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Rouz'd from my bed, I speedily ascend Nor only on the Trojans fell this doom,
Thus greeting us, “ You lose by your delay, From neighbouring hills th' amazed shepherd Your share both of the honour and the prey; hears;
Others the spoils of burning Troy convey Such my surprise, and such their rage appears. Back to those ships which you but now forsake. First fell thy house, Ucalegon, then thine We making no return, his sad mistake Deiphobus, Sigæan seas did shine
Too late he finds: as when an unseen snake Bright with Troy's flames; the trumpets dreadful A traveller's unwary fuot hath prest, sound
Who trembling starts when the snake's azure The louder groans of dying men confound; Swoln with his rising anger, he espies, (crest, "Give me my arms," I cry'd, resolv'd to throw So from our view surpriz'd Andrógeus flies. Myself'mong any that oppos'd the foe :
But here an easy victory we meet : [feet. Rage, anger, and despair at once suggest, Fear binds their hands, and ignorance their That of all deaths to die in arms was best. Whilst fortune our first enterprize did aid, The first I met was Pantheus, Phoebus' priest, Encourag'd with snccess, Chorcebus said, Who, 'scaping with his gods and reliques, fled, "O friends we now by better Fates are led, And towards the shore his little grandchild led. And the fair path they lead us, let us tread. " Pantheus, what hope remains ? what force, First change your arms, and their distinctions what place
The same, in foes, deceit and virtue are."[bear ; Made good ?” but sighing, he replies, “ Alas! Then of his arms Androgeus he divests, Trojans we were, and mighty Ilium was; His sword, bis shield he takes, and plumed crests, But the last period, and the fatal hour
Then Ripheus, Dymas, and the rest, all glad Of Troy is come: our glory and our power Of the occasion, in fresh spoils are clad. Incensed Jove's transfers to Grecian hands; Thus mixt with Greeks, as if their fortune still The foe within the burning town commands; Follow'd their swords, we fight, pursue, and kill. And (like a smother'd fire) an unseen force Some re-ascend the horse, and he whose sides Breaks from the bowels of the fatal horse : Let forth the valiant, now the coward hides. Insulting Sinon flings about the flame,
Some to their safer guard, their ships, retite; And thousands more than e'er from Argos came But vain's that hope, 'gainst which the gods conPossess the gates, the passes, and the streets, | Behold the royal virgin, the divine [spire: And these the sword o'ertakes, and those it meets. Cassandra, from Minerva's fatal shrine (vain, The guard nor fights, nor flies; their fate so Dragg'd by the hair, casting towards heaven, in near
Her eyes; for cords her tender hands did strain ; At onee suspends their courage and their fear.” Chorobus, at the spectacle enrag'a Thus by the gods, and by Atrides' words Flies in amidst the foes: we tbus engag'd, Inspir'd, 1 make my way through fire, through To second him, among the thickest ran; swords,
Here first our ruin from our friends began, Where noises, tumults, outcries, and alarms, Who from the temple's battlements a shower I heard. First Iphitus, renown'd for arms, Of darts and arrows on our beads did pour ; We meet, who knew us (for the Moon did shine); They us for Greeks, and now the Greeks (who Then Ripheus, Hypanis, and Dymas join Cassandra's rescue) us for Trojans slew. [knew Their force, and young Choræbus, Mygdon's Then from all parts Ulysses, Ajax ther, Who, by the love of fair Cassandra, won, (son, | And then the Atridæ, rally all their men; Arriv'd but lately in her father's aid;
As winds, that meet from sereral coasts, contest, Unhappy, whom the threats could not dissuade Their prisons being broke, the south and west, Of his prophetic spouse;
And Eurus on bis winged coursers borne, Whom when I saw yet daring to maintain Triumphing in their speed, the woods are torn, The fight, I said, “ Brave spirits (but in vain) And chasing Nereus with his trident throws Are you resolvid to follow one who dares The billows frm the bottom; then all those Tempt all extremes; the state of our affairs Who in the dark our fury did escape, You see : the gods have left us, by whose aid Returning, know our borrow'd arms, and shape, Our empire stood, nor can the flame be staid : And different dialect : then their numbers swell Then let us fall amidst our foes; this one And grow upon us. First Chorcebus fell Relief the vanquish'd have, to hope for none." Before Minerva's altar, next did bleed Then reinforc'd, as in a stormy night
Just Ripheus, whom no 'Trojan did exceed Welves urged by their raging appetite
In virtue, yet the gods his fate decreed. Forage for prey, which their neglected young Then Hypanis and Dymas, wounded by With greedy jaws expect, ev'n so among Their friends ; nor thee, Pantheus, thy piety, Foes, fire, and swords, t' assured death we pass, Nor consecrated mitre, from the same Darkness our guide, Despair our leader was. Il fate could save; my country's funeral flame Who can relate that evening's woes and spoils, And Troy's cold ashes I attest, and call Or can his tears proportion to our toils? To witness for myself, that in their fall The city, which so long had flourishd, falls ; No foes, no death, nor danger, I declin'd, Death triumphs o'er the houses, temples, walls. Did, and deserv'd no less, iny fate to find.
