A Collection of poems on affairs of state; viz. ... / by A- M-l, Esq.; and other eminent wits. ; Most whereof never before printed. 1689 Approx. 71 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 18 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2009-03 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A80112 Wing C5176A ESTC R202112 45578270 ocm 45578270 172211 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A80112) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 172211) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 2618:1) A Collection of poems on affairs of state; viz. ... / by A- M-l, Esq.; and other eminent wits. ; Most whereof never before printed. Marvell, Andrew, 1621-1678. Dryden, John, 1631-1700. Sprat, Thomas, 1635-1713. Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687. 33 [i.e 32] p. [s.n.], London, : Printed in the year, MDCLXXXIX [1689] Reproduction of original in the University of Illinois (Urbana-Champaign Campus). Library. Advice to a painter -- Hodge's vision -- Britain and Raleigh -- Statue at Stocks-M. -- Young statesman -- To the K- -- Nostradamus prophecy -- Sir Edmondbery Godfrey's ghost -- On the King's voyage to Chattam -- Poems on Oliver / by Mr. Dryden, Mr. Sprat, and Mr. Waller. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. 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Great Britain -- History -- Restoration, 1660-1688 -- Poetry. 2007-06 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2007-07 Apex CoVantage Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2008-02 Elspeth Healey Sampled and proofread 2008-02 Elspeth Healey Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-09 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion A COLLECTION OF POEMS ON Affairs of State ; Viz. Advice to a Painter . Hodge 's Vision . Britain and Raleigh . Statue at Stocks — M — Young Statesman . To the K — Nostradamus Prophecy . Sir Edmundbury Godfrey 's Ghost . On the King's Voyage to Chattam . Poems on Oliver , by Mr. Dryden , Mr. Sprat , and Mr. Waller . By A — M — l Esq and other Eminent Wits . Most whereof never before Printed . LONDON , Printed in the Year , MDCLXXXIX . Advice to a Painter , by A. M. Esq Spread a large Canvass , Painter , to contain The great Assembly , and the num'rous Train , Where all about him shall in Triumph sit Abhorring Wisdom and despising Wit , Hating all Justice and resolv'd to Fight . First draw His Highness prostrate to the South , Adoring Rome , with this Speech in his Mouth . Most Holy Father , being joyn'd in League With Father P — s , D — y , and with Teague , Thrown at your Sacred Feet , I humbly bow , I and the wise Associates of my Vow ; A Vow , nor Fire nor Sword shall ever end , Till all this Nation to your Footstool bend : Thus arm'd with Zeal and Blessings from your Hands , I 'le raise my Papists , and my Irish Bands ; And by a Noble well-contrived Plot , Manag'd by wise Fitz — and by Scot , Prove to the World , I 'le have Old England know , That common Sense is my Eternal Foe . I ne'r can fight in a more glorious Cause , Than to destroy their Liberty and Laws , Their House of Commons , and their House of Lords , Parliaments , Precedents and dull Records ; Shall these e'r dare to contradict my Will , And think a Prince o th' Blood can e'r do Ill ? It is our Birth-right to have Power to kill . Shall they e're dare to think they shall decide The Way to Heaven , and who shall be my Guide ? Shall they pretend to say , That Bread is Bread , Or there 's no Purgatory for the Dead ? That Extream Unction is but common Oyl , And not Infallibly the Roman Spoil ? I will have Villains in our Notions rest , And I do say it , therefore it 's the best . Next Painter draw his M — by his side , Conveying his Religion and his Bride ; He who long since abjur'd the Royal Line , Does now in Popery with his Master joyn . Then draw the Princess with her golden Locks , Hastning to be envenom'd with the P — And in her youthful Veins receive a Wound , Which sent N. H. before her , under Ground ; The Wound of which the tainted Ch — fades , Laid up in Store for a new Set of Maids . Poor Princess , born under a sullen Star , To find such Welcome when you came so far ! Better some jealous Neighbour of your own Had call'd you to a Sound , tho' petty Throne , Where 'twixt a wholesom Husband and a Page , You might have linger'd out a lazy Age , Than on dull Hopes of being here a Q — E're twenty dye , and rot before fifteen . Now Painter shew us in the Blackest Dye , The Counsellors of all this Villany : Cl — d , who first appear'd in humble guise , Was always thought too Gentle , Meek and Wise : But when he came to act upon the Stage , He prov'd the mad Cethegus of our Age ; He and his D — ke had both too great a Mind , To be by Justice or by Law confin'd ; Their boyling Heads can hear no other Sounds Than Fleets and Armies , Battails , Blood and Woun'd 's ; And to destroy our Liberty they hope , By Irish Talbot , and old doting Pope . Next Talbot must by his great Master stand , Laden with Folly , Flesh , and Ill-got Land ; He 's of a size indeed to fill a Porch , But ne're can make a Pillar of the Church ; His Sword is all his Argument , not his Book , Alt ho no Scholar , he can act the Cook ; And will cut Throats again , if he be paid ; In th' Irish Shambles he first learn'd the Trade . Then Painter shew thy Skill , and in fit place , Let 's see the Nuncio A — ll's sweet Face . Let the Beholders by thy Art espy His Sense and Soul , as squinting as his Eye . Let B — s autumnal Face be seen , Rich with the Spoils of a poor Algerine , Who trusting in him , was by him betray'd ; And so shall we when his Advice's obey'd : Great Heroes to get Honour by the Sword , He got his Wealth by breaking of his Word ; And now his Daughter he hath got with Child , And Pimps to have his Family defil'd , Next Painter draw the Rabble of the Plot , G — n , Fitz G — d , Loftus , Porter , Scot : These are fit Heads indeed , to turn a State , And change the Order of a Nations Fate ; Ten thousand such as these shall ne'r controul The smallest Atom of an English Soul. Old England on a strong Foundation stands , Defying all their Heads and all their Hands , It s steady Basis never could be shook , When Wiser Men her Ruin undertook : And can her Guardian Angels let her stoop At last , to Madmen , Fools , and to the Pope ? No Painter , no close up this Piece and See , This crowd of Traitors hang'd in EFFIGIE . Hodge , a Countryman , went up to the Piramid , His VISION . WHen Hodge had numbred up , how many Score The airy Piramid contain'd , he swore , No mortal Wight e'r climb'd so high before . To th' best Advantage plac'd , he Views around , Th' Imperial Throne with lofty Turrets crown'd , The