Now in the East of Saffron Morn arose,
And call'd the Lab'rer from his soft repose.
Thro' all the Region flew Loquacious Fame;
And the glad tydings spread, where'er she came.
Prince Arthur's Landed, is the general Cry,
Straight to their Arms the chearful Britons fly.
The great Restorer all prepare to meet,
And warlike Noise resounds in every Street.
His eager Friends impatient of delay,
Had long expected this Auspicious Day.
They knew he was Embark'd to bring them Aid,
And for his quick, and safe Arrival pray'd.
Oft on the Rocks and highest Hills they stood,
And all around the Subject Ocean view'd
With longing Eyes, hoping the sight to gain
Of Arthur's Conquering Navy on the Main.
And when no Fleet, no Arthur they descry'd,
They chid the Winds, and interposing Tyde.
With less impatience staid th' Ithacian Dame,
Till to her Arms her wish'd Ulysses came.
The Sestian Maid not with such Pa**ion stood,
To spy her Lover cutting thro' the Flood.
The Zealous Men while adverse Boreas reign'd,
And from the Coasts Prince Arthur's Fleet detain'd,
When mild Aurora with her rosy Light,
Began to streak the dusky Face of Night,
Oft from their Beds, up to the Windows flew,
And thence the Fanes and flying Clouds would view,
To see if yet more favourable Gales
Rose from the South, to swell Prince Arthur's Sails.
Anxious they look around, but when they find
Their hopes retarded by an adverse Wind,
Their Sorrow in repeated Sighs exprest,
They to their Beds return, but not to Rest.
Thus they expected Arthur's powerful Aid,
And such their Sorrow was, their Hopes delay'd.
But now, at last the Prince's Fleet arriv'd,
Raises their Courage, and their Hopes reviv'd.
The joyful Throngs Prince Arthur's Praise proclaim,
This every Tongue employs, ev'n Children aim,
That scarce have learn'd to speak, to lisp his Name.
Some praise his Stature, and his God-like Face,
His awful Presence, and Majestick Grace,
His Courage some, and Conduct in the Field,
And think great Cæsar's Fame to his, must yield.
His Clemency and Pity some admire,
And all the Virtues, that his Mind inspire.
The Actions of his Childhood some repeat,
In which they still discover'd something Great.
And now, what they expected he appears,
The Hero promis'd in his tender years.
Others relate the ancient Prophecies,
Wherein was told a Monarch should arise
Of mighty Power, and Universal Fame,
That should to Heav'n advance the British Name.
Things weigh'd, and well compar'd, they all consent
Arthur's the Conq'rour, that the Prophets meant.
Some tell their Friends, their Courage to support,
What mighty Guards surround the Prince's Court.
What Succours hir'd were from Germania brought,
Succours, as oft Victorious, as they fought.
Fierce Alpine Allobrogs with slaughter fed,
In Snows and everlasting Winter bred.
Men of stupendous Bulk, pamper'd and cloy'd
With Blood of Nations, which their Arms destroy'd.
Arm'd with broad, flaming Swords, and mighty Spears;
Their Caps were Wolves, their Coats rough Skins of Bears.
Who stretcht on Beds did n'er their Limbs repose,
But from the naked ground still vig'rous rose.
Of Aspect terrible, their squallid Face
Thick, matted Beards with bristly Terrour grace.
None e'er escap'd, that did their Arms provoke,
They Mow whole Squadrons with a single stroke.
This monstrous Kind of Men did Fame invent,
And Arthur's Troops so dreadful represent,
To raise the Britons Hearts before deprest,
And strike a Terrour thro' the Saxon's Breast.
With Joy transported all for Arms declare,
And all the Accoutrements of War prepare.
The Shepherds on the Hills forsake their Flocks,
And leave their brouzing Goats upon the Rocks.
Instead of Crooks, that did their Flocks command,
Long warlike Spears they brandish in their Hand.
The British Youth their Courage rais'd, rejoyce
To see the Banners fly, and hear the Trumpet's Voice.
The Farmers leave the Hopes their Field afford,
To reap fresh Laurels with their Conquering Sword.
The noise of War does from the Hills rebound,
And midst the Miners Eccho's under ground.
Who straight alarm'd, at nobler Labour Sweat,
And into Swords their glowing Metal beat.
Their Forges, Anvils and wide Bellows breath,
Are all employ'd in various kinds of d**h.
Some shape the Halbert, and broad Fauchion's Blade,
And Darts by some, and Arrows Heads are made.
Some forming Battle-Axes heave the Sledge,
Some into Shields strike out a flaming Wedge.
To fashion Helmets some the Hammer ply,
Some labour, Pieces for the Leg and Thigh.
With Lances arm'd, some their hot Coursers rein,
And to the War Curvet along the Plain.
Some with their clenching Gauntlets grasp the Shield,
Shake their long Spears, and rush into the Field.
Across their Shoulders some their Quivers hung,
Their Arrows trim'd, and Bows for d**h new strung.
As when black Clouds dark'ning the Summer Sky,
Loaded with Crystal Tempests slowly fly,
Th' Artillery discharg'd with mighty Sound
Th' exploded Hailstones, leap upon the ground,
Thunder amidst the Woods, and from the Hills rebound.
