Iriſh TALES.

LASTING and Ter⯑rible were the bloody Wars which the An⯑cient Iriſh ſuſtain'd a⯑gainſt the powerful Danes; who, by their vaſt Num⯑bers, and continual ſupplies of freſh Men, who Recruited them daily, and were weekly landing at one Port or other, came to their aid, they being then Maſters of the Sea, ſo haraſs'd and tir'd the long defending Iſlanders, that at laſt they were forc'd to ſubmit, and their Provincial Kings become [2]for ſome ſmall ſpace of Time, Tributaries to the Dane.

Turgeſius, the Daniſh Captain General, being a Soldier of in⯑vincible Courage, and no leſs Ambitious, made himſelf be ſtil'd Monarch of Ireland, and with a Splendid and Magnificent Train of hardy and reſolute War⯑riors, whom Peace and Idleneſs, the Seeds of Wickedneſs, and the Mildew of Vertue had ru⯑ſted into Courtiers, kept his Court in the center of the Coun⯑try, at Lough-Ribh, near that place, where now ſtands the Town of Athlone.

He was a Man ſo skill'd and train'd up in Arms, and Martial Fatigues, that had he only fol⯑low'd the Buſineſs he profeſs'd, his Conqueſts and Victories might have been an everlaſting Theme for Ages to come; and had not his Luſt like a Canker eaten away [3]the Inſcriptions his Sword had en⯑graven, his Victorious Memory might to this day have been the enduring Song of Fame.

Turgeſius having ſubdu'd the beſt part of the People of this Na⯑tion, nay, indeed, we may ſay all, but a few who knew not how to bow their Necks in ſubjection to any but a lawful Prince, or ſtoop to any thing beneath their free Liberties, and Obedience to their own Kings, had betaken themſelves to Boggs, Woods, Mountains, Rocks, and inacceſſible Places; whoſe Wiſdom and Con⯑duct being back'd with an inimi⯑table Valour, in a few Weeks wrought out their own Infran⯑chizements, and broke the ſervile Bonds, in which their fellow Iriſh were enſlav'd, notwithſtanding the mighty Care and Circumſpe⯑ction Turgeſius us'd to the contra⯑ry; for there was not a Hole, or [4]a Corner, much leſs a Town or a City in the whole Realm, that was capable of it, in which he had not planted a Garriſon, made as he thought, ſecure by impreg⯑nable Fortifications.

All things being order'd in this manner, he began to partake of the Pleaſures of Peace, which his long Toil and indefatigable La⯑bours had newly eſtabliſh'd. Thoſe cruel Wars which had o⯑pen'd the veins of this diſtemper'd ſick Kingdom, had not yet drain'd one drop of his ill Blood, which corrupting for want of uſual Ex⯑erciſe, made him degenerate from the noble Science of War, to pra⯑ctiſe that of Love; and giving way to his unruly Paſſion, be⯑came in a ſhort time wholly Conquer'd by the fair Eyes of Dooneflaith, the Daughter of Maolſeachelvin King of Meath.

[5]This Lady was one, on whom Nature had laviſhly beſtow'd all the Graces and Ornaments which could be, to make Humanity ado⯑rable; ſhe was ſo nobly endow'd, and ſo incomparably Beautiful, that to ſee her, and not ad⯑mire her, was impoſſible; yet was ſhe capable of all the ſoft ſentiments Love could imprint; and had already devoted her Heart to a Man, to whom without blame ſhe might warrantably do, being Prince Murchoe, Eldeſt Son to Bryan Boriamh, who was after⯑wards Elected King of all Ire⯑land.

This Prince matchleſs in his gallant Exploits, was not leſs to be paralell'd in his Love; it is enough to tell you, he ſaw the beautiful Dooneflaith, and conſe⯑quently loſt his Heart in the ſight; but ſo much awe did her Vertue create in him, that for ſome time [6]he languiſh'd in the Torments of his Flame, without daring to ut⯑ter one word of his Love; and all the while the charming Doone⯑flaith was ſubject to the ſame Malady.

Thus for a Time did theſe two ſecret Lovers live in Hopes that Fortune would at ſome time or other, be propitious to their Amours; and altho' they were ſo enamour'd of each other, yet dar'd not either of them ſhew the leaſt ſign of their Paſſion. For now Turgeſius made it his buſineſs to win the Heart of this Lady, and Maolſeachelvin himſelf was not the laſt who diſcern'd it; nor could he any way forbid his Ad⯑dreſs, knowing how dangerous a thing it might prove, to ſtand in competition with ſo mighty and powerful a King. Murchoe was not inſenſible of it, and to his inexpreſſible Grief, was forc'd in [7]ſilence to bewail his Misfortunes, and ſee all the Joy of his Soul Careſs'd and Ador'd by another: What Lamentations and Moans would he make when alone? And what Grief would poſſeſs him, when he fear'd that his charming Dooneflaith might in time conſent to the Love of the Tyrant. He became ſo Melancholy and Trou⯑bled, that the whole Court cou'd not but take notice of it; and notwithſtanding he us'd all endea⯑vours to ſtifle his Flame, yet he could not ſo cloſely conceal it, but Turgeſius (for no Eyes are ſharper than thoſe of the Jealous) perceiv'd it; and under pretence that he ſuſpected him to be Ill inclin'd to his Government, Baniſh'd him the Province, which was a far greater Puniſh⯑ment to the young Prince, than had he inſtantly doom'd him to Die.

[8] Dooneflaith was ſoon made ac⯑quainted with the Misfortune of Murchoe, in which ſhe took ſuch part, that ſhe had much ado to refrain falling in a ſwoon before the King, and was forc'd to feign an Excuſe to get from his ſight; ſhe went ſlenderly accompa⯑nied, having but two Maids who kept at a diſtance, into a Garden, at the farther end of which was a Grove, whoſe melancholy ſhades ſeem'd fitteſt for her Condition; and in which obſcurity ſhe might have free Liberty (thinking no body by) to vent her Complaints, while her Women, who ſeeing her ſit down on a Bank, retir'd to an Arbour hard by.

It was not without much trou⯑ble, and many endeavours that ſhe could find utterance for her words, her ſighs and ſobs ſtill hindring her Speech; but at length having by large ſtreams of Tears, [9]which ran down her Cheeks, al⯑moſt drain'd the Channels of her Eyes, ſhe began to give eaſe to her Heart, which without vent, muſt have certainly burſt.

[10]While ſhe was thus complain⯑ing to her ſelf, e're ſhe was aware Turgeſius approach'd her, and found her in tears; juſt at the ſame time as Murchoe, who be⯑hind an adjoyning Hedge had over-heard all ſhe had ſaid, was going to throw himſelf at her feet; but ſeeing Turgeſius arrive, he lay ſtill, as much pleas'd with what he had learnt from Doone⯑flaith's own mouth, as troubled and afflicted at the coming of ſo Potent a Rival, who hinder'd him from making known to his Miſtriſs the ſenſe that he had of her Goodneſs, and the abſolute Power ſhe had gain'd over his Heart.

Dooneflaith was greatly ſur⯑priz'd to ſee one ſo near her, whom ſhe ſo much fear'd, and had cauſe to hate; ſhe would have riſen and left the Place to the King; but was prevented, [11]by his taking her by the Hand, and throwing himſelf down by her; ſhe, not yet well awaken'd from the lulling Cogitations of her dear Murchoe, her beautiful Face all cover'd with bluſhes, was forc'd to ſit down by Turgeſius; who caſting a look, which ſigni⯑fy'd how much he was concern'd for her Trouble, deſir'd her to tell him the cauſe of it; ad⯑ding, if it lay in his power to give her Redreſs, ſhe had no more to do but command him.

Dooneflaith, at the preſent, was at a loſs what Anſwer to make him; 'till after ſeveral De⯑mands, ſhe ſpoke in this man⯑ner.

Turgeſius, was ſtrangely per⯑plex'd in his Mind, to ſee one, whom he thought he might have commanded, make Capitulations with him, and ſo much to diſtruſt the Word of a Monarch, that no leſs than an Oath would ſerve to confirm her, He told her, ‘That had ſhe not gotten an abſolute ſway over his Heart, he wou'd never have condeſcended to a thing the moſt powerful Prince ſhou'd never have gained from him; in ſhort, he ſwore to her By Heaven, and all his Pagan [13]Gods, that whatever ſhe de⯑manded if it lay in his power ſhould be granted, upon Condi⯑tion that ſhe would allow him to love her, and give him leave to hope, that in time his Paſſi⯑on might be rewarded.’

Turgeſius after a ſmall pauſe, anſwer'd her ‘Madam ſaid he altho' your Father ſhould command you to marry me, nay, tho' my Life, and my fu⯑ture Eternal happineſs only de⯑pended upon it, yet will I al⯑low you your own liberty, nor ever Wed you, unleſs you freely conſent to it. But as for Murchoe's repeal, it wou'd indeed ſhew in me too much love, but too little diſcretion; for I know well, Madam, (ſays he going on) the Prince's Thoughts are too aſpiring, and that ſo long as he lives in the Province, I muſt expect nei⯑ther Peace in my Throne, nor my Love, for I have more ſuf⯑ficient Proofs than bare report, that he Rivals me both in your Heart and my Crown: How [15]much cauſe have I therefore to to hate him? eſpecially now, ſince you are ſo much intereſt⯑ed for him, I ſhall but take in⯑to my Boſom a Snake, that when warm'd again with my Favour, will ſting me to the Heart, and with his Venom ran⯑kle all my Peace and Tranqui⯑lity; however, to ſhew you that I pretend not to your Love by that power the Heavens have put into my Hands, I freely conſent that he ſtay ſtill at home, nay even here in our Court, and I ſhall admit him to uſe all his Art, and make his Addreſſes to you, ſo that I likewiſe may be heard in my turn.’

Turgeſius remained ſome time ſilent, in expectation of her An⯑ſwer, but the bleſſing his Words had pour'd on her Heart, was too mighty for her Tongue, nor knew ſhe how to return him the [14] [...] [15] [...] [16]Thanks which were due for ſo no⯑ble an Offer, without betraying too much of her Love, but at laſt overcoming the conflict in her Soul, ſhe utter'd theſe Words.