wealthy Store-house of the bounteous Flood , Whose paceful Tide o're-flows our Land with Good : Confused Forms fleet by his wondring Eyes , And his Soul too , seiz'd by Divine surprize . Some God it seems had entred his plain Breast , And with 's Abode that Rustick Mansion blest . A mighty Change he feels in ev'ry part ; Light guides his Eyes , and Wisdom rules his Heart : So when her pious Son , fair Venus show'd His flaming Troy , with slaughter'd Dardan's Strow'd , She purg'd his Optick Films , his clouded Sight , Then Troy's last Doom he read by Heaven's Light ; Such Light Divine did seize the dazling Eyes Of humble Hodge . Regions remote , Courts , Councils , Policies The Circling Wills of Tyrants Treacheries He views , discerns , deciphers , penetrates , From Charle's Dukes , to Europe's armed States . He saw the Goatish King in his Alcove , With secret Scenes of his incestuous Love ; To whom he spoke : Cease , cease , O Charles , thus to pollute our Isle ; Return , return to thy long wisht Exile ; There with thy Court desile the neighb'ring States . And by thy Crimes participate their Fates . He saw the Duke in his curst Divan set To 's vast Designs reaching his Pigmy-Wit , With a choice Knot of the Ignatian Crew , Who th' way to Murthers and to Treasons shew : Dissenters they oppress with Laws severe That whilst we wound these innocents , we fear Their cursed Seed we may be forc'd to spare . Twice the Reform'd must fight a double Prize , That Rome and France may in their Ruines rise . Old Bonner single Hereticks did burn , These Reform'd Cities into Ashes turn , And ev'ry year new Fires make us mourn . Hybernian Tories plot his cruel Reign , And thirst for English Martyrs Blood again . Our Valiant Youth abroad must learn the Trade Of unjust War , their Countrey to invade ; Others at home must grind us to prepare Our Gallick Necks their Iron Yoke to wear . Ships , once our Safety and our glorious Might , Are doom'd with Worms and Rottenness to fight ; Whilst France rides Sovereign o're the British Main , Our Merchants robb'd , and brave Sea-men slain : T' insure his Plot , France must his Legions send , Rome to restore , and to enthrone his Friend : Thus the rash Phaeton with Fury hurl'd , And rapid Rage , consumes the British World. Blast him , O Heaven , in his mad Career , And let these Isles no more his Frenzy fear : Curst — whom all Mankind abhor ; False to thy self , but to thy Friend much more , To him who did thy promis'd Pardon hope , ( Coleman . And with pretended Transports kiss the Rope ; Ore-whelm'd with Grief , and gasping out a Lie , Deceiv'd , and unprepar'd , thou letst him die With equal Gratitude and Treachery . BRITANNIA and RALEIGH . By A. M. Brit. AH Raleigh , when thou didst thy Breath resign To trembling James , would I had quitted mine . Cubs did'st thou call them ? Hadst thou seen this Brood Of Earls , Dukes , and Princes of the Blood ; No more of Scottish Race thou wouldst complain These would be Blessings in this spurious Reign . Awake , arise from thy long blest Repose ; Once more with me partake of Morlace Woes . Ra. What mighty Pow'r hath forc'd me from my rest ? Oh mighty Queen , why so untimely drest ? Brit. Favour'd by Night , conceal'd in this Disguise , Whilst the lewd Court in drunken Slumber lies , I stole away , and never will return , Till England knows who did her City burn ; Till Cavaliers shall Favourites be deem'd , And Loyal Sufferers by the Court esteem'd , Till Liegh and Galloway shall Bribes reject ; Thus Osburn's Golden Cheat I shall detect : Till Atheist L — le shall leave this Land , And Commons Votes shall Cut-Nose Guards disband ; Till Kate a happy Mother shall become , Till Charles loves Parliaments , and James hates Roome . Ral. What fatal Crimes make you for ever fly Your once loved Court and Martyrs Progeny ? Brit. A Colony of French possess the Court ; Pimps , Priests , Buffoons in the Privy Chamber sport ; Such slimy Monsters ne'r approacht a Throne Since Pharaoh's Days , nor so defil'd a Crown . In sacred Ear Tyrannick Arts they croak , Pervert his Mind , and good Intentions choak ; Tell him of Golden Indies , Fairy Lands , Leviathan , and absolute Commands . Thus Fairy-like the King they steal away , And in his room a Changling Lewis lay . How oft have I him to himself restor'd , In 's left the Scale , in 's right hand plac'd the Sword ? Taught him their use , what dangers would ensue , To them who strive to separate these two ? The bloody Scotish Chronicle read o're , Shew'd him how many Kings in purple gore Were hurl'd to Hell by cruel Tyrant Lore . The other day fam'd Spencer I did bring , In lofty Notes Tudor's blest Race to sing ; How Spain's proud Powers her Virgin Arms controul'd , And Gold'n Days in peaceful Order roul'd ; How like ripe Fruit she dropt from off her Throne , Full of grey Hairs , good Deeds , and great Renown . As the Jessean Hero did appease Sauls stormy Rage , and stopt his black Disease ; So the learn'd Bard , with Artful Song supprest The swelling Passion of his canker'd Breast , And in his Heart kind Influences shed Of Country Lore by Truth and Justice bred : Then , to perform the Cure so full begun , To him I shew'd this glorious setting Sun. How by her Peoples Looks pursu'd from far , So mounted on a bright Celestial Car , Out-shining Virgo , or the Julian Star. Whilst in Truths Mirrour this good Scene he spy'd , Enter'd a Dame , bedeckt with spotted Pride , Fair Flower de Luce within an Azure Field , Her left Hand bears the Ancient Gallick Shield , By her usurp'd ; her Right a bloody Sword , Inscrib'd Leviathan , our Soveraign Lord ; Her towry Front a fiery Meteor bears , An Exhalation bred of Blood and Tears ; Around her Jove's lewd rav'nous Curs complain , Pale Death , Lust , Tortures , fill her pompous Train : She from the easie King Truth 's Mirrour took , And on the Ground in spiteful Fall it broke ; Then frowning thus , with proud Disdain she broke . Are thred-bare Virtues Ornaments for Kings ? Such poor Pedantick Toys teach Underlings . Do Monarchs rise by Virtue or by Sword ? Who e're grew great by keeping of his Word ? Virtue 's a faint Green-Sickness to brave Souls , Dastards their Hearts , their active Heat controuls : The Rival God , Monarchs of th' other World , This mortal Poyson amongst Princes hold ; Fearing the mighty Projects of the great , Shall drive them from their proud Coelestial Seat , If not o're-aw'd : This new-found holy Cheat , Those pious Frauds too slight , t' insnare the brave , Are proper Acts of long-ear'd Rout t' inslave . Bribe hungry Priests to deifie your Might , To teach your Will 's , your only Rule to Right ; And sound Damnation to all that dare deny 't . Thus Heaven designs ' gainst Heaven you should turn , And make them fear