Now Iphitus with me, and Pelias
And now between two sad extremes I stood, Slowly retire ; the one retarded was
Here Pyrrhus and th’ Atridæ drunk with blood, By feeble age, the other by a wound.
There th' hapless queen amongst an hundred To court the cry directs us, where we found
dames, Th' assault so hot, as if 'twere only there, And Priam quenching from his wounds those And all the rest secure from foes or fear :
flames The Greeks the gates approach'd, their targets Which his own hands had on the altar laid ; cast
Then they the secret cabinets invade, Over their heads; some scaling ladders plac'd Where stood the fifty nuptial beds, the hopes Against the walls, the rest the steps ascend, Of that great race; the golden posts,whose tops And with their shields on their left arms defend Old hostile spoils adorn'd, deinolish'd lay, Arrows and darts, and with their right hold fast Or to the foe, or to the fire a prey. The battlement; on them the Trojans cast Now Priam's fate perhaps you may inqnire : Stones, rafters, pillars, beams; such arins as Seeing his empire lost, his Troy on fire, these,
And his own palace by the Greeks possest, Now hopeless, for their last defence they seize. Arms long disus'd his trembling limbs invest; The gilded roofs, the marks of ancient state, Thus on his foes he throws himself alone, They tumble down ; and now against the gate Not for their fate, but to provoke his own : Of th' inner court their growing force they There stood an altar open to the view bring :
Of Heaven, near which an aged laurel grew, Now was our last effort to save the king,
Whose shady arms the household gods embrac'd; Relieve the fainting, and succeed the dead, Before whose feet the queen herself had cast A private gallery 'twixt th' apartments led, With all her daughters, and the Trojan wives, Not to the foe yet known, or not observ'd, As doves whom an approaching tempest drives (The way for Hector's hapless wife reserv'd, And frights into one fock; but having spy'd When to the aged king, her little son [run Old Priam clad in youthful arm, she cried, She would present) through this we pass, and Alas, my wretched husband, what pretence Up to the highest battlement, from whence To bear those arms, and in them what defence ? The Trojans threw their darts without offence, Such aid such times require not, when again A tower so high, it seem'd to reach the sky, If Hector were alive, he liv'd in vain ; Stood on the roof, from whence we could descry Or here weshall a sanctuary find, All Ilium-both the camps, the Grecian fleet; Or as in life we shalt in death be join'd." This, where the beams upon the columns meet, Then weeping, with kind force held and embrac'd, We loosen, which like thunder from the cloud And on the secret seat the king she plac'd. Breaks on their heads, as sudden and as loud. Meantime Polites, one of Priam's sons, But others still succeed : meantime, nor stones Flying the rage of bloody Pyrrhus, runs Nor any kind of weapons cease.
Through foes and swords, and ranges all the court, Before the gate in gilded armour shone (grown, And empty galleries, amaz'd and hurt ; Young Pyrrhus, like a snake, his skin new Pyrrhus pursues him, now o'ertakes, now kills, Who fed on poisonous herbs, all winter lay And his last blood in Priam's presence spills. Under the ground, and now reviews the day The king (though him so many deaths enclose) Fresh in his new apparel, proud and young, Nor fear, nor grief, but indignation shows; Rolls up his back, and brandishes his tongue, “ The gods requite thee, (if
within the care And lifts his scaly breast against the Sun; Of those above th' affairs of mortals are) With him his father's squire, Automedon, Whose fury on the son but lost had been, And Peripas, who drove his winged steeds, Had not his parents' eyes his murder seen: Enter the court; whom all the youth succeeds Not that Achilles (whom thou feign'st to be Of Scyros' isle, who flaming firebrands fung Thy father) so inhuman was to me; Up to the roof; Pyrrhus himself among He blusht, when I the rights of arms implor'd; The foremost with an axe an entrance hews To me my Hector, me to Troy restord:” Through beams of solid oak, then freely views This said, his feeble arm a javelin flung, The chambers, galleries, and rooms of state, Which on the sounding shield, scarce entering Where Priam and the ancient monarchs sat.
