But constant islanders, the army lay, Circling their confines.

stay

Whilst this tedious

From battle rusts the soldier's valour in
His tainted cabin, there had often been,
With all variety of fortune, fought
Brave single combats, whose success had
brought

Honour's unwither'd laurels on the brow

Of either party; but the balance, now
Forced by the hand of a brave Turk, inclined
Wholly to them. Thrice had his valour shined
In victory's refulgent rays, thrice heard
The shouts of conquest; thrice on his lance
appear'd

The heads of noble Rhodians, which had struck
All
A general sorrow 'mongst the knights.
look

Who next the lists should enter; each desires
The task were his, but honour now requires
A spirit more than vulgar, or she dies
The next attempt, their valour's sacrifice;
To prop whose ruins, chosen by the free
Consent of all, Argalia comes to be
Their happy champion.

until

Truce proclaim'd,

The combat ends, th' expecting people fill
The spacious battlements; the Turks forsake
Their tents, of whom the city ladies take
A dreadful view, till a more noble sight
Diverts their looks; each part behold their
knight

With various wishes, whilst in blood and sweat
They toil for victory. The conflict's heat
Raged in their veins, which honour more
inflamed

Than burning calentures could do; both blamed

The feeble influence of their stars, that gave
No speedier conquest; each neglects to save
Himself, to seek advantage to offend
His eager foe.

*

*

*

*

But now so long

The Turks' proud champion had endured the strong

Assaults of the stout Christian, till his strength Cool'd, on the ground, with his blood-he fell at length,

Beneath his conquering sword. The barbarous

rest

From the

Argalia sever'd, soon hopes to be blest
With speedy death, though waited on by all
The hell-instructed torments that could fall
Within invention's reach; but he's not yet
Arrived to his period, his unmoved stars sit
Thus in their orbs secured. It was the use
Of th' Turkish pride, which triumphs in th'
abuse.

Of suffering Christians, once, before they take
The ornaments of nature off, to make
Their prisoners public to the view, that all
Might mock their miseries: this sight did call
Janusa to her palace-window, where,
Whilst she beholds them, love resolved to bear
Her ruin on her treacherous eye-beams, till
Her heart infected grew; their orbs did fill,
As the most pleasing object, with the sight
Of him whose sword open'd a way for the
At the first view
Of her loved brother's soul.
Passion had struck her dumb, but when it
grew

flight

Into desire, she speedily did send

To have his name-which known, hate did defend

Her heart; besieged with love, she sighs, and straight

Commands him to a dungeon: but love's bait Cannot be so cast up, though to efface

His image from her soul she strives. The place

For execution she commands to be 'Gainst the next day prepared; but rest and she

Grow enemies about it: if she steal

A slumber from her thoughts, that doth reveal Her passions in a dream, sometimes she thought

She saw her brother's pale grim ghost, that brought

His grisly wounds to show her, smear'd in blood,

Standing before her sight; and by that flood Those red streams wept, imploring vengeance, then,

Enraged, she cries, "O, let dim die!" But when

Her sleep-imprison'd fancy, wandering in
The shades of darken'd reason, did begin
To draw Argalia's image on her soul,
Love's sovereign power did suddenly controul
The strength of those abortive embryos,
sprung

From smother'd anger. The glad birds had

sung

A lullaby to night, the lark was fled,

On dropping wings, up from his dewy bed,
To fan them in the rising sunbeams, ere
Whose early reign Janusa, that could bear
No longer lock'd within her breast so great
An army of rebellious passions, beat

From reason's conquer'd fortress, did unfold Her thoughts to Manto, a stout wench; whose bold

Wit, join'd with zeal to serve her, had endear'd

Her to her best affections. Having clear'd
All doubts with hopeful promises, her maid,
By whose close wiles this plot must be con-
vey'd,

To secret action of her council makes
Two eunuch pandars, by whose help she takes
Argalia from his keeper's charge, as to
Suffer more torments than the rest should do,
And lodged him in that castle to affright
And soften his great soul with fear. The light,
Which lent its beams into the dismal place
In which he lay, without presents the face
Of horror smear'd in blood; a scaffold built
To be the stage of murder, blush'd with guilt
Of Christian blood, by several torments let
From th' imprisoning veins. This object set
To startle his resolves if good, and make
His future joys more welcome, could not shake
The heaven-built pillars of his soul, that stood
Steady, though in the slippery paths of blood.
The gloomy night now sat enthroned in dead
And silent shadows, midnight curtains spread
The earth in black for what the falling day
Had blush'd in fire, whilst the brave pris'ner
lay,

Circled in darkness, yet in those shades spends
The hours with angels, whose assistance lends
Strength to the wings of faith.

He beholds

A glimmering light, whose near approach unfolds

The leaves of darkness. While his wonder grows

Big with amazement, the dim taper shows
False Manto enter'd, who, prepared to be
A bawd unto her lustful mistress, came,
Not with persuasive rhetoric to inflame
A heart congeal'd with death's approach.

