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Da quel lato si spinge ove mi duole, Che forse amanti nelle lor parole Chiaman sospir; io non so che și sia: Parte rinchiusa, e turbida si cela Scosso mi il petto, e poi n'uscendo poco

Quivi d'attorno o s'agghiaccia, o s'ingiela; Ma quanto a gli occhi giunge a trovar loco Tutte le notti a me suol far piovose Finche mia Alba rivien colma di rose.

VI.

GIOVANE piano, e semplicetto amante
Poi che fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono,
Madonna a voi del mio cuor l'humil dono
Faro divoto; io certo a prove tante
L'hebbi fedele, intrepido, costante,

De pensieri leggiadro, accorto, e buono; Quando rugge il gran mondo, e scocca il tuono, S'arma di se, e d'intero diamante :

Tanto del forse, e d'invidia sicuro,

Di timori, e speranze al popol use
Quanto d'ingegno, e d'alto valor vago,
E di cetra sonora, delle muse:
Sol troverete in tal parte men duro,
Ove Amor mise l'insanabil ago.

VII.

ON HIS BEING ARRIVED TO THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE.

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 showeth.

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 endueth.
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 Task-master's eye.

VIII.

WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY.

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 the Athenian walls from ruin bare.

IX.

TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY.

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 sad the breaking of that parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Charonea, fatal to liberty,

Kill'd with report that old man eloquent.
Though later born than to have known the days
Wherein your father flourish'd, 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.

X.

ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON MY WRITING
CERTAIN TREATISES.

A BOOK was writ of late, called Tetrachordon,
And woven close, both matter, form, and style;
The subject new; it walk'd the town awhile,
Numbering good intellects; now seldom pored on.
Cries the stall-reader, "Bless us! what a word on
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, When thou taught'st Cambridge and King Edward Greek.

XI.

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,
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. Licence 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.

XII.

TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY.

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 heavenly truth,
The better part with Mary and with Ruth

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 fix'd, 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.

XIII.

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

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 exempt 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 couldst humour best our tongue.
Thou honour'st verse, and verse must lend her wing
To honour thee, the priest of Phœbus' quire,
That tunest 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.

XIV.

ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHERINE THOMSON, 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.

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