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And Worcester's laureat wreath.

ΙΟ

Yet much remains To conquer ftill; peace hath her victories 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.

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: befides to know

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Both fpiritual 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 fon.

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XVIII.

On the late massacre in Piemont.

Avenge, O Lord, thy flaughter'd faints, whofe bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold;
Ev'n them who kept thy truth fo pure of old,
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 Piemontefe, that roll'd
Mother with infant down the rocks.
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

Their moans

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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 afk: But patience to prevent

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foon replies, God doth not need

That murmur, Either man's work or his own gifts; who best 'Bear his mild yoke, they serve him beft: his state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

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

XX.

To Mr. LAWRENCE.

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous fon,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mhre,
Where fhall we fometimes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a fullen day, what may be won
From the hard feafon gaining? time will run

On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
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 those delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwife.

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XXI.

To CYRIAC SKINNER *.

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

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 disapproves 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

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ΙΟ

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

of

Of fun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not

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Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward. What fupports me, doft thou ask? The conscience, Friend, to' have loft them overply'd In liberty's defence, my noble task,

Of which all Europe talks from side to side.

This thought might lead me through the world's vain mafk

Content though blind, had I no better guide.

XXIII.

On his deceased WIFE *.

Methought I saw my late efpoufed faint

Brought to me like Alceftis from the grave,

Whom Jove's great fon to her glad husband gave,

Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.

Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint 5
Purification in the old Law did fave, 4

And fuch, as yet once more I trust to have
Full fight of her in Heav'n without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind :
Her face was veil'd, yet to my fancied fight
Love, fweetness, goodness, in her perfon fhin'd

ΤΟ

*This was his fecond wife, Catharine the daughter of Captain Woodcock of Hackney, who lived with him not above a year after their marriage, and died in childbed of a daughter.

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