Rouz'd from my bed, I speedily ascend The houses' tops, and listening there attend. As flames roll'd by the winds' conspiring force, O'er full-ear'd corn, or torrents' raging course Bears down th' opposing oaks, the fields destroys, And mocks the plough-man's toil, th' unlook'd- for noise
From neighbouring hills th' amazed shepherd hears;
Such my surprise, and such their rage appears. First fell thy house, Ucalegon, then thine Deiphobus, Sigæan seas did shine
Bright with Troy's flames; the trumpets dreadful sound
The louder groans of dying men confound; "Give me my arms," I cry'd, resolv'd to throw Myself'mong any that oppos'd the foe: Rage, anger, and despair at once suggest, That of all deaths to die in arms was best. The first I met was Pantheus, Phoebus' priest, Who, 'scaping with his gods and reliques, fled, And towards the shore his little grandchild led. "Pantheus, what hope remains? what force, what place
Made good?" but sighing, he replies, "Alas! Trojans we were, and mighty Ilium was; But the last period, and the fatal hour Of Troy is come: our glory and our power Incensed Jove's transfers to Grecian hands; The foe within the burning town commands; And (like a smother'd fire) an unseen force Breaks from the bowels of the fatal horse: Insulting Sinon flings about the flame,
And thousands more than e'er from Argos came Possess the gates, the passes, and the streets, And these the sword o'ertakes, and those it meets. The guard nor fights, nor flies; their fate so
At once suspends their courage and their fear." Thus by the gods, and by Atrides' words Inspir'd, I make my way through fire, through swords,
Where noises, tumults, outcries, and alarms, I heard. First Iphitus, renown'd for arms, We meet, who knew us (for the Moon did shine); Then Ripheus, Hypanis, and Dymas join Their force, and young Chorcebus, Mygdon's Who, by the love of fair Cassandra, won, [son, Arriv'd but lately in her father's aid; Unhappy, whom the threats could not dissuade Of his prophetic spouse;
Whom when I saw yet daring to maintain The fight, I said, "Brave spirits (but in vain) Are you resolv'd to follow one who dares Tempt all extremes; the state of our affairs You see the gods have left us, by whose aid Our empire stood; nor can the flame be staid : Then let us fall amidst our foes; this one Relief the vanquish'd have, to hope for none." Then reinforc'd, as in a stormy night Wolves urged by their raging appetite Forage for prey, which their neglected young With greedy jaws expect, ev'n so among Foes, fire, and swords, t' assured death we pass, Darkness our guide, Despair our leader was. Who can relate that evening's woes and spoils, Or can his tears proportion to our toils? The city, which so long had flourish'd. falls; Death triumphs o'er the houses, temples, walls.
Nor only on the Trojans fell this doom, Their hearts at last the vanquish'd re-assume; And now the victors fall: on all sides fears, Groans and pale Death in all her shapes appears: Androgeus first with his whole troop was cast Upon us, with civility misplac'd; Thus greeting us, "You lose by your delay, Your share both of the honour and the prey; Others the spoils of burning Troy convey Back to those ships which you but now forsake." We making no return, his sad mistake Too late he finds: as when an unseen snake A traveller's unwary foot hath prest, Who trembling starts when the snake's azure Swoln with his rising anger, hc espies, [crest, So from our view surpriz'd Androgeus flies. But here an easy victory we meet : [fect. Fear binds their hands, and ignorance their Whilst fortune our first enterprize did aid, Encourag'd with success, Chorobus said, "O friends we now by better Fates are led, And the fair path they lead us, let us tread. First change your arms, and their distinctions The same, in foes, deceit and virtue are."[bear; Then of his arms Androgeus he divests, His sword, his shield he takes, and plumed crests, Then Ripheus, Dymas, and the rest, all glad Of the occasion, in fresh spoils are clad. Thus mixt with Greeks, as if their fortune still Follow'd their swords, we fight, pursue, and kill. Some re-ascend the horse, and he whose sides Let forth the valiant, now the coward hides. Some to their safer guard, their ships, retire; But vain's that hope, 'gainst which the gods con- Behold the royal virgin, the divine [spire: Cassandra, from Minerva's fatal shrine [vain, Dragg'd by the hair, casting towards heaven, in Her eyes; for cords her tender hands did strain Chorcebus, at the spectacle enrag'd Flies in amidst the foes: we thus engag'd, To second him, among the thickest ran; Here first our ruin from our friends began, Who from the temple's battlements a shower Of darts and arrows on our heads did pour; They us for Greeks, and now the Greeks (who Cassandra's rescue) us for Trojans slew. Then from all parts Ulysses, Ajax then, And then th' Atridæ, rally all their men ; As winds, that meet from several coasts, contest, Their prisons being broke, the south and west, And Eurus on his winged coursers borne, Triumphing in their speed, the woods are torn, And chasing Nereus with his trident throws The billows from the bottom; then all those Who in the dark our fury did escape, Returning, know our borrow'd arms, and shape, And different dialect: then their numbers swell And grow upon us. First Chorœbus fell Before Minerva's altar, next did bleed Just Ripheus, whom no Trojan did exceed In virtue, yet the gods his fate decreed. Then Hypanis and Dymas, wounded by Their friends; nor thee, Pantheus, thy piety, Nor consecrated mitre, from the same Ill fate could save; my country's funeral flame And Troy's cold ashes I attest, and call To witness for myself, that in their fall No fees, no death, nor danger, I declin'd, Did, and deserv'd no less, ny fate to find.
