THE DUEL OF THE STAGS: A Poem.  
Written by the Honourable Sir ROBERT HOWARD.  
In the SAVOY, Printed for Henry Herringman, at the Sign of the Anchor, on the Lower Walk of the New-Exchange. 1668.   

To His GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.  
MY LORD,  
I Should beg your pardon, could I apprehend it were an error to present any thing to your Grace which comes from me, to whom I have made so entire a Dedication of myself; but this advantage appears in all real esteems and friendships, they are as much above the Ceremonies of the world, as the usual Practice of it; but your Grace has a farther Title to this, being more yours than Mine; as much as an Image made well shaped and polished, is more properly due to him that gave it that perfection, then to him that first digged the stone out of the Quarry; it was an ill contrived House within, full of Entries and unuseful passages, till your Grace was pleased to take them away, and make it Habitable for any Candid opinion.  
At the same time when your Grace made this your own, you made me more justly yours; 'twas in your Confinement, where after some Concealment of yourself, to weigh the Circumstances and Causes of your persecution, you generously exposed yourself to stand all hazards and trials, from the assurance of your Courage, and advise of your Innocence; and as your Grace in your adversity has found the advantage of an unshaken Honour, I doubt not but your Prince and Nation will find an equal benefit in your better Fortunes, by your Council and Service, which will always be directed by such a steady virtue; and may all advantages that you increase in, and all the Nation receives by you, be equalled by nothing but the Content of  
My Lord, Your Graces most Humble and faithful Servant ROBERT HOWARD.   

THE DVELL OF THE STAGGS.  

IN Windsor Forest, before War destroyed,  
The harmless Pleasures which soft Peace enjoyed;  
A mighty Stagg grew Monarch of the Herd,  
By all his savage Slaves obeyed, and feared:  
And while the Troops about their Sovereign fed,  
They watched the awful nodding of his head.  
Still as he passeth by, they all remove,  
Proud in Dominion, Prouder in his Love:  
[And while with pride and appetite he swells;]  
He courts no chosen object, but compels:  
No Subject his loved Mistress dares deny,  
But yields his hopes up to his tyranny.   

Long had this Prince imperiously thus swayed,  
By no set Laws, but by his will obeyed;  
His fearful slaves, to full obedience grown,  
Admire his strength, and dare not use their own.   

One subject most did his suspicion move,  
That showed lest fear, and counterfeited love;  
In the best Pastures by his side he fed,  
Armed with two large Militia's on his head:  
As if he practised Majesty, he walked,  
And at his nod, he made not haste, but stalked.  
By his large shade, he saw how great he was,  
And his vast Layers on the bended grass.  
His thoughts as large as his proportion grew,  
And judged himself, as fit for Empire too.  
Thus to rebellious hopes he swelled at length,  
Love and Ambition growing with his strength.  
This hid ambition his bold Passion shows  
And from a Subject to a Rival grows.  
Solicits all his Princes, fearful Dames,  
And in his sight Courts with rebellious flames.   

The Prince sees this with an inflamed eye,  
But looks are only signs of Majesty:  
When once a Prince's Will meets a restraint,  
His power is then esteemed but his complaint.  
His Head then shakes, at which th'affrighted Herd,  
Start to each side; his Rival not afeared,  
Stands by his Mistress side, and stirs not thence,  
But bids her own his Love, and his Defence.   

The Quarrel now to a vast height is grown,  
Both urged to fight by Passion, and a Throne;  
But Love has most excuse, for all we find  
Have Passions, though not Thrones alike assigned.  
The Sovereign Stagg shaking his loaded head,  
On which his Sceptres with his Arms were spread,  
Wisely by Nature, there together fixed,  
Where with the Title, the Defence was mixed.  
The Pace which he advanced with to engage,  
Became at once his Majesty, and Rage:  
Tother stands still with as much confidence,  
To make his part seem only his defence.   

Their heads now meet, and at one blow each strikes,  
As many strokes, as if a rank of Pikes  
Grew on his brows, as thick their Antlers stand  
Which every year kind Nature does disband.  
Wild Beasts sometimes in peace and quiet are,  
But Man no season free's from love or war.   

With equal strength they met, as if two oaks  
Had fell, and mingled with a thousand strokes.  
One by Ambition urged, t'other Disdain,  
One to Preserve, the other fought to Gain:  
The Subjects, and the Mistresses stood by,  
With Love and Duty to crown Victory:  
For all Affections wait on prosperous Fame,  
Not he that climbs, but he that falls, meets shame.   

