VIOLENTA FROM BOCCACE
[1]BEGIN my Muſe, the wondrous Tale re⯑herſe,
The various Turns of Virtue in Diſtreſs.
How Fate controuls the Council of the Wiſe,
How often hid in Beauties fair Diſguiſe,
Foul Deceit and treacherous Falſhood Lies.
How Virtue breaks the dark'ning Clouds away,
And from Misfortunes Night ariſes gay,
Gives double Luſtre to the glorious Day.
[2] Here may the Old a mighty Pattern find,
And view the Trial of the nobleſt Mind;
Soft Love to pleaſe the chearful happy Young,
With ſtrange Adventures fills th' Hiſtorick Song.
'Twas in thoſe warlike Days, when growing France
Would with extending Power her Realms advance:
The Sturdy Germans, late the Roman Pride,
Still ſtruggl'd hard, ſtill puſh'd and gor'd her Side;
Vaſt Troops they rais'd, the King and Prince their Head,
Fill'd with their Youth, and by their Heroes led;
This done, there follows and important Care,
Whom they ſhall truſt, their great Vicegerent here.
The Dauphin to his Father recommends
One of his deareſt, moſt deſerving Friends,
The Count of Angiers, then in high Renown,
Fitteſt to guard and fill the empty Throne.
[3] The Choice with univerſal Joy's approv'd,
Never was Man like Noble Angiers lov'd.
Againſt his Will the Mourner's drawn to Court,
Who had forſook the World and all Reſort;
To the dark Groves and ſilent Caves was fled
To weep in vain, his dear Maria dead;
For Tyrant Death had ſnatch'd a Faithful Wife,
And with her all the Joys of hapleſs Angiers Life;
The World to him had now no pleaſing Charms,
Nor wak'd he with the once lov'd Sound of Arms:
Thus liv'd the Count to eating Grief a Prey,
'Till by his Maſter's Voice he's forc'd away,
He heard, and knew he muſt the King obey.
He comes, and ſoon the mighty Charge receives,
And for his Truſt his Faith and Honour gives;
And now the Dauphin ready to depart,
Preſſes his faithful Angiers to his Heart:
[4] Oh! thou my Dear and long try'd Friend he ſaid!
And on his Boſom kindly lean'd his Head,
To thee my Father leaves his Kingdom's Care,
No Subject boaſts of Pow'r a larger Share:
The Truſt is weighty, and the Trouble great,
To Rule this potent Land and Pop'lar State;
Yet my beſt Friend there is more Buſineſs yet.
I muſt ingage thy moſt peculiar Care,
To guard and pleaſe that bright Illuſtrious Fair,
My charming Wife, whoſe far fam'd Beauty may,
While I to diſtant Camps am call'd away,
By ſome ill Fate, my Peace at Home betray.
Watch that Cleora undiſturb'd may reſt,
In ſerving her thou gain'ſt thy Maſter's Breaſt:
This ſaid, he claſp'd him faſt, nor ſtaid Replies,
But cry'd, I read thy Anſwer in thy Eyes.
Quick to his warlike Troops he took his Way,
Whoſe youthful Heat cou'd brook no longer ſtay.
[5] Angiers is left the ſole Commander now,
To him the officious Courtiers crowd and bow;
He look'd as born to the Honours of his Place,
His Noble Soul enrich'd with every Grace,
Shone with Majeſtick Sweetneſs in his Face.
Juſt ripen'd full from Youths delightful Bloom,
Enough to promiſe happy Years to come;
With moſt judicious Policy he Reigns,
Supports the Good, the Bad his Pow'r reſtrains;
Remembring well his Maſter's laſt Command,
He Signs all Orders with Cleora's Hand.
Cleora bright as the approaching Day,
When Fair Aurora does her Beams diſplay
And gilds the Mountains with her blooming Ray.
In her ten Thouſand Graces Revelling meet,
The blowing Roſe not half ſo lovely ſweet:
[6] She look'd as if her Eyes commanded Fate,
Form'd equal to her Great Imperial State,
Yet on her Soul a yielding Softneſs ſate;
And Noble Angiers was her chiefeſt Care,
On him ſhe ſmil'd with a familiar Air;
Try'd every way that might his Griefs redreſs,
Oblige the Count (and make that Paſſion leſs)
With all Delights that Prudence could afford,
Or Pallace yield in th' Abſence of its Lord.
Sometimes with Rural Sports they'd chaſe the Hind,
Whoſe nimble Feet ſeem to outſtrip the Wind;
Then Dancing, Balls, and Maſquerades and Plays,
With theſe they waſt the Nights and chearful Days;
With theſe Delights Cleora kindly ſtrove
To drive from Angiers Breaſt all former Love;
Abroad they proſper, Couriers daily bring
News of Succeſs both by the Prince and King.
[7] Now in the height of Bliſs, juſt Angiers ſtood
Supreamly Great, and more ſupreamly Good:
Yet ſhort the Joys which humane Souls allure,
Nor can we make our Happineſs ſecure;
Vain Man as well on Sand may Structures lay,
As hope to fix his Fate in mould'ring Clay;
A Thouſand Accidents frail Life attend,
And Mortals only know that Life muſt end;
Our Paths ſeem hid in the dark Book of Fate,
The Doom once paſt, Precaution comes too late;
So luckleſs Angiers, Thoughtful Bold and Wiſe,
Eſteem'd his Court another Paradice;
Yet to his Coſt, the Noble Heroe found
Ten Thouſand Snakes beneath th' enamell'd Ground:
Had he foreſeen his Fate, tho' but in Dreams,
He muſt have dy'd at Terrour of the Scenes,
[8] Which thus began; Cleora Orders ſends
To th' Count her Councellor, and beſt of Friends,
To her Appartment he muſt ſtraight repair,
For Buſineſs of Importance waits him there.
With haſt, and Loyal Zeal, the Victim came,
Dreſs'd like Loves Goddeſs was the princely Dame,
Her Eyes had equal Brightneſs, equal Flame;
Her Mantle Azure, fill'd with Stars of Gold,
And ſhining Jems adorn'd each curious Fold;
Careleſs thrown, ſcarce cover'd half her Breaſt;
But to the wond'ring Eye expos'd the reſt:
Choice Garlands crown'd her lovely flowing Hair,
Yet ſeem to loſe their Luſtre planted there,
The Roſe not half ſo freſh, the Lilly half ſo fair.
Supinely on a glorious Couch ſhe lay
As ſhe wou'd Rival the bright Lamp of Day;
[9] Her Head ſhe lean'd upon her ſnowy Hand,
Whilſt Angiers kneels to hear her dread Com⯑mand;
The bright attending Nymphs that round her wait,
Retire, not pry into Affairs of State:
When thus the charming Princeſs Silence broke,
And with a Smile to faithful Angiers ſpoke,
Ariſe my Noble Lord, and ſeat you there,
For I have much to ſay, and you muſt hear;
You once did feel great Love's Tyranick Reign,
And ſure muſt kindly Sigh when I complain;
The Dauphin writes, the Wars will take much Time,
And me neglected leaves in Beauties Prime,
Hard Fate! a Sacrifice to publick Voice,
I never knew the Priveledge of Choice;
[10] When in my Father's Court, the wond'ring Croud
Still gaz'd, and Poets ſung my Praiſes loud;
They haild my Youth, and wiſh'd me all Delights,
But I'm condemn'd to care, and widdow'd Nights:
The ſad Reverſe of all their Bleſſings prove,
And muſt conclude the Dauphin does not love.
The flattering World, and each reflecting Glaſs,
Owns matchleſs Glory's in this injur'd Face;
Forgive me if I break our Sexes Laws,
When wrong'd, we may aſſert our Right, our Cauſe.
Speak Angiers, were I circled in thy Arms,
Wou'dſt thou for Camps forſake Loves ſofter Charms?
Up to her Cheeks a conſcious Bluſh ſtraight flies,
And thouſand Cupids revell'd in her Eyes.
Angiers aroſe, with Reverence profound
Began, nor rais'd his fix'd Eyes from the Ground:
[11] Moſt Divine Princeſs, you may reſt aſſur'd,
You are the Treaſure of your abſent Lord;
By Glory torn from Loves delightful Chains,
Yet in his Heart alone Cleora Reigns:
Oh! had you heard the tender Charge he gave
Of you (his Lifes Reward) to me his Slave,
You never cou'd his Conſtancy ſuſpect,
But call that Violence which now you term Neg⯑lect.
Scarce cou'd the Fair her ſoft Confuſion hide,
And half compos'd, ſhe bluſhing thus reply'd,
To Angiers then did he Cleora leave?
For that one Act I all his Faults forgive.
To Angiers freely I my ſelf reſign,
Too ſure I'm his, Heaven make the Heroe mine:
What racking Fires are theſe that fill my Breaſt,
My Soul diſtract, and rob my Eyes of Reſt!
[12] Oh! turn not from me, ſince too much I've ſaid,
And the ſoft Secret of my Soul betray'd:
If I'm refus'd, Death is the Puniſhment.
But Love and Pleaſure wait on kind Conſent.
Down at her Feet the trembling Angiers fell,
His Terrour and Surprize no Tongue can tell
His Faulters, not knows which way to begin,
The Princeſs he reveres, abhors the Sin:
'Tis a hard Task Superiors to reprove,
And mighty Vertue to reſiſt ſuch Love;
Amaz'd, he ſpoke in th' mildeſt Phraſe he cou'd,
Inſtructs the Charming Princeſs to be good.
Then cry'd, What Frenzy's this that dares con⯑troul
The Noble Greatneſs of Cleora's Soul?
You're born Supream, your Lots are pair'd above:
Bounded by Fate from an inferiour Love.
[13] The Dauphin, firſt of Men, already's yours,
By Right Divine his lawful Claim ſecures:
I own ye beautious as the blooming May,
Fair as the Firſt, e'er Nature knew decay;
Still in your Looks you wear all conquering Charms,
But theſe are deſtin'd for my Maſters Arms;
I'd give my Body to conſuming Flame,
Leave any other Blot upon my Name,
E'er wrong, in you, that Royal Maſters Fame.
She roſe with Fury, and would hear no more;
Diſdain now work'd her boyling Spirits o'er,
Thoſe Eyes ſhot Fire, that languiſh'd Love before.
She ſtarts, then paus'd, and with a ſcornful Smile,
Foretold the Miſchiefs and intended Guile.
The Count who knew no Ill, ſuſpected none;
Bluſh'd for her Shame, and wiſh'd himſelf alone.
[14]
When ſtraight ſhe threw her Mantle on the Ground,
Her Garland tore, her curling Hair unbound;
Then ſeizing Angiers, with a Scream of Woe,
Cry'd Murder, Villain, Traytor, let me go.
The Voice of Terrour thro' the Pallace flies,
Follow'd ſtill with loud inceſſant Cries;
Help all, oh help, or loſt Cleora dies.
All haſt, and ſwift as Thought th' Apartment's fill'd,
Where on the Flore the Princeſs they beheld;
The injur'd Earl confus'd and pale they View,
This Turn rob'd him of Speech and Reaſon too.
When falſe Cleora rear'd her weeping Face,
And Beauty gave to Sorrow double Grace,
Look on the baſe perfidious Man ſhe ſaid,
By whom the Dauphin and you're all betray'd;
[15] Truſting his Faith, I charg'd him to declare
Th' Affairs of State, and Buſineſs of the War,
The Conference ſtrict Secrecy requir'd,
My waiting Servants by Command retir'd;
But e'er he half the Dauphins Will declar'd,
Seiz'd on my Hand, around like Madneſs ſtar'd,
And cry'd, the Regent Princeſs now is mine,
She ſhall her Honour or her Life reſign:
For I am wild with Loves ungovern'd Rage,
Poſſeſſion only can my Flame aſſwage.
With the Surprize I ſcarce cou'd raiſe my Breath
To call your Aid which has ſecur'd from Death.
Who cou'd ſuppoſe the Raiſing of the Dead
Might ſee th' Amazement that each Face o'erſpread;
None but the Wicked this ſad Tale does pleaſe,
Nor dare his Enemies his Perſon ſeize.
Alone, diſgrac'd he to his Palace goes,
And there reflects on his malicious Foes,
[16] Thinks on the Weight of his pretended Crimes,
Reſolves to fly his coming Fate betimes:
For if he ſhou'd declare h [...] Innocence,
And on the Princeſs caſt the Black Offence,
The Laurels which the Prince abroad did gain,
Wou'd wither all at the unhappy Stain;
Reſolv'd alone the rigorous Fate to bear,
And own the Guilt rather than lay't on her.
His ſpeedy Flight is ſtraight condemn'd by Fame,
And all ill Tongues are buſie with his Name;
He takes two tender Pledges Wedlock gave,
The only Treaſure he had Power to ſave:
With him Erneſto flies, faithful and juſt,
Who long had ſerv'd, and ne'er betray'd his Truſt:
Thus the Great Man, whom that ſame riſing Morn
Saw dreſs'd in Honours that ſuch Truſt adorn,
[17] With crowded Levee, and a waiting Train,
All the gay Pomps that can Obſervance Gain;
Now ſtript, forſaken, bare, diſgrac'd and loſt,
Wanders to find ſome hoſpitable Coaſt;
And as he travel'd towards the diſtant Sea,
A dreadful Light directs his doubtful Way;
He views his Caſtle blazing in one Flame;
The fierce Revenge of that invet'rate Dame;
Unmov'd, he ſaw the Structure tumble down;
And cry'd, thou can'ſt not bury my Renown:
In time perhaps my Truth may come to Light,
My Fame out-ſhine thoſe Tow'rs that Blaze ſo bright,
And the miſtaken World, tho' late, may ſee
A conſpicuous Virtue in unhappy Me.