So with the Britons all the Region swarms,
So thick their Troops, so loud the noise of Arms.
The groaning Earth complains, and trembling feels
The trampling Hoofs, and Chariots fervid Wheels.
In order now, Celestial Muse, declare
What Troops, and who those ancient Britons were,
Who for their Country's Liberty combin'd,
And their Brigades with Arthur's Forces joyn'd.
From Time's dark Prisons set the Hero's free,
And may their glorious Names Immortal be.
First warlike Cadwall the Dimetians Head,
His Forces from the neighbouring Region led.
Their Troops advance from the bleak Northern Shore,
On which the Hybernian Sea's loud Billows roar.
And where Octopitarum thro' the Waves
Wedging his Way, the opposing Ocean braves.
Fair Maridunum pours her Squadrons forth,
Where the fam'd Sorc'rer Merlin had his Birth.
They came who dwelt round high Plinlimmon's Sides,
Where Stuccia flows, and swift Turobius glides.
King Meridoe the Oordovican leads
Down from the British Alps, whose snowy Heads
Imaus like, stand towring in the Air,
And midst the Stars eternal Winter bear.
And from the Soil lav'd by Conovius Flood,
And Menai's Banks, where then Segontium stood.
Great Numbers swarm'd from Mona's noble Isle,
Deform'd for Aspect, but of fertile Soil.
Where once in shady Groves erected stood,
The Druids Altars stain'd with humane Blood.
The Troops their March from Mediolanum take,
From Helen's Way, and the Tegeian Lake.
Thro' which fair Deva's Streams so swiftly pa**,
They uncorrupted shun th' impure Embrace.
Here the sublime Mervinian Mountains rise,
And with sharp-pointed Tops transfix the Skies.
Next Morogan the bold, Silures brought,
None for their Country's Freedom better fought.
They bravely Valens and his Troops withstood,
And dy'd Sabrina's Streams with Roman Blood.
With like Success Veranius they defeat,
And forc'd his vanquish'd Eagles to retreat.
This cause, as much their Courage did provoke,
To free their Country from the Saxon Yoke.
They take in hast their Swords and Bucklers down,
And march to meet the Prince from every Town.
From all the Cities on the verdant side
Of Nidus, and on Loghor's Crystal Tyde.
They march from Bovium, and the neighboring Shore,
Thick, as the Waves, that there insulting roar.
Down from the Hilly Lands the Britons came,
Which now th' Inhabitants Brechinia name.
Where the black Mount stands lofty in the Air,
And forky Peak, since call'd great Arthur's Chair.
They march from Bulleum, Haga, and the Lake,
Where when broad Sheets of Ice dissolving crack,
The ratling Noise rebounds from Neighb'ring Hills,
And with loud Thunder all the Region fills.
From Ariconium, and the flowry Space,
Which wanton Vaga's winding Arms embrace.
Where Lugus his transparent Bosom spreads,
And where Liddenus murmurs thro' the Meads.
Where thick Hesperian Woods with Apples crown'd,
Of golden Hue, enrich the Fields around.
Which the most generous British Wine produce,
Ausonia scarce affords a nobler Juice.
They leave the Fields fam'd for the purest Corn,
And the rich Plains that Wooly Flocks adorn,
Which bless the Farmer with a nobler Fleece,
Than what Apulia boasts, or fertile Greece.
They leave the golden Vale, and happy Ground
Which Dorus laves, and lofty Woods surround,
The warlike Youth from Venta came and those
That Muno's Flood and Isca's Streams inclose.
With those that round the Oazy Moor are bred,
And near the Golden Rocks refulgent Head.
Out from her Gates her Youth fair Isca pours.
Crown'd with gilt Spires, rich Domes, and lofty Towers.
Where Golden Roofs, and checker'd Floors abound,
Deep Vaults, and spacious Chambers under ground.
A stately Theater the Town o'erlooks,
And noble Works convey the neighb'ring Brooks,
By Conquering Romans built, that far from home
They might enjoy the Sports and Pomp of Rome.
Such was the ample City's ancient Fame,
Now worn by time it scarce preserves its Name.
Those from Gobanium march, a Town that stood
On Isca's and Gevini's confluent Flood.
In cheerful Troops the stout Cornavians came,
From the rich Soil we now Salopia name.
From either side of fair Sabrina's Tyde,
Whose silver Streams the fruitful Land divide.
From Usocona, end the Towns that lay
On the fam'd Roman Military way.
From Uriconium, yet a Noble Town,
And old Rutunium, then of good Renown.
Galbut their Leader at their Head appears
A lovely Youth, and Wise above his Years:
Descended from a Noble ancient Race
Of Heros, who the British Annals grace.
He by Forefathers Beams Illustrious shone,
Great by their Deeds, but greater by his own.
Zeal for his Country, and the British Cause,
The generous Youth to glorious Danger draws.
For this he crost the Ocean, to implore
Prince Arthur's Arms, their Freedom to restore.
The Prince embrac'd him, as his Fav'rite Friend,
And did his Zeal and Vigilance commend.
He staid the dear Companion of his Toil,
Both on the Seas, and on th' Armorick Soil.