Now Iphitus with me, and Pelias Slowly retire; the one retarded was By feeble age, the other by a wound. To court the cry directs us, where we found Th' assault so hot, as if 'twere only there, And all the rest secure from foes or fear: The Greeks the gates approach'd, their targets
Over their heads; some scaling ladders plac'd Against the walls, the rest the steps ascend, And with their shields on their left arms defend Arrows and darts, and with their right hold fast The battlement; on them the Trojans cast Stones, rafters, pillars, beams; such arms as these,
Now hopeless, for their last defence they seize. The gilded roofs, the marks of ancient state, They tumble down; and now against the gate Of th' inner court their growing force they bring:
Now was our last effort to save the king, Relieve the fainting, and succeed the dead, A private gallery 'twixt th' apartments led, Not to the foe yet known, or not observ'd, (The way for Hector's hapless wife reserv'd, When to the aged king, her little son [run She would present) through this we pass, and Up to the highest battlement, from whence The Trojans threw their darts without offence, A tower so high, it seem'd to reach the sky, Stood on the roof, from whence we could descry All Ilium-both the camps, the Grecian fleet; This, where the beams upon the columns meet, We loosen, which like thunder from the cloud Breaks on their heads, as sudden and as loud. But others still succeed: meantime, nor stones Nor any kind of weapons cease.
Before the gate in gilded armour shone [grown, Young Pyrrhus, like a snake, his skin new Who fed on poisonous herbs, all winter lay Under the ground, and now reviews the day Fresh in his new apparel, proud and young, Rolls up his back, and brandishes his tongue, And lifts his scaly breast against the Sun; With him his father's squire, Automedon, And Peripas, who drove his winged steeds, Enter the court; whom all the youth succeeds Of Scyros' isle, who flaming firebrands flung Up to the roof; Pyrrhus himself among The foremost with an axe an entrance hews Through beams of solid oak, then freely views The chambers, galleries, and rooms of state, Where Priam and the ancient monarchs sat. At the first gate an armed guard appears; But th' inner court with horrour, noise, and tears, Confus'dly fill'd, the women's shrieks and cries The arch'd vaults re-echo to the skies; Sad matrons wandering through the spacious
And now between two sad extremes I stood, Here Pyrrhus and th' Atridæ drunk with blood, There th' hapless queen amongst an hundred dames,
And Priam quenching from his wounds those flames
Which his own hands had on the altar laid; Then they the secret cabinets invade, Where stood the fifty nuptial beds, the hopes Of that great race; the golden posts, whose tops Old hostile spoils adorn'd, demolish'd lay, Or to the foe, or to the fire a prey. Now Priam's fate perhaps you may inqnire: Seeing his empire lost, his Troy on fire, And his own palace by the Greeks possest, Arms long disus'd his trembling limbs invest; Thus on his foes he throws himself alone, Not for their fate, but to provoke his own: There stood an altar open to the view Of Heaven, near which an aged laurel grew, Whose shady arms the household gods embrac'd; Before whose feet the queen herself had cast With all her daughters, and the Trojan wives, As doves whom an approaching tempest drives And frights into one flock; but having spy'd Old Priam clad in youthful arm, she cried, "Alas, my wretched husband, what pretence To bear those arms, and in them what defence? Such aid such times require not, when again If Hector were alive, he liv'd in vain ; Or here we shall a sanctuary find, Or as in life we shall in death be join'd." Then weeping, with kind force held and embrac'd, And on the secret seat the king she plac'd. Meantime Polites, one of Priam's sons, Flying the rage of bloody Pyrrhus, runs Through foes and swords, and ranges all the court, And empty galleries, amaz'd and hurt ; Pyrrhus pursues him, now o'ertakes, now kills, And his last blood in Priam's presence spills. The king (though him so many deaths enclose) Nor fear, nor grief, but indignation shows; "The gods requite thee, (if within the care Of those above th' affairs of mortals are) Whose fury on the son but lost had been, Had not his parents' eyes his murder seen: Not that Achilles (whom thou feign'st to be Thy father) so inhuman was to me;
He blusht, when I the rights of arms implor'd; To me my Hector, me to Troy restor❜d:" This said, his feeble arm a javelin flung, Which on the sounding shield, scarce entering. rung.
