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XV.

To the Lord General F AIRFAX.

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?) 10 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. XVI.

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,

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To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd, And on the neck of crowned fortune proud Haft 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 laureat wreath. Yet much remains

To

To conquer ftill; peace hath her victories
No less renown'd than war: new foes arife
Threatning to bind our fouls with fecular chains:
Help us to fave free confcience from the paw
Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.
XVII.

10.

To Sir HENRY VANE the younger. Vane, young in years, but in fage counsel old, Than whom a better fenator ne'er held The helm of Rome, when gowns not arms repell'd The fierce Epirot and the African bold,

Whether to fettle peace, or to unfold

The drift of hollow ftates 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: befides to know

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

XVIII.

On the late maffacre in Piemont.

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

When

When all our fathers worshipt stocks and ftones, Forget not: in thy book record their groans

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Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow 10
O'er all th'Italian fields, where still doth sway

The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow
A hundred fold, who having learn'd thy way
Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

ΧΙΧ.

On his Blindness.

When I confider how my light is spent

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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 foul more bent
To ferve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, left he returning chide;
Doth God exact day-labor, light deny'd,
I fondly ask: But patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best 10
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

And poft o'er land and ocean without reft;
They also serve who only stand and wait.

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XX.

To Mr. LAWRENCE.

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son,

Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won

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From the hard season gaining? time will run
On fmoother, till Favonius re-inspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lilly' and rose, that neither fow'd nor spun.
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attic tafte, with wine, whence we may rise 10
To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?

He who of those delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

ΧΧΙ.

To CYRIAC SKINNER. Cyriac, whose grandfire on the royal bench Of British Themis, with no mean applaufe Pronounc'd and in his volumes taught our laws, Which others at their bar so often wrench; To day deep thoughts refolve with me to drench 5 In mirth, that after no repenting draws; Let Euclid reft and Archimedes pause, And what the Swede intends, and what the French.

To meafure life learn thou betimes, and know

To

Toward folid good what leads the nearest way; 10 For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wife in show, That with fuperfluous burden loads the day, And when God sends a chearful hour, refrains.

ΧΧΙΙ.

To the fame.

Cyriac, this three years day these eyes, though clear,
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light their feeing have forgot,
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of fun, or moon, or star throughout the year,
Or man, or woman.

Yet I argue not

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Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou afk? The confcience, Friend, to' have lost them overIn liberty's defenfe, my noble task,

ply'd

Of which all Europe talks from side to side. (mask This thought might lead me through the world's vain Content though blind, had I no better guide.

XXIII.

On his deceased WIFE.

Methought I faw my late espoused saint

Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint. Mine,

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