Herod's cruelty Mat: 2. v. 16.  
〈◊〉 Herod was exceeding wrath and sent forth and slew all the Children that were in ●eth●    

THE SLAUGHTER OF THE Innocents' BY HEROD.  
Written in Italian By the famous Poet the Cavalier Marino.  
In Four BOOKS.  
Newly Englished.  
LONDON, Printed by Andrew Clark, for Samuel Mearne Stationer to the King's Most Excellent Majesty. 1675.   

To Her Royal Highness MARY Duchess of YORK.  
May it please Your Royal Highness,  
THis Present which I most humbly lay at Your Royal Highness' Feet, could not be worthy Your Acceptance, were it not derived from that Garden of the Muses Your own Country. It is a Poem famous both for its Subject, (Strage de gli Innocenti) and its Author, the Cavalier Marino, who if he appear not to Your Royal Highness in so beautiful and glorious a Dress as was Native to him, yet I hope Your Royal Highness will vouchsafe to look upon him in this English Habit, with which You are now so well acquainted, that, among other felicities which the Nation hopes from Your Royal Person, it is not the least satisfaction that we have so great an Argument of Your good and gracious Inclinations for us, as to have so soon, and so easily attained our Language, which will encourage the most Ingenious to embellish it for Your sake, with all the Ornaments they can borrow from Your Italian, thereby the better to express their Devotion to Your Service, and more easily obtain pardon for what comes short of Your Royal Highness' Merits, which is the most humble Petition of,  
May it please Your Royal Highness, Your most faithful, and most Obedient Servant T. R.   

THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS'.  

BOOK I. Herod his Jealousy.  

I.  
NO more of Love my Muse; we'll sing the dire  
Rage of a King, who thousand Infants slew,  
Torn from their Mother's breasts. (O cursed desire  
Of Rule! What will not blind Ambition do?)  
You Christ's Vanquerours; my weak thoughts inspire!  
You faithful Witnesses assist Me! You!  
Whose tender throats, enlarged by murdering swords,  
Gave streams of Blood, instead of Cries and Words.   

II.  
And thou Antonio, great Iberus Fame!  
Most noble Branch of Emperors, and Kings!  
Who must not yield to thy transplendant Flame?  
Even Sols eclipsed, as thy Aurora spring's.  
Mirror of Heroes, to whose valued Name  
Unconquered Virtue her chief glories brings.  
This flowery Wreath, although of small esteem,  
Vouchsafe t' accept, composed of Sacred Rhyme.   

III.  
Nor blush (my Muse) devoted to adorn  
With these poor Flowers, his so deserving Brow.  
These Flowers, near the Phoebean Fountain born,  
Whence those Immortal Veins of water flow.  
Flowers on the Sacred Hill preserved, that scorn  
Or Sirius burning Rage, or Soreas' Snow.  
Whence their most secret sweets, th' Ingenious swarm  
Extract, and their eternal Honey form.   

iv  
Thou, who with such esteem, with so great Fame  
The reins o'th' Parthenopian War dost guide,  
That neither Rome, nor Athens boast a Name  
More worthy in their Monuments of Pride.  
So, that thy famous Actions to proclaim,  
Not only my Joyed Siren is employed,  
But all the echoing streams o'th' Tyrrhene shore,  
Thy Name, Immortal, murmur, and adore.   

V  
Under the vast Abyss, near to the Heart  
O'th' Universe, and Centre of the World;  
Within the Gulf of the profoundest part  
Stood the old Spirit, which from Heaven was hurled;  
About whose Loins, with horrid jaws retort,  
Myriad of Asps in filthy knots eaten curled,  
Subdued in Paradise, with those dire Chains,  
The Angel bound him to Eternal Pains.   

VI  
Here Judge of Torments, and the King of Woes,  
His Throne, and Robe of Everlasting Fire,  
A Robe, once rich, that did the Morn disclose,  
Now interweaved with Flames, and Night entire.  
On's Head (and's Sceptre this sole glory knows)  
A Crown, from which seven lofty Horns aspire.  
About this Diadem (most dreadful Snakes;)  
A Fring, the Cerast, and green Hydra makes.   

VII.  
Within his Eyes, where Death and Sorrowly,  
A troubled fiery Light of gloomy Red.  
From's squinting Aspect rays obliquely fly,  
Like Comets Stygian Lamps his Eyebrows shed.  
From's nostril, and swollen Lips, of livid Die,  
Dark Mists, and filthy Stinks, by vomit fed.  
His thoughts, are rabid Rage, Pride, black Despair,  
Thunder his Sighs, his Breathe lightnings are.   

VIII.  
Looks bloody, and contagious, his Breath  
Which raiseth dreadful flames, and deadly fumes,  
Kindle's that horrid Pile, that carries Death,  
And others inconsumably consumes.  
With harshest noise, he champs, and grinds his Teeth,  
All rough, with blackest rust, and nasty scums,  
And entering, with his limbs of steel, the flames,  
His Tail the clashing of his scailes proclaims.   

IX.  
Near his infernal Throne, assistants are  
Three Virgin Sisters cruel as his Mind,  
Who whips of Vipers, and of Thorns prepare;  
To prick Him on to Mischief still inclined.  
About their Faces, curled instead of hair,  
Making a dismal shade, are Serpents twined.  
His Sceptre is of Ir'n, and while He reigns,  
H'abhors his Empire, and Himself disdains.   

X.  
Wretch! as thou fellsed from Glory, in thy Prime,  
Who didst most glorious Angels once excel,  
So the severe Revenger of thy Crime,  
Shall justly thy Injustice plague in Hell.  
Proud Lover of thy beauteous Self! to climb  
Unto another's Throne, Thou didst rebel,  
But changed, and into Phlegeton now thrown,  
Oh proud Narcissus! Impious Phaëthon!   

XI.  
And now the grand Contest, that raised, of old,  
So great a flame in Heaven, he calls to mind;  
What Oracles, what dark Decrees enfold;  
What Sibylls Holy Prophets had devin'd,  
Think's what their Songs, and Writings had foretold;  
What thousand Prodigies, of late, designed.  
He saw, and heard those things, that, in his breast,  
Reviving grief, his Jealousies increased.   

XII.  
He saw from God, sent into Galilee  
An heavenly Nuntio, to an humble Maid  
Whom greeting low, as to a Deity,  
He Lilies o' th' Eternal April paid.  
Made Fruitful, in her old Sterility,  
Into the aged Hebrew's womb conveyed,  
He a Babe leaping see (a Saint before  
'Twas born) his God conceived, with joy, adore.   

XIII.  
He saw th' Atlantic, Adamantine snow,  
Resolve to Nectar, and to Silver Rills.  
On Scythian, frozen Hills all Fruits to grow,  
While sudden Springs, the Libyan Desert fills  
Honey from sweeting Pines, and Oaks to flow,  
While Heavenly Manna from the wind distill's.  
Thorns winter Roses, in Engaddi's field,  
The Fountain's Balsam, milk the Rivers yield.   

XIV.  
He saw in that most happy, holy Night,  
The silent Shades, and darkest horrors all  
Struck by the Voice of Heaven, and ruin'd quit,  
And, by the Angel's glory vanquished, fall.  
Through woods, and wildest Caves, in joyful flight,  
The Peasants on the neighbouring Shepherds call,  
And hast together, to their newborn King,  
The simple Tribute of Rude gifts to bring.   

XV.  
The Eastern Palace open, He, from far,  
Beheld, and thence a Triple Sun to rise,  
Sacred to the fair Goddess, who all war  
Detests, a Temple fallen before his eyes;  
Her Images, and Altars ruined are  
Which they were wont to cloy with Sacrifice.  
The Earth he see's to tremble, and divide  
The Wanton Lover, from his Mistri's side.   

XVI.  
He saw besides, with an unusual Ray,  
A Star Miraculous, in Heaven to shine,  
And towards Bethlaem, the directest way,  
With flames, like lightning, but more bright, design.  
Which as a glorious Servant, to convey,  
And guide them, as a Messenger Divine,  
The Royal Troop of three presaging Kings  
Thither from the Odorous Orient brings.   

XVII.  
To these new Monsters, as Ills yet unknown,  
This Enemy of Good, converts his eyes.  
Which certain to Himself, and Death alone,  
As Mortal Wounds, He did before surmise.  
He stretched his Wings, and would away ha' flown.  
(His Wings like Sails full blown, of largest Size)  
But the strong Gyves that bind Him, and enchain,  
In his Eternal Prison him restrain.   

XVIII.  
From these Effects of things below, the high  
Intent of what was done Above he knows  
Then dipped in Blood, and Poison instantly,  
Dire lamps, (his Hellish brands) he overthrows  
Hides with his claws his Face, then gives a Cry  
That bellowing through the darkest Caverns goes.  
And while his Rage, and Fury thus prevail,  
He bites the Top of his entorted Tail.   

XIX.  
Thus with himself he frets, but still in doubt  
'Twixt two, and unresolved he yet remains.  
He Studies the grand Book and to find out,  
The Sense, of Ancient Writings wracks his brains.  
He knows:— Yet does not: how to bring about  
The Birth o' th' Heavenly Infant, God ordain's.  
Or how a Child should pure, and spotless come,  
Divinely Humane, from a Virgin's Womb.   

XX.  
Hence He denies that greatest Mystery,  
That Wonder hid from Wits the most refined,  
As how a wife should still a Virgin be  
And keep that Flower untouched, as was her mind.  
It seems a strange Impossibility  
That true God, should to true Man be resigned.  
The Spirit Incarnate be, and, in the Toils  
Of life involved, be clothed with Mortal spoils.   

XXI.  
Th' Incomprehensible, Invisible Light  
When born, to Shepherds should revealed be.  
That God Omnipotent, and Infinite  
Should be Confined to Swaddling Bands: that He  
Who fed on Heavenly Nectar, should delight  
To suck like Children in their Infancy.  
That He should be in the rude Stable laid  
Of a poor Inn, whose Throne of stars is made.   

XXII.  
That a small Veil should the chief Sun obscure,  
The Word Divine, like Infants, stam'ring Cry.  
Who made the Fire, should, trembling, Cold endure.  
The Joy of Angels languish: Majesty  
Of Heaven, to Servitude Himself inure:  
And He who was Immense, should Les'nedly:  
That Greatest Glory, should to griefs, and Fears  
Be Subject, and Eternity to years.   

XXIII.  
That He himself should humble so, to pay  
Exacted Tribute, and to Laws be bound,  
Whom, as the great Lawgiver all obey.  
He from the Knife of Flint receive a wound,  
And that on their Redeemer men should lay  
The Sinner's Mark, in whom no Spot was found.  
These Ambiguities his thoughts involve,  
Nor can he this great Knot of doubts dissolve.   

XXIV.  
Mean time, his busy thoughts new plots designed  
His black Heart's Image, his stern Face doth bear  
For looks in that dark Empire show the Mind,  
And the Impress of inward Sadness wear.  
As we heavens Cheerfulness by Light do find,  
And Mirth on Earth by Laughter does appear.  
Stung with these cares (like Thunder) from his breast,  
A Desperate Oh-me! his grief expressed.   

XXV.  
Oh me! He bellowing cries, what mean's this high  
Concourse of strange Portents I now behold?  
What can it be?— ah, to my Sorrow, I  
Remember what the Angel said, of old.  
Oh-could I Nature's Seat ore'turne! that by  
My hand the Course of Stars could be controlled!  
Since these so direful Omens from Above  
Through Me must joyful, and most happy prove.   

XXVI.  
What can He more, who chased Me, long ago,  
From my bright Palace, and Celestial Seat.  
It might suffice, that I'm for ever, so  
Confined to th' horrors of this sad Retreat,  
Condemned to shades of Misery and Woe,  
To make the torments of the Damned complete.  
And to its Height my cruel Destiny  
Is raised, while I'm denied all hope to die.   

XXVII.  
He to its primitive, and simple state  
A base, corporeal Nature, would restore.  
And to be Chief in Heaven will elevate  
A vile Mass, that was earthly Slime before.  
I'll not endure't, i'th' North, I le try my Fate,  
'Mong whose salt cliffs the Angels never soar.  
And though, even thence, my Troops may vanquished fly  
'Twill be a Trophy to have ventured high.   

XXVIII.  
But why his Will unsatisfied? pretend  
To rob of Souls my Ancient Mansions? why  
Himself so absolutely apprehend  
All Humane weight, to raise my rage more high?  
And then a Conqueror to Us descend,  
Rich in his Spoils, and glorious Victory:  
And flourishing his bright Arms here below  
Come to disturb Me in my Endless woe?   

XXIX.  
Ah, art not thou that Creature once so Fair?  
The glorious Prince of beauty and of Love!  
The Star, enlightening first the Morning air,  
Prime Light of all the winged Choir above;  
Which as the Moon, when lesser Stars appear,  
Above their Luster, doth her rays improve.  
So rich in splendour, and in flames Divine,  
Above the Vulgar Angels Thou didst shine.   

XXX.  
Wretch! but in this Dispair, what can it Me  
Avail, to think upon my Pristine state?  
If past Felicities, remembered, be  
So harsh, and present Ills ingeminate;  
'Tis time the Acts of such an enemy  
T' oppose, and his too haughty power abate.  
If Hell must Languish, let not Heaven rejoice  
If Force cannot prevail, than Fraud's my choice.   

XXXI.  
But what Force is't I fear? long since have I  
Lost ancient Candour, and high Nature too  
Let the world Arm, and Heaven; with terror my  
Sole Nod the Elements, and Stars shall view.  
I'm what I was, whate'er arrive: and why  
If not the Doer, fear I what He'll do?  
God Arm's: what then? I best that war approve  
Which, since denied in Heaven, on Earth I le move.   

XXXII.  
All praise his haughty Language, and anon  
Their Fronts the Three Fierce Sisters higher threw.  
All shake their Lamps, from Styx, and Ackeron  
To Him all Serpents crawl, and homage do.  
See here! how prompt, how ready every One  
Of Us appears, thy pleasure to pursue,  
Great Lord of this most dreadful House (say they)  
Do but command and we will soon obey!   

XXXIII.  
Your first so brave Attempt in Heaven, did prove  
What your Allecto, with her friends could dare  
Nor though in these dark Mansions now you move,  
And with these rusty Roofs still covered are,  
Ought You to be less proud. For, though Above  
To the great Thunderer You Subject were;  
Yet, here You are a King whose Empire is  
Free, and entire on Earth, and the Abyss.   

XXXIV.  
If Wit, and Industry shall prove too weak  
Virtue of Herbs, of Stones, or powerful Spell,  
Anger, Deceit, or Love, by which Men break  
Oft into blood, and cruelly rebel.  
Thou (which must please Thee) shalt behold my Beck  
Draw Stars from Heaven, & Ghosts from Graves compel  
The Seas shall quake, Earth up-side down be hurled  
And from its Centre We will force the World.   

XXXV.  
He (Fierce) replies O my dear Props, O true  
Supporters of my Hopes, and of my Throne!  
●'ve seen your Arts, I've seen your Valour too  
Which in that Starry Mount,  clearly shown.  
But, though in all I do confide ('tis true)  
●'ve at this instant need of one alone.  
'Tis Cruelty alone, I now require,  
That can from doubts, my jealousy retire.   

XXXVI.  
Of the Three Goddesses of Mischief, She  
A worthy Sister, fierce above the rest  
Employs her bloody Wings continually  
To view those ill-born Troops, that men infest,  
Busy with Food Immortal to Supply  
Those Flames, where black Souls, boiling are oppress't.  
In the profoundest Secret depths of Hell,  
Where Sorrow, and Eternal Weep dwell.   

XXXVII.  
Most sadly thrice the dismal Caverns howl:  
Thrice the deep Shades like smoking Cannon roar.  
Then from dark, unknown Gulfs, the Waves that roll,  
And quarries, thunder on Crcytus' Shore.  
The noise She heard, and with a squinting Scoul  
From thence reverts her eyes inflamed with gore.  
And her reply, to her most dreadful Name  
Her Snaky Locks with a dire Hiss proclaim.   

XXXVIII.  
No House more terrible, more dark in all  
Death's Region, than this was made by Fates  
'Gainst cries of others, who for pity call,  
Still shut, rough Adamants compose the Gates.  
The fixed Foundation is of Iron, the Wall,  
Of Jasper is, which nothing penetrates,  
And Heads, which blood, and filthy gore besmear,  
With limbs lopped off, are scattered every where.   

XXXIX.  
Revenge has here her Throne, and in her hand  
Waving a naked Sword, all bloody, sets,  
Near her Disdain, with senseless Fury, and  
Fierce War, with Slaughter, that still pants and sweats.  
Far off they easily may understand  
Impetuous Rage, like mad, to vent her threats.  
Midst these, with grim Aspect, proud death commands,  
And turns his mighty Sith with both his hands.   

XL.  
Upon the Walls they horrid Engines see,  
By which, so oft, poor Mortals Plagues endure,  
That through the House, as dreadful Tapestry,  
Are hung, the worst that mischief could procure;  
Their Wheels, Chains, Gibbets, Spears, & Grindstones be,  
Nails, Axes, Swords, with other Furniture;  
All steeped in blood, and bear the horrid stain  
Of Brothers poisoned, or of Fathers slain.   

XLI  
At her detestably sad Table sit  
The Harpies, with devouring Famine: There  
Inhuman Erisicthon's appetite  
Untamed, calls, every moment, for repair;  
While Progne, Tantalus, fierce Atreus fit,  
With Infamous Lycaon, their cursed Fare;  
And dire Medusa's hand supplies them all  
With frequent Bowls of Blood commixed with Gall.   

XLII.  
The dire Eumenideses (her Sisters) still  
Attend, with flaming torches in their hands;  
Her Servants, Sylla, and proud Jezabel,  
With Circe, near to whom Medea stands,  
The Damsels of her Court, for all commands,  
The Parcaes, cruel, and inflexible:  
Whose hands her Robes, of blackest threads of Life,  
Compose, cut off by their Impartial knife.   

XLIII.  
This dismal House is circled by a Grove,  
Where fatal Trees their baneful shadows spread;  
Each Plant's a Plague, and all Flowers poisons prove;  
The Winds are sighs, the floods tears lately shed:  
Within fierce Minotaurs, and Cyclops move  
in herds, and, by the gloomy air are fed:  
In troops Hyenaes', Dragons, Tigers, there,  
Sphynx, Cerastes, Hydra's, and Chimaeras are.   

XLIV.  
Fereus' Dogs, horses of Diomedes,  
Therodamas his furious Lions, there  
With blood, profane Busiris altars fed;  
Proud Sylla's Prisons above all severe,  
Cruel Procrustes, strange, and dreadful Bed;  
And Lestrigonion Tables there appear:  
To these his Impious Rocks fierce Sciron joins,  
And cruel Scinis his tormenting Pines.   

XLV.  
Such tortures as by dire Mexentius,  
Nor by Geryon could invented be,  
Or Ochos, Ezelino, Phalaris,  
Or Nero, ever feared for cruelty:  
There all the flames, and knives of Barbarous  
Nabucco, Acabbes, and Pharaoh they see:  
Such is her Mansion, and with horrid cries,  
On active Wings, thence this Fourth Fury flies.   

XLVI.  
Scarce then to her the secret of his mind,  
The Prince of this black Empire did disclose,  
But straight from Hell swifter than swiftest Wind,  
Or Lightning, from his bloody Gates she goes,  
And as the face of Heaven serenely shined,  
The pallid stains of Death upon it throws,  
While to the ground the poisoned Birds at sight  
Of her alone fall dead amidst their flight.   

XLVII.  
From this dark Gulf, soon as this Monster came,  
To vomit thus her Hell against the Day,  
The Flowers, and Herbs, as by contagious flame,  
Or Winter's fury blasted, straight decay;  
She, with her frown, could Nature's active Frame  
Make stupid, and th' Eternal Sun dismay,  
Conceal the Stars, and Elements beside,  
Did not her Serpents her cursed Visage hid.   

XLVIII.  
Already from his secret shady Den  
Dull Somnus, chief Companion of the Night,  
Rose, on his lazy Wings, and eyes of Men  
With welcome theft, deprived of tedious light;  
And with a pleasing tyranny had then  
Shed his Lethean Water on their sight.  
While various wanton dreams, and calmest rest,  
As Lords, their senses, and their thoughts possess't.   

