Soul inspire,  
Would make him think no Dangers were too great,  
Till rushing on your Arms, he urged his Fate.  
My conscious Fears, this sad Event presaged  
If e'er with you, in Combat he engaged.  
Therefore in Arms I did my Limbs disguise,  
And undertook this dangerous Enterprise,  
That if he rashly sought, so great a Foe,  
I might between him, and your fatal Blow,  
My Bosom interpose, and in my Heart  
To save his dearer Life, receive the Dart.  
Or if Occasion were, to intercede,  
As now I do, and for his Safety plead.   

I pray by all that is to Mortals dear,  
By all the Gods that you, and we revere.  
Let this sad Object your Compassion move,  
Regard his Valour, and regard my Love.  
Oh! Let his hapless Fate your Soul incline,  
Pity his glooming Youth, or pity mine.  
Oh, melt beneath divine Compassion's Charms,  
Let not your Breast be harder than your Arms.  
Save his dear Life, he of his Noble Line  
The only Branch remains, as I, of mine.  
Christians profess Compassion, Mercy, Love,  
Sure such Distress should those kind Passions move.  
Sheath in my Breast the Sword, and take my Breath,  
But Oh, preserve this wondrous Youth from Death.  
Myself will to my Veins the Sword apply,  
And to prolong his Life will gladly die.  
Hear pious Prince, his aged Father hear  
Who thus entreats, or would if he were here.  
Oh, spare the spring of all my Hopes and Fears,  
The only Prop of my declining Years.  
Your fatal Sword deep in my Bowels sheathe  
And for the Son's accepts the Father's Death.  
If great Possessions, or if Gold would buy,  
His far more precious Life, he shall not die.  
His Father will a mighty Ransom give,  
And mine as much, say but the Youth shall live.  
Let us your Prisoners be in Chains confined,  
The Chains of Love will make those softer bind.  
There his dear presence I may still enjoy,  
And for his Ease my thoughtful Cares employ.  
Free from the Noise of War, and anxious Fears,  
I'll kiss his Wounds, and wash them with my Tears.  
I'll watch his midnight Slumbers, and by Day,  
My Love shall Solace to his Grief convey.  
Let him be banished from the British Isle;  
I'll go, and share the lovely Wand'rer's Toil.  
I'll follow through the swarthy burning, Zone,  
No Flames can scorch me, fiercer than my own.  
Our tender Words the savage kind will move,  
They'll stand, and gaze, and wonder at our Love.  
Th' inhospitable Desert will appear,  
A flowery Paradise, when he is there.  
O'er Snows with him and Hills of Ice I'll stray,  
I know not how, but Love will find the way.  
If his sharp Keel shall cut the Foaming Tide,  
In the same Bark I'll on the Billows ride.  
No stormy Winds my stable Soul shall move,  
Or shake the strong Foundations of my Love.  
But hurried with distracting Fears away,  
And wild with Grief I know not where to stay,  
And in a Maze of Thought I lose my Way.  
Oh! let your generous Pity calm the strife  
In my tossed Soul, and save his precious Life.  
Thus you'll not only Triumph o'er your Foe,  
But o'er yourself, and your own victory too.   

Thus Elda prayed, nor did she pray in vain,  
Her tender Accents did Admission gain  
To the relenting, generous Prince's Breast,  
Who thus the beauteous Supplicant addressed.   

This unexampled Effort of your Love,  
Does equal Wonder and Compassion move.  
True Christian Captains are both brave and good,  
victory pursue, but not with Thirst of Blood.  
Revenge and Cruelty we disavow,  
And only just and generous Arms allow.  
Go, to your Tears your Lothar's Life I give,  
Pleased with each others Love together live.   

Then Cerdick slain on whom they trusted most,  
A shivering Fear ran through the Saxon Host.  
The Britons now believed the Battle won,  
And sure of Conquest on their Squadrons run.  
Prince Arthur at their Head breaks through their Files  
And covers all the Plain with hostile Spoils.  
The Saxon Troops dismayed, began to yield,  
And to the raging Conqueror leave the Field.   

Mean time the Prince of Hell who anxious stood,  
And from his Hill the bloody Labour viewed.  
Seeing the Saxon Troops at last give way,  
Resolves the Britons Progress to delay.  
That through the Angelic Guards he might escape,  
His Form he changed to a fair Seraph's Shape.  
A mild Celestial Youth, he did appear,  
Dressed in pure Robes of white Empyreal Air.  
What once he was, the Fiend seemed charming bright,  
Concealed in Beauty, and disguised in Light.  
Assuming meek and Heavenly Looks he strove,  
To imitate the loveliest Face above.  
Then taking from the Mountain's Top his Flight,  
Did straightway at th' Angelic Camp alight.  
And thus transformed through the bright Camp he went,  
As an Express from Heaven to Michael sent.  
Along he marched, and slily looking round,  
While unobserved, a fair Occasion found  
Of passing through their Lines, without Delay,  
Swift as a Ray of Light, he shot away.  
He mingles with the fight Armies, where  
He moulds to various Shapes, the thickened Air.  
In Sebert's warlike Form he did appear,  
With Arthur's gasping Head upon his Spear.  
Which newly severed from his Body seems,  
So fresh the Wound, so red the bloody Streams.  
Britons he cried, learn hence your wretched State,  
See your Destruction in your Leader's Fate.  
The towering Hopes, you vainly once conceived  
Are sunk, nor can your Ruin be retrieved.  
Whose Arms can guard your State now Arthur's dead?  
His Life, and with it, all your Strength is fled.  
Fly Britons hence, and to your Hills repair,  
Fly to your Woods, and in your Caves' despair.  
Protected in your Fastnesses remain,  
Stay not t' increase the Number of the Slain.  
Cold to their Hearts this Sight and Language went,  
And thro' their Veins a shivering Horror sent.  
Confusion and Despair their Souls oppressed,  
And their sad Looks their inward Wound confessed.  
Urged with their Fear, their Troops began to fly,  
And leave behind th' unfinished Victory.   

Prince Arthur's Breast with Indignation burned,  
Who from the fierce Pursuit reluctant turned,  
To stop his Army's Flight, stay, Britons, stay,  
He cried, and blemish not this glorious Day.  
Whence this Distraction, whence th' ungrounded Fear  
And wild Despair, that in your Looks appear.  
The battle's won, the Saxons quit the Field,  
And to your Arms a perfect Conquest yield.  
Let not the vanquished Foe escape Pursuit,  
This Vict'ry's yours, stay but to reap the Fruit.   

While thus he spoke, the Britons stood amazed,  
And on their Prince with Joy and Wonder gazed.  
Their Grief dispelled, their dying Hopes revive,  
And joyful Shouts proclaim the Prince alive.  
Mean time the Sun declines, and dusky Night  
Covers the Saxons, and protects their Flight.    

Prince Arthur.  
BOOK IX.  

NOw did the beauteous Morn begin to rise,  
Streaking with Rosy Light the smiling Skies.  
Prince Arthur rose, and solemn Thanks addressed  
To Heaven, that had his Arms with Conquest blest.  
Then road amidst his Troops, and one by one,  
Their Bravery praised, and Conduct lately shown.  
Dispensing great Rewards through all the Host,  
To those whose Courage was distinguished most.  
The Britons in their turn express their Zeal,  
And to the Prince the highest Love reveal.  
The heavens around with Acclamations rung,  
And loud Applauses of the shouting Throng.  
Then to the sacred Temples they repair,  
In joyful Crowds to offer Praise and Prayer.  
In low Prostration they the Sovereign Lord  
Of Hosts Exalt, and future Aid implored.  
Soon as their Hymns of Heavenly Praise were sung,  
High in the Temples they their Trophies hung.  
Bruised Armour, broken Shields, and Standards torn  
From the fierce Foe, the gilded Roofs adorn.  
This Honour to th' Almighty Saviour done,  
Prince Arthur to his Britons thus begun.   

Thus far Success and Triumph on us wait,  
And to our Arms, presage a prosperous Fate.  
Propitious Heaven is to your Part inclined,  
And still more glorious victories Crowd behind.  
The vanquished Foe can't long maintain the Field,  
But must your ravished Lands and Cities yield.  
Chase anxious Thoughts far from your Valiant Breast,  
And on your Cause, and heavens Protection rest.  
A perfect Conquest shall your Labours Crown,  
And your Victorious Arms, regain your own.  
Fear not the Relics of a Conquered Foe,  
Their tottering State, falls with another Blow.  
Now let no Funeral Honours be denied,  
To these brave Men, that for their Country died.  
Let us with Sighs and Tears lament their Fate,  
Who fell, while striving to support our State,  
Ages to come shall their great Virtue praise;  
Viewing the Tombs that on their Graves you raise.   

And first the Prince to the Pavilion went,  
Whither brave Macor's breathless Corpse was sent.  
He lay extended on a Purple Bed,  
With high raised Pillows, placed beneath his Head.  
His Servants standing round their Grief expressed,  
With old Pendarvan sad above the rest.  
Cador to him as to his faithful Friend,  
For wise Instructions, did his Son commend,  
His Counsels formed his Youth, and did prepare  
His Mind for all concerns of Peace, and War.  
Now in his Face the deepest Grief appears,  
He beats his Breast, and baths it with his Tears.  
He wrings his Hands, and in his mournful Rage,  
Tears off the hoary Honours of his Age.  
Immoderate Grief in lamentable Sounds,  
As Arthur entered, through the Room rebounds.  
The pious Prince with heavy Sorrow pressed,  
Burst out in Tears, and thus his Grief expressed.   

Inexorable Death at every Heart  
Without distinction, shoots her fatal Dart.  
Could Beauty, Courage, Virtue, youthful Age  
Move her Compassion, or divert her Rage;  
Brave Youth, thou hadst escaped, and lived to see  
Our Triumphs, for a victory due to thee:  
But all thy Charms by stronger Fate o'ercome,  
Could not reverse th' Irrevocable Doom.  
Oh! thy sad Sire, what swelling Grief will roll  
Its stormy Tide o'er his afflicted Soul?  
Can he the News of Macor's Death survive,  
Or me, with whom he trusted him, forgive?  
T'allay the smart may the Danmonians tell,  
How bravely Macor fought, how Great he fell.  
And how my own with Cador's Grief contends,  
He mourns the best of Sons, and I the best of Friends.  
Our Hopes are gone, may the Danmonians Cry,  
And what Britannia can thy Loss supply?   

