Besides, when I consider'd that I was so great a stranger to the Muses, and by no means free of the Poets Company, having never Kiss'd their Governour's hands, nor made the least Court to the Committee that sits in Convent Garden; and that therefore mine was not so much as a Permission Poem, but a pure, downright Interloper, it was but natural to conclude, that those Gentlemen, who by Assisting, Crying up, Excusing and Complementing one another, carry on their Poetical Trade in a Joynt-stock, would certainly do what they could to sink and ruin an unlicens'd Adventurer; notwithstanding I disturb'd none of their Factorys, nor imported any Goods they had ever dealt in. I knew that I ran a very great Risk while I was so hardy to venture abroad Naked and Unguarded, when none of the Company went out without a notable Convoy of Criticks and Applauders, who were constantly in their Service; Men tho' singly of no great Force, yet when united, considerable for their Numbers. Accordingly when the Poem came forth they attack'd it, tho' perhaps not with all the Discretion, yet with all the Fury Imaginable; But all their Strokes were lost, and all their Efforts made in vain. Impartial Readers, with great Generosity, protected the strange Muse from their rude Insults; and rescu'd her from their Noise and Violence. For their Character and Temper, as well as the Grounds and Reasons of their Outcrys and Opposition were so well known, that they could by no means pass for unbyass'd and Disinterested Judges; and therefore all their Attempts either prov'd Unsuccessful, or produc'd a quite contrary Effect, and instead of lessening the Credit of the Poem, in many Instances they very much advanc'd it.

   These Gentlemen pretend to be displeas'd with Prince Arthur, because they have discover'd so many Faults in it: But there is good reason to believe they would have been more displeas'd, if they had discover'd fewer. But they say, they have very nicely and carefully compar'd this Poem with Virgil's, and they find that famous Roman has abundantly the advantage of Prince Arthur. This they are Confident of, and are ready to maintain against all Mankind what I must confess, I never in the least doubted of. But in the mean time, the making of that Comparison, and the very starting of the Debate, is a greater Honour done to the Poem than could have been expected from the enemys of it. But they seem to have given it yet a greater Reputation, inasmuch as they have not adventur'd to say or maintain, that either Homer himself the Prince and Father of the Epick Poets, or any of his Successors, Virgil excepted, has shewn a more regular Conduct, or a more perfect Model, how much greater Genius soever do's appear in their Writings.

   After all it must be acknowledg'd, that setting aside abundance of Frivolous, Frolicksom, and Groundless Objections which the Enemys of Prince Arthur have made, that several considerable Defects are to be found in that Poem. I was conscious to my self, that the Second and Third Books were too long before I publish'd them, tho' they were not made before the First, as some have imagin'd, but hoping that they would not prove tedious to any impartial Readers, and that it might be an useful Entertainment to many, I was contented to let that Indecorum pass. And several Friends to Prince Arthur did very early convince me, that in several Instances the Descriptions, Digressions, and Similes, were lyable to the same Objection. I was likewise soon after the Publishing satisfy'd, that I had not well consider'd the Recital made by Lucius in the Fourth Book; and particularly that it began too high; as likewise of many other Faults and Indecencies of less Importance.

   'Tis certain, that none could expect from me an Epick Poem in all degrees of Perfection, there is no faultless Writer of that Kind, has ever appear'd in the World, not Virgil himself excepted, tho' his Poem was a labour'd Piece, the Work of great part of his Life; and after revis'd by two Eminent Criticks Tucca and Varius. And as for the great Homer, if any Gentleman is pleas'd to read Rapin's Comparison of him with Virgil, he will be soon convinc'd that the Poems of this Wonderful Man have many considerable Defects. But the Criticks, and particularly the famous Longinus have an Apology that will easily get him off: They say of Writers of the first Rank, such as Homer and Demosthenes, that one or two of their extraordinary and admirable Thoughts will Atone for all their Faults, and that a great Man is uncapable of attending with anxious Care to matters of little Importance.

   And if a sour, pragmatical Critick would spend a Years time in searching after Objections to either of these Authours, he might perhaps find a great deal to say; but nothing that would lessen their Reputation.

   The faults in Prince Arthur proceeded partly from defect of Judgment and Genius equal to, and sufficient for so great and difficult an Undertaking; partly from want of Leisure and Retirement, to consider coolly ever part of that Writing, and partly from the hasty Dispatch of it; it having been Begun, Carry'd on and Compleated, as in the Preface was Suggested, in less than two years time, and by such catches and starts, and in such occasional, uncertain hours, as the Business of my Profession would afford me. And therefore for the greatest part that Poem was written in Coffee-houses, and in passing up and down the Streets; because I had little leisure elsewhere to apply to it.

   Another reason of the Defects that appear in that writing is this, That when I undertook it I had been long a stranger to the Muses. I had read but little Poetry throughout my whole Life, and in fifteen years before, I had not, as I can remember, wrote a hundred Lines in Verse, excepting a Copy of Latine Verses in honour of a Friend's Book.

   As this Apology will perhaps take off the severity of the Reader's Censure as to Prince Arthur, so I hope it may likewise have the same Effect, as to the following Poem; for all the same things, except the last, can be said to excuse the Defects that shall appear in this. And if it shall be demanded why it was so hastily publish'd, all that I shall say is this, that the Judicious Reader will soon find in the Poem it self, the true Reason why I could keep it no longer by me; which if I could have done, it would, perhaps, have appear'd with more Advantages.

   The Reasons which induc'd me to make the former, did likewise engage me in this second Attempt in Epick Poetry; and among the rest, particularly this, that the young Gentlemen and Ladys who are delighted with Poetry might have a useful, at least a harmless Entertainment, which in our Modern Plays and Poems cannot ordinarily be found. The Candor of the Age has made my Design in a great measure successful, whereby I am abundantly convinc'd that those Poets are under a great mistake, that think there is no other, but that leud and abominable way of writing which was encourag'd in the late Reigns, that will please the Nation. This is a meer Pretence of ill Poets, whose Imaginations are fill'd only with base and contemptible Ideas; Men of a poor and narrow Genius, scarce above the level of Writers of Farce, who would not have Images enough left in their Minds to furnish out a Poem, if the prophane and obscene ones were struck out. And tho' these mischievous ways of Writing are still endur'd, to the great prejudice of Religion and good Manners, yet if ever the English Nation recovers it's ancient Vertue, and a just Tast of these Matters, I do not doubt but most of those Writers who have been esteem'd and applauded in the late loose and vicious Times, will be rejected with Indignation and Contempt, as the Dishonour of the Muses, and the Underminers of the Publick Good. But I am carry'd on to a Subject of which I have spoken enough heretofore.

   Since the writing of this, I have seen a Tragedy call'd the Mourning Bride; which I think my self oblig'd to take notice of in this place. This Poem has receiv'd, and in my Opinion very justly, Universal Applause; being look'd on as the most perfect Tragedy that has been wrote in this Age. The Fable, as far as I can judge at first sight, is a very Artful and Masterly Contrivance. The Characters are well chosen, and well delineated. That of Zara is admirable. The Passions are well touch'd, and skillfully wrought up. The Diction is Proper, Clear, Beautiful, Noble, and diversify'd agreeably to the variety of the Subject. Vice, as it ought to be, is punish'd, and Opprest Innocence at last Rewarded. Nature appears very happily imitated, excepting one or two doubtful Instances, thro' the whole Piece, in all which there are no immodest Images or Expressions, no wild, unnatural Rants, but some few Exceptions being allow'd, all things are Chast, Just, and Decent. This Tragedy, as I said before, has mightily obtain'd; and that without the unnatural and foolish mixture of Farce and Buffoonry, without so much as a Song, or Dance to make it more agreeable. By this it appears, that as a sufficient Genius can recommend it self, and furnish out abundant matter of Pleasure and Admiration without the paultry helps above nam'd, so likewise that the Tast of the Nation is not so far deprav'd, but that a Regular and Chast Play will not only be forgiven, but highly Applauded. And now there is some reason to hope that our Poets will follow this excellent Example, and that hereafter no slovenly Writer will be so hardy as to offer to our Publick Audiences his obscene and prophane Pollutions, to the great Offence of all Persons of Vertue and good Sense. The common pretence that the Audience will not be otherwise pleas'd, is now wholly remov'd; for here is a notorious Instance to the contrary. And it must be look'd on hereafter as the Poet's fault, and not the People's, if we have not better Performances. All men must now conclude that 'tis for want of Wit and Judgment to support them, that our Poets for the Stage apply themselves to such low and unworthy ways to recommend their Writings; and therefore I cannot but conceive Great Hopes that every good Genius for the fuutre will look on it self debas'd by condescending to Write in that leud Manner, that has been of late years introduc'd, and too long Encourag'd. And if this comes to pass the Writers in the late Reigns will be asham'd of their own Works, and wish they had their Plays in again, as well as their fulsome Dedications.

   Some Persons have demanded the Reason, seeing I had a Fancy to be an Author, why I had not written on some useful Subject in Physic or Philosophy: this they imagin'd would have became me better than the engaging my Thoughts on a Subject so far distant from the Business of my Profession. I desire these Gentlemen to receive this answer; First, That the writing of this, as well as the former Poem was not Business, but Diversion and Recreation; an Innocent Amusement to entertain me in such leisure hours which were usually past away before in Conversation, and unprofitable hearing and telling of News. But if I had set my self to writing on matters of Physic or Philosophy, this would not have been a Recreation, but another Business and Labour, for which I was unfit, and that requir'd the Liberty of my Books and Closet, and some sort of Retirement, which the Continual Dutys of my Profession would not allow me. But I have also another Reason to give to the Persons who ask the Question above mention'd; and that is, that I am so far faln out with all Hyphotheses in Philosophy, and all Doctrines of Physic which are built upon them, that in such matters I am almost reduc'd to a Sceptical Despair. The Almighty's Creation is like his Providence, unsearchable; his Works, and his Ways are equally past finding out; the raising of an Hypotheses in Philosophy obtains little more Credit with me, that the erecting a Scheme in Astrology; and the Judgments and Decisions that are given upon them seem to me alike Precarious and uncertain. I was once enamour'd with the Cartesian System, but the warmth of my Passion is quite extinguish'd. It may indeed make a Man capable of entertaining and amusing others, but not of quieting and satisfying himself. All Knowledge is valuable according to it's degree of Usefulness, as it do's more or less promote the benefit of Mankind, and for this Reason 'tis a great mortification to consider how little the Pains and Time I have bestow'd in Philosophical Enquirys, have contributed to my knowledge in Curing Diseases. I am now inclin'd to think, that 'tis an Injury to a Man of good sense and natural Sagacity, to be hamper'd with any Hypothesis before he comes to the Practice of Physic. For this prepossession obstructs the Freedom of his Judgement, puts a strong Byass on his Thoughts, and obliges him to make all the Observations that occur to him in his Practise, to comply with, and humour his pre-conceived Opinions; whereas in Reason, his Observations on Nature should be first made, before any Hypotheses should be establish'd. A clear and penetrating Understanding, Cultivated and Matur'd by repeated, Diligent Observation, will in my Opinion, make a more able and accomplish'd Physitian, than any Philosophical Scheme that has yet obtain'd in the World. And what useful Knowledge, I have gain'd this way in my Profession, may perhaps sometime be made Publick.

   I look on my self to have greater obligations to the Studies of Logic and Metaphysicks, wherein I was carefully instructed in the University, which improve and advance our reasoning Faculty, teach us to think clearly and distinctly, to speak pertinently, closely, and justly; and thereby fit a Man for any kind of Business or Profession, than to all the Searches which I have made after the Reasons and Causes of Natural Phænomena.

   I am very sensible, that these Studies are in great Contempt with many Ingenious Men; the subject of much Raillery, and the great Abomination of the Wits. But I am likewise very sensible, that these merry Men very rarely become eminently useful in any sort of Profession; for the most part they continue Triflers all their Days; and a meer Jester, when he comes abroad into the World, makes a very mean Figure among Men of Business. 'Tis remarkable that those Idle, and almost illiterate Young Men, that are call'd Wits in our Universities, are very inconsiderable Things elsewhere; for Mankind will never be perswaded to have those Men, who can only make them laugh, in equal Esteem with those that can do them Good.

   Thus much in answer to those who have demanded, Why a Physician instead of communicating his Knowledge and Experience in his Profession, busys himself in Writing Heroic Poems.