XLIX.  
With black, and nimble pinions, soaring high,  
To Bethlaem then Erynnis was conveyed.  
(For there Usurped, with greatest cruelty,  
And restless cares, the King his Sceptre swayed)  
And as with impious, fatal Torches, She,  
A bloody Feast, at Thebes appearing, made:  
Into all rooms o'th' Royal House She pries,  
Searching with careful steps and busy eyes.   

L.  
Herod, Augustus' Vassal, one now old  
In years, possessed good David's Royal Place.  
No lawful King, but of the Throne a bold  
Usurper, and of Idumaean Race.  
For Judas progeny no more did hold  
Judaea's Sceptre, but was in disgrace.  
And while, lost, ancient Honours they bewailed,  
Felt the sharp rigour of a Yoke entailed.   

LI.  
Through all the lofty Palace now she goes,  
Glides into most retired cabinets,  
Where at great Ease, and pleased, with sweet repose  
On Softest plumes the King his cares forgets.  
Nor will She (foul perfidious Fiend!) disclose  
Herself, in her own Shape, which Hell befits.  
But changing first her Face, and habit, made  
Herself a pallid Ghost, and fleeting shade.   

LII.  
All that She had of Fury, off She throws,  
And instantly a mortal Form She takes  
* Joseph's aspects, his mien, his action shows.  
Such, and as big as He, herself She makes.  
Then to the King, oppressed with sleep, She goes,  
Her cold hand chills his Heart, and then he Wakes.  
While thus disguised, an Humane Voice She feigns,  
And Him 'twixt sleep, and waking thus arraigns.   

LIII.  
What Sleepest thou Fool? and as when every part  
Of the Egean Sea, thick Storms surround,  
To the fierce winds, and waves, his Helm, and Art  
A slothful Pilot quits, whom fears confound.  
Thou art here idle, and thy warlike heart  
In sloth, thy senses in repose are drowned.  
Nor dost regard, or know, what mischiefs thy  
Strong Fates now threaten, and are very nigh.   

LIV.  
Know, that from ancient race of Hebrew Kings,  
(As fruit unhoped for, from a Stock that's dry)  
A child (though poor) that with Him wonders brings,  
As soon as born, with beasts on straw doth lie.  
Of this new branch th' ungrateful Vulgar sings,  
(Too much his Friend, to thee an Enemy:)  
Their praise: Him follows, and, already, Fame  
Styles Him their King, and thy Successor name.   

LV.  
O what Seditions, Plots, by him designed!  
What Engines! in his breast He fire does bear.  
In's hand the Sword; even now 'tis in his mind  
To mix fell poison, with thy princely Fare.  
Nor one to curb his Fury canst thou find,  
Or that his Treason will to thee declare.  
Go then, with laws, and Arms what's safe pursue;  
And this vile people to thy Rule subdue.   

LVI.  
I'm He, who once thy Sceptre to maintain,  
T' establish in thy hand, that Noble weight,  
My Life, and Blood have ventured, but in vain,  
Have I my blood spilt life exposed to Fate?  
On lighter reasons, Thou thy sword didst slain  
In Thine own brother's blood, and sons of late.  
But now intent on other Cares: why so  
Irresolute (when more concerned) and slow?   

LVII.  
Up, why dost stay? what business hinders Thee?  
What folly? rouse thyself; this sloth forsake.  
Already, wretched! rouse thyself, and see,  
What sword hangs o'er thy Head! rise, and awake  
Thy doruzy spirits, hence let thine anger be  
Worthy a King; new Arms, and Fury take.  
I' th' sword, and blood thy servant I will be  
Invisible (thy Brother's shade) with Thee.   

LVIII.  
Thus She, and straight her Amphisbaena, fed  
By foam of Cerberus (which then she wore,  
About her left arm twined) its poison shed  
On's heart, and hissing irritates him more  
Than flames, that strike all sense of Virtue dead,  
Her breath into his veins, at once, doth pour.  
This done 'mong deepest, and most 〈…〉  
To hid Herself, she Hell again 〈◊〉   

LIX.  
His sleep thus broke, while cold sweat overflows  
His limbs, the King starts from his troubled bed,  
Which though most rich, and stout to's fancy shows,  
A field of battle, and with thorns o'erspread.  
His memory nothing he had seen foregoes,  
And keeps imprinted deep whatever was said.  
With grief, and anguish filled, from hope he falls,  
And, mad, for Arms with threats, and sury calls,   

LX.  
As when the food of flames, the wealthy spoils  
Of fields are made, and kindled are by breath  
The hollow brass grows hot, and while it boiles  
With vapour mixed, it smokes, and murmureth.  
Then proudly swells, and like a Serpent coiles  
About the brims, foams, and rolls from beneath.  
At length overflows, and strives t' extinguish quite.  
Those very flames, that raised it to that height.   

LXI.  
So Herod troubled and perplexed to hear  
Another rose, who might disturb his reign;  
His discontented soul, late chilled with fear,  
Now burns with cruel anger, and disdain.  
He plots, impatient such a wrong to bear,  
To cut him off, his thoughts are still in pain.  
And in the night while others silent are,  
In rest, rejecting peace he seeks a war.   

LXII.  
Many Prophetic signs had long before,  
Imprinted in his heart this doubt, but when  
The tributary Kings their way explore,  
From a strange climate, through his Kingdom, than  
A silent wrack of fear torments so sore,  
His bloody, and inhuman thoughts again,  
That his suspicion, awaked, renews  
Th' infernal shade, which, restless, still he views.   

LXIII.  
Soon as the East had issued out the Day,  
(The air not yet from clouds, and darkness clear)  
His summons all his Princes must obey  
In Counsel at his Palace to appear.  
His Sergeants straight, and Heralds, every way,  
Are sent, and busily the Message bear.  
By them his chiefs, and vassals understand,  
From whom they come, and what is his command.   

LXIV.  
But (Horod) what's thy fear? or whence so dire  
A thirst of blood, that, now, inflames thy heart?  
The King of Kings assumes man's form entire,  
Not to command, but act the servant's part.  
Nor came on Earth thy Kingdom to acquire,  
But with his own t' enrich thee, 'bove desert.  
Oh vain, and foolish fear! that he his own  
should thus bestow, t' usurp another's throne.   

LXV.  
He born indeed to rule, but not for war,  
A poor, neglected, naked Babe is found,  
A tender Virgin's milk his only far,  
In a small Cradle and poor blankets bound:  
His soldier's shepherds, his arms, swathbands are,  
With thatch a Cottage (his high Palace) crowned.  
His Trumpets are his infant-cryes, and those  
Dull beasts, the Ox, and Ass, his train compose.   


Stanza II.  
Antonio de Toledo, Duke of Alva, Viceroy of Naples under Philip, the second, King of Spain, famous for many great Actions in the service of his Master in the Wars of Italy, Flanders, and Portugal, to whom our Author Marino, was rather a Friend, than a Domestic servant, though after his return to Naples (whence he was in a sort banished for some years to satisfy the malice of some men) he continued in the family of that great Man employed in his most important affairs, till he died in the 56 year of his Age An 1625.   

Stanza XVI.  
This General fall of Idols, in Egypt was prophesied by Isaiah (cap. 9 v. 1.) but it is remarkable in Ecclesiastic writers (as Eusebius, etc.) that Joseph, and the Virgin Mary, either by design, or curiosity, bringing the Child Jesus, into one of the stately Temples in Hermopolis (where they made their first abode) all the Idols immediately fell down, and were broken in pieces. Euseb. de demonstr. c. 20. Athanas. de Incarnate. verb. etc.   

Stanza. LI.  
M. Antony having crucified Antigonus (which as Dion observes (Vit. Caes. Octau. was never done to a King before by the Romans) gave the Crown of Judae to Herod (an Idumaean, by descent, and of no Regal line) which Augustus afterward confirmed.   

Stanza LII.  
* Joseph brother to Herod commanded his Army against Antigonus, and as he besieged Jericho, was driven into straits by Pappus (Antigonus his Lieutenant) his Army routed, himself slain and his Head, cut off, was sold to Herod by the Enemy for 50 talents.    
The End of the First Book.   

THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS'.  
BOOK II. The Counsel of Peers.  

I.  
NOW to the golden Car, that bring's the Day,  
The morning Virgins had the Harness joined,  
And at the Gate, that doth the Light display,  
Phoebus enthroned (the Stars dispersing) shined,  
And chase fleeting Dreams, and clouds away,  
His nimble Train of Messengers combined,  
That shining Shades, through every Clime should fly,  
And scatter Rosy Blushes through the Sky.   

II.  
When straight the Senators together come,  
By Guards conducted to a spacious Hall;  
Where Silken Images appear t'assume  
Life from the Artist to adorn the wall.  
Their Story was the most unhappy doom.  
Of Mariamne's Love, and Tragic Fall.  
The Work the Spoil o'the Babylonian Loom,  
The stately Hang of a stately Room.   

III.  
Regarding little, all the Wealth was there,  
The curious Work, and costly Tapestry,  
To th' King they hast, and busily prepare,  
I' th' Royal Senate (each in his degree)  
To take his places, as they distinguished were  
In blood, or title, year, or dignity.  
Some near Him, some more distant, in their Tribes  
Of Princes, Rabbins, Pharisees, and Scribes.   

iv  
To his high Throne, most royally arrayed,  
(A Work of greatest Pomp, and Wondrous state,  
Which by a good, and peaceful King was made,  
And admiration did in all create)  
Himself the cruel Tyrant straight conveyed,  
And all the Rest beneath about Him sat.  
Formed like an heart, the Seat he sat upon  
Was a choice Ruby, and a single Stone.   

V  
The Foot pace, where his Feet did proudly tread,  
With stiffest cloth of gold was overlayed.  
A Royal Canopy, above his Head,  
The Starlike Beams, of various gems displayed.  
The six large stately Steps, which thither led,  
Of whitest, polished Ivory were made.  
And as his furious Guards, on either hand,  
At every Stair, two golden Lions stand.   

VI  
Here soon as sat, grown pale, He, frowning thrice,  
The trembling Company surveys around.  
Then turning up to Heaven his bloodshot eyes,  
Straight downward looked, and fixed them on the ground.  
And in one act, his griefs, and threats implies,  
While both within, though not expressed, abound.  
Yet he complains not, but, as winds the rain,  
So sighs, and rage, a while, complaints restrain.   

VII.  
His Sceptre and his Throne, at once, he shaken,  
And stamping fiercely, his dire Rage to show,  
From's Head, its Ornament, and Honour took,  
(His Golden Crown) which he doth sighing view,  
Then from his Chin, with a disdainful look,  
The hoary hairs, like bristles, singly drew.  
At length, the flood of grief, and fury broke  
From his swollen, livid Lips, and thus he spoke,   

VIII.  
What terrors (Princes) what new shapes of fear  
Disturb, at midnight, my profoundest rest?  
What phantosms, visions do I see, and hear?  
What cruel stings of cares torment my breast?  
Poor men! who must this weight of trouble bear!  
Oh wretched Kings, whom dangers still invest!  
And to the plots of Foes must Herod, made  
A Victim, in his Palace be betrayed?   

IX.  
Ah, 'tis my grief, to find, that now the bold  
Usurper of my Throne, cause of my fear,  
So long by Jewish Oracles, foretold,  
Within the walls of Bethlaem should appear.  
Myself, of late, did for rain Kings behold,  
From th' East, to him, their wealthy tribute bear,  
And to their Home, with breach of faith which they,  
To me me had given, returned another way.   

X.  
And now, by this my Sceptre, and my Crown,  
I swear! to Me (whether I were awake,  
Or morning slumbers did my senses drown)  
All this before my brother Joseph spoke;  
These eyes him pensive saw, and sadly frown,  
And his known voice (whose language made me quake  
These very ears have heard, what secrets he,  
Of present dangers hath declared to me!   

XI.  
Can I Arabia's Pride, and Egypt's too  
Debell? and by unusual means, of late,  
The treacherous Atemion's plots subdue,  
And all Arbella's conquering force defeat?  
Antigonus with victory pursue?  
Kill Pappus, and destroy the Rhodian fleet;  
Pacorus rout, and on Hircanus ('mong  
The rest most false) revenge, with fame, my wrong   

XII.  
And now, a people weak, whom I with care,  
Have cherished; nurtured with a Father's name;  
I know not what poor Child (rebellious!) dare  
(While yet I live) their lawful King proclaim;  
And do I sleep? and, silent, tamely, bear,  
A King despised, a King betrayed, my shame?  
And, with vain pity, for Another's sake,  
Myself the object of their malice make?   

XIII.  
Already I (me thinks) the Hostile cries  
O'th' Infant, round about these walls, do hear.  
Yet cries they are not; nor will I despise  
Another's tender age; I, now, may fear.  
Dire sounds of war, and of conspiracies,  
Threaten of death, and noise of arms they are.  
Trumpets, which the base people fire with rage,  
Against my Life, and Quiet to engage.   

XIV.  
But all this noise of dreadful Tumults, I  
In sad, and mournful silence soon will drown;  
And in an Ocean of cruelty,  
Will, firmly, fix the Anchor of my Throne.  
The Innocent, and Guilty, all shall die.  
Justice, and Rigour's unto me all one.  
For I'm resolved with Blood, and Slaughter, now  
My Royal Crown t' establish on my Brow.   

XV.  
I know, as yet, my Ruin sucks, as yet  
Wrapped up, in swadling-cloths, in secret lies;  
And, puiling, like an Infant, craves the Teat;  
But, I'll provide, he may not, prattling, rise.  
I know his Treason into arms would get  
Against Me, and Me silently surprise.  
But let him come, as speedy, as he will,  
With certain vengeance i'll prevent him still.   

XVI.  
I shall no pleasing hours, no quiet know  
Until a sea of blood, by Me be shed;  
And that the blushing billows largely flow;  
And die this purple with a deeper red.  
My safety through a thousand wounds must show  
Itself (as through a thousand eyes) and spread  
Vermilion characters, till it confound  
All treason, and in it my fears be drowned.   

XVII.  
For tell me (you my faithful friends,) who, here,  
In this our common danger, now are met,  
Should I these flames, which (you perceive) so near  
My kingdom threaten, carelessly forget?  
Should I not, rather, while they thus appear  
In Embers, smuther th' m, before too great?  
And shunning by another's woe, my fall,  
To kill this One more certain, murder All?   

XVIII.  
This said, his silence straight a noise supplied,  
which through th' amazed Assembly humming goes;  
Such, as when Northern winds the Sea divide,  
Or rocks the waves imprison or enclose.  
Or when the Bees, like murmuring armies hid,  
The tops of flowers, where sweetest Nectar flows,  
And on their laden wings th' odorous prey,  
In Troops, unto their waxed Camp convey.   

XIX.  
But Vrizeus straight replied▪ as one  
Of nearest confidence, a Priest, who long  
Had travelled; many Lands, and Seas had known;  
Had much observed, and much had seen, when young,  
And now in's Master's secrets Aged grown,  
For Judgement, and for Trust perfer'd among  
The Chief, a bushy grove of Beard extends,  
O'er all his Face, and o'er his breast descends.   

XX.  
Honey in's words, but snares that all surprise,  
In's mouth are hid; his tongue with arrows stored;  
His actions a grave countenance disguise;  
His modest eyes a front serene afford.  
〈◊〉 candid stile, his Voice accompanies;  
●is Looks give emphasis to every word;  
And from his Lips, when He his story told,  
Flowed streams of purest Milk, through veins of Gold.   

XXI.  
●e hazards much said He, (Great Sir) whoever  
〈◊〉 resumes in this affair, to counsel you,  
●or, if my counsel different appear,  
●our anger (which I dread) may Me pursue;  
Or if to your resolve I should adhere;  
'Gainst justice, and my duty, that's worse too,  
A traitor to my Country God, and King,  
I, to myself shall certain ruin bring.   

XXII.  
Yet shall I not conceal, what now to mind  
I call, and in my Youth have proved, and tried,  
That rash resolves, and hasty, seldom find  
An happy End, or can the Test abide;  
Nor should He, who's to furious Acts inclined,  
Hope other, or expect aught else beside.  
For 'tis a crime in wisemen (all consent)  
First not to think, and, after, to repent.   

XXIII.  
Do then what best may seem, their fierce desire,  
who do, so lightly, snatch the easy Rain,  
With which an hand so gentle doth conspire,  
Reason advised must with hard curbs restrain;  
Who their stiff necks, from th' yoke of laws retire,  
A free Prince cannot, ought not to maintain.  
Yet the Lawgiver should observe his Law,  
And men t' obedience by example draw.   

XXIV.  
What boots it, that a King of greatest might  
Should, with an happy Sceptre, Kingdom's sway?  
If afterward the people's appetite  
(Like an unhappy slave) he shall obey.  
Things that to lose desires, and rage invite,  
Wound generous Souls, and to ill fame betray.  
But he that for another's blood doth thirst,  
As cruel, by the King of Heaven is cursed.   

XXV.  
And, if in vilest souls, of lowest fame,  
That in the obliqne path of sense do tread,  
This raging fury is esteemed a shame,  
When beyond rule, with it the spirits are fed:  
Oh, how much more from souls of highest name,  
From Prince's hearts, should this be banished.  
Oh how much more should they their wills restrain,  
And from this cruel precipice refrain.   

XXVI.  
For as the Region of Heaven above,  
Is always, in itself, serene, and pure;  
Where nor dark clouds, nor earthy vapours move,  
To hid its Brightness, or its Light obscure.  
Or as Olympus doth his height improve  
Above all showers, or Thunder to endure.  
So in a Noble Breast, and Royal mind,  
We seldom storms, or noise of Fury find.   

XXVII.  
Laws were, at first, for terror rather made,  
Then always to be rigorous, and severe;  
Their execution should be gently laid,  
If the offence an easy hand will bear.  
'Tis fit strong whips correct, and guide the Jade,  
Yet then still feel them, let him rather fear.  
Jove, when he thunders, with the dreadful noise,  
Doth many terrify, but few destroys.   

XXVIII.  
Forbidden it Heaven! that I my Prince persuade  
Unto so Brutish, so accursed a Deed;  
That my dear Country should be desert made,  
That Ruin should so great esteem succeed:  
Or that so brave a City waste be laid,  
And by a Civil Sword to death should bleed:  
Poor the Command, and vile the Sceptre, when  
The King a Kingdom wants; the Captain men.   

XXIX.  
'Tis clearly open what you have in view,  
But what you fear is doubtfully obscure;  
After so long experience, will you  
For future profit present loss endure?  
And through vain fear of Ills that may ensue,  
A certain mischief to yourself procure?  
A mischief that perhaps brings with it more,  
And greater ruins than you feared before.   

XXX.  
Do you suspect a War, and yet intent  
So many of your Youth should murdered be?  
Who knows but, 'mong the newborn,  a Friend  
Of greater value than your Enemy?  
Tell me (for Gods-sake) than who shall defend  
Your Crown, or arm for your security?  
If an whole Army in its growth, and spring  
You shall unseasonably to slaughter bring;   

XXXI.  
What then will Fame Report? Alas! that Fame,  
Which Truth, and Falsehood does, alike, declare,  
She'll say that Thirst of Blood did you inflame,  
To fain them Rebels, who most faithful were:  
A People who adores, and loves your Name:  
Who far remote from your Paternal Air,  
Amidst the Tumults, that your Throne invade,  
A constant Faith, and true Obedience paid.   

XXXII.  
Nor would I credit (Sir) your Brother's shade,  
That some nights since seemed to appear to you;  
I rather think, you then the sport were made  
Of vainest Fancies, and of Dreams untrue:  
Or that the Prince of Darkness did invade  
Your thoughts, and them to those Illusions drew:  
For (as I've read) Heaven's King doth never choose  
Fantosms for Messengers, but Angels use.   

XXXIII.  
And then, that King, whom you so apprehend,  
Must not expect his kingdom here below;  
Him spir'tual, and holy things attend,  
In his, all Grace, with Love, and sweetness flow;  
Immortal wealth doth from his Lap descend,  
Although he be a King most poor in show:  
Then let your fears, that he brings Tumults, cease,  
Since He to Earth descends to give it Peace.   

XXXIV.  
He most Pacifick, Mildred, and void of Harm,  
Will all Celestial Thunder lay aside;  
And should he strengthen his most powerful Arm  
Against Thee, how couldst Thou his Wrath abide?  
Oh! how can You yourself from the alarm  
Of shining Troops of winged Armies hid?  
Who can conceal himself? Or whither flee  
From Him who all Things moves, and All doth see?   

