That with fmooth aire could humour beft our tongue. Thou honour'ft Verfe, and Verse must fend her wing SONNET XIV. When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, Had ripen'd thy just Soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didft refign this earthly load. O Death, call'd life; which us from Life doth fever! Thy Works and Alms and all thy good Endeavour Staid not behind, nor in the Grave were trod; But as Faith pointed with her golden rod, Follow'd thee up to joy and blifs 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 fo dreft, And spake the truth of thee on glorious Theams Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest, And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams. SON SONNET XV. On General FAIRFAX. Fairfax, whofe Name in Arms thro' Europe rings, Victory home, while new Rebellions raise Their Hydra Heads, and the falfe North displays. Her broken League to imp her Serpent wings. O yet a nobler Tafk awaits thy Hand, For what can War but acts of War ftill breed, Till injur'd Truth from Violence be freed, And publick faith be refcu'd from the brand Of publick fraud? In vain does Valour bleed, While Avarice and Rapine share the Land. SONNET XVI. On Sir Henry Vane the younger. Vane, young in Years, but in fage Counfels old, Than whom a better Senator ne'er held [repel'd The Helm of Rome (when Gowns, not Arms, The fierce Epirot, and the African bold) Whether to fettle Peace, or to unfold The drift of hollow States, hard to be fpell'd; Man'd by her two main Nerves, Iron and Gold, In all her Equipage: Befides to know M 5 What What ferves each, thou haft learn'd, which few have done. The bounds of either Sword to thee we owe ; SONNET XVII. Cromwell, our chief of Men, that thro' a crowd To Peace and Truth thy glorious way haft plow'd, SONNET On the late Maffacre in Piemont. Avenge, O Lord, thy flaughter'd Saints, whose bones Lie fcatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold, Ev'n them who kept thy truth fo pure of old, When all our Fathers worship'd Stocks and Stones, Forget not in thy Book record their groans, Who were thy Sheep, and in their antient Fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd Mother Mother with Infant down the Rocks. Their moan The Vales redoubled to the hills, and they To heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes fow SONNET XIX. Cyriac, this three years day, these Eyes tho' clear Againft Heav'n's Hand, or Will; nor bate one jot Of Heart or Hope; but ftill bear up, and steer Right onwards. What fupports me, doft thou atk ? The confcience, friend, t'have loft them overply'd In Liberty's defence, my noble task, Whereof all Europe rings from fide to fide. This Thought might lead me thro' this world's vain mask, Content, though blind, had I no other Guide, SONNET XX. When I confider 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 useless, though my Soul more bent To ferve therewith my Maker, and present My My true account, left he returning chide.. Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd I fondly afk; but patience, to prevent That murmur, foon replies, God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts; who beft Bear his mild yoak, they serve him beft; his State Is Kingly: Thousands at his bidding speed, And poft o'er Land and Ocean without reft; They alfo ferve who only stand and wait. SONNET XXI. To Mr. Lawrence, Son to the President of Lawrence, of virtuous Father virtuous Son, The frozen earth; and clothe in fresh attire He, who of those delights can judge and spare SONNET XXII. Cyriac, whofe Grandfire on the Royal Bench Pra |