THE British Princes: AN Heroic Poem.  
Written by the HONOURABLE EDWARD HOWARD, Esq  
LONDON: Printed by T. N. for H. Herringman, at the Blue-anchor in the Lower-Walk of the New-Exchange. 1669.   

TO THE HONOURABLE Henry Lord Howard, Second Brother to his Grace the DUKE of NORFOLK. The Author's Dedication of this Heroic Poem.  
My LORD,  
WHatsoever Reception this Poem meets from the World, my Dedication cannot be censured, since made to you; who are justly rendered no less great in Heroic Examples; than you are Illustrious by Birth; whilst you so abound in all the Virtues of your Ancient and Noble Predecessors, that you are beforehand with Honour, e'er you possess those high titles which are so justly your expectation, and earnest desires of your Name, to see in due time accomplished in you: And as an Heroic Poem ought to be a Present to the most conspicuous in merit, so it cannot but receive some credit in being addressed to you; as you have a Title from the worth and greatness of your own Actions, to the Patronage of all worthy Subjects, for which cause you may less blame my Ambition, in dedicating to you this Poem, being assured, inyou, are summed all the Virtues of its Bittish Hero's, which the best abilities of my Muse have been able (though with the advantage of fiction) to make their glories: And if you judge it worth the entertaining some minutes of your leisure, I shall think it wants no Dignity, it being my greater ambition, to publish my respects to you, than to court fame, which the world so sparingly bestows, as if there were no consideration for desert in any kind; nor are the spirits of men less satisfied in any accomplishment, than in the value of wit, which seldom misses the Alloy of detraction, as it passes the world; where if it meets a due Reception from the Generous, and truly Ingenious, the labour of lines is enough rewarded; amongst whom, as I have placed your worth the first in my thoughts, so I commend this Poem to your judicious acceptance, with all other acknowlegements becoming  
My Lord Your humble Servant E. HOWARD.   

THE PREFACE TO THE READER.  
AMongst so many Writers Ancient and Modern, who have added glory to the Muses, their number is few that have advanced Heroic Poesy; in which the Ancients employed the best talents of their Muses, and like some wonderful Fabrics, had their Structures raised by the greatest Princes of this Science, which has so much elevated the esteem of its first Authors, that there has been little allowed of merit to succeeding Poets, and does reasonably require some acknowledgement in me, in respect of my own undertaking, since it is hard for a Modern Poem of this kind to find a Reception in the world, so much devoted to the praise of precedent Writers; nor can it be denied, but that an Heroic Poem (whose perfections were task enough for the best pen of the Ancients) is rendered to our age far more difficult to be accomplished, while both the Greek and Latin Poets had the advantage of those more concise and sublime Languages, to maintain the glory of their Epic works, (which above all kinds of writing discover the power and weight of a tongue) besides they had no small helps by introducing their Gods and Goddesses, whereby they could vary their Dialogues and Descriptions whensoever they wanted other matter: But this sacred Privilege allowed to the ancient Poets, (when the Muses were a part of their Divinity) will hardly give a like concession to us, who are Subjects to Heaven by different Letters-Patents, to which purpose, as I have avoided in my Poem any fabulous converse of that kind, so have I not introduced any practice of Christian Religion (not but the times of which I write may be supposed unprincipled enough to allow it) But rather taken for my British Heroes a Religion from the results of nature, as more proper to Poesy; and which in point of morality, might not be ungrateful to the Reader of whatsoever persuasion.  
The worth of Heroic Poesy is so well known to the Judicious, that it may seem impertinent in me to give any argument for its esteem; yet since I have made it the subject of my pen, I will presume to say something of its excellency in general; as one that, beholding some ancient famous Structure, endeavours to model in some proportion a meaner of his own: Nor did Homer and Virgil (with some other of the Ancients) in their Epic works show us only the greatness of their buildings, but the state and ornaments of their contrivance, in which they erected their own Monuments to be everlasting with their Heroes, for whom they raised their glorious Principalities, with sublime instructions of humane life, that by them, the Prince is taught greatness, the Statesman Prudence, the Politician Craft, the Soldier Stratagem, the Philosopher Ethics (with other high reflections on that excellent Science,) the Lover nobleness of passion from the bright flames of Parnassus, and even the Gold of nature universally refined in the Poet's Mint, from whose vast treasure of thoughts, and actions, the most famed Dramaticks, drew the noble vein of Dialogue, and taught the Buskin to renown the Stage, while from the glory of Epike Contrivance and Action, the deepness of Intrigue and Plot was probably first dignified: No less does it honour the famous Pencils, whose highest art is to delineate Images; from hence, and by their powerful imaginations, express representations of all passions of the mind, with other noble endowments of nature from those poetical figures of glory. Thus much concerning the excellency of this Subject in general.  
And now to pay a due esteem to such Poets of our own Country, who are justly dignified by the Heroic Muse, of whom though the Catalogue be small (and Rome the once Mistress of Arms and Wit, scarcely numbers Three that are allowed the honour of enrolment, though she make her claim from the glory of Virgil, Lucan, and Statius) yet have these our Native Poet's deservedly merited esteem, perhaps above those any other Nation has produced in the times they lived; and of these the most considerable, I think may be granted our famous Spencer, and the late Sir William Davenant, (not considering Daniel, Drayton, and the like, rather Historians than Epic Poets) the first of whom is by many granted a Parallel to most of the Ancients, whose Genius was in all degrees proportioned for the work he accomplished, or for whatsoever structures his Muse had thought fit to raise, whose thoughts were like so many nerves and sinews ready with due motion and strength to actuate the body he produced; nor was the success of his Poem less worthy of Admiration, which notwithstanding it be frequent in words of obsolete signification, had the good fortune to have a Reception suitable to its desert, which tells us the age he writ in, had a value for sense above words, though perhaps he may have received deservedly some censure in that particular, since our Language (when he writ) was held much improved, that it has been the wonder as well as pity of some, that so famous a Poet should so much obscure the glory of his thoughts, wrapped up in words and expressions, which time and use had well nigh exploded: And though words serve our uses but like Counters or numbers to sum our intellectual Products, yet they must be currant as the money of the Age, or they will hardly pass: Nor is it less ridiculous to see a man confidently walk in the antiquated and mothy Garments of his Predecessors, out of an obstinate contempt of the present Mode, than to imitate the expressions of obsolete Authors, which renders even Wit barbarous, and looks like some affront to the present Age, which expects from Writers due esteem of the tongue they speak. But this objection which I have presumed to mention against Renowned Spencer, (though it be a Common one, and the most is laid to his charge,) shows us that his building was rather mighty than curious, and like the Pyramids of Egypt, may expect to be a long Companion of times.  
His next most remarkable Successor in the Heroic Way, I suppose there are few will deny the late Sir William Davenant a merit I judge he may claim in his work of Gondibert, in which there are many remote and excellent thoughts, with apt and perspicuous expressions, the essential dignities of the Muses, whose chiefest beauties flow from the ornaments of words, and delightful variety of imagination, from which choice productions of nature, the Muses are most desirous to adopt their Children, and in no small degree are justly acknowledged to the honour of his pen: Notwithstanding which, his Heroic Poem of Gondibert (coming into the world in a capricious time of censure) perhaps did not meet with a deserved reception, though the severest of his Judges, I doubt not are forced to grant, that there is in that work more to be praised than pardoned. I wish I could affirm as much of what I have now published. To compare the excellencies of these two Authors were not convenient in this place, since it would be little advantage to either, their works being of different natures; besides it must join some censure to their applause, or the Critics, and Censorious, will not think themselves righted, if their objections pass unmentioned, who have somewhat broader eyes, to perceive the errors and mistakes of Writers, than to behold any thing which deserves their approbation: The truth is, the latter more obliged the language of his Country than the former, who either out of affected singularity, or thinking it fit to honour the Dialects of ages past, seemed so much devoted to them, as if he would be an example against all that should innovate words that had not an antitient tradition from our tongue: Nor do I think it would easily be resolved if put to the test, whether it had not more commendably spoke our diligence, if our native words & Dialects, had been better cultivated for use than a perpetual transplanting so many from foreign soils, while the state of our language seems not unlike a greedy kind of prodigality, which contracts variety of debts to make a large purchase, not considering he ruins in the mean time his ancient Patrimony.  
I know there are many amongst us who allow much to the improving of wit from the enlarging of our tongue, as if there were a Reciprocation in both; and for the same reason must judge we are always on the mending hand, since we are still like to continue, introducing of words. But when shall wit and its Refiner Language after this rate receive their ultimate perfection, since as Horace says 
Si meliora dies ut vina poemata reddat,  
Scire velim pretium Chartis quetus arroget annus.  But neither these eminent persons, nor any other of our own Writers, whose pens might doubtless have winged their Muses to their higest pitch of Heroic glory, have handled this Subject; or for the honour of our Nation, laid the Scene at home after the example of Virgil, who brought his Aeneas from Troy into Italy, and there made him encounter as famous Heroes as that Story could relate, though written by the immortal pen of Homer, while our ancient and often Revolution of State, with the darkness of Story, (the best time for a Poet to kindle his flame) gives as much happy occasion to feign, and for the dignity of the Muses, to render truth (were it possible) more considerable from fiction, as is to be gathered from any other in the World: I shall only presume to give this reason for my design in modelling this Poem, which I have some cause to expect will not be less grateful, since the foundation is laid with our own Materials, and raised at home, though it be a Work I could wish had been performed above my abilities. The time I have pitched on, is near upon the departure of the Romans out of Britain; An Age, that certainly rendered this Country famous in War, which cannot reasonably be doubted from their Conflicts five hundred years, with so formidable an Enemy as Rome; Nor less acquainted with their best Morals, which from the repute of so great an Empire, gave Discipline to the World in Manners, as well as Arms: And, could not but add much to the Civilising of the Britain's, a People they had so long been acquainted with, and by them nobly sought: To which purpose the famous Historian, Cornclius Tacitus, who Wrote in the time of Domitian, speaks them to have received the Habits, Manners, and Letters of the Romans. And though Histories are too silent of the Glorious Actions of our Predecessors; yet the deep Scratches on our Country's Face, from those numerous Relics of Camps and Fortifications, at this day beheld, speak enough, without other Records, the famous encounters of our Ancestors: For this reason the Reader must be so ingenious, as not to look upon my Poem as a History, but rather hold himself obliged to my Muse, that has provided Heroes, and Princes, who, for aught he knows, had then a being; or, from a reasonable Concession, might be supposed to have. Their Representations likewise, in point of Government in my Poem, I conceive not unnatural, to what was then practised, in this Isle, which is granted, by all Historians, to have had several Principalities; the wisdom of whose Princes, could not but unite them, against their Common Enemy, whensoever their Concern requires it, of which we have Examples in Story: And, whereas I have raised a Son to the most famous King Arthur, in my Character of Albianus, not known to our Histories. I may say thus much in behalf of my Muse's Records; That, since so little, and that darkly, is discovered to us from Story, of that Heroic Prince, or the certain time of his Reign, it is possible the being of so glorious a Son, (though true) may be at this day (with other Monuments of him) equally unknown. While this Island, receiving so many Alterations in State, from Romans, Saxons, Danes, and Normans; who, with the Ruins of War, have been even fatal to the very Memories of our Predecessors, by almost a total suppression of our most ancient Records (as if it had been the sole ambition of their Power and Success, to make Posterity believe they had a being from their Conqueror, have eclipsed, with those Precedents of Fame, the High Renown of Royal Arthur; whose Deeds Authors are forced to deliver but as their best Fables. For the Character of Vortiger, our Stories of this Age (though very obscure and imperfect) mention him a Prince of this Nation; and possibly I have taken his Figure, more resembling what he truly was, or aught to be supposed, than had I endeavoured to produce his Life (as it stands imperfectly framed in Story) which considering the difference of Writers in the occurrences of that Age, must render much of the Truth they pretend to deliver, little better than mistake or fiction.  
As to the Queen, whom I mention by the name of Bonduca, the strictness of some may be apt to call me to an Account; because there was a British Queen called Voadicia, Boadicia, or Bonduca, in the time of Nero, mentioned by Historians, which is granted to precede the Age I take for my Poem, for whose satisfaction, I desire they will be contented to believe (as my Muse presumes to verify) that this was another Person, though as Heroick and Glorious a Queen as the former: It being not at all impossible (since as I have already expressed) there were so few of the Princes of those times faithfully delivered to us from History: That there is not seldom the difference of an Age, or more, in Writers, as to their times, of being in the World: But however, this to the Judicious can appear no fault, when Virgil (allowed to be the Prince of Poets) makes Dido and his Aeneas contemporaries, which according to the strictness of Chronology, could not be by some hundreds of years.  
For introducing the Roman Consul into my Poem, I suppose there cannot be any ground for exception, there being at that time a Consul called by the name of Aetius, or Ennius, who Commanded botli in Gaul and Britain: And, for my Character of Alvatrix, he may well be allowed to be the Roman Generals Martial associate, since Gaul had not then freed itself from the Talons of the Roman Eagle, being somewhat later than Britain discharged from that Bondage, and consequently obliged to bear Arms in their Quarrel; which is so possible to be true, that it cannot prejudice my introducing him here: With like plausible liberty have I framed the Character of Merlinus (in imitation of our famous Merlin, supposed to be living about the age I have taken for my Poem) and the rest: But, I fear I have given the Reader a needless trouble in behalf of my Characters, since I have little reason to doubt he will not willingly comply with the liberty I have taken.  
Having thus given an account of the quality of my Poem, I cannot but give him this short one of the Quantity of it, which is, that these two Books are not my intended end, as may be judged from the Conclusion of my second; My Original design being to introduce our famous Progenitors the Saxons, and so Body in the end both Nations together; who, after many bloody Conflicts united themselves into one People: But, I find it is time to bid my Reader farewell, though, before I part with him, I must oblige him not to misconstrue my sense, in what I have written concerning Religion, which, as is already mentioned, I thought most proper in a Poem, to raise merely from the Principles of Nature: As likewise where I have expressed any thing concerning Superstitious Practices and Priests (who originally must be supposed to be the Grand Introducers of those Delusions, which have so miss, and abused Mankind.) The Reader is desired to take all expressions of this kind (as they are really meant,) not against any persuasion of Christian Religion, and the Holy Functions appertaining to it; But, in General, and wholly directed against False, and Erroneous Worships and Beliefs; which, lest there should be any imputation charged on me, or those Reflections I have made, Wrested to a contrary Sense, I could not but instance this my defence, Concluding, that as this Poem was writ for my Diversion, so it now comes to be published; having received encouragement from the Judgements of some Friends, who thought it might not be unwelcome to the World, (A Motive, powerful enough, to incline my Consent;) nor did I Judge it unreasonable for me to expect it, since no less a Novelty, than any this Age hath produced: Yet, I am not so fond, as to believe, there is much got, from entertaining the World in Print; it being too much good Fortune, to hope, that any thing can pass so currant, as not to meet with Detraction, Mistake, or Envy (which never want darts to wound a Merit far Superior than I pretend to) there being few who are Candid, and truly discerning, whose Judgements have any sway, or not descried by the prevalency of Malevolent, or weaker apprehensions. But, since I have sent this Poem abroad to shift for itself, I must submit to what Reception the World will please to allow it; not doubting, but the impartially Judicious may receive no very inconsiderable satisfaction.  
Farewell.   

TO MY HONOURED FRIEND Edward Howard Esq On his Heroic Poem, The British Princes.  

THat Noble Poem, which thou giv'st us now,  
Does both oblige the Dead, and Living too:  
Till the old Britain's fame thou didst display,  
Their Glories were interred, as much as they.  
And all the world by what thou now dost write,  
Are bravely taught both how to Love, and Fight.  
To purchase Fame two things are requisite,  
Great Deeds, and those by a great Poet writ:  
Aeneas Glory had not lived so long,  
Had it not been the Theme of Maro's Song:  
Arthur a brave and valiant British King,  
Wanting a Poet, who his Reige could sing;  
Has nothing, but his Name that does survive;  
But in thy verse his Son shall ever live,  
Which shows how soon a Laurel Wreath decays,  
When 'tis not interwoven with the Bays.  
Though Nature many Powerful Charms did give  
To fair Bonduca, yet we all believe  
Her Beauties, in their height ne'er shone so bright,  
As thou hast drawn them, now, in black, and white.  
The Poet's Art, the Painters does control,  
This but the Body draws, but that the Soul,  
Old Ennius' Passion, for the Queen, does prove,  
No cold can triumph, o'er the heat of Love.  
Whose boundless Power, who can too much admire,  
Which Ages Ashes turns into a Fire.  
Thou art the first hast done thy Country right;  
For th'English, who Heroic Poems write  
In praise of Foreigners, employ their Pen,  
Though their own Country yields the bravest men,  
For who but they at once could overcome  
The falsehood of the Gauls, and force of Rome.  
And on both Generals, impose their Fate,  
Though Rivalled Love, their swords did animate,  
But our Delight! why dost thou so much wrong,  
As to begin, but not conclude thy Song?  
Thy Foes do envy, and thy Friends deplore,  
Those, that so much is writ, these, that no more.  
ORRERY.    

TO THE HONOURABLE Edward Howard Esq. Upon his Poem of the British Princes.  

WHat mighty Gale hath raised a flight so strong?  
So high above all vulgar eyes? so long?  
One single rapture, scarce itself confines,  
Within the limits, of four thousand lines,  
And yet I hope to see this noble heat  
Continue, till it makes the piece complete,  
That to the latter Age it may descend,  
And to the end of time, its beams extend,  
When Poesy, joins profit, with delight,  
Her Images, should be most exquisite,  
Since man to that perfection cannot rise,  
Of always virt'ous, fortunate, and wise:  
Therefore, the patterns man should imitate,  
Above the life our Masters should create.  
Herein, if we consult with Greece, and Rome,  
Greece (as in war) by Rome was overcome,  
Though mighty raptures, we in Homer find,  
Yet like himself, his Characters were blind:  
Virgil's sublimed eyes not only gazed,  
But his sublimed thoughts to heaven were raised.  
Who reads the Honours, which he paid the Gods  
Would think he had beheld their blessed abodes.  
And that his Hero, might accomplished be,  
From divine blood, he draws his Pedigree,  
From that great Judge your Judgement takes its law,  
And by the best Original, does draw  
Bonduca's Honour, with those Hero's time  
Had in oblivion wrapped, his saucy crime,  
To them and to your Nation you are just,  
In raising up their glories from the dust,  
And to Old England, you that right have done  
To show, no story nobler, than her own.  
John Denham.    

TO THE HONOURABLE Edward Howard Esq Upon his Poem of the British Princes.  

THough time o'er greatest actions hath its reign,  
What this destroys, yet you restore again:  
And by the pleasing Talon of your Pen,  
Revive that worth which was so famous then.  
So, whilst we fond charged on guilty Fate,  
Those ravished Glories, which on time did wait,  
We see 'twas fit; none, but your Muse should give  
Our British Heroes Monuments to live.  
All the lost virtues of great Arthur you  
In Albianus can exactly show:  
The lustre of the long set Sun you find  
By those reflections which he leaves behind.  
Could Vortiger but know how by your Muse  
his actions are outdone, he would refuse  
All that he once thought great, whilst he is taught,  
Virtue, and honour, must from hence be sought.  
Courage to every Hero you have lent,  
To show, small stars make up a firmament,  
The fair Bonduca would desire more  
Those beauties you describe, than those she wore:  
And think the gods had sent you from above  
To add a greatness to her soul, and love.  
Merlinu's worth, which time had long obscured,  
Is from your noble Muse to us secured:  
That even the Grecian Stagerite might take  
Instructions, where thy Poem makes him speak:  
Whose lost Prophetic glory now we see  
Revived, whilst here he makes his prophecy.  
Virtue is so exacty drawn by you,  
That none can question what he ought to do:  
By those examples which in this are given,  
You seem at once us to oblige, and heaven.  
No dangerous mountains make your work seem rough,  
But gentle risings, and yet high enough.  
Which through the whole are so exactly wrought,  
It seems as well the child of pains, as thought.  
On Prince's actions when you cease to toil,  
Describing all the pleasures of this soil,  
Kind nature will be pleased, since here is sung  
All by her secret operations done:  
Though blushing she must wonder, since no more,  
Than hers, your bounty lessens not your store.  
Beauties not less obliged, since by your Muse  
Is given her all the features she could choose,  
And made us know, that love which she hath given,  
Is a faint relish of our future heaven.  
Mar● not more amazed, than pleased would be,  
To see this Child derive its pedigree  
So justly from his greatness, since he none  
For likeness, and for beauty, more can own.  
Blessed by these two, detraction 'tis above,  
Since all must forfeit sense, or thine approve.  
H. D.    

TO THE HONOURABLE Edward Howard, Esq On his intended Impression of his POEM OF THE BRITISH PRINCES.  
SIR,  
MY Judgement in Poetry hath, you know, been once already Censured by very goo● Wits, for commending Gondibert; bu● yet they have not, I think, disabled my testimony. For, What Authority is there i● Wit? A Jester may have it; a Man in drink may have it, and be fluent over night, and wise and dry i● the morning. What is it? or, Who can tell whether it be better to have it, or be without it, especially if it be a pointed Wit? I will take my liberty to praise what I like, as well as they do to reprehend what they do not like. Your Poem, Sir, contains a well and judiciously contrived Story, full of admirable and Heroic actions, set forth in noble and perspicuous language, such as becomes the dignity of the persons you introduce, which two things of themselves are the height of Poetry. I know, that variety of story, true, or feigned, is the thing wherewith the Reader is entertained most delightfully: And this also, to the smallness of the Volume is not wanting. Yours is but one small piece, whereas the Poets that are with us, so much admired, have taken larger Subjects. But, let an English reader, in Homer or Virgil in English, by whomsoever translated, read one piece by itself, no greater than yours, I may make a question whether he will be less pleased with yours than his: I know you do not equal your Poem to either of theirs, the bulk of a Work does not distinguish the Art of the Workman: besides, 'tis a virtue in a Poet to advance the honour of his remotest Ancestors, especially when it has not been done before, What, though you outgo the limits of certain History? Do Painters, when they Paint the Face of the Earth, leave a blank beyond what they know? Do not they fill up the space with strange Rocks, Monsters, and other Gallantry, to fix their work in the memory of Men by the delight of fancy? So will your Reader from this Poem think honourably of their original, which is a kind of Piety. Ajax was a man of very great stature, and Teucer a very little person, yet he was brother to Ajax both in blood and Chivalry. I commend your Poem for judgement, not for bulk; and am assured it will be welcome to the World with its own confidence; though if it come forth armed with Verses and Epistles I cannot tell what to think of it. For, the great Wits will think themselves threatened, and rebel. Unusual Fortifications upon the borders carry with them a suspicion of Hostility. And Poets will think such Letters of Commendation a kind of confederacy and league, tending to usurp upon their liberty. I need say no more, but rest,  
Chatsworth, Nou. the 6th. 1668. Sir, Your Honours most humble and obedient Servant, Thomas Hobbs.   

