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So that when Providence, for secret ends,

Which, like a rock amidst the stormy waves, Corroding cares, or sharp affliction, sends; Unmor'd remains, and all affliction braves. We must conclude it best it should be so,

In sharp misfortunes, some will search too deep And not desponding or impatient grow.

What Heaven prohibits, and would secret keep: For be that will his confidence remove

But those events 'tis beiter not to know, From boundless wisdom and eternal love,

Which, known, serve only to increase our woe. To place it on himself, or huinan aid,

Knowledge forbid ('tis dangerous to pursue) Will meet those woes he labours to evade.

With guilt begins, and ends with ruin too. But, in the keenest agonies of grief,

Por, had our earliest parents been content Content 's a cordial that still gives relief:

Not to know more than to be innocent,
Heaven is not always angry when he strikes, Their ignorance of evil had preserv'd
But most chastises those whom most he likes; Their joys entire; for then they had not swere'd,
And, if with bumble spirits they complain, But they imagin'd (their desires were such)
Relieves the anguish, or rewards the pain.

They knew too little, till they knew too much.
E’er since my folly must to wisdom rise;
And few are, but by sad experience, wise.

Consider, friend! who all your blessings gave,

What are recall'd again, and what you have;

And do not murmur when you are bereft

Of little, if you have abundance left:
Since the first man by disobedience fell

Consider too, how many thousands are An easy conquest to the powers of Hell,

Under the worst of miseries, despair; There's none in every stage of life can be

And do n't repine at what you now endure; From the insults of bold affliction free.

Custom will give you ease, or time will cure: If a short respite gives us some relief,

Once more consider, that the resent ill, And interrupts the series of our grief,

Though it be great, may yet be greater still ; So quick the pangs of misery return,

And be not anxious; for, to undergo
We joy by minutes, but by years we mourn. One grief, is nothing to a numerous woe.

Reason refind and to perfection brought, But since it is impossible to be
By wise philosophy, and serious thought,

Human, and not expos'd to misery, Support the soul beneath the pond'rous weight Bear it, my friend, as bravely as you can: Of angry stars, and unpropitious fate:

You are not more, and be not less than man! Then is the time she should exert ber power,

AMictions past can no existence find, And make us practise what she taught before. But in the wild ideas of the mind: For why are such voluminous authors read, And why should we for those misfortunes mourn, The learned labours of the famous dead,

Which have been suffer'd, and can ne'er return? But to prepare the mind for its defence,

'Those that have weather'd a tempestuous night, By sage results, and well-digested sense ;

And find a calm approaching with the light, That, when the storm of misery appears,

Will not, unless their reason they disown, With all its real or fantastic fears,

Still make those dangers present that are gone. We either may the rolling danger fly,

What is behind the curtain none can see; Or stem the tide before it swells too high?

It may be joy : suppose it misery; But though the theory of wisdom 's known 'Tis future still; and that which is not here, With ease, what should, and what should not be done; May never come, or we may never bear. Yet all the labour in the practice lies,

Therefore the present ill alone we ought To be, in more than words and notion, wise; To view, in reason, with a troubled thought : The sacred truth of sound philosophy

But, if we may the sacred pages trust,
We study early, but we late apply.

He's always happy, that is always just.
When stubborn anguish seizes on the soul,
Right reason would its haughty rage control;
But, if it may n't be suffer'd to endure,
The pain is just, when we reject the cure.

For many men, close observation finds,
Of copious learning, and exalted minds,
Who tremble at the sight of daring woes,

I would not have you, Strephon, choose a mate, And stoop ignobly to the vilest foes;

From too exalted, or too mean a state; As if they understood not how to be

For in both these we may expect to find Or wise, or brave, but in felicity;

A creeping spirit, or a haughty mind. And by some action, servile or unjust,

Who moves within the middle region, shares Lay all their former glories in the dust.

The least disquiets, and the smallest cares. For wisdom first the wretched mortal flies,

Let her extraction with true lustre shine; And leaves him naked to his enemies :

If something brighter, not too bright for thine: So that, when most his prudence should be shown, Her education liberal, not great; The most imprudent, giddy things are done. Neither inferior, nor above her state. For when the mind 's surrounded with distress, Let her have wit; but let that wit be free Fear or inconstancy the judgment press,

From affectation, pride, and pedantry: And render it incapable to make

For the effect of woman's wit is such, Wise resolutions, or good counsels take.