Most blest of men! Compose thy wonder, and let only joy Dwell in thy soul. My coming's to destroy, Not nurse thy trembling fears: be but so wise To follow thy swift fate, and thou mayst rise

Above the reach of danger. In thy arms Circle that power whose radiant brightness charms

Fierce Ammurat's anger, when his crescents

shine

In a full orb of forces; what was thine Ere made a prisoner, though the doubtful state

Of her best Christian monarch, will abate
Its splendour, when that daughter of the
night,

Thy feeble star, shines in a heaven of light.
If life or liberty, then, bear a shape
Worthy thy courting, swear not to escape
By the attempts of strength, and I will free
The iron bonds of thy captivity.

A solemn oath, by that great power he served,
Took, and believed: his hopes no longer starved
In expectation. From that swarthy seat
Of sad despair, his narrow jail, replete
With lazy damps, she leads him to a room
In whose delights joy's summer seem'd to
bloom,

There left him to the brisk society

Of costly baths and Corsic wines, whose high And sprightly tempers from cool sherbets found

A calm ally; here his harsh thoughts unwound
Themselves in pleasure, as not fearing fate
So much, but that he dares to recreate
His spirit, by unwieldy action tired,
With all that lust into no crime had fired.
By mutes, those silent ministers of sin,
His sullied garments were removed, and in
Their place such various habits laid, as pride
Would clothe her favourites with.

A free access into the room, where come,
Such real forms he saw as would strike dumb
The Alcoran's tales of Paradise, the fair
And sparkling gems i' the gilded roof impair
Their taper's fire, yet both themselves confess
Weak to those flames Janusa's eyes possess
With such a joy as bodies that do long

For souls, shall meet them in the doomsday throng,

She that ruled princes, though not passions, sate

Waiting her lover, on a throne whose state
Epitomized the empire's wealth; her robe,
With costly pride, had robb'd the chequer'd
globe

Of its most fair and orient jewels, to
Enhance its value; captive princes who
Had lost their crowns, might there those gems
have seen.

Placed in a seat near her bright throne, to stir

His settled thoughts she thus begins: "From her

Your sword hath so much injured as to shed
Blood so near kin to mine, that it was fed
By the same milky fountains, and within
One womb warm'd into life, is such a sin
I could not pardon, did not love commit

A rape upon my mercy: all the wit

Of man in vain inventions had been lost,
Ere thou redeem'd; which now, although it
cost

The price of all my honours, I will do:
Be but so full of gratitude as to
Repay my care with love. Why dost thou
thus

Sit dumb to my discourse? it lies in us
To raise or ruin thee, and make my way
Thorough their bloods that our embraces
stay."

My life expires in torments, let my name Forgotten die, than live in black-mouth'd fame,

A servant to thy lust. Go, tempt thy own
Damn'd infidels to sin, that ne'er had known
The way to virtue: not this cobweb veil
Of beauty, which thou wear'st but as a jail
To a soul pale with guilt, can cover o'er
Thy mind's deformity.

Rent from these gilded pleasures, send me to
A dungeon dark as hell, where shadows do
Reign in eternal silence; let these rich
And costly robes, the gaudy trappings which
Thou mean'st to clothe my sin in, be exchanged
For sordid rags. When thy fierce spleen hath
ranged

Through all invented torments, choose the worst

To punish my denial; less accurst

I so shall perish, than if by consent

I taught thy guilty thoughts how to augment Their sin in action, and, by giving ease

To thy blood's fever, took its loath'd disease." Her look,

*

Cast like a felon's-
Was sad; with silent grief the room she leaves.
William Chamberlayne.-Born 1619, Died 1689.

584.-THE DEATH OF JANUSA AND AMMURAT.

Placed, by false Manto, in a closet, which,
Silent and sad, had only to enrich

Its roof with light, some few neglected beams
Sent from Janusa's room, which serve as streams
To watch intelligence; here he beheld,
While she who with his absence had expell'd
All thoughtful cares, was with her joy swell'd

high,

As captives are when call'd to liberty.
Perfumed and costly, her fair bed was more
Adorn'd than shrines which costly kings adore ;
Incense, in smoky curls, climbs to the fair
Roof, whilst choice music rarefies the air;
Each element in more perfection here,
Than in the first creation did appear,
Yet lived in harmony: the wing'd fire lent
Perfumes to the air, that to moist cordials pent
In crystal vials, strength; and those impart
Their vigour to that ball of earth, the heart.
The nice eye here epitomized might see
Rich Persia's wealth, and old Rome's luxury.

With such a high

Heroic scorn as aged saints that die,
Heaven's fav'rites, leave the trivial world-he
slights

That gilded pomp; no splendent beam invites
His serious eye to meet their objects in
An amorous glance, reserved as he had been
Before his grave confessor: he beholds
Beauty's bright magic, while its art unfolds
Great love's mysterious riddles, and commands
Captive Janusa to infringe the bands
Of matrimonial modesty. When all
Temptation fails, she leaves her throne to fall,
The scorn of greatness, at his feet: but prayer,
Like flattery, expires in useless air,
Too weak to batter that firm confidence
Their torment's thunder could not shake.
From hence

Despair, love's tyrant, had enforced her to More wild attempts, had not her Ammurat, who,

Unseen, beheld all this, prevented, by
His sight, the death of bleeding modesty.