THE British Princes: AN Heroic Poem BOOK. I.  

The First Canto.  

OF British Kings, and Hero's, Sung by Fame,  
None Lives so Great, as Mighty Arthur's Name;  
Whose Noble Deeds, to Wonder did Complete  
All Virtues, which in Best of Princes meet,  
Though Sage Historians, Grieved they cannot know,  
How much this Isle, does to his Virtues owe;  
But small Remaines of his Past Acts Relate,  
Charging the rest, on Guilty Time and Fate:  
Or else to Fame, whose Rolls his Glories fill,  
Have left his Praise, above their search, and skill.  
Victorious Rome, that Britain had Compelled,  
To own Her Rule, from Him feared what she held;  
Proving his Arms, her Greatness Balanced more,  
Than all the World, she had opposed before.  
Many the Battles were, Fame tells, he Fought  
Unequal Numbered, yet his Foes still sought;  
Till Fate his Life unto Death's Power betrays,  
And Britons Mourn, the wonder of their Days.  
To all the Glories, of so great a Name  
He left a Son, Heir to his Worth and Fame;  
A Happiness, not in all Monarches known,  
Who worthless, oft succeed, a Virt'ous Throne;  
And like the Vulgar Issue of Mankind,  
Beget their Mighty Race, unlike in Mind.  
Whence such vast Structures, they for Empire lay  
In their less Glorious Successors decay.  
And as it were too much for Mortal State,  
Seldom are seen ' like Prosperous, and Great.  
While here for Brittain's Glory, Heaven does give,  
A Son, in whom his Father's Virtues Live;  
Famed Albianus, in whose Mighty Soul,  
Met all the Glories of Great Arthur's Rule.  
In War Approved, and in his Counsels Wise,  
Steps by which Princes, best to Thrones do Rise.  
Who o'er the West of Britain's Fertile soil,  
His Father's Sword Preserved, and his brave Toil;  
Did then extend his Empire, while the rest,  
By other Famous Princes was Possessed.  
With him three Monarches, fertile Britain owned,  
The East of which, had fair Bonduca Crowned;  
While Royal Vortigers, the North does Bound,  
Where Scots Repining, till their fruitless Ground.  
From Mighty Britttish Kings, Time long Derived  
Their High Descents, who best Examples Lived  
Of Royal Greatness, nor did thirst of Power,  
Which in Ambitious Prince's men deplore,  
Their Sceptres happy Concord Dis-unite,  
Who held it Impious, to Invade a Right;  
Espousing here one mutual Peace, or War,  
Which must their Counsels, and their Conducts share.  
Oh happy Rule, where Monarches thus maintain  
Their People's Rights, and like just Neighbour's Reign!  
Whose Power to Subjects, from their Laws was known  
Like Heaven's Prerogative, from order shown;  
That in their several Spheres they seemed to move,  
With Harmony, resembling those Above.  
With these Bonduca Reigned, whose Matchless Story,  
Fame must for ever speak, with highest Glory;  
Perfect in Virtue, with best Prudence Joined,  
That, from her Soul, her State, did Greatness find;  
Nor did her Beauties, less Perfection show,  
That Nature summed in her, what she could do.  
Whose Graces, through the World scarce fame had spread,  
But greatest Princes, did their Courtship's speed;  
Ambitious of Alliance with her Crown,  
Or in her Beauties to Espouse a Throne.  
Whose Bright Attractions, with her Virtues joined,  
To highest wonder, even her Foes inclined.  
Wishing above all Conquest, they might gain  
Her Love's Dominion, as their noblest Reign,  
While for her State, she takes assiduous care,  
How to prevent, the sad effects of War:  
Which, but too lately, this Rich Isle did waste,  
And, to the Princes, does wise Counsels haste.  
Now, Albianus Court, the Scene must be,  
For this so high Concern of Britain:  
With whom the Sages of each Crown did meet,  
This deep Affair, most Prudently to Treat.  
Where Vortiger, with Royal Glory came,  
A Prince, so early made, the Pride of Fame;  
That Nature's Masterpiece, in him alone  
Had been Completed, if to Fame unknown  
Were Albianus Praise, which gives her Story  
From both these wonder, and yet equal Glory.  
Their Persons like two Plants, the early Spring  
With best Perfection, did to Ripeness bring;  
Comely, as Youth, and Beauty met could show,  
And no less Great, in Princely Virtues too.  
The outward Compliments Performed of State,  
They deep Intrigues, of Wars Rough Power Debate;  
The High Concern of Crowns, whence Kings receive  
Their Noblest safety; nor can Monarches live  
Mighty in Name, whom Mars does not Renown,  
And Subjects from their Arms, Protection own;  
Who soon will Judge, they Sceptres weakly sway,  
Except their Martial Power, their Foes obey.  
Which Glorious End these Princes did Pursue,  
Joining the greatness of their Counsels now.  
While thus to Vortiger, Albianus speaks,  
(Placed in due State) Oh dearest Prince, what makes  
Foes thus Conspire, or can Heaven think it good  
War longer should consume, our Country's blood?  
What dost Import, Great Battles to have won  
'Gainst Scots, alas, who Fight us for the Sun?  
Enforced by Nature, and their Colder soil,  
To Sacrifice themselves to Wars fierce Toil.  
Or, that more Lustful Power of Rome, we see  
Wasted, though long our Fatal Enemy?  
While its Bold Consul Ennius, now yields  
T'Encamp in utmost Kent, and Quit close Fields;  
If like a Tiger forced unto a Den  
With Rage Recruited, he dares Prey again.  
What else does mean, that numerous Warlike Power  
From Gauls now Landing, on our Kentish shore?   

How will Bonduca's Soul, these Tidings hear,  
If her Rich Province Kent, they seize by War?  
And, her most Glorious City, London, be  
The next Attempt, of their bold Tyranny?  
Can Martianus with our Arms oppose  
The Romans, joined with our fierce gallic Foes?  
Who like an Island, placed in th' Ocean's way,  
May break strong Billows, but not stop a Sea.   

To which great Vortiger does thus Reply,  
we'll soon Martianus, with our Aids supply,  
And make it more our Glory, still to Fight,  
Rome's Power, Assisted with a Borrowed might.  
Five dreadful Ages, Britain's Arms have stood  
Its Bold Attempts, with dear expense of Blood.   

Since Mighty Julius first her Eagles led,  
Though here but hovered, when the World they spread  
As that great Soul of Honour, Blushed to see  
His Arms did it subdue, e'er Britain:  
And more its Mistress, Proud Rome Conquered too,  
Made next his Slave, that first the World made so;  
Dares then despised Ennius hope to Live,  
And this Isle Laws, from Roman Conquest Give?  
Or with his Arms, here Glory to Maintain,  
The smallest Relics, Caesar's Sword did gain?  
What though Alvatrix, with his Gauls does join  
T' Assist their Eagles, our Proved Arms decline?  
Effeminate Creatures, formed by Clothes, and Words,  
But soon will Fly, the Language of our Swords.  
Or does Alvatrix, hope thus to Improve  
His late Addresses, for Bonduca's Love?  
Or thinks, her Virtues e'er can shaken be,  
Though Rome to him, should Pander Victory?  
But we delay our Active Arms too long,  
Time calls, our warlike troops in Camps should throng;  
With our Armed Chariots, that will Mow their way,  
Through boldest Legions, Rome dares here Array.  
Thus Vortiger, with great and sprightly Grace,  
With this brave Prince, does Wars design embrace.  
So fierce Achilles, added to the Flame  
Of Greeks Incensed, when to their Camp he came.  
Nor did the Virtues, in these Princes met,  
Which Nature did with highest care complete,  
More her Delight, than her vast Treasure show,  
Who does on Mankind Graces so bestow,  
That her Perfections still must different be,  
Best pleased to Glory in variety.   

In Vortiger, her Compositions were  
Adorned with Graces, and a Soul of War;  
In on-sets fierce, as Courage can express,  
Quickened by Virtue, and its own Excess;  
But Albianus, youthful heats less sway,  
Whose sage Resolves, still guide brave Honour's way:  
Though in their Execution, Lightnings fly  
Too slow, to keep his fierce Darts company.  
While he with Warlike Vortiger Revolves  
The Martial Conduct, of their high Resolves,  
Fates swift Decree, which does even time surprise,  
And oft prevents the Counsels of the wise;  
Unlooked for Tidings, to these Princes speeds,  
Nor shall Favonius, thy great Name and Deeds  
Be less Renowned, though to the pride of fate,  
Thou didst Inglorious Deeds, of it relate.  
Who does so variously Decrees dispense,  
That Fortune seems, the sport of Providence;  
Swift had he Run, through Plains, and Pathless woods,  
And almost breathless, swum Thames silver floods,  
To scape pursuers, Like the Hart that tries  
Most uncouth Tracts, when from the Chase he flies;  
Thus he arrives, unto these Hero's sight,  
His Vesture pierced with Piles as oft in fight,  
He did such glorious marks, Receive from foes,  
Nor did his flight his safety less expose,  
Passing through showers of Piles, Rome's Legion threw,  
Whom, as these Princes did with wonder view,  
Unto their anxious thoughts, a Respite take,  
Before their Souls could give them leave to speak,  
Too sadly Judging, that he now did come,  
T' express some fatal Loss, by Powers of Rome.   

To whom Favonius, panting did express,  
Great is the Cause, Famed Princes, my access,  
Does now surprise you; nor can fate decree  
A peril, I'll not joy my Destiny,  
If in Bouduca's cause, my death it give,  
Though fame now tell, I flying her Foes live:  
Heaven witness, and you Stars, who late did see  
Rome's stoutest Eagles, by my Conduct fly,  
Thrice, e'er the Sun did his Meridian gain,  
But, I speak Conquest past; Alas! in vain,  
Since great Bonduca's high Concern and aid,  
Required this dangerous flight, I now have made,  
Of whom I Craved, that mighty trust to bear  
Unto you Princes, which your Warlike Care  
Must soon employ: But, happy had I fell  
By Gauls and Romans, e'er these Tidings tell;  
Or from my Lips, an Accent witness be,  
Of this most famous Queen's Calamity;  
Whose Arms, though Warlike, Martianns led,  
(Than whom no British Chief gave Rome more dread)  
In vain their Legions fought, R'enforced from Gaul,  
Who, soon alas her Person may enthral:  
Witness this day, when with its early dawn,  
I saw our numerous Foes 'bout London drawn,  
Who did, like thickest Woods, at distance show,  
While gentle Thames, in fear, did seem to flow;  
His Stream beset, and every Pass possessed,  
Which, London's danger, sadly have increased:  
O! think brave Princes, what must be the Fate  
Of this Black Day; or, What may Night complete,  
Approaching now? If, in her dismal hours  
Our Foes assault this City, with their Powers;  
And thus its Queen, and Glories, should possess,  
To grace Rome's Triumph, and Gauls hoped success;  
Whilst but to Heaven, and to your Warlike Power,  
Only remains their safeties to Restore.   

Thus he Relates; But, Who can judge the fire  
That did these Hero's noble hearts inspire,  
To aid this beauteous Queen? whose Person they  
Fear, with her Kingdom, may become a Prey:  
And, to Favonius, make this brave Reply,  
'Tis time to Fight, if Martianus fly;  
And thou, so great a Chief, enforced to come,  
Thus to relate success of Gaul, and Rome:  
But, while the name of Britain shall endure  
With its choice Deeds, Fame shall thy worth secure:  
Since, for Bonduca's cause, thou yield'st to live,  
That we her Arms distressed, relief might give;  
Than Albianus does on him bestow  
A stately Vest, and Richest Armour too:  
While Vortiger presents him with a Steed,  
Swift as the Wind, stout as the North did breed;  
Next Arthur's Son, does his choice Captains call,  
Corinus, Torringer, Androgeus, all  
Famed in his Sires great Camp, for Wonders done,  
And glory, now to serve his Warlike Son:  
But Vortiger, who thought each minute slow,  
Time now does wing until he fights this Foe;  
Commands his Warlike chiefs, a March to speed  
Of his brave Powers; Whom, most approved, did Led,  
Clarinus, Troilus, with Darander, praised  
For Deeds in War, Fame with Renown had blazed;  
These soon Campaign a numerous Warlike Power  
Of Troops, and Chariots, guided by the Flower  
Of Brittish-Nobles, in which glorious Sphere,  
The Princes, like Auspicious Stars, appear:  
And now their Armies March, shrill Trumpets sound,  
That Echo, o'er th' Orisons utmost bound;  
Which being done, they lead their Martial way,  
And view great London the succeeding day.   
The End of the First Canto.   

The Second Canto.  

FAme soon prepared her numerous tongues, and eyes,  
To blaze this March (the World's industrious spies)  
Who, for her Glory, Mighty Deeds proclaim,  
Nor is there Humane wonder exceeds fame;  
With Men She lives, yet to Mankind unknown;  
Though all Her Voices, from his Breath are blown,  
Sometimes as loud, as Vulgar Clamours speaks,  
As soon from Whispers, busy Rumours makes,  
Various in Tongue, as Mankind is in thought,  
Whose Secrets to her bold dispose, are brought:  
Watches she sets on Kings, and People's Deeds;  
Nor blushes, when enlarged their Acts, she spreads,  
Falsehood, and Truth, she mingles in a breath,  
And claims Prerogative o'er Time, and Death:  
A mighty Prodigy, herself creates,  
And, by her Power, as soon annihilates:  
The World's Deceiver, and its glory too,  
Virtue can Raise, and it depress as low.  
Too prone Evil, whence she bears the name  
Of that far-spreading mischief, Men call Fame.  
Thus does my Muse, in this her story find  
Fame's highest Glories, with fates evils joined;  
While fate Bonduca's Virtues did oppose,  
In Gaul, and Rome's success, her mighty Foes  
By Warlike Ennius, and Alvatrix led;  
Who, round great London, had their Ensigns spread  
Whose furious Expedition thither came,  
As it surprised, the hasty flight of Fame;  
Having Martianus Powers, enforced to flight,  
As he their Legions overpowered did fight:  
Until his stoutest numbers breathless lie,  
T' oppose the Course of this stern Enemy;  
And thus through Lanes of dead, had led their powers,  
Resolved t' assault great London, when nights hours  
Should Midnight Count, and to both Poles extend  
Her Sable Curtain, whose dark throne attend  
Stars, that like Ushers move, to light her way,  
While in the East, as if too early day  
Had now surprised her; or the Morning's Sphere,  
By Phoebus into flames converted were,  
In which, he'd rise, to threaten this bold Night;  
When there prodigiously appeared to sight  
Vast Armies, moving on the smooth-fac'd-Skye,  
Where flaming-Darts did seem from Foes to fly,  
And brandished Spears, against Spears, Fight maintain:  
But, What's Heaven Sign? Can Warring Powers restrain?  
Dr furious men's Ambition; All things dare,  
Who Heaven, too distant think, for them to fear:  
Dr, that the strong, had right enough to take,  
What could not be defended by the weak:  
Which mighty evil, Ancient Mankind saw,  
Before they had acknowledged Rule, or Law;  
But what the stronger, to the weak would give,  
When every Man, to Man, a Foe did live;  
Till their Disordered Safety did dispose,  
Men, to submit to Governments they chose:  
Whose Rulers soon taught them, they sought in vain  
To curb themselves, and not their power restrain,  
Who Nation against Nation could oppose,  
Uniting Mankind to be stronger Foes.   

Thus Gaul and Rome, this Islands Conquest sought,  
Whom now to London their success had brought;  
Which, by their Powers, this night must be oppressed,  
In the most usual hour of Humane Rest:  
When, to indulge the days preceding care,  
The tender Husbands their soft Wives endear;  
While Cynthia did her palest Visage wear,  
As if the Queen concerned she'd shined in fear;  
And for her stately City like to be  
The saddest Scene of Infelicity:  
Nor in great London many eyes had slept,  
Till Foes Assaulted, such bold Guards it kept;  
And, with a Bloody entrance seized each Port,  
As none knew where 'twas safest to resort;  
Or, like to Men, whom hideous Dreams awake,  
Think all at first, but fancies rude mistake,  
And, in Amazement, hurry here and there,  
Till nobler Sense does overcome their Fear:  
Then, as from Sleep, surprised Trojans rose,  
Boldly to Combat their successful Foes;  
So here, the Britain's are enraged to Fight,  
And soon outdo the Stories of that Night:  
What Heart can Judge, or Tongue the rage express,  
That they oppose against their Foes success?  
Lest, all that's dear, be made Rome's lustful Prey,  
Or gaul's, far more libidinous than they:  
Sometimes their Consorts Loves inspire their Arms;  
Or else, their Virgin-Daughters beauteous Charms;  
The Wonder of the World, and Nature's Race!  
Which, in their Sex, this Isle does chiefly grace;  
Then, with what Arms this hasty time supplies,  
They find the thickest of their Enemies:  
Where some on naked Breasts their Darts receive;  
Others want Arms, that wound for wound might give;  
Yet still their numerous Powers so assail,  
As Fortune fears, this Virtue may prevail:  
While boldest Troops of Romans now retire,  
And Gauls, had well-nigh spent their onset Fire:  
But, as the Sea, that rallies Wave on Wave,  
Till, through some noble Fence, its Billows rave,  
And then insults, upon some glorious Plain,  
Next made the Conquest of the dreadful Main;  
Thus are the Britain's, overwhelmed with power,  
In this so boisterous, and surprising hour;  
While, now of Fortune, all they seemed to crave,  
Is, that their Arms, their beauteous Queen may save:  
To whose relief, the worthiest lead the rest,  
Before her Guards, by numerous Foes oppressed;  
Which, to effect, convenient stations take,  
Resolved, their Bodies shall her Bulwarks make:  
Highly, did Ennius his fierce Powers Conjure,  
To make their furious On-sets more secure;  
Letting them know, how they'll oblige Great Rome  
To see this City, and her Queen overcome:  
While, with his Gauls, Alvatrix does Conspire  
To act Hostilities by Rage, and Fire;  
Hoping, these terrors will Bonduca shake,  
Or, else by force, her longed enjoyment take:  
What hearts bùt Britain's, thus assailed by Foes,  
Could them, and such extremities, oppose?  
Who scorned, all these their Valour should defeat,  
Daring, in 'midst of Flames their Foes to meet:  
And, in the dismal Ruins of this Flame,  
Speaks ancient hate, of Gauls, to Britain's Name:  
Whose more Heroic Manners, did deride  
The Forms, and Dress, of their Effeminate Pride.  
And now, the Queen, from her Pavilion rose,  
Alarumed, by these dreadful Acts of Foes;  
And, with a deep Concern, does hear the Cries  
Of her lamented Subjects miseries:  
Like some distrustful Shepherd, that does view  
A Troop of Wolves, his harmless Flock pursue;  
And, their distressed Lives cannot relieve,  
Except some more than Mortal aid it give:  
To Heaven her Prayers devoutly does address,  
Imploring Stars to frown on their success;  
Hoping, they hold no Council to destroy  
This City, Peopled from Renowned Troy:  
But, if it must, (like that) to Ashes turn,  
Then She does beg, it may be made her Urn;  
And, not in her, the Blood of Brute enthral,  
To gild the Triumphs of proud Rome, or Gaul:  
And next reflects on Nature's fonder care,  
Which made her thus Illustrious, Great, and Fair,  
Wishing, She saw with far less beaming eyes,  
Than did Alvatrix fatally surprise:  
Or, that her Cheeks did in pale furrows lie,  
Which stained the Glories of the Evening-Skie,  
Lest this great City more unhappy be,  
From the bright Charms of her Sov'raignity:  
Thus she laments; and what is her despair,  
Since, now to live, is made her saddest fear;  
Discerning well Alvatrix raging will:  
Nor knows she how far Ennius may act ill,  
Who, covertly Bonduca did decree  
The Prize, and Garland, of his Victory;  
But from Alvatrix artfully does hide,  
(The mock he means, to all his rage, and pride;)  
And thus cajoles him; Thou Great Prince of gaul's!  
Yet, more than Monarch, since Rome's power, thee calls  
Her honoured Arms associate, to subdue  
Britain with her, and more, Bonduca too:  
Whose tender heart, will force her to resign,  
All that thy burning wishes can design,  
If but now challenged: while, our Arms we see  
Thus ready, to complete bold Victory;  
Though, it must lessen Cleopatra's fame,  
While Rome dates triumph from this Woman's Name;  
Whose beauties, had but great Augustus seen,  
His mighty Soul had with thee Captive been.  
To which Alvatrix eagerly consents,  
In hopes to Crown his furious Love's Intents:  
Like some fierce Beast, that does his Rage allay,  
With expectation of his longed-for Prey:  
And thus, a Summons to Bonduca speed,  
That now was mounted on her graceful Steed,  
And with her Glorious Presence vigour Charms  
Into her fainting Britain's Hearts and Arms;  
Who, from her Eyes, no Mournful drops must see,  
That but now streamed, for their Calamity:  
Like beaming Morn, that had dispelled Nights tears,  
Her injured brightness with more lustre wears;  
Then, a bold Herald from great Ennius comes,  
Whose dreadful Badge declared him to be Rome's:  
And, to the Queen's bright Presence had access,  
Who, in these terms, his Message does express;  
Great Queen of Britain! Know, that I am come  
To bid thee yield, unto the Power of Rome;  
Lest, this Famed City, by a Raging Flame  
Consume to Ashes, with thy ruin'd Name:  
While Pity makes Great Ennius so far thine,  
As he could wish, he might his Arms decline;  
And, by a gentle Truce, soon make thee know,  
Thou yield'st, to Conquer such a Mighty Foe;  
Who does, that value for thy Virtue, own,  
That his success, he'd with Love's Triumph Crown.  
This he delivers; while, a brave disdain  
Adds to Bonduca's Cheeks, a Noble stain;  
As Virgin-Honor kindles at the Name  
Of some unwelcome and inglorious Flame,  
And to this bold Demand, makes this return;  
Rather, let me, and this Lov'd-City burn;  
And, like another Carthage, fall to dust,  
If, by Rome's Power, Heaven has decreed it must:  
Than e'er Bonduca, so degenerate prove,  
As fear, shall fright her Soul, to welcome Love:  
If, that the Consul, covertly intends,  
Or fierce Alvatrix, with his rage contends;  
But whensoever my Nuptials I bestow,  
I'll not Court Rome, to take a Husband-foe:  
Or, by that tye, unite myself to Gaul,  
Whose ancient hate would Britain more enthral:  
What, though this fury does assault me now?  
Yet, your great Master, may have more to do;  
While Arthur's Son, and Vortiger, remain;  
Whose Arms unconquered, Britain will maintain.   

