The destruction of Troy, an essay upon the second book of Virgils Æneis. Written in the year, 1636.

THE DESTRUCTION OF TROY, An Essay on the second BOOK of Virgil's Aeneis.

WHile all with silence and attention wait, Thus speaks Aeneas from the bed of State. Madam, when you command us to review Our Fate, you make our old wounds bleed anew, And all those sorrows to my sence restore, Whereof none saw so much, none suffer'd more, Not the most cruel of Our conqu'ering Foes So unconcern'dly can relate our woes, As not to lend a tear, Then how can I Repress the horror of my thoughts, which flie

The sad remembrance. Now th' expiring night And the declining Stars to rest invite; Yet since 'tis your command, what you, so well Are pleas'd to hear, I cannot grieve to tell.

By Fate repell'd, and with repulses tyr'd The Greeks, so many Lives and years expir'd, A Fabrick like a moving Mountain frame, Pretending vows for their return; This, Fame Divulges, then within the beasts vast womb The choice and flower of all their Troops intomb, In view the Isle of Tenedos, once high In fame and wealth, while Troy remain'd, doth lie, (Now but an unsecure and open Bay) Thither by stealth the Greeks their Fleet convey, We gave them gone, and to Mycenae saild, And Troy reviv'd, her mourning face unvaild; All through th' unguarded Gates with joy resort To see the slighted Camp, the vacant Port, Here lay Ulysses, there Achilles, here The Battels joyn'd, the Grecian Fleet rode there;

But the vast Pile th'amazed vulgar views Till they their Reason in their wonder lose, And first Tymaete moves, (urg'd by the Power Of Fate, or Fraud) to place it in the Tower, But Capis and the graver sort thought fit, The Greeks suspected Present to commit To Seas or Flames, at least to search and bore The sides, and what that space contains to' explore; Th'uncertain Multitude with both engag'd, Divided stands, till from the Tower, enrag'd, Laocoon ran, whom all the crowd attends, Crying, what desperate Frenzy's this? (oh Friends) To think them gone? Judge rather their retreat But a design, their gifts but a deceit, For our Destrction 'twas contriv'd no doubt, Or from within by fraud, or from without By force; yet know ye not Ulysses shifts? Their swords less danger carry then their gifts▪ (This said) against the Horses side, his spear He throws, which trembles with inclosed fear,

Whilst from the hollows of his womb proceed Groans, not his own; And had not Fate decreed Our Ruine, We had fill'd with Grecian blood The Place, Then Troy and Priam's Throne had stood; Mean while a fetter'd pris'ner to the King With joyful shouts the Dardan Shepherds bring, Who to betray us did himself betray, At once the Taker, and at once the Prey, Firmly prepar'd, of one Event secur'd, Or of his Death or his Design assur'd. The Trojan Youth about the Captive flock, To wonder, or to pitty, or to mock. Now hear the Grecian fraud, and from this one Conjecture all the rest. Disarm'd, disorder'd, casting round his eyes On all the Troops that guarded him, he cryes, What Land, what Sea, for me what Fate attends? Caught by my Foes, condemned by my Friends, Incensed Troy a wretched Captive seeks To sacrifice, a Fugitive, the Greeks,

To Pitty, This Complaint our former Rage, Converts, we now enquire his Parentage, What of their Councels, or affairs he knew, Then fearless', he replies, Great King to you All truth I shall relate: Nor first can I My self to be of Grecian Birth deny, And though my outward state, misfortune hath Deprest thus low, it cannot reach my Faith. You may by chance have heard the famous name Of Palimede, who from old Belus came, Whom, but for voting Peace, The Greeks pursue, Accus'd unjustly, then unjustly slew, Yet mourn'd his death. My Father was his friend, And Me to his commands did recommend, While Laws and Councels did his Throne support, I but a youth, yet some Esteem and Port We then did bear, till by Ulysses craft (Things known I speak) he was of life bereft, Since in dark sorrow I my days did spend, Till now disdaining his unworthy end