And when the Saxon, and the British Fleet,
(A dreadful day) did on the Ocean meet,
By Arthur's side upon the Deck, he stood
Distain'd with scatter'd Brains, and reeking Blood.
The Youth at danger unconcern'd appear'd,
And nothing but his Country's Suff'rings fear'd.
He leap'd out first on the Dimetian Strand,
And welcom'd Arthur to his Native Land.
Where taking leave, he to his Country came,
To Head his Men, and win yet greater Fame.
Devana sends brave Troops, a noble Town,
For lofty Works, and splendid Structures known.
Where once the Roman Conquerours did reside,
And envy'd not Italia's Wealth and Pride.
The bold Inhabitants on Deva's Bank,
And they who Dan*s, and Merseia drank;
With those that had their Seats, along the Soil
Which Briny Riches gives with easie Toil;
Draw out and Muster on the Neighb'ring Plain,
Resolv'd the British Honour to regain.
Bothan their Captain was a Warlike Knight,
A brave Asserter of his Country's Right.
A noble, but ungovernable Fire,
(Such is the Hero's) did his Breast inspire.
His honest Rage, his Friends could scarely Rule,
Hot for the Camp, but not for Counsel Cool.
Fit to a**ist to pull a Tyrant down,
But not to please the Prince that mounts the Throne.
Impatient of Oppression, still he stood
His Country's Mounds, against th' invading Flood.
Impetuous, as a Tempest in its Course,
He not to Conduct trusted, but to Force.
Unsk**'d in Court Intreagues, on which the wise
And crafty Statesmen, as his strength, relies;
He still expected that a loud Applause,
Should follow Brav'ry, and a Righteous Cause,
His Country prais'd him; no Britannik Lord,
Was as his People's Patron more ador'd.
And Now in Arms they throng about their Head,
None to the Prince such numerous Forces led.
The Corintanians, that the Soil possest,
By fair Darventio's fruitful Waters blest,
And Repandunum, where clear Trenta's Tide
Do's into Dovo's silver Bosome glide.
Those near high Peak, in heavenly Waters drown'd,
And in the Dale, which craggy Rocks surround;
Their Zeal and Courage rais'd by loud Alarms,
Forsook their Seats, and Fields, and flew to Arms.
These valiant Men that Fame and Freedom sought,
To join the Prince's Arms Canvallo brought.
Noble Canvallo, who did with him bring
The Majesty, and Presence of a King.
Of lofty Stature, and a graceful Air,
By's own Sex fear'd, and favour'd by the Fair.
Th' Inglorious Pleasures of the wanton Court,
That drain'd his Wealth, did not the Patriot hurt,
Fit for the Camp, or Business of the State,
But soft Enjoyments Love to both abate.
Alarm'd with Publick Danger, he arose
Like a rous'd Lyon, from his long Repose.
Arm'd, and equip'd with gaeat Magnificence,
He mounts his fiery Turk, bought at a vast Expence.
His princely Train, and splendid Equipage,
Wher'ere he past the Eyes of all engag'd.
The Atrebatians From the happy Land,
Which then sublime Gallena did command.
Where winding Thamisis does bless the Soil,
The Wealth and Glory of the British Isle.
In War-like Bands advance to Arthur's Aid,
And rich Bertudor, as their Head obey'd,
Who still against the Pagan Interest strove,
Rich in Possessions, and his People's Love.
His happy Tenants, and the Farmers round,
His Hospitable House still open found.
Each Week ten Oxen from the Stall he drew,
A hundred Sheep, and forty Swine he slew;
Fat Venison, Fowl, and Fish, an endless Store,
To feed his Guests, his Servants, and the Poor.
He to the Woods, and Forrests was inclin'd,
To hunt the Fox, and chase the flying Hind.
Pleas'd with his Friends, and with his rural Sport,
He wisely shun'd, the Dangers of the Court.
But for the Christian Cause, and publick Peace,
He quits the Forrests, and his Wealth and Ease.
His Helmet brac'd, and on his Arm his Shield,
He march'd before his Troops into the Field.
And that my Verse may to his Name be just,
Of all the Lords Bertudor was the first,
That to the Camp, his valiant Forces brought,
Tho' not inur'd to War, and tho' remote.
The Durotriges from the western Coast,
Where the Britannick Ocean's Waves are tost.
Their Troops a**embled, for the Prince declare,
And march from all the Towns, to meet the War.
From Dornavaria, and the Seats that stand
On Froma's Stream, and wealthy Blackmoor Land:
From Vendogladia, and the Tow'rs that rose
On the fat Glebe, where pleasant Stourus flows.
Sakil their Leader, and Illustrious Peer,
Was to his Prince, and to his Country dear.
He, their Mæcenas cheers the British Bards,
Learns them to Sing, and then their Songs rewards.
So Heav'n to makes Men good, does Grace bestow,
And then rewards them for their being so.
Him as their Head the Athenian Sons adore,
The Muses Fav'rite, but the People's more.
To form great Men, his Palace was the School,
His Life good Breeding's, and good Nature's Rule.
To him the needy Men of Wit resort,
And find a Friend in an unletter'd Court.
The Poets Nation, did Obsequious wait
For the kind Dole, divided at his Gate.