And thus this Herald back again is sent,  
From whom, first Ennius sounds the Queen's intent;  
And then, unto Alvatrix, loud does Cry,  
This VVoman's worth our Arms, and Victory:  
That has a Soul, which Fortune dares Contemn,  
And, in a Britain, does a Roman seem:  
Admire thou then the wonders of her Face!  
I'll give her worth, within my Heart, a place.  
But, e'er we Cool, let us again fall on;  
That Rome may triumph, for this City won:  
And, fair Bonduca, which, will add to fame  
A Story lasting, as our Caesar's Name.   

This Speech Alvatrix highly did inflame,  
To finish Conquest, and his Love's bold Claim;  
Whose Soul, each word Bonduca named, had fired:  
Not deeming, Love, the Consul's heart Inspired  
With its soft Passion; whilst they now renew  
Their fierce assaults, this City to subdue;  
And, angry fortune, had their way, far wrought,  
Where Britain's, for their Queen, even hopeless, fought:  
Who, with a deep Concern, had soon beheld,  
How Rage, and Blood, her Subjects Arms compelled:  
While she, her presence guides, where Darts most fly;  
In hope, some one will swiftly bid her die:  
Though ask Heaven Pardon, if now, she dares  
Above her blushing Sexes, gentle fears;  
That else, she apprehends may stubborn prove,  
And yield her up, a Prey, to hated Love.   

But Providence, that sways the course of things,  
Unlook'd-for-succour, to Bonduca brings:  
Which, Vortiger and Albianus speed;  
By bold Favonius, at this fatal Need:  
Swift as Numidian Horse, these Troops had run,  
To aid the Queen, and London almost won:  
And, with their bloody toils, had forced a way,  
Where gaul's, and Romans, heaped in dust now lay;  
Recruiting thus, her City's drooping force,  
Like to some Bay, that stays the Ocean's course,  
While Waves, against it, with vain fury beat,  
And, as they rage, their swelling power defeat:  
Mean while, Favonius to the Queen appears,  
Who, like a Dewy Flower, had bathed in tears,  
Letting her know, the Princes soon will come  
With potent force, to fight the Powers of Rome;  
Whom she then graces, with her Royal hand,  
Granting her safety, does obliged stand  
To his great Conduct; that could thus relieve  
Her fainting Arms, and City succours give:  
Who, since Martianus was enforced to fly  
Despaired, that Arms could check Rome's Victory;  
That with such rage against her did conspire,  
As London, soon had made but one great Fire;  
And for the Princes, gently does express;  
She can't but fear, their virtues great excess  
May henceforth claim a gratitude so high,  
That (but in will) she must ingrateful die.   
The End of the Second Canto.   

The Third Canto.  

ANd now, this Night that frowned too long on day,  
Morning-beams usher the Sun's bright way,  
Who blushed, to see how bold her hours had been,  
T'afflict so fair, and virtuous a Queen:  
But more than grievous, did appear this Night  
Unto the Princes, that her Cause must Fight;  
Who, thought each minute of their March, too slow;  
As if that time had only loitered now;  
And thus, with famed Celerity, they drew  
Their Arms, where London's Towers salute their view,  
Placed full of eyes, that greedily descry  
This welcome Terror to the Enemy;  
Nor did e'er City with more Merit Claim  
Eternal Records, from the Tongue of Fame;  
Than this, which, had unshaken stood extremes  
Of Rome's, and Gauls, conspiring force, and flames:  
Which speaks, the brave Allegiance of those times;  
Unpractised, in our late Rebellious Crimes:  
While Power, nor Faction, could Division sow,  
But gladly Britain's fight, their Country's Foe.  
And thus resolved, the Prince's Powers Campaign,  
Where London did denominate a Plain,  
That bore the marks of dreadful Battles fought,  
Since first, proud Rome, this Isles great Conquest sought  
Here, under heaps of Earth, did Heroes lie;  
(The braver Foes, or Friends of Britain)  
Whose memories want now Records from Fame,  
To show, Death can obscure the greatest Name:  
And tells, how vainly Humane Powers contend,  
That can inherit nothing, but their end:  
Proving Deaths Sceptre juster than our life,  
Since, it divided Mortals, keeps from strife:  
Nor, did the Earth's vast surface ever bear  
Worthies like these, or Powers, more famed in War;  
Whose shining fronts the generous Britain's filled  
Captained by Nobles, in Wars Conduct skilled,  
By these, embodied, burnished Chariots, stand,  
With dexterous Guides, who their swift force Command,  
And, as these glorious Chiefs, do each array;  
Phoebus thinks his less bright, that rules the day.  
Then, thus to Vortiger, Albianus speaks;   

Before our Battle further progress makes,  
Let's well the Conduct of our Arms Consult,  
And next, proceed to act its brave Result.   

To whom, replies Courageous Vortiger,  
Since we, (Great Prince) must for Bonduca War,  
'Twere sin, to spend a minute more in words,  
But what may add a vigour to our Swords:  
Then, on a rising place, the Princes stand;  
Environed, by the Chiefs of their Command,  
Attentive, leaning each upon his Spear,  
Which shows, how great those Ancient Counsels were:  
With these, the Princes severally debate,  
How best their Arms may serve the Brittain-State;  
And, (what's more dear) th' afflicted Queen supply,  
At once, with wished relief, and victory.   

But, as they thus Consult, the Air they view  
Obscured with Clouds of Dust, which mounted, show  
Like Lybia's Sands, winds toss unto the sky;  
Or, as there moving Armies Men descry,  
When their fierce motions raise the fleeting Mould,  
And day seems ended, e'er they night behold:  
Thus, here, through Clouds of Smoke, does break the sound  
Of moving Arms, which, echo from the ground  
Their mighty haste; Nor do the Princes know,  
Whether this swift approach did speak a Foe:  
Until their trusty Scouts did them declare  
Britain's, that did with Martianus War:  
Who, to the Princes moves, before the rest,  
Though now his Visage scarce himself expressed;  
His aged face and hairs, disguised with blood,  
Whose Valour had so bravely Foes withstood;  
That fame, for ever must his worth display,  
Surviving with this glory a Lost-day.  
No sooner he salutes the Prince's fights,  
But, each, with him, straight from his Steed alights,  
And with their hasty steps embraces give;  
Rejoiced, to see him unexpected live:  
To whom, (with due obeisance) he replies;  
Famed Princes! What are now our destimes?  
Since froward fate does thus our Arms oppose,  
To gratify our proud insulting Foes:  
Happy had I been, if by Roman power  
I'd died, in my youth's warmest heat, and flower;  
When, under your great Fathers, first, I knew  
To wield bright Arms, and Wars great Deeds pursue;  
Then in my age, the Mock of Ennius be,  
Whom, I in Kent besieged successfully;  
Or, (What's more grievous) see, Alvatrix boast,  
His fencing Gauls, o'ercome a British Host:  
Though, while I these did for Bonduca War,  
Hoped with my Conduct, a propitious Star,  
And not her Banners thus successless lead,  
Beholding Rome's before her City spread;  
But, e'er they yet shall perfect their success,  
Admit this utmost duty I'll express;  
First, to attempt her Aid, through all extremes,  
Or die her Sacrifice, in London's Flames:  
This, having said with a Pathetic Grace,  
A stream of Tears falls down his Aged Face;  
Who, (but in Honour's Cause) permits these tears,  
More than a Lover loves, his Soul endears;  
Then, Albianus this famed Captain takes  
To his embrace, and thus obliging speaks,  
Thou, Father of our Arms▪ and more than all,  
Honour does most renowned in Mortals call:  
Repine not; 'tis thy glorious fate, to be  
With Fortune, thus at virtuous enmity:  
Or think, past Trophies, thou from Rome hast got,  
While, Britain bears a name, can be forgot.  
My Warlike Sire, (Great Arthur) oft did name  
Martianus, with his Chiefs of Noblest same;  
Telling, what acts, were by thy valour done  
In all those famous Battles he had won;  
And, to his Son, thou shalt be still as dear  
While I thy Counsels, and thy Dangers share;  
Hoping to see thy Arms, Rome's, yet subdue;  
And, to thy aged Garlands, add more new:  
Till than repine not, thou hast lost a Field,  
Alas! thou didst, but to more numbers yield;  
Which, Great Bonduca will herself confess,  
Charging fate only, with thy ill success:  
While, for her sake, our force shall soon contend,  
Who did with aid, Favonius, to her send:  
By whose great Prowess, Rome, and Gaul, declined  
Their dreadful Onsets, against London joined,  
And more, a Comfort in thy Heart impress,  
That, these must fight us now, or yield success  
Unto our Arms; which, in Bonduca's Cause  
Must outdo wonder, and to Rome give Laws.  
No less (Martianus) Vortiger endears,  
Calling his Conduct, Soul of British Wars;  
And next, recounts those mighty deeds he'd done,  
When, late from Scots, and Picts, they Battles won.  
Then, Martianus, (with this grace overcome)  
Feels noble Passion, gives his speech no room,  
But to express, a glorious wish to die,  
If his life may promote their victory.  
And now the Princes view his harrass'd force,  
Which, had through roughest dangers fought their course;  
His stately Ensigns with fierce Arrows tore,  
As scarce a mark remained of what they bore:  
Then, in their Battle, these embodied are,  
Where, their great Chief, a high Command does bear;  
Resolved, their Valours shall set London free,  
With its fair Queen, from Roman Tyranny.  
Soon had the wary Ennius perceived  
This City, by Favonius was relieved;  
And, that thus near, the Prince's Battles drew,  
Highly resolved, to assail their Powers too:  
He therefore, swiftly had his Army drawn  
By dreadful Bodies, in this spacious Lawn,  
The Britain Forces for their Station took.  
And thus, with furious eyes, on each now look,  
Glad were the British Heroes, to perceive  
The time was come, their Foes would Battle give;  
Whose Valours, did occasion so embrace,  
As if their Souls were winged, in Honour's Race;  
While thus, to Royal Vortiger, does speak  
Great Albianus; May we happy make  
This day (Loved Prince) in which we see Rome's power  
Spread their battalions here, this welcome hour,  
That Courts our Arms, such Honour to achieve;  
As may this ancient City now relieve;  
If, Heaven to Britain, glory, does decree;  
We shall Bonduca aid successfully,  
And teach her foes, the Gild of their bold sin,  
Who thought their force enough, her soul to win:  
How has her virtues, these unshaken stood?  
When Ennius, forced his way by Flames, and Blood;  
And fierce Alvatrix, did that dread improve,  
Threatening, to Crown by force, his burning love:  
But, e'er that Gaul shall boast so fair a Prize,  
Let us resolve, to fall her Sacrifice;  
And die this Plain with Blood, if that can be  
A meritorious cause of Victory:  
Then sprightly Vortiger, at this, darts beams  
That spoke the vigour, of his Martial Flames,  
Which, at Bonduca's Name, his breast inspires,  
As lightning, breaks from Clouds, embosomed fires:  
And thus, to Albianus does express,  
I'll welcome Death, if fate denies success;  
Nor, shall my Soul, be in this Body borne  
A living Witness, and this Island mourn:  
This day if lost, 'tis just that Princes fall;  
When their sad Country, keeps its funeral:  
Nor shall Bonduca's virtues e'er reprove  
My valour, to want merit for her Love;  
Since in her cause, if I make Death my own,  
My end, shall then add Glory to my Throne:  
Then Arthur's Son a Supreme station takes,  
Whence, to his Militants and chiefs, thus speaks;   

Fellows in Arms, the wished for time is come,  
To end, this Islands long-made-War with Rome;  
And, needless 'twere, to tell you of the cause,  
Since Rome, and Gaul, by th'Sword would give us laws:  
Or thence infer, how your rich Country, may  
With Wives, and Daughters, soon become their prey:  
This were, from fear, to bid you now to fight,  
When, Native Valour does enough excite  
Our British blood, which, though 'tis bred so near  
The Northern Pole, was ne'er yet chilled by fear.  
Let Romans then, their Oratories spend  
To raise their duller Legions, to contend.   

Enough, we see the Foes, that we must fight;  
And not from words, our hearts to Arms invite;  
At this, loud shouts of Joy do fill the Plain,  
Which shake the Earth, where Roman Powers Campain,  
The usual Custom of this Martial-Isle,  
When they embrace, Wars most renowned toil.   

No less, the Consul Ennius does take care  
To make this day, the Glory of his War;  
His force, with Rome's best Conduct, now arrayed;  
That oft, had Monarches, their great Captives made,  
Then in Magnan'mous words (the use of Rome  
T'incite their Militants to overcome)  
He thus begins, Loved Soldiers! if that we  
Deserve by arms the world's Sov'ráignity,  
Since, our Renowned City Deified  
Her Sceptered Romulus, for deeds achieved  
By glorious Arms, whose Capitol yet stands  
Filled with our Trophies, won from Conquered Lands,  
Where Mars is Templed, with his fellow Gods,  
Pleased, to convert our Swords, into their Rods,  
And next to their Divinity, allow  
The Earth's Dominion, to our virtue, due:  
Let not this day then, our famed power beguile,  
That oft has harassed this so potent Isle,  
Though Nature, joined with Mighty Neptune's hand,  
To severed from the world, (Rome's wide Command)  
Yet, could not our Renowned Julius stay,  
Who, sought on't Conquest, wheresoe'er it lay;  
And by our prowess, ages since maintained  
The Noble Relics, here, his valour gained:  
We have the Legions still, from him were named,  
The Tenth most loved, with all the rest as famed,  
They were but Romans then, as we are now,  
If we their virtues but inherit too,  
How will the world, our warlike Eagles dread?  
If still this Isle remains unconquered,  
When to our shames it shall recorded be,  
One days Pharsalia, forced Rome's liberty,  
Nor are their Conducts, worthy of our fears,  
Though Albianus joins with Vortigers,  
Infants in Arms, while I their Fathers fought,  
And thence great triumphs, to our Empire brought,  
You saw to us, Martianus Powers gave way,  
Think that a sign, of a more signal day,  
Since he, the aged Captain of their Host,  
Has proved how dear our Conflicts with him cost,  
While London, that our fierce assaults withstood,  
Will then be yours, without expense of blood,  
And, with its riches, pay your Martial toils,  
Yielding their matchless Queen, to grace our spoils.  
Thus speaks great Ennius, while the Prince of Gaul,  
Does on his Chiefs, with furious vigour call,  
Letting them know, what honour will accrue  
To Rome, and Gaul, if Britain's they subdue,  
And that the Cause their hearts may more excite,  
Tells them Revenge, and Love, does bid him fight,  
Whence, fond Bonduca, shall repent disdain,  
If by their Arms, they Conquest this day gain.  
Nor did the ill, of their Intentions, fright  
These from imploring heaven, to aid their might;  
Whose ear the ambitious by design abuse,  
And call that Providence, which first they choose,  
Thus superstitious hopes their Priests express,  
Who (from above unlicens'd) speak success,  
Which proves how bold with heaven such dare to be,  
That for their ends will arm Divinity;  
Loud had the Gauls their Clamours upwards sent,  
While soothsaying Romans, had their eyes intent  
On Ravens, Vultures, and such birds of prey,  
As follow Armies, for a bloody day;  
One sees an Eagle stoop, that soared as high,  
As the expanded airy Regions lie,  
Seeming to Court his figure, which was spread  
In that rich Ensign, by the Consul led,  
This their Diviners, soon conclude must be  
A happy Omen of their victory:  
As Nature, oft from things of meanest sense,  
Confounds man's vainer search of Providence;  
And thus encouraged, think each minute slow,  
Until they fight their warlike British foe;  
Whose fierce Battalion, Rome's confronting stands,  
Resolved to act, their mighty Chiefs Commands.   
The End of the Third Canto.   

The Fourth Canto.  

LOud did the various Instruments of war,  
The dreadful time of Battle now declare,  
Music the brave delight, and oft inspires  
The timorous hearts and ears with Martial fires,  
Thus British Trumpets, and Rome's Cornets sound,  
Their piercing Clamours Echoes did rebound  
Which distant hills, and sounding valleys take,  
Mounting the furious noise to skies they make,  
Then forlorn hopes, their dreadful onsets speed,  
Which for the Princes, did Darander lead,  
A. hardy Chief, whose Prowess bore a Name  
In Arthus Camp, so much renowned by Fame.  
As fierce a Leader had Rome's Consul chose,  
His daring onset boldly to oppose;  
Hoping success would on his side begin,  
Since valors ne'er too late, that last must win.  
Quick as a thought, encounter now these Foes,  
Or burst on each, as kindled clouds dispose  
Their swiftest lightnings, when the North or East,  
Send forth their flames, to combat with the West.  
Then do their more important bodies move,  
Hoping this Prowess nobly to improve;  
Though from the first Encounters, judge to pay  
The dearest cost of a victorious day.   

And thus the Prince's forces swiftly lead,  
Where Roman Powers their dreadful Eagles spread;  
While from their Standards their great figures show,  
With fair Bonduca's Sceptered Image too.  
O'er whom a glorious Canopy is placed,  
Like guilded Clouds with morning beams are graced;  
To whose bright Figure All devotion pay,  
As Stars are courted for a prosperous day.  
By whom within this Standards mighty Frame,  
Are lively imaged, such past Kings did fame  
Each Royal Lin'age, with their Battles fought,  
Since first Dominion Trojan Brute here sought.  
And here the Romans to their dread behold  
Victor'ous Battles, Britain's fought of old;  
With their great Chiefs, and warlike Consuls slain,  
That Ages toiled in blood, this Isle to gain:  
Thus famed Cassivellans stern Power does stand,  
Confronting Rome's Great Julius high Command;  
And as their Bodies join, here singly fight,  
Whence Caesar, and his Power, submit to Flight.  
Then Theomantius, Cunoblin the Bold,  
With Coelus storied are, Kings dearly sold  
Their Britain Conquests; more my Muse could name,  
But these enough denote this Isles past Fame.  
This great Device a Sable Field displayed,  
In which a monstrous Dragon's breathless laid;  
Who through his Jaws had gloomy poisons sent,  
Like blasts, that Aetna's fiery Bowels vent:  
Next whose vast bulk, did gasping Giants lie,  
Great as our Ancient Story's History;  
Their beamy Spears, couched by each owner's side,  
Whence crimson streams the burdened earth had died.  
O'er whom in Triumph mighty George does show,  
Whose Prowess these, and that huge Serpent slew;  
Though hence our Copies faintly now express,  
Some glorious Relics of this famed success.  
While from our Crown his day receives a Name,  
The high, and sacred Record of his fame;  
Which tells enough, his Deeds were great, and more,  
Than e'er had British Blood renowned before.  
Opposing this from a vast Banners height,  
Was seen Rome's then known Caesar's Martial sight:  
His Portraiture, in Purple stately placed,  
With all past Trophies that Great Name had graced.  
These vast Triumphant chariots stately drew,  
And Conquered Kings, but their rich Lackeys show;  
While Rome her Superstitions to express,  
Figures Divinely, Altars in their Dress.  
Before which Eastern Monarches prostrate lie,  
Forced to adore this bold Divinity;  
Their choicer Incense, spent as common smoke,  
And in their Gems, now shackled, mourn their yoke.  
Here dexterous Parthians yield their wounding Bows,  
Born with their Quivers in triumphant Shows;  
There gaul's; and Germane quit their mighty Swords,  
While British Arms fight these Imperial Lords.  
From which high Signals these fierce Battles join,  
With all the spacious wings, that each confine;  
Who, as rough waves, now one another force,  
Which tides, and winds opposing, fight their course.  
Like matchless Rivals, Britain's Chiefs contend,  
Which shall most Foes to death by Prowess send;  
And from their Princely Leaders Patterns take,  
How each may more renowned, their valours make.  
With fierce Darander bold Carinus vies;  
With Torringer, Clarinus bravely tries,  
How to repress their death-despising Foe;  
As far does Troilus, and Androgeus go.  
Then Vortiger, through wings of mighty Horse,  
Conducts his Troops, a bold victorious course;  
Where fierce Alvatrix did his Gauls array,  
And like to lightning, force their speedy way.  
Which soon the gallic onset heat had tamed,  
Which makes their Passion more than valour famed;  
Whose first Assaults, than Manhood more express,  
And but resisted, Women force not less.  
On these the Britain's constant virtues gain,  
That Wars increasing fury still maintain;  
As if for Mars alone their Tempers were,  
Whose highest dangers can't impress their fear.  
With like success, Martianus put to flight,  
The other wing, where hardy Romans fight;  
As for his late defeat they now must pay  
The Expiations of this Bloody Day.  
But Rome's vast Body yet unshaken stands,  
Ribbed by proved Legions, and Triarian Bands;  
That oft had taught the world's stern Powers to fly,  
Or else had dared them, foot to foot, to die:  
Hence darkened was the Air by Mists of Pyles,  
While clouds of Arrows show the Britain's Toils;  
Which Roman Targets loaded now did beat,  
As they in Helmets did their javelins wear.  
Soon Albianus had this Body fought,  
And in the thickest dangers Ennius sought;  
Who in a well-formed Posture does receive  
The wounds, and terrors, which his on-sets give:  
As a tall Oak with shivered limbs does stand,  
Towering his head against the winds Command;  
Till his strong bulk more powerful blasts do cleave,  
And Avenues for their rough passage leave:  
Thus rooted seems this Body, whose bold fight  
The Consuls lofty Conduct does incite;  
Hoping by these to save his mighty fall,  
And each Centurions furious aid does call.  
Recounting how their Julius Caesar stood  
The Nervian Arms, when Rome had spent more blood;  
As even its Nation, in that day were lost,  
Hoping this will, as dearly Britain's cost.  
What though our Wings, (now imped with gaul's) do fly  
That can't from Romans learn to stand, and die?  
Let not your Eagles their Example take,  
While here your Arms may such a Quarry make.  
And now these Bodies do so closely meet,  
That arm with arm, encounters, feet with feet;  
Scarce having space their wounding swords to sway,  
As both sides seem, fierce wrestlers for the Day.  
Here Chief with Chief, by wondrous deeds contend,  
Which shall receive from each a bloody end;  
There numerous Militants their force employ,  
Who most heroic shall a Foe destroy.  
Then Albianus with stupend'ous might,  
Forces this strong Battal'ons dreadful fight;  
As from the North a mighty whirlwind blows,  
Breaking defences its high rage oppose:  
Some by his Steed are trampled to the ground;  
Others his stately Spear gives death's last wound;  
Or on its point does toss them out his way,  
And thus kills such his arm disdains to slay.  
While this high act, his bolder Troops pursue,  
As waves in crowds through narrow breaches flow,  
Until the Seas swift power more room does gain,  
And leads its battailed billows o'er the Plain.  
To wide this entrance, British Chariots speed,  
Which bold Corinus did to wonder lead;  
Whose furious motions Roman Powers confound,  
And seem like thunder, rolled in clouds to sound.  
Whose furious speed no strength of Foes could stay '  
Not if the Grecian Phalanx, their swift way  
Had with Rome's Powers opposed, or Punic Might,  
Whose Ranks with Elephants, were lined in fight,  
Fixed to their Axes, mighty Scythes that Mow  
Their way through Legions, nor by them a Foe,  
Entirely dies, some limbs, from limbs divide,  
Others Men sever, who in halves here died.  
No less the Cavalry, their fight annoys,  
Whose Horse, as variously their Force destroys,  
Amazing Foes, with their strange way of fight  
Sometimes out-driving Winds, or in their Flight  
Quick as a Thought, Amongst their Foes could stay '  
And thence, make Glorious Sallies for the day,  
Which being done, as nimbly they retreat,  
And on their loaded Teams in order meet;  
Whence as they drive, they each way Arrows send,  
Missing no mark, their dextrous aims intent,  
This way of fight, if we may credit Fame;  
With Trojan Heroes to this Isle first came:  
By which their Prowess wonders had achieved,  
Though scarce so great, as this day Britain's did.  
And thus amazed, the Romans had beheld  
Their mighty Powers, by these fierce drifts overwhelmed;  
While Albianus in each onset won,  
Such famed success, as their best Legions run.  
Yet now Heroic grief does wound his breast,  
To see Foes die, thus bravely did resist;  
And Princely mourns the Price this Day had cost,  
As he beholds such warlike Britain's lost.  
How will the harmless Tillager complain  
In after Ages, of this dismal Plain?  
When limbs of Heroes, shall affright his toils,  
And his increase enriched from bloody spoils?  
While Romans hence record a fatal Day,  
As when they bled at lost Pharsalia;  
Or left Great Crassus for a Parthian Boast,  
With all the Glories of his yielding Host.  
More to increase their terrors, does appear  
The bold Favonius, whom Bonduca here  
Had sent with stout Reserves of London Horse,  
Who their broken Powers, with renewed slaughters force  
And Royal Vortiger does now return,  
With warlike Martianus, whose hearts burn,  
To finish Conquest on the Body too,  
As they did gloriously the Wings pursue,  
While Phoebus' Radiant Chariot had possessed  
The setting Evening Glories of the West,  
And nights black Curtain veiled the guilded sky,  
As British Arms determined Victory.  
This Instant well the subtle Ennius knew,  
Must something aid his past misfortune too;  
Who now his broken Powers retreating fights,  
And, to his Camp in Kent, conducts their flights.  
Like to some Lion, that too bold did prey,  
Fears next his courage might himself betray;  
And wearied with his furious toils, does then  
Retiring, seek his advantageous Den.   
The End of the Fourth Canto:   

