The Unfortunate PHAETON, Or the Fall of AMBITION, An HEROIC POEM.  
Written by a Person of Quality.  

Licenced  
January the 29th. 1685. R. P.   
LONDON, Printed for S. Norris, and are to be Sold by the Booksellers of London and Westminster, 1686.   

The Unfortunate PHAETON, Or the Fall of AMBITION, etc.  

THE Storm that Tost the yielding Waves allayed,  
And Calmness o'er the Face of Nature spread;  
With all the Charms of Peace I courted Rest,  
Till kinder Fate had lodged it in my Breast;  
Which made me stand as Shipwrecked Sailors do,  
On safety's Rock, and Conquered dangers view:  
Revolving all degrees of thought that move  
In Mortal minds, composed of fear and love:  
Whilst wakeful Fancy, that no slumber knows  
Unnumbered things in their Idea shows;  
Some bright, some dark, some less than others far,  
As Shrubs to Cloud-invadeing Ceders are,  
Or as the Globe to the first moving Star.  
Some seeming Pomp adorned, and some were meek  
As Pilgrims, that Eternal Mansions seek.  
Amongst the rest, and foremost of the Train,  
Ambition stood, both Men and Angels Baen,  
The great disturber of the World, yet stood  
The courted shadow of a real good;  
Delusion decked him out to that degree,  
He Seemed the Counterfeit of Royalty:  
An Air of Greatness gained the first surprise,  
And short liveed favours darted from his Eyes,  
Vain Glory and False Hope around him flew,  
And Real Honour stood aloft in view;  
But betwixt him and it by th' smallest Thread,  
A fatal Sword hung trembling o'er his Head,  
And all his way with mighty Ruin spread;  
Trophies of sad misfortunes on each Hand,  
Proclaimed his Pajeant Glories could not stand;  
This made me wonder how Mankind could be  
Besoted into such Credulity;  
How such Allurements could Entice the Great,  
To cast themselves into the Arms of Fate,  
And its decrees seek to Anticipate.  
As when a Vulture greedy of his Prey,  
A sleeping Serpent strives to steal away,  
But in that rash surprise he finds his own,  
And by the waking Serpent is undone.  
'Tis strange that Man should in such folly fall,  
Who is so proud of being Rational,  
To Court a thing, which like Circean Charms,  
The Reason into Monstrous shapes transforms,  
To seek with toil, what no content can yield,  
A Luscious Poison that has numbers killed.  
What Mariner that Rides on Ruffled Waves,  
Would choose to Sail where Barking Sylla Raves?  
Or on Charibidis dreadful Shoals would stand,  
Where scattered Shipwrecks spread the Bloody Sand,  
When he on Haltion Seas might make his way,  
Yet thus does he, Ambition leads Astray;  
A Slave he's at that grand Destroyer's will,  
And what he bids him do, he must fulfil.  
As when a headstrong Horse has got the Rein,  
The Rider's rule is lost, he storms in vain,  
In vain he strives, the Creature won't obey,  
But his at that time is his Horse's way,  
As Phaeton's was, that needs would Guide the day:  
The Young Man thought it was no more than Ride,  
The Glory basled all his thoughts beside:  
Paternal care and tenderness in vain  
His mad Carreir endeavoured to restrain;  
Hot on his bold resolves to mount a Throne,  
All Honours else to him but dimly Shone;  
But what ensued? A mighty Ruin: Why,  
If Tales by true, he burned the Earth and Sky,  
His blazing Team too fiercly lead him on,  
Till in that Mischief he was overthrown:  
The forked Thunder met him in his way,  
And put a stop to the Vserpers sway:  
Whilst from his burning Chair of State he's hurled,  
A Blazing Comet to the Lower World:  
The Loud-mouthed Thunder bid the Ruin cease,  
And in Ambition's fall gave Nature peace.  
So we of late, beheld the Madbrained Crew,  
Their hapless Phaeton by their Breath undoo:  
Ambitions Poison Winged with fond Applause,  
The Headstrong Youth to certain Ruin draws:  
A forfeit life restored, or favours great,  
Such as upon the Smiles of Monarchs' wait,  
Had not the power to stay him from his fate.  
How blind is Man, that sucks this Poison in,  
'Tis such a Vice, so dear a Darling Sin,  
That Reason's forced to give the Monster way,  
And suffer under its Tyrannic sway;  
'Twas that made Caesar and great Pompey Jar,  
Who scattered all the World with Civil War,  
And on Aemathean Plains Writ large in Blood,  
That in Ambition there can be no good:  
'Tis that which wounds the Soul and let's out Rest,  
Raising a Civil War within the Breast,  
And hurries all the Faculties about  
In such Confusion, as when Troops in Rout  
Are scattered by the fierce pursuing Foe,  
Who fleshed with Slaughter can no pity show;  
Or as a Sea provoked by Fight Winds,  
In Waves Tumultuous all her Water finds.  