Then to Embalm the Prince he gave Command,  
That he might send him to his Native Land.  
Strait with hot Streams, they wash his Body over,  
And purge his Skin from Dust and putrid Gore.  
Then in Arabian Spices, fragrant Gums,  
Rare Aromatic Oils, and rich Perfumes,  
They lay his Snowy Body, which they fold  
In Bands of Linen, round him often rolled.  
Then from his Troops a Thousand Youths he chose,  
That might a solemn Equipage compose.  
That might accompany the Funeral State,  
To the unhappy Father's Palace Gate.  
Small Comfort for so great a loss, yet due  
To the sad Sire, and all the Prince could show.  
Forthwith the Britons wove with bending Sprigs  
Of Willow Trees, and tender Oaken Twigs,  
An easy Bier, and with soft Rushes spread,  
Sweet Flowers, and fragrant Herbs, the lofty Bed.  
The Roof on high fresh spreading Branches shade,  
And here sublime the hapless Youth was laid.  
Such on the Ground the fading Rose we see,  
By some rude Blast, torn from the Parent Tree.  
The Daffodil so leans his languid Head,  
Newly mown down, upon his grassy Bed.  
Tho from the Earth no more Supplies they gain,  
Their splendid Form in part, and lovely Hue remain.  
Then a rich Garment, glorious to behold,  
ponderous with Orient Pearl, and stiff with Gold;  
A noble Present from King Odar's Hand,  
Received when Arthur left the Neustrian Land.  
Upon the Bier his Royal Bounty threw,  
The last Respect, that a sad Friend could show.  
A noble Portion of the wealthy Prey,  
And Spoils gained from the Foe, on Cars they lay.  
With Arms, and Standards, that himself had won,  
The Trophies of the Wonders he had done.   

Now the magnificent, and pompous Woe,  
Does from the Camp, in sad Procession go.  
The labouring Axle mourns along the Road,  
And groans beneath th' uncomfortable Load.  
The Horses slowly March, and mournful look,  
As they their share of public Sorrow took.  
Pendarvan follows stooping with his years,  
But more with Grief, and deluged in his Tears.  
Then Macor's Chariot rolls, distained with Blood,  
On which sublime amidst the War he road.  
His War-horse Rapa, with black Trappings spread,  
And he too seemed to weep, is after led.  
His Arms and polished Armour others bear,  
His Golden Spurs, his Helmet, Shield, and Spear,  
Then in long Order the Danmonians mourned;  
Their Spears turned backwards and their Bucklers turned.   

Then Arthur stood, and with sad Accent spoke;  
Thus far I mourn the Fate I can't revoke.  
Back I am called where Arms and bloody Strife,  
With more sad Objects, must renew my Grief.  
Farewell brave Youth, farewel, till we above,  
Meet in the peaceful Realms, of Light, and Love.  
He said no more, but turned and took his way;  
Back to the Camp, which lofty Works survey.   

Mean time ten Orators from Octa sent,  
Arrived, and waited at the Prince's Tent.  
Their Embassy a Truce was to obtain,  
To clear the Field, and to inter the slain.  
They urged that all Hostilities should cease,  
Against the Dead, who ought to rest in Peace.  
That all Heroic Conquerors ever gave,  
To those, from whom they took their Lives, a Grave.  
The Saxons Prayer seemed just, and ten days Truce,  
Prince Arthur granted for this pious Use.   

To Cador's Court the heavy Tidings came,  
Born swiftly thither on the Wings of Fame.  
Loud Lamentation through the Palace went,  
And bitter Cries, give their strong Passion vent.  
Officious Fame the dismal News relates,  
And universal Sorrow propagates.  
Pale Faces, crossing Arms, dejected Eyes,  
Overflowing Tears, and deep, despairing Sighs,  
Compose a finished Scene of Blackest Woe,  
The Tragic place does all sad Figures show.  
The Men like pallid Ghosts pass silent by,  
womans outrageous in their Sorrow cry  
Macor is dead, our Hopes too with him die.  
Through all the Streets prodigious Numbers flow,  
And poured out from the Gates promiscuous go  
To meet their Hero's Hearse, with flaming Brands,  
And Pitchy Torches lighted in their Hands.  
Which in long Order shone along the way,  
Disclosed the Fields, and called back banished Day.  
Soon as they spied the lofty Hearse from far,  
Attended with the Pomp of mournful War;  
A lamentable Cry the Valley fills,  
Echo repeats it louder in the Hills.  
Wild with their Grief, distracted with Despair,  
They strike their throbing Breasts, tear off their Hair,  
And with their piercing Screams disturb the Air.  
Both Troops unite Rivals in Love and Grief,  
And the sad Conquest seek with equal Strife,   

As Cador's Love no bounds his Sorrow knew,  
Who from their Arms and Prayers distracted flew.  
Close in his Arms he did the Corpse embrace,  
Kissed his cold Lips, and bathed with Tears his Face.  
A Scene so tender, such a moving Sight,  
Melts all their Hearts, and does fresh Grief invite,  
Touched with Compassion to th' afflicted King,  
From their exhausted Eyes fresh Torrents spring.  
When the fierce Tempest had its Fury broke,  
With a deep Sigh th' unhappy Monarch spoke.  
Oh, my dear Son! how mild had been my Doom,  
Hadst thou escaped, I suffered in thy Room.  
This Sight kills worse than Death, Oh that the Dart  
Had missed thy Breast, and pierced thy Father's Heart!  
Oh, that to see this fatal Hour I live!  
And thee, and all that's dear in Life survive!  
Oh, how I wish Life's tedious Journey done,  
The empty Name remains, the thing is gone!  
But sure I shall not long thy Absence mourn,  
I'll hast to thee, thou'lt not to me return.  
My hoary Head with Sorrow to the Grave,  
Makes haste, the best Repose my Troubles crave.  
Thrice happy Wife removed from us below,  
You have no share in this sad Scene of Woe.  
My ill presaging Fears are now fulfilled,  
I started in my Sleep, and cried my Son is killed.  
I knew too well warm Blood and youthful Age,  
Eager with Fame, and fired with Martial Rage,  
His Arms in greatest Danger would engage.  
I prayed, and oft conjured him to beware,  
Not rashly to provoke unequal War.  
He promised me while on his Neck I wept,  
But oh, how ill has he his Promise kept?  
I can't reproach the pious Arthur's Name,  
Nor on his Friendship sworn reflect the Blame.  
If by divine, unchangeable Decree,  
Untimely Fate, Macor, attended thee;  
'tis best that thou art fallen with such Applause,  
Asserting Albion's and the Christian Cause,  
But why do my Complaints thus endless grow,  
And why thus tedious my loquacious Woe?  
Why from new Laurels should I thus detain  
These valiant Troops, to hear my Sighs in vain?  
Go, Britons, to your Prince, at your Return,  
Tell him I live, but only live to mourn.  
I groan beneath the heaviest Load of Grief,  
And spend, in Tears my sad Remains of Life.  
May Heaven his Arms with greater Triumph bless,  
Great as his Virtues, let him meet Success.  
Mean time must we this last kind Office pay,  
And Macor's Body to the Dome convey;  
Where his illustrious Fathers lie interred  
Who reigned by Subjects loved, by Neighbours feared.   

Soon as the Sun had with his early Ray  
Deposed the Shades, and re-enthroned the Day.  
The pious Britons their slain Friends inter,  
And on their Graves new Honours do confer.  
Some with their Spades, and with sharp Axes wound  
The groaning Earth, and casting up the Ground,  
They form deep Vaults, and subterranean Caves,  
Then fill up with their Dead, the gaping Graves.  
Some cast up hilly heaps, and Mounts of Sand,  
That for their Tombs, and Monuments might stand.  
And to th' admiring Britons might declare,  
In future Ages what their Fathers were.  
Some Stones erect of a prodigious Size,  
That bear the Hero's Glory to the Skies.   

Mean time the Saxons bear away their Dead,  
Whose putrid Heaps, the bloody Field overspread.  
Innumerable Piles they raise on high,  
Which kindled fill with Smoke and flames the Sky.  
With uncouth Cries, around the Fires they mourn,  
Where vulgar Dead, in Heaps promiscuous Burn.  
The Lords, and Officers of high Command,  
They send attended with a warlike Band  
Each to his City, there to be interred,  
Where greater funeral Pomp might be conferred,  
But fair Augusta chiefly flowed with Tears,  
Where Grief in all her mournful Looks appears.  
Distracted with ungovernable Woe,  
Into the Streets in Crowds the Matrons flow.  
Confusion in their Looks, and wild Despair,  
They wring their Hands, and tear their flowing Hair  
Parents on Children, Wives on Husbands call,  
Sons mourn their Fathers, Maids their Lovers fall.  
For their dear Brothers, Sisters, Tears are spent,  
Servants their Masters, Friends their Friends lament.  
All mingle Tears, their Cries together flow,  
And form a hideous Harmony of Woe.  
Pale Consternation sat on every Face,  
They feared the Prince would soon invest the Place.  
They oft reproached their Monarch's Breach of Word,  
That had exposed them to the Conquerour's Sword.  
They wished that this destructive War might cease,  
And Ethelina be the Bond of Peace.  
Octa's Affairs in this ill State appear,  
Such was their public Grief, and such their Fear.   

Mean time the Briton joyful Sports ordained,  
For the great victory by their Arms obtained.  
For Horsemanship the Britons always famed,  
To run a Course his generous Gifts inflamed.  
Desire both of the Prize, and loud Applause,  
The British Youth to mount their Coursers draws.  
A neighbouring Hill ascending high, but slow,  
Surveyed the Valleys, with his lofty Brow.  
Upon the flowery Top a spacious Down,  
Extended lay, which shady Woods did crown.  
The grassy Plains, and rising Groves appear,  
Like a rich furnished, native Theatre.  
Where Sylvan Scenes, their verdant Pomp display,  
And charming Prospects to the Eye convey.  
Soon as the Sun, had with his Rosy Light,  
From the cold Air, dispelled the dewy Night.  
The British Hero with a numerous Train,  
Directs his Steps, to this delightful Plain.  
Where high amidst his Friends he takes his Place,  
Who swarmed around to view the noble Race.   

Britons, Armoricans, and Neustrians stood  
Mingled below, the foremost of the Crowd  
Stood Eddelin in all his Youthful Pride,  
His Purple Boots were of Iberian Hide,  
Which fast with Golden Buttons held, and graced  
With Silver Spurs, his comely Legs embraced.  
A flaming Ruban of Sydonian Die,  
In a close Knot, his curling Locks did tie.  
Which playing on his Shoulders flew behind,  
Danced in the Air, and sported with the Wind.  
Close to his well shaped Waste, he wore his Coat,  
Of Silk and Silver, by his Mother wrought.  
A Cap of Crimson did his Head equip,  
And as he walked, he slashed his breaded Whip.  
His swarthy Groom his generous Courser leads,  
That scarcely marks the Ground, so light he treads.  
Swift as a Dove pursued, or Mountain Hind,  
His nimbler Feet could overtake the Wind,  
Leave flying Darts, and swifter storms behind.  
Illustrious Blood he Boasts with equal Pride,  
Transmitted to his Veins on either side.  
The Mother Mare was of Eborac Race,  
The Sire Augusta's Merchants, brought from Thrace.  
His inward Fire through his wide Nostrils flies,  
And noble Ardour sparkles in his Eyes.  
His well turned Limbs did Admiration move,  
Where Strength, and Beauty for the Conquest strove.  
His matchless Speed the Prize did ever gain,  
From all the Rival Coursers of the Plain.   

Next Blanadoc upon the Plain advanced  
And led behind his fiery Courser pranced.  
Lightly equipped, and ready for the Race,  
He marches to the Base with Manly Grace.  
The gazing Crowd admire his comely Steed,  
Nobly descended from the famous Breed,  
That on the Mauritanian Mountains feed.  
And famed for Swiftness in the Dusty Course,  
Of wondrous Beauty, and of wondrous Force.  
And next to him the gay Lanvallo came  
Eager to win the Prize, and raise his Name.  
His dapled Courser to the Base advanced,  
And neighing wantonly along the Champain danced.  
His high Descent he did from Draco trace,  
The swiftest Courser of th' Iberian Race.  
A Race so famous for their speedy Feet,  
Eurus himself, was not esteemed more fleet.  
So swift they run, that vulgar Fame declares,  
The Western Winds, impregnated the Mares.   

Next the fierce Tudor comes into the Field,  
That did to none for Art or Courage yield.  
A Velvet Bonnet on his Head, and dressed  
For Lightness, in a thin embroidered Vest.  
Thirsty of Honour to the Base he flies,  
And with his greedy Wishes grasps the Prize.  
His well-trained Courser was admired for Speed,  
Sprung from Portuguese, mixed with British Breed.  
lightning flew from his Eyes, and Clouds of Smoak '  
Dark'ning the Air, from his large Nostrils broke.  
None of the Rival Steeds arrived before,  
More Wonder raised, or promised Conquest more.   

Next Trebor came upon a noble Horse,  
And oft Victorious in the rapid Course.  
He gently stroked his Mane, and bid him show  
On this great Day, the Feet he used to do.  
With many more, whose long forgotten Name,  
Was ne'er enroled in the Records of Fame.  
While round the Base the wanton Coursers play,  
Th' ambitious Riders in just Scales they weigh.  
And those that by their Rules were found too light,  
Quilt Led into their Belts, to give them weight.  
All things adjusted, and the Laws agreed,  
Each eager Rival mounts his generous Steed.   

To whom th' indulgent Prince himself addressed,  
And to inflame their Zeal these Words expressed.  
Let no brave Youth despair of his Reward,  
Due Gifts, and Honours are for all prepared.  
Whoever are Rivals of the rapid Race,  
Two costly Spears shall win, their plated Base  
Glitters in Silver Sockets finely wrought  
By rare Engravers, from Germania brought.  
Their Points are gilded, illustrious to behold,  
Whence a deep Fring depends of Silk and Gold.  
Besides a Backsword whose well tempered Blade,  
Is of the famed Iberian Metal made.  
The happy Youth that smeared with Sweat, and Dust,  
Shall reach the Goal, midst loud Applauses first,  
This Golden Goblet his Reward shall boast,  
By Damon wrought, with Figures high embossed.  
The second conqueror shall in Triumph wear,  
In a rich Belt, this Persian Scimitar.  
The Haft's a costly Stone that Nature stains  
With various Figures, and with Bloody Veins.  
The chiefest Workmen of the curious East  
Have in the inlaid Blade, their Art expressed.  
The third shall win a noble polished Shield,  
Three Coursers rarely portrayed on the Field.   

The Signal given by the shrill Trumpet's Sound,  
The Courser's start, and scour along the Ground.  
So Boreas starting from his Northern Goal,  
Sweeps o'er the Mountains to the adverse Pole.  
His furious Wings the flying Clouds remove,  
From the Blue Plains, and spacious wild's above.  
Insulting o'er the Seas he loudly roars,  
And shoves the tumbling Billows to the Shores.  
While for the Palm the straining Steeds contend,  
Beneath their Hoofs the Grass does scarcely bend.  
So long and smooth their Strokes, so swift they pass,  
That the Spectators of the noble Race,  
Can scarce distinguish by their doubtful Eye,  
If on the Ground they run, or in the Air they fly.  
So when the Earth smiles with a Summer's Ray,  
And wanton swallows o'er the Valleys play.  
In Sport each other they so swiftly chase,  
Sweeping with easy Wings, the Meadow's Face,  
They seemed upon the Ground to fly a Race.  
O'er Hills, and Dales, the speedy Coursers fly,  
And with thick Clouds of Dust obscure the Sky.  
With clashing Whips, the furious Riders tear  
Their Courser's sides, and wound th' afflicted Air.  
Never Epirean, or Arabian Steed,  
Flew over the Olympic Plains, with greater speed.  
On their thick Manes the stooping Riders lie,  
Press forwards, and would fain their steeds outfly.  
By Turns they are behind, by Turns before,  
Their Flanks and Sides, all bathed in Sweat, and Gore  
Such speed the Steeds, such Zeal the Rider's show,  
To reach bright Fame, that swift before them flew.  
Upon the last with spurning Heels the first  
Casts storms of sand, and smothering Clouds of Dust.  
The hindmost strain their Nerves, and snore, and blow,  
And their white Foam upon the Foremost throw.  
Eager of Fame, and of the promised Prize  
The Riders seize the Mark with greedy Eyes.  
Now Hopes dilate, now Fears contract their Breast,  
Alternately with Joy, and Grief possessed.  
Thus far with equal Fate the Riders pass  
Uncertain who should conquer in the Race.  
But now the Goal appearing does excite  
New warmth, and calls out all their youthful Might.  
They lash their Courser's Flanks with Crimson died,  
And stick their goring Spurs into their side.  
Their Native Courage, and the Rider's stroke,  
T' exert their Force, the generous Kind provoke.  
Each springs out to the Goal with loosened Reins,  
Works all his Nerves, and staring Eyeballs strains.  
In this fierce Strife, Tudor's the best for wind,  
Shot forth, and left the panting Steeds behind.  
Eddelin the other Rivals overpast,  
Trebor came next, Lanvallo was the last.  
Draco, his Steed, had once unrivalled Fame,  
When in the Pride, and Pomp of Youth he came;  
Curvetting o'er the Plain, to win the Course,  
All yielded to his Swiftness, and his Force.  
Siff Limbs now show his Age, with drudging Pace  
He sweats behind, and labours through the Race.  
Now Tudor whips, and spurs his Courser on,  
And near the Goal believed the Goblet won.  
When running o'er a naked, chauky Place,  
Slipp'ry with nightly Dew, and bare of Grass,  
Up flew the Courser's Heels, and to the Ground  
He, and the Rider, fell with mighty Sound.  
The sudden Danger could not be declined  
By Eddelin, that followed close behind.  
For stumbling on young Tudor's hapless Horse,  
His Floundring fell, and lost the hopeful Course.   

The mean time Trebor spurred, and forwards sprung.  
While all the Field with Acclamations rung.  
First to the Goal his reeking Courser came,  
Next Blanadoc, Lanvallo third in Fame.  
The Victors by the Goal triumphant stood,  
Surrounded by the thick applauding Crowd.  
When Tudor rushing in, cries out of wrong,  
And challenging the Prize, broke through the Throng.  
The Judges overruled the Youth's Demand,  
Urging the first established Rules should stand.  
The Prince confirmed their Sentence, and declared  
Who first arrived, should have the first Reward▪  
But on the two, that by ill Fortune crossed,  
The victory almost in Possession, lost,  
Rich Marks of Royal Bounty he conferred,  
And with his Smiles, their drooping Spirits cheered.  
A famous Quiver wrought by Didon's Hand,  
With Thracian Arrows stored, at his Commad  
Was first on Tudor, as a Gift conferred;  
And cross his Shoulders hung the bright Reward,  
Eddelin that never hoped so mild a Doom,  
Receives a silver Helm, and milk white Plume.  
This Kindness to th' unfortunate expressed,  
He gives the promised Prizes to the rest.   

Arthur rose up, and all their Footsteps bend  
Back to their Camp, which lofty Works defend.  
And now the Britons all their Hands employ,  
To fetch Materials in, for Fires of Joy.  
All to the Mountains, and the Woods repair,  
And with their Labour fill the echoing Air.  
They raise their Axes, and with toilsome Strokes;  
Fell the tall Elms, and lop the spreading Oaks.  
They bear the nodding Trees to every Town,  
And from the Mountains, draw the Forests down.  
In every City with the shady Spoils,  
The joyful Youth erected lofty Piles.  
Nearer the Skies they raise th' aspiring Wood,  
Than when before, upon the Hills it stood.  
Soon as the Sun his Beamy Light withdrew,  
And the brown Air grew moist with Evening Dew:  
The shouting Britons, set the Piles on fire,  
And towering Flames to heavens high Roof aspire.  
Up the steep Air the ruddy Columns play,  
And to the Stars their Rival Light convey.  
Around the burning Piles the Crowds rejoice,  
And mingle Shouts, with the shrill Trumpet's Voice.  
heavens starry Arch with Acclamations rings,  
While the glad Throng, Arthur's loud Praises sings.  
Let Arthur live, the Towns and Fields resound,  
Let Arthur live, the echoing Hills rebound  
The Evening thus in Mirth and Triumph past,  
The Britons to their Rest retired at last.   

Mean time four Lords arrived from Tollo, crave  
Audience of Octa, which the Saxon gave.  
To hear their Embassy, in regal State  
High on his Throne, the Saxon Monarch sat.  
Duncan the chief broke Silence thus, we bring  
This Message from the great Albanian King;  
He is advanced, to give that powerful Aid,  
Which by his Orator's King Octa prayed.  
A valiant Host obeying his Command,  
Whose conquering Swords, no force could yet withstand,  
Who laid the Caledonian Forrest waist.  
And from their Forts the fierce Meatian chased;  
Halts on a Plain, three Leagues removed from hence,  
Ready t' engage their Arms in your Defence.  
But then our Leader prays, that when you come,  
The Britons all subdued, in Triumph home,  
Fair Ethelina may be then his own,  
The bright Reward, that shall his Labours crown.  
If to these happy Nuptials you incline,  
He'll strait with yours, his valiant Forces join.  
Let not the Saxons doubt great Tollo's Arms,  
Will free your Kingdom from the Foes Alarms   

He said, forthwith Octa in counsel sat,  
A matter so important to debate.  
When Osred thus began,  
Great Exigencies of our State persuade,  
That we comply with this Proposal made;  
We are compelled by hard Affairs, to court  
Th' Albanian Arms, our Kingdom to support.  
You know too well, how much the Saxons Host,  
Is weakened, by the Numbers we have lost,  
When matchless Arthur did our Troops invade,  
What Havoc his victorious Progress made.  
What wide Destruction in our Army raged,  
Wherever his fatal Weapons were engaged.  
Our frighted Troops, when he advances, fly  
Swift as the Clouds, the Wind's chase through the Sky.  
But valiant Tollo, rivals Arthur's Fame,  
Equal their Courage, and their Strength the same.  
Against the Briton He'll the Field maintain,  
And on his Buckler his vast Strokes sustain.  
No stronger Champion traversed yet the Field,  
To him or none the British Prince must yield.  
Kind Heaven has sent a Man so great, and Brave,  
From Arthur's Arms, our threatened State to save.  
I would not then his just Desire withstand,  
But let him know, you grant him his Demand.  
This Grant to such a Prince we must allow,  
Was always fit, but necessary now.   

He ceased, and next Pascentius silence broke,  
And wisely thus th' attentive Peers bespoke.  
I once advised that to preserve the State,  
We should strict Friendship with Prince Arthur make.  
That we Britannia should between us share,  
And with the Princess Nuptials end the War.  
The Terms proposed the British Hero please,  
And all things seemed to promise lasting Peace.  
But when we were informed the British Host  
Had half their Force, by raging Sickness lost.  
Thinking we might with Ease, the Foe defeat,  
We from the Terms ourselves proposed, retreat.  
I wish that Rupture May not Heaven provoke,  
To bring our Necks beneath the British Yoke.  
With all our Force the Britons we assail,  
But Arthur's unresisted Arms prevail.  
How great a Loss the Saxons undergo,  
Our bleeding Wounds and endless Funerals show.  
What Hero can be found to guard our State,  
Against Prince Arthur's Arms, and prosperous Fate.  
True, Tollo's Deeds give him a warlike Name,  
But much inferior to the Briton's Fame.  
If we confiding in th' Albanian's Sword,  
Fresh Triumphs to the Briton should afford:  
Who after, shall controlling Bounds oppose,  
To the victorious Progress of our Foes?  
Who then against the Torrent can contend,  
And from th' overflowing Flood, our Towns defend.  
We shall in vain our former Conquests boast,  
The Saxon sinks, and all Britannia's lost.  
All things well weighed, Prince Arthur looks to me  
As one supported by divine Decree,  
To Empire raised, by unchanged Destiny.  
If so in vain all our Attempts are made,  
In vain we build our Hopes on Tollo's Aid.  
We shall oppose inevitable Fate,  
And in our Ruin learn our Fault, too late.  
I would Prince Arthur's Temper sound, and strive  
Once more, the former Treaty to revive.  
This way we may control the Conquerors ' Arms,  
And Arthur bind by Ethelina's Charms.  
This way perhaps you'll stem the rapid Tide,  
And gain a Conquest to your Arms denied.   

Pascentius ceased, Crida with Choler burned,  
And with an Air disturbed these Words returned:  
We all well know Pascentius Tongue, was made  
Smooth, soft, and fluent fitted to persuade.  
For courtly Arts, and fine Intrigues of State,  
No Saxon Genius can Pascentius mate.  
All to his Eloquence at home must yield,  
As he to all, for Courage in the Field.  
Men of the Cabinet take no Delight,  
In bloody War, they are too wise to fight.  
The Briton's Strength, and Arthur's Arms I find,  
Strike fiercely on a Prudent timorous Mind.  
A brave Heroic Spirit can't despair,  
That minds the Turns and doubtful Chance of War.  
Joined by the Pict and Albanian Horse,  
We'er much superior to the British Force.  
Tollo and Mordred, both for Arms are famed,  
Whose Deeds with greater Wonder are proclaimed?  
We too have Heros left that dare engage  
The Briton's Arm, and can sustain his Rage.  
Myself will meet him in the Field, and stand  
Unmoved against the Fury of his Hand.  
Shall we at last a conquered Nation fear,  
And long inur'd to Victory despair.  
Let not our vile Submission slain our Name,  
And lessen through the World the Saxon Fame.  
No, let the King with Tollo's Prayer comply,  
Our Forces joined must make the Britons fly.  
He ceased, the Council murmured their Applause,  
And pleased with this Advice King Octa rose.   

He strait dispatched th' Albanian Orators,  
By whom the valiant Tollo he assures,  
That he the Britons by his Aid subdued,  
Shall Ethelina wed for whom he sued.  
Withal he added that Affairs required,  
Their Troops should join, before the Truce expired.   

His Orators returned, to Tollo bring,  
The pleasing Answer of the Saxon King.  
Tollo transported with excessive Joy,  
Believes no Rival could his Hopes destroy.  
As if the Battle were already won,  
He thinks the Beauteous Princess is his own.  
glittering in Arms, like a refulgent Star,  
He leads his Scotish Nation to the War.  
A Nation fierce and haughty by Success,  
Which Albion's Northern Soil did then posess.  
For a rude, cruel People, bred to Spoil,  
To Blood, and Rapine, from th' Hibernian Isle,  
Did in this Age, infest th' Albanian Coast,  
And landed there at last their barbarous Host.  
Scots they were called, from their wild Island's Name,  
For Scotia, and Hibernia were the same.  
Here their new Seats the prosperous Pirates, fix,  
And their course Blood, with the old Britons mix.  
These their Albanian Seats, new Scotia stile,  
Leaving Hibernia, to their native Isle.  
The Caledonian Britons dispossessed  
And by a hard tirannick Yoke oppressed;  
Did these Hibernian, Scotish Lords obey,  
And felt the Curses of a foreign Sway.  
This Nation than obeyed King Tollo's Laws,  
And now in Arms asserts the Saxon Cause.   

The mighty Donald, of the Northern Isles,  
Of Visage fierce, and dreadful with the Spoils  
Of grisly Bears, and of the foaming Boar,  
Which hideous Pride he o'er his Shoulders wore,  
Marches his vigorous Troops into the Field,  
Whose thundering Swords, themselves could only wield.  
By their rough Captains led, they left the land,  
Where once the old Meatians did command.  
And where the Walls from Sea to Sea extend,  
By Romans built, their Province to defend.  
Stupendous Bulwarks whose unnumbered Towers,  
Repelled th' Incursions of the Northern Powers.  
But when proud Rome was weak and feeble grown,  
Th' insulting Foe broke the high Fences down.  
Now Ruins show where the chief Fabric stood,  
Between wide Tinna's and Itunna's Flood.  
The Youth from all the Towns that did obey  
In ancient times, the mild Normantian Sway.  
Such as possessed th' Elgovian Seats, and those  
Who tilled the Land where silver Devia flows.  
Who on the wild and bleaky Shore reside,  
Insulted by the rough Hibernian Tide.  
To aid the Saxon from their Country came,  
By Dongal led, a Lord of Martial Fame.  
Those where Verdera rears her lofty Towers,  
And Glotta's Tide into the Ocean pours.  
And where th' Orestian Princes heretofore,  
And Attacottian Lords the Sceptre bore.  
Those where the Otadenian Cities stood,  
Between Alanus, and fair Vedra's Flood.  
They march from Castralata and the Shore,  
Where wide Boderia's noisy Billows roar.  
Then those from Vindolana and the Land  
Where Aelians Bridge and high Cilurnum stand.   

Macbeth a great Commander of the North,  
And rocky Highlands, draws his Nation forth.  
Loose Mantles o'er their brawny Shoulders flung,  
With careless Pride beneath their leg hung.  
Cerulean Bonnets on their Heads they wore,  
And for their Arms, broad Swords and Targets bore.  
The Youth poured out from fair Victoria's Gates,  
From Orrea and the old Gadenian Seats.  
And from the spacious Caledonian Wood,  
And where Cebinus rolls his rapid Flood.  
These Troops were by the fierce Congellar led,  
Of Malcol's Royal Stock the famous Head.  
Who first from wild jerne wasted over,  
His barbarous Engines to th' Albanian Shore.  
Those from the Vicomagians Cities came,  
From high Banatia, and from ancient Tame.  
And they who dwelled on either verdant Bank  
Of Longoes Stream, and those that Itys drank.  
With those that stretched along the western Coast,  
To whom the old Creonian Towns were lost,  
Where high Epidium midst th' Hibernian Waves,  
Protrudes his Head, and all their Monsters braves.  
Those from the Towns along the flowery Side  
Of Northern Tinna, and fair Tava's Tide.  
Where once the happy Venicontes dwelled,  
Before the foreign Conquerors Yoke was felt.   

