"[Y]et is my Will / Free, as the Conquerour's: and Rome shall finde, / I still retain the Empire of my Minde, / That stands above her reach, where I alone / Will rule, and scorn to live, but on a Throne."
— Ross, Thomas (bap. 1620, d. 1675)
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed by Tho. Roycroft, and are to be sold by Jo. Martin, Ja. Allestry and Tho. Dicas
Date
1661, 1672
Metaphor
"[Y]et is my Will / Free, as the Conquerour's: and Rome shall finde, / I still retain the Empire of my Minde, / That stands above her reach, where I alone / Will rule, and scorn to live, but on a Throne."
Metaphor in Context
Is then the Birth, and Title of a King,
(Ye Gods, from whom Kings, sprung) so vain a thing;
That, with one Shock of Fortune onely, I
Must fall so low, into Captivity,
As to become their Slave to whom, of late,
I was a Terrour? Are the Laws of Fate
Of so great Force, that whatsoe're's Design'd
By them, by all must be obey'd? must binde
The Deities themselves? Alass! if so,
Why do poor Mortals to their Temples go,
And vainly crave that Aid, which cannot be
Confirm'd, unless the Fates the same decree?
How oft did I, before I took in hand
This War, their Counsel, and Consent demand?
As oft, their Tripods what I ask'd allow'd.
And I, as often, to their Honour vow'd
Dardanian Spoils. But, since I am or'ethrown,
'Tis not my Crime they want them, but their own?
From them it was, that Sophonisba's Charms
Prevail'd, and Head-long thrust me into Arms:
Against that Faith, which I to Rome, before,
Religiously had sworn. I would no more
Of this complain, had we together dy'd.
Or, had not Masanissa both my Bride,
My Throne, and Crown enjoy'd. Ye Gods, You were
If not Unjust in this, at least, Severe.
Else wherefore did I not, when Hostile Fire
Had seiz'd my Camp, within those Flames expire?
Then might I to the Shades below have gone,
At least, a King. Then I had onely known
The Fate of being conquer'd, not the Shame:
Nor then had Rome recorded Syphax Name
Among her Captives. Nor, then, had these Hands,
That shook a Scepter o're so many Lands,
Been thus bound up in Chains. But, why do I
Complain of Life, and not resolve to Dy?
What? though they study to preserve me still,
A living Trophy here; yet is my Will
Free, as the Conquerour's: and Rome shall finde,
I still retain the Empire of my Minde,
That stands above her reach, where I alone
Will rule, and scorn to live, but on a Throne.
This said; a sudden Silence seiz'd his Soul:
And, as deep Waters in still Chanels roul,
And, murm'ring less, into the Ocean flow;
So the Resentments of his Griefs, that grow
Too great to be express'd, through ev'ry part,
Like a swift Fever, runs, till his great Heart,
Resolv'd to bear that Load no more, deny'd
Nature her common Food, and, starv'd, He dy'd.
And, as a Lion, that hath long in Blood
Maintain'd his Empire in some Libyan Wood,
Surpriz'd at last in Toils, and kept to be
The Pastime of the Cirque, raging to see
His Native Freedom lost, doth, roaring, round
His Prison walke, and (with that dreadful Sound,
Was wont all other Beasts to Terrify,
And, with their Flocks, make trembling Sheepherds fly)
Shakes all about. But, when he findes, at length,
That nor his Rage prevails, nor yet his Strength
Can his Escape procure; all proffer'd Food
He growling flies, forgets all thirst of Blood,
And, in Disdain of his Captivity,
Resolves in sullen Silence there to dy.
So that great King, to whom, not long before,
Rich Gems were from the Erythræan Shore,
For Tribute brought: to whom, with Lions Tame,
And towred Elephants, Getulians came,
And, prostrate at his Feet, Obedience pay'd:
At first in Love, then War, a Captive made,
In a dark Dungeon dy'd, and the sole Fame,
That he 'gainst Scipio fought, preserves his Name.
(Ye Gods, from whom Kings, sprung) so vain a thing;
That, with one Shock of Fortune onely, I
Must fall so low, into Captivity,
As to become their Slave to whom, of late,
I was a Terrour? Are the Laws of Fate
Of so great Force, that whatsoe're's Design'd
By them, by all must be obey'd? must binde
The Deities themselves? Alass! if so,
Why do poor Mortals to their Temples go,
And vainly crave that Aid, which cannot be
Confirm'd, unless the Fates the same decree?
How oft did I, before I took in hand
This War, their Counsel, and Consent demand?
