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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 dishonest victory

At Charonea, 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 fee 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.




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, Numbering good intellects; now feldom por'd on. Cries the stall-reader, Bless us! what a word on 5 A title page is this! and some in file

Stand spelling false, while one might walk to MileEnd Green. Why is it harder Sirs than Gordon, Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?

9 Those rugged names to our like mouths grow fleek, That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp. Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheek,


Hated not learning worse than toad or afp,
When thou taught'ftCambridge, and kingEdward

On the fame.


I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs
By the known rules of ancient liberty,
When straight 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, 9
And ftill 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 wafte of wealth, and lofs of blood.

To Mr. H. LAWES on his Airs.

Harry, whose tuneful and well-measur'd fong
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,
With praise enough for envy to look wan;
thou shalt be writ the man,


To after age
That with smooth air couldft humour best our


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Thou honor'st verse, and verse must lend her wing

To honor thee, the priest of Phœbus quire, 10 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 sing 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 foul 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
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 hand-maids, clad them o'er with purple beams
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest, 11
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.



To the Lord General FAIRFAX.

Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings,
Filling each mouth with envy or with praise,
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze
And rumors 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 ferpent wings. O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand,

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(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 valor bleed, While avarice and rapin share the land.


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 haft plough'd, And on the neck of crowned fortune proud


Haft rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen ftream with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field refounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains

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To conquer ftill; peace hath her victories


No lefs renown'd than war: new foes arife Threatning to bind our fouls with fecular chains: Help us to fave free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.


To Sir HENRY VANE the younger. Vane, young in years, but in fage 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 ftates hard to be spell'd,
Than to advise how war may best upheld
Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold,
In all her equipage: befides to know

Both spiritual pow'r and civil, what each means,
What fevers each, thou hast learn'd,which few have
The bounds of either fword to thee we owe: (done:
Therefore on thy firm hand religion leans
In peace, and reckons thee her eldest fon.


On the late maffacre in PIEMONT.

Avenge, O Lord, thy flaughter'd faints, whofe bones Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold; Ev'n them who kept thy truth fo pure of old,


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