GONDIBERT.

CANTO THE FOURTH.

THE ARGUMENT.

The duel, where all rules of artful strife,
To rescue or indanger darling life,
Are by reserves of strength and courage shown;
For killing was long since a science grown.
Th' event by which the troops ingaged ate,
As private rage too often turns to warr.

By what bold passion am I rudely led,

Like Fame's too curious and officious spie, Where I these rolls in her dark closet read, Where worthies wrapp'd in time's disguises lie? Why should we now their shady curtains draw, Who by a wise retirement hence are freed, And gon to lands exempt from Nature's law, Where love no more can mourn, nor valour bleed?

Why to this stormy world, from their long rest, Are these recall'd to be again displeas'd, Where, during Nature's reign, we are opprest, Till we by Death's high priviledge are eas'd? Is it to boast that verse has chymick pow'r,

And that its rage (which is productive heat) Can these revive, as chymists raise a flow'r, Whose scatter'd parts their glass presents compleat?

Though in these worthies gón, valour and love
Dist chastly as in sacred temples meet,
Such reviv'd patterns us no more improve,
Than flow'rs so rais'd by chymists make us
sweet.

Yet when the soul's disease we desp❜rate finde,
Poets the old renown'd physitians arc,
Who, for the sickly habits of the mind,

Examples as the ancient cure prepare.
And bravely then physitians honour gain,
When to the world diseases cureless seem,
And they (in science valiant) ne'r refrain
Art's war with Nature, till they life redeem.
But poets their accustom'd task have long
Forborn, (who for examples did disperse
The heroes' vertues in heroick song)

And now think vertue sick, past cure of verse. Yet to this desp'rate cure I will proceed,

Such patterns shew as shall not fail to move;

Sball teach the valiant patience when they bleed,

And hapless lovers constancy in love.

Now honour's chance the duke with Oswald takes, The count his great stake, life, to Hubert sets; Whilst his to Paradin's lord Arnold stakes,

And little Hugo throwes at Dargonet's. These four on equall ground those four oppose; Who wants in strength, supplies it with his skill; So valiant, that they make no haste to close; They not apace, but handsomly, would kill. And as they more each other's courage found, Each did their force more civilly express, To make so manly and so fair a wound, As loyal ladies might be proud to dress.

But vain, though wond'rous, seems the short event Of what with pomp and noise we long prepare: One hour of battail oft that force hath spent.

Which kings' whole lives have gather'd for a

war.

As rivers to their tuine hasty be,

So life (still earnest, load, and swift) runs post To the vast gulf of Death, as they to sea, And vainly travailes to be quick¡y lost. And now the Fates (who punctually take care We not escape their sentence at our birth) Writ Arnold down where those inroled are Who must in youth abruptly leave the Earth. Him Paradine into the brow had pierc't;

From whence his blood so overflow'd his eyes, He grew too blind to watch and guard his brest, Where, wounded twice, to Death's cold court he flies.

And love (by which life's name does value find,
As altars even subsist by ornament)
Is now as to the owner quite resign'd,

And in a sigh to his dear Laura sent.
Yet Fates so civil were in cruelty

As not to yield, that he who conquer'd all The Tuscan vale, should unattended dy, They therefore doom that Dargonet must fall Whom little Hugo dext’rously did vex With many wounds in unexpected place, Which yet not kill, but killingly perplex; Because he held their number a disgrace. For Dargonet in force did much exceed

The most of men, in valour equall'd all ;
And was asham'd thus diversly to bleed,

As if he stood where showers of arrows fall.
At once he ventures his remaining strength
To Hugo's nimble skill, who did desire
To draw this little' war out into length,

By motions quick as Heav'n's fantastick fire!
This fury now is grown too high to last

In Dargonet; who does disorder all The strengths of temp'rance by unruly haste, Then down at Hugo's feet does breathless fall, When with his own storm sunk, his foe did spie Lord Arnold dead, and Paradine prepare To help prince Oswald to that victory,

Of which the duke had yet an equal share, "Vain conqueror," (said Hugo then) "returne! Instead of laurel which the victor weares, Go, gather cypress for thy brother's urne,

And learn of me to water it with tears.

«Thy brother lost his life attempting mine,

Which cannot for lord Arnold's loss suffice:

I must revenge (unlucky Paradine)

The blood his death will draw from Laura's eyes. "We rivals were in Laura; but though she

My griefs derided, his with sighs approv'd: Yet I (in love's exact integrity)

Must take thy life for killing him she lov'd." These quick alike, and artfully as fierce,

At one sad instant give and take that wound, Which does thro' both their vital closets pierce, Where life's small lord does warmly sit en

thron'd.