[17] Turgeſius was pleas'd at theſe Words, and took his leave of her, with a promiſe immediately to re⯑call Murchoe, whom he told her he believ'd was not departed from Court, it being yet within the li⯑mits of the time appointed for his Baniſhment. Dooneflaith return'd him ſuch an anſwer, as the Noble⯑neſs of the Deed did require; ſhe told him he had now took the right courſe to ſucceed in his Love; but no ſooner was he parted from her, but ſhe began to accuſe her own Heart for what ſhe had done, and altho' it was only what her love for Murchoe had urg'd her to, yet ſhe could not but lightly condemn the way that ſhe had ta⯑ken to gain his Repeal; ſhe was too ſenſible there was no room in her Breaſt for any but Murchoe, and that Turgeſius, with all his endeavours could never ſupplant the eſteem ſhe had for him; and [18]withal, vow'd in her heart, that if once Murchoe ſhou'd mention his Love, to give him ſuch an an⯑ſwer as ſhould not diſpleaſe him.

Turgeſius had no ſooner left her, but at a ſmall diſtance he eſpies Dooneflaith's two Women, who at preſent he knew not, and his curioſity preſſing him to ſee who they were that were moſt melo⯑diouſly ſinging to an Harp, which they had brought with them into the Garden, Muſick being the chief thing that did of late allay the melancholly humour of their Lady; he therefore retir'd under the covert of an Hedge that was by and had but juſt laid himſelf down to give attention to the Song, but he eſpied Murchoe with his Sword in his hand; Turgeſius call'd to his Guards, thinking he had ſome deſign on his Perſon; but Murchoe diſſipated thoſe fears, by throw⯑ing Himſelf, and his Sword at the [19]Conquerors Feet, without ſo much as ſpeaking one Word.

Turgeſius, who was now in a greater ſurprize, to ſee his moſt mortal Enemy (as he thought him) in ſo ſuppliant a poſture, and not doubting but that Murchoe had had ſome private Conference with his Miſtreſs, was inflam'd with ſuch Jealouſy, that with a fierce and angry tone he pronounc'd a⯑loud theſe Words, which Doone⯑flaith plainly could hear.

Murchoe heard theſe Threats with a Soul all inflam'd with Re⯑venge; but fearing the prejudice of his Miſtreſs, who now he began to hope, held not his Life indiffe⯑rent, ſtifled at preſent his reſent⯑ment, and tho' at any other time he had a mortal deteſtation of Flat⯑tery, yet now he thought it moſt expedient for the working his in⯑tereſt with the divine Dooneflaith, anſwer'd him thus.

By this time the Guards were come up, and Turgeſius, in the ſight of them, and Dooneflaith, who alſo was come up when he call'd to his Guards, took Murchoe from the Ground, and in the preſence of them all, pronounced his Par⯑don, and the freedom he allow'd him to make his Addreſſes to Dooneflaith.

Dooneflaith was ſo taken with his generous Proceeding, that ſhe cou'd not with-hold from giving him a thouſand Praiſes, which made him imagine he had no ſmall [24]Intereſt in her Heart already; and were as ſo many ſtabs in the Breaſt of Murchoe, who now began to think that her pleading for his re⯑peal, was only out of fear that in his abſence, he might raiſe new Forces, and ſo once more bring Turgeſius's Life into hazard: Af⯑ter a walk or two in the Garden, Turgeſius making Murchoe take one of Dooneflaith's fair hands, while he held the other, they went in all together; and now the whole Court was talking of nothing, but the aſpiring Love of Murchoe, and the noble Condeſcention of Tur⯑geſius.

Moalſeachelvin was at that inſtant with Brian Boraimh, Murchoe's Father, in conſultation how they ſhould ſhake off the tyrannous Yoak of this Uſurper, when this laſt adventure came to their Ears, Mo⯑alſeachelvin from thence gather'd ſome hopes of accompliſhing his [25]ends; but Brian inwardly accuſed his Son of diſloyalty to his Coun⯑try, who when he had the Tyrant alone, at his Mercy, prefer'd the love of Maolſeachelvin's Daughter, before that of his Honour, and his enthrall'd Kingdom, wherefore they both parted at that time, without coming to any reſult.

The next day Turgeſius made his addreſſes to Dooneflaith, but found his reception colder than he imagin'd; wherefore ſending for her Father, he diſcover'd his Mind to him, and contrary to his Pro⯑miſe and Oath to Dooneflaith, com⯑manded him to uſe his utmoſt en⯑deavours to reduce his Daughter to accept his Love.

Murchoe taking the advantage of Turgeſius's Permiſſion, went al⯑ſo to Dooneflaith, where he free⯑ly open'd his Mind, and diſcover'd to her all that he had heard from her the day before in the Garden, [26]ſhe ſaw it was now no time any longer to hide her affections, and to the unſpeakable joy of Murchoe, confeſs'd that he had won ſo much on her heart, that would their Pa⯑rents conſent, ſhe was willing to accept him for her Husband; this was not ſo privately done, but a Spy whom Turgeſius had ſecretly plac'd there to that purpoſe, made him acquainted with all that had paſs'd, which rais'd ſuch confuſi⯑on in his Soul, that he knew not how to be reveng'd on Murchoe, nor what puniſhment to inflict on Dooneflaith; but after many tor⯑menting Cogitations, was reſolv'd, himſelf, to be a private Spectator; and if that he found what he fear'd, (and was told him) to be true, to end Murchoe's Life with his own hand.

Wherefore in a day or two af⯑ter, ſeeing Dooneflaith was inex⯑orable to all his Intreaties, he [27]ſeem'd to give over his Suit, and now Murchoe had the greater li⯑berty of proſecuting his Amours. He had endur'd all the reproaches that an incens'd Father cou'd make him, and had in vain ſolicited for his conſent, and altho' he found his Miſtreſs, and alſo her Father no ways averſe, but rather deſir⯑ing the Match, yet to his afflicti⯑on and ſorrow he could ſee no pro⯑bability of his happineſs, ſince his own Father ſtood ſo much againſt it: No Prayers, nor Intreaties cou'd move him, and he had char⯑ged him no more to viſit Doone⯑flaith upon that account.

Murchoe, who had yet never known what Diſobedience to his Father was, and had never broke the leaſt of his Commands, now ſaw himſelf in a miſerable condi⯑tion, either he muſt looſe the love of his Father, or that of his Mi⯑ſtreſs, both equally deſtructive to [28]him, he reſolves, at laſt, to follow his Duty, in hopes that in time his Love thereby would prove more happy; he fail'd not however to pay her his viſits, tho' with a Countenance leſs aſſur'd than be⯑fore; and ſhe could not but ob⯑ſerve the great alteration that was wrought in his Heart; his Words bore not thoſe ſoft and ſweet ac⯑cents they were wont, nor did he put that joy on his Face as for⯑merly he had: She could not ſee ſo mighty a change, but ask'd to be inform'd of the cauſe, which with disjointed Words, and heavy Sighs he at length told her.

Dooneflaith hearing him talk of Death, took him by the hand, and (with a thouſand ſoft charms in her Eyes, tho' half drown'd in Tears, ſaid to him) ‘O my Lord! can any thing make your Life ſo burdenſome that you would quit it ſo long as I love you? can you thing of wound⯑ing a Heart wherein I have an intereſt? For ſo nearly ally'd are all your Sufferings to my ſelf, that not one drop falls from your Eyes, but my Heart an⯑ſwers with the like of Blood: Say then, my Murchoe, what has befallen? Has Turgeſius gi⯑ven you cauſe of Jealouſy? or do you think becauſe I allow of his Viſits (which Heaven knows is not in my pow'r to prevent, [30]or I would) that I ever can con⯑ſent to his Love? No, no, Mur⯑choe, not all the Diadems in the World, not all the Monarchs on Earth ſhall put you from my Heart; there you, and none but you ſhall Reign, but play not the Tyrant there, and by Turgeſius's Example take delight to ſpoil and ranſack what I ſo freely give,’—Here her Sighs broke off her Speech, and rais'd our Lover from the Exta⯑ſies her tender Words had caſt him into.

Here Turgeſius came from the Place in which he had over-hear'd all, and was ſo tranſported with [32]his Rage, that had not Doone⯑flaith interpos'd, Murchoe (e'er he could have turned in his own Defence) had been laid as a Sacri⯑fice to his Anger dead at his feet, nor had he the patience (ſo much was he blinded with Paſ⯑ſion) to ſtay till he had call'd his Guards; but enter'd alone un⯑armed all but his Sword.

Murchoe was ſo loſt in his Sor⯑row, that till he heard Doone⯑flaith ſhriek out, he ſaw him not enter, and was ready to ſave Tur⯑geſius the pains, and have dy'd of himſelf, when he ſaw his Miſtreſs hold his Rival in her Arms; then falling on her Knees (ſtill hold⯑ing by his Robe) and profuſely ſhowring down floods of Tears to ſave her Lovers Life. ‘O Tur⯑geſius, my Lord, my King and Conqueror, ſpare, O mighty Monarch, ſpare my Murchoe's Life, and in exchange I'll give [33]you this of mine; kill not a Man, the Gods themſelves wou'd mourn to loſe, one whom their utmoſt Skill can never paral⯑lell.’

Turgeſius by this time repented him of his entring alone, know⯑ing by that raſhneſs, that he haz⯑zarded a Life, his Love, and a Crown, againſt a Man moſt ſtout, and much beneath him; where⯑fore going to retreat, he was pre⯑vented by Murchoe, who by this time had got between him and the Door, and ſtood ready with his Sword in his Hand to hinder his paſſage. ‘Is this, (ſays he to him) according to your King⯑ly Word? Do you eſteem your Vows and Oaths ſo little? Then Heaven refuſe me, when I beg its Mercy, if I let ſlip this op⯑portunity. No, Faithleſs Ty⯑rant, now I meet thee ſingle, come from thy Buckler there, [34]and meet me fairly, now ſhow thy Valour, and preſerve thy Life, by taking mine; for all the Powers above have joyn'd conſent, that one of us muſt fall.’

Turgeſius could no longer liſten to his threats, but (diſengaging himſelf from Dooneflaith, he cry'd out) ‘Good Gods, if Inſo⯑lence like this, to me, who am thy King, ſhall 'ſcape without its juſt Reward, and go away unpuniſh'd, let every School⯑boy whip me with a Rod; and may the Women brand me, with the hated Name of Cow⯑ard!’ Die Traytor (goes he on making a ſtroak at him) ‘ſince one of us muſt fall, take a Death too glorious for ſo baſe a Villain from thy Monarch's Hands.’

