D. Arcos. Discourag'd with his death, the Moorish pow'rs Fell back; and, falling back, were press'd by ours. But, as when winds and rain together crowd, They swell till they have burst the bladder'd cloud; And first the lightning, flashing deadly clear, Flies, falls, consumes, kills ere it does appear:

So, from his shrinking troops, Almanzor flew;

Each blow gave wounds, and with each wound he slew. His force at once I envied and admir'd;

And, rushing forward, when my men retir'd,

Advanc'd alone.

K. Ferd.

Your

person,

You hazarded too far

and the fortune of the war.

D. Arcos. Already both our arms for fight did bare, Already held them threat'ning in the air:

When Heav'n (it must be Heav'n) my sight did guide
To view his arm, upon whose wrist I spied

A ruby cross in diamond bracelets tied.
And just above it, in the brawnier part,
By Nature was engrav'd a bloody heart.
Struck with these tokens, which so well I knew,
And stagg'ring back, some paces I withdrew;
He follow'd, and suppos'd it was my fear:
When, from above, a shrill voice reach'd his ear;
Strike not thy father, it was heard to cry;
Amaz'd, and casting round his wond'ring eye,
He stopp'd; then, thinking that his fears were vain,
He lifted up his thund'ring arm again:

Again the voice withheld him from my death:
Spare, spare his life, it cried, who gave thee breath:
Once more he stopp'd; then threw his sword away;
Bless'd shade, he said, I hear thee, I obey
Thy sacred voice; then, in the sight of all,
He at my feet, I on his neck did fall.

MARRIAGE À LA MODE. 1672.

Leon. See, she appears!

I'll think no more of anything, but her.
Yet I have one hour good ere I am wretched.
But, oh! Argaleon follows her, so night
Treads on the footsteps of a winter's sun,
And stalks all black behind him.

Palm. Do you remember, when their tasks were done, How all the youth did to our cottage run?

While winter winds were whistling loud without,
Our cheerful hearth was circled round about:
With strokes in ashes maids their lovers drew;
And still you fell to me, and I to you.

Leon. When love did of my heart possession take,
I was so young, my soul was scarce awake:
I cannot tell when first I thought you fair;
But suck'd in love insensibly, as air.

Palm. I know too well when first my love began,
When at our wake you for the chaplet ran:
Then I was made the lady of the May,
And, with the garland, at the goal did stay:
Still, as you ran, I kept you full in view;

I hop'd, and wish'd, and ran, methought, for you.
As you came near, I hastily did rise,

And stretch'd my arm outright, that held the prize.
The custom was to kiss whom I should crown:
You kneel'd; and, in my lap, your head laid down.
I blush'd, and blush'd, and did the kiss delay :
At last my subjects forc'd me to obey;

But, when I gave the crown, and then the kiss,
I scarce had breath to say, take that

and this.

Palm. In woods, and plains, where first my love began, There would I live, retir'd from faithless man:

I'd sit all day within some lonely shade,

Or that close arbour which your hands have made:
I'd search the groves, and ev'ry tree, to find
Where you had carv'd our names upon the rind:
Your hook, your scrip, all that was yours, I'd keep,
And lay them by me when I went to sleep.
Thus would I live: and maidens, when I die,
Upon my hearse white true-love knots should tie,
And thus my tomb should be inscrib'd above,
Here the forsaken virgin rests from love.

Palmyra. Alas, I had not render'd up my heart,
Had he not lov'd me first; but he preferr'd me
Above the maidens of my age and rank;

Still shunn'd their company, and still sought mine.
I was not won by gifts, yet still he gave;
And all his gifts, though small, yet spoke his love.
He pick'd the earliest strawberries in woods,
The cluster'd filberts, and the purple grapes:
He taught a prating stare to speak my name;
And when he found a nest of nightingales,
Or callow linnets, he would show them me,
And let me take them out.

Leonidas. That I survive the dangers of this day,
Next to the gods, brave friends, be yours the honour.
And let Heav'n witness for me, that my joy
Is not more great for this my right restor❜d,
Than 'tis, that I have power to recompense
Your loyalty and valour. Let mean princes,
Of abject souls, fear to reward great actions;
I mean to show,

That whatsoe'er subjects, like you, dare merit,
A king, like me, dares give

THE ASSIGNATION. 1672.

Duke. O that I could believe you! but your words
Are not enough disorder'd for true love;

They are not plain, and hearty, as are mine;
But full of art, and close insinuation:

You promise all, but give me not one proof

Of love before; not the least earnest of it.

Lucretia. And, what is then this midnight conversation? These silent hours divided from my sleep?

Náy, more, stolen from my prayers with sacrilege,
And here transferr'd to you? This guilty hand,
Which should be used in dropping holy beads,
But now, bequeath'd to yours? This heaving heart,
Which only should be throbbing for my sins,
But which now beats uneven time for you?
These are my arts! and these are my designs!

Luc. My beauty is a flower upon the stalk,
Goodly to see; but, gather'd for the scent,
And once with eagerness press'd to your nostrils,
The sweets drawn out, 'tis thrown with scorn away.
But I am glad I find you out so soon;

I simply loved, and meant (with shame I own it)
To trust my virgin honour in your hands.

I ask'd not wealth, for hire; and, but by chance,
(I wonder that I thought on't) begg'd one trial,
And, but for form, to have pretence to yield,
And that you have denied me. Farewell, I could
Have lov'd you, and yet, perhaps, I

Duke. O speak, speak out, and do not drown that word; It seem'd as if it would have been a kind one;

And yours are much too precious to be lost.

Luc. Perhaps

I cannot yet help loving you.

There 'twas. But I recall'd it in my mind,
And made it false, before I gave it air.

Who ever saw a noble sight,

That never view'd a brave sea fight!
Hang up your bloody colours in the air,

Up with your fights and your nettings prepare,
Your merry mates cheer, with a lusty bold spright,
Now each man his brindice, and then to the fight.
St. George, St. George we cry,

The shouting Turks reply.

Oh now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot,
Ply it with culverin and with small shot;

Hark, does it not thunder? no, 'tis the guns' roar,
The neighbouring billows are turn'd into gore;
Now each man must resolve to die,
For here the coward cannot fly.

Drums and trumpets toll the knell,
And culverins the passing-bell.

Now, now they grapple, and now board amain,
Blow up the hatches, they're off all again:
Give them a broadside, the dice run at all,
Down comes the mast and yard and tacklings fall,
She grows giddy now like blind Fortune's wheel,
She sinks there, she sinks, she turns up her keel.
Who ever beheld so noble a sight,

As this so brave, so bloody sea fight!

Ysabinda. Vain men! there are so many paths to death, You cannot stop them all; o'er the green turf