English

TWO QUATRAINS CHOICE .

1

The boa constrictor horrible
Said, shaking the man who bursts:
"If you drank milk Pastor
Your death would be shorter. "

2

When the assassin of Moscow
Had his head on the block
He said: "I'd be dead soon
If I drank milk Quillot. "

Pig louse, peacock, woodpecker, goat, beef, horsefly, tuna, rooster, dormouse, monkey, donkey,
Or whatever your name, gross Vingeanne,
While with your headlight ball lotto
You doing down on your brittle failure in self
And high rotating slip in the plain
You go into the fury that your old soul is full
Under the eyes of their mothers crush two chicks.
Me softly lying on twenty pairs of breasts,
Heard amid the wildest hugs:
"Come on! ... Me! ... It's my turn! ... Ah! darling! ... you exhausted me! "
Lovely both in a burst of pride

BOOK III.

The eastern breeze, fresh harbinger of dawn,
Sprung from the surge, and whisper'd o'er the lawn:
Aurora waked, suffused with early dew,
And round her form the purpling vesture threw;
Her orient locks increasing glory shed,
And Eden's rose adorn'd her radiant head.
The soldiers arm; ten thousand shouts arise,
Ring through the camp, and burst upon the skies;
Triumphant clarions answer to the sound,
And boundless joy and clamour pours around.

BOOK II.

The King, in each anticipating thought,
Thus foil'd his foes, and future combats fought;
When lo! Ismeno, horrid Seer, drew nigh,
A vicious counsellor, and dread ally;
Ismeno, deep in all the powers of hell,
The mystic philter, and infernal spell! —
The monumental corse Ismeno warm'd,
And the pale dead with mimic life inform'd;
Compell'd the fiends to issue to his aid,
And hell's dread king in his own realms obey'd.
A Christian once, he late transferr'd his vows,

BOOK I.

O farms, devote to Heaven's Eternal King;
Of sainted hosts the sacred Chief I sing,
Who freed that tomb, to infidels a prey,
Where once the Lord for all the living lay:
Alike, his might and conduct claim applause;
And much he suffer'd in the glorious cause:
In vain infernal fury raised alarms,
And half the world opposed contending arms;
Sedition, ruled, beneath his sceptre lay,
Foes learn'd to fear, and rebels to obey:
So Heaven would crown its Hero with success,

PROLOGUE

S INCE Fancy of it self is loose and vain,
The Wise by Rules, that airy Power restrain:
They think those Writers mad, who at their Ease
Convey this House and Audience where they please;
Who Nature's stated Distances confound,
And make this Spot all Soils the Sun goes round:
'Tis nothing, when a fancy'd Scene's in view,
To skip from Covent-Garden to Peru .
But Shakespear's self transgress'd; and shall each Elf,

PROLOGUE,

O UR Author's Wit and Raillery to-Night
Perhaps might please, but that your Stage-Delight
No more is in your Minds, but Ears and Sight;
With Audiences compos'd of Belles and Beaux,
The first Dramatick Rule is, Have good Cloathes.
To charm the gay Spectator's gentle Breast,
In Lace and Feather Tragedy's express'd,
And Heroes die unpity'd, if ill dress'd.

The other Style you full as well advance;
If 'tis a Comedy, you ask, — Who dance?

See the dire fate of the proud cities blamable,
Blind with foul lust and all passions untamable,
Made by sad sin to high heaven importunate!
Once were they powerful, and dreaded, and numberless;
Now are their souls for eternity slumberless,
Doomed to the flames, oh, rebellion unfortunate!

Fed with the fevers of fearful idolatry,
Steeped to the soul in supreme demonolatry,
Tainted with crime toward the Angels censorious,
Crushed by the thunder-bolts' pitiless density,
Perished, departed, in awful immensity,

Far to the south, directed by God's grace,
Lot had made hasty progress from the place
For many a weary hour,
Beseeching the high Lord with eyes cast down
To mitigate the anguish of the town
And stay His dooming power.

He dared not linger to erect his tents
Or take repose, such was his soul's suspense;
Nor did he dare turn back
Where the dull rumble of the starless sky
Warned him the fatal chastisement was nigh,
And where the heavens grew black!

He heard with consternation in his soul

They fell with wrath vertiginous and awful
Upon the puny jasper of Vul's temple,
Striking to nothingness the giant columns.
Blow upon blow, so swift that they were painless.
Scythed the deep, serried ranks of priests attending,
And lingered in a moving mass horrific
Upon the domes, ere rising to the heavens
Again to fall, leading death's cortege with them.
Hope there was none, and there was nowhere shelter.
Severe, implacable, a flood of brimstone
And searching fire from the wild heaven descended,