Yet with this Madness some were wondrous pleased,  
They powerful Cordials scorned that would have eased,  
And gloried With such Frenzy to be seized.  
So a poor Lunatic of sense bereft,  
Knows not in what a sad Estate he's left,  
And one thing in that great distress may be  
A Comfort, cause he knows not's Misery;  
But in his hot-brained Fits himself deceives  
With thoughts of greatness, which he then believes  
Stands in his way, and that he has Command  
As some great Monarch, over Sea and Land:  
Thus Airey Pride the Madmen do Pursue,  
And these ar'th'Dreams of the Ambitious too.  
The Man that makes his Gold his God, we hate,  
Or he that Kills his Neighbour for's Estate:  
The Crafty underminer Men abhor,  
And Wounds in Peace, are worse than Wounds in War;  
Yet Soul-destroying Averice, Cruelty,  
Fraud, Malice, all in Black Ambition lie:  
As in Rebellions Hydra late appeared,  
An Hydra which its Heads but faintly reared;  
Yet different ways to Mischief they inclined,  
And studdyed Ruin always to Mankind.  
Aspireing Thoughts, and hope of Gain were there,  
Rapine and Burning Lust durst claim a share,  
And Impious Sacrelidge with horrid hands,  
Which Indians dread, and Africks' swarthy bands:  
A thing the wild Arabians always fly,  
And all the World that owns a Deity.  
There, sweet Revenge was closely hugged, and all  
We can the Spawn of Damned Ambition call:  
Nay more, A challenge up to Heaven was sent,  
As if they Giantlike to storm it meant;  
A Challenge or bold Claim, such as could ne'er  
Without Revenge pierce the Almighty's Ear,  
A bold Presumption, in so bad a Cause,  
In Derogation to his Sacred Laws.  
His Anger slept not, when their Wish was heard,  
But in their Ruin, he his Justice cleared;  
He, unto whom all darkness is as day,  
Whose Eyes abstrusest things with ease survey,  
Observed those Men, who durst have laid the Gild  
Of Blood, Ingloriously, they would have spilt,  
To Heaven's charge, and through the dismal Gloom,  
Kind Providence discovered things to come,  
The wakeful Genius of the Nations gave  
A timely notice to the bold and brave,  
And over-set the Fate that seemed to lower,  
By blasting quite Ambitions feeble Power.  
Scarce had the Fallen Sun declined the West,  
Scarce India viewed its Glory in the East,  
And we Impatient, waited its uprise,  
To Deck with Infant Beams the darkened Skies.  
No Silver Moon shot Pale Beams into Night,  
Whose Lustur by the Shade was Vanquished quite,  
But dimly shined the scattered Seeds of Light:  
A sullen Silence o'er the Plain was spread,  
Each drowsy Hill appeared to Nod its Head,  
All things were still, as Nature's self were Dead.  
When armed with Rage, the Mad-braind Rout came on,  
Pushed by the forward Fates to be undone,  
O'rewelmed in sleep, they thought the Camp to find,  
And easy Victory possessed each mind;  
Soft were their steps, as those of Lovers are,  
Who would be secret, and each shadow fear,  
Who strangely startle at each Noise they hear,  
The Managed Silence promised them success,  
But he who ne'er Rebellious Arms would bless,  
Who ne'er could be indused to Wink at Sin,  
Let them perceive what Error they were in.  
A Thirst of Glory conquered Somnus Charms,  
And kept the wakeful Heroes at their Arms,  
Ready to Cope, when Wars dread Front appeared,  
And Rustic Clamour through the Gloom was heard.  
All nimble in their Motion, Trained to do  
The Mighty Work, that Fame had called 'em to.  
Eagar to Act, and fearless of the Foe,  
They counted their approaching March too flow.  
Glad were they when they saw that Heaven gave way  
To their desires, and War in prospect lay,  
Scarce for the Signal would their Courage stay,  
But seemed uneasy, till their Arms had tried  
The justice of their cause, and quelled the Pride  
Of those Aspirers, who with Gyant-might,  
Thought to possess themselves of Heaven by Fight.  
And now no more than Neptune's Tribute-stream,  
With silent Silver, Interposed between.  
To Pause they stand, not but each active Hand,  
Waits to give Death upon the first Command:  
And now loud shouts begin the Air to wound,  
Th'Alarms beat, and all the Trumpets sound:  
The noise of shouting Soldiers, pierce the Sky,  
Above the stormy Clouds the Clamours fly,  
Whilst Neighbouring Caverns Echo back the sound,  
And from the Hills the mingled Cries rebound.  
