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Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure even

To that same lot, however mean or high,

ΙΟ

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven; All is, if I have grace to use it so,

As ever in my great Task-master's eye.

WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED
TO THE CITY.

CAPTAIN, or Colonel, or Knight in arms!

Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,
If deed of honour did thee ever please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms.
He can requite thee; for he knows the charms
That call fame on such gentle acts as these,
And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas,
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.
Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower:

The great Emathian conqueror bid spare
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
Went to the ground: and the repeated air

Of sad Electra's poet had the power

To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.

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TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY.

LADY! that in the prime of earliest youth
Wisely hath shunned the broad way and the green,
And with those few are eminently seen,
That labour up the hill of heavenly truth;
The better part with Mary and with Ruth

Chosen thou hast; and they that overween,
And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen,
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,

IO

And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure, Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friends Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,

Hast gained thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure!

TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY.

Daughter to that good Earl, once president
Of England's council, and her treasury,
Who lived in both, unstained with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till sad the breaking of that Parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Charonea, fatal to liberty,

Killed with report that old man eloquent.
Though later born than to have known the days
Wherein your father flourished, yet by you,
Madam, methinks I see him living yet;

So well your words his noble virtues praise,
That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to possess them, honoured Margaret.

10

ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON MY WRITING CERTAIN TREATISES.

A BOOK was writ of late called "Tetrachordon,"
And woven close, both matter, form, and style;
The subject new; it walked the town a while,
Numb'ring good intellects; now seldom pored on.
Cries the stall-reader, "Bless us! what a word on
A title page is this!" and some in file

Stand spelling false, while one might walk to MileEnd Green. Why is it harder Sirs than Gordon, Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp!

Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek, 10
That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.

Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheek!
Hated not learning worse than toad or asp,
When thou taught'st Cambridge, and King Edward,
Greek.

ON THE SAME.

I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs
By the known rules of ancient liberty,

When straight a barbarous noise environs me
Of owls and cuccoos, asses, apes and dogs:
As when those hinds that were transformed to frogs
Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny,

Which after held the sun and moon in fee.

But this is got by casting pearl to hogs; That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood,

And still revolt when Truth would set them free. IC
Licence they mean when they cry Liberty;

For who loves that must first be wise and good;
But from that mark how far they rove we see
For all this waste of wealth, and loss of blood.

TO MR. H. LAWES ON HIS AIRS. HARRY! whose tuneful and well-measured song First taught our English music how to span Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midas' ears, committing short and long; Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, With praise enough for Envy to look wan; To after age thou shalt be writ the man That with smooth air couldst humour best our tongue. Thou honourest verse, and verse must lend her wing To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire, That tunest their happiest lines in hymn or story. Dantè shall give Fame leave to set thee higher Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.

10

ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF

MRS. CATHARINE THOMSON,

MY CHRISTIAN FRIEND, DECEASED DECEMBER 16, 1646.
WHEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee never,
Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God,
Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load

Of death, called life; which us from life doth sever.
Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour,
Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod,
Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever.

Love led them on; and Faith, who knew them best
Thy hand-maids, clad them o'er with purple beams 10
And azure-wings, that up they flew so drest,

And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes
Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest,
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

TO THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX.
FAIRFAX! whose name in arms through Europe rings,
Filling each mouth with envy or with praise,
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze
And rumours loud, that daunt remotest kings;
Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings

Victory home, though new rebellions raise
Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays
Her broken league to imp their serpent wings.

O! yet a nobler task awaits thy hand,

(For what can war, but endless war still breed?)
Till truth and right from violence be freed,
And public faith cleared from the shameful brand
Of public fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed,
While Avarice and Rapine share the land.

TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL. CROMWELL! Our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude,

ΙΟ

Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,

To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed,
And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud

Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued ;
While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued,
And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud,
And Worcester's laureate wreath. Yet much remains
To conquer still; Peace hath her victories
No less renowned than War: new foes arise
Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains:
Help us to save free conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.

10

TO SIR HENRY VANE, THE YOUNGER.

VANE! young in years, but in sage counsel old,—
Than whom a better senator ne'er held

The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repelled
The fierce Epirot and the African bold,—

Whether to settle peace, or to unfold

The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled;
Then to advise how War may, best upheld,
Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold,

In all her equipage: besides to know

Both spiritual power and civil, what each means,

ΙΟ

What severs each, thou hast learned, which few have done:

The bounds of either sword to thee we owe :

Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans
In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT.

AVENGE, O Lord! thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones,

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