I could not silence my Complaints, but vow'd Revenge, if ever fate or chance allow'd My wisht return to Greece; From hence his hate, From thence my crimes, and all my ills bear date, Old guilt fresh malice gives; The peoples ears He fills with rumors, and their hearts with fears, And then the Prophet to his party drew. But why do I these thankless truths pursue? Or why defer your Rage? on me, for all The Greeks, let your revenging fury fall. Ulysses this, th' Atridae this desire At any rate. We streight are set on fire (Unpractis'd in such Mysteries) to enquire The manner and the cause, Which thus he told With gestures humble, as his Tale was bold. Oft have the Greeks (the siege detesting) tyr'd With tedious war a stoln retreat desir'd, And would to heaven they'had gone: But still dismay'd By Seas or Skies, unwillingly they stayd, Chiefly when this stupendious Pile was rais'd Strange noises fill'd the Air, we all amaz'd

Dispatch Eurypilus to enquire our Fates Who thus the sentence of the Gods relates, A Virgins slaughter did the storm appease When first towards Troy the Grecians took the Seas, Their safe retreat another Grecians blood Must purchase; All, at this confounded stood. Each thinks himself the Man, the fear on all Of what, the mischief, but on one can fall: Then Chalcas (by Ulysses first inspir'd) Was urg'd to name whom th' angry Gods requir'd, Yet was I warn'd (for many were as well Inspir'd as he) and did my fate foretel. Ten days the Prophet in suspence remain'd, Would no mans fate pronounce; at last constrain'd By Ithacus, he solemnly design'd Me for the Sacrifice; the people joyn'd In glad consent, and all their common fear Determine in my fate, the day drew neer; The sacred Rites prepar'd, my Temples crown'd With holy wreaths, Then I confess I found

The means to my escape, my bonds I brake, Fled from my Guards, and in a muddy Lake Amongst the Sedges all the night lay hid, Till they their Sails had hoist (if so they did) And now alas no hope remains for me My home, my father and my sons to see, Whom, They enrag'd will kill for my Offence, And punish for my guilt their Innocence. Those Gods who know the Truths I now relate, That faith which yet remains inviolate By mortal Men, By these I beg, redress My causless wrongs, and pitty such distress. And now true Pitty in exchange he finds For his false Tears, his Tongue, his hands unbinds. Then spake the King, be Ours who ere thou art, Forget the Greeks. But first the truth impart. Why did they raise, or to what use intend This Pile? to'a Warlike, or Religious end? Skilfull in fraud, (his native Art) his hands Towards heaven he rais'd, deliver'd now from bands.

Ye pure Aethereal flames, ye Powers ador'd By mortal men, ye Altars, and the sword I scap'd; ye sacred Fillets that involv'd My destin'd head, grant I may stand absolv'd From all their Laws and Rites, renounce all name Of faith or love, their secret thoughts proclaim; Only O Troy, preserve thy faith to me, If what I shall relate preserveth thee. From Pallas favour, all our hopes, and all Counsels, and Actions took Original, Till Diomed (for such attempts made fit By dire conjunction with Ulysses wit) Assails the sacred Tower, the Guards they slay, Defile with bloody hands, and thence convey The fatal Image; straight with our success Our hopes fell back, whilst prodigies express Her just disdain, her flaming eyes did throw Flashes of lightning, from each part did flow A briny sweat, thrice brandishing her spear, Her Statue from the ground it self did rear;

Then, that we should our Sacriledge restore And reconveigh their gods from Argos shore, Chalcas perswades, till then we urge in vain The fate of Troy. To measure back the Main They all consent, but to return agen, When re inforc'd with aids of Gods and men. Thus Chalcas, then instead of that, this Pile To Pallas was design'd; to reconcile Th' offended Power, and expiate our guilt, To this vast height and monstrous stature built, Least through your gates receiv'd, it might renew Your vows to her, and her Defence to you. But if this sacred gift you dis-esteem, Then cruel Plagues (which heaven divert on them) Shall fall on Priams State: But if the horse Your walls ascend, assisted by your force, A League 'gainst Greece all Asia shall contract; Our Sons then suffering what their Sires would act. Thus by his fraud and our own faith o'recome, A feined tear destroys us, against whom

