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Such was the lake which held this dreadful pair
Within the bounds of noble Warwick's fhare;
Warwick's bold Earl! than which no title bears
A greater found among our British peers;
And worthy he the mem'ry to renew,
The fate and honour to that title due,
Whose brave adventures have transferr'd his name,
And through the new world spread his growing
fame.-

But how they fought, and what their valour gain'd,
Shall in another Canto be contain❜d.

CANTO III.

The bloody fight, fuccefslefs toil,
And how the fishes fack'd the ifle.

THE boat which on the first affault did go,
Strook with a harping-ir'n the younger foe;
Who, when he felt his fide fo rudely ger'd,
Loud as the fea that nourish'd him he roar'd.
As a broad bream, to please some curious taste.
While yet alive, in boiling water cast,
Vex'd with unwonted heat he flings about
The fcorching brafs, and hurls the liquor out;
So with the barbed jav'lin stung, he råves,
And fcourges with his tale the fuff'ring waves.
Like Spenfer's Talus with his iron flail,
He threatens Tuin with his pond'rous tail;
Diffolving at one stroke the batter'd boat,
And down the men fall drenched in the moat;
With ev'ry fierce encounter they are forc'd
To quit their boats, and fare like men unhors'd..

The bigger whale like fome huge carrack lay,
Which wanteth fea-room with her foes to play:
Slowly the fwims, and when provok'd, fhe wou'd
Advance her tail, her head falutes the mud:
The shallow water doth her force infringe,
And renders vain her tail's impetuous fwinge:
The fhining fteel her tender fides receive,
And there, like bees, they all their weapons leave.
This fees the cub, and does himself oppose
Betwixt his cumber'd mother and her foes:
With defp'rate courage he receives her wounds,
And men and boats his active tail confounds.
Their forces join'd, the feas with billows fill,
And make a tempeft though the winds be still.

Now would the men with half their hoped prey Be well content, and with this cub away: Their wish they have: he (to direct his dam Unto the gap though which they thither came) Before her fwims, and quits the hostile lake, A pris'ner there but for his mother's fake. She by the rocks compell'd to stay behind, Is by the vastness of her bulk confin'd.

They fhout for joy! and now on her alone
Their fury falls, and all their darts are thrown.
Their lances spent, one, bolder than the rest,
With his broad fword provok'd the fluggish beast;
Her oily fide devours both blade and haft.
And there his steel the bold Bermudan left.
Courage the reft from his example take,
And now they change the colour of the lake:
Blood flows in rivers from her wounded fide,
As if they would prevent the tardy tide,
And rife the flood to that propitious height,
As might convey her from this fatal ftreight.
She fwims in blood, and blood dees fpouting throw
To heav'n, that Heav'n men's cruelties might
know.

Their fixed jav'lins in her fide she wears;
And on her back a grove of pikes appears,
You would have thought, had you the monster
feen

Thus dreft, fhe had another island been.
Roaring fhe tears the air with such a noise,
As well refembled the conspiring voice
Of routed armies, when the field is won,
To reach the cars of her escaped fon :
He, though a league removed from the foe,
Haftes to her aid: the pious Trojan (1) so,
Neglecting for Creufa's life his own,
Repeats the danger of the burning town.
The men, amazed, blush to see the feed
Of monsters human piety exceed,

Well proves this kindnefs, what the Grecian fung,
That love's bright mother from the Ocean sprung.
Their courage droops, and, hopelefs now, they wish
For compofition with th' unconquer'd fish;
So fhe their weapons would restore again,
Through rocks they'd hew her paffage to the main.
But how inftructed in each other's mind?
Or what commerce can men with monsters find?
Not daring to approach their wounded foe,
Whom her courageous fon protected fo,
They charge their mufquets, and, with hot defire
Of fell revenge, renew the fight with fire;
Standing aloof, with lead they bruise the scales,
And tear the flesh of the incenfed whales.
But no fuccefs their fierce endeavours found,
Nor this way could they give one fatal wound.
Now to their fort they are about to fend
For the loud engines which their isle defend;
But what those pieces, fram'd to batter walls,
Would have effected on those mighty whales,
Great Neptune will not have us know, who fends
A tide fo high that it relieves his friends.
And thus they parted with exchange of harms;
Much blood the monsters loft, and they their arms,

(1) Eneas.

