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favour which all Arts receive from you; but more particularly by reason of that Obligation and Zeal with which I am bound to dedicate my self to your Service: For having been a long time the object of your Care and Indulgence towards the advantage of my Studies and Fortune, having been moulded (as it were) by your own Hands, and formed under your Government, not to in title you to any thing which my meanness produces, would not only be Injustice, but Sacrilege: So that if there be any thing here tolerably faid, whith deferves Pardon, it is yours Sir, as well as he, who is,

Your moft Devoted, and Obliged Servant,

THO. SPRAT.

To the happy Memory of the late Lord Protector.

By Mr. SPRAT of Oxon. Pindarick Ode.

'T

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IS true, great Name, thou art fecure
From the Forgetfulness and Rage

Of Death, or Envy, or devouring Age;

Thou canft the force and teeth of Time endure: Thy Fame, like Men, the Elder it doth grow, Will of its felf turn whiter too,

Without what needlefs Art can do

Will live beyond thy Breath, beyond thy Hearse,
Tho' it were never heard or fung in Verse.
Without our help, thy Memory is safe;
They only want an Epitaph,

That do remain alone

Alive in an Infcription,

Remembred only on the Brass, or Marble-stone, 'Tis all in vain what we can do:

All our Rofes and Perfumes,

Will but officicus Folly fhow,

And pious Nothings to fuck mighty Tombs,

All our Incense, Gums, and Balm,
Are but unneceffary Duties here:
The Poets may their Spices fpare,

Their coftly Numbers, and their tuneful Feet:
That need not be inbalm'd, which of it self is sweet,

II.

We know to praise thee is a dangerous proof
Of our Obedience and our Love:
For when the Sun and Fire meet,
The one's extinguifh'd quite;

And yet the other never is more bright.
So they that write of thee, and join
Their feeble Names with thine,

Their weaker Sparks with thy illuftrious Light,
Will lose themselves in that ambitious thought;
And yet no Fame to thee from hence be brought
We know, blefs'd Spirit, thy mighty Name
Wants no addition of another's Beam;

It's for our Pens too high, and full of Theme: The Muses are made great by thee, not thou by them. Thy Fame's eternal Lamp will live,

And in thy facred Urn furvive,

Without the food of Oyl, which we can give. 'Tis true; but yet our Duty calls our Songs ; Duty commands our Tongues :

Tho' thou want not our Praises, we

Are not excus'd for what we owe to thee; For fo Men from Religion are not freed, But from the Altars Clouds must rife, Tho' Heaven it felf doth nothing need,

And tho' the Gods don't want an earthly Sacrifice,

III.

Great Life of Wonders, whofe each Year

Full of new Miracles did appear!

Whofe every Month might be
Alone a Chronicle, or History!

Others great Actions are

But thinly scatter'd here and there;
At best, but all one fingle Star;

But thine the Milky-way,

All one continued Light, of undistinguish'd Day ;
They throng'd so close,that nought else could be seen,
Scarce any common Sky did come between:
What fhall I fay, or where begin?

Thou may'ft in double Shapes be shown,
Or in thy Arms, or in thy Gown ;

Like Jove fometimes with warlike Thunder, and
Sometimes with peaceful Scepter in his Hand;
Or in the Field, or on the Throne.

In what thy Head, or what thy Arm hath done,
All that thou didft was fo refin❜d,

So full of substance, and so strongly join'd,
So pure, so weighty Gold,
That the leaft Grain of it,
If fully fpread and beat,

Would many Leaves and mighty Volumes hold.

IV.

Before thy Name was publish'd, and whilft yet
Thou only to thy felf wer't great,
Whilft yet thy happy Bud

Was not quite feen or understood,

It then fure figns of future Greatnefs fhew'd:
Then thy Domestick worth

Did tell the World what it would be,

When it should fit occafion fee,

When a full Spring fhould call it forth:

As Bodies in the Dark and Night,

Have the fame Colours, the fame red and white,

As in the open Day and Light;

The Sun doth only fhew

That they are bright, not make them fo.

So whilft but private Walls did know
What we to fuch a mighty Mind should owe,
Then the fame Virtues did appear,

Tho' in a lefs and more contracted Sphere,
As full, tho' not as large as fince they were:
And like great Rivers, Fountains, the
At first so deep thou didft not go÷

Tho' then thine was not fo enlarg❜d a Flood;
Yet when 'twas little, 'twas as clear, as good.

V.

"Tis true thou waft not born unto a Crown,
Thy Scepter's not thy Father's, but thy own:
Thy Purple was not made at once in hafte,
But after many other Colours paft,

It took the deepest Princely Dye at last.
Thou didst begin with leffer Cares,

And private Thoughts took up thy private Years:
Those Hands, which were ordain'd by Fates
To change the World, and alter States,
Practis'd at firft that vaft Defign

On meaner things with equal Mein.
That Soul which should fo many Scepters fway,
To whom so many Kingdoms fhould obey,
Learn'd firft to rule in a domestick way:
So Government it self began

From Family, and single Man,

Was by the fmall relation firft

Of Husband and of Father nurs'd,

And from those less beginnings paft,

To fpread it felf o'er all the World at laft.

VI.

But when thy Country (then almost enthrall'd)
Thy Virtue, and thy Courage call'd;
When England did thy Arms intreat,
And't had been Sin in thee not to be Great:
When every Stream, and every Flood,

Was a true vein of Earth, and run with Blood;
When unus'd Arms, and unknown War
Fill'd every Place, and every Ear;
When the great Storms and difmal Night
Did all the Land affright;

"Twas time for thee to bring forth all our Light. Thou left'ft thy more delightful Peace,

Thy private Life, and better Ease;

Then down thy Steel and Armour took,
Wishing that it ftill hung upon the Hook:

When Death had got a large Commiffion out,
Throwing her Arrows, and her Sting about;
Then thou (as once the healing Serpent rofe)
Waft lifted up, not for thy felf, but us..

VII.

Thy Country wounded was, and fick before
Thy Wars and Arms did her restore :
Thou knew'ft where the Disease did lie,
And like the Cure of Sympathy,
Thy ftrong and certain Remedy
Unto the Weapon didst apply;

Thou didst not draw the Sword, and fo
Away the Scabbard throw,

As if thy Country shou'd

Be the Inheritance of Mars and Blood:
But that when the great Work was spun,
War in it self should be undone;
That Peace might land again upon the Shore,
Richer and better than before:

The Husbandmen no Steel shall know,
None but the useful Iron of the Plow ;
That Bays might creep on every Spear:
And tho' our Sky was overspread

With a destructive Red;

'Twas but till thou our Sun didft in full Light appear.

VIII.

When Ajax dy'd, the purple Blood,

That from his gaping Wound had flow'd,
Turn'd into Letter, every Ļeaf

Had on it wrote his Epitaph:

So from that Crimson Flood,

Which thou by Fate of times wert led,
Unwillingly to shed,

Letters, and Learning rose, and renewed: Thou fought'ft not out of Envy, Hope, or Hate, But to refine the Church and State;

And like the Romans, whate'er thou
In the Field of Mars didft mow,

Was, that a Holy Island hence might grow,

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