Tydides nor Achilles could prevail, Nor ten years conflict, nor a thousand sail. This seconded by a most sad Portent Which credit to the first imposture lent; Laocoon, Neptunes Priest, upon the day Devoted to that God, a Bull did slay, When two prodigious Serpents were descride, Whose circling stroaks the Seas smooth face divide, Above the deep they raise their scaly Crests, And stemme the flood with their erected breasts, Their winding tails advance and steer their course, And 'gainst the shore the breaking Billow force. Now landing, from their brandisht tongues there came A dreadful hiss, and from their eyes a flame: Amaz'd we flie, directly in a line Laocoon they pursue, and first intwine (Each preying upon one) his tender sons, Then him, who armed to their rescue runs, They seiz'd, and with intangling folds imbrac'd His neck twice compassing, and twice his wast,

Their poys'nous knots he strives to break, and tear, Whilst slime and blood his sacred wreaths besmear, Then loudly roars, as when th'enraged Bull From th'Altar flies, and from his wounded skull Shakes the huge Ax; the conqu'ring serpents flie To cruel Pallas Altar, and there lie Under her feet, within her shields extent; We in our fears conclude this fate was sent Justly on him, who strook the Sacred Oak With his accursed Lance. Then to invoke The Goddess, and let in the fatal horse We all consent: A spacious breach we make, and Troys proud wall Built by the gods, by our own hands doth fall; Thus, all their help to their own ruin give, Some draw with cords, and some the Monster drive With Rolls and Leavers, thus our works it climbs, Big with our fate, the youth with Songs and Rhimes, Some dance, some hale the Rope; at last let down It enters with a thundering noise the Town.

Oh Troy the seat of gods, in war renown'd; Three times it stuck, as oft the clashing sound Of Arms was heard, yet blinded by the Power Of Fate, we place it in the sacred Tower. Cassandra then foretels th'event, but she Finds no belief (such was the Gods decree.) The Altars with fresh flowers we crown, and wast In Feasts, that day, which was (alas) our last. Now by the revolution of the Skies, Nights sable shadows from the Ocean rise, Which heaven and earth, and the Greek frauds involv'd, The City in secure repose dissolv'd, When from the Admirals high Poop appears A light, by which the Argive Squadron Steers Their silent course to Iliums well known shore, When Synon (sav'd by the Gods partial power) Opens the horse, and through the unlockt doors To the free Ayr the armed fraight restores: Ulysses, Stenelus, Tysander slide Down by a Rope, Machaon was their guide;

Atrides, Pyrrhus, Thoas, Athamas, And Epeus who the frauds contriver was, The Gates they seize, the Guards with sleep and wine Opprest, surprize, and then their forces joyn. 'Twas then, when the first sweets of sleep repair Our bodies spent with toil, our minds with care (The Gods best gift) When bath'd in tears and blood Before my face lamenting Hector stood, Such his aspect when soyld with bloody dust Dragg'd by the cords which through his feet were thrust By his insulting Foe; O how transform'd? How much unlike that Hector, who return'd Clad in Achilles spoyls; when he, among A thousand ships (like Jove) his Lightning flung; His horrid Beard and knotted Tresses stood Stiff with his gore, and all his wounds ran blood, Intranc'd I lay, then (weeping) said, The Joy, The hope and stay of thy declining Troy; What Region held thee, whence, so much desir'd, Art thou restor'd to us consum'd and tyr'd

