The tvvo famous pitcht battels of Lypsich, and Lutzen wherein the ever-renowned Prince Gustavus the Great lived and died a conquerour: with an elegie upon his untimely death, composed in heroick verse by John Russell, Master of Arts, of Magdalene Coll. in Cambridge.

GUSTAVE ADOLPHE Roy de Suede Tué à la Bataille de Lutz ente 16. g. bre 1632 agé de 3● ans .

THE Two Famous Pitcht Battels of LYPSICH , AND LUTZEN ; Wherein the ever-renowned Prince GUSTAVUS THE GREAT lived and died a Conquerour : WITH AN ELEGIE UPON his untimely death , composed in Heroick Verse By JOHN RUSSELL , Master of Arts , of Magdalene Coll. in CAMBRIDGE .

— Me castra juvant , & lituo tubae Permistus sonitus , belláque matribus Detestata —

Printed by the Printers to the Vniversitie of CAMBRIDGE . 1634.

And are to be sold by Philip Scarlet .

AD NOBILISSIMVM SUUM PATRONUM EPIGRAMMA . TV mihi sis Phoebus , mea sit tibi Luna libellus , Quem facis ( en ! ) radiis ipse micare tuis . Sidereos volui titulos , & nomina clara Supremâ in nostri figere parte libri , Quò possent plenè suffundere luce coruscâ Quaelibet in scriptis inferiora meis . Jam mea si Livor contorto lumine spectet Carmina , percussus sydere , mutus erit .

TO THE RIGHT NOBLE , TRUELY VALOUROUS , AND HEROICK GENTLEman , WILLIAM Lord CRAVEN , BARON of Hampsteed , MARSHALL , &c. RIGHT HONOVRABLE ,

THe ardent affection wherewith the best & sublimest Spirits have ever embraced the Sonnes of the Muses , is not in any example so apparent , as in that matchlesse pattern of true Valour and Magnificence , ALEXANDER the Great ; who having finisht the Conquest of Persia , and hearing every day of more Victories , did thus expresse his sorrow and discontented affection ; Think you to please me with any news , unlesse ye can tell me that HOMER is alive again ? Such was his ambitious love to Poetrie . Under protection of this invincible example , I boldly make my Approaches . My Lines are alreadie drawn and perfected , whereby I am resolved to attempt your Lordships Favour ; and I hope I shall winne the same without any danger or repulse . Yet do I not think to carrie it by any advantageous surprise , or forcible irruption ; but onely by a free and voluntarie yeelding , which you may easily perform , without any derogation to your Honour and Valour . And seeing now my speech is to a Souldier , give me leave in that little that I have to speak , to keep the same dialect . Forasmuch as I am now to expose my self to a World of Enemies , I thought it fit to marshall these my lines after a warlike order . I have prefixed the approbations of my judicious in the front of this Book , to be as it were a Vantguard . Then followes in the middle my own Poem , which I account as the Main ; and upon this I do most of all relie . Then I have reserved in the last place some few Elegiack Verses ; which because they have alreadie past the Pikes of sharpest censures , and come off cleare in the judgement of the world , I make them my last refuge , and have placed them ( as you may see ) in the Rear . In this order I stand readie to receive the assaults of envious Carpers , and curious Criticks . I do not stand in any fear of your Honourable acceptation , and gracious interpretation of these my labours . The name and subject of my Book , which is GVSTAVVS Battels , is enough to assure me from all doubts & suspicions . Seeing you have not thought much to spend your best bloud in defence of his cause , I cannot think you will be backward to patronize the memorie of his Name .

The unfeigned Admirer of your Heroick Vertues , JOHN RUSSELL .

To the Candid Reader .

LEst any Cynicall Critick should compare my book to the Town of Mindas , which being but a small Citie , was notwithstanding beautified with stately gates ; I am in this respect forced to Apologize for my self , and my learned Friends , who have adorned this small volume of mine with their ample Approbations . Know then , Courteous Reader , that I could not subtract these Encomiasticks , without apparent wrong to the subject of my Book : for you shall finde that they have imitated that cunning Engraver , who had with such art inwrought his own Image with the Image of Minerva , that they could not be separated without defacing of both : so have my Friends here interwoven my most undeserving Name with the sublime praises of GUSTAVUS , that the one cannot be separated from the other , without manifest disfiguring of the Poem . Besides , there are some that are more delighted with brief & concise Epitomes , then with larger Treatises : these Verses which I have premised , seem to have contracted that which I have more amply handled , the Honour and Praise of GUSTAVUS the Great . And to conclude , that which these Criticks would fain make an argument of arrogance and ostentation , seems to me a perspicuous testimonie of my timorousnesse and modestie , in that I dare not enter into the world , without so many to guard me and usher me the way . Farewell .

J. R.

TO HIS FRIEND THE AVTHOVR , IN DEFENCE OF HIS Heroick Poem . WHat wilt thou answer , Poet , for this wrong , To make a King thy Subject and thy Song ; A King , whose Fame and long-liv'd actions scarce Can be contain'd in measure of a verse ? O inconsiderate Muse ! Of him is 't fit That every budget brain and common wit Should write a farthing Pamphlet ? Every one At 's death can have a verse in brasse and stone . Thus will censorious Criticks talk , and those That th' Empire claim of Poetrie and Prose . Yet care not . Once GVSTAVVS was a scoffe , And Tinker call'd ; at last came bravely off : He clipt the Eagles wings , and took from thence A quill for thee , Fabritius : art thou since Silent ? Go , take thy pen , grave Doctour , write : Thy Muse methinks this Poem might excite . J. PULLEN , Fellow of Magd. Coll.

TO HIS FRIEND THE AVTHOVR of this Heroick Poem . I Nothing finde unhappie in thy Book , But ( what 's not thine ) the subject . When I look Upon thy Muse , and finde it full of bloud , Yet I conclude thy Vein is sound and good , And shall live long by that which is not thine , But lively represented in thy line . That Hero's death thou dost with life declare , And in that which thou giv'st thou 'lt surely share . R. BULKLEY , Fellow of S. Johns Coll.

To my Friend Master RUSSELL , upon this ensuing Poem of the King of Swedens Battels . 'T Was a Proud Greek , whose vast Ambition Pin'd for new Worlds , who vow'd his Counterfeit Should be pourtraid on pain of death by none , But best Apelles . Pride surnam'd him Great . And 't was a prouder Tuscan , misemployd His dying thoughts about his Elegie ; Charging his Marble might be rather void , Then not adorn'd by Prince of Poetrie . Thus did not Sweden taint his greatnesse : He Suffers all Prose , or Verse . Nor doth his Shade Disturb , but help the Artist . Deitie Accepts an offring from the meanest trade . Friend , thy first-fruits are sacred . GVSTAVES Name Is then ( O Muses ) more authenticall . Nor shall 't be Heresie in verse to claim Aid from live Names , and still Imperiall . He shall preserve thy Papers , and vent more Then an enlarg'd Edition . His Name Shall be thy Title too , and fill the doore Of the rich Shop it lies in ; like the Frame Of some rare Frontispice , with neat device Tying unto it the Spectatours eyes . So both in equall tye are excellent ; Thy Book 's His Elegie , He its Monument . WHat loose Prose could not pay to Swedens Herse , Thou hast discharg'd in thy Heroick Verse , Th' Intelligencers Feet , on which he 'l runne Now round the world , like a surveying Sunne . 'T was greater art to chuse thy Theme , then write Some Poems . But to pen it in despite Of others grief , or silence , argues Love Great as thy Art . And if the People prove Thy hand hath rudely op't a publick wound Newly clos'd up ; the Magistrate's not bound ( As Athens mulcted Phrenicus ) to be Their Censor , and to fine thy Historie . No : Let us know , our Guilt that Matchlesse Man , Whose Dirge thou sing'st , hath murdred . Nay , I can , And dare tell how too : 'T was the fond excesse Of our big thoughts decreas'd his Happinesse ; Whose modest Soul we vext with restlesse crie Of love pretended , Proud Idolatrie . His purer Breast divin'd asmuch , while we Mad men still tempted him with Prophesie . Oh! had this Frenzie rested in the heart Onely of us the People , little Art Might frame a Plea . But our great Rabbins too , ( Oh Learning , what huge mischiefs mayst thou do , Seduc'd by Pride and Flatt'rie ! ) nay , those Brains That wear the Sacred Cappe , through all their veins Descri'd infected bloud , whose tainted streams Danger'd the Nations , whil'st noisome steams Exhal'd as high as Heav'n . That starrie Sphere , Stranger to vapours , could not now be cleare . Egypt examin'd Starres , and father'd lies On their pure Substances : all Mysteries Are pri'd into , and stretcht . The Chiliast Takes sev'rall shapes ; now poses us in vast Contemplative just nothings , and then slips Into a Cassock , picks th' Apocalyps , And showes us Wonders , which poore I dare swear His fleering heart well knew were never there . The unclaspt Book was read , the Signes unseal'd , The Trumpets , Phials , and the Beast reveal'd : The Pope and Cesar slain outright , and all By GVSTAVE , and by Heav'n . This was his fall . The Sinne was ours ; the troubled Vertue his . So Evil hasted Goodnesse to her blisse . Now th' An'grams blush : and had not Pirrhus art Excus'd the letter , when the Authours heart Glow'd with a lie ; by this time Levi had , Like Iss'chars asse , coucht under 's burden , glad , Though strong , to be releas'd . Let this suffice , We all confesse we slew him , and our eyes Shall testifie our sorrows . LYPSICH may , And LUTZEN tell his Life some half the way : What we confesse , tells all ; perfects the Storie More then the Annals of his living Glorie . Oh! this Confession well-penn'd would be His Chronicle , his Tombe , his Elegie . T. RILEY , Fellow of Trin. Coll.

TO THE AVTHOVR OF this ensuing Poem , Master RUSSELL . HOw dares thy mortall Fancie undertake A Theme Divine , unlesse for Vertues sake ? The Germane Eagle , to advance thy skill In praising Swethland , lends a conqu'red quill . Yet when thy Self and loftie Bird have done , Neither are able to behold this Sunne . Go strive to write , and cast away thy pen : Repent thy self , and take it up agen . Sometimes thy self , and sometimes Swethland blame : And midst thy praises check his glorious Name . Tell valiant Swethland , if thy Eagle brings A flight too low , his Greatnesse clipt her wings . CAESAR WILLIAMSON , Fellow of Trinit. Colledge .

To his ingenious Friend Master RUSSELL , upon his Heroick Poem . LEt those soft Poets , who have dipt their brains In am'rous humours , thaw to looser strains . Let Cupid be their theme , and let them pay Service to Venus in a wanton lay : And let these Rhymers of our silken Age Unlade their Fancies on an emptie page . Mars is thy theme ; thy Muse hath learn'd to talk The Cannon-language of the Warre , and walk A loftie March ; while thy faint readers dread And tremble at each syllable they reade . Leade on , Stout Poet , in thy Martiall state ; And let these Pages on GVSTAVVS wait , Armed with verse of proof : and those that aim To wound thy Muse , or print upon thy Name Their darts of malice , in their full pursuit , Charm'd like those stones thrown at the Thracian Lute , May they forget their message , and in fierce Career dance at the musick of thy verse . And if those eyes , with pois'ned flame that shine Like Basilisks , shed poison on a line , To blot a syllable that sounds the least GVSTAVVS Warre , Jove turn them to that Beast . Then rest GVSTAVVS : do not change thy room Within this Book , for any marble tombe . Each line 's a golden chain to hoise thee farre 'Bove Fate : then blaze as fastned to a starre : And for these Leaves presented thee , a bough Of Laurell shall adorn the Poets brow . JOHN SALTMARSH , Magd. Coll.