And then they fell, and now neer upper Heaven,
Heav'n's better part of them is hov'ring still,
To watch what end is to their princes given,
And to brave Hubert and to Hurgonil.

In progress thus to their eternal home,

Some method is observ'd by Destiny, Which at their princes' setting out did doom These as their leading harbingers to die. And fatal Hubert we must next attend,

Whom Hurgonil had brought to such distress,
That though life's stock he did not fully spend,
His glory that maintain'd it is grown less.
Long had they strove, who first should be destroy'd,
And wounds (the marks of manhood) gave and
took,

Which though, like honour'd age, we would avoid,
Yet make us when possess'd for rev'rence look.
O honour! frail as life, thy fellow flower!
Cherish'd and watch'd, and hum'rously esteem'd,
Then worn for short adornments of an hour,

And is, when lost, no more than life redeem'd.

This fatall Hubert findes, if honour be

As much in princes lost, when it grows less,
As when it dies in men of next degree:
Princes are only princes by excess.

When thus his dear defence had left his hand, "Thy life" (said Hurgonil) “rejoyce to wear As Orna's favour, and at her command,

Who taught the mercy I will practise here."
To which defenceless Hubert did reply,
"My life (a worthless blank) I so despise,
Since Fortune laid it in her lotary,

That I'me asham'd thou draw'st it as a prise." His grief made noble Hurgonil to melt,

Who mourn'd in this a warrior's various fate; For though a victor now, he timely felt That change which pains us most by coming late.

But Orna (ever present in his thought)

[fame

Prompts him to know, with what success, for And empire, Gondibert and Oswald fought; Whilst Hubert seeks out death, and shrinks from shame.

Valour, and all that practise turns to art,
A like the princes had and understood;
For Oswald now is cool as Gondibert,

Such temper he has got by losing blood.
Calmly their temper did their art obey;

Their stretch'd arms regular in motion prove, And force with as unseen a stealth convey, As noyseless houres by hands of dials move. By this new temper Hurgonil believ'd

That Oswald's elder vertues might prevail; To think his own help needful much he griev'd, But yet prepar'd it, lest the duke should fail. Small wounds they had, where as in casements Disorder'd life, who seem'd to look about, [sate And fain would be abroad, but that a gate "She wants so wide, at once to sally out.

VOL. VI.

Lest by his help his honour should be lost.

Retire," said he; "for if thou hop'st to win My sister's love, by aiding in this strife, May Heav'n (to make her think they love a sin) Eclipse that beauty which did give it life." Count Hurgonill did doubtfully retire,

Fain would assist, yet durst not disobey; The duke would rather instantly expire, Than hazard honour by so mean a way. Alike did Oswald for dispatch prepare,

And cries, since Hubert knew not to subdue, "Glory, farewel! thou art the soldier's care! More lov'd than woman, less than woman true !" And now they strive with all their sudden force To storm life's cittadel, each other's brest; At which, could Heav'n's chief eye have felt re

morse,

It would have wink'd, or hast'ned to the west.
But sure the heav'nly movers little care
Whither our motion here be false or true;
For we proceed, whilst they are regular,
As if we dice for all our actions threw.

We seem surrender'd to indiff'rent chance;
Even Death's great work looks like fantastick
That sword, which oft did Oswald's fame advance
play;
In publick war, fails in a private fray.

For when (because he ebbs of blood did feel)
He levell'd all his strength at Gondibert,
It clash'd and broke against the adverse steel,
Which travell'd onward till it reach'd his heart.
Now he that like a stedfast statue stood

In many battails register'd by Fame,
Does fall, depriv'd of language as of blood;
Whilst high the hunters send their victor's name.
Some shout aloud, and others winde the horn!
They mix the citie's with the field's applause ;
Which Borgio soon interprets as their scorn,
And will revenge it ere he mourn the cause.
This the cold evening warm'd of Vasco's age,
He shin'd like scorching noon in Borgio's looks;
Who kindled all about him with his rage,
And worse the triumph than the conquest brooks.
The troops (astonish'd with their leader's fate)
The horrour first with silence entertain;
With loud impatience then for Borgio waite,
And next with one confusion all complain.

Whom thus he urg'd: "Prince Oswald did command

We should remove far from the combat's list, And there like unconcern'd spectators stand, Justly restrain'd to hinder or assist.

"This (patient friends!) we dully have obey'd, A temp'rance which he never taught before; But though alive he could forbid our aid,

Yet dead, he leaves revenge within our pow'r."

Сс

GONDIBERT.

CANTO THE FIFTH.

THE ARGUMENT.