With toyls and deaths; but what sad cause confounds Thy once fair looks, or why appear those wounds? Regardless of my words, he no reply Returns, but with a dreadfull groan doth cry, Fly from the Flame, O Goddess-born, our walls The Greeks possess, and Troy confounded falls From all her glories; if it might have stood By any Power, by this right hand it should. What Man could do, by me for Troy was don, Take here her Reliques and her Gods, to run With them thy fate, with them new Walls expect, Which, tost on Seas, thou shalt at last erect; Then brings old Vesta from her sacred Quire, Her holy Wreaths, and her eternall Fire. Mean while the Walls with doubtfull cries resound From far (for shady coverts did surround My Fathers house) approaching still more near The clash of Armes, and voice of Men we hear▪ Rowz'd from my Bed, I speedily ascend The house's top, and listning there attend,

As flames rowl'd by the winds conspiring force, Ore full-eard Corn, or Torrents raging course Bears down tho'opposing Oaks; the fields destroys And mocks the Plough-mans toil, th'unlookt for noise From neighb'ring hills, th'amazed Shepherd hears; Such my surprise, and such their rage appears. First fell thy house Ucalegon, then thine Deiphobus, Sigaan Seas did shine Bright with Troys flames, the Trumpets dreadful sound, The louder groans of dying men confound. Give me my arms I cryed, resolv'd to throw My self 'mongst any that oppos'd the Fo: Rage, Anger and Despair at once suggest That of all deaths, to die in Arms was best. The first I met was Panthus, Phoebus Priest, Who scaping with his Gods and Reliques fled And towards the shore his little grandchilde led; Panthus, what hope remains? what force? what place Made good? but sighing he replies (alas) Trojans we were, and mighty Ilium was,

But the last period and the fatal hour Of Troy is come, Our glory and Our Power Incensed Jove transfers to Grecian hands, The foe within, the burning Town commands, And (like a smother'd fire) an unseen force Breaks from the bowels of the fatal Horse, Insulting Synon flings about the flame, And thousands more then e're from Argos came Possess the Gates, the Passes and the Streets, And these the sword oretakes, and those it meets, The guard nor fights nor flies, Their fate so near At once suspends their Courage and their fear. Thus by the Gods, and by Otrides words Inspir'd, I make my way through fire, through swords, Where Noises, Tumults, Outcries and Alarms I heard, first Iphitus renownd for Arms We meet, who knew us (for the Moon did shine) Then Ripheus, Hippanis and Dymas joyn Their force, and young Choraebus Mygdons son, Who, by the Love of fair Cassandra, won,

Arriv'd but lately in her fathers Ayd Unhappy, whom the Threates could not disswade Of his Prophetique Spouse, Whom, when I saw, yet daring to maintain The fight, I said, Brave Spirits (but in vain) Are you resolv'd to follow one who dares Tempt all extreams, The state of Our affairs You see, The Gods have left us by whose aid Our Empire stood, nor can the flame be staid, Then let us fall amidst Our Foes; this one Relief the vanquisht have, to hope for none. Then re-inforc'd, as in a stormy night Wolves urged by their raging appetite Forrage for prey, which their neglected young With greedy jaws expect, ev'en so among Foes, Fire and Swords, to'assured death we pass, Darkness our Guide, Despaire our Leader was. Who can relate that Evenings woes and spoils, Or can his tears proportion to our Toils! The City, which so long had flourisht, falls,

Death triumphs o're the Houses, Temples, Walls, Nor onely on the Trojans fell this doom, Their hearts at last the vanquish'd re-assume, And now the Victors fall, on all sides, fears, Groans and pale Death in all her shapes appears, Androgeus first with his whole Troop was cast Upon us with civility misplac't, Thus greeting us you lose by your delay, Your share both of the honor and the prey, Others the spoils of burning Troy convey Back to those ships, which you but now forsake; We making no return, his sad mistake Too late he findes; As when an unseen Snake A Travellers unwary foot hath prest, Who trembling starts, when the Snakes azure Crest, Swoln with his rising Anger, he espies, So from our view surpriz'd Androgeus flies. But here an easie victory we meet: Fear binds their hands, and ignorance their feet, Whilst Fortune, our first Enterprize, did aid, Encourag'd with success, Choraebus said,

