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Hail, bard triumphant! and some care bestow

On us the poets militant below!

Oppos'd by our old enemy, adverse Chance,
Poet and saint ! to thee alone are given

Attack'd by Envy and by Ignorance; The two most sacred names of Earth and Heaven;

Enchain'd by Beauty, tortur'd by desires, The hard and rarest union which can be,

Expos'd by tyrant Love to savage beasts and fires, Next that of Godhead with humanity.

Thou from low Earth in nobler flames didst rise, Long did the Muses' banish'd slaves abide,

And, like Elijah, mount alive the skies. And built vain pyramids to mortal pride;

Elisha-like, (but with a wish much less, Like Moses thou (though spells and charms with

More fit thy greatness and my littleness) stand)

Lo! here I beg (I, whom thon once didst prove Hast brought them nobly home back to their holy Not that thy spirit might on me donbled be,

So huinble to esteein, so good to love) land. Ah wretched we, poets of Earth! but thou

I ask but half thy mighty spirit for me: Wert living the same poet which thou’rt now;

And, when my Muse soars with so strong a wing, Whilst angels sing to thee their airs divine,

'Twill learn of things divine, and first of thee, to And joy in an applause so great as thine,

sing. Equal society with them to hold,

Thou need’st not make new songs, but say the old ; A POEM ON THE LATE CIVIL WAR.
And they (kind spirits !) shall all rejoice, to see
How little less than they exalted man may be.
Still the old Heathen gods in numbers dwell;
The heavenliest thing on Earth still keeps up Hell; THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER, 1679.
Nor have we quite purg'd the Christian land;
Still idols here, like calves at Bethel, stand. MEETING accidentally with this poem in ma-
And, though Pan's death long since all oracles

nuscript, and being informed, that it was a piece broke,

of the incomparable Mr. A. C.'s, I thought it inYet still in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke :

just to hide such a treasure from the world. I reNay, with the worst of heathen dotage, we

membered that our author, in his preface to his (Vain men!) the monster Woman deity;

works,7 makes mention of some poems written by Find stars, and tie our fates there in a face,

him on the late civil war, of which the following And Paradise in them, by whom we lost it, place.

copy is unquestionably a part. In his most imperWhat different faults corrupt our Muses thus ?

fect and unfinished pieces, you will discover the Wanton as girls, as old wives fabulous !

hand of so great a master. And (whatever his own Thy spotless Muse, like Mary, did contain

modesty might have advised to the contrary) there The boundless Godhead; she did well disdain

is not one careless stroke of his but what should That her eternal verse employ'd should be On a less subject than eternity;

be kept sacred to posterity. He could write no

thing that was not worth the preserving, being And for a sacred mistress scorn'd to take, But her whom God himself scorn'd not his spouse to piece the judicious reader will find the turn of the

habitually a poet, and always inspired. In this make.

verse to be his; the same copious and lively imat(in a kind) her miracle did do;

gery of fancy, the same warmth of passion and A fruitful mother was, and virgin too. How well (blest swan!) did Fate contrive thy And certainly no labours of a genius so rich in it

delicacy of wit, that sparkles in all his writings deaths,

self, and so cultivated with learning and manners, And made thee render up thy tuneful breath

can prove an unwelcome present to the world. In thy great mistress' arms, thou most divine And richest offering of Loretto's shrine !

WHAT rage does England from itself divide, Where, like some holy sacrifice t'expire,

More than the seas from all the world beside ? A fever burns thee, and Love lights the fire.

From every part the roaring cannons play, Angels (they say) brought the fam'd chapel there, From every part blood roars as loud as they. And bore the sacred load in triumph through the What English ground but still some moisture bears, air:

Of young men's blood, and more of mothers' tears! "Tis surer much they brought thee there; and they, What air's unthicken'd with the sighs of wives, And thou, their charge, went singing all the way. Though more of maids for their dear lovers' lives?

