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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, When thou taught’st Cambridge, and king Edward




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,

Rail'd at Latona's twin-born progeny,
Which after held the sun and moon in fee.

But this is got by casting pearls 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.



Written 1645.

HARRY, whose tuneful and well measured 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,

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 der Montrose. The Macdonalds of that family are styled, by way of distinction, Mac Collcittock,—that is, descendants of lame Colin. Galasp is a Scottish writer against the Independents ; for whom see Milton's verses On the Forcers of Conscience, &c. He is George Gillespie, one of the Scotch members of the Assembly of Divines.- Warton.

• The first professor of the Greek tongue in the university of Cambridge, and was afterwards made one of the tutors to Edward VI. See his Life by Strype, or in the Biographia Britannica.--Newton.

To honour thee, the priest of Phæbus' quire,

That tunest their happiest lines in hymn, or story. Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher

Than his Casella, whom woo'd to sing,
Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.




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 earthly 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.
Love led them on, and Faith who knew them best,

Thy hand-maids, clad them o'er with purple beams,

And azure wings, that up they flew so dress’d, 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.



Written 1648.

Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings,

Filling each mouth with envy or with praise, And all her jealous monarchs with amaze, And rumours loud, that daunt remotest kings, Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings

Victory liome, though new rebellions raise Their hydra heads, and the false North displays

Her broken league, to imp their serpent wings. O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand,

For what can war, but endless war still breed ?

Till truth and right from violence be freed, And public faith clear’d from the shameful brand

• Dr. Newton found, in the accounts of Milton's life, that when he was first made Latin Secretary, he lodged at one Thomson's, next door to the Bull Head Tavern, at Charing Cross. This Mrs. Thomson was in all probability one of that family.

Of public fraud. In vain doth valour bleed,
While avarice and rapine share the land.

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Written 1652.

CROMWELL, our chief of men, who, through a cloud

Not of war only, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith, and matchless fortitude,

To peace & truth thy glorious way hast plouglı’d,
And on the neck of crowned fortune proud,

Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued;
While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued,

And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud,
And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains

To conquer still; peace hath her victories

No less renown'd than war: new foes arise,
Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains :

Help us to save free conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.



VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old,

Than whom a better senator ne'er held
The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repellid

The fierce Epirot, and the African bold,
Whether to settle peace, or to unfold

The drift of hollow states, hard to be spellid;
Then to advise how war may, best upheld,

Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold,
In all her equipage: besides, to know

Both spiritual power & civil, what each means,

What severs each, thou hast learn'd, which few have
The bounds of either sword to thee we owe : [done.

Therefore, on thy firm hand Religion leans
In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

• Sir Henry Vane the younger was the chief of the Independents, and therefore Milton's friend. He was the contriver of the Solemn League and Covenant. In the pamphlets of that age he is called Sir Humorous Vanity. He was beheaded in 1662.


ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT, 1655. AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones

Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold;
Even them, who kept thy truth so pure of old,

When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks & stones, Forget not : in thy book record their groans,

Who were thy sheep, and, in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rollid

Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To Heaven. Their martyr'd blood & ashes sow

O’er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway
The triple tyrant ; that from these may grow

A hundred fold, who, having learn'd thy way,
Early may fly the Babylonian woe.



When I consider how my light is spent,

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest he, returning, chide ;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied ?"

I fondly ask : but patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “ God doth not need

Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o'er land and ocean without rest ;
They also serve, who only stand and wait."



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,

The virtuous son was author of a work “ Of our Communion with Angels," printed in 1646. The father was member for Herefordshire, in the Little Parliament which began in 1053, and was active in settling the protectorate of Cromwell.

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

On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
The frozen earth, and clothe, in fresh attire,

The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun.
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,

Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise

To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice Warble immortal notes, and Tuscan air ?

He, who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise.


TO CYRIACK SKINNER.* CYRIACK, whose grandsire, on the royal bench

Of British Themis, with no mean applause, Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,

Which others, at their bar, so often wrench; To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench

In mirth, that after no repenting draws;

Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intends, and what the French
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know

Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;

For other things, mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show,

That with superfluous burden loads the day, And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.



CYRIACK, this three-years-day, these eyes, though

To outward view, of blemish or of spot, [clear, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot,

Nor, to their idle orbs, doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,

Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not

Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up, and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?

The conscience, friend, to have lost them, overplied,

Cyriack Skinner was one of the principal members of Ilarrington's political club. Wood says that he was " an ingenious young gentleman, and scholar to John Milton; which Skinner sometimes held the chair."-Ath. Oxon. ii. 591.

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