Now in a Cell they ſnatch a ſhort Repoſe;
Soon as the Sun the wakeful Angiers roſe,
[18] His Courage yet unſhock'd by adverſe Fate,
His Noble Suff'ring ſhow'd him truly Great.
But oh! when he beheld his little Pair,
The Mothers Darlings, and the Fathers Care,
In vain upon their Nurſe and Servants call,
The Floods ſo long reſtrain'd, in Torrents fall;
At their ſad Wants he cou'd no more forbear,
Indulg'd his Grief with many a pitying Fear;
The tender Charge, who thus awak'd his Care,
A little Son, and lovely Daughter were,
Both Beautious ſeem'd, as form'd by Hands Divine,
The Parents Graces in the Infants ſhine;
Lewis the Son, a charming ſprightly Boy,
The firſt dear Fruit of Angiers Nuptial Joy;
His other Hope, his Darling Daughter's Name
Was [...], ſacred ſtill to Fame:
[19] The helpleſs Infants, the wrong'd Angiers view'd,
Their woes, the dear Maria's loſt renew'd.
Daſh'd by Diſpair, and grov'ling on the Earth,
Curs'd the Malignant Star that rul'd his Birth,
Like ſome ſad Wretch, long ſtrugling for the Shore,
He ſinks and gives his hopeleſs Labour o'er,
'Till old Erneſto urg'd him to remove,
By that fond Care and that pater'nal Love.
If you neglect your Princeſs Wroth to fly,
Then next prepare to ſee your Children dye;
Revenge will touch you in the tend'reſt Part,
Her Rage will wound, thro' theirs, your Manly Heart:
He found 'twas vain to make a uſeleſs Moan,
The Father and the unhappy Babes muſt on.
At length they Calice reach'd, and there they found
[20] A Paſſage Ship for neighbouring England bound;
He gets an humble Weed, md poor Diſguiſe,
Beſmears his Face, and vai [...] his Noble Eyes
To ſhun the ſwift Purſuit of eager Enemies.
Imbark'd, he turns towards his native Land,
Tho' injur'd much, he ſighs to leave the Strand;
And ſoftly murmurs o'er his riged Fate,
Undone by Love, far worſe than Mortal Hate;
Yet ſtill he bids the liſt'ning Winds forbear,
Nor waft the Story to the Dauphin's Ear;
For his ſweet Peace he barters all his own,
Neglects the Fame which did his Actions crown;
Wives Errours on the Husbands Head remain,
To keep the Dauphin clear he bears himſelf the Stain.
Cleora! canſt thou have a peaceful Thought,
Whoſe lawleſs Fires this mighty Ruine brought?
[21] Poor Angiers ſtill purſu'd by his ill Fate,
As if the Winds joyn'd with Cleora's Hate;
Adverſe they toſs the Veſſel on the Seas,
Like his tempeſtuous Mind, no Calm, no Eaſe;
Theſe Toils to old Erneſto were unknown,
A gentle Servitude his Years did crown;
Unable now, in his declining Age,
To act a longer Part on this rough Stage,
Pale Death, the laſt Retreat, and ſure Relief,
Came to his Aid, and ends his Life and Grief:
The gaſhly Tyrant he ſeems joy'd to meet,
And ſinks beneath his troubled Maſters Feet:
There was no need of this; griev'd Angiers ſaid,
Will Heaven ſtill preſerve the Wrath it made?
Why was this added to my Miſery,
That thou my poor Erneſto too muſt die?
Now of a Sudden all the Seas grow Calm,
As if his Grief had huſh'd the raging Storm;
[22] At length the fair white chalky Cliffs they ſpy,
A joyful Sight to every Sailor's Eye;
Only the Earl who knows [...]ot where to go,
Alone expects variety of Woe:
The Travellers wou'd fain his Sorrows chear,
Inquire his Name, what Courſe he meant to ſtear?
He anſwers with a Sigh, I cannot ſtray:
The Wretched never fear to loſe their Way.
In the ſame Ship, a venerable Man
Well mark'd the Count, and then with Tears began,
Whoe'er thou art, ſays he, within thy Face,
Is written ſpotted Truth, and matchleſs Grace,
And thy young Cherubs ſeem of heav'nly Race.
Then haſte thee Stranger to our Nations Pride,
To that great Mart where gaudy Courts abide;
There, if my Foreſight fail not, thou ſhalt find
Some Noble Brittain to theſe Infants kind;
[23] [...]ie view d him well, then preſs'd him more to know,
Good Man he cry'd, thou haſt a Sceam of Woe,
Inquire no more, but where I bid thee, go.
His Words Emphatick, ſtruck an awe Divine,
Both Prieſt and Prophet in his Vizage ſhine;
Angiers, unknown, to London takes his Way,
Reſolv'd the Holy Father's Voice t' obey;
Wheree'er he goes there's no avoiding Fate,
He to his Sufferings finds no early Date:
The publick News his ſhameful Story tells,
Explores his Crimes, the Dauphin Wrath reveals:
His Caſtle's raz'd, his Lands Confiſcate were,
Too poor Amends, for that offended Fair;
A vaſt Reward, whoe'er ſhall Angiers bring
Alive, or Dead, to the Revengeful King:
His Race to endleſs Exile they condemn,
And Death to thoſe who ſhou'd theſe Laws con⯑temn.
[24] I'd ſing, my Muſe, his Woes in ſuch a Strain,
That no ſad reader might from Tears retrain:
Sure all the generous Worl [...] muſt weep to ſee
Exalted Virtue in ſuch Miſery.
Who can expreſ [...] his Fears and anxious Care!
Enough to raiſe Diſtraction and Diſpair!
When he looks back upon his proſprous Days,
The pleaſant Paths, and the delightful Ways
His Youth had trod, it racks his thoughtful Brain,
His Lot of Grief he ſcarcely can ſuſtain,
But Piety forbids that he ſhould Heav'n arraign.
He knows the only Way to vanquiſh there,
Is Patience, Faith unmov'd, and ſervent Pray'r;
So to the Temple flies, that Ancient Pile,
Which long had grac'd the City and the Iſle,
St. Paul's, for ſtately Pillars ſo renown'd,
With all the Beauties of the Artiſt croun'd;
[25] There he repairs, and takes his Children too,
In hopes their Innocence may Mercy woo;
Stretch'd on the Pave [...]ent, wretched Angiers lay,
And kneeling Infants, early taught to pray.
Devotion done, a lovely Brittiſh Dame,
With her Attendants from the Temple came,
The Lord High Marſhal's Wife, of brighteſt Fame.
She ſtop'd, and not diſdain'd, to turn her Eye
Towards him who bore ſuch Marks of Miſery:
She ſaid, my Friend, from whence, and what art thou?
Why hangs that Cloud of Sorrow on thy Brow?
This little Pair, with Beams of Beauty ſhine,
I cannot think thee poor, if theſe are thine;
Yet ſpeak, declare, what is thy Cauſe of Grief?
Perhaps, by me, kind Heav'n deſigns Relief.
Oh! wondrous Condeſcention, Angiers cry'd,
The truly Great are always free from Pride.
[26] Madam, I Native am of neighbouring Gaul,
My Parents honeſt, tho' my Portion ſmall;
'Twas my hard Fate Superi [...]s to offend,
Whoſe Wrath no Modera [...]n knew, nor end,
And I was plac'd, too humble to contend:
I from my peaceful Dwelling, ſtraight was hurl'd,
And bid to wander o'er an unknown World:
Nor wou'd they ſtop their cruel Vengeance here,
But ſorc'd theſe Babes, my Puniſhment to ſhare,
Too weak, alaſs, ſuch mighty Ills to bear.
She heard, and Pity fill'd her Mind,
The too long cruel Pow'rs, now made her kind,
With ſoft Compaſſion, and a gracious Look,
To liſtening Angiers thus the Lady ſpoke,
If thou wilt give thy Daughter to my Care,
Her Breeding and her Fortune ſhall be Fair:
In Virtues Rules we will inſtruct her Youth,
With Love of Modeſty and Sacred Truth:
[27] Speak hen, if to my Words thou doſt agree,
Inform her Name, and leave the Child with me.
Firſt, up to Heaven his watry Eyes he rear'd,
And thank'd the Pow'rs who thus his Pray'rs, had heard.
Then to her.
Oh! thou bright Pattern of thy charming Sex,
Bleſs'd be thy Days, may no diſquiets vex
Thy peaceful Mind, nor lengthen'd Years per⯑plex;
But all thy Joys uninterrupted be,
Thy Life one Scene of bleſs'd Proſperity.
Florella is the Name o'th' wretched Child,
O may ſhe Virtuous prove, her Temper mild;
With a kind Eye may you her Actions view,
For you are Parents now, and Miſtreſs too:
With that he turn'd, and burſted out a Tear,
The Infants parting Look he cou'd not bear.
[28] The courteous Dame to him a Preſent gave,
And the poor Babe to an attending Slave.
In ancient Times, thus did they merit Praiſe,
By Noble Acts, their Name and Country raiſe:
Few wanton Dames, no broken Nuptial Bed,
The Wretched they reliev'd, the Poor they ſed:
In Deeds, like this, dwelt their Renown of Old,
No Pride, no Falſhood, no curs'd Love of Gold,
But Glory reign'd in every Brittains Soul;
No lurking Vice their Greatneſs durſt controul.
Angiers return'd ſtill ſad, his Heart ſtill griev'd,
To him the Child is loſt, tho' thus reliev'd;
And as he meaſur'd out his pencive Way,
He met the Bard with whom he croſs'd the Sea;
He hail'd him thus, lift up thy Eyes from Earth,
No ſulien Star o'er-rul'd thy Childrens Birth.
[29] Thy Daughter now has reach'd the happy Shore,
Deſtructive Fate has loſt its pois'nous Pow'r,
Her Innocence the Planets hurt no more.
Thy Son, good Fortune ſhall attend his Bloom,
And a long Train of Bleſſings preſs to come;
Only thou many tedious Years muſt wait,
E'er thou ſhalt conquer thy malignant Fate;
On me be all their hateful Influence ſhed,
Showr all their Wrath on this poor deſtin'd Head,
The Sufferer cry'd, I'll bear it in their Stead;
And if the rowling Torrent they withſtand,
I'll kneel and bleſs the perſecuting Hand:
Inſtruct me, Sir, how I this Youth may ſave
From threat'ning Ills, which oft the Brave,
For I ſhall ſoon preſs to the peaceful Grave;
There undiſturb'd may find that ſweet Repoſe,
So long deny'd by my too cruel Foes.
[30] Inſtruct your Son in his uncertain Wa [...]
For Truth Divine ſhines forth in all you ſay.
Then thus the Bard:
Amidſt the Weſtern Mountains, where of old,
Such warlike Deeds of Brittains Chiefs are told;
Where Merlin did his mighty Art expoſe,
From whence his Wonders and his Fame aroſe,
The Lord high Preſident keeps there his Court,
And fondly ſeeks the Strangers kind Reſort;
The Youths are there bred up to Feats of Arms:
Thy lovely Son has all thoſe manly Charms,
That will attract his Eyes, his Fancy move,
And fix him to his Soul, with Bonds of Love.
Farewel, for I ſhall ne'er behold thee more;
My Tempeſt beaten Age, comes near the Shore;
[31] Where wearied out, I lay me down to reſt,
When Thought and Care, no more ſhall load my Breaſt,
Nor vainer Objects my freed Soul moleſt;
But upward mount, thro' yon bright Realms, and ſee
All the great Maze of vaſt Eternity:
The wond'rous Contemplation Silence brought,
And he ſeem'd loſt in Energy of Thought:
Then lift his Eyes, and bleſt the believing Pair,
But tho' intreated, would no more declare.
He deem'd the Council Sacred, and from thence
Doth his long weary Pilgrimage commence:
Oft Scraggy Rocks, and lofty Mounts they meet,
Where riſing Ground reſiſts their willing Feet;
Then reach'd thoſe Brittains ſo renown'd of old,
Of whom ſuch famous Actions have been told;
[32] There, as the Prophet ſaid, the lovely Boy,
(The Laſt, the deareſt Hope of Angiers joy)
At the firſt ſight the Preſident approv'd,
Made him his Care, and ſoon he grew belov'd;
Soon Angiers ſaw his happy Son deſign'd
The Darling of that Court, and humane Kind.
This was an Age when the Renown'd and Great,
Made Wealth but ſerve them to aſſiſt the State:
When bountious Nature had the Ground-Work laid,
Their forming Hand the worthy Heroe made;
Like his own Children, Angiers Son was train'd,
And from his Patron's Bounty, Arms and Arts he gain'd.
In this was Brittains Glory, and her Boaſt,
From Diſcipline like this, they rais'd a Hoſt;
Then no induſtrious Youth neglected lay,
But Merit to Preferment led the Way:
[33] Lewis d [...]pos'd as might advance his Worth;
Was call'd Perotto to conceal his Birth.
