Page images
PDF
EPUB

That with smooth aire couldft humor beft our

tongue.

Thou honour'ft Verfe, and Verse must send her wing
To honour thee, the Priest of Phabus Quire
That tun'st their happiest lines in Hymn, or Story.
Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher
Then his Cafella, whom he woo'd to fing
Met in the milder fhades of Purgatory.

W

XIV.

HEN Faith and Love which parted from thee never,

Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthy load

Of Death, call'd Life; which us from Life doth

fever.

Thy Works and Alms and all thy good Endeavour Staid not behind, nor in the grave were trod; But as Faith pointed with her golden rod, Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.

Love led them on, and Faith who knew them best Thy hand-maids, clad them o're with purple

beams

10

And azure wings, that up they flew so drest, And speak the truth of thee on glorious Theams Before the Judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

XV. To my Lord Fairfax.

FAIRFAX, whofe Name in Arms through

Europe rings,

And fills all Mouths with Envy or with Praise, And all her Jealous Monarchs with Amaze. And Rumours loud which daunt remotest Kings, Thy firm unshaken Valour ever brings

Victory home, while new Rebellions raise Their Hydra-heads, and the false North displays Her broken League to Imp her Serpent Wings: O yet! a Nobler task awaits thy Hand,

For what can War, but Acts of War still breed, Till injur'd Truth from Violence be freed; And publick Faith be refcu'd from the Brand Of publick Fraud; in vain doth Valour bleed, While Avarice and Rapine shares the Land.

XVI. To Oliver Cromwell.

ROMWELL our Chief of Men, that through

CROMA Croud,

a

Not of War only, but distractions rude;

Guided by Faith, and Matchless Fortitude:
To Peace and Truth, thy Glorious way hast
Plough'd,

And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
Haft rear'd God's Trophies, and his Work pur-
fued,
[imbru'd ;
While Darwent Streams with Blood of Scots

And Dunbarfield refound thy Praises loud, And Worcester's Laureat Wreath; yet much remains To Conquer ftill; Peace hath her Victories 10 No less than those of War; new Foes arise Threatning to bind our Souls in fecular Chains, Help us to fave Free Confcience from the paw Of Hireling Wolves, whofe Gospel is their Maw.

VANE

XVII. To Sir Henry Vane.

ANE, Young in years, but in Sage Councels old,

Then whom a better Senator ne're held

The Helm of Rome, when Gowns, not Arms, repell'd

The fierce Epirote, and the African bold, Whether to settle Peace, or to unfold

The Drift of hollow States, hard to be Spell'd; Then to advise how War may best be upheld, Mann'd by her Two main Nerves, Iron and Gold, In all her Equipage: Befides, to know

Both Spiritual and Civil, what each means, What ferves each, thou haft learn'd, which few have done.

The bounds of either Sword to thee we owe; Therefore on thy Right hand Religion leans, And reckons thee in chief her Eldest Son.

XVIII. On the late Massacher in Piemont.

A

VENGE O Lord thy flaughter'd Saints, whose bones

Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold, Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old When all our Fathers worship't Stocks and Stones, Forget not in thy book record their groanes

Who were thy Sheep and in their antient Fold Slayn by the bloody Piemontefe that roll'd Mother with Infant down the Rocks. Their

moans

The Vales redoubl'd to the Hills, and they

To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow O're all th' Italian fields where still doth fway The triple Tyrant: that from these may grow A hunder'd-fold, who having learnt thy way Early may fly the Babylonian wo.

W

XIX.

WHEN I confider how my light is spent,
E're half my days, in this dark world and
wide,

And that one Talent which is death to hide,
Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more

bent

To ferve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, least he returning chide,
Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,
I fondly afk; But patience to prevent

That murmur, foon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts, who beft
Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best, his State
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And poft o're Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and waite.

L

XX.

AWRENCE of vertuous Father vertuous Son,
Now that the Fields are dank, and ways are

mire,

Where shall we fometimes meet, and by the fire Help waft a fullen day; what may be won From the hard Seafon gaining: time will run On smoother, till Favonius re-infpire

The frozen earth; and cloth in fresh attire

The Lillie and Rose, that neither sow'd nor fpun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attick taft, with Wine, whence we may rife To hear the Lute well toucht, or artfull voice Warble immortal Notes and Tuskan Ayre? He who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

CTR

XXI.

YRIACK, whose Grandfire on the Royal Bench Of Brittish Themis, with no mean applause Pronounc't and in his volumes taught our Lawes, Which others at their Barr fo often wrench;

« PreviousContinue »