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BATTEL of the FROGS, &c.

WH

BOOK II.

HEN rofy-finger'd Morn had ting'd the
Clouds,

Around their Monarch-Moufe the Nation crouds;
Slow rose the Sov'reign, heav'd his anxious Breast,
And thus, the Council fill'd with Rage, addrest.

For loft Phycarpax much my Soul endures, 'Tis mine the private Grief, the publick, yours.

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Three warlike Sons adorn'd my nuptial Bed,

Three Sons, alas! before their Father dead!
Our eldest perish'd by the rav'ning Cat,
As near my Court the Prince unheedful fate.
Our next, an Engine fraught with Danger drew,
The Portal gap'd, the Bait was hung in View,
Dire Arts affift the Trap, the Fates decoy,
And Men unpitying kill'd my gallant Boy!
The laft, his Country's Hope, his Parent's Pride,
Plung'd in the Lake by Physignathus, dy'd.
Rouse all the War, my Friends! avenge the Deed,
And bleed that Monarch, and his Nation bleed.

His Words in ev'ry Breast inspir'd Alarms, And careful Mars fupply'd their Hoft with Arms. In verdant Hulls defpoil'd of all their Beans,

The buskin'd Warriors stalk'd along the Plains:

Quills aptly bound, their bracing Corfelet made,
Fac'd with the Plunder of a Cat they flay'd:
The Lamp's round Bofs affords their ample Shield;
Large Shells of Nuts their cov'ring Helmet yield;
And o'er the Region, with reflected Rays,
Tall Groves of Needles for their Lances blaze.
Dreadful in Arms the marching Mice appear;
The wond'ring Frogs perceive the Tumult near,
Forfake the Waters, thick'ning form a Ring,
And ask and hearken, whence the Noises spring.
When near the Croud, disclos'd to publick View,
The valiant Chief Embafichytros drew :

The facred Herald's Scepter grac'd his Hand,
And thus his Words exprest his King's Command.

[vance, Ye Frogs! the Mice, with Vengeance fir'd, adAnd deckt in Armour shake the fhining Lance:

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Their hapless Prince by Phyfignathus flain,
Extends incumbent on the watry Plain.
Then arm your Hoft, the doubtful Battel try;
Lead forth those Frogs that have the Soul to die.

The Chief retires, the Crowd the Challenge hear, And proudly-fwelling yet perplex'd appear : Much they resent, yet much their Monarch blame, Who rifing, spoke to clear his tainted Fame.

O Friends, I never forc'd the Moufe to Death, Nor faw the Gaspings of his latest Breath. He, vain of Youth, our Art of Swimming try'd, And ventʼrous, in the Lake the Wanton dy'd. To Vengeance now by falfe Appearance led, They point their Anger at my guiltless Head. But wage the rifing War by deep Device, And turn its Fury on the crafty Mice.

Your

Your King directs the Way; my Thoughts elate
With Hopes of Conqueft, form Designs of Fate.
Where high the Banks their verdant Surface heave,
And the steep Sides confine the fleeping Wave,
There, near the Margin, clad in Armour bright,
Sustain the first impetuous Shocks of Fight:
Then, where the dancing Feather joins the Creft,
Let each brave Frog his obvious Mouse arrest;
Each strongly grafping, headlong plunge a Foe,
'Till countless Circles whirl the Lake below;
Down fink the Mice in yielding Waters drown'd;
Loud flash the Waters; and the Shores refound:
The Frogs triumphant tread the conquer'd Plain,
And raise their glorious Trophies of the slain.

He spake no more: his prudent Scheme imparts Redoubling Ardour to the boldest Hearts.

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