Tung. At the first gate an armed guard appears ; Then Pyrrhus; “ Go a messenger to Hell But th' inner court with horrour, noise, and tears, of my black deeds, and to my father tell Confus'dly fill'd, the women's shrieks and cries The acts of his degenerate race." So through 'The arch'd vaults re-echo to the skies;
His son's warm blood the trembling king he. Sad matrons wandering through the spacious, drew rooms
To th’altar; in his hair one hand he wreaths; Embrace and kiss the posts : then Pyrrhus comes His sword the other in his bosom sheaths. Full of his father, neither men nor walls
Thus fell the king, who yet survivd the state, His force sustain, the torn portcullis falls, With such a signal and peculiar fate, Then from the hinge their strokes the gates di- Under so vast a ruin, not a grave, vorce,
Nor in such flames a funeral fire to have: And where the way they cannot find, they force. He whom such titles swell'd, such power made Not with such rage a swelling torrent flows
proud, Above his banks, th' opposing dams o'erthrows, To whom the sceptres of all Asia bow'd, Depopulates the fields, the cattle, sheep, On the cold earth lics th' unregarded king, Shepherds and folds, the foaming surges sweep. A headless carcase, and a nameless thing.
ON THE EARL OF STRAFFORD...TO A PERSON OF HONOUR. 243
Since man to that perfection cannot rise,
Therefore the patterns man should imitate
Above the life our masters should create.
Herein, if we consult with Greece and Rome, Great Strafford ! worthy of that name, though Greece (as in war) by Rome was overcome; all
Though mighty raptures we in Homer find, Of thee could be forgotten, but thy fall, | Yet, like himself, his characters were blind; Crush'd by imaginary treason's weight,
Virgil's sublimed eyes not only gaz'd, Which too much merit did accumulate:
But bis sublimed thoughts to Heaven were As chymists gold from brass by fire would draw,
rais'd. Pretexts are into treason forg'd by law.
Who reads the honours which he paid the gods, His wisdom such, at once it did appear
Would think he had beheld their blest abodes; Three kingdoms' wonder, and three kingdoms' | And that his hero might accomplish'd be, fear ;
From divine blood he draws his pedigree. While single he stood forth, and seem'd, although From that great judge your judgment takes its Each had an army, as an equal foe.
law, Such was his force of eloquence, to make
And by the best original does draw The hearers more conceru'd than he that spake; Bonduca's honour, with those heroes Time Each seem'd to act that part he came to see, Had in oblivion wrapt, his saucy crime ; And none was more a looker-on than he ; To them and to your nation you are just, So did he move our passions, some were known In raising up their glories from the dust; To wish, for the defence, the crime their own. And to Old England you that right have done Now private pity strove with public hate, | To show, no story nobler than her own. Reason with rage, and eloquence with fate: Now they could him, if he could them forgive ; He's not too guilty, but too wise to live; Less seem those facts which Treason's nick-name
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF
HENRY LORD HASTINGS, 1650.
When every line they add improves thy loss, Death from their fears, than safety from his
Till having view'd the whole, they sum a own,
cross; That his last action all the rest might crown. Such as derides thy passions' best relief,
And scorns the succours of thy easy grief. | Yet, lest thy ignorance betray thy name
Of man and pious, read and mourn : the shame TO A PERSON OF HONOUR,
| Of an exemption, from just sense, dotb show
| Irrational, beyond excess of woe. ON HIS INCOMPARABLE POEM7.
Since reason, then, can privilege a tear, Weat mighty gale hath rais'd a flight so strong?
Manhood, uncensurd, pay that tribute bere,
U pon this noble urn. Here, here, remains So high above all vulgar eyes ! so long ?
Dust far more precious than in India's veins : One single rapture scarce itself confines
Within these cold embraces, ravish’d, lies Within the limits of four thousand lines :
That which compleats the age's tyrannies : And yet I hope to see this noble heat
Who weak to such another ill appear, Continue, till it makes the piece complete,
For what destroys our hope, secures our fear, That to the latter age it may descend,
What sin unexpiate1, in this land And to the end of time its beams extend.