Here they both engag'd in Fight, but Dooneflaith fearing [35]the loſs of her lov'd Murchoe, catches hold of Turgeſius's Arms, by which means ſhe gave Mur⯑choe opportunity to get within him, and diſarm him. ‘Now, Sir (ſays Murchoe) but that I ſcorn ſo poor and baſe Revenge, and would not uſe the advan⯑tage given me by a Woman, I'd eaſe the Kingdom of its Thraldome, and free my ſelf from a perfidious Rival. 'Tis ſhe alone, that vertuous lovely Lady, whoſe preſence charms my Hand from giving thee that Death which thou deſerveſt. O Madam (ſays he turning to Dooneflaith) how inglorious have you made my Name! that, had you given me leave, might have reſounded through the World, and born the Title of its Countrys Saver! Ireland ſhould then have had its native Liberty again, and I perhaps [36]been choſe their King, proud only in that Glory, to lay my Crown beneath your Feet.’

Turgeſius (with a dauntleſs Front) told him how much he was indebted to Dooneflaith, who had not only Repeal'd his Baniſh⯑ment, but had now given him the advantage over him. He told him withal, how baſe and mean inſulting was; and bid him, ſince he was in his power, to uſe him as he pleas'd; but charg'd him ſtill to be mindful how he got the Victory ſo much he boaſted of. Murchoe cou'd no longer endure the thoughts of making uſe of the Advantage given him againſt a ſingle Man, threw Turgeſius his Sword, and bid him uſe it once more. But Dooneflaith ran to him, and with Tears in her Eyes, beſought him to deſiſt; but nothing could prevail; and had not ſome of the Courtiers and [37]Guards (who by this time were come to the place, hearing the claſhing of Swords) prevented (by diſarming the valiant Mur⯑choe) Turgeſius had a ſecond time fall'n under his Mercy; for juſt as they had ſeiz'd on him, Turge⯑ſius's Sword broke ſhort to his Hand.

It was not without many com⯑mands that Turgeſius himſelf cou'd hinder the enrag'd Soldiers from taking Murchoe's Life, and cut⯑ting him to pieces even before his Miſtreſſes Eyes, who now pleaded in his behalf ſo perſua⯑ſively, that ſhe obtain'd of the Monarch his Liberty of Life, with Condition that he forthwith left the Kingdom. Murchoe after what he had done, was glad at preſent on any Conditions to get from the malice of the enraged Danes; wherefore without ſo much as taking his Leave of Doo⯑neflaith, [38]he fled from the Court; but not being willing to leave his Native Soil, by which he knew he ſhould utterly be depriv'd of all means of ſerving his Miſtreſs; whoſe abſence now ran more in his Mind than all his other Miſ⯑fortunes, his Life became in two or three Days ſo cumberſom to him, that he was reſolv'd either to loſe it, or free it, together with all Ireland of the Tyran⯑nous Burthen it bore. To which end, he poſts to Armagh, where⯑of Turgeſius was quickly inform'd, and at four ſeveral times in one Month, cauſed Fire to be ſet to that City, to drive him from thence: Nor did he ſpare either Monaſtery or Church that ſtood in his way, leſt he ſhould take Sanctuary in them. He likewiſe put to Death all their Prieſts, and plac'd Heathen Lay-Abbots in every Cloiſter. Nor did his fury [39]ſpare either Sex or Age, whom he thought favour'd his Conceal⯑ment.

The poor afflicted Dooneflaith ſpent all her Nights and Days in moſt cruel condolement for the loſs of her Murchoe; nor could all the fair Promiſes or large Of⯑fers Turgeſius could make, win her to beſtow on him, even to his own Face, any other than the Title of Tyrant; in hopes that thereby ſhe might raiſe his Cru⯑elty to that pitch, as to give her a Death, which next to the Love of her dear Murchoe, would now be moſt welcome unto her.

Turgeſius's Love now became ſo fierce and unruly in his Breaſt, that nothing but the Enjoyment of Dooneflaith could allay it, or give him one moment of eaſe; he reſolv'd in himſelf, nothing ſhould impede his Deſires; where⯑fore he once more ſends to her Fa⯑ther [40] Maolſeachelvin, to uſe his Au⯑thority with his Daughter, and make her more pliant to his Love; or that all who belong'd to her, ſhould feel the weight of his An⯑ger, and know how fatal the Conſequence ſhould be in caſe ſhe refus'd, and did not come willingly into his Arms; he had left off his Addreſſes to her, after having found her impregnable, and wait-a while for an Anſwer from Ma⯑olſeachelvin.

Some days paſs'd, and the un⯑fortunate Dooneflaith began to entertain hopes that the Tyrant had quitted his Suit, and that her ill uſage of him had baniſh'd his Love; ſhe had now time enough to bewail her Misfortunes, and miſs'd not a Day, in which ſhe went not to the Grove in the Garden to eaſe her ſorrowful Heart by Complaints. One Day among the reſt, ſhe was got into [41]an Arbour, where having wea⯑ried her ſelf with her Grief, ſoft ſlumbers ſeal'd up her Eyes, and laid her to Sleep, and in her Dreams ſhe imagin'd ſhe ſaw Murchoe all bloody come into her Room, and give her a thouſand Reproaches of being unfaithful; then pulling a Sword from under his Robe, he would have pierc'd his own Breaſt; at the ſight whereof, Dooneflaith ſtarted out of her Sleep, in ſuch an Agony, that ſhe was not her ſelf in an hour or two after. But having well conſider'd 'twas only a Dream, and the Fancy of her Diſtemper'd Brain, ſhe fell to complaining again.

No ſooner had ſhe utter'd theſe words, but ſhe ſaw at the entrance of the Arbour, one in a Womans Dreſs, who at firſt view ſhe knew not; but recollecting her ſelf, ſhe perceiv'd to be Murchoe. ‘Thanks, bounteous Heaven, ſaid ſhe, now my Prayers are heard, this Charitable Act has cancell'd all your former Cruelty; wellcome my Love,’ ſays ſhe, running to take him in her Arms; but how was ſhe ſurpriz'd to ſee him ſhun [43]her ſoft Embraces! and ſtood ga⯑zing on her, as tho' he had never ſeen her before. ‘Ah! Murchoe, ſays the charming Maid, is it thus you requite all my Suffer⯑ings? Can my Embraces be thought troubleſome! or ſure I do miſtake, and this is not my Love, but ſome illuſion that does wear his Face, and come to mock my Miſeries.’

Murchoe was ſo aſtoniſh'd at his ſuddain Happineſs, that he could ſcarcely believe what he heard, or ſaw; and Dooneflaith was ſo much alter'd with her continual Pineing and Grief, that he ſcarce knew her: But his Sen⯑ſes aſſuming their former ſtrength, he ran to her, and fell at her feet, where he vented ſuch a flood of Tears, and ſo many Sighs, that he was not able for ſome time to utter one word, while the paſſi⯑onate Dooneflaith, fearing he was [44]grown unkind, or jealous, fell down by him in a Trance.

Murchoe, not minding where he was, and what hazard he ran of diſcovering himſelf, and con⯑ſequently of loſing his Life, call'd out for Help, naming himſelf a thouſand times over, to have been the unfortunate fatal Cauſe.

Dooneflaith by this time co⯑ming to her ſelf again, gave him a Sign that ſhe liv'd by a Groan. ‘O bleſſed ſound, ſaid he, what Muſick doſt thou make in my Heart! ſuch a ſad accent co⯑ming from my Love, at any other time, wou'd rend my ve⯑ry Soul; but now ſince 'tis the Meſſenger of Life, 'tis more Melodious than the Songs of Angels are; repeat it once a⯑gain, and bleſs my Ears.—Ha! ſays Dooneflaith, where am I? What ſuper-Officious Hand hath brought me back to Life! What more than ſavage Beaſt, could be ſo cruel to awake me from my long Eternal Sleep.’ But opening her Eyes and ſeeing Murchoe, ſhe alter'd her Note, and gave Heav'n a thouſand thanks for their Kindneſs, and ask'd [46]him forgiveneſs for what ſhe had ſaid.

He had yet no power to An⯑ſwer, nor wou'd his Kiſſes per⯑mit her to finiſh what e'er ſhe began, and to their mutual Con⯑tent and Satisfaction, they ſpent ſome time in the ſilent Oratory of their Eyes, where each ſo feeling⯑ly did tell ſuch Stories, as Words cou'd ne'er expreſs. Murchoe was the firſt who broke ſilence, and return'd her a million of Thanks for the intereſt ſhe had taken in all that he ſuffer'd, they made a thouſand new Proteſtations of Lo⯑ving till Death, and gave each other firm aſſurances of future Fi⯑delity. They were parting, with Promiſes to ſee each other as often as they could when Maolſeachel⯑vin her Father enters, taking Murchoe, (not minding his Face, which he took care to conceal,) for one of his Daughters Women, let [47]him paſs by without the leaſt ſuſ⯑picion.

Maolſeachelvin told Doonefla⯑ith that ſhe muſt prepare, for in three Days he had promis'd Tur⯑geſius to ſend her unto him, ac⯑company'd with fifteen other Virgins, as a Victim to allay the Fury, that her Obſtinacy, and Murchoe's Treachery had rais'd in his Breaſt. He ſtay'd not to receive any Anſwer, but went forwards to perfect the Walk he intended, and to think of the Pro⯑ject that was working in his Brain.

No ſooner was he out of ſight, but the afflicted Dooneflaith be⯑took her to the Arbour again, and throwing her ſelf on a Bank, ſhe vented her Sorrow in this man⯑ner. ‘Oh Cruel, Barbarous Fa⯑ther, ſaid ſhe, and have you at length conſented to a ſeparation [48]'twixt me, and my Murchoe, to become the Wife of Turgeſius. But that, I can eaſily hinder. Beſides, he has Sworn he will never Requeſt it, but by my permiſſion, which I will ſooner grant to Furies to hurry me to Hell. No, inhuman Parent, tho' you and all the World wou'd grant me His! yet if none elſe will, Death ſhall for⯑bid the Banes. But if forget⯑ful of his Oaths, he forces me to Wed him, ev'n in the Ty⯑rant's ſight, I'll Pierce my Heart, and ſpurt the reaking ſtream full in his hated Face.’

