In Hopton breaks, in break the Cornish powers,
Few, and scarce arm'd, yet was th' advantage ours:
What doubts could be, their outward ftrength to win,
When we bore arms and magazine within ?
The violent fword's outdid the musket's ire;
It strook the bones, and there gave dreadful fire:
We scorn'd their thunder; and the reeking blade
A thicker fmoke than all their cannon made;
Death and loud tumults fill'd the place around
With fruitless rage; fall'n rebels bite the ground!
The arms we gain'd were wealth, bodies o' th' foe,
All that a full-fraught victory can bestow !
Yet ftays not Hopton thus, but still proceeds;
Purfues himself through all his glorious deeds:
With Hertford and the Prince he joins his fate
(The Belgian trophies on their journey wait);
The Prince, who oft had check'd proud W-'s fame,
And fool'd that flying conqueror's empty name;
Till by his lofs that fertile monfter thriv'd;
This ferpent cut in parts rejoin'd and liv'd: ́
It liv'd, and would have ftung us deeper yet,
But that bold Grenville its whole fury met;
He fold, like Decius, his devoted breath,
And left the commonwealth heir to his death.
Hail, mighty ghoft! look from on high, and see
How much our hands and fwords remember thee!
At Roundway Heath, our rage at thy great fall
Whet all our spirits, and made us Grenvilles all.
One thousand horfe beat all their numerous power;
Blefe me! and where was then their conqueror?

Coward of fame, he flies in haste away ;

Men, arms, and name, leaves us, the victors' prey.
What meant those iron regiments which he brought,
That moving statues feem'd, and so they fought?
No way for death but by disease appear'd,

Cannon, and mines, and fiege, they scarcely fear'd:
Till, 'gainst all hopes, they prov'd in this sad fight
Too weak to ftand, and yet too flow for flight.
The Furies howl'd aloud through trembling air;
Th' aftonish'd fnakes fell fadly from their hair:
To Lud's proud town their hafty flight they took,
The towers and temples at their entrance fhook.
In vain their lofs they' attempted to disguise,
And mustered up new troops of fruitless lyes:
God fought himself, nor could th' event be less;
Bright Conqueft walks the fields in all her drefs.
Could this white day a gift more grateful bring ?
Oh yes! it brought blefs'd Mary to the King!
In Keynton field they met; at once they view
Their former victory, and enjoy a new :
Keynton, the place that Fortune did approve,
To be the nobleft fcene of war and love.
Through the glad vale ten thousand Cupids fled,
And chac'd the wandering spirits of rebels dead;
Still the lewd fcent of powder did they fear,
And scatter'd eastern fmells through all the air.
Look, happy mount! look well! for this is fhe,
That toil'd and travel'd for thy victory :
Thy flourishing head to her with reverence bow;

To her thou ow'ft that fame which crowns thee now.

From

From far-ftretch'd fhores they felt her spirit and might;
Princes and God at any distance fight.

At her return well might she' a conquest have!
Whose very abfence fuch a conquest gave.-
This in the Weft; nor did the North bestow
Less cause their usual gratitude to flow:
With much of ftate brave Cavendish led them forth,
As fwift and fierce as tempeft from the north;
Cavendish whom every Grace, and every Mufe,
Kifs'd at his birth, and for their own did chufe:
So good a wit they meant not should excel
In arms; but now they fee 't, and like it well :
So large is that rich empire of his heart,
Well may they rest contented with a part.
How foon he forc'd the northern clouds to flight,
And ftruck confufion into form and light!
Scarce did the Power Divine in fewer days
A peaceful world out of a chaos raife.

Bradford and Leeds prop'd up their finking fame;
They bragg'd of hosts, and Fairfax was a name.
Leeds, Bradford, Fairfax' powers are strait their own,
As quickly as they vote men overthrown :
Boötes from his wain look'd down below,
And faw our victory move not half fo flow.
I fee the gallant Earl break through the foes;
In duft and sweat how gloriously he shows!
I fee him lead the pikes; what will he do?
Defend him, Heaven! oh, whither will he go?
Up to the cannons' mouth he leads! in vain
They speak loud death, and threaten, till they're ta'en.

So Capaneus two armies fill'd with wonder,
When he charg'd Jove, and grappled with his thunder:
Both hosts with filence and with terror fhook,
As if not he, but they, were thunder-ftrook.
The courage here, and boldness, was no lefs;
Only the caufe was better, and success.

Heaven will let nought be by their cannon done,
Since at Edgehill they finn'd, and Burlington.
Go now, your filly calumnies repeat,

And make all Papists whom you cannot beat!
Let the world know fome way, with whom you 're vext,
And vote them Turks when they o'erthrow you next!
Why will you die, fond men! why will you buy
At this fond rate your country's flavery?

Is 't liberty? What are thofe threats we hear? *
Why do you thus th' old and new prifon fill?
When that's the only why; because you will?
Fain would you make God too thus tyrannous be,
And damn poor men by fuch a stiff decree.
Is 't property? Why do fuch numbers, then,
From God beg vengeance, and relief from men?
Why are th' eftates and goods feiz'd-on, of all
Whom covetous or malicious men mifcall?
What's more our own than our own lives? But oh
Could Yeomans or could Bourchier find it fo?

The barbarous coward, always us'd to fly,
Did know no other way to fee men die.

* A line is here evidently wanting; but the defect is in all the copies hitherto known. N.

Or

Or is 't religion? What then mean your lyes,
Your facrileges, and pulpit-blafphemies?
Why are all fects let loofe that ere had birth,
Since Luther's noife wak'd the lethargic earth?
The Author went no further.

THE PURITAN AND THE PAPIST.

S

A SA T IR E

O two rude waves, by ftorms together thrown,
Roar at each other, fight, and then grow one.
Religion is a circle; men contend, -

And run the round in difpute, without end:
Now, in a circle, who go contrary,
Muft, at the laft, meet of neceffity.
The Roman Catholic, to advance the caufe,
Allows a lye, and calls it Pia Fraus;
The Puritan approves and does the fame,
Diflikes nought in it but the Latin name:
He flows with his devices, and dares lye
In very deed, in truth, and verity.

He whines, and fighs-out lyes with fo.much ruth,
As if he griev'd 'cause he could ne'er speak truth.
Lyes have poffefs'd the prefs fo, as their due,
'Twill scarce, I fear, henceforth print Bibles true.
Lyes for their next ftrong fort ha' th' pulpit chofe;
There they throng out at th' preacher's mouth and nose,
And, howe'er grofs, are certain to beguile
The poor book-turners of the middle ifle;
Nay, to the Almighty's felf they have been bold
To lye and their blafphemous minister told,,