The feeble influence of their stars, that gave No speedier conquest; each neglects to save Himself, to seek advantage to offend His eager foe * * * * * * * But now so long The Turks' proud champion had endured the strong Assaults of the stout Christian, till his strength Cooled, on the ground, with his blood--he fell at length, Beneath his conquering sword. The barbarous crew O' the villains that did at a distance view Their champion's fall, all bands of truce forgot, Running to succour him, begin a hot And desperate combat with those knights that stand To aid Argalia, by whose conquering hand Whole squadrons of them fall, but here he spent His mighty spirit in vain, their cannons rent His scattered troops. * * * * * Argalia lies in chains, ordained to die A sacrifice unto the cruelty Of the fierce bashaw, whose loved favourite in The combat late he slew; yet had not been In that so much unhappy, had not he That honoured then his sword with victory, Half-brother to Janusa been, a bright But cruel lady, whose refined delight Her slave (though husband), Ammurat, durst not Ruffle with discontent; wherefore, to cool that hot Contention of her blood, which he foresaw That heavy news would from her anger draw, To quench with the brave Christian's death, he sent Him living to her, that her anger, spent In flaming torments, might not settle in The dregs of discontent. Staying to win Some Rhodian castles, all the prisoners were Sent with a guard into Sardinia, there To meet their wretched thraldom. From the rest Argalia severed, soon hopes to be bless'd With speedy death, though waited on by all The hell-instructed torments that could fall Within invention's reach; but he's not yet Arrived to his period, his unmoved stars sit Thus in their orbs secured. It was the use Of the Turkish pride, which triumphs in the abuse Of suffering Christians, once, before they take The ornaments of nature off, to make Their prisoners public to the view, that all Might mock their miseries: this sight did call Janusa to her palace-window, where, Whilst she beholds them, love resolved to bear Her ruin on her treacherous eye-beams, till Her heart infected grew; their orbs did fill, As the most pleasing object, with the sight Of him whose sword opened a way for the flight Of her loved brother's soul. HENRY VAUGHAN.