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And public faith clear'd from the shameful brand Of public fraud. In vain doth valor bleed, While avarice and rapin fhare the land.
To the Lord General CROMWELL.
Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud
To peace and truth thy glorious way haft ploughed, And on the neck of crowned fortune proud
Haft rear'd God's trophies, and his work purfued, While Darwen ftream with blood of Scots imbrued And Dunbar field refounds thy praifes loud, And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains To conquer ftill; peace hath her victories No lefs renown'd than war: new foes arife. Threatning to bind our fouls with fecular chains: Help us to fave free confcience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whofe gospel is their maw.
To Sir HENRY VANE the younger.
Vane, young in years, but in fage counsel old,
The helm of Rome, when gowns not arms repell'd The fierce Epirot and the African bold, Whether to fettle peace, or to unfold
The drift of hollow ftates hard to be fpell'd, Then to advife how war may best upheld Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold, In all her equipage: befides to know
Both fpiritual pow'r and civil, what each means, 10
What fevers each, thou haft learn'd, which few have The bounds of either fword to thee we owe: [done: Therefore on thy firm hand religion leans In peace, and reckons thee her eldest fon,
On the late maffacre in Piemont.
Avenge, O Lord, thy flaughter'd faints, whose bones Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold i Ev'n them who kept thy truth fo pure of old, When all our fathers worshipt ftocks and ftones, Forget not in thy book record their groans S 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 afhes fow 10 O'er all th' Italian fields, where ftill doth fway The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow A hundred fold, who having learn'd thy way Early may fly the Babylonian woe
On his blindness.
When I confider 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 foul more bent To ferve therewith my Maker, and prefent My true account, left he returning chide; Doth God exact day-labor, light deny'd, I fondly afk: But patience to prevent That murmur, foon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best 10
To Mr. LAWRENCE.
Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Of Attic tafte, with wine, whence we may rife 10
He who of those delights can judge, and fpare
To CYRIAC SKINNER.
Cyriac, whofe grandfire on the royal bench
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
To the fame.
Cyriac, this three years day these eyes, though clear,
And fuch, as yet once more I trust to have,
On his deceased WIFE.
Methought I faw my late efpoufed faint
Brought to me like Alceftis from the grave, Whom Jove's great fon to her glad husband gave, Refcued from death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint 5 Purification in the old Law did fave,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
Her face was veil'd, yet to my fancied fight Love, fweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd So clear, as in no face with more delight. But O as to embrace me fhe inclin'd, I wak'd, fhe fled, and day brought back my night,
L M S.
PSALM I. Done into verse, 1653,
Lefs'd is the man who hath not walk'd aftray In counsel of the wicked, and i'th' way of finners hath not stood, and in the feat Of fcorners hath not fat. But in the great Jehovah's law is ever his delight, And in his law he studies day and night. He shall be as a tree which planted grows By watry ftreams, and in his feafon knows To yield his fruit, and his leaf fhall not fall, And what he takes in hand fhall profper all. Not fo the wicked, but as chaff which fann'd The wind drives, fo the wicked fhall not stand In judgment, or abide their trial then, Nor finners in th' affembly of just men. For the Lord knows th' upright way of the just, 15 And the way of bad men to ruin muft,
PSAL. II. done Aug. 8. 1653. Terzette. HY do the Gentiles tumult, and the nations up
With pow'r, and princes in their congregations Lay deep their plots together through each land