The Fifth Canto.  

NOw Fate, that waited on this Bloody Day,  
Sees cloudy night, new tragic Scenes display;  
Whose fierce confusions even my Muse affright,  
That like some Virgin, fears sad Tales of night.  
Such dreadful dangers, we may well suppose,  
Befell her much-loved Britain's from their Foes;  
Who beaten thus, unconquered seem to fly,  
And deaths return, as they retreating die.  
While Stars in haste their several stations take,  
And in their Spheres new Trepidations make;  
Fearing removes for every Heroes fall,  
And thus disordered, their bright Councils call:  
The wand'ring Glories to the Ecliptic run,  
There to advise, without their Lord the Sun;  
In whose bright stead, refulgent Mars does shine.  
His Rays enthroned, on heaven's Meridian line,  
Who thus begins, To me, you Planets know,  
Belongs the fate of Martial Powers below;  
Nor will our Sovereign Light his beams convey,  
In Wars Decrees, but lets my influence sway.  
Not though the world is quickened by his rays.  
And time supported in its aged days;  
Whence Mortals live, and tell their happy hours,  
But own their greater Glories from my Powers.  
Nor do those Regions Phoebus' Tracts confine,  
Betwixt the Tropics, and more burning Line;  
Heroes produce, to execute my flame,  
So oft, as where rough Boreas sounds his Name.  
Of these my Aspects have fierce Romans famed,  
Who but this Isle, the warring World have tamed;  
Giving their Stories leave to boast, that I  
Begot their first Heroic Majesty:  
And shall to these now British Arms give Law,  
Or, I, (their God adored,) my beams withdraw;  
And not assist their Conduct, while I see  
Their brave Retreat deserves yet victory.  
This said, the rest their brighter sense convey  
From orb, to orb, by mingling each a ray;  
Which Venus craves, she may to Mars express,  
And thus begins to him her soft Address.  
Great Star of Glory, if my Gentler shine,  
Or those loved Aspects I have had with thine,  
Oblige thy influence, let it befriend  
These British Worthies, with Great Rome's contend.  
Nor can it be, but glory to thy Name,  
To crown success, where virtue makes such claim;  
And let not Mortals think they merit more,  
Than we repay, or justly they implore.  
Enough have Romans a bold havoc made,  
Five bloody Ages, since they did invade  
This Isle, where Nature breeds such souls for war,  
And women, that our lustres may compare,  
For whose fair sakes, behold I often sought,  
With trembling beams to thee, as these still fought;  
While Cynthia did, (as now) her visage shroud,  
And but by Peeps, beheld thee from a cloud.  
Vowing by her best influence, that she  
In no Eclipse, felt such extremity;  
As when she late beheld Bonduca's woe,  
For which she wears some spots unseen till now.  
This said, Great Mars salutes her with a beam,  
And thus replies, Thou Star of Love's soft flame,  
Think not thy Intercession I'll despise,  
Who art the brightest Glory of our skies;  
A higher Providence than our Decrees,  
Has hitherto led Roman Victories;  
I know full well our Aspects but incline,  
Though of great Nature's Causes, most divine.  
Nor shall my Rays to Britain's partial prove,  
Whose valour equal with thy Beams I love;  
To Gemini my Orb shall wander now,  
Thy loved Ascendant, and this Islands too.  
This done, the rest to happy Aspects glide,  
By Tracts, till this stupendous night untried,  
While Venus does her soft Conjunction join,  
With Mars his Sphere, to court his gentle shine.  
Oft had the Romans with enraged sense,  
Invoked heavens more auspicious influence;  
Wondering that it should lend a glimmering eye,  
T'inlighten Britain's, while their Powers do fly.  
Then does fierce Ennius bid his Soothsayers wait;  
What they can gather from decrees of Fate;  
Or where no ominous Raven croaks this night,  
That Romans now, their bold Retreating fight.  
His Brandished Spear then upward does extend,  
Whence great refulgent Mars his beams does send;  
Ask whenever he'll a shining witness be,  
Whilst British Arms force Roman Powers to fly?  
Or if bright Venus shall oblige thy Beams,  
Acquaint her, that I yield to Love's soft flames;  
And though I Britain's fight, Bonduca love,  
If that her kinder influence may improve.  
Now had Alvatrix rallied from their flight,  
Great Troops of Gauls, to aid the Consuls fight;  
Who now would seem to banish their swift fear,  
And with new eager fury Britain's dare.  
Hoping the days past toils would faint their Powers,  
Or fate oppose them, with night's dismal hours;  
Thus does this Chief inflame their hearts and arms,  
Not judging Ennius felt Bonduca's charms:  
Or as his Rival now, fights Love's cause more,  
Than to triumph for Rome's victorious Power.  
Though from this Gaul he subtly does conceal,  
What time, or prosperous leisure best reveal.  
Closely their foes pursued had Britain's fought,  
As their retreats to bloody halts are brought;  
While Rome's great Chief by bold degrees does fly,  
Leaving the Earth behind a crimson die.  
Whose ripened Harvest with rude hoofs they tread,  
That Ceres mourns, the blessings she had bred;  
And thinks that Nature vainly does provide,  
To nourish men so full of hostile pride.  
Or that the world, so largely by her blessed,  
Should not have room for humane Powers to rest;  
Who like the foes of Nature, still must be  
Contending, to usurp her Monarchy.  
Thus Heaven incensed, does cloud this dreadful night;  
While Stars, (as dimmer Tapers,) lend their light;  
Whence fierce Confusions to each side accrue,  
And as they seek out Foes, their friends pursue  
The British Ensigns, mixed with Romans stay,  
And thus in bloody Mingles both sides slay;  
Experienced Chiefs, not knowing where to guide,  
While even their ranks their fight foes divide.  
Each generous Steed, that did undaunted bear  
His Hero's burden, tramples now in fear;  
Lest on some Master's friend, his steps should tread,  
And thus by wary snorts discern the dead.  
While some, that had their valiant burdens lost,  
Charge wild revenges on each mighty Host;  
Whose nimble Fury does the wind outfly,  
And where Spears thickest range, Assailants die.  
Others (from noble sense, that Nature gives  
This Creature, which for Man so useful lives;)  
Find out their Owners Corpse, and lick them o'er,  
In hope their balmy breaths may life restore.  
Wishing their burdens they might bear again,  
And in their eager mouths rejoice their Rain,  
That foes might death receive from their bold Seats  
And thus their mournful sense laments their fates.  
No less disordered, from these dark mistakes,  
Each British Chariot dreadful conduct makes;  
Whose Guides to unknown Tracts commit their way,  
As Pilots steer an unacquainted sea.  
While these, like vessels furious winds annoy,  
With boisterous meetings do themselves destroy;  
And tackled thus to one another, glide,  
Till their rough speed does rend them side from side.  
Some from their warlike seats their guides hurl down,  
And thus to many fatal ends are known;  
While others their bold fury to restrain,  
Are dragged to deaths, as they still grasp their rain,  
More to increase the terrors of this night,  
The British Princes had pursued the fight,  
So bravely home, as many in their Host,  
Conclude them, in these clouds of danger lost.  
Yet in these perils, such wise conduct show,  
As thence their foes receive their greatest blow;  
While Albianus Arms, bravely relieve,  
Undaunted on-sets Vortigers do give.  
Nor do these toils their precious bodies bear,  
Detain the Expedition of their care;  
Who think it sin, a bleeding wound to stay,  
Until by victory they win delay.  
Esteeming blood, (where life itself does stream,)  
Too cool a vent, for wars high fevers flame;  
Which man must spend, as Nature's noblest Purge,  
When Honour, (the Soul's Crisis,) does it urge.  
Sometimes, their Steeds declined) on foot they lead,  
To make their Foes the Infantry more dread;  
As soon the Cavalry with aid supply,  
Or else with these to them in succours fly.  
Thus dismal errors they repair of night,  
Heading their Britain's with successful fight;  
While now they seem to want no other star,  
Since these Illustrious Guides their Conducts are.  
But Albianus, that with grief had weighed,  
How nights mistakes, the days past conquest stayed;  
Although the Britain's, with courageous toils,  
Ravished from Fortune her unwilling smiles:  
Like some great Chief, that would his conduct make,  
Above what it, or daring Foes can shake;  
With warlike Vortiger consults the State  
Of their success, and Rome's approaching fate.  
From whom the British Chiefs Commands receive,  
Which their bold onsets a wise respite give;  
Whose Bodies rallied, they embattled stand,  
To force the glory of their joint Command.  
Mean while, the wary Consul led his Flight  
In scattered Bodies, aided by the night;  
Whose cloudy vail does expedite their way,  
Imploring Phoebus to hold back the day;  
Lest British Powers should now behold they fly,  
And not like Romans, boldly stand, and die;  
Which Vann of fear, the wavering gaul's now lead,  
As Wolves, their fury spent, to covert speed,  
Oft had Great Ennius' undaunted Soul,  
Tried how his valour might their fears control;  
Wishing that he could look his Forces dead,  
Who palely yield, to quit their warlike head.  
Revolving next, How he for love had fought,  
And in Bonduca Roman glory sought;  
Charging injustice on his Fate to doom  
His Arms defeat, and not his Love o'ercome.  
While by an open voice, and impious flame,  
Alvatrix curses Stars, and Heaven's great Name;  
Wishing that they might ne'er more glory own,  
But as close Mourners to the world be shown;  
That yield no Beam, which does success bestow,  
Rendering Bonduca's Conquest hopeless too:  
Whom, (as a Prize of War,) he hoped to win,  
And make his Sword, the Champion of his sin.  
He raging thus, the Consul strives to make,  
His furious heat some temperate thoughts partake;  
Letting him know, that if with Rome 〈◊〉▪  
He must unmoved the strokes of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉▪  
Or else from Roman Heroes learn to die,  
Who Fate o'rcame in spite of Victory;  
Letting Gods see, how they frail life despise,  
That with their hands themselves could sacrifice,  
Nor shalt thou want example in me too;  
When brave Despair shall bid me Fate subdue:  
Thy heart is smitten with Bonduca's Beams,  
And I both pity, and admire thy flames.  
But we may yet this fatal loss repair,  
While Rome, and Gaul has warlike Succours near;  
Which by my conduct, and some wise delay,  
Shall British Arms with greater loss repay.  
This said; their Powers disordered flight they guide,  
Where woods, and gloomy tracts their dangers hide:  
And thus arrived their Camp, in furious haste;  
As Phoebus' morning Beams salute the East:  
This Camp long stood a Fortress of Rome's fame,  
And from Great Julius, bore Rhutupia's Name;  
When first in blood he waded to this shore,  
And gave Kent glory, to oppose his Power.  
Hither the Princes soon direct their course,  
Circling these mighty Ramparts with their force;  
While now their Foes by Arms no further dare,  
But in this Fortress would prolong despair:  
Which vast defence Albianus next surveys,  
And Vortiger, inflamed to onset, stays;  
Bidding him see, as their success now stood,  
'Twill be completed with small loss of blood.  
Nor needs their force to win, what Foes must yield,  
If we, but as Besiegers, keep the Field;  
And make the wanton Gauls, and Romans feel  
Famine, (their Riots hate;) in stead of steel.  
This sage resolve the British Chiefs embrace,  
And next the Princes Martianus grace,  
With supreme Conduct, bidding him pursue  
The straits of War, and Foes that way subdue.  
Which great Command with joy his soul receives,  
Blessing Heaven now, his aged hours reprieves;  
To see Rome thus reduced in shame of Fate,  
That his brave Arms perversely did defeat.  
And next, they grace their warlike Chiefs bold toils,  
Rewarding their high deeds with bounteous spoils;  
Their valours from Rome's pompous Powers had won,  
Which being with loud Acclamations done,  
Towards London then a stately March they lead,  
Their Arms from Foes, with its fair Queen thus freed;  
And with her gracious Councils there decree  
How to improve this mighty Victory.   
The End of the Fifth Canto.   

The Sixth Canto.  

AS this famed Progress these great Hero's take,  
Blazed by the hasty flights, that rumours make;  
Who thus to London with swift joys resort,  
And fair Bonduca with glad tidings court.  
To whom our Princes now their Journey haste,  
Grieving its stately order time should waste;  
Each wishing first, their joys, and deeds to tell,  
That gladly would to her in worth excel.  
Whose Grace, and Beauty they discourse, the while  
Times tedious minutes softly to beguile;  
And so concerned, her bright attractions name,  
As if they burned, e'er they approached the flame.  
Not long the Sun left his Meridian line,  
His Evening Hemisphaeres bright course to shine;  
But these great Heroes London Tower's behold,  
That outshined Parian works, adorned with Gold.  
Such Architects, (if Fames Records speak true:)  
Did then this Cities stately Structures show?  
Which by time's hand in ruins lie forgot,  
Whose choicest Copies its own Pencils blot.  
More near approached, they Glorious Troops descry,  
That soon declare Bonduca's Presence nigh;  
Which the choice Flower of British youth complete,  
In whom the Charms of Mars, and Venus meet.  
Favonius does their shining Leader come,  
Glorious, in London's late Conflicts with Rome;  
Where he by dangers did the Queen relieve,  
For which, high praise to him the Princes give:  
Next British Nobles of Illustrious Race,  
In War renowned, or Public Councils grace;  
Here to the Queen their great Attendance pay,  
While she, the glory of this mighty Day,  
Rides on a Snow-white Steed, Nature designed,  
The lovely wonder of his beauteous kind;  
Whom richest Trappings to his feet adorn,  
More pleased by him this glorious Guide is borne;  
Raising his lofty Crest with stately pride,  
Each step he takes, her gentle hand does guide.  
And next the Virgin Beauties of her Crown,  
(As Waiting Graces) circled near her own;  
Who like some Gemm in studs of Jewels set,  
Does their bright lustres from her own complete.  
Whose Robes, though splendent, show their frail excess,  
Whom Nature in her choice Attires did dress;  
That Art her Beauties fruitlessly adorn,  
As what can deck the glorious Spring, or Morn.  
And thus appears the Presence of this Queen,  
With such amazement, by the Princes seen;  
As they a while by deepest wonders speak,  
How much her lustres their impressions make.  
Who now, as guilty of a beauteous fear,  
That Love from her bright charms should darts prepare;  
Stays with a blush, before she can express,  
How much she joys their Presence, and success.  
And thus with gracious modesty begins,  
What Heaven inflicts on our Foes impious sins,  
The means great Princes in your valour's shown,  
Which Britain must eternally renown.  
What! (but your Conduct,) Romans could subdue,  
Who made the World their fatal Conquests rue?  
And harassed long our Country by Wars toils,  
Triumphing with our captive Kings, and spoils?  
Or what could eager Gauls, (we more abhor;)  
Have thus reduced, but that you led our war?  
To which my Crown, and more myself I owe,  
Redeemed from Ennius, and Alvatrix too.  
This said, the Princes, by apt words declare  
How much they joy their Conduct in this war,  
Relieved her City, and what's valued more,  
Obliged her Virtues, they so much adore:  
Which must for ever live upon her Name,  
And from her Glory, give her Sex a Fame;  
Whom Foes unconquered by their Arms did prove,  
And what is more their Fate, despized their Love.  
And as great Victors to some Shrine address  
The Spoils, and Trophies of their famed success;  
Thus to the Queen they conquered Glories vow,  
And make Love's Zeal, Faith's sacred Rival too.  
Here Gums Arabic Trees in drops distil,  
As common liquors vastest measures fill;  
With heaps of Silk of choicest Tyrian Dye,  
That decked their Tents, and Beds of Ivory.  
Next these, huge Carcanets of Gems betray  
The Jeweled Tributes, which the East did pay;  
Who, as Rome's Slaves, their bowelled wealth explore,  
And drown for Pearls, that paved their conquered Shoar.  
Which, as if Nature had her Treasures gleaned,  
Or else the Earth alone, for Rome maintained;  
Threatened to ruin her luxurious store,  
And with the subdued world, herself keep poor.  
The Queen with wonder having viewed these spoils;  
Highly renowns the Prince's matchless toils;  
And thinks this present, at their valour's price,  
Too much the glory of her Sacrifice.  
Then from her Steed, with gracious ease descends,  
And to each Prince, a hand (first kissed) extends;  
By whom she's to her stately Chariot brought,  
That curious hands, with laboured cost, had wrought,  
Her seat betwixt these Heroes there she takes,  
And with her lustres such impression makes;  
As if Lights Orb contracted in her face,  
And this, the Chariot of the Sun's bright Race.  
Towards London thus, she with these Glories Rides,  
'Twixt whom, her grace, and words, she so divides;  
As if even Nature's Power she could outdo,  
And with one Soul, supplied the gifts of Two.  
Sometimes the Princes gently does Entreat,  
Their wondrous deeds, and dangers to relate;  
As if she'd Honour give Perpetual Themes,  
Or yield Love glorious means, to charm his Flames.  
And thus arrives her City, where no State  
Is wanting, can magnificence complete;  
Whose stately Orders solemn duties pay,  
To speak the joy, and splendour of this day.  
Passed through these streets (with Flowers & Garlands hung,)  
Where eyes in windows crowd, and People throng;  
This Royal Presence, with glad hearts to view,  
Wishing some one of these their Queen may woe.  
Then with these Hero's she ascends a Throne  
Her Royal Predecessors long did own;  
Which wondrous Frame in polished stone is wrought,  
As Parian work might hence have Copies sought.  
Whose Bottom shined as clear as Mirrors do;  
Circled with Pillars, bright reflections show;  
And through each space stood noblest creatures carved,  
Some think the same, that Noah's Ark preserved.  
Nor were its Mediums less for beauty praised,  
While in such order each Ascent is raised;  
As best skilled Architects must hence admire  
Those hands, that could so happily conspire.  
The Royal Covering, which this Frame did bear,  
Is storied by the artful Painter's care;  
Where ancient Heroes in vast Figures lie,  
With Atlas, said t'uphold the falling Sky.  
Hence they behold Great London's vast Contents,  
The Seat of Nature's choice Emoluments;  
Which wise Antiquity had planted here,  
That times succeeding might renown their care.  
And hence they view the silver Flood of Thames,  
Brighter than Xanthus, or famed Simois streams;  
In which the Gods, their limbs were said to save,  
And visit Thetis in a crystal wave.  
To Neptune's bosom thus it gently glides,  
Returning thence; enriched with pregnant Tides;  
By secret sympathy, or Cinthia's power,  
That streams can swell, without the help of shower.  
While stately Vessels, swift as winds here steer,  
Some fraught with Traffic, others built for War;  
As if that Age heroickly foresaw,  
This supreme Isle should to the main give law.  
And hence, they wondrous Aqueducts survey,  
That this Great City useful streams convey;  
While works in water Engines raise so high,  
As if they'd Meteors place above the Sky.  
And now as Rome would add a glory too,  
Or Gauls repent their crimes, in being a Foe;  
Their Legates from Martianus convoyed come,  
Who of these Princes crave a Peace from Rome,  
This Embassy, a Gaul of subtle brain  
Does manage, that deceit could wilily feign;  
Who knew the British hearts too great to be  
Suspecters, even in Foes, of treachery,  
And to this glorious presence has access.  
Clothed in the soft Attires of gallic dress;  
Whose Vests, as various forms, and colours show,  
As if they patterned from Thaumantius Bow,  
On this a Periwig more long he wears,  
Than the dishevelled locks of Virgin's hairs;  
And thus with suppliant knees, and fawning face,  
(The mode of Gaul) his Errand hopes to grace.  
Then first relates, how Rome, and Gaul conspire  
To make a lasting Peace, their joint desire;  
Since they behold what wonders Heaven had wrought  
For British Powers, while theirs opposing fought.  
And next, does magnify the Prince's Arms,  
Whose valour gives their Foes such powerful charms;  
That their great Chiefs submit to sue for Peace,  
And call the Britain's friend, if Arms they'll cease.  
Though Rome with succours soon can them supply,  
Or Great Alvatrix, from his Gauls more nigh;  
Whose Arms did but neglect of Love pursue,  
Yet to the Queen, that guilt repenteth too.  
By me pronouncing, how his soul relents  
His late Hostilities, and dire Intents;  
In which her City, more (her self) did share,  
His Love, and Arms, made guilty of her fear.  
For which, if I with offered Peace return,  
He'll soon to Gaul retire, this crime to mourn;  
Nor does Great Ennius' design to be  
With you, (famed Princes,) hence at enmity.  
Who by your virtues, more than Arms overcome,  
Would make you allied friends of Mighty Rome;  
Leaving your Country, and this Beauteous Queen,  
To give her love, as best to Heaven is seen.  
This said, the Prince's serious council take,  
How safe Replies, this Embassy to make;  
Who, though they gallic Arts, and Rome's distrust,  
Conclude in faith, these dare not be unjust.  
Since thus reduced by a victor'ous Fate,  
But this so high concern of Arms, and State,  
These Hero's jointly to the Queen refer,  
Whose Cause they own, the glory of this war.  
While she, though willing to embrace a Theme,  
In which their warlike deeds such merits claim;  
Yet gently wishes they'd her tongue now spare,  
Too soft to accent the rough Laws of war.  
And thus her ruby lips contain a space,  
Each look first speaking, Majesty, and Grace;  
As if like Stats, they could her sense convey,  
Through the bright insluence of a beam, or ray.  
Then to this Embassy, in brief replies,  
What with these Royal Princes she decreas;  
Whose valours have obliged her cause so far,  
That for their sakes, 'twere sin to wish more war.  
If (as he says) Great Ennius does repent,  
And more, Alvatrix does his rage relent;  
Which threatened even her City, and her Name,  
With Fire, and Arms, and, more unwelcome, Flame.  
Yet thus incensed, her vote shall mercy show  
To this Legation, of a cruel Foe;  
On whom their Arms might utmost vengeance take,  
Who beat in field, their Camp a refuge make.  
But if that Rome, and Gaul, no more will be  
To Britain's, or their Country Enemy;  
She'll with the Princes, grant they Truce obtain,  
On Faith given ne'er t'invade this Isle again.  
To which this Legate guilefully consents,  
Vowing his Master's peaceful fair intents;  
By all the Gods, that Rome, and Gaul revere,  
Profaning Faith at once, and heavens just Ear.  
Then to Martianus these great Chiefs express,  
That he with Rome, and Gaul his Arms should cease,  
If on their plighted faith this Isle they leave,  
In forty days, till when a Truce must have.  
With feigned Congratulations then departs  
This cringing Legate, full of Gauls smooth Arts;  
The Mimics, in whom Nature forms deceit,  
And whence the world does pattern modes to cheat.  
Which as an impious Precedent foreshows,  
That gaul's would still be Britain's faithless Foes,  
Who by feigned Treaties more our Arms deceived,  
Than e'er their Swords by victory reprieved,  
And now the Queen descends this stately Throne,  
Their joys with all magnificence to own  
In Court, and City; while they first express  
Their Thanks to heaven for their famed Arms success.    
The End of the First Book.   