Murchoe having ſeen Maolſe⯑achelvin quit his Daughter, and obſerving her to retire back into the Arbour, follow'd after her, to enquire what her Father had ſaid. But in what a Conſternation was he? when, as he entred, he beheld her tearing her lovely Hair, and [49]imprinting the marks of her Rage on her beautiful Face, and giving ſuch ſtroaks on her tender Breaſt, as were enough to force Life from its ſeat. Murchoe ran to her, and put a ſtop to her Hands, which ſurely elſe had ruin'd ſo much Beauty, as none but ſhe could ever boaſt of. ‘Oh! unkind Doone⯑flaith, ſaid he to her, what new afflicton has befall'n my Love? that thus ſhe ſeeks to ſpoil the faireſt Temple, Beauty ever fram'd.’ ‘Oh Murchoe, replies the deſpairing Dooneflaith, leave me to my ſelf, my Griefs are catching, and with its black Contagion will infect thy Soul; Heaven has not yet left pouring down its Wrath, and what a⯑lone was meant for me, may fall on you; the Gods above have mark'd me out a Subject for their utmoſt Cruelties! My Father,—Oh, I bluſh to call [50]him ſo, forgetting me, forget⯑ting Honour and himſelf, has giv'n me o'er into the Tyrant's Hands; but Three Days time I have allow'd to mourn the loſs of thee my Love, and everlaſting Happineſs.’

[51]While they were thus condo⯑ling their hard fortune, and ſay⯑ing all the ſoft things Love could inſpire them with, Moalſeachelvin returns, and hearing his Daugh⯑ter's Voice in the Arbour, enter'd, and found our Lovers Arm in Arm, in which poſture they had reſolv'd to end their Lives toge⯑ther, and never part, but go Hand in Hand to Death: Which had not her Father entred, and ſnatch'd the Dagger out of Mur⯑choe's Hands, had been effected.

Murchoe ſeeing Maolſeachelvin, could not forbear diſcovering him⯑ſelf to him, and giving him a thouſand Reproaches for yielding to the Tyrant's will. Maolſeach⯑elvin was amaz'd to find him in Company with his Daughter, and in ſuch a Dreſs; but having re⯑ſolv'd with himſelf what to do, he thought it but Wiſdom to con⯑ceal it till ſome fitter Seaſon. [52]Wherefore not minding what Mur⯑choe ſaid to him, he ask'd his Daughter, if ſhe had conſider'd well of what he had told her.

Maolſeachelvin could hardly re⯑frain from Tears, to ſee the ſad Condition his Daughter was in; however he goes on, and laid be⯑fore her the Power of Turgeſius, and that if ſhe did not willingly conſent, he would have her by force. ‘Think, ſays he to her, how you cou'd endure to ſee a loving Father Murder'd before your Face; for that and more he ſwears to do, if you conſent not to his Love; he vows when he has had his Will, which all the Powers above he is re⯑ſolv'd ſhall not hinder, he'll give your Body to the vileſt Danes, and let the meaneſt Soldiers uſe you as they pleaſe. Then think again, how happy thou may'ſt live, how High and Glorious ſit on Ireland's Throne, if by [55]your Love you ſooth this Migh⯑ty Monarch.’

Murchoe who all this while ſtood Thunder-ſtruck to hear theſe im⯑pious urgings of her Father, cou'd no longer forbear uttering his Mind, with Eyes ſparkling with Anger, he ſtept up to him. ‘And can Maolſeachelvin, ſays he, then become ſo baſe? Can he, whom Ireland's Hopes are fix'd upon, degenerate from his Vertuous Noble Anceſtors, and from a Prince, become a Bawd! unheard of Wickedneſs, a Pan⯑der to his Child! 'Twill can⯑cel all my former thoughts of Vertue, and make me think thou never didſt beget her; for ſurely ſuch a pure untainted ſtream cou'd never riſe from ſo impure a Spring! Or were you ten times over her Fa⯑ther, if it were poſſible, ſhe ſhou'd not now obey; I with [56]theſe Hands wou'd ſooner give her Death my ſelf.’

‘No, Ambitious, Vain-glorious Boy, anſwers Maolſeachelvin, it is not in thy Power to give her Death, or ſave thy Life—’ So calling to two young Gentle⯑men, who waited without, and whom he had won to his Pur⯑poſe, and had promis'd in all things to follow his Directions, he commanded them to lay hold on Murchoe, and then went on. ‘Now ſee raſh Youth, ſays he, how Fatal 'tis to play with Thunder, whoſe Bolt has fal⯑len, and cruſh'd thee to the Earth; I'll ſend thee bound in Chains along with her, which Act will doubly gain Turgeſius's Heart,’

Dooneflaith ſeeing them ſeize on Murchoe, ran to him, and ta⯑king hold of his Arms, would have ſtop'd him; but her Father [57]looſing her hold, ſhe fell upon her Knees, and, with a Torrent of Tears, beſought him to ſave the Life of Murchoe. ‘Do with me, ſays ſhe, what you pleaſe, give my unſpotted Honour to the Tyrant's Luſt, Brand me with Infamy, but ſave this Noble Youth.’

Murchoe ſeeing Maolſeachelvin ſo obdurate to all her Intreaties, fell likewiſe on his Knees. ‘Be⯑hold, ſaid he, with Tears, the humble Murchoe ſuppliant at thy Feet, who begs not to pre⯑ſerve his Life, but your dear Daughter's Honour, ſend her away, and lay the blame on me, I'll own 'twas I, who bore her from his-Arms; then to ap⯑peaſe his Wrath, let me be ſent unto him, I'll willingly endure his utmoſt rage, and count my Life well ſpent to ſave her Vir⯑tue.’

Maolſeachelvin could no longer hold out; but running firſt to his Daughter, then doing the like to Murchoe, he took them both into his Arms, and wept a flood upon their Necks. ‘Right virtuous Pair, ſaid he, whom Heaven has ſent to make me happy in my latter days, my loving Chil⯑dren both; forgive the Tryal I have made; Now witneſs for me all ye bleſs'd above, I hold ye equally as dear as Life, as Ho⯑nour, or my precious Soul; and ſince I find ſo well you Love each other, curs'd be that Man [61]who would untie this Knot: Now wipe your Tears away as I do mine, tho' ſprung from different Cauſes; yours, from your Sorrows, mine, from migh⯑ty Joy; ſtifle your Grief, as I conceal my Vengeance. Make thee his Miſtreſs—Now Heaven forgive me, if I would not ſooner damn than harbour ſuch a thought; I for my dear lov'd Daughter's honour, would ſet at nought my ſweet immortal Soul. No, Dooneflaith, no, Genereus Murchoe, I have ſo contriv'd it, ſhe ſhall be ſent to him, and as he writes to me here (ſhewing them the Letter wil⯑lingly,) has alſo commanded me to ſend him Fifteen young Virgins of our Nobleſt Blood, to ſlake the burning luſt of his Chief Officers, I'll ſend them too. But ſince ſo well thy Wo⯑mans Dreſs becomes thee, thou [62]ſhalt be one, and Fourteen Youths, as Bold and Valiant as thy ſelf ſhall go, all clad and dreſs'd like thee, with each a Sword beneath their Gowns. I have ſent to thoſe who have taken ſhelter in the Woods, Mountains, and Boggs, to be in readineſs, and have a Thou⯑ſand Men, who at the Signal given, ſhall fall upon his Guards. Letters already I have diſpatch'd to every City in our Country, to bid them Riſe on ſuch a Night.’

They all ſwore Secrecy, and departed, only Dooneflaith and Murchoe were not ſeparated till it was late, but went together into her Chamber, where, to their in⯑expreſſible ſatisfaction and mutu⯑al joy, they Supp'd together, and paſſed away the hours till Bed⯑time, then Murchoe was Con⯑ducted into an Apartment by him⯑ſelf, where he ſpent that Night on the thoughts of the paſt Days Adventures, and the important [64]Affairs they were to perform in a ſhort time after.

The next Morning Maolſeach⯑elvin ſent a Meſſenger to Turge⯑ſius, promiſing according to his Commands, that he had won on his Daughter to obey him; and that as he hop'd for his Kingly Favour hereafter, he would not fail upon the Morrow Night to ſend her, accompany'd with Fif⯑teen Virgins more, who were al⯑ſo willing to run the ſame Fate, and participate of the Joys their Miſtreſs ſhould receive in ſo ſplen⯑did an Entertainment.

Turgeſius was almoſt raviſh'd with this News, for certainly no Man ever lov'd, or rather luſted to the degree he did; he was re⯑ſolv'd to have loſt the whole King⯑dom but he would enjoy her; his eager Joy ſat heavy on his Heart, for Love is moſt impatient on Crown'd Heads. But finding her [65]come thus eaſily, he ſpar'd not for any thing that might make her Reception Magnificent. He ſent for Fifteen of his Chiefeſt Commanders, and told them what a Treatment he had for them. In ſhort, the whole Court was almoſt new model'd, the Rooms adorn'd with Rich Beds, and the moſt Coſtly Hangings.

Never was Palace ſo galantly ſet out with Gold, Jewels, and Tapeſtry as this, not any thing below the Dignity of Silver, and that curiouſly wrought and Maſ⯑ſive, was us'd in any of the Chambers; Cloth of Tiſſue was the meaneſt Furniture they had; the Candleſticks were Gold; ſo that all the Wealth thoſe Sacrilegious Daniſh Heathens had deſpoil'd the Churches and Monaſteries of, with all the Plunder they had ta⯑ken at Sacking of Towns, and King's Courts, were all now [66]brought to this Palace; ſo that it might be ſaid, That one Spot of Ground, held more Wealth than all Ireland beſides.

Nor were the Wines but of the Richeſt, and all the variety of Viands which could be procur'd, were ſent for to this Place, and every one was employ'd in ſome Office or other; and the King, with his Commanders almoſt Mad for the arrival of the happy Night, their longing impatience thought that almoſt an Age, which was only but twenty four Hours.

The Hour at length arriv'd, and Dooneflaith ſet out with a Noble Train of ſuppos'd young Virgins, whereof Fifteen of them were of the moſt Handſome, and yet moſt Stout and Reſolute Youths of Ireland, as well and gloriouſly Dreſs'd as Hands, Jew⯑els, and Art could effect it; each having one or two others to attend [67]him as his Servant, or Waiting-Woman, in the ſame Female Ap⯑parel, and each a ſhort Sword un⯑der his Gown.

