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And public faith cleared from the shameful brand
TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL, MAY 1652,
ON THE PROPOSALS OF CERTAIN MINISTERS AT THE COMMITTEE FOR
CROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
Hast reared 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 laureate wreath: yet much remains To conquer still; Peace hath her victories
No less renowned than War: new foes arise, Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains. Help us to save 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 sage counsel old,
The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repelled
Whether to settle peace, or to unfold
The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled;
Then to advise how war may best, upheld,
Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold,
In all her equipage; besides, to know
Both spiritual power and civil, what each means,
What severs each, thou hast learned, which few have done. The bounds of either sword to thee we owe:
Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans
ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT.
AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes, sow
[ON HIS BLINDNESS.]
WHEN I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
Is kingly thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest ;
[TO MR. LAWRENCE.]
LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
He who of those delights can judge, and spare
[TO CYRIACK SKINNER.]
CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
[TO THE SAME.]
CYRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, though clear,
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask
Content, though blind, had I no better guide.
[ON HIS DECEASED WIFE.]
METHOUGHT I saw 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, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint Purification in the Old Law did save,
And such as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind.
Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined So clear as in no face with more delight.
But, oh! as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.
END OF VOL. II.
R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, Printers, bread STREET HILL.