The Dauphineſs became the Queen of France,
Her Pride and Rage do with her Pow'r advance:
New Proclamations all around ſhe ſends,
Diſgraces thoſe who had been Angiers Friends:
He fears a ſtricter Search will now be made;
Nor ſtays he, leaſt his Children be betray'd,
But haſts to find a more ſecure Retreat
From Womans Rage, that's laſting as 'tis great:
Diſtreſs'd, he quits Fair Albions court'ous Shore,
But leaves behind, his All, his valu'd Store;
For whom he often does the Heavens implore.
He, with Regret, now leaves the lucky Strand,
Looks back, and Sighs, as on his native Land;
Extreameſt Griefs, his ſuffering Soul o'erflow;
And every Breath declares inceſſent Woe;
Then he reflects on his malicious Foe.
[32] [...] [33] [...] [34] Inhumane Queen, ah! Whether muſt I fly?
Is there no way to ſcape thée, but to die?
Yes, I wou'd die! throw off theſe ſervil Chains,
Did not our Prieſts pronounce eternal [...]ains
To thoſe who wearied out with Life's Diſeaſe,
Shall dare to cure themſelves e'er Nature pleaſe.
Fond Fatal Princeſs, couldſt thou ſee me now,
Nor Love, nor Rage, wou'd diſcompoſe thy Brow.
Thus Lean and Pail (ſecure from being known)
I ſhould move Pity for a Wretch undone:
And now my Royal Friend the Dauphin Reigns,
His Subjects in their Native Right maintains;
And Valour, Juſtice, Mercy, grace the Throne,
No injur'd Wretch makes his impatient Moan,
But all the Gallick World, the Face of joy puts on.
'Tis only I that am debard of Bliſs,
Nor can find Reſt without deſtroying His:
[35] Then let me ne'er accuſe th' Imperial Dame,
But ſuffer ſtill the Puniſhment and Shame.
He who had once a Nation at Command,
Now ſeeks a Maſter in Hibernia's Land.
It was his Fate, a haughty Lord to find,
Fierce and ſevere, nor cou'd he bend his Mind;
And he who in his mild and gentle Sway,
His Servants made, thro' Love, not Fear, o bey,
No Slaves to pride, in plenty and in eaſe,
They liv'd content, for 'twas no Task to pleaſe;
Yet their Good Maſter's diligent in vain,
Faultleſs is chid, nor dares he to complain;
Not Hebrew Job at length to Ills inur'd
So much, or half ſo patiently indur'd.
But now my weary'd Muſe, his Woes ſorſake,
Begin another Scene, and turn the Proſpect back;
O'er paſs the rowling Years of flying Time,
And ſhew Florella in her Beauties Prime,
[36] Divinely Fair, as the Firſt Eden Maid.
E'er ſhe for Knowledge, Innocence betray'd:
When in her Eyes ſate ſmiling every Grace,
And the immortal Bloom was on her Face,
And bright unfully'd Glories, new Creation grace.
Only one Son preſerv'd the Marſhal's Line,
Whoſe Form was lovely, and his Soul Divine:
His Tour thro' France, and Italy had been,
And Europes World the Travelling Youth had ſeen;
Return'd, improv'd, by skilful Maſters taught,
With all their Language, and their Learning fraught;
Pleaſing his Mean, ſo Gay, but truly Brave,
Nor yet to Vice, or Paſſion made a Slave:
The Courts Delight, for whom each Lady ſtrove,
And put on all her Charms, to make him Love.
[37] Lord Mandevil was now the only Theam,
Their daily Pleaſure, and their nightly Dream;
Florella at a Rural Mantion ſtaid,
Left to the Conduct of the lovely Maid;
Content with what her Fortune did afford,
The Virgin thought not of her New come Lord:
The joyful Parents ſhow'd their Darling round,
And every Pleaſure his Return had crown'd;
Then leave the Town, their Country Seat to view,
And with Variety their Joys renew:
Soon as arriv'd, Florella Duty paid;
But Heav'n! How gaz'd the Youth, when he beheld the Maid!
In all the Realms that he had travell'd o'er,
He thought he ne'er had Beauty ſeen before;
He ſigh'd, and look'd, and faſten'd there his Eyes,
And ſcarcely cou'd he hide the vaſt Surprize.
[38] She ſaw him fix'd, the doubtful Virgin fear'd
She had done ſome Fault, ſo, bluſhing, diſap⯑pear'd.
As if the Sun had ſtraight his Beams withdrawn,
And left no gladſome Ray, no twilight Dawn,
So ſeem'd to him the Place, dark and forlorn,
When Fair Florella from his Sight was gone;
Abſent, her lovely Form remain'd behind,
Fix'd was her Image on his tender Mind:
He ſoon inquir'd who the Virgin was,
And ſmiling ſaid, ſhe had a charming Face.
Th' indulgent Mother, whoſe delightful Aim
Was to pleaſe him, from whom her Pleaſures came,
With graceful Air, the whole Adventure tells,
And to his liſt'ning Ears, each Circumſtance re⯑veals.
[39] He Bluſh'd, and Sigh'd at what ſhe did relate,
And cry'd, 'tis ſure ſome Miſtery of Fate!
Her looks, do Awe, and Admiration ſtrike!
Such Charms from Want? not Courts can ſhow the like.
Sure Heaven miſtook, and with a haſty Hand,
Form'd her a Slave, when it deſign'd Command;
The Talk was chang'd, but ſtill his thinking Soul,
Was with the glorious bright Idea full:
He ſtrugled hard, nor yeilded to the Snare,
But often cry'd, ſhe is not ſure ſo Fair;
Beſides her Birth is mean, not worth my Care.
Urg'd by Deſire, a ſecond Sight he ſought,
As if he wou'd correct his former Thought;
Thus treacherous Love draws the Unwary on,
The more they gaze, the more they are undone.
[40] The pointed Rays had fill'd his Youthful Breaſt,
Th' amourous Fire, his daring Soul poſſeſt,
And quickly grew too great to be ſuppreſt.
The Brave, the ſooneſt are to Love inclin'd,
And Love delights to ſooth a generous Mind.
In vain the Youth with fated Paſſion ſtrove,
For ev'ry Breaſt muſt yield to pow'rful Love.
The Sons of Art no Recipee have found;
In all their Store, to heal this pleaſing Wound:
Had there in Herbs or Plants a Balm been known,
The God of Phyſick ſure had cur'd his own;
He pines and ſickens now with Loves exceſs,
His Sighs and Languiſhings his Pains confeſs;
His wonted Sports grew taſtleſs to his Soul,
Triumphant Paſhon all his Joys controul:
He hates the Court, ſhuns ev'ry charming Fair,
They cannot pleaſe, unleſs Florella's there.
[41] To ſome dark Grot, or Melancholly Grove,
The Youth retires, and breathes his hapleſs Love;
There vents his killing Griefs, and there complains,
And only tells the ſilent Trees his Pains.
A little Diſtance from the Palace ſtood,
A ſtately Shade of venerable Wood,
Which full a Hundred Years the Seaſons bore,
And Rev'rend Trunks with Moſs, were cover'd o'er;
Whoſe dusky Shade defi'd the Rays of Light,
And ſpite of Noon-day-beams, ſeem Sacred ſtill to Night:
In this Retreat, the Love-ſick Heroe choſe,
To nurſe his Flame, and to indulge his Woes;
Florella too, to ſolitude inclin'd,
But her Amuſement's of another kind:
Various Theams delight her eaſie Breaſt,
And no prevailing Thought diſturbs her Reſt;
[42] Penſive ſhe walks to take the Evening Air,
At her Approach, the Greens freſh Verdure wear;
For her Companion, flowing Horace choſe,
And could her ſelf harmonious Airs compoſe;
Officious Love, her wand'ring Steps betray'd,
And brought th' diſpairing Youth, the lovely Maid;
Stretch'd on the Earth, beneath a Maple Shade,
As rooted there, poor Mandevil was laid;
His abſent Soul was waiting on his Fair,
But Senſe and Life return'd, as ſhe drew near;
Straight with Convulſive Tranſports he was ſeiz'd
At the Surprize, alarm'd, diſturb'd, and pleas'd.
The modeſt Maid, bluſhing, her Lord eſpy'd,
Obeyſance made, and turn'd her Steps aſide:
But when he ſaw the Virgin haſte away,
Confus'd, he roſe, and thus beſpake her, Stay
[43] Dear Nymph! you ſeem the Goddeſs of this Grove;
Or, what is more, th' Immortal Queen of Love!
Let that ſoft Form, a tender Heart contain,
With Pity, hear a dying Youth complain,
For mine are real Woes, and real Pain:
Theſe Woods are Witneſs to my conſtant Flame,
Each Tree thy Cypher bears, tho' not thy Name;
Leaſt jealous Eyes the mighty Secret find,
And to my Charmer, grow from thence unkind;
But when alone, my Tongue nought elſe will ſound,
I reach the vaulted Skies, and pierce the hallow Ground:
To Eccho's Care, I ſend Florella's Name,
And kindly ſhe reverberates the ſame.
Oh! do not look with ſuch relentleſs Eyes,
If you're unmov'd, your faithful Lover dies.
[44] All Night, on Beds of Down, I reſtleſsrave,
On this cold Earth, I meaſure out my Grave;
'Tis you alone can help, 'tis you alone can ſave.
The Maid, whoſe Soul was ſuited to her Birth,
With noble Scorn, rais'd her fair Eyes from Earth;
Then with a Voice majeſtick and ſevere
Thus ſpoke, and gave the Love-ſick Youth Di⯑ſpair:
Becauſe I to your Mother's bountious Hand,
For Food and Raiment do indebted ſtand,
You think, perhaps, you may the Slave com⯑mand.
But tho', my Lord, my Niggard Star's deny'd
Me Wealth and Titles, they have giv'n me Pride:
If from my Wants, your wanton Hopes you frame,
Know I prize Honour, and a virt'ous Name.
[45] My Heart's unconquer'd, and my Soul unſtain'd,
A Fortitude by Heav'n it ſelf maintain'd;
Nor Force, nor Flattery, can my Mind ſubdue,
Behold me then, great and reſolv'd like you.
Surpriz'd at this! the wretched Lover cry'd,
If you're diſpleas'd, I wiſh ere this I'd dy'd:
In my unhappy Speech, what have I ſaid
T' offend my dear belov'd bewitching Maid!
Beneath thy Feet let me for ever lye,
Or by your juſt Commands, condemn'd to die
If 'gainſt your Honour I had leaſt Deſign;
My Thoughts, tho' they are kind, are chaſt as thine;
When of my Love I make an Offering,
With Flames leſs pure then pious Veſſels bring,
When in their Temple they ſincerely pray,
And bright Devotion, at their Altars pay,
[46] May all my Days and Nights be daſh'd with woe,
Nor e'er the Bleſſing of Poſſeſſion know:
May no Self-joys my longing Wiſhes Crown,
But Curſe me ſtill with a remorſleſs Frown;
Ne'er think I would deſtroy the Worſhip'd ſhrine,
Or wrong that Honour which I Court for mine:
'Tis Hymens Torch is my auſpicious Guide,
Directs my Love to ſeek you for my Bride:
Bleſt with that Hope, I bear the Pains of Life,
(I ask you, not a Miſtreſs, but a Wife)
Elſe on the Inſtant wou'd I quit this Breath,
And ſeek my Peace in the cold Arms of Death:
Oh! twou'd o'erwhelm my Soul with Black Diſpair,
If after all my Service, all my Care,
I did not hope to gain my charming Fair.
Florella, ceaſe to think my Love a Crime,
And let my Faith be try'd, by that ſure teſt of Time:
[47] Injoyn me any thing that may convince
Of my Flames Durance, and its Innoſence,
(The greateſt Tortures I would undergo)
If you'll except it, and believe it ſo.
She liſten'd now more Calm, and more Sedate,
Yet ſeem'd reſolv'd, as the Decrees of Fate:
Then thus reply'd, Such Virtue ſure has Charms,
But I am plac'd Inferiour to your Arms;
Such Honours might the moſt Ambitious move,
Who wou'd not prize the Treaſure of your Love?
But I'm unworthy your exalted State,
And muſt except a more convenient Fate.
Let not ignoble Fires your Youth miſlead,
With equal Fortune grace your Nuptial Bed;
A Father will direct you in your Choice,
There's no true Joys without the Parent's Voice;
Therefore no longer feed this fond Deſire,
But here, in ſilence, let your Flames expire:
[48] And that from Guilt Florella may remain,
That no ungrateful Act her Duty ſtain,
Thus in the Face of Heav'n firmly ſwear,
Your ill plac'd Paſſion I no more will hear,
Except your Father's free Conſent you gain;
And Reaſon tells you, that Attempt is vain;
For he is cold, in his declining Years,
A dow'rleſs Wife's, the greateſt Ill he fears:
Old Men are always fond of darling Gold,
Still ſtrive to graſp the Earth they cannot hold.
Amongſt the Great, ſome wealthy Fair adore,
Conſult with Duty, urge this Suit no more;
Then with redoubled haſte ſhe flies away,
He call'd in vain, ſhe wou [...]d no Anſwer ſtay.
What Pen can paint the Sinner in Diſpair,
When Heav'n, regardleſs, will not hear his Pray'r!