To his friend the AUTHOUR . INgenious friend , that dost so bravely sing The conquests of the Swethes Victorious King ; Who by thy thundring lines dost seem to follow Aswell the tents of Mars , as of Apollo ; And in depainting of a bloudie fight Dost intermingle Terrour with Delight : Though I could tell thee that thy verses worth Abundantly will gild and set them forth ; Although I might ( without base flatterie ) say Thy forehead doth deserve a wreathe or Bay ; Yet I forbear : thy modestie is such , I dare not praise , at least , not praise thee much . Indeed what need'st thou my too slender praise , To usher thy so sweetly-soaring layes Into the world ; since that the very name GUSTAVUS will more highly grace the same , Then if the rarest Laureats choisest quill To pen thy praise should shew its utmost skill ? How richly is thy work rewarded ! See! Thou mak'st GUSTAVUS live , GUSTAVUS thee : And by thy loftie Muse I know not now Whether shall more be honour'd , he or thou . Sweds Great * * Anagram of GUSTAVUS AVGVSTVS ! Oh how could I dwell Upon that Name ! How often could I spell Its every sacred syllable ; and when I 've done 't a thousand times , begin agen ! That Name who honours not , Oh may he be O'rewhelm'd with never-dying infamie ! His blessed Memorie who adoreth not , Oh may he be eternally forgot ! Thy book , my friend ( if I do not mistake ) Will please and sell for Great GUSTAVUS sake . STEPHEN JONES , of S. Johns Coll.