Turgeſius went about a Mile out of his Court to meet them, as ſoon as he had news of their approach, accompanied with Fif⯑teen of his Choiceſt Comman⯑ders, ſome whereof he had ſent for out of ſtrong Cities wherein they Commanded, who alſo had with them an equal Train of Atten⯑dants.

The firſt interview of the two Parties, was ſuch a Sight as might have equal'd, if not exceeded, that of Alexander, when he met Thaleſtris and her Amazons up⯑on the Banks of the Euphrates.

It ſeem'd as tho' Mars himſelf had led the Van of all the other Gods, to meet with Venus and the Female Deities.

[68] Turgeſius, and all who follow'd him, quite forgetting their Gran⯑deur, and Martial Habitude, de⯑ſcended from their ſhining Gild⯑ed Chariots, and went to thoſe of the Ladies. Nor had Maolſeach⯑elvin ſpar'd Coſt to make his Daughters Equipage more Mag⯑nificent and Glorious than any that Ireland had ſeen before, eſpecially that of the Charming Dooneflaith, which was ſo Richly Furniſh'd, that at a diſtance in the glittering Sun-beams it was too Glorious to be lookt upon, and ſtruck a ſort of Blindneſs in the Spectator's Eyes who beheld it. She was drawn by ſix milk white Horſes, Capariſon'd with Trappings of Gold, an the Chariot wherein ſhe rode was open, having Rich Embroider'd Curtains held up by young Cupids, who ſeem'd well pleas'd, and ſmiling at the Deity [69]that they attended; nor were the others much leſs ſumptuous.

In ſhort, who e're had been to ſee the firſt Greeting, could not but have been aſtoniſh'd at ſo No⯑ble a Sight. Turgeſius, (as tho' he had long practis'd the Art of Love) ſo behav'd himſelf, that even Dooneflaith was mov'd with Compaſſion, at the great Action ſhe was to perform. However, ſhe ſeem'd as eager to reveive his Careſſes, as if ſhe had met with the Man whom her Soul a⯑dor'd. After ſome few Compli⯑ments had paſs'd on either ſide, (the Women having by this time alighted to meet the Men) they all mounted again, the Monarch taking Dooneflaith into his own Chariot, and the other Com⯑manders following his Example, did the like with thoſe who came with her.

[70]And now being Pair'd, they ſet forward for the Court; all the way that they rode, they were diverted by Trumpets and Wind-Muſick, which in their turns made a Seraphick Harmony. But that which moſt of all Charm'd the Ears of the Warriours, were the ſoft and melting Expreſſions the counterfeit Ladies did uſe; which were ſo raviſhing, and ten⯑der, that not one of Turgeſius's Train but could willingly have wiſh'd to have paſs'd by the Ceremony of Supping, and have gone immedi⯑ately to their Chambers; even Turgeſius himſelf thought the time, tho' ſpent in his Miſtreſſes Com⯑pany but irkſom and long, ſo eager was he to have the ſweet Charmer in his Embraces.

But Supper being ended, the deſcription whereof, would but delay the recital of things more [71]material, they prepar'd for their Beds, and Dooneflaith was led up by the ſuppos'd Maidens who came with her to the Chamber that was aſſign'd for the Mo⯑narch; He being impatient for the dear happineſs his Soul ſo much long'd for, thought them too tedious in undreſſing her, and putting her to Bed; being no longer able to defer the happy moment, diſarm'd himſelf below, as all the reſt of the Comman⯑ers did, laying their Arms on a Table in the great Hall, went each to his Chamber, expecting the coming of Her he had choſe. But Turgeſius no ſooner entred his Room, for he came alone, than he was ſeiz'd on, and immedi⯑ately gagg'd, that no out-cry might be made; they had certain⯑ly kill'd him, had not Murchoe interceeded; who told him he now paid him back a Debt that [72]he ow'd him, ever ſince he was ſo generous to ſave his Life formerly from the outrage of his Soldiers and Guards, who were ready to have cut him in pieces, when he fought with him in Dooneflaith's Apartment; in retaliation of which, he wou'd now ſave his Life from the threatning Swords of thoſe who juſtly thirſted for his Blood.

Turgeſius was not a little ſur⯑priz'd at the unlook'd for Adven⯑ture; but above all, at the gallant Generoſity of his Noble Enemy, and incens'd Rival, he would have made him ſuch an Anſwer as ſuited the greatneſs of the Act, had he had the liberty of ſpeak⯑ing. But now his Heart was ſo troubled at the loſs of Doone⯑flaith, and all his raviſhing hopes were ſo blaſted, that Life to him was but an unneceſſary thing; he began tho' too late, to think [73]how dearly he muſt pay for his Luſt, and how pompous the So⯑lemnity had been made for the bringing on his utter Deſtru⯑ction.

The thoughts of the loſs of a Crown, came crowding upon him, and he could not but be ſenſible what a laſting Infamy this Action muſt lay on his blind and inconſiderate Credulity. How would he, in his Mind, Curſe the time that he firſt ſaw that Char⯑ming Seducer, and now beheld her with more Deteſtation and Horror, than heretofore he had done with Love and Pleaſure.

But we muſt leave him to him⯑ſelf, and return to the reſt, who (after the ſeizing Turgeſius) had no better ſucceſs than their King, unleſs ending a miſerable Life might be accounted ſome mitiga⯑tion of their Misfortunes. The Signal was preſently given out of [74]the Court Windows to the ſmall Army that Maolſeachelvin had brought to the Gates, and all thoſe Attendants and Servants who came with his Daughter, were in a readineſs to give the Onſet to thoſe in the Palace.

Turgeſius and his Train no ſooner roſe from the Table, but the inferior Commanders and Of⯑ficers were ſet down to it; each with one of thoſe under Women who came with Dooneflaith; the Bowls of Wine were going mer⯑rily about, and the Danes (who are potent in Bacchus's Bat⯑tles) were too buſie, and the Mu⯑ſick too loud to let them hear Maolſeachelvin, when with his Arm'd Men he forc'd his way in⯑to the Palace; and they were greatly ſurpriz'd when they ſaw a whole Band of ſtout Iriſh-men well Arm'd enter the Hall. It was now no time to demand [75]what they meant; for e'er they could ſcarce turn about to ſee who they were, they met with their Fate,

A greater Confuſion was never ſeen, the Tables were all over⯑thrown, and the Blood of the Danes, with that of the Grape, promiſcuouſly mingled, made a purple Deluge on the Floor; nor was there a Dane that Night in the Court, who found not his Death, except Turgeſius the Ty⯑rant, who was reſerv'd for a more ignominious and miſerable End.

Nor had this Great Underta⯑king any worſe ſucceſs in the o⯑ther parts of Ireland; for thoſe Towns and Cities whoſe Gover⯑nours were ſlain at the Feaſt (more bloody than that of the Centaurs) hearing of the loſs of their Commanders and their King, loſt with them their Courage, and [76]yielded an eaſie Victory to the brave Iriſh, who in a ſhort time after, releas'd the whole Kingdom from the ſlaviſh Tyranny of the Danes, to their Lawful Subjection under a Monarch of their own, which was by the conſent of the Nobles plac'd on Maolſeachelvin, for the gallant Exploit he had done, for then their Monarchs were Elective, and with good reaſon the Choice fell on him.

Now the Iriſh had thrown off the Daniſh Yoak, and were again at Liberty, each enjoying the be⯑nefit of Peace, which was intro⯑duc'd by a moſt bloody and furi⯑ous War. Nor was there a Dane left in the whole Country, but ſuch who they us'd as their Slaves, and put to mean Offices; and thoſe who were before ſo buſie in demoliſhing and burning of Churches and Monaſteries, were now employ'd either as Smiths, [77]Carpenters, or Maſons, in their Re-building, and the Church-Lands were all reſtor'd to their proper uſes. The Lay-Abbots whom the Danes had plac'd there, were caſt out of the Cloiſters and ſlain, and the whole Kingdom be⯑gan once more to Flouriſh in Chriſtianty, and was eſtabliſh'd in the true Worſhip of God.

It is neceſſary, e'er we proceed any farther, to give a ſtep back, and ſee what became of our Lo⯑vers, and the depos'd Uſurper; who, ſome time after his Defeat, was led about the Streets, thro' which ſo often he had rode in Splen⯑dor and Triumph, now Manacled, and loaden with Chains, and be⯑came a ſcoff and deriſion to thoſe, o'er whom ſo lately he Triumph'd, and in this Condition (with a ſhouting throng of the Vulgar) was he conducted to the River Laugh-Ainme, into which he was [78]caſt, and finiſh'd a burthenſom Life, by being their drowned.

Our two Lovers, had now, as they thought, no other Obſtacle, but the conſent of Bryan Boriam⯑he Father to Murchoe, who they hop'd would agree to their Marriage. The Valiant Murchoe in that Night's great Action, ha⯑ving ſhifted his Womans Apparel, put on the more becoming one of Arms, and flew like Lightning to aſſiſt his Country-men, leaving the care and ſafeguard of Doone⯑flaith to her Father, and it was ſome days e'er he return'd, but to his great miſery; for now Maolſeachelvin having the proſ⯑pect of a Crown in his ſight, and having ſtomach'd Bryan's denial of their Marriage before, was firmly reſolv'd that intereſt ſhould not bring him to conſent to it now. Wherefore going to his Daughter, and taking her into [79]his Cloſet, he Commanded her on her Duty, no longer to think of her Lover; but when Murchoe return'd, to uſe him as one who was moſt indifferent to her.

After this he left her, and went to his own Chamber; no ſooner was he parted, but Dooneflaith looking out at the Window, be⯑held her dear Murchoe, with his Father juſt entring the Palace; and not being able to think on the ſevere Injunctions her Fa⯑ther had laid on her, without a torrent of Tears, and a thouſand imprecations on her unkind Stars. ‘O barbarous Father, ſaid ſhe to her ſelf, more Tyrannous and Cruel to thy Child, than Sa⯑vage Monſters are to thoſe they [85]hate; not ſee my Love, but with diſdainful looks! not give him one kind glance for all his Love! not one kind word of thanks for all his pains! this Cruelty exceeds all precedent! my unkind Speech or Eyes will do the fatal Work, and leave no buſineſs for my Father's Sword! O that ſome Angel would in⯑ſtruct my Love, and tell him that my Eyes and Tongue are Lyars, that my poor Heart bears no conſent to what they ſay; tell him I am all over Love, and that my Murchoe is more precious to my Soul than all the World beſides.’