Terrors like thoſe, the hopeleſs Youth oppreſt,
And fill'd the tortur'd Manſion of his Breaſt:
[49] Now he ſubmits to Health-deſtroying Grief,
Bends down beneath he load, nor ſeeks Relief;
A deadly Pale his youthful Cheeks o'er ſpread,
Continual Sighs have chas'd from thence the Red,
His langui'd Eyes the chearful Light refuſe,
And in pale Fits their former luſtre loſe.
Scarce will this wanton Age my Tale Believe;
A Conſtant Youth their Vice wou'd ne'er forgive.
Now Love is grown the Univerſal Sport,
The Men deſign to leave, e'er they begin to Court;
Fickle their Nature's, roving their Deſire,
In Various Heats, there is no real Fire.
Of old, to one the Paſſion was Confin'd,
They'd wait an Age to make the Fair one Kind;
Changing's the Mode; a Lover is a Fool,
And to be very Faithful's, to be very Dull.
[50] But to return to our kind [...]aithful Youth,
And all the Wonders of [...]is Love and Truth;
The Mother does with careful Eyes Survey
His Griefs, and finds a ſencible Decay;
She trys with all delights, his Soul to Chear,
And when he Sighs, crys out, What ails my Dear?
In vain her fondneſs, the inquiry Frames,
Gueſſes in vain, a Thouſand things ſhe Names;
Fruitleſs her Aid, he ſtill the wrack indures,
Beneath the Moon but one Elixer cures;
That deny'd, all other helps are vain,
He only with his Life, can end his Pain;
A languid Sickneſs makes his Youth a Prey,
And Canker like, eats the fine form a way:
Apollo's Sons are brib'd to uſe their Art,
To ſave this Darling of the Mother's Heart:
[51] Their Cordial Juilps they apply in vain;
They cannot Cool the Heat, nor ſwage the Pain.
Who can the Sighs, the piercing Woe expreſs,
The Fears which his ſad Parents Souls Diſtreſs?
His Noble Father cry's, his hopes are gone;
His Name is loſt, his Heir, his only Son;
But his great Courage helps his Grief to Bear:
The Lady ſeems diſtracted with her Care.
Sorrow no ſleep, no balmy peace allows,
And Heav'n ſhe wearies with Inceſſant Vows;
No Chearful Gueſt the wonted Mirth Maintains,
But through the Houſe a ſolemn Sadneſs Reigns.
Florella too, who did theſe Woes Create,
In Secret Mourns the Youths unhappy Fate;
Blames the Croſs Star that had to Love inclin'd,
And made her cauſe the ills ſhe ne'er deſign'd.
Now at a ſtand are all the learned Tribe,
They find it vain to Viſit or Preſcribe;
[52] The active Spirits weary of [...]eir Courſe,
And drooping Life appears [...]tain'd by Force:
His Servants all are dr [...]n'd in black Diſpair,
He only loſt in Thought, ſeems void of Fear;
Reſerv'd and cold to his officious Friends,
He chides their Care, their Diligence offends.
When in her turn the Fair Florella came,
The lovely ſource of this conſuming Flame,
He rear'd his dying Eyes, and faintly ſaid,
Come near, thou too too lovely Charming Maid;
Now ſee how pale and languiſhing I lye,
And ſtill remember 'tis for you I dye.
Death, cold as your diſdain, comes o'er my Bloom,
And ah! ſweet Nimph, in Ages yet to come,
As none in Beauty e'er can rival Thee,
So none in Conſtancy ſhall equal me.
Oh cruel Fair! hereafter prove ſo Juſt,
When I am loſt, forgotten in the Duſt,
[53] To all the liſt'ning Swains my Story tell,
Proclaim how much I [...]ov'd, how early Fell:
No other way, I'd Court a laſting Fame,
But as Loves Victim Eternize my Name.
Yes Goddeſs, the bright tract I have in View,
Is that the World may ſay I dy'd for you.
At this the Tears fell from her Conquering Eyes,
And Sighs uncall'd from her fair Boſom Riſe;
The fainting Youth beheld the bluſhing Maid,
And to his trembling Lips her hand convey'd.
Enough, my firſt, my everlaſting Dear,
I dye content, ſince I am worth a Tear.
He ſaid no more, The approaching Friends might ſpair
Their uſeleſs aid, for all the help was there.
Amongſt Apollo's Sons that crouded there
One to his Skill added peculiar Care,
Reſolves, if Art will do't, to ſave th' important Heir.
[54] Upon his Life he ſaw their [...]opes Depend,
Nor unconcern'd, hea [...] ev'ry Mourning Friend;
Tho' ſome unmov'd, can ſee the Parents Cry,
Lamenting Wife, or Friend ſtand ſighing by,
And gravely Anſwer, Man was Born to dye,
When they, perhaps, have haſten'd Natures Date,
And lay their own Miſtake, on guiltleſs Fate:
But this, with utmoſt care, conſulted Health,
Like Generous Garth aim'd not alone at wealth;
The Mean, the Great, his equal influence find,
As ſent by Heav'n, to heal and bleſs Mankind.
In him the Graces with the Arts combin'd,
Like Poetry and Wealth, but ſeldom Joyn'd,
Yet here they Triumph all, while he with Eaſe,
Can Charm, Relieve, and Conquer a Diſeaſe;
A Stranger to the New Phantaſtick way,
Which dreſſes firſt, and bids the Dying ſtay,
[55] He weigh'd each C rcumſtance e'er gave his Vote,
Took not the common way, and kill'd by Rote;
And by his nice Obſervances, could find
The Body ſtrugling with a tortur'd Mind.
Healthful, reluctant to th' imperial Sway,
Contending ſtill, unwilling to obey:
No [...]ctive Feaver lodg'd within his Blood,
The ſullen Soul deny'd the Body Food,
And Sighs and Sorrow robb'd his Eyes of Reſt,
He ſooths the Griefs which his ſad mind oppreſt.
Seeing him thus reſolvd, the ill t' Indure,
And that he neither ſtrove, nor wiſh'd a Cure,
The only care muſt be to ſearch the Wound,
There's no Receit has pow'r, till that be found:
He waits and watches the ſlow paſſing Sand,
Tho' bid retire, he minds not the Command;
But ſtill obſerves and graſps his feeble Hand.
[56] The Pulſe was low as at th' [...]bb of Life,
And weaken'd Nature [...]rce maintain'd the ſtrife.
When fair Florella to the Chamber came,
Sent by his Mother, that diſpairing Dame,
Straight the Male Miniſters fetch nimble Strokes,
And freſh Vermillion dy'd his Languid Looks;
New ſtrength, new Vigour now his Eyes inſpir'd,
And glowing Cheeks, with conſcious Bluſhes fir'd,
Relaps'd again, ſoon as the Nymph Retir'd.
The Wiſe Phyſitian, this with Judgment weigh'd,
He found the Youth was dying for the Maid.
H e ſmiling roſe, and haſten'd to depart,
And murmur'd to himſelf, How Vain's our Art?
We have no Medicine, for a Love-ſick Heart.
[57] He left the Room, th inquiring Mother flys
To ask what hopes, examines firſt his Eyes,
Longing the truth to know, yet truth ſhe ſears,
Her trembling Voice is choak'd with riſing Tears.
Says he, I long have view'd your deep Concern,
And ſtudi'd much your Sons Diſeaſe, to learn
What led his Youth tow'rds an untimely Grave,
And why my Drugs now loſe their pow'r to ſave;
In vain my utmoſt Art and Care I uſe,
My Medicines all their healing power Loſe,
And the ſick Youth does all releif refuſe.
At this amaz'd! at length I truly Gueſt
Some Pain hid in the Cloſet of his Breaſt:
There like deſtructive Fire, in ſecret Mines,
Conſum'd his ſtrength, and baffl'd our Deſigns.
The impatient Mother, interrupted now,
Surpriz'd, ſhe cry'd, Can there be ought below,
[58] My Darling Son eager as Li [...] Requires
And wait not I too Crow [...] his fond Deſires?
'Tis Love, he then re [...]d, has rack'd him long,
Love, that delightful Torture of the Young,
The Worlds great Lord, ſubduer of the ſtrong;
The ſubtle Fire has pierc'd his aking Heart,
And drinks his Vital Blood with ceaſleſs Smart:
His L [...]e's a Prey to the All powerful Flame,
Unleſs he's cur'd, from whence the Torment came.
And is there then, ſhe haughtily reply'd,
A Dame too great, to be Lord Mand'vils Bride?
Why pines my Son upon the Wrack of Love,
When to be his, each charming Nymph has ſtrove?
Name but the Fair, who bears ſuch conquering Eyes,
Be ſure my Lord High Marſhal gains the Prize,
[59] How great ſoe'er her, Noble Parents be;
My Son can boaſt Deſcent with any ſhe.
The Blood that fills his Veins, from either Source,
Has a glorious Spring, and untaunted Courſe;
Titles and flowing Wealth, his Name adorn,
What cruel Nymph can pay him back with Scorn!
Then the good Man, whoſe Speeches only tend
To calm her Wrath, and to preſerve his Friend,
Went on;
If thus he'ad place'd his Love, why ſhou'd he mourn?
Or fear your kind Conſent, or her Return?
But if forgot the Honours of his Race,
He doats upon a beauteous Form and Face,
Of Birth unknown, tho' moſt divinely Fair,
Whoſe utmoſt Glory is to be your Care:
[60] His Reaſon by his conqu' [...]g Love betray'd,
And the ſad Choice, is [...]ath, or that bright Maid;
I need not now pr [...]ounce her well known Name,
There is but one can kindle ſuch a Flame.
The Mother ſaid, What Ills muſt I indure,
E'er my Stern Lord will yield to ſuch a Cure?
For this Misfortune he will me upbrai'd,
Becauſe I ſuccor'd firſt the tender Maid.
Vertue and Grace Florella does poſſeſs,
My cruel Lord builds there no Happineſs:
Howe'er my utmoſt Tears, and Prayers I'll try;
'Tis better far, to ſee him hers, than dye.
This ſpoke, ſhe haſt's to find her Mourning Lord,
In th' ſofteſt Phraſe her Language cou'd afford;
With moving Tears th' unhappy Tale relates,
Oft blames her Son, but more the cruel Fates,
[61] That thus ordain'd to rob their Souls of Reſt,
To loſe the Youth, by whom their Age was bleſt
Or give Conſent, ſhe ſigh'd, that Ill's the leaſt.
Her ſoothing Softneſs cou'd not ſtop his Rage,
Nor gentle Showers, his Mad Fury ſwage:
From his fierce Eyes the fiery Tempeſt came,
Tumultuous Paſſion ſet him in a Flame,
Let him then dye, he cry'd, e'er thus diſgrace his Name.
Oh! barb'rous Sound! Oh! moſt unnatural Breath
She ſaid! To doom an only Son to Death!
When firſt, my Lord, to me your Vows you paid,
How oft you wiſh'd me born ſome humble Maid,
That you might greatly prove your generous Fire,
And griev'd, your Fortunes cou'd not raiſe me higher:
[62] Had I been ſo, you the ſame Riſque had run;
Then, oh! Forgive your too too Amourous Son!
Yet all her pleading Agonies were vain,
Her unperſwaſive Griefs cou'd only gain
That ſhe might ſooth her Son, in his deſtructive Pain;
That ſhe with Hopes might lull his Cares a Sleep,
Make Promiſes, which he ne'er meant to keep.
With this dear Cordial, to the Youth ſhe flies,
Sits down, and views him with the kindeſt Eyes:
He Sigh'd, and Begg'd ſhe would his Faults forgive,
And cry'd, don't ask your wretched Child to live;
Nor torture thus, my Soul, to ſee you Grieve:
Your Bleſſing on your hapleſs Son beſtow;
Excuſe the Debt I to your Goodneſs owe [...]
[63] 'Tis a vaſt Summ, which I can never pay,
Yet I will rather dye than diſobey.
Weeping, the Lady ſpoke:
Oh! thankleſs Child! oh! moſt ungrateful Boy!
Too well thou know'ſt, thou art alone my Joy;
Thy Death will my Remains of Life deſtroy:
Therefore no more of thy falſe Duty boaſt,
When you indulge the Ill by which my Peace is loſt:
Since after Days, and Nights, of wracking Pain,
Scarcely to be endur'd, or thought again,
Since the Firſt happy Hour the gladſome Morn,
When the wiſh'd News went round, a Son was Born;
I have indulg'd thee ev'ry anxious Year,
No Mother e'er ſuch Tenderneſs did bear,
Why doſt thou then diſtract me with Diſpair?
[64] Upon my Love and Pain thou ne'er look'ſt back
Nor the ſucceſſive Cares which I did take;
So forward ſtill the eager Streams are born,
And to the Nurſing Fountain rarely turn.
He only groan'd, here let my Life have end,
Too long I've liv'd ſuch Goodneſs to offend.
She cou'd not bear the Grief ſhe ſaw him feel,
Fear'd to increaſe the Pangs ſhe meant to heal:
Then mildly, with a ſofter Air began,
And kindly cheer'd her poor dejected Son:
Thy Fathers Hopes, and mine, are built in thee,
His Pride thou art, and every Wiſh to me;
Yet cautious Youth, in this you are to blame,
You do not prize aright a Mothers Name;
But hide from me, your very beſt of Friends,
The ſecret Woe, on which your Life depends,
Whilſt your Phyſitian, the true Cauſe diſplays,
And ſaith, 'tis inward Grief, your Youth decays.