Too little is as dangerous as too much. Yet there 's a steadiness of soul and thought, But chiefly let her humour close with thine; By reason bred, and by religion taught,

Vuless where yours does to a fault incline ;


The least disparity in this destroys,
Like sulphurons blasts, the very buds of joys.

Her person amiable, straight, and free

From natural, or chance, deformity.
Let not her years exceed, if eqnal thine;

Where can the wretched'st of all creatures fly,
For women, past their vigour, soon decline : To tell the story of her misery?
Her fortune competent; and, if thy sight

Where, but to faithful Cælia, in whose mind
Can reach so far, take care 'tis gather'd right. A manly bravery 's with soft pity joind.
If thine 's enough, then her's may be the less: I fear, these lines will scarce be understood,
Do not aspire to riches in excess.

Blurr'd with incessant tears, and writ in blood;
For that which makes our lives delightful prove, But if you can the mournful pages read,
Is a genteel sufficiency and love.

The sad relation shows you such a deed,
As all the annals of th' infernal reign
Shall strive to equal, or exceed in vain.

Neronior's fame, no doubt, has reach'd your ears,

Whose cruelty has cans'd a sea of tears;

Fill'd each lamenting town with funeral sighs,

Deploring widows' shrieks, and orphans' cries.

At every health the horrid monster quaffd, Painter, the utmost of thy judgment show; Ten wretches dy'd, and as they dy'd he laugh'd: Exceed ev'n Titian, and great Angelo:

Till, tir'd with acting Devil, he was led, With all the liveliness of thought express

Drunk with excess of blood and wine, to bed. The moving features of Dorinda's face.

Oh, cursed place I can no more command Thou canst not flatter, where such beauty dwells;

My pen: shame and confusion shake my hand: Her charms thy colours, and thy art, excels. But I must on, and let my Cælia know Others less fair, may from thy pencil have How barbarons are my wrongs, how vast my woe. Graces, which sparing Nature never gave:

Among the crowds of western youths who ran But in Dorinda's aspect thou wilt see

To meet the brave, betray'd, unhappy man?,
Such as will pose thy famous art, and thee; My husband, fatally uniting, went ;
So great, so many in her face unite,

L'nus'd to arms, and thoughtless of th' event.
So well proportion'd, and so wondrous bright, But when the battle was by treachery won,
No human skill can e'er express them all,

The chief, and all but his false friend, undone; But must do wrong to th' fair original.

Though, in the tumult of that desperate night, An angel's hand alone the pencil fits,

He 'scap'd the dreadful slaughter of the fight; To mix the colours when an angel sits.

Yet the sagacious bloodhounds, skill'd too well Thy picture may as like Dorinda be

In all the murdering qualities of Hell, As art of man can paint a deity ;

Each secret place so regularly beat,
And justly may perhaps, when she withdraws, They soon discover'd his unsafe retreat.
Excite our wonder, and deserve applause :

As hungry wolves triumphing o'er their prey,
But when compared, you 'll be oblig'd to own, To sure destruction hurry them away;
No art can equal what 's by Nature done.

So the purveyors of fierce Moloc's son
Great Ley's noble hand, excelld by few,

With Charion to the common butchery run; The picture fairer than the person drew :

Where proud Neronior by bis gibbet stood, He took the best that Nature could impart, To glut himself with fresh supplies of blood. And made it better by his powerful art.

Our friends, by powerful intercession, gain'd But had he seen that bright, surprising grace, A short reprieve, but for three days obtain'd, Which spreads itself o'er all Dorinda's face, To try all ways might to compassion move Vain had been all the essays of his skill;

The savage general; but in vain they strove.
She must have been confest the fairest still. When I perceiv'd that all addresses fail'd,

Heaven in a landscape may be wondrous fine, And nothing o'er his stubborn soul prevail'd;
And look as bright as painted light can shine ; Distracted almost, to his tent I few,
But still the real glories of the place

To make the last effort, what tears could do.
All art, by infinite degrees, surpass.

Low on my knees I fell; then thus began :
“ Great genius of success, thou more than man!

Whose arms to every clime have terrour hurl'd, TO THE PAINTER, AFTER HE HAD FINISHED

And carry'd conquest round the trembling world! DORINDA'S PICTURE.

