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Is this the Welcome of my worthy Deeds,
To meet my Triumph in Ill-omen'd Weeds?
Or envy you my Praise, and would destroy
With Grief my Pleafures, and pollute my Joy?
Or are you injur'd, and demand Relief?
Name your Requeft, and I will eafe your Grief.

The most in Years of all the Mourning Train
Began; (but fwooned firft away for Pain)
Then scarce recover'd, fpoke: Nor envy we
Thy great Renown, nor grudge thy Victory;
"Tis thine, O King, th' Afflicted to redress,
And Fame has fill'd the World with thy Succefs:
We wretched Women fue for that alone,all
Which of thy Goodnefs is refus'd to none:
Let fall fome Drops of Pity on our Grief,!:
If what we beg be just, and we deserve Relief:
For none of us, who now thy Grace implore,
But held the Rank of Sovereign Queen before;
Till, thanks to giddy Chance, which never bears
That Mortal Blifs fhould last for length of Years,
She caft us headlong from our high Estate,

And here in hope of thy Return we wait; [..

And long have waited in the Temple nigh,
Built to the gracious Goddess Clemency.

But rev'rence thou the Pow'r whofe Name it bears,
Relieve th' Oppress'd, and wipe the Widows Tears.
I, wretched I, have other Fortune feen,
The Wife of Capaneus, and once a Queen:
At Thebes he fell; curit be the fatal Day!
And all the rest thou feeft in this Array,
To make their Moan, their Lords in Battel loft
Before that Town befieg'd by ourConfed'rate Hoft:
But Creon, old and impious, who commands
The Theban City, and ufurps the Lands,
Denies the Rites of Fun'ral Fires to those
Whose breathless Bodies yet he calls his Foes.
Unburn'd, unbury'd, on a Heap they lie;.
Such is their Fate, and fuch his Tyranny;
No Friend has leave to bear away the Dead,
But with their Lifelefs Limbs his Hounds are fed:
At this the skriek'd aloud, the mournful Train
Echo'd her Grief, and grov'ling on the Plain
WithGroans,and Hands upheld, to move hisMind,
Befought his Pity to their helpless Kind!

The Prince was touch'd, his Tears began to flow,
And, as his tender Heart would break in two,
He figh'd; and could not but their Fate deplore,
So wretched now, fo fortunate before.
Then lightly from his lofty Steed he flew,
And raifing one by one the fuppliant Crew,
To comfort each, full folemnly he fwore,
That by the Faith which Knights to Knighthood.
And what e'er elfe to Chivalry belongs,
[bore,
He would not ceafe, till he reveng'd their Wrongs:
That Greece fhou'd fee perform'd what he declar'd;
And cruel Creon find his just Reward.

He said no more, but, fhunning all Delay,
Rode on; nor enter'd Athens on his Way:
But left his Sifter and his Queen behind,
And wav'd his Royal Banner in the Wind:
Where in an Argent Field the God of War
Was drawn triumphant on his Iron Carr;
Red was his Sword, and Shield, and whole Attire,
And all the Godhead feem'd to glow with Fire;
Ev'n theGround glitter'd where theStandard flew,
And the green Grafs was dy'd to fanguine Hue.

High on his pointed Lance his Pennon bore
His Cretan Fight, the conquer'd Minotaure:
The Soldiers fhout around with gen'rous Rage,
And in that Victory, their own prefage.
He prais'd their Ardour: inly pleas'd to fee
His Hoft the Flow'r of Grecian Chivalry.
All Day he march'd; and all th' enfuing Night;
And faw the City with returning Light.
The Process of the War I need not tell,
How Thefeus conquer'd, and how Creon fell:

i

Or after, how by Storm the Walls were won,

Or how the Victor fack'd and burn'd the Town:
How to the Ladies he restor'd again

The Bodies of their Lords in Battel flain:
And with what ancient Rites they were interr'd;
All these to fitter Time fhall be deferr'd:
I spare the Widows Tears, their woful Cries
And Howling at their Husbands Obfequies;
How Thefeus at these Fun'rals did assist, [mifs'd.
And with what Gifts the mourning Dames dif-
Thus when the Victor Chief had Creon flain,]
And conquer'd Thebes, he pitch'd upon the Plain

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His mighty Camp, and when the Day return'd,
The Country wasted, and the Hamlets burn'd;
And left the Pillagers, to Rapine bred,
Without Controul to ftrip and spoil the Dead:
There, in a Heap of Slain, among the rest
Two youthful Knights they found beneath a Load
opprefs'd c

Offlaughter'd Foes, whom firft to Death they fent,
The Trophies of theirStrength,a bloody Monument.
Both fair, and both of Royal Blood they feem'd,
Whom Kinsmen to the Crown the Heralds deem'd;
That Day in equal Arms they fought for Fame;
Their Swords, their Shields, their Surcoats were
the fame.

Close by each other laid they prefs'd the Ground, Their manly Bofoms pierc'd with many à griefly Nor well alive,nor wholly dead they were,[Wound; But fome faint Signs of feeble Life appear:

The wandring Breath was on the Wing to part, Weak was the Pulfe, and hardly heav'd the Heart. These two were Sifters Sons; and Arcite one, Much fam'd in Fields, with valiant Palamon.

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