EPISTLES.

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I.

TO THE KING.

ON HIS NAVY.

WHERE'ER thy navy spreads her canvass wings,
Homage to thee, and peace to all the brings:
The French and Spaniard, when thy flags appear,
Forget their hatred, and consent to fear.

So Jove from Ida did both hosts survey,

And when he pleas'd to thunder, part the fray.
Ships heretofore in feas like fishes sped,
The mightiest ftill upon the smallest fed:
Thou on the deep impofeft nobler laws,
And by that juftice haft remov'd the cause
Of those rude tempefts, which for rapine fent,
Too oft', alas! involv'd the innocent.
Now fhall the Ocean, as thy Thames, be free
From both those fates of ftorms and piracy.
But we most happy, who can fear no force
But winged troops, or Pegafean horse.
'Tis not fo hard for greedy foes to spoil
Another nation, as to touch our foil.
Should Nature's felf invade the world again,
And o'er the centre spread the liquid main,
Thy pow'r were fafe, and her destructive hand
Would but enlarge the bounds of thy command:
Thy dreadful fleet would style thee Lord of All,
And ride in triumph o'er the drowned ball;
Thofe tow'rs of oak o'er fertile plains might go,
And vifit mountains where they once did grow.

'The world's Reftorer once could not endure
That finish'd Babel fhould thofe men fecure,
Whose pride defign'd that fabric to have stood
Above the reach of any fecond flood;
To thee, his chofen, more indulgent, he
Dares truft fuch pow'r with so much piety,

II.

TO THE QUEEN, Occafioned upon fight of

HER MAJESTY'S PICTURE.

WELL fare the hand which to our humble fight Prefents that beauty which the dazzling light

Of royal fplendour hides from weaker eyes,
And all acceís, fave by his art, denies.
Here only we have courage to behold
This beam of glory, here we dare unfold.
In numbers thus the wonders we conceive:
The gracious image, seeming to give leave,
Propitious ftands, vouchfafing to be seen,
And by our Mufe faluted Mighty Queen,
In whom th' extremes of pow'r and beauty move,
The Queen of Britain, and the Queen of Love!
As the bright fun (to which we owe no fight
Of equal glory to your beauty's light)
Is wifely plac'd in fo fublime a feat,
T' extend his light and moderate his heat;
So happy 'tis you move in such a sphere,
As your high Majesty with awful fear
In human breasts might qualify that fire,
Which kindled by thofe eyes had flamed higher
Than when the fcorched world like hazard run
By the approach of the ill-guided fun.

No other nymphs have title to men's hearts,
But as their meannefs larger hope imparts:
Your beauty more the fondeft lover moves
With admiration than his private loves;.
With admiration for a pitch fo high,
(Save facred Charles his) never love durft fly.
Heav'n that preferr'd a fceptre to your hand,
Favour'd our freedom more than your command:
Beauty had crown'd you, and you must have been
The whole world's mistress, other than a Queen.
All had been rivals, and you might have spar'd,
Or kill'd and tyranniz'd, without a guard,
No pow'r achiev'd, either by arms or birth,
Equals Love's empire both in heav'n and earth.
Such eyes as your's on Jove himself have thrown
As bright and fierce a lightning as his own:
Witness our Jove, prevented by their flame
In his fwift paffage to th' Hefperian dame :
When, like a lion, finding in his way
To fome intended spoil a fairer prey,
The royal youth pursuing the report
Of beauty, found it in the Gallic court;
There public care with private paflion, fought
A doubtful combat in his noble thought:
Should he confefs his greatness and his love,
And the free faith of your great brother (1) prove;

(1) Lewis XIII, Kof France,

With his Achates (1) breaking through the cloud
Of that difguife which did their graces fhroud;
And mixing with those gallants at the ball,
Dance with the ladies, and outshine them all;
Or on his journey o'er the mountains ride?-
So when the fair Leucothoë he efpy'd,
To check his steeds impatient Phoebus yearn'd,"
Though all the world was in his courfe concern'd.
What may hereafter her meridian do,
Whofe dawning beauty warm'd his bofom fo?
Not fo divine a flame, fince deathlefs gods]
Forbore to vifit the defil'd abodes

Of men, in any mortal breaft did burn;
Nor fhall, till Piety and they return.