those powers you once did scorn . When all the Gobling Interest of Mankind , By Hirelings sold to you shall be resign'd ; And by Impostures God and man betray'd , The Church and State you safely may invade ; So boundless Law in its full power shines , Whil'st your starv'd power in Legal Fetters pines . Shake off those Baby Bands from your strong Arms , Henceforth be deaf to your old Witches Charms ; Tast the delicious Sweets of Sovereign power , 'T is Royal Game whole Kingdoms to deflower . Three spotless Virgins to your Bed I 'le bring , A Sacrifice to you their God and King : As these grow stale we 'l harras human kind , Rack Nature till new pleasures you shall find , Strong as your Reign , and beauteous as your Mind . When she had spoke , a confus'd Murmour rose Of French , Scotch , Irish , all my mortal Foes , Some English too , O shame ! disguis'd I spy'd , Led all by the wise Son-in-Law of Hyde ; With Fury drunk , like Baccanels they Roar , Down wth that common Magna Charta Whore : With joynt Consent on helpless Me they flew , And from my Charles to a base Goal me drew ; My Reverend Age expos'd to Scorn and Shame , To Prigs , Bawds , Whores , was made the publick Game . Frequent Addresses to my Charles I send , And my sad State did to his Care commend : But his fair Soul transform'd by that French Dame , Had lost a sense of Honour , Justice , Fame . Like a tame Spinster in 's Seraigl he sits , Besieg'id by Whores , Buffoons and Bastards Chits ; Lull'd in Security , rowling in Lust , Resigns his Crown to Angel Cromwel's Trust . Her Creature O — e , the Revenue steals , False F — ch , Knave Ang — ery , misguide the Seals ; Mack-James the Irish Biggots does adore : His French and Teague commands on sea and shore : The Scotch Scalado of our Court two Isles , Fale L — le with Adure all defiles . Thus the States Right marr'd by this Hellish Court , And no one left these Furies to cast out : Ah Vindex come , and purge the poison'd State ; Descend , Descend , e're the Cure's desperate . Ral. Once more great Queen thy Darling strive to save , Rescue him again from scandal and the Grave ; Present to 's Thoughts his long scorn'd Parliament , The Basis of his Throne and Government : In his deaf Ears sound his dead Fathers Name , Perhaps that Spell may his ill Soul reclaim ; Who knows what good Effects from thence may spring ? 'T is God-like Good to save a falling King. Brit. As easily learn'd Vertuoso's may With the Dogs Blood his gentle Kind Convey Into the Wolf , and make him Guardian turn , To the bleating Flock , by him so lately torn ; If this Imperial Juice once taint his Blood , 'T is by no potent Antidote withstood . Tyrants , like Leprous Kings , for publick weal , Should be immur'd , lest the Contagion steal Over the whole . Th' Elect of the Jessean Line , To this firm Law their Scepter did resign . To the serene Venetian State I 'le go , From her sage Mouth fam'd Principles to know ; With her , the prudence of the ancients read , To teach my people in their steps to tread ; By their great Pattern such a State I 'le frame , Shall eternize a glorious lasting Name . Till then , my Raleigh teach our noble Youth , To love Sobriety and holy Truth : Watch and preside over their tender Age , Lest Court Corruption should their Soul engage : Tell them how Arts and Arms in thy young Days Employ'd our Youth , not Taverns , Stews and Plays : Tell them the generous Scorn their rise does ow To Flattery , Pimping and a Gawdy Shew : Teach them to scorn the Corwells , P — s , Neils , The Clevelands , Osborns , Berties , Lau — ails , Poppea , Tegoline and Arteria's Name , Who yield to these in Lewdness , Lust and Fame . Make 'em admire the Talbots , Sidneys , Veres , Drake , Cav'ndish , Blake , Men void of slavish Fears , True Sons of Glory , Pillars of the State , On whose fam'd Deeds all Tongues and Writers wait ; When with bright Ardour their bright Souls do burn , Back to my dearest Country I 'le return . Tarquin's just Judge and Caesar's equal Peers , With them I 'le bring , to dry my Peoples Tears . Publicola with healing Hands shall pour Balm in their Wounds , and shall their Life restore : Greek Arts and Roman Arms in her conjoyn'd , Shall England raise , relieve opprest Mankind . As Jove's great Son th' infested Globe did free From noxious Monsters , hell-bred Tyranny ; So shall my England in a Holy War , In Triumph bear slain Tyrants from afar ; Her true Crusado shall at last pull down The Turkish Crescent and the Persian Sun. Freed by my Labours , Fortunate Blest Isle , The Earth shall rest , the Heaven shall on thee smile ; And this kind Secret for Reward shall give , No Poysonous Serpent on the Earth shall live . On the Statue at Stocks-Market . AS Citizens , that to their Conquerors yield , Do at their own Charge their own Citadel build ; So Sir Robert advanced the King's Statue , a Token Of a Broker defeated , and Lombard-street broken . Some thought it a mighty and gracious Deed , Obliging the City with a King on a Steed ; When with honour he might from his Word have gone back , Who that waits for a Calm , is absolv'd by a Wreck : By all , it appears from the first to the last , To be as Revenge and as Malice forecast , Upon the Kings Birth Day to set up a Thing , That shews him a Monkey , more like than a King. When each one that passes , finds fault with the Horse , Yet all do assure that the King is much worse : And some by the Likeness , Sir Robert suspect , That he did for the K — his own Statue erect . To see him so disguis'd , the Herb-women chide , Who upon their Panniers more decently ride : And so loose are his feet , that all men agree Sir William Peak sits more faster than he : But a Market they say doth fit the King well , Who oft Parliaments buys , and Revenues doth sell : And others , to make the Similitude hold , Say his Majesty himself is oft bought and sold . Surely this Statue is more dangerous far , Than all the Dutch Pictures that caused the War ; And what the Exchequer for that took on trust , May henceforth be confiscated for Reasons most just . But Sir Robert , to take the Scandal away , Doth the fault upon the Artificer lay ; And alledges the thing is none of his own ; For he counterfeits only in Gold , not in Stone . But Sir Knight of the Vine , how came't in your thought , That when to the Sc — Id your Liege you had brought , With Canvas and Deals you ere since do him cloud , As if you had meant it his Coffin and Shroud ? Hath Blood him away , as his Crown he convey'd ? Or is he to Clayton's gone in Masquerade ? Or is he in his Cabal in his — set ? Or have you to the Compter remov'd him for Debt ? Methinks for the Equipage of this vile Scene , That to change him into a Jack-Pudding you mean , Or else thus expose him to Popular Flout , As tho' we had as good have a King of a Clout . Or do you his Errors out of Modesty vail With three shatter'd Planks , and the Rags of a Sail , To expose how his Navy was shatter'd and torn , The day that he was restored and born ? If the Judges and Parliament do not him enrich , They will scarcely afford him a Rag to his Breech . Sir Robert affirms they do him much wrong ; 'T is the Gravers Work to reform so long . But alas , he will never arrive at his end ; For 't is such a King no Chizzel can mend : But with all his faults pray give us our King , As ever you hope December or Spring : For though the whole World cannot shew such another , We had better have him than his P — ' d Brother . A Young Gentleman , desirous to be a Minister of State , thus pretends to qualifie himself . TO make my self for this Employment fit , I 'le learn as much as I can ever get Of the Honourable G — y of R — Wit : In Constancy and sincere Loyalty , I 'le imitate the grateful Shaftsbury ; And that we may assume the Churches weal , And all Disorder in Religion heal , I will espouse Lord H — 's Zeal : To pay Respect to Sacred Revelation , To scorn th' affected Wit of Prophanation , And rout Impiety out of the Nation : To suppress Vice and Scandal to prevent , Buck — 's Life shall be my Precedent , That living Modal of good Covernment . To dive into the depth of Statesmen's Craft , To search the Secrets of the subtlest Heart , And hide my own designs with prudent Art : To make each Man my Property become , To frustrate all the Plots of France or Rome , None can so well instruct as my Lord Moon ; For Moral Honesty in Deed and Word , Lord W — r Example will afford ; That , and his Courage too , are on Record . To the King. GReat Charles , who full of Mercy , wouldst command In Peace and Pleasure this , his Native Land ; At last take pity of this tottering Throne , Shook by the Faults of others , not thine own . Let not thy Life and Crown together end , Destroy'd by a false Brother and a Friend . Observe the danger that appears so near , That all your Subjects do each minute fear : One drop of Poison , or a Papist-Knife , Ends all the Joy of England with thy Life . Brothers , 't is true , by Nature , should be kind ; But a too zealous and ambitious Mind , Brib'd with a Crown on Earth , and one above , Harbours no Friendship , Tenderness , or Love : See in all Ages what Examples are Of Monarchs murther'd by their impatient Heir . Hard Fate of Princes , who will ne're believe Till the Stroke's struck which they can ne're retrieve ▪ Nostradamus's PROPHECY . By A. M. FOR Faults and Follies London's Doom shall fix , And She must sink in Flames in Sixty six ; Fire-Balls shall fly , but few shall see the Train , As far as from White-hall to Pudding-Lane , To burn the City , which again shall rise , Beyond all hopes , aspiring to the Skies , Where Vengeance dwells . But there is one thing more ( Though its Walls stand ) shall bring the City lower : When Legislators shall their Trust betray , Saving their own , shall give the rest away ; And those false men by th' easie People sent , Give Taxes to the King by Parliament : When bare-fac'd Villains shall not blush to cheat , And Chequer-Doors shall shut up Lumbard-street : When Players come to act the part of Queens , Within the Curtains , and behind the Scenes : When Sodomy shall be prime Min'sters Sport , And Whoring shall be the least Crime at Court : When Boys shall take their Sisters for their Mate , And practice Incests between Seven and Eight : When no man knows in whom to put his trust , And e'en to rob the Chequer shall be just ; When Declarations , Lie , and every Oath Shall be in use at Court but Faith and Troth ; When two good Kings shall be at Brentford Town , And when in London there shall be not one ; When the seat's given to a talking Fool , Whom wise men laugh at , and whom Women rule ; A Min'ster able only in his Tongue , To make harsh , empty speeches two hours long ; When an old Scotch Covenant shall be The Champion for th' English Hierarchy ; When Bishops shall lay all Religion by , And strive by Law t' establish Tyranny ; When a lean Treasurer shall in one year Make himself fat , his King and People bare ; When th' English Prince shall English men despise , And think French only Loyal , Irish Wise ; When Wooden Shoon shall be the English wear , And Magna Charta shall no more appear ; Then th' English shall a greater Tyrant know Than either Greek or Latin Story show ; Their Wives to 's Lust expos'd , their Wealth to 's Spoil , VVith Groans to fill his Treasury they toil ; But like the Bellides must sigh in vain ; For that still fill'd flows out as fast again ; Then they with envious Eyes shall Belgium see , And wish in vain Venetian Liberty . The Frogs too late , grown weary of their pain , Shall pray to Jove to take him back again . Sir Edmondbury Godfrey 's Ghost . IT happen'd in the Twilight of the Day , As England's Monarch in his Closet lay , And Chiffinch step'd to fetch the Female Prey ; The bloody shape of Godfrey did appear , And in sad Vocal sounds these things declare : " Behold , Great Sir , I from the Shades am sent , " To shew these Wounds that did your Fall prevent . " My panting Ghost , as Envoy , comes to call , " And warn you , lest , like me , y' untimely fall ; " Who against Law your Subjects Lives pursue , " By the same rate may dare to murther you . " I , for Religion , Laws , and Liberties , " Am mangled thus , and made a Sacrifice . " Think what befel Great Egypt's hardned King , " Who scorn'd the Profit of admonishing . " Shake off your brandy slumbers ; for my Words " More Truth than all your close Cabal affords : " A Court you have with Luxury oregrown , " And all the Vices ere in Nature known ; " VVhere Pimps and Panders in their Coaches ride , " And in Lampoons and Songs your Lust deride . " Old Bawds and slighted VVhores , there tell , with shame , " The dull Romance of your Lascivious Flame . " Players and Scaramouches are your Joy ; " Priests and French Apes do all your Land annoy ; " Still so profuse , you are insolvent grown , " A Mighty Bankrupt on a Golden Throne . " Your nauseous Palate the worst Food doth crave ; " No wholsom Viands can an entrance have : " Each Night you lodge in that French Syren's Arms " She strait betrays you with her wanton Charms ; " Works on your Heart , softned with Love and Wine , " And then betrays you to some Philistine . " Imperial Lust does o're your Scepter sway ; " And though a Soveraign makes you to obey . " Yet thoughts so stupid have your Soul possess'd , " As if inchanted by some Magick Priest . " Next he who ' gainst the Senate's Vote did wed , " Took defil'd H. and Hesti to his Bed : " Fiend in his Face , Apostle in his Name , " Contriv'd to Wars to