THE British Princes: AN Heroic Poem. BOOK II.  

The First Canto.  

THe Generous Victor, to renown his Bays,  
Devotees to Peace some glory of his days;  
Pleased, that his Arms her gentle Thrones restore,  
Fit to partake the case of mighty Power.  
Though oft great Monarches artful Treaties make,  
Which by vile stratagems of Faith they break;  
And by perfidious leisure respite war,  
More Engines of destruct'on to prepare,  
While these Great British Princes having raised  
Trophies of war, Fame through the world had blazed,  
(No less Heroick) grant their Foes a Peace,  
The Noble End, just Arms must guide, and cease.  
Nor did these Hero's Roman Arts distrust,  
Or gaul's, in faith reputed more unjust;  
Since from their conquering mercy, Truce they gain,  
Less imp'ous held, than plighted faith to feign;  
Or tempt their Arms a Conquest to pursue,  
And heaven oblige to join in vengeance too.  
From whence the great (devoutly wise) must own  
All high achievements of the Sword, or Throne;  
That Power by Sacred Ties may Mankind awe,  
Too rough alone to guide with humane Law;  
Thus from the world, Heav'ens legislative book  
Of Providence, Domin'on Copies took;  
Lest Chance, or Gild entitle Sceptres here,  
And like tamed Beasts, Men without conscience fear.  
Whence first industr'ous Rulers vulgars' taught,  
How Order, heavens Great Works divinely wrought,  
While Power then Infant, to perfection grew,  
And made Faith primitive with Reason too.  
Thus Man from Nature Heaven did first revere,  
E'er Priesthoods pious frauds induced their fear;  
Who Man directed from this Road to stray,  
That these (as hireling Guides) might lead his way.  
And here themselves set up, e'er mankind saw  
How Sects had masked the face of heaven's bright Law;  
Who like Seeled Doves, their souls had taught to fly  
That lose themselves, in hope to reach the Sky.  
Thus Reason, and Belief, at difference grew;  
Instructing more than from heavens works men knew,  
On which, while they with wondering prospect look,  
Admire Faith's Text, unwritten in this Book.  
While that reflects a Being to our sense,  
In this vast mirror, of omnipotence;  
And but the essence from us does conceal,  
Too great for Nature's Glasses to reveal.  
Hence Man, from her own Institutes, first read  
The Book of Heaven, in Works, and Causes spread,  
Not daring further by rash zeal to pry,  
Lest Faith should prove his own bold mystery.  
This ancient zeal in Britain practised stood,  
Untaught from Sects, the seeds of war, and blood;  
Who ways to Heaven by several tracts devise,  
As if Faiths could be various, and wise:  
Or that above such peaceless Conducts were,  
As wings of discord Souls must thither bear:  
Whilst in the World's great Volume here we find  
A Sacred Order, and unerring mind.  
And hence with pity did our Britain's see  
The worlds divided bold Divinity;  
As if heaven's works did not enough declare,  
Or to Beliefs alone, defective were.  
While they with sober eyes heaven's Volume read,  
Securely rev'renced by implicit dread,  
To which, in Nature's works, their sense must bow,  
That Faith on Reason's wings may upward go.  
But as contemplative Devotions seem  
Useless Conceptions on a Sacred Theme;  
Except the Soul oblige the sense to be,  
A due subservient in each faculty.  
Which here a public practice did avow,  
That Temples Sacred Dedications show;  
The Presence Chambers kept on Earth, for Heaven,  
Where Souls united-Rev'rence best is given.  
Hither the Princes, as the early morn,  
With rosy blushes does the East adorn,  
In Royal state, with Great Bonduca come,  
To pay their thanks for vanquished Gaul, and Rome.  
Yet in so solemn pomp they now appear,  
As does on vulgar eyes impress heavens fear;  
While Princes scarce divinely Subjects sway,  
Unless they guide them their celestial way.  
A Robe of Arthur's, Albianus wears,  
Which his great Lineage, and Achievements bears;  
Kept sacred to adorn his mighty line,  
When Temples with their offered Trophies shine.  
A Vest as Admired Vortiger had on,  
Which from this Islands foes his Grandsire won;  
Whose artful colour passed the Tyrian Dye,  
Obliged to triumph in this Legacy.  
'Twixt these, the Queen more bright, than Morning beams,)  
Whose beauties, Poets might have wished their themes;  
When they the Cyprian Goddess feigned to be  
Loves matchless Copy, and Divinity.  
Her Robes were like the Easts bright Curtains drawn,  
With Stars embroidered, that precede the dawn;  
Which curious Virgins had with needles wrought,  
And to their beauteous Queen a present brought.  
O'er these in Tresses hangs her Aubrone hair,  
Softer than Gossamors, that glide the air;  
While on her head a golden Crown is worn,  
And in her hand a Jewelled Sceptre born,  
Thus to this Temple Queen, and Princes came,  
Which, if my Muse can credit give to Fame,  
In London stood a Fane of more renown,  
Than other Cities through the world had known.  
No date so ancient, to record the Day,  
When this vast building in foundation lay;  
Whither from hands, that stone could liquid mould,  
The Gothick long lost Art, or Dorrick old.  
White Marble works the outward Frame adorn,  
By mighty Pillars of like substance born;  
And at some distance to the eye does show  
Like Alpine Mountains, covered o'er with snow.  
And though this Fane did wondrous art complete,  
The Dedication's more divinely great;  
Which here to Nature's sacred works is raised,  
From whence the Godhead, though unknown, is praised.  
O'er a high Portal an Inscript'on's read,  
In ancient Text, that speaks this Temples dread;  
By which time (Nature's Child) stands figured young,  
Who feels no age, though ages does prolong.  
No less admired the inside does appear,  
As if Art, only placed her wonders here;  
Or Nature had her choice mater'als brought,  
And with these Artist; hands, herself had wrought.  
The inward structures were of polished stone,  
From Quarries brought, to man this day unknown;  
Which like heavens face, their Azure glories show,  
Or clearest Saphires of the richest blue.  
Whose spacious Roof such lofty Pillars bear,  
As tallest Cedars shrubs to them appear:  
On which their skill (as from above inspired;)  
Such works had wrought, no mortal like admired;  
While from the Walls, the Roof, and Pavements here  
So strangely represented objects are,  
As 'twas some doubt to all in heart unclean,  
These stones reflections should express their stain:  
Which speaks how pure the souls of men should be,  
That here adore this great Divinity.  
Within this mighty Fane were lesser seen,  
To Nature's Morals had long sacred been,  
As Justice, Temperance, divine Charity,  
And Fortitude, whose glory crowns the three.  
But loves Religion, (a mysterious grace;)  
Has from all these, a fifth divided place;  
Which for man's sake, this heavenly Name must give,  
Lest claimed by beasts, from procreation live.  
Here the vowed Lover takes his bloomy Bride,  
Her Virgin Zone, by Maiden hands untied;  
Where Monuments were raised to give such fame,  
That bore through wedlock an unspotted name.  
But these my Muse's Records faintly show,  
Which tells, that Mar'age, happy then, made few,  
And though towards heaven, thus chained, such seem to move,  
Proves but too oft, the schism, & war of love.  
Yet here (for Love's repute,) some Virgins lie  
In Crystal Tombs, were said lovesick to die;  
Though this the Modern doubtfully believe,  
Since this disease itself such cures can give.  
The Queen, and Princes passing these Fanes by,  
Each casts on Loves, their more indulgent eye;  
As if they'd secretly his aid implore,  
Or would his Altars, above all, adore.  
Passed through the Body of this Temple, they  
See Ivory Gates, a spacious Choir display;  
Which but admittance gives on solemn days,  
The High Apartment called, of Nature's praise.  
And here the Druids, so renowned by Fame,  
In order stand to celebrate this Name;  
Their Priestly Vestments of a speckled green,  
As in her bloomy Livery Spring is seen.  
Whose Power Divine in Mystic Notes they sing,  
With all her Summer glories, and her Spring;  
Whence Vegitives, without sense, life receive,  
And Man, and Beasts, does healthful vigours give.  
Describing next the Ocean's vast extent,  
With all the motions of that Element;  
Why Egypt's Nile so usefully does flow,  
While other Streams their narrow Ebbs must know.  
Then from stupend'ous Rolls of Nature's Law,  
Precepts from humane life divinely draw;  
Free from disguise, in controverted Texts,  
The marks of Error, and the Badge of Sects.  
And thus these sacred Monitors declaim  
Vice, (the Soul's riot) in our Body's frame;  
But not, as this day, Priests our souls invade,  
Since damning men was then an unknown Trade.  
Lest Nature we a guilty party make,  
Who from her own excesses frailties take;  
Or that Heaven should to us no pity give,  
That with the seeds of vice, are born, and live.  
And here the Bards Prophetic Orders shown,  
Whom British Stories less than Fame's Renown;  
Clad like the Druids, but they Badges wear,  
Which only Nature's Prophets here must bear.  
These from the Sun, and Moon, and Starry Sky,  
Or blazing Comets, some tell move as high;  
Predict effects, that Mortals dread below,  
And thence Aerial Meteors Causes show,  
With these Merlinus famed above the rest,  
Appears, his head with Laurel Chaplets dressed;  
Who gave Philosophy a sublime Fame,  
And from the Muses had a sacred Name:  
Whose Leaves (than Sibyls more admired) were kept,  
Within this Temple, till Time's hand had swept  
This Frame to Rubbage; that his works seem now,  
But fictions wonders, his false Copies show.  
And here he dedicates a wondrous Spheres,  
That Archymedes famed could not compare;  
In which the Sun, his loved Ecliptic, shines,  
With every Planet's Orb, and various Lines.  
And as these roll within a starry Sky,  
A space transparent entertains the eye;  
The Sphere of Atoms called, Nature's first seed,  
Which scattered hence, some think the world did breed.  
And these like cinders, glomer in a flame,  
Figured more bright than all the starry Frame;  
In which this mighty Artist had confined,  
By mystic marks, the world's eternal mind.  
The Queen, and Princes having thus beheld,  
How great Merlinus Art all known excelled;  
With bended knees, this sacred Frame adore,  
Copied from Nature's providence, and power.  
To whose high Name they glorious Offerings spread,  
On Altars raised to express their souls high Dread;  
With Trophies, that from Rome, and Gaul were won,  
The Bards, and Divids' having Praises sung,  
This mighty temple then in state thy leave,  
And People's joys through spacious streets receive.  
While London's roofs, laid waste by foes and fire,  
With stately Edifices now aspire;  
By numerous hands, and Artists wondrous powers,  
Thick, as in Summer, Bees return from flowers,  
Their waxen Cells in busy Swarms to raise;  
Or as the Ant provides for winter days;  
But more than happy they, that live to see  
London repair her late calamity;  
Whose structures, flames (without Foes aid) consumed,  
Yet like the Phoenix, (in her dust entombed)  
May she spring from her ashes, and renew  
Her ancient splendours, with far greater too;  
And if my Muse can true Praesages give,  
Her Name from Fate, shall yet more famous live.  
And thus to Court this Royal State repairs,  
Where Joy a glorious face of greatness bears;  
The days remains, in sumptuous mirth to spend,  
And thus this vast Magnificence does end.   
The End of the First Canto.   

The second Canto.  

NOw, as the Queen, the Princes entertains,  
With all the splendour, her great Court contains;  
And thus does add a Glory to the Night,  
While Stars, as dimmer Tapers, lend their light;  
Though willing now to give Night's hours delay,  
That slow Boots tardy drift might stay;  
And Ariadne, with her starry Crown,  
By a loved leisure, on this Court look down.  
Wishing the Queen's bright Rival she might be,  
And give her love celestial dignity;  
If Albianus worth produce that flame,  
Or Vortigers, so much renowned by Fame.  
But long these Princes think each hours repose,  
Till Phoebus had from Thetis bosom rose;  
And saw the Queen his Morning glories grace,  
Designed with them, to hunt the Hearts swift Chase.  
Who with great Troops of Noble Britain's wait,  
And numerous Guards attending their high State;  
While noise of Trumpets, and the shriller Horn,  
Salute the Queen, with tidings of the morn.  
And she from Love's soft Fever of the Breast,  
Or cares of rule, had early broke her rest,  
The Thorns, that in such high Plantations grow,  
Whence Subjects learn, how much they Princes owe.  
And with a Troop of Beauties now appears,  
Where each a glorious Zone, and Quiver bears;  
While from her shoulder hangs a precious Bow,  
Whose use the British Virgins than did know.  
In such a nymph-like presence Poets place  
The famed Diana, when she takes the Chase;  
Or does her Chorus eminently lead,  
By some transparent stream, or flowery Mead.  
And now her steed she takes, that champing stands,  
Pleased with the Bit, which curbs him from her hands;  
As if he did all other rain despise,  
Or only would be guided from her eyes.  
To Eppin Forrest now they lead their way,  
Famed for the Chase, and hunting of this day;  
Though both concludes with fierce attempts of fate,  
From whence my Muse records a bloody date.  
Soon had the Huntsmen, (watchful spies of Game)  
Discovered where a Stag to harbour came,  
Of such prodigious growth, as if he lived,  
For Nature's wonder, purposely reprieved.  
His years, most ancient Woodmen sought in vain,  
That Ages o'er the horny Herd did reign;  
And like times fatal Monster, lived to see,  
The death of all his lasting progeny.  
No Oak his mighty shade, but first he knew  
A tender slip, and saw its withering too;  
While numerous Ravens so long-lived, Men tell,  
From the aspiring top, before him fell.  
And now insults o'er death, as if that he,  
Could live to see times own Mortality;  
And like Narcissus pleased, does view such Brooks,  
That bright reflect his comely head, and looks.  
The heard him Monarch own, and quit their claims  
To all their Females, yielding to his flames;  
Where Virgin-Hinds from his hot seasons fly,  
Lest by his mighty love, and strength they die.  
And Age, (the World's Experience) made him wise,  
That he declines used Paths by Forrest-spies,  
Frequenting shades more dark than cloudy night;  
And scarce does feed, or live, by days broad light.  
But now to crop some pleasing ears of corn,  
Had took too long repast this fatal morn;  
And having drunk of the adjoining Flood,  
Swum thence discerned, to harbour in a wood.  
Which, as this Royal presence now surrounds,  
The Woodmen throw off Packs of their staunched hounds;  
Dogs, on whose smells, their Master's sense relies;  
That equal trust their Noses, with their Eyes.  
And these, whose subtle nostrils grateful find,  
To chase the greatest of this horny kind;  
Swiftly pursue the Slots of this huge Deer,  
And rouse him from his mighty Layer here.  
While he, that oft his wary eyes had closed,  
In these thick shades, to ease, and sleep reposed;  
Where Nightingales did charming requiems sing,  
Now hears the furious Hounds loud clamours ring.  
Who first to give some respite to his sear,  
Hopes 'twas but thunder wounds his watchful ear;  
But, when he knows they're Hounds, prepares to fly,  
And if that fail, no Stag like him shall die.  
His mighty limbs than stretches out in state,  
Hoping his feet are nimbler winged than fate:  
And through the wood with wondrous swiftness breaks,  
While oaks, he, with his springs, like whirlwinds shakes,  
Thus to th'adjoining Lawn, does take his flight,  
Where the fair Queen, and Princes wait his sight;  
On whom he looks with a Majestic view,  
That they him Monarch of his Race might know.  
Then to the Herd he makes, to try if they  
Will let their sovereign be to Dogs a prey;  
Minding them of their piercing Horns defence,  
And calls their flights, ignoble innocence.  
While these, that did him sovereign duties owe,  
Consult their safeties, and decline his now;  
Like some base vulgars', that for ends, or fear,  
Desert their Prince, lest they his dangers share.  
With frowns than curls his brow, and shakes his head,  
As if he'd speak revenge to all that fled;  
But he alas is but a Prince of Deer,  
Whom Nature chiefly arms with flight, and fear.  
And thus forlorn, in stately haste does fly  
Scorning such vassals dare not with him die:  
As some great Chief, distressed by Fate, and Foes,  
Safety by slight unwillingly had chose.  
And as he is the mightiest of his kind,  
In such proportion does his speed now find;  
Yet so magnanimous, designs his haste,  
That Lion-like, unseen, he runs most fast.  
While Hounds, the swiftest of the British Race,  
As if their heels were winged, pursue his Chase;  
To whose glad cries, the Huntsmen wind recheats,  
Which Echoes wounded ear, as shrill repeats.  
Next these, the Horse of Britain's Northern kind  
Fleeter than Jennets, issues of the wind;  
Their dexterous Rider's speed to chase this Deer,  
As when for Palms they swift contenders are.  
And now this Glory of the Herd perceives  
His breath impairs, in which life's essence lives;  
Wondering, that Nature should for life prepare  
Breath, and yet want it while the world has air;  
Or that so weak a substance should betray  
The Body's frame, to deaths inglorious sway;  
To Woods (the Shades of Nature) then does fly,  
The soft Apartments of his Monarchy;  
Where he had often cooled more mighty flames,  
Among the nimble Hinds, his amorous Dames.  
And thence did these a stately Progress lead,  
To sport in Streams, or fertile Vales to feed.  
Now finds his shady Palaces beset,  
And Men, and Dogs for his destruction met.  
Whose tracts, though intricate as labyrinths are,  
But easy problems to the Hounds appear.  
While he laments his fate, that Nature gave,  
To make his life thus to their treason's slave.  
Then leavs these Groves, & Woods, with weary heels,  
And every limb a frail supporter feels;  
While thus embossed, he takes his long-loved Thames,  
That oft refreshed Hearts wearied limbs, and flames,  
And first with sighs he bids these streams adieu,  
Then takes his thirsty farewell draught here too:  
Which done, he faster swims, than Vessels glide,  
Or into Neptune's bosom flows the Tide.  
And here the Queen, that with her nimble Steed,  
Did Horse, and Hounds, and even the wind out-speed;  
First to this Stream pursued this mighty Deer,  
Next whom, the Princes and their train appear,  
Filling the Shoar, t' observe this famous Chase;  
While Thames rejoiced, to see their pastimes grace  
His pleasing billows, Curls his gentle brow,  
Bidding his stream no further now to flow,  
Until his Waves their homage here did pay  
To their great Persons, gladly they obey;  
Each Billow bowing with its Crystal head,  
Which done, their gentle Current joyful speed,  
And with their pleasing murmurs, as they glide,  
Increase the constant Music of their Tide,  
While Thames now wished he might his Banks overflow,  
And with them on his waves this Chase pursue.  
Now this cool Flood, and Glory of all Streams,  
Begot by Isis' smooth embrace with Thames;  
This mighty Deer with some refreshment leaves,  
As if his flames were Juliped from these waves.  
But when he finds no Element, or Art,  
Can Men, and Hounds escape, he chides his Heart;  
That with his winged heels, conspired to fly,  
And thinks now of some glorious way to die.  
Not far from hence, he views a Camp of Fame,  
Great Julius raised, to war upon this Stream;  
Where first that conqueror, had him tamely bred,  
And from his glorious hand, and Table fed.  
Thither, with a Majestic grace he flies,  
While like small rivulets, tears flow from his eyes;  
To miss his mighty Master, who did give  
Him a bold Power, in spite of Foes to live.  
And now at this Camp's Avennue does stand,  
Where he had oft been stroked, and licked his hand;  
That did with glorious Chaplets wreathe his Brow,  
Circling his Neck with Jewelled Collars too.  
Where thus distressed, and wearied by long flight,  
Must all his Foes without protection fight;  
Though here resolves, like Caesar's Stag to die,  
And with bold rage on Men, and Dogs does fly.  
Some with his Spear-like head he gores, till life  
Impaired by wounds, did breathless end his strife;  
Which into air, a mingled flight does take,  
No more discerned, than Tracts soft winds do make.  
Thus fell this mighty Deer, the Herds renown,  
While his pursuers now a pity own;  
Wishing they could his vanquished life restore,  
That Died more brave, than e'er did Hart before.  
Whose bulk, and beam, as they with wonder view,  
A golden Ring upon his Neck, does show,  
Him to have lived complete five hundred year,  
(If Fame have credit) since called Caesar's Deer.  
The Queen, and Princes to renown this Chase,  
Resolve his Figure, stately carved, to place  
In their bright Courts, that both his life, and fate,  
Might with their Glories, bear perpetual date.  
While as the huntsmen's Horns now wind his death,  
And Fame, that winged this chase, a while took breath;  
Fate does alarm her to take swift flight,  
And blaze on crimson wings, a bloody fight.  
For as Rome's Chief, and Gauls, this Hunting knew,  
Designed for the Queen's sport, and Princes too;  
Resolve their plighted Faith, and Truce to break,  
And with bold Arms, them here surprised to take.  
Thus with fierce haste their numerous Troops they lead,  
Which hot alarms to the Prince's speed;  
Who swiftly range their Guards of Spears, and Bows,  
And with the Trusti'st, the fair Queen enclose.  
Invoking heavens just Power, to aid their might,  
As the Truce-breaking Gauls, and Romans fight;  
That Ennius, with Alvatrix, thence may see  
Some dismal Fate, on their joynt-treachery.  
But, oh the guilt of Power, employed unjust,  
To serve the ends of Empire, or of lust;  
Which highest Mortals impiously pursue,  
Yet all Crimes, (but their own) dare punish too.   
The End of the Second Canto.   