The battail in exact though little shape,
Where none by flight, and few by fortune, scape;
Where even the vanquish'd so themselves behave,
The victors mourn for all they could not save:
And fear (so soon is Fortune's fulness wayn'd)
To lose, in one, all that by all they gain'd.

Now Hubert's page assists his wounded lord To mount that steed, he scarce had force to guide;

And wept to see his hand without that sword Which was so oft in dreadfull battails try'd. Those who with Borgio saw his want of blood, Cry'd out," If of thy strength enough remain, Though not to charge, to make thy conduct good, Lead us to add their living to our slain." Hubert reply'd, "Now you may justly boast, You sons of war, that Oswald was your sire, Who got in you the honour I have lost,

[mire. And taught those deeds our ladies' songs ad"But he (war's ancestor, who gave it birth, The father of those fights we Lombards fought) Lies there imbracing but his length of earth,

Who for your use the world's vast empire
sought.

"And cold as he lies noble Dargonet,

And Paradine, who wore the victor's crown; Both swift to charge, and slow in a retreat;

Brothers in blood, and rivals in renown."
This said, their trumpets sound revenge's praise;
The hunters' horns (the terrour of the wood)
Reply'd so meanly, they could scarcely raise
Eecho so loud as might be understood.
The duke (his fit of fury being spent,

Which onely wounds and opposition bred)
Does weep o'er the brave Oswald, and lament
That he, so great in life, is nothing dead.
But cry'd, when he the speechless rivals spy'd,
"O worth above the ancient price of love!
Lost are the living, for with these love dy'd,
Or, if immortal, fled with them above.
"In these we the intrinsick vallue know

By which first lovers did love currant deem; But love's false coyners will allay it now, (temn.” Till men suspect what next they must conNot less young Hurgonil resents their chance,

Though no fit time to practice his remorse ; For now he cries, (finding the foe advance) "Let death give way to life! to horse! to

horse!

"This sorrow is too soft for deeds behinde,
Which I (a mortal lover) would sustain,
So I could make your sister wisely kinde,
And praise me living, not lament me slain."
Swift as Armenians in the panther's chase

They fly to reach where now their hunters are; Who sought out danger with too bold a pace, Till thus the duke did them alow'd prepare.

'Impatient friends, stand, that your strength may

last! [long! Burn not, in blaze, rage that should warm you I wish to foes the weaknesses of haste,

To you such slowness as may keep you strong. "Not their scorn's force should your fix'd patience [provoke,

move;

Tho' scorn does more than bonds free mindes Their flashy rage shall harmless lightning prove,

Which but fore-runs our thunder's fatal stroke. "For when their fury's spent, how weak they are With the dull weight of antick Vandall arms! Their work but short, and little is in war,

Whom rage within, and armour outward, warms. "When you have us'd those arts your patience yields,

Try to avoid their cowched launces' force
By dextrous practice of Croatian fields,

Which turns to lazy elephants their horse.
"When false retreat shall scatter you in flight,
As if you back to elements were fled,
And no less faith can you again unite,

Than recollects from elements the dead,
"Make chasers seem, by your swift rallys, slow;
Whilst they your swifter change of figures fear,
Like that in batails which, t' amuse the foe,

My grandsire taught, as war's philosopher.
"Think now your valour enters on the stage,
Think Fame th' eternal Chorus to declare
Your mighty mindes to each succeeding age,
And that your ladyes the spectators are."
This utter'd was with such a haughty grace,
That ev'ry heart it empty'd, and did raise
Life's chiefest blood in valour to the face,
Which made such beauty as the foe did praise.
Yet 'twas ambition's praise, which but approves
Those whom thro' envy it would fain subdue;
Likes others' honour, but her own so loves,

She thinks all others' trophys are her due.
For Hubert now (tho' void of strength as feare)
Advanc'd the first division fast and farre;
Bold Borgio with the next attends his rear,

The third was left to Vasco's stedy care. The duke still watch'd when each division's space Grew wide, that he might his more open spred; His own brave conduct did the foremost grace, The next the count, the third true Tybalt led. A forward fashion he did wear awhile,

As if the charge he would with fury meet; That he their forward fury might beguile,

And urge them past redemption by retreat. But when with launces cowch'd they ready were, And their thick frout (which added files inlarge) With their ply'd spurs kept time in a carere,

Those soon were vanished whom they meant to

And that which was erewhile the duke's firm van,
Before old Vasco's front vouchsafe to fly,
Till with their subtle rallys they began

In small divisions hidden strength to try;

