Whatever clime the fun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses bow'r: 10 The great Emathian conqueror bid spare Went to the ground: And the repeated air To fave th' Athenian walls from ruin bare. IX. To a virtuous young Lady. Lady that in the prime of earliest youth Wisely hast shunn'd the broad way and the green, And with those few art eminently seen, That labor up the hill of heav'nly truth, The better part with Mary and with Ruth 5 Chofen thou hast; and they that overween, Thy care is fix'd, and zealoufly attends Χ. To the Lady Margaret Ley. Daughter to that good Earl, once President Who Who liv'd in both, unstain'd with gold or fee, Till fad the breaking of that Parlament 5 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, 10 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. ΧΙ. On the detraction which follow'd upon my writing certain treatises. A book was writ of late call'd Tetrachordon, And woven close, both matter, form and stile; The subject new: it walk'd the town a while, Numbering good intellects; now feldom por'd on. Cries the fstall-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 Galafp? 9 Those rugged names to our like mouths grow fleek, That would have made Quintilian stare and gafp. Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheek, Hated Hated not learning worse than toad or afp, I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood, 9 To Mr. H. LAWES on his Airs. With praife enough for envy to look wan; 6 That with fmooth air couldst humour best our Mm tongue. Thou Thou honor'st verse, and verse must lend her wing Dante shall give fame leave to fet thee higher XIV. On the religious memory of Mrs. CATHARINE THOMSON, my Christian friend, deceas'd 16 Decem. 1646. When faith and love, which parted from thee never, Love led them on, and faith who knew them best To XV. 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 5 Victory home, though new rebellions raife Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays Her broken league to imp their ferpent wings. O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand, II (For what can war, but endless war ftill 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. XVI. To the Lord General CROMWELL. Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud 5 To |