The wise, and noble most intoxicate; Adds time to youth, and takes it from the old; Yet I by surfeit this elixer hate.

crowne;

And much his youth had by his practice wrought, Had Gondibert not levell'd his renowne: "Had Gondibert not staid the people's eies (Whose vertue stept 'twixt Oswald and their sight)

Who knows but Rhodalind had bin his prise, Or war must have secur'd paternal right? "Sad and uneasic is a long kept throne;

Not that the people think long pow'r unjust; But that for change, they wish best monarchs gone; Fond change, the people's soon repented lust! "I did advance (though with some jealous paine) A forward vertue to my subjects' love; Least one less temp'rate should their favour gaine; Whom their unstudy'd choice would more approve.

"To thee sage Hermegild my self I leave,

My fame and pow'r: thee action cannot waste; Caution retard, nor promptitude deceive;

Slowness belate, nor hope drive on too faste. "Think Hubert heir to Oswald's bold pretence; To when the camp at Brescia is inclin'd; The duke at Bergamo will seek defence;

And these are seeds of war for Rhodalind." This said, his councel he dismiss'd; who spy'd

A growing rage, which he would fain conceal; They durst but nicely search, what he would hide; Least they inflame the wound that else might heal.

They haste to sev'ral cares: some to allay

Court's hectick feaver, faction (which does rain Where luxury, the syre of want, does sway) Some to appease th' alliance of the slain. But order now bids us again persue

Th' unweary'd motion of unhappy Fame; From fields to streets, from streets to court she

flew;

Where first she to the king's appartment came.

And as her wings, her tongue too never ceas'd; Like restless swallows in an evening fair:

At last does on a peaceful dwelling rest.

Where sleep does yet that gentle sex possesse, Who ne'er should more of care's rude wakings know,

But what may help sad lovers to successe; [slow. Or imp Love's wings when they are found too There lovers seek the royal Rhodalind;

Whose secret brest was sick for Gondibert; And Orna, who had more in publick pin'd For Hurgonil, the monarch of her heart. And there the killing Laura did reside; She of whose eies the Lombard youth complain; Yet often she for noble Arnold di'd;

And knew not now, her murderer was slain. Nor Hugo, who was all with love indu'd; Whom still with teares the Lombard ladies name; Esteeming modern lovers false, and rude,

And poets falser when they sing their fame. These beauties (who could soften tyrant kings) Sleep now conceal'd within their curtains' shade; Till rudely Fame, by shaking lowd her wings, Disturb'd their eies, and their wak'd hearts dismay'd.

They heard in parcels by imperfect sound,
A tale too dismal to be understood;
That all their lovers lay in hallow'd ground;
Temples their bodies hid, the fields their blood.
That this dire morn to sad Verona brought

The duke and Oswald, of lov'd life depriv'd; And that of all who their fierce batail fought, Onely the mangled Hurgonil surviv'd. This tale, Fame's course, officious friends convay'd, (Which are attendant slaves, and palace grooms)

Who by the lover of some busie may'd,

From outward courts sent it to inward rooms. Such horrour brought, where love had onely us'd, Did yet breed more amazement than belief: Whilst Orna now, and Laura fly confus'd, To Rhodalind, truth's altar, for relief. There with disorder'd voices they compare,

And then derive what each has loosly learn'd; Each hope applies, where others most despaire; As doubting all but where her self's concern'd. This weeping conf'rence had not lasted long, When Tybalt, free from Aribert's commands, Scapes the assembling court's inquiring throng, And enters here; where first he doubtful stands. For pitty, when he ruin'd Laura spi'de,

Bids his discretion artfully complain;
And shew far off, what truth not long can hide:
Death at a distance seen, may ease fear's pain.
Their bus'ness now he can no more forbear;

For who on their urg'd patience can prevail,
Whose expectation is provok'd with fear?

He therefore thus their patience did assail. "Kinde Heav'n, that gave you vertue, give you

"Renown'd be Oswald, who in high relief

Of Rhodalind, her love with danger sought; In love's records be Gondibert the chief,

Who for her right, not for his own has fought. "Though these for mighty mindes deserve Fame's voice;

Yet Orna needs must boast of Hurgonil; Whose dangers well have justifi'd her choice,

And might alone Fame's publick trumpet fill. "Enlarg'd be banour's throne, that Arnold there And Hugo may for ever sit and rest, Free from their valour's toyle, and Laura's feare; Which more than wounds disorder'd either's breast."

