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Thy purple was not made at once in haste,
But after


other colours past,
It took the deepest princely dye at last.
Thou didft begin with lesser cares,
And private thoughts took up thy private years ::
Those hands which were ordain'd by fates
To change the world and alter states,

Practis'd at first that vast design
On meaner things with equal mien.
That soul which should so many sceptres fway,

To whom so many kingdoms should obey,
Learn'd first to rule in a domestic way :
So government itself began

From family, and single man,
Was by the small relation first

Of husband and of father nurs’d,
And from those less beginnings past,
To spread itself o'er all the world at last.

But when thy country (then almost enthrall’d)

Thy virtue and thy courage call'd ;
When England did thy arms intreat,
And 't had been fin in thee not to be great :

When every stream, and every flood,
Was a true vein of earth, and run with blood :

When unus'd arms, and unknown war,

Fill'd every place, and every ear ; When the great storms and dismal night

Did all the land affright; 'Twas time for thee to bring forth all our light.


Thou left'it thy more delightful peace,

Thy private life and better ease ;
Then down thy steel and armour took,
Wishing that it still hung upon the hook :
When death had got a large commission out,
Throwing the arrows and her fting about ;
Then thou (as once the healing serpent rose)

Wast lifted up, not for thyself but us.

Thy country wounded was, and sick, before

Thy wars and arms did her restore :
Thou knew'st where the disease did lie,
And like the cure of sympathy,
The strong and certain remedy

Unto the weapon didst apply.;
Thou not draw the sword, and so

Away the fcabbard throw,
As if thy country shou'd

Be the inheritance of Mars and blood :
But that, when the great work was fpun,

War in itself should be undone :
That peace might land again upon the shore,

Richer and better than before :
The husbandmen no steel shall know,
None but the useful iron of the plow;
That bays might creep on every spear :
And though our sky was overspread

With a destructive red, 'Twas but till thcu our sun didft in full light appear.

When Ajax dy'd, the purple blood,
That from his gaping wound had flow'd,

Turn'd into letter, every leaf

Had on it wrote his epitaph :
So from that crimson flood,
Wþich thou by fate of times wert led

Unwillingly to shed,
Letters and learning rose, and arts renew'd :
Thou fought’st, not out of envy, hope, or hate,

But to refine the church and state ;
And like the Romans, whate'er thou

In the field of Mars didst mow,
Was, that a holy island hence might grow.
Thy wars, as rivers raised by a shower,
Which welcome clouds do pour,
Though they at first


To carry all away with an enraged stream ;

Yet did not happen that they might destroy,
Or the better parts annoy:
But all the filth and mud to scour,

And leave behind another slime,
To give a birth to a more happy power.

In fields unconquer'd, and so well

Thou didit in battles and in arms excel;
That steely arms themselves might be

Worn out in war as soon as thee;
Success so close upon thy troops did wait,
As if thou first hadît conquer'd fate ;


As if uncertain victory

Had been first o'ercome by thee ;
As if her wings were clipt, and could not fee,

Whilst thou didst only serve,
Before thou hadst what first thou didft deserve,

Others by thee did great things do,
Triumph’dst thyself, and mad'st them triumph too;

Though they above thee did appear,
As yet in a more large and higher sphere :
Thou, the great Sun, gav'st light to every star :

Thyself an army wert alone,

And mighty troops contain'd in one.
Thy only sword did guard the land,
Like that which, flaming in the angel's hand,

From men God's garden did defend;

But yet thy sword did more than his, Not only guarded, but did make this land a paradife.


Thou fought'st not to be high or great,

Nor for a sceptre or a crown,
Or ermin, purple, or the throne ;

But as the vestal heat,
Thy fire was kindled from above alone :

Religion putting on thy shield

Brought thee victorious to the field.
Thy arms, like those which ancient heroes wore,

Were given by the God thou didst adore :
And all the fwords thy armies had,
Were on an heavenly anvil made ;



Not interest, or any weak desire
Of rule or empire, did thy mind inspire :

Thy valour like the holy fire,

Which did before the Persian armies go,
Liv'd in the camp, and yet was sacred too :

Thy mighty sword anticipates,
What was deferv'd by heaven and those blest seats,
And makes the church triumphant here below.

Though fortune did hang on thy sword,

And did obey thy mighty word ;
Though fortune, for thy side and thee,

Forgot her lov'd inconstancy;
Amidst thy arms and trophies thou
Were valjant and gentle too ;
Wound'st thyself, when thou didst kill thy foe.

Like steel, when it much work has past,
That which was rough does shine at last,

Thy arms by being oftener us’d did smoother grow. Nor did thy battles make thee proud or high,

Thy conquest rais'd the state, not thee :
Thou overcam'ft thyself in every victory.
As when the sun in a directer line

Upon a polish'd golden shield doth fhine,
The shield reflects unto the sun again his light :
So when the heavens smild on thee in fight ;

When thy propitious God had lent

Success and victory to thy tent ; To heaven again the victory was sent.

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