XXXV.  
Whether this old Prognostic of your Crown  
Be false or true does not, as yet, appear;  
●f vain, why is your People's Peace o'er thrown?  
Why should you raise their Scorn, or Hatred here?  
〈◊〉 wish (for my part) that it false were known;  
But subtle wits are busy, every where,  
Such lewd Reports, with Art, abroad to fling,  
To provoke God, and Man against the King.   

XXXVI.  
If in the Stars it be engraveed and writ;  
If Heaven decrees that this great Babe be born,  
Why should you Fate oppose? What can the wit  
Of man avail? Why should your Subjects mourn?  
Publish in vain your Edict, and with it,  
Your Threats, and Fury to the People's scorn.  
Yet, maugre all, He'll live, and grow, his Birth  
Heaven will protect, and hid him here on Earth.   

XXXVII.  
●ly (Sir) that Infamous, and Foolish Name  
Of a King cruel, and with Clemency  
Suppress that furious and swelling Flame;  
Let your wise breast with prudence tempered be:  
Suspend your Anger, be still kind, and calm;  
Let Justice from all violence be free;  
Search out the Guilty, and on him let all  
The punishments, that now are threatened, fall.   

XXXVIII.  
Farther would this grave Counsellor enforce  
His fluent speech, with reason's grave, and wise,  
But that he saw the King, at his discourse  
Offended, did his Eloquence despise;  
Tossing his head than a chafed Tiger worse,  
Or wounded Bear, he turned his envious eyes;  
He saw him in his forehead, and his brow  
Resolved, no such good counsel to allow.   

XXXIX.  
Burucco was a Lord of haughty mind,  
Bred up in Court, and hoarse with murmuring;  
A false, and envious Knave: Always inclined  
To mischief 'gainst the Kingdom, and the King;  
, and with sudden Fury blind,  
Affecting blood, and all to ruin t' bring.  
A stranger to all Pity: no regard  
Of Nature could his cruelty retard.   

XL.  
Bald-headed, he (his Chin shaved close) had still  
A vigorous Body, and an active Mind;  
But 'mong his few black hairs (against his will)  
Through cozening time, the scattered silver shin d.  
This Flatterer, intent to pick some ill  
From this grave Speech, a constant ear inclined:  
And, fixing on the King a steady look,  
Stood up, and kneeled, then sat again, and spoke.   

XLI.  
Sir, you have laboured much, and toiled in Wars,  
And as your valiant, and victorious hand  
Hath many deadly wounds, and bloody scars  
Printed on Foes, that did your Power withstand:  
●o, many Mouths to praise, and strongest bars  
To lasting Glory, and to high Command,  
 opened wide, an't may be said, your cares  
Have overcome your enemies, and years.   

XLII.  
Hence we may credit (with this Lord's good leave)  
That with good Reason you have ground to fear;  
Envy in other shapes doth oft deceive,  
And now perhaps doth some great thing prepare,  
And plots how she of life may you bereave,  
Or make your People Arms against you bear:  
For upon Kings, it is decreed by Fate,  
That Envy and Ambitious Greatness wait.   

XLIII.  
You govern (Sir) a People wild, and rude,  
Affecting Troubles, ready to rebel;  
An heady, and inconstant Multitude,  
Prompt to affront, and your Commands repel;  
A wise, and prudent Prince will soon conclude  
To curb their Folly, and their Fury quell:  
Their Mischiefs to repair with punishment,  
And providently future Ills prevent.   

XLIV.  
A little spark may soon extinguished be,  
Before it increase, and into flame be blown;  
And a small Leak at Sea, may easily  
Be stopped before the Bark be overflown;  
Wounds, when fresh opened soon are healed we see;  
And Plants will easily bow e'er too full grown:  
But if this Gangrene a full growth obtain,  
Force nought avails, and thoughts of Cure are vain.   

XLV.  
It will become, that wisdom, you have shown,  
By which your head under the cask's made grey,  
By which your Nod is formidable grown:  
You could your Sword before the Sceptre sway;  
To choke the Seeds of Mischief: Kings, or none,  
Should this observe, to teach men to obey;  
Then be upon your Guard, and still intent  
T'avoid what tardy care cannot prevent.   

XLVI.  
He says besides (to which I shall consent)  
That Mercy best commends a Prince's breast;  
Used towards the Loyal, 'tis an Ornament  
But should not towards Traitors be expressed:  
Its value, and esteem is lost, if spent  
On guilty Traitors, whom the Good detest:  
Justice and Mercy are Companions, and  
On them all Royal Virtues firmly stand.   

XLVII.  
But, I'll say more, you know, as yet your Throne  
Is not well fixed at Root these stocks to bear;  
Tender and young is your Dominion,  
And a new Lord's allowed to be severe;  
And, that your Power may be with Terror known,  
You rather Cruel should than Just appear.  
If Duty's Reason, to your Wrath gives way,  
Reason of State should have a greater sway.   

XLVIII.  
When Honour, and a Kingdom are at stake,  
Th' unusual part doth Reasonable seem;  
And Cases of importance often make  
Temerity like Prudence in esteem:  
But fear doth now the shape of Prudence take,  
'Tis Cowardice, which some will Pity deem.  
You should not have a thought of what is done,  
When it concerns your safety, and your Throne.   

XLIX.  
And, if from this so great severity,  
No other good, or wished effect arise,  
Yet none, at least, will dare, through Memory  
Of this Example, Treason to devise;  
If, of so many he Survivor be  
Who will assist his Arms and Enterprise;  
Since the past slaughter is their Terror made,  
And none are left to lend him strength or aid.   

L.  
But let us grant, that none shall ever dare  
To machinate a Plot against your Crown;  
Yet need you not the Fame or Title fear  
Of a fierce Tyrant, or a cruel one;  
But of a Just and Prudent Prince to share  
('Mong knowing Men) the Honour and Renown,  
If to the Innocent you seem severe,  
And Terrible, what should the guilty fear?   

LI.  
Add then, th' Almighty King of Heaven is He  
Who always Kings protects, and guards the great;  
They are most dear to God, who's pleased to see  
That they on earth command, and keep his Seat.  
If Herod now by him thus favoured be,  
That strange, and memorable signs repeat  
His Messages, and show what shall be done:  
This I'll not urge, since to yourself 'tis known;   

LII.  
But that so new mysterious Star, that shined  
In Heaven, was not a Star by chance placed there;  
But as a Tongue by God himself designed  
To say O King of Jews now, now beware;  
And those strange Kings, who by it led divined,  
And among us expressed with voices clear,  
Their search of this their King of Palestine.  
What were they (Sir) but Messengers divine?   

LIII.  
That the rude Vulgar, who, with greedy eyes,  
Still seek a change, should to his sense adhere,  
Is nothing strange: But that a Sage, a wise,  
And Royal People should so vile appear;  
That they inspired, and full of Prophecies,  
Like Sots, should Worship and Adore him here,  
Leaving their Kingdoms to another's care,  
And in so sharp a season come so far.   

LIV.  
'Tis worth your fear. Let all his Kin, as one  
Be punished, since they all will Him conceal;  
The Interests most allied unto a Crown,  
Are Laws, to which for Justice we appeal:  
That now the Traitor's born, if it be known,  
And none accuse him, none will him reveal,  
Then all are guilty, and it may be said,  
All Rebels are, and y'are by them betrayed.   

LV.  
Those whose soft hearts melt with Paternal Love,  
Whom Pity to their Children does inflame:  
Whom from Domestic Quiet nought can move,  
But Injuries light, and Dangers easy name.  
●o their own sense, things feigned, as real prove,  
●heir Speech, and Counsel, to what pleases, frame:  
Or too much fear of their own loss betray,  
Or else, but lightly, others dangers weigh.   

LVI.  
〈◊〉 who before my time, through toil and care,  
●nd (not through Age) gray-headed am become;  
Who, with thee, 'gainst thy Foes, did every where  
appear, both in Arabia, and at Rome.  
●hall not at all t' aver this Truth forbear:  
suspicion to Great Kings is burdensome.  
I've no design, this Truth commands me say,  
I not my safety 'bove your danger weigh.   

LVII.  
This 'fore the World, and Heaven I do declare,  
You Judges are, and witness with the King;  
Who would for safety to the shore repair,  
Himself in danger, by delay, may bring.  
What boots it that you sad and pensive are?  
If you rule all you may do any thing.  
To this (Sir) which is, now, expressly known,  
Neither delay, nor pity should be shown.   

LVIII.  
In a weak Arm sometimes a Surgeon makes  
But a small Orifice, and shows his Art,  
In sparing blood, of which he little takes,  
To preserve Life i' th' body and the heart:  
And while the Patient, with horror shakes,  
Doth often ease, by cruel Arts, impart;  
He burns, he lances, and confirms the cure,  
While the weak parts the Fire and Knife endure.   

LIX.  
Throw all your Wares and Treasure to the Sea,  
So that the Ship may safe on shore arrive;  
Take less and more ignoble Limbs away,  
If so the Head may be preserved and live;  
And justly (Sir) this Hebrew Plant you may  
of useless Branches, Buds, and Leaves deprive:  
That to the Royal Stock more place be given  
To spread, and rise, without restraint, to Heaven.   

LX.  
Then let the Innocent, and Guilty fall,  
If Gild by Innocence thus nurtured grow  
Though Thousands: let us sacrifice them all,  
So that the single Traitor feel the blow.  
Whether we Friends or Foes these Slaves may call,  
By th' Royal Sword, let their blood largely flow:  
With reason we may slaves to slaughter bring,  
If so from danger we preserve the King.   

LXI.  
Thus He; and straight with a less troubled brow  
The wretched King applauds whate'er he says;  
And standing fixed in's resolution now,  
Deluded by the flattering sound of praise,  
HE arose, and then doth their recess allow;  
His damned design contriving several ways;  
And like a foaming Viper, swelled with rage,  
Makes haste, in blood, his Venom to engage.   

LXII.  
His silence still provokes him more with cares,  
Torments his breast, and sets a fire his mind;  
The Furies spur him on, with all the fears  
Of Death, and Jealousies, that Empires find;  
What is it that an Ins'lent Tyrant dares  
Not do, whose heart's to cruelty inclined?  
Thus he presumes, and rashly doth pursue  
To execute what's not in's power to do.   

LXIII.  
●he guilty Night from Zion now arose,  
Surcharged with Arms, and dark Eclipses crowned;  
Judaea none so terrible as those,  
To rise from the Abyss of Hell had found;  
Wherever Judas Let th' Horizon shows  
A Stygian darkness covers all around:  
So black the Firmament, as if 'twere made  
Of clouds, condensed to Adamantine shade.   

LXIV.  
The King, mean while, impatient of delay,  
Moved, and spurred on by Impious cruelty,  
Looks like a Menade, rolling every way,  
Her eyes, at sound o'th' Bacchanalian cry,  
He feels his heart within him restless lay,  
Wounded with fears, that Vengeance must supply:  
Yet such his looks, that he to all appeared,  
Rather surprised with fear, than to be feared.   

LXV.  
He calls his Ministers, and such the vain  
Force of his Rage, that he could hardly speak;  
But like a Torrent, which, when Rocks restrain  
Its course, straight back into itself doth break:  
Shutting his Teeth, his broken voice again  
Returns, and's words, within, harsh murmurs check;  
Till from his Bowels the disordered sound  
Broke out like Vapours from the trembling ground.   

LXVI.  
I will that all the Mothers, who reside  
In Bethlem's Circle, to that Town repair,  
With all their Children, that as yet abide  
In Cradles, and but two years' aged are;  
Your diligence in this shall well be tried,  
If their full number be to morrow there.  
Thus he; and strait the Royal Trumpets sound,  
Sends his Decree through all the Country round.   

LXVII.  
The Tyrant nothing of his black design,  
But's pleasure to conceal't, to all declares:  
And that with fair pretences they should join  
To cover all his plots, and cruel snares;  
The Women nothing know, nor can divine,  
O'th' stratagem that 'gainst them he prepares.  
Some with th' Edict are pleased, some frighted are,  
Some think t' obey, and some with fear despair.   

LXVIII.  
Pity Divine (if yet thou dost abide  
In Heaven) since Thou from Earth didst thither fly,  
Look down on us below; behold the Pride,  
And cruel Trophies of thine Enemy:  
Wilt thou not now descend? Have th' Hebrews cried  
So long, and can their miseries 'scape thine eye?  
Oh hear! our only hope is, Thou wilt give  
Some Refuge to keep Israel's Seed alive.   

LXIX  
Thus of her Children, like to be deprived,  
Poor Rachel, in a sad, but pious tone,  
Gave up her loud Complaints, which soon arrived  
Above. The Goddess (to Compassion prone)  
Villing t' impede what Herod had contrived,  
Prostrates herself before th' Almighty's Throne.  
Gives freedom to her voice, and with a strain,  
Mixed with deep sighs, doth thus, aloud, complain.   

LXX.  
Allseeing eyes! who are alone Divine!  
Are you (said she) turned quite another way?  
Are you not moved? or do ye now decline  
The slaughter of these guiltless Babes to stay?  
Behold these Men, who now with Beasts combine  
In new sad Arts, that savage hearts betray;  
Which are th' Infernal Serpent's only Food,  
From hunger of Gold born, and thirst of Blood.   

LXXI.  
Art Thou not (Father) now, as heretofore,  
The Jealous God of Wrath, and Vengeance too?  
Why then does yet thy dreadful Thunder roar?  
And thy dire Arrows wicked men pursue?  
Can't the loved Victim of the Lamb restore  
Man to Salvation, and pay all that's due?  
One drop of that pure Spring's of such esteem,  
And Price, as may a thousand worlds redeem.   

LXXII.  
Oh! call to mind with what affection Thou  
Th' Inhabitants of Zion once didst love;  
Were't pleased to call them Thine: their choice allow,  
Their Priesthood too as Royal didst approve.  
Of every Gate, of every House didst vow  
To be their great Defender from above.  
These thy Decrees with zeal and love were given,  
And can such Laws be now infringed by Heaven?   

LXXIII.  
Canst thou so far be angry? Yet I'm sure  
Thine anger's always Just and Holy too.  
But, oh, what Angel is before thee pure?  
heavens firmest Pillar trembles at thy view;  
I'll not oppose thy will (which must endure  
Still fixed) although warm Tears my checks bedew:  
Thou knowst what pleaseth thee me pleaseth best,  
Thy pleasure only gives me peace and rest.   

LXXIV.  
I only beg (if yet thou canst afford  
Any just comfort may my Griefs alloy)  
That against me thou brandish not thy Sword;  
Me (who the sins of Mankind justly weigh)  
But that the Hebrew Race, with so abhorred  
Slaughter, ought now to perish, who can say?  
Or that condemned, and Guilty, he should fall,  
Who knows no sin, nor merits pain at all.   

LXXV.  
But if for this thy Wrath, and dreadful Ire,  
With all these Prayers, will not at all relent;  
Let these (the only Boon I now desire)  
These sad complaints prevail, which now I vent.  
Consider these deep groans, which I expire,  
And with compassion these warm tears resent;  
To quench the flames of such approaching ills,  
Thy Mercy oft Immortal showers distils.   

LXXVI.  
Oh if no force of Prayers prevail at all  
With thee, who things Impossible canst do;  
Who sometimes train'st down flames: Who canst recall  
Hours past, and stop the Sun's swift Chariot too;  
If thou canst let thy Rod of Anger fall,  
At these sad Charms, with which I prostrate sue!  
At length with these my fervent Prayers comply!  
Nor Pity unto pity's self deny.   

LXXVII.  
The Bosom of thy favours now expand,  
Stretch down that Arm supports the world, and say  
Jordan's Fair Nymph shall live: some drops command  
Of sweetness, may her bitter things allay;  
Upon these cruel flames, with that strong hand  
(Which to all Griefs doth perfect health convey)  
Pour from those everlasting Springs above  
Th' immortal streams of thy eternal love.   

LXXVIII.  
Thus Pity; straight the winged Orphei round  
Double their notes, and on each golden Lyre  
They Pity for the Hebrew Babes resound,  
The voice of Pity runs through all the Choir;  
On her his eyes, where Mercies do abound,  
Th' Almighty turned from's Throne, where still entire  
The Trinity in Unity alone  
Distinctly shines, eternal Three in One.   

LXXIX.  
On's Forehead, where full Bliss the Angel's view,  
Life itself lives, and feeds for ever there;  
This only Springs, and Summers can renew;  
Trouble with storms, and then serene the air;  
From's Brow, the Sun (that he may still pursue  
His Course) his light immortal doth repair;  
And the reflection of his holy eyes,  
With Saphires Heaven, the Stars with Gold supplies.   

LXXX.  
His Robe, of Texture not to be expressed  
So Rich, it hides the Habit every were;  
Looks like the Sun (if yet the Sun when dressed  
In all his Rays, near him can bright appear)  
A shining cloud he seems to make his Vest,  
And for a Mantle cloudy Light to wear:  
He shines so, that himself his own light hides  
And in his proper Rays concealed abides.   

LXXXI.  
Known only to Himself, He All, within  
Himself absconds. He Centre is, and Sphere.  
Immortal, still the same H'ath ever been,  
Nor Life, nor Death from any else doth share.  
Through all diffused, from Him all things begin  
To move, and yield obedience every where;  
All comprehends, not to be understood,  
But as chief Beauty, chief Delight, chief Good.   

LXXXII.  
New Pity, which all Rigour did allay,  
Showed it was stamped in the Creator's heart  
And's eye, towards her fixed kindness straight convey,  
And livelier beams, with doubled Love impart.  
He burned with Zeal, when an Abyss, a Sea  
Of light, and flames from his bright face revert:  
Whence Floods of Fire, and splendour over all  
The Sacred place like dreadful Torrents fall.   

LXXXIII.  
His voice shook both the Poles, and th' Axletree  
Bowed, which the Worlds great Machine doth sustain;  
The Spheres straight lost their various Harmony,  
And the whole heavens their former Course restrain;  
Tigris, and Ganges to their Fountains flee,  
The Bears both trembled, Atlas shrunk again;  
When from the Mouth of the Almighty broke,  
Irrevocable Fate, and thus he spoke.   

LXXXIV.  
O Happy, happy Thou! who only can  
My Divine anger from its course divert;  
Who sweetnest my eternal cares for man,  
My pleasure, and celestial Love thou art.  
My Glory, Grace! whose tenderness began  
First, through my bowels to pierce into my heart.  
Thy prayers have gained me, and in all their parts  
With pity armed, are penetrating Darts.   

LXXXV.  
But how (my Muse) with wit so weak as thine,  
Seekest thou a Glory, not to be expressed?  
Thou better what he is not may'st divine,  
Than what he is silence in this is best.  
O, (with that kissed her) thou (said he) art mine  
My dearest, sweetest pledge! for ever blest.  
Can I with thee severely now proceed,  
Who art my offspring, nay myself indeed?   

LXXXVI.  
Of nothing, I all things have made through thee,  
The Air extended, fixed the fire above,  
Into one pit collected all the Sea,  
Prescribed the bounds to which its waves shall move,  
Let lose the Springs, the Lakes, and Floods, by Me  
The Abysses, Pillars to the vast Earth prove.  
I the World's stable Hinges did create,  
On which the Heavens turn round, with all their weight.   

LXXXVII.  
Through thee, the Sun, and Moon: through thee alone,  
The Stars with motion I've adorned, and light;  
Have made (amidst the Heaven's swift motion)  
The Poles stand fixed, raised winds by day, and night.  
Made Fish to swim, and the wild Beasts to run,  
Serpents to glide, and sitted Birds for flight.  
The Earth Heaths, Plants, and painted flowers to bear.  
And d 〈◊〉 〈◊〉'd the four Quarters of the Year.   

LXXXVIII.  
Of 〈◊〉 Wo●●●, I then resolv●d to frame  
Man, as the g●ace, and Glory of the rest;  
The World's ●ir smage, of illustrious Name,  
Which no● the World alone, but Me expressed.  
In him, i'm ●●as'd, Him my delight proclaim,  
My 〈◊〉 work, resembling Me the best.  
A Glorious, Noble Fabric, and Divine,  
In ●his, even all eternal Beauties shine.   

LXXXIX.  
But when the wicked One had overthrown,  
So great a Grace (by whom you understand)  
I hastened to repair: and thou alone  
T'enlarge thy merciful, and thy holy hand.  
Who could not die at all, earth's spoils puts on.  
And Himself s●●teth in the mortal Band,  
That He may finish, that great work below,  
Which i've committed to him long ago.   