Laurus amisdst the meagre Crowd appear'd,
An old, revolted, unbelieving Bard,
Who throng'd, and shov'd, and prest, and would be heard.
Distinguish'd by his louder craving Tone,
So well to all the Muses Patrons known,
He did the Voice of modest Poets drown.
Sakil's high Roof, the Muses Palace rung
With endless Cries, and endless Songs he sung.
To bless good Sakil Laurus would be first,
But Sakil's Prince, and Sakil's God he curst.
Sakil without distinction threw his Bread,
Despis'd the Flatt'rer, but the Poet fed.
His Sword the Muses great Defender draws,
T'a**ert Britannia's, and Religion's Cause.
Orson their Head, the bold Brigantes brings,
Subject of late, to the North-Saxon Kings.
Now for their Liberty they boldly speak,
And thro' the Foe, to joyn Prince Arthur, break.
Osron's Example all the Region fir'd,
With noble Heats, and Martial Thoughts inspir'd.
None in the Field did greater Courage show,
Whether he charg'd, or else sustain'd the Foe.
Yet none more fit in Council to preside,
And in a Storm, the lab'ring State to guide.
A mighty Genius of uncommon Mould,
As Cæsar Eloquent, as Cæsar Bold.
He could th' unstable People's Tumults stop,
And a declining Kingdom underprop.
Matur'd by Age, and business of the State,
The hoary Oracle in Council sate.
Where he the British Nestor ws esteem'd,
And all his Language, Inspiration seem'd.
This finish'd Statesman, did the Prince perswade
To pa** the Seas, the Saxon to invade.
And at his Landing quick Assistance brought,
And for his Country none more bravely fought.
The farthest Western Soil, which with their Wave
The British, and Hibernian Oceans lave.
From Isca's Noble Stream, far as the Shore
Where round Bolerium's Head the Billows roar,
By the Danmonian Britons was possest,
And with King Cador's, temperate Empire blest,
This war-like People, at their King's Command,
Now take up Arms, and muster thro' the Land.
The good King Cador worn with War and Age,
No longer does the Foe in Arms engage.
Macor his Son supply'd the Father's Place,
Whose Virtues equal'd his Illustrious Race.
To serve Prince Arthur, and his righteous Cause,
His Sword the brave Danmonian Hero draws.
A beauteous Youth, whose Breast a strong desire
Of Fame, and Martial Glory did inspire.
Eager of War, he the Danmonians led,
And shone in splendid Armour at their Head.
His coming, Joy to all the Britons gives,
And in his Arms, the Prince his Friend receives.
To whom to be endear'd, he always strove,
By all expressions of Respect and Love.
The Valiant Youth he did with Honours grace,
To his high Merit due, and noble Race.
Macor, mean time, Prince Arthur did adore,
None serv'd his Cause, or sought his Favour more.
Tracar, and Ormes in the Camp arrive,
Whose Presence to the rest, fresh Courage give.
Their Wisdom was by Fame aloud proclaim'd,
The Britons none with greater Honour nam'd.
Both fit about a Monarch to abide,
To aid his Counsels, and the State to guide.
None more admir'd for clear, unerring Sense,
For Piercing Sight, and charming Eloquence.
Great Spirits both, but of a different Mould,
Ormes impetuous, Tarbulent, and Bold;
But Tracar was compos'd, sedate, and cool,
His Pa**ions subject to a stricter Rule.
Ormes was haughty, inaccessible,
And knew his Riches, and his Sense too well.
Tracar was courteous, easie of Access,
Of great Humanity, and mild Address.
Ormes was therefore honour'd not desir'd,
Tracar belov'd, and equally admir'd.
Ormes would still advance unbounded Power,
Tracar his Country's Liberty secure.
Tracar had letters, Ormes Native Fire:
Both had by Birth, what Labour can't acquire.
Arthur to neither Rival Wit inclines,
But us'd them both, to serve his wise Designs.
Such Love the Britons to the Prince exprest,
Who when he found his Numbers thus encreast,
Advanc'd his Ensigns, and to Isca came,
Where the Silures dwelt, theh chief for Fame.
Hither fresh Squadrons to the Prince resort,
Which from that time is call'd great Arthur's Court.
Five times the Sun had his Diurnal Race
Compleated, when from this delightful place
The pious Prince his Ensigns mov'd, and came
To Glevum, seated on Sabrina's Stream.
Decamping hence, his arm'd Battalions gain
Prince Arthur at their Head, the fertile Plain
By easie Marches, where Gallena stood,
Which Thamisis laves with its noble Flood.
Thus stood the Britons, after his Defeat,
Octa with Grief did to his Coasts Retreat.
As when by chance a Royal Eagle spies,
From some high Mountains Top, amidst the Skies;
A flight of Swans, obscuring all the Air,
Swift as the Lightning, which he's said to bear,
Upon the Prey his Airy Flight he takes,
And with sharp Pounces vast Destruction makes.
Some fall struck dead, some wounded slowly fly,
While Snowy Clouds of Feathers fill the Sky.
Those that the fierce Invader's Strokes survive,
With all the speed, Fear to their Wings can give;
To their belov'd Cayster's Banks return,
And in their reedy Seats, their Wounds and Losses mourn.