[65] Officious Fool! the penſive Son reply'd!
His nauſeous Draughts he longer ſhou'd have try'd!
Not the dear Secret of my Soul impart!
And thereby ſhow the Weakneſs of his Art!
Oh! Mandevill, his Mother mildly ſaid,
Confeſs the Truth, I will no more upbraid,
For now his Care thy wiſhes have betray'd!
Thy healthful Bloom, let Grief no more devour,
But ſeek my Aid, and truſt anothers Power.
What ſilent ſtill! Will nought your Spirits chear?
Go quickly one, and call Florella here:
Look up, my Son, and now believe me kind,
I've brought the Balm for thy diſtemper'd Mind:
Your Life in Ballance, we this Choice prefer,
Your only Task's to live and conquer her.
Too much tranſported at this Change of Fate,
He cry'd, Your proffer'd Kindneſs is too late.
[66] The mighty Tides of Joy come on too faſt,
And weaken'd Life is gone too far to laſt;
A dreadful Sound adds Terrour to their Fears,
And fills the Room with piercing Shrieks and Tears;
The Mother from the Pillow ſnatch'd her Son,
And cry'd, Help all, or I am loſt, undone.
Then on her Breaſt the Darling Youth ſhe laid,
And bid Florella bring her uſeful Aid:
He ſtrait reviv'd at Touches of the Maid.
Then Conſcious what tranſporting Joy had done,
He bluſh'd at what Extravagance he'd ſhewn,
And ſhe, as if the Fault had been her own.
This was his Criſis, this the lucky Hour,
And Death, and Sickneſs, quit malignant Pow'r.
Now wing'd with Joy, the happy Minutes flew;
He ſtill beheld the Fair, and ſtill the Sigh was New;
[67] Soft Tales of Love he whiſper'd in her Ear,
Not ſo reſerv'd, butſhe ſeem'd pleas'd to hear;
And when he begg'd ſhe wou'd his Fears remove,
And bleſs him with that charming Sound, I love;
Her Tongue was ſilent, but her Eyes proclaim,
She lov'd the Youth, and caught the infectious Flame:
His Health return'd, and every blooming Grace
Revives and ſparkles in its wonted Place,
With Tranſports in his Mein, and Raptures in his Face.
A new Reſpect was to Florella paid,
All hail'd with Joy, the beauteous happy Maid:
Thro'out the Land was ſpread her wond'rous Fame,
Each Sonnet rais'd new Trophies to her Name;
With ſuch a Grace as ſcarce can be believ'd,
Theſe flowing Honours the Fair Nymph receiv'd:
[68] The Courtly Youth now envy'd Mand'vill more
For this rich Prize, than what his Titles bore.
Paint now the Pleaſures of the happy Pair,
Whoſe Joys were Innocent, and moſt Sincere;
From Garden Grots, to purling Streams they rove,
Endleſs their Talk, and all that Talk was Love.
New Raptures ſtill, from Converſation grow,
Ten Thouſand Joys, which only Lovers know:
Such ſancy'd Bliſs, her charming Preſence brings,
The bleſt tranſported Youth, looks down on Kings;
Implores, that Hymen make his Joys ſecure,
And tye that Knot, which does for Life indure.
Thoſe were the Sun ſhine Days, when Cupid play'd,
And every Laughing Hour was joyful made;
They dream'd not of the Black approaching Shade:
[69] (Mankind, when he injoys the Smiles of Fate,
But vainly thinks to fix a proſperous State:
And when ill Fortune does his Life attend,
As vainly fears his Woes will never end:
Alas! 'tis fooliſh! All our Life's a Dream,
And every Seaſon has its changing Scene!)
Fearleſs, Supine, and bleſs'd with ſweet Repoſe,
The Lovers were, when unthought Storms aroſe.
The Father to his Cloſet takes his Son,
And with an Air ſevere, his Speech begun:
I'd know when you will quit this Sluggiſh Pace,
When baniſh'd Honour reaſſumes its Place,
And you maintain the Glory of your Race.
Is not thy Fancy ſated, fooliſh Boy?
Love is a Sweet, deſign'd to pleaſe and cloy,
Nor meant the nobler Faculty's t' employ.
Licenſe I gave to the ignoble Fire,
That thou might'ſt Glut thy inſatiate Deſire;
[70] And feed like ſome Ill-manner'd eager Gueſt,
'Till thou grew Sick, and loath'd the Luſcious Feaſt.
Nay, turn not Pale; thou canſt not change my Mind,
Nor think I ever otherwiſe deſign'd.
The impatient Son, then eagerly reply'd,
Under Love's Vail, could you ſuch Baſeneſs hide?
Compell'd by Duty, I have heard too long,
The Sacred Bus'neſs of my Love you wrong.
Florella's Vertue is above your Thought;
Nor wou'd the Jem with all your Wealth be bought:
For the Fair Maid, good Angels be her Guard,
May her juſt Worth ſtill meet a juſt Reward:
Kind Providence! preſerve her Youth from Harm!
Oh! may ſhee ever live, and live to Charm!
[71] His Father was inrag'd at this Reply,
The Father ſaid:
And with a Stern tremendous Voice, did cry,
Audacious Boy! And durſt thou to my Face,
Bleſs One born for thy Shame, and my Diſgrace!
Go to the Grave, and hide thy Abject Flame:
Could'ſt hope I'd give to her a Daughters Name;
Or vainly think I would thy Choice applaud,
Tho' I did yield to a fond Mothers Fraud;
I'd rather ſee thee and thy Sorc'reſs dye,
Than to the Marriage but in Thought comply:
He calmly anſwer'd;
Enough, my Lord, your furious Rage give o'er;
Take your Sons Word, you'll hear of this no more:
With Looks compos'd, he left the hateful Room;
Nor cou'd his Father gueſs the Fate to come.
[72] No Image of Delight now fills his Mind;
He ne'er can hope to make his Father kind.
Deep ſtrugling Griefs his doubtful Thoughts op⯑preſt,
All Day no Dawn of Peace, all Night no Reſt;
Tortur'd with Pains, too great to be expreſt,
Diſturb'd he walks, revolving in his Breaſt,
What Courſe he ſhou'd his wretched Footſteps, ſtear,
That moſt might ſhew his Love and his Diſpair.
Florella fear'd him weary of his Flame;
Nor gay, nor pleas'd, he to her Toilet came;
No tuneful Airs her gentle Slumbers break;
No Songs Salute her, e'er ſhe's well awake,
And ſweet Melodious Notes, compos'd for her dear Sake:
Nor one ſoft Billet Deaux ſo kind does prove,
To whiſper the Dear Tale of Truth and Love:
[73] If ſhe approach, he hangs his penſive Head,
His Looks ſtrait change, from Pale, to glowing Red.
He Sighs, as if around Deſtruction fell,
And his full Eyes, a fatal Story tell.
Theſe boding Symptoms fright the Charming Fair,
Who finds, when Love does faithful Breaſts in⯑ſnare,
They're wrack'd with Jealous Fears, and every tender Care.
Retir'd alone, ſhe ſoftly does complain,
And wiſhes for her former Peace in vain;
Reflects upon her Hours of downy Reſt,
Before inchanting Love, that cruel Gueſt,
Uſurp'd, with Tyrant Pow'r, her milder Breaſt.
Oh! happy Days, ſhe ſaid, from Paſſion free!
When all was Peace, and calm Felicity:
[74] If eager Joy, I neither wiſh'd nor knew,
I liv'd without the Pain and Pleaſure too.
Oh happy State of Cold Indifference!
Bleſs'd in that ſeeming Want of nicer Senſe,
Whom nothing pleaſes, nothing gives Offence.
No fierce Purſuit, their thoughtleſs Minds employ,
They feel no Sorrow, as they taſte no Joy.
In Bounds the Stagnate Waters ſullenlye,
No Tempeſt raiſes them like Mountains high;
Whilſt Curling Waves, form'd by the rapid Stream,
Can never reſt, nor ever be Serene.
Oh friendleſs Maid! If he Unkind ſhou'd prove,
Or ſo Untrue, but to diſſemble Love,
And I, the publick Talk, the publick Jeſt,
Become of ev'ry Meeting, ev'ry Feaſt:
But hold! There's ſomething tells me I am Born,
Above their Laughter, and above their Scorn;
Yes, Mand'vill,
[75] If thou diſdain'ſt thy humble Victory,
Know I can Triumph too, and bravely dye:
Thus her diſpairing Fears, her Hopes o'ercame,
Thus ſhe accus'd her Lord, and curs'd the fatal Flame.
Whilſt Love alone poſſeſt Young Mand'vills Mind,
To give the greateſt Proof he now deſign'd,
And quit the waiting Grandeur of his Birth,
And with his Love, forſake the Glories of the Earth;
For ſince Florella is deny'd his Wife,
He'll wed himſelf to a Monaſtick Life;
And tho' within his own dear Native Land,
Many Fair Abbyes do inviting ſtand,
Gardens and Groves, delightful to the Eye,
As if they meant to ſooth Auſterity;
[76] (The beſt of all the Realm the Prieſt's ſtill choſe,
They look'd as if deſign'd for ſoft Repoſe;
But we are to believe they watch and pray,
And Tears and Pennance wear their Hoursaway)
Theſe he avoids, leaſt Pow'r his Will reſtrain,
And force him from their Convent, Home again.
In France he means to find ſome lovely Cell,
And there in ſolemn Silence, ever dwell:
Now all things for his Voyage he provides,
But from his deareſt Friends, the Secret hides:
The Marſhal, dayly, Tables did ordain,
The weary travelling Pilgrims to maintain,
Who always found a welcome; there refreſht
With Hoſpitable Food, the Gracious Donor bleſt:
Like one of theſe, his Son deſign'd to dreſs,
And 'ſcape unknown, amidſt the thronging Preſs.
Thus his Deſigns the wandering Scene had laid,
And thus the hapleſs Youth himſelf betray'd;
[77] Not to his Love, he wou'd his Thoughts reveal,
Yet cou'd not part without a laſt Farewel;
Tho' 'twas a pang that Life cou'd hardly Bear,
For her to Health and Life he did Prefer,
Nothing beneath the Sun he held ſo Dear.
He to the Beautious Nymph's Apartment went,
Pains in his Heart, and Looks of Diſcontent;
He found her Reading to divert her Mind,
'Twas Ariadne's pray'rs breath'd to the Wind,
When faithleſs Theſeus left the Fair Behind;
He took the Book, and when he ſaw the Place,
A burning Bluſh flew to his lovely Face.
She forc'd a Smile, and cry'd, what find you there,
That in your Cheeks ſuch Signs of guilt appear?
Said he, Had Theſeus been Compell'd to go,
To purchaſe Fame, and fight a diſtant Foe,
And left the Nymph in ſome bleſt happy Place,
Wou'd that, and ſigh'd, not alter much the Caſe?
[78] If left, the Maid reply'd,
Tho' in a Palace where ſhe bore Command,
'Twou'd ſoon grow hateful as the barren Sand;
Since there is no amends for perjur'd Love,
No pleaſures will the bitter Pain Remove.
Heav'n it ſelf, takes cogniſance of broken Vows,
And its ſtrict Juſtice there, no Mercy ſhows,
Whither, oh whither, do thy Speeches lead?
With dying Eyes, the tortur'd Mand'vil ſaid,
Doſt thou unjuſtly think thou art betray'd.
Me, my Florella! Me, doſt thou accuſe!
Or tax with perjur'd Love, or broken Vows!
Do not my ſuff'rings dwell upon thy Mind?
Oh thou too killing Fair! And too unkind!
Know that in all the tales of Love thou'ſt found,
No Heart with greater truth was ever crown'd,
[79] My Thoughts have ſtill been fix'd, my Eyes ne'er ſtraid,
Since firſt Loves mighty Laws my Soul obey'd,
And if my adverſe Stars, ſuch woe Ordains,
That I am ſtill Condemn'd to endleſs Pains.
If I am doom'd to loſe what I hold dear,
A Puniſhment which Nature cannot Bear.
Add not my Fair, to the too Cruel weight,
But think it is the hard neceſſity of Fate.
Ah little, little of my Pangs you know!
Nor kindly gueſs the wracks I under go;
The rending Grief, that tears my lab'ring Heart,
When I with you, and all my Joys muſt Part;
Such woes as theſe fond nurſing Mothers Feel;
To ſee their Infants on the Soldiers ſteel,
Such piercing Pain, when we behold from far,
The Veſſel ſink, where all our Treaſures are;
[80] Yet theſe ſad Woes, compar'd to mine, are ſmall,
A parting Lovers grief, exceeds them all.
Muſt we then part? ſhe ſaid: Oh moſt unkind!
And for what wretched place am I deſign'd?
Friendleſs, forſaken, muſt I wander now,
Or to ſome new imperious Miſtreſs Bow.
Ye unauſpicious Stars, that rul'd my Birth,
Why was I form'd? Why did I crow'd the Earth,
When no Proviſion for my Life was made,
And not one place my own, to reſt my Head.
Let not ſuch Thoughts, affright thy tender Mind,
Here thou ſhalt ſtay; my Mother will be kind.
That Parent for the Other does attone;
She mild as Doves, he hard as petred Stone:
My Charmer, ſhe thy Life will eaſie make,
And love Florella, for her Mand'vils ſake.
[81] She anſwer'd,
Why ſuch disjointed Thoughts do you expreſs?