Of groans, hath guided so severe a hand ? ' When Poesy joins profit with delight,
The late great victim ? that your altars knew, Her images should be most exquisite,
Ye angry gods, might have excus'd this new
Oblation, and have spar'd one lofty light 1 The honourable Edward Howard, by his
Of virtue, to inform our steps aright ; poem called The British Princes, engaged the
By whose example good, condemned, wė attention of by far the most eminent of his con
Might have run on to kinder destiny. temporaries; who played upon his vanity, as
But as the leader of the herd fell first the wits of half a century before had done on
A sacrifice, to quench the raging thirst that of Thomas Coryat, by writing extravagant
Of inflam'd vengeance for past crimes ; so none compliments on his works. See Butler's, Wal
But this white-fatted youngling cou'd atone, ler's, Sprat's, and Dorset's verses, in their respec
By his untimely fate; that impious smoke, tive volumes; and in the Select Collection of
That sullied Earth, and did Heaven's pity choke. Miscellaneous Poems, 1780, vol. III. p. 105, are other verses on the same subject, by Marton Clifford, and the lord Vaughan. N.
a King Charles the First.
Let it suffice for us, that we have lost
Thus the constitution
From the father to the son.
But John Youthful, and climbing upwards still, imparts
(Our friend) Molleson No haste like that of his increasing parts;
Thought us to have out-gone
With a quaint invention.
He complain'd long before,
Ay, and thrice as much more.
And with that wicked lye,
But Fate That by our trembling sense, in HASTINGS
Brought the letter too late, Their anger and our ugly faults are read;
'Twas of too old a date The short lines of whose life did to our eyes
To relieve their damn'd state,
Turn'd into good Latin.
But he that gave the hint
Must also pay his stint.
PROM WHENCE WE BROUGHT 10,000). FOR HIS Had it come in the nick,
But the messenger fell sick.
Had it later been wrote,
And sooner been brought, Of the pure ones in Pole,
They had got what they sought, Which are damn'd in our scrou).
But now it serves for nought. Who having felt a touch
On Sandys they ran aground, Of Cockram's greedy clutch,
And our return was crown'd
With full ten thousand pound.
ON MR. THO. KILLIGREW'S RETURN FROM VENICI,
AND MR. WILLIAM MURREY'S FROM SCOTLAND. Nor lend An ear to a friend,
Our resident Tom, Nor an answer would send
From Venice is come, To our letter so well penn'd.
And hath left the statesman behind him:
Talks at the same pitch, Nor assist our affairs
Is as wise, is as rich; With their monies nor their wares,
And just where you left him, you find him. As their answer now declares, But only with their prayers.
But who says he was not Thus they did persist
A man of much plot, Did and said what they list,
May repent that false accusation; Till the diet was dismist;
Having plotted and penn'd But then our breech they kist.
Six plays, to attend
The farce of his negotiation.
Before you were told
How Satan 3 the old The diet said, Amen.
Came here with a beard to his middle;
Though he chang'd face and name, And because they are loth
Old Will was the same,
At the noise of a can and a fiddle.
3 Mr. W. Murrey,
These statesmen, you believe,
| Nor did he like the omen, Send straight for the shrieve,
For fear it might be his doom For he is one too, or would be;
One day for to sing, But he drinks no wine,
With a gullet in string, Which is a shrewd sign
-A hymn of Robert Wisdom. That all 's not so well as it should be.
But what was all this business? These three, when they drink,
For sure it was important : How little do they think
For who rides i'th' wet Of banishment, debts, or dying:
When affairs are not great,
The neighbours make but a sport on't.
To a goodly fat sow's baby,
O John, thou hadst a malice, Mirth makes them not mad,
The old driver of swine Nor sobriety sad;
That day sure was thine, But of that they are seldom in danger;
Or thou hadst not quitted Calais, At Paris, at Rome,
At the Hague, they 're at home; The good fellow is no where a stranger.
TO SIR JOHN MENNIS,
EAT A PIG.
All on a weeping Monday,
Little admiral John
To Bologne is gone.
When nose lay in breech,
And breech made a speech,
When 'tis told in Kent,
In a cart that he went,
What gives us that fantastic fit,
Thou might'st have ta'en example,
Being as worthy to sit
On an ambling tit
But the rain made an ass
Of tilt and canvass;
Who was soak’d to the skin,
Through drugget so thin, Having neither coat nor waistcoat,
SARPEDON’S SPEECH TO GLAUCUS,
IN THE TWELFTH BOOK OF HOMER.
Thus to Glaucus spake
He being proudly mounted,
Defy'd cart so base,
For thief without grace, That goes to make a wry mouth,