Pardon, my Mother Church ! if I consent Alas! what triumphs can this victory shew, That angels led him when from thee he went; That dyes us red in blood and blushes too! For ev'nin errour sure no danger is,

How can we wish that conquest, which bestows C When join'd with so much piety as his.

Cypress, not bays, upon the conquering brows? Ah, mighty God! with shame I speak't, and grief, It was not so when Henry's dreadful name, Ah, that our greatest faults were in belief!

Not sword, nor cause, whole nations overcame. And our weak reason were ev'n weaker yet,

To farthest West did his swift conquests run, Rather than thus our wills too strong for it!

Nor did his glory set but with the Sun. His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right; 6 This and the two following poems are not giver And I myself a Catholic will be,

with certainty as Cowley's. They have been asSo far at least, great saint ! to pray to thee.

cribed to him; are possibly genuine; and therefore s Mr. Crashaw died of a fever at Loretto, being

are preserved in this collection. newly chosen canon of that church.


7 See p. 45 of this volume.


In vain did Roderic to his hold retreat,

Then only in books the learn'd could misery see, In vain had wretched Ireland call’d him great; And the unlearn'd ne'er heard of misery. Ireland! which now most basely we begin

Then happy James with as deep quiet reign'd, To labour more to lose than he to win.

As in his heavenly throne, by death, he gain'd; It was not so when in the happy East,

And, lest this blessing with his life should cease, Richard, our Mars, Venus's Isle possest: [play'd, He left us Charles, the pledge of future peace; 'Gainst the proud Moon, be th' English cross dis- Charles, under whom, with much ado, no less Eclips'd one horn, and th' other paler made; Than sixteen years we endur'd our happiness ; When our dear lives we ventur'd bravely there, Till in a moment, in the North, we find And digg'd our own to gain Christ's sepulchre. A tempest conjur'd up without a wind. That saired tomb, which, should we now enjoy, As soon the North her kindness did repent; We should with as much zeal fight to destroy! First the peace-maker, and next war, she sent. The precious signs of our dead Lord we scorn, Just Tweed, that now had with long peace forgot And see his cross worse than his body torn;

On which side dwelt the English, which the Scot, We hate it now both for the Greek and Jew, Saw glittering arms shine sadly on his face, To us 'tis foolishness and scandal too.

Whilst all th'affrighted fish sank down apace. To what with worship the fond papist falls,

No blood did then from this dark quarrel grow, That the fond zealot a curs'd idol calls:

It gave blunt wounds, that bled not out till now! So, 'twixt their double madness, here's the odds, For Jove, who might have us’d his thundering power, One makes false devils, t' other makes false gods. Chose to fall calmy in a golden shower!

It was not so when Edward prov'd his cause, A way we found to conquer, which by none By a sword stronger than the salique laws,

Of all our thrifty ancestors was known; Tho fetch'd from Pharamond ; when the French So strangely prodigal of late we are, did fight,

We there buy peace, and here at home buy war. With women's hearts, against the women's right. How could a war so sad and barbarous please, Th’afflicted Ocean his first conquest bore,

But first by slandering those blest days of peace ? And drove red waves to the sad Gailic shore: Through all the excrements of state they pry, As if he 'ad angry with that element been,

Like emp’ricks, to find out a malady; Which his wide soul bound with an island in. And then with desperate boldness they endeavour, Where's now that spirit with which at Cressy we, Th' ague to cure by bringing in a fever: And Poictiers, forc'd from Fate a victory?