THE BATTELL OF LYPSICH . HAve you not heard the ever-restlesse Ocean Beat on the shore with waves continuall motion , Which fill our eares with sad and murm'ring tones ; Just like the dolefull sighs and hollow grones Of thousands , that together have conjoyn'd T' expresse the sorrows of a wounded minde , For some disastrous Fate ; perhaps the death Of some deare Prince , untimely reav'd of breath ? They fill the troubled aire with confuse cries , Which are resounded by the trembling skies ; Which these sad tunes so often do repeat , That now the woodie Choristers forget Their wonted strains , and either stand as mute , Or to these notes their warbling voices suit , The willing aire instructing to expresse To humane eares soul-moving heavinesse . Sweet Philomel now thinks upon her rape And former wrongs ; that she may fitly shape A tune of lively sorrow , and make known The grief of others , fully , as her own . Like this was that amazed time , when first Our eares those more then frightfull rumours pierc't , Of great Gustavus dismall Fate ; with whom All then did seem their hopes and hearts t'intombe ; And did expresse in sighs and drouping looks , Sorrow enough t' have fill'd most spatious Books : You might have read , in thought-discov'ring eyes , Volumes of sad and mournfull Elegies : While Fame doth with a thousand tongues resound Such trembling murmures , as our hearts do wound . My fainting Soul , not able to sustain So oft redoubled blowes , nor such dire pain , Sunk to the ground : then over all my limbes A frigid sweat and dewie vapour swimmes : A Death-like sleep clos'd up my eyes ; and I , As one eternally entranc'd , did lie . But then methoughts my Genius did appeare , And words of comfort whispred in mine eare : Then led my airie Spirit by the hand , Through darksome shades , to that Inferior Land And Region , where Vnbodied Souls reside . There what my fancied thoughts to me descri'd , I now prepare unto the World in verse , By favour of the Muses , to rehearse . Those two so bloudie Battels there I view'd , Lypsich and Lutzen , dreadfully renew'd : But now more furious and a greater ire Their bloud-enraged spirits did enfire . Oh that those raptures , which then fill'd my brain , Would burn in my impris'ned Soul again ; That I might so in vivid colours paint Those dreadfull fights , as should make Mortals faint With horrour and amaze , and when they reade My Bloud-besprinkled verse , their hearts should bleed ! Divine Melpomene , whose chiefest glorie Consists in sounding of a Tragick storie ; Fill me with vig'rous heat , and for a while Let thy rapt Furie guide my iron style : Send Virgils Genius to direct my quill , His grave Majestick vein do thou instill ; Or rather Lucans , whose so loftie rhymes Do best befit the Genius of these times . But oh ! what sudden numnesse do I feel To damp my boiling bloud ! and now I reel , As when an Epilepsie doth surprise Some feeble mortall , and his senses ties : Or , when as the Cumean Sibyls breast Some dire Prophetick Spirit hath possest ; She madly rages , struggles all in vain To shake away her Furie-caused pain : She raves , she frets , she storms , and tears her hair , Stamps with her feet , and like a Ghost doth stare : Mean while , within her rage-distracted soul , And troubled thoughts , discording Passions roll . Thus am I rackt , while to my working heart My Phansie doth such jarring thoughts impart . For this to ev'ry Poet is enjoyn'd , That he shall feel in his impressive minde The reall Thoughts and Passions of all those , Whom he in verse presumeth to disclose . Judge what a world of discords circling runne Within my breast , like Atomes in the Sunne , That crosse , and meet , and meet , and crosse agen . So many Passions of so many men , And such repugning thoughts torment my minde , As when two Armies have with furie joyn'd : Rage and Revenge march first , with burning Ire : Dread , Fears , and Terrours make them to retire : Then Shame , and Valour , with malicious Hate , Their reinforced Troups precipitate : They charge them home : these break , and scatt'red flie Unto their main Battalia , which stood nigh . Here dire Despair was ranged , double-rankt With Furie , and with Rashnesse strongly flankt . These and a thousand more oppugning Phansies Phebus in my enraged breast advances . Faint not , my Muse , but with a fearelesse pace March through the midst of Furies , and out-face Armies of Terrours , vengefull Wrath , and Ire , Affrightfull Death , devouring Sword , and Fire . Shrink not at all to heare the hellish jawes Of thundring Cannons roar with hideous noise , Mixt with a thousand shot , that roughly teare The tender welkin , and affright the eare . Let not their clam'rous shouts and confuse cries , Which seem to wound the aire , and pierce the skies , Move thee at all : Let not the yelling noise Of some half-murdred wights make thee to pause , Or draw remorsefull pitie from thy heart : Be like a Rock of stone ; shrink not , nor start : Be as regardlesse of their shrieks and grones , As they themselves have been to others mones . If to such tender thoughts thou yeeld'st , my Muse , Thy Martiall Furie thou wilt quickly lose ; And none , but fearfull Mothers , then will praise Thy soft-strain'd verse , and heart-relenting layes . But now a little breathe , my Muse , and heare The plaints of others , sounded to thy eare . The Nymph Germania doth her self present , With face disfigur'd , and with robes all rent , And sprinkled o're with bloud : her golden locks She tears , and furiously her breast she knocks ; Then wrings her hands , lifts up her woe-sick eyes : And thus at last to the unpitying skies She speaks , Oh heav'ns , how long , how long shall we The onely subject of your vengeance be ; Plagu'd with continuall warre , dire cruelties , A thousand slaughters , and calamities ; While miscreant Ethnicks , who deride thy power , Are undisturb'd , and flourish to this houre ? The cursed Pagans laugh , when they behold How many miseries on us are roll'd . The barb'rous Turk insults with spitefull scorn , To see us Christians by our selves so torn ; And on our bodies those deep wounds to bear , Which he so much from us himself did fear ; To see our Forces by our selves o'return'd , Which having joyn'd , might easily have spurn'd Him , and his Vassall Kings ; and once again , Like their dire Scourge , resistlesse Tamerlane , Have hew'd their Armies , as a field of corn , Which is by reaping sickles quickly shorn : And then their Sultan , in an Iron grate Shut , like some monstrous Beast , should curse his Fate , And rail upon his Grand-Impostour-Prophet , That vagabond Arabian , Mahomet : Then , if courage serv'd him , valiantly He might dash out his wretched brains , and die . Then Stampoldam ( now his Imperiall seat , That over-looks the World ) with flaming heat Enkindled once , should send such direfull smoke , As should these Infidels for ever choak : Then in black clouds enwrapt , the fumes should whirle them , And Devils to the lowest hell should hurle them . And thou bloud-sucking Tartar , who of late Proffredst thine aid , my wounds to aggravate ; But wert rejected by that pow'rfull King , Who his Commission from the Heav'ns did bring , To scourge me for the sinnes of me and mine : Dost thou rejoyce to see the Pow'rs Divine Inflict such rig'rous Justice on my Soil , Whose very bowels now with torments broil , And raging Warre ; like the Sicylian Hill , Whose vaulted caverns sulph'rie flames do fill ? Thou cursed Rover , who dost spend thy dayes In wandring up and down a thousand wayes ; Whose cold and barren Climate fears no Warre , Not worth the sword of any Conquerer : Cease for to triumph o're my wofull state ; Lest at my pray'rs the Heav'ns precipitate A vengeance on thy head , shall equallise Warres bloudie mischief and dire cruelties ; The dreadfull Pestilence , whose pois'nous blast Into the grave thousands at once shall cast ; Or pinching Famine , whose long lingring stroke Shall by degrees the vitall spirits choak ; Or , what thou fearest most , some rig'rous frost Shall seise upon thy coldly-sited coast , And freez the very aire , that want of breath May make you yeeld unto unsparing Death . But why disturb I thus my wretched heart , By wishing unto others such like smart As I now feel ? Would this give ease to me , Or any whit abate my miserie ? It would . Oh that the All-wise Providence Would on these Miscreants such like plagues dispense ; That they might roar with their calamities , And with their louder clamours drown the cries Of my distressed children , whose sad mones Do wound my heart , and pierce the very stones ! How many thousand Mothers at this time , Within the limits of my wretched clime , Weep without ceasing , and with shrillest notes And bitter exclamations tear their throats ! How many tender Widows curse their Fates , By raging Warre robb'd of their dearest Mates ! How many aged Fathers lift their eyes Drown'd o're with tears , to the unpitying skies , Admiring that the fulgent Sunne displayes On their so wretched Land his cheerfull rayes ! Is there no pitie in the heav'ns at all ? Cannot the grief of Mortals once appall You Spirits divine , that 'bove us do reside , And the rapt Spheres do in their courses guide ? They wonder that the rolling starres still shine , And never at their torments do repine . If their dire imprecations might prevail , They would have had them muffled in a vail Of mournfull hue , and in a pitchie cloud Swoln bigge with tears their heav'nly lustre shroud ; That with their hearts the whole earth might agree , And once again a confus'd Chaos be . Who can these blame that thus excessive mone , Who have been spoiled of more lives then one ; That in so short a time ( alas ! ) have lost That which so many cares and yeares hath cost ? Cease , cease , my Children : your so wofull crie Will make my swelling heart in sunder flie . Who can endure such shrieks as pierce my eares ? Who can , unmoved , view such flouds of teares ? I dare not upward lift my fainting eyes , Lest they descrie new woes , new miseries : For wheresoe're I turn me to behold , My cities are in flames and smoke enroll'd . Huge heaps of Ruines , Warres dire Monuments , Cruell Bellona every where presents . All this great mischief and disastrous woe From Rome , as from a pois'nous spring , doth flow . And thou , proud Frier , whose ambitiousnesse A Triple Diadem can scarce depresse ; Thrice cursed be thy deadly pride , that thus With warres and ruines hast o'rewhelmed us . Most flintie-breasted Tigre , that canst brook , With heart unpitying , and unmoved look , To see so many at thy feet to die , And fall lower then hell , to keep thee high ! To see so many Nations choisest flowers Cut down by sudden death , in so few houres ! And all this will not move thee to relent , Nor winne thee to revoke thy proud intent . Thy Predecessours Christians could enflame With courage , to a warre of better fame : 'Gainst Saracens t' advance their warlike bands , And to reconquer from those Pagans hands Captiv'd Judea , and the Diadem Of weeping and forlorn Jerusalem . Surely these Infidels accursed Tribe Do covertly with some rich presents bribe Thy avarice , that by thy devilish art Our Christian unitie thou mightst dispart . Time will descrie the truth , and Heav'ns just Power Will on thy head ( I hope ) just vengeance showre . Here , with a sigh , as if her soul were prest To flie away , her mournfull speech she ceas'd . Then did I turn mine eyes about , to see Whose part was next in this sad Tragedie . LYPSICH , that fatall town , did then appeare , Whose walls & tow'rs trembled , methoughts , with fear , As if some aguish earthquake now did strive Her very bowels piece-meal for to rive . Surely there was just cause of horrid fear , So many Furies being now so neare , Who threatned had to trample under feet All that their armed Rage could finde or meet . Upon a spatious plain , that did present Unto the eye a smooth and large extent , Two Armies stood , marshall'd in fair aray , Their waving Colours to the winde display : Their well-contrived Ranks yet even were , Their Files compleatly straight , their Battels square : Their equall spears , their weapons glistring bright Did yeeld , methoughts , a dreadfull-pleasing sight . Here the Renowned Great GVSTAVVS stands , Strongly environ'd with those warlike Bands , Which the cold Region of the North had sent , And unto them such hardned bodies lent , As , like the roughnesse of their native Soil , Cannot be broken with laborious toil . The big-bon'd Lappians , who with nimble pace The swiftest and the wildest beasts can chase : Whose precious skinnes and furres of richest price They send abroad for rarest merchandise . The Finlanders were there , who , clad in buffe , Did think their sturdie limbes arm'd proof enough : Better to wound their foes they were prepar'd , Then to defend , or stand upon their guard . The warlike Goths , once of renowned Fame , Whose Ancestours with fire and sword did tame Great Rome it self , and her usurped crown Snatcht from her head , and proudly trampled down ; Making her fields to drink the bloud that flow'd From her own children , who in heaps were strow'd Upon the crimson-stained ground . Their steel The sunne-burnt Spaniards too did deadly feel : Within whose barren and scorcht Territorie , There still remain some Ensignes of their glorie . Here were they now , and seemed to reclaim Their Predecessours long-obscured Fame . And here were troups of Vandals seen , that made The Ancient World ev'n of their Name afraid ; And had as many Kingdomes over-runne Almost , as doth the all-incircling Sunne . Those that inhabit neare the Dofrine Hills , From whose cold tops the snow continuall drills , Had to this Battell sent an armed Troup , That scorn'd at dangers once to shrink or stoup . The duskie-colour'd Swethes stood next their King , Who now had made their wondred Name to ring Through farthest Regions , which so long a time Had seem'd congealed with their frozen clime . Here likewise might you other Nations finde , Drawn by the vigour of a Martiall minde : Irish , French , English , and the hardie Scot , Whose noted valour ne're will be forgot . There likewise were the German-Saxons seen , Who heretofore asmuch renown'd had been , As th' ancient Goths , or the advent'rous Gaul , That did so oft the Romane Hosts appall . Such was their number , that ev'n they alone As a full Armie might themselves have shown . Oppos'd to these , an Armie as compleat For fair proportion , and full out as great , Presents its dreadfull Front , that seem'd to breathe Nought lesse then ruines , wounds , and speedie death . Tillie , whom long experience in the warre Had often taught to be a Conquerer , Did range these Troups ; and , as he thought , so right , And in so firm a posture , that they might With ease o'recome their undervalu'd Foes , Who now were marching on to meet their blowes . 'T was vain with long orations to delay Their burning courage , which could brook no stay . Like two vast Woods , whose waving tops do dance With gentle windes , these mightie Hosts advance . The very lustre that their arms did cast , Would have a coward kill'd with lightning blast : But to a Souldiers eye not any fight Could be presented , that would more delight His loftie sprite . And look how Sols bright beams , By art redoubled , kindle burning streams : So the refracted rayes of fulgent steel Make Souldiers hearts new burning courage feel . Scarce can the fierie Steeds endure the ground , Now that they heare the echoing Trumpet sound : They champ their curbing bits , and proudly neigh , Vext that their masters do their Furie stay . The Footmen fain would double their slow pace , But that they fear their order to displace . Now is the Signall given : with a shout As loud as thunder , all the warlike Rout Do make the aire and fields adjacent ring . Then to a charged Cannon Swethlands King Gave fire : straight doth the swift-wing'd bullet flie Unto their foes with a rough Embassie ; And in so high a tone delivers it , As might so great a King as him befit ; Speaking like awfull thunder , whose dread sound Our eares amazes , and our hearts doth wound . To second this , were other bullets sent From fired Cannons , that so rudely rent The first front of their Battell , that you might See their fair order now dismangled quite : And like a confus'd heap it doth appeare , Till resuppli'd by the advancing Rear . Th' Imperials are not slack , but roundly they With answ'ring shot their former losse repay : A Rank of Cannons , all at once enfir'd , Did presently attain their mark desir'd . The angrie Swethes their hellish furie feel , Whose rough encounter made them more then reel ; It makes a spatious breach , and the weak wall Of bodies batt'red piece-meal now doth fall In ruin'd heaps , and with a crimson juice , That like a torrent flow'd , the ground embrews . Help me , my tragick Muse , infuse new strains , And re-infire my quite amazed Brains . Methinks I feel my vigour to relent , Stricken with horrour and astonishment , To think upon those direfull slaughters , when Those hellish Engines did so many men Dismangle in a trice , and with a blast Their noble souls from their stout bodies cast . Here a brave Captain , as he fairly stands , With words encouraging his warlike Bands , His head snatcht off among them flies , and there Speaks in a language now of dread and fear . Here , as another waves his sword on high , To dare his foe , a fierie Ball doth flie Full in his face , and makes him with a dash With his own sword himself in sunder slash . There stood another , who enrag'd did breathe Against his Foes revengefull threats of death : But as his words yet in the aire did flie , A