This said, he paws'd; findes each distrusts his art;
For hope and doubt came and return'd apace,
In chang'd complexion from th' uncertain heart,
Like frighted scowtes for tidings to the face.
His eye seem'd most imploy'd on Rhodalind;
Whose love above her bashful caution sways;
For naming Gondibert, he soon did finde,

Her secret soul shew'd pleasure at his praise.
Yet when she found her comforts did not last,
And that as oracles, the future taught,
He hid truth's face, and darkened what was past;
Thus truth through all her mourning vailes she
sought.

"Why in these ladies do you lengthen paine,

By giving them grief's common med'cin, doubt Ease those with death whose lovers now are slaine; Life's fire a feaver is, when love's is out. "Yet think not that my cares peculiar are; Perhaps I from religious pitty learn'd, In vertu's publick loss to take some share;

For there, all but the vicious are concern'd." "Your prudence, royal maid (he strait replies) More than your birth, may claim the Lombards' Whoe're in conquest of your favour dies; [crown For short life's loss shall find a long renowne. "Then happy Oswald, who is sure to gaine,

Even by ambition that undoes the wise; Great was th' attempt for which he's nobly slaine; And gets him praise, though he has mist the prise.

"But happier Gondibert, who does survive

To begg your mercy, that he thus had dar'd To own that cause, for which the world might strive; [ward. And conqu'ring, takes his wounds for his re"Be Hurgonil long distant from his grave, Whose life was so important in this cause; Who for each wound he took, a wider gave, And lives t' enjoy the pleasure of applause. "To say, how Hugo and lord Arnold strove For victorie, and mention their event, Were to provide such fun'ral rites for love,

As death would be close mourner, and repent." Now Laura's blood back to her liver fled; [throne,

True beautie's mint: For by her heart, love's Beautie's call'd in, like coyn when kings are dead; As if not currant now her lover's gone.

To Brescia's camp her course she had design'd,

And bids her char'ioteer drive swiftly on, As if his steeds were dieted with winde!

Slow seems their speed whose thoughts before

thera run.

The pav'd streets kindle with her chariot wheeles;
The omen of war's fire the city spies, [heels,
Which with those sparks struck by her coursers'
Shine not so much as rage does in her eies.
Those that observ'd her anger, grief, and haste,
With a dejected melancholy mourn;
She seem'd their citie's genius as she pass'd,
Who by their sins expell'd, would ne'r return.
The gentle ladies she has left in tears,

Who no example need, nor cause to melt;
For soon even grief's alarms, our foremost fears,
Kill those whose pain by love's quick sence is
felt.

And Rhodalind her fatal love does blame,

Because she finds it now by Gartha spy'd;
And does lament love's fire, which bashful shame
Cannot reveal, nor her discretion hide.

She would not have it waste, nor publick grow,
But last conceal'd like that in Tullia's urne;
Or that which prosp'rous chymists nicely show,
Which, as it thrives, must more in private burn.
Yet strait (grown valiant with her victor's fate)

She would have Hymen hold his torches high; And love's fire pris'd, as vestals theirs did rate,

Which none durst quench, tho' free to ev'ry eye. Resolves her love, whilst this new valour lasts,

Shall undisguis'd her father's sight endure; And Orna now to her dear lover hastes,

Whose outward wounds stay for her inward cure.
But here a wonder may arrest our thought,
Why Tybalt (of his usual pitty void)

To such sought eares these direful sorrows brought,
Since to the king he onely was imploy'd?
But these are ridles of misterious love!

Tybalt in private long for Laura pin'd;
And try'd how Arnold would her passion move
In death, who living ever fill'd her minde.
And by this trial how she Arnold us'd,

He wisely ment to urge or stay his heart;
But much by love the cautious are abus'd,
Who his wilde ridles would reduce to art.

GONDIBERT.

CANTO THE THIRD.

THE ARGUMENT.

Dead Oswald to his camp by Hubert brought;
The camp, from pity, are to fury wrought;
Yet finde, when Gartha's looks does them surprise,
Their forward hands diverted by their eies:
Till with her voice new urg'd, they deeds persue,
Which even revenge would, had it eies, eschew.

WHEN from the fatal forrest Hubert rod

To Brescia, he and Borgio bent their way, That their tho' dead, yet much important load, They might with horrour to the camp convay.

Revenge, impatient Hubert proudly sought!
Revenge, which, even when just, the wise deride;
For on past wrongs we spend our time and thought,
Which scarce against the future can provide.
But Fame before him came where those are bred
Who to her dismal tales faint credit give;
Who could not think their mighty Oswald dead,
Whilst they unconquer'd and unwounded live.
Nor could Fame hope to make this camp her
seate;

Her tales, the talking, idle, fearful, heare;
But these are silent as in stolne retreate,
Busie as life, and like the dead past feare.
Neer Mela's flowry banke this army lay,

Which Oswald's syre and Oswald oft had led Against the Vandales' king; and twice the day They gain'd, whilst he from them and empire fled.