As oft, their Tripods what I ask'd allow'd.
And I, as often, to their Honour vow'd
Dardanian Spoils. But, since I am or'ethrown,
'Tis not my Crime they want them, but their own?
From them it was, that Sophonisba's Charms
Prevail'd, and Head-long thrust me into Arms:
Against that Faith, which I to Rome, before,
Religiously had sworn. I would no more
Of this complain, had we together dy'd.
Or, had not Masanissa both my Bride,
My Throne, and Crown enjoy'd. Ye Gods, You were
If not Unjust in this, at least, Severe.
Else wherefore did I not, when Hostile Fire
Had seiz'd my Camp, within those Flames expire?
Then might I to the Shades below have gone,
At least, a King. Then I had onely known
The Fate of being conquer'd, not the Shame:
Nor then had Rome recorded Syphax Name
Among her Captives. Nor, then, had these Hands,
That shook a Scepter o're so many Lands,
Been thus bound up in Chains. But, why do I
Complain of Life, and not resolve to Dy?
What? though they study to preserve me still,
A living Trophy here; yet is my Will
Free, as the Conquerour's: and Rome shall finde,
I still retain the Empire of my Minde,
That stands above her reach, where I alone
Will rule, and scorn to live, but on a Throne.
This said; a sudden Silence seiz'd his Soul:
And, as deep Waters in still Chanels roul,
And, murm'ring less, into the Ocean flow;
So the Resentments of his Griefs, that grow
Too great to be express'd, through ev'ry part,
Like a swift Fever, runs, till his great Heart,
Resolv'd to bear that Load no more, deny'd
Nature her common Food, and, starv'd, He dy'd.
And, as a Lion, that hath long in Blood
Maintain'd his Empire in some Libyan Wood,
Surpriz'd at last in Toils, and kept to be
The Pastime of the Cirque, raging to see
His Native Freedom lost, doth, roaring, round
His Prison walke, and (with that dreadful Sound,
Was wont all other Beasts to Terrify,
And, with their Flocks, make trembling Sheepherds fly)
Shakes all about. But, when he findes, at length,
That nor his Rage prevails, nor yet his Strength
Can his Escape procure; all proffer'd Food
He growling flies, forgets all thirst of Blood,
And, in Disdain of his Captivity,
Resolves in sullen Silence there to dy.
So that great King, to whom, not long before,
Rich Gems were from the Erythræan Shore,
For Tribute brought: to whom, with Lions Tame,
And towred Elephants, Getulians came,
And, prostrate at his Feet, Obedience pay'd:
At first in Love, then War, a Captive made,
In a dark Dungeon dy'd, and the sole Fame,
That he 'gainst Scipio fought, preserves his Name.
Categories
Provenance
Searching "mind" and "empire" in HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
At least 2 entries in ESTC (1661, 1672).
See The Second Punick VVar Betwwen Hannibal, and the Romanes: the Whole Seventeen Books, Englished from the Latine of Silius Italicus: With a Continuation from the Triumph of Scipio, to the Death of Hannibal. by Tho: Ross, Esq; Keeper of His Majestie's Libraries, and Groom O His Most Honourable Privy-Chamber. (London: Printed by Tho. Roycroft, and are to be sold by Jo. Martin, Ja. Allestry, and Tho. Dicas, at the Bell in S. Paul's Church-Yard, 1661). <Link to ESTC<Link to LION>
The Second Punick War Between Hannibal, and the Romanes the Whole Seventeen Books, Englished from the Latine of Silius Italicus: With a Continuation from the Triumph of Scipio, to the Death of Hannibal. by Tho. Ross London : Printed by Tho. Roycroft, 1672). <Link to ESTC>
See The Second Punick VVar Betwwen Hannibal, and the Romanes: the Whole Seventeen Books, Englished from the Latine of Silius Italicus: With a Continuation from the Triumph of Scipio, to the Death of Hannibal. by Tho: Ross, Esq; Keeper of His Majestie's Libraries, and Groom O His Most Honourable Privy-Chamber. (London: Printed by Tho. Roycroft, and are to be sold by Jo. Martin, Ja. Allestry, and Tho. Dicas, at the Bell in S. Paul's Church-Yard, 1661). <Link to ESTC<Link to LION>
The Second Punick War Between Hannibal, and the Romanes the Whole Seventeen Books, Englished from the Latine of Silius Italicus: With a Continuation from the Triumph of Scipio, to the Death of Hannibal. by Tho. Ross London : Printed by Tho. Roycroft, 1672). <Link to ESTC>
Date of Entry
08/07/2004
