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On his being arrived at the age of 23 ����ʮ������
On his deceased wife ������
To the Lord General Cromwell ��������������
On the Lord General Fairfax at the Siege of Colchester ���Ѷ�����˹����
On May morning ���³���


On his being arrived at the age of 23 ����ʮ������

On his being arrived at the age of 23 

How soon hath time, the subtle thief of youth,
    Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year!
    My hasting days fly on with full career,
    But my late spring no bud or blossom sheweth.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
    That I to manhood am arrived so near,
    And inward ripeness doth much less appear
    That some more timely happy spirits indueth.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
    It shall be still in strictest measure even
    To that same lot however mean or high,
Toward which time leads me and the will of heaven.
    All is, if I have grace to use it so,
    As ever in my great taskmaster's eye.

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On his deceased wife ������

On his deceased wife

Methought I saw my late espoused saint
    Brought to me like Alcestis,2 from the grave,
    Whom Jove's great son3 to her glad husband4 gave,
    Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.
Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint
    Purification in the old Law did save,
    And such, as yet once more I trust to have
    Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
    Her face was veil'd;5 yet to my fancied sight
    Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd
So clear, as in no face with more delight.
    But O, as to embrace me she inclin'd,
    I wak'd; she fled; and day brought back my night.
    
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To the Lord General Cromwell ��������������

On the proposals of certain ministers at the Committee for Propagation of the Gospel

Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud
     Not of war only, but detractions rude,
     Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,
     To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd,
And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
     Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursu'd,
     While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbru'd,
     And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud,
And Worcester's laureate wreath; yet much remains
     To conquer still: peace hath her victories
     No less renown'd than war. New foes arise
Threat'ning to bind our souls with secular chains:
     Help us to save free Conscience from the paw
     Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw.
     
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On the Lord General Fairfax at the Siege of Colchester ���Ѷ�����˹����

On the Lord General Fairfax at the Siege of Colchester

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 unshak'n virtue ever brings
    Victory home, though new rebellions raise
    Their hydra heads, and the false north displays
    Her brok'n 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
    Of Public Fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed
    While Avarice and Rapine share the land.
    
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On May morning ���³���

NOW the bright morning Star, Dayes harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The Flowry May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.
      Hail bounteous May that dost inspire
      Mirth and youth, and warm desire,
      Woods and Groves, are of thy dressing,
      Hill and Dale, doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early Song,
And welcom thee, and wish thee long. 

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