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XV. To my Lord Fairfax. FAIRFAX, whole Name in Arms through
And fills all Mouths with Envy or with Praise, And all her Jealous Monarchs with Amaze.
And Rumours loud which daunt remotest Kings, Thy firm unshaken Valour ever brings
Victory home, while new Rebellions raise Their Hydra-heads, and the false North displays
Her broken League to Imp her Serpent Wings : O yet! a Nobler talk awaits thy Hand,
For what can War, but Acts of War still breed,
Till injur'd Truth from Violence be freed; And publick Faith be rescu'd from the Brand
Of publick Fraud ; in vain doth Valour bleed, While Avarice and Rapine shares the Land.
XVI. To Oliver Cromwell.
"ROMWELL our Chief of Men, that through
haft Plough’d, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud Haft rear'd God's Trophies, and his Work pursued,
[imbru’d; While Darwent Streams with Blood of Scots
And Dunbarfield resound thy Praises loud, And Worcester's Laureat Wreath; yet much remains
To Conquer still; Peace hath her Victories 10
No less than those of War; new Foes arise Threatning to bind our Souls in secular Chains, Help us to save Free Conscience from the
paw Of Hireling Wolves, whose Gospel is their Maw.
XVII. To Sir Henry Vane.
VANE, Young in years, but in Sage Councels
Then whom a better Senator ne're held
The Drift of hollow States, hard to be Spellid; Then to advise how War may best be upheld,
Mann'd by her Two main Nerves, Iron and Gold, In all her Equipage : Besides, to know
Both Spiritual and Civil, what each means, What serves each, thou hast learn'd, which few
have done. The bounds of either Sword to thee we owe;
Therefore on thy Right hand Religion leans, And reckons thee in chief her Eldest Son.
XVIII. On the late Massacher in Piemont. A VENGE 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
Whenallour Fathers worship’t Stocks and Stones, Forget not: in thy book record their groanes
Who were thy Sheep and in their antient Fold Slayn by the bloody Piemontese that rollid Mother with Infant down the Rocks. Their
The Vales redoubľd to the Hills, and they
To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes fow
O’re all th’Italian fields where still doth sway The triple Tyrant : that from these may grow
A hunder'd-fold, who having learnt thy way Early may fly the Babylonian wo.
wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide, Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more
My true account, least he returning chide,
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts, who best
Bear his milde yoak, they serve him beft, his State Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’re Land and Ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and waite.
AWRENCE of vertuous Father vertuous Son,
mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help wast a sullen day; what may be won
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
The Lillie and Rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attick tast, with Wine, whence we may rise
To hear the Lute well toucht, or artfull voice Warble immortal Notes and Tuskan Ayre?
He who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise.
YRIACK, whose Grandfire on the Royal Bench
Of Brittish Themis, with no mean applause Pronounc't and in his volumes taught our Lawes, Which others at their Barr so often wrench;
To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting drawes ;
And what the Swede intend, and what the French. To measure life, learn thou betimes, and know
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 cheerful hour, refrains.
XXII. To Mr. Cyriac Skinner.
Upon his Blindness. CYRIAC VYRIAC this Three years day, these Eyesthough
clear To outward view of blemish or of Spot, Bereft of Sight, their Seeing have forgot:
Nor to their idle Orbs doth day appear,
Or Man, or Woman; yet I argue not
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 Liberties Defence, my noble task ; [ply'd Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through this World's
vain mask Content, though blind, had I no other Guide.