III.

ΤΟ ΤΗΣ

QUEEN-MOTHER OF FRANCE,

UPON HER LANDING,

GREAT Queen of Europe! where thy offspring

wears

All the chief crowns; where princes are thy heirs;
As welcome thou to fea-girt Britain's shore
As erft Latona (who fair Cynthia bore)
To Delos was: here fhines a nymph as bright,
By thee difclos'd with like increase of light.
Why was her joy in Belgia confin'd?
Or why did you fo much regard the wind?
Scarce could the ocean (tho' enrag'd) have toft
Thy fov'reign bark, but where th' obfequious coast
Pays tribute to thy bed. Rome's conqu'ring hand
More vanquish'd nations under her command
Never reduc'd. Glad Berecynthia fo
Among her deathlefs progeny did go;
A wreath of tow'rs adorn'd her rev'rend head,
Mother of all that on ambrofia fed.
Thy godlike race muft fway the age to come,
As the Olympus peopled with her womb.

Would thofe commanders of mankind obey
Their honour'd parent, all pretences lay
Down at your royal feet, compofe their jars,
And on the growing Turk difcharge thefe wars;
The Chriftian knights that facred tomb fhould wrest
From Pagan hands, and triumph o'er the Eaft:
Our England's Prince, and Gallia's Dolphin, might
Like young Rinaldo and Tancredi fight:
In fingle combat by their swords again
The proud Argantes and fierce Soldan flain :
Again might we their valiant deeds recite,
And with your Tuscan Muse (2) cxalt the fight.

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| Their rude inhabitants his song admir'd,
And nature's felf, in those that could not lie:
Your beauty next our folitude invades,

And warms us fhining through the thickeft fhades.

Nor ought the tribute which the wond'ring court
Pays your fair eyes, prevail with you to fcorn
The anfwer and confent to that report,
Which, echo-like, the country does return:
Mirrors are taught to flatter, but our springs
Prefent th' impartial images of things.

A rural judge (3) difpos'd of beauty's prize;
A fimple fhepherd (3) was preferr'd to Jove:
Down to the mountains from the partial skies,
Came Juno, Pallas, and the Queen of Love,
To plead for that which was so justly giv'n
To the bright Carlisle of the court of heav'n.

Carlisle ! a name which all our woods are taught
Loud as their Amaryllis to refound:
Carlisle a name which on the bark is wrought
Of ev'ry tree that's worthy of the wound.
From Phoebus' rage our fhadows and our ftreams
May guard us better than from Carlifle's beams,

V.

TO PHYLLIS.

PHYLLIS! 'twas love that injur'd you,
And on that rock Your Thyrfis threw,
Who for proud Cælia could have dy'd,
While you no lefs accus'd his pride.

Fond love his darts at random throws,
And nothing fprings from what he fows:
From foes difcharg'd as often meet
The fhining points of arrows fleet,
In the wide air creating fire,
As fouls that join in one defire.

Love made the lovely Venus burn In vain, and for the cold youth (4) mourn," Who the purfuit of churlifh beafts Preferr'd to fleeping on her breasts.

Love makes fo many hearts the prize Of the bright Carlifle's conqu'ring eyes, Which the regards no more than they The tears of leffer beauties weigh. So have I feen the loft clouds pour Into the fea an ufelefs fhow'r, And the vex'd failors curfe the rain, For which poor fhepherds pray'd in vain. Then PhyHis, fince our pallions are Gayern'd by chance, and not the care, But fport of Heav'n, which takes delight To look upon this Parthian fight

Of Love, ilill flying, or in chafe,

Never encount'ring face to face,

No more to Love we'll facrifice,

But to the best of deities;

And let our hearts, which Love disjoin'd By his kind mother be combin'd.

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VI.

TO MY

LORD OF NORTHUMBERLAND,

UPON THE DEATH OF HIS LADY.