Murchoe, and his Father, with ſeveral of his Friends were now come into the outward Court of the Palace, and caſting his Eyes up to the Window, he beheld his adorable Miſtreſs; who no ſooner ſaw him, but withdrew from the [86]Place, which Murchoe thought was done to haſte to him. ‘Oh! Father (ſays he, almoſt Exta⯑ſied) look how the Treaſure of my Soul does fly to meet my longing Arms; now all the Blood I've loſt in Ireland's Wars, will largely be Re⯑warded.’

Bryan took ſuch part in his Sons Tranſports, that he could hardly forbear ſhedding Tears of Joy. But Murchoe leſt he ſhould be out-done in kindneſs, made what haſt he cou'd into the Houſe, and at the end of the Hall beheld his fair Dooneflaith, whom he ran unto with all the ſpeed his Love could make. ‘Oh! thou charming, ſoft and lovely Maid, ſaid the tranſported Murchoe, let me upon thy tender Breaſt breath the ſoft languiſhments of my o'er flowing Joy!’ But how did he ſtart, and look amaz'd, [87]when he not only ſaw ſhe met him not half way, but ſhun'd his Arms; and after a ſmall pauſe, with gazing Eyes he thus went on.

‘What, my Dooneflaith, ſays he, are my Embraces loathſom grown! What, doſt thou turn away the warming Sun-ſhine of thine Eyes; not one kind look to crown thy Murchoe's Victo⯑ry, not one ſoft word to bid him wellcome home!’ Doone⯑flaith could no longer turn away her Head, yet was afraid of her Father, who through a ſecret place look'd into the Hall, and beheld her with frowns; and fear⯑ing ſhe ſhould not perform what he bid her, her Love and ſhe muſt part for ever; caſt ſo diſ⯑dainful and ſcornful a look upon Murchoe, that he clapping his Hand to his Heart, cry'd out, ‘O Gods! thoſe cruel piercing [88]Eyes have ſtab'd my Soul, and given me a death my boldeſt Enemies could never do.’ Then after a little ſtop, he went up to her, and would have taken her by the Hand, but ſhe refus'd it him; ‘telling him the unkindneſs of her Father had deſtroy'd their Loves, and that now he had fallen from his Promiſe, and had com⯑manded her no more to look on him with Amorous Eyes; in purſuance to whoſe will, ſhe did from thence forward forbid him to viſit her.’

Murchoe, during her talk ſtood like one without Motion, nor had he the power to utter one word, till he ſaw her departing the Hall; but then running 'twixt her and the Door, he fell on his Knees, and beg'd her for her former Love to hear his lateſt words; but ſhe overcome with the pitiful ſight, being no longer able to look on [89]one in that woful Condition, and one whom contrary to her will, ſhe her ſelf had made ſo, return'd him no Anſwer; but ſnatching her Hand out of his, which e'er ſhe was aware he had ſeiz'd, without ſo much as looking back, ſhe went out of the Hall, and left the Diſconſolate Murchoe on his Knees.

He continu'd in that poſture till ſhe was gone out of ſight; then riſing on his Legs again, he drew forth his Sword, and had ended his Life on its Point, had not his Father, and Friends (who expected no leſs) ſtept in and prevented him. ‘Oh! Cru⯑el Father, ſay he to Bryan, this laſt unkindneſs, out-does all you you have done to me before; why would you have me live, when Life's ſo great a burden? Were it not better I at once gave up my breath, than live in [90]lingring pain, and deal it out by ſighs! O Faithleſs Woman, ſays he a little after, thou ab⯑ſtract of Inconſtancy, where's now that charming Voice which with kind Proteſtations ſwore, Murchoe ſhould ever be her Souls delight; farewell, a long and laſt farewell, for with your cold diſdain you've blaſted all my Hopes, and now no remedy is left but Death.’

With much ado at laſt, they got him home to his Chamber, but twas not in their power to get him to Eat, or take the leaſt refreſhment; and it was a long time before his Father could get him to promiſe to uſe no violence on himſelf; to which he would never have conſented, had not Bryan told him, he would uſe all his Endeavour to alter Maolſeach⯑elvin's Reſolutions.

[91]No ſooner was his Father gone out of the Room, but he com⯑manded all who were with him to do the like; and after two or three haſty turns in the Chamber, he flung himſelf on his Bed, where he pour'd out ſuch Tears, ſuch Sighs, and Complaints, that he drew moiſture from the Eyes of all who look'd in at the Key⯑hole of the Door to ſee what he did. But now let us return again to our Hiſtory.

Soon after all things were ſet⯑tled in Peace, the Victorious Ma⯑olſeachelvin, was as is ſaid before, by the Election of the Princes and Nobility of Ireland, deſervedly made King of Meath, and then Monarch of the whole Country; when there arriv'd three Brothers out of Norway, viz. Amelanus, Cytaracus, and Ivorus, with their Families, and great Trains, who (in a moſt Amicable and Peace⯑able [92]manner) pretending to be Merchants, obtain'd leave for the better carrying on their Traffick and Trade, to build three Cities near the Sea ſide; which was per⯑mitted them, upon Condition, that they paid Tribute for them. Articles of Agreement being con⯑ſented too, on both ſides, they fell to Work, and erected the three Cities, now call'd Dublin, Wa⯑terford, and Limrick; which they had no ſooner finiſhed, and had made almoſt impregnable by ſtrong Fortifications, but the Iriſh began to ſee their Error, and now it was that they felt the Power of an Enemy, no leſs prejudicial in all appearance, than that they had lately ſubdu'd.

Theſe Sea-port Towns giving entrance to freſh and numerous Fleets of Norwegians, Danes, and Ooſtmans; inſomuch that the Iriſh were forc'd once more to [93]have recourſe to their Arms. And here it was that Maolſeachelvin's Heart became mollified, and once more gave conſent (when the Kingdom ſhould be freed of its Foes) that Murchoe ſhould Marry his Daughter.

The two Lovers had now ad⯑mittance to ſee each other, and with a bleeding Heart the Charming Dooneflaith made known to her dear Murchoe the reaſon why ſhe us'd that ſeverity to him at his return from the former Battle: Murchoe lov'd too well to think any of the fault was on her ſide, and was now the moſt happy Man in the World. Her Father, the King, made him his General, but the Occaſion was urgent, and he was haſted away, having ſcarce time to take his Leave.

However, he had with a thou⯑ſand ſoft and paſſionate Speeches already parted with Dooneflaith, [94]and was now come to Maolſeach⯑elvin, who receiv'd him with all the expreſſions of tenderneſs that could be. ‘Go Valiant Youth, ſays the King to him, go, and return Crown'd with Laurels of Victory; revenge the hard Uſage you have ſuffer'd, on thoſe barbarous Infidels; for⯑give my Raſhneſs, and believe I now ſet no difference betwixt thee and my own Child. No, my dear Son, for ſo henceforth I will call thee, and tho' your Father ſhun all my Advance⯑ments, I thus will embrace his Son. Go then, Victorious Murchoe, Head our Men; my chearful Soldiers long to ſee their Chief, they think the time you loſe in my embraces, an Age, in their impatience.’

After many endearing Diſcour⯑ſes, Murchoe took Horſe, and went to the Army, who wellcom'd him with loud ſhouts of Joy; and where he found ſuch Stout and Reſolute Iriſh-men, that where-ever he came, he carried Victory on his Sword's Point; while his Father Bryan no leſs fearing the loſs of the Kingdom again, in the Southern parts of the Country did ſuch things as would almoſt ſeem incredible, and in a ſhort time was Crown'd King of Mun⯑ſter, ſtill Conquering where e'er he went, and ſoon after ſubdu'd [96]one half of the Nation. Nor did he put a ſtop to his irreſiſtable Force, till he was publickly E⯑lected, and made Monarch of all Ireland, the Nobility and Princes depoſing Maolſeachelvin, to make way for Bryan, giving him leave to live, which is the greateſt mi⯑ſery that can befall a Monarch af⯑ter the loſs of a Diadem.

Bryan now being King of all Ireland, thought himſelf ſuffici⯑ently reveng'd for the ſlights which Maolſeachelvin had put on his Son, and commanded Mur⯑choe to come home to his Palace, which then he kept at Tomond, to the unſpeakable trouble and af⯑fliction of the two Lovers, who now were taking, as they fear'd, their laſt leaves of each other.

Dooneflaith could not hear him make ſuch a ſcruple, without ſhewing how much it touch'd her Heart. ‘Oh, cruel Murchoe! [98]ſaid ſhe, do you take part a⯑gainſt me! And if I will be conſtant! Barbarous doubt! have you thus long beheld me ſtand the ſhock of all Misfortunes, even when Ambition, and a Monarch's Crown. would have ſhook the moſt firm and con⯑ſtant of our Sex; and can you make that ſcruple now? If I'll be conſtant! Oh Heaven! that If, will ſtab me to the Soul! you've found the only means, next to your hating me, that could undo my peace, you al⯑moſt tear my Heart up by the roots; what! doubt an Heart like mine, that is made up of nothing elſe but Love and Con⯑ſtancy! But I forgive Thee Mur⯑choe, I know 'twas but the overflowings of thy tender fear, and the exceſs of a too power⯑ful Paſſion; and to confirm my [99]deareſt Murchoe's Mind, bear Witneſs for me now, Oh all ye Gods, and ſhow'r upon me all your dreadful Vengeance, if what I ſay be not ſincere and true, when in your abſence I forgot my Faith, either in thought or deed; either for Threats, or all the Proffers in the World; if from this Heart Murchoe be ever abſent, then let the Furies tear me Limb by Limb, and Dogs and Wolves devour my ſcatter'd Carcaſs.’

‘No more, ſays Murchoe, I believe my Saint, and ever ſhall retain theſe precious words in the chief Records of my memo⯑ry.’ They were forc'd ſoon af⯑ter this to part; but with ſuch languiſhing and dying looks, as if they ne'er ſhould meet again: how many times did Murchoe go to the Door, and then return [100]again, loath to depart, printing his ſoft Lips on her fair Hand, and ſhe as often wiſh'd they might dwell there for ever; they ſighed, and wept, then wiped their watry Cheeks, making ex⯑change of Hearts at eithers Eyes; at laſt, as though both their words had been prompted by one Soul, they together cry'd, the Gods preſerve, and ever be your Com⯑fort.