   As to the following Performance, tho' the Hero be the same, yet 'tis another entire Poem, distinct from the former: For 'tis the Diversity of the Action, and not of the Hero, that diversifies the Poem. And that the Reader may better observe whence the Action of this takes its Rise, I will tell in short King Arthur's Story, as 'tis related by Geofry of Monmouth. That there was about the end of the Fourth, or the beginning of the Fifth Century, a King of Britain nam'd Arthur; a Prince of extraordinary Qualities, and Famous for his Martial Atchievements, who succeeeded his Father Uter Pendragon, all our Historians agree; and the eminently learned Bishop of Worcester in his Origines Britannicæ, do's acknowledge it. And tho' the above-cited Geofry of Monmouth is indeed a Fabulous Author, yet his Authority, especially considering that there was such a Warlike Prince as Arthur, is a sufficient Foundation for an Epick Poem. This Author says, that after King Arthur had Conquer'd the Saxons, who being call'd in by Vortigern to protect him against the Incursions and Depredations of the Scots and Picts, took the advantage, and settled themselves in this Island; he prepar'd a Royal Navy, Embark'd his Troops, and directed his Course to the Coasts of Norway; then called, according to Cluverius, Nerigon, or the Western Part of Scandinavia. This Kingdom being subdued, he carried his Arms into the Country now call'd Denmark, then inhabited by the Cimbri: And by the Writers of the Age in which Geofry of Monmouth liv'd, call'd commonly, but erroneously, Dacia. This Kingdom he likewise quickly overrun: For it seems nothing could stand before him. This done, he return'd home in Triumph, and having for a while, entertain'd at his Court with great Splendor and Magnificence, multitudes of Foreign Princes, and Knights famous for Chivalry, who came to signalize their Valour at the Justs and Tournaments which King Arthur had proclaim'd; He Embark'd his Army to Invade Gallia, sate down before Lutetia, once the Capital City of the Parisij, and in Arthur's days of the Franci, and soon made himself Master of the Place. This Expedition, and the Conquest of Lutetia, is the Subject of the following Poem.

   The Model of it is New, and therfore now I hope I shall not be Censur'd for an Imitator, tho' I must confess, I cannot believe my Imitation of Virgil in the former Poem to be the least dishonour. Would the famous Sir Godfry Kneller think it a Reproach if any should say, that his Pencil too nearly follow'd that of Raphael Urbin? Or can it be imagin'd, that Sir Christopher Wren would be offended, if it should be objected to him, that in his building of St. Paul's Church he too much imitated Michael Angelo.

   And as I had not my Eye upon any other Model, so I am not conscious to my Self of having us'd any Authour's Thoughts or Expressions, excepting two or three Images taken from Homer, and a few allusions to some Inventions of Milton, whom I took on as a very Extraordinary Genius. If there be any other Thoughts that are not my own, they are taken from the Sacred Writers of the Bible, which I hope I shall not be condemn'd for. I have in the Sixth Book adventur'd on an Allegory, finding Homer has done the like in his Story of Circe. His Example, I imagin, as well as the Nature and Design of Epick Poetry will justify that Attempt, especially since I have not dwelt long upon it.

   Whether the Fable of this Poem be a regular Contrivance, whether there be but One, Unbroken, Compleat Action, whether the Choice, the Conduct, Connexion, and Extension of the Episodes, and whether the Diction and Narration be such as the Rules of Epick Poetry require, must be left to the Decision of the Judicious Reader. It would be a wild Imagination to think of pleasing all the Criticks who are no better agreed among themselves. Till the Rules of Writing are Setled by some Infallible Judge of Controversys among Poets, there will be different Opinions and disagreeing Sects in Parnassus, who will always treat and persecute one another as Obstinate Hereticks. The Essential and Fundamental Articles, for want of which a Poet is justly condemn'd, are very few. There are Abundance of probable Doctrines which the Schoolmen of Parnassus and the Poets in Speculation may hold affirmatively or negatively, as they please, and yet be look'd on as very good Sons of the Muses. If there appears enough in this Poem to Entertain those candid Readers who were not displeas'd with the Former, I shall be abundantly satisfy'd, and easily pass by the Censures of those who are declared Enemys before hand. The Ingenuous part of Mankind will not fall unmercifully on a Writer of Epick Poetry, wherein only two Men, I mean Homer and Virgil have succeeded. Whatever Genius others have discover'd, none have left any Thing that came near to a perfect Model, but these two great Masters: and I do not think it amiss in this place to make a Comparison between them, with which I shall end this Preface.

   Homer excels in Genius, Virgil in Judgment. Homer as conscious of his great Riches and Fullness entertains the Reader with great Splendor and Magnificent Profusion. Virgil's Dishes are well chosen, and tho not Rich and Numerous, yet serv'd up in great Order and Decency. Homer's Imagination is Strong, Vast and Boundless, an unexhausted Treasure of all kinds of Images; which made his Admirers and Commentators in all Ages affirm, that all sorts of Learning were to be found in his Poems. Virgil's Imagination is not so Capacious, tho' his Ideas are Clear, Noble, and of great Conformity to their Objects. Homer has more of the Poetical Inspiration. His Fire burns with extraordinary Heat and Vehemence, and often breaks out in Flashes, which Surprise, Dazle and Astonish the Reader: Virgil's is a clearer and a chaster Flame, which pleases and delights, but never blazes in that extraordinary and surprising manner. Methinks there is the same Difference between these two great Poets, as there is between their Heros. Homer's Hero, Achilles, is Vehement, Raging and Impetuous. He is always on Fire, and transported with an immoderate and resistless Fury, performs every where Miraculous Atchievements, and like a rapid Torrent overturns all things in his way. Æneas, the Hero of the Latine Poet, is a calm, Sedate Warriour. He do's not want Courage, neither has he any to spare: and the Poet might have allowed him a little more Fire, without overheating him. As for Invention, 'tis evident the Greek Poet has mightily the advantage. Nothing is more Rich and Fertile than Homer's Fancy. He is Full, Abundant, and Diffusive above all others. Virgil on the other hand is rather dry, than fruitful. 'Tis plain the Latin Poet in all his famous Æneis, has very little, if any Design of his own. The Recital of the Destruction of Troy, and the Story of the Wooden Horse, Macrobius says, is almost word for word taken from Pisander. The Navigation of Æneas; and his Dangers and Adventures by Sea, are drawn from the example of Homer's Ulysses. His Descent into Hell, which makes the Noble Sixth Book, is likewise in Imitation of the Hero before nam'd. The Shield of Æneas is form'd by that of Achilles. The Battels in the Æneis very much resemble those in the Ilias. A great many of the Pictures are taken from thence, and abundance of the Warriours are the same with those who fought before the Walls of Troy.

   And tho 'tis true the Story of Æneas and Dido is not to be trac'd in Homer's Works, yet Macrobius tells us in his Saturnalia, that this likewise is borrow'd from what is said of Jason and Medea in the Fourth Book of Apollonius his Argonautica. Those who are willing to see how much Virgil is indebted to Homer, and the rest of the Greek Poets, and also to the Latins themselves, as Ennius, Lucretius, Varius, & c. from whom he has taken his Designs, or his particular Images; or whose very Lines he has Translated almost word for word, of which an Incredible number of Instances may be given, may consult the before nam'd Macrobius in his Saturnalia, Fulvius Ursinus his Comparatio Virgilij cum Scriptoribus Græcis & Guellius, his Comments on this great Poet. They will then see plainly that Virgil's Materials were all borrow'd, tho' the Noble Structure be his own. The Excellency of this Extraordinary Man lay in his Judicious Contrivance, Regular Conduct, the Skilful Accomodation of other Mens Conceptions to his own Purpose, and in the Propriety, Decency, Beauty and Majesty of his Expression, which in the finish'd Parts of his Poem are Admirable and Inimitable. If therefore the Question be, who had the greater Genius, Homer or Virgil, there is no doubt but Homer must be Prefer'd? But if it be whether Virgil's be a more Regular, Artful and Judicious Poem than either of Homers, then Virgil must be acknowledg'd to have the advantage?





BOOK I

   Celestial Muse, Instruct me how to sing
The generous Pity of the British King,
Who mov'd by Gallia's crys, and Heav'n's Command,
Sustain'd excessive toyl by Sea and Land,
The Gallic Christians Freedom to restore,
And save Neustrasia's Realm from Clotar's power.

   The Valiant Briton from the Cimbrian Coast
Was newly landed with his Conq'ring Host,
Leading his Spoils and Captive Lords along
Augusta's Streets, amidst th' applauding throng,
Who sung his Triumphs and proclaim'd aloud
His mighty Deeds on Eyder's wond'ring Flood:
When num'rous Envoys drawn by Arthur's fame,
From distant Kingdoms to Augusta came.
Faces so strange, and Habits so unknown,
Had ne'er before pass'd thro' th' admiring Town.
They made their publick Entrys at her Gate
With great Magnificence and Princely State.
They strove in Pomp each other to out-do,
And who should most their Master's Greatness shew.
Thick at the Court did Forreign Lords appear,
Some by Affection brought, but more by Fear.
Some Leagues of lasting Friendship offer'd, some
Did for Protection from Oppressors come:
But all, O Albion, did applaud thy fate
Blest with so just a Prince to guide thy State.

   The Night her Sable Banner did display,
And from the Air to chase the Light away
Drew out her must'ring Shades in black Array:
When Britain's King dissolv'd in balmy rest
Dismist the Cares of Empire from his Breast.
But Heav'n mean time, which such a Noble Mind
For Dangers, and for glorious toyl design'd,
Did by a Dream sent in the silent Night,
To fresh Heroic Deeds the King excite:
Its Springs divinely touch'd, his lab'ring Brain
Did this Celestial Vision entertain.

   The pious King seem'd in his Dream to stand
On Albion's Shore, and to the adverse Strand
Looking across the interposing Tyde
Which do's the Briton from the Frank divide,
He saw upon the Beach Sev'n Men appear
Of Noble Form, and more than Vulgar Air.
Advancing to the Margin of the Flood,
And lifting up their hands they cry'd aloud,
Oh, come and help us, come victorious King,
And quick Assistance to th' afflicted bring.
The strong Impression Sleep's soft Fetters broke,
And from his Dream the British King awoke:
Who in his thoughts revolv'd what Heav'n should mean
By this surprizing Visionary Scene.

   When the fair Morn had shot her early ray,
And spread her Purple Loom with dawning Day:
Four Noble Gallic Lords who had surviv'd
King Clotar's Rage, at Arthur's Court arriv'd,
To move the Briton's Pity, and to crave
His mighty Aid their sinking State to save.
Then on his Throne his Scepter in his hand
Great Arthur sate, but first he gave command
That these to have the Audience which they sought,
Before his high Tribunal should be brought.

   Soon as the Franks came onward to relate
King Clotar's Rage, and Gallia's wretched fate,
Arthur perceiv d by Face, and Dress, and Mein
That he the Men had in his Vision seen.

   The Gallic Peers advanc'd, and at their head
Great Clovis came in Arms and Suff'rings bred.
So soft his Air, so graceful was his Port,
As he had practis'd nothing but the Court:
And yet so brave in Arms, and so much skill'd,
As he had ne'er been absent from the Field.
He spoke to all the high Concerns of State,
As in the Council he had ever sate,
And when amidst the Men that wore the Gown,
The Schools admir'd, and thought him all their own.
But his Religious Zeal and Pure Belief
Crown'd with Immortal Praise the Pious Chief.
The Noblest British mixt with Gallic Blood
To make th' uncommon Man together flow'd:
For by the Father's he was near ally'd
To Gallia's King, and by the Mothers side
He from the Catuclanian Princes came
A house in Albion of Illustrious Fame.
He with a Mournful and Pathetic Air
To Britain's King address'd this humble prayer.

   When Heav'n with deep Compassion mov'd to see
Mankind Destroy'd by raging Tyranny,
Is pleas'd to raise some mighty Chief, to ease
Kingdoms laid wast, and Captives to release;
To pull proud Monarchs and Oppressors down
And Right, and Liberty to re-enthrone;
When such a Gift Divine from Heav'n is sent,
The Poor, th' Opprest, th' Afflicted Innocent
Think they have Right to tell to him their Grief,
And from his generous Arms to crave Relief:
Heros are Blessings on the World bestow'd,
They reap the Honour, but Mankind the Good.