There was a northern Nation fierce and bold  
On whose died Bodies, fearful to behold,  
Wild Beasts inscribed, and ravenous Birds were born,  
Which their vast Limbs did dreadfully adorn.  
So fierce they seemed, as ready to devour,  
The naked Limbs, that the wild Monsters bore.  
Their Hieroglyphic Armies, stained and smeared  
With various Colours, and strange Forms appeared  
In Pageant Armour, and in painted State,  
Like Troops of Heralds, who on Triumphs wait.  
This Nation Picts were called, who wafted over  
From Scandinavia, and the bleaky Shore  
Of Southern Scythia, did these Seas infest,  
And with their Fleets, the British Coast molest.  
Their Pyracy's by Sea, and Thefts by Land,  
Th' exhausted Britons did in vain withstand.  
No more of Rome's declining Power afraid,  
They did the weak, defenceless Isle invade.  
Th' affrighted Briton from the Shore retreats,  
And leaves the Conqueror his abandoned Seats.  
Their King at Pleasure, this fierce Nation made,  
And Mordred now th' imperial Sceptre swayed.  
He to King Tollo by his Queen allied,  
And now by closer Bonds of Interest tied.  
Commands his Men to take their Shield and Lance,  
And with the Scotish Army to advance.   

They marched, who then possessed the Hilly Land,  
Which th' ancient Carnonatian did command.  
From Ricine, and the frozen Hebudes,  
Laved by the loud Deucaledonian Seas.  
From all the Towns whence their victorious Sword,  
Forced the Carenian Prince, the rightful Lord.  
Where the wild Hiperborean Ocean raves,  
And on the Rocks breaks his tempestuous Waves.  
They came who then the Mertian Cities filled,  
And held the Lands that once the Logian tilled.  
They left the Soil where swift Tuesis flows,  
Where Grampius stands in everlasting Snows,  
Which like the famed Riphean Hills appears,  
And with his Head divides the neighbouring Spheres.  
From all the Land where Loxa's Current flows,  
Which Vara's, and Tuesis streams enclose.  
Where once the bold Decantians did reside,  
And from their Hills the Power of Rome defied.  
These with the Saxon Troops their Arms unite  
Who so well reinforced prepare for Fight,  
While wounded in his Tent King Octa stayed,  
King Tollo, as their Leader, all obeyed.    

Prince Arthur.  
BOOK X.  

AUrora's Beams now on the Mountains smiled,  
And adverse Clouds with Purple Edges gild,  
Boiling with Martial Rage King Tollo stands,  
And his high Chariot, and his Steeds demands.  
Steeds, whiter than the purest Alpine Snows,  
And fleeter than the Gales that Boreas blows.  
He triumphed when his noble Breed appeared,  
Their Harness thick with Gold and Silver smeared.  
When he their thundering Neighing heard, and saw  
Their wanton Hoofs the trembling Valley paw.  
The Grooms and Charioteers about him stand,  
Reining the snorting Coursers in their Hand.  
Stroking their Backs, they their hot Spirits soothed,  
And their high Manes with Combs, and Sponges smoothed.   

Tollo mean time, puts on his mighty Arms,  
And all the Field resounds with loud Alarms.  
Each Army does for Bloody Toil prepare,  
And draw their Troops out, to renew the War.  
The thundering Coursers shake the trampled Ground,  
And warlike Clamours from the Hills rebound.  
Across the Plain the rapid Chariots fly,  
And with thick Clouds of Dust annoy the Sky.  
An Iron Harvest on the Field appears,  
Of Lances, burnished Shields, and bristling Spears.  
Thronged Heads in long embattled Ranks disposed,  
The lowering Front of horrid War disclosed.  
First furious Tollo springs out from the Lines,  
And on the Plain in radiant Armour shines.  
His polished Helm oppressed the dazzled Sight,  
And shone on high, like a huge Globe of Light.  
The Golden Shield his mighty Arm did bear,  
Hung, like a blazing Meteor, in the Air.  
His Coat of Mail was on his Shoulders cast,  
And Golden Pieces his vast Thighs encased.  
The Pieces round his Legs, Gold Buttons tied,  
And his broad sword hung dreadful by his side.  
Which when drawn out, like a destructive Flame  
Of lightning, from the ample Scabbard came.  
In such illustrious Arms King Tollo shone,  
And thought no Strength superior to his own.  
Then shaking in his Hand his massy Spear,  
He cried aloud, that all his Threats might hear.  
This Spear ne'er yet deceived its Master's Hand,  
Nor could the bravest Knight its Force withstand.  
Witness Albodian, and great Locrine slain  
In single Combats, on th' Albanian Plain.  
Witness ye Caledonian Princes, you,  
Whom with vast spoil on Tava's Banks I slew.  
Now, by this faithful spear shall Arthur die,  
If his just Fears persuade him not to fly.  
T' Augusta's Gates I'll bring his severed Head,  
And in his spoils, fair Ethelina wed.   

Thus Tollo boasts, thus did his Fury rise,  
And streaks of Fire flashed from his raging Eyes.  
So when a tawny Lion, from the side  
Of some high Lybian Mountain, has descried.  
A spotted Leopard, or a foaming Boar,  
To rouse his Courage he begins to roar,  
He shakes his hideous Sides, his Bristles rise  
And fiercely round he rowls his fiery Eyes.  
Again he roars, his Paws the Mountains tear,  
A fearful Preface to th' ensuing War.  
High in his Chariot Tollo then advanced,  
And from his Arms amazing Lustre glanced.  
A Martial Ardour sparkled in his Eyes,  
And hot with Choler he the Foe defies.  
So when the Spring's warm Breath, and cheering Ray  
Calls from his Cave th' awakened Snake, that lay  
Folded to Rest, while Winter Snows concealed  
The Mountain's Heads, and Frosts the Lakes congealed▪  
The sloughy Spoils from his sleek Back deposed,  
And the gay Pride of his new Skin disclosed,  
He views himself with Youthful Beauties crowned,  
Elated casts his haughty Eyes around,  
And rolls his speckled spires along the Ground.  
Fresh Colours die his Sides, and through his Veins  
Turgid with Life, reviving Vigour reigns.  
The sprightly Beast unfolds upon the Plain  
The glossy Honours of his Summer Train.  
His Crest erected high, and forky Tongue  
Shot out, he hisses, bounds, and leaps along.  
Such Life and Vigour valiant Tollo shows,  
Marching with eager Haste to meet his Foes.   

And now the British Host advanced in sight,  
With cheerful Looks, and eager of the Fight.  
Prince Arthur in refulgent Arms appeared,  
High in the midst, the Saxons saw, and feared.  
As when a Merchant richly laden spies,  
A lowering storm far in th' Horizon rise,  
A deadly Fear o'er all his Vitals reigns,  
And his i'll Blood hangs curdled in his Veins.  
He furls his sails, and fits his ship to bear  
The dreadful Hurricane ascending through the Air.  
Now both th' embattled Hosts advancing near  
King Tollo shakes his long, outrageous Spear.  
And crying out, and threatening from afar,  
In his swift Chariot flew amidst the War.  
His rapid Wheels cut through the thickest Files  
With fearful Ruin, and prodigious Spoils.  
Hapless Vodinar first his Arm did feel,  
And in his Breast received the pointed steel.  
Next Byron on the Sand expiring lies,  
Orpes flies to his Aid, and with him dies.  
Kentwin, Morosten, Caradoc he slew,  
And with his Javelin pierced stout Mervin through.  
Then you brave Youths, Risan, and Tudor fell  
Who did in strength, and martial skill excel.  
His fatal spear transfixed bold Arnon's sides,  
And from his Neck, his Sword the Head divides.  
As Udas fled, the hissing Dart he sent  
Entered his Back, and through his Navel went,  
He fell, and on the Dust, sad to behold,  
His Bowels issuing from his Belly rolled.  
Runo's right Knee his Javelin did invade,  
And in the Bone the glittering Weapon stayed.  
Strong Runo fell, and as he wildly stared,  
And many moving Words in haste prepared  
To beg his Life, th' insulting Conqueror flew,  
And with his Spear pierced his pale Body through.  
Groaning he lay, and fetched long double Sighs  
While in thick Mists Death swims upon his Eyes.  
Next Leoline, King Cadwall's Son he killed,  
A beauteous Youth, and not in War unskilled.  
His Head the Falchion to the Shoulders cleft,  
And on the Dust his grovelling Body left.  
Ouenar felt within a sudden Dread,  
And turning round his Chariot, would have fled.  
When his long Spear the fierce Albanian threw,  
Which crasht the Bones, and through the Temples flew.  
Headlong Ouenar fell, and on the Ground  
Lay weltering in his Blood, poured from his Wound.  
His fatal Weapons vast Destruction made,  
And where he passed, the slain in Heaps were laid.  
So when a Flood from th' Hyperborean Hills,  
Rolls thundering down, and all the Valley fills,  
Where the high Snows dissolved by Summer Beams,  
In one vast Deluge join their various Streams:  
The roaring Tide with its impetuous Course,  
Overflows the Banks, and with resistless Force  
Sweeps Houses, Harvest, Herds, and Flocks away,  
Nor can the loftiest Mounds its Progress stay.  
With equal Rage, with such impetuous Hast,  
Great Tollo through the thick Battalions past.  
The rapid Wheels of his swift Chariot burn,  
And in their Course the thronged Brigades overturn.  
O'er scattered Arms, bright Helms, broad Shields of Brass,  
And broken Spears, his raging Axles pass.  
O'er Heaps of Dead the furious Warrior flies,  
And fills with Dust, and rattling Noise, the Skies.  
The squalid Field, a Crimson Torrent chokes,  
And mingled Dust, and Blood oppress his Chariot's spokes.  
The trembling Ground th' outrageous Courser's tear,  
And snoring, brow their Foam into the Air.  
Their fervid Nostrils breath out Clouds of Smoke,  
And Flames of Fire from their hot Eyeballs broke.  
With furious Hoofs o'er slaughtered Heaps they fly,  
And dash up Bloody Rain amidst the Sky.  
Reeking in sweat, and smeared with Dust and Gore  
They spurn the Sand, and through the Battle roar.   