Still may the brightest glories Fame can lend,

Your sword, your conduct, and your cause, attend.
PAINTER, thou hast perform'd what man can do; Here now the arbiter of fate you sit,
Only Dorinda's self more charms can shew. While suppliant slaves their rebel heads submit.
Bold are thy strokes, and delicate each touch; Oh, pity the unfortunate! and give
But still the beauties of her face are such

But this one thing: oh, let but Charion live!
As cannot justly be describ'd; though all
Confess 't is like the bright original.
In her, and in thy picture, we may view

" This piece was occasioned by the barbarity of The utmost Nature, or that Art, can do;

Kirke, a commander in the western rebellion, 1685, Each is a masterpiece, design'd so well,

who debauched a young lady with a promise to That future times may strive to parallel ;

save her husband's life, but hanged him the next But neither Art nor Nature 's able to excel. morning.

2 The duke of Monmouth.

And take the little all that we possess.

Here, interrupting, stern Neronior cryil, I'll bear the meagre anguish of distress

(Swelld with success, and blubber'd up with pride) Content, nay, pleas'd, to beg or earn my bread: Madam, his life depends upon my will, Let Charion live, no matter how I'm fed.

For every rebel I can spare or kill. The fall of such a vonth no lustre brings

I'll think of what you ’ve said: this night return To him whose sword performs such wondrous things At ten, perhaps you 'll have no cause to mourn. As saving kingdoms, and supporting kings.

Go, see your husband, bid him not de-pair; That triumph only with true grandeur shines, His crime is great, but you are wondrous fair." Where godlike courage, godlike pity joins.

When anxious miseries the soul amaze, Cæsar, the eldest favourite of war,

And dire confusion in the spirits raise, Took not more pleasure to submit, than spare: l'pon the least appearance of relief, And since in battle you can greater be,

Our hopes revive, and mitigate our grief; Toat over, be n’t less merciful than he.

Impatience makes our wishes earnest grow, Ignoble spirits by revenge are known,

Which throngh false optics our deliverance show, And cruel actions spoil the conqueror's crown;

For while we fancy danger does appear
In future histories fill each mournful page

Most at a distance, it is oft too near,
With tales of blood, and monuments of rage : And many times, secure from obvious foes,
And, while his annals are with horrour read, We fall into an ambuscade of woes.
Men curse him living, and detest him dead.

Pleas'd with the false Neronior's dark reply, Oh! do not sully with a sanguine dye

I thought the end of all my sorrows nigh, (The foulest stain) so fair a memory !

And to the main-guard hasten d, where the prey, Then, as you 'll live the glory of our isle,

Of this blood-thirsty fiend, in durance lay. And Fate on all your expeditions smile :

When Charion saw me, from his turfy bed So, when a noble course you 've bravely ran, With eagerness he rais'd his drooping head: Die the best soldier, and the happiest man.

“Oh! Ay, my dear, this guilty place," he cry’d, None can the turns of Providence foresee,

And in some distant clime thy virtue hice! Or what their own catastrophe may be;

Here nothing but the foulest demons dwell, Therefore, to persons labouring under woe,

The refuge of the damn'd, and mob of hell. That mercy they may want, should always show: The air they breathe is every atom curst: For in the chance of war the slightest thing

There is no degree of ills, for all are worst. May lose the battle, or the victory bring.

In rapes and murders they alone delight, And how would you that general's honour prize, And villanies of less importance slight: Should in cool blood his captive sacrifice?

Act them indeed, but scorn they should be nam'd, “ He that with rebel arms to fight is led, For all their glory's to be more than dawn'd. To justice forfeits his opprobrious head:

Veronior 's chief of this infernal crew, But 't is unhappy Charion's first offence,

And seems to merit that high station too:
Seduc'd by some too plausible pretence,

Nothing but rage and lust inspire his breast,
To take the injuring side by errour brought; By Asmodai and Moloc both possest.
He had no malice, though he has the fault. When told you went to intercede for me,
Let the old tempters find a shameful grave, It threw my soul into an agony;
But, the half innocent, the tempted, save;

Not that I would not for my freedom give
Vengeance divine, though for the greatest crime, What is requisite, or do not wish to live;
But rarely strikes the first or second time: But for my safety I can ne'er be base,
And he best follows th' Almighty's will,

Or buy a few short years with long disgrace;
Who spares the guilty he has power to kill. Nor would I bave your yet unspotted fame
When proud rebellions would unhinge a state, For me expos'd to an eternal shame.
And wild disorders in a land create,

With ignominy to preserve my breath, T is requisite the first promoters should

Is worse, by infinite degrees, than death. Put out the flames they kindled, with their blood : But if I can 't my life with honour save, But sure 't is a degree of murder, all

With honour l’li descend into the grave. That draw their swords should undistinguish'd For though revenge and malice both combine fall.