Tothis great lofs a fea of tears is due,
But the whole debt not to be paid by you:
Charge not yourself with all, nor render vain
Thofe fhow'rs the eyes of us your fervants rain,
Shall grief contra& the largenefs of that heart
In which nor fear nor anger has a part?
Virtue would blufh if time fhould boaft (which
drics,

Her fole child dead, the tender mother's eyes)
Your mind's relief, where reafon triumphs fo
Over all paffions, that they ne'er could grow
Beyond their limits in your noble breast,
To harm another, or impeach your rest.
This we obferv'd, delighting to obcy
One who did never from his great self stray:
Whofe mild example feemed to engage
Th' obfequious feas, and teach them not to rage.
The brave Æmilius, his great charge laid down,
(The force of Rome, and fate of Macedon)
In his loft fons did feel the cruel ftroke
Of changing fortune, and thus highly spoke
Before Rome's people; "We did eft' implore,
"That if the Heav'ns had any bad in store

For your Emilius, they would pour that ill
"On his own houfe, and let you flourish feill."
You on the barren feas, my Lord, have spent
Whole fprings and fummers to the public lent;
Sufpended all the pleasures of your life,
And shorten'd the fhort joy of fuch a wife;
For which your country's niore obliged than
For many lives of old lefs happy men.
You that have facrific'd fo great a part
Of youth, and private blifs, ought to impart
Your forrow too, and give your friends a right
As well in your affliction as delight.
Then with Æmilian courage bear this cross
Since public perfons only public lofs
Ought to affect. And though her form and youth
Her application to your will and truth,
That noble fweetness, and that humble state,
{All fnatch'd away by fuch a hafty fate!)
Might give excufe to any common breast,
With the huge weight of fo juft grief oppreft;
Yet let no portion of your life be stain'd
With paffion, but your character maintain'd
To the last act. It is enough her ftone
May honour'd be with fuperfcription
Of the fole lady who had pow'r to move
The great Northumberland to grieve and love.

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Embrace the hero, and his ftay implore;
Make it their public fuit, he would no more
Defert them fo, and for his fpoufe's fake,
His vanish'd love, tempt the Lethean lake.
The ladies, too, the brighteft of that time,
(Ambitious all his lofty bed to climb)
Their doubtful hopes with expectation feed,
Who fhall the fair Eurydice fucceed:
Eurydice for whom his num'rous moan
Makes lift'ning trees and favage mountains groan:
Through all the air his founding ftrings dilate
Sorrow like that which touch'd our hearts of late.
Your pining fickness, and your reftlefs pain,
At once the land affecting and the main,
When the glad news that you were Admiral
Scarce through the nation fpread, 'twas fear'd by
all,

That our great Charles, whofe wisdom fhines in you,

Would be perplexed how to choose a new.
So more than private was the joy and grief,'
That at the worft it gave our fouls relief,
That in our age fuch fenfe of virtue liv'd,
They joy'd fo juftly, and fo juftly griev'd.
Nature (her faireft lights eclipfed) feems
Herfelf to fuffer in thofe fharp extremes;
While not from thine alone thy blood retires,
But from thofe cheeks which all the world ad
mires,

The ftem thus threaten'd, and the fap in thee,
Droop all the branches of that noble tree!
Their beauty they, and we our love fufpend;
Nought can our wifhes, fave thy health, intend.
As lilies overcharg'd with rain, they bend
Their beauteous heads, and with high heav's
contend;

Fold thee within their fnowy arms, and cry
He is too faultlefs and too young to die.
So like immortals round about thee they
Sit, that they fright approaching death away.
Who would not languifh, by fo fair a train
To be lamented and reftor'd again?

Or, thus withheld, what hafty foul would go,
Though to the bleft? O'er young Adonis fo
Fair, Venus mourn'd, and with the precious

fhow'r

Of her warm tears cherish'd the fpringing flow'r. The next fupport, fair hope of your great

name,

And fecond pillar of that noble frame,
By lofs of thee would no advantage have,
But ftep by step purfue thee to the grave,
And now relentless Fate, about to end
The line which backward docs fo far extend
That antique ftock, which ftill the world fupplies
With bravest fpirits and with brighteft eyes,
Kind Phœbus, interpofing, bid me fay,

Such ftorms no more fhall fhake that house but they,

Like Neptune, and his feaborn niece (1) fhall be The fhining glories of the land and sea ;

With courage guard, and beauty warm, our age, And lovers fill with like poetic rage.