The way is sure to expel some ill, no doubt; Two kings at once we brought sad captives home, The plague, we know, drives all diseases out. A triumph scarcely known to ancient Rome ! What strange wild fears did every morning breed, Two foreign kings: but now, alas! we strive, Till a strange fancy made us sick indeed! Our own, our own good sovereign to captive ! And cowardice did valour's place supply, It was not so when Agincourt was won ;

Like those that kill themselves for fear to die! Under great Henry serv'd the Rain and Sun: What frantic diligence in these men appears, A nebler fight the Sun himself ne'er knew,

That fear all ills, and act o'er all their fears!
Not when he stopt his course a fight to view ! Thus into war we scar'd ourselves; and who
Then Death's old archer did more skilful grow, But Aaron's sons, that the first trumpet blew ?
And learn'd to shoot more sure from th’English bow; Fond men! who knew not that they were to keep
Then France was her own story sadly taught, For God, and not for sacrifice, their sheep!
And felt how Cæsar and how Edward fonght. The churches first this murderous doctrine sow,

It was not so when that vast fleet of Spain And learn to kill, as well as bury, now :
Lay torn and scatter'd on the English main; The marble tombs where our forefathers lie,
Through the proud world a virgin terrour strook ; Sweated with dread of too much company;
The Austrian crowns, and Rome's seven hills, she And all their sleeping ashes shook for fear,

Lest thousand ghosts should come and shroud To her great Neptune homag'd all his streams,

them there. And all the wide-stretch'd ocean was her Thames. Petitions next from every town they frame, Thus our forefathers fought, thus bravely bled, To be restor'd to them from whom they came: Thus still they live, whilst we alive are dead; The same style all, and the same sense, does pen, Such acts they did, that Rome, and Cæsar too, Alas; they allow set forms of prayer to men. Might envy those whom once they did subdue. Oh happy we, if men would neither hear We 're not their offspring ; sure our heralds lie ; Their studied forin, nor God their sudden

prayer, But born we know not how, as now we die;

They will be heard, and, in unjustice wise, Their precious blood we could not venture thus: The many headed rout for justice cries; Some Cadmus, sure, sow'd serpent's teeth for us ; They call for blood, which now I fear does call We could not else by mutual fury fall,

For blood again, much louder than they all. Whilst Rhine and Sequan for our armies call: In senseless clamours, and confused noise, Chuse war or peace, you have a prince, you know, We lost that rare, and yet unconquer'd voice; As fit for both, as both are fit for you;

So, when the sacred Thracian lyre was drown'd Furious as lightning, when war's tempest came,

In the Bistonian women's mixen sound, But calm in peace, calm as a lambent fame. The wondering stones, that came before to hear,

Have you forgot those happy years of late, Forgot themselves, and turn'd his murderers there, That saw nought ill, but us that were ingrate; The same loud storm blew the grave mitre down; Such years, as if Earth's youth return'd had been, It blew down that, and with it shook the crown. And that old serpent, Time, had cast his skin? Then first a state, without a church, begun; As gloriously and gently did they move,

Comfort thyself, dear Church ! for then 'twas done. As the bright Sun that measures them above; The same great storm to sea great Mary drove;

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The sea could not such dangerous tempests move : Her knotty hairs were with dire serpents trist,
The same drove Charles into the North, and then And every serpent at each other hiss’d.
Would readilier far have driven him back again. Here stood white Truth, and her own host does bless,
To fly from noise of tumults is no shame;

Clad with those arms of proof, her nakedness;
Ne'er will their armies force them to the same; There perjuries like cannons roar aloud,
They all his castles, all his towns, invade,

And lyes flew thick, like cannons' smoky cloud, He's a large prisoner in all England made! Here Learning and th' Arts met; as much they He must not pass to Ireland's weeping shore;

fear'd The wounds these surgeons make must yield them As when the Hunns of old and Goths appear’d. more;

What should they do? Unapt themselves to fight, He must not conquer his lewd rebels there, They promis’d noble pens the acts to write. Lest he should learn by that to do it here.