double Cannon makes a loud replie , And with a greater anger farre did strive His words again into his throat to drive : What he in vain had threatned to his Foes , Makes his own Souldiers feel by reverst blowes : His shiv'red skull and arms all shatt'red flew Backward , and some that stood too neare him slew . Here one , whom some great shot affrighted , shrunk ; But all in vain : upon his armed trunk The swift-wing'd Bullet lights ; and from his heart , With fear and wounds , his soul at once doth start . A rank of Brothers and neare friends here stood , Never more true then now alli'd in bloud , Rent by the furie of two Culverings , That arms from shoulders , heads from bodies flings ; Then altogether mixt them in a Masse , And with their Limbes strowes the discolour'd grasse . Some Demicannons 'mong a troup of Horse Did likewise shew their cruel murd'ring force . Their Iron Cuirace was of small avail : Corslets of Steel and Coats of well-wrought Mail Could not divert the furie of such strokes , As would have stricken down the tallest oaks , That in the Caledonian woods are found , Or spread their roots in the Hercinian ground . Some Riders wounded are , while th' untoucht Horse , Feeling his reins now slack , with all his force Kicks , flings , and starts untill his Master reels ; Then , most ingratefull , spurns him with his heels . Sometime the terrour of the shot doth light Upon the Horse ; the Rider scapes not quite : For though the bullet spare him , yet his Steed Ne're rests , till of his troubling burden freed : Then casts him on the clotted sand , and straight Beginning for to sink , with all his weight , O're him that erst he bore he now falls over , And him that rid him once he now doth cover : To him his back afforded once a room , And now his bodie makes for him a tombe . Brave Sp'rits , but too ( alas ! ) unfortunate , How doth my Muse lament your unfit Fate , Snatcht by those dev'lish Engines fierie force , That murders without mercie or remorse ; That cut you off at one disastrous blow , Ere that you could your fearlesse faces show Unto your Enemies , and make them feel Some mortall strokes from your sharp-edged steel ! Curst be that Hell-sprung wit , that did devise This fierie Engine , whose dire Batteries Scorn all resisting force that can be tri'd , And most approved valour do deride ; That humane bodies rend like fields of corn , Which by the cutting sithe are quickly shorn ; Not so content , but all-dismangled dash them , And in a thousand confus'd pieces pash them : Here making one , with his disshatt'red Head His best and dearest friend to strike stark dead . Renowned Archimede of Syracuse , Who by an Engine of thine own didst bruise Thousands of foes at once ; when from a Tower Whole loads of stones upon their heads did showre : Thy rare invention now may seem a toy , Compar'd with this , which doth farre more destroy At further distance ; and , like dreadfull thunder , Hath often killed some with fear and wonder . But thee posteritie shall ever praise , Because thy new device thou didst not blaze To after-times ; but didst at first intend That with thy life the same should have an end . But now against that more then hated Name , From whom this sulphurie invention came , Let ev'ry Age their furie so enlarge , As volleys of dire curses to discharge : Let brimstone burn his odious brains ; let smoke His very memorie for ever choak . By this time did the Armies nearer preasse : The thundring Cannons for a while did cease , And gave permission to th' enraged bands To trie the vigour of their eager hands . Then both at once impetuously do rush , And 'gainst each other feircely counterpush : As when two Seas against each other roam , And break their billowes into spatt'red foam ; Making the aire to tremble , and the shore With dreadfull sounds and frequent Echoes roar : Such was the noise , when these two Hosts did close , And made the aire to ring with strokes and blowes . Now Pistols , Musquets , and Caliver play : Through fire and smoke they finde themselves a way . No shot falls now amisse : in this close fight , The random-guided Bullets surely light , And drench themselves in bloud : no armour here Can stop their force , which is by much too neare . Now forward on the close-rankt Pikes advance With steadie arm , and fearlesse countenance , Shaking their pointed spears , which in the breast Of their encountring foes do quickly rest . Here was true Furie seen and val'rous Spight ; To which if you compare the other fight , It well might seem but Sport , or Play at most : When as the shot at distance doth accoast The unseen Foe , and as it were by chance , Guided at randome , at the mark doth glance : While fierie flashes and thick clouds of smoke Do blinde their eyes , and the pure aire do choak ; Preventing them from seeing of their foe , And who it was that gave their mortall blow . Nor here can any one with shining blade Revenge the death of his slain Camerade : But all their vengefull splene they do at large , And at adventure , in the aire discharge . But 'mong the sturdie Pikes 't was otherwise : Their Furie is directed by their eyes : And at the sight of their enraged foe , Redoubled courage in their hearts did flow . Here were two Captains met ; with pike and targe , Like furious Rammes , they do each other charge ; Till at the last the thorough-piercing steel Made one of them begin to faint and reel : His valour doth outlive his strength ; for so , When now he cannot wound his conqu'ring foe , Forward he falls ; that he may ne're be found To have shrunk back , or yeelded any ground . Then being down , threatnings in vain doth breathe ; Calls on his souldiers to revenge his death : Who , fir'd with shame and rage , with one joynt push The short-surviving Conquerer o'rerush . He falls upon his foe , whom but of late With steadie spear his arm did penetrate . Now with loud shouts and vengefull cries , they rear Their angrie spirits farre above all fear : Full on the points of spears they forward runne : There is not one that wounds or death doth shunne . Now had they rais'd within a little while , Over these Chieftains corps a fun'rall pile Of slaughtred bodies : For it seem'd they meant Their Captains should not want a Monument . Two brave Conductours here brought on their bands , To trie the vigour of their hearts and hands . The valour of their souldiers they excite Not now with words , but with exampled fight . Had you but seen two Bulls in furie meet , Spurning the yellow sand with angrie feet ; And forward then with headlong force to rush , Till that their horns do make the blood to gush From many wounds , and their black-speckled Hide By this be with another colour di'd : Then might you have conjectur'd , with what spight And burning rage these two brave Souldiers fight . This on his sword relies , with it doth hew And nimbly cut the others spear in two . But he as lightly from his side doth snatch A readie pistoll , which did over-match His neare-hand-threatning sword , and in a trice Quite through his breast the fire-sent bullet flies . See! here another with his stretcht-out pike Quite through the bodie of his foe doth strike : But ere he back again the same could pluck , He with another through the heart is struck . And now his vanquisht foe with joyfull eye Beholds his Victour on the ground to lie . There might you see a noble-courag'd Swethe Advance himself without all fear of death : His furious ire made him alone intend To kill and wound , not caring to defend . A big-bon'd Germane meets him at the point , And with their spears they rush so equall joint , That both at once were wounded , both withall Began to sink , and both at once did fall . Not farre from hence you might have seen a crew Of sturdie lads , that thrust , and hack , and hew . An Ensigne they had slain ; but could not yet Into their hands his waving colours get . Oft had they stoupt to take them from the ground : But from their foes such hindrance still they found , Who doubled on their heads such frequent blowes , That look who stoupt , again he never rose . Now was the furie of the fight grown hot , The aire resounded with their frequent shot . Fair Victorie on both their Hosts doth gaze , And doth behold their courage with amaze : Now these observes , then those again beheld ; Knowes not as yet to which her self to yeeld : Like to some novice Virgin , whom a Crew Of am'rous Youths with eager suits pursue ; Her minde from fixing for a while she drawes , And yet delights on ev'ry one to pause ; Denies not any , yeeldeth unto none : To all alike het equall love is shown . Have you not seen a field of yellow wheat , Upon whose tops some gentle windes do beat ? They seem to bend , and backward for a while , Compell'd by force , they orderly recoil : Then reassuming vigour , with a blast They bend themselves forward again in haste : Such was the manner of these warlike Forces , Who seem'd to charge with interchanging courses . Now forward rusht the Swethlanders : anon They back retire : th' Imperialists come on , And with such furie charge them , as if they At that encounter would have wonne the day . But finding good resistance , this their heat Is quickly cool'd , and backward they retreat . The Swethes and Almains now with doubled might Renew the vigour of this bloudie fight ; March o're the bellies of their slaughtred foes , And strictly preasse them with unsparing blowes . But here a Regiment , in this their Rage , Fearing themselves too farre for to engage Among their circling enemies , did sound A fair retreat , and yeeld their conqu'red ground . Thus did the well-experienc'd Swethes , who knew When to retire , and when they might pursue . They did not their rough charges here perform , Like to the rage of some unguided storm ; Or like the furie of an headlesse , rude , Confused , and disord'red multitude : But as one bodie , with so many hands Move all at once , obeying the commands Of one Conductour , who , ev'n as a Soul , These Organs doth direct , guide , and controll . It is not Furie , nor a fearlesse Heart , That winnes the day ; but Valour mixt with Art . This did the Saxons finde , who now begun Disorderly to waver , and to shunne The rage of their approaching foe , who farre Did them excell in discipline of warre ; And had in often combatings and fights Learn'd many Martiall Stratagems and slights . Long did the Saxon Troups stiffely sustain Their rough encounter , and a while maintain The Conquest doubtfull . Their dismangled bands They fill again with other fighting hands ; Advancing forward with a fearlesse face , Each striving to defend his fellows place , Who at his feet did now half-murdred lie , Staining the verdant grasse with crimson die . But still their foes prest on , who too well knew The least advantage gained to pursue . Then did they stagger , and scarce willing are Their shatt'red ranks and order to repair ; But flying back in heaps , by force and fear They break the ranges of their troups in Rear . Words now and threatnings are of small avail : Their Duke himself could not as then prevail With fair entreatings , nor with rough commands , To stay the flight of his disscatt'red bands . Where flie you Cowards ? Think you thus to shunne The slaughtring sword ? You cannot sure out-runne The nimble horse , who now without all trouble Will cut you off , and tread you down like stubble . Turn , turn again ; once more your forces trie : Stand to your arms ; this is the way to flie From threatning dangers . Boldly your breasts oppose , And not your backs to your encountring foes . See! the brave Swethes still fairly stand in range , Nor yet for fear or dread will breake or change . Shall we forsake them , that have come thus farre To undertake for us this dang'rous warre ? The world will brand us with eternall shame , And after-Ages will deride our Name . Fear made them deaf ; and now their Princes words Are drown'd with noise of shot and clatt'ring swords . They flie in heaps and quite disord'red ranks , Like to some floud that hath born down his banks . Tillie rejoycing at so wisht a sight , Beholding half his enemies in flight , Spake thus insulting ; Courage , heartie Blades , My noble Souldiers , and brave Camerades : The day is ours : let these base Cowards flie , And now let us these other squadrons plie ; The sturdie Swethes , whose Kings victorious Name Keeps them from flying , with a forced shame : But charge them home , and with unsparing hands Rush boldly on their now half-stagg'ring Bands . This having said , he , with a sp'rit as high As these his words , among his foes doth flie ; Who him receive with courage nothing lesse , But with a greater ire his rage represse : As when the angrie Ocean with a shock Strives for to break some firmly fixed rock , Which stands unmoved , and his swelling pride And vain-spent Malice seemeth to deride ; Making his waves , which did so rashly roam , To dash themselves into a spatt'red foam : Thus was the Crabats furie broke in sunder , Who fell upon the Swedish troups like thunder . And their brave Gen'rall , who had thought his sight Sufficient was his enemies to fright , Scap'd not unwounded : for the leaden showre Fear'd not at all his mortall-feared Power ; Though it be still unknown , from whose hand came The force that wounded so renown'd a Name . 'T is not a single wound that can restrain Or check his valour ; but enrag'd again With doubled furie , he assails his foes , Who will not yeeld him any thing but blowes . By this time great GVSTAVVS wachfull eye An opportune advantage doth espie To break the squadrons of their ranged Horse , Who charged them so oft with headlong force . A Regiment their stations quickly change , And now stood ord'red in a treble range : The first rank couched on their knees : the next Stood half-way bended : but the third erects His armed trunk upright . Thus as one rank , Were all their musquets levelled point-blank . At both their wings stood troups of readie Horse , Prepar'd to second with a speedie course . Then at a word did all give fire , and powre Among th' enraged Horse a leaden showre , That flew as thick as hail , when Boreas blast Doth from the clouds his frozen treasure cast . Had I an hundred tongues , an Iron heart , And all the help the Muses can impart ; Yet could I not in this my stagg'ring verse The shadow of that slaughter now rehearse : When in the twinkling of an eye did fall So many wounded wights , Horse , Man and all . And that fair Squadron , which so lately stood Like to some thick and closely-ranged wood , Confusedly doth now appeare , and scatt'red . Their order spoil'd , their ranks in sunder shatt'red : As when in Autumne some tempestuous blast From half-dead trees their feeble leaves doth cast , And with another garment then her own The under-sited ground is thickly strown : Thus was the field with bleeding bodies spread , That had been wounded by the piercing lead . But while the rest , fill'd with amaze and wonder , To see th' effects of this so sudden thunder , Knew not which way to turn or bend their faces ; A Regiment of Horse with doubled paces Flie in amongst them ; in their teeth discharge A second volley ; make the breach more large . Then forward on with rage and force they push , And their fear-strucken foes soon over-rush ; Who now had lost all minde and heart to fight , And did betake them to a sudden flight . This their example made their other Bands Begin to faint , and fight with trembling hands . And as their feeble vigour doth decrease , The Swethlanders doth double : on they preasse With greater courage now , then ere before : The ground doth swimme with streams of humane gore . At last , not able for to fill so fast Their slaught'red ranks , as the rough Swethes did waste ; Backward they throng in heaps , disord'red quite , Not willing now nor able for to fight . But while that all tumultuously do strive To scape away , they do the formost drive Headlong before them : over these they stumble , And so the next , and next to them doth tumble . ( Strange for to see ! ) here lay a Souldier dead ; O're whom an heap of living bodies spread . Sure he enjoy'd a farre more noble Tombe , Then those which do th' Egyptian Kings inhume ; The loftie Pyramids , whom loud-tongu'd Fame One of the world 's chief wonders still doth name : Or then that so renowned Sepulchre , Which doth Mausolus Kingly bones interre . All these were cov'red with dead marble stones : But here is one intomb'd with living bones . The fiery steeds , that never mercie knew , Proudly themselves in spatt'red bloud embrew . Here 'gainst a sprawling bodie one doth spurn , And from his former wounds makes bloud return . Another there a living head doth crush , And from the same makes bloud and brains to gush . Meanwhile their masters with unsparing hands , Now none resist , murder at once whole Bands . And where the sword doth fail , the trampling horse Quickly dispatches with an headlong course . The former slaughter of this bloudie day , Compar'd with this , might seem Bellona's play . The Sunne no longer could endure this sight , But in compassion did withdraw his light : And that he might their further rage prevent , With speedie wings the welcome Night he sent ; Who , muffled in a vail of sable hue , Quite o're the heads of these fierce Victours flew ; And then before them casteth such a mist , As made their hands and vengefull Heat desist . So a fierce Lion , a Getulian Swain ( If antique stories do not misse , or feigne ) Did with his garment muffle o're the head ; Then this so furious Beast did stand as dead : Stirres not one jot ; but , as amazed quite , Loses his cruell furie with his sight : And while that he thus strangely seems to pause , The fearfull Swain scapes his devouring jawes .

