20
GONDIBERT,
48.
This frail relief was like short gales of breath,
Which oft at Sea a long dead calm prepare;
Or like our Curtains drawn at point of death,
When all our Lungs are spent, to give us ayr.
This frail relief was like short gales of breath,
Which oft at Sea a long dead calm prepare;
Or like our Curtains drawn at point of death,
When all our Lungs are spent, to give us ayr.
49.
For on the Shore the Hunters him attend;
And whilst the Chace grew warm as is the day
(Which now from the hot Zenith does descend)
He is imbos'd, and weary'd to a Bay.
For on the Shore the Hunters him attend;
And whilst the Chace grew warm as is the day
(Which now from the hot Zenith does descend)
He is imbos'd, and weary'd to a Bay.
50.
The Jewel, Life, he must surrender here;
Which the world's Mistris, Nature, does not give,
But like dropp'd Favours suffers us to wear,
Such as by which pleas'd Lovers think they live.
The Jewel, Life, he must surrender here;
Which the world's Mistris, Nature, does not give,
But like dropp'd Favours suffers us to wear,
Such as by which pleas'd Lovers think they live.
51.
Yet life he so esteems, that he allows
It all defence his force and rage can make;
And to the Regian Race such furie shows
As their last bloud some unreveng'd forsake.
Yet life he so esteems, that he allows
It all defence his force and rage can make;
And to the Regian Race such furie shows
As their last bloud some unreveng'd forsake.
52.
But now the Monarch Murderer comes in,
Destructive Man! whom Nature would not arm,
As when in madness mischief is fore-seen,
We leave it weaponless for fear of harm.
But now the Monarch Murderer comes in,
Destructive Man! whom Nature would not arm,
As when in madness mischief is fore-seen,
We leave it weaponless for fear of harm.
53.
For she defenceless made him, that he might
Less readily offend; but Art arms all,
From single strife makes us in Numbers fight;
And by such art this Royal Stag did fall.
For she defenceless made him, that he might
Less readily offend; but Art arms all,
From single strife makes us in Numbers fight;
And by such art this Royal Stag did fall.
54.
Now weeps till grief does even his Murd'rers pierce;
Grief, which so nobly through his anger strove,
That it deserv'd the dignitie of Verse,
And had it words as humanly would move.
Now weeps till grief does even his Murd'rers pierce;
Grief, which so nobly through his anger strove,
That it deserv'd the dignitie of Verse,
And had it words as humanly would move.
Thrice