your eternal shame . " He ancient Laws and Liberties defies ; " On standing Guards and new raised Force relies : " The Teagues he courts , and doth the French admire , " And fain he would be mounted one step higher . " All this by you must needs be plainly seen , " And yet he awes you with his darling Spleen . " Th' unhappy Kingdom suffered much of Old , " When Spencer and loose Gaveston controull'd ; " Yet they by just Decrees were timely sent , " To suffer a perpetual Banishment . " But your bold States-men nothing can restrain , " Their most enormous Courses you maintain ; " Witness that Man , who had for divers years " Pay'd the Cubb-Commons , Pensions and Arrears ; " Though your Exchequer was at his Command , " Durst not before his just Accuser stand , " For Crimes and Treasons of so black a hue , " None dare to prove his Advocate but you . " Trust not in Prelates false Divinity , " Who wrong their Prince , and shame their Deity , " Making their God so partial in their Cause , " Exempting Kings alone from humane Laws . " These lying Oracles they did infuse " Of old , and did your Martyr'd Sire abuse . " Their strong delusions did him so inthral , " No Cautions would anticipate his Fall. " Repent in time , and banish from your sight " The Pimp , the Whore , Buffoon , Church-parasite ; " Let Innocence deck your remaining days , " That After-ages may unfold your Praise . " So may Historians in new Methods write , " And draw a Curtain 'twixt your black and white . The Ghost spake thus , groan'd thrice , and said no more : Straight in came Chiffinch hand in hand with Whore : The King tho' much concern'd with Joy and Fear , Starts from the Couch and bid the Dame draw near . Vpon the King's Voyage to Chatham , to make Bulwarks against the Dutch : And the Queen's miscarriage thereupon . WHen James our great Monarch , so Wise and Discreet : Was gone with three Barges , to face the Dutch Fleet ▪ Our young Prince of Wales ( by inheritance stout ! ) Was coming to aid him and peep'd his Head out ; But seeing his Father without Ships or Men , Commit the defence of us all to a Chain , Taffee was frighted , and sculk'd in again ; Nor thought , while the Dutch domineer'd on our Road ▪ It was safe to come further , and venture abroad : Not Walgrave , or th' Epistle of Seignieur le Duke , Made Her Majesty Sick , and her Royal Womb puke : But the Dutch-men Pickeering at Dover and Harwich , Gave the Ministers Agues , and the Queen a Miscarriage ; And to see the poor King stand in Ships of such need , Made the Catholicks quake , and Her Majesty bleed ; And I wish the sad Accident don't spoil the young Prince , Take off all his Manhood , and make him a Wench : But the Hero his Father no courage did lack ; Who was sorry on such a pretext to come back : He mark'd out his ground , and mounted a Gun , And 't is thought without such a pretence he had run ; For his Army and Navy were said to increase , As appears ( when we have no occasion ) in Peace : Nay , if the Dutch come , we despise 'em so much , Our Navy Incognito will leave 'em i' th' Lurch , And ( to their eternal Disgrace ) we are able To beat 'em by way of a Post and a Cable ; Why was this , Sir , left out of the Wise Declaration , That flatter'd with Hopes of more Forces , the Nation ? 'T would have done us great good to have said , you intended , The strength of the Nation the CHAIN should be mended ; Though we thank you , for Passing so kindly your Word , ( Which never was broke ) that you 'd Rule by the Sword ; This Promise we know you meant to fulfill ; And therefore you have reason ( by Gad ) to tak 't ill , That the Bishops , the Bishops did throw out the Bill . Three POEMS on the Death of the late Usurper Oliver Cromwell . Written by Mr. John Dryden , Mr. Sprat of Oxford , and Mr. Edm. Waller . Heroick Stanza's , on the late Vsurper Oliver Cromwell , written after his Funeral , by Mr. Dryden . I. AND now 't is time ; for their officious hast , Who would before have born him to the Sky , Like eager Romans e're all Rites were past , Did let to soon the sacred Eagle fly . II. Though our best Notes are Treason to his Fame , Join'd with the loud applause of publick Voice ; Since Heaven , what praise we offer to his Name , Hath rendred too Authentick by its choice ; III. Though in his praise no Arts can liberal be , Since they whose Muses have the highest flown , Add not to his Immortal Memory ; But do an act of Friendship to their own : IV. Yet 't is our duty , and our interest too , Such Monuments as we can build , to raise , Lest all the World prevent what we should do , And claim a Title in him by their Praise . V. How shall I then begin , or where conclude , To draw a Fame so truly Circular ? For in a round , what order can be shew'd , Where all the parts so equal perfect are ? VI. His Grandeur he deriv'd from Heaven alone , For he was great ere Fortune made him so , And Wars like Mists that rise against the San , Made him but greater seem , not greater grow . VII . No borrow'd Bays his Temples did adorn , But to our Crown he did fresh Jewels bring ; Nor was his Vertue poison'd soon as born , With the too early thoughts of being King. VIII . Fortune ( that easie Mistriss to the young , But to her ancient Servants coy and hard ) Him , at that age , her Favourites rank'd among , When she her best lov'd Pompey did discard . IX . He private , mark'd the Faults of others sway , And set as Sea-marks for himself to shun ; Not like rash Monarchs , who their youth betray , By Acts their Age too late would wish undone . X. And yet Dominion was not his design , We owe that blessing not to him but Heaven , Which to fair acts unsought rewards did join , Rewards that less to him , than us were given . XI . Our former Chief like Sticklers of the War , First sought t' inflame the parties , then to poise : The quarrel lov'd , but did the cause abhor , And did not strike to hurt , but make a noise . XII . War , our Consumption , was their gainful Trade ; He inward bled , whilst they prolong'd our pain ; He fought to end our fighting , and assay'd To stanch the blood by breathing of the Vein . XIII . Swift and resistless through the Land he past , Like that bold Greek , who did the East subdue , And made to Battels such Heroick haste , As if on Wings of Victory he flew . XIV . He Fought secure of Fortune as of Fame , Still by new Maps the Island might be shown , Of Conquests which he strew'd where e're he came , Thick as the Galaxy with Stars is sown . XV. His Palms , though under weights they did not stand , Still thriv'd , no Winter could his Laurels fade : Heaven in his Portraict shew'd a Workman's hand , And drew it perfect , yet without a shade . XVI . Peace was the prize of all his toil and care , Which War had banishd , and did