There Ignorance advanc'd, and joy'd to spy The sea they subject next to their command ; So maay that durst fight they know not why; The sea, that crowns our kings and all their land. From those who most theslow-soul'd monks disdain, Thus poor they leave him, their base pride and scorn, From those she hopes the monks' dull age again. As poor as these, now mighty men, were born; Here Merey waits, with sad but gentle look, When straight whole armies meet in Charles's right; Never, alas! had she her Charles forsvok ! A man would swear, that saw this altered state, For merey on her friends to Hearen she cries, Kings were call'd gods because they could create Whilst Justice pulls duwn vengeance from the skies Vain men; 'tis Heaven this first assistance brings, Oppression there, Rapine, and Murder, stood, The same is Lord of Hosts that 's King of Kings. Ready, as was the field, to drink their blood : Had men forsook him, angels from above

A thousand wronged spirits amongst them moan'd, (Th’ Assyrian did less their justice move)

And thrice the ghost of mighty Strafford groan'd. Would all have muster'd in his righteous aid,

Now flew their cannon thick through wounded air, And thunder 'gainst your cannon would have play'd. Sent to defend, and kill, their sovereign there. It needs not so, for man desires to right

More than he them, the bullets fear'd his head, Abus'd mankind, and wretches you must fight. And at his feet lay innocently dead;

Wor’ster first saw 't, and trembled at the view; They knew not what those men that sent them Too well the ills of civil war she knew.

meant, Twice did the flames of old her towers invade, And acted their pretence, not their intent. Twice call'd she in vain for her own Severn's aid. This was the day, this the first day, that show'd Here first the rebel winds began to rvar,

How much to Charles for our long peace we ow'd : Brake loose from the just fetters which they bore; By this skill here, and spirit, we understood, Here mutinous waves above their shore did swell, From war nought kept him but his country's good, And the first storm of that dire winter fell.

In his great looks what chearful anger shone !
But when the two great brethren once appear'd, Sad war, and joyful triumphs, mix'd in one.
And their bright heads, like Leda's offspring, rear'd; In the same beams of his majestic eye,
When those sea-calming sons from Jove were spied, His own inen life, his foes did death, espy.
The winds all fled, the waves all sunk and died! Great Rupert this, that wing great Wilmot leads,
How fought great Rupert, with what rage and skill! White-featherd Conquest fes o'er both their
Enough to have conquer'd had his cause been ill!

Comely young man ! and yet his dreadful sight They charge, as if alone they'd beat the foe,
The rebels' blood to their faint hearts does fright. Whether their troops follow'd them up or no.
In vain, alas! it seeks so weak defence;

They follow close, and haste into the fight,
For his keen sword bringsit again from thence. As swift as straight the rebels make their flight.
Yet grieves he at the laurels thence he bore ; So swift the miscreants fly, as if each fear
Alas, poor prince! they'll fight with him no more; And jealousy they fram'd had met them there.
His virtue 'll be eclips'd with too much fame, They heard war's music, and away they flew,
Henceforth he will not conquer, brit his name. The trumpets fright worse than the organs do.
Here with tainted blood the field did stain, Their souls, which still new bye-ways do invent,
By his own sacrilege, and 's country's curses, slain. Out at their wounded backs perversely went,
The first commander did Heaven's vengeance show, | Pursue no more; ye noble victors, stay,
And led the rebels' van to shades below.

Lest too much conquest lose so brave a day ! On two fair hills both armies next are seen, For still the battle sounds behind, and Fate Th’affrighted valley sighs and sweats between; Will not give all; but sets us here a rate: Here angels did with fair expectance stay,

Too dear a rate she sets; and we must pay And wish'd good things to a king as mild as they; One honest man for ten such knaves as they. There fiends with humger waiting did abide, Streams of black tainted blood the field besmear, And cursed both, but spurr'd-on th' guilty side. But pure, well-colourd drops shine here and there ; here stood Religion, her looks geutly sage,

They scorn to mix with floods of baser veins, Aged, but much more comely for her age !

Just as the nobler moisture oil disdains. There Schism, old nag, tho’seeining young, appears, Thus fearless Lindsey, thus bold Aubigny, As snakes by casting skins renew their years; Amidst the corpse of slaughter'd rebels lie : Undecent rags of several dyes she wore,

More honourably than

---- e'er was found, And in her hand torn liturgies she bore.

With troops of living traitors circled round. Here Loyalty an humble cross display'd,

Rest, valiant souls, in peace! ye sacred pair, And still, as Charles pass'd by, she bow'd and And all whose deaths attended on you there, pray'd.

You're bindly welcom'd to Heaven's peaceful Sedition there her crimson banner spreads,

coast, Shakes all ber hands, and roars with all her heads : | By all the reverend martyrs' noble host :

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Your soaring souls they meet with triumph, all The temple's decent wealth, and modest state, Led by great Stephen their old general.

Had suffer'd; this their avarice, that their hate : Go-, now prefer thy flourishing state

Beggary and scorn into the church they'd bring, Above those murder'd heroes' doleful fate;

And made God glorions, as they made the king: Enjoy that life which thou durst basely save, O happy town, that to lov'd Charles's sight, And thought'st a saw-pit nobler than a grave. In those sad times, gay'st safety and delight, Thus many sav'd themselves, and night the rest, The fate which civil war itself doth bless! [ness. Night, that agrees with their dark actions best. Scarce would'st thou change for peace this happiA dismal shade did Heaven's sad face o'erflow, 'Midst all the joys which Heaven allows thee here; Dark as the night slain rebels found below : Think on thy sister, and then shed a tear. No gentle stars their chearful glories rear'd,

What lights did this sad Winter see each day, Asham'd they were at what was done, and fear'd Her winds and storms came not so thick as they! Lest wicked men their bold excuse should frame Yet nought these far-lost rebels could recall, From some strange influence, and so vail their Not Marlborough’s nôr Cirencester’s fall. shame.

Yet still for peace the gentle conqueror sues ; To Duty thus, Order and Law incline,

By his wrath they perish, yet his love refuse, They who ne'er err from one eternal line;

Nor yet is the plain lesson understood, As just the ruin of these men they thought, Writ by kind Heaven in P- and He's blood. As Sisera's was, 'gainst whom themselves had fought. Chad and his church saw where their enemy lay, Still they rebellion's ends remember well,

And with just red new mark'd their holy-day. Since Lucifer the great, their shining captain, Fond men! this blow the injur'd crosier strook ; fell.

Nought was more fit to perish, but thy book. For this the bells they ring, and not in vain; Such latal vengeance did wrong'd Charlegrove shew, Well might they all ring out for thousands slain : Where both begun and ended too For this the bonfires thzir glad lightness spread, His curs'd rebellion; where his soul's repaid When funeral flames might more befit their dead : With separation, great as that he made. For this with solemn thanks they tire their God,

whose spirit mov'd o'er this mighty frame And, whilst they feel it, mock th' Almighty's rod; O'th' British isle, and out this chaos camne. They proudly now abuse his justice more,

, the man that taught confusion's art ; Than his long mercies they abus'd before.

His treasons restless, and yet noiseless heart. Yet these the men that true religion boast,

Ilis active brain like Etna's top appear’d, The pure and holy, holy, holy, host !

Where treason's forg’d, yet no noise outward heard. What great reward for so much zeal is given ? 'Twas he contriv'd whate'er bold M—said, Why, Heaven has thank'd them since as they And all the popular noise that P- has made; thank'd Heaven.

'Twas he that taught the zealous rout to rise, Witness thou, Brentford, say, thou ancient town, And be his slaves for some feign'd liberties : How many in thy streets fell groveling down: Him for this black design, Hell thonght most fit; Witness the red-coats weltering in their gore,

Ah! wretched man, curs'd by too good a wit! And dy'd anew into the name they bore:

If not all this your stubborn hearts can fright, Witness their men blow'd up into the air

Think on the West, think on the Cornish might: All elements their ruins joy'd to share);