So far'd the Saxons, and their shatter'd Fleet,
Octa forthwith Commands his Lords to meet
In Council, where they in long order sate
T'advise, what best might save their threaten'd State.
Cissa first spoke, an able Counsellour
Let us a**emble all our present power,
And straight advance the Britons to Attack,
Who to our Arms can small Resistance make.
Sore with their Wounds, and weary with their Toil,
They tempt the Saxons to an easie Spoil.
Boldly fall on, before their Troops are eas'd,
With Food and Rest, and with Recruits increas'd.
Your Wisdom thus, and Courage will appear,
Who tho defeated, have not learn'd to fear.
The Foe surpriz'd must to your Mercy yield,
Or to their Ships Retreating, quit the Field.
He ceas'd, then Osred, who had always won
By his wise Counsel great Applause, begun:
Our late Defeat has too much Terrour strook,
Thro' all our Troops, too much our Empire shook,
And too much flesh'd the Foe, to let me joyn
In this Advice, my Counsels more incline
To draw into the Field our utmost Power
From all the Saxon States, and to secure
Our Empire, let us labour to perswade
The Pict, and Scotish King, to give us Aid.
The Cause and Interest is the same of all,
They and their Gods, if we are crush'd, must fall.
Our Arms united in a numerous Host,
We may before of certain Conquest boast.
The trembling Foe unable to withstand
Such mighty Armies, will forsake the Land.
But if supported with vain hopes they stay,
They fall into our hands an easie Prey.
Pascentius next, a wise Nestorian head,
Whose Looks, and Words profound Attention bred:
Thus spoke-'tis true our Troops while thus dismay'd,
And of Prince Arthur's Fame, and Arms afraid,
From present Action justly may disswade.
Seeking the Foe we too great Danger run,
Embolden'd by his Victory lately won.
And thus far Osred's Thoughts and mine you see
Conspire, as in the rest they disagree.
If with our utmost Force we meet our Foes,
To too much hazard we our State expose.
Th' uncertain Game of War they little know,
That Stake an Empire on a single Throw.
While we delay to gather all our Force,
And to the Picts and Scots, shall have recourse;
Prince Arthur will advance, and mightier grow,
Like rolling Balls, that gather up the Snow,
Or Rivers taking Streams in, as they flow.
The Britons led by ancient Prophecies,
Expect that near this time, a Prince shall rise
Heroick, Wise, a mighty Conqueror,
That all their lost Dominions shall restore,
And o'er the World, extend their Naval Power.
Something like this, our Augurs seem to fear,
From Prodigies, and Signs that oft appear.
Those hopes they all of Arthur now express,
Drawn by his Fame abroad, and late Success.
While this Belief, tho' false, the Briton warms,
He grows less fearful of the Saxon Arms.
He'll be more bold in Fight, while thus inspir'd,
And with such Zeal, and Expectation fir'd.
Intoxicated thus Men Wonders do,
And by bold Deeds, make their vain Fancies true.
He therefore serves King Octa, that creates,
An Understanding first, between the States.
An Emba**y may to the Prince be sent,
To treat how Blood and ruin to prevent,
They may propose the Kingdom to divide,
And offer Octa's Daughter for his Bride,
Fair, Ethelina, whose perverted Mind,
To Christian Worship is too much inclin'd.
He ceas'd, and his Advice did chiefly please,
And of the Council most declar'd for Peace.
The Lords dispers'd, King Octa unresolv'd,
Long in his Mind his troubled Thoughts revolv'd.
With strong contending Tydes of Pa**ion prest,
Now War he looks on, now on Peace, as best.
Long he appear'd on Osred's Counsel bent,
And to the Neighb'ring Saxon Princes sent,
That all, the strong Necessity might know
Of joyning Arms, against the Common Foe.
At the same time an Emba**y he sends,
To make the Pict, and Scotish King his Friends.
That of their powerful Aid he might not fail,
If Arthur, and his Britons should prevail.
But when he heard, that Arthur had as far
As Glevum's Walls, advanc'd the threatning War,
Observing that the Saxons were dismaid,
And not yet strengthen'd by his Neighbours Aid,
He now declar'd, it was his setled Sense,
A Treaty with the Briton to Commence.
Then Orators he sent without delay,
Who to the Britons Camp direct their way.
Titullan, Selred, and wise Theocles
For this Negotiation chiefly please.
Heldured of the Emba**y was one,
Osrick and Thedred noble Ormar's Son.
Arriving at the Prince's Camp, they found
The British Youth in Crowds disperst around.
For then with various Sports, and manly Play,
The Britons solemniz'd, th' auspicious Day,
Of Arthur's Birth, o'er all the Fields they spred,
To different Games, by different Pa**ions led.
Here Chariots raising Clouds of Dust appear,
And run with smoaking Wheels their swift Career.
Here the robust Danmonian Nation swarms,
Hurling their ma**y Balls with vig'rous Arms.
Here the Dobunians to advance their Fame,
Toil at their Country's old laborious Game.
Long Ashen Staves across their Shoulders lie,
Then sway'd with both their Hands, strike thro the Sky.