   Torn by a fierce Destroyer's bloody Jaws,
And grip'd between Oppressions Iron Claws,
Tormented with unsufferable Pains,
Bow'd down with Grief, and laden with our Chains,
Low at your feet, we for your Pity cry,
To whom th' Afflicted for Protection fly.
We ask Redress from your Victorious Sword,
To ease sad Gallia's Realm your Aid afford.
Th' Oppressor Clotar with a cruel hand
Spreads fearful Desolation thro' our Land.
He mocks his Gods, their Laws he disregards,
And scorns alike their Vengeance and Rewards.
Our Noblest Virgins from their Parents torn
Are to his Bed with Barb'rous Outrage born.
In every Town unheard of Rapes asswage
His Lust, as endless Murders do his Rage.
His dreadful Court, like a Cyclopian Den,
Is fill'd with Rapine, and half-eaten Men;
Where lies of mangled Limbs an endless store,
And wide mouth'd Caldrons flow with Humane Gore.
For he his Subjects on his Table sets,
And their raw Limbs (a horrid Banquet) eats:
With Savage Riot on th' unnatural food
He pours down mighty Bowls of reeking Blood.
Pleas'd with the monstrous Luxury he draws
Into a hideous Smile his squallid Jaws.
Vast Magazines appear within his Court
Where Torments are dispos'd of various sort;
Where Cruelty with bloody Trophys crown'd
Views all her Deaths and Tortures spread around:
Wheels, Crosses, Racks by able Masters wrought
Who had with Hellish Skill and anxious thought,
Refin'd Destruction to Perfection brought.
And here their Curst Inventions all remain
Which Death improve, and manage ling'ring Pain.
Th' Oppressor teaches Fate a slower pace,
And rarely gives the Deadly stroke of Grace.
He thinks to those he does Compassion show,
Who die but once, and at a single blow.
His Guards the bloody Servants of his will
With Spoil and Ruin all our Cities fill.
These Ministers of Hell with Sword in hand
Insult our Doors, and all our Wealth demand.
The Farmer sweats and tills in vain the Soil,
These reap the Harvest and enjoy his Toil.
Merchants who Forreign Treasures bring are lost
Upon their own unhospitable Coast.
Those who escape loud Tempests, Rocks, and Waves
Th' inexorable Clotar never saves.
Our Sons and Daughters to the Mountains fly,
Where Grass and Roots their want of Bread supply.
The Men in Heaps are spread upon the Ground,
And half chewn Herbs within their Mouths are found.
Our Towns are Empty, and the tender Grass
Springs in the unfrequented Market-place.
If to our Cruel Masters we complain,
They mock our Suff'rings, and increase our Pain.
Licentious Troops not sparing Sex or Age,
Leave all the marks of their unbridled Rage.
Bloody Assassins force our Doors by Night,
And stab the Children in the Parents sight.
Matrons and Maids together die, when first
They've been dishonor'd by the Murd'rer's Lust.
Some the Destroyer puts off from the Shore
In Barks, without a Rudder Sail or Oar,
To be convey'd, as Winds and Billows please,
'Midst all th' amazing Terrours of the Seas.
Some Gally Slaves with Endless labour sweat,
And on the Ocean's back their strokes repeat,
While from their cruel Masters they receive
More frequent wounds, than to the Seas they give.
The Christians are in Christian Temples slain,
And the Priest's blood do's his own Altar stain.
Some doom'd in Mines to subterranean toyl,
Enrich th' Oppressor with the wealthy spoil.
To Prisons some are drag'd in pondrous chains,
Where Ruffians Whips inflict tormenting pains.
In Dungeons some 'midst loathsom Vermin lie,
Some by the Rack, some by the Jav'lin die.
Thy Nero's and thy Maximins, O Rome,
And all the Spoilers which thy savage womb
Fruitful of Monsters ever yet brought forth,
Are all out-done by Clotar's single birth.
His unexampled Cruelties surpass
The Deeds of all thy Persecuting Race.
Ages to come will their weak Rage forget,
And only Clotar's Violence repeat.
They seem'd contented only to destroy,
And Death and Torment did their Fury cloy.
But none of all th' Inexorable kind
With Clotar's Genius Cruelty refin'd:
No Master Tyrant had so vast a reach
To find new Plagues, none so much Zeal to teach
His Ministers strange Methods to destroy,
None e'er before with such transporting joy
O'er tortur'd Innocents insulting stood,
None with such Pleasure bath'd himself in blood,
Or in Tormenting e'er such Judgment show'd.
What Monarch e'er before stood scoffing by,
To see his Subjects in slow Torments dy,
And told the Suff'rers there was no pretence
To blame such soft and gentle Violence:
Such mild inlight'ning Pains, that might display
O'er their Erroneous Minds Celestial Day.
All who these barb'rous Cruelties survive,
The bloody Ruffians to their Altar drive;
Down their Reluctant throats they thrust the Meat,
And force them of their Sacrifice to eat.
Conversions are by Arm'd Invaders made,
Who with resistless Arguments perswade:
Who for Conviction shed the People's blood
And ruin wretched Mortals for their Good.
The mocking Hypocrite's unjust pretence
Is, to reduce by Racks and Violence
Perverted Judgments to a righter Sense.
The Converts of the Sword Complyance show,
And full of horrour to their Idols bow;
By this they hope the Conq'rour's Sword to stay,
And to secure their Lives their Faith betray:
But that infernal Malice may be cloy'd,
That Soul and Body both may be destroy'd,
The Cruel Infidel with Sword in hand
O'er the new Convert do's triumphant stand:
Then in his Bowels do's the Weapon sheath,
Who loses both his Innocence and Breath,
Rack'd with the torments of Despair and Death.
Some sore distrest to Wilds and Desarts fly,
In Caves and Rocks, in Woods and Mountains ly.
While, like the Jews abandon'd Nation, some
Thro' Forreign Regions poor and naked roam.
What Kingdom is not conscious of our Moans?
Who have not seen our Tears, or heard our Groans?
Do's the laborious Sun survey a Soil,
In his Diurnal, or his Annual toil,
Which to our Fugitives ne'er gave Relief,
And never entertain'd our wandring Grief.

   This is the Gallic Christians wretched fate,
Which not the liv'liest Accents can relate.
And now the Moon twice dips her silver horns,
And with fresh rays her changing face adorns;
Since I, and these sad Friends together met,
Resolving from Lutetia to retreat,
And seek in Forreign Climes a milder seat.
Then while our Country's fate we did lament,
And flowing Tears gave to our sorrow vent;
A glorious Form like some Inferior God,
Newly descended from his blest abode
Entring the Room, Celestial Lustre spread
From his Immortal Eyes, and radiant Head.
A Heav'nly bloom adorn'd his youthful Face,
And Starry Robes did his bright Limbs embrace:
When first the Lovely Stranger did appear,
We bow'd with Rev'rence, and we shook with fear.
Then strait th' Illustrious Person silence broke,
And thus my trembling Friends and me bespoke.

   The God who rules as well the spacious Sky,
As this low Ball, who from his Throne on high
Encompass'd with impenetrable Day,
Do's all his Worlds with one quick glance survey;
Who loves the Proud and Haughty to debase,
And sets the Meek and Humble in their place;
Touch'd with Compassion hears your mournful Crys,
Which mixt with dying groans to Heav'n arise.
He now Decrees th' Oppressor Clotar's fall,
Whose full grown Crimes for swift Destruction call:
For tho' his Vengefull Thunder rises slow,
'Tis to discharge a more tremendous blow.
Indulgent Heav'n by Arthur's hand has broke
Britannia's Fetters, and Tyrannic Yoke.
His Pious Arms shall ease Lutetia's Pains,
Release her Sons, and break their pondrous Chains.
This Great Deliv'rer shall Europa save,
Which haughty Monarchs labour to enslave.
Then shall Religion reer her starry head,
And Light Divine o'er all the Nations spread.
Quickly embark and steer for Albion's Shore
To seek King Arthur, and his Aid implore.
Your prayer shall move, that Pity in his breast,
Which shall engage his Arms to give you rest.
He said, and strait the glorious Youth withdrew,
Display'd his shining Wings, and Upward flew.

   Cheer'd with his words we with our utmost care
Did all things for the Voyage soon prepare.
When thrice the Sun had his mild splendor shed,
And o'er the East Etherial purple spred:
We all embarkt, and soon to Albion's Coast
Born with a prosp'rous Gale the Ocean crost.
Thus the Celestial Message we obey'd,
Sent by Supream Command, to crave your Aid.

      He ceas'd. King Arthur carefully supprest
The generous Passion struggling in his breast.
He look'd on this as on a Call Divine
Which did this noble Enterprize enjoyn,
The Gallic Christians Freedom to restore,
And give that Aid the Suff'rers did implore.
Then to the Franks the Briton thus reply'd,
Your Prayer is neither granted, nor deny'd:
What you have now propos'd I'll duly weigh,
And then my Answer give without delay.
The Franks withdrawn, the Hero order gave
That Neustria's Lords should next Admission have:
Soon as the Monarch did the Neustrians see,
He strait discern'd these were the other three,
Who in the Heav'nly Dream the Night before
To give them Aid his Pity did implore.
They to the Throne advanc'd when thus begun
Wise Oleron Giranda's Noble Son.

      Victorious Prince!
We know what Miracles your Arms have shown
In Neustria's Soil, what greater in your own.
From East to West loud fame extends her Wings,
And thro' th' applauding World your triumph sings.
Your mighty Deeds by wondring Moors are nam'd,
From Zone to Zone, from Pole to Pole proclaim'd.
Commiseration fills your Pious Breast
To wretched States by heavy Yokes opprest.
Mov'd by the groans of dying Liberty,
You arm'd to set afflicted Europe free.
You are by Heav'n a great Deliverer sent,
The World's entire Destruction to prevent.
Empires from Desolation to secure,
From savage Rage, and wild unbounded Power.
From all the dire Calamities that reign
Where no fixt Laws th' Oppressor's Lust restrain.
The wasted World has long with servent Crys,
With groans, and tears sollicited the Skys,
To give fierce Tyranny a fatal stroke,
To break her Murd'ring Teeth, and Iron Yoke:
With th' universal prayer kind Heav'n complies,
Causing so great a Monarch to arise,
Whose Soul is bent to stay the Fury's course,
And whose Herculean Arm alone exceeds her force.
In vain with rage her turgid Volumes swell,
In vain around her womb her Monsters Yell,
You all the Hydra's hissing heads despise,
All her wide Jaws, sharp Tongues, and fiery Eyes.
Your mighty Arm will give the deadly wound,
And leave th' expiring Monster on the ground.
Fertile in Death your Sword Destruction spreads
Fast as her fruitful Necks can bring forth heads.
Besides you lead a Nation brave in Fight
Pleas'd to procure to injur'd States their Right.
When such a Prince with such a People takes
The Field in arms, the pale Oppressor shakes.
In Liberty's defence the warmest Zeal
The nobly Jealous Britons still reveal;
Asserting with their Lives her sacred Cause,
They justly gain th' admiring World's applause.
While neigh'bring Nations Tyrants never check,
But bow to take the Yoke, their passive Neck;
The Britons stem Ambitions rapid course,
Defeating secret frauds, and open force.
Designing Princes still they have withstood,
To Guard the Rights, bought by their Fathers Blood
But Liberty which they to Life prefer,
Could not escape the Saxon Ravisher.
Rifled and spoil'd of all her Heav'nly Charms,
She had expir'd in the rough Conq'rour's Arms;
And Albion soon had shar'd her Neighbours fate,
And felt the Mischiefs of a slavish State:
Had not your generous Arms and noble Toyl,
Sav'd from Destruction this despairing Isle.
Had you not chas'd Tyrannic Lords away,
And from their griping Arms releas'd the trembling Prey.
Blest Isle! that in the lowest Ebb of fate,
Found this strong Arm to prop her sinking State.
Happy Britannia, did thy Sons but know,
What to their brave Deliverer they owe!

   And now, Dread Monarch, whose victorious Arms
Have freed Britannia from her Foes alarms;
Whose great Example do's her Sons inflame
To aim at Glory, and their ancient Fame;
Unhappy Neustria by her Prince betray'd,
Implores Deliv'rance from your pow'rful Aid.
Scarce had you sail'd from grateful Neustria's Shore,
Which ne'er receiv'd so great a Guest before,
Where first your Sword Immortal Laurels won,
And the first Triumphs of your Youth begun:
When suddain Death, King Odar did remove,
From Neustria's throne to the blest Seats above.
Sardan his Brother to his Crown Succeeds,
Not to his Vertues, and Illustrious Deeds.
This Prince Luxurious, and Effeminate,
Averse to Arms, and Business of the State,
Do's Vertue more than Arms, or Business hate.
Uninterupted Riots only please.
His Mind dissolv'd in long inglorious Ease.
While Neighb'ring Kings their Course of Glory run,
With Laurels crown'd from Vanquish'd Nations won:
Ours Baccanalian wreaths can only boast,
Only the Triumphs of his mighty Lust.
Our Wives and Noblest Virgins are abus'd,
Compell'd by force, or by his wiles seduc'd.
Lascivious Concubines their Prince surround,
They're in his Bed, and in his Counsels found.
These Female Ministers by turns create
Our Judges, Captains, Officers of State:
Our Priests themselves their vile submission make
To the soft Fav'rites, for Promotion's sake.
Jesters for Statsemen in his Council sit,
Not chosen for their Wisdom, but their Wit;
Empty Buffoons, unequal to the weight
Of all th' important Business of the State.
Those Ministers he thinks can serve him best,
Who flatter most, and know their Business least:
Who all Debates to please their Prince decide,
And from the People's Intrest, his divide.
This feeble Race attends this Monarch's Throne,
Whose Wit and Vice resemble most his own.
Th' Augean Stables, cleaner than the Court,
Whither the Vicious and the Lewd resort;
Th' infectious Plague by Sardan's Influence fed,
Do's o'er our Noble Youth resistless spred.
Poets the most Flagitious, and Prophane,
Neustria e'er fed, his bounty do's maintain.
Who by their Wit procure to Vice applause,
And loud Derision draw on Vertue's Cause.
They easy Nature with fit Baits excite,
And Youth to Crimes too prone before, invite.
By artful Eloquence they strive to show
Those Pleasures Lawful, which they wish were so.
Against their Country they their Wit engage,
Refine our Language, but corrupt the Age.
Our Noble Youth enervated with Vice,
Abhor the Field and Martial Fame despise.
The Sacred Muses, and the Letter'd Train
They Mock, and Camps and Schools alike disdain.
Riot, Debauch, Masks and Unmanly Sport,
Are all the Triumphs our soft Hero's Court.
Sardan all marks of Lust of Empire gave;
None more desir'd his Country to Enslave:
But the designing Monarch was afraid
With open force, our Freedom to invade.
His want of Courage his Ambition checkt,
And his strong Fears his People did Protect.
Oft on the Banks of Rubicon he stood,
But ne'er was bold enough to leap the Flood:
But that with crafty Arts he might prevail,
And undermine the Fort, he durst not Scale:
That those he could not force he might decoy,
He labour'd Neustria's Vertue to destroy.
His great design was to Emasculate
Our Martial Youth, and then destroy the State.
Thus he believ'd he might Neustrasia bring,
Beneath the Yoke of Gaul's aspiring King.
Whose growing Power he did with pleasure view,
And gave him Aid his Neighbours to subdue.
Whence he contracted Everlasting Shame,
And future Ages must despise his name.
So ill he wish'd to the Neustrasian State,
So much he courted Clotar's prosp'rous Fate,
That to advance the Triumphs of his Crown,
He sacrific'd the Int'rests of his own.
He therefore sent to Clotar to demand,
A force sufficient to subdue the Land.
Clotar whose num'rous Armys ready lay,
Watching a season fit to seize the Prey,
Invades our Coasts, and soon was Master made
Of our strong Places to his hands betray'd.
Thus did he force Neustrasia to obey
A Neighb'ring Monarch's Arbitrary Sway.
Sardan was pleas'd so Neustria was undone
To wear himself a Tributary Crown.
Since that, our Land the worst of Plagues torment,
Which Power could e'er inflict, or Wit invent.
This mighty Prince is our Afflicted State,
These the deep Suff'rings, which our Grief create.

