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On his being arriv'd to the age

of 23.

How foon hath Time, the fubtle thief of youth,
Stoln on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hafting days fly on with full carreer,
But my late spring no bud or bloffom fhew'th.
Perhaps my femblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arriv'd fo near,
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That fome more timely-happy fpirits indu'th.

Yet be it lefs or more, or foon or flow,

It shall be ftill in ftricteft measure even

To that fame lot, however mean or high,



Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven; All is, if I have grace to use it so,

As ever in my great Task-master's eye.


When the affault was intended to the City.

Captain or Colonel, or Knight in arms,

Whose chance on thefe defenfelefs doors may feize, If deed of honor did thee ever please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite thee, for he knows the charms That call fame on fuch gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o'er lands and feas, Whatever clime the fun's bright circle warms.


Lift not thy fpear against the Muses' bower :
The great Emathian conqueror bid spare

The houfe of Pindarus, when temple' and tower
Went to the ground: and the repeated air

Of fad Electra's poet had the power

To fave th' Athenian walls from ruin bare.


To a virtuous young Lady.

Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth
Wifely hath fhunn'd the broad way and the green,
And with those few art eminently feen,
That labor up the hill of heav'nly truth,
The better part with Mary and with Ruth
Chofen thou haft; and they that overween,
And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen,
No anger find in thee, but pity' and ruth.
Thy care is fix'd, and zealously attends

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,
And hope that reaps not fhame. Therefore be fure
Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friends
Paffes to blifs at the mid hour of night,
Haft gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wife and pure.


To the Lady Margaret Ley.

Daughter to that good Earl, once President
Of England's Council, and her Treasury,
Who liv'd in both, unstain'd with gold or fee.



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And left them both, more in himfelf content,

Till fad the breaking of that Parliament

Broke him, as that dishonest victory

At Cheronea, fatal to liberty,

Kill'd with report that old man eloquent.

Though later born than to have known the days
Wherein father florish'd, yet by you,


Madam, methinks I fee him living yet;

So well your words his noble virtues praise,
That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to poffefs them, honor'd Margaret.




On the detraction which followed upon my writing certain treatises.

A book was writ of late call'd Tetrachordon,
And woven close, both matter, form and stile;
The subject new; it walk'd the town a while,
Numbering good intellects; now feldom por❜d on.
Cries the ftall-reader, Bless us! what a word on 5
A title-page is this! and fome in file

Stand spelling false, while one might walk to MileEnd Green. Why is it harder, Sirs, than Gordon, Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galafp?

Those rugged names to our like mouths grow fleek, That would have made Quintilian stare and grasp. Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheek, Hated not learning worse than toad or afp, When thou taught'ft Cambridge, and king Edward




On the fame.

I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs
By the known rules of ancient liberty,

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When ftrait a barbarous noife environs me

Of owls and cuckoos, affes, apes, and dogs:

As when thofe hinds that were transform'd to frogs 5

Rail'd at Latona's twin-born progeny,

Which after held the fun and moon in fee. But this is got by cafting pearl to hogs; That bawl for freedom in their fenfelefs mood,

And ftill revolt when truth would fet them free. 10
Licence they mean when they cry Liberty;

For who loves that, must first be wife and good;
But from that mark how far they rove we fee
For all this waste of wealth, and lofs of blood.


To Mr. H. LAWES on his Airs.

Harry, whofe tuneful and well-meafur'd fong
First taught our English mufic how to span
Words with juft note and accent, not to fcan
With Midas' ears, committing fhort and long;
Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, 5
With praise enough for envy to look wan;


To after-age thou shalt be writ the man,

That with smooth air could'st humour beft our tongue.


Thou honor'st verse, and verse must lend her wing
To honor thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire,
That tun'st their happiest lines in hymn, or story.
Dante shall give fame leave to fet thee higher
Than his Casella, whom he woo'd to fing,
Me tin the milder fhades of purgatory.


On the religious memory of


Mrs. CATHARINE THOMSON, my christian friend, Deceas'd 16 Decem. 1646.

When faith and love, which parted from thee never, Had ripen'd thy just foul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load

Of death, call'd life; which us from life doth fever. Thy works and alms and all thy good endevor

Stay'd 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.




XV. To

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