A mounting Orb of Thongs, or well sow'd Hide,
While at due distance rang'd, on th' other Side
The Foe inclining stands, to wait its Fall,
And with like Force, strike Back the bounding Ball.
Incircled Wrestlers here their Manhood try,
And with loud Shouts, that rend the lab'ring Sky,
The standing Ring proclaims the Victory.
Some to a Cudgel prize their Fellows dare,
Who strait spring out to meet the wooden War.
They brandish in the Air their threat'ning Staves,
Their Hands, a woven Guard of Osier saves,
In which they fix their Hazel Weapon's End,
Thus arm'd, the nimble Combatants contend
For Conquest, giving and receiving Blows,
And down their Heads a crimson River flows.
Here flowry Garlands their proud Temples crown,
Whose airy Feet the Race had newly won.
Such were the Britons Sports, as thro' the Throng
The Saxon Orators pa**'d slow slow along.
Who strait were to th' August Pavilion led,
Where Arthur sate, his Lords around him spread.
To whom Edburga thus,
The Saxon King, whose ardent wishes are
To save Britannia, from Destructive War.
Who rather seeks t'enjoy the Fruits of Peace,
Then by his Arms his Empire to encrease.
Makes such Advances for these glorious Ends,
As may the Britons make his lasting Friends.
The Saxons, and the Britons shall command
Their equal Shares, of the divided Land.
Such Barrier shall be fixt, as shall secure
The Britons, jealous of the Saxon Power.
To give Britannia Peace, we condescend
To yield up what our Arms can well defend.
Such steps King Octa makes for Peace, beside
That both may yet with closer Bonds be ty'd,
Bright Ethelina, Octa's chief Delight,
Shall be the Link, the Nations to unite.
This so much envy'd Favorite of Fame,
Whom all with Love, and Admiration name.
Octa consents shall be your beauteous Bride,
To you already, in her Faith Ally'd.
These Measures all Contentions may adjust,
Friendship confirm, and fix a mutual Trust.
But if rejected, Octa does declare
He's guiltless of the dire effects of War.
Upon the Christians Head, will rest the Guilt
Of all the Blood, that by the Sword is spilt.
The Prince reply'd,
Affairs of that Importance to the State,
Require our thoughtful Care and calm Debate.
The two Proposals by King Octa made,
For lasting Friendship, shall be duly weigh'd.
Twice had the Sun broke from the Purple East,
Twice was he seen dilated in the West.
When Arthur seated on his Chair of State,
Thus spake, the Saxons with Attention wait.
An honourable Peace my Thoughts prefer,
To all the Triumphs of a Bloody War.
I, and my Britons, those just Terms approve,
King Octa makes t' establish Peace and Love,
To spare each Nation's Blood, and save the Isle
From Desolation, and destructive Spoil.
Indulgent Heav'n is to both Nations kind,
That has your King to peaceful Thoughts inclin'd.
Ten Lords of Saxon, ten of British Blood,
May meet at Spina near Cunetio's Flood.
T'adjust the Limits of each Nation's Power,
And Barriers fix, that may their Peace secure.
You for an Interview, the place will name,
Where I may see the beauteous Saxon Dame.
He ceas'd, and all the Audience pour'd around,
To this a**ented with a murmuring Sound.
A sudden Joy did in their Eyes appear,
While smiling Peace, triumph'd o'er vanquish'd War.
Mean time the Infernal Monarch wings his Flight,
To the White Hills, whence his Angelick Sight
Might all the Fields, and subject plains survey,
Where in their Camp, the hateful Britons lay.
While with malicious Eyes around he view'd,
The Christian Army fill'd with Joy, he stood
With Rage dilated, and with Envy blown,
Like glowing Ætna, on Plinlimon thrown.
Flashes of Fire from his red Eyeballs flow'd,
Like Lightning breaking from a lowring Cloud.
So when a Toad, squat on a Border spies,
The Gardner pa**ing by, his bloodshot Eyes
With Spite, and Rage inflam'd, dart Fire around
The verdant Walks, and on the flowry Ground,
The bloated Vermin loathsome Poison spits,
And swoln and bursting with his Malice sits.
So the faln Angel sate, and thus begun,
Am I, and all th' infernal Powers outdone?
And must this Briton still pursue his Course,
And thus elude my Arts, and all my Force?
What Christian Towns, and States have I destroy'd,
Forc'd by my Power, or by my Arts decoy'd?
How few remaining Christian Regions are,
Where no deep Marks of my Revenge appear?
What glorious Ruin did my Romans spread
O'er Asia's Christian; I the Lombards led,
And furious Huns, to rich Ausonia's Soil;
And fill'd the Land with Blood, and Christian Spoil,
My Maximin's, and Nero's, mighty Names,
What Desolation, by devouring Flames,
What Slaughter by the Sword, these Heros made,
With what Success did they the Saints invade?
And if the Fame be true that spreads in Hell,
In Gaul a Prince shall arise, that shall excel
All these, and more in Blood and Spoil delight,
And all Hell's Furies to his Aid invite.
Let that great Prince arise, and may his Birth,
Be honour'd with Convulsions of the Earth,
Eclipses, Comets, Meteors, Lightnings, Storms,
Murders, and Monsters of tremendous Forms.