   We pray by that Immortal Fame you won,
By all your Wonders in Neustrasia done:
We pray by yours, we pray by Odar's name,
And by your ancient Friendship's sacred flame:
To Neustria's Sons their ravish'd Rights restore,
And free her Soil from cruel Clotar's Power.
From her gaul'd Neck remove th' uneasy Yoke,
Only by Valiant Arthur to be broke.

   He ceas'd. The King from his high Throne descends,
Mov'd with Compassion to his ancient Friends.
Declaring e'er he rose, he would prepare
A speedy answer to th' important prayer.

   Twice on the World the Sun his beams bestow'd,
And twice his glorious tyde had ebb'd, and flow'd:
When Franks and Neustrians at the King's Command
Call'd to attend before his Throne did stand,
The Pious Monarch this kind answer made
To these sad Strangers who had crav'd his aid.
The Christians Suff'rings by Tyrannic might
Against the Laws of Heav'n, and civil Right,
All who with kindly to Mankind lament,
And Christian Kings more deeply must resent.
My Troops I'll therefore for the Neustrian Shore
Embark, your Rights and Freedoms to restore.
Where if propitious Heav'n affords us Aid,
Our Arms shall next the haughty Frank invade.

   He ceas'd, the Captains did for Arms declare
Nobly impatient of the Righteous War.
Heroic Ardor all their Vitals warm'd,
And on the Plains the must'ring Cohorts swarm'd.
A War with Gaul so much, so long desir'd
The joyful Britons with fresh Life inspir'd.
Long had they wish'd to see on Britain's Throne
A warlike Prince, one that himself would own
To be the Christians chief Protecting Head,
Who would the British Troops to Gallia lead.
Indulgent Heav'n at last their wishes grants,
Raising a Prince who answers all their wants.
One that to Albion's eager Youth will show
The Gallic Fields, and their old haughty Foe.
Each brandishes his Spear, his Fauchion weilds,
And seems already in Lutetia's Fields.
The Noise of Arms and marching Soldiers toyl
And Warlike Preparations fill the Isle.
The Trumpet's Voice do's Britain's Sons excite,
And waving Banners to the Field invite.
The Shepherd on the Hills his Flock forsakes,
Casts by his Crook, and the bright Javelin takes.
The Husbandman do's from his labour leap,
To plough the Seas, and Gallic Laurels reap.
He beats his Ploughshares into Helms and Shields,
Deserts his Harvest, and his flowry Fields,
Neglects his Tillage, and his Rural Gains,
To plant with British Spears Parisian Plains.
The Lords forsake their Woods, and Sylvan Sport,
And from the Forrest to the Camp resort.
They leave the Mountains, and the flying Game
To follow Honour, and Immortal Fame.
Some few Inglorious Youths for Arms unfit
Refus'd the Pleasures of the Stage to quit.
Who only War in Theaters have seen,
And Camps and Battles only on the Scene.
Fit only shows and Laurels to prepare
For Arthur come victorious from the War:
To run, and shout amidst th' applauding throng,
As Britain's Sons in Triumph pass along.
Refulgent Arms Augusta's Merchants weild
And to the busy Change prefer the Field.
These brave Adventurers in the noble War,
Will Honour fetch, as well as Wealth from far.
Some mount their Steeds, and to the Field advance,
Some shake the Spear, and some the Warlike Lance.
Part arm'd with feather'd Death their Quivers throw
Across their Shoulders, and new string their Bow.
Some round their Necks the martial Coslet clasp,
Some the broad Shield, and glitt'ring Javelin grasp.
Part on their heads the burnish'd Helmet lace,
And all in Plate their vig'rous Limbs encase.

   The Royal Fleet with equal hast and care,
The rigid Captains of the Sea prepare.
The craggy Rocks and crooked Shores around
With labour, and promiscuous crys resound.
The Saylor's toil fills every Beach and Strand,
And the Sea-Clamours vye with those by Land.
Some from their Magazines draw Naval Stores,
Long trembling Masts, and Cordage to the Shores.
Some in the Hills with loud repeated strokes,
Dismember nodding Pines and groaning Oaks.
The lifted Axe thro' all the Mountain sounds
To heal the Navy's with the Forest's Wounds.
For Masts, and Planks, they fell the fairest Trees,
The rest, for supplemental Ribs and Knees.
They draw the Spoils from the dishonour'd Wood,
Whose Trees, that once fixt and unshaken stood,
Must now find Wings to fly upon the Flood.
Some from wide Bellows mouths whole Tempests blow,
To make vast Anchors in the Forges glow;
Then choak'd with flame and smoke, and smear'd with sweat,
Vulcanian Youth the Red-hot Iron beat.
Some on the Strand Careen, and fresh adorn
The Ships grown foul, and with their labour worn.
Some new ones Launch, which with surprising Art
From all their Bands, and Wooden Fetters start:
They break away, and from their Cradles flee
Now to be rock'd upon the restless Sea.
Some carry Arms, and Warlike Stores aboard,
Some in the Ship's deep Caves Provisions hoard.
Whole Herds of fatted Swine and Oxen dy,
The Ships capacious Bellys to supply,
Furnish'd by old Polcaran's toilsom care,
The first that cloy'd the hungry mouth of War.

   Then all th' expected Equipage on Board,
Their Topsails loos'd, and all the Ships unmoor'd;
The Royal Navy on the Billows rode,
And prest with heavy War th' uneasie Flood.
The fierce Commanders stand in awful State,
On their high Decks, and Arthur's coming wait.
The Monarch with his valiant Troops arrives,
And strait t' embark his Army order gives.
The British Cohorts at the King's Command,
Mount their tall Ships, and long for Neustrian Land.
Loud Boreas to extend the spacious Sails,
From Northern Prisons frees his chosen Gales,
All bold and vig'rous, and refresh'd with ease,
All vers'd in toil, and conscious of the Seas.
These swell the Canvass with their utmost force,
And strait to Neustria's Shore direct their course.
The panting Winds to shove the Navy strain,
And of the Squadrons weight in Sighs complain,
The Labour of the Air, and Burden of the Main.
The bounding Castles on the Billows dance,
And in long Order on the Deep advance.
While wanton Dolphins round the Squadrons play,
And sporting Course each other o'er the Sea.
Huge Porpoises and the great Lords that reign
O'er all the Scaly People of the Main,
Attend the Navy with an endless train.
The Finny Murd'rers that the Deep infest,
Forsake their Prey, and give the Ocean rest:
While they at distance gaze, and fawning roll
To Court the Prince who do's their Seas controul;
Fearing the great Deliv'rer came to free
The watry Nations too from Tyranny.

   On the high Cliffs in throngs the Neustrians stood,
And on the Sandy Margin of the Flood,
Advanc'd, as far as Waves permit, to meet
Europe's Restorer and his Potent Fleet.
And when they saw, the Navy under Sail
Advancing to them with a prosp'rous Gale,
With such loud Shouts they made the Mountains ring,
As sunk the Winds which should their wishes bring.
So Thund'ring Cannons, when two Fleets engage,
With their loud roar the angry Seas asswage,
Awe list'ning Winds, and calm their weaker rage.
King Arthur's Navy made the Neustrian Land,
And strait the Britons leap'd upon the Strand:
Their warlike Ensigns on the Hills display'd
Declare th' arrival of th' expected Aid.

   Now Muse the Names of those great Hero's sing,
And mighty Chiefs, who with the British King
On this illustrious Expedition went,
And pitch'd in Neustrian Fields the warlike Tent.

    Shobar was first, sprung from a Noble Line,
Which dwelt upon the Banks of rapid Rhine.
His martial Genius early did appear,
Danger he knew, but knew not how to fear.
Eager of fame he fought with studious care
Battles, and Camps, and all the Seats of War.
His valiant Deeds won Universal Fame,
And every Soil his Triumphs did proclaim.
His mighty Name was thro' Europa spread,
All Armys strove to have him for their head,
For those were sure of Conquest, which he led.
A noble Fire did in his Veins abide,
And the severest Wisdom was its Guide.
His Camp the only School of War was thought,
Which all young Hero's for Instruction sought,
For none had Martial Art to such Perfection brought.
But worn with Labour, Battles, Camps, and Age
The Hoary Warriour left the bloody Stage.
Back to his Fields, and Rural Seat he came
Laden with Laurels and Immortal Fame.
Resolving, far remov'd from noise and strife,
To spend in Peace his short Remains of Life.
But when he heard how Arthur's Arms were prais'd,
And what a great Restorer Heav'n had rais'd,
Nations oppress'd from Bondage to release,
And to procure to suff'ring Christians, Ease,
The Pious Chief resumes his Sword and Shield,
And once again resolves to take the Field.
The ancient Warriour felt a youthful flame,
And from the Rhine to find King Arthur came.
Arthur who knew what Deeds he had atchiev'd,
With high respect the brave Old Man receiv'd.
He always to his Counsels did attend,
Call'd him his Father, and his Faithful Friend.

   Next mighty Solmar who was near ally'd
To pious Arthur by the Mother's side;
Who by his Strength and Skill in Arms had won
Authority, Esteem, and great Renown,
Brother to Meridoc, of glorious fame
With th' Ordovician youth to Arthur came,

   Next faithful Lucius Arthur's fav'rite Knight,
An able Statesman, and as brave in Fight.
Who from his Youth his Monarch serv'd and lov'd,
And in the greatest Streights his Zeal approv'd,
No Servant from a Monarch e'er before
Receiv'd more Love, and none deserv'd it more;
He the Silures from their Country led,
O'er whom the King had plac'd him as their head.

   The stout Cornavians to engage the Foes,
The Region left where fam'd Sabrina flows.
The fertile Soil where Etocetum stands,
And which obeys Branonium's high Commands.
Some left Presidium still a noble Town,
And the rich Soil, that did her Empire own.
And some the Citys, that on Dovus lay,
And where fair Deva do's her Streams convey,
Thro' smiling Vallys to th' Hibernian Sea.
The Atrebatian and Dobunian Lords
Brought their Battalions from Sabrina's Fords.
And from the Soil where Ouze and Tama meet,
The Muses Garden now, and high Imperial Seat:
Prince Osor worthy of his noble Line,
Whose mighty Deeds in Albion's story shine,
Warm with a generous and Heroic flame,
Fearless of Death, and fond of warlike Fame,
Zealous to give the suff'ring Christian rest,
To break th' Oppressor, and defend th' Opprest
Into the field these Various Nations brought,
Who arm'd with Spears, and Battle Axes fought.
Osor so high in Arthur's Favour stood
For Martial Vertue, and Illustrious Blood,
That he the Youth to ancient Chiefs prefer'd,
And Gen'ral of the Cavalry declar'd.

    Malgo King Arthur's Master of the Horse
Fam'd for his Courage, and his wondrous force,
Whose Courteous Manners and Deportment won
No less Applauses, than his Sword had done,
The brave Dimetians to the Army led,
All valiant Troops to warlike labour bred.
The Trinobantes with the Region blest,
Which the Victorious Saxon once possest,
Left the Delightful Banks of Thamisis,
The Seat of Plenty and Terrestrial Bliss.
They left Augusta which by Arthur's Sword
To Truth divine, to Right, and Law restor'd,
From Pagan Gods, and from th' Oppressor freed,
Reer'd up to Heav'n her high Imperial head:
For stately Domes and lofty Tow'rs renown'd,
With Arts and Arms, and Wealth and Empire crown'd.
Capellan valu'd for his Youthful Charms,
For his high Birth, and forward Zeal in Arms:
The warlike Deeds of whose Illustrious Line,
As well as Suff'rings, in our Annals shine,
Into the field the Trinobantes led,
And shone in splendid Armour at their head.
Some bore the glitt'ring Spear, and some the Bow
All bold in Arms, and pleas'd to meet the Foe.

