THREE POEMS Upon the Death of the Late USURPER Oliver Cromwell.  
Written By 

Mr. IO. DRYDON.  
By Mr. SPRAT, of Oxford.  
By Mr. EDM. WALLER.    
LONDON: Printed by William Wilson, in the Year, 1659. And Reprinted for R. Baldwin, 1682.   

HEROIQE STANZA'S, On the Late USURPER Oliver Cromwell. Written after his FUNERAL.  

ANd now 'tis time for their Officious haste,  
Who would before have born him to the Sky,  
Like eager Romans, ere all Rites were passed,  
Did let too soon the Sacred Eagle fly.   

(2)  
Though our best notes are treason to his fame,  
Joined with the loud applause of public voice;  
Since Heaven, what praise we offer to his name,  
Hath rendered too authentic by its choice:   

(3)  
Though in his praise no Arts can liberal be,  
Since they whose Muses have the highest flown,  
Add not to his Immmortal Memory,  
But do an Act of friendship to their own.   

(4)  
Yet 'tis 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.   

(5)  
How shall I then begin or where conclude,  
To draw a Fame so truly Circular?  
For in a round what order can be showed,  
Where ●ll the parts so equalperfect are?   

(6)  
His Grandeur he derived from Heaven alone,  
For he was Great ere Fortune made him so;  
And Wars, like mists that rise against the Sun,  
Made him but greater seem not greater grow.   

(7)  
No borrowed Bays his Temples did adorn,  
But to our Crown he did fresh jewels bring,  
Nor was his Virtue poisoned soon as born  
With the two early thoughts of being King.   

(8)  
Fortune (that easy Mistress of the young,  
But to her ancient servants coy and hard)  
Him at that age her favourites ranked among  
When she her best-loved Pompey did discard.   

(9)  
He, private, marked the faults of others sway,  
And set as Sea marks for himself to shun;  
Not like rash Monacrhs who theiry outh betray  
By Acts their Age too late would wish undone,   

(10)  
And yet Dominion was not his design,  
We owe that blessing not to him but Heaven,  
Which to fair Acts unsought Rewards did join,  
Rewnads that less to him than us were given   

(11)  
Our former chiefs like sticklers of the War.  
First sought t' inflame the Parties, then to poise;  
The qnarrel loved, but did the cause abhor,  
And did not strike to hurt but make a noise.   

(12)  
War our consumption was their gainful trade,  
We inward bled whilst they prolonged our pain:  
He fought to end our fight, and assayed  
To staunch the Blood by breathing of the vein.   

(13)  
Swift and resistless through the Land he passed,  
Like that bold Greek who did the East subdue;  
And made to Battles such Heroic haste  
As if on wings of Victory he flew   

(14)  
He fought secure of fortune as of fame,  
Till by new Maps the Island might be shown,  
Of Conquests which he strewed where ere he came,  
Thick as the Galaxy with Stars is sown.   

(15)  
His Palms though under weights they did not stand,  
Still thrived; no Winter could his Laurels fade;  
Heaven in his Portrait showed a Workman's hand  
And drew it perfect yet without a shade.   

(16)  
Peace was the Prize of all his toils and care,  
Which War had banifhed, and did now restore;  
Bolognia's Wall thus mounted in the Air,  
To Seat themselves more surely than before.   

(17)  
Her safety rescued, Ireland to him owes,  
And Treacherous Scotland to no interest true,  
Yet blest that fate which did his Arms dispose,  
Her Land to Civilize asto subdue.   

(18)  
Nor was he like those Stars which only shine,  
When to pale Mariners they storms portend,  
He had his calmer influence; and his Mine  
Did Love and Majesty together blend.   

(19)  
'Tis 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 sovereign Gold dothgrow.   

(20)  
When past all offerings to Feretrian jove  
He Mars deposed, and Arms to Gowns made yield,  
Successful Counsels did him soon approve  
As fit for close Intrigues, as open field.   

(21)  
To suppliant Holland he vouchsafed 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.   

(22)  
Fame of th' 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.   

(16)  
No sooner was the French man's cause embraced  
Than the light Mounsire the grave Don outweighed,  
His fortune turned the Scale where it was cast,  
Though Indian Mines were in the other laid.   

