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To the Lord General F A IRFAX.

Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings,
Filling each mouth with envy or with praise,
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze
And rumors 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 ftill breed?) 10
Till truth and right from violence be freed,
And public faith clear'd from the shameful brand
Of public fraud. In vain doth valor bleed,
While avarice and rapin share the land.


To the Lord General C ROMWEL L. Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchlefs fortitude,

To peace and truth thy glorious way haft plough'd, And on the neck of crowned fortune proud


Haft rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field refounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains


To conquer fill; peace hath her victories
No lefs renown'd than war: new foes arise
Threatning to bind our fouls with fecular chains:
Help us to fave free conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.


To Sir HENRY VAN E the younger. Vane, young in years, but in fage counsel old,

Than whom a better senator ne'er held The helm of Rome, when gowns not arms repell'd The fierce Epirot and the African bold, Whether to fettle peace, or to unfold

The drift of hollow ftates 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 pow'r and civil, what each means,
What fevers each, thou haft learn'd, which few have
The bounds of either fword to thee we owe: (done:
Therefore on thy firm hand religion leans
In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.



On the late maffacre in Piemont.

Avenge, O Lord, thy flaughter'd faints, whose bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold;
Ev'n 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


Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd 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 ftill doth fway The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow A hundred fold, who having learn'd thy way Early may fly the Babylonian woe.


On his Blindness.

When I confider how my light is spent

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

Lodg'd with me useless, though my foul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present 5

My true account, left he returning chide; Doth God exact day-labor, light deny'd, I fondly ask: But patience to prevent That murmur, foon replies, God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts; who beft 10 Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

And poft o'er land and ocean without reft;
They also serve who only stand and wait.




Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a fullen 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 lilly' and rofe, that neither fow'd nor fpun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,

Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise 10 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 unwife.


To CYRIAC SKIN NE R. Cyriac, whofe grandfire on the royal bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounc'd and in his volumes taught our laws, Which others at their bar so often wrench; To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 5 In mirth, that after 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


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Toward folid good what leads the nearest
way; 10
For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And when God fends a chearful hour, refrains.


To the fame.

Cyriac, this three years day these eyes, though clear,
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light their feeing have forgot,
Nor to their idle orbs doth fight appear
Of fun, or moon, or ftar throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What fupports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, Friend, to' have loft them over-
In liberty's defense, my noble task,
Of which all Europe talks from fide to side. (mask
This thought might lead me through the world's vain
Content though blind, had I no better guide.



On his deceased WIFE.

Methought I saw my late espoused saint

Brought to me like Alceftis from the grave,
Whom Jove's great fon to her glad husband gave,
Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.
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