tion of surrendering it. The Turks carried him to the quarters of the pasha, some taking hold of his legs, and others of his arms, in the same manner as sick persons are carried to prevent their being hurt.

The moment the king found himself taken prisoner, the violence of his temper, and the fury which such a long and desperate fight must have naturally inspired, gave place at once to a mild and gentle behavior. He dropped not a word of impatience, nor was an angry look to be seen in his face. He regarded the janizaries with a smiling countenance; and they carried him off, crying "Alla," with an indignation mixed at the same time with respect. His officers were taken at the same time, and stripped by the Turks and Tartars. It was on the 12th of February, 1713, that this strange event happened, which was followed with very singular consequences.

MY DEAR AND ONLY LOVE.

BY JAMES GRAHAM, MARQUIS OF MONTROSE.

[JAMES GRAHAM, MARQUIS OF MONTROSE, was born at Edinburgh in 1612; and after studying at St. Andrew's University, and traveling three years on the Continent, joined the Covenanters against Charles I. in 1638. Their policy drove him to the side of the king the next year, and he became the ablest general Charles had, winning several splendid victories in Scotland; but his Highland allies deserted him when he wished to act on a wider field, the outrages of his Irish soldiers roused the horror and fury of the Lowlanders, and he was finally beaten and driven from the kingdom. Returning in 1650 with a small force, he was defeated and captured, and hanged in Edinburgh, May 21.]

PART FIRST.

My dear and only love, I pray,

This noble world of thee
Be governed by no other sway
But purest monarchy.

For if confusion have a part,

Which virtuous souls abhore,
And hold a synod in thy heart,
I'll never love thee more.

Like Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone,

My thoughts shall evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.

He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
That puts it not unto the touch,
To win or lose it all.

But I must rule and govern still
And always give the law,
And have each subject at my will,
And all to stand in awe.
But 'gainst my battery if I find
Thou shun'st the prize so sore
As that thou set'st me up a blind,
I'll never love thee more.

If in the empire of thy heart,
Where I should solely be,
Another do pretend a part,
And dares to vie with me;
Or if committees thou erect,
And go on such a score,
I'll sing and laugh at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.

But if thou wilt be constant then,
And faithful of thy word,
I'll make thee glorious by my pen,
And famous by my sword.

I'll serve thee in such noble ways
Was never heard before;

I'll crown and deck thee all with bays,
And love thee ever more.

PART SECOND.

My dear and only love, take heed,
Lest thou thyself expose,
And let all longing lovers feed
Upon such looks as those.
A marble wall then build about,
Beset without a door;

But if thou let thy heart fly out,
I'll never love thee more.

Let not their oaths, like volleys shot, Make any breach at all;

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, LENOX, AND TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

R

Nor smoothness of their language plot
Which way to scale the wall;
Nor balls of wildfire love consume
The shrine which I adore;
For if such smoke about thee fume,
I'll never love thee more.

I think thy virtues be too strong
To suffer by surprise;

Those victualed by my love so long,
The siege at length must rise,
And leave thee rulèd in that health
And state thou wast before;
But if thou turn a commonwealth,
I'll never love thee more.

Or if by fraud, or by consent,
Thy heart to ruin come,
I'll sound no trumpet as I wont,

Nor march by tuck of drum;
But hold my arms, like ensigns, up,

Thy falsehood to deplore,

And bitterly will sigh and weep,
And never love thee more.

I'll do with thee as Nero did
When Rome was set on fire,
Not only all relief forbid,
But to a hill retire,

And scorn to shed a tear to see
Thy spirit grown so poor;
But smiling sing, until I die,
I'll never love thee more.

Yet, for the love I bore thee once,
Lest that thy name should die,
A monument of marble stone
The truth shall testify;

That every pilgrim passing by

May pity and deplore

My case, and read the reason why
I can love thee no more.

The golden laws of love shall be

Upon this pillar hung,