In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sing, and singing in their glory move;
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore,
In thy large recompense; and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus sang the uncouth swain to th' oaks and rills,
While the still morn went out with sandals gray;
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
And now the sun had stretch't out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the western bay;
At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue:
To morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

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II.

SONNETS, 1642–1658.

III.

WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY.

(Nov. 1642.)

CAPTAIN or Colonel, or Knight in arms,

Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,
If deed of honour did thee ever please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms:
He can requite thee, for he knows the charms
That call fame on such gentle acts as these;
And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas,
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.
Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower;

The great Emathian conqueror bid spare
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
Went to the ground; and the repeated air

Of sad Electra's poet had the power
To save th' Athenian walls from ruin bare.

IV.

TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY.

(1644?)

LADY, that in the prime of earliest youth
Wisely hast shunn'd the broad way and the green,
And with those few art eminently seen,
That labour up the hill of heav'nly truth;
The better part with Mary, and with Ruth

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Chosen thou hast; and they that overween, And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen, No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth. Thy care is fixt, and zealously attends

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,

And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure, Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friends Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night, Hast gain'd thy entrance, virgin wise and pure.

V.

TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY.

(1644?)

DAUGHTER to that good Earl, once President
Of England's Council and her Treasury,
Who lived in both, unstain'd with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till the sad breaking of that parliament
Broke him; as that dishonest victory

At Chæronea, fatal to liberty,

Kill'd with report that old man eloquent.

Though later born than to have known the days
Wherein your father flourisht, yet by you,
Madam, methinks I see him living yet;
So well your words his noble virtues praise,
That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to possess them, honour'd Margaret.

VI.

ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON MY
WRITING CERTAIN TREATISES.

(1645.)

A BOOK was writ of late call'd Tetrachordon,
And woven close, both matter, form and style;
The subject new: it walk'd the town awhile,
Numbring good intellects; now seldom por'd on.
Cries the stall-reader, 'Bless us! what a word on

IQ

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ΙΟ

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A title page is this!' and some in file

Stand spelling false, while one might walk to MileEnd Green. Why is it harder, sirs, than Gordon, Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?

Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp. Thy age, like ours, O soul of Sir John Cheek, Hated not learning worse than toad or asp,

II

When thou taught'st Cambridge, and King Edward Greek.

VII.

ON THE SAME.

I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs
By the known rules of ancient liberty,

When straight a barbarous noise environs me
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs.

As when those hinds that were transform'd to frogs 5
Rail'd at Latona's twin-born progeny,

Which after held the sun and moon in fee.
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs;
That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood,
And still revolt when truth would set them free.
License they mean when they cry liberty;
For who loves that, must first be wise and good;
But from that mark how far they rove we see,
For all this waste of wealth, and loss of blood.

VIII.

TO MR. H. LAWES, ON THE PUBLISHING HIS AIRS.

(Feb. 9, 1645-6.)

HARRY, whose tuneful and well measur'd song
First taught our English music how to span
Words with just note and accent, not to scan
With Midas' ears, committing short and long;
Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,

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With praise enough for Envy to look wan;

To after age thou shalt be writ the man, That with smooth air could'st humour best our tongue. Thou honour'st Verse, and Verse must lend her wing To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire, That tun'st their happiest lines in hymn, or story. Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher Than his Casella, whom he woo'd to sing, Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.

IX.

ON THE

RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHARINE THOMSON,
MY CHRISTIAN FRIEND,

Deceased December 16, 1646.

WHEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee never,
Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God,
Meekly thou didst resign this earthy load

Of Death, call'd Life; which us from Life doth sever.
Thy works and alms and all thy good endeavour

Staid not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
But as Faith pointed with her golden rod,
Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.

ΤΟ

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Love led them on, and Faith who knew them best
Thy hand-maids, clad them o'er with purple beams 10
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest,

And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes
Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest,
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

X.

TO MR. LAWRENCE.

LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,

Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire

Help waste a sullen day; what may be won
From the hard season gaining? time will run

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