   The warlike Youth rul'd by Icenian Lords,
Some arm'd with Halberts, some with two edg'd Swords,
Left all the Citys which adorn the Coast,
Where the Germanic Ocean's waves are tost.
The Catuclaxian Cohorts left the Soil,
That lay the inmost of the British Isle.
Those who in Lactodorum did reside,
Which Usa's Stream did in the midst divide.
And those who all the Region round possest
Adorn'd with Citys, and with Riches blest.
These valiant Squadrons arm'd with Slings and Bows,
Brave Talmar led to charge the Gallic Foes.
A truly martial, but impetuous Fire
Did with immoderate heat his breast inspire.
Nobly impatient of unbounded Power,
He strove Britannia's Freedom to secure.
A brave Assertor of her ancient Laws,
Of Pious Arthur's, and the Christian Cause.
Onwards he always prest, and Danger sought,
Patient of toyl, and fearless to a fau't.
His Courteous Manners, easy, free Address,
Th' indulgent care he did for all express
Providing due supplys for all their Wants,
And kindly hearing all their just Complaints.
Made the brave Chief the British Youths Delight
Of Arthur's Camp the most applauded Knight.

   The Ottadenians left Alaunus flood,
Near which the famous Roman Bullwark stood,
Rais'd with prodigious labour to protect
The Frontier, from th' Jernian, and the Pict.
With these the stout Brigantes who confin'd
On th' Ottadenian Towns, their Ensigns joyn'd.
They from Galatum on Ituna's Stream,
And from delightful Aballaba came
With these appear'd the fierce Arbeian Youth,
And those who dwelt near Moricambe's Mouth.
Fair Gabrosentum did her Squadrons send,
As did the Towns that on her Power depend.
The Troops Mancunium left, and all the Fields
To which Merseia verdant Riches yields.

   These Maca led a Caledonian Knight,
Long vers'd in Arms, Sedate, yet brave in Fight.
He still advanc'd by Military Rule,
Vig'rous in Action, but in Counsel cool.
He all the British Captains did out-shine
For pure Devotion, Zeal and Love divine.
Just, Upright, Faithful, and with Vice unstain'd
Eu'n in a Camp the Pious Chief remain'd:
And nobler heats Religion do's inspire,
Than what from Honour spring, and native Fire.
These aim at transient Empire and Renown,
But those at Heav'n, and an Immortal Crown.

    Coril a valiant Durotrigian Knight,
Who ever made the Camp his chief delight;
A great Commander, to the Soldier dear,
Void of all Pride, uncapable of Fear,
Brought his bold Troops from Durnavaria's Fields,
With mighty Fauchions Arm'd, and spacious Shields.

   The Regnian Troops came from the Hilly Land,
Which lies direct against the Neustrian Strand.
From all the Citys, Castles, and the Towns,
Or in the Vales, or in the airy Downs
Which stretch on great Augusta's Southern side,
Between the Ocean, and fair Isis tyde.
With these the Belgian Britons did unite,
Who did in Battles and in Camps delight.
These came from Venta, and the Citys found
On the delightful Plains which lye around.
Great Cutar Viceroy of fair Vecta's Isle,
Brought these Battalions from their native Soil.
A generous Impulse, and a noble Flame
Urg'd the brave Man to seek Immortal Fame.
Ravish'd with War's and Danger's horrid Charms,
He with impetuous Ardor flew to Arms.
Triumphant Conquerors with their Laurels crown'd,
Not more delight, than he in Combate found.
He midst the Foe the hottest Battle sought,
And grown with Death familiar, fearless fought.
His strong desire of Arms was never cloy'd,
With such a Relish Danger he enjoy'd.
Soon as the rang'd Battalions came in sight,
He felt fierce Joy, and terrible Delight,
And shudder'd with his eagerness to Fight.
What flames flew from his Eyes, when he from far
View'd the sowr Brows, and murth'ring Jaws of War?
He midst the Heros was for Valour fam'd,
And midst the Bards, with envy'd Honour nam'd.
He by his matchless Song, as well as Sword
The Laurel gain'd, and loud Applause procur'd.

   The Cangian Britons left the wealthy Soil,
Which with abundance crowns the Farmer's toil.
Where fair Uzella rolls her noble tyde,
And o'er the Meads unfolds her silver pride.
They left the Citys rais'd on Thona's flood,
And on the Fields round Coitmaur's spacious Wood.
From all the Towns round airy Camelet,
Which bears the name even now, of Arthur's seat;
Where winding Bruis with her lazy Stream
Surrounds Glascona's Isle, where antient fame
Has plac'd the Seat of th' Arimathean Saint,
Who first in Albion did Religion plant:
Which do's with pious Sepulchers abound,
And where King Arthur's blest Remains were found.
From high Mendippa and the spacious Plains
Blest with rich Entrails, and Metallic veins.
Where rapid Floods flow roaring under ground,
Where the fam'd Grotto Ochi Hol is found;
Which do's Parthenope all thine out-do,
That of Lucullus, and the Sybils too.
The warlike Youth from Aqua Solis came,
Whose wholsom Baths give Sinews to the Lame.
Their Healing Power the wise affirm proceeds,
From unform'd Minerals, and Metallic Seeds,
Which wash'd away from Subterranean Caves
Impregnate with their Heat the flowing Waves.
Whether these Seeds which in the Water strive,
Or some good Angel do's the Vertue give,
'Tis sure that Health and Vigour they impart
Above the reach of Æsculapian Art.
Witness the Spoils and Trophys which are shown
From vanquish'd Death, and from Diseases won.
Erla of Lands of great extent possest,
With Ease, with Honour, with Abundance blest,
By Pity mov'd, and martial Ardor warm'd,
To aid th' opprest Lutetian Christians Arm'd.
For Danger, and for Honourable toil
He left his Ease, his Wealth, and Native Soil.

   The bold Danmonians did attend their Lord,
Each took his Shield and wav'd his threat'ning Sword.
Active and vig'rous they advanc'd their Names
By Wrestling, Whorlbat, old Heroic Games.
They left the Southern, and the Northern Shore,
Where British Seas, or where th' Hibernian roar.
Th' undaunted Youth from fair Tamara came,
And from the Flood that gave the Town its name.
They left Voluba, and Cenonis Mouth,
The most applauded Haven of the South.
They left the Banks of Isca and the Town
For Commerce, Wealth, and Power, of great renown.
These mighty Men to warlike labour bred,
Came from their hilly Land by Trelon led.
For old indulgent Cador at his Death
To Pious Arthur did his Realm bequeath.
Viceroy of which King Arthur Trelon made,
Whom the Danmonians as their Head obey'd.
His Martial Vertue do's in Story Shine,
A Vertue common to his ancient Line:
For Trelon's Noble House was so renown'd,
For mighty Deeds, that none was ever found
Who wanted Valour, or did e'er debase
By one inglorious Deed the Martial Race!
True Eagles they, when Infants, could behold
A Burnish'd Helm, or blazing Shield of Gold:
Ev'n then no horrid object mov'd their fear,
And their first play was with a Sword, or Spear.

   The Coritanians left the Towns that stood,
Along the Banks of swift Aufona's flood.
Their Squadrons left the fat and fertile Land,
Where Verometum's Tow'rs and Raga's stand.
Where Margidunum from the Mountain's brow
Proudly surveys the wide stretcht Vale below.
Where Lindum reers her antient, awful head,
By all the Fenny Region round obey'd.
Where famous Pontis stood an ancient Town
By Roman Coins and checker'd Pavements known:
Brave Stannel patient of Heroic toil,
Sprung from a Race of Kings whom Mona's Isle
Insulted by the wild Hibernian Sea,
But blest with temp'rate Empire, did obey:
Who always for his Country bravely fought,
To Neustrian Fields the Coritanians brought.

   The valiant Youth advanc'd their warlike Ranks
From noble Abum's, and Darventio's Banks.
Some from Calcaria came, from Danum some,
Some from the Tow'rs of high Eboracum.
Gotric a Chief Majestic, Awful, Grave,
Wise in the Senate, and in Battle brave;
Of unstain'd Honour, and uncommon worth,
Brought in these bold Brigantes from the North.
All Men of Courage and of subtile Wit,
All for the Camp, and some for Counsel fit.

   The warlike Squadrons from Meldunum came,
Almost encompass'd by Antona's Stream.
From old Verlucio, and the fertile Land,
Where Leckham now, and ancient Cosam stand:
Cosam, with Plenty blest and temp'rate Air,
To me a Soil above all others dear.
The valiant Youth from Sorbiodunum came,
Of all their Towns the Chief, in Power and Fame.
Whose gilded Domes and Towers amidst the Sky,
With all but those of great Augusta vy.
Around her Walls lie stretcht the famous Plains,
Which Eccho with the toil of joyful Swains,
Where happy Shepherds with more Flocks are blest,
Than the Sicilian Mountains e'er possest;
Who fill the Air with loud, and sweeter Lays
Than those which once did fam'd Arcadia raise.
They left the Bourns, and all the fertile Plain
Where the high Monument do's still remain
Of Albion's Lords by Saxon Treach'ry slain.
An awful Pile wondrous in every part,
Not wholly wrought by Nature, nor by Art.
The Stones are all of such prodigious weight,
And raise their heads to such amazing height,
Such is the Structure's rude Magnificence,
And proud Disorder, that it makes pretence
To be Gigantic work, wherein are shown
High Rocks on Rocks with careless labour thrown.
Where now th' admiring Trav'ller may behold
What mighty Men Britannia bred of Old.
They left Cunetio still a noble Town
Rais'd on a fair, delightful, spacious Down,
Which over-looks the Vale, whose fruitful Crops
Out-do the greedy Farmer's utmost hopes.
Vebba a Cangian Chief of great Renown,
Who by his Arms had frequent Laurels won;
A Leader worthy of the high Command,
Brought to King Arthur's Camp this Cangian Band
These mighty Warriors from the British Isle,
Attended Arthur to his Foreign toil.


BOOK II

   Strait thro' the neighb'ring Citys welcom Fame
King Arthur's Landing did aloud proclaim.
The Neustrain Youth by Gallic Power opprest,
Reviving Hopes, and wondrous joy exprest.
In shouting throngs they left the Oazy Coast,
And Inland Towns to joyn King Arthur's Host.
They came from Juliobana and the Land
Which Breviodunum's Castles did Command.
From all the Towers and pleasant Towns that stood
On the sweet Banks of fam'd Sequana's flood.
Gomar and Rollo two illustrions Lords
Whose Deeds adorn Neustrasia's old Records;
Who lov'd their Country and its Freedom sought,
To joyn the Briton their Battalions brought.
Arthur advanc'd, and all Neustrasia's Fields
Shone bright with polish'd Helms and blazing Shields.
The Host in warlike Columns took the way
To the rich Fields where Rotomagum lay.

   Mean time the Gauls who Neustria's Soil possest
By Sardan entertain'd, and much carest,
Did Arthur's fame and valiant Army dread,
Deserted Neustria, and to Clotar fled.
With these inglorious Sardan, who the sight
Of Swords and Spears detested, took his Flight.
Arthur did soon the Gallic Frontier gain,
And lay encamp'd along Lutetia's Plain.

   There stood a Dome whose Pinnacles did rise
Above the Clouds, and enter'd far the Skys,
Surveying proud Lutetia far and wide,
Which aw'd the Nations with Imperial pride.
Along the flowry Banks the City stood
Where silver Sein rolls down her noble flood.
The Prince of Darkness from the Temple's head
View'd Arthur's Army o'er the Vally spread.
Enormous Rage distended every vein,
And all Hell's Furys o'er his Breast did reign.
Swoln with Revenge his blood-shot Eyes did glare
Like Ruddy Meteors blazing in the Air!
He gnash'd his Teeth and his black Brows he bent;
Then thus he spake to give his Anger vent.