now restore : Bolognia's Walls thus mounted in the Air , To seat themselves more surely than before : XVII . Her safety , rescued Ireland , to him owes , And treacherous Scotland to no int'rest true , Yet bless'd that Fate which did his Arms dispose Her Land to civilize , as to subdue . XVIII . Nor was he like those Stars which only shine , When to pale Mariners , they Storms portend ; He had his calmer influences , and his Mien Did Love and Majesty together blend . XIX . T is true his Countenance did imprint an awe , And naturally all Souls to his did bow , As wands of Divination downward draw , And point to beds where Sov'raign Gold doth grow . XX. When past all offerings to Pheretrian Jove , He Mars deposed , and Arms to Gowns made yield , Successful Councels did him soon approve , As fit for close Intrigues , as open Field . XXI . To suppliant Holland he vouchsaf'd a Peace , Our once bold Rival in the British Main , Now tamely glad her unjust claim to cease , And buy our Friendship with her Idol , Gain . XXII . Fame of the asserted Sea through Europe blown , Made France and Spain ambitious of his Love ; Each knew that side must conquer he would own , And for him fiercely , as for Empire strove . XXIII . No sooner was the French- man's Cause imbrac'd , Than the light Monsieur , the grave Don outweigh'd ; His Fortune turn'd the Scale where it was cast ; Though Indian Mines where in the other laid . XXIV . When absent , yet we conquer'd in his Right ; For though that some mean Artist's Skill were shown In mingling Colours , or in placing Light ; Yet still the fair Designment was his own . XXV . For from all Tempers he could Service draw ; The worth of each with its allay he knew ; And as the Confident of Nature saw How she Complections did divide and brew . XXVI . Or he their single Vertues did survey , By intuition in his own large Breast , Where all the rich Idea's of them lay , That were the Rule and Measure to the rest . XXVII . When such Heroick Vertue , Heaven set out : The Stars like Commons sullenly obey ; Because it drains them when it comes about ; And therefore is a Tax they seldom pay . XXVIII . From this high Spring , our Foreign Conquests flow , Which yet more glorious Triumphs do portend ; Since their Commencement to his Arms they owe , If springs as high as Fountains may ascend . XXXIX . He made us Free-men of the Continent , Whom Nature did like Captives treat before ; To Nobler preys the English Lion sent , And taught him first in Belgian Walks to roar . XXX . That old unquestion'd Pirate of the Land , Proud Rome , with dread the Fate of Dunkirk heard ; And trembling wish'd behind more Alpes to stand , Although an Alexander were her Guard. XXXI . By his Command , we boldly cross'd the Line , And bravely fought where Southern Stars arise , We trac'd the far-fetch'd Gold unto the Mine , And that which brib'd our Fathers made our Prize . XXXII . Such was our Prince , yet own'd a Soul above The highest Acts it could produce or show : Thus poor Mechanick Arts in publick move , Whilst the deep Secrets beyond Practice go . XXXIII . Nor died he when his ebbing Fame went less , But when the fresh Laurels courted him to live ; He seem'd but to prevent some new Success , As if above what Triumphs Earth can give . XXXIV . His la test Victories still thickest came , As near the Center , Motion doth increase ; Till he press'd down by his own weighty Name , Did , like the Vestal , under spoils decease . XXXV . But first the Ocean as a Tribute sent That Giant Prince of all her wat'ry Herd ; And th' Isle , when her protecting Genius went , Upon his Obsequies loud sighs conferr'd . XXXVI . No civil broils have fince his Death arose , But Faction now by habit does obey ; And Wars have that respect for his Repose , As Winds for Halcyons when they breed at Sea. XXXVII . His Ashes in a peaceful Urn shall rest , His Name a great Example stands to show , How strangely high Endeavours may be blest , Where Piety , and Valour jointly go . To the Reverend Dr. Wilkins , Warden of Wadham Colledge in Oxford . SIR , SEeing you are pleased to think fit that these Papers should come into the publick , which were at first design'd to live only in a Desk , or some private Friends Hands ; I humbly take the boldness to commit them to the security , which your Name and protection will give them , with the most knowing part of the World. There are two things especially , in which they stand in need of your defence : One is , That they fall so infinitely below the full and lofty Genius of that excellent Poet , who made this way of Writing Free of our Nation : The other , That they are so little proportioned and equal to the renown of that Prince , on whom they were written . Such great Actions and Lives , deserving rather to be the subjects of the noblest Pens and most Divine Phansies , than of such small Beginners and week Essayers in Poetry as my self . Against these dangerous prejudices , there remains no other shield , than the Universal Esteem and Authority , which your Judgment and Approbation carries with it . The right you have to them , Sir , is not only on the account of the Relation you had to this great Person , nor of the general favour which all arts receive from you ; but more particularly by reason of that Obligation and Zeal , with which I am bound to dedicate my self to your service : For having been a long time the Object of your Care and Indulgence towards the advantage of my Studies and Fortune , having been moulded ( as it were ) by your own Hands , and formed under your Government ; not to intitle you to any thing which my meanness produces , would not only be Injustice , but Sacriledge : So that if there be any thing here tolerably said , which deserves Pardon , it is yours Sir , as well as he , who is Your most Devoted and Obliged Servant . To the happy memory of the late Usurper Oliver Cromwel . By Mr. Sprat of Oxon. Pindarick Odes . I. 'T IS true , great Name , thou art secure From the forgetfulness and rage Of Death , or Envy , or devouring Age ; Thou canst the Force and Teeth of Time endure : Thy Fame like Men , the elder it doth grow , Will of its self turn whiter too , Without what needless art can do ; Will live beyond thy breath , beyond thy Hearse , Though it were never heard or sung in Verse . Without our help , thy Memory is safe ; They only want an Epitaph , That does remain alone Alive in an Inscription , Remembred only on the Brass , or Marble stone . 