You'll leave me, yet talk of Happineſs:
Ruin thee! ſurely, my Ruin is deſign'd by Fate;
And muſtLove more deſtructive prove than Hate?
Why my Calm Virgin Hours did you moleſt?
Flatter me with poſſeſſion of your Breaſt?
Make me exchange my Peace, for this unreſt?
If ſtill, he cry'd, I do not love thee More,
Than greedy Miſers, Gold, or Monarchs Pow'r;
Than ſick Men Eaſe, the happy Lifes Increaſe;
Towns Beſeig'd, Relief; or pious Matrons Peace;
If thou art not my Joy, my Life my Health,
Priz'd like my Soul, my only valu'd Wealth,
Then ſend juſt Heaven, upon my perjur'd Head
Ten Thouſand Plagues, and ſtrike me with 'em Dead.
[82] But, oh! my Fair! my Hope! my only Wiſh!
A Father ſtands 'twixt me, and happineſs;
Deceiv'd in his diſſembl'd falſe Conſent,
Whoſe ſpecious words diſguis'd a foul intent:
In Rage, he bid me quench my faithful flame,
In Terms ſo vile, my Soul abhors to Name.
I oft have heard your cruel fatal Vow,
Your Virtue no ſtol'n Marriage will allow;
Therefore we muſt for ever, everpart;
Why do I live? Why doſt thou hold my Heart?
Why does not Fate, quick, ſure Deſtruction bring,
Burſt tortur'd Natures tyes, and break each trembling String?
Why, when Life's tedious March was almoſt o'er,
Was I brought back, to ſuffer on the Shore?
My cruel Father, worſe than Death deſtroys,
Death is a Good, when Life's bereft of Joys.
[83] Ceaſe my lov'd Lord, the fair Florella cry'd,
Wou'd I had ne'er been born, or born, that Mo⯑ment dy'd.
All things to your kind Family I owe,
And in return, Curſes alone beſtow:
I'll go where you ſhall ne'er behold me more,
And with my Abſence, former Peace reſtore.
Peace without thee! the doting Youth reply'd,
No Griefs will all my Days and Nights devide:
Diſpair and Sorrows, all my reſtleſs Hours be⯑tide.
Since from what my Soul deſires I'm debarr'd,
Forgive my earneſt Suit, nor think it hard:
I beg you ne'er will yield to a new Lovers Charms,
For I ſhou'd dye, to ſee you in another's Arms;
And (as my firſt, laſt Dear) with lovely you,
I bid the World, and all your Sex adieu:
[84] So let me hope that Snowy Virgin Breaſt,
Will never entertain another gueſt;
If I have firſt your Heart to Love inclin'd,
Oh! ſtill preſerve me in your Chaſter Mind;
Will ye be ſo kind? Can theſe Tears perſwade
The faireſt Nymph that ever Nature made?
Can ſhe, for the poor hapleſs Mand'vill's ſake,
Reſolve a laſting Leave of all Mankind to take?
It looks like ſullen Pride, I muſt confeſs,
That I ſhould others barr of Happineſs,
But oh! impute it to my Love's exceſs.
Grant this my charming Dear, my Hearts deſire,
The only Suit that I ſhall e'er require.
Like Sorrows Image then, he ſilent ſtood,
And ſtrove in vain to hide the falling Flood:
Pale, at her Feet, the dying Hero fell,
And let thoſe Signs of Grief, his inward Sorrows tell,
[85] Diſtreſs'd, ſhe rais'd him with her lovely Hand,
And cry'd, What wou'd my Lord his Slave com⯑mand?
Oh! poor Return, for all his wond'rous Love,
That to no other Youth I kind ſhould prove;
Without Injunction, I'd have made that Vow,
Immortal Paſſion, is your Merits due,
No Maid can Love again, after once loving you;
No thou dear Idol of my conquer'd Soul!
Thy Empire in my Breaſt, no Pow'r ſhall e'er con⯑troul;
Each tender Wiſh I'll dedicate to thee,
For whereſoe'er confin'd, ſtill Thought is free,
And mine ſhall ever Faithful, ever Conſtant be.
Oh! For my ſake, each deſperate Purpoſe ſhun,
If thou art loſt, Florella is undone:
With Patience, let us our Misfortunes wait,
And hope, from Innocence, a better Fate.
[86] He with glad Pleaſure liſtened to the Fair,
His Heart rejoyc'd to hear her Love and Care;
Yet ſtill reſolves his Purpoſe to purſue,
And meant this Viſit for a laſt Adieu.
He cou'd not take his longing Eyes away,
But rooted ſtands, and adds another Moment's ſtay;
Another, and another, to the mighty Summ,
Grudges the paſt, and fears the reſt to come:
At length he claſp'd her in his faithful Arms,
And ſaid, Thou Miſtreſs of Eternal Charms,
Remember Mand'vill, thou ſoft lovely Maid,
And let no Scandal on my Name be laid;
My Love was pure, from thought of Int'reſt free,
Virtue I ſought, found the rich Jem in thee,
More worth than boundleſs Heaps of hoarded Gold,
Or gawdy Titles, which are bought and ſold:
[87] A mighty Stock of Beauty Nature gave,
Beauty that wou'd all humane Kind enſlave;
Judge then my Fair, the Wrack, ſuch worth to leave!
He ſaid no more, but forc'd himſelf away
With Sighs, that did his Truth and Pangs betray.
The Nymph diſtracted, knew not what to gueſs,
But found ill Fate on ev'ry ſide did preſs;
Whilſt ſecret Means for his Eſcape he made,
And truſting none, cou'd be by none betray'd:
His Pilgrim Weed, to all, unknown he bought,
And to his Chamber undiſcover'd brought;
And ſends his Page on Errands ſeveral ways,
That muſt detain tke Youth the ſpace of many Days;
Then leaves the Key of his own private Cheſt,
And ſaith, when he returns, therein his Will's expreſt:
So fitted for the Purpoſe, when alone,
His Robe throws off, and the poor Weed puts on;
[88] With a falſe Beard, and Hair, he hides his Face,
And 'mongſt the Travelling Pilgrims takes his Place;
With them he paſſes thro' the Houſe unknown,
Leaves the gay pompous Roof, deſign'd his own,
To ſearch ſome diſmal melancholly Cell,
Some Caves where Sorrows ſelf wou'd chuſe to dwell.
Oh! mighty Love! Behold, look down and ſee
This glorious Victim, ſure, is worthy Thee;
And if o'er Mortals thou wou'dſt ſtill maintain
Diſpotick Sway, and undiſputed Reign,
This Story, in thy Annals, ſtill preſerve,
From him let conſtant Lovers learn to ſerve:
His Birth-right left, the Honours of his Name,
A wond'rous Tale, fit for the Book of Fame;
Let ſighing Virgins, endleſs Praiſe rehearſe,
Crown him ye Poets with immortal Verſe.
[89] Ye Shepherds, and ye Nymphs, new Songs or⯑dain,
He was, indeed, the Glory of the Plain.
When a forſaken Fair laments her Friend,
If her Complaints to Exclamations tend,
Name but this faithful Youth, and all her Wrath ſhall end.
Mand'vill, thy Conſtancy, thy Worth alone,
Shall for the Falſhood of thy Sex attone;
When amorous Youths ſhall meet in Plains or Groves,
And there repeat the Story of their Loves,
Thy laſting Truth, in all their Songs ſhall ſhine,
Thy eager Love, and Conſtancy Divine,
And each ſhall wiſh his Fame may equal Thine!
Mean time Florella's buſie in her Mind,
Some quick Expedient ſhe reſolves to find,
Her Mand'vill of his dang'rous Love to cure,
Tho' She, her hapleſs Self, the Pain indure;
[90] Concludes to hide her in a living Tomb,
Forſake the World, Religious ſtraight become.
Sympathy gave to each the ſame Deſign,
Both meant to raiſe their Love to that Divine,
And aim'd to ſhow what mighty Flames cou'd do,
For each had vow'd to bid the World adieu;
Yet ſtill they hid the ſecret working Thought,
'Till the form'd Purpoſe to effect was brought:
Mand'vill ſucceeds in what he fears to own,
And with the Holy Pilgrims flies unknown.
Now in her Turn, Nights Gloomy Shades inveſt
The Ruddy Glories of the ſhining Weſt,
And weaken'd Nature ſeeks Recruit by Reſt:
When round the Palace the Inquiries paſs,
Who ſaw their Abſent Lord, and where he was?
Near his Appartment they expreſs'd their Care
With dutious Love, expect to find him there:
[91] He wants no Service from officious Hands,
They wait in vain for his deſir'd Commands:
When Darkneſs came, they cou'd no more for⯑bear,
To the fierce Marſhal told their Cauſe of Fear.
With furious Rage, he to his Lodging Flies,
No Locks nor Bars, th' impetuous Way denies,
But all's expos'd to his inquiring Eyes:
Sad trembling Fears the Mother's Steps retar'd,
Complains, the cruel Pow'rs have no Regard
To Worth, but hinders Mortals of their wiſh'd Reward.
When enter'd, ſoon their buſy Search does find
Him gone; his ſcatter'd Garments left behind;
A thouſand Fears they in their Fancy frame,
And many Dangers, which they dare not Name;
In this Diſtreſs, each medling Fool grows wiſe,
The helpleſs ſtill are readieſt to adviſe,
[92] With flying Speed, Florella's ſent for there;
Pale look'd the Virgin, almoſt dead with Fear:
To their Demands, ſhe could no Anſwer give,
But that he ſeem'd to take an everlaſting Leave.
His Lady cry'd, this did my Soul preſage,
See now th' Effects of your too cruel Rage,
We're Childleſs left in our declining Age:
Your boundleſs Wrath deſtroy'd a faithful Pair,
And heaps on me the Terrours of Diſpair.
Cou'd this fair weeping Maid create Offence?
Has ſhe not Charms enough, in Truth and In⯑nocence,
To match with ſo much Vertue, no Diſgrace?
They to your Joy might have brought forth a Race,
T' uphold the Honours of your Name and Place:
But now your hoarded Wealth, your Seats and Lands,
Will fall to ſome ungrateful Stranger's hands;
[93] And I ſhall curſe my Prudence, and my Care,
Compell'd, with the Effects, to bleſs ſome forreign Heir.
Stung with Reproach, and Loſs, the Marſhal ſwore,
If he'd return, to oppoſe his Love no more;
That his fix'd Flame ſhou'd be with Joys repaid,
And he wou'd yield his Son to that All-charming Maid.
If with ſtrict Search, that Son can e'er be found,
For which the Servants are diſpatch'd around;
He binds his Promiſe, with a Solemn Vow,
That the wiſh'd Marriage freely he'll allow:
Nor by Reproach, his Paſſion diſapprove,
But crown his Conſtancy with laſting Love.
Thus does Affection bend the ſtubborn'ſt Mind,
Pierc'd with the ſmart, turns Pious, and grows kind;
[94] Each Road they take, and pry with eager Eyes,
But miſs their Lord, unknowing his Diguiſe:
They only find the Page, and force him home,
Examine oft where his lov'd Maſter's gone?
The affrighted Boy, the Truth of all reveals,
His Lord's Commands, and ſecret Letter tells:
His Cabinet is in a Moment brought,
And there, with eaſe, they find what they had ſought.
To FLORELLA, this Inſcribed.
The LETTER.
'E'er this (my Dear) will reach thy lovely Hand,
'I ſhall have ever left my Native Land;
'Caſt out from thee, no matter where Iroam,
'The Tryal's o'er, Iv'e ſuffer'd All at Home.
[95] 'To rough unpoliſh'd Cells, I now retire,
'And leave behind fond Hope, and fierce Deſire;
'Yet Love will there maintain a languid Flame,
'Like Lamps in Tombs, tho' uſeleſs, burn the ſame.
'Did my Florella now her Pilgrim view,
'She'd own the Wonders mighty Love can do;
'Wou'd ſay, I in this Parting ſuffer'd more
'Than ever wretched Mortal did before.
'Did ſhe my Trembling, and my Tortures ſee,
'I'm ſure ſhe'd pity and remember me,
Mand'vill.
The Virgin faints, as ſhe the Letter read,
Like Dewy Roſes, hangs her drooping Head:
Their Search agen renew'd, they take their Way,
To all the Ports that lay along the Sea;
And that their Meſſage may his Flight prevent,
Bleſs'd News they bring, to give his Mind con⯑tent,
His Father's Letters, full of kind Conſent.
[96] His better Fate o'er-rul'd that working Sea,
And for a Wind, the waiting Pilgrims lay:
Now the general Cry was, All aboard,
Juſt as the Men arriv'd, and found their Lord.
Rejoyc'd, amaz'd, and fill'd with glad Surprize,
Delight and Wonder ſtrugl'd in their Eyes;
His were caſt down, aſham'd of his Diſguiſe.
Great Minds are conſtant to their Purpoſe ſtill,
And take from Fate a Diſappointment Ill;
Reſolv'd he held a Pon'yard to his Breaſt,
And ſaid, my Friends, I am not now in Jeſt;
My Father's Will, I own I ſhou'd obey,
But Love, o'er Duty, has imperial Sway:
You force my certain Death, if you come on,
I own my ſelf a moſt Ungrateful Son:
But quitting that belov'd illuſtrious Maid,
With double Puniſhment my Faults are paid.