From youth expos'd, like cattle in the field,
And not taught warmth, as city infants are;
But colds and fasts, to kill or to be kill'd,
Like th' elements their birth began with warre.
So rev'rend now and strong in age appeare,

As if maintain'd by more than humane breath;
So grave, as if the councellors they were,
Not executioners of tyrant Death.
With silence (order's help, and marke of care)
They chide that noise which heedless youth

affect;

Still course for use, for health they cleanly weare,
And, save in well fix'd armes, all niceness chek'd.
They thought, those that unarm'd expos'd fraile
But naked Nature valiantly betrai'd; [life,
Who was, tho' naked, safe, till pride made strife,
But made defence must use, now danger's made.
And those who toyle of armour cannot byde,
Lose Nature's force, which these in custom finde;
And make (since strength's but Nature hourly
The body weak by softness of the minde. [try'd)
They seem'd so calme, and with their age so grave,
So just and civil in their killing trade,

As if all life were crime but what they save,
Or murder were by method lawful made.
Yet now that manhood which those victors makes,
(So weak is man, where most he may be prowd)
Pity, the tender'st of affections, shakes,

And they become from order, loose and lowd.
For when they saw the brother of their chief
Led to their camp by a defeated traine,
They soon to late scorn'd rumour gave beliefe,
And then by Hubert's wounds thought Oswald

slaine.

But when disguis'd in death they Oswald saw,
In a slow chariot brought, with fun'ral pace,
Themselves in an united croud they draw,
And give to grief one universal face.
Wonder (which growes unactive by excesse)
A while did their unruly passion stay;
The object lasting, made their wonder lesse,

Which fled to give their grief and anger way. Yet first their grief (which manhood should restraine)

They vent in women's sighs, with teares allay'd, As if those women taught them to complaine, Who by their swords are weeping widows made.

In their first grief, till grief (when tears meet And sighs meet sighs, from every breast and eie) Unruly grows, and danger's visage bears. When hastily they heard by whose dire hand Their gen'ral fell, they think it cold to pause Till anger may be guided by command,

And vain to ask of cureless death the cause. Some would to Bergamo their ensignes bear, Against those youth which Gondibert had led; Whom they in sacrifice would offer there,

T' appease the living, and revenge the dead. And some (to show their rage more eminent)

Would to Verona march, and there do deeds Should make the shining court in blacks lament, And weep whilst the victorious faction bleeds. Hubert (who saw revenge advance so faste,

Whilst prudence, slower pac'd, was left behinde) Would keep their anger bent, yet slack their haste, Because the rash fall oftner than the blinde. He first their melting pitty kindly prais'd,

Which water'd anger's forge, and urg'd their fire; That like to meteors lasts by being rais'd,

But when it first does sink, does strait expire. Commends their anger, yet that flame he prays May keep the temp'rate chymick's equal heat; That they in fury might not need allays,

Nor charge so rashly as to want retreat. Begs they this dismal night would there remain, And make the hopeful morn their guide; whilst grief

(Which high revenge as tameness should disdain) Sleep shall conceal, and give his wounds relief. He Vasco, Paradine, and Dargonet,

With Oswald, to the red pavilion sent,
(Death's equal pris'ners now for Nature's debt)
And then retires with Borgio to his tent.
This is the night the Brescians so bemoan'd,

Who left their beds, and on their walls appear'd, As if th' oppressed world in carthquakes groan'd,

Or that some ruin'd nation's sighs they heard; Admir'd what in that camp such griefs could raise, Where serious death so oft had been abus'd, When ev'n their sportive fencers' monthly plays Profan'd that shape, which states for terrour us'd. Yet this lowd mourning will no wonder breed,

When we with life lay Oswald's errours by, And use him as the living use the dead,

Who first allow men vertue when they dy. till lib'ral of his life, of wealth as free,

By which he chief in fighting crowds became, Who must their leaders' valours often see,

And follow them for bounty more than fame. This gen'ral mourning was to lowdness rais'd,

By showing gifts he gave, and wounds he took; They.chid at last his life which they had prais'd, Because such vertue it so soon forsook. Now night, by grief neglected, hastes away! And they the morne's officious usher spy, The close attendant on the lord of day,

Who shows the warmer of the world is nigh.