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Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour,

Stay'd 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 handmaids, 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.


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; 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 servant 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.


CROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud




Not of war only, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,

To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough’d, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proua [ed;

Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursu-
While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots im-

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

To conquer still; Peace hath her victories d

No less renown'd than War: new foes arised Threatening to bind souls with secular chains. Help us to save free conscience from the

paw Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw, e


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VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old,

Than whom a better senator ne'er held
The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, re.

The fierce Epirot and the African bold; [pellid Whether to settle peace, or to unfold

The drift of hollow states hard to be spellid;
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 power and civil, what each means, What severs each, thou hast learn'd, which few

bave done:
The bounds of either sword to thee we owe:

Therefore on thy firm hand religion leans
Ip peace,

and reckons thee her eldest son.

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 worshipp'd stocks and stones,
Forget not: in thy book record their groans

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piedmontese that rolld

Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To Heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow

O'er all the 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.

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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,

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more
To serve therewith my Maker, and present [bent

My true account, lest He, returning, chide;
Doth God exact day-labour, light denied ?

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

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

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

XV. --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 sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining? Time will run

On smoother, till Favonius reinspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire

The lily 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 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.

XVI. TO CYRIACK SKINNER. CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench

Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,

Which others at their bar so often wrench; To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench

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

Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;

For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show,

That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.


CYRIACK, this three years day these, eyes, though

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

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

Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven'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 orer

In liberty's defence, my noble task, [plied Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through the

world's vain mask Content though blind, had I no better guide.


METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint

Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband

gave, Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed

Purification in the old Law did save, (taint And such, as yet once more I trust to have

Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint;Came, vested all in white, pure as her mind:

Her face was veil'd; yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined

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