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VI.

On the Detraction which followed upon my writing certain Treatises.

BOOK was writ of late called Tetrachordon, And woven close, both matter, form, and style;

The subject new; it walked the town a while, Numbering good intellects, now seldom pored on. 5 Cries the stall-reader, "Bless us ! what a word on A title-page is this!" and some in file

Stand spelling false, while one might walk to MileEnd Green. Why, is it harder, sirs, than Gordon, Colkitto, or Macdonald, or Galasp?

Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek, That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp. Thy age, like ours, O soul of Sir John Cheek,

Hated not learning worse than toad or asp,
When thou taught'st Cambridge and King Edward
Greek.

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VII.

On the Same.

I

DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs
By the known rules of ancient liberty,
When straight a barbarous noise environs me
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs;

5 As when those hinds that were transformed to frogs Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny,

Which after held the sun and moon in fee.
But this is got by casting pearls to hogs,
That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood,

And still revolt when Truth would set them free.
Licence they mean when they cry Liberty;
For who loves that must first be wise and good;
But from that mark how far they rove we see,
For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood.

5 T

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VIII.

To Mr. H. Lawes on his Airs.

HARRY, whose tuneful and well-measured

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,

5 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.

Thou honourest verse, and verse must lend her wing
To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' choir,
That tunest their happiest lines in hymn or story.
Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher
Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing,
Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.

IX.

On the Religious Memory of Mrs. Catherine Thomson, my Christian Friend, deceased December 16, 1646.

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WHEN
W thee never,

Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God,
Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load

Of death, called life which us from life doth sever.

5 Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour,

Stayed not behind nor in the grave were trod ;
But, as Faith pointed upward with her golden rod,
Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever.
Love led them on, and Faith, who knew them best
Thy handmaids, clad them o'er with purple beams
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest,
And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes

Before the Judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest,
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

HEN Faith and Love, which parted from

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X.

To the Lord General Fairfax.

FAIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe

Filling each mouth with envy or with praise, And all her jealous monarchs with amaze, And rumours loud that daunt remotest kings, 5 Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings

Victory home, though new rebellions raise Their hydra heads, and the false North displays Her broken league to imp their serpent wings O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand

(For what can war, but endless war still breed?) Till truth and right from violence be freed, And public faith cleared from the shameful brand Of public fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed, While Avarice and Rapine share the land.

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