O Friends, we now by better Fates are led, And the fair Path, they lead us, let us dread. First change your Arms, and their distinctions beare; The same, in foes, Deceit and Vertue are. Then of his Arms, Androgeus he divests, His Sword, his shield he takes, and plumed Crests, Then Ripheus, Dymas, and the rest, All glad Of the occasion, in fresh spoils are clad. Thus mixt, with Greeks, as if their Fortune still Follow'd their swords, we fight, pursue, and kill. Some re-ascend the Horse, and he, whose sides Let forth the valiant, now, the Coward, hides. Some to their safer guard their ships retire, But vain's that hope, 'gainst which the Gods conspire: Behold the Royal Virgin, The Divine Cassandra, from Minerva's fatal shrine Dragg'd by the hair, casting tow'ards heaven, in vain, Her Eyes; for Cords, her tender hands, did strain: Choraebus, at the spectacle enrag'd Flyes in amidst the foes: we thus engag'd, To second him, amongst the thickest ran,

Here first our ruine from our friends began, Who from the Temples Battlements, a showr Of Darts and Arrows, on our heads did powr: They, us for Greeks, and now the Greeks (who knew Cassandra's rescue) us for Trojans slew. Then from all parts Ulysses, Ajax, then, And then th'Atridae rally all their men; As winds, that meet from several Coasts, contest, Their prisons being broke, The South and West, And Eurus on his winged Coursers born Triumphing in their speed, the woods are torn, And chafing Nereus with his Trident throws The Billows from their bottom; Then all those Who in the dark Our fury did escape, Returning, know our borrowed Arms and shape. And diff'ring Dialect, Then their numbers swell And grow upon us, first Choraebus fell Before Minerva's Altar, next did bleed Just Ripheus, whom no Trojan did exceed In virtue, yet the Gods his fate decreed. Then Hippanis and Dymas wounded by Their friends: nor thee Panthus thy Piety,

Nor consecrared Mitre, from the same Ill fate could save; My Countreys funeral flame And Troys cold ashes I attest, and call To witness for my self, That in their fall No Foes, no Death, nor Danger I declin'd, Did, and deserv'd no less, my Fate to find. Now Iphitus with me, and Pelias Slowly retire, the one retarded was By feeble Age, the other by a wound, To Court the Cry directs us, where We found Th'Assault so hot, as if 'twere onely there, And all the rest secure from foes or feare, The Greeks the Gates approach'd, their Targets cast Over their heads, some scaling ladders plac't Against the walls, the rest the steps ascend, And with their shields on their left Arms defend Arrows and darts, and with their right hold fast The Battlement; on them the Trojans cast Stones, Rafters, Pillars, Beams, such Arms as these, Now hopeless, for their last defence they seize.

The gilded Roofs, the marks of ancient state They tumble down, and now against the Gate Of th'Inner Court their growing force they bring, Now was Our last effort to save the King, Relieve the fainting, and succeed the dead. A Private Gallery 'twixt th'appartments led, Not to the Foe yet known, or not observ'd, (The way for Hectors hapless wife reserv'd, When to the aged King, her little son She would present) Through this We pass, and run Up to the highest Battlement, from whence The Trojans threw their darts without Offence. A Tower so high, it seem'd to reach the sky, Stood on the roof, from whence we could descry All Ilium—both the Camps, the Grecian Fleet; This, where the Beams upon the Columnes meet, We loosen, which like Thunder from the Cloud Breaks on their heads, as sudden and as loud. But others still succeed: mean time, nor stones Nor any kinde of weapons cease.

