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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
V.-TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY.
DAUGHTER to that good earl, once president
Of England's council and her treasury,
Who lived in both, unstain'd 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
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;
That all both judge you to relate them true,
VI. ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON
MY WRITING CERTAIN TREATISES.
A BOOK was writ of late, callid " Tetrachordon,"
And woven close, both matter, form, and style; The subject new: it walk'd the town awhile,
Numbering 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 [MileStand spelling false, while one might walk to
End green. Why is it harder, sirs, than Gordon, Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp? [sleek,
Those rugged names to our like mouths grow That would have made Quintillian 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
VII. ON THE SAME.
I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs
By the known rules of ancient liberty,
Of owls, and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs:
Raild at Latona's twin-born progeny,
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs;
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
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:
[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
IX.-ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS OATHERINE
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;
Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.
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,
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. 0, 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 im
bued, 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.
Than whom a better senator ne'er held
The fierce Epirot and the African bold; [pell'd Whether to settle peace, or to unfold
The drift of hollow states hard to be spellid;
Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold,
Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, What severs each, thou hast learn'd, which few
Therefore on thy firm hand religion leans