(As both to fix my ruin spem to join) And since a mercy must to some be shown, Yet, maugre all their violence and skill, Let Charion 'mongst the happy few be one: I can die just, and I'm resolv'd I will. For as none guilty has less guilt than he,

" But what is death we so unwisely fear? So done for pardon has a fairer plea.

An end of all our busy tumults here: “ When David's general had won the field, The equal lot of poverty and state, And Absalom, the lov'd ungrateful, kill'd,

Which all partake of by a certain fate. The trumpets sounding made all slaughter cease, Whoe'er the prospect of mankind surveys, And misled Israelites returu'd in peace.

At divers ages, and by divers ways, The action past, where so much blood was spilt, Will find them from this noisy scene ret re ; We hear of none arraign’d for that day's guilt; Some the first minute that they breathe, expire: But all concludes with the desir'd event,

Others, perhaps, survive to talk, and go; The monarch pardons, and the Jews repent. Bui die, before they good or evil know.

“ As great example your great courage warms, Here one to puberty arrives; and then And to illustrious deeds excites your arms; Retiros lamented to the dust again: So when you instances of mercy view,

Another there maintains a longer strife They should inspire you with compassion too: With all the powerful enemies of life; For he that emulates the truly brave,

Till, with vexation tird, and threescore years, Wonld always conquer, and should always save.” He drops into the dark, and disappears, VOL VIL


I'm young, indeed, and might expect to see There, under a wide oak, disconsolate,
Times future, long and late posterity,

And drown'd in tears, a mournful widow sate. 'Tis what with reason I could wish to do,

High in the boughs the murder'd father hung ; If to be old, were to be happy too.

Beneath, the children round the mother clung: But since substantial grief so soon destroys They cry'd for fond, but 't was without relief : The gust of all imaginary joys,

For all they had to live upon, was grief. Who would be too importunate to live,

A sorrow so intense, such deep despair, Or more for life, than it can merit, give!

No creature, merely human, long could bear, “ Beyond the grave stupendous regions lie, First in her arms her weeping babes she took, The boundless realms of vast eternity;

And, with a groan, did to her husband look : Where minds, remov'd from earthly bodies, dwell; Then lean'd her head on theirs, and, sighing, But who their government or laws can tell ?

cry'd, What 's their employment till the final doom “ Pity me, Saviour of the world !” and dy'd. Avl Time's eternal period shall come?

From this sad spectacle my eyes I turn'd, Thus much the sacred oracles declare,

Where sons their fathers, maids their lovers, moumd; That all are bless'd or miserable there;

Friends for their friends, sisters for brothers, wept, Though, if there's such variety of fate,

Prisoners of war, in chains, for slaughter kept : None good expire too soon, nor bad too late. Each every hour did the black message dread, For my own part, with resignation, still

Which should declare the person lov'd was dead.
I can submit to my Creator's will;

Then I beheld, with brutal shouts of mirth,
Let him recall the breath from him I drew, A comely youth, and of no common birth,
When he thinks fit, and when he pleases too. To execution led; who hardly bore
The way of dying is my least concern;

The wounds in battle he receiv'd before :
That will give no disturbance to my urn.

And, as he pass'd, I heard him bravely cry, If to the seats of happiness I go,

“I neither wish to live, nor fear to die." There end all possible returns of woe :

At the curs'd tent arriv'd, without delay,
And when to those blest mansions I arrive, They did me to the general convey :
With pity I 'll behold those that survive.

Who thus began
Once inore I beg, you 'd froin these tents retreat, “ Madam! by fresh intelligence, I find,
And leave me to my innocence and Fate.”