Then cursing Borgio cry'd, "Whence comes his skill,

Who men so scatter'd can so firmly mix? The living metal, held so violatile

By the dull world, this chymick lord can fix!" He press'd where Hurgonill his fury spends, As if he now in Orna's presence fought; And with respect his brave approach attends, To give him all the dangers which he sought. So bloody was th' event of this new strife,

That we may here applauded valour blame; Which oft too easily abandons life,

Whilst death's the parent made of noble fame. For many now (belov'd by both) forsake,

In their pursuit of flying fame, their breath;
And through the world their valour currant make,
By giving it the ancient stamp of death.
Young Hurgonil's renowned self had bought
Honour of Borgio at no less a rate,

Had not the duke dispatch'd with those he fought,
And found his aid must fly or come too late.
For he advancing saw, (which him much griev'd)
That in the fairest region of the face,
He two wide wounds from Borgio had receiv'd;
His beauty's blemish, but his valour's grace.

Now," cry'd the duke, "strive timely for renown!
Thy age will kiss those wounds thy youth may
loath;

Be not dismay'd to think thy beauty gone;

My sister's thine, who has enough for both." Then soon the youth, death as an honour gave -To one that strove to rescue Borgio's life; Yet Borgio had dispatch'd him to his grave, Had Gondibert stood neutral in the strife: Who with his sword (disdaining now to stay, And see the blood he lov'd so rudely spilt) Pierc't a bold Lombard who would stop his way; Even till his heart did beat against his hilt. Timely old Vasco came to Borgio's aid;

Whose long experienc'd arme wrought sure and His rising oppositions level laid,

[faste,

And miss'd no execution by his haste. And timely where the bleeding count now fought, And where the duke with number was opprest, Resistless Tybalt came, who Borgio sought,

But here with many Borgios did contest. As tydes that from their sev'ral channels haste, Assemble rudely in th' Ubean bay,

And meeting there to indistinction waste,

Strive to proceed, and force each other's stay: So here the valiant, who with swift force come, With as resistiess valour are engag'd; Are hid in anger's undistinguish'd fome, And make less way by meeting so inrag'd! But room for Goltho now! whose valour's fire, Like light'ning, did unlikely passage make; Whose swift effects like light'nings they admire, And even the harms it wrought with rever'nce

take.

Vasco he seeks, who had his youth disdain'd; And in that search he with irrever'nd rage, Revengefully, from younger foes abstain'd, And deadly grew where he encounter'd age. And Vasco now had felt his Gothick steel,

But that duke Gondibert (through helm and head)

Gave the last stroke which Vasco ere shall feel, And sent him down an honour to the dead. Here Borgio too had fal'n, but bravely then

The count so much reveng'd the wounds he gave, As Gondibert (the prop of falling men)

Such sinking greatness could not choose but save. When Vasco was remov'd, the count declin'd

His bashful eies; the duke thought sodain shame (From sense of luckless wounds) possess'd his mind;

Which thus he did reform, and gently blame. "Now thy complexion lasting is, and good! As when the Sun sets red, his morning eies In glory wake, so now thou set'st in blood,

Thy parting beauty will in honour rise. "These scarrs thou need'st not from my sister hide;

For as our father, in brave batail lost, She first did name with sorrow, then with pride, Thy beauty's loss she'l mourn, and after boast." "Mine are but love's false wounds," (said Hurgonil) "To what you Vasco gave; for I must grieve My strength of honour could not Vasco kill; That honour lost, yet I have strength to live." But now behold vex'd Hubert, who in all

This batail was by ready conduct known, And though unarm'd, and his spent force so small, He could to none bring death, yet sought his

own:

And ev'ry where, where rallies made a grosse,
He charg'd; and now with last reserves he try'd
His too slow fate from Gondibert to force,
Where he was victor, and where Vasco dy'd.
The duke (in honour's school exactly bred)
Would not that this defenceless prince should be
Involv'd with those, whom he to dying led,
Therefore ordain'd him still from slaughter free.
And now his pow'r did gently make him know,
That he must keep his life, and quit the cause;
More pris'ner to hiniself than to his foe,

For life within himself in prison was.
His fierce assistants did not quit the field,

Till forward marks declar'd they fairly fought; And then they all with sullen slowness yield; Vex'd they have found what vain revenge had

sought.

In the renown'd destruction of this day,

Four hundred leaders were by valour's pride Led to blest shades, by an uncertain way,

Where lowliness is held the surest guide. And twice the tierce of these consists of those Who for prince Oswald's love of empire bled; The duke does thus with thanks and praise dispose Both of the worthy living, and the dead. "Binde all your wounds, and shed not that brave life, Which did in all by great demeanor past (Teaching your foes a wiser choice of strife). Deserve a lease of Nature that may last.