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It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
When the Assault was intended to the City. CAPTAIN, or colonel, or knight in arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may
seize, If deed of honour did thee ever please,
Guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite thee; for he knows the charms
That call fame on such gentle acts as these,
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.
The great Emathian conqueror bid spare
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground; and the repeated air
Of sad Electra's poet had the power
To a virtuous Young Lady. LADY, that in the prime of earliest youth
Wisely hast shunn'd the broad way and the green, And with those few art eminently seen,
That labour up the hill with heavenly truth,
Chosen thou hast; and they that overween,
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
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 friends
Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
To the Ludy Margaret Ley.
Of England's council and her treasury,
And left them both, more in himself content, Till sad the breaking of that parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
Killd 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,
On the Detraction which followed upon my
writing certain Treatises. A BOOK was writ of late, called Tetrachordon,
And woven close, both matter, form, and style; The subject new; it walk'd the town a while,
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
End Green. Why is it harder, sirs, than Gordon, Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?
Those rugged names to our likemouths grow sleek,
That would have made Quintilian 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 Ed.
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.
Licence they mean when they cry liberty;
But from that mark how far they rove we see,
To Mr. H. Lawes, on the publishing his Airs. HARRY, whose tuneful and well-measured song
First taught our English music how to span
With Midas' ears, committing short and long; Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,
With praise enough for Envy to look wan;
tongue. Thou honour'st verse, and verse must lend her wing
To honour thee, the priest of Phæbus 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
On the religious Memory of Mrs. Catherine Thom
son, my Christian Friend, deceased December
16, 1646. WHEN faith and love, which parted from thee never,
Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God,
Of death, call'd life; which us from life doth sever. Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour,
Staid not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.
Thy hand-maids, clad them o'er with purple 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, And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.
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;
Victory home, though new rebellions raise
Her broken league to imp their serpent-wings. O 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.
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 proud
Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbued,
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.
To Sir Henry Vane, the Younger.' VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old,
Than whom a better senator ne'er held
The fierce Epirot and the African bold;
The drift of hollow states hard to be spell’d;
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
have done: The bounds of either sword to thee we owe :