[97] Affrighted, they the head-ſtrong Paſſion wait,
And ſcarce cou'd cool this moſt intemp'rate heat:
At length, they humbly did their Letters give,
Begg'd he wou'd hear, and be at Peace and live;
He reads his Parents with a double Joy,
His riſing Fears, his Raptures did deſtroy;
'Till Fair Florella's Hand, and Signet came,
She fix'd his Hopes, 'twas Sacred, with her Name.
And thus her Letter ſpoke her kind Concern:
'Return my Deareſt, Faithful, Lord, return;
'Give me not endleſs Cauſe, your Loſs to mourn.
'Can you pretend you Love, and yet prepare,
'For your Florella, worſe than Death, Diſpair?
'Oh moſt unkind! Cou'd you for ever go,
'And let not me your fatal Purpoſe know?
'If with a Flame ſincere your Heart does burn,
'I Charge you, by that Sacred Flame, return.
[98]
So, Royal Mandates, the laſt Hour arrive,
When pitying Queens bid Malefactures live;
With ſuch vaſt Joy the Innocent and Brave,
Receives the only Cordial that had Pow'r to ſave;
Forgets the Penance that his Soul deſign'd,
And with his Garb, reſumes a chearful Mind;
By her Command, his Speed out-flies the Wind.
A general Joy thro' all the Houſe is ſpread,
Welcome! as if our Voice could raiſe ſome Dar⯑ling, Dead:
His Father, ſpeedy Marr'age does Command,
And joyns in his, the Fair Florella's Hand;
Yet there's a fix'd Regret he's forc'd to hide,
So much the Marr'age mortifies his Pride:
Not ſo, the Mother; that kind Brittiſh Dame,
She likes the Maid, and well approves the Flame:
[99] What's their Concern to the glad Lovers Bliſs!
All Day they Gaze, and Talk, and Vow, and Kiſs,
'Till that dear joyful, long deſir'd Morn,
That Day, which Mand'vill thinks, will Years a⯑dorn,
Is come; when charming Bridal Virgins wait,
And jolly Youths throng to the Palace Gate;
Then bright Florella, lovely as the Roſe,
Ten Thouſand Glory's in her Eyes diſcloſe;
By curious Art, deck'd in the Brittiſh Pride,
To wond'ring Crowds, appear'd the faireſt Bride
That e'er fam'd Alhion grac'd in all her Store,
So bright a Nymph was never ſeen before.
Then the Bridegroom, gay as the Eaſtern Sun,
Yet ſeem'd in haſte, and wiſh'd his Race were run;
Challeng'd his ſhining Rival of the Day,
And bid him haſten tow'rds the ebbing Sea;
[100] Paid all his Vows to Sacred Solemn Night,
His Pray'rs, the ſober footed Matron do invite,
And calls her dark'ning Gloom, his Hearts delight.
At length the happy joyful Day is paſt,
And the dear welcome Shades are come at laſt.
New Sports the longing Bridegroom's joy's retard,
Farce and Dance, which have but ſmall regard;
He haſts to the laſt Scene, the gawdy Bed,
With Indian odours, Native Roſes ſpread,
Each buſie Hand's employ'd to undreſs the Fair,
No need of Sweets, when young Florella's there.
How many Fears the bluſhing Virgin awe!
She knew not what ſhe ſaid, nor whom ſhe ſaw,
Bleſs'd Mand'vill comes, my Muſe, the Curtain draw:
Leave now, in perfect Bliſs, the happy Pair,
And let Perotto next become thy Care.
[101] In all that Court, he was the Youth alone,
Whoſe Acts immortal Fame, and endleſs Glory crown;
In Sports, or in great Exerciſe of War,
Then all the reſt he ſtill exceeded far:
His Mother's Beauty, and his Father's Grace,
Was ſtamp'd upon the lovely Hero's Face;
Kind Fortune did his glorious Youth befriend,
And all he undertakes, Succeſs does ſtill attend.
Judgment, and piercing Wit, which all approve,
And various Charms, to gain an Univerſal Love.
The Preſident, who did his Title Grace,
Had bounteous Nature, bleſt with numerous Race,
All things in Court, wear an auſpiceous Face;
And that Experience may his Arms advance,
He's ſent a Volentier to ſerve in France:
Such ſtrange Adventures does Blind Fortune bring,
Unknown, he treads his Native Shore, defends his King;
[102] But whilſt expos'd, he courts an early Name,
And with Expence of Blood, ſecures that darling, Fame.
At Home
A Peſtelential Sickneſs rages round,
Deſtructive Miſts aſcend, thick Vapours from the Ground,
Th' unwholſome Blaſts does Man and Beaſts confound.
Perotto heard their State, and evil Caſe,
And quickly flies to the infected Place:
Rumour but half the Deſolation ſpake,
'Twas ſuch a Scene, as nobleſt Hearts might break:
That Palace which he gawdy left, and gay,
Now Midnight Silence reign'd at Noon of Day;
A Cauſe that did inceſſent Grief afford,
Death had deſtroy'd his Patron, and his Lord,
And all his Sons, with whom he had been bred;
Even all the Heroick Youths were Dead.
[103] Cammilla, the only Daughter ſtill ſurviv'd,
And in the midſt of this Deſtruction liv'd;
So tender Plants do ſometimes brave the Storm,
When Oaks, and Tow'rs, are from their Baſis torn:
She liv'd, indeed, but ſhut from humane Eyes,
For 'bove her Life, ſhe did her Father prize:
That being near her dead, and dying Race,
She was confin'd in the infected Place:
And ſhe, whoſe Form did all the World delight,
Is ſhun'd like Death, or ſome deſtructive Spright:
'Till to the Place, the bold Perotto came,
He Lov'd, and Danger but increas'd his Flame.
Thro' all the Avenues, eagerly he flies,
Still complicated Horrour meets his Eyes,
And noyſome Steams, from the unburied Dead ariſe.
Here lifted hands, in vain, for help do call,
The Servant at his Maſter's Feet does fall.
[104] In one promiſcuous Heap, lay Old and Young,
The Rich, the Fair, the Healthful and the Strong;
Then angry Heav'n ſends the Deſtroyer forth,
Who can expreſs the Terrours of his Wrath!
The Plague, with rapid Force, devouring Rage,
Seems as 'twou'd clear this crowded buſie Stage
Of all that thinking Stock of humane Kind,
Infects the Body, ſinks the forming Mind;
Diſpair, and Black Idea's fill the Soul,
Such Thoughts as all Religion wou'd controul:
All ties are broke, the Fathers flies the Sons,
The Mother from her boſom'd Infant runs;
Dire Hate, in each infected Breaſt preſides,
And new made Bridegrooms ſhun their charming Brides:
Death's grown ſo common, none will ſhed a Tear,
Nature and Love are both o'ercome by Fear;
Only Perotto, he his Fair will ſave,
Or elſe, in worſe than Charnels, find a Grave.
[105]
Amid'ſt theſe Ruins, bright Cammilla fate,
Expecting ſtill, her tender Parents Fate.
Perotto comes, implores that ſhe wou'd leave
That wretched Place, and fly with him, and live.
At firſt, ſhe'd not believe her weeping Eyes,
And view'd Perotto with a ſtrange Surprize!
Art thou come, ſhe ſaid, to this Houſe of Death?
Approach not, leaſt I infect thee with my Breath,
Shun this contagious and deſtructive Air,
I am a Prey to Sickneſs, Sorrow, and Diſpair:
With untaught Sighs, the Lover made Reply,
Conſent with me, your faithful Slave, to fly,
Or give me leave to ſtay with you and dye.
Dread of theſe Horrours, ſoon the Point does gain,
And with thoſe few that did alive remain,
They quit the Caſtle for the open Plain.
[106] Perotto skill'd in Bus'neſs of the Wars,
A Ten [...] for Fair Cammilla ſtrait prepares;
And tho' their little Troops infected round,
He from their Sight, nor Touch, no Danger found;
Whether Love, with his All powerful Dart,
And burning Flames, ſecur'd his Manly Heart,
Fill'd all, and for Contagion left no Room;
Or whether Fate's Decree deferr'd his Doom;
With chearful Health, the faithful Youth was bleſt
With Strength, and ardent Pow'r, to ſerve the reſt.
Bleak Winter, now, with nipping Froſt draws near,
Courted, deſir'd, and hollow Winds that clear
The hot, unwholſome, and polluted Air:
Thinly the peopl'd Towns appear agen,
The ruin'd Clime begins to look Serene;
The untill'd Land's, again the Labourers Care,
And Temples now, reſound with Praiſe and Pray'r.
[107] Nobles, to long deſerted Houſes come,
And ſtraight invite the Brave Perotto home:
For having learn'd his Honour, Love, and Truth,
They Court Cammilla to eſpouſe the Youth;
And that he may not want deſerving Grace,
Adorn his Merit, with her Father's Place.
Cammilla, Pious, Juſt, and truly Good,
His Worth, and her Obligements, underſtood;
Beſides the medling World might Tax her Fame,
And fix ſome Blot on her unſulli'd Name:
When ſhe with him, fled to preſerve her Life,
'Twou'd Stain her Honour, not to be his Wife.
'Tis done, in Solemn Pomp, the Knot is ty'd,
The Great Cammilla is unknown Perotto's Bride.
Oh! Angiers,
Thus Providence makes up what thou did'ſt loſe,
No better Fortune, if thy ſelf had choſe:
[108] That guiding Fate, which does our Steps direct,
We fall not by it, but our own neglect;
We tread forbidden Paths, without a Guide,
'Tis not Heav'ns Fault, but our own ſelfiſh Pride.
Thus Man is Curs'd, with what we call Free will,
In Errour lives, and wondrous prone to Ill.
Why were we made? Why, from our unſought Birth,
Are the immortal Seeds condemn'd to Earth?
Why do we Think, and Judge, above the Bruits,
Yet gain no farther Knowledge by Diſputes!
Why endleſs Bliſs, and Torments do we frame?
Yet cannot give the Joys, nor Puniſhment, a Name.
Happy, alone, that thoughtleſs Mortal lives,
Who feeds on Faith, and, as the Church, believes;
Who never wrong commits, and whoſe calm Breaſt,
No deep Inquiry makes, to break his Reſt,
This Man, my Muſe pronounces truly bleſt.
[109] Ye undiſtiuguiſh'd Notions, hence begon,
Let's to our Story, let our Tale go on:
Thus Angiers Race, are in due Honours plac'd,
With plenteous Wealth, and ſhining Glory grac'd.
Now my Muſe, the Fathers woes depaint,
The various Hardſhips of that ſuff'ring Saint,
Who twenty Years remain'd in ſervile State,
With Patience bore the rude Inſults of Fate;
Humble in Sorrow, in Affliction Wiſe,
Conform'd his Actions to that baſe Diſguiſe:
As on the lowly Flowr, he Sleeping lay,
Heav'n, to his working Thought, this Viſion did diſplay:
His Room ſeem'd fill'd with Darling Light Divine,
Immortal Rays, with glorious Splendour ſhine;
Scarce cou'd his humane Eyes, the Brightneſs bear,
The darting Beams ſhewn forth ſo radient clear:
[110] When in a Garment of unſpotted White,
Too heav'nly Fair for earthly Mortal Sight:
Cloſe by his ſide, the Reverend Hermit ſtood,
Who twice had taught him, for his Childrens Good;
And with a Voice, whoſe Sweetneſs charm'd his Ear,
Thus ſpake, bid him his Words obſerve and hear:
From the Eternal Realms of endleſs Light,
Where there's no Shaddow of approaching Night;
Where all with beatifick Joys are crown'd,
Where Sin and Sorrow's never to be found,
But Bliſs and Praiſes take their tuneful Round,
From thence, by Gracious Providence, I'm ſent
To chear thee in thy Race of Puniſhment;
To tell thee thy Reproach draws near an end,
And pitying Heav'n will thy laſt Years befriend:
Angiers, again, to Courteous Albion haſt,
Good Fortune's welcome, if it comes at laſt:
[111] Thy Daughter's there, match'd equal to her Blood,
Thy Son magnificently Great, and truly Good.
Then thou again ſhalt view thy Native Land,
Again be rais'd i'th' State, and fix'd in high Com⯑mand.
From Calumny and Guilt, diſcover'd free,
And after all, my Son, ſhall Share thoſe Joys with me,
Look up, anticipate what ſhall hereafter be.
He ſaw Ten Thouſand Angels on the Wing,
Straight heard the loud Immortal Praiſes ſing;
Beheld the Golden Lyres, felt melting Strains,
That ſtruck his Soul, and trembled thro' his Veins;
The Extaſie, for Nature grew too ſtrong,
Nor cou'd he bear the mighty Viſion long;
But as he ſtrugl'd hard, and wou'd have ſpoke,
The weaker Bands of flattering Sleep, were broke;
He wak'd, and found it almoſt perfect Day,
'Twas Darkneſs, when compar'd to the bright Ray,
[112] Which late, his Soul and wandring Eyes had ſeen;
The glorious Tranſports of this heav'nly Dream:
To doubt the Truth, he deems a mortal Sin,
Parts with his cruel Lord, his Voyage does begin;
Safely he croſs'd the boiſt'rous watry Main,
And now beholds the Brittiſh Clifts again:
In Pilgrims Weed, the Noble Earl was dreſt,
Begs all his humble Food; and where at Night to reſt,
To th' Marſhal's Houſe, directs his weary Feet;
The firſt ſad Object his ſad Eyes did meet,
Was Violante, led by her court'ous Lord,
With all the Pomp ſuch Greatneſs does afford;
The gawdy Scene of Joy he ſcarce cou'd bear,
To ſee his Child ſo wond'rous Great and Fair:
Yet ſtill no ſign of Gladneſs he betrays,
But humbly with his fellow Pilgrims ſtays,
[113] 'Till ſummon'd by th' appointed Servants Call,
They preſs, and fill the hoſpitable Hall.