While thus with equal Courages they meet,  
The wounded Earth yields to their struggling feet;  
And while one slides, t'other pursues the fight,  
And thinks that forced Retreat looks like a Flight:  
But then ashamed of his retreat, at length  
Drives his Foe back, his rage renews his strength.   

As even weights into a motion thrown,  
By equal turns, drive themselves up and down;  
So sometimes one, than t'other Stag prevails,  
And Victory yet doubtful holds the scales.   

The Prince ashamed to be opposed so long,  
With all his strength united rushes on;  
The Rebel weaker, then at first appears,  
And from his courage sinks unto his fears.  
Not able longer to withstand his might,  
From a Retreat at last steals to a Flight.  
The mighty Stagg pursues his flying Foe,  
Till his own pride of Conquest made him slow;  
Thought it enough to scorn a thing that flies,  
And only now pursued him with his eyes.   

The Vanquished as he fled, turned back his sight  
Ashamed to fly, and yet afraid to fight:  
Sometimes his wounds, as his excuse survay'd,  
Then fled again, and then look back and stayed:  
Blushed that his wounds so slight should not deny  
Strength for a fight, that left him strength to fly.  
Calls thoughts of Love and Empire to his aid,  
But fears more powerful than all those persuade,  
And yet in spite of them retains his shame,  
His Cooled ambition, and his half-quenched flame.  
There's none from their own sense of shame can fly,  
And dregs of passions dwell with misery.   

Now to the Shades he bends his feeble course,  
Despised by those, that once Admired his force:  
The wretch that to a scorned condition's thrown,  
With the World's favour, loses too his own.   

While fawning Troops their Conquering Prince enclosed  
Now rendered absolute by being opposed;  
Princes by disobedience get Command,  
And by new quenched Rebellions firmer stand;  
Till by the boundless offers of success,  
They meet their Fate in ill-used happiness.   

The vanquished Stagg to thickest shades repairs,  
Where he finds safety punished with his cares;  
Through the Woods he rushes not, but glides,  
And from all searches but his own he hides;  
Ashamed to live, unwilling yet to lose,  
That wretched life he knew not how to use.   

In this retirement thus he lived concealed,  
Till with his wounds, his fears were almost healed;  
His ancient passions now began to move,  
He thought again of Empire, and of Love:  
Then roused himself, and stretched at his full length,  
Took the large measure of his mighty strength;  
Then shook his loaded head; the shadow too,  
Shook like a tree, where leaveless branches grew.  
Stooping to drink, he sees it in the streams,  
And in the Woods hears clashing of his Beams;  
No accident but does alike proclaim  
His growing strength, and his increasing shame.   

Now once again, resolves to try his Fate,  
(For Envy always is importunate;)  
And in the Mind perpetually does move,  
A fit Companion for unquiet Love.  
He thinks upon his Mighty Enemy  
Circled about with Power, and Luxury.  
And hoped his strength might sink in his desires,  
Remembering he had wasted in such Fires.  
Yet while he hoped by them to overcome,  
He wished the others fatal joys his own.   

Thus the unquiet Beast in safety lay,  
Where nothing was to fear, nor to obey;  
Where he alone Commanded, and was Lord,  
Of every Bounty, Nature did afford,  
Choose feasts for every Arbitrary sense,  
An Empire in the state of Innocence.   

But all the Feasts, Nature before him placed,  
Had but faint relishes to his lost taste.  
Sick minds, like Bodies in a Fever spent,  
Turns Food to the Disease, not Nourishment.   

Sometimes he stole abroad, and shrinking stood,  
Under the shelter of the friendly Wood;  
Casting his envious eyes towards those Plains  
Where with Crowned Joys, his Mighty Rival Reigns.  
He saw th' obeying Herd marching along,  
And weighed his Rival's Greatness by the Throng.  
Want, takes false measures, both of power, and joys,  
And envied Greatness is but Crowd, and Noise.   

Not able to endure this hated sight,  
Back to the Shades he flies to seek out Night.  
Like exiles from their Native soils, though sent  
To better Countries, think it Banishment.  
Here he enjoyed, what another's could have there,  
The Woods as Shady, and the Streams as Clear,  
The Pastures more untainted where he fed,  
And every night, chose out an unpressed Bed.   