Then Pyrrhus; "Go a messenger to Hell Of my black deeds, and to my father tell The acts of his degenerate race." So through His son's warm blood the trembling king he drew
To th' altar; in his hair one hand he wreaths; His sword the other in his bosom sheaths. Thus fell the king, who yet surviv'd the state, With such a signal and peculiar fate, Under so vast a ruin, not a grave, Nor in such flames a funeral fire to have: He whom such titles swell'd, such power mada proud,
To whom the sceptres of all Asia bow'd, On the cold earth lies th' unregarded king, A headless carcase, and a nameless thing.
ON THE EARL OF STRAFFORD...TO A PERSON OF HONOUR. 243
ON THE EARL OF STRAFFORD'S
TRIAL AND DEATH.
GREAT Strafford! worthy of that name, though
Of thee could be forgotten, but thy fall, Crush'd by imaginary treason's weight, Which too much merit did accumulate:
As chymists gold from brass by fire would draw, Pretexts are into treason forg'd by law. His wisdom such, at once it did appear Three kingdoms' wonder, and three kingdoms' fear;
While single he stood forth, and seem'd, although Each had an army, as an equal foe. Such was his force of eloquence, to make
The hearers more concern'd than he that spake; Each seem'd to act that part he came to see, And none was more a looker-on than he ; So did he move our passions, some were known To wish, for the defence, the crime their own. Now private pity strove with public hate, 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 bore,
Than such a fear'd ability for more. They after death their fears of him express, His innocence and their own guilt confess. Their legislative frenzy they repent: Enacting it should make no precedent. This fate he could have 'scap'd, but would not Honour for life, but rather nobly chose Death from their fears, than safety from his
That his last action all the rest might crown.
ON HIS INCOMPARABLE POEM7.
WBAT mighty gale hath rais'd a flight so strong? So high above all vulgar eyes! so long? One single rapture scarce itself confines Within the limits of four thousand lines: And yet I hope to see this noble heat Continue, till it makes the piece complete, That to the latter age it may descend, And to the end of time its beams extend. When Poesy joins profit with delight, Her images should be most exquisite,
I The honourable Edward Howard, by his poem called The British Princes, engaged the attention of by far the most eminent of his eontemporaries; who played upon his vanity, as the wits of half a century before had done on that of Thomas Coryat, by writing extravagant compliments on his works. See Butler's, Waller's, Sprat's, and Dorset's verses, in their respective volumes; and in the Select Collection of Miscellaneous Poems, 1780, vol. III. p. 105, are other verses on the same subject, by Marton Clifford, and the lord Vaughan. N.
Since man to that perfection cannot rise, Of always virtuous, fortunate, and wise; Therefore the patterns man should imitate Above the life our masters should create. Herein, if we consult with Greece and Rome, Greece (as in war) by Rome was overcome; Though mighty raptures we in Homer find, Yet, like himself, his characters were blind; Virgil's sublimed eyes not only gaz'd, But his sublimed thoughts to Heaven were rais'd.
Who reads the honours which he paid the gods, Would think he had beheld their blest abodes; And that his hero might accomplish'd be, From divine blood he draws his pedigree. From that great judge your judgment takes its law,
And by the best original does draw Bonduca's honour, with those heroes Time Had in oblivion wrapt, his saucy crime; To them and to your nation you are just, In raising up their glories from the dust;
And to Old England you that right have done To show, no story nobler than her own.
HENRY LORD HASTINGS, 1650.
READER, preserve thy peace; those busy eyes Will weep at their own sad discoveries; When every line they add improves thy loss, Till having view'd the whole, they sum a
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 Of an exemption, from just sense, doth show Irrational, beyond excess of woe.
Since reason, then, can privilege a tear, Manhood, uncensur'd, pay that tribute here, Upon this noble urn. Here, here, remains Dust far more precious than in India's veins : Within these cold embraces, ravish'd, lies That which compleats the age's tyrannies: Who weak to such another ill appear, For what destroys our hope, secures our fear. What sin unexpiate, in this land Of groans, hath guided so severe a hand? The late great victim 2 that your altars knew, Ye angry gods, might have excus'd this new Oblation, and have spar'd one lofty light
Of virtue, to inform our steps aright; By whose example good, condemned, we Might have run on to kinder destiny. But as the leader of the herd fell first A sacrifice, to quench the raging thirst Of inflam'd vengeance for past crimes; so none But this white-fatted youngling cou'd atone, By his untimely fate; that impious smoke, That sullied Earth, and did Heaven's pity choke.
