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Thou honour'st Verse, and Verse must send her wing
Thomason. wife of student of, centa
ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHERINE THOMSON, MY
WHEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee never,
Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever.
Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest,
ON THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX, AT THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER,
FAIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe rings,
Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings
Victory home, though new rebellions raise
O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand
(For what can war but endless war still breed?)
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
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed,
Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued,
No less renowned than War: new foes arise,
TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER.
VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old,
Whether to settle peace, or to unfold
The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled;
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
AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshiped stocks and stones, Forget not: in thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans. The vales redoubled to the hills, and they
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,
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?"
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
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
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?
He who of those delights can judge, and spare
[TO CYRIACK SKINNER.]
CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
[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. Liberly
This thought might Tead me through the world's van mask
[ON HIS DECEASED WIFE.]
METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint
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.