Nor are there Triumphs of my Power alone,
Much weaker Spirits, have great Conquests won.
Spirits of Lower Order, small renown,
In Hell of little Figure, scarcely known.
Inferiour, subaltern Divinities,
Could often their just Fury to appease,
To wreck their Rage, and honest Malice cloy,
Whole Armies of this hateful Sect destroy:
First tempt th' ungrateful Murmurers to Rebel,
And then with Plagues and Darts invisible,
With Fire, and Earthquakes lay all wast, disseize
Their God, and ruin all his Votaries.
And shall this Briton my Force defy,
And introduce his banish'd Deity?
High States of Hell, ye mighty Gods below,
In your August Assemblies who will Bow,
Who Acclamations make when I appear,
Who dread my Power, my Greatness who revere?
If still this Briton shall resist my Power,
And all my Arts eluded, rest secure?
But if by irresistable Deceree
Pronounc'd by Fate, and unchang'd Destiny;
Arthur at last must mount the British Throne,
Beat down our Altars, and erect his own.
At least new hardships shall obstruct his Way,
And my Revenge his Triumphs shall delay.
That said he Flew, his Snakie Wings display'd,
Down to his Palace midst th' Infernal Shade.
From all their gloomy Regions to his Court,
At his Command, th' Infernal Lords resort.
To whom their Monarch from his glowing Throne
Thus with a haughty, troubled Look begun.
Thus far in vain all our Attempts are made,
To crush the Britons that our State invade.
At Sea, they Triumph o'er King Octa's Fleet,
At Land, Success above their Hopes, they meet.
Octa defeated, dreads Prince Arthur's Arms,
And sues for Peace, by Ethelina's Charms.
If this should once prevail, Britannia's lost,
We, and our Priests, must fly this impious Coast.
Help'd by th' Almighty Enemy of Hell,
They yet our Arms escape, our Power repel.
Then Monarch's War with vast advantage wage,
When Heav'n its Power does on their part Engage.
This sure Expedient's left us to annoy
The Britons, and their tow'ring Hopes destroy.
Let us provoke them to some dire Offence,
Which may against their Armies, Heav'n incense.
Then the Seraphick Guards, that round them ly,
Or else patroling thro' the Region fly,
Scowring the Hills and Vales, with flaming Arms,
The Christians to protect from our Alarms;
These will displeas'd, withdraw their powerful Aid,
And we with Safety may their Camp invade.
What subtile Spirit of seducing Art,
And sk** in tempting, will perform this part?
Then filthy Asmodai who Men inspires
With wanton Pa**ions, and unclean Desires,
Whose leud Adorers stand before his Shrine,
Transform'd to lustful Goats, and loathsome Swine,
Thus spake: This grateful Province I embrace,
I from their Minds will virtuous Pa**ions chase.
My stronger Force shall all chast Thoughts expel,
And Heav'n's weak Flames, shall yield to those of Hell.
To solemn Groves, and lonesome Hermits Cells,
Where boasted Chastity in Triumph dwells,
To Cloyster'd Monks Admission I command,
And can a Camp my powerful Charms withstand?
On me such chosen Spirits shall attend,
Whose Sk** and Power will most promote my End.
The Gods of Riot, Luxury and Wine,
In this Attempt shall all their Forces joyn.
Doubt not great Prince, when we their Camp Assail,
Nature is on our side, we shall prevail.
Th' Infernal Diet with his Language mov'd,
With loud Applause the wise Design approv'd.
Straight Asmodai attended with a Train
Of soft Luxurious Spirits, to the Plain
Directs his Flight, where the glad Britons lay;
With lab'ring Wings he mounts the steepy Way,
And quickly reach'd the tender Verge of Day.
In Companies distinct the Britons fate,
Pleas'd with their wish'd Success, and prosp'rous Fate.
When to the Camp the Crew Infernal came,
Grasping in either hand Tartarean Flame.
About from Tent to Tent the Demons flew,
And midst the Troops their flaming Torches threw.
The wanton Fires about their Bosoms play,
And to their Hearts lascivious warmth convey.
The soft Contagion glides along their Veins,
And in their Breasts the pleasing Poison reigns.
Straight all in Riot and Debauches joyn,
Dissolve in Mirth, and sit inflam'd with Wine.
The Captains Snore on Scarlet spread beneath,
And with their lab'ring Breasts contend for Breath.
Tables o'erturn'd and broken Swords betwixt,
And Dishes faln, with Armour intermixt,
Helmets and Harness, and bruis'd Goblets by,
A mad Confusion, make of War, and Luxury:
Acted with lustful Fires, from Town to Town
Commanders and their Men promiscuous run.
With Outrages and ravish'd Virgins Spoils,
The vicious Army all the Land defiles.
who*edoms in Pagan Cities they commit,
And at their Sacrifices feasting sit.
Heated with leud Religion, Lust, and Wine
They in the Worship of their Idols join.
Then to tht Camp the hot Adulterers lead
Their Pagan Women and avow the Deed.
Th' Angelick Guards th' enormous vices saw,
And in Displeasure from their Camp withdraw.
All Hell with Shouts of Triumph did resound,
That Such Success had all their Wishes crown'd.