2 King Charles the First.
Let it suffice for us, that we have lost In him more than the widow'd world can boast In any lump of her remaining clay. Fair as the grey ey'd Morn he was; the day, Youthful, and climbing upwards still, imparts No haste like that of his increasing parts; Like the meridian beam, his virtue's light Was seen, as full of comfort and as bright. Had his noon been as fix'd as clear-but he, That only wanted immortality
To make him perfect, now submits to night, In the black bosom of whose sable spite, He leaves a cloud of flesh behind, and flies, Refin'd, all ray and glory, to the skies.
Great saint! shine there in an eternal sphere, And tell those powers to whom thou now draw'st
That by our trembling sense, in HASTINGS Their anger and our ugly faults are read; The short lines of whose life did to our eyes Their love and majesty epitomize:
Tell them, whose stern degrees impose our laws, The feasted Grave may close her hollow jaws: Though Sin search Nature, to provide her here A second entertainment half so dear, She'll never meet a plenty like this hearse, Till Time present her with the universe.
ON MY LORD CROFT'S AND MY JOURNEY INTO POLAND, FROM WHENCE WE BROUGHT 10,0001. FOR HIS MAJESTY, BY THE DECIMATION OF HIS SCOTISH SUBJECTS THERE.
Gentle bell, for the soul
Of the pure ones in Pole,
Which are damn'd in our scroul.
Who having felt a touch
Of Cockram's greedy clutch, Which though it was not much, Yet their stubborness was such, That when we did arrive, 'Gainst the stream we did strive;
They would neither lead nor drive:
An ear to a friend,
Nor an answer would send
To our letter so well penn'd.
Nor assist our affairs
With their monies nor their wares,
As their answer now declares, But only with their prayers.
Thus they did persist Did and said what they list, Till the diet was dismist; But then our breech they kist.
It was mov'd there and then They should pay one in ten, The diet said, Amen.
And because they are loth To discover the troth, They must give word and oath, Though they will forfeit both.
OUR resident Tom,
From Venice is come,
And hath left the statesman behind him: Talks at the same pitch,
Is as wise, is as rich;
And just where you left him, you find him.
But who says he was not A man of much plot,
May repent that false accusation; Having plotted and penn'd Six plays, to attend
The farce of his negotiation.
Before you were told How Satan 3 the old
Came here with a beard to his middle; Though he chang'd face and name, Old Will was the same,
At the noise of a can and a fiddle.
These statesmen, you believe, Send straight for the shrieve, For he is one too, or would be; But he drinks no wine, Which is a shrewd sign
That all 's not so well as it should be.
These three, when they drink, How little do they think
Of banishment, debts, or dying: Not old with their years, Nor cold with their fears; But their angry stars still defying.
Mirth makes them not mad, Nor sobriety sad;
But of that they are seldom in danger; At Paris, at Rome,
At the Hague, they 're at home; The good fellow is no where a stranger.
BEING INVITED FROM CALAIS TO BOLOGNE TO
ALL on a weeping Monday, With a fat Bulgarian sloven, Little admiral John
To Bologne is gone.
Whom I think they call Old Loven. Hadst thou not thy fill of carting, Will Aubrey, count of Oxon,
When nose lay in breech, And breech made a speech, So often cry'd A pox on ? A knight by land and water Esteem'd at such a high rate,
When 'tis told in Kent, In a cart that he went, They'll say now, Hang him pirate.
Thou might'st have ta'en example, From what thou read'st in story; Being as worthy to sit On an ambling tit As thy predecessor Dory.
But oh! the roof of linen,
Intended for a shelter !
But the rain made an ass
Of tilt and canvass ;
And the snow, which you know is a melter.
But with thee to inveigle That tender stripling Astcot,
Who was soak'd to the skin, Through drugget so thin,
Having neither coat nor waistcoat,
He being proudly mounted, Clad in cloak of Plymouth, Defy'd cart so base,
For thief without grace,
That goes to make a wry mouth,
Nor did he like the omen, For fear it might be his doom One day for to sing, With a gullet in string, -A hymn of Robert Wisdom.
But what was all this business? For sure it was important: For who rides i' th' wet
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, The old driver of swine That day sure was thine, Or thou hadst not quitted Calais,
WHAT gives us that fantastic fit, That all our judgment and our wit To vulgar custom we submit?
Treason, theft, murder, and all the rest Of that foul legion we so detest, Are in their proper names exprest.
Why is it then thought sin or shame, Those necessary parts to name;
From whence we went, and whence we came?
Nature, whate'er she wants, requires; With love inflaming our desires, Finds engines fit to quench those fires:
Death she abhors; yet when men die We 're present; but no stander-by Looks on when we that loss supply. Forbidden wares sell twice as dear; Ev'n sack prohibited last year, A most abominable rate did bear.
"Tis plain our eyes and ears are nice, Only to raise, by that device, Of those commodities the price,
Thus Reason's shadows us betray, By tropes and figures led astray, From Nature, both her guide and way.
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