Thus to her self in day-dreams Birtha talkes:

The duke, (whose wounds of war are healthful grown) [walks, To cure Love's wounds, seeks Birtha where she Whose wand'ring soul seeks him to cure her own. Yet when her solitude he did invade,

Shame (which in maids is unexperienc'd fear) Taught her to wish night's help to make more shade, That love (which maids think guilt) might not appear.

And she had filed him now, but that he came
So like an aw'd and conquer'd enemy,
That he did seem offenceless as her shame,
As if he but advanc'd for leave to fly.
First with a longing sea-man's look he gaz'd,
Who would ken land, when scas would him
devour;

Or like a fearfull scout, who stands amaz'd
To view the foe, and multiplies their pow'r.
Then all the knowledge which her father had

He dreams in her, thro' purer organs wrought; Whose soul (since there more delicately clad)

By lesser weight, more active was in thought. And to that soul thus spake, with trembling voice: "The world will be, (O thou, the whole world's maid!)

Since now 'tis old enough to make wise choice, Taught by thy minde, and by thy beauty sway'd. " And I a needless part of it, unless

You think me for the whole a delegate, To treat for what they want of your excess, Vertue to serve the universal state. "Nature, (our first example, and our queen, Whose court this is, and you her minion maid) The world thinks now, is in her sickness seen, And that her noble influence is decay'd. "And the records so worn of her first law,

That men, with art's hard shifts, read what is Because your beauty many never saw, [good; The text by which your minde is understood. "And I with the apostate world should grow, From sov'raigne Nature, a revolted slave, But that my lucky wounds brought me to know, How with their cure my sicker minde to save. “A minde still dwelling idly in mine eyes, Where it from outward pomp could ne'r abstain; But, even in beauty, cost of courts did prise, And Nature, unassisted, thought too plain. "Yet by your beauty now reform'd, I finde All other only currant by false light; Or but vain visions of a feav'rish minde,

Too slight to stand the test of waking sight. "And for my healthfull minde (diseas'd before) My love I pay; a gift you may disdain, Since love to you men give not, but restore, As rivers to the sea pay back the rain. "Yet eastern kings, who all by birth possess, Take gifts, as gifts, from vassals of the crown; So think in love, your property not less,

By my kind giving what was first your own." Lifted with love, thus he with lover's grace,

And love's wild wonder, spake; and he was rais'd So much with rev'rence of this learned place, That still he fear'd to injure all he prais'd.

And she, in love unpractis'd and unread, (But for some hints her mistress, Nature, taught) Had it till now, like grief, with silence fed; For love and grief are nourish'd best with thought.

But this closs diet Love endures not long,

He must in sighs, or speech, take ayre abroad; And thus, with his interpreter, her tongue, He ventures forth, though like a stranger aw'd. She said, those vertues now she highly needs, Which he so artfully in her does praise, To check (since vanity on praises feeds) That pride which his authentick words may raise. That if her pray'rs, or care, did aught restore Of absent health, in his hemoan'd distress, She beg'd he would approve her duty more, And so commend her feeble vertue less. That she the payment he of love would make Less understood, than yet the debt she knew ; But coynes unknown, suspitiously we take,

And debts, till manifest, are never due.

With bashfull looks she sought him to retire, Least the sharp ayre should his new health

invade;

And as she spake, she saw her rev'rend syre

Approach, to seek her in her usual shade. To whom with filial homage she does bow:

The duke did first at distant duty stand,
But soon imbrac'd his knees, whilst he more low
Does bend to him, and then reach'd Birtha's
hand.

Her face o'ercast with thought, does soon betray
Th' assembled spirits, which his eyes detect
By her pale look, as by the milkie way
Men first did the assembled stars suspect.
Or as a pris'ner, that in prison pines,

;

Still at the utmost window grieving lies Even so her soule, imprison'd, sadly shines, At if it watch'd for freedome at her eyes! This guides him to her pulse, th' alarum bell, Which waits the insurrections of desire, And rings so fast, as if the cittadell,

Her newly conquer'd breast, were all on fire! Then on the duke he casts a short survay, Whose veines his temples with deep purple grace; Then Love's despaire gives them a pale allay, And shifts the whole complexion of his face. Nature's wise spy does onward with them walk,

And findes, each in the midst of thinking starts; Breath'd short and swiftly in disorder'd talk,

To cool, beneath Love's torrid zone, their hearts. When all these symptomes he observ'd, he knowes From alga, which is rooted deep in seas, To the high cedar that on mountaines grows, No sov'raign hearb is found for their disease. He would not Nature's eldest law resist,

As if wise Nature's law could be impure; But Birtha with indulgent looks dismist,

And means to counsel, what he cannot cure. With mourning Gondibert he walks apart, To watch his passion's force, who seems to bear, By silent grief, two tyrants o're his heart, Great Love, and his inferior tyrant, Fear.

But Astragon such kind inquiries made,
Of all which to his art's wise cares belong,
As his sick silence he does now disswade,
And, midst Love's fears, gives courage to his
tongue.

Then thus he spake with Love's humility:

"Have pity, father! and since first so kinde, You would not let this worthless body die, Vouchsafe more nobly to preserve my minde! "A minde so lately lucky, as it here

Has vertue's mirrour found, which does reflect Such blemishes as custom made it weare,

་་

But more authentick Nature does detect.

"A minde long sick of monarchs' vain disease,
Not to be fill'd, because with glory fed,
So busie it condemn'd even war of ease,
And for their useless rest despis'd the dead.

"But since it here has vertue quiet found,

It thinks (tho' storms were wish'd by it before) All sick, at least at sea, that scape undrown'd, Whom glory serves as winde, to leave the shore. "All vertue is to yours but fashion now,

Religion, art internals are all gon, Or outward turn'd, to satisfie with show,

Not God, but his inferiour eye, the Sun. "And yet, though vertue be as fashion sought, And now religion rules by art's prais'd skill; Fashion is vertue's mimmick, falsely taught;

And art, but Nature's ape, which plays her ill. "To this blest house, (great Nature's court) all

courts

Compar'd, are but dark closets for retreat Of private mindes, battels but children's sports; And onely simple good, is solid great. "Let not the minde, thus freed from errour's night, (Since you repriev'd my body from the grave) Perish for being now in love with light,

But let your vertue, vertue's lover save. "Birtha I love; and who loves wisely so,

Steps far tow'rds all which vertue can attain ; But if we perish, when tow'rds Heav'n we go, Then I have learnt that vertue is in vain." And now his heart (extracted through his eyes In Love's elixer, tears) does soon subdue Old Astragon, whose pity, though made wise With Love's false essences, likes these as true. The duke he to a secret bowre does lead,

Where he his youth's first story may attend; To guess, ere he will let his love proceed,

By such a dawning, how his day will end. For vertue, though a rarely planted flowre,

Was in the seed by this wise florist known; Who could foretel, even in her springing houre, What colours she shall wear when fully blown.

GONDIBERT.

CANTO TAE EIGHTH.

THE ARGUMENT.

Birtha her first unpractis'd love bewailes,
Whilst Gondibert on Astragon prevailes,
By shewing high ambition is of use,
And glory in the good needs no excuse.
Goltho a grief to Ulfinore reveales,
Whilst he a greater of his own conceales,

BIRTHA her griefs to her apartment brought,
Where all her maids to Heav'n were us'd to raise
Their voices, whilst their busie fingers wrought
To deck the altar of the house of Praise.
But now she findes their musick turn'd to care,
Their looks allay'd, like beauty overworn;
Silent and sad as with'ring fav'rites are,
Who for their sick indulgent monarch mourn.
Thula, (the eldest of this silenc'd quire)
When Birtha at this change astonish'd was,
With hasty whisper begg'd her to retire,

And on her knees thus tells their sorrow's cause:
"Forgive me such experience as, too soon,
Shew'd me unlucky Love, by which I guess
How maids are by their innocence undon,

And trace those sorrows that them first oppress. "Forgive such passion as to speech perswades, And to my tongue my observation brought; And then forgive my tongue, which to your maids Too rashly carry'd what experience taught. "For since I saw this wounded stranger here,

Your inward musick still untun'd has been; You who could need no hope, have learnt to fear, And practis'd grief, e're you did know to sin.

"This being Love, to Agatha I told,

Did on her tongue, as on still death, rely; But winged Love she was too young to hold,

And, wanton-like, let it to others fly.

"Love, who in whisper scap'd, did publick grow, Which makes them now their time in silence

waste;

Makes their neglected needles move so slow,

And thro' their eies their hearts dissolve so faste. "For oft, dire tales of Love has fill'd their heads;

And while they doubt you in that tyrant's pow'r, The spring (they think) may visit woods and meads, But scarce shall hear a bird, or see a flow'r." "Ah! how" (said Birtha) "shall I dare confesse

My griefs to thee, Love's rash, impatient spy? Thou (Thula) who didst run to tell thy guesse,

With secrets known, wilt to confession flie. "But if I love this prince, and have in Heav'n Made any friends by vowes, you need not fear He will make good the feature Heav'n has giv'n, And be as harmless as his looks appear.

"Yet I have heard that men, whom maids think kinde,

Calm as forgiven saints at their last hour, Oft prove like seas, inrag'd by ev'ry winde, And all to whom their bosoms trust, devour,

Though, since I gave the Hunns their last defeat, I have the Lombards' ensignes onward led, Ambition kindled not this victor's heat,

But 'tis a warmth my father's prudence bred.
"Who cast on more than wolvish man his eic,
Man's necessary hunger judg'd, and saw
That caus'd not his devouring maledy;

But, like a wanton whelp, he loves to gnaw.
"Man still is sick for pow'r, yet that disease
Nature (whose law is temp'rance) no'r inspires;
But 'tis a humour, which fond man does please,
A luxury, fruition only tires.

"And as in persons, so in publick states,

The lust of pow'r provokes to cruel warre; For wisest senates it intoxicates,

And makes them vain, as single persons are. "Men into nations it did first divide, [stiles; Whilst place, scarce distant, gives them diff'rent Rivers, whose breadth inhabitants may stride,

Part them as much as continents and isles. "On equal, smooth, and undistinguish'd ground, The lust of pow'r does liberty impair, And limits, by a border and a bound,

What was before as passable as air: "Whilst change of languages oft breeds a warre, (A change which fashion does as oft obtrude, As women's dresse) and oft complexions are, And diff'rent names, no less a cause of feud. "Since men so causelesly themselves devour, (And hast'ning still their else too hasty fates, Act but continu'd massacres for pow'r)

My father ment to chastise kings and states.
"To overcome the world, till but one crown
And universal neighbourhood he saw;
Till all were rich by that allyance grown,

And want no more should be the cause of law. "One family the world was first design'd ;

And tho' some fighting kings so sever'd are,
That they must meet by help of seas and winde,
Yet when they fight 'tis but a civil warre.
"Nor could religion's heat, if one rul❜d all,

To bloody war the unconcern'd allure;
And hasten us from Earth, ere age does call,
Who are (alas!) of Heav'n so little sure.
"Religion ne'r, till divers monarchys,
Taught that almighty Heav'n needs armys' aid;
But with contentious kings she now complies,
Who seem, for their own cause, of God's afraid.
"To joyn all sever'd pow'rs (which is to end
The cause of war) my father onward fought;
By war the Lombard scepter to extend

Till peace were forc'd, where it was slowly sought. "He lost in this attempt his last dear blood; And I (whom no remoteness can deterr, If what seems difficult be great and good)

Thought his example could not make me err. "No place I merit in the book of Fame! [fill'd; Whose leaves are by the Greeks and Romans Yet I presume to boast, she knows my name, And she has heard to whom the Hunns did yield. "But let not what so needfully was done, Tho' still pursu'd, make you ambition feare; For could I force all monarchys to one, That universal crown I would not weare.

And as cag'd birds are by the fowler set

To call in more, whilst those that taken be, May think (though they are pris'ners in the net) Th' incag'd, because they sing, sometimes are free.

So Goltho (who by Ulfinore was brought

Here, where he first love's dangers did perceive In beauty's field) thinks, tho' himself was caught, Th' inviter safe, because not heard to grieve. But Ulfinore (whom neighbourhood led here) Impressions took before from Birtha's sight; Ideas which in silence hidden were,

As Heav'n's designes before the birth of light. This from his father Ulfin he did hide,

Who, strict to youth, would not permit the best Reward of worth, the bosome of a bride,

Should be but after vertuous toyles possest.

For Ulfinore, (in blooming honour yet)

Tho' he had learnt the count'nance of the foe, And tho' his courage could dull armys whet,

The care o're crouds, nor conduct could not know:

Nor varie batails' shapes in the foes' view;

But now in forraigne fields meanes to improve His early arts, to what his father knew,

That merit so might get him leave to love. Till then, check'd passion shall not venture forth: And now retires with a disorder'd heart; Griev'd, least his rival should by early'r worth Get love's reward, ere he can gain desert. But stop we here, like those who day-light lack, Or as misguided travailers that rove, Oft finde their way by going somewhat back; So let's return, thou ill conductor, Love! Thy little wanton godhead, as my guide,

I have attended many a winter night,

To seek whom time for honour's sake would hide, Since in mine age sought by a wasted light:

But ere my remnant of life's lamp be spent, Whilst I in lab'rinths stray amongst the dead; I mean to recollect the paths I went,

And judge from thence the steps I am to tread. Thy walk (though as a common deitie

The croud does follow thee) misterious grows, For Rhodalind may now closs mourner die, Since Gondibert, too late, her sorrow knows.

Young Hurgonil above dear light prefers

Calm Orna, who his highest love outloves; Yet envious clouds in Lombard registers [proves. O'recast their morn, what e're their evening

For fatal Laura, trusty Tybalt pines;

For haughty Gartha, subtle Hermegild; Whilst she her beauty, youth, and birth declines; And as to fate, does to ambition yield. Great Gondibert, to bashful Birtha bends, Whom she adores like vertue in a throne; Whilst Ulfinore and Goltho (late vow'd friends By him) are now his rivals, and their ownc. Through ways thus intricate to lovers' urnes " Thou leadst me, Love, to show thy trophies past; Where Time (less cruel than thy godhead) mournes In ruines which thy pride would have to last.