The Arms (Suavitate, aut Vi)

'Tis she Commands; then, must her Poet Sing
The first bold Man, from whence his race did Spring.
First of the line, first noted of the Name,
Who his by subtle brav'ry purchas'd Fame,
Atchieving deeds, whence his long honours came.
A Castle stood, impregnable of Old,
Scorning assault, like Danae's Brazen hold;
By Steel unconquer'd, and unbrib'd by Gold.
Long had the British Force besieg'd this Tow'r,
Long had it Mock'd Britain's Enervate Pow'r.
This subtle Hero, Champion of his race,
With some few Troops, attempted, gain'd the Place.
Naked of Martial Pomp, unarm'd in show,
Deckt with Plum'd Casks, defenceless all below,
For sook the Camp, revolting to the Foe.
As Friends they came, and were, as Friends, let in,
By which false Friendship they the Outworks win.
Gallantly Courteous, Fashionably brave,
Their long Plum'd Casks, as in Salute, they wave.
From which, at once, soon as the Signal's giv'n,
Small Pistols drawn; their Casks are tost to Heav'n.
With a loud shout, charging the Guards, they Fire,
Some Fall, some Fly, and Fighting, some Retire.
At the rais'd Clamour, the Besiegers hast,
Rush in, like Floods, the Gates defenceless past,
And by Join'd Forces, Storm the Fort at last.
Hence are his Honours Blazon'd, hence his Arms,
For his close Valour, and secure Alarms.
A Castle for his Crest the Helmet bore,
Three Pistols added in his Field he wore,
Three Roses only were his Arms before.
I envy not, bold Ancestor! Thy Fame,
Amasia mine, I should despise a Name.
Triumphs o'er Beauty I to Worlds prefer;
You Vanquish Castles, let me Vanquish her.
Fam'd much for cunning, not for Courage less,
Yet she's a Fortress thou could'st ne'er possess.
Inspire me, Parent Genius! mild appear,
Useless thy Roses, if they fail me here.
Blushing they fall, her Cheeks more Sweetly Red,
Now, Pale like me, their Sickly leaves they shed,
Behold, they Wither now, and now are Dead.
Degenerate Youth! Thy Arms, thy Honours lost,
What Fame has slothful Sylvius left to boast?
New Arms the Patron of his line had won;
Unworthy thou to be esteem'd a Son,
Losing what long descent had made thy own.
This points the Warriour's, this the Lover's course,
That sweetness always must be Join'd with force.