XC.  
The blood which he shall shed, we, here, decree,  
Shall save the blood of all these Innocents';  
And my dear Church (which he will build) shall be  
Enriched with treasures, and all ornaments.  
Nor after this shall justice, unto me  
Complain of injuries, and discontents.  
I (daughter) will not this pursue, nor may,  
And yet I must, in part, thy griefs allay.   

XCI.  
These my first victims shall be Herod's crime,  
And shame, and all their wrongs with honour crowned;  
Their griefs with joy, and glory most sublime,  
Bright as the Sun shall shine in every wound.  
And, if his cruel hand shall, at this time,  
On Earth their Lives, and tender years confound,  
A thread of Life more glorious shall be given  
To them, by an eternal Fate, in Heaven.   

XCII.  
I'll make the King, of that dark World below,  
Delude, and keep the impious Tyrant still;  
Till time, and all things else maturer grow,  
Which we, for common safety, will fulfil.  
They'll search for this great Birth, but he shall go  
Secure, and fly safe guarded from all ill.  
A flight of scorn, not as by fear pursued,  
By which he'll vanquish Death, and Hell delude.   

XCIII.  
He spoke, and it was done, a winged Light;  
O'th' ever blessed Angelique Family,  
Perceived God's mind, which they know all aright,  
By a sole glance of his serenest eye;  
And from the World of everlasting Light,  
To that of fading, and obscurity.  
With wings, like feathered Oars, doth straight repair;  
Ploughs through the winds, and navigates the Air.   

XCIV.  
The beauteous spoils (i'th' twincling of an eye)  
He of light air, and divers colours takes;  
Then from the highest part of Heaven doth fly,  
(As from a mighty precipice) and breaks  
Through the  sphere; and by  
Bright sires, and flaming Lamps his way he makes.  
Then through the swiftly turning Orbs, and those  
That move obliquely, and more slow, he goes,   

XCV.  
Arriving where the lowest Heaven its pure  
Crystal with studs, of light condensed, adorns;  
From the cold frost of that moist Orb secure,  
He downward glides, between the silver Horns  
O'th' Queen, whose dewy Veil cannot endure  
The drying flame which gloomy shades adjourns.  
Nor can the neighbouring heat at all impair  
His shining Wings, or hurt his golden hair.   

XCVI.  
From's naked shoulders a fit Vest descends,  
By his left side, of a most curious thread;  
Where in celestial colours Art contends  
With Azure Gold, and white with purest Red.  
Two Skirts, girt at the waste, thence each depends  
Loosely, nor farther than the knees are spread.  
Which, lest they waving be too much displayed,  
A golden clasp restrains, with gems inlaid.   

XCVII.  
Extended on his shining Back a pair  
Of ample Wings their glorious colours show;  
Most choice perfumes enrich his curling hair,  
And to the air the graceful Tresses flow.  
Carbuncles, and immortal Rubies are  
The Garlands, that invest his ivory brow.  
His feet were hid, and lofty dancing, run  
Through Gems are Stars, and Gold that is the Sun.   

XCVIII.  
Night disappeared, and though the greater Light  
Of Day, still under ground concealed his Rays;  
Yet the celestial flame, let lose to flight,  
Like a Vice-Sun, in Heaven its beams displays.  
Which, ventilated by his Wings, a bright,  
Long tract of light, his way through th'air betrays.  
Shepherds deceived, forsake their Beds, and pay  
Their Orisons, as to the rising Day.   

XCIX.  
In Ethiopia there's a Dale, which high,  
Aspiring Rocks, as in a ring, surround.  
Where Sol from noon, till night can never pry,  
Through the thick shade of boughs, that there abound.  
Here with his dull, and lazy company,  
The King of Dreams dwells, in abodes profound,  
And in most solitary Grotts, and Caves,  
Night quiet refuge, only there receives.   

C.  
Of Ivory one, and one of Horn were made  
Two Gates, at which Ease, and Oblivion stood,  
And near them Silence, who, still listening, laid  
His finger on his mouth, and with his Nod,  
Through the mute Palace his commands conveyed;  
Lest beasts, or winds should shake the leaves o'th' wood,  
In those close horrors, more than any where,  
The plants, and flowers still languishing appear.   

CI.  
No birds are heard to sing, the gloomy Sky  
From Thunders free, through all this dark retreat;  
No Shepherds talk, nor echo makes reply;  
Dogs never heard to bark, or Sheep to bleat.  
Only a purling rivulet, hard by  
A Cave, doth through the stones its passage beat;  
By whose hoarse murmurs, those who there are laid,  
Are to more Sound, and sweeter sleep betrayed.   

CII.  
Just in the centre of this darksome Cave,  
The hermit God, affecting secrecy;  
Himself to pleasing rest, and quiet gave;  
Stretched on a bed of levy Ebony.  
Crowned with loft Poppy, his left hand doth wave  
A bough in Lethe steeped; and heavily  
Nodding, his right supports his drowsy head,  
And for his robe, a Badger's skin is spread.   

CIII.  
Scarce lifting up his dull, and half-shut eyes,  
His brows still languishing, appear to frown;  
His head nods to, and fro, as if he'd rise,  
Sometimes he seems, and straight again lies down.  
Near him of cups, and bowls most large supplies,  
And napkins that the smoky table crown  
With all choice meats, and wines that appetite  
Might please, and odours that the sense delight.   

CIV.  
Directly hither straight the Angel flies,  
Down from the Empyrean high degrees;  
And round about, in several Troops, espies,  
With dusky wings, fallacious Images.  
Yet could not their false shapes, celestial eyes  
Deceive; but Morpheus he distinctly sees  
With Ithaton and Tantalus, who there,  
Struck with those Heavenly rays soon disappear.   

CV.  
'Mong this black Troop of winged Spirits, a bright  
And shining Damsel hovered up, and down;  
Her habit most transparent was, and bright,  
Through which her limbs (to wonder fair,) were shown.  
Her silver wings had eyes of various Light,  
(Like Peacock's train) her name was Vision.  
A guide to truth: the ancient Prophet's friend,  
Whom God was wont on Embassies to send▪   

CVI  
Her Forehead was of Crystal pure and clear,  
On which delineated, and written shined  
All Nature's forms: all that created were,  
Or yet to be created were designed.  
Written by God's own Hand, the character  
Of Light (in stead of Ink) l●ke Gold refined.  
Here what to others often he concealed,  
To's friends, as writ in paper, God revealed,   

CVII.  
The Hebrew Pilgrim the high mystery,  
O'th' Heavely Ladder here did comprehend;  
Here Egypt's holy Prisoner did foresee,  
What did to him th' adoring sheaves portend.  
The Captain of the chosen Progeny,  
From th' un-burnt Bush beheld the flames ascend.  
And Sacred Poets did the Truths discern  
Of Heaven, and here a thousand secrets learn.   

CVIII.  
Here the belov'd Disciple filled with high  
Raptures, since leaning on his Mother's Breast,  
In Pathmos, with Divine Sagacity,  
In writing those great wonders hath expressed.  
From's Earthly prison freed by ecstasy,  
The Doctor of the Gentiles, 'mong the blessed,  
Saw things to mortal senses unrevealed,  
That were, and ever shall be still concealed.   

CIX.  
With her the Heavenly Nuntio th' Air ascends,  
Then swiftly o'er the Earth, and o'er the Sea,  
Directly her resplendent wings extends,  
Towards Fethlaem▪ where Joseph slumbering lay.  
The Morn that through the Heaven her blushes sends,  
More clear their bright impressions did display  
With all that was of wonder to be seen,  
Or by the hand of Heaven there carved had been.   

CX.  
Vision the Morning loves, that season more,  
Then any given by time sh'affects the best;  
Because the soul is, in that pleasing hour  
More from the flesh removed, and less oppresst.  
Turned to the Good Old man, she sets before  
His thoughts, her face with all its glories dresst.  
That Diamantine Book, wherein all forms  
Of things are written, and the fancy charms.   

CXI.  
Joseph through these sure signs, was at a stand,  
Till th' Angel the internal sense declared;  
And he read there distinctly God's command,  
Jealous that his escape he should retard.  
Oh fly, fly (written in't with his own hand)  
Thy dream's not cheating fancy, have regard  
To this, which God's true oracle doth sing,  
Fly this devouring Land, and cruel King.   

CXII.  
Too long among so great, so many snares,  
Thou art secure and slow,— arise (I say)  
Take heed the spise, which Herod now prepares,  
Trace not thy steps, nor thy great Pledge betray.  
Be gone, and th' Holy Child (our chief of Cares)  
Directly to Caenopus straight convey.  
And till from Heaven, a message thou again  
Receive, from travel cease and there remain.   

CXIII.  
The Cousin of thy might charge, the Great  
Son of Elizabeth, shall likewise be,  
Far hence removed, and, in a safe Retreat,  
Approaching slaughter shun (Heavens care is he)  
He (the Divine Forerunner;) shall defeat,  
(Though very young) their stratagems; and free  
Through Deserts go, there, for a city, take  
Some wood, and, in a Cave his dwelling make.   

CXIV.  
Go then; and from the dire, and impious Foe,  
Or from the bloody Tyrant nothing fear;  
'Mong thiefs, wild beasts, through armies thou shalt go,  
Most safe, for God is with thee every where.  
This said, the Dream, Sleep, and the Vision too,  
To their dark Mansion fly, and disappear.  
The Angel left him then, the dazzling light,  
And flames, that seemed to scorch him, vanished quite.   

CXV.  
Astonished, and amazed he wakes at last,  
And to his Virgin Spouse doth all disclose;  
While she, informed from Heaven of all that past,  
Fearless, and undisturbed no sorrow shows;  
He to the Cradle runs, and there, embraced,  
The Heavenly Babe, while tenderness overflows  
His eyes, and bathed him all in tears, h'expressed,  
A Father's Love, and hugged him to his breast.   

CXVI.  
O whither shall we go (my son said he)  
(Yet thou my Love, and my Protector art!)  
The danger is so near we cannot flee,  
Thou Life of my afflicted Soul, and Heart!  
Ah how untimely must this exile be?  
Sole flower of Jesse's Root! divinest part!  
With feet bound up in swath-bands, and so weak,  
Is't fit a Pilgrimage to undertake?   

CXVII.  
Yet must we fly, and thy celestial aid,  
Shall these weak limbs with strength, and spirit supply;  
Heaven promises our way shall smooth be made,  
O'er Mountains, and o'er Rocks most rough and high.  
Let us through all by thee (Lord) be conveyed!  
A thousand Lives, in this One's safety lie.  
Me (frail old man) in the right way direct!  
This tender Infant, and weak Babe protect!   

CXVIII.  
As thus the Holy Foster-father spoke,  
While all to speedy flight now ready tend,  
Tears from his eyes like sudden Torrents broke,  
And through the Furrows of his Cheeks descend.  
The Child embraced him with a smiling look,  
And wiped them off: and with a gentile hand,  
(Compassionating Humane miseries) strokes  
The old man's cheeks, and washed his hoary locks.   

CXIX.  
He, when he saw the Air 'twixt night and day  
Obscure, and all things now persuade to rest;  
A burden of his choice, and best array  
Composed, and charged upon a gentle Beast.  
Where the whole weight o'th' world's salvation lay,  
In swathbands, and, as in a Cradle dressed.  
Oh Lord (said he) this equipage forgive!  
And, that nor Gold, nor Purple thee receive.   

CXX.  
The haughty King, and impious Tyrant lies  
On costly beds, with sumptuous Ornaments;  
thou the vile work of labouring hands supplies,  
With a poor covering, that the cold prevents.  
Although, an ill-made Couch, which we devise  
Of straw, and moorish reeds thee, here, contents,  
I know thou triumphest there above, the Sun  
Thy Robe, thy Palace Heaven; & thrones thy Throne.   

CXXI.  
I know full well, all Pride thou dost despise,  
Thy chiefest Treasure is, a Love sincere;  
Thou above all degrees, the pomp dost prise,  
O'th' minds, and Hearts that Humble still appear.  
Thus reasons he; and while the Infant lies  
On the rude plumes, that now in order were;  
The burden fixed He, with the Virgin, slow  
A foot behind their homely carriage go.   

CXXII.  
Infernal monster! (Tyrant is too good  
A title) thy sweet country now destroy;  
Now feed thy impious rage with civil blood,  
And th' appetite with griefs of Mothers cloy.  
Behold, th' eternal Author of all good,  
Maugre thy fury, safe a ready way  
Retires, where he in a secure Exile▪  
Sees the high Cataracts of falling Nile.   

CXXIII.  
That Nile which deafneth all his neighbour's ears,  
And with fertility the Sands overflows;  
That like a Sea in pride and rage appears,  
And seven full Urns into the Ocean throws.  
That from his unknown spring, as Umpire bears  
Himself, and bounds to Asia and Africa shows.  
And while he limits to the world proclaims,  
Imposeth on his Banks two several Names.   

CXXIV.  
He saw the famous Pyramids, those high  
Mountains of Art; a Ladder each appears  
To scale the Stars; or Pillars to the Sky,  
Or stand as firm foundations to the spheres.  
Under whose wings all Climates seem to lie,  
And every hill the mighty shadow wears.  
While their vast height denies to all the Groves  
The light, and hides the Sun whereere he moves.   

CXXV.  
He saw the Pharos, whose great light, far round  
Diffused, their safest course to Ships assigned;  
The Sphynxe's image, with all wonders crowned,  
O'th' Carver's Art, and truths to come divined.  
The stately Labyrinth, where place was found,  
For seven large Palaces to stand disjoined;  
And the vast wall that far extended is,  
And joins Pelusium t' Heliopolis.   

CXXVI.  
As born of the proud Flood he Maeris, there,  
Beheld, and the prodigious Lake discerned.  
The College where eternal records were,  
And Schools whence Greece its Light and Glory learned.  
The Caves for Bodies, that eternised are,  
By Cedar, Pitch, Bitumen, and are turned  
To rare confections which the Merchants thus  
Transformed, as wholesome Mummy bring to Us.   

CXXVII.  
As a true Herald of the Vernal Sun,  
Th' eternal offspring, wheresoever he goes,  
His Light, and warmth dispenseth, and upon  
The sandy Paretonian land bestows.  
The Ruby, Sapphire, Emerald straight begun,  
I'th' barren Earth their riches to disclose.  
The Lion, Tiger, Bear their Maker know,  
And Crocodiles their sense of duty show.   

CXXVIII.  
Straight winter his red Mantle laid aside,  
And aged Face, while nature wondering stands,  
To see how April all her Pomps, and Pride  
Poured largely on her, with most bounteous hands,  
And with a rich, and stately dress supplied  
The needy Regions, and those naked Lands.  
Untimely Honour's grace each winter Thorn,  
And flowers, as wedded to them, Prosts adorn.   

CXXIX.  
The gentle Breezes of the the wanton Air,  
With their inviting and melodious sound;  
Pass through the amorous Palms, and Laurels there,  
And whispering shake their joyful wings around.  
The hills, and dales, that plants odorous bare,  
Delight their Maker; and the Mountains, crowned  
With trees, their lofty heads in Reverence bow,  
And springs with murmurs court him, as they flow.   

CXXX.  
Nile his lost head, from his close fountain drew,  
Hasting to kiss the Virgin's holy feet.  
The waters seem to bow, and humbly sue,  
With kind refreshment their faint limbs to meet.  
wherever they trod, all herbs and stours strait grew,  
And their new Sun adore with all that's sweet.  
Birds from the trees, and Angels from above,  
To praise, and bless him, pleasant Contests move.   

CXXXI.  
A thousand, thousand flames, straight kindled were,  
Of Heavenly Cupids, that in Troops around;  
The Pilgrims follow, and through the air,  
With various dances spread th' harmonious sound.  
These from the sleeping Babes sweet face, with care,  
Wipe off nocturnal dews, (that there abound.)  
Those over him, their plumes, and wings extend,  
And from the winter's cold, and frosts defend.   

CXXXII.  
A War like Spirit of the Etherial Band,  
Whom Heaven ordained to be their convoy there,  
Armed with a shining breastplate, in his hand  
A sword, that flames ejected every where.  
Like a bright Harbinger through dubious, and  
Through crooked ways conveyed the humble pair.  
Like him in habit, and in face, whom he,  
So lately, sleeping, saw, and waking, she.   

CXXXIII.  
Like that fair Bird, who of himself is Sire,  
And Son, who (like the Sun) is one alone;  
Pyropus crowns his brows, his bright head fire:  
Sapphires, and Rubies he, for flight, puts on.  
The Winged Troop their pompous King admire,  
His Diadem of Gold, and Vermilion.  
With joy th' attend him, and, with cheerful lays,  
The wonder of the blessed Arabia praise.   

CXXXIV.  
Such 'mong th' eternal, holy Troops appears  
Th' immortal Champion, Joseph stands amazed;  
While he the Light beholds, the Music hears;  
His brows contracting, still, he upward gazed:  
At length, while unknown accents fill his ears,  
And on his eyes too great a Lustre blazed.  
O'ercome he falls, surpriz' with sudden fright,  
At once deprived of hearing, and of fight.   

CXXXV.  
But divine virtue, with new force supplies  
His weakened sight, and fainting sense repairs;  
Restrains the Object of his trembling Eyes,  
And opens the Obstruction of his Ears.  
Then 'gainst the Lightning he gins to rise,  
And's shaking Hand like an Umbrello bears:  
While bowing yet upon his staff he leans,  
Which the whole weight of's weary Limbs sustains.   

CXXXVI.  
But when fresh spirits had his strength renewed,  
And he could stand upon his Feet again,  
His eyes he opened by degrees, and viewed  
Those Starry Mansions, where the blessed remain.  
While sudden tears of joy his cheeks bedewed,  
And broke his silence in this humble strain.  
You Winged Troops, I thus salute to you,  
Bright Squadrons of the Heavenly host I bow.   

CXXXVII.  
When straight through all the far extended coast,  
'Twixt the two Seas, where wanton Natives dwell,  
The mighty statues (Egypt used to boast)  
And famous Idols into Ruins fell.  
Their foolish Altars Thebes, and Memphis lost,  
With those o'th' conquering Greek, which did excel.  
Osiris, Isis, and Anubis, were  
Silenced and broken, vanished into air.   

CXXXVIII.  
As when a Troop of Thiefs, that watch for prey,  
And lie in ambush, favoured by the night;  
Soon as they see the Morn her beams display,  
Quit their design, and are dispersed by flight.  
Or as those ugly Birds, that hate the day,  
Soon as they see the glimmering of light,  
Return with fear, themselves in shades to hid,  
And neither can the Sun or Light abide.   

CXXXIX.  
Such their false Gods, and profane Deities,  
Shadows of night, and wholly void of power,  
Before the true God vanish; their known lies,  
And cheats, no more prevail as heretofore.  
Amazed, and full of fear, at this surprise  
Their Priests collect their Relics, and deplore  
The Ruin of their silenced Gods, who all  
Together, as by a strange earthquake fall.   

CXL.  
'Twas then those superstitious, and vain  
Rites, which they used of old, did first decline,  
And in believing Breasts did place obtain  
The Faith, and Worship that's indeed Divine;  
But, dear to Heaven, Joseph his holy Train,  
After that Light, that did before him shine,  
Leads only from frauds, and danger wholly free,  
And far removed from Herod's Treachery.   

CXLI.  
Yet nor in such remote, and distant ways,  
Can he his apprehensions lay aside;  
Not stately Thebes, whose hundred Gates did praise  
Her wealth, and for her Walls was magnified;  
Nor yet Hermopolis his fears allays  
O'th' Sword, so much, that he would there abide;  
But, black Siene left, he forward passed  
To Memphis, that's in Egypt's Centre placed.   

CXLII.  
Nor did the good Old man from thence remove,  
Till Heaven recalled him to his Home again;  
But with his Spouse, and Pledge of Heavenly love,  
In a poor Cottage with a Friend remain:  
And there, the skill of's aged Hand to prove,  
He could not from his former Trade refrain:  
But more than one Piece of his glorious Art,  
Rarely engraved, did to the world impart.   

CXLIII.  
He was an excellent Artist, and in high  
Designs, could well express his Art, and Skill,  
In Silver, Gold, in Wood, or Ivory;  
His Style was always ready as his Will.  
And now, grown old, a strong Necessity  
Rouz●d up his wits again, made cold, and i'll.  
Necessity, which often counsels well  
And makes her Daughter Industry excel.   

CXLIV.  
Of Cedar, Ebony, and other rare,  
And high-prized Woods he ample Tables made.  
Great Ptolomy's long Line in Figures were  
Rarely expressed, and his vast Wealth displayed;  
The Pilot's Lamp, and Urns of Kings were there,  
And Nile in all his Fertile Robes arrayed;  
And, by his labour, thus to gain his Food,  
Engraved in all its Glories Egypt stood.   