Angiers Diſtreſs, his Servitude and Woe,
Had turn'd his curling Locks, as white as Snow;
His Meagre Face, with many a Wrincle plough'd,
And Sun burn'd Skin, no former Beauty ſhow'd.
The Pilgrims fed, and Dinner tane away,
Two lovely Infants were brought forth to play;
Kind Heav'n had bleſs'd young Mand'vill's Mar⯑riage Joys,
With two bright beauteous charming Boys.
The Children ſtraight to th' Pilgrim Angiers run,
As if they knew the Root from whence they ſprung;
He kiſs'd them; Joy, that Stranger to his Breaſt,
At their lov'd Sight, became once more his Gueſt:
They walk with him, and hang about his Knees,
While he finds ways, their childiſh Hearts to pleaſe;
[114] And when the Time is come for their Return,
When they their little Studies muſt perform;
Their Maſters call, and Servants ask, in vain,
They'll not the Pilgrim leave, nor to their Books again.
The Mother from within, beheld this ſight,
And ſmil'd to ſee them in ſuch high Delight,
Bid them their Innocent Deſires obey,
And let them longer with the Pilgrim ſtay.
Then the Stern Marſhal, and his noble Son,
Walk'd croſs the Court, and thro' that ſpacious Room;
With a proud Smile, the ſcornful Marſhal cry'd,
There let 'em ſtay, to Beggary they're ally'd,
Too near, by the ignoble Mother's ſide.
When that Reproach, poor ſuffering Angiers heard,
The Tears run down his Cheeks and Snowy Beard.
[115] Young Mand'vill fum'd, his inward Rage boil'd o'er,
His Father only durſt his Wife explore,
Whom he with true Devotion does adore.
Mand'vill, the unknown Pilgrim thus beſpake,
What Sorrow's thine, Is't for the Childrens ſake?
Know then thou good old Man, whoſe tender Heart
Is mov'd, I feel than thee a greater ſmart
In the Reproach; the little Babes are mine,
All Virtue's in the Charming Mother ſhine;
Of Birth unknown, the Tale's too long to tell,
Rais'd by my Love, ſhe wears her Honours well;
No Pow'r, nor Pomp, o'er-ſways her ſteddy Mind,
She's juſtly Great, yet Affable and Kind:
Forgive me Father (unawares) he ſaid,
That on this Subject, I ſo long have ſtaid;
Florella merits more than I can ſay,
More faithful Love than my whole Life can pay.
[116] Angiers reply'd, Oh! Noble Conſtant Youth,
With Pleaſure I have heard thy wond'rous Truth.
The brighteſt Tale i'th' laſting Book of Fame,
'Mongſt Lovers ever Sacred be thy Name:
Let Vir [...]ous Maids, Garlands for thee prepare,
Virtue was found, thy moſt peculiar Care.
The humble Maid was wholly in your Pow'r,
Yet you ſoſook the looſe Luxuriant Hour;
And to make your amorous Wiſh compleat,
Preſerv'd your Paſſion Good, ſo made it Great:
No Band is ſofter than the Nuptial Tyes,
Th Renegade that does the Form deſpiſe,
M ets with ten Thouſand Arrows as he flies.
(Charm'd with his Speech) Mana'vill of Na⯑ture kind,
Ask'd him from whence he was, and where de⯑ſign'd?
He ſaid, he was a Bark by Tempeſt hurl'd,
And left a Stranger in this cruel World.
[117] Here be thy Harbour, generous Mand'vill cry'd,
Here thou ſhalt find no Frowns, no Ebbing Tide;
In thy Devotion quiet and ſerene,
In Safety, view thy paſt tempeſtuous Scene.
Angiers, with Thanks, reply'd, if I partake
Thy Kindneſſes ſtill done for Virtue's ſake,
Accept what ſervice feeble Age can pay thee back.
Again the Germans 'gainſt the French prepare,
And all is Hoſtile grown, and open War:
England was then a Friend, and dear ally,
With her bold Brittains, did their Troops ſupply;
To head 'em, Mand'vill and Perotto's choſe,
For their unqueſtion'd Merit, none oppoſe.
The next Delight that charm'd old Angiers Heart,
He view'd his Son perform the great Comman⯑ders Part;
[118] Beheld him lead a Troop of Gallant Men,
Whoſe ſight brought former Glory back agen:
When Young, ſuch Valiant Bands himſelf had lead,
And been a Kingdom's, and an Amry's Head:
Now bow'd with Age, unknown his Life he paſt,
And ſeem'd to travel to his Grave in haſte.
Thus the two Brothers link'd in joynt Com⯑mand,
Knew not that they were ty'd in a much ſtricter Band.
Let's vail Cammilla and Florella's Fears,
Their Vows, their parting Sighs, and flowing Tears;
Together they are left, each to condole,
That by dividing Grief, neither may bear the Whole.
Mand'vill deſign'd to leave the Pilgrim here,
But the poor Count, begg'd to attend him there;
[119] Reſolves to view where he had been undone,
Th' ungrateful Land that caſt forth ſuch a Son.
The jolly Soldiers now are got aboard,
And the auſpicious Winds, quick Paſſage do af⯑ford;
Their Plumes and waving Banners they advance,
And with their Succours, bring new Joy to France.
Now let our Juſt Hiſtorick Tale remove,
The Queen muſt give Account for lawleſs Love;
To All-devouring Time, her Charms give Way,
Her Looks not lovely now, nor briskly Gay;
No Fire her Eyes, her Veins no amourous Flame;
But in her Heart Remorſe, Repentance, Shame,
Confuſion, Sorrow, a Melancholly Train
Perplex her Soul, and keep her Mind in pain;
Angiers vile Wrongs, ſtand Glaring in her View;
That Thought does all her ſecret Steps purſue,
[120] The Hag that nightly loads her tortur'd Breaſt,
And never lets her taſt the Sweets of Balmy Reſt;
A ling'ring Sickneſs follows, pining Grief;
Nor can the Sons of Art bring wiſh'd Relief:
With down-caſt Eyes, they approach th' dying Fair,
Their Solemn Looks diſcover their Diſpair:
Gaſhly the King of Terrours does appear;
Black Guilt adds Horrour to tormenting Fear:
She looks around, and ſees no Comfort nigh,
Spight of Imperial Greatneſs, ſhe muſt dye;
To bear the Shock, ſhe Summons former Pride,
She's grown too weak, all Aid is now deny'd:
Then let us yield; ſhe ſigh'd, and faintly ſaid,
And ſunk upon the Boſome of a faithful Maid;
Fetch here the Council, and the injur'd King,
Than Death, my Friends, I have a ſharper Sting;
[111] I cannot dye in Peace, while 'tis conceal'd,
And I muſt dye, for Shame, when 'tis reveal'd.
The waiting Slaves ſtraight her Commands obey,
Eager the King, to hear what ſhe wou'd ſay:
With weeping Eyes, he view'd departing Life,
And call'd her by the tender Names of Love and Wife.
Oh Prince! She cry'd, behold Cleora loſt!
And ſinking down, a guilty, guilty Ghoſt;
Unleſs great Angier's Race you can reſtore,
I'm wrack'd on Earth with Pangs, and plung⯑ing into more.
Forgive your Wife, let Mountains hide her Shame,
Mine was the Sin, mine th' impetuous Flame,
And curs'd Cleora only was to blame.
In this Cabinet you'll find the Story writ,
If 'tis poſſible, my fatal Crimes forget.
[122] Angiers to Honour ſtraight, and Grace retrieve,
And Natures Faults, let Heav'en and you forgive:
This ſaid,
Nature aſham'd, her Soul to earth inclin'd,
Broke the weak Tyes of her Majeſtick Mind,
That it might mount to purer Regions uncon⯑fin'd.
Reaſon and Senſe, from th' affrighted King is fled,
To hear th' unſuſpected Guilt, and ſee her Dead;
Reviv'd, the Search of Truth his Soul purſues,
And with Amazement, he the Paper views,
Where every ſecret Thought, he ſaw confeſt,
And every guilty Wiſh that fill'd her Breaſt;
He groan'd to think how much he'd been de⯑ceiv'd,
And ſaid, no beauteous Woman e'er ſhou'd be believ'd.
[123]
Now to her Tomb's convey'd the unhappy Fair;
But buſie Fame will not be buried there:
Fame ſeems to joyn with our invet'rate Foes,
Spreads our bad Deeds, and gathers as it goes;
And with the Rumour, Royal Mandate's come,
To call the injur'd ſuff'ring Angiers home:
Rewards, whoever brings the Abſent Lord,
And all his Caſtles, and his Lands reſtor'd.
Angiers cou'd ſcarce reſolve to truſt again
Th' uncertain World, and faithleſs cruel Men,
Hid in a lowly State, a mean Retreat,
He found ſome Plagues, but none like being Great.
Now with a gentle Lord, his Age does reſt,
No Care, nor Envy, does his Hours moleſt,
And Innocence and Peace poſſeſs his Breaſt.
His Children want the Greatneſs of his Name,
Nay he grows fond of the exalted Fame:
[124] And as his Sons revolving in a Tent,
Diſcant on Change, Death, and this ſtrange Event,
Both commiſerate the guiltleſs Heroe's Fate;
Nobleſt Natures ſtill, are moſt compaſſionate.
Attending Angiers heard, and ſtrait came forth,
And with a Look, that ſtamp'd his Words for Truth,
Began:
My Lords, in Pity, lend an Ear,
They're bleſs'd, who'll not diſdain the Poor to hear:
If you'll Admiſſion to the King obtain,
(For my Endeavours, wou'd, alas, prove vain)
Of that unhappy Angiers, I might tell,
I've met him oft; indeed, I know him well:
They ſaid the Favour's leſſen'd, when with pain 'tis ſought,
My Friend, thou ſure ſhalt to the King be brought;
[125] To th' Royal Tent, they ſtrait their Steps direct,
And having paid the King their due Reſpect,
Thus Mand'vill ſpoke:
This aged Man of my Domeſtick Train,
Who begg'd with me, to croſs the Brittiſh Main;
To your Majeſty, he ſais, he can relate
The Hiſtory of your loft Angiers Fate:
Let him ſpeak (haſtily the King began)
For much I long to hear of that great injur'd Man.
As Noble Angiers ſpoke, and form'd his Tale,
In ſuch pathetick Words, as muſt prevail;
The King obſerv'd, with an intenſive View,
Then ſtarting from his Seat, cry'd Angiers, it is you;
Thoſe graceful Looks, and that dear faithful Voice,
In which my Youth, with Pleaſure, did rejoyce:
Quick to my Arms, my conſtant Wiſh reſtore,
And Fate ſhall never, never part us more.
[126] Who can expreſs the Joy in every Face,
When they beheld him kneel, and ſaw the King embrace!
The Courtier's Flock, he's circled in the Crowd,
Of thoſe who ſtrive to ſpeak their Welcome loud;
Soon to his wond'ring Son, the Story's told,
How in the Eaſt their Father they behold:
In Silence they their inward Joys ſuppreſs,
Bluſh they no ſooner knew their Happineſs.
Mand'vill ſunk with Shame, when Reflection brought
His Father's ſharp Reproach to his revolving Thought.
Angier's Soul was to that Calmneſs grown,
That he forgave the Ills deſign'd, and thoſe un⯑known:
With Tears, the worthy kneeling Heroe rais'd,
And to the King their Deeds and Virtue prais'd.
[127] To make the Earls returning Joy compleat,
A Victory they gain, with Wealth and Honour great;
They lead in Triumph, the long ſuff'ring Lord,
And he's to thrice his former Wealth reſtor'd.
The News to Violante, Fame conveys,
And ſoon as that, ſhe's begg'd to croſs the Seas:
The Kings own Yatch attends on her Command,
With all the Greatneſs of the Gallick Land.
Florella here, ſees Fortune's ſmootheſt Brow,
Great in her Birth, as in her Marriage now;
Of all her Ills, wrong'd Angiers might bemoan,
He the chief Notice took, of this alone,
That ſhe was branded mean, becauſe unknown.
To the Earl Marſhal, this ſaid, he declare,
Let him not ſtill diſpiſe his charming Heir:
Tell him the Blood the Female Side ſupplies,
Does from as old and great a Fountain riſe:
[128] The haughty Marſhal, does from her receive,
The wond'rous News, which they with Joy be⯑lieve,
They all congratulate, then ſhe takes her leave.
The Bark is driven by auſpicious Gales,
And proſperous Winds fill all the ſwelling Sails;
Safely ſhe's landed in her Father's Arms,
Adds to the Court, with her Superiour Charms.
Now Feaſts and Joy, throughout the Realm a⯑bound,
Revels and Masks make up the circling Round:
Thus they forget the Tempeſts they have paſt,
And thus Heroick Virtue's crown'd at laſt.
FINIS.