THE BATTELL OF LVTZEN . THe hel-born Furies , who delight in bloud , And had of late swumme in a purple floud , Which not at all their vengefull thirst abates , Do now again invoke the Pow'rfull Fates To hasten forward such another day , Where they in midst of fire and smoke might play ; And with their pois'nous breath and fierie brands Inflame GVSTAVVS and th' Imperiall Bands . The All-disposing Providence above , Whose presence makes the trembling heav'ns to move , Doth yeeld to these infernall Hagges desire . Let none presume a reason to require : It was his will ; let that alone suffice : And sure 't was just ; though that the feeble eyes Of our dimme mortall judgement never can With punctuall knowledge heav'nly actions scanne . Weep , mournfull Germanie ; For once again Thy childrens bloud thy wretched fields must stain : And to augment thy losse , that Pow'rfull King , Who hopes of peace and victorie did bring , Must there receive his mortall wound , with whom Shall thousands more receive their Fatall doom . Thy freedome , which thou hast so long time sought , Must with more streams of humane bloud be bought . Oh happie England , who wilt scarce confesse , Drunk with securitie , thy happinesse ; That dost enjoy such Quietnesse , such Ease , Such calme Tranquillitie , and blessed Peace ; And that not purchas'd by laborious Toil , By fire , and sword , by ruine , and by spoil ; Nor by the losse of thy choice Youth , whose Fate Thou wouldst not fear 'gainst Heav'n t' expostulate : But it hath cost thee nothing : for behold , On thee th' Almightie hath his blessings roll'd , Without all labour or desert of thine , Meerly by instinct of his love divine ; And hath enricht thee with a gracious King , At whose blest Birth Angels of peace did sing : Oh look upon thy neighbour Germanie , Drown'd with a floud of tears and miserie ; Whose towns are ruin'd , and whose Cities burn , Whose fields do flow with bloud , whose people mourn ▪ Think but on this all you that cannot weep , Who in the arms of happie Peace do sleep . Is' t irksome to your eares ? Your tender Heart At these molesting sounds ( methinks ) doth start : From Warres and Woes y' have been so long secure , That now you cannot their rough Name endure . Are you become like to the Sybarite , Whose soft'ned spirit , sottish appetite Could no harsh noise endure , nor that shrill sound , That doth from hamm'red Steel and Brasse rebound ? And therefore such Artificers as those , That did molest their eares with clatt'ring blowes , By a preventing law they did compell Farre off in some obscurer place to dwell . Shall these my verses , that with clatt'ring ding The strokes of Warre and furious Rage do sing , Displease our British eares , who are of late ( It seems ) grown tender and effeminate ? Your Amorettoes think them farre too rough , Not smooth , nor pleasing , nor half low enough : They cannot screw them any wayes to suit Or consort with their sweet-tun'd warbling Lute : They are too loftie for a Womans voice , And drown all sweetnesse with a ratling noise . Some hollow-sounding Drumme , or Trumpet shrill , Or thundring Cannons , that the eare do fill With frightfull sounds , fit Instruments would be To Echo forth my lines melodiously . The smaller shot shall serve for repetition , While clatt'ring swords shall represent division : And the more Discords that my verses show , The better Harmonie from thence will flow . Then cheerfully my loftie Muse proceed : There will be some that will thy verses reade ; Such gen'rous spirits , in whose manly breasts An ardent love of Fame and Honour rests ; Who still retain some sparks of that desire , Which did their Ancestours brave hearts enfire , When they did make Pagans and Cypriots feel The direfull force of their resistlesse steel : Or when so often , to their lasting glorie , They did o're-runne the Gallick Territorie ; Or when the Worlds Disturber they did tame , Who Europes Monarchie alone doth claim : Such men as these will farre above thy merit Approve thy lines , applaud thy loftie spirit , That thus hast chosen with industrious brains To shew thy vigour in Heroick strains ; And not in soft-tun'd Ditties , or such layes As Ladies onely and their servants praise . The Sunne had finisht now his annuall Race , Since Fatall Lypsich with a mournfull face Beheld GVSTAVVS , and his warlike Force Her fertile plains die with a bloudie sourse ; Which scarce as yet fully exhaust appeares , And scarce had Lypsich wip'd away her tears , When lo , not farre , upon a neighb'ring plain Bellona sounds her dreadfull trump again : And Lutzen is appointed for the stage , Where Mars intends to act a second Rage ; Lutzen , that Fatall Town , whose very sound I feel my grief-disturbed heart to wound . There Great GVSTAVVS , so renown'd , became ( Dire alteration ! ) onely now a Name ; Once of such power , that his conqu'ring hands Could tame stout Nations , and subdue their Bands . CESAR himself would blush , and never dare His Conquests with GVSTAVVS to compare . For had he liv'd to see what skilfull hands And valiant hearts are in the Germane Lands , Who go not naked now , but clad in steel , And will not easily be made to reel ; Sure he had startled , and his conqu'ring course Had been prevented by a stronger force . Let not black Envie then presume or dare GVSTAVVS worthie glorie to empair , Who conqu'red had in such a narrow time So many Lands , in such a warlike Clime . Let the Proud Spaniard to his lasting shame His many Conquests of the Indians name : And let him boast , how many Millions too Of unresisting People there he slew ; While a few Belgian Merchants in despight Of all his Pride , Ambition , Pow'r , and Might , Will not be tamed , nor be made to yeeld , But still affront his Armies in the field ; Having no Kingdome , but a narrow State ; Yet his Imperiall Greatnesse Check and Mate . What Honour then belongs to Swethlands King , Who to subjection could such Nations bring , That had been so inured unto Warres , And ever exercis'd in bloudie Jarres ! Had Mars himself , attended with a Band Of dreadfull Furies , entred in their Land ; They would have met him with a fearlesse heart , Nor should his Name or Pow'r have made them start . But whither takes my roving Muse her flight ? I must not here a Panegyrick write , Nor spend my self in such admiring laies , As sound nought else but Great GUSTAVUS praise . A Battell is my scope , so dire , so fierce , That my sad Muse doth tremble to rehearse ; And seeks an hundred slights , a while to stay The black recitall of this bloudie day : Like to some tim'rous Hart , that from the crie Of Hounds and Huntsmen hastily doth flie : Now here , now there he turns ; then back again Breaks through the woods , scuds o're the spatious plain , And tries a thousand shifts , ere at the last Himself on hazard of a fight he 'l cast . Thus my slow Muse digressions doth premise , And large preambles ( as you see ) devise ; Onely to stay a while , ere she recite The sad narration of black Lutzens fight . Swethlands Heroick King his Martiall train Neare Naumburg Citie spreads upon a plain : Of fighting yet no hopes there did appeare : His purpose onely was to march more neare , And joyn his Forces with the Saxon Bands ; That so the surer with united hands They might to all their foes attempts replie , And not be forc'd coy Fortunes grace to trie . 'T is found too deer a bargain in these dayes , By valour onely for to purchase praise . He 's valiant now , that winnes the Victorie , Be it by Number , Slight , or Subteltie , By Stratagem , by Cunning , or by Skill , By Courage , Furie , or by what you will . And sure 't is vain for an Heroick Breast , That will not but on equall terms contest ; That scorns advantages to seek , or take , But would that Valour should him Victour make ; While that his subtil foe doth sliely watch All proff'red opportunities to catch , And thinks it no disgracefull cowardize , To wound or kill him as he sleeping lies . Might Valour of it self alone suffice To winne the day in ev'ry enterprise , The noble Swethes with Great GVSTAVVS Name Would like the Macedons the whole world tame . Think it no wonder , that their Mightie King , Whose presence onely oft did conquests bring , Should notwithstanding , like to one afraid , Expect , and wish , and seek for further aid . It was not fear , but Martiall Policie , That made him thus to others help complie . Had he been ever thus , and ne're transcended , This temp'rate Vertue had him safe defended : He might have liv'd and flourisht to this houre , And still should Rome have feared Swethlands Power . But 't is a wonder that he could so rule His burning Sp'rit , and it so often cool By mod'rate counsell , checking Policie . Admire who will that he so soon did die : My sorrow-strucken Muse admireth more That he so vent'rous was not slain before . As now he marches with his valiant Bands , Some stragling Pris'ners fell into his hands , Who did ascertain him , that not one Foe Did of their march and neare approaching know : Not farre off Wall'nstein with th' Imperiall Host , Securely lay enquartred in that coast , Not once supposing that his Enemie Was in the field , or now had marcht so nigh . When Swethlands King heard this intelligence , Rapt with exceeding joy , his first pretence He changes , now resolves without more aid His foes thus unexpecting to invade : Then to his Captains shews his new intent , Who to his high designe gave soon consent . Onely Knipphausen a stout Colonell , And long experienc'd , lik'd it not so well : And sure he did his judgement strictly joyn Unto the rules of modern discipline . The course of Warre is like a game at Dice ; Where Skill with doubtfull Fortune mixed lies . It is the scope of cunning Management , Fortunes deceitfull hazards to prevent ; And ne're to her blinde Favour once to stand , But when compelling accidents command . They that renouncing skill commit their game To unknown Chance , deserve to lose the same . This fickle Goddesse , that the world so fears With doubtfull hazards , ne're more blinde appeares , Then when in Warlike actions and in fight She doth expresse her over-ruling Might . Skill joynd with Valour , and a Pow'rfull Host Can but the conquest promise at the most . The Victorie is never sure till wonne ; And none can triumph till the fight be done . The wisest Captains in these modern dayes Do seek to winne the conquest by delaies . 'T is no disgracefull Cowardize to stand ( Though uncompell'd ) on the defensive hand . It is the surest course and safest held , To shunne a Battell , but to keep the field . They that can best prevent their furious foes , Shall winne the Conquest without stroke or blowes . My noble Prince , this is my free advice : But if your Royall will shall enterprise Some more sublime designe , my heart and hand Shall readily obey your just command ; And I would rush alone through midst of Foes , Though that a thousand deaths should counterpose . Thus grave Knipphausen spake with stayed look , And minde unmoved . But the fierie Duke , Bernard of Saxon Weimar , who could ne're Endure the shadow of a seeming fear ; Whose burning courage could not brook delayes , His resolution in such words displayes ; Now is the wished time , th' expected houre Yeelded to us by Heav'ns disposing Power , That we may now our former-vanquisht foe Extirpate quite with his last overthrow . Their hearts are quail'd alreadie ; and shall we Want hearts to meet them who desire to flee ? Shall we , that have so many Conquests wonne , So many Lands and Provinces o're-runne , Begin to faint , and shew we are afraid , And dare not these half-stagg'ring foes invade ? Oh shame to think ! Could we do more then thus , If they had vanquisht and quite conquer'd us ? Shall we be so ingratefull unto Heaven , Who unto us such victories hath given , To make us fearlesse in so just a cause , And to proceed without demurre or pause ? Shall we neglect so fair and fit occasion T' assail our foes with undescri'd invasion ? Long , long we may expect , ere once again The Heav'nly Fates such favour will us deigne : And be assur'd , that if we do retreat , We quite shall damp our souldiers vig'rous heat . And make our Enemies become more bold , When they shall once our tim'rous march behold . These words , like oyl pour'd on the greedie fire , Made Great GVSTAVVS burn with fiercer ire . He gives command , that with the swiftest speed His Royall Armie forward should proceed . The hollow-sounding drumme and trumpet shrill The Souldiers eares with cheerfull clamours fill ; While with the aire the waving colours play , And by their motion point them out the way . Forward they troup to Lutzens bloudie soil , And with glad thoughts and hopes the time beguile . Oft did the strictnesse of th' enclosing way Their hastie speed and expedition stay : Egg'd on with hopes of victorie and spoil , They did refuse no sweating pains and toil . Had you but seen those valiant Bands advance With nimble feet , with cheerfull countenance , And doubled pace , you would have rather guess'd That they were hasting to some welcome feast , Then marching to their grave , which was th' event Of many thousands that then gladly went . But notwithstanding all the haste they made , So many lets and obstacles delaid Their num'rous Bands , that now the setting Sunne Swifter then they his usuall race had runne , And did begin to drown his shining beams Within the Oceans vast incircling streams . Some troups of horse that nearest lay , began To-skirmish with the Swethes approaching Vanne , Who with much losse of time had lately past A narrow bridge , which stopt them in their haste . These light-arm'd Crabats first of all did feel The deadly force of their victorious steel . From them an Ensigne too they did surprise Depainted with an ominous device ; With happy Fortune , and Joves princely Fowl , Whose Name did once the spatious world controll . But the Finlandian Duke so small a prize Beheld with sad and discontented eyes , Griev'd that so soon the All-endark'ning night Did stay their hands , and hide their foes from sight . Once the Dayes Charioter his circling pace Vouchsaf'd to stop in middle of his race ; While Judahs Champion with unsparing hands Hew'd down the Ethnicks Heav'n-accursed Bands : But the blest name of Christians hath a force To winne from heav'n an undeserv'd remorse ; And that they may so great a slaughter shunne , Sol his diurnall Race will swifter runne . Now doth th' Imperiall Grand Commander heare Frequent Alarms resounded in his eare : Post after Post are sent to certifie Of their so neare-approaching Enemie . Here three at once quite spent and out of breath , Yet told their mindes by looks as pale as Death . Th' amazed Duke startled when he did heare That the bold Swethes had gotten now so neare : Then frets with anger , when he calls to minde How all his troups lay scatt'red and disjoyn'd . 