   How great and wide is my Imperial Sway,
Whom all the Peers of Hell's dark Realms obey?
I over all th' Aerial Powers preside,
Who raise loud Storms, and on wild Whirlwinds ride.
These Powers at my Command the World Assail
With blended Ruin, Thunder, Rain and Hail.
All the dire Ministers of Death and Hell
That chain'd in gloomy Prisons howl and yell;
All the fierce Furys fly at my Command,
To spoil a Town, or wast a fruitful Land.
My hollow Caves and Magazins contain
Endless variety of Grief and Pain.
Where panting Thirst with ghastly Famine dwells,
And pois'nous Damps in raw unwholsom Cells
Engender livid Plagues; where how to moan
Sad Grief first learnt, and Torment how to groan.
Here uninstructed Death first learnt her Arts,
First strung her Bows, and pointed first her Darts.
These all obey me, in my Court beside,
Haughty Ambition, Riot, Lust and Pride,
Revenge and Envy my Domesticks dwell,
My fav'rite Plagues, that all the rest excel,
And vastly have enlarg'd the power of Hell.
These always foremost in my Troops appear,
And for my following Plagues the passage clear.
These make th' Assault, and all my Furys teach
To mount the Walls where they have made the Breach.
Their mighty Triumphs and Victorious fame
Kingdoms laid wast and ruin'd Worlds proclaim.
What blest Destruction have th' Invaders spred
O'er Christian Realms by me their Monarch led?
What States have they attack'd and not prevail'd,
Who have escap'd their Arts, if Power has fail'd?
And shall this Briton still advance his Arms,
And shake my Temples with his proud alarms?
Shall he my Priests from my high Altars chase,
And dispossess the Franks Victorious Race,
Who such a Passion for my Empire show,
And are so dear to all the Powers below?
Shall this fair City, this new Babilon,
This other nobler Rome, this pious Town,
Where all in prostrate Adoration ly
Before our Shrines, and for Protection cry,
Where with such strains of pure Devotion all
Our Temples fill, and us their Guardians call;
Shall Arthur's impious Arms this Town deface
And thro her Streets in haughty Triumph pass?
Shall the proud Christian this fair Region gain?
Expel my Franks, and o'er Lutetia reign?
Shall these sweet Vineyards, this delightful Soil
With a rich Vintage crown the Briton's toil?
Then I in vain Immortal vigor boast,
My Scepter's gone, and all my Empire lost.
All will Revolt who now obey my Laws,
And Rome her self desert my righteous Cause.
Nor Vot'rys here, nor Subjects will below,
To me, as to their God, or Monarch bow.
By any means, by Stratagem, or Force,
I must arrest th' ambitious Briton's Course.
If all Hell's Power thy Empire can sustain,
Lutetia, thou thy Greatness shalt maintain.
But whether Force or Fraud we shall employ
In this Conjuncture Arthur to destroy,
Must be debated and consider'd well,
On this I must Consult the Powers of Hell.

   He said, and strait th' enrag'd Arch-Traytor flys
To Hell's Abyss, and leaves the Crystal Skys.
As when an Eagle from a Mountain's head
Surveys the flowry Vale around him spread,
And sees a Snake along the Meadow play
Enliven'd with the Spring's reviving Ray;
The Eagle stoops down from the Mountain's top,
And in a moment takes the Viper up:
The twining Beast his crooked Pounces bear
Wriggling and hissing swiftly thro' the Air.
So swift a flight the wing'd Apostate made,
And in a moment reach'd th' Infernal Shade.
High on the gloomy Banks of Lethe's flood
The haughty Monarch's awful Palace stood;
Built with Angelic Art and cost immense,
With fearful Pomp, and vast Magnificence.
The lofty Roof, amazing to behold,
Was all of burnish'd, fine, Tartarean Gold,
Which dismal Glory did around display
Thro' the Dun Air, and made a hideous Day.
The high rais'd Pillars were of Stygian Jet,
Of Doric Order in high Ranges set.
The Walls were Marble, streak'd with bloody stains
And Azure intermixt with Purple veins.
Around thick Groves of shady Cypress grew,
O'er which prodigious Bats, and croking Ravens flew.
Poppys the Gardens bore, and Hollioaks,
Henbane, and Nightshade and unwholsom Box.

   Hither the summon'd Spirits did resort,
And with their numbers fill'd their Prince's Court.
Th' Assembly made a murm'ring hollow sound,
Like that of Torrents rolling under ground;
But all the busy Spirits, when they saw
Their Monarch enter, with a silent Awe
Attentive waited, he ascends his Throne,
Which high erected o'er the Assembly shone.
Then with a frowning Look yet haughty Air
He thus began. High States of Hell, th' Affair
Which now demands your Counsel, I'll declare.
Britannia's Monarch our Inveterate Foe,
Who do's such hatred to our Empire show,
Who has our Temples and our Groves laid wast,
Destroy'd our Vot'rys and our Shrines defac'd,
To storm Lutetia has the Ocean crost
And shakes our Altars with his impious Host.
All means yet us'd his Progress to oppose
Have fruitless been, the Briton greater grows.
He has eluded all our deep Designs
And now in Arms before Lutetia Shines.
Against her Towers his Ensigns are display'd,
And our fierce Franks are of his Fame afraid.
If by the Briton this fair City's won,
Gallia farewell, that Realm from Hell is gone.
There, we no more shall be as Gods ador'd,
No praise return'd, no more our Aid implor'd.
No Victims more shall at our Altars dye,
No Vot'rys more before us prostrate lye.
No more your Pamper'd Nostrils shall be fed
With fatty steams from burning Entrails spred.
No more you'll wanton in aspiring flames,
Nor revel more in blood of Goats and Rams.
In your high Groves you must no longer stay,
Nor in sweet Clouds of rising Incense play.
If Gallia's lost, Iberia may be too,
Ausonia next the Conqueror will subdue.
If this Success attends th' Ambitious Foe,
Illustrious Peers, say whither will you go?
If to the Frozen or the Burning Zone,
To Heats and Colds not much unlike your own.
Or shall we always here despairing ly,
Freeze on this Ice, or in these Burnings fry?
Shall we take up with this Infernal Shade,
Content no milder Regions to invade?
Did we such wondrous Labour undergo,
Such God-like Wit, and God-like Courage show,
To win this Province from th' Almighty Foe;
And shall we tamely yield the noble Spoil,
And just Reward of all our ancient toil?
Speak, Princes, how shall we Lutetia Aid,
Whether by Art or Power we shall invade
The British King; propound the likeliest way
To check his Arms, and his swift Progress stay.

   He said, and straightway Belus rose, outdone
In Fierceness, Pride and Insolence by none
Of all th' Apostate Spirits, who combin'd
To take up Arms against th' Eternal Mind:
Who with th' Almighty for Dominion strove
Troubling with Civil War the Realms above.
Fir'd with excessive Rage he Silence broke,
And thus th' attentive Senators bespoke.

   Prudent, Considering Spirits may destroy
Those whom their Arts and subtile Wiles decoy:
I hate your wise Expedients, I declare
For generous Arms, and honourable War.
Tricks amongst Angels must our fame debase,
And stain the Glory of our Heav'nly Race.
Our Mould's Divine, of pure Etherial Light,
We the first Offspring of Eternal Might.
An unextinguish'd flame dilates our Veins,
And thro' our Limbs Immortal Vigour reigns.
Shall such a Race to Shifts and Cunning fly,
And not on Power, and matchless Strength rely?
I scorn a sordid un-Angelic course,
Unworthy of our Birth, and of our Force.
In our first Wars what Courage did we show
Shaking the Throne of our Almighty Foe?
'Tis true we fell, but yet the glorious Field
Do's greater fame than thousand Conquests yield
Won from Created, Vulgar Enemys;
Great was th' Attempt, and bold the Enterprise.
Success we wanted, but the brave Design
In Heav'n's and Hell's Records shall ever shine.
And shall we think our Strength and Courage less,
And by our Shifts our Impotence confess?
That which perhaps may Cautious Spirits damp
Is this, that drawn out round the British Camp
Of the Seraphic Guards a Party stands,
Which Michael our old Enemy Commands.
We know this Hallelujah singing Host,
Who such Devotion and Religion boast:
Who look on us, Curse on their Gracious Sect
As Reprobates, with scorn and proud neglect.
They would not with our Arms their Forces joyn,
T' assert our Right, and gain our high Design.
They would no Succours to our Army send,
But still their tender Conscience did pretend.
Yet Conscientions Michael and the rest
Who such abhorrence of our Cause exprest,
Beneath the Veil of Sanctity and Zeal
Falshood, Revenge, Malice and Pride conceal.
On Heav'n with open Arms they will not fall,
For this the timerous Saints Rebellion call.
But oft I've heard their best Arch Angels Ly,
I know their Fraud, and deep Hypocrisy.
These Godly Seraphs let our Arms attack,
And to their Praying Regions chase them back.
To us their Numbers and their Strength are known,
We know their Courage, and we know our own.
Thro' Hells dark Realms let's sound the loud alarm,
And give Command for all our Youth to Arm.
Your Ensigns on the Dusky Plains display,
And draw your Legions out in long Array:
Legions that Life, and Strength Immortal feel,
Arm'd all in Adamant and treble Steel.
Let's empty all our Arsenals, and drain
Our stores of Death, and Magazins of Pain.
We'll draw out all th' Artillery of Hell,
Artillery, like that by which we fell.
We'll ride in flaming Tempests thro' the Air,
And on the Foe discharge amazing War.
Blue flames we'll carry from these Sulphurous Caves,
And lave into the Air these boiling Waves.
With this Tormenting Fire the Foe we'll burn,
And against Heav'n, will Heav'n's own Vengeance turn!
Up from their Roots these burning Hills we'll tear,
And Hell's tremendous Spoils aloft we'll bear,
And hurl our Racks and Tortures thro' the Air.
With Storms of Fire, with Thunder, Rain and Hail,
Mingled Destruction, we'll their Camp Assail.
For our great Prince is Monarch of the Air,
Our Empire still is uncontested there:
Thus we th' Angelic Guards will soon remove,
And send them to excuse themselves above.
When they dismay'd back to their Seats are fled
We'll o'er the Britons dire Destruction spred.
Thus we'll Lutetia save, and Blood and Spoil
Shall sooth our Torments, and our Pains beguile.

   He said. Then Rimmon rose up from his Place,
Of noble Stature, and Majestic Grace.
In Eloquence and soft perswasive charms
He much excell'd, but little car'd for Arms.
No Seraph of a vaster Genius fell
From the blest Regions to the Gulph of Hell.
No Lord, that in th' Infernal Council sate
Sustain'd with greater skill a high debate,
Or seem'd more fit for Business of the State.
None spoke with so much Ease, and such Address,
None Business better knew, or lov'd it less.
Dissolv'd in Luxury, in Sloth and Ease,
He War declin'd, and pleaded still for Peace.
No nobler Presence in the Court appear'd,
None by the Senators was better heard.
They knew his falshood, yet th' attentive throng
Lov'd the soft Music of his charming Tongue.

   Who thus begun. Immortal Potentates,
Illustrious Princes, high Seraphic States!
T' uphold this ancient Monarchy, a Zeal
Greater than mine no Seraph can reveal.
None to Obedience more Reluctance show,
Or greater Hate to our Allmighty Foe.
None more t' enlarge our Empire can desire,
None feel more sensibly this painful Fire.
Who more delights in a Terrestrial Seat,
That from our Torment yields a mild restreat?
Scorcht with corroding flame no Seraph loves
More to frequent our cool refreshing Groves.
Who's pleas'd with Incense more and od'rous Gums,
Or the sweet Steams of burning Hecatombs?
Therefore no likely means I would neglect
To save our Altars, and our Priests protect.
Arthur assisted with Celestial Aids
Our Empire with resistless course invades.
He his bold Cohorts round Lutetia pouers,
And threatens with his Arms her lofty Towers.
A Guard of Seraphs round his Army stands,
Celestial Sabres flaming in their hands.
Now valiant Belus wondrous Courage shows,
Off'ring in Arms t'assault our potent Foes.
I'm not for Arms by long experience taught;
What have we gain'd by all our Battles fought?
In Heavenly plains fir'd with a noble rage
Our Troops did all the Allmighty's Host engage.
Of which brave Deed what Seraph can Repent;
But when our Strength and all our Arms were spent,
You all remember Michael's dreadful Sword,
What fiery Darts we felt, what Thunder roar'd.
As drunk with wrath divine our Army reel'd,
And with Celestial Spoils o'erspread the Field,
Seraph on Seraph heap'd, and Shield on Shield.
Then did the Chariots which our Troops did chase,
O'er faln Arch Angels Necks, and grov'ling Cherubs pass!
Ignoble Rout deform'd th' Etherial Plain,
When wounded Seraphs first had sense of Pain.
Close on the Reer th' insulting Conq'rors hung,
And with the pointed Lightnings which they flung.
With massy Bolts and Darts of poison'd Steel,
From which our Limbs did raging Anguish feel,
Cross the steep Gulph they chas'd us till we fell
To scape those Torments, down to these of Hell.
This Fire, these Shades are all our Arms have won,
The sad Reward that do's our labour crown.
This Language is not to reproach our Flight,
For who can stand against Eternal Might?
But to diswade you from unequal Fight.
Since first this famous War broke out in Heav'n,
Since our fierce Troops from those mild seats were driv'n,
We've oft with all our force the Foe assail'd,
With wond'rous Brav'ry, yet we ne'er prevail'd;
But Art has prosper'd, where our Arms have fail'd.
We the Terrestrial World by Art did gain,
And must by Art our Conquest still maintain.
Well laid Temptations and enticing Charms,
Which propagate our Guilt, are our successful Arms.
Here lys our Strength, by these we must support
The Power and Greatness of th' Infernal Court.
We with our Heavn'ly Foes engage in vain,
For those who know no Guilt, can feel no pain.
Invulnerable they no hurt receive,
Nor can they feel deep wounds, like those they give.
But we can suffer, we can Torment feel,
From wounds Inflicted by their glitt'ring steel.
Our penetrable Plate and brittle Shield,
Will to their keen Etherial Weapons yield.
In these strange Flames by skill divine prepar'd,
Our Mould grows tender, as our hearts grow hard.
Such disadvantage justly may perswade,
No more with force their Armys to invade.
Let us known Arts and try'd Temptations use,
That may from Heav'n the Britons Minds seduce.
If our Enticements take, we gain our Cause,
For Heav'n from Rebels strait its Aid withdraws.
Then you may Chase the Briton to his Isle,
And spread Lutetia's Fields with Christian Spoil.