The Saxon fury, to that far-stretch'd place,
In the wide air quick flames their bodies tore, Drove the turn relics of great Brutus' race:
Then, drown'd in waves, they're tost by waves to Here they of old did in long safety lie,
shore :

Compass'd with seas, and a worse enemy;
Witness thou, Thames, thou wast amaz’d to see Ne'er till this time, ne'er did they meet with foes
Men madly run to save themselves in thee; More cruel and more barbarous than those.
In vain, for rebels' lives thou would'st not save, Ye noble Britons, who so oft with blood
And down they sunk beneath thy conquering wave. Of Pagan hosts have dy'd old Tamaris flood;
Good, reverend Thames ! the best-belovod of all If any drop of mighty Uther still,
Those nuble blood that meet at Neptune's hall; Or Uther's mightier son, your veins does fill;
London's proud towers, which do thy head adorn, Show then that spirit, till all men think by you
Are not thy glory now, but grief and scorn. The doubtful tales of your great Arthur true :
Thou griev'st to see the white nam'd palace shine, You ’ave shown it, Briwns, and have often done
Witbout the beams of its own lord and thine: Things that have cheer'd the weary, setting Sun.
Thy lord, which is to all as good and free,

Again did Tamar your dread arms behold, As thou, kind food ! to thine own banks canst be. As just and as successful as the old : How does thy peaceful back disdain to bear It kiss'd the Cornish banks, and vow'd to bring The rebels' busy pride at Westminster!

His richest waves to feed th' ensuing spring ; Thou, who thyself dost without murmuring pay

But murmur'd sadly, and almost deny'd
Eternal tribute to thy prince, the Sea.

All fruitful moisture to the Devon side.
To Oxford next great Charles in triumph camc, Ye sons of war, by whose bold acts we see
Oxford, the British Muses' second fame.

Ilow great a thing exalted man may be;
Here Learning with some state and reverence looks, The world remains your debtor, that as yet
And dwells in buildings lasting as her books; Ye have not all gune forth and conquer'd it.
Both now eternal, but they'ad ashes been,

I knew that Fate some wonders for you meant, Had these religious Vandals once got in.

When matchless Hopton to your coasts she sept ;
Not Bodley's noble work their rage would spare, Hopton ! so uise, he needs not Fortune's aid,
For books they know the chief malignants are. So fortunate, his wisdom's useless made :
In rain they silence every age before;

Should his so often-try'd companions fail,
For pens of time to come will wound them mure ! His spirit alone, and courage, would prevail.




Miraculous man ! how would I sing thy praise, Could this white day a gift more grateful bring !
Had any Muse crown'd me with half the bays Oh yes! it brought bless'd Mary to the king !
Conquest hath given to thee; and next thy name In Keynton field they met; at once they view
Should Berkely, Stanning, Digby, press to fame. Their former victory, and enjoy a new :
Godolphin ! thee, thee Grenville! I'd rehearse, Keynton, the place that Fortune did approve,
Bat tears break off my verse!-

To be the noblest scene of war and love.
How oft has vanquish'd Stamford backward fed ; Through the glad vale ten thousand Cupids fled,
Swift as the parted souls of those he led !

And chas'd the wandering spirits of rebels dead;
How few did his huge multitudes defeat,

Still the lewd scent of powder did they fear,
For most are cyphers when the number's great! And scatter'd eastern smells through all the air.
Numbers, alas ! of men, that made no more Look, happy mount ! look well ! for this is she,
Than he himself ten thousand times told o'er. That toild and travelld for thy victory :
Who hears of Streatton-fight, but must confess Thy flourishing head to her with reverence bow;
All that he heard or read befofe was less;

To her thou ow'st that fame which crowns thee
Sad Germany can no such trophy boast,
For all the blood this twenty years she 'as lost. From far-stretch'd shores they felt her spirit and
Vast was their army, and their arms were more

might; Tham th' host of hundred-handed giants bore. Princes and God at any distance fight. So strong their arms, it did almost appear

At her return well might she a conquest bare! Secure, had neither arins nor men been there. Whose very absence such a conquest gave. In Hopton breaks, in break the Cornish powers, This in the West; nor did the North bestow Few, and scarcc arm'd, yet was th’ advantage Less cause their usual gratitude to show:

With much of state brave Cavendish led them What doubts could be, their outward strength to forth, win,

As swift and fierce as tempest from the north ; When we bore arms and magazine within?