The Prince of Hell strait summons from beneath
The chief supporter of the Throne of d**h,
Vengeful Megæra, she without Delay
From Hell's Abyss ascends, and in her Way
Gathers raw Damps and Steams from noisome Graves,
And putrid Reeks, from Subterranean Caves;
Where spotted Plagues first draw their poisonous Breath,
The Nurseries of Pain, and Magazines of d**h.
These Seeds of Torment, and devouring Heats,
From whose Contagion vanquish'd Life retreats,
Megæra in compacted Hides dark Wombs,
For this infernal Purpose made, entombs.
In their distinct Repositories laid,
Sad choice of d**h, she various Plagues convey'd.
Arm'd for Destruction thus the Fury Came,
And brought from Asmodai's, a different Flame.
Then Wolves were heard in neighb'ring Hills to howl,
Th' illboding Raven and the screaching Owl
Sung o'er the Camp by Night, the Sun by Day,
Distain'd with Blood, shone with a dismal Ray.
The cruel Fury strait her Flight did take
To find her Prince, to whom th' Apostate spake.
Go, glut thy Rage, and let the Britons know,
Hell's Monarch is not yet a vanquish'd Foe.
Pa** thro their Camp with thy accustom'd Hast,
And on them all thy deadly Treasures wast.
Strait did the vengeful Minister prepare,
T' infect the Camp, and poison all the Air.
Her Bottles turgid with imprison'd d**h
She open'd, and releas'd the fatal Breath.
In livid Wheels the dire Contagion flies,
And putrid Exhalations taint the Skies.
The Region's choak'd with Pestilential Steams,
Malignant Reeks, raw Damps, and soultry Gleams.
Now with their Breath the hot Infection slides
Into their Breasts, and thro' their Vitals glides.
Their Lab'ring Hearts spout out the flowing Blood,
And fry the Limbs with an Ætnean Flood.
The raging Pest'lence chases thro' the Veins
Retreating Life, and drest in purple Reigns.
While other Plagues run colder to the Heart,
And thro' their Breast strike like a poison'd Dart.
Rack'd with tormenting Pain some gasping lie,
Some only breath th' envenom'd Air, and die.
Their Hearts with chill, congealing Blood opprest,
Throb a few moments in their panting Breast,
Then yield, and from their Vital Labour rest.
In vain for Help, in vain for Drugs they cry,
Friends and Physitians come, but with them dy.
Thro' all the Camp the fierce Destruction's spread,
Deforming every Tent with Heaps of Dead.
Mean time the pious Arthur prostrate laid,
Thus in a Flood of Tears dissolving pray'd:
Great King of Heav'n, thy Arm thou makest bare,
T' invade the Britons with resistless War.
Thy glitt'ring Sword brandish'd with dreadful Sway,
Does thro our Camp with wide Destruction Slay.
Why did thy Aids the Shipwreckt Britons save,
From Rocks and Tempests, and th' insulting Wave,
If we must only see our Native Isle,
And with our Dead th' encumber'd Land defile?
Th' insulting Heathen will Blaspheme thy Name,
And in their Songs advance their Idols Fame.
To their vain Gods loud Praises they'll return,
And Hecatombs upon their Altars burn.
Spare yet thy Britons, let some Reliques live,
That may due Honours to thy Temples give.
Let the Destroyer cease at thy Command,
And d**h at thy Rebuke arrested, stand.
And may the Crimes that Heav'n provoke, be known,
That our deep Sorrows may its Wrath atone.
The pious Prince's humble Cries succeed,
And glorious Raphael with Angelick speed
Descends, his Sword of Flame drawn in his Hand,
To chase the fierce Destroyer from the Land.
A Crystal Vial full of Od'rous Fumes,
Ambrosial Balm, and rich Etherial Gums;
His other hand pour'd out upon the Air,
To cure the Damps, and noxious Vapours there.
Megæra flies the bright Archangel's Sword,
The Plague was staid, and Health and Life restor'd.
Then to the room swift Raphael Wings his way,
Where Arthur still devoutly prostrate lay.
To whom the Seraph thus:
Heav'n by the Britons daring Crimes incens'd,
Almighty Wrath severely has dispenc'd!
Your unprotected Camp it did expose,
To the dire Rage of your Infernal Foes.
Who by Divine Permission soon o'erspread
Your guilty Camp, with putrid Heaps of Dead.
Th' Angelick Guards return'd to Heaven, complain'd
That your flagitious Troops you n'er restrain'd.
Your Captains boldly who*edoms, Riots, Rapes
Commit, and yet each Criminal escapes.
Thus you avow the Ills, by others done,
And their unpunish'd Guilt, becomes your own.
Had your Vindictive Arm been first employ'd,
Heav'n's had not thus your guilty Troops destroy'd.
But now th' Eternal yielding to your Prayer,
Has sent me from his Throne, with speedy Care
To stay the Plague, and make the Fiend retreat,
That spreads the Poison, to her Stygian Seat.
Heav'n's now appeas'd, may ne'er the Britons dare
By their Revolting, to renew the War.
The Seraph disappear'd, and Arthur rais'd
Upon his Feet, th' Eternal Goodness prais'd.