(24)  
When absent, yet we conquered in his right;  
For though some meaner Artist's Skill were shown,  
In mingling colours, or in placing light,  
Yet still the fair designment was his own.   

(25)  
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 Complexions did divide and brew.   

(26)  
Or he their single virtues did survey  
By intuition in his own large Breast,  
Where all the rich Ideas of them lay,  
That were the Rule and measure to the rest.   

(27)  
When such Heroic Virtue Heaven sets out.  
The Stars like Commons sullenly obey;  
Because it drains them when it comes about,  
And therefore is a Tax they seldom pay.   

(28)  
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.   

(29)  
He made us Freemen of the Continent  
Whom Nature did like Captives treat before,  
To nobler prey's the English Lion sent,  
And taught him first in Belgian walks to roar.   

(30)  
That old unquestioned Pirate of the Land,  
Proud Rome, with dread, the fate of Dunkirk hared;  
And trembling wished behind more Alps to stand,  
Although an Alxander were her guard.   

(31)  
By his command we boldly crossed the Line,  
And bravely sought where Southern Stars arise,  
We traced the far fetched Gold unto the Mine,  
And that which bribed our Fathers made our prize   

(32)  
Such was our Prince; yet owned a Soul above  
The highest Acts it could produce to show:  
Thus poor Mechanic Arts in public move  
Whilst the deep Secrets beyond practice go.   

(33)  
Nor died he when his ebbing Fame went less,  
But when fresh Laurels courted him to live;  
He seemed but to prevent some new success;  
As if above what triumphs Earth can give.   

(34)  
His latest Victories still thickest came,  
As, near the Centre, Motion does increase;  
Till he pressed down by his own weighty name,  
Did, like the Vestal, under Spoils decease.   

(35)  
But first the Ocean as a tribute sent  
That Giant Prince of all her watery Herd,  
And th' Isle when her Protecting Genius went  
Upon his Obsequies loud sighs conferred.   

(36)  
No Civil broils have since 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.   

(37)  
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 COLLEGE IN OXFORD.  
SIR,  
SEeing you are pleased to think fit that these Papers should come into the public, which were at first designed 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 Fancies, than of such small beginners and weak essayers in Poetry, as myself. Against these dangerous Prejudices, there remains no other shield than the universal Esteem and Authority, which your judgement and approbation carries with it. The right you have to them, Sir, is not only upon the account of the Relation you had to this great Person▪ nor of the General favour which all Arts receive from you; but more peculiarly by reason of that obligation and zeal with which I am bound to dedicate myself 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 entitle you to any thing which my meaness produces, would not only be injustice, but sacrilege. So that if there be any thing here tolerably said, and which deserves Pardon, it is yours, Sir, as well as he, who is  
Your most Devoted and Obliged Servant.   

TO THE MEMORY Of the Late USURPER Oliver Cromwell Pindaric Odes.  

(1)  
'tIs 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 itself 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  
Remembered only on the Brass or Marble Stone.  
'Tis all in vain what we for thee can do,  
All our Roses and Perfumes  
Will but officious folly show,  
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 inbalmed, which of itself is sweet.   

(2)  
We know to praise thee is a dangerous proof  
Of our Obedience and our Love:  
For when the Sun and Fire meet,  
Th' ones extinguished quite;  
And yet the other never is more bright.  
So they that writ 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 Flame to thee from them be brought.  
We know, blessed Spirit, thy mighty name  
Wants not Addition of another's 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 or Oil, which we can give.  
'Tis true; but yet our duty calls our Songs  
Duty Commands our Tongues,  
Though thou want not our praises, we  
Are not excused for what we owe to thee:  
For so men from Religion are not freed.  
But, from the Altars, Cloud must rise,  
Though Heaven itself doth nothing need;  
And though the Gods don't want, an Earthly Sacrifice.   