Murchoe having taken his leave, went directly, but moſt heavily, towards his Fathers Palace in Tomond, call'd Cean-Choradh, where he was welcom'd by Bry⯑an, and the whole Court; but what were all the welcomes in the World to him, ſince his Doo⯑neflaith's Voice was wanting in the Conſort, the Muſick was not ſweet or charming, he wholly bent his Thoughts on her, and [101]Day or Night, ſhe was the ſub⯑ject of his Mind; tho' he was ever accounted Devout, yet now the welfare and happineſs of his afflicted Miſtreſs, threw him on his Knees almoſt each hour.

His Father, and the whole Court could not but greatly wonder at this mighty Change; he grew Pale, neglected Meat, and Sleep, walk'd all the Day in melancholy places, ſeeking receſſes, where the hunted Beaſts ſcarce dar'd to enter, they were ſo dark and diſ⯑mal; where, with his folded Arms acroſs his troubled Breaſt, he'd vent the Griefs which rankled at his Heart.

Into one of theſe Places was it, that his Father one day follow'd him, and having privately liſtned to his uſual Complaints, when the poor Prince had thrown him⯑ſelf down, extended on a rugged [102]Rock, his Eyes (like Rivers which had broke their Banks) pour'd forth a flood of Tears, with Groans and Sighs, which almoſt rent the Vault.

[103]He was going on, when Bryan interrupted him: ‘What Mur⯑choe, ſaid he, is the Cauſe that thus thou ſpendeſt thy Youthful time in Cells? Thus pine, and like a Woman drown thy ſelf in Tears? Thus leave the migh⯑ty Buſineſs of the World, and bend thy Thoughts on a fanta⯑ſtick Trifle? Thus ſhun thy Friends, and ſeek theſe ſolitary Shades? Rouze up, for ſhame, awake thee from theſe Idle Dreams; thy Father bids thee, and a King Commands, thy bleeding Country wants thy aid: Ambition ſhould methinks inflame thy Heart, and baniſh Love from that too noble Seat. Make thy ſelf worthy to be my Succeſſor; what? can the ſpright⯑ly Murchoe lie diſſolving in Tears, when all the Land is al⯑moſt drown'd in Blood? Think [104]on a Crown, think of a Mo⯑narch's Power, and ſee how poorly Love will ſhew to theſe; or were thoſe out of reach, and that thy Hopes ſtood not ſo fair as now they do, think on thy Honour, and thy future Fame.’

Bryan could no longer hear him ſue in vain; but told him, if he would take Arms, and ſhew himſelf once more in the Field, and, according to his wonted Cu⯑ſtom, come home laden with Vi⯑ctory, he would ſo much indulge his Love, that, if after this, he ſtill continued in that Humour, he'd uſe his utmoſt Power to make him Happy.

The Prince overjoy'd with this Promiſe, went home with his Fa⯑ther, and in a few days after, Headed a brave Army againſt his Country's Enemies; Victory ſtill follow'd whereſoe'er he fought, and his Courage and Conduct were not a ſmall cauſe of the Re⯑nown and Glory that accru'd to his Father: For 'tis Remarkable, that Bryan Boraimh defeated the [106] Danes and their Confederates in Twenty five bloody pitch'd Bat⯑tles; he was accounted one of the moſt Puiſſant and Noble Mo⯑narchs of the Mileſian Race; and tho' he liv'd not to ſee theſe Inva⯑ders quite expell'd the Kingdom, yet he fought in the laſt Battle, that gave them their Overthrow; having in his Life time reduc'd the Kingdom (eſpecially towards the latter end of his Reign) to ſo tranquil and quiet a State, that Ireland was become all peaceable and flouriſhing. Nor were there to be ſeen any Danes, but ſuch who liv'd quietly under his Go⯑vernment, and were either Mer⯑chants, Handycrafts-men, or Ar⯑tificers, who had their chief Re⯑ſidence in Dublin, Weixford, Wa⯑terford, Cork, or Limerick; and tho' they were a conſiderable Number of them, yet not ſo ma⯑ny, [107]nor ſo Potent, but that he thought ſhould they at any time Rebell, he could Maſter them at his Pleaſure.

Murchoe ſeeing no Comfort ac⯑crue to him in all this general Joy, for he alone was excluded the benefit of Tranquility the whole Nation pertook, the Con⯑queſts and Honour he won, added more Trouble to his Soul, ſince he could not yet obtain his Fa⯑ther's Conſent, he avoided as much as he could the Pleaſures of the Court, and betook himſelf wholly to the Country, where, in unſpeakable Torments, he wa⯑ſted his time in Complaints. But being one day near the Houſe of Maolmordh Mac Murchoe his Un⯑cle, whoſe Siſter by name Garm⯑laigh, Bryan his Father had Mar⯑ry'd, he thought to paſs ſome time in a Viſit to him, and was very kindly receiv'd.

[108]But Bryan having an occaſion for Timber for the finiſhing ſome Ships he had begun, eſpecially ſome Maſts, he ſent to his Bro⯑ther-in-law Maolmordh to furniſh him with them, to which he con⯑ſented, partly out of fear to deny him, and partly for Kindred ſake, he went himſelf to ſee them cut down, and aſſiſted with his Men, thoſe who were ſent for them, in the getting them over a Moun⯑tain; to which they ſay (ſome difference happening amongſt the People) he put his Hand to him⯑ſelf, and in the action broke off the Gold Claſps that faſtned a rich fring'd Mantle of Silk which Bryan had ſent him. At length, he with his Nephew Murchoe, came to Cean-Choradh.

But no ſooner did he arrive at Tomad, and had gone to his Siſter Garmlaigh's Apartment to give [109]her a Viſit, and acquainted her how he came to break off his Claſps, which he deſir'd her to get mended again for him; but in a rage ſhe threw the whole Mantle into the fire and burnt it, reproaching him with meanneſs of Spirit, in ſo unworthily ſub⯑jecting himſelf, and his People of Linſter, whereof he was King, to 'Bryan, altho' he was her own Husband.

[110]Theſe words, (tho' at preſent he made her no reply) ſunk deep in his Heart, ſo taking his leave of her, he went into the Preſence, where he found a Nobleman and Murchoe playing a Game at Cheſs, (Maolmordh being touch'd to the quick with the Reproof that his Siſter had given him, and no lon⯑ger able to ſtifle the ſenſe he had of his Fault) advis'd him who was playing with Murchoe on ſome Draught, which loſt his Nephew the Game.

Murchoe, who had not been us'd to receive ſuch Indignities, (for it was done in ſo palpable a manner, as he could take it for no leſs) being highly diſpleas'd, told his Uncle Maolmordh King of Linſter, in a deriding man⯑ner, ‘That if the Advice he had formerly given to the Rebel Danes been no worſe, they had [111]not ſo eaſily loſt the Battle at Gleaun Mama; yet notwith⯑ſtanding his mighty Policy, he could not win them the Field.’

Maolmordh, being ſtung with this jear, in a fury reply'd, ‘How⯑ever my Advice ſucceeded at that time, the next that perhaps I ſhall give to the Danes, ſhall prove better to your Coſt.’ So in a diſcontented Humour was departing; when the Prince Mur⯑choe told him; ‘It ſhould never break one moment of his Reſt to countermine what ever Pro⯑jects he could deſign; and with⯑al told him he defy'd him.’

Whereupon the King of Linſter retir'd to his Chamber, and would not (although he was ſent for by Bryan) come down to his Sup⯑per; but flinging himſelf on his Bed, paſs'd all that Night in the extreameſt anxiety of Spirit, that [112]could be imagin'd; and early the next Morning, before any of the Court were ſtirring, takes Horſe, and poſts away for Linſter, where his Heart was ſo full (what with the rebukes his Siſter had made him, and the defiance his Nephew had given him) that he had no way to eaſe it, but by giving, if he could, a ſtint to their Inſo⯑lence, by making them to know, that they had rouz'd a ſleeping Lyon, whoſe Fury and Rage ſhould not be allay'd by any thing but their utter deſtruction.

The next day he aſſembles the Chief of his Nobles, and the Gen⯑try, and repreſents to them the Indignity that had been put upon them in the Perſon of their King; and ſo aggravates the Matter, that he drew them all to his ſide, and made them all on fire to re⯑venge it; by throwing off their [113]Allegiance and Fidelity to Bryan, and joyning their Power to that of the Danes, and in return to the the Challenge that Murchoe had made him, to ſend him ano⯑ther.

Having gain'd his Deſigns at Home, he flies with all ſpeed to Dublin, and there engages the chief of the Danes, to ſend away inſtantly to their Maſter, the King of Denmark, for a ſtrong and powerful Supply to pull down the Grandeur and haughty Pride of Bryan, and to deſtroy their, and his moſt mortal Enemies; which on the word of a King, he promis'd to perform, would they be aſſiſtant.

While Meſſengers were ſent over into Denmark, he returns Home again; where (with all the haſt he could uſe, and moſt inde⯑fatigable pains) he prepares for a [114]War; nor was it long e'er he goes to Dublin again; where, at his arrival, two of the King of Denmark's Sons (Carolus Knu⯑tus, and Andreas his Brother) Landed, at the Head of twelve thouſand Danes, which they had brought along with them, whom (after he had kindly receiv'd, and refreſh'd them well) he forth⯑with, knowing delays in ſuch Ca⯑ſes would be dangerous, and give his Enemies too much time to Unite) by an Herald ſends Bryan a bold Defiance, daring him to meet him in a ſpacious Field at Clantarf, within two Miles of Dublin.

Bryan had no ſooner receiv'd this Challenge; but (making what ſpeed he was able) joyn'd together all the Forces of Munſter, Connaught, and Meath, for thoſe of Ulſter, he ſent not to them, [115]being unwilling to ſtay till they ſhould come up; and believing he had Power enough out of thoſe other three Provinces to encoun⯑ter the Enemy.

The Prince Murchoe his Son was ſent to thoſe in Meath, where he once more got a ſight of his charming Dooneflaith, and whom (after the ſucceſs of the Battle) he had a Promiſe from Bryan his Fa⯑ther, that he ſhould Marry.