Before the Gate in gilded Armour, shone Young Pyrrhus, like a Snake his skin new grown, Who fed on poys'nous herbs, all winter lay Under the ground, and now reviews the day Fresh in his new apparel, proud and yong, Rowls up his Back, and brandishes his tongue, And lifts his scaly breast against the Sun, With him his Fathers Squire, Automedon And Periphas who drove his winged steeds, Enter the Court; whom all the youth succeeds Of Scyros Isle, who flaming firebrands flung Up to the roof, Pyrrhus himself among The formost with an Ax an entrance hews Through Beams of solid Oak, then freely views The Chambers, Galleries, and Rooms of State, Where Priam and the Ancient Monarchs sate. At the first Gate an Armed Guard appears; But th'Inner Court with horror, noise and tears Confus'dly fill'd, The womens shrieks and cryes, The Arched Vaults re-eccho to the skyes,

Sad Matrons wandring through the spacious Rooms Embrace and kiss the Posts, Then Pyrrhus comes Full of his Father, neither men nor Walls His force sustain, the torn Port-cullis falls, Then from the hinge, their strokes the Gates divorce, And where the way they cannot finde, they force▪ Not with such rage a Swelling Torrent flows Above his banks, th'opposing Dams orethrows, Depopulates the Fields, the Cattel, Sheep, Shepherds, and folds the foaming Surges sweep. And now between two sad extreams I stood, Here Pyrrhus and th' Atridae drunk with blood, There th'hapless Queen amongst an hundred Dames, And Priam quenching from his wounds those flames Which his own hands had on the altar laid: Then they the secret Cabinets invade, Where stood the Fifty Nuptial Beds, the hopes Of that great Race, The Golden Posts whose tops Old hostile spoils adorn'd, demolisht lay, Or to the foe, or to the fire a Prey.

Now, Priams fate perhaps you may enquire, Seeing his Empire lost, his Troy on fire, And his own Palace by the Greeks possest, Arms, long disus'd, his trembling limbs invest, Thus on his foes he threw himself alone Not for their Fate, but to provoke his owne, There stood an Altar open to the view Of Heaven, neer which an aged Lawrel grew, Whose shady arms the houshold Gods embrac'd, Before whose feet the Queen her self had cast With all her daughters, and the Trojan wives, As Doves whom an approaching tempest drives And frights into one flock; But having spy'd Old Priam clad in youthful Arms, she cry'd, Alas my wretched husband, what pretence To bear those Arms, and in them what defence? Such aid such times require not, when again If Hector were alive, he liv'd in vain; Or here We shall a Sanctuary find, Or as in life, we shall in death be joyn'd.

Then weeping, with kinde force held and embrac'd, And on the sacred seat the King she plac'd; Mean while Polites one of Priams sons Flying the rage of bloody Pyrrhus, runs Through Foes and Swords, and ranges all the Court And empty Galleries amaz'd and hurt, Pyrrhus pursues him, now oretakes, now kills, And his last blood in Priams presence spills. The King (though him so many deaths inclose) Nor fear nor grief, but Indignation shows, The Gods requite thee (if within the care Of those alone th'affairs of mortals are) Whose fury on the son but lost had been, Had not his Parents Eyes his murder seen, Not That Achilles (whom thou feignst to be Thy Father) so inhumane was to me, He blusht, when I the rights of Arms implor'd; To me my Hector, me to Troy restor'd▪ This said, His feeble Arm a Javelin flung, Which on the sounding shield, scarce entring, rung.

Then Pyrrhus; go a messenger to Hell Of my black deeds, and to my Father tell The Acts of his degenerate Race. So through The Sons warm blood, the Trembling King he drew To th'Altar: in his hair one hand he wreathes; His sword, the other, in his Bosom sheathes. Thus fell the King, who yet surviv'd the State, With such a signal and peculiar Fate, Under so vast a ruine not a Grave, Nor in such flames a funeral fire to have: He, whom such Titles sweld, such Power made proud, To whom the Scepters of all Asia bow'd, On the cold earth lyes this neglected King, A headless Carkass, and a nameless Thing.

FINIS.