'T is all in vain what we can do : All our Roses and Perfumes Will but officious folly shew , And pious Nothings , to such mighty Tombs . All our Incense , Gums , and Balm , Are but unnecessary duties here : The Poets may their Spices spare , Their costly numbers and their tuneful feet : That need not be imbalm'd , which of it self is sweet . II. We know to praise thee is a dangerous proof Of our Obedience and our Love : For when the Sun and Fire meet , Th' one 's extinguish'd quite ; And yet the other never is more bright : So they that write of thee , and join Their feeble names with Thine , Their weaker sparks with thy illustrious light , Will lose themselves in that ambitious thought ; And yet no Fame to thee from thence he brought . We know , bless'd Spirit , thy mighty name Wants no addition of anothers beam ; It 's for our pens too high , and full of Theme : The Muses are made great by thee , not thou by them . Thy Fame 's Eternal Lamp will live , And in thy Sacred Urn survive , Without the food of Oil , which we can give . 'T is true ; but yet our duty calls our Songs , Duty Commands our Tongues . Though thou want not our praises , we Are not excus'd for what we owe to thee ; For so Men from Religion are not freed . But from the Altars clouds must rise , Though Heaven it self doth nothing need , And though the Gods don't want an earthly Sacrifice III. Great Life of wonders , whose each year Full of new Miracles did appear ! Whos 's every Month might be Alone a Chronicle , or a History ! Others great Actions are But thinly scatter'd here and there ; At best , but all one single Star ; But thine the Milky-way , All one continued light of undistinguish'd day ; They throng'd so close , that nought else could be seen , Scarce any common Sky did come between : What shall I say or where begin ? Thou may'st in double shapes be shown , Or in thy Arms , or in thy Gown ; Like Jove sometimes with Warlike Thunder , and Sometimes with peaceful Scepter in his Hand , Or in the Field , or on the Throne . In what thy Head , or what thy Arm hath done , All that thou didst was so refin'd , So full of substance , and so strongly join'd , So pure , so weighty Gold , That the least Grain of it If fully spread and beat , Would many Leaves and mighty Volumes hold ▪ IV. Before thy Name was publish'd , and whilst yet Thou only to thy self wer't great , Whilst yet thy happy bud Was not quite seen , or understood , It then sure signs of future greatness shew'd : Then thy Domestick worth Did tell the World what it would be , When it should fit occasion see , When a full Spring should call it forth : As Bodies , in the dark and night , Have the same Colours , the same red and white , As in the open Day and Light , The Sun doth only show That they are bright , not make them so : So whilst but private Walls did know What we to such a mighty Mind should owe , Then the same Vertues did appear , Though in a less and more contracted Sphere , As full , though not as large as since they were : And like great Rivers , Fountains , though At first so deep thou didst not go ; Though then thine was not so inlarg'd a Flood ; Yet when 't was little , 't was as clear as good . V. 'T is true thou wast not born unto a Crown , Thy Scepter 's not thy Father's , but thy own : Thy purple was not made at once in haste , And after many other Colours past , It took the deepest Princely Dye at last . Thou didst 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 Mind . That Soul , which should so many Scepters sway , To whom so many Kingdoms should obey : Learned first to rule in a Domestick way : So Government it self , began From Family , and single Man , Was by the small Relations , first , Of Husband , and of Father Nurs'd , And from those less beginnings past , To spread it self o'er all the World at last . VI. But when thy Country , ( then almost enthrall'd ) Thy Vertue , and thy Courage call'd ; When England did thy Arms intreat , And 't had been Sin 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 ever Ear ; When the great Storms , and dismal Night Did all the Land affright ; 'T was time for thee , to bring forth all our Light. Thou left'st 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 her Arrows , and her Stings about ; Then thou ( as once the healing Serpent rose ) Wast lifted up , not for thy self , but us . VII . 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 , Thy strong , and certain Remedy , Unto the Weapon didst apply ; Thou didst not draw the Sword , and so Away the Scabbard throw ; As if thy Country shou'd Be the Inheritance of Mars and Blood ; But that when the great work was spun , War in it self should be undone ; That Peace might Land again upon the shore , Richer and better than before : The Husbandmen no Steel should 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 ; 'T was but till thou our Sun didst in full Light appear . VIII . When Ajax died , the Purple Blood That from his gaping Wound had flow'd , Turn'd into Letters , every Leaf Had on it wrote his Epitaph : So from that Crimson Flood Which thou , by fate of times , wert led Unwillingly to shed , Letters , and Learning rose , and were renewed : Thou fought'st not out of Envy , Hope , or Hate , But to refine the Church and State , And like the Romans , what e'er thou In the Field of Mars didst mow , Was , that a holy Island thence might grow . Thy Wars , as Rivers raised by a Shower , With welcome Clouds do pour : Though they at first may seem , To carry all away with an inraged 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 anothr slime , To give a Birth to a more happy Power . IX . In Fields unconquer'd , and so well Thou did'st in Battels 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 had'st conquer'd Fate ; As if uncertain Victory Had been first overcome by thee ; As if her Wings were clipp'd , and could not flee , Whilst thou did'st only serve , Before thou had'st what first thou did'st deserve . Others by thee did great things do , Triumph'd'st thy self , and made'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. Thy self an Army wert alone , And mighty Troops contain'dst 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 Paradiee . X. Thou fought'st not to be high or great , Not for a Scepter , or a Crown , Or Ermyn , People , 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 did'st adore ; And all the Words thy Armies had , Were on an heavenly Anvil made ; Not Int'rest , 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 reserv'd for Heaven and those bless'd Seats , And makes the Church Triumphant here below . XI . Though Fortune did hang on thy Sword , And did obey thy mighty Word ; Though Fortune for thy side and thee , Forgot her lov'd Unconstancy ; Amidst thy Arms and Trophies thou Wert valiant and gentle too , Wounded'st thy self , when thou did'st kill thy Foe ; Like Steel , when it much Work has past , That which was rough does shine at last : Thy Arms by being oftner us'd did smoother grow ; Nor did thy Battels make the proud or high ; Thy Conquest