The Third Canto.  

Rome's Consul thus, and gaul's fierce Prince arrayed,  
To act the Faithless Truce their Legate made;  
Where Ambuscado's subtly they had drawn,  
T'infest the Woods, and the adjoining Lawn.  
Where now the Princes, their bold Forces drew,  
In heart all daring, though in numbers few;  
Who disadvantaged more, must now oppose,  
The force and treach'ry of their numerous Foes:  
And thus does Ennius to Alvatrix speak,  
The time is come, that Rome and Gaul shall take  
A full revenge on Britain's Power, and Pride,  
That durst our Conquests with their Arms deride,  
What though th'advantage breach of Truce obtains?  
While every Monarch, even as guilty Reigns;  
Making their Leagues, wise respites, unto war,  
Till they in Power, and Arms recruited are?  
Nor will the World a prosperous Gild condemn,  
When Virtue does its bright Companion seem;  
Who on success, like Sunshine, cast their eyes,  
Forgetting the Black Cloud did with it rise:  
Nor is it more a Sin in War than State,  
Disadvantageous Faith to violate;  
Which Princes never meant should give them Law,  
When only feeble Faith their Power does awe.  
See how our Leg'ons, compass in this Power  
Of British Nobles, and their Youth's choice Flower;  
That dare not hope to stand by Arms, this Field,  
But to our wishes, must Bonduca yield;  
Yet e'er her Eyes lament, or Heart deplores  
The groans of dying Foes from our stern Powers,  
Unto the straightened Princes, Truce let's give,  
If they without her love will yield to live.  
Thus from the Consul is a Herald sent,  
To speak their high demands, and fierce intent;  
While yet Alvatrix does not think to prove  
The Consul Rival, in Bonduca's love.  
Or that he led his Roman Eagles now  
To conquer Britain's, and remain his Foe;  
But Love's ambition oft receives a Fate,  
As well as those of Empire, or of State.  
This Herald to the Queen, and Princes come,  
Speaks his bold Message, from the Chief of Rome;  
Which now the Queen with deep affliction hears,  
Though less her life, than love, creates her fears,  
And first does let the Princes boldly know,  
That his great Master by Rome's Gods does vow,  
He'll not the fortune of this day survive,  
Should it Rome solely British Empire give.  
Who more than thirst of Rule, makes Love his Cause,  
Whose great Prerogative admits no Laws;  
Though he, the first of Romans yields to be,  
That e'er broke Truce with noble Enemy.  
For which of Heaven, and Rome does pardon crave,  
And on these terms, if they yet Peace will have;  
They, and this Isle, unconquered shall remain,  
And for his triumph, but the Queen will gain.  
Nor by this Summons does he more demand;  
Than what his powerful Legions can command;  
When in this straight, his Force and conduct, must  
Send the Great Princes with their Powers to dust:  
Yet for the Queen's fair sake vouchsafes to treat,  
Before their Arms his dreadful onsets meet;  
And Wars stern horrors her soft Soul affright,  
Or she (his Love would save,) should fall in fight.  
But who can judge the high concern and flame,  
Incensed these Hero's, when from Ennius came  
This bold demand? (so late their conquered Foe,  
And no less treacherously a Lover now;  
Then is Alvatrix) while the Queen's bright beams,  
Had kindled in their hearts Loves mighty flames.  
Then to this Herald Arthur's Son does speak;  
Let not Rome's Consul ever hope to make  
Us British Princes so desertless live,  
That he Bonduca Laws of Love shall give.  
Or that they can a brave success despair,  
Who with Truce-breaking Gauls, and Romans war;  
Nor would they lose the glory of this Fight,  
To die, or conquer, in the Queen's fair sight.  
Whose heart unshaken, their fierce Powers withstood,  
When London felt their flames, & streamed with blood;  
Yet slighted than Alvatrix rage, and love,  
And can she less against faithless Ennius prove?  
More had this Prince expressed, but Vortiger,  
Whose Martial courage, Fate herself did fear;  
This Herald bids withdraw in high disdain,  
While Love, and Empire thus at stake remain.  
And next, the Prince's willing to deceive  
The Queen's sad fears, in this short respite, give  
Her heart brave comforts, while her weeping eyes  
Pay for their safeties, Heaven a sacrifice.  
Then, of these Forest shades, selects the view  
Of Willows, and Loves mournful Emblem, Yew;  
Neglecting Elms, embraced with amorous Vines,  
Which Nature for pleased Lovers objects twines.  
And even the Princes, but kind Foes now calls,  
Who thus surprised, withstand Rome's Force, and Gauls;  
While with their safety she could these defy,  
And their unconquered Virgin Lover die.  
No less concerned, in this surprising hour,  
The Princes had disposed their Martial Power,  
With such wise conduct, that the wing of Fate  
Did more herself, than them, precipitate.  
And here the weaponed Woodmen duly place,  
Eager to make on Foes their nobler chase;  
More joyed to hear the trumpets Martial sounds,  
Than all the Music of their Horns, and Hounds.  
Then Roman Cornets British Trumpets vie,  
Whose vigorous clamours seem to wound the sky;  
While Martial Odes, the trusty Bowmen sing,  
Composed by Brute, their ancient warlike King.  
But e'er these Powers their fierce Encounters make:  
Thus Ennius does unto Alvatrix speak;  
Great Prince of Gaul, if we this day overcome,  
'twill British Empire, yet restore to Rome:  
And grace her Triumphs with Bouduca too,  
Whose love my heart concealed from thee till now;  
While I (Rome's Consul) blush to ownn flame,  
That does with thine a Rivals wishes claim.  
But as thou art Rome's mighty Ally, know,  
I'll to thy Love, as glorious means allow;  
This Battle won, thy Sword and mine shall try,  
Which for Bonduca's sake must yield to die.  
To whom Alvatrix, had I Empire claimed  
Of this Great Isle, so long Rome's Arms has famed;  
Or did thy Rods, and Axes envied see,  
Born, as thy Cons'lar State, and Dignity.  
I could not with such Fate surprised have been,  
As now to hear, thou lov'st the British Queen;  
For whose enjoyment I such dangers fought,  
Unvalued, whilst in her o'rprized, I sought:  
Nor shall the honour of my blood, decline  
This glorious offer, 'twixt thy Sword and mine;  
If heaven decrees we this day's fate survive,  
To enter Lists, shall Love's sole conquest give.  
Till when, I'll like a Prince allied to Rome,  
Assist her Eagles, Britain's to overcome;  
Though, as thy Rival, will attempt to be,  
The Queen's Possessor first from victory.  
Before these Powers their dreadful fury join,  
The Roman Augurs, (who success divine;  
From various Birds, the airs vast Regions fly,)  
Or victims, with auspicious omens die.  
Declare, how they with horror did behold  
An offered Heifers blood, turned black, and cold;  
Her bleeding Entrails, panting in their view;  
And how in ominous Flocks the Ravens flew.  
Besides, they had Portentous Records took  
From Great Cumean Sybil's wondrous Book;  
Who in Prophetic fury did declare,  
Romans should fatally with Britain's war:  
When they their Legions in that place array,  
In which Great Caesar's Hart late stood at Bay;  
And by a British Queen pursued should fall.  
Hence they the Consul warn, and Prince of Gaul.  
But Love, whose Power even Fate herself defies,  
Bids the bold Consul slight these destinies;  
Calling their Rites, some Cowards pious care,  
That Rome first taught from Birds, and Beasts, to fear.  
Then gives the Battle signal, whence darts fly  
Thick, as when storms descending cloud the sky;  
While British Arrows these out-wing in flight,  
And level ranks of Legions, as they light.  
Whose Powers more numerous, spare these heaps, dead,  
And with enlarged wings make dreadful speed;  
Circling the British Force, and Princes round,  
Their warlike ranks, and valour to confound.  
But with a fury more enforced, oppose  
The Mart'al Powers the beauteous Queen enclose;  
While as she sees a Britain fall, or bleed,  
Wishes the Dart had pierced her in his stead.  
And here Great Ennius with his Romans breaks  
Through numerous Ranks, till he a prospect takes  
Of her bright visage, while her Eyes dart beams,  
That to his love, and valour, adds more flames.  
No less Alvatrix danger does despice,  
Leading his Gauls to Mars a sacrifice;  
Invoking him, this day's success to crown,  
That from his Arms his love may have renown.  
And here through fierce Daranders' Troops they break,  
As Lanes through Woods the raging winds do make;  
Next force Favonius Bodies to retreat,  
Whose Conduct did their dreadful Powers defeat,  
When London's Glories, with its Beauteous Queen,  
Might else a Triumph for this Foe have been.  
And for her Royal Guard, this day commands  
The trusty'st of the Britain's warlike Bands;  
Now full of wounds, and forced to quit his Horse,  
Fights thus distressed, her Foes prevailing Force.  
What Soul inspired with numbers can rehearse  
This Battles terrors, but must weep his verse:  
Though Fame, lest too much blood her Records slain,  
Kindly forgets the sum of Hero's slain.  
No less distressed the Princes had assailed  
All dangers, till their matchless Arms prevailed;  
Which now holds Fate at such a glorious bay,  
As her black Sceptres Power she fears this day.  
Thus these great chiefs, with Forces swiftly speed,  
To aid the Queen in such a dangerous need;  
While for her sake they mingle griefs, and tears,  
As oil to valour's flames, from Love's soft fears.  
And here Fame lays the most Heroic Scene,  
That e'er 'twixt mighty Chiefs, before had been;  
Where these great Foes in Love, and Empire, try  
Single by Arms, to ravish victory.  
Thus Albianus does encounter here  
With Ennius, (Glory of Rome's Arms, and War)  
While warlike Vortiger assaileth now  
Alvatrix, who as bravely fought him too.  
Then does the world's choice blood, that warms their veins  
Profusely die the Earth with crimson stains;  
Which, (as their Valour's Epitaph) some say,  
Leaves on this soil, a sanguine Dye this day.  
Sprightly the Charges were Albianus gave,  
This Roman Chief, and his returns so brave,  
That all the Prowess summed of Ancient Name,  
Scarce does in Story second mention claim.  
In wounds they equal fought, as Fate would guide  
Their Courage now, 'twixt them not to decide;  
Or had delight such Hero's still to see  
In Love, and Empire, thus at Enmity.  
While to supply the wonder of their Arms,  
Their Steeds now sympathise their Valour's charms;  
That with their furious mouths; each grasping tear,  
And to the ground their mighty Riders bear.  
Whence Albianus briskly takes his feet,  
And both these warlike Foes on foot now meet;  
Guiding their Spears, a dexterous bloody strife,  
Till this Great Hero's takes the Consul's life.  
Who death did so far respite, to express;  
Since here my fall is by thy Arms success,  
Heroic Britain, let Bonduca know,  
Thy valour's fit to win her virtue too.  
But Vortiger, whose courage had taught Fate,  
Like a bold Handmaid, on his Arms to wait;  
Praecipitates her black decrees this day,  
As he does singly fierce Alvatrix slay.  
While to the wonder of all future deeds,  
Forcing his Spear, his Foe to death so speeds;  
That piercing through strong ribs of Steel, his breast,  
Its fury seemed unwillingly, to rest,  
Whose soul enraged by death, a flight did take,  
Like some fierce wind, a dying blast does make.  
Leaving the air disturbless, felt before  
The dreadful Rage, of Its Tempestuous power.  
Thus fell these mighty Chiefs midst heaps of slain,  
While all the state their breathless memories gain  
Serves but as Pendants to the pride of Fame,  
That wears life's Jewels, to adorn her Name.  
Now as their deaths were to their Armies known,  
Which soon Fames Trump had in Eulogiums blown;  
Each Militant in vigour does impair,  
And sanguine Roman cheeks, grow pale with fear.  
While Martianus, who in Kent besieged  
Rome's Power, and Gauls, until by Truce relieved;  
Had there from faithful Spies alarms took,  
How these by Arms Wars sacred Laws had broke.  
And he with eager toils, so speeds his way,  
That he the Princes brave extremes, this day  
Arrives to aid, and next their valour's fame,  
Give to his own a matchless Victor's Name.  
Some veterane Legions, that disdained to fly  
In warlike order, by death marshaled lie;  
When greater numbers cast their Arms away,  
And for their lives loud supplications pay.  
Charging the sin, and faithless breach of Truce,  
Upon their Chiefs, whose high commands excuse  
Their fierce attempts, who but Wars Laws obey,  
In fight Foes, when such do lead their way.  
But if they can a mercy now implore,  
Call heaven to witness, that they'll never more  
Molest the Britain's, but returning home,  
Will live in just Precincts of Gaul, and Rome.  
While the fair Queen, that had with tears beheld  
The bloody issue of this dreadful field;  
Passes Rome's conquered Host, on her bold Steed,  
And thus expresses, (having stayed his speed)  
Most warlike Britain's, since your Arms have won,  
This Battle that our stories must renown,  
Which, as your mighty Princes here did lead,  
Their valours so admired with yours succeed;  
That by their single Arms, you saw this day,  
How Ennius, and Alvatrix breathless lay;  
A loss so great, proud Rome can ne'er repair,  
Or Gaul find Prince, dares hence with Britain's war.  
But to their suppliant Legions let us yield;  
Mercy may yet more dignify this field;  
While the less guilty you from death reprieve,  
And such Foes most subdue, you grant shall live.  
This Speech the Britain's bloody rage restrains,  
And from the Princes such compliance gains;  
That they to Gaul, and Rome's remaining Host,  
Admit a Convoy to the Kentish Coast.  
Whence they're embarked, bound for the gallic shore.  
Vowing by war t'invade this Isse no more;  
While to this grace, the Princes leave dispense,  
Their Chiefs dead Corpse, with them to bear from hence:  
That Ennius, and Alvatrix may receive,  
Such Funeral Rites, as Gauls and Romans give;  
Which being done, to London guide their way,  
Soon full of Joys, for this victorious day.   
The end of the third Canto.   

The Fourth Canto.  