CXLV.  
Of these so celebrated Works, which Fame  
Through all the Cities had dispersed, and told,  
He, with much sweat, and study, had the same  
(For the most part) before engraved in Gold:  
But scorning Fortunes Crosses, and the Shame,  
Turned to this Art, its secrets to unfold;  
And what by his care Industry was gained,  
His sweetest Consort, and dear Pledge sustained.   

Notes upon the Second Book.  

Stanza II.  
Mariam was Herod's most beloved Wife, of whom, at length, through many instigations of his Sister Salome, and her own insolent humour, he became so jealous that she had a design to poison him, that, at a Council he condemned her, and put her to death, which she suffered with great constancy and courage. Vide Jos. Antiq. Jud. l 15.   

Stanza XI.  
Antigonus (of whom before) was the last of the Asamenaean Family, who had enjoyed that Crown one hundred and twenty years; his Army commanded by Pappus, Herod in person defeated, slew Pappus, and sent his head as a Present to his Brother Pheroras the Governor of Galilee, in memory of their Brother Joseph whom Pappus killed near Jericho.  
Atemion was Leader of a strong body of Thiefs, who lurked in Caves near Arbella, a City in Galilee, against whom Herod himself led some Troop, and after a stout resistance (for his Van was defeated by them) he routed them, and brought all Galilee under his Obedience.  
Pacorus was Lieutenant to the Parthian King, sent to the Assistance of Antigonus, and the Arabians, whom Herod subdued.  
Hircanus was a Prince of the Jewish Nation, who when once in Antigonus his power by means of the Parthian, he procured his ears to be cut off, that so mutilated, he might be incapable to be chosen High Priest, should he recover his liberty, and return to Jerusalem. Herod procuring his liberty from the Parthian, took him into his protection, but fearing his popularity, and designing a Foreign Expedition, unwilling to leave him behind, or take him with him, got some to accuse him, as a Correspondent with the King of Arabia, and so put him to death.   

Stanza CXXIII.  
Nile at whose Original most Writers only guests, having (as Strabo affirms) in its Course in Ethiopia the addition of several other Rivers, hath two Cataracts: The first, after it hath passed Meroe (at the entrance of Egypt) some miles; and the other near Syene, both falling with that violence, that strangers are deafened by the noise, and conclude the Inhabitants likewise deaf because they take little notice of it.  
It's Canopaean Mouth passeth by the African; and by the Asian shore, that of Pelusium.   

Stanza CXXIV.  
Among the many Pyramids, three were most celebrated, the chief situate on the Southside of the City Memphis, on the Western Banks of Nile, the Foundation taking up eight Acres of Ground, and growing narrower by degrees, ascended by two hundred fifty five steps, each step three foot high, till the Top consisted only of three stones, yet so broad, that sixty persons might stand upon them. By what Engines raised to that height, how brought thither from the Arabian Mountains, is difficult to discover. These were built by several Kings, but by which of them, and when, is best determined by the learned Sir John Marsham, in his late excellent Work, Chron. Canon. Egypt. pag. 47.   

Stanza CXXV.  
The Pharos, was a Watch-Tower, of prodigious height, built at the expense of Ptolemy Philadelphus, by Sostratus of Guidos, all of white Marble, with many Lanterns for Lights on the Top to guide Sailors by night over the dangerous Sands, and the Bar of Alexandria.  
This Sphynxes' Image was carved on a Rock, not far from Cairo, of a vast bigness: The head breast and back were to be distinguished when Christoph. Furerus was there, An. 1575. The head adorned with many Hieroglyphical Figures, was in compass 53 Paces, and near the Navel of it was a great Hole, in which the Priests (of old) concealed themselves, and gave answers to Votaries, which the people believed Oracular.  
The Labyrinth was built by Psamnitius, and contained within one continued Wall a thousand Houses, and twenty two Palaces (some say more than as many more) of white Marble, into which was one entrance only, and so many turn, and returnings, that they were impassable without a Guide.  
Pelusium (as the learned Sir John Marsham observes) was the most ancient Fortification of Egypt, Erected by Sesostris, after he had expelled the Shepherds, and brought the whole Country under his sole subjection: to secure himself from the Incursions of Syrians, and Arabians he made this vast Wall, extending from Pelusium to Heliopolis (the Metropolis of that Division) near 1500 Furlongs, which the Prophet Ezekiel, Chap 30.15 calleth the strength of Egypt, in whose time the Guards upon it consisted of 240000 men.   

Stanza CXXVI.  
The Lake Mareotis of a strange bigness, and profundity, supposed to be made by Art, because in the midst of it were two Pyramids of fifty ●aces in height above water, and as many under, built by King Maeris to be epulchres for himself▪ and his Wife. The Lake conjectured the rather to be artificial because the ground about it is very dry, and no Springs near it, but the water conveyed into it by Pipes and Conduits, answerable to the prodigious Labours of Egypt.  
Among the Schools of Egypt, those of Alexandria were the most eminent, where Ptolemy Philadelphus erected his famous Library, consisting of seven hundred thousand Volumes, and whence Learning was diffused into all Greece by several famous Philosophers, as Plato, etc.   

Stanza CXLI.  
Thebes, situate on the Arabian shore of the Nile, was once the Metropolis of all Egypt, renowned for its hundred Gates. Its last eminent ruin, in the time of the Roman Power, was some few years after the Battle of Actium.  
Hermopolis, of which name were two Cities, Major, und Minor, this here mentioned is the Major, where all the Toll was taken for Commodities brought down from Thebes.  
Memphis was built upon the Western banks of Nile, not far from the extreme part of the Delta, where the River first divides itself, very rich in Antiquities, and stately buildings, whereof three Temples of Venus, Apis, and Serapis, beset with Sphynxes, were very famous.   

Stanza CXLIV.  
After the death of Alexander, Ptolemy, the Son of Lagus, seized on this Province, as his Part of that Empire, and made himself King of Egypt, and his Race continued two hundred and four years by the Succession of ten Kings, all of the same name, and ended in Cleopatra's Brother.    
The End of the Second Book.   

THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS'.  
BOOK III. The Execution.  

I.  
OH that my Tongue, or style as sharp might prove,  
And strike as deep, as did the kill Sword;  
That with a thousand Wounds, I so might move  
All generous Hearts in pity to accord:  
Or since, to show such horrors, is above  
My vile and obscure Pen, Arpin afford  
Thine aid! thy Pencil it will best become  
To paint the story of this Martyrdom.   

II.  
Thy skilful hand, which Life and sense can give  
To shadows, and thy paintings animate,  
Can make the Murdered Companies to live  
Again, feel wounds, deplore anew, their Fate;  
The Tyrant, and the Murderers revive,  
And them again to slaughter irritate;  
That these my Lines may imitate thine Art,  
Thy lively Colours to my Ink impart.   

III.  
The Morning risen, resolving to bewail  
The Sons of Israel with doleful tears;  
The Scarlet colour of the Rose grew pale,  
And Blood the Violet, and Lily wears:  
Day hide itself under Night's horrid veil,  
Circled with Ominous Lamps, that scattered fears;  
The Sun a sad, and dismal Face put on,  
From his first Rising till his Course was done.   

iv  
Fly Mothers! fly! and your sweet Pledgesbear  
In your soft Arms to safer shelter, fly;  
See, how a thousand Murderers, to their,  
And your destruction armed, straight hither hy;  
See! their drawn Swords! See how they cut the Air!  
I hear most dreadful plaints, I hear their cry;  
Oh fly! I now your cheerful looks discern  
Into dire horrors, and sad mourning turn.   

V  
In midst of Bethlem was a stately Frame,  
Raised on an hundred Columns large, and high;  
Built like a Spheric Temple, and of name  
For Rooms within, of vast capacity  
The Cananean Kings ('tis said by Fame)  
Made it (of old) their Court, and there did lie.  
The work of that great King, who this the Queen  
Of Cities made, and chief of Palestine.   

VI  
The cruel Tyrant, in the open air,  
Would not survey the bloody Tragedy,  
But to a fit Theatre repair,  
And so ascends a stately Gallery;  
At full view, in an high Balcone, there  
The dreadful Execution he could see;  
And all their several Forms of Death, a bold  
Spectator, and Delighted Judge behold.   

VII.  
He thought, perhaps, that so, concealed, he might  
Hid from the eye of Heaven, his black Design:  
But all he did was open to your sight,  
Ye Angels! Troops of Pity, most Divine!  
You saw their bleeding wounds, in dismal plight,  
And with your hands to wipe them did incline,  
That so you might, from what they, cruel, shed,  
every your whitest Robes with purest Red.   

VIII.  
Thither, so soon as Day began to rise,  
The Cited came, and, as enclosed within  
A Camp, unnumbered several Companies  
Of Matrons, and of Mothers there were seen;  
No sooner entered, but, before their eyes  
Appeared a strange Parade of Arms, and Men.  
With doubts, and wonder they suspended were  
A while, but soon surpriz d with sudden fear.   

IX.  
Hither th' obedient Bands of Mothers brought  
Their Sons in Troops, and numbers infinite,  
Scarce any one of which was ever taught  
To speak, or go, their Parents to delight;  
These understood no Form t' express a Thought;  
Whether they cried, or spoke few judged aright:  
And those, as they with doubtful steps came on,  
Ready to fall, and staggering they bemoan.   

X.  
Now when with Murderers, on every side,  
Enclosed, themselves th' unhappy Mothers found;  
Deluded in their thoughts they dumb abide,  
And pale, like Flowers new trampled on the ground.  
When them thus languishing the children spied,  
Frighted, and trembling, shrieks and cries abound;  
This to the Bosom flies, that to the Teat,  
Those under veils and garments seek retreat.   

XI.  
Mean while sat Herod on his lofty Throne  
His head with Gems enriched, and's back, and breast;  
With these a shining Cuirass he put on,  
And over all a Royal Purple Vest;  
But most pleased with the children's doleful moan;  
That horror suited with his Fancy best.  
He in the Sword, and blood delighted more,  
Than in the Gold, and Purple that he wore.   

XII.  
As when a Bird of Prey, that watching sits  
On some high Tree a Flock of Pigeons spies;  
He fits his Arms, his Bill, and Pounces whets,  
Still keeping them in view with greedy eyes:  
So his stern look he turns, with fatal threats,  
On the pale Mothers, and the Infant's cries,  
Then to his Officer, from his high stand,  
To sound the Trumpet nods his last command.   

XIII.  
He from his back, in hand, his Trumpet taketh,  
Puts to his lips, and e'er he did begin,  
Of all his Spirits strong collection makes,  
And to his Jaws, and Mouth sends from within,  
His cheeks now rise, now fall, the blast straight breaks  
Into the air, as it had thunder been;  
The mighty noise strikes through the marble skies,  
And busy Echo to each note replies.   

XIV.  
The Signal thus dispersed of what they feared,  
A thousand hands a thousand Arms extend;  
Over a thousand heads the Swords appeared,  
And streams of blood from thousand wounds descend;  
The women's shrieks through all the Court are heard,  
And th' air the doleful cries of Infants rend.  
Dire Fury here, there Death offends the eye,  
The Murderers rage, the Murdered groan and die.   

XV.  
How many there expired their last of breath,  
Who their first Breathe newly had begun?  
How many were surprised by sudden death  
Who what it was to live had hardly known?  
How many first beheld the shades beneath,  
 the world's pleasing Light had on them shone?  
And from how many the Impartial knife  
Cut off (soon as begun) the Thread of Life?   

XVI.  
Sad to behold! how through the bloody Court  
The frighted Mothers with their Children fly;  
The ample Cupulos, where they resort,  
Tremble with the dire horrors of their cry;  
Statues, and Pillars (if Fame truth report)  
Continued streams of blood so mollify,  
That they were seen to weep, and trembling show  
Their Pity at the sound of every blow.   

XVII.  
And 'twas a Miracle (if Fame say true)  
That many, quite of sense, and life deprived,  
Their faces from the murdering Sword withdrew,  
Perhaps by late excess of fear revived.  
The streams of blood began to slow anew,  
With tears of Mothers as from thence derived:  
Whence even the Blood looked pale, and did appear  
To fly from the Impression of their fear.   

XVIII.  
The clattering of the Swords the Palace shook;  
Infamous Palace and most guilty Pile!  
The Roof stood firm, that the Sun might not look  
Into the Place, and blood his Rays defile;  
But how couldst thou (O Son) in pity brook  
Thy usual way, if thou didst grieve the while?  
Why didst thou not, at least, thy Lustre keep  
Concealed, if thou coldst neither sigh, nor weep?   

XIX.  
Their Swords, which heretofore were clean, and bright,  
(From far their Rays accustomed to reflect)  
Now cleave the Air with a most horrid Light,  
And with the stains of blood their beams infect.  
Herod their groans with greedy appetite  
Attends, and seems their slaughter to direct.  
And, as a glad Spectator, in the Scenes,  
Is pleased to see their tortures, and their pains.   

XX.  
Not more the Miser, with his heaps of Gold,  
Can satisfy his Avaricious mind  
Than Herod while their Swords he did behold  
Destroying Innocents', content did find;  
No less their groans (while they grew pale, and cold)  
His cruel thoughts to all delight inclined;  
Then Songs of Nymphs, and Lays of Birds, in Spring,  
'Mong flowers, and groves, to others pleasure bring.   

XXI.  
A Lady, whom Love prodigally, there,  
With Graces had enriched was heard apart  
To bargain with an Officer; her hair  
Disheve'ld, wring her hands, and to divert  
His rage, strike me (said she) this Infant spare!  
He's the best portion of my Soul, and Heart.  
The Villain promised, as he promised smiled,  
But broke it, and 'fore her face straight killed the child.   

XXII.  
The Murderer triumphs over him he wounds;  
Nor can forbear to threaten as he dies,  
This groans, and weeps, when he his Sword straight drowns  
Within his throat, and stops both groans, and cries,  
Forced from his Mother's Arms, whom fear confounds,  
And rage affrights, here one his hands applies  
To his most cruel Neck, and, while he lives,  
For wounds to him, who kills him, kisses giveth.   

XXIII.  
So, when as yet scarce weaned, her Yearling slain,  
And bleeding by some Butcher's hand she spies,  
The frighted Cow runs mad through all the Plain,  
And with loud bellowing strikes the Very Skies;  
Or as, her Nest robbed by some greedy Swain,  
(Who for such prey through groves or thickets pries,)  
The loss of her dear Young the Nightingale  
Is wont with mournful accents to bewail.   

XXIV.  
Such she appears, and such the wounds, and pains  
Of her sharp grief, nor is she less distressed:  
On her fallen Son she falls, her hands enchains  
In his; joins face to face, and breast to breast;  
The piteous humour melts her heart and rains  
Into his wounds, which are, by that oppressed:  
He bleeds, she weeps, and her sad flux of tears,  
A due proportion with his bleeding bears.   

XXV.  
On th' other side (barbarity most wild!)  
A Mother, and a Murderer contest;  
She would still keep, He force away the Child:  
One pulled the feet, t' other the arms possessed;  
With Pity one, tother with Fury boiled;  
This rants and bauls, t'other her groans expressed:  
And all the Trophies from this conflict borne,  
Were, that the Infant was in pieces torn.   

XXVI.  
Why, why (said she, as sadly she complains)  
Him born of me, do you from me divide?  
Him, whom I've nurtured with such care, and pains:  
And will you murder him? damned Homicide!  
He is a Work of Nature, which contains  
The dearest part of me, whom you deride;  
That I should him, whom I have borne within  
My womb, 's perhaps your pique, or else my sin.   

XXVII.  
At least with this dear Branch (nor leave me so  
Alone) with this, me, me (the Mother) kill;  
My blood, than his, doth much more largely flow:  
Quench your fierce rage in it, and sat your will:  
Let Us, at least, in death together go;  
This by the cruelest may be granted still.  
His faults are mine, if he have erred, so I,  
'Tis mercy, if we may together die.   

XXVIII.  
What seekest thou Tyrant? if a guilty Foe,  
Why hurt'st thou Him who ne'er did thee offend?  
But thou (O Lord!) why why art thou so slow?  
When wilt thou thy most dreadful arm extend?  
O blessed Redeemer, promised long ago!  
Thy thunder dart, and now, O now descend!  
Let this fierce Monster see thy wrath, and fear,  
Who sheds our blood so prodigally here.   

XXIX.  
Robbed of all comfort, while she thus complains,  
The ill-defended Cause of all her woes,  
In pieces falls, part in her hand remains,  
So that, more cruel she, then pious shows.  
He, who shape, only, of a Man retains,  
Sings, o'er the Corpse, and as in triumph goes,  
Nor feels remorse, but that so great a rage  
As his, those little limbs could ne'er assuage.   

XXX.  
At this surprise of mischief all the rest,  
Like Statues fixed, their strange amazement show;  
Each minute the vile treachery expressed,  
In dire effects, and yet no cause they knew.  
Fear for themselves, as for their sons each breast  
Invades, and yet, at once, they fearless grew.  
For every one esteemed her torments mild,  
If, as she died, she might embrace her child.   

XXXI.  
One 'mong the rest, whose grief had given some pause  
To rage, and heat, through all their weapons ran;  
And gives this language,— Proud King! for what cause  
Is this to us, thy Loyal subjects done?  
But hopes to see revenge, Me now withdraws  
From death, if Heaven our just complaints will own;  
Or if the Thunderer, who rules the Sky,  
Upon the wrongs of Mortals casts his eye.   

XXXII.  
A Lady young, and elegantly Fair,  
Leading a Child, then, lately taught to move  
His trembling steps; She, of the lovely pair,  
Like Venus seemed; He like the God of Love.  
But suddenly he neither did appear  
The Godlike Boy, nor She the Goddess prove;  
While the fierce Messenger of Death him bears  
Away, and left Her overwhelmed in tears.   

XXXIII.  
A Coat of sinest Mail, this Murderer wore  
In form, a Cuirace; naked all the rest;  
His head a Cap of rusty Iron bore,  
His hand an axe, which he with rage, addressed,  
Against the wretched throng, where none before  
Him stood, but gave large way whereere he pressed,  
Like a wild Boar, that, as he grunting goes,  
His bristles rears, and his sharp Tusks shows.   

XXXIV.  
Unhappy she laments, but he'll not hear,  
And snatches, from her hand, her dearest part;  
The pupil Orphan (than her eyes more dear)  
Eye of her soul, and the soul of her heart.  
With steps uncertain staggering here and there,  
Him certain errors to new paths divert,  
Until the Murderer with a sad surprise  
Cut off, at once, his Life, and doleful cries.   

XXXV.  
Wide was the wound, by which through every vein,  
(Not yet well knit) the blood in Rival●ts flows;  
From the sweet Inn, that did it entertain,  
The newborn Soul, as from a prison, goes.  
Nor yet in those small limbs did place remain,  
To give another wound; the Dagger shows  
Much greater than the Trunk it wounds, the blade  
Much broader than the O●ince it made.   

XXXVI.  
The Mother seized, and hugged him to her breast,  
The weight, once easy, then too heavy grew;  
Tears from her heart his spirits, by cold possessed,  
Seek to revive, and his pale Face bedew;  
His looks, and likeness she so just expressed,  
That the dead infant she appears, in view.  
Scarce could she be distinguished while she kept,  
This measure in her grief, but that she wept.   

XXXVII.  
One 'mong the rest, exposed her naked side,  
With snowy breasts, and a most beauteous Face;  
Herself a shield she made, her child to hid,  
And keep him safe from death, in her embrace.  
But in her Golden Looks the Homicide  
His arm entwists, to force her from the place:  
And all the glories of her shining head  
Torn off, are, broken, on the pavement spread.   

XXXVIII.  
Yet she, as close as Ivy to the Tree,  
To her dear pledge of Love still, firmly, clings;  
Till him by th' foot, her by her tresses, he  
(Most cruel) forced, and to subjection brings.  
Then with a furious hand immediately,  
The child against a neighbouring wall he flings.  
But first, him, twice or thrice about his head  
He swung, and with more violence struck him dead.   

XXXIX.  
At this so dreadful spectacle, so wild  
A rage, fear did so far the Fact outgo,  
That the still trembling, and affrighted child  
Appeared as dead, before he felt the blow.  
At last his limbs all broke, his bones all spoiled,  
As bleeding Trophies all the ground bestrow;  
While through his mouth, and nostrils, like a flood,  
The brains gushed out, & marrow mixed with blood.   