rais'd the State , not thee : Thou overcam'st thy self in every Victory : As when the Sun , in a directer Line , Upon a polish'd golden Shield doth shine , The Shield reflects unto the Sun again his Light : So when the Heavens smil'd on thee in Fight , When thy propitious God had lent Success , and Victory to thy Tent , To Heav'n again the Victory was sent . XII . England till thou did'st come , Confin'd her Valour home ; Then our own Rocks did stand Bounds to our Fame as well as Land , And were to us as well , As to our Enemies unpassable . We were asham'd at what we read , And blush'd at what our Fathers did , Because we came so far behind the Dead ▪ The British Lion hung his main , and droop'd , To Slavery and Burthen stoop'd , With a degenarate Sleep and Fear Lay in his Den , and languish'd there ; At whose least Voice before , A trembling eccho ran through every Shore , And shook the World at every roar ; Thou his subdued Courage didst restore , Sharpen his Claws , and in his Eyes Mad'st the same dreadful Lightning rise ; Mad'st him again affright the Neighbouring Floods , His mighty Thunder sound through all the Woods ▪ Thou hast our Military Fame redeem'd , Which was lost , or clouded seem'd : Nay more , Heaven did by thee bestow On us , at once an Iron Age , and happy too . XIII . Till thou command'st , that Azure Chains of Waves , Which Nature round about us sent , Made us to every Pirate Slaves , Was rather Burthen than an Ornament ; Those Fields of Sea , that wash'd our Shores , Were plow'd , and reap'd by other Hands than ours . To us , the liquid Mass , Which doth about us run , As it is to the Sun , Only a Bed to sleep on was : And not , as now a powerful Throne , To shake and sway the World thereon . Our Princes in their Hand a Globe did shew , But not a perfect one , Compos'd of Earth , and Water too . But thy Commands the Floods obey'd , Thou all the Wilderness of VVater sway'd ; Thou did'st but only wed the Sea , Not make her equal , but a Slave to thee . Neptune himself did bear thy Yoke , Stoop'd , and trembled at thy stroke : He that ruled all the Main , Acknowledg'd thee his Soveraign . And now the Conquer'd Sea , doth pay More Tribute to thy Thames , than that unto the Sea. XIV . Till now our Valour did our selves more hurt ; Our VVounds to other Nations were a sport ; And as the Earth , our Land produc'd Iron and Steel , which should to tear our selves be us'd . Our strength within it self did break , Like thundring Canons crack , And kill'd those that were near , While the Enemies secur'd and untouch'd were . But now our Trumpets thou hast made to sound , Against our Enemies Walls in Foreign Ground ; And yet no eccho back to us returning found . England is now the happy peaceful Isle , And all the World the while , Is exercising Arms and Wars , With Foreign , or intestine Jars . The Torch extinguish'd here , we lend to others Oil , We give to all , yet know our selves no Fear ; We reach the Flame of Ruine , and of Death , Where e're we please , our Swords to unsheath , Whilst we in calm , and temporate Regions breath ; Like to the Sun , whose heat is hurl'd Through every Corner of the World ; Whose Flame through all the Air doth go ; And yet the Sun himself , the while no Fire doth know . XV. Besides the Glories of thy Peace , Are not in Number , nor in value less . Thy Hand did cure , and close the Stars Of our bloody Civil Wars ; Not only lanc'd ; but heal'd the Wound , Made us again as healthy , and as sound , When now the Ship was well nigh lost , After the Storm upon the Coast , By its Mariners indanger'd most ; When they their Ropes and helms had left , When the Planks asunder cleft , And Flouds came roaring in with mighty sound ; Thou a safe Land , and harbour for us found , And saved'st those that would themselves have drown'd : A Work which none but Heaven and thee could do , Thou made'st us happy ▪ whe'r we would or no : Thy Judgment , Mercy , Temperance so great , As if those Vettues only in thy Mind had seat : Thy Piety not only in the Field , but Peace , When Heaven seemed to be wanted least : Thy Temples not like Janus open were , Open in time of War , When thou hadst greater cause of fear Religion and the awe of Heaven possest All places and all times alike thy breast . XVI : Nor didst thou only for thy age provide , But for the years to come beside ; Our after-times , and late Posterity , Shall pay unto thy Fame as much as we ; They too are made by thee : When Fate did call thee to a higher Throne , And when thy Mortal Work was done , When Heaven did say it , and thou must be gone , Thou him to bear thy burthen chose , Who might ( if any could ) make us forget thy loss : Nor hadst thou him design'd , Had he not been Not only to thy Blood , but Vertue kin ; Not only Heir unto thy Throne , but Mind , 'T is he shall perfect all thy Cures , And with as fine a thread weave out thy loom : So one did bring the chosen People from Their Slavery and Fears , Led them through their pathless road , Guided himself by God. He brought them to the Borders ; but a second Hand Did settle , and secure them in the promised Land. Vpon the late Storm , and Death of the late Vsurper Oliver Cromwel ensuing the same , By Mr. Waller . WE must resign ; Heav'n his great Soul does claim , In Storms as loud , as his Immortal Fame ; His dying Groans , his last breath shakes our Isle , And trees uncut fall for his Funeral Pile . About his Palace their broad roots are tost Into the Air : So Romulus was lost . New Rome in such a Tempest mist their King , And from obeying-fell to Worshipping . On Oeta's top thus Hercules lay dead , With ruin'd Oaks and Pines about him spread ; The Poplar too , whose bough he wont to wear On his Victorious head , lay prostrate there : Those his last Fury from the Mountain rent ; Our dying Hero , from the Continent , Ravish'd whole Towns , and Forts from Spaniards reft , As his last Legacy to Britain left ; The Ocean which so long our hopes confin'd , Could give no limits to his vaster mind ; Our bounds enlargement , was his latest toil , Nor hath he left us Prisoners to our Isle : Under the Tropick is our Language spoke , And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our Yoke . From Civil broils , he did us disingage , Found Nobler Objects for our Martial rage ; And with wise Conduct to his Country show'd , Their ancient way of Conquering abroad : Ungrateful then , if we no tears allow To him , that gave us Peace and Empire too ; Princes that fear'd him , griev'd , concern'd to see No pitch of Glory from the Grave is free ; Nature her self , took notice of his Death , And sighing swell'd the Sea with such a breath , That to remotest shores her Billows rowl'd , Th' approaching Fate of her great Ruler told . FINIS .