That Mansoul's matchless wars no fables be.
Mansoul, the desire of both princes was:
One keep his gain would, t'other gain his loss.
Diabolus would cry, 'The town is mine!'
Emmanuel would plead a right divine
Unto his Mansoul: then to blows they go,
And Mansoul cries, 'These wars will me undo.'
Mansoul! her wars seemed endless in her eyes;
She's lost by one, becomes another's prize:
And he again that lost her last would swear,
'Have her I will, or her in pieces tear.'
Mansoul! it was the very seat of war;
Wherefore her troubles greater were by far
Than only where the noise of war is heard,
Or where the shaking of a sword is fear'd;
Or only where small skirmishes are fought,
Or where the fancy fighteth with a thought.
She saw the swords of fighting men made red,
And heard the cries of those with them wounded:
Must not her frights, then, be much more by far
Than theirs that to such doings strangers are?
Or theirs that hear the beating of a drum,
But not made fly for fear from house and home?
Mansoul not only heard the trumpet's sound,
But saw her gallants gasping on the ground:
Wherefore we must not think that she could rest
With them, whose greatest earnest is but jest:
Or where the blust'ring threat'ning of great wars
Do end in parlies, or in wording jars.
Mansoul! her mighty wars, they did portend