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To the Lord General FAIRFA X.
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

5 Victory home, though new rebellions raise Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays Her broken league to imp their serpent wings. yet a nobler task awaits thy hand, (For what can war, but endless war still breed ?)

Till truth and right from violence be freed, II And public faith clear’d from the shameful brand

Of public fraud. In vain doth valor bleed, While avarice and rapin share the land.

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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 matchless fortitude,

Topeace and truth thy glorious way haft plough’d, And on the neck of crowned fortune proud 5

Haft rear’dGod's trophies, and his work pursued, WhileDarwen stream with blood of Scotsimbrued,

And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains


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conquer still; peace hath her victories
No less renown'd than war: new foes arise
Threatning to bind our souls with secular chains :
Help us to save free.conscience from the

paw Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.

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To Sir HENRY VANE 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 settle peace, or to unfold

5 The drift of hollow states hard to be spellid, Than 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 severs each, thou hast learn’d, which few have
Thebounds of eithersword to thee we owe: (done:
Therefore on thy firm hand religion leans
In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

On the late massacre in PIEMONT.
Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, 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 · 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 alhes sow 10

O’er all th' Italian fields, where still 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.



On his BLINDNESS. When 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,

Lodg’d with me ufeless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, left he returning chide;
Doth God exact day-labor, light deny'd,

I fondly ask : But patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need

Either man's work or his own gifts; who best 10

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him beft: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

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


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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 sullen 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 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 unwise.

Cyriac, whose gransire 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 9


Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;

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 sends a chearful hour, refrains.


To the same.
Cyriac, this three years day these eyes, though clear,

To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light their seeing have forgot,

Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star throughout the year,

5 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 supports me, dost thou ask?

The conscience, Friend, to' have lost them over

In liberty's defence, my noble task, ply'd Of which all Europe talks from side to side. (mask

This thought might lead me thro’ 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 Alcestis from the grave, Whom Jove’s great son to her glad husbånd gave, Rescued from death by force, tho' pale and faint.

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