Quickly to the green earth's end,
Where the bow'd welkin low doth bend,
And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the moon,

Mortals that would follow me,
Love virtue; she alone is free:
She can teach thee how to climb
Higher than the sphery chime;
Or if virtue feeble were,

Heaven itself would stoop to her.

SONNETS.

I.

To the Nightingale.

O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still;
Thou with fresh hopes the lover's heart doth ill
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
The liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love; O, if Jove's will
Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretel my hopeless doom in some grove nigh;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:

Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

II.

On his being arrived at the Age of Twenty-three.

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! My hasting days tly on with full career,

But my late spring no bud or blossom sheweth, Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, That I to manhood am arrived so near;

And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endueth.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,

It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven
All is, if I have grace to use it so,

As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.

III.

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, And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muse's bower: 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 save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.

IV.

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,
The better part with Mary and with Ruth
Chosen thou hast; and they that overween,
And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen,
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
Thy care is fix'd, and zealously attends

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,

Hast gain'd thy entrance, virgin wise and pure.

V.

To the Lady Margaret Ley.

DAUGHTER to that good earl, once president
Of England's council and her treasury,
Who lived in both, unstain'd with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till sad the breaking of that parliament

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,
Madam, methinks, I see him living yet;
So well your words his noble virtues praise,
That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to possess them, honor'd Margaret.

VI.

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

Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile End Green. Why is it harder, sirs, than Gordon, Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?

Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek, That would have made Quintillian 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 Edwar
Greek.

VII.

On the Same.

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

When straight a barbarous noise environs me
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs:
As when those hinds that were transform'd to frogs
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 senseless mood, And still revolt when truth would set them free, Licence they mean when they cry liberty;

For who loves that, must first be wise and good;

But from that mark how far they rove we see,
For all this waste of wealth, and loss of blood.

VIII.

To Mr. H. Lawes, on the publishing his Airs. HARRY, whose tuneful and well-measured song First taught our English music how to span Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midias' ears, committing short and long; Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng With praise enough for Envy to look wan; To after-age thou shalt be writ the man, That with smooth air couldst humour best our tongue. Thou honour'st verse, and verse must lend her wing To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' 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, Met in the milder shades of purgatory.

IX.

On the religious Memory of Mrs. Catharine Thomson, 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, Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load

Of death, called 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; But, as faith pointed with her golden rod, Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever. Love led them on, and faith, who knew them best 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.

X.

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;