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Sol troverete in tal parte men duro
Ove Amor mise l'infanabil ago.


On his being arriv'd to the age of 23.

How foon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stoln on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hafting days fly on with full carreer,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
Perhaps my femblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arriv'd so near,

And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits indu'th.

Yet be it lefs or more, or foon or flow,

It shall be still in ftricteft measure even

To that fame 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.


may seise,

When the affault was intended to the City. Captain or Colonel, or Knight in arms, Whofe chance on these defenseless doors If deed of honor 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 fuch gentle acts as these,
And he can spread thy name o'er lands and feas,


Whatever clime the fun's bright circle warms.
Lift not thy fpear against the Muses bow'r:
The great Emathian conqueror bid spare

The house of Pindarus, when temple' and tow'r Went to the ground: And the repeated air Of fad Electra's poet had the pow'r

To fave th' Athenian walls from ruin bare.


To a virtuous young Lady.



Lady that in the prime of earliest youth
Wifely haft fhunn'd the broad
way and the
And with those few art eminently seen,
That labor up the hill of heav'nly truth,
The better part with Mary and with Ruth
Chofen thou haft; 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 the odorous lamp with deeds of light, And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be fure Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friends Paffes to blifs at the mid hour of night,

Haft gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wife and pure.


To the Lady Margaret Ley.

Daughter to that good Earl, once President
Of England's Council, and her Treasury,


Who liv'd in both, unftain'd with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till fad the breaking of that Parlament
Broke him, as that dishoneft 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 florifh'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 poffefs them, honor'd Margaret.


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On the detraction which follow'd upon my writing certain treatifes.

A book was writ of late call'd Tetrachordon,
And woven close, both matter, form and ftile;
The subject new: it walk'd the town a while,
Numb'ring good intellects; now seldom por❜d on.
Cries the ftall-reader, Bless us! what a word on 5
A title page is this! and fome in file
Stand spelling falfe, 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 fleek, That would have made Quintilian ftare and gasp. Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheek,


Hated not learning worse than toad or afp, (Greek. When thou taught'ft Cambridge, and king Edward XII.

On the fame.

I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs
By the known rules of ancient liberty,
When firaight a barbarous noise environs me
Of owls and cuccoos, affes, apes and dogs:
As when those hinds that were transform'd to frogs 5
Rail'd at Latona's twin-born progeny,

Which after held the fun and moon in fee.
But this is got by cafting pearl to hogs;
That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood,

And ftill revolt when truth would fet them free. 10
Licence they mean when they cry Liberty;

For who loves that, must first be wife and good;
But from that mark how far they rove we see
For all this waste of wealth, and loss of blood..

To Mr. H.


LAWES on his Airs. Harry, whofe tuneful and well measur'd song First taught our English music how to span Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midas ears, committing short and long;

Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, 5 With praise enough for envy to look wan;

To after age thou shalt be writ the man,


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That with smooth air couldst humour best our tongue. Thou honor'st verse, and verse must lend her wing To honor thee, the priest of Phoebus quire, That tun'ft their happiest lines in hymn, or story. Dante shall give fame leave to set thee higher Than his Cafella, whom he woo'd to fing Met in the milder fhades of purgatory.


On the religious memory of Mrs. Catharine Thomson, my
Chriftian friend, deceas'd 16 Decem. 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, call'd life; which us from life doth fever.
Thy works and alms and all thy good endevor 5
Stay'd not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
But as faith pointed with her golden 10d,
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 dreft,
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.



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