'T was now no time to sleep , though the moist Night The tired senses did to rest invite . He recollects his spirits , and his eyes Up to the Heav'ns he elevateth thrice : At last spake thus ; Thou Pow'r Omnipotent , Great God of Hosts , that dost our Foes prevent ; Thou All-foreseeing Sentinell , whose eye Through thickest clouds our Enemies doth spie : Perpetuall Glorie and divinest Fame Be rendred to thy ever-honour'd Name , That thus hast sent thy messenger of Night To stay these cruell Hereticks from fight , That 'gainst all Pietie and humane Lawes Would trample under feet thy Cath'lick cause . This said , he hastens unto consultation For best directions , and for preparation : He sends abroad his letters , and commands For quick assembling of his scatt'red Bands : Now thinks he on the fittest place t' advance His greater Shot and fierie Ordinance . Some Mounts were rais'd alreadie to his hand , Where some of Ceres airie Engines stand ; But now rough Mars doth shoulder for the place , And on the same his warlike Engines trace . The Pioners had with laborious spade About these Batt'ries strong Entrenchments made , To guard them from their foes , who otherwise Might with some headlong onset them surprise . Meanwhile did Swethlands grieved King command His Royall Armie on the place to stand . Here for a space their Martiall Rage and Spight Lay buried in the drowsy arms of Night . It was not yet the wished time , which they Resolv'd to make a black and bloudie day . In fair Battalia lay these warlike Bands , With wearied limbes stretcht on the frigid sands : Their Musquets neare them , readie to be found At first alarm : upon the champian ground Their Spears most orderly erected stood , Like to some square and even-planted wood . Here one his Helmet casteth from his head , And for a pillow underneath doth spread : Another there upon a rugged stone His drowsie head most willingly hath thrown . Now did the dampish Earth their Spirits cool , Who scarce of late their burning heat could rule . Here on his back a tired Souldier lies , And doth behold the starres with stedfast eyes ; As if in them he searched to descrie What was appointed for his Destinie ; And ev'ry starre , that twinkling doth appeare , He thinks doth tremble with presaging fear : Then turns aside , and folds acrosse his arms , And seeks to drown these thoughts with sleepie charms . Here did a Souldier with amazed heart And troubled thoughts , like one affrighted , start : His dreaming Phansie made him to suppose That he was round encompassed with foes ; And too too plainly ( as he thought ) he view'd How they in sunder had their squadrons hew'd : He snatcht his readie Weapon , and begun To look how he their feared rage might shunne : As round he casts his terrour-stricken eyes , Nothing but cause of horrour he descries : He sees his Fellows on the ground are spread No otherwise then wounded men and dead : He had no heart nor power to flie ; but stayes Till time and space diminisht his amaze . Many brave Chieftains on the earth did lie , Having no other Cov'ring but the Skie , No easier Pillow then the rugged Ground , No softer Mantle then their Arms they found : They stretcht their limbes , as if they sought what room And space would serve them for a future tombe . Renown'd GVSTAVVS , whom delicious ease And Courtly softnesse never once could please , In middle of his armed bands did rest ; Whose troubled thoughts a thousand cares molest : His Royall heart with sadnesse almost sinks , As oft as on his weightie charge he thinks : A World of lives now hazarded did lie Upon the single fortune of his Die . Remembring this , his over-burd'ned Soul Innum'rous Fears and doubtfull thoughts doth roll : It by no humane tongue can be exprest , How many cares his noble heart distrest , Who for so many thousands did endure All that such troubled motions could procure : The burning agitations of his breast Depriv'd his sp'rits of their desired rest ; And those moist vapours , which the brain did send To cause refreshing sleep , their heat did spend . So doth Sols scorching beams , which are reflected Upon the land where Memphis is erected , Where Nilus fertilising stream doth flow , Where their high tops the Pyramids do show : Those liquid vapours , which the Earth in rain Expects to be returned down again , Are by the Sunnes so pow'rfull heat made rare , And then do vanish into subtil aire . Now the soft-gliding Starres were seen t' have runne Half round the Earth , when Swethlands Prince begun With eyes erected to the Heav'ns , t' invoke Th' All-pow'rfull God of warre : and thus he spoke ; Dreadfull Jehovah , who didst first inspire Into my heart this vig'rous heat fire , And didst inflame me with a Rage divine , That I might tame these enemies of thine , And free those Christians , who with grones and cries Have pierc'd so often the all-cov'ring skies : Be pleased now this Enterprise to blesse , And our Designes to crown with good successe . Thou know'st ( O Lord ) I neither fight for Fame , Nor yet on Earth to winne a Glorious Name : 'T was not the scope of those my painfull toils , Thus to enrich my self with ill got Spoils : Nor do I thus with Warres these Lands o'rewhelm , That I might stretch the limits of my Realm : But 't was the instinct of thy Pow'r above , That to this high Designe my heart did move . If any other sinister intent Be in my heart , let not thy aid be lent : No further do we pray for Victories , Then in thy Name we onely enterprise . The sable Night being vanisht , a black Day Begins his fatall lustre to display : But Phebus , who foresaw what dire mishap Was drawing on , his mournfull face did wrap Within a muffled vail , a foggie mist , Which did the piercing of his beams resist ; And thus he seemed to extend the night By this obscuring of his cheerfull light . But notwithstanding such a sad presage , Did both these Armies boil with longing rage To meet each other , and to trie whose steel Should soonest make their opposites to reel . Rang'd in Battalia , both the Armies stood , Resolv'd ere long to march in streams of bloud . Th' Imperiall Viceroy did present a fair And spatious Front rankt with exactest care : To such a distance both their Wings did stretch , As sixteen furlongs full their breadth could reach . The Right Wing Coloredo did command , Under whose Banner ord'red now they stand , Readie prepared at their Captains Breath Boldly to meet inevitable Death . The Duke of Friedland did his colours spread In the Main Battell , which by him was led . Count Henrick Holck Felt Marshall for that day In the Left Wing his Banner did display . Here divers Nations had from Countreys farre Been sent to trie the Fortune of the Warre . There might you see the Austrian , whose Name Is branded with an execrated Fame , For that their Princes in ambitious rage Did with these warres the Germane Lands engage ; And to enrich themselves with others spoil , So many States with discords did embroil : The cold Hungarian , whose bord'ring lands Are ever harried with Turkish Bands , Who his best Cities have alreadie wonne , And half his Territories overrunne ; Though he could scarce be spar'd , yet here he came , In this fierce fight to winne perpetuall Fame : The bold Bohemian , whose fruitfull soil Had been the stage of bloudie Mars erewhile , Who had them taught to think most dang'rous fights But warlike sports and tragick-pleasing sights . Next unto these was seen the Palatine , Whose spoiled Countrey borders on the Rhine ; Who , as he flowing by , their ruines views , With tears and crystall drops his banks bedews , And grieves to think his waves could not o'rewhelm ▪ And quench the fires of that deplored Realm . The stout Bavarian doth likewise claim Within this catalogue a noted Name : Him did Revenge fire with a Martiall spight Gladly to trie the hazard of a Fight . The sunne-burnt Spaniards too were present there ; And if proud looks their Enemies could fear , Sure , though but few they were , yet they alone A greater Armie would have overthrown . Th' Italian , now renowned more by farre For am'rous Courtship , then for skill in Warre , Yet hither came , resolved for to die , Or to defend Romes hated Monarchie . And now , my Muse , repeat each great Commander , That did attend Swedens Imperiall Standard : For sure it is not fit their Names should die , Or yet in dark oblivion buried lie . Duke Bernard , the sole Glorie of the day , The Left Wing did for their prime Guide obey . The King himself did the Right Wing command , And at the Head of Steinbocks Troups did stand . The Battell was conducted by Grave Neel , A valiant Swethe , and clad in shining steel . Betwixt them and the Rear a compleat Band Of Musquettiers did Hinderson command , A hardie and experienc'd Scot , whom Fame Hath in these warres eternis'd with a Name . The Battell of the Rear Knipphausen led , A Noble Souldier , and a skilfull Head ; To whose fair conduct did their Enemies owe The greatest part of their sad overthrow . The Right Wing Bulach led , a Colonell Of no small Spirit , as his foes can tell . Ernest of Anhalt did the Left Wing guide , A man in Warres well exercis'd and tri'd . Behinde their backs , and in the utmost Rear , A Regiment of Horse reserved were , Which are by Oeme conducted , whose stout heart Not any dangers could have made to start . Now had GVSTAVVS speech his souldiers fir'd , And double vigour into them inspir'd : Make me ( sayes he ) your Pattern ; if you see That once I shrink , I give you leave to flee . This having spoken , without further pause , With speedie hand his shining blade he drawen : Then waving't o're his head , he doth advance Toward his Foes with fearlesse countenance . And now their throats those fierie Engines stretch , Whose sound and furie such a distance reach , And ere one can behold or see his Foe , Doth wound him deadly with a farre-sent blow . In Aetna's sulph'rie cell inclos'd doth lie ( If we will credit grave Antiquitie ) A Monstrous Giant , who is prison'd there , For that to fight 'gainst Heav'n he did not fear : As often as he turns his sides for room , He fills Trinatria with a pitchie fume , Disgorging from his hellish jawes such smoke And duskie flames , as the pure aire do choak . Ev'n thus black Lutzen for a time did shroud Her mournfull face within a pitchie cloud , Proceeding from the Cannons fierie breath , That ne'r speaks lesse then slaughtring , wounds & death . No sight doth now appeare , but the bright blaze Which the inflamed sulph'rie dust doth raise . Here many Noble Spirits , who did scorn To shrink for dangers , were in sunder torn By those resistlesse Balls , whose furious Course Cannot be stopt by any humane force . Oh how my Muse deplores the Fates of those , Who nothing wisht but to behold their foes ; That so their Valour , when they once had tri'd , Might by their Enemies be testifi'd ! Some murd'ring shot their noble thoughts prevents , And furiously their corps in sunder rents ; And , which their manly hearts could not endure , Kills them within a cloud of smoke obscure . The angrie Steeds , offended at the noise That thundred from the Cannons iron jawes , Do fling and spurn ; and scarce the curbing rein Can their proud sp'rits in any rank contain : They fain would rush through midst of smoke and fire , As if their breasts did burn with greater Ire . The slaughtred heaps that round about them lie , Cannot at all their Courage terrifie : The brazen Trumpet Echoes in their eares , Whose pleasing sound doth fright away all feares . What Muse is able to rehearse or tell What direfull slaughters in this fight befell ; When humane Bodies onely do oppose Against the Cannons castle-rending blowes , Whose Furie would make hardest rocks to shiver , Whose very sound doth make the earth to quiver , Whose hellish breath is able to command Most firm-cemented stones to fly like sand ? Squadrons of men were too weak walls to stay Such dreadfull force , as would have found a way Through Rocks of hardest iron , and would make A spatious Tower with its blast to shake . No wonder then to see the field so spread With scatt'red limbes , and bodies strucken dead ; When as the Cannon and the Culvering Their flaming furie round about do fling . A murd'ring Curto here a rank doth spoil , And there another sweeps away a file : A brace of Demi-cannons here doth play , Which through a squadron make a rugged way . So blustring Boreas , when his rage he doubles , And Sea and Land with furious motion troubles , From sturdiest Oaks their rended branches throwes , And all the field with these his ruines strowes . The unaffrighted Swethes marcht forward still , And up again those breaches quickly fill . Valiant GVSTAVVS with an angrie eye Sees how his foes their greater shot did ply With too too much advantage : for he found Their Pieces mounted on the higher ground ; And on firm platforms the Imperialist His Ordinance could traverse as he list , While that the Swedish more uncertainly Did in their motion at their Foes let flie . The Swethes had left them now no other way To hinder this their so unequall play , But on their Cannons mouthes to march , and so To stop their throats , and make them overthrow Their own defenders . For these Engines are Of such a hellish temper , that they care Neither for friend nor foe ; but both alike With equall slaughter will their furie strike . In ancient fights , when as they us'd t' advance In their first front a square of Elephants , Who wheresoe're their unresisted force They chanc'd to bend , they made an headlong course , And with their massie Bodies over-laid All that their furie would have checkt or staid : Sometime on their own Squadrons they would turn , And under feet their chiefest friends would spurn With such a vengefull Rage , as if that those They had mistaken for their deadliest foes . Thus in these modern Warres it oft doth chance , That the loud-roaring Shot and Ordinance Being once reverst upon their friends will thunder , And without mercie tear their ranks in sunder . Courage , my Hearts , cries Swethlands noble King ; And then his troups through show'rs of lead doth bring Just in the Cannons face , who roar'd and spake So loud , that all the neighb'ring Hills did quake . But in their way a traverse ditch was made , From whence with frequent shot their Enemies plaid Full in their teeth . This trench them safe did hide , And made them all the Swedish shot deride ; Till the provoked Swethes came storming on , And made them wish them further off and gone . At that same time the Crabats had a minde To fall upon their carriages behinde , To seise upon their Arms and Ammunition , And to blow up their Powder and Provision . Bulach observes them with a watchfull eye ; He charg'd them home , and made them quickly flie . These light-arm'd Crabats never use to stand For any space , and fight it hand to hand ; But if at first encounter they have mist , They then resolve no longer to resist ; But turning faces do retire amain , Waiting till Fortune shall be pleas'd again Some fitter opportunitie to send , And then th' are readie for to reoffend . Thus the wilde Hawk , whom never humane art Hath yet instructed with a constant heart , With short and sudden flights pursues her prey , And will not long in such an action stay : If that she cannot winne them with a snatch , For some more fit occasion she will watch . But while that Bulach did return his Horse To their first station with a wheeling course , They break their order , and had now begun Not in fair Squadrons , but in heaps to runne . Surely it is no easie thing to force So many Regiments of head-strong Horse To keep a full proportion in their speed , And not beyond their ord'red bounds proceed . But then the Heav'ns , unwilling to permit Their Foes should spie a season too too fit To reassail them , at the instant space Did with a vap'rie mist surround the place , And hides them , till their confus'd cornets are Ralli'd again , and made compleat and square . Thus Venus once her warlike Sonne did shroud Within the circle of an hollow cloud ; Which armour , though but weak it was , prevents The blowes of Fortune , and all fear'd events . Now bold GVSTAVVS and th' Imperiall Horse Had met each other with an headlong course . A Regiment they were of Cuiriassiers , Whose compleat Armour freed them from all fears . But thou GVSTAVVS , in whose haughtie breast Not any spark of fear could ever rest , Thy offred Armour didst refuse , and chose Thy Royall Bodie naked to expose Against a storm of lead , which oft doth passe Through hardest steel , through iron , & through brasse . 