XV. To the Lord General FAIRFAX. Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings, Victory home, though new rebellions raise Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays Her broken league to imp their ferpent wings. O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand, 5 (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. XVI. To the Lord General CROMWEL 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 5 Haft rear'd God's trophies, and his work purfued, While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field refounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains To 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, whofe gospel is their maw. XVII. To Sir HENRY VAN E the younger. Vane, young in years, but in fage counsel old, Than whom a better senator ne'er held 10. The helm of Rome, when gowns not arms repell'd The fierce Epirot and the African bold, Whether to fettle peace, or to unfold 5 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: befides to know 9 Both spiritual pow'r and civil, what each means, XVIII. On the late maffacre in Piemont. Avenge, O Lord, thy flaughter'd faints, whose bones When When all our fathers worshipt stocks and ftones, Forget not: in thy book record their groans 5 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 sow 10 O'er all th'Italian fields, where ftill doth sway The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow A hundred fold, who having learn'd thy way Early may fly the Babylonian woe. XIX. On his Blindness. When I confider how my light is spent 5 Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And poft o'er land and ocean without reft; Το XX. To Mr. LAWRENCE. 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 5 On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lilly' and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic tafte, 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 unwise. XXI. To CYRIAC SKINNER. Cyriac, whose grandfire on the royal bench Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause, And what the Swede intends, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know To 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 fuperfluous burden loads the day, And when God fends a chearful hour, refrains. XXII. To the fame. 5 Cyriac, this three years day these eyes, though clear, Of which all Europe talks from side to side. ply'd (mask This thought might lead me through the world's vain Content though blind, had I no better guide. XXIII. On his deceased WIFE. Methought I saw my late efpoused faint Brought to me like Alceftis from the grave, |