Cavendish! whom every Grace, and every Nfuse, The violent sword's outdid the musket's ire; Kiss'd at his birth, and for their own did chuse : It strook the bones, and there gave dreadful fire : So good a wit they meant not should excel We scorn'd their thunder; and the reeking blade In arms; but now they see 't and like it well: A thicker smoke than all their cannon made; Soʻlarge is that rich empire,of his heart, Death and load tumults fill'd the place around Well may they rest contented with a part. With fruitless rage; fall’n rebels bite the ground! How soon he forc'd the northern clouds to flight, The arms we gain'd were wealth, bodies o'th' foe, And struck confusion into forin and light ! All that a full-fraught victory can bestow!

Scarce did the Power Divine in fewer days Yet stays not Hopton thus, but still proceeds ; A peaceful world out of a chaos raise, Pursues himself through all his glorious deeds : Bradford and Leeds prop'd up their sinking fame; With Hertford and the prince be joins his fate They braggd of hosts, and Fairfax was a name. (The Belgian trophies on their journey wait); Leeds, Bradford, Fairfax' powers are straight their The prince, who oft had check'd proud Wa's own, fame,

As quickly as they vote men overthrown: And fool'd that flying conqueror's empty name ; Boötes from his wain look'd down below, Till by his loss that fertile monster thriv'd;

And saw our victory move not half so slow. This serpent cut in parts rejoind and liv'd: I see the gallant earl break through the foes ; It liv'd, and would have stung us deeper yet, In dust and sweat how gloriously he shows! But that bold Grenville its whole fury met; I see him lead the pikes; what will he do ? He sold, like Decius, his devoted breath,

Defend him, Heaven! oh, whither will he go? And left the commonwealth heir to his death. Up to the cannons' mouth he leads ! in vain Hail, mighty ghost ! look from on high, and see They speak loud death, and threaten, till they're How much our hands and swords remember thee !

ta'en. At Roundway Heath, our rage at thy great fall So Capaneus two armies fill'd with wonder, Whet all our spirits, and made us Grenvilles all. When he charg'd Jove, and grappled with his thunOne thousand horse beat all their pumerous power; der: Bless me! and where was then their conqueror ? Both hosts with silence and with terrour shook, Coward of fame, he flies in haste away;

As if not he, but they, were thunder-strook.
Men, arms, and name, leaves us, the victors' prey. The courage here, and boldness, was no less;
What meant those iron regiments which he brought, Only the cause was better, and success.
That moving statues seem'd, and so they fought? Heaven will let nought be by their cannon done,
No way for death but by disease appear'd,

Since at Edgehill they sinn'd, and Burlington.
Cannon, and mines, and siege, they scarcely fear'd: Go now, your silly calumnies repeat,
Till, 'gainst, all hopes, they proved in this sad And make all papists whom you cannot beat!

Let the world know some way, with whom you're Too weak to stand, and yet too slow for fight.

vext, The Furies howl'd aloud through trembling air; And vote thein Turks when they Oerthrow you Th' astonish'd snakes fell sadly from their hair :

next! To Lud's proud town their hasty flight they took, Why will you die, fond men ! why will you buy The towers and temples at their entrance shook. At this fond rate your country's slavery? In vain their loss they attempted to disguise, Is 't liberty? What are those threats we hear? And mustered up new troops of fruitless lyes : God fought himself, nor could th' cient be less ; 8 A line is here evidently wanting; but the defect Bright Conquçst walks the fields in all her dress. is in all the copics hitherto known.

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