Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light, And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure V. TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY. DAUGHTER to that good Earl, once President Killed with report that old man eloquent. VI. ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON MY WRITING CERTAIN TREATISES. A BOOK was writ of late called Tetrachordon, And woven close, both matter, form, and style; Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile- Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp? Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek Hated not learning worse than toad or asp, VII. ON THE SAME. I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs When straight a barbarous noise environs me Which after held the sun and moon in fee. VIII. TO MR. H. LAWES ON THE PUBLISHING 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, 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 honour'st verse, and verse must send her wing To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' choir, That tunest their happiest lines in hymn or story. IX. ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHERINE THOMSON, MY CHRISTIAN FRIEND, DECEASED DEC. 16, 1646. WHEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever. X. TO THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAIX. (1648). Victory home, though new rebellions raise O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand (For what can war but endless war still breed?) XI. TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL, MAY 1652. ON THE PROPOSALS OF CERTAIN MINISTERS OF THE COMMITTEE FOR CROMWELL, Our chief of men, who through a cloud Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud Hast reared 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 laureate wreath: yet much remains To conquer still; Peace hath her victories No less renowned 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. TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER, 1652. The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repelled Whether to settle peace, or to unfold The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled; İn all her equipage; besides, to know Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, What severs each, thou hast learned, which few have done. The bounds of either sword to thee we owe : XIII. ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT. AVENGE, O Lord, Thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold To Heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple tyrant; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who, having learned Thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe. XIV. ON HIS BLINDNESS. WHEN I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, My true account, lest He returning chide, |