Then valiant Malgo with a fresh Brigade,  
Advanced the mighty Warrior to invade.  
While from another Part his Warlike Band,  
Bothan led up, and made a noble Stand.  
Now Showers of Darts, and feathered Arrows fly  
At Tollo's Breast, that darkened all the Sky.  
When valiant Marodan approaching near,  
With all his Strength, casts his impetuous Spear.  
It passed the Buckler's Plates, and folded Hide,  
And through his Armour slightly razed his Side.  
Tollo incensed, collecting all his Might,  
Broke through their Ranks, and put the Foe to Flight.  
Now dire Destruction reigns amidsts their Files,  
And all the Field was spread with warlike Spoils.  
So when Battavian Harpooniers assail,  
With their sharp Lances, some prodigious Whale,  
That like a floating Mountain, lies at Ease,  
Vastly extended on the frozen Seas.  
When the Leviathan begins to feel,  
Within his wounded side, the bearded steel;  
And looking round, sees all the ambient Flood,  
Deeply distained with its old Monarch's Blood.  
Straight all enraged, he throws himself about,  
And through the Air does Crimson Rivers spout.  
Swift, as a storm, he does the Foe assail,  
With his expanded Fins, and hideous Tail.  
Some Barks are crushed, as with a falling Rock,  
And some overturned, sink with the dreadful Shock.  
The rest ply all their Oars, and frighted row,  
Through Fields of Ice, to shun th' unequal Foe.   

Canvallo then brought up a stronger Force,  
Whom Galbut joined to stop th' Albanian's Course.  
The fainting Britons these fresh Troops protect,  
And with their Arms great Tollo's Triumphs checked.  
And now their thick Brigades were close engaged,  
And through the bloody Field Destruction raged.  
Now Man to Man stood close, and Spear to Spear,  
Helms mixed with Helms, and Shields with Shields appear.  
Arrows aloft in feathered Tempests fly,  
Darts hiss at Darts, encountering in the Sky.  
A dreadful Noise distracting all the Air,  
Came from the hoarse Cerberean Throat of War.  
While Arms on Arms, Bucklers on Bucklers ring,  
Sword's clash with Swords, and flying Javelins sing.  
Some threaten loud, while some for Quarter cry,  
And some insult, while some in Torment die.  
As when a Torrent down some Mountain's Side,  
To the low Valleys rolls its rapid Tide,  
Where mighty Stones and rocky Fragments, high  
Within the rude, unfashioned Channels lie.  
O'er abrupt Tracks its Course the Deluge bends,  
And roaring down with mighty Falls, descends.  
Prodigious Noise th' Aerial Region fills,  
The Shepherds hear, and tremble on their Hills.  
Or as  
When high Vesuvius stowed with wealthy Stores,  
Preluding to some dire Irruption, roars,  
While horrible Convulsions shake its Womb,  
And labouring Sides, which hidden War entomb.  
Th' imprisoned Thunder bellows under Ground,  
And the loud Noise fill all the heavens around.  
August Parthenope's gilt Turrets shake,  
And fair Campania's wealthy Farmers quake.  
Such was the loud distracting Noise of War,  
Such horrid Clamours tore th' afflicted Air,  
While the fierce Foes against each other raged,  
And for Britannia's Empire were engaged.  
The neighing Steeds, and wounded Warriors cries,  
And rising Clouds of Dust confound the Skies.   

Mordred mean time the mighty Pictan King,  
Does to the Charge, his threatening Squadrons bring.  
Sticking his Golden Rowels in the Sides  
Of his huge Steed, amidst the Ranks he rides.  
The British Horse unshaken as a Rock,  
Bravely sustained th' Invaders thundering Shock.  
King Meridoc who did the Horse command  
Confirmed his Men, to make so brave a stand.  
Yet many valiant Britons Mordred slew,  
First with his Spear he pierced brave jasper through.  
The valiant Giffith by unhappy Chance,  
Came in his Way, and felt his fatal Lance.  
Beneath his Ear the Weapon pierced his Head,  
He fell, and in a Moment stretched out dead.  
His furious Arm noble Lodanar felt  
On whose high Crest so fierce a stroke he dealt,  
The Briton stun'd with the prodigious Blow,  
Drops the loosed Reins, and lets his Weapons go.  
The frighted Courser thro' the Battle Flies,  
Lodanor in the Dust dismounted lies.  
The Horse's Hoofs in pieces crush his Head,  
And deep into the Mire his Bowels tread.  
Then with great Fury he at Adel flew,  
And gripped him with his furious Hand, and drew  
The Briton from his Seat, his fiery Steed  
Scours o'er the Field, from his lost Rider freed.  
Wriggling and spurning in his Arms the Prey  
Midst loud Applauses Mordred bears away.  
So when an Eagle from some Mountain's Top,  
To truss a timorous Leveret makes a stoop,  
And in his crooked Pounces takes him up.  
Struggling he mounts, and squeaks amidst the Skies,  
And faster than he ran before, he flies.   

To fight the Pict strait Guinan did advance  
But in his Shield broke his projected Lance.  
Then at the Briton Mordred's Javelin flew  
It missed the Rider, but the Courser slew.  
Extended on the Ground the groaning Beast,  
Th' unhappy Rider with his Weight oppressed.  
Mordred dismounts, and with his glittering Dart  
Loudly insulting, stabs him to the Heart.  
Guinan a Friend to Meridoc was dear  
Who at his Death enraged caught up his Spear,  
And shaking it from far, with mighty Rage,  
Spurs through their Ranks King Mordred to engage.  
The Pictan Monarch who elated stood,  
Like some tall Oak, that overlooks the Wood,  
Or some high Tower, which with its lofty Head  
Surveys the Towns beneath, around it spread,  
Lifts his Gigantic Spear, and cried aloud,  
To Meridoc advancing through the Crowd,  
Briton come on, and but a Moment stand,  
A glorious Fate expect from Mordred's Hand.  
Let not thy Fears persuade thee hence to fly,  
heavens give thee Courage to come up, and die.  
King Meridoc his Spear in Answer sent,  
Which in the Shield's third Ply its Fury spent.  
Then Mordred threw, aloft the Weapon hist,  
Ludar it slew, but Meridoc it mistress  
Brave Ludar was a Lord of Neustrian Blood,  
Who long in vain the fair Marinda wooed.  
To bless him with her Smiles, and heal his Wound,  
But from the scornful Maid no Pity found:  
Lost in Despair, he left his native Soil,  
His Torments to beguile with Martial Toil.  
Now wounded by an erring Spear, he lies  
Cried out Marinda, cruel Fate! and dies.   

Then did the Briton's second Weapon fly  
Which through his Armour, pierced King Mordred's Thigh.  
Which from the Flesh he strove to draw in vain,  
Then flew about wrecked with Tormenting Pain.  
Wildly he stared, and turned his Courser's Head,  
Aloud he roared, and from the Combat fled.  
So when a Swordfish, urged with generous Rage,  
Does a vast Whale, in Northern Seas engage.  
The Finny Warriors with a furious Course  
To Battle rush, and meet with wondrous Force.  
A noble Fight ensues, and dreadful Strokes  
Afflict the Main, and shake the neighbouring Rocks.  
As they advance, they drive high Seas before,  
The Monsters bellow, and the Billows roar.  
The boiling Sea, with greater Fury raves,  
Then when incumbent Storms press on its Waves.  
The Surges raging with intestine War,  
With high, curled Heads, look terrible from far.  
The Foam of breaking Waves, in pointed Sleet  
Like driven Snow does on the Ocean beat.  
At every Shock the dashing Waters fly,  
And clouds of Liquid dust obscure the Sky.  
At last the Whale his shining Belly gored,  
By his fierce Enemy's invading Sword;  
Wild with his Rage and Pain whole Seas does spout,  
And like a floating Island, rolls about.  
The wounded Monster does the Seas out roar,  
And tumbles through the Billows to the Shore,  
Leaving behind broad Tracks of Purple Gore.   

Thus strove the Pictan and the British Horse,  
While pious Arthur with resistless Force;  
In radiant Arms, bright as th' autumnal Star,  
Flies through the Foe, himself a fearful War.  
With his victorious Sword, which waved on high,  
Made flaming Bows, and Arches in the Sky.  
The Body of their Battle he invades,  
And through a Sea of Blood victorious wades.  
Wherever the conqueror did his progress bend,  
Ruin and wide Destruction did attend.  
Prodigious Numbers by his Weapons fall,  
And on their Gods in vain the Saxons call.  
He made his way, like an impetuous Flood,  
Or furious Burning, raging through the Wood  
Wherever he passed the Dead lay thick behind,  
As sapless Leaves, spread by a boisterous Wind.   