(3)  
Great life of Wonders, whose each year  
Full of new Miracles did appear!  
Whose every Month might be,  
Alone a Chronicle or a History!  
Others great Actions are  
But thinly scattered here and there;  
At best, all but one single Star:  
But thine the Milky way,  
All one continued light, and undistinguished day.  
They thronged so close, that nought else could be seen  
Scarce any common Sky did come between  
What shall I say, or where begin?  
Thou mayest in double Shapes be shown;  
Or in thy Arms, or in thy Gown.  
Like jove sometime with Warlike Thunder, and  
Sometimes with peaceful Sceptre in thy 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 joined;  
So pure, so weighty Gold,  
That the least grain of it,  
If fully spread and beat,  
Would many leaves, and mighty volumes hold.   

(4)  
Before thy name was published, and whilst yet  
Thou only to thyself wert great:  
Whilst yet thy happy Bud  
Was not quite seen, or understood;  
It then sure signs of future greatness showed;  
Then thy domestic 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 virtues 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 enlarged a flood  
Yet when 'twas Little, 'twas as clear as good.   

(5)  
'Tis true, thou wast not born unto a Crown,  
The sceptre's not thy Fathers, but thy own.  
Thy Purple was not made at once in haste,  
But 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 ordained by Fates  
To change the World, and alter States,  
Practised, at first, that vast design  
On meaner things, with equal mind.  
That Soul, which should so many Sceptres sway.  
To whom so many Kingdoms should obey,  
Learned first to rule in a Domestic way:  
So Government, itself began  
From Family, and single Man,  
Was by the small relations first  
Of Husband and of Father nursed  
And from those less beginnings past,  
To spread itself, o'er all the World at last.   

(6)  
But when thy Country (than almost enthralled)  
Thy Virtues and thy Courage called,  
When England did thy Arms entreat  
And 't'had been sin in thee, not to be great;  
When every Stream, and every Flood,  
Was a true vein of Earth, and ran with blood.  
When unused Arms, and unknown War,  
Filled every place, and every 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 lest'st thy more delightful Peace  
Thy Private life and better case;  
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)  
Was't listed up, not for thyself but us.   

(7)  
Thy Country wounded 'twas, and sick before,  
Thy Wars and Arms did her restore:  
Thou knewest 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 should  
Be the inheritance of Mars and Blood;  
But that when the great work was spun  
War in itself should be undone:  
That Peace might land again upon the shore  
Richer and better than before.  
The Husbandman no Steel should know  
None but the useful Iron of the Blow;  
That bays might creep on every Spear.  
And though our Sky was overspread  
With a destructive Red,  
'Twas but till thou, our Sun, didst in full light appear.   

(8)  
When Ajax died, the Purple Blood  
That from his Gaping Wounds had flowed  
Turned into Letters, every Leaf  
Had on it writ 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 foughtest not out of Envy, Hope or Hate,  
But to refine the Church and State;  
And like the Romans, what ere thou  
In the Field of Mars didst mow,  
Was, that a holy Island thence might grow.  
Thy Wars, as Rivers raised by a Shower  
Which Welcome louds do pour;  
Though they at first may seem  
To carry all away, with and enraged 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 a Richer Slime,  
To give a birth to a more happy power.   

(9)  
In Field unconquered, and so well  
Thou didst in Battles, and in Arms excel,  
That Steelly Arms themselves might be  
Worn out in War as soon as thee.  
Success so close upon thy Troops did wait,  
As if thou first hadst conquered Fate;  
As if uncertain Victory  
Had been first overcome by thee;  
As if her wings were clipped and could not flee,  
Whilst thou didst only serve,  
Before thou hadst what first thou didst deserve.  
Others by thee did great things do,  
Triumphest thyself and mad'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.  
Thyself 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 Paradise.   

(10)  
Thou soughtest not to be high or great,  
Not for a Sceptre or a Krown,  
Or Ermyne, Purple 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 Hero's wore  
Were given by the God thou didst adore:  
And all the Swords, thy Armies had  
Were on an Heavenly Anvil made.  
Not Interest, 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,  
Lived in the Camp, and yet was sacred too.  
Thy mighty Sword anticipates  
What was reserved for Heaven, and those blessed Seats  
And makes the Church triumphant here below.   

