The Maid's Tragedy Altered/The Triple Combat
The Triple Combat.
When thro the World fair Mazarine had run,
Bright as her Fellow-Traveller, the Sun;
Hither at length the Roman Eagle flyes,
As the last Triumph of her conqu'ring Eyes.
As Heir to Julius, she may pretend
A second time to make this Island bend.
But Portsmouth, springing from the ancient race
Of Britains, which the Saxon here did chase,
As they great Cæsar did oppose, makes head,
And does against this new Invader lead.
That goodly Nymph, the taller of the two,
Careless and fearless to the Field does go.
Becoming blushes on the other wait,
And her young look excuses want of height.
Beauty gives Courage; for she knows the day
Must not be won the Amazonian way.
Legions of Cupids to the Battel come,
For little Britain these, and those for Rome.
Drest to advantage, this Illustrious Pair
Arriv'd, for Combat in the List appear.
What may the fates design! for never yet
From distant Regions two such Beauties met:
Venus had been an equal friend to both,
And Victory to declare her self seems loth.
Over the Camp with doubtful Wings she flys;
Till Chloris shining in the Field she spys.
The lovely Chloris well attended came,
A thousand graces waited on the Dame:
Her matchless form made all the English glad,
And foreign Beauties less assurance had.
Yet, like the Three on Ida's Top, they all
Pretend alike, contesting for the Ball.
Which to determine Love himself declin'd,
Lest the neglected should become less kind.
Such killing looks; so thick the Arrows fly;
That 'tis unsafe to be a stander by.
Poets approaching to describe the sight,
Are by their Wounds instructed how to write.
They with less hazard, might look on and draw
The ruder Combats in Alsatia.
And with that Foil of violence and rage
Set off the splendour of our Golden Age:
Where Love gives Law, Beauty the Scepter sways;
And uncompell'd, the happy World obeys.
Bright as her Fellow-Traveller, the Sun;
Hither at length the Roman Eagle flyes,
As the last Triumph of her conqu'ring Eyes.
As Heir to Julius, she may pretend
A second time to make this Island bend.
But Portsmouth, springing from the ancient race
Of Britains, which the Saxon here did chase,
As they great Cæsar did oppose, makes head,
And does against this new Invader lead.
That goodly Nymph, the taller of the two,
Careless and fearless to the Field does go.
Becoming blushes on the other wait,
And her young look excuses want of height.
Beauty gives Courage; for she knows the day
Must not be won the Amazonian way.
Legions of Cupids to the Battel come,
For little Britain these, and those for Rome.
Drest to advantage, this Illustrious Pair
Arriv'd, for Combat in the List appear.
What may the fates design! for never yet
From distant Regions two such Beauties met:
Venus had been an equal friend to both,
And Victory to declare her self seems loth.
Over the Camp with doubtful Wings she flys;
Till Chloris shining in the Field she spys.
The lovely Chloris well attended came,
A thousand graces waited on the Dame:
Her matchless form made all the English glad,
And foreign Beauties less assurance had.
Yet, like the Three on Ida's Top, they all
Pretend alike, contesting for the Ball.
Which to determine Love himself declin'd,
Lest the neglected should become less kind.
Such killing looks; so thick the Arrows fly;
That 'tis unsafe to be a stander by.
Poets approaching to describe the sight,
Are by their Wounds instructed how to write.
They with less hazard, might look on and draw
The ruder Combats in Alsatia.
And with that Foil of violence and rage
Set off the splendour of our Golden Age:
Where Love gives Law, Beauty the Scepter sways;
And uncompell'd, the happy World obeys.