But then his labouring soul with Dreams was pressed,  
And found the greatest wearyness in Rest;  
His dreadful Rival in his sleep appears,  
And in his Dreams again, he fights, and fears:  
Shrinks at the strokes of tother's Mighty Head,  
Feels every wound, and dreams how fast he fled.  
At this he wakes, and with his fearful eyes,  
Salutes the Light, that Fleet the Eastern Skies.  
Still half amazed, looks round, and held by fear,  
Scarce can Believe, no Enemy was near.  
But when he saw his heedless fears were brought,  
Not by a Substance, but a drowsy Thought,  
His ample sides he shakes, from whence the Dew  
In scattered showers, like driven Tempests flew.  
At which, through all his Breast new boldness spread,  
And with his Courage, raised his Mighty Head.  
Then by his Love inspired, resolves to try  
The Combat now, and overcome, or die.  
Every weak Passion sometimes is above  
The fear of Death, much more the Noblest Love.  
By Hope 'tis scorned, and by despair 'tis sought,  
Pursued by Honour, and by sorrow brought.   

Resolved the paths of danger now to tread,  
From his scorned shelter, and his fears, he fled.  
With a brave haste now seeks a second Fight,  
Redeems the base one by a Noble flight.   

In the mean time, the Conqueror enjoyed  
That Power by which he was to be destroyed.  
How hard 'tis for the Prosperous to see,  
That Fate which waits on Power, and Victory.   

Thus he securely Reigned, when in a Rout,  
He saw th'▪ affrighted Herd flying about;  
As if some Huntsmen did their Chase Pursue,  
About themselves in scattered Rings they flew.  
He like a careful Monarch, raised his Head,  
To see what Cause that strange disturbance bred;   

But when the searcht-out Cause appeared no more,  
Then from a Slave, he had o'ercome before,  
A bold disdain did in his Looks appear,  
And shook his Awful Head to chide their Fear.  
The Herd afraid of Friend and Enemy,  
Shrink from the one, and from the other Fly;  
They scarce know which they should obey, or trust,  
Since Fortune only makes it safe and just.   

Yet in despite of all his Pride, he stayed,  
And this unlooked for Chance with trouble weighed.   

His Rage, and his Contempt alike, swelled high,  
And only feared his Enemy should Fly;  
He thought of former Conquest, and from thence  
Cozened himself into a Confidence.   

Tother that saw his Conqueror so near,  
Stood still and listened to a whispering fear;  
From whence he heard his Conquest, and his shame;  
But newborn Hopes his ancient fears o'ercome.   

The Mighty Enemies now met at length,  
With equal Fury, though not equal Strength;  
For now, too late, the Conqueror did find,  
That all was wasted in him but his Mind.  
His Courage in his Weakness yet prevails,  
As a bold Pilot steers with tattered Sails;  
And Cordage cracked, directs no steady Course,  
Carried by Resolution, more than Force.  
Before his once scorned Enemy he reels,  
His Wounds increasing with his Shame, he feels  
The others strength, more from his weakness grows,  
And with one furious push, his Rival throws.   

So a tall Oak, the pride of all the Wood,  
That long th'Assault of several storms had stood;  
Till by a Mighty Blast more powerfully pushed,  
His Root's torn up, and to the Earth he rushed.   

Yet than he raised his Head, on which there Grew  
Once, all his Power, and all his Title too;  
Unable now to rise, and less to fight,  
He raised those Sceptres to demand his Right:  
But such weak Arguments prevail with none,  
To plead their Titles, when their Power is gone.   

His Head now sinks, and with it all defence,  
Not only robbed of Power, but Pretence.  
Wounds upon wounds, the Conqueror still gives,  
And thinks himself unsafe, while t'other lives:  
Unhappy State of such as wear a Crown  
Fortune can never lay 'em gently down.   

Now to the most scorned Remedy he flies,  
And for some pity seems to move his Eyes;  
Pity, by which the best of virtue's Tried,  
To wretched Princes ever is denied.  
There is a Debt to Fortune, which they pay  
For all their Greatness, by no Common way.   

The flattering Troops unto the Victor fly,  
And own his Title to his Victory;  
The faith of most, with Fortune does decline,  
Duty's but Fear, and Conscience but Design.   

The Victor now, proud in his great success,  
Hastes to enjoy his fatal Happiness;  
Forgot his Mighty Rival was destroyed  
By that, which he so fond now enjoyed.   

In Passions, thus Nature herself enjoys,  
Sometimes preserves, and then again destroys;  
Yet all destruction which revenge can move,  
Time or Ambition, is supylyed by Love.   
FINIS.