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AUGHTER to that good Earl, once president

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Who liv'd in both, unstain'd with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till sad the breaking of that Parliament

5 Broke him, as that dishonest victory

At Chæronea, fatal to liberty,
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,
Malam, methinks I see him living yet;
So well your words his noble viitues praise,

That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to possess them, honor'd Margaret.


BOOK was writ of late callid Tetrachordon.

And woven clole, bo‘h matter, form and style;
The subject new; it walk’ the Town awhile.
Numbʼring good intellect; now seldom por’d on.
Cries the itall-reader, Bless us! what a word on

5 A title is this! and some in file

Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile-
End Green. Why is it harder Sirs than Gordon,

Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or G:laip?
Thole rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek,

That would have made Quintilian itare and gasp. 11
Thy age, like ouis, O Soul of Sir John Cheek,

Kated not learning worse than toad or alp,
When thou taught'st at Cambridge, and King Edward

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

When strait a barbarous noile environs me
of owls and cuccoos, afles, apes and dogs:
As when those hinds that were transform’d to frogs s



Rail'd 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 fenteleis mood,
And fill revolt when Truth would set them free,
Licence they mean when they cry Liberty;

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




and song

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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, 5

With praise enough for Envy to look wan;

To after age thou shall be writ the man That with imooth air could'It humour beit our tongue.

Thou honour'it verse, and verse muft lend her wing To honour thee, the priest of Phæbus' quire That tun'st their happiest lines in hymn or story. Dante thall give Fame leave to set thee higher

Than his Calella, whom he woo'd co fing, Met in the milder shades of purgatory.


Deceas'd 16 Dec. 1646.
HEN faith and love, which parted from thee

Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God

Meekly thou didît relign this earthly load Of death, call'd lite; which us from life doth sever. Thy works and alms and all thy good endeavour 5

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 blits for ever.

Love led theni on, and Faith who knew them best Thy hand-niaids, clad them o'er with purple beams



And azure wings, that up they flew so drest II And Ipake the truth of thee on glorious themes Before the !udge, who thenceforth bid thee relt, And drink thy fill of pure immortal Itreams. 14

XV. To rhe LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX. FAIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe

, 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

5 Victory home, though new rebellions raise

Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays Her broken league to imp their serpent wings.

O yet à nobler task awaits thy hand, (For what can war but endless war ftill 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. 14 XVI. TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL. ROMWELL, our chief of men, who, through a

[cloud, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,

and truth thy glorious way halt ploughid, And on the neck of crowned Furtune proud

5 Haft rear'd Goci's trophies, and his work pursu'd, While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrud,

And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains

To conquer ftill; Peace hath her victories

No less renown'd than War: new foes arise
Threat’ning to bind our souls with fecular chains :

Help us to save free conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw. 14


To peace

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XVII. To SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER. VANE, young in years, but in fage council old,

The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repellid The fierce Epirot and the African bold, Whether to lettle peace, or to unfold

5 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, 10
What severs each, thou hast learn'd, 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 eldelt son.

14 XVIII. ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT. AVENGE O Lord, thy Naughter'd faints, whose

Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold
E'en them who kept thy truth so pure

of old, When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones, Forget not; in thy book record their groans 5

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that rollid Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans

The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes fow 10

O'er all th' Italian fields, where still doth sway Tlie triple tyrant; that from these may grow

A hundred fold, who, having learn'd thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

14 XIX. ON HIS BLINDNESS. HEN I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide,

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219 Lodgid with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present 5

My true account, left he returning chide;

Dóth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,
I fondly ask? but patience to prevent

That murmur, foon replies, God doth not heed
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best

Bear his mild yoke, they terve him beft; his state
Is kingly; thoulands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without reit:
They also serve who only stand and waita



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Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and, by the fue;
Help waste a sullen day; what may be won
From the hard season gaining time will run

On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun.

What neat repast thall feast us, light and choice
Of attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise io

To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?
He who of those delights can judge and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

YRIAC, whose grandfire on the royal bench

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Pronounc'd, and in his volumes taught our laws,
Which others at their bár 10 often wrench;
To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench

In mirth, that atter no repenting draws ;

Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intends, and what the French.

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Tow'rd folid good what leads the nearest way;

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