Never did two faithful Lovers meet with ſuch Joy, and Doone⯑flaith even bleſt the Cauſers of this War, which had made her ſo happy with the preſence of her dear Murchoe. Maolſeachelvin, tho' depos'd from the Monarchy, had great Intereſt in the Province of Meath, and ſoon rais'd ſuch For⯑ces, as perchance none elſe could have done; which Bryan under⯑ſtanding, made him General of [116]that part of the Army, and ſent for his Son back to himſelf.

But if the Meeting of this A⯑morous Pair was ſo full of Joy and Content, yet their Parting was ſuch as is not to be expreſs'd; they took their leaves of each other, with ſuch unwillingneſs, and regret, that their Separation ſeem'd to have rent their Hearts aſunder.

Murchoe was not altogether ſo overwhelm'd as he had formerly been, ſince his Hopes now ſtood fair, in a few days, to Crown all his Sufferings with the enjoyment of his Charming Dooneflaith: But the diſconſolate Fair-One, felt ſuch Pangs, at his taking his leave, as gave thoſe who ſtood by (eſpecially her Father) cauſe to ſuſpect they were but too fatal Omens. And he being willing they ſhould have all the liberty [117]the little time he had too ſee her, to ſay what they pleas'd privately together, he withdrew, and left them to themſelves.

Now it was that Dooneflaith vented the tenders of her Soul in ſuch a manner, that Murchoe him⯑ſelf could hardly ſtay with her, to hear the Complaints which ſhe made of her hard Deſtiny. ‘Oh Murchoe, ſaid ſhe, you are go⯑ing to leave me for ever; I have ſomething here at my Heart, that prompts my Soul to think Murchoe will never re⯑turn to his Dooneflaith again, my preſaging Heart fore-bodes, that the Victory which you are going to win, will be cauſe of Joy to all Ireland, but my unfortunate ſelf.’

Murchoe us'd all Arguments that could be thought of, to diſſipate her Fears; ‘And told her, that [118]his Courage, guarded by the hopes of her Love, would make him do things that ſhould fill the Trumpet of Fame to the end of the World. I go, my Charming Dooneflaith, ſays he, to ſet this Kingdom in Peace, that ſo I with the more free⯑dom may quietly enjoy the Bleſſing the Gods would beſtow at the end of the Conqueſt; and that Ireland might be ſo ſet⯑tled, that he no more might have cauſe to quit her ſoft Arms to follow the Wars.’

While they were Embracing, in order to Part, Maolſeachelvin came in, and told him he muſt make all haſt poſſible with his Forces, for all the others which they expected were come in but his.

The Prince, as eager as he was to meet his proud Challenger, and not think of leaving his Miſtreſs behind; wherefore, by her Con⯑ſent, and joint intreaty, Maolſea⯑chelvin promis'd to bring her with him; this at laſt ſomething appeas'd the Sorrow of both; and Murchoe, after a thouſand ſoft Kiſſes, and Embraces, and as [121]many Sighs, and Tears on both ſides, took Horſe, and poſted be⯑fore to his Father, and the next day after Maolſeachelvin follow'd with his Army; and at the Rear of that, the beautiful Doone⯑flaith.

In a few days after, the Armies of the three Provinces joyn'd all together, and march'd in good order to the Place appointed, be⯑ing a ſpacious Field near Clan⯑tarfe, call'd Magnealta, where they beheld Maolmordh at the Head of a vaſt Army; being ſix⯑teen Thouſand Danes, together with all the Forces he could raiſe in Leinſter, which was divided into three Battalions; that of the Right Wing Commanded by Carolus Knutus, that on the Left by his Brother Andreas, (the two Sons of the Daniſh King) and the Main Body Maolmordh took care of himſelf.

[122] Bryan drew up his Army much after the ſame Order, committing the Right Wing thereof to Maol⯑ſeachelvin, the Left he Com⯑manded himſelf; and (at the in⯑treaty of his Son Murchoe, that he might oppoſe Maolmordh him⯑ſelf, who had given him a Chal⯑lenge) the main Body was under his Conduct.

Early next Morning (it being Good Friday) both Armies drew near, and after a ſhort time the fatal Signal was given on both ſides, never did two Armies en⯑counter more fiercely; the ſhouts and cries, with the Thunder⯑ing noiſe of the Drums and, ſound of Trumpets, were enough to rend the very Roof of Heaven. Nor for half the Day could it be decided upon which ſide hover⯑ing Victory would light; and had Maolſeachelvin (who Headed the Army of Meath) came up, they [123]had ſoon turn'd the Scale. But he, remembring the Affront of Bryan, who made him be De⯑pos'd, to make way for himſelf, as ſoon as the Signal was given, ſtood off with his Men, and was only a Spectator of the moſt bloody and terrible Fight that ever was Acted on the Tragick Theatre of Iriſh Ground. Nay, tho' at one time he ſaw his own Country-men begin to give way, and the Danes in a probability of winning the Day, yet did he ſtand unmov'd.

Bryan who Headed the Left Wing of the Army, being Old (for he was now above fourſcore and eight) having to do with Carolus, who was both Valiant and Young, was in the Battle ſtruck from his Horſe, and had not Prince Murchoe come timely to his Reſcue, he had been trod [124]to pieces by the Enemy; which ne⯑vertheleſs ſo bruis'd and wound⯑ed him, that he was forc'd to be carry'd to his Tent, leaving the Charge of his Army to Prince Murchoe.

Now was the time that he had the whole Fate of Ireland de⯑pending upon his Sword, he did ſuch wondrous Actions as ſur⯑paſs'd all belief, and ſo bravely behav'd himſelf, as tho' he had been ſome God ſent down from above. He (ſpight of all their Forces, thinking of the Liberty of his Country, and Love of his dear Dooneflaith) made ſuch breaches in their Main Body, that not⯑withſtanding they had all the Inſpiration of Courage, that Martial-Conduct, Ambition, Glory, Revenge, and Deſpair could afford them, yet ſo great was Murchoe's Courage, and [125]Conduct ſo happy, that the Da⯑niſh and Leinſter Forces could no longer withſtand him; having with his own Hand firſt ſlain Maolmordh, who was the firſt occaſion of this War; and then at two ſeveral times the two Sons of the King of Denmark; whoſe Loſs ſo diſheartned the Enemy, that they gave way, to an eaſie, though dear-bought Victory; for Murchoe being too far engag'd among the Daniſh Horſe, tho' over-power'd with Number, fought 'till he had made a Ram⯑part of dead Bodies about him, which for ſome time ſecur'd him from Fate; but an unlucky acci⯑dental Arrow laid him dead up⯑on a Pyramid of his fallen Ene⯑mies.

Yet for all this, did not the reſolute Iriſh looſe one foot of Ground, or one bit of their Cou⯑rage; [126]but rather, ſpur'd on by Revenge, made the Danes pay dear for his Loſs, and in a ſhort time became ſole Maſters of the Field. Thus without the aſſiſt⯑ance of Maolſeachelvin, were the Danes overcome; one whereof, whoſe Name was Bruador, be⯑ing Commander of a Daniſh Party, and who with his Men flying in the General Rout, was forc'd to take that way where Bryan the Monarch's Pavi⯑lion was pitch'd; into which (as he was paſſing by) he en⯑tred; and ſeeing the King, whom he had formerly known, Bryan ſuſpecting no ſuch thing, having totally gain'd the Battle, baſely Murder'd him as he lay wounded in his Bed: But he ſoon had the Reward due to ſo Trea⯑cherous an Act; for he, and all who follow'd him, were by his [127]Guards, and the Purſuers, cut all to pieces.

Maolſeachelvin after this, put in for his Share, and made him⯑ſelf once more Monarch of Ire⯑land. Tho' his Daughter no ſooner heard the Death of her Lover, but as though ſhe had lain down to Sleep, flung her ſelf on her Bed, and without ſo much as one Groan, Sigh, or Murmur, ſhe cry'd, My Mur⯑choe calls me, and I muſt go to him; ſo dy'd in the preſence of her Father, and the reſt of the Nobility, who had eſcap'd in the Battle, for there were but few left alive: and on the Mo⯑narch's Side, beſides Bryan him⯑ſelf, and the Renowned Prince Murchoe his Son, were kill'd in this Battle, Seven petty Kings, moſt of the Princes and Nobi⯑lity of Munſter and Conaught, [128]and four Thouſand of meaner Degree.

But on the other ſide, viz. that of the Danes and Leinſter Party, were Slain Maolmordh Mac-Murchoe, the King of Lein⯑ſter, who was the Original Cauſe of this Slaughter, with all his Principal Nobles, and three Thou⯑ſand Common Soldiers; toge⯑ther with Knutus, and Andreas, the two Sons of the King of Den⯑mark, and all their Great Com⯑manders, with ſix Thouſand ſe⯑ven Hundred of the New-come Forces from Denmark, that they had brought over with them, and four Thouſand of the old Danes, who were, before their coming, in Ireland. In all the Slaughter on both Sides, that Day, amount⯑ed to ſeven Thouſand ſeven Hun⯑dred Men, beſides Kings, Prin⯑ces, Commanders, and other No⯑ble-Men.

[129]Some time after this Battle, Maolſeachelvin, (who now the ſecond time ſat on the Monar⯑chical Throne of Ireland, and was the laſt Monarch of the Mi⯑leſian Race) took Dublin, Sack'd it, Burnt it, and Slew in it all thoſe Danes who had made their eſcape thither from the Battle of Clantarfe.

The next Year, in the ſaid Maolſeachelvin's Reign, Huag⯑haire Mac-Duniling Mac-Tuatil, another King of Leinſter, who ſucceeded Maolmordh, tho' of a more Noble Race, and better In⯑tereſted for the Good of his Country, gave a mighty over⯑throw, (which was the laſt that was given) to Stetirick the Son of Aomlaibh, and the Danes of Dublin, who after the Battle of Clantarfe, and the Burning of Dublin by Maolſeachelvin, had [130]once more Recruited from the Iſle of Man, and other Iſlands, which were yet in Poſſeſſion of the Danes, but were now totally deſtroy'd throughout all Ireland.

Thus did that Warlike and An⯑cient Kingdom free it ſelf from the Tyranny of its mortal Enemy the Danes.