Uffina first a valiant Lord did feel  
In his left Side, the Briton's piercing steel.  
Next Godred fell from valiant Ingulf sprung,  
And as he fell, his Arms upon him rung.  
Next fell the famous Ethelbert betwixt,  
The Head and Shoulders with a Dart transfixed.  
Nothing his Courage, or illustrious Blood,  
That to his Veins from mighty Odin's stowed;  
Nothing his well proved Armour when assailed  
By Arthur's hand, the noble Youth availed.  
Struggling he lay, and wallowed on the Ground  
In the warm Streams that rushed out from his Wound.  
A gloomy Night o'erwhelms his dying Eyes,  
And his disdainful Soul, from his pale Bosom flies.  
Then Imerick he slew a valiant Chief,  
And Lodocan that rushed to his Relief:  
One with his Falchion, th' other with his Spear,  
That cloven the Head, this pierced from Ear to Ear.  
Next from his Arm a singing Javelin sent,  
Through the left Groin of mighty Crida went.  
The wounded Chief retires in torturing Pain,  
And Tracks of Blood his halting Leg distain.  
Then Sigebert a noble Youth he slew,  
The fatal Weapon pierced his Temples through.  
His furious Dart did next at Ebald fly,  
Which through his Shield pierced deep into his Thigh:  
Inflamed with Rage, and roaring out with Pain,  
He strove to pull the Weapon out in vain.  
His Javelin next transfixed Congellars' Reins,  
And out his Life gushed from his opened Veins.  
Then Edbert fell  
Through the Bright Helmet which his Head encased,  
Through Bones, and Brains the furious Javelin passed;  
And his left Eye from out its Circle struck,  
On the sharp Point, a ghastly Prospect stuck.  
Then Ethelrick a stout west Saxon Lord,  
And Ida fell, by his victorious Sword.  
The first his Head down to his Shoulders cleft,  
Fell to the Ground, of Breath and sense bereft.  
The heavy Blade falling with oblique Sway,  
Half through the other's Neck, did make its way.  
The Head half severed on his Shoulders hung,  
And from the Wound a bloody Torrent sprung.  
Rolling in Gore upon the Field he lay,  
Wildly he stared, and groaned his life away,  
As when a mighty Tempest from the East,  
The Sea assailed, and on the Billows pressed  
By heavens Command, that Iacob's Favourite Race,  
Might Pharaoh's Arms escape, and safely pass.  
Th' astonished Ocean did its Force obey,  
Opened his watery Files, and cleared the pathless way.  
The Waves retreated, and erected stood,  
As fear and wonder had benumbed the Flood.  
Then Front to Front they kept their Line unmoved,  
And those that crowd behind, they backwards shoved.  
Like a long Ridge of Crystal Hills they rose,  
And the low Wonders of the deep disclose.  
So valiant Arthur pressed upon the Foe,  
And so their Troops retired, and let the Conqueror thro'.   

Now he advanced to Tollo's foremost Band,  
Where mighty Fingal and Dolavian stand;  
Both which he slew, next valiant Duncan falls,  
While he in vain for Help on Tollo calls.  
And now on every side the Saxon Host  
Began to fly, and yield the Battle lost.  
Only King Tollo with enormous Rage  
Breaks through the Troops, Prince Arthur to engage.   

Mean time the Prince of Hell stood full of Care,  
And feared th' Event of this unequal War.  
To save the Saxon Squadrons which remain,  
Whereof such Numbers lay already slain,  
And to prevent Tollo's impending Fate,  
Whose Arms the British Hero's could not mate.  
The conquering Britons fierce pursuit to stay,  
And once more Arthur's Triumphs to Delay,  
By heavens Permission, causes to arise  
A dreadful Tempest in the troubled Skies.  
The blustering Powers, and Demons of the Air,  
Strait at his Summons to their Prince repair.   

To whom thus Lucifer:  
Aerial Powers, who my Commands obey,  
And in these Regions own my sovereign Sway;  
Know, I intent to end this bloody Strife,  
To part the Hosts, and guard King Tollo's Life.  
Go hasten then, each to his known Employ,  
And let your loudest Storms the heavens annoy.  
Swift, as your own projected Lightnings fly,  
And in a Moment trouble all the Sky.  
The dusky Fiends obedient fly away,  
Some fetch up misty Stores to choke the Day.  
Some Pitchy Clouds of Stygian Fleeces made,  
And in their Bowels Trains of Brimstone laid,  
Some ram in Seeds of unripe Thunder some,  
With mighty Hailstones charge their hollow Womb.  
Some fetch strong Winds, which on their Wings may bear  
The heavy Tempest labouring through the Air.  
O'erspreading mists th' extinguished sunbeams drown  
Dark Clouds o'er all the Black Horrizon frown,  
And hang their deep Hydropic Bellies down.  
Hoarse Thunder rolls, and Murmuring tries its Voice,  
Preluding to the Tempest's dreadful Noise.  
Infernal Torches now the Fiends apply,  
And light the fiery Seeds that hidden lie.  
The heavens wide Frame outrageous Thunder shocks,  
Loud, as the mighty Crack of falling Rocks.  
The Cloudy Machine's burst amidst the Skies,  
And from their yawning Wounds exploded Lightning flies.  
Confusion fills the Air, Fire, Rain, and Hail  
Now mingle Tempests, now by Turns prevail.  
No more the Britons, and the Saxons strove,  
For that below, yields to the War above.  
The conquering Britons, to the Camp return,  
Their Loss in theirs, the vanquished Saxons mourn.  
So when a summer Cloud the Sky overspreads,  
The Bees that wander o'er the flowery Meads,  
Or to the Tops of lofty Mountains climb,  
To fetch the yellow spoils of odorous Thyme,  
Forsake their Toil, and labouring through the Air,  
To their known Hives, with hasty Flight repair.  
All to their Cells returning from abroad,  
Depose their luscious Dew, and strutting Thighs unload.  
Perplexed, and sad, the Saxon Troops appear,  
And horribly they cursed Prince Arthur's spear.  
They saw no Saxon could his Arm withstand,  
And doubt Deliverance from King Tollo's Hand.   

When half of this uneasy Night was spent,  
To all the great Commanders Octa sent,  
To bring them quickly to his royal Tent.  
And first the Summons they to Tollo bear,  
Who to equip himself did strait prepare.  
A Wolf grinned horribly upon his Head,  
And o'er his brawny Back a Leopard's Hide was spread.  
He girds his mighty Falchion to his side,  
Which hung across his Thigh, with fearful Pride.  
Frowning, and on the great Affair Intent,  
He strait to Octa's high Pavilion went.   

Next Mordred halting with his Wound, and lame,  
And by his massy spear supported, came.  
A Beaver's Skin upon his Head he wore,  
And a fierce Tygers his wide shoulders bore.  
A silver Belt, illustrious to behold,  
Held his broad sword, adorned with studs of Gold.   

Then Ella rose newly laid down to Rest,  
And buttoned on his rich embroidered Vest.  
O'er which a pompous scarlet Cloak he threw,  
Fastened with Golden Clasps, and lined with costly Blue.  
Then putting on his mighty sword, in Hast  
Thomas lame, he to the Counsel sternly passed.  
Then valiant Amades, and Chuline went  
With wife Pascentius to their Monarch's Tent  
Followed by Osred, Sebert, and the rest  
Of their chief Lords, who great Concern expressed:  
And now th' august Assembly filled apace,  
Where all the Leaders took their proper Place.   

Then their Attention Octa did demand,  
And leaning on his Sceptre with his Hand,  
He thus began, Princes, you see the Field  
To the victorious Britons still we yield.  
By Sea, and Land we've felt their fatal Arms,  
And all our Realm trembles at their Alarms.  
Our Heaps of Dead the Field with Horror crown,  
And Seas of Saxon Blood the Valley drown.  
All Albion's Isle resounds with dying Groans,  
White with her Rocks, but whiter with our Bones.  
Prince Arthur's Sword the Field with Ruin spreads,  
Like Storms, which from the Trees dishonoured Heads  
Their shady Leaves, and spreading Branches tear,  
Cover the Ground, and leave the Forest bare.  
On us th' offended Gods severely frown,  
But on the British Arms look smiling down.  
While we oppose the rapid Tide of Fate,  
We think to stop what we precipitate,  
And learn our Error, at too dear a Rate.  
He said, the Saxon Chiefs, who found their Host  
Feeble, and sunk by frequent Battles lost:  
Thinking their Arms unable to oppose,  
The rapid Course of their victorious Foes:  
Upon Pascentius straightway cast their Eyes,  
As one above the rest accounted wise,  
And who the King to Peace did still advise.   

Pascentius then began.  
Octa, the Counsel which at first I gave  
From Arthur's Arms our threatened State to save;  
What since has happened, shows was just and right:  
For who can meet the British Prince in Fight?  
Our sinking State, and hard Affairs demand  
A Remedy of Force, and near at Hand.  
He that in such a Storm, would safely steer,  
Must have a Head that's steady, cool, and clear.  
‛ The labouring ship on all sides feels dire shocks,  
Charybdis shunned, she's dashed on Scylla's Rocks.  
'Tis hard to give a Monarch Counsel where  
On either Hand such frightful shelves appear.  
Statesmen, in such a Case as this debate  
How best to save themselves, and not the state.  
But if my Judgement still I must declare,  
I would at any Price compose the War.  
And till a more effectual can be found,  
This as a safe Expedient I propound.  
Sore with their Wounds, and sunk with ill success,  
The Saxons strong Desires for Peace express.  
This to obtain, we must to Arthur sue,  
And the first Treaty, which we broke, renew.  
The Princess Ethelina's Heavenly Charms,  
Are only stronger, than the Briton's Arms.  
She must be offered, as the Prince's Bride,  
This once prevailed, and must again be tried.  
But than you break the Promise, that you made  
To Tollo, who'll complain he is betrayed.  
Since hence to Peace, our chief Obstructions spring,  
I move that Arthur, and th' Albanian King,  
May by their single Arms the strife decide,  
And let the Princess be the Conquerour's Bride.  
If o'er the Britons we th' Advantage gain,  
And Arthur by th' Albanian King is slain.  
The Britons shall repass Sabrina's Tide,  
And in their Rocks, and Hilly Lands abide.  
But all the Cities, Castles, and the Land,  
That lie on this side, Octa shall command.  
But if King Tollo slain by Arthur's Sword,  
New Triumphs to the Briton shall afford;  
We'll meet no more their Armies in the Field,  
But all our Towns, and conquered Places yield.  
Those who shall ask it, shall be wasted over,  
To our old seats along the Germane shore:  
The Cantian Kingdom still we will retain,  
And in its Limits circumscribed remain.  
This, as the best Expedient, I propose,  
He said, the Saxons murmured their Applause.   

Then Tollo answered with a haughty Air,  
Pleased with my Fate, I undertake the War.  
My Sword and Arthur's shall the Strife decide,  
And let the Princess be the Victor's Bride.  
This conquering Arm the Saxon Realm shall guard,  
Repel the Foe, and win the bright Reward,  
For if the Foe does not my Sword decline.  
The War is ended, with his Fall or mine.   

Th' Assembly rose, and back the Captains went,  
Praising King Tollo much, but feared th' Event.  
At the first opening of the tender Day,  
Six Orators King Octa sent away  
To Arthur's Camp, who introduced declare,  
The Measures taken to compose the War.  
The Challenge Arthur heard with great Delight,  
And readily accepts the single Fight.   

