And with those few art 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 fix'd, and zealously attends To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light, And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure, Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night, [friends Hast gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure. V. TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY. DAUGHTER to that good earl, once president Who lived in both, unstain'd with gold or fee, Kill'd with report that old man eloquent. Though later born than to have known the days Wherein your father flourish'd, 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, honour'd Margaret. VI. ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON A BOOK was writ of late, call'd "Tetrachordon," 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. VII. ON THE SAME. I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs Which after held the sun and moon in fee. That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood, And still revolt when truth would set them free. License 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. VIII. TO MR H. LAWES, ON THE PUBLISHING HARRY, whose tuneful and well-measuring song tongue. [wing Thou honour'st verse, and verse must lend her To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire, That tunest their happiest lines in hymn or story. Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher Than his Casella, whom he woo'd to sing Met in the milder shades of purgatory. IX. ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS CATHERINE THOMSON, MY CHRISTIAN FRIEND, DECEASED DEC. 16, 1646. WHEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load [sever. Of death, call'd life; which us from life doth Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour, Stay'd 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 handmaids, clad them o'er with purple beams, 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. X.-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 servant 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 clear'd from the shameful brand Of public fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed, While Avarice and Rapine share the land. XI. TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL. CROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proua [ed; Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursuWhile Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbued, And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains To conquer still; Peace hath her victories No less renown'd 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. XII. TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER. VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old, The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, reThe fierce Epirot and the African bold; [pell'd Whether to settle peace, or to unfold The drift of hollow states hard to be spell'd; 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, What severs each, thou hast learn'd, which few have done: The bounds of either sword to thee we owe: |