VIII.

ΤΟ

MR. H. LAWES,

ON THE

Publishing his Airs.

HARRY, whose tuneful and well measur'd song
First taught our English musick 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 could'st humour best our

tongue.

Thou honour'st verse, and verse must lend her wing To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire,

That tun'st their happiest lines in hymn, or story. Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher Than his Casella, whom he woo'd to sing Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.

IX.

On the religious memory of Mrs. CATHERINE THOMSON, my christian friend, deceased 16 Decemb. 1646.

WHEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee

never,

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

Of death call'd life; which us from life doth

sever.

Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour, Staid not behind, nor in the grave were trod; But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod, Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.

Love led them on, and Faith who knew them best Thy hand-maids, 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.

X.

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 rumours loud, that daunt remotest kings;
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 publick faith clear'd from the shameful brand Of publick fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed, While Avarice and Rapine share the land.

XI.

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 hast plough'd And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud

Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued,

And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud,

And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains

To conquer still; Peace hath her victories

No less renown'd than War: New foes arise Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains: Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.

XII.

ΤΟ

SIR HENRY VANE, the Younger.

VANE, 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 power 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

In

peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.