an Heroick Poem.
111
34.
Your Army will (though high in all esteem
That ever rev'renc'd Age to action gave)
But a small Party to Verona seem;
Which yearly to such Numbers yields a Grave.
Your Army will (though high in all esteem
That ever rev'renc'd Age to action gave)
But a small Party to Verona seem;
Which yearly to such Numbers yields a Grave.
35.
Nor is our vast Metropolis, like those
Tame Towns, which peace has soft'ned into fears;
But Death deform'd in all his Dangers knows;
Dangers, which he like frightfull Vizards wears.
Nor is our vast Metropolis, like those
Tame Towns, which peace has soft'ned into fears;
But Death deform'd in all his Dangers knows;
Dangers, which he like frightfull Vizards wears.
36.
From many Camps, who forreign winters felt,
Verona has her conqu'ring Dwellers ta'ne;
In War's great Trade, with richest Nations dealt;
And did their Gold and Fame with Iron gain.
From many Camps, who forreign winters felt,
Verona has her conqu'ring Dwellers ta'ne;
In War's great Trade, with richest Nations dealt;
And did their Gold and Fame with Iron gain.
37.
Yet to the mighty Aribert it bows;
A King out-doing all the Lombards Line!
Whose Court (in Iron clad) by courseness shows
A growing pow'r, which fades when Courts grow fine.
Yet to the mighty Aribert it bows;
A King out-doing all the Lombards Line!
Whose Court (in Iron clad) by courseness shows
A growing pow'r, which fades when Courts grow fine.
38.
Scorn not the Youthfull Camp at Bergamo,
For they are Victors, though in years but young;
The war does them, they it by action know,
And have obedient Minds in bodies strong.
Scorn not the Youthfull Camp at Bergamo,
For they are Victors, though in years but young;
The war does them, they it by action know,
And have obedient Minds in bodies strong.
39.
Be slow, and stay for aids, which haste forsakes!
For though Occasion still does Sloth out-go,
The rash, who run from help, she ne'r ore-takes,
Whose haste thinks Time, the Post of Nature, slow.
Be slow, and stay for aids, which haste forsakes!
For though Occasion still does Sloth out-go,
The rash, who run from help, she ne'r ore-takes,
Whose haste thinks Time, the Post of Nature, slow.
40.
This is a cause which our Ambition fills;
A cause, in which our strength we should not waste,
Vainly like Giants, who did heave at Hills;
'Tis too unwildy for the force of haste.
This is a cause which our Ambition fills;
A cause, in which our strength we should not waste,
Vainly like Giants, who did heave at Hills;
'Tis too unwildy for the force of haste.
A cause