Pour, the loved Child of Greatness, born from toils  
Of virtue, or fond Fortunes prosperous smiles;  
Yet men in each vicissitude may find,  
No long entails of Rule in humane kind.  
Thus Infant Empire first has rising state,  
Then glorious Mediums, next a final fate;  
Whence fierce Ambiton storms the world to have,  
But space on Earth, to make their wider Grave.  
And Rome, that did by Arms so proudly claim  
The World to bear from her a vanquished Name;  
No more possesses of that mighty head,  
Than Trophies from her Epitaphs are read.  
While Noble Britain's first shaken oft her yoke,  
Before the warring World their Fetters broke;  
Which from this glorious Precedent was taught,  
To conquer Roman Arms, its thraldom brought.  
Whose bold Remains to Gaul now wafted o'er.  
Thence with repine view the British Shoar;  
Where they perceive their mighty Camps to shroud  
Their heads, like mountains, half hid in a cloud.  
And next behold the fertile Woods, and Plains,  
Their Colonies, and Cities proud Remains;  
With Aqueducts, made wondrous for delight,  
And Baths could ease, and heal wounds got in Fight.  
Recounting their past Ages bloody toil,  
Since mighty Julius did invade this Isle;  
Whence now instead of Triumph, they return,  
Their Consuls fatal loss, with tears to mourn.  
No less the Gauls Alvatrix death bewailed  
Pitty'ng his love, and valour so prevailed,  
That he by Arms on British ground shall fall,  
And more incense their ancient hate of Gaul.  
But e'er these Corpse, (dead in the Bed of Fame,)  
Have Funeral Rites; Apollo's sacred Name  
They first invoke, and to his Priestess come,  
Revered by gaul's, and no less feared by Rome,  
Who in a Grove, that shades this spacious Shore,  
No Axe'r hewed, this God did long implore;  
Attending on his Fane of Laurel here,  
With Bowry Altars, green throughut the year.  
Hither, this Priestess Delphic charms had brought,  
Where she Prodig'ous Divinations taught;  
And as some tell, here residence did keep,  
Within a Cave, her eyes un-closed by sleep.  
On whom, now gaul's, and Romans mournful wait,  
For sacred Comforts, or their future fate;  
Carry'ng their Chiefs upon their Purple Beers,  
Where Altars reeked with blood of unyoked Steers.  
While from her Caves-mouth, doors unbolted flew,  
Where they through wondrous Grates this Priestess view;  
Her hair dishevelled, and her visage fierce,  
As when she Fates sad Errands did rehearse:  
Who thus begins: In vain these Rites you use,  
Nor does Apollo in my soul infuse  
An inspiration, Rome can gladly hear,  
Or Gaul with Britain's fatally shall war;  
For as Rome's Empire, Gaul has vanquished held,  
So here some Ages hence, shall be beheld,  
A British King to wear a gallic Crown,  
Passing through glorious Conquests to that Throne.  
In whose great Name, five Royal Henry's meet,  
By valour shall this matchless work complete;  
No more inquire, since Powers above ordain,  
No victims here shall ever more be slain.  
While their high Rites, Apollo to renown,  
Commands this Grove for Piles you straight cut down:  
Then all those various forms, that Proteus knew,  
Here represents with shapes more wondrous too;  
As soon a Lion turns, or savage Bear,  
Or furious Tiger seems, her young does fear;  
Then on a wave, a Crocodile does weep,  
Which done, a Mermaid sings, that charms the deep;  
With numerous Monsters shown, that sport the Flood,  
Some ne'er by Mortal seen, or understood:  
Next tùrns a flame, that lightning represents;  
A Comet than speaks heavens more fierce intents:  
With subterranean flames, like those men tell,  
Shall be th' eternal Element of Hell.  
And here to show her mighty Powers command,  
She takes a Throne, on which attending stand  
Spirits of Earth and Air, her charms obey,  
That with a thought outfly the Sun's swift way.  
Her Cave then rends, and out unseen, she flies,  
On backs of winds, charmed with rough gales to rise;  
While she through highest Regions wings the Air,  
And thus 'tis said, to Delphos did repair.  
Which fatal wonder having deeply weighed;  
Conclude, this Priestess words must be obeyed;  
And thus this Grove hew down with restless toils,  
Fitting the choicest for vast Funeral Pyles.  
Here Elms long married to the lusty Vine,  
Fall to the Earth, and last embraces twine;  
With Ash, and Fir, that do so quickly flame,  
And Pines, bold Navigators chiefly fame.  
As thick fall Willows, mournful Lovers show,  
The Funeral Cypress, and the dismal Yew;  
With Palms th' Olympics prize, and spreading Oak,  
And Cedars (Monarchlike,) the rest o'r-look.  
Then wreaths of Cypress on their heads they wear,  
Lictors supporting the dead Consul's Bier;  
On which the Herald's Art had nobly blazed  
His high Descent, e'er Ancient Rome was raised;  
With Rods and Axes born, display the state  
Of Rome's Republic, first made Consulate:  
No less by wondrous art, and cost does shine  
His Imaged Predecessors warlike Line.  
Having by these Mater'als vastly made  
A Pile, on which his Corpse in Purple's laid;  
By sacred Flammins gummed, and anointed o'er,  
Covered with Robes, in Rome's past Triumphs wore.  
Who in their Priestly Vestures mytered stand,  
To flame this Pile, each with a hollowed Brand;  
And having in loud Hymns his valour praised,  
This glorious Fuel's from their hands, first blazed:  
Where flames ascend, as if they would aspire  
Above the place of Elemental fire,  
Unquenched dissolving clouds, streams downwards pour  
And thus this Piles beheld from Britain's Shoar.  
Which being consumed, an Eagle with seeled eyes,  
These Priests let wing, and feign to heaven he flies;  
Their pious Emblem, that his soul was there  
On nimbler wings, than this swift Bird did bear.  
Thus Man, indulgent to a holy cheat,  
Makes Reason on Faith's trifling grandeur wait;  
Forgetting Nature in deaths homely Tire,  
In hope her Act does breath, not life expire.  
His glorious Corpse now with this Pile consumed;  
In Urns (Death's narrow Closets) 'tis entombed;  
Saving Death labour, that has here assigned  
Contracted Mansions for all humane kind,  
But gaul's, who different Celebration taught  
(In sacred Rites, and Obsequies) now brought  
Their Great Alvatrix on a stately Hearse,  
Singing in mournful strains his Funeral verse,  
The Muses (from their Priests besought) inspired,  
In mystic Grecian words, (gaul's then admired:)  
Blessing the Fuel, must to ashes bring  
This Princely Corpse; they place it in a Ring,  
Circled with Vines, whose Juice their Country fames,  
And Orange-trees, sweet Odours give these flames.  
On which (to appease the immortal Powers,)  
They sprinkle morning tears, distilled from flowers.  
And now from Custom, (a cursed Stepdame made,  
When by her rigid duties, heavens are paid;)  
A grievous zeal, the mournful gaul's incites,  
To mingle horrors with these Funeral Rites:  
Who here without remorse, do fill vast Buyers  
With living Bodies, must die by these fires,  
As Friends, and Servants, held in life most dear,  
Lest he in th'other world should need their care.  
And heresoft Beauties, his past flames did mourn,  
In amorous glory, with his ashes burn;  
Supposing Souls in th'other world scarce find  
Delightful rest, Loves objects left behind.  
While from this flaming tomb their skrieks, and cries,  
Through air, and clouds pierce to the Starry skies;  
That in their orbs lament, man should create  
A means to death, by them not made his fate.  
But oh! vain man, when Superstitions fool!  
Whose bold deceits impose on heaven a rule;  
And by Faith's Homicides, her Martyr's stakes,  
Whose dust for thriving Altars best seed makes.  
And now the Gauls, and Romans vastly raise  
High towers of earth, where their Chief's Piles did blaze;  
Like mountain-Monuments, times hand defy,  
Should it attempt to raze their Memory.  
Which done, in scattered Troops this vanquished host,  
(As some great Flock had Guides, and Pastors lost,)  
Disordered, wander to their native homes,  
Bearing sad Relics of Gauls loss, and Rome's.  
Thus Brittain's freed from these her mighty Foes,  
That with five Ages Blood she did oppose;  
Till Fortune, who denied her Arms success,  
Blushed longer to resist her happiness.  
And now my Muse, to London gladly wings,  
Her Scene of Joys, while Conquest thither brings,  
The Princes trophied from this vanquished Foe,  
But more renowned, since by their valours too  
The Beauteous Queen's preserved, from whose bright charms  
Love claimed to act some wonders by their Arms.  
Where by a glorious respite, they receive  
Cure to their wounds, this bloody War did give;  
Which she to expedite, omits no care,  
Giving for balm, to each, a Lovers Tear.  
While her great Court, (this triple Greatness joins,)  
In such magnific Pomp, and Order shines;  
As there my Muse a glad Attendance pays,  
And Themes of Glory to her Verse conveys.  
Though here she seems, like unexperienced eyes,  
That come to view famed Curiosities;  
But know not which excel above the rest,  
And so think all, and every one the best.  
Thus who this Courts high virtues would define,  
Must judge all equal in their Glories shine;  
Though, as great Lamps, for Lights best order placed,  
Each has its lustre, by another graced.  
Hence Subjects oft on Princes fix their eyes,  
Less for obedience, than discoveries;  
As bold observers on heavens Frame do pry,  
More to note spots, than splendours of the Sky.  
Who, though but humane, must not frailties own,  
Lest Vice should claim a Patron in the Throne;  
How hard is't then for Mortals here to reign  
And Subjects neither Vice, or Power complain?  
But, if my Muse to Fame can credit give,  
The British Courts, and Princes, than did live  
Renowned in Grace's best of Monarches speak,  
That Subjects from their Rule might pattern take.  
While temp'rat thoughts their minds high vigours sway,  
As Passions find in them their just allay;  
Liberal, as Royal dignified should be,  
●et spare their People by frugality.  
To whom they Justice in pure streams preserve,  
That no corruptions ministerials swerve;  
Oft Champions to the rich oppressors might,  
While Law protects all here by equal right,  
This to the People must respective be,  
Who dearly love a just Propriety,  
And envy Greatness chiefly for its sake,  
Lest thence oppression privilege should take:  
Though nobly born, are next their Persons placed,  
(Like Gems, that in their Crowns are worn, and graced;)  
By whom they favours to the rest dispense,  
As Stars convey heavens glorious influence.  
Such, envious vulgars', (scarce repining) sway,  
Since 'tis but ancient Honour they obey;  
While new-raised Blood they seldom will allow,  
A reverence mixed with a propitious Brow.  
Next these, the Generous due reception have,  
Before their merit's forced reward to crave;  
Who to this grace, by well-known virtues rise,  
Which make their Courts, the Patterns of the wise.  
To Lettered men exup'rant grace they give,  
Since from their works the Fame of Kings must live;  
Nor did each worthy Science then deplore,  
It raised great Artists, and maintained them poor.  
No Parasites tongue durst poison virtue here,  
Whose antidote did in their beams appear;  
Which sovereign spells these Serpents drive away,  
Though for their charms Kings oft, too dearly pay.  
And now, while all these Magnitudes thus mere,  
Love does design his Empire to complete;  
Who such Heroic hearts selects to be,  
The mighty Regions of his Monarchy.  
And in the Queen's soft breast had kindled fire,  
Purer, than e'er Prometheus did inspire;  
Though said to rifle heavens Celestial Flame,  
Whence life, and love, to humane Bodies came.  
Yet as this Masterpiece, Love does complete,  
The Princes in her flames must Rivals meet;  
Who like their great Originals, designed,  
Copies, as bright, in her illustrious mind.  
While they from her divided Graces, know  
Her Souls high value, in their virtues too;  
As if Love glorious Anarchy must use,  
E'er these Monarches, she'll one Sov'raign choose.  
And these great Souls, that no ambitious war,  
Could e'er make Foes, though they did Empire share  
Of this Rich Isle, such mighty Nations sought,  
Whose Arms they had as dear Associates fought.  
Yet Loves Dominion must possess alone,  
To which Heaven gives (most absolute) a Crown;  
And though in hearts, his Courts seem narrow spaced,  
Oft has his Thrones by Kings on Foot-stools graced.   
The End of the Fourth Canto.   

The Fifth Canto.  

MYsterious Love, the Souls sublimest Theme,  
Whose first great Ethics, gave this divine name;  
When, in the Morning-being of Mankind,  
Some gentle Blushes, had his Thoughts refined.  
And, the more Bashful Female, had denied  
The Claims of Nature, till more solely tied;  
Wondering, that to Perpetuate Man's Name,  
She did forget to veil Promiscuous shame.  
Till when, frail Mankind common Courtships knew,  
And Females not less bold, than Males might woe;  
From Natures too large Charter, that employed,  
She gave a Sex, in stead of one Fair Bride.  
While Love, that Blushed, in Lust's wide walks to Range,  
Appropriates Nature, thus indulged to Change;  
Teaching, that Souls must in a Pair of Hearts  
Receive, and Interchange his mighty Darts.  
Hence Marriage Rites, and Joys were first assigned,  
And Man, and Woman, to one Bed confined;  
Though Love ('tis doubted) took a hard task here,  
To limit Passion, Nature's wanton Heir.  
While, but the Herds of Sense, not charmed by Eyes,  
Or Breathes of Kisses, Humane Hearts surprise,  
Free, as the Air, that sports in Fields, and Groves,  
Beget their Issues, and enjoy their Loves.  
Nor do they beauties soft Allurements know,  
Or choose a Female, for her tender Hue;  
Though decked with Furs of Ermines, Prince's Grace,  
Nor for the Rose, and Lilies of the Face.  
But with a Naked Sense delight their kind,  
Not jealous, when some other Male does find  
The same Enjoyments, for which Mankind prove  
Unhappy Flames, and raging Acts of Love.  
While Poets, to exalt this mighty Theme;  
Adored Love first, in their soft Godheads Name;  
Telling the world of wondrous charms, and fires,  
This Deity in Lovers Breasts inspires.  
How he creates a sympathy in hearts,  
Converting amorous beams into his darts;  
And as his Engines Lovers eyes convey,  
The Babes of Love seem new begot to play.  
From such like wonders, Poet's first did raise  
Temples, and Altars to this Godheads praise;  
And like some Superstitions, boldly tell,  
How many Martyrs, of this fond Sect fell.  
Yet, as Belief in Superstitions Dress,  
Seems more heavens Mistress in that frail Excess,  
Than Faith, which too much like good Housewife, goes,  
And without Pomp, the truth too simply shows.  
Thus Poets, (Priests of Nature) did devise.  
A God, and Muses, for her Pageantries;  
Judging her Robes were but too rudely worn,  
Until her Train was by these Handmaids born.  
Whence they her sacred mysteries convey,  
Abst acting souls from sence's dull allay;  
Making the brightest glories of the mind,  
From Gems, (the Muses wear) Reflection find.  
But Love, the Queen of Passions, chiefly fame,  
Whose fires did first Parnassus Beacons flame,  
To warn the world, this Monarch conquers more,  
Than all the Power of Arms in Battle wore.  
And in this British Court, a Scene now laid,  
That had the Muses nine times nine been made,  
Poets must fruitlessly have spent their fire,  
To blaze the Charms these Royal hearts inspire.  
While Great Bonduca's breast does entertain  
Two glorious Monarches, undistinguished reign;  
And, as she strives to place an Empire there,  
Albianus value, Vortigers must share.  
And though their beauteous forms all hearts surprise,  
She gives her Soul Allegiance in her eyes;  
That with such virtuous homage on these look,  
As Love hence Themes, his best Platonic Book.  
Yet fears she does commit a crime, to be  
Divided thus, in his sov'raignity;  
Wishing her heart could separate this fire,  
And there enthrone of these, one love entire.  
Sometimes she leaves the Glories of her Court,  
And does with them to flowery shades resort;  
Hoping some Rose in Pity there might steal  
The amorous blushes, her soft Cheeks reveal.  
Then gently speaks of their past wars, and praise,  
The Fuel, that her hearts high flames does raise;  
And thence makes Love's Heroic Theme her choice,  
But soon with bashful accents, stays their voice.  
And now more powerfully her words supplies,  
By beaming softer Language from her eyes;  
While each, as Love does this Expression use,  
Have equal hopes, and fears, which Prince she'll choose,  
Who now could wish, some other Princess were  
Her Rival made in virtue, and more fair;  
By Heaven to one of these devoted too,  
That she may seem to neither's love untrue.  
And thus perceiving these Heroic hearts,  
Felt with her own, Loves equal wounding darts;  
Fears that his flames, though gently fanned, may raise  
Excess of passions, rage, and fury blaze.  
Then chides her heart, that did admit Love's spies,  
To keep discovered watches in her eyes;  
While she might inward burn, and yet conceal  
The flames, her love too rashly does reveal.  
Who knows alas, she must not both enjoy,  
Yet cannot either by neglect destroy;  
But hopeless fears, a Lover to remain,  
Of both these Princes, and yet neither gain.  
And now delay, (even wisdoms cold despair)  
Does beg of Heaven, to ease this mighty care;  
Which, though Times slow, and silent feet it use,  
Meets Lovers hearts, oft, with decrees they'd choose.  
And as she had Loves high concern declined,  
With thoughts of Empire, seems to fill her mind;  
Hnd how of Monarches they most happy reign,  
While all their Crowns, one friendly Power maintain.  
Next stately Pastimes in her Court prepares,  
Thus to delude their anxious hopes, and fears;  
With those most famed diversions, Britain's boast,  
Were then their Court's magnificence, and cost.  
But these great Heroes, who from Love did bear  
Too jealous eyes, as deeply pierce her care;  
Grieving with theirs, her virtues did conspire,  
To wound her Breast, with a divided fire:  
Disdaining, thus in one despair to live,  
Since death to both, or either, cure might give;  
And, what becomes their Souls, and Greatness too,  
Relief upon the Queen's Extremes bestow:  
And now some Nights had sad companions spent,  
Weighing fit means, to perfect this intent;  
That to the Queen may accidental seem,  
Or, as Fate did this Act in kindness deem,  
Yet hope, that Heaven from death will one reprieve,  
Lest dying both, the Queen should cease to live;  
And Love a glorious Triumph lose in her,  
That can't else one, unto her heart prefer.  
While they, as if no stormy passions brought  
Their souls to shipwreck on these rocks of thought,  
Like bravest Pilots, unconcerned appear,  
And in their looks, the calms of Summer wear.  
Thus, as they meet in presence of the Queen,  
In strict Endearments, and Embrace, are seen;  
And as Love slept in Cradles of her eyes,  
Mention no accent, his soft rest surprise.  
While she did both their passions weight endure,  
To Heaven, and Time remits her hearts high cure;  
Though love, when hope▪ as sparing diet needs,  
Scarce cools the Fever, but his flame more feeds.  
And thus with gracious Eloquence does speak,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Princes, since my Court you make  
A Scene, where you wore happy victor's Bays  
Must flourish, should Time feel the age of days,  
Who now to give his Calends glory, calls,  
For warlike Arthur's high Memorials;  
Who fell the last of Britain's Royal Line,  
And with our Foes did fifty Battles join.  
For which Fame's Trump does an Attendant wait;  
This said, In great magnificence, and state,  
To Fortitudes admired Fane repair,  
His dust entombed with Princes great in war.  
And where for wonder their vast Spears were placed,  
Bold Picts pursued, or hardy Romans chased;  
With Bows no other might like theirs e'er drew,  
And Armour, that Men now would Dwarfish show.  
While Choristers in stately measures sing,  
The Martial Glory, of each mighty King;  
With Arthur's Deeds, scarce Stories this day blaze  
That by Time's Gild; lose wonders of his Praise.  
Which done, to Honour Fortitudes high Name  
With these brave Relics, Heroes past did Fame;  
In solemn state Devote unto this Fane  
Their Mighty Spears (had fierce Alvatrix slain  
And warlike Ennius) which in Shrines they place,  
That from the Queen's Gift, Precious Gems did Grace,  
And next to spacious Fields, a Progress lead,  
Were kept devoted to these Glories dead;  
In which, they use of Arms, and Pastimes held,  
Britain's (so far all Nations else) excelled.  
Where they behold, how some for Garlands run,  
Swift, as Time made them Footmen, to the Sun;  
With nimble Wrestlers, that most useful show,  
How strengths rough force, to skill should conduct owe.  
And here the Bowmen shoot with dexterous aims,  
Whence Ages past, this Isle such Prowess claims;  
Whose force in Guns black use, though now laid by,  
Gave Deaths, where their fierce Thunders useless fly  
Some next the Race on British Coursers take,  
More swift, than those, Epyrus Glories speak;  
Or such, the Barbes neat kind, at this Day Fame,  
Or, the Arabic generous Horse can claim;  
Of these, the Victor's Brows, with Palms are spread,  
Pleased with the Glory, to be Conqueror's led;  
And, lest Fame's Trump, should not their Praises bear,  
Exulting, Neigh shrill Joys, find wings of Air.  
And thus for wonder, some on backs of Steeds;  
They here enforce, unto their utmost speeds;  
Pierce Marks with Arrows, or as Chariots glide  
Their swift Careers, as happy Shafts do guide:  
To whom, the Queen does Silver Quivers give;  
And, that the use of Bows, more famed might live,  
Invites the Princes, with herself to try,  
Which Shaft of theirs, with happi'st Aim shall fly:  
And thus a Jewel from her Breast she takes,  
For their Bright Mark; at which her Arrow makes  
Such dexterous wing, as it the Ring of Gold  
Pierces, this object to their aims did hold:  
Which done, these mighty Heroes Shafts take Flight,  
Dubious, which to the Gemm most near does light;  
But, Albianus', did chance to rest  
Nearest the Queens; Loves measure judgeth best.  
Which the Great Vortiger resenteth so,  
As Love, with theirs, had bend his Partial Bow;  
Scarcely concealing, those resolves of Fate,  
Their Hearts, in this high Cause, decreed so late:  
But Fate, that had occasion duly chose,  
Gives to his Flames, an outward seemed repose;  
And, as the Queen, a grievous Part must bear,  
Makes her spectator, of Love's danger here:  
Who, with a longing Glory, to behold  
The stately Tournments, Britain's held of old;  
Gladly the Princes with their Chiefs does see,  
Renowning thus, Great Arthur's Memory.  
While in a Marble Throne, her Person's placed,  
That with his Mighty Warlike Figure's graced;  
Beneath whom, these in costly Arms sit round,  
Tables, like those, in Arthur's Court were found.  
When his bold Knights, and Heroes, Triumphs made  
For Conquests, or such stately Pastimes had;  
Or else, in Honour of Famed George, held Feasts,  
To entertain, such valiant Britain's Guests.  
And hence, in shining Arms, the Princes rise,  
To lead the way to these Solemnities;  
While, after they had strict Embrace past,  
The Queen, nor any thought, were meant their last.  
Albianus does to Vortiger convey  
This fatal Whisper; If both fall this day,  
'Tis but Love's Justice; or if one survive,  
May then Loves Mercy, him Bonduca give.  
At which, great Vortigers stout heart does melt,  
That Wars deep wounds, had unconcerned still felt;  
And now his Eyes permits to shed some Tears,  
Wishing, his Death may end this Prince's Cares.  
Thus Mounted with their Chiefs, and British Knights,  
Select the most approved in these brave Rites;  
Such as great Arthur in his Life did Fame,  
For Glorious Tournments, and Wars daring Flame;  
Of whom, Albianus does Darander take,  
With stout Androgeus' Lists did famous make;  
And bold Clarinus, expert as the rest,  
With twenty Knights, on each side skilled the best.  
To whom great Vortiger his Chiefs does add,  
Corynus, Troilus, Torringer, all glad  
Their Lances, with their Martial Prince, to wield,  
Whom Foes could ne'er resist, when Fought in Field:  
Who, for their Judges, famed Martianus choose,  
With brave Favonius, could to wonder use  
Their Arms in Turn'ments; and from Rome had won  
Trophies, their Valours highly did Renown:  
And from the Queen had Garlands to bestow,  
With Silver Shields, must happy Victor's show;  
That here most dexterously their Lance's guide,  
And best command, their furious Steeds, bold Pride.  
From whom, the Signal Given, on Coursers meet,  
Might challenge Winds, to match their speedy Feet;  
While from their Hoofs, the Ground does seem to shake,  
As it did now, an Earthquakes Ague take.  
And in these Glorious Pastimes here, to show  
How much their Prowess, against Foes could do;  
Their mighty Lances, (though tough Limbs of Oak.)  
Are, with their onsets, into shivers broke.  
Rebounding from their Armed Breasts, so high,  
As if they did from Battering Engines fly;  
Which these upon their Steeds, unmoved abide,  
Might levelly Towers, Assaults of War defied.  
While these great Princes, that submitted here,  
Their Lives, and Loves, to Fates regardless care;  
Had slightest Armours with design put on,  
Their Lances Pierce, and in their Bodies run:  
From whence blood issues out, with so much haste,  
As now their lives, must but few minutes last;  
That even their souls, were taking wing to sly  
To Death's Pale seats, frail Nature's Ignominy.  
And thus fall from their Steeds, imbrued in Gore,  
While all here Present, do from Heaven Implore  
Their hopeless Lives; which how shall Britain's mourn,  
Or Gauls, and Romans, hence despair return?  
But more than all, the beauteous Queen oppressed  
With grief, and Love, each storming now her Breast;  
A while wants Power, to lift to Heaven her eyes,  
Or speak with Tears, her tender hearts surprise.  
Then calls for help, from such best skilled in Cure,  
But finds, their Arts cannot her Fears secure;  
And even Heaven blames, that Love allowed such charms,  
Should be no Medicine, to heal their harms.  
Yet, as Love's Cordials, lays her lips to theirs,  
Mingling of kisses, with the Balm of Tears;  
While such deep sympathy, her heart does feel,  
As thence, her tender life begins to steal.  
Whose Rose, and Lily Cheeks, now turn to pale,  
That even her beauties shine, but through death's veil;  
Her Pulse scarce beating Natures utmost strife,  
While Virgin-Palmes, her Temples Chafe for life.  
A midst whose Arms, she's in a Chariot laid,  
And gently towards her Court, is thus conveyed;  
Next whom the Princes, are in Litters borne,  
This glorious Presence, (sad Attendants) mourn;  
Invoking Heaven with Tears, and loudest Grief,  
To yield their Lives, in these extremes Relief;  
Yet more, than their deep Cures, the Queen's despair,  
That in her breast, the wounds of Love did bear:  
In this distress, some Sages present, move,  
They should Merlinus skill, before all prove;  
Who had such wondrous Cures, for Britain's wrought,  
By Remedies, no Art, save his, e'er taught.  
To whom all yield, and make Merlinus know,  
What high concerns, require his Presence now,  
While Queen, and Princes, mournfully they bear,  
To Beds of ease, scarce breathing life's last air.   
The End of the Fifth Canto.   

The Sixth Canto.  

