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X. TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY.
Who liv'd in both, unstain'd with gold or fee,
5 Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chæronea, fatal to liberty,
Wherein your father flourish'd, yet by you,
That all both judge you to relate them true,
14 XI. ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED
UPON MY WRITING CERTAIN TREATISES.
And woven clole, bo‘h matter, form and style;
5 A title is this! and some in file
Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile-
Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or G:laip?
That would have made Quintilian itare and gasp. 11
Kated not learning worse than toad or alp,
When strait a barbarous noile environs me
Rail'd at Latona's twin-born progeny.
Which after held the sun and moon in fee,
For who loves that, must first be wile and good;
XIII. TO MR. H. LAWES, ON HIS Airs.
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.
14 XIV. ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CA. THARINE THOMSON, MY CHRISTIAN FRIEND.
Deceas'd 16 Dec. 1646.
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
Help us to save free conscience from the paw
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
14 XVIII. ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT. AVENGE O Lord, thy Naughter'd faints, whose
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold
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,
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,
That murmur, foon replies, God doth not heed
Bear his mild yoke, they terve him beft; his state
Xk. To MR. LAWRENCE.
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
What neat repast thall feast us, light and choice
To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice
XXI. TO CYRIAC SKINNER.
Pronounc'd, and in his volumes taught our laws,
In mirth, that atter no repenting draws ;
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know