Night vows no more, the Breathing Flame gives day,  
And Winged with Fire, the Bolts of Thunder stray,  
That scattered Ruin, in their Fatal way.  
Whilst on the Plains, the scattered Rebels lie,  
And their late Spoils, with dear Repentance buy,  
The futal Flashes let them see their woe,  
And many Death's presage their overthrow;  
The Blood that from a thousand Wounds was shed,  
The Grass discoloured with a dusky Red;  
Yet prompted by Dispair, they boldly stood,  
And Death's large Gaps with other Lives made good,  
As knowing on that Cast their safety lay,  
That Ruin followed, if they lost the day.  
Nor was Young Phaeton wanting to express  
His utmost Conduct, nor in danger less  
Exposed himself, though 'gainst the Fates, in vain  
He strove, for what he never must obtain.  
Those Missile Arms, that Untrained Rustics held,  
Stood only cyphers in the Bloody Field,  
To give him in their Fall a full survey,  
In how great breadths his hapless Ruin lay,  
To let him see in his too late distress,  
How Black Ambition had destroyed his Peace,  
And how by his Disloyalty, he stood  
The Curse of Ruined bad-men, and the Scorn o'th' good,  
The Rebel Horse by this time Ranged at large,  
But found themselves too weak to stand the Charge,  
Pale Fear had withered all their strength, and drained  
Them of that Vigour once in them remained;  
As soon as e'er some Wounded Horse had thrown  
Their Riders, and their Bodies Trampled on,  
The Horsemen left the Field, the Fight they eat,  
Or turning Reins upon their Fellows, run.  
Driven they were, thus Thunderstruck pursued,  
And in a Trice quite broken and subdued:  
When to the truly Loyal Heroes Aid,  
With heavy pace the deep mouthed Cannons made,  
And loud in Thunder, Slaughter did proclaim,  
Whilst all the Field seemed one great Camp of flame,  
And Clouds of Smoke, the Blushing Morn o'erspread,  
Which now began to rise from Thetis Bed:  
Loudly they spoke, and with outrageous Roar,  
The yielding Air in parts unnumbered Tore;  
Whilst Iron Globes, that Mortal might can't stay,  
Through o'er thrown Ranks took their destroying way,  
And moved with Whirl-winds-speed, no Arms could be  
'Gainst those destroyers, a security.  
And now the Horse that had nought else to do,  
Amongst the broken Ranks like Lightning flew,  
So that the War to a sad Period drew:  
For with the shade the Rebels lest the Field,  
Blushing with th' Blood of those that there were killed;  
And with their Phaeton, whom they durst obey,  
They met their Fates, though in another way.  
Thus great Jehovah, great deliverance wrought,  
And bold Ambition to Destruction brought;  
Thus failed it of its much desired end,  
In vain do Mortal men with Heaven contend,  
Improsperous are their Plots and dark Designs,  
He Thrives not, that 'gainst heavens Decrees Combines,  
But sinks into the Arms of foul Disgrace,  
And Honour's Image basely does deface;  
He Robs himself of Rest, and Courts his Pain,  
And swallows Guilded Poison, that's his Pain,  
Of which fond Rashness, men too oft complain:  
Yet like the man, that in a tossing storm,  
Puts up his Prayers, and vows he will reform,  
Vows to forsake each Darling Vice, but when  
The Winds are out of Breath, the Seas again  
Assume their former Calmness, he forgets,  
And little by his Obligation sets.  
So we deceive ourselves, till we are lost,  
And sadly know what such neglect has cost;  
Unvaluable Peace would men but prize,  
In which for certain there no danger lies,  
The World would all be turned to Paradise,  
The Golden Age again would be restored,  
Yet Virtue more than Gold would be adored;  
But restless men this Theme can never please,  
Who if they could, would scorn to live at ease,  
But like Old Nerites, always love to Rave,  
And ne'er be seen, but on a Tossing-Wave,  
Much like that Indian Mouse, who to fulfil  
The dire Revenge of its Insatiate will,  
The largest of all Creatures loves to kill;  
Though by the Fall of that unwieldy Beast,  
Itself to unavoided Death is pressed.  
Or like the Serpent that through Fire will run,  
The Antidote of Poisons force to shun.  
Strange these may seem, but true too oft they're found,  
And in the Soul make an Inglorious Wound.  
Disturb the frame o'th' little World, and bring  
Ten thousand mischiefs, which they fiercely fling,  
As Cursed Pandora's Box ' mongst men was hurled,  
Fraughted with those Plagues that now Disease the World.   
FINIS.