   Then Milcom rose full of Revenge and Scorn
A ghastly, meagre Fiend with Envy worn;
His pale, lean Cheeks his restless Mind exprest;
And Spite and Spleen his hollow Eyes possest.
His wrinkled Forehead, sowr and sullen Brow
Did deadly Hate, and deep Resentment show.
He Seeds of Strife and sharp Contention sow'd,
And call'd his Private Quarrel, Publick Good.
With execrable Words and desperate Speech
Th' Apostate still th' Allmighty did impeach.
No ruin'd Angel so audacious seem'd,
Or with so black a Tongue his God blasphem'd.
Ev'n when in Heav'n blest with his Maker's Smile,
The mocking Spirit would his Lord revile.
Cast down from Heav'n he rav'd and curst the Blest
Who still their Thrones and Innocence possest:
Above the rest he show'd his Discontent,
And more impatient seem'd of Punishment.
None yet was found thro' all the Courts of Hell
So Enterprizing, more Implacable.
None of th' Apostate Host would sooner joyn
To carry on a bold and black Design.

   And thus he spoke. Lords of Celestial Race,
Let not our Fears Seraphic Might disgrace.
I'll to th' Allmighty ne'er be reconcil'd,
Who of our Thrones our Birthright, us despoil'd;
And in Exchange has made Arch-Angels take
A low black Prison and a fiery Lake.
I'd be reveng'd for this unrighteous Deed,
And still attack him tho' I ne'er succeed.
Whate'er, Seraphic Heros, be your Fate,
Appear true Patriots of th' Infernal State.
I would, as generous Belus do's propose
With Arms and Force invade our Godly Foes.
I would, tho' they our Arms should still defeat,
The noble War eternally repeat.
I would alarm, assault, molest, annoy
And still disturb the Foe, I can't destroy:
For this an endless Pleasure would create,
And with Revenge sooth our Immortal Hate.
Why should we fly to Frauds, will Frauds obtain
A Conquest which by Power we cannot gain?
Do's not th' Eternal Foe as much excel
In Wisdom, as in Strength the Peers of Hell?
Will not his Circumspection undermine
What you believe a deep and wise Design?
Some have 'tis true succeeded by their Fraud,
But I th' Ignoble Way could ne'er applaud.
Let us, as Belus urg'd for Arms declare,
Our Forces Muster, and denounce the War.
Our eager Troops will cheerfully obey;
I'd be reveng'd, and War's the quickest way.
I long the pious Squadrons to engage ----
More had he said, but wild and mad with Rage
He to th' Assembly could no longer speek,
But his Discourse did here abruptly break.

   Then Ammon rose a Prince of high Renown,
Awful in Flames, and haughty tho' undone.
On his grave Brow deep Mysterys of State
Prudence, Advice, and Contemplation sate.
No Minister of all the Stygian Court
Declining Empires better could support.
The State of Hell's affairs none better knew,
None did their Int'rest with more Zeal pursue.
Important Looks and solemn Air confest
Labour and vast Concern within his Breast.
The Fate of Kingdoms seem'd his anxious Care,
Ruptures of Peace, and high Designs of War.
He seem'd engag'd in searching proper ways
To prop old Monarchys, or new ones raise.
When he began, all great attention paid,
And silent sate and husht, as midnight shade.

   Then thus he spake. Spirits of Race divine
What Belus offer'd, tho' a brave Design,
Suits not with Rimmon's Judgment, nor with mine.
Should we by gen'ral Vote for Arms declare
And Heav'n once more invade with open War,
If we the Conqu'rour should again incense,
What can we hope from arm'd Omnipotence,
But greater Wrath, and Torments more intense?
Can't he fresh Treasures open that contain
Yet fiercer Vengeance, more destructive pain?
His secret stores yet deadlier Light'nings yield,
More massy Bolts his vengeful Arm can weild.
In his high Arsenals will yet be found
Much keener Arms, and Darts that deeper wound;
Where he preserves his chosen Torments wrought
With greater Labour, greater Skill and Thought.
Where Swords of hardest Heav'nly Metal made,
And Shafts in strongest Fury dipt are laid.
Cannot th' Almighty Conquerour if he please,
From Hell's deep Vaults more dreadful Plagues release,
And with new Racks our Tort'ring pains increase?
Can't he these fiery Mountains on us turn,
Enrage our flames, and make them fiercer burn?
Or may we not in Hills of Ice immur'd,
Feel sharper Cold, than e'er we yet endur'd?
May not his hand bar fast the Gates of Hell,
Confine us to Despair, and make us dwell
Close Pris'ners chain'd in these Sulphureous Caves,
Or overwhelm us with these boiling Waves;
That we no more may our sad hours beguile,
In the soft Air of the Terrestrial Isle:
Nor our fry'd Limbs repose by shady Trees,
Nor fan our Burnings with a gentle Breeze.
Our open force must meet this dismal end,
And these sad Triumphs must our Arms attend.
But of Lutetia why should we despair,
And of our Franks so much renown'd in War?
Great Clotar do's in Wiles and Arts excel,
That scarce inferiour are to those of Hell,
By Force or Fraud the Briton he'll repel.
A numerous Army he together draws,
Resolv'd t' assert ours, and the Gallic Cause.
But grant that high Lutetia should submit,
And the proud Conqu'ror on her Throne should sit.
Grant all the Towns and Provinces of Gaul
Should yield, and follow great Lutetia's fall:
Must all our other Votarys Rebel,
And take up Arms against the Power of Hell?
Mankind Obedience hate, as well as we,
In Guile and Temper we so much agree,
A great Defection from us cannot be.
Rome ever faithful to our Cause appear'd,
To us by constant Services endear'd.
Her strong Affection all her Deeds proclaim;
Her Aims and Interests are with ours the same.
Besides, Iberia is a faithful Friend,
And will her Troops to our Assistance send.
But what if all th' European Realms were gone,
Asia may still her fixt Obedience own.
There we with Incense may our Nostrils cloy
And all the pleasures of the East enjoy.
There we may sport in mild, indulgent Beams,
And cool our Sores in sweet refreshing Streams.
There we may wander o'er a flowry Land,
And see in Spicy Groves our Altars stand.
Then add to this that our Imperial Sway
The Black and Tawny Nations all obey;
Who lie extended o'er the spacious Soil
From famous Memphis to the head of Nile.
From th' Ethiopean Region to the Shore
On which th' Atlantic Ocean's Billows roar;
And from the Northern to the Southern Moor.
Besides a Western World is still our own,
Where Arthur and his God are yet unknown.
This undiscover'd Soil, this Golden Coast
Serves as a Refuge to receive our Host,
Were all the Eastern World to Arthur lost.
These are the Reasons which with me prevail,
Not with our Arms the Briton to Assail.
I would from Hell the Fury discord send,
That her swift flight might to Britannia bend.
Since Arthur's absent, she may soon embroil
The wav'ring State, and trouble all the Isle.
She midst the Britons may Dissention sow,
And into noble flames may quickly blow
The Seeds of Strife that in their Bosoms glow.
She'll all the Fuel find she can require
To feed and entertain her raging fire.
Arthur who chas'd us from the British Coast,
And to pursue us has the Ocean crost,
Quitting his high Design, must then be gone,
And leave this Kingdom to Secure his own.
He said. The Synod gave a loud Applause,
And with this Counsel pleas'd, their Monarch rose.

   Mean time the Gallic Monarch took th' alarm,
And gave Command for all his Men to Arm.
Resolv'd to stop th' Invading Briton's rage,
And in the Field his Army to engage.
Lutetia first the Cry of Arms began,
Which soon thro' Clotar's wide Dominions ran.
The zealous Leaders did their Troops Collect,
To form an Host their Kingdom to protect.
With wondrous speed they did together draw
Their Squadrons, which did distant Citys aw.
The Valiant Lords from various Regions came,
To save their Country, and to raise their Fame.
The Pagan Priests wild with the dismal Fright,
With their loud Crys did all to Arms excite;
Who for their Altars might their Lives expose,
And guard their helpless Gods from Christian Foes.
Thro' every Town the Franks in Arms appear'd,
In every Street the Voice of War was heard.
Loud Clamors, and the Soldiers mingled Crys
Shook all the Azure Arches of the Skys.
Some on their Coursers mounted did advance,
Arm'd with a Shield, a Sword, and glitt'ring Launce,
Some came on Foot and for their Arms did bear
A dreadful Halbert, and a Massy Spear.
They came from every Soil and every Town
Which did the haughty Franks Dominion own.
Round high Lutetia's Walls to stop the Foe
Their Confluent Troops did in a Deluge flow.
All were compleatly arm'd, and here my Verse
The Names of those fam'd Heros shall rehearse,
Who had in Clotar's Army high Command,
And the great Briton's Triumphs did withstand:
It shall the warlike Nations too relate,
Who joyn'd their Arms to Guard the Gallic State.

    Gaston for Conduct Strength and Martial Flame
Among the Franks acquir'd the greatest Name.
Clotar this mighty Man his General made,
And next to him, he was by all obey'd.

    Villa was next in Dignity and Power,
Prais'd as a Chief, but as a Courtier more.
A gaudy General glorious to behold,
Adorn'd with splendid Arms, and smear'd with Gold.

    Arbel was of his ancient noble Blood,
Of his Successes, and high Station proud:
Vast was his Bulk, prodigious was his Strength,
Pondrous his Spear, and of amazing length.

   The Franks did next Prince Ansel most admire
Both for his Manly Wit, and Martial Fire.
Whose Praises Clotar did with Envy hear,
And thought his Name was to the Gauls too dear.

   Great Oromel of Princely Parents born,
Whose Deeds his Line and Country did adorn,
Came with his Troops from the high Mountain's side
Which do's Iberia from the Gaul divide.

    Bofar, to Honour by his Valour rais'd,
Heard his great Deeds by all Lutetia prais'd:
Cruel and Proud, but Vigilant and Brave,
Who that his Wealth and Honour he might save,
Aided his Prince his Country to enslave.

    Moloc was next, a Captain fierce and bold,
Known for his Thirst of Blood, and Love of Gold.
This Man was one who with his Sword pursu'd
The Christians, and his hands in Blood embrued.
Some he destroy'd with ling'ring Torments, some
To shun his barb'rous Outrage left their home;
And thro' the Woods and Hills did naked roam.

    Olcanor, fam'd for Wealth and Courage, led
His valiant Troops from Silver Liger's head.

    Ruthen a Chief, tho' by his Prince esteem'd
By Christian Franks and Pagans too condemn'd,
Was a fierce Minister of Clotar's Will,
Employ'd to Burn, to Ravage, Spoil and Kill.

    Miran, a Prince eager of Martial Fame,
Sprang from a Vig'rous, but forbidden Flame;
Mantana was his beauteous Mother's Name.
He the bold Youth of Francia's Island led,
All Valiant Troops, to Arms and Labour bred.

   They left the Land with beauteous Citys stor'd,
Which once obey'd their Bellovasian Lord.
The bold Senones came, whose Castles stood
Between Icauna's and Sequana's Flood.
The Catalaunian who Matrona drank,
And the Mandubian from swift Arar's Bank.
They left Augustodunum, and the Field
Which once the Vadicassian Farmer till'd.
The Lemovician from Vagenna's Stream,
And the Velaunian Youth together came.
The bold Burgundian Leaders from the Banks,
Of Alduabis brought their Warlike Franks:
Where nobler Vineyards crown the fertile Field,
Then Thuscan Hills, or thine, Iberia, yield.
They left the Towns that thro' the Region lay,
Which the Vogesian Hills around survey.
They came from Dola and the fruitful Land,
Which Arborosa's Towers did then Command.
And where Lugdunum's lofty Castles rise,
Whose gilded Battlements invade the Skys.
The Helvian and Rutenian hardy Troops
Came from sublime Gebenna's aiery Tops:
Both Warlike Nations who did far surpass
In Martial Glory all the Gallic Race.

    Arausio sent her valiant Troops, a Town
Which then the Gauls did with their Praises crown.
But since it grew a more Illustrious Place,
Rul'd by the mild, Nassovian Godlike Race.
Whose great and glorious Deeds have rais'd her name,
Above the Citys of the highest fame.
Great Huban from the Coast which with its Waves
The Aquitanian rolling Ocean laves;
And from the Towers along Garumna's Banks,
Brought to King Clotar's Aid his valiant Ranks:
Unnumber'd Squadrons fill'd the Gallic Host,
Which left the Citys on the Southern Coast,
Which from Boiatum to Nicæa lay,
And various Lords and Leaders did obey:
For so far Clotar o'er the Gallic Land,
Had by his Arms extended his Command.
The numerous Nations which the Lands did own,
Between Garumna and the rapid Rhone;
Where high Tolosa and Carcassum stand,
And where rich Tarnis rolls her Golden Sand.
The Youth from Alba and Nemaussus came,
Where numerous Martyrs dy'd by Sword and Flame.
For tho' with Christians Gallia did abound,
Yet they were chiefly in the Cities found,
Which o'er the fair and fertile Region lay
Between Gebenna and the Midland Sea.
Between the Alpine Mountains on the East,
And th' Aquitanian Ocean on the West.
These Clotar with inexorable Hate
Strove to Extirpate from the Gallic State.
Ruffians, Tormentors, black Assassins sent
By his Command all Methods did invent,
By which the Pious Race might be destroy'd,
And Hell's and Clotar's Malice might be cloy'd.
The dreadful Marks of Persecuting Rage,
Frequent appear'd o'er all this horrid Stage.
O'er all the Fields unbury'd Bones were spread,
And bloody Torments dy'd their Rivers Red.
Here Salvage Moloc, and fierce Ruthen strove,
Whose Cruelty should greatest wonder move,
And who should most engage their Monarch's Love.