(11)  
Though Fortune did not hang on thy Sword,  
And did obey thy mighty word;  
Though Fortune for thy side, and thee,  
Forgot her loved Inconstancy;  
Amidst thy Arms and Trophies Thou  
Wert Valiant, and Gentle too;  
Wounded'st thyself, when thou didst kill thy Foe.  
Like Steel, when it much work hath past  
That which was rough doth shine at last;  
Thy Arms by being oftener used, did smother grow▪  
Nor did thy Battles make thee proud or high;  
Thy Conquest raised the State not thee:  
Thou overcame'st thyself in every Victory.  
As when the Sun in a director line  
Upon a Polished Golden Shield doth shine,  
The Shield reflects unto the Sun again his Light;  
So when the Heavens smiled on the in Fight,  
When thy propitious God had lent  
Success and Victory to thy Tent;  
To Heaven again the Victory was sent.   

(12)  
England, till thou didst come,  
Confined her Valour home;  
Then onr own Rocks did stand  
Bounds to our Fame as well as Land;  
And were to us as well  
As to our Enemies unpassible:  
We were ashamed, at what we read;  
And blushed at what our Fathers did;  
Because we came so far behind the dead.  
The British Lion hung his Main and drooped,  
To slavery and burdens stooped,  
With a degenerate sleep, and Fear  
Lay in his Den and languished there;  
At whose least voice before  
A trembling Echo 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 redeemed  
Which was lost, or Clouded seemed,  
Nay more, Heaven did by thee bestow  
On us at once an Iron Age, and Happy too.   

(13)  
Till thou Commandest, that Azure Chains of Waves  
Which Nature round about us sent  
Made us to every Pirate slaves,  
Was rather burden than an Ornament.  
Those fields of Sea that washed our shores  
Were ploughed and reaped, 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 in was.  
And not, as now, a powerful throne  
To shake and sway, the World Thereon.  
Our Princes in their hand a Globe did show,  
But not a perfect one  
Composed of Earth and Water too.  
But thy Command the Floods obeyed;  
Thou all the Wilderness of Water swayed;  
Thou didst but only Wed the Sea  
Not make her equal, but a slave to thee.  
Neptune himself did bear thy Yoke,  
Stooped and trembled at thy Stroke:  
He that ruled all the Main  
Acknowledged thee his Sovereign.  
And now the Conquered Sea doth pay  
More Tribute to thy Thames; than that unto the Sea.   

(14)  
Till now our Valour did ourselves more hurt;  
Our Wounds to other Nations were a sport;  
And as the Earth, our Land produced  
Iron and Steel which should to tear ourselves be (used.  
Our Strength within itself did break,  
Like Thundering— Cannons Crack,  
And kill those that were ne'er;  
While the Enemies secured and untouched were.  
But now our Trumpets thou hast made to sound  
Against our Enemy's Walls in Foraign-ground,  
And yet no Echo back on 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 extinguished here, we lend to others Oil,  
We give to all, yet know ourselves no fear,  
We reach the Flame of ruin and of death  
Where e'er we please Our Swords t'unsheath.  
hilst we in calm and temperate Regions breath.  
Like to the Sun, whose heat is hurled  
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.   

(15)  
Besides the Glories of thy peace  
Are not in number, nor in value less;  
Thy hand did Cure and close the Scars  
Of our bloody Civil Wars;  
Not only Lanced, but healed 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 endangered most;  
When they their Ropes and Helms had left,  
When the Planks asunder cleft,  
And Floods came roaring in with mighty sound;  
Thou a safe Land, and Harbour for us found,  
And savedst those that would themselves have drowned.  
A work which none but Heaven and thee could do,  
Thou mad'st us happy whe're we would or no:  
Thy Judgement, Mercy, Temperance so great,  
As if those Virtues 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 Janu's only were  
Open in time of War:  
When thou hadst greater cause of fear  
Religion and the Awe of Heaven possessed.  
All places and all times alike, thy Breast.   

(16)  
Nor didst thou only for thy Age provide,  
But for the years to come beside,  
Our aftertimes, 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 burden chose,  
Who might (if any could) make us forget thy loss:  
Nor hadst thou him designed,  
Had he not been  
Not only to thy Blood, but Virtue Kin;  
Not only Heir unto thy Throne, but Mind.  
'Tis He shall perfect all thy Cures  
And, with as fine a Thread, wove 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.    

UPON THE LATE STORM, AND DEATH Of the