BEfore these Tidings to Merlinus speed,  
His swifter Science, knew the fatal need  
Of Queen, and Princes, who in Nature's Book,  
For all events, did most Assiduous look:  
Nor could her Causes, and Effects create  
The World a Providence, or Mankind Fate;  
But, as her aptest Scholar, him had taught,  
Which other Mortals, as vain Empirics sought:  
Who, no less weighs her humble ease, and power,  
In every tender Herb, and smiling Flower;  
Then in those prouder Blessings she conveys  
From Sun, or Stars stupend'ous course, and Rays.  
And now Merlinus at the Court appears,  
The Queen, and Princes dangers filled with cares;  
Who but in his deep skill, their hope repose,  
Since Fate their lives, so dreadful did oppose.  
Where he beholds the beauteous Ladies Mourn,  
As if to Statues, Niob like they'd turn;  
Or that the Queen's soft life, so far were fled,  
His Art, must now recall her, from the Dead.  
While with their Prayers, and Blessings, he arrives  
Unto her Presence, viewing how life strives  
For weak Possession, in that beauteous frame,  
Death, as his fairest Captive, hopes to claim.  
Next feels her Pulse, with all his subtle Art,  
But finds its strength retired, to aid the Heart;  
Which, as Love's Region, has a right to be,  
The last surrendered, to Death's Victory.  
Then takes a Cordial, made of purest Gold,  
No man before did Potable behold;  
With Dews infused, the Diamond Rocks distil,  
And Pearls rich Soul, extracted by his skill.  
To these an Essence adds, more precious too,  
Chemists th' Elixir call; but since none show,  
That would this work in costly Limbecks breed,  
And coldly live, their Arts vain Fires to feed.  
While of this Liquor, (whose least drop might be,  
Valued above all Indian-Treasury;)  
Through the Queen's Lips, conveys a gentle draught,  
Whence Life, even fled away, is back soon brought.  
And now her Pulse, begins life's March to beat,  
While Death's pale Flags, her Rosy Cheeks defeat,  
And next, does open Windows of her Eyes,  
That seem like Stars, new kindled in the skies.  
Merlinus joyed, his Cordial thus succeeds;  
To th' wounded Princes next, his Person speeds;  
Grieved, that he could not, all at once supply,  
And weeps, to see in what extremes they lie.  
Then takes a Balm of this Elixir made,  
Which to their griefs, with tender hand conveyed,  
Their drooping hearts, to wonder does restore,  
And shows their wounds, must not have Mortal power.  
Nor had the Sun two days bright Circles shined,  
But their great Lives, their Pristine vigours find;  
Which more to Joy, the Queen as speedy mends,  
And all but Loves soft wounds, from his Cure ends.  
Whence common Artists, that make life endure  
A tedious Diet, and loathed Physics Cure;  
Wondered, Disease, so soon surprised should be,  
By his sublimer skill, and remedy.  
And now, that rumour swiftly might convey,  
Through Britain, Joys, for this most happy day;  
The Princes visit the most beauteous Queen,  
Who for their sakes had thus afflicted been,  
And, at her feet, with tears now prostrate lie,  
Imploring pardon, they designed to die;  
Since she their lives esteemed at that high price,  
As to resign her own, Death's Sacrifice.  
Grieving that Love, should so much oblige Fate,  
And from her wounds, their sins recriminate,  
Who for Love's sake chose death themselves to give,  
That she more happy, by their falls might live.  
To whom, with gracious words, she thus replies;  
Beloved of Men, and Joy of British Eyes,  
Who, ne'er like this, shall Register an hour,  
Though their bright Records mention Roman Power,  
Defeated by your Prowess, and Gaul brought,  
To rue that time, when you conjoined, they fought;  
For which the Sun shall ne'er consume a Day,  
But I devoted thanks to Heaven will pay.  
That can no Merit, great enough allow  
To you, as Princes, and as Lovers too;  
For which, 'tis my unhappiness to live,  
Except at once I had two Souls to give.  
Yet must your Passions blame, that did decree  
A Death of both, or either, without me  
That could have been contented first to die,  
And Pay Love's Debt, with my sad destiny.  
Then, to each Prince, a gentle hand does give,  
Which humbly kissed, they on their knees receive;  
Whose Lily-white, best Orient-Pearl did slain,  
And outshined Sapphires blue, in every vein.  
Thus leads them with her, to a Royal seat,  
Where soon, Merlinus did attend to Greet,  
The happy Cures, his wondrous art had done,  
Which they with highest thanks, and presents own,  
〈◊〉 to his Person, great endearments give,  
Admiring his deep means, by which they live;  
Whence they, in such short time, o'rcame their griefs,  
And Nature furnished, with such strange reliefs.  
To whom Merlinus thus does humbly speak,  
Since Nature, her bright handmaid Art did make;  
Few of her Counsels, and admired effects,  
But profound Science, wondrously Inspects.  
Else her large Providence, that guides things here,  
Must prove to Mortals, but a niggard Care;  
If she producing Creatures, by her Power,  
Did fail of means, their Glories might restore.  
Hence through the Universe, her healthful Laws  
With every being, show a Divine cause,  
While Stars, no more her operations cost,  
Than Plants, and Herbs, that humbly spring, may boast,  
Nor does this Mistress of the World deny,  
To disclose secrets, in her bosom lie,  
If Man's frail Sense, she does sublimely teach,  
Can the deep Process, of her wonders reach.  
Hence Med'cins sets apart, (and joys the Cure,  
That makes her Individuals, long endure;)  
Which, in her most loved sympathies consist,  
Or such Antipathies, Disease resist.  
Thus by my skill, and fervent Prayers, I sought,  
That Soul to Informed matter, first she brought;  
Which has from Elements, distinct essence,  
Yet is of all things, one best Quintessence.  
And this our Lives Infirmities Restores,  
Beyond the aid of Nature's common Powers;  
Assisting life, with life, the self same way,  
That first in Bodies, she did Souls convey.  
This said, a Vial (of a substance too,  
His Art next precious to th' Elixir knew;)  
Presents the Queen and Princes, which contained  
This sublime work, by his deep Science gained  
At Nature's richest cost, whose value could  
Purchase the World, and next transmute to Gold  
All kind of metals, that if Treasure fail,  
This endless wealth, might Britain's Foes assail.  
And here admiring, they a while it view,  
Which does in colour, far more beauteous show,  
Than Iris various Arch, and seems like beams  
Of Sun, and Stars, or more Celestial Flames.  
And to Merlinus, with one voice reply,  
Most mighty Bard, since in thy skill, doth lie  
Such sublime knowledge, ne'er to Man was known,  
May future Ages ever it Renown,  
Not suffering time, whose hand doth often raze  
His choicest glories, ever thine deface;  
Or from forgotten truth, make Fictions Fame,  
The bold oblivion, of thy sacred Name.  
Which said, resolve, this matchless work shall be  
Preserved, as Nature's highest Mystery;  
And in that Temple kept, where Britain's pay  
Devotion, to her mighty Power each day.  
And now the Queen, whose mind unusual cares  
Did apprehend, in her late sad despairs;  
Acquaints him, how her Soul a Voyage took;  
In that deep Trance, as it life's Fetters broke.  
Whence to her seemed, that warlike Nations spread  
Banners throughout this Isle, with horror led;  
Whose manners they, before did never know,  
With Images, beheld of Princes too.  
That should mix blood, with Britain's Royal Line,  
And thence succeeding Ages, fruitful shine;  
Changing Complexion of our Laws, and Speech,  
Say, wondrous Bard, if thy deep Science reach  
To future things, What do these Visions speak?  
Or, are they but such Phantasms, vain Dreams make?  
To which, this Learned Sage, does thus express;  
Illustrious Queen, though 'tis most hard, to guests  
Succeeding Acts of Time, wrapped in the Laws  
Of Providence, the World's great hidden cause;  
While in our Bodies, Souls commix with Sense,  
That does obstruct, their Divine Prescience;  
Else might their Vision, without sensual eyes,  
Take highest Prospect, of her Mysteries;  
Since Nature to the World, and all things live,  
In different Bodies, alike Soul does give;  
And is diffused, from her Internal mind,  
Where every cause, does actual foresight find;  
Which, since our Souls, cannot in Bodies reach,  
By glorious Mediums, she our Sense does teach.  
Nor, must we think, the Orbs, and Starry-Sphaere,  
But, as Night's Tapers, Heaven has kindled there;  
Or, that Eclipses of the Sun, and Moon,  
Defects of Nature show, and not our own;  
Though it must dazzle Humane sense, to read  
The Text of Heaven, in such bright causes spread.  
Hence oft Mutations follow Crowns, and States,  
Which ignorant minds allot to Chance, and Fates;  
While nothing to us Mortals, 〈◊〉 ensues,  
But she in some Prophetic Cause foreshows.  
And what the restless studies of my Art  
To you great Queen, and Princes, can impart,  
I humbly offer, in this hour to show,  
That strikes my Soul, with some amazement too.  
Craving this Royal Presence, a short space,  
Some learned Products, of his skill to grace,  
And may, for Britain's sake, be useful seen;  
Which said, the Princes, with the beauteous Queen,  
Remove in State, and thus by him are brought,  
To an Apartment vast, and wondrous wrought.  
From Archytects, taught by his deep survey,  
Which none but he, e'er entered to this day.  
Wherein this Sage, long Contemplation took,  
T'instruct the World, in Nature's profound Book;  
Or else the Muses sublime Raptures writ,  
That Poets call Heavens best inspired wit.  
A Science graces all, yet taught by none,  
In Schools Pedantic Terms, and Precepts known;  
Where Faith, could not itself from Tutors free,  
While this remains, untaught Divinity.  
And Nature's best Exchequer, has for store,  
Spending profusely thence, yet never Poor;  
Though oft like virtue, meets Inglorious Fate,  
Since more than Human Soul, its worth must rate.  
Nor did that Age, the Muses less esteem,  
Than Sacred Raptures, Men Prophetic deem;  
From whence the wise, Castalian Cliffs aspired,  
And with Heaven's zeal, this Divine gift admired.   
The End of the Sixth Canto.   

The Seventh Canto.  

ANd now, this Royal Presence duly placed,  
Wonder to see how this Appartment's graced;  
Whose Globulous roof, seems like a moving Sphere,  
Where Stars in Aspects shine, as Heaven was there.  
Nor were the Walls, and Pillars, less bright famed,  
By his great skill, of hardened Crystal framed;  
That none e'er malleable, had made before,  
And which all shapes, of Creatures, figured bore.  
Then entertains their Royal Ears, and sight,  
With Bodies, wondrous organed for delight;  
While some, in Birdlike shapes, best Music sing,  
And thus about this Roof, are seen to wing.  
Next which, in various Postures, did appear  
Gygantick figur'd-Men, and what's as rare,  
The shapes of Pigmies, Nature's Dwarfish crew,  
That Dialogue speak, and make strangè exits too.  
A Crystal wall than severs, whence to sighed  
A Scene appears, than Evenings Sky more bright.  
Whose shining seats, the ancient Royal Race  
Of British Kings, in their past glories grace:  
Which, as this presence with due wonder saw,  
A Cloudlike Curtain, did before it draw;  
As oft, the setting-Suns bright face does wear,  
Made by his Art, of some such matter here.  
Then shapes of Heroes, represents to view,  
The Queen from her late dreadful vision knew;  
To be of that stern Nations mighty Race,  
Succeeding time, did Saxon Monarches place.  
Whose Visage looked, as if composed they were,  
Of Nature's Roughest Elements for War;  
Each in a Martial Cassock, clad of blue,  
The Arms of Nobles blaze, or Princes show.  
While Warlike Hengist, with a brandished Spear,  
And furious Horsa, foremost do appear;  
Those fatal Brothers, first trod British shore,  
To lead through Seas of blood, fierce Saxon power.  
Next these, pass Sceptered Kings, of this high line,  
With Alfred, must in story ever shine;  
For all such virtues, Subjects Reverence draw,  
And gave this Isle, first English Name, and Law.  
Who, no less famed in War, his mighty state,  
The Conquered Trophies of fierce Danes does wait;  
Whose bloody onsets, this Isle long withstood,  
Before they Reigned, or mixed, with Native blood.  
And here Great Edmund, who vast Battles fought,  
With Danish Knute, are to sole Combat brought;  
As this day, Story enterprised does fame,  
Where Severne Banks are washed by his rough stream.  
But pardon, Reader, if my Muse hence spare,  
To sing these Nations, long divided War;  
Or how from Blood, and Arms, their Kings did reign,  
Which must thy toils, and tears together gain.  
While with this wondrous vision, I descend  
To Royal Edward, Saxon Kings does end;  
Nature Divinely Issue did deny,  
Since few succeeding, matched his Piety.  
And briefly, from this Artists deeds relate,  
How Norman Kings possessed this mighty State,  
Since their first William, Ruled by Conquests claim,  
And left its Throne, at once rough Laws, and Fame.  
On whom attending here those Heroes stand,  
First served his Arms, and planted in this Land;  
Whence so much of our Noble Blood, since streams,  
And speaks the honour of their Acts, and Names.  
Next to Great William, Rufus does appear.  
Who died his Successor, without an Heir;  
While Henry younger, does usurp the Throne,  
And Robert, to both elder, sadly shown:  
His eyes put out, by that ambitious Fate,  
Made Henry younger, seize his Royal state;  
Who clouded thus, his hands to heaven does spread,  
T'invoke their crimes, should thence be punished.  
Nor did remain a Male Prince of his Line,  
Leaving his Crown, in beauteous Maud to shine;  
Whose glorious love, Plantagenet enthroned,  
Whom France, (at such dear cost of Arms,) renowned.  
Descending thence, their eyes were entertained,  
With all, of that high Lineage, here since reigned;  
Of which, the first unhappy Prince, was John,  
If evil Kings, from Subjects hate, are known.  
And here with troubled looks, he seems to view,  
Those first bold Charters, England's Freedom show;  
Which to this day, supremest Law has stood,  
But speaks, that Age's Crime, since got with blood.  
Near whom the mighty Barons sternly wait,  
Who made his Power, by Arms legitimate;  
From which black Veil, too late Rebellion springs,  
And Treason seems, but now, past Acts, of Kings.  
His Son succeeding, Lion-like, next sought,  
To rend that knotty toil, forced Law had brought;  
But finds his Subjects made too boldly free,  
E'er to resign their illgot Liberty.  
Three Edwards then enthrone this Royal Race,  
The first of which, both Peace and war did grace;  
Whose valour Impious Saracons did rue,  
And hardy Scots, save his, ne'er Conquest knew.  
But soon alas, in his luxurious Son,  
Declined that glory, did his Arms renown;  
Until his Grandson did revive his Fame,  
And in France trophied, a like Edward's Name.  
And had his mighty Firstborn next him reigned,  
What Empire might not British Arms have gained:  
Whose like not Greece, or Rome Produced in war,  
And had of all, been greatest Conqueror.  
But he a Princely Son, less happy left,  
In his youth's flower, of Crown, and Life bereft;  
When Lancaster's bold Line possessed his Throne,  
And raised a Royal war, so bloody known.  
Of whom, Fifth Henry is most glorious seen,  
Who conquered France, and its fair Heir made Queen;  
Leaving that Realms possession to his Son,  
Whose zeal to heaven, lost there, what he had won.  
And here with heavenly looks, (as Angels show,  
That humane Figures represent to view;)  
Beholds that cruel hand, and bloody stroke,  
His Life too good for mortal Rule, had took.  
Next whom, in dismal Images, are shown  
Such Princes fell in war, each Line to crown;  
While Lancaster's, the fatal Red Rose bear,  
And Yorks the white, not guiltless, though right Heir.  
Which Vision passed, a joyful glorious sight,  
Presents here objects, varied with delight.  
Where Marriage Rites, each Royal Lineage join,  
And Lancaster's high Blood, with Yorks does shine.  
In that fair Princess, famed fourth Edward left,  
His young unhappy Males, of life bereft;  
Whose tender Glories, their fierce Uncle seized,  
And from a false Protector, King was raised.  
Thus, was Great Tenders mighty Reign here seen,  
Espoused a Sovereign, in Yorks Heiress Queen;  
While Ages war, to love, does Trophies yield,  
Who crowns in this great Bride, His Bosworth Field,  
No less in Peace, his Conduct sage appears,  
Whence Kings, too oft indulge, their Thrones high cares;  
Whose active Prudence sways each Royal State,  
That crave, his wise allowance to be Great:  
Some he more near endears unto his Crown,  
In his fair Princely Daughters-Matches, known.  
Who court his Blood, to give their Crowns wise Kings.  
And all Great Britain since, one Sceptre brings.  
Next here's displayed his wondrous Treasures sight,  
That speaks his Royal Thrift, and Monarches might,  
Though some this Avarice call, not Princely Care,  
Whilst he too much, his Subjects grieved, to spare.  
From which high Juncture, that eight Henry springs,  
Who had in one soul, many mighty Kings;  
Though his great Copy, bears some marks of ill,  
Since Law, he made less Powerful, than his will.  
And here his several Queens, too sadly known,  
His frailer Loves, advanced, unto his Throne;  
In mourning Vails, this profound Bard does show,  
Who from their Fates, is called Love's Tyrant too.  
To whom succeeds a Son, (in years, though young,)  
That reigned small time, as his fierce Rule was long;  
Wise before man, and as for men too good,  
Died Flower of Princes, in an early Bud.  
Next whom, appears his elder Sister's Reign,  
Whose zeal, our Stories more than Rule complain;  
Which pious Crime her Subjects did deplore,  
Since Faith her guilty made of cruel power;  
Showing that zeal, when it too furious grows,  
Promotes not Faith, but against it raises Foes,  
And, as her Father's Consorts deaths, did leave  
A Curse, his Lawless bed, must thence receive;  
His great begotten, issueless were seen,  
Ending his Lyneage, in a Virgin-Queen:  
Though more in Soul, than Nature could convey,  
Teaching Men Rule, and Women to obey:  
And, had she not been guilty of that stroke,  
Her fair allyanced blood, so spotless took;  
Her virgin Robes, had been far brighter wore,  
And she, the wonder died, of Sovereign power;  
While Heaven, that scarcely could her loss repair,  
Preserved, for all great Britain, her next heir;  
That mighty James, who brought such peaceful days,  
And had for wisdom, more than humane praise;  
On whom, here Glorious Embassies attend,  
Their Masters, with submissive Treaties send;  
Returning all, with prudent wonder home,  
As once the Wise, from Solomon did come.  
While here the wary Spaniards Courtships, pour  
Their Indian Mines, on his more happy shore;  
That Saturn's Golden Age, his Reign did show,  
And fled Astraea, seems to return now.  
Thus to his royal Son descends his Throne,  
Less great in Fortune, than in Virtue known,  
In whom, all Graces so divinely met,  
As Heaven took pains, his virtue to complete.  
Who meekness joined, with Princely Majesty.  
And each adorned, by matchless Piety;  
That impious Rebels, his just Power withstood,  
Confessed him, (both as Man, and King) most Good.  
While o'er his head, the shapes of Angels fly,  
Merlinus winged, by his Art's mystery;  
And next an Azur'd Veil before him drew,  
Hides his black Scene of Murder, from their view.  
Which done, a troop of rough-armed men appear,  
Their hands in Sacred Blood imbrued, and war;  
Whose visage looked, as if that Hell had sent,  
Rebels from thence, for some such cursed intent.  
Amongst whom their dire Chief, like Pluto's shown,  
When his Friends pay black Duties to his Throne;  
Whose eyes were seen, like sanguine Balls of Fire,  
While blasts of Sulphur, his flamed Nares transpire.  
And next, his Lips dissolve, that impious breath,  
Betrayed both King, and Subjects, to vile death;  
While Rolls of Oaths, his mouth disgorges here,  
That must Hells blackest Records, ever bear.  
Not long, Merlinus, does present this sight,  
But in a mist, does Image, stygian Night;  
This horrid vision from their eyes conveys,  
And soon does figure happy Royal days;  
That in great Second Charles', this Isle restores,  
Too sadly grieved, by Tyrant Subjects Powers;  
Who here returning, seemed like wished for Spring,  
Long suffered Winter, happily did bring.  
On whom, such Triumphs, and vast Glories wait,  
As late him welcomed, to his royal state;  
For which, the good transcendent joys express,  
Assured in him, of all just happiness.  
And here, to represent his Naval Power,  
Ships seem to move, upon this wondrous Floor;  
On which, the vanquished Belgian Vessels fly,  
Yielding the Seas, to his Sov'raignity.  
Whence British Ships, in happy Calms now steer,  
That Indian-Mines, in their rich bottoms bear;  
With whatsoever to boundless Trade accrues,  
All which this Sage, Prophetically foreshows.  
And, to consummate, with more wonder too,  
Each royal vision, represented now;  
Behold, great Vortiger, does figured, lead;  
A beauteous Princess, must with him precede  
These mighty Glories, whence in future springs,  
Th' Illustrious Saxon blood, and British Kings;  
Who here did seem so wounding fair, and bright,  
As even the Queen is Rivalled by her sight:  
Whose Rosy Cheeks, express a lovely fear,  
Yet grants this object, may her own compare;  
Confessing, Heaven does not impartial prove,  
If such a Rival should enjoy his Love.  
While Albianus with amazement struck,  
On this, (above all wonders seen,) does look;  
Thinking, what its appearance should foreshow,  
Or what's the Science, future things can know.  
But Vortiger, transported more, to see  
His Figure, lead this beauteous Imagery;  
Since in his Breast, the Queen's all-powerful beams,  
Already kindled had a Lover's Flames.  
Demands, a thousand ways perplexed in thought,  
What strange effects, in Britain, should be wrought;  
Or if his Art, in remote causes saw  
How unknown Love, must give his Soul a Law.  
To whom, this mighty Bard, did thus reply,  
Renowned Prince, in Providence, do lie  
Such secrets, Nature's high Apartments close,  
Our search cannot discern, or wills oppose;  
Though from this glorious Handmaid she does give,  
The world a being, and all things, that live;  
Whence such mutations, we observe in state,  
And Princes, with a secret homage, wait.  
While every Passion, of our Humane soul,  
This sublime Inclination does control;  
Nor has Love's power (so much endears the sense)  
Other, than Charms, of her bright influence.  
But, as we thus, from Providence, are led,  
We follow steps unknown, this guide does tread;  
Nor can my deepest science, apprehend  
The means, producing every admired end;  
Though she sometimes, this obscure Veil lays by,  
Whence in her Face, we view her Prophecy,  
That in each star, with eyes on us, does look,  
And thus we oft may read, her future Book.  
From which high Text, my Art (with humble dread)  
Has in these Visions, a deep Comment read;  
Nor such, did Spells, or Charms, e'er like supply,  
That spoke and moved, by Nerves of Geometry.  
The Queen, and Princes, wondering at his Art,  
That could such secrets Imaged thus impart;  
Which might even Archymedes here have taught,  
Whose Geometric Engines wonders wrought;  
In state withdraw, from this stupendious Place,  
No Royal Presence, e'er like this, did grace;  
Giving Merlinus, highest Thanks, and Praise,  
Who (like Heaven's Act) had foreshown future days▪    
The End of the Second Book.  
FINIS.   

ERRATA.  
PAge 38. line 10. read I'll express: p. 47. l. 12. r. do bid: p. 68 l 3. for furious r. wondrous: p. 67. r, to Arms: p. 123. l. 16. r. itself: p. 128 l. 18. r. add. p. 132. l. 1. r. whom death: p. 136. l. 7. r. Ambitions storm: p. 146. l. 9 r. triple: p. 150. l. 8. r. of these: p. 153. l. 4. r. Deity; p. 159. l. 3. r. that Hope; l. 12. for fifty, r. numerous: p. 180. l. 8. r. that day; p. 184. l. 10. r. do wait; p. 186. l. 2. r. Henry youngest.  
The Reader is desired, besides these Erratas, to excuse the false Commas, directing himself where he shall find any, by the Sense of the words.