IV. TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY. LADY, that in the prime of earliest youth Chosen thou hast; and they that overween, To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light, Hast gain'd thy entrance, virgin wise and pure. V. TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY. DAUGHTER to that good earl, once president Kill'd with report that old man eloquent. 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, honour'd Margaret. VI. ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON MY WRITING CERTAIN TREATISES. A BOOK was writ of late, called Tetrachordon, Stand spelling false, while one might walk to MileEnd Green. Why is it harder, sirs, than Gordon, Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp? Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek, When thou taught'st Cambridge and King Edward VII. ON THE SAME. I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs As when those hinds, that were transform'd to frogs, 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 IX. ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHERINE THOMSON, 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, 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. X. TO THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX. FAIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe rings, And rumours loud that daunt remotest kings; Victory home, though new rebellions raise (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. XI. TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL. 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 proud Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureate 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. XII. TO SIR HENRY VANE, THE YOUNGER. 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, repell'd The fierce Epirot and the African bold; Whether to settle peace, or to unfold The drift of hollow states hard to be spell'd; 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 have done: The bounds of either sword to thee we owe Therefore on thy firm hand religion leans In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son. XIII. ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT. AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold sway |