Rail'd at Latona's twin-born progeny, And still revolt when truth would set them free. XIII. TO MR. H. LAWES ON THE H ARRY, whose tuneful and well measur'd song First taught our English music how to span Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midas' ears, committing short and long; Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, With praise enough for envy to look wan; To after age thou shalt be writ the man, That with smooth air couldst humour best our tongue. 10 Thou honour'st verse, and verse must lend her wing XIV. ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHERINE THOMSON, MY CHRISTIAN FRIEND, DECEASED 16TH DEC. 1646. HEN faith and love, which parted from thee never, Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God, Of death, call'd life; which us from life doth sever. II XV. TO THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX. AIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe Filling each mouth with envy or with praise, Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays (For what can war, but endless war still breed?) 10 XVI. TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL. ROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd, And on the neck of crowned fortune proud Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued, No less renown'd than war: new foes arise. 10 1 XVII. TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER, ANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old, Than whom a better senator ne'er held The helm of Rome, when gowns not arms repell'd The fierce Epirot and the African bold, Whether to settle peace, or to unfold The drift of hollow states 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: besides to know Both spiritual pow'r and civil, what each means, What severs each, thou hast learn'd, which few have done: The bounds of either sword to thee we owe: Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans II XVIII. ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN VENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold; Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd 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 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 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. 9 XIX. ON HIS BLINDNESS. HEN 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, Lodg'd 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 Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; 10 XX. TO MR. LAWRENCE. AWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son, mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire |