XV.

To the Lord General FAIRFAX.

Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings,
Filling each mouth with envy or with praise,
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze
And rumors loud, that daunt remotest kings,
Thy firm unfhaken virtue ever brings

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

(For what can war, but endless war ftill breed?) 10
Till truth and right from violence be freed,
And public faith clear'd from the fhameful brand
Of public fraud. In vain doth valor bleed,
While avarice and rapin fhare the land.

XVI.

To the Lord General CROMWELL.

Cromwell, 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 haft plough's, And on the neck of crowned fortune proud

Haft rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field refounds thy praises loud,

5

And

And Worcester's laureat wreath.

179

Yet much remains

To
conquer
No lefs renown'd than war: new foes arise
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.

ftill; peace hath her victories

XVII.

To Sir HENRY VANE the

younger.

Vane, young in years, but in fage counsel old,

Than whom a better fenator ne'er held

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 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

10

5

Both spiritual pow'r and civil, what each means, 10 What fevers each, thou haft learn'd, which few

have done :

The bounds of either fword to thee we owe :
Therefore on thy firm hand religion leans
In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

XVIII.

On the late maffacre in Piemont.

Avenge, O Lord, thy flaughter'd faints, whose bones

of old,

Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold;
Ev'n them who kept thy truth fo pure
When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones,
Forget not in thy book record their groans
Who were thy fheep, and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that roll'd
Mother with infant down the rocks.
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

Their moans

5

To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow 10 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,

XIX.

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 ask: But patience to prevent

5

That

That murmur, foon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they ferve him beft: his ftate
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.

XX.

To Mr. LAWRENCE.

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous fon,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we fometimes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a fullen day, what may be won
From the hard season gaining? time will run
On smoother, till Favonius re-infpire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily' and rofe, that neither fow'd nor fpun.
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,

Of Attic tafte, with wine, whence we may rife
To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?
He who of thofe delights can judge, and spare
To interpofe them oft, is not unwife.

10

ΤΟ

XXI.

To CYRIAC SKINNER*.

Cyriac, whofe grandfire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounc'd and in his volumes taught our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench;
To-day deep thoughts refolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid reft and Archimedes paufe,

10

And what the Swede intends, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know Toward folid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains, And difapproves that care, though wife in show: That with fuperfluous burden loads the day, And, when God fends a chearful hour, refrains. XXII.

To the fame.

Cyriac, this three years day these eyes, though clear,
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their feeing have forgot,
Nor to their idle orbs doth fight appear

* Son of William Skinner, Efq; and grandson of Sir Vincent Skinner; and his mother was Bridget, one of the daughters of the famous Sir Edward Coke Lord Chief Juftice of the King's Bench.

of

5