an Heroick Poem.
101
34.
All night proud Borgio (chief in Hubert's trust)
With haughtie hopes, the Camp does waking keep:
Ambition is more vigilant than Lust,
And in hope's feaver is too hot to sleep.
All night proud Borgio (chief in Hubert's trust)
With haughtie hopes, the Camp does waking keep:
Ambition is more vigilant than Lust,
And in hope's feaver is too hot to sleep.
35.
Now Day, and Hubert haste to publick view;
His wounds (unluckie more than dangerous)
Are so refresh'd, that he the Army drew
To a wide gross, and urg'd their Anger thus.
Now Day, and Hubert haste to publick view;
His wounds (unluckie more than dangerous)
Are so refresh'd, that he the Army drew
To a wide gross, and urg'd their Anger thus.
36.
Friends to my Father! In whose wounds I see
They envy'd Merit whence his triumphs came;
And Fathers to my Brother, and to me;
For onely you adopted us to Fame!
Friends to my Father! In whose wounds I see
They envy'd Merit whence his triumphs came;
And Fathers to my Brother, and to me;
For onely you adopted us to Fame!
37.
Forgive me that I there have feebly fought,
Where Oswald in your cause did nobly strive;
Whence of his bloud these veins so much have brought,
As makes me blush that I am still alive!
Forgive me that I there have feebly fought,
Where Oswald in your cause did nobly strive;
Whence of his bloud these veins so much have brought,
As makes me blush that I am still alive!
38.
Gone is your fighting Youth, whom you have bred
From milkie Childhood to the years of bloud!
By whom you joy'd so often to be led,
Where firm, as now your Trophies, then you stood!
Gone is your fighting Youth, whom you have bred
From milkie Childhood to the years of bloud!
By whom you joy'd so often to be led,
Where firm, as now your Trophies, then you stood!
39.
Gon is he now, who still with low regard
Bow'd to your age, your wounds as beautie kist;
Knew Age was of your temp'rance the reward;
And Courts in beauty by your skars subsist.
Gon is he now, who still with low regard
Bow'd to your age, your wounds as beautie kist;
Knew Age was of your temp'rance the reward;
And Courts in beauty by your skars subsist.
40.
Yet was he not for mean pretensions slain,
Who for your int'rest, not his own has fought;
Vex'd that the Empire which your wounds did gain,
Was by a young unwounded Army sought!
Yet was he not for mean pretensions slain,
Who for your int'rest, not his own has fought;
Vex'd that the Empire which your wounds did gain,
Was by a young unwounded Army sought!
For