   The various Nations came who did reside
On Rhodanus and swift Isara's tyde.
They left the Region near the Alpine Snows,
Where old Brigantium stood, and where Druentia flows.
They left the Citys on the Shores that stay
The rolling Waves of the Ligustic Sea.

    Stuffa a mighty Allobrogian Lord
Fam'd for his Stature and prodigious Sword,
The Fierce Helvetian Cohorts did Command,
Which Clotar's Gold brought from their Native Land.
One part the Urbigenian Lords obey'd,
And Till'd the Soil by Jura's Pekes survey'd.
Some did Bromagus and the Towns forsake
Which lay, Lausanna, on thy spacious Lake.
They left the Mountains where the melted Snow
Do's down the Sides in unform'd Channels flow,
And when beneath their Confluent Streams combine,
They form the Rhone, the Danaw, and the Rhine.
Their Mercenary Citys ever Sold
Their Youth to kill, and to be kill'd for Gold.
They Fought for him who best their Country fed,
And did not Fame and Glory seek, but Bread.
These Nations all were Vigorous, Strong and Bold,
Patient of Labour, Hunger, Heat and Cold.
Clotar this Valiant People much Carest,
And by their Arms the Neighb'ring States Opprest.
These foremost in his Battles always fought,
He his Chief Conquests by their Courage got.
These mighty Leaders did for Armour wear
The Skins of Beasts slain by their fatal Spear.
Some march'd before their Troops in dreadful Pride,
Arm'd with a ravening Lyon's grisly Hide.
The Shaggy Back was o'er their Shoulders spread
With formidable grace, and on their Head
The Tawny Terror grinn'd with open Jaws,
And cross their Breasts were lap'd the hideous Paws:
The Teeth and Savage Beard the Hero's Face
Did with becoming Martial Horror grace.
Some did the Wolf, and some the Tyger wear,
The Spotted Leopard some, and some the Bear.
Some a vast Stag, some a wild Bull adorns
With his Curl'd Forehead and his goring Horns.
Their Shields with dreadful Figures were embost,
And Belts of Hyde their Spacious Shoulders Crost.
The Warriours for Offensive Arms, did bear,
A massy Sword, and vast enormous Spear,

   These were the Warlike Nations, these the Lords,
Heros, and mighty Chiefs who drew their Swords
In Clotar's Cause, and made the last Effort,
Lutetia's Power and Greatness to support.


BOOK III

   Mean time the Prince of Darkness flew away,
To send fierce Discord to the Coasts of Day.
Far on th' Infernal Frontiers near the Shore,
On which th' insulting Waves of Chaos roar;
The utmost limits of Tartarean ground,
Which Hell's dark Realms from Night and Chaos bound;
There stands a high and craggy Cliff that braves
The neighb'ring Tempests and tumultuous Waves.
On this sharp Rock did the dire Fiend remain
Bound with a vast, unweildy, brazen chain.
Whose hideous yellings did the Deep affright,
And interrupt the Peace of lonesome Night.
A Thousand horrid Mouths the Monster show'd,
And each had twenty Tongues, all fierce and loud.
Her bloody Jaws did her lean Limbs devour,
And from her wounds she drank the flowing Gore.
With her sharp Claws she did her Entrails tear,
And from her head pull'd off her Snaky hair.
The Breath she Belch'd out with a fearful sound,
Made Storms and Whirlwinds in the Air around,
Her glaring, fierce, mis-plac'd, distorted Eyes,
Like adverse Meteors flaming in the Skys,
Their fiery Orbs against each other turn'd,
Tremendous in their bloody Circles burn'd.
So glows the Furnace which the flowing Mass
Of liquid Flints, transforms to Crystal Glass.
Round her foul wast a thousand Monsters rag'd,
A dreadful sight, in endless Strife engag'd.
Some Serpent like their spotted Volumns roll'd,
Some a Cerberean Offspring grinn'd and howl'd.
Like Lyons some, like Tygers some appear'd,
And part their hissing heads like Hydras reer'd.
Part Leopards seem'd, part were of Vulture Kind,
Part seem'd for pois'nous Basilisks design'd.
Some were an odious Harpy-footed Race,
Some Dragons Tails joyn'd to a Gorgon's face.
Some blended Forms did compound Horrour show,
Such as from foul unnatural Mixtures flow,
When all the various Beasts of Lybia meet
At some refreshing Spring to cool their heat.
Where Lyons, Bears, and all the Savage Kind
A horrid Congress, are in Friendship joyn'd;
And when the Stream has quench'd their burning Thirst,
Form dire Conceptions with promiscuous Lust.
These all each other, and their Parent tear,
And rend her Bowels with Eternal War.
Raving and restless on the Rock she turn'd,
And with her Feet her massy Fetters spurn'd.
Her Parent Ignorance close by her stood,
And from her Breast squeez'd Juice like blackish blood,
Her hateful Offspring's most delicious food.
A formidable Figure black as night,
That does in Shades and Labyrinths delight,
Exceeding fierce, but destitute of sight.
A crowd of howling Hellhounds round her staid,
All hideous Forms that her Commands obey'd.
Contention, Zeal, Inexorable Rage,
And Strife that wretched Men in Arms engage.
Various Division, Malice, deadly Hate,
That rend a Kingdom, and dissolve a State.
With these a cursed Figure did attend
Ecclesiastic Wrath, a furious Fiend
That did the rest in Cruelty surpass,
Deform'd beyond the whole Infernal Race.

   Swift as exploded Light'ning thro' the Sky,
To this wild Rock did Hell's proud Monarch fly.
The Fiends, as he alighted on the place,
Before him bow'd with awkard, horrid Grace.
Strait with his hands the brazen Chain he broke,
And then the raging Fury thus bespoke.
Thou by whose Aid, we founded first our State,
Who didst these gloomy Seats of Death create,
Of whose great Power all Nature stands afraid,
Hither I come to ask thy speedy Aid.
The British King th' invet'rate Foe of Hell,
By whose prevailing Arms the Saxon fell,
Musters in Gallic Fields his British Ranks,
And threatens Ruin to our Warlike Franks.
Go haste to Albion, and her State embroil,
With Heats and Strife and Tumult fill the Isle.
That Arthur from Lutetia may retire,
To quench distracted Albion's raging Fire.

   He said. The Fiend pleas'd with the high design
Reply'd, this grateful Enterprise be mine.
I first in Heav'n did Strife and Uproar move,
And vext with War the Realms of Peace and Love.
Cast down from thence to Eden's Walks I came,
Where Adam's Breast receiv'd my powerful Flame.
From Heav'n his yielding Heart I did divide
Tho' by the Bonds of Love and Int'rest ty'd
Against his God I arm'd the Rebel first,
And then against himself with Guilt and Lust.
His Veins inspir'd by me, distracted Cain
Did first with humane blood the ground distain.
Subjects by me dethrone their Rightful Lord,
Sons in their Parents Bowels sheath their Sword.
Empires whose deep foundations laid in blood,
Collected in their Strength unshaken stood,
Viewing their spacious Conquests far and wide,
And all their Foes Associate Arms defy'd,
By my Superiour force at last attackt,
Have faln with inward, strong Convulsions rackt.
Nations insulted by their Tyranny,
Have seen with Joy their Wrongs reveng'd by me.
The Roman vanquish'd Eagles must have fled,
And left Unconquer'd proud Judea's head,
Had not my Fury and resistless Flames
Annoy'd the Walls, more than their Batt'ring Rams.
High Rome by all the trembling World ador'd,
Inspir'd by me, plung'd her Victorious Sword
Within her own full Breasts, and with her Darts
Wild with Distraction pierc'd her Childrens Hearts.
Her mighty Sons in Arms and War renown'd,
With the rich Spoils of Conquer'd Monarchs crown'd,
Drunk with my Fury, with each other's blood
Delug'd the Plains, and swell'd sad Tyber's Flood.
Ev'n Christians whom their Founder had enjoyn'd,
To live in Bonds of Peace and Love combin'd;
Whence both their Strength and Beauty should arise,
And on them draw the World's admiring Eyes,
Inspir'd by me against each other rag'd,
For Empire strove, and in fierce War engag'd.
I taught them to despise the gentle Dove,
And into Savage Fury chang'd their Love.
They soon discern'd by Lights deriv'd from me,
That Kindness, Meekness, low Humility
Those Gospel Vertues that to Peace inclin'd,
Enfeebled and debased a Noble Mind.
The Streets which sounded with Seraphic Lays,
With Songs of Heav'nly Love and Sacred Praise,
Now with the Din of Arms and Trumpets sound,
And warlike noise shake all the Heav'ns around.
Their Mitred Captains spring into the Field,
Lay down the Crosier, and the Fauchion weild.
Th' outrageous Preachers of a Law of Peace,
From Strife and fierce Contention never cease.
The Sacred Prelates now for Arms declare,
Unfold their Gowns, and shake out horrid War.
The furious Shepherds o'er the Mountains scour,
Prevent the Wolves, and their own Flocks devour.
Their Love extinguish'd by my stronger flame,
Their Church a bloody Theater became,
Where with a Zeal that gives all Hell delight,
Ecclesiastic Gladiators Fight:
In bloody Prizes with prodigious rage,
The eager Champions of the Church engage.
That Church has found mine, a more fatal Fire
Then that wherein her Martyrs did expire.
The beauteous Charms and Graces that arose
From perfect Health which Unity bestows,
Soon wither'd and decay'd, and in their place
A sickly Hue deform'd her meagre face.
My single hand has nobler Conquests won
O'er the Vile Sect, than all your Arms have done.
In vain you brought your Scythians from the North,
In vain you led your Roman Armys forth.
Oppos'd by these the Christians greater grew,
And all their Suff'rings did their Strength renew.
Confed'rate Earth and Hell could never move
This Sect supported by their mutual Love.
I broke the strong Enchantment, and infus'd
Those heats which all the binding Cement loos'd.
The Bond dissolv'd which did the frame connect,
Into a thousand parts was rent the shatter'd Sect.
Each Fragment strait aspir'd to soveraign rule,
And every seperate Part would be the whole.
They did each other black Apostates deem,
But all themselves the Orthodox esteem.
With all th' abstracted Points the Schools could find,
And Notions by th' acutest Wit refin'd
I entertain'd and fand the glowing flame,
Till it attain'd a force too great to tame.
Sometimes the Zealots shed each others blood,
For Points by neither Party understood.
Fruitfull in Creeds and Councils Asia's soil
Is fam'd for fierce Ecclesiastic toil.
Anti-Nestorian at Nestorian rag'd,
And Arrian War with Anti-Arrian wag'd.
Their Synods oft adjourn'd into the Field,
And those were Hereticks, who first did yield.
All for the Conq'ring Faith did soon declare,
And Creeds were vary'd by the chance of War.
In Orthodoxal Pride by turns they reign'd,
As they by turns the Battle lost or gain'd.
These furious Zealots thus the World embroil'd,
And with unheard of Rage each other spoil'd.
So soon the Laws of Peace they did decline,
Despis'd their Master's Badge, and put on mine.
An idle Notion and an empty Word
Have dy'd with Christian Blood the reeking Sword.
Thus has the ruin'd World my Power confest,
And so much Zeal have I for Hell exprest:
Nor will I future Services decline,
But undertake the Province you enjoyn.
Strait to Britannia will I make my way,
She's Conscious of my Power, and must obey.

   She said. And strait she mounted in the Air,
And all behind her flew her Snaky Hair.
Thro' the dark Realms she swiftly wing'd her way,
And quickly reach'd the Silver Coasts of Day.
To Morogan's high Seat she took her flight,
Where she arriv'd when blended Shades and Light,
A brown Confusion made of Day and Night.
When Birds obscene fly from their dark abodes,
And prowling Wolves forsake the shady Woods.
The Lyon now who in his Den by Day
His lazy Limbs extended slumb'ring lay,
Yawning and stretching from his Covert comes,
Roars o'er the Hills, and thro' the Forest roams.
His lofty Palace near Augusta stood,
On the sweet Banks of Isis famous Flood,
Whither the Peer sowr with his Discontent
Came, in Augusta Faction to foment.
Along the Shore his flowry Gardens lay,
Which did with smiling looks the Stream survey.
Here walk'd proud Morogan with Cares opprest,
Holding his Arms across his anxious Breast.
When hither with her Crew the Fury came,
Whose pois'nous Breath, and the malignant flame
That thro' the Air her glaring Eye-balls cast,
All the delicious Gardens Glory blast.
The verdant Walks their charming Aspect lose,
And shriveld Fruit drop from the wither'd Boughs.
Flowers in their Virgin Blushes s