That Charion's treason 's of the blackest kind ;
“ Charion,” said I, "oh, do not urge my fight! | And my commission is express to spare
I'll see the event of this important night: None that so deeply in rebellion are:
Some strange presages in my soul forebode New measures therefore it is vain to try;
The worst of miseries, or the greatest good. No pardon can be granted; he must die.
Few hours will show the atmost of my doom ; Must, or I hazard all: which yet I'd do
A joyful safety, or a peaceful tomb.

To be oblig'd in one request by you:
If you miscarry, I'm resolv'd to try

And, maugre all the dangers I foresee,
If gracious Heaven will suffer me to die:

Be mine this night, I 'll set your husband free.
For, when you are to endless raptures gone, Soldiers are rough, and cannot hope success
If I survive, 't is but to be undone.

By supple flattery, and by soft address;
Who will support an injur'd widow's right, The pert, gay coxcomb, by these little arts,
From sly Injustice, or oppressive Might?

Gains an ascendant o'er the ladies' hearts. Protect her person, or her cause defend ?

But I can no such whining methods use: . She rarely wants a foe, or finds a friend :

Cousent, he lives; he dies, if you refuse." I 've no distrust of Providence; but still

Amaz'd at this demand; said I, “ The brave, "Tis best to go beyond the reach of ill :

Upon ignoble terms, disdain to save : And those can have no reason to repent,

They let their captives still with honour live,
Who, though they die betimes, die innocent. No more require, than what themselves would give;
But to a world of everlasting bliss

For, generous victors, as they scorn to do
Why would you go, and leave me here in this ! Dishonest things, scorn to propose them too.
"Tis a dark passage ; but our foes shall view, Mercy, the brightest virtue of the mind,
I'll die as calm, though not so brave, as you: Should with no devious appetite be join'd:
That my behaviour to the last may prove For if, when exercis'd, a crime it cost,
Your courage is not greater than my love." Th’ intrinsic lustre of the deed is lost.

The hour approach'd; as to Neronior's tent, Great men their actions of a piece should have ;
With trembling, but impatient steps, I went, Heroic all, and each entirely brave;
A thousand horrours throng'd into my breast, From the nice rules of Honour none should swerve;
By sad ideas and strong fears possest:

Done, because good, without a mean reserve. Where'er I pass'd, the glaring lights would show “The crimes new charg'd upon the unhappy youth Fresh objects of despair, and scenes of woe. May have revenge, and malice, but no truth.

Here, in a crowd of drunken soldiers, stood Suppose the accusation justly brought,
A wretched, poor, old man, besmear'd with blood; And clearly prov'd to the minutest thought;
And at his feet, just through the body run, Yet mercies next to infinite abate
Struggling for life, was laid his only son ;

Offences next to infinitely great :
By whose hard labour be was daily fed,

And 't is the glory of a noble mind,
Dividing still, with pious care, his bread :

In full forgiveness not to be confin'd.
And while he mourn'd, with floods of aged tears, Your prince's frowns, if you bave cause to fear,
The sole support of his decrepid years,

This act will more illustrious appear;
The barbarous mob, whose rage no limit knows, Though his excuse can never be withstood,
With blasphemous derision, mock'd his woes. Who disobeys, but only to be good.

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Perhaps the hazard 's more than you express; May'st thou, despairing at the point of death, The glory would be, were the danger less.

With oaths and blasphemies resign thy brrath; For be that, to his prejudice, will do

And the worst torments that the damn'd should share, A noble action, and a generous too,

In thine own person all united bear!” Deserves to wear a more resplendent crown,

Oh Calia ! oh my friend! what age can show Than he that has a thousand battles won.

Sorrows like mine, so exquisite a woe? Do pot invert divine compassion so,

Indeed it does not infinite appear, As to be cruel, and no mercy show!

Because it can 't be everlasting here : Of what renown can such an action be,

But it 's so vast, that it can ne'er increase ;
Which saves my husband's life, but ruins me?

And so confirm'd, it never can be less.
Though, if you finally resolve to stand
Upon so vile, inglorious a demand,
He must submit; if 't is my fate to mourn
His death, I'll bathe with virtuous tears his urn."