(1) Venus).

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RARE Artifan! whose pencil moves
Not our delights alone, but loves;
From thy fhop of beauty we
Slaves return'd that enter'd free.
The heedlefs lover does not know

Whofe eyes they are that wound him fo; But, confounded with thy art, Inquires her name that has his heart. Another, who did long refrain, Feels his old wound bleed fresh again With dear remembrance of that face, Where now he reads new hope of grace: Nor fcorn nor cruelty does find, But gladly fuffers a falfe wind To blow the ashes of despair From the reviving brand of care, Fool that forgets her stubborn look This foftness from thy finger took. Strange! that thy hand fhould not infpire The beauty only, but the fire: Not the form alone, and grace, But act and power of a face. May'ft thou yet thyfelf as well, As all the world befides, excel ! So you th' unfeign'd truth rehearse, (That I may make it live in verse) Why thou couldst not at one effay, That face to aftertimes convey, Which this admires. Was it thy wit To make her oft before thee fit? Confefs, and we'll forgive thee this; For who would not repeat that blifs? And frequent fight of such a dame Buy with the hazard of his fame? Yet who can tax thy blameless skill, Though thy good hand had failed ftill, When nature's felf fo often errs? She for this many thousand years Seems to have practis'd with much care, To frame the race of women fair; Yet never could a perfect birth Produce before to grace the earth, Which waxed old e'er it could fee Her that amaz'd thy art and thee.

But now 'tis done, O let me know Where thofe immortal colours grow That could this deathless piece compose! In lilies? or the fading rofe?

No; for this theft thou hast climb'd higher Than did Prometheus for his fire.

IX.

TO MY LORD OF LEICESTER.

Nor that thy trees at Penhurt groan,
Oppreffed with their timely load,
And feem to make their filent moan,
That their great Lord is now abroad :
They to delight his taste or eye
Would spend themselves in fruit, and die.

Not that thy harmless deer repine,
And think themselves unjustly flain
By any other hand than thine,
Whofe arrows they would gladly ftain;
No, nor thy friends, which hold too dear
That peace with France which keeps thee there.

All these are lefs than that great cause
Which now exacts your prefence here,
Wherein there meet the divers laws
Of public and domestic care.

For one bright nymph our youth contends,
And on your prudent choice depends.

Not the bright fhield of Thetis' fon⚫
(For which fuch ftern debate did rife,
That the great Ajax Telamon
Refus'd to live without the prize)
Those Achive peers did more engage
Than fhe the gallants of our age.

That beam of beauty which begun
To warm us fo when thou wert here,
Now fcorches like the raging fun,
When Sirius does first appear.

O fix this flame! and let despair
Redeem the reft from endless care.

X.

TO MRS. BRAGHTON,

SERVANT TO SACHARISSA.

FAIR fellow-fervant! May your gentle ear
Prove more propitious to my lighted care
Than the bright dame's we ferve: for her relief
(Vex'd with the long expreffions of my grief)
Receive these plaints; nor will her high difdain
Forbid my humble mufe to court her train.

So, in those nations which the fun adore,
Some modeft Perfian, or some weak-ey'd Moor,
No higher dares advance his dazzled fight,
Than to fome gilded cloud, which near the light
Of their afcending god adorns the east,
And, graced with his beams, outfhines the rest.
Thy killful hand contributes to our woe,
And whets thofe arrows which confound us fo.
A thousand Cupids in thofe curls do fit
(Thofe curious nets!) thy flender fingers knit.
The Graces put not more exactly on

Th' attire of Venus when the ball fhe won,
Than Sachariffa by thy care is drest,
When all our youth prefers her to the reft.

You the foft feafon know when beft her mind
May be to pity or to love inclin'd:
In fome well-chofen hour fupply his fear,
Whofe hopeless love durft never tempt the ear
Of that fern goddefs. You, her priest, declare
What off'rings may propitiate the fair :
Rich orient pearl, bright ftones that ne'er de cap
Or polifh'd lines, which longer last than they :

Achilles.

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