Tow'rds heaven, sheathes the cold steel in her

soft

And snowy breast: with a loud groan she falls
Upon the bloody floor, half breathless, calls
For his untimely pity; but perceiving
The fleeting spirits, with her blood, were
leaving

Her heart unguarded, she implores that breath
Which yet remain'd, not to bewail her death,
But beg his life that caused it-on her knees,
Struggling to rise. But now calm'd Ammurat
frees

Her from disturbing death, in his last great work,

And thus declares some virtue in a Turk.

"I have, brave Christian, by perusing thee
In this great art of honour, learnt to be,
Too late, thy follower: this ring (with that
Gives him his signet) shall, when question'd at
The castle guards, thy safety be. And now
I see her blood's low water doth allow
Me only time to launch my soul's black bark
Into death's rubric sea-for to the dark
And silent region, though we here were by
Passion divorced, fortune shall not deny
Our souls to sail together. From thy eyes
Remove death's load, and see what sacrifice
My love is offering." With that word, a stroke
Pierces his breast, whose speedy pains invoke
Death's opiates to appease them: he sinks
down

By's dying wife, who, ere the cold flood drown
Life in the deluge of her wounds, once more
Betrays her eyes to the light; and though they

Then joins their bloodless lips-each close the eyes

Of the other, whilst the parting spirit flies. William Chamberlayne.-Born 1619, Died 1689.

585.-ON A GIRDLE.

That which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind ;
It was my heav'n's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer;
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move!
A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair.
Give me but what this ribbon bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.

Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687.

586.-ON LOVE.

Anger, in hasty words or blows,
Itself discharges on our foes;
And sorrow, too, finds some relief

In tears, which wait upon our grief:
So ev'ry passion, but fond love,
Unto its own redress does move;
But that alone the wretch inclines
To what prevents his own designs ;
Makes him lament, and sigh, and weep,
Disorder'd, tremble, fawn, and creep;
Postures which render him despised,
Where he endeavours to be prized,
For women (born to be controll'd)
Stoop to the forward and the bold;
Affect the haughty and the proud,
The gay, the frolic, and the loud,
Who first the gen'rous steed opprest,
Not kneeling did salute the beast;
But with high courage, life, and force,
Approaching, tam'd th' unruly horse.
Unwisely we the wiser East
Pity, supposing them opprest
With tyrants' force, whose law is will,
By which they govern, spoil, and kill;
Each nymph, but moderately fair,
Commands with no less rigour here.
Should some brave Turk, that walks among
His twenty lasses, bright and young,
Behold as many gallants here,
With modest guise and silent fear,
All to one female idol bend,

While her high pride does scarce descend
To mark their follies, he would swear
That these her guard of eunuchs were,
And that a more majestic queen,
Or humbler slaves, he had not seen.
All this with indignation spoke,
In vain I struggled with the yoke
Of mighty Love: that conqu'ring look,
When next beheld, like lightning strook

My blasted soul, and made me bow
Lower than those I pitied now.

So the tall stag, upon the brink
Of some smooth stream, about to drink,
Surveying there his armèd head,
With shame remembers that he fled
The scornèd dogs, resolves to try
The combat next; but if their cry
Invades again his trembling ear,
He straight resumes his wonted care;
Leaves the untasted spring behind,
And, wing'd with fear, outflies the wind.
Edmund Waller.-Born 1605, Died 1687,

587.-A PANEGYRIC TO THE LORD PROTECTOR.

While with a strong and yet a gentle hand, You bridle faction, and our hearts command, Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe, Make us unite, and make us conquer too:

Let partial spirits still aloud complain,
Think themselves injur'd that they cannot
reign,

And own no liberty, but where they may
Without control upon their fellows prey.

Above the waves as Neptune show'd his face,
To chide the winds, and save the Trojan race;
So has your highness, rais'd above the rest,
Storms of ambition, tossing us, represt.

Your drooping country, torn with civil hate, Restor❜d by you, is made a glorious state, The seat of empire, where the Irish come, And the unwilling Scots, to fetch their doom.

The sea's our own: and now all nations greet, With bending sails, each vessel of our fleet: Your power extends as far as winds can blow, Or swelling sails upon the globe may go.

Heaven (that hath plac'd this island to give law,

To balance Europe, and her states to awe)
In this conjunction doth on Britain smile,
The greatest leader, and the greatest isle!
Whether this portion of the world were rent,
By the rude ocean, from the continent,
Or thus created; it was sure design'd
To be the sacred refuge of mankind.

Hither th' oppress'd shall henceforth resort,
Justice to crave, and succour, at your court;
And then your highness, not for our's alone,
But for the world's protector shall be known.

Fame, swifter than your wingèd navy, flies Through every land, that near the ocean lies; Sounding your name, and telling dreadful

news

To all that piracy and rapine use.