ON THE MARRIAGE “ Well, madam,” haughtily, Neronior cry'd,

OF THE EARL OF A WITH THE COUNTESS OP s“ Your conrage and your virtue shall be try'd. But to prevent all prospect of a flight,

TRIUMPHANT beauty never looks so gay
Some of my lambs 3 shall be your guard to-night: As on the morning of a nuptial day,
By them, no doubt, you 'll tenderly be us'd ; Love then within a larger circle moves,
They seldom ask a favour that 's refusd :

New graces adds, and every charm improves : Perhaps you 'll find them so genteelly bred, While Hymen does his sacred rites prepare, They 'll leave you but few virtuous tears to shed. The busy nymphs attend the trembling fair ; Surrounded with so innocent a throng,

Whose veins are swelld with an unusual heat, The night must pass delightfully along:

And eager pulses with strange motions beat: And in the morning, since you will not give Alternate passions various thoughts impart, What I require, to let your husband live,

And painful joys distend her throbbing heart: You shall bebold him sigh his latest breath, Her fears are great, and her desires are strong: And gently swing into the arms of Death.

The minutes sy too fast--yet stay too long: His fate he merits, as to rebels due:

Now she is ready-the next moment not; And yours will be as much deserv'd by you." All things are done then something is forgot:

Oh, Cælia, think! so far as thought can show, She fears-yet wishes the strange work were done; What pangs of grief, what agonies of woe,

Delavs-vet is impatient to be gone. At this dire resolution, sciz'd my breast !

Disorders thus from every thought arise ; By all things sad and terrible possest.

What loves persuades, I know not what dening. In vain I wept, and 't was in vain I pray'd,

Achates' choice does his firm judgment prove, For all my prayers were to a tiger made: And shows at once he can be wise and love; A tiger! worse; for, 't is beyond dispute, Because it from no spurious passion came, No fiend's so cruel as a reasoning brute.

But was the product of a noble flame: Encompassid thus, and hopeless of relief,

Bold, without rudeness; without blazing, bright: With all the squadrons of despair and grief, Pure as fix'd stars, and uncorrupt as light : Ruin-it was not possible to shun:

By just degrees it to perfection grew; What could I do? Oh! what would you have done? An early ripeness, and a lasting too.

The hours that pass’d, till the black morn return'd, So the bright Sun, ascending to his noon, With tears of blood should be for ever mourn'd. Moves not too slowly, nor is there too soon. When, to involve me with consummate grief,

But, though Achates was unkindly driven Beyond expression, and above belief,

From his own land, he's banish'd into Heaven : “Madam,” the monster cry'd, “ that you may find For sure the raptures of Cosmelia's love I can be grateful to the fair that 's kind;

Are next, if only next, to those above.
Step to the door, I'll show you such a sight, Thus Power Divine does with his foes engage;
Shail overwhelin your spirits with delight.

Rewards his virtues, and defeats their rage:
Does not that wretch, who would dethrone his king, For first it did to fair Cosmelia give
Become the gibbet, and adorn the string?

All that a human creature could receive;
You need not now an injur'd husband dread; Whate'er can raise our wonder or delight,
Living he might, he 'll oot upbraid you dead. Transport the soul, or gratify the sight.
T was for your sake I seiz'd upon his life; Then in the full perfection of her charms,
He would perhaps have scorn'd so chaste a wife. Lodg'd the bright virgin in Achates' arms.
And, madam, you 'll excuse the zeal I show,

What angels are, is in Cosmelia seen;
To keep that secret none alive shonld know." Their awful glories, and their godlike mien:

“Cars'd of all creatures! for, compar'd with thee, For, in her aspect all the graces meet; The devils," said I, “ are dull in cruelty.

All that is noble, beautiful, or sweet :
Oh, may that tongue eternal vipers breed, There every charm in lofty triumph sits,
And wasteless their eternal hunger feed;

Scorus poor defect, and to no fault submits :
In fires too hot for salamanders dwell,

There symmetry, complexion, air, unite, The burning earnest of a hotter Hell;

Sublimely noble, and amazing bright. May that vile lump of execrable lust

So, newly finish'd by the hand Divine,
Corrupt alive, and rot into the dust!

Before her fall, did the first woman shine.
But Eve in one great point she does excel :

Cosmelia never err'd at all; she fell.
3 Kirke used to call the most inhuman of his from her Temptation in despair withdrew,
soldiers his lambs.

Nor more assaults, whoin it could ne'er subdar,

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