XL.  
The cruel villain, not yet satisfied,  
With his proud feet the mangled carcase spurns,  
Her heart with pity melting (when she spied  
Her hopes destroyed) to the Almighty turns.  
It cannot be a wonder now (she cried)  
That in the breasts of men such fury burns,  
Nor that such wrongs, and murders they procure,  
But that thou (King of Heaven!) shouldst them endure.   

XLI.  
Near these was one of countenance most stern,  
Rude in his Habit, dreadful in his Deeds;  
In him they nothing Humane could discern,  
No Bear so fierce the Lucan Mountain breeds.  
Blood in his hands, his eyes with fury burn,  
His dreadful dress, his actions much exceeds:  
A heavy Hedg-bill, in his hand he bore,  
With which he lopped off limbs, as boughs before.   

XLII.  
He to a miserable Hebrew there,  
Who sucked the spirits of Life from's Mother's breast,  
Insulting turns, and cries, i'll quickly tore  
Thee from that bosom where thou'rt so caresst.  
I will unbowel thee, and thee declare,  
Son of her bowels, and beloved the best.  
This said, H'assailes her, but th' undaunted dame  
Opposing him, did more his rage inflame.   

XLIII.  
Alas! what can a woman's weakness do,  
'Gainst the armed Fury of a cruel hand?  
Fear for her dearest Infant made her slow;  
Love drew her back and put her to a stand.  
While thus, in doubt, she could no farther go  
Betwixt her own, and his defence restrained,  
Behold! at once, a blow that mortal proved,  
Her from her doubts, and him from life removed.   

XLIV.  
The Villain with one death unsatisfied,  
Murder's the Son, and, at that instant too,  
Through the same wound piercing her tender side,  
With a new kind of death the Mother slew.  
Her trembling heart within he opens wide,  
Where yet maternal Love, was quick, in view.  
So that now twice her dear delight was slain,  
First in her arms, then in her breast again.   

XLV.  
'Gainst one, who, sadly weeping, begged relief,  
A Soldier cruel as an Asp, or Bear,  
To rob her of her Son, and him of life,  
Had raised his arm when she in his career  
Of fury stopped him, and, grown bold with grief,  
Did both her teeth, and nails, like mad prepare.  
The sword then turned against her, she withstands,  
And bravely wrists it from his murdering hands.   

XLVI.  
Then to herself, It must not be (she said)  
That thou my Son (these bowels only pain!)  
It must not be, that thou the spoil be made  
Of that fell heart, and in vile hands remain:  
No; I, who first to thee thy milk conveyed,  
By this dire Act will take thy blood again,  
And me these savage Troops hereafter shall,  
A better Murderess, than a Mother call.   

XLVII.  
As thus she spoke the new Medea straight  
Transfixed, and kills him, and i● two divides,  
And the loved pieces (held so dear of late)  
Throws at the Villain's face, who her derides.  
Thus from an Hebrew Mother learn to sat  
Thy rage, on thine own children, and besides,  
In cruel blows (said she) to be more skilled,  
From this right hand; with that herself she killed.   

XLVIII  
Two more there were; this thought herself late blest  
With one sole Son; that in a lovely pair:  
They both in silence had their grief suppresst,  
And up to Heaven their weeping stars did rear.  
Till towards her, who the sole Son possessed,  
And in her bosom hugged (then full of fear)  
A Jew half-naked, barefoot, and his arm  
All bloody, swiftly brought the sad alarm.   

XLIX.  
A Sleeveless Coat of purple dye he wore,  
All torn, and scarce did to his knees descend;  
Red, and as stiff as bristles of a Boar,  
Two long Moustaches from his chin descend.  
Gaping his mouth, his thick lips foaming o'er,  
His squinting eyes, rough hairy eyebrows bend.  
His crooked nose, the Vultur's beak expressed,  
In brief, he was a Man, but seemed a beast.   

L.  
The beauteous woman (as if stupefied)  
All suffered, and gave neither sigh, nor groan,  
But even in pity, with his rage complied,  
And freely to the Ruffian gave her Son.  
Who if he had not turned his eyes aside,  
If with her veil she had not hid her own,  
At her sweet looks the sword had fallen from  
His murdering hand, and she had overcome.   

LI.  
But what can Beauty against Fury do?  
His naked sword straight pierced the Infant's breast;  
Who on th' Assassin, as he struck him through,  
Smiles, and cries Pappa, as by him caressed.  
Then wantonly his hand extended to  
The weapon, that was through his body pressed,  
Thinking the blade was silver, and a gift  
To play with, which, him then of life bereft.   

LII.  
He saw not, nor regarded him, at all,  
But where his smiles came forth his weapon drowned;  
Yet when he saw the murdered Infants spraul,  
And sadly languish, dying on the ground,  
He like the Crocodile laments his fall,  
And wept for him to whom he gave the wound.  
But all his tears, and sorrow soon were gone,  
And pity by his cruelty o'erthrown.   

LIII.  
Then to the other turned, irresolute  
On which of her two Sons he first should fall;  
What should she wretched do? who durst dispute  
Her cause? on whom should she for succour call?  
She flies, he follows, and in the pursuit,  
Like a fierce Masrif hunts her over all.  
On every side she labours to evade,  
But like a Lamb is to the Wolf betrayed.   

LIV.  
With the same Love, when Troy was overthrown,  
Aeneas from his Native Country fled;  
On's back his Father, in his hand his Son,  
To safety from th' insulting flames he led:  
So she, their refuge and Defence alone.  
To save them from the Villain (full of Dread)  
Now here, now there, with her beloved Sons,  
Hugged in her arms (a pleasing burden) runs.   

LV.  
What should she do? She from one danger runs,  
And straight into another mischief flies;  
As when the Dog the frighted Partridge shuns,  
And in a moment by the Falcon dies.  
Another 'gainst the eldest of her Sons,  
(Then sucking at her breast) a dart employs  
That through his cheeks, into her bosom goes,  
Which late with milk, but now with blood overflows.   

LVI.  
But her soon joined the Barbarous Homicide.  
With stronger Arms, and threaten terrifies;  
The other child in her embrace he spied,  
(Weak safety!) and thus proudly scoffing cries:  
There is no reason I should thee divide  
From him, whom Love to thee so strictly ties.  
And since we may not such dear knots untie,  
'Tis fit he nailed should in thy bosom die.   

LVII.  
The silly wretch, like an affrighted Deer,  
That to some shady Covert swift retires,  
Between those Mounts of Snow, that chosen were  
By Love, to keep his Seeds of liveliest fires,  
Then under either breast, possessed with fear,  
From th' flaming sword to hid his face desires;  
And so much sense, and wit retained, to fly,  
From rage, and understand what 'twas to die.   

LVIII.  
But all in vain; the horrid Villain bends  
The point towards him, and, erring gives a wound  
A cruel error! more cruel where it ends,  
Which both transfixed, and threw them to the ground.  
He both his arms, in falling, wide extends,  
She under, him in her embraces bound.  
And while at once, her voice and motion fade,  
To her Son Crucify'd, the Cross she's made.   

LIX.  
One (Arpin) by thy Pencil so renowned,  
With painted Charity might well compare;  
Where the sweet children in her arms are bound,  
And in her bosom all her Bounty share.  
(Such seemed the Lady fallen on the ground)  
Barefoot, undressed with her dishevelled hair;  
And above her, tender, and full of Grace,  
Shined five most lovely branches of her race.   

LX.  
For though The King's Edict did only cite,  
Mothers with sucking Infants to appear;  
Yet some of riper Age, with great delight,  
To th' fatal Court by her conducted were:  
So, that fraternal Love did them invite  
To entertain themselves, and prattle there.  
And wheresoever she sat her feet, or moved,  
To keep them in her view she always loved.   

LXI.  
The first a Scholar was, but very Young,  
Nor could the notes of his small Tablet tell;  
Beginning then to learn the Hebrew tongue,  
Nor could the scattered lines distinguish well.  
When see! his head was with a blow, so strong  
Cut off, it straight into his bosom fell,  
And on the guiltless Book, as there he stood,  
Writ his last Fate, in Characters of Blood.   

LXII.  
This head thus severed from the body, straight  
The Villain to another runs, in haste,  
Who on an apple (most unfortunate)  
Then fed, an apple of the bitterest taste!  
Quite through his throat (as he the pleasing bait  
Took in) the guilty steel the Murderer past;  
And with one cruel blow, his vital breath  
Cut off, he swallowed, with the sword, his death.   

LXIII.  
The third there, wantonly, leaped to and fro,  
Upon a fancied Palfry made of Cane;  
Poor wretch! he knew not by what sudden blow,  
Of a most cruel Fate, he should be slain.  
When see! that Hand, that did no pity know,  
Stabbed him, and forc d his career restrain:  
He struck him down, and left him on the place  
To tilt with death, then past with smiles in s face.   

LXIV.  
The beauteous relics of this lovely frame,  
The fourth, and fifth, among the rest, were there;  
Their grieving Mother's copy (but that name  
Must cease hereafter) two fair twins they were.  
One ('mong the Troops) pursued his little game,  
(Whipping his Top) where streams of blood appear;  
And wholly on his childish sport intent,  
Thought not at all of the most sad event.   

LXV.  
'Gainst him the cruel Homicide straight bend  
His hand, and weapon, and comes on amain;  
But it succeeded not to his intent,  
Although the mortal wound was not in vain.  
While interposed, by chance, the other went,  
Near to his Brother, and was sudden, slain.  
Not Me (said he) but thine own folly blame,  
Which thus t' anticipate thy ruin came.   

LXVI.  
Then the Survivor of the Five, to hid  
Under her Robe the weeping Mother steals;  
But he his own escape could not abide,  
But, puiling, that detects which she conceals.  
She all the means to keep him under tried,  
While (childish) he the Pious fraud reveals.  
Poor fool! alas! He could not silent there  
Continue, 'cause he had not learned to fear.   

LXVII.  
She most unhappy, and ill-counselled too,  
(To whom Love, sense, and Life did grief impart)  
Dismayed, and pale (as death) no better knew  
Then, sadly, through her eyes to pour her heart.  
But the Cry still grew loud, as if to show  
Wither the sword, and fury should divert:  
The voice he follows, and (the fatal sound  
Discovered) traceed the way to give the wound.   

LXVIII.  
As 'gainst the greedy, and rapacious Kite,  
The fearful Hen strives to defend her Brood;  
So she, against the Murderer, the fight  
A while maintained, but all could do no good.  
For he, who did in cruelty delight,  
Cut with the sword his throat, than all in blood,  
Most horribly involved the Infant lies  
Among his brother's carcases, and dies.   

LXIX.  
As when, overwhelmed in tears, the Theban Queen  
Beheld the Arrows swiftly fall from Heaven,  
Whence in one Day th' Delian Powers had been  
Revenged, and took away seven lives, and seven.  
At length, when the last fatal shaft was seen  
To fall, and the last mortal wound was given;  
At the sad sight amazed, and weary grown  
Of Life, she fixed, and turned into a stone.   

LXX.  
Such the poor woman, while she yet survived,  
Stood stupefied among her children slain  
Of warmth, of Colour, and of Sense deprived,  
Nothing of Motion, Soul, or Life remain.  
You could not say She's dead, or that She lived,  
A Statue of white Marble, free from stain,  
All purely white, but when her Sons, who bled  
So near, had stained her snowy limbs with Red.   

LXXI.  
At length the cruel mixture o'er, and o'er  
She turns (such vigour Pity then supplied)  
On all sides the loved relics to explore,  
Which there the various forms of slaughter hid.  
The mangled members all besmeared with gore,  
(Love to her hand in this sad work was guide)  
She quickly recollects, together lays,  
And of last exequys the Honour pays.   

LXXII.  
With tears she baths them, and doth thus complain,  
Wretch that I am! are these dear pledges mine?  
Whose dismal sight pierceth my Heart again,  
Prompts me to incorporate, and with them join.  
Here nothing, but most horrid heaps remain,  
Of Fragments raised by rage, and cursed design;  
Nothing but bloody Piles, and limbs, that are  
Lopped off, and scattered, as in fields of War.   

LXXIII.  
I late was wont (and 'twas not long ago.)  
For you (poor children) silken threads to spin,  
Or Coats of linen upon you bestow,  
Which, with my own hand, I did first begin.  
But now how infamous my labours show!  
Where the sword's cruel marks, are only seen,  
Made by a murdering hand, these ruins are,  
(Though from another) left to my repair.   

LXXIV.  
Are these (alas!) those lovely limbs! those gay!  
Which from your mother you did first assume?  
O Stars! that me to ruin did betray!  
Is such my miserable Flesh become?  
'Mong all these wounds, and blood, these, these are they,  
These belov'd Heads I know, is't then your doom,  
That I should (while to me you thus return)  
For the sad relics of my bowels mourn?   

LXXV.  
Oh sweetest Faces! mirrors of my Heart!  
Where I myself was wont to recreate;  
Sons of these eyes! (eyes that with sorrow smart)  
In which I tasted all delights of late.  
O Lips! where Love with kisses would divert,  
And intermingled smiles himself would sat.  
Alas, what Hellish monsters now combine,  
Thus cruelly to mix your blood with mine.   

LXXVI.  
Let me these limbs distinctly touch, at least,  
Though with my touch (I fear) they'll break again;  
Wretch! I my sons thus fatally deceased  
Lament, yet know not, for which I complain!  
For while with this dire paleness y'are possessed,  
I must distracted and confused remain;  
And all the beauty, that I once might boast,  
In this your want of blood, I see is lost.   

LXXVII.  
Art thou my Firstborn? sure it cannot be;  
This Head so late cut off, cannot be thine;  
Dire change! to this thy Body, who was He,  
Who could another Face so unlike join.  
Dear children, now no hopes remain for Me,  
All joys, I, in your eyes to Death resign.  
Here my griefs swell, yet can't I more bewail,  
Your Fate with tears whose springs are dry, and fail.   

LXXVIII.  
She faints, her looks all pale no voice, or sound  
Of words, but breathless, and unmoved her eyes;  
While a black storm, of thousands swords the ground  
Shakes all around, and through all quarters flies.  
Where such Stars reign, and such a King is found,  
They fix a curse on all Nativities.  
Happy, who was unborn; or if then born,  
Who from his Birth, ne'er saw a second morn.   

LXXIX.  
But what afflicts thee? why dost thou complain,  
(Vile World) that th' Age is rude, or bade the Times?  
That Fraud now flourishes, and Vices reign?  
That Faith, and Truth inhabit not thy climes?  
Virtue, brave Minds, and noble Souls, in vain  
Languish, and grieve to see the growth of Crimes;  
Since clearest Innocence could perish so,  
And from that Day lies murdered, here, below.   

LXXX.  
Rivers of blood now flow; nothing is heard  
But doleful mourning, shouts of rage, and ire,  
Horror, and Death, Herod alone appeared  
with pleasure the sad Objects to admire.  
The Slaughter feasts him; and (which others feared)  
He praised the wounds, that kept his joys entire.  
With greedy appetite he reckons all  
The blows, and still observes them, as they fall.   

LXXXI.  
Mean while the People full of grief, and sad,  
With lamentable Cries their Fate bemoan,  
Trembling with memory of what they had  
Beheld, the King fixed in his joys alone,  
(As the Sun s warmth makes poisonous Serpents mad)  
Seems through their Pity to all ill more prone:  
Biting his Lips, he foams; his eyes with flame  
Are filled, and gnashing Teeth his rage proclaim.   

LXXXII.  
Now from the place he risen from whence before,  
Th' effects of his dire Fury he had seen;  
Then nearer went, resolving to explore  
The Shambles of Tyranny, and therein  
Sees corpse dispersed (like wracks upon the Shore)  
Wracks of Mortality, that there had been  
Late drowned, in child's blood, whose horrid Tide  
Their Swathbands, and their Members seemed to hid●   

LXXXIII.  
Over these dismal Piles, these bloody Heaps,  
(Dreadful to think on) He, insulting, goes;  
O'er gaping sides, and cloven heads he leaps  
Whence of warm blood a reeking deluge flows  
There as in streams, clear, flowing in their Deeps,  
Himself he views, and's inward pleasure shows;  
And as the Wretches lay upon the ground,  
Measures with his own hand each fatal wound.   

LXXXIV.  
So a fierce Dragon from his Den, with green  
And shining wings, and Scarlet Crest ascends,  
To view the Sun, by him before not seen,  
And then his wide and dreadful Jaws extends;  
Erects his Scales, that shine, as they had been  
With rough, and squalid Gold enlayed, then bends  
His rage against the Light of Heaven and throws  
Poison from's trident-tongue where  he goes.   

LXXXV.  
Some covered o'er with ugly stains he there  
Beheld lie languishing with deadly pain:  
And in their Mother's arms uncertain are  
Whether in death or life they yet remain.  
Others expose their hearts that open were,  
And quite deprived of life; then show again  
Their Faces shaped for pity, and for love;  
But objects now of grief and sorrow prove.   

LXXXVI.  
Others whose vital Humour was not spent,  
And from their panting hearts yet largely flows  
While blood by Vomit from their Mouths is sent,  
(As when a sinking Bark near harbour rows)  
Some one by swimming, would his Fate prevent,  
And himself on some swelling billow throws;  
But spent, and breathless in this last effort,  
Sinks in his Mother's arms, and dies i'th' Port.   

LXXXVII.  
But the sad Women some their tender cheeks  
Beat with their hands, their lovely tresses tore;  
Here one her naked bosom, Frantic, strikes,  
Sighs not, nor groans, but howling rends the air:  
Another's breast, with lamentable skreeks,  
(Like Aetna) fumes; her eyes like Ganges are;  
Some 'gainst the King, some against Heaven exclaim,  
And some their griefs, that had not killed them, blame.   

LXXXVIII.  
There one, to give her griefs a silent vent,  
Near to her Son, late murdered, prostrate lies:  
Quite stupid in the Act; herself she spent  
In groans, and with deep sighs herself destroys:  
Another checks her sorrow, as content  
To give her scarce-dead Sons their Obsequies;  
And gath'ring on their Lips their fleeting breath,  
Stamps there departing kisses, cold as Death.   

LXXXIX.  
The squalid, dismal spoils, and torn Remains  
Of a pale little Corpse; another there,  
Within a covering, cleansed from bloody stains,  
An object of extremest Pity bare;  
And while her heart to water, through her veins  
Distils, and while her soul dissolves to air,  
Her Bosom, late his Cradle, is become  
By her so strict Embrace, in Death his Tomb.   

XC.  
Tired with this sight, not satisfied with blood,  
Herod would now his greedy eyes divert  
On the soft Torrent, and Vermilion 'slud,  
And in that tepid Bath caressed his heart;  
Of late, like troubled streams, but now, they stood  
Like settled Pools, and calm in every part,  
Only a Gale of sighs, as they the world  
Forsook, with circles had the Surface curled.   

Notes upon the Third Book.  

Stanza I.  
This Painter so commended by our Author was Gioseppi Cesari d' Arpino, cotemporary with Marino, a Facorite to three successive Popes; for his excellent Pieces, and for a Piece of St. Michael, presented to Lewis the 13th. the French King, beside other considerable gratuities, had the Order of St. Michael conferred upon him.   

Stanza V.  
Bethlehem was called the City of David, where his Ancestors dwelled from the time of Obed, of whom J●sse ●ineally descended. It was not the least of the Tribe of Judah, ●et we no where find it celebrated for any magnificent or stately building which the Poet here deseribes, till the Birth of our Saviour gave it reputation, and after his death stored it with many stately Edifices of Devotion, through the Piety of several Princes, as Constantine the Great, his Mother He●ena, etc.    
The End of the Third Book.   

THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS'.  
BOOK IU. Limbus.  

I.  
Surcharged with storms, such as were never known,  
The dismal day, a dismal night succeeds,  
As if it had intended to bemoan  
The Infant's Exequys in saddest weeds:  
The rain in Cataracts was poured down,  
With all the horrors that thick darkness breeds:  
And from this mute Confusion every where,  
Her sighs high winds, her groans loud Thunder were.   

II.  
Thus, as content, though not content within,  
The King into his Palace goes again,  
And, in that Furnace, where they did begin,  
The furious flames doth still alive retain;  
And 'gainst the Children his accursed design  
Keeps fresh within his heart, and every vein,  
Fearing that in some houses unrevealed  
The Relics of his Fear might be concealed.   