'T is not a valiant Heart , and Coat of Buffe , That in these warres is Armour proof enough . Rare Jewels do deserve a costly Case , And to be lodg'd within the safest place : But Thou , the rarest Jewell of this Age , O're-sway'd I know not by what Martiall Rage , Would'st not at all thy Princely limbes inclose In any Arms , or Steel repulsing blowes . Was it because thy too too narrow Fate The Cassiopeian starre did antedate , Whose glorious rayes were seen but for a time To be displaid over thy warlike clime ? Or was it , as w' have all conjectur'd since , Our great unworthinesse of such a Prince , That thus hath short'ned thy victorious dayes , Which hath all Europe stagg'red with amaze ? If ardent wishes might have proved charms , Thou should'st have had impenetrable arms , Of such well-temp'red Steel , and of such might , As should a Culvering deride and slight ; As should have made a Cannons Massie Ball Without transpiercing back again to fall ; Of firmer Metall , then that solid Plate Which Vulcans Cyclops once did fabricate For Venus Sonne , when he the Latian soil With farre-sent warres and slaughters did embroil ; Of better temper , and compacted more Then that same Armour which Demetrius wore , Which the Greek Artist did so firm contrive , That without fracture it could backward drive A massie arrow from an Engine shot , And never shrink , nor give , nor yeeld a jot . But these our wishes of no vertue were : They with our breath are vanisht into aire . For see ! Renown'd GVSTAVVS murdred lies . Here with full tears my Muse doth close her eyes , Not willing longer to behold the light ; But fain with him would vanish out of sight . He that could never conqu'red be , is slain ; And He that ne're would yeeld , is pris'ner ta'ne . He , upon whom the hopes of thousands stood , Is sunk , and now lies weltring in his bloud . The Armies life is stricken with pale death : Like-dying men they struggle ( see ! ) for breath . He , from whose hand was sent that cursed lead , That with GVSTAVVS struck so many dead , Liv'd not to triumph , no nor scarce to view What he had done : a Storm of Bullets flew Like lightning at him , and his wretched Soul An hundred wayes did from his Bodie roll . But soon as e're th' Imperialist had found That Great GVSTAVVS had his mortall wound , With doubled Furie and Couragiousnesse Th' amazed Swethes they did both charge and preasse , Who now began to shrink and backward start . Oh! can you blame them , when th' had lost their Heart ; Him , whom his Foes still fear'd , though he were slain , And thought it Valour for to wound again That Royall Corps , whose very Breath and Name So many Armies heretofore could tame ? Just at this time a duskie Mist did fall : The Heav'ns lamented his sad Funerall , And so amaz'd his Foes , that they forget To bear away his Bodie : For as yet Among a heap of slaughtred Corps it lies ; A ruefull Spectacle to mortall eyes , To see him laid so low , that was of Late The glorious Head of such a mightie State . But by this time the Swethes had recollected Their Sp'rits , and now again their hearts erected . Stollhanshe , enraged with a furious course , Leads on a Regiment of nimble Horse , Who gave th' Imperialist a charge so hot , And with such frequent volleys of their shot , As they not able to endure , begun To yeeld their ground , such furious blowes to shunne . Then the sad Swethes did raise a mournfull crie , When on the ground their murdred King they eye ; Whose bloud-distained Corps in heavie sort From furie of the Battell they transport . Meanwhile the Swedish Foot did backward beat Th' Imperialist , and made them to retreat . Grave Neels , a valiant and couragious Swethe , That never car'd for wounds , nor fear'd for death , His Yellow Regiment so bravely led , That now they might have di'd their Name quite red . And Winckle too with his Blew Regiment At that same time so stoutly forward bent , That now the Wall'nsteiners did gladly choose Their ground and Cannon both at once to lose . But then the Mist to such a thicknesse grew , That the enraged Swethes could not pursue This their advantage ; but were then compell'd To stand and pause untill the mist dispell'd . At that same time a sudden strange affright On part of the Imperiall Troups did light , That with such terrour struck their courage dead , That straight they turn'd their bridles , and then fled ; Not once their eyes reflecting back , to view If any foes behinde them did pursue . Some mutt'ring tongues a fearfull rumour spread , That all their Troups were fully vanquished . Some fifteen hundred Horse were then beheld With swift Career to gallop out of field . Fear taught them haste , and made them cruell too ; For in their headlong speed their friends they slew : Their Bedets and their Women in the Rear They trampled down , and some they kill'd with fear . There many Ladies , who that day did wait With trembling hearts upon their Husbands Fate , Fling from their Coaches , then their Harnesse part ; ( What will not fear enforce a tender heart ? ) In Manly posture did these Females stride Their sturdie Beasts , and so away they ride . These fear-tormented Wights my Warlike Muse Doth scorn to follow , when none else pursues . Return we to those Noble Hearts , who ne're Would shrink a jot , though all the world should fear ; That now in midst of fire and smoke did strive Their Enemies before them for to drive . Now Pappenheim being come , did reinforce Th' Imperiall troups with new supplies of Horse : He added Courage to their stagg'ring Bands , And made them charge again with willing Hands . He rang'd himself in the Sinister Wing , Which ( as he thought ) opposed Swethlands King . But as his Cornets now stood ord'red fair , And he himself did for the Charge prepare , A Bullet from a Falconet is sent , Whose deadly force his arm and shoulder rent : Soon it transcoloured his shining Steel With bloud , and made this haughtie Captain reel ; He that the town of Magdenburg did spoil , And levell'd all her buildings with the soil ; Whose Execrations , as we may presume , Did hasten on his unexpected Doom . But when his Captains and Commanders saw Their Generall his latest breath to draw , He 's slain , He 's slain , aloud they all did crie ; Then facing it about , away they flie , Ere they had fought one stroke , or in the field The faces of their Enemies beheld . But those Imperials , whom his presence set On a fresh charge , stood to it stiffly yet , And with such massie Squadrons overlaid The Swedish Troups , that they were backward swaid . Here Coloredo , and Tersica too , With Picolomini , the fight renew With no small Furie , and with many hands Which light upon Grave Neels and Winckles Bands . The first of these above the knee being hurt , His Souldiers from the Battell did transport , Though after this he did not long survive . And thou brave Winckle wert fetcht off alive With double wounds . But thy Vice-Colonell Was stricken down , and did not scape so well . Though thus th' Imperialist victoriously Did for a while the Swedish Squadrons plie , And now his Cannon had resum'd again , Which erst he lost ; yet for it was he fain T' exchange so many of his bravest men , The flow'r of all his Infantrie , and then So soon their deer-bought bargain to give over , Which the bold Swethes quickly from them recover . There did old Bruner on th' Imperiall part , A skilfull Captain , lose both life and heart . The young Count Wall'nstein by some unknown hand Was likewise there shot dead upon the sand . There Fulda's Abbot di'd , whose sacred head Was pierced by the rude and impious lead , That never to distinguish yet would learn , Nor be conjur'd a Mitre to discern From a steel Helmet , but impartially At all alike his unstaid force doth flie . Here had the fiercest of the Battell been , Here likewise was the greatest slaughter seen . The sturdie Swethes had learn'd to fight and die ; But never yet had learn'd to shrink or flie : The ground , which erst their warlike hands defended , They cover with their Bodies now extended . Death well might winne from them their lives ; but loe , Their ground he cannot force them to forgo . But now Knipphausen , who with watchfull eye The slaughter of his Vantguard did descrie , Most readie is to stop encroaching fear : He sends them up two Brigades from the Rear : The one Count Thurn , the other Mitzlaffe led , Who gladly did their waving Colours spread , And marching forward with a speedie pace , Their now triumphing Enemies do face . Having within a reaching distance got , They did salute them with their thundring shot , Which without ceasing they so roundly pli'd , That now th' Imperials hearts were terrifi'd : Being so lately tired , they could not For any space endure a Charge so hot . What could be done by Valour or by Skill , Was there perform'd ; they stand it out , untill The eager Swethes by force and weightinesse Expell'd them from the place they did possesse . Once more th' Imperiall Cannon they had wonne ; And turning them , to thunder now begun Against the Wall'nsteiners . At that same houre , Bernard , that noble Duke , with all his Power Of Horse and Foot fiercely assails those bands And Regiments , where Coloredo stands ; Who did as then , like some unmoved rock , Receive th' impression of his mightie shock : At which the Duke did slacken his first heat , And back again did orderly retreat . But here once more the vap'rie mist descended , And for a while both sides from blowes defended . But when this cloudie curtain drawn aside Gave space to both the Armies to be ey'd , Wall'nstein did two of his chief Captains send To see what now the Swethlanders intend . At that time Bernard and Knipphausen joyn'd , And both together had their Troups combin'd : Their shatt'red Regiments they did repair With fresh supplies , and made them straight & square . These Scouts return'd , and to their Duke relate How that the Swedish meant to iterate The fight afresh and did in Battell ray Their bloudie Ensignes once again display , And orderly were marching on amain , Resolving for to conquer or be slain . Duke Bernard doth espie th' Imperiall Horse Retreating from them in an even course ; Then twentie Cannons did he make to roar With such a vengefull furie , that they tore Both Horse and Man , defac'd both rank and file , And their fair Martiall order quickly spoil , Making their troups confusedly to show , While on the grasse their mingled bloud doth flow ; And which before not any colour knew , But the fresh green , is di'd with purple hue . Here the proud Steed , who scorn'd & spurn'd the ground , Stretcht dead upon the same is quiet found : And there another , who did fiercely neigh , And bravely did his reared crest display , Is with a fire-wing'd bullet stricken dead , And mangled lies without a crest or head : Here was a file of Horsemen cut in sunder By direfull force of this resistlesse thunder , While th' untoucht Horse do start and fling about , And so the next disorderly do rout . The Swedish Cornets soon th' advantage spie , And with a sudden charge upon them flie . Before it thundred ; now a storm of hail And smaller shot their stagg'ring troups doth quail ; And then these haughtie Cavaliers begun With swift and more disord'red pace to runne . Their Infantrie no better then did fare ; These also by the Swethes repulsed are , Who now prest on , and pli'd their Volleys round , And shouldred out th' Imperials from their ground . As when two Currents do adversely roll , And seek each others motion to controll : A while they seem pois'd with an equall force , And both alike repell their spatt'ring sourse ; Till one of them assisted with a blast , The others waves doth headlong backward cast : Thus did the Swethes by force and Martiall toil Compell th' Imperials backward to recoil . But those that in the mud-wall'd Gardens lay , Farre more securely for a while did play , Under protection of those earthen Banks , Upon the Swethlanders encroaching ranks . But they , enrag'd at this unequall fight , Advanced tow'rds them with a vengefull spight ; And like a Tempest storm'd upon their trenches , Which soon with slaught'red bloud their furie drenches . And now the Sunne , wearied with this sad sight , Began from them to hide his shining light : He now did seem with his declining beams To kisse the Oceans azure-colour'd streams ; When lo a rumour was disperst by some , That Pappenheims Foot-Regiments were come : Duke Bernard then rallies again his Horse , Resolv'd t' assail them with his utmost force . But when the Signall was again resounded , The cheerfull Souldiers , as no whit astounded , Strictly did each embrace his Camerade , And , Must we charge them once again ? they said ; Then let us bravely and with manly Hearts , And like true Souldiers , act our latest parts . Then with such rage and furie did they close , As if they had reserved all their blowes For this last onset ; and those new-come Bands Did quickly feel their over-weightie hands : They found that though the light did still decrease , Yet the stout Swethes would not their furie cease . After they had sustained for a while Their rough encounter , and no little spoil , They did betake them to a shamefull flight Under protection of the wings of Night , Leaving the field to their victorious foes , Who on the same their wearied limbes repose . Among his wounded Friends and Enemies , On the cold ground the conqu'ring Souldier lies ; And ne're complaineth of so hard a Bed , Where VICTORIE her pleasing arms hath spread . FINIS .