Strait to the sacred Temples all repair,  
Heaven to solicit with united Prayer,  
That Arthur in the Combat might succeed,  
And vanquished Tollo, by his Weapon bleed.  
With warmer Zeal and with more earnest Cries,  
The Britons never importuned the Skies.  
A deep Concern at Heart they all expressed,  
And mighty Passions struggled in their Breast.  
For if the Prince fell in the Combat, all  
Well knew their unsupported State must fall.   

Soon as the Sun had streaked the Skies with Light,  
Prince Arthur rose; and Armed himself for fight.  
Pieces with silver Studs his Legs encased,  
And Plates of Gold his warlike Thighs embraced.  
And on his Head he laced his burnished Helm,  
Whence flashing Brightness did the Sight overwhelm.  
Like some Celestial Orb his blazing Shield,  
Darted amazing Lustre through the Field.  
And then he girded to his Martial Side,  
His faithful Sword, so oft in Battle tried.  
Thus armed the Hero mounts his thundering Steed,  
Nor Thrace, nor Greece can boast a nobler Breed.  
With his strong Arm he gripped his trembling Spear,  
His very Friends, though pleased, yet seemed to fear.  
And as he spurred his Courser, and advanced,  
Unsufferable Splendour from his Armour glanced.  
As glorious Michael, when the Foe alarms  
The blissful Realms, clad in Celestial Arms,  
Bright as the Sun, leads forth th' Angelic Host,  
To chase th' Invaders from the Heavenly Coast,  
In such illustrious Arms the Prince was seen,  
His warlike Grace was such, and such his Godlike Mien.   

Mean time King Octa from his Camp proceeds,  
High in his Chariot drawn by milk white Steeds.  
And by his Side Tollo, appeared in sight,  
Completely armed, and coveting the Fight.  
His Coat of Mail was o'er his Shoulders flung,  
And by his side his dreadful Falchion hung.  
Like a high Beacon lighted in the Air,  
His Buckler flamed, denouncing horrid War.  
In his right Hand he shakes his ponderous Lance,  
And on his Steed did to the Lists advance.  
The Marshals of the Field had marked our Ground  
Fit for the Fight, and fixed high Pales around.  
Which with armed Troops, on either side were lined,  
Their Spears stuck in the Ground, their Shields reclined.  
On either Side the Armies stood in sight,  
Drawn up, as they two were designed for Fight.   

Attended with his Heralds on the Place,  
Prince Arthur first appeared with Martial Grace.  
When Octa and his Priests advancing near,  
Raising his Voice that those around might hear.  
His Hand devoutly on his Breast, his Eyes  
Fixed in a solemn Manner on the Skies;  
To ratify the Treaty, thus he swore,  
Th' Eternal Mind whom Christians do adore,  
The God of Truth I here to witness call,  
That if this Day by Tollo's Arms I fall,  
We will no more Hostilities repeat,  
But o'er Sabrina's Waters will retreat.  
We will no more the Saxon State molest,  
But in our Hills and snowy Mountain's rest.  
But if we find this an auspicious Day,  
And by Heaven's Aid, my Arms shall Tollo slay;  
Then if the vanquished Saxons shall restore  
The Towns and Lands, which we possessed before,  
They in the Cantian Kingdom shall reside,  
And unmolested in those Bounds abide.   

Then did King Octa by an Altar stand,  
Raised with Green Turf, and on it laid his Hand.  
And thus his Idols he invoked.  
Irmansul God of Arms, and mighty jove,  
Tuisco, Odin, all ye Powers above,  
And you green Gods, and blue-eyed Goddesses,  
Who rule the spacious Empire of the Seas.  
And you tremendous Powers, who all resort,  
At Pluto's Summons, to th' Infernal Court:  
Ye rural Gods, who rule the Hills and Woods,  
Ye watery Powers, who dive beneath the Floods.  
By gloomy Styx I swear, bear witness all,  
That if King Tollo does in Combat fall,  
The Treaty now agreed to, shall be kept,  
The Cantian Kingdom only we except,  
All other Lands, our once victorious Sword,  
Won from the British Kings, shall be restored.  
He who shall Conqueror in the Field remain,  
Shall for his Bride fair Ethelina gain.   

He said, and to confirm the Oath he swore,  
He drew his Sword, that by his Side he wore:  
And with its Point did his full Veins divide,  
And let out from his Arm, the Crimson Tide.  
A golden Bowl received the vital Flood,  
Which Octa took, and drank the flowing Blood.   

Arthur and Tollo now themselves prepare,  
By a brave Combat to decide the War.  
The Marshals, Heralds, and the Fecial Priests  
The Ceremonies finished, clear the Lifts.  
Then the loud Trumpet's Clangour did invite,  
The mighty Warriors to begin the Fight.  
Both in their Hands grasping their pointed Lance,  
Spur their hot Steeds, and to the War advance.  
And now the Combatants approached so near,  
Their Voices raised, they might each other hear.   

Then Tollo cried aloud  
Till now distressed without a Friend or Home,  
In foreign Lands, you did an Exile roam,  
Here stop your Course, your Soul mean time shall go,  
A wand'ring Exile to the Shades below.  
I'll take off with this Sword your gasping Head,  
And in your Spoils, fair Ethelina wed.  
Were you brave Hector, or his braver Foe,  
Or Godlike Hercules, I'd stand your Blow.  
Did you advance, with Thunder in your Hand,  
Against your Bolts I would undaunted stand.  
But such a mighty Foe I need not fear,  
You bear not such a Shield, nor such a Spear.  
Oh! that bright Ethelina now stood by,  
To see her Lover, and my Rival die.  
Thus boastful Tollo did his Choler vent,  
And thus in Air his empty Threats were spent.  
The pious Prince enraged, without Reply,  
Shakes his long Spear, and hastes to Victory.  
As when a roaming Lion from a far,  
Sees a strong Bull stand threatening furious War,  
Who flourishes his Horns, looks sowrly round,  
And hoarsely bellowing, traverses the Ground.  
For want of Foes, he does the Wood provoke,  
Runs his curled Head against the next tall Oak,  
Wishing a nobler Object of his Stroke.  
The Lion fired, regards him with Disdain,  
And to insult him scowrs along the Plain.  
So Arthur boiling with Heroic Rage,  
Springs with a full Carrier, King Tollo to engage.  
Collected in himself th' Albanian stood,  
Like some tall, shady Pine, itself a Wood,  
Or a vast Cyclops wading through the Flood.   

Then Tollo first, Arthur advancing near,  
With all his Force casts his long Ashen Spear.  
Which Arthur on his tempered Buckler took,  
While with the vast concern the Britons shook.  
Through the first Plate of Brass the Weapon went,  
But in the next its dying Force was spent.  
Then from his valiant Arm the Briton threw,  
His Javelin, singing through the Air it flew.  
The yielding Buckler did its Force obey,  
And through the Plates, and Hide it made its Way.  
Through the thin Joints of Steel the Spear did fly,  
And wounded, as it past, his mighty Thigh.  
The Blood sprung through his Armour, from the Wound,  
And trickling down the Plate, distained the Ground.   

Then did King Tollo's second Weapon fly,  
Which broke within the Buckler's second Ply.  
The British Prince another Weapon threw,  
Which, Tollo stooping, o'er his Shoulders flew.  
And falling went so deep upon the Ground,  
No Arm, of Force to draw it out, was found.  
These Weapons spent, to end the noble Fight,  
The furious Warriors from their Steeds alight.  
And as they nimbly leapt unto the Ground,  
The most undaunted Chiefs that stood around,  
So fearful was the Chink their Armour made,  
Started, as Men surprised, and looked afraid.  
Then furious Strokes on either Side they deal,  
The echoing Air rings with the dreadful Peal.  
Pale with the vast Concern both Armies look,  
And for their Champion's Life with Terror shook.  
So when two vigorous Stags, each of his Herd  
The haughty Lord, through all the Forest feared,  
Resolved to try which must in Combat yield,  
In all their Might advance across the Field;  
They nod their lofty Heads, and from a far  
Flourish their Horns, preluding to the War.  
The Combatants their threatening Head incline,  
And with their clashing Horns in Battle join.  
They rush to combat with amazing Strokes,  
And their high Antlets meet with dreadful Shocks.  
The mighty Sound runs rattling o'er the Hills,  
And Echo with the Fight the Valley fills.  
Retiring oft, the Warriors cease to push,  
But then with fiercer Rage to Battle rush.  
The trembling Herds at Distance gaze, and stay  
To know the Conqueror, whom they must obey.  
No less concerned Saxons, and Britons stand  
To see the Victor, who must both command.   

Now Tollo backwards shrinks, and panting stood  
Faint with his Labour, and his Loss of Blood.  
The British Prince enraged to see the Fight  
So far prolonged, collecting all his Might,  
With double Fury on th' Albanian pressed,  
And his bright Sword high raised, upon his Crest  
Descended with so horrible a Sway,  
It stun'd the Foe, and took his Sense away.  
He dropped his Arms, and giddy reeled about,  
The joyful Britons raise a mighty Shout.  
Arthur on fire, le's not th' Advantage go,  
But stepping forward with a back hand Blow  
Drawn with prodigious Strength, from side to side  
Did his wide Throat, and spouting Veins divide.  
A crimson River gushing from the Wound,  
Ran down his burnished Armour to the Ground.  
Reeling and tottering for a While he stood,  
And from his Stomach vomits clotted Blood.  
Then down he fell, the Field beneath, and all  
The Saxon Army tremble at his Fall:  
Grovelling in Death, and smeared with Gore he lay,  
And his dim Eyes scarcely admit the Day.  
Rolling in Dust his wounded Body bled,  
Away his Soul with Indignation fled.  
Convulsed and quivering for a while he fetched  
A dreadful Groan, and breathless out he stretched.  
As when a Whirlwind with outrageous Force  
O'erturns a lofty Oak, that stops its Course,  
Its Roots torn up, the Trees caught from the Ground,  
And with the furious Eddy carried round:  
Then falling from the Sky, his stately Head,  
And shady Limbs, the groaning Hill overspread.  
So by Prince Arthur's Arms, King Tollo slain,  
Fell down, and lay extended on the Plain.   
FINIS