III.  
He calls Malacche, such a a villain none  
E'er knew, of all Mankind the damnedest Knave;  
More cruel, than the cruelest Lestrigon,  
Should all that cursed Race rise from the Grave;  
Born amongst Thiefs, a Jebusite, and grown  
Up, 'mong wild beasts, which him their Nature gave;  
So very ugly, that if Likeness might  
Assume a Body, 'twould himself assright.   

iv  
Besides his thin-haired Chin, and his bald Head,  
His narrow Temples, and thick bristled Brow,  
Three Teeth, a Nose that on his Face was spread;  
A piercing look his eyes unequal throw,  
The best of which by chance had perished;  
O'er which athwart, an ample scar did grow;  
The stamp, and Character of Jew, and Greek,  
In's Forehead, and his Face, as Trophies stick.   

V  
Go seek (said he) through all, and with thee take  
A Guard, and if (in any place) you find  
Children alive, a final slaughter make;  
Do, as thou'rt wont, and follow thine own mind.  
I'll do't (replied the Villain) for thy sake,  
I scorn their loss, and ne'er think Heaven unkind;  
For this sole cause, that you would have it done,  
To show my obedience, I'll first kill my Son.   

VI  
While Herod thus within himself designed  
A lasting Monument of his Rage to raise,  
Malecche no less impiously inclined,  
His Orders for the Fact no more delays;  
A strict observer of his Master's mind  
To act their parts his Soldiers he conveys:  
No Servant to so merciless a Lord  
So void of Pity could the world afford.   

VII.  
As when, the burning Heats of Summer past,  
The fair Astraea balances the year,  
And Sol more temperate rays, and just doth cast,  
The days are mild, and Trees ripe Apples bear.  
To pray upon their Fruit the Starlings haste,  
And marshaled in their several Troops appear;  
And while far off they hover in the air,  
The frighted Peasants for their grapes despair.   

VIII.  
So this perfidious, and guilty Crew,  
Where any Branches of the Hebrew stock,  
They heard were hid, the bloody tract pursue,  
Leaving the slain, and to fresh slaughter flock;  
As in th' Egaean, when South winds renew  
The War, the Palaces, and every rock,  
Echo with noise: so, sad and doleful cries  
Of Women, and of Children strike the Skies.   

IX.  
As if they, now, their Walls, and lofty Gates  
Surprised beheld, and sinking all in flames;  
While the proud Foe, the Houses scales, elates  
His Voice, and blood, and death aloud proclaims;  
Her breast afflicted Bethlem penetrates  
With strokes, and her dire Fate lamenting blames.  
And with so loud a voice to God she cries,  
That Rama's Hill to the sad sound replies.   

X.  
As trembling stems of Corn the Sickle reaps,  
Or heavy ploughs tear up the tender flowers,  
Innumerable Children so in heaps  
Fall near their Mother's side. The Sword devours  
All that it finds; through all, insulting, leaps,  
And, in full streams the blood of Natives pours,  
The miserable People cannot fly  
Their rage, and know no Refuge, but to die.   

XI.  
Into a little Cottage, 'mong the rest,  
The barbarous Malecche broke his way,  
Where two sweet Boys he finds, one at the breast  
Of's Mother, at her feet the other lay:  
This with her foot she rocked, and lightly pressed,  
And would with pleasant Songs to sleep betray:  
The other from white Springs sucked milk, and sound  
More than the milk, kind kisses to abound.   

XII.  
Instead of a Salute, the Traitor leapt  
To seize the Infant, in the Cradle laid;  
And with a dreadful voice, as there he slept,  
Awaked him, and most terribly dismayed;  
Nor long his murdering sword from's throat he kept,  
But to a lasting Lethargy betrayed;  
And made him find (alas!) how very near,  
The confines betwixt Death and Sleep appear.   

XIII.  
Soon as this Trial on the first was found,  
The Sword, 'gainst tother sucking, was employed  
And in the Nape of's neck inflicts a wound,  
Which through his Jaws strait sent a purple tide,  
And with it his Food. His little soul is drowned  
In blood, and milk that flows within beside;  
While still the sharp, and cruel point was pressed  
Forward, and fixed his Tongue unto his breast.   

XIV.  
The miserable Mother had, of late,  
Another Birth conceiv d within her Womb,  
Towards which the Suckling sunk as if with that  
He sought to join, and find a living Tomb.  
One in her belly, t'other in a straight  
Embrace she held, till sharing in their doom  
She fell. Strange Fate! not to be seen again,  
Three in one body by one stroke were slain.   

XV.  
From thence into another house he made  
His way, and there a fair young Lady found;  
Where, newly circumcised, her Son was laid,  
The blood as yet not staunched, but fresh the Wound;  
He lifting up his armed hand, the Blade  
I'th' blood which she would wipe away was drowned,  
And to the Wound was given by heavens Edict,  
His cruel Arm doth that of death inflict.   

XVI.  
She, that she might a little life restore,  
As he then languish d, strait the Teat applies,  
But he his mother's milk all turns to gore,  
And her white bosom with deep purple dies.  
His blood to water then is turned, by store  
Of tears, which she pours on him from her eyes:  
And while her breasts the crimson liquor dashed,  
Her Son's sweet face the candid humour washed.   

XVII.  
This done he left her, and goes, boldly, through  
All rooms, in places most retired he pries,  
Searcheth all Cabinets, and with his Crew  
Turns up the Beds, and all that on them lies;  
At length, within a little Couch (where two  
Fair Twins were laid) the lovely Pair he spies;  
In Beauty, and in Form so like they were,  
That like the Twins of Heaven they did appear.   

XVIII.  
Born so unhappy, and preserved so Ill,  
Alike in Form, in Sex they  are;  
One Soul two several Bodies seems to fill,  
And in two Hearts a single life they share.  
Nature to make them like used all her skill,  
And by simplicity they coupled were;  
And this new Janus made in Two, one bed  
In common shared, as they one Aspect had.   

XIX.  
But that dear Union fierce Malecche broke,  
And quite dissolved. Oh happy chance (said he)  
That love, which you does now so strictly yoke,  
So sweet in Life, in Death your Tie shall be;  
Nor would I, 'twixt you, envy now provoke,  
Since Heaven your likeness made to this Degree;  
But, as the world you entered at your Birth,  
Fair Twins, such Twins you now shall quit the earth.   

XX.  
His , strong hand, upon  
The nearest to him seized (as this he said)  
Thence through a lofty Window threw him down,  
Which light, and air into the room conveyed.  
The other down the stairs was headlong thrown,  
By's Foot (the stairs of rocky stone were made)  
So that all bruised, and broken every stair,  
An ample Tribute of his blood did share.   

XXI.  
Each of them seemed with mutual sighs to mourn,  
And their own Exequys accompany,  
As two fair branches from one Cyontorn;  
She for him languishing, and for her, he;  
So guiltless both, and both so lately born!  
By stones they died, as for Adultery;  
For Fate ordained they at their birth should have  
One womb, one Bed, and at their Death, one Grave.   

XXII.  
Thence, where he sound a poor, and modest Maid,  
Who, as a guard, did on two children wait,  
The one was, slumbering, in a Cradle laid,  
The other in a Bathing Vessel sat;  
This with the Linen often laughing played,  
Nought could the others forward moan abate:  
Born of two Ventures, but one Father: One  
A living Mother had, the other none.   

XXIII.  
Soon as the Assailer, their poor Mother spied,  
So suddenly within the room arrive,  
The Son-in law she quits, herself employed  
to her own Son, to keep him still alive:  
She takes him in her arms, and terrified,  
First thought how she might his escape contrive.  
But, an Humane, though not maternal Love  
To th' other, would not suffer her to move.   

XXIV.  
With her own Son, towards him, whom she desired  
To save, she runs, and (poor Fool!) in her way  
Met them, who him whom she had safe retired  
Out of the water, did to th' Sword betray.  
Bald Barabasso, and Malecche fired  
With rage, on her kind Folly torments lay,  
And, in her sight, to one the Vessel, there,  
Is made his Coffin, tother's Bed his Bier.   

XXV.  
O'ercome with this surprising Message, cold  
Seizeth her trembling heart; her looks grow pale,  
To th' earth she falls, and what she did behold,  
So cruel was, her life and spirits fail.  
Some strangled in the bands, that them enfold,  
Struggle, and strive for life till Death prevail,  
While these in water, milk, and tears, and blood  
Sink, and are suffocated in the flood.  

XXVI.  
From thence away with like impetuous rage  
Into an house of Citizens he broke,  
'Mong whom one married in her tender age,  
Was newly then freed from the Nuptial Yoke:  
Yet some fair branches still her love engage,  
Two at one birth from her Lucina took,  
But now she saw herself, made in one year  
Wife, Mother, Widow, and without an Heir.   

XXVII.  
Of these by th' Neck Malecche seizeth two;  
Another by the feet: by th' arm the last,  
One with his Lance into the fire he threw,  
His feet the second squeezed to death; then past  
To a third, whom unto a Beam he drew  
And hanged; into a Well, the fourth he chased;  
By several torments thus they murdered were  
That every Element a Death might share.   

XXVIII.  
The various spoils (alas!) who can relate  
With which death seemed so rich, so full of pride;  
This from the Trunk the head doth separate:  
That from the shoulder doth the arm divide.  
By strangling this gives the last stroke of Fate:  
That with his Sword transfixed a trembling side;  
And amidst rage, 'midst terror, grief, and thrall,  
Fury, with all the Sisters, runs through all,   

XXIX.  
The armless Trunks a dismal sight afford,  
And strangled Bodies that the ground o'erspread,  
Heads gasping, newly severed by the Sword,  
Some are wrung off, some trampled on till dead;  
Even ruthless Cruelty herself abhorred,  
While Death in various shapes such Triumphs led,  
And yet her Fury was too great to cease,  
But malice made the poisonous gall increase.   

XXX.  
The Morn was risen from the Indian Sea,  
And by her blushes showed th' approaching Sun,  
While Heaven the shades had mixed with every Ray,  
And Day late married to the Night begun.  
Herod perplexed, and troubled with delay,  
His heart inflamed until the deed was done:  
He risen, and's Royal Ornaments resumed,  
His Sceptre, and his Purple Robes perfumed.   

XXXI.  
Straight through the lofty Palace dismal cries,  
Sad houling, and most loud complaints were heard:  
Women, and Men, with all the Ecstasies  
Of grief, and sorrow every where appeared:  
When see! a Messenger in doleful guise,  
Pale in his looks, and all with blood besmeared,  
Came breathless, and while sweat his face bedews,  
Bows to the King, and thus relates the news.   

XXXII.  
I am (Sir) an unworthy Instrument,  
Of that dire Massacre, which was, last night,  
By your command performed: and now am sent  
To tell a message neither of delight,  
Nor happiness to you; if each event  
I should distinctly, as 'twas done, recite  
'Twould be a memorable story, and  
(I must speak truth) much done by this my hand.   

XXXIII.  
Under your Royal Ensigns (as enjoined  
By you) most readily we went away,  
Under Malecche's conduct, all inclined  
Your Orders to perform, without delay;  
None of us, though a Father, but designed  
To his own loss, your pleasure to obey;  
On than we silent marched, concealed from sight  
Of all, by th' shades and horror of the night.   

XXXIV.  
The Marketplace first seized, and both the gates,  
All Streets and Avenues blocked up, and barred;  
On every side enclosed, in greatest straits,  
Each place so well our faithful Soldier's guard  
That no way open Fortune, or the Fates  
●ould find to make escape, or death retard;  
Our Captain gave the word through all, around,  
To give the Signal to the Trumpet's sound.   

XXXV.  
By virtue of your Royal Edict, he  
Commands, that all who arms for use could bear,  
Their houses, and the City instantly  
●hould quit, and a strong Guard, without, prepare;  
That so the wicked Traitor might not fly  
Our search, and none t'assist his flight should dare:  
A Traitor, who, there, and inclined  
To mischief, something 'gainst the King designed.   

XXXVI.  
The Citizens all promptly strait complied  
With your command: none backward to obey,  
And in a moment from all streets we spied  
Children through the dark shades to fly away:  
For we believed the number less that did  
Than those who yet concealed in secret lay;  
'Twas so, and then a thousand Infants slain,  
By several sorts of wounds our Weapons slain.   

XXXVII.  
Nothing but sighs, deep groans, complaints, and cries  
From every place, on every side we hear,  
With horror in all houses, 'fore their eyes  
Murder, and Death triumphant now appear:  
Here scattered Swaths, and broken Limbs arise  
In heaps; in blood warm Entrails swimming; there,  
Should I what then I did myself conceal  
'Twere vain (Sir) since my Acts themselves reveal.   

XXXVIII.  
When thus in slaughter we the night had spent,  
And were upon return, at break of day,  
A sad, but unexpected Accident,  
(Dire chance unheard of) intercepts our way.  
O could your Majesty have been content,  
That we had been less ready to obey!  
But what do silly People know? What ill  
Can give them blame, that's done against their will.   

XXXIX.  
Our hands too ready were (alas) too prone  
All our desires to satisfy you were.  
With blood, rage, shame our hearts were drunk, and none  
Saw what they did; dark and obscure the air.  
The Fault might be excused, but it is done;  
This said, his Tongue did farther speech forbear:  
But Herod urged him on, and he again  
Begun, and thus the King did entertain.   

XL.  
While we (as I have said) your high command  
Had thus performed, resolving to be gone,  
A cunning Soldier of Malecche's Band,  
(His Spy who all his secrets knew alone,)  
Met us, in haste, to let him understand,  
That he a woman saw (to him unknown)  
Who, with two Children, in her garment wrapped,  
Fled thence, and to a secret place escaped.   

XLI.  
Than not far distant from the Palace, where  
From the soft stream the Royal Garden sees  
With such delight proud Libanus to rear  
His head, led on by cruel destinies,  
A Postern door our Guide approached, and there  
〈◊〉 While he desired to act all by surprise)  
Through crannies of the broken posts appeared  
A little light, and straight a voice was heard.   

XLII.  
Within a Woman was, whose looks put on  
All that of fear or sorrow could be found;  
Solicitous for her two Sons, the one  
Laid in her bosom, t' other on the ground  
With sighs, mixed with a sad, and trembling tone,  
Drawn from her heart, where doubtful thoughts abound,  
To one (dear Child) where shall I save, or hid  
Thee? in th' Abyss of deepest seas (she cried.)   

XLIII.  
Samaria once had Women (as 'tis said  
By Fame) so cruel, that with hunger pressed;  
Flesh, born of their own bowels, re-conveyd  
To them, and so on their own Issue feast.  
And may not this, that their Rage lawful made,  
To Me, in Pity be allowed, at lest?  
And to conceal you from these Harpies Pride,  
My dearest entrails, in my entrails hid.   

XLIV.  
But after Patterns of such Ills, so great,  
I've often op●d my bosom unto thee  
(Dear Child) that so thou mightst thy hopes repeat,  
After my Death to have a Life from Me.  
Nay even my Soul thou mayst lay open yet,  
If with my Soul thou mayst concealed be;  
How greedily should I receive thee, here  
Within my very Soul, thou Soul more dear.   

XLV.  
Thus reas'ning with herself, the child held in  
Her arms, within a Vessel deep and wide,  
That lately filled with Bacchus' spoils had been  
(Not yet quite empty) silent, seeks to hid.  
Then adds, to thee (O Vessel) free from sin  
Of fraud, I all my Joy, and Peace confide;  
And let me, 'midst such Ruins, thee, a kind  
Depository of my Treasure find.   

XLVI.  
More she would say, but at her back she hears  
Our Captain's rage, and voice, who at the door  
Knocked, and straight in he breaks; in pieces tears  
The locks, and bars, more furious than before.  
One hidden in the Cask; t'other her fears  
Snatching into her arms, she flying bore  
Into the most remote, and secret room  
Of all the house, and waited there her doom.   

XLVII.  
She hide him there, but might have with him fled  
From the dire mischief that was then so near,  
Had she had time to leave there, in his steed,  
Some other Child, that might like this appear.  
But from this fatal Risque she hop d this Head  
First to secure, which she esteemed most dear;  
Or with a wile so merciless, and strange,  
Make one to take the other's sad revenge.   

XLVIII.  
'Twas wonderful she passed thus undescryed  
By Us; but through the dark, and gloomy air,  
And horrors that appeared, on every side,  
None did consider what she acted there.  
Besides our rage swelled to so high a Tide,  
That we ran blind, and madding every where;  
And since she was not in the Palace seen,  
None did suspect this chance could e'er ha' been.   

XLIX.  
But our Malecche, who exactly knew  
The place, where this dear Theft then hidden lay;  
To boast his power, and his fierce rage pursue,  
(As he his furious humour would betray)  
Still threatening, and in's action's dreadful too,  
Would scofling with her sad misfortune play;  
And, with cruel cunning, on her smiled,  
To cloak's intent, before her Sons were killed.   

L.  
And now his hands, than he his feet employed  
Against her, now tares her Vest, and then her hair;  
Tell me (said he) where is it thou didst hid  
Thy two Sons; tell me (vile wretch) where they are?  
And thou (said she) whose hands with blood are died,  
Where are those Babes whom thou hast murdered? where?  
Eyes of so many wretched Mothers! Thou,  
While I of thousands speak, seekest only two.   

LI.  
Dear Children! who to Me like Stars did show,  
Whom I so fond Nursed up, and caresst,  
What Nest protects you now? did you but know  
What cruel talons snatch you from my breast,  
That 'midst these wracks, chains, arms, and dangers, though  
Torments of quickest flames did me invest.  
This Heart (which now no other light can see)  
Robbed of a Mother's faith shall never be.   

LII.  
Whither, O whither can you now retire?  
(My hapless Babes!) what fortune can you save?  
You are; perhaps, to Ashes turned by fire;  
Or in deep waters now have found a Grave.  
Food, or for Dogs, or Birds! or Winds conspire,  
With raging Seas, and you for pastime have.  
Or the dire thirst, of barbarous swords, late drench  
In blood of Innocents', perhaps have quenched.   

LIII.  
Quenched? alas no; there's nothing can restrain  
This barbarous rage, (I see) it flames so high.  
To this Malceche says, Thou dost, in vain,  
What cannot be denied to Me, deny.  
Fond Faith, dull Piety, mad Love to feign  
That as a Secret, which must open lie.  
The violence of the sword, with quickest force,  
Deprives a Mother's heart of all remorse.   

LIV.  
Art thou the valiant Mother; thou the wise,  
Who wouldst conceal, what is already known?  
Who Life neglectest, and dost Death despise,  
For Love of thy dear children this is done.  
Like motions of Love in Herod rise,  
And him invite too, to preserve his own.  
Thus menacing he spoke, and she with brave,  
And manly courage this stout answer gave.   

LV.  
Plant Me, 'mong swords, or hottest flames, if thou  
knowst how to kill; Death will great kindness be,  
If thou desirest to terrify me now,  
With Life, and not with Death then threaten me.  
Thus the brave Woman with a constant brow;  
Her courage greater than before they see;  
When the poor infant, in the Vessel laid,  
Himself, with childish cries (alas!) betrayed.   

LVI.  
●●lecche seized the Vessel, which upon  
The floor he rolled, and with it laughing played;  
But when with pointed steel nought could be done,  
And that the poignard small impression made;  
When all the strength and force of's arm was gone,  
What might be done by fire he then essayed;  
To th' flames he drives it, and the hearth was filled  
With blood, & wine, through numerous holes distilled.   

LVII.  
As when the Agrigentine Bull those dire,  
And doleful notes sent from the hollow brass;  
The Bull not his own bellow did expire,  
But the contrivers dying voice it was:  
So as th' unlooked for clement, the fire  
Nourished and through the hollow wood did pass  
Th' infused liquors mixed, increased the flame,  
And thence most sad, and mournful murmurs came.   

LVIII.  
Amazed, at this sad fight, the mother stood,  
Collecting all the furies in her breast,  
Like a fell Tygress in some Hircan wood,  
At once, of all her young late dispossessed;  
With nimble feet the hunter is pursued  
Through all the sands: and in the furious quest,  
Her face with threats of cruel pity, scouls,  
And high Niphate trembles, while she houls.   

LIX.  
Straight to take up the other Child she turned,  
And amidst us (poor woman!) held him, where  
She saw the Pile wherein the first was burned,  
And fed the fire, that filled her with despair.  
With alike heat, at once, she raged, and mourned,  
And her mixed grief, and fury to declare,  
To turn him all to Ashes straight (she said)  
Let him within this bosom, here, be laid.   