AN ELEGIE UPON THE IMMATURE AND MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF that most Christian Souldier and Renowned Prince , GVSTAVVS THE GREAT , King of Swethes , Goths , and Vandals ; &c.

Composed immediately after the first rumour of his death , by JOHN RUSSELL .

¶ Printed by the Printers to the Vniversitie of CAMBRIDGE . 1634.

An Elegie upon the death of the King of SWEDEN . WHat strange sad silence doth the world astound ? Why doth not Fames still echoing trumpet sound ? She 's grown forgetfull , or else hoarse , I fear , That we no more victorious sounds can heare . 'T was but of late , when as the thundring noise Of doubled triumphs , conquests , and applause Fill'd our Horizon , and the aire did ring With shouts of praisse to Sweds victorious King . Was this a dream and fanci'd apparition , And now is vanisht like a fleeting vision ? Could all the world be thus deluded ? No : 'T was surely reall , and no feigned show . Those bloudie battels and those dismall fights We lately heard , were not like vap'rie sights , Compos'd of airie breath , which to the eye Two dreadfull Armies grappling do descrie . These , these were reall ; and thy direfull steel ( Victorious Prince ) shall after-ages feel : And those deep wounds , which in thy furious ire Thou didst inflict by force of thundring fire , Shall leave wide scarres upon the Germane land , Which shall for ever to their terrour stand . This thou hast done alreadie , and amaz'd Remotest kingdomes , where thy deeds are blaz'd . But on a sudden , loe ! thou dost appeare To stop in middle of thy full career : All tongues are silent , and our greedie eares Heare nothing now but terrours , doubts , and fears . Or Fame her self is dead ; or he that gave Life unto Fame , is sunk into his grave . Fame cannot die . Oh! can he die , whose look So many thousands dead at once hath strook ? What mortall durst give him a wound , whose eye Hath made grimme Death to start and turn awrie ? Sure he 's not dead : Swethland for grief would roar , And make their grones heard to our English shore , If he were dead , whom they have priz'd more deare Then their own proper lives , and did not fear To runne like Lions , at their Princes words , Upon the mouthes of Cannons , points of Swords . He 's dead , I fear : For can he living be , And we no spoils nor further conquests see ? Can he be living , and not heard to thunder , To batter cities , trample kingdomes under ; Whose very soul was fire Aethereall pure , Such as no mortall bodies can endure ? His breath was direfull smoke , and from his hands Flew show'rs of iron balls , that quell'd whole lands . Can that Sulphurious dust , more quick then winde , Once toucht with flame , in prison be combin'd ? Not steel , nor iron , nor the hardest brasse Can stay its furie for the shortest space . Though mightie mountains prest this living flame , Yet would it tear them , and an entrance frame , His Hellish breath and dismall noise to vent ; Nor would it cease , till all its furie 's spent . Thus hath it been with Europes Northern Starre , And Sweds Victorious Prince , made all for warre : Whose Spirit , toucht with fire from heav'n , did blaze Like to some Comet , sent for to amaze And scourge us mortall wights ; whose direfull breath Doth shoot down vengeance , terrours , plagues , & death . Had Turk , and Tartar , and the Triple Crown That awes the Christian world , and treadeth down Monarchs as slaves , themselves in one combin'd ; This Heav'n-sent Furie had , like lightning winde , Shot through them all ; and , like to scatt'red corn , Their feeble squadrons had been rent and torn : Till his Celestiall vigour were quite spent , No Warres , no Ruines could his ire content . But now his date is out , and his Commission Is stopt from heav'n with a new Prohibition . He 's dead . Oh bitter word , enough to make Stones for to weep , and iron hearts to ake ! So soon ? alas ! in so unwisht an houre Is all our joy quell'd by some secret power ? Why do not we then breathe such dolefull grones , And poure such melting tears , as should hard stones Dissolve into salt drops ; that they and we Might so expresse one mournfull Elegie ? What! are we spent and drie ? I see no teares ; I heare no grones ; no wailings pierce my eares . Oh pardon me ! I fear my faltring tongue , Distract with troubled sorrow , doth you wrong . 'T is slender grief that doth by weeping vent ; And 't is not much that can by tears be spent . But this , this sorrow , like a mortall wound , Strikes deep , and doth our senses quite astound ; Lies like a lump of lead or heavie weight Upon our heart , and pincheth it so strait , That neither sigh nor grone can issue thence ; But lies as dead , and quite bereft of sense . Since then 't is so we cannot weep ; let 's borrow From others help , so to expresse our sorrow . Ye glistring lamps above , ye Northern starres , That roll about the Pole your frozen Carres ; In Thetis waves plunge over head and eares , That ye may have your fill of brinish teares , And by sad influence make the heav'ns to lowre , And to the earth send down a weeping showre ; But chiefly on that place , that cursed ground , Where Adolph first receiv'd his mortall wound . Let never grasse nor verdant herb grow there ; Nor any tree , nor ground it self appeare . Let it be all a lake , whose face may look Just like the colour of th' Infernall brook ; Like pitchie Styx , or black-stream'd Acheron ; Or like Cocytus , or dark Phlegethon : That it may seem to all a mourning vail , That doth the surface of that ground empale . And let its murm'ring waves make such a noise , As may expresse to us the dolefull voice Of some that crie , that roar , that shriek , that grone ; Of some that mourn , that weep , that wail , that mone : That after-ages to their children may Tell this sad storie , when they passe that way ; These souls do mourn for Swethlands conqu'ring King : But these , whose clamours fearfully do ring , Are such as in this place di'd by his power , And thus expresse their horrour to this houre . Meanwhile , Renowned Prince , sleep thou secure , No further pains nor travels to endure . The dreadfull Cannons , which so oft did roar And thunder in thy eares , shall now no more Disturb thy rest , nor force thee to arise In sudden haste : glut now with sleep thine eyes , While that a Quire of Angels in a ring Shall round about thee blessed musick sing . FINIS .

EPICEDIVM , SIVE Carmen Funebre , GVSTAVI ADOLPHI , Suecorum , Gothorum , & Vandalorum , &c. Regis Invictissimi MEMORIAE SACRVM . QUisquis es , & tumuli spectas haec Marmora nigri , Quae cernas , oculis perlege flebilibus . Ille , cui vivo libârunt sanguinis undas , Defunctus lacrymas vendicat ( ecce ! ) tuas . Nónne vides , madidis ut splendent Marmora guttis ? Sudorem lapidum forsitan esse putas : Sive repercussos quos frigida saxa vapores Duritie nimià congenuêre suâ . Ah! non sunt . Sacris , Spectator , credito Musis : Sunt lacrymae , atque oculis debita rapta piis . Nè numerum stupeas : tota hîc Europa dolores ( Ut cernas ) madidos egemuêre suos . Et , nisi quòd Pietas vetet hoc , mactare parâssent Ad tumulum vitas millia multa suas . Nil minùs in campo tecum , GVSTAVE , libenter Magna Caterva ( vides ) occubuisse velint : Et , quò descendas ad Regna Inferna triumphans , Victorísque instar clara Trophaea feras ; Captivorum Vmbrae moestè tua Signa sequuntur : Implentur diris Tartara nigra sonis . Invidiâ & lacrymis iterum sibi vulnera figunt ; Et miserè subeunt bis sua Fata necis . Sed tu magnanimâ cinctus , GVSTAVE , cohorte , Faustis & niveis pergito vectus equis ; Donec in Elysii campis spatieris amoeni : Illìc Heroum turba beata manent . Secula felices ducunt sine fine futura , Aeternísque ardent pectora laetitiis : Et feriunt aures mortalibus usquè negati Ca●●us , Siderei quos sonuêre Poli. Haec mihi divino retulit spiramine Phoebus , Et jussit numeris reddere nota meis ; Nè Suecus , vel qui GVSTAVI funera deflent , Immersi lacrymis in sua Fata ruant . Qui visus fuerat violento Numine raptus , Et quasi devictus succubuisse neci , In nova migravit felicia Regna ; Triumphat , Ostentans Stygiis magna trophaea diis : Inter & Heroas , & coetum Semideorum , Jam ducat laetos & sine fine Choros . J. R.

DIALOGVS . Vmbra GVSTAVI ADOLPHI , & Fama . Umb. QVò ducis ? Quò Fama juvat volitare ? recessus Quos petis ignotos ? Patrias jam liquimus oras . Fam. Me duce carpe viam : sedes tibi Fama beatas Ostendet . Petimus divisos orbe Britannos . Non unus Suecûm GUSTAVO sufficit orbis . Umb. Siste fugam ; satìs est nobis : de Marmore surgit In Patria Tumulus ; celso struxêre Columnas Vertice subnixas , Monumentáque splendida fulgent . Fam. Quae Monumenta sonas ? memoras quae Marmora ? GUSTAVI Manes angusto pixide condi . Fama & Fata vetant : longè meliora parantur Sordent Ossibus ( en ! ) Monumenta tuis : non fictilis urna Te capit ; at Musis descripta volumina sacris Nomina GUSTAVI aeterno splendore fovebunt . Optatas jamjam Musarum attingimus oras . Cernis , ut irriguis stagnare paludibus undae Contendunt , geminóque procul Mons vertice surgit ? Pieridum ille cluit Parnassus . Limpidus amnis , Deliciae Phoebi , doctis hîc labitur undis . Hîc Vatem , GUSTAVE , tuum spectato sonorum , Cui mentes animúmque afflârunt Numina sancta . Cernis , ut incedit sudans stipante catervâ Pieridum ? Flammis ( en ! ) luxuriantur ocelli : Oratument . Furit haud aliter Cumaea Sibylla , Fatidicos quoties ignes inspiret Apollo . Ecce locum sparsum foliis , ubi Fata recondit Inclyta GUSTAVI , mediísque insculpat ovantem Te spoliis . Juvat has latè dispergere Chartas , Nomina GUSTAVI resonent ut murmure rauco Et Sylvae , & Venti : responsans accinet Echo . Jam patrias sedes repetásque cubilia terrae : Et dum Terra Parens cupidis circundabit ulnis Ossa , gemens secum tua Fata suprema volutet ; Insuetósque halitus , tanquam suspiria , mittat , Percutiénsque sinum tremulo eructabit hiatu . J. S. Magd. Coll. FINIS .