LX.  
Here as in an Immortal Furnace, here  
Love will preserve his Ashes still alive;  
And since these murders are, to you, so dear,  
And you will me of that best part deprive,  
'Tis fit that I should cruel too appear,  
And quietly to you this other give.  
Then take him since I must deprived remain  
Of Both: that Dead, this other must be slain.   

LXI.  
As this she spoke a poignard, yet with gore  
Reeking I saw, but knew not in what hand;  
Cruel, as stout, who the Child hide before,  
Did with an hundred wounds to death command.  
So, that the Soul for flight to choose a door,  
Among so many, doubtful seemed to stand;  
Nor knew, which way it should the sally give,  
But a long space did, even in Death, survive.   

LXII.  
And now at length, have I (the Traitress said)  
My dearest Country, and unhappy Son,  
At once revenged, and the foundation laid  
Of future quiet, by what I have done.  
You, who the cruel Tyrant's slaves are made,  
You truly ought to vindicate alone  
On false Albina's guilty blood, the ill,  
And Ruins that the house of Herod fill.   

LXIII.  
 killed my very heart, yet shall not you  
Too joyful, at my misery, hence remove;  
The last, whom in my bosom here I slew,  
Was not my Son by nature, but by love.  
And let Albina know, that this is true,  
Inursed young Alexander: Him above  
All other Herod loved, this pretty Boy,  
Dead here upon the ground, was all his joy.   

LXIV.  
This as she spoke, our Captain with a mind  
Inflamed, resolved her fury to chastise;  
But in an instant (how I could not find)  
A sword she drew, or else did it surprise,  
With which her hand a valiant act designed,  
Above her Sex; wounds him, and straight he dies.  
I scarce believed myself, when falling I  
Saw him besmeared with his own blood, and die.   

LXV.  
At this strange chance our company with fear  
Were all surprised, and troubled in their mind;  
And while this unexpected news they hear,  
All thought that something worse remained behind.  
But we the Nurse have taken prisoner,  
And under a strict guard have now confined.  
A single death for such a crime as this,  
Too small a punishment, and torment is.   

LXVI.  
All this the Tyrant with impatience hears,  
And would not stay till he had made an end;  
But furious as the King of Winds appears,  
When with the Elements he would contend;  
And 'gainst the World a dreadful War prepares,  
While his fierce Troops from their deep Caves ascend.  
Him to an inner Room his fury drives,  
Where straight fair Dorida, his Queen, arrives.   

LXVII.  
Just then, unhappy, She, the private Throne,  
Of her withdrawing Room forsook; her Train  
Of Damsels who upon her wait, bemoan  
The loss, and sadly, full of grief, complain;  
Before her, some the bloody spoils upon  
Their arms then carried, of the infant slain.  
And as she sighing came, with tears her eyes  
Inflamed; Where is my Bliss? my Life? She cries.   

LXVIII.  
As when the Goddess, who did Corn invent,  
Sought her lost Daughter in Sicilian plains;  
With flaming Pines in Aetna steeped she went,  
And to her grief, and fury gave the reins.  
Through th'air their course her rapid Dragons bend,  
(While her sick mind no comfort entertains)  
In a strict search of the fair straggling Maid,  
Who soon as seen, was to a Rape betrayed.   

LXIX.  
Such, there, she came, and when her swelling eyes  
Saw the loved Corpse, such pity seized her heart,  
And to so great an height her sorrows rise,  
That her fixed silence nothing could divert.  
All mangled at her Feet the Body lies;  
Pierced in the breast, the sides, and every part.  
Engraild with wounds, whose strangeness all surprise,  
Like Argos with an hundred bleeding eyes.   

LXX.  
How the two living Sapphyrs than were quite  
Deprived of Lustre, and their trembling flames!  
How her eyes languished, with a dying Light,  
While in sad Accents She her grief proclaims!  
How her deep sighs did then the Stars invite  
To pity, while her hand her breasts inflames,  
With blows, plucks off the Gold, the Roses breaks,  
Of which Love had composed her Hair, and Cheeks!   

LXXI.  
At length her face to his she pressed, embraced,  
And kissed him, than herself upon him threw;  
Wh'hath dressed thee thus? (she said) who hath defaced  
My fairest Picture, and most like Me too?  
In what dire rank are my offences placed,  
That in such manner Heaven should Me pursue?  
Alas! dear Child must thy kind Father so  
His Crown, and Sceptre upon thee bestow.   

LXXII.  
Oh thou wild Beast, of all that are, most wild!  
Hyrcanian Tigers to their Young are kind:  
What fury against this, thy dearest Child  
Made thee so cruel? or what rage so blind?  
The hast sated now thy will, thy Soul defiled  
With all the cruelties, that fill thy mind.  
Enjoy them; may his blood, and these my Woes,  
Be thy sole Trophies, and thy Triumphs close.   

LXXIII.  
Tell Me, thou spirit of Serpents! Soul of Bears!  
Thou Heart of Adamant! or hardest stone!  
How could an Infant of such tender years  
Betray thee, to whom Treason was unknown?  
How could he, whose past Age so short appears,  
Have will to do, what you fear may be done?  
That this sad punishment, before the time,  
Should be inflicted for a future Crime.   

LXXIV.  
Thou art not Man, nor born of Humane kind,  
(As I believe) but rather of the rude,  
And cruel Syrts, or Seas, enraged by wind,  
Or of the Sphynxe's vile, and bloody brood.  
Thy Birth Chimaera, or Hell's Dog designed,  
With Scylla's and Charibdis' rage endu d.  
And thee, among devouring Troops of cursed,  
Cyrenian Dragons, some dire Harpy nursed.   

LXXV.  
And dost thou see it (Heaven) and suffered too?  
My Son! and yet I live? and thus delay,  
With mine own hand this veil of life (for you  
Alone valued by me, to take away?  
No, no, since the cold frost and palid Dew  
Of Death, o'respreads thy cheeks so young, so gay,  
It is not fit that mine (which now can boast  
No ornament) survive, when thou art lost.   

LXXVI.  
And since he, who thy Being gave, with thee  
Hath It cut off, and all my hopes o'erthrown,  
In spite of Him, my soul, from fetters free,  
Shall follow thee, wherever thou artgone.  
Thy Hearse my Body shall accompany  
The Fate o'th' Tree, and Fruit shall both be One.  
And thus the cruel Murderer of my joys,  
With one sad slaughter many lives destroys.   

LXXVII.  
Alas! how much more happy hadst thou been,  
(My dearest Infant) when with mournful cries,  
To view the light of Day thou didst begin,  
If Death had then for ever closed thine eyes.  
If when, with moan (thy language from within)  
These breasts thou oft didst seek, for fresh supplies,  
Instead of milk, which kindly from me flowed,  
My hand a mortal poison had bestowed.   

LXXVIII.  
But this my Breast unto itself too kind,  
Too foolishly injurious to thee;  
When to another I a weight resigned  
So dear, and suffered it so nursed to be.  
But now as bitter, as beloved, thy mind,  
It shall fulfil, and do it liberally.  
I will that Debt with interest now make good,  
Thy want of Milk, shall be supplied with Blood.   

LXXIX.  
At this sad language he began to melt,  
His heart as hard, as hardest Alpine stone,  
With pity touched, seemed to relent, and felt  
A passion to his soul before unknown.  
When with a Dagger hanging at a belt,  
And in a golden sheath beneath her gown,  
In her own breast she fixed so deep a wound,  
She straight fell pale, and dead upon the ground.   

LXXX.  
Her Train of Women, at this sad surprise,  
Can not the fury of her hand restrain;  
Herod himself in haste, with weeping eyes,  
Endeavoured to assist her, but in vain.  
He trembled, and grew pale; his faculties,  
Grief, wonder, and amazement all enchain.  
He seemed a Statue, stiff, and pallid grown;  
As late his heart, so now his limbs are stone.   

LXXXI.  
Thou foolish, barbarous Prince! What canst thou say?  
See, see how vain all humane Counsels are!  
Wherein thou thought'st thy only safety lay,  
Thou now dost find thy mortal danger there;  
Thy Son, and Kingdom both thou didst betray,  
While to secure them, thou didst thus prepare.  
Thy sentence on thee falls, and thou alone  
Hast punished thine own fault, before 'twas done.   

LXXXII.  
As when a Limb cut off, by some surprise,  
Or by the sword receives to th' quick a wound;  
The blood straight backward as affrighted flies,  
And for a while no signs of bleeding found.  
But soon as pain o'th' hurt the sense supplies,  
Straight warm Vermilion streams o'erflow the ground.  
And from the opened veins, the blood its course  
Maintains, like waters from their native source.   

LXXXIII.  
So, sudden grief the cruel Tyrant's tongue  
A while restrained, and all his sense delayed,  
Till through excess of anguish, in a throng;  
His sighs broke out, and for words passage made.   
Tears from his eyes, in rivulets straight sprung,  
Like blood from's Soul, and inward Wounds betrayed.  
At length he fell, where's wife, and son then lay,  
Like Rocks of Marble, in a Crimson Sea.   

LXXXIV.  
See! to what dismal sight, these weeping eyes  
Heaven hath reserved? Will ye ne'er close again?  
Or that my griefs may give these warm supplies,  
Must ye be forced still open to remain?  
O Alexander! dost not hear my cries?  
Flower of my Soul, cut off i'th' Bud, and slain!  
O Doris! dost not hear? Giv'st no reply?  
But hidest the Sun of thy fair eyes? Oh why?   

LXXXV.  
Wretch that I am! Which shall I first lament?  
My Son? Or Thee? dear consort of my Bed;  
Who in the prime of years from me art rend:  
And He (alas!) no sooner born, but dead.  
On you these tears shall for myself be spent,  
Your Fate I'll weep, as ruins on my head.  
My Crown shall now no other purple wear,  
Then what the Tincture of your blood shall bear.   

LXXXVI.  
Poor Child! Of a most cruel Father born!  
Under the influence of a Star severe;  
Are these the Ensigns should thy brows adorn?  
Is this the Throne, I have prepared thee here?  
Oh with what tragic pomp the Fates here mourn!  
My Nuptial Bed, is turned into a Bier.  
Those Lights, which I to Hymen did commend,  
Must now (alas!) sad exequys attend.   

LXXXVII.  
Oh my distracted Soul! What was designed  
By my Fate, or thy folly? to what end  
This mad advice, which made my reason blind?  
So, that I could not even mine own defend;  
Nor when th' edict went out, could call to mind,  
To draw him from the danger did impend.  
But this (rebellious flames) was your design,  
(Perfidious Stars!) your cruelty, not mine.   

LXXXVIII.  
But you (infernal Furies!) spurred me on,  
To act all this, though guilty I remain  
Of all these ills, of all this mischief done,  
'Twas I contrived it all, I these have slain  
My Life from Life, and honour from my Throne  
I have cut off, and that which should sustain  
With Me, and after Me my Race, and Crown,  
I only have o'erthrown, and trampled down.   

LXXXIX.  
Now what revenge (thou most unhappy child,  
Of an unhappy Mother) can suffice  
For expiation of a rage, so wild?  
What canst thou from thy Sire accursed reprize?  
Not thy perfidious Nurse with blood defiled,  
Nor Troops, the Actors of my cruelties:  
Nor if, at once, my kingdom to thy Shade,  
And I, myself, a sacrifice be made.   

XC.  
The name of King, and Father I'll assume  
No more, such titles too injurious were;  
Vile Monster, Devil will me best become,  
Unworthy thee, whom I have murdered here.  
How much (since now too late I find my doom)  
Do I, to those dead Infants, envy bear:  
For since my Joys no longer now survive,  
'Tis fit that I this day should cease to Live.   

XCI.  
Yet could I wish, those naked Souls which I  
Spoiled of their bodies, were now clothed again,  
That spoiling them anew, their limbs might lie  
Exposed to savage beasts, winds, frost, and rain:  
And should kind Heaven collect them, as they die,  
That they may hidden from its sight remain;  
Yet will I satisfy my grief, though Fame  
Shall Me, most cruel through the World proclaim.   

XCII.  
Oh, who will give me here that sword, which all  
My Joys cut off? for it is fit that I,  
By the same weapon with my son should fall;  
And since that Branch is broke, the stock must die.  
Thus his complaints around the Country call,  
To moan the Ruins of his Family.  
While the most happy Spirits, already fled,  
There wings, towards the Elysian Mansions, spread.   

XCIII.  
As at the entrance of some shady grove,  
In the declining of a Summer's day,  
In Troops the flying, little creatures move,  
And in the trembling Light still waving play;  
And to the Swains, and Shepherds seem, above,  
Atoms inspired with life, by every ray.  
So, that the false, and still removing light,  
Deceives the Children, who pursue their flight.   

XCIV.  
Or as the busy, and industrious Bees  
In Hybla's fresh, and odorif'rous air,  
The spoils of April, from the rosy Trees,  
And fragrant Lilies gather every where;  
Whence (cunning Architects in all degrees)  
Their well-built Cells for Winter they prepare;  
Ingenious Fabrics! with most stately rooms,  
Of Virgin Wax, formed in odorous Combs.   

XCV.  
So full of Joy, and from their Bodies free;  
Those happy souls towards Heaven take their flight  
And visibly to some appeared to be  
Wrapped up within a glorious cloud of Light,  
A joyful Troop, a beauteous company  
All crowned with flaming Diadems most bright,  
And, in a Circle, which they largely spread,  
They starry Garlands wove, and Dances lead.   

XCVI.  
The Sky was most serene, all clouds gave way,  
And brightest Stars upon their triumphs wait.  
The South, and Northern Winds their rage allay,  
And calm to see their pleasant Dances sat;  
The air, and gentle Breezes sport, and play,  
And early birds with Songs congratulate.  
Of Crimson dew the Morn did then prepare  
Gems for her breasts, and Roses for her hair.   

XCVII.  
The vast Abysses, and death's Prison, where  
The shades of ancient Heroes dwell, than smiled,  
While those so bright, and glorious Lamps appear,  
And the dark, Iron gates with lustre gild.  
The Royal Poet, and stout Shepherd there  
Was seen, who, when a Boy the Giant killed;  
His Sling, his Harp, and Sceptre on the Shore,  
Of Lethe lay, not used as heretofore.   

XCVIII.  
But then the dusky fields (that border near)  
Where mournful birds on barren boughs reside,  
And never silent are, impoverished were  
While with fresh flowers to braid his hair he tried;  
When a new light struck, through the gloomy air,  
His eyes, and he their shining Ensigns spied;  
His Harp resumed he from his sacred breast  
Inspired with holy Fire this Song expressed.   

XCIX.  
Glad tidings! see, those Messengers of Joy,  
Which unto us were promised long ago;  
Behold those pure forerunners of the Day,  
Who with Vermilion rays approach us so.  
Now whatsoever, of old, did us annoy,  
Shall cease, and we full liberty shall know.  
The Sun is up, which guilds our dark shades o'er,  
Let's kneel, and all, at once, his Rise adore.   

C.  
To you, most longed-for Angels! to you Peace,  
And Glory! who have that salvation gained,  
Which we long, long have hoped: But who are these,  
Who are with wounds and blood so strangely stained?  
Who cut those throats? Whence did that Rage increase,  
That on their Heads so cruel mischief rain d?  
What heart 'gainst pity could so hardened be?  
What hand, what Sword so fired with cruelty?   

CI.  
And you, that in yourselves, yourselves retain,  
(Destructive storms!) what then did you repress?  
What bridled you (ye winds?) What did restrain  
(Thunder, and clouds!) Your rage from its excess?  
So, that this act unpunished did remain,  
And God s most just revenge seemed to be less.  
An Act, that 'midst eternal Hate, and Ire  
Furies amazed, and made Hell blush like fire.   

CII.  
O sacred! holy! O most blessed, and dear  
Triumphant Martyrs! whom nought could subdue;  
Heroes! who by your Captain chosen were  
To die for him, before he dies for you.  
Imbittered Apples, pulled by hands severe!  
Flowers, that, unblown, in his own garden grew:  
Sweet Roses! died in your own blood, and born  
To be cut off with wounds in groves of thorn.   

CIII.  
Most tender Lily s! untouched Jessimine!  
Wherein sweetest streams of purple Nectar flow:  
Preserved in Gods own Garden, made divine  
T' enrich those Feasts he does in Heaven bestow.  
Fair branches! that on earth did glorious shine,  
Torn from the trunks whereon you once did grow!  
Small, broken stones! on which the Church will lay  
Its new Foundation, and its Honours pay.   

CIV.  
To us here languishing, our Saviour's name  
Upon your Virgin Foreheads writ, you bear.  
Sweet sheep! whose looks your Innocence proclaim;  
Immaculate, and whitest Doves you are.  
Purged Holocausts, bright Offerings, free from blame!  
Washed in the Lamb's, and your own blood most fair;  
First Victims, that to th' King of Saints were paid,  
And by the cruel sword were open laid.   

CV.  
Welcome Illustrious Spirits; souls clear, and fair!  
Most happy Bades! who, to us certain news  
Of our approaching Jubilee now bear,  
And long-expected Joys through all diffuse.  
O sacred Drops! and every drop a Star!  
Blood, which than Rubies Christ doth rather choose,  
As richest Gems selected for his own,  
T' enrich his Diadem, and his Spouses Crown.   

CVI  
O happy wounds! and signs that now declare  
Past Martyrdom, with great'st Veracity;  
Of Glory and Honour surest Pledges are,  
That Grace and Love can loudest magnify.  
Now who is he, who will not tears prepare  
To bathe you, and with kisses wipe you dry?  
Or who is he whom pity will not move  
To drink those streams are shed for wounded Love?   

CVII.  
With sprinklings of your blood, even Heaven desires,  
Itself t' adorn, instead of its own Light,  
The moon in such sine Purple now aspires  
To paint her Face, and mix it with her white,  
In such pure rivulets, Angels, and those Fires  
That shine above, to view themselves delight;  
The Sun's ambitious, in so fair a Sea,  
Himself t' impurple, and to drown the Day.   

CVIII.  
O most delightful, O most charming tears!  
O dearest Sighs, and Groans that pleasures move!  
From sound of which, the most harmonious Spheres  
Make their high Consort as they turn above!  
O sweetest Grief, which the loved Martyr bears  
With all delight, and makes his Joys improve!  
O pleasing Death, that does more glorious seem  
Than Life itself, in honour and esteem.   

CIX.  
Loved Spirits! beauteous Souls, how great, how fair  
Immortal Arches now doth God for you  
I'th' Empyraean Capitol prepare,  
With Palms, and Crowns, and Blisses that ensue?  
What greater glory, then, when Hell a War  
Designs, their King, and Armies to subdue;  
With naked Champions, who so took the field  
Unarmed, and thus were made your Saviour's shield.   

CX  
In that high starry Court, where now he reigns  
In triumph, and from whence he sent you, there  
With Angels, your Companions, the Remains  
And spoils of his great Victory you shall share.  
The Standard, there, of Death, with bloody stains,  
And that of Innocence all white appear;  
There, for a Trophy, 'mids those Troops displayed,  
Large Banners, your torn Swathbands shall be made.   

CXI.  
Even in your torments O most happy you!  
Who rather more of milk than blood did spend;  
In your first day, your last night did ensue;  
One day gave your Beginning, and your End.  
Yet was it fit, before you either knew,  
That you with Death and Sorrow should contend;  
And with torn Sails your weak Barks first effort  
Scarce made into the Sea, should gain your Port.   

CXII.  
We infirm Wrestlers: we (you now may say)  
Fallen in the Lists up to God's bosom rise:  
From bloody Paths we now the Milky way,  
(New Stars) with purer white shall signalise.  
Our Feet, which, now no weakness can betray,  
Tread on the highest Spheres, and Earth despise.  
We from a lose, and little Veil begun  
To survey Heaven, before we saw the Sun.   

CXIII.  
As thus he sung, those glorious souls his Lays  
Abruptly stopped, the shades strait vanish quite,  
To Heaven their hands the Ancient Fathers raise,  
Hoping a Period of so long a Night.  
And through the horrors, of those gloomy ways,  
The welcome Children (now a Burden Light)  
Bear in their Arms, and iterate upon  
Their holy checks their kisses, and their moan.   

Notes upon the Fourth Book.  
Stanza LXXXIV.  
Herod had married this Doris, of his own Country, on whom he begat this Alexander; whose death among these Innocents', when reported to Augustus: I had rather (said he) be Herod's Swine, than his Son, because as a Jew he would let the Swine live, but jealous of his Son, would murder him.    
FINIS.   

Errata,  
Page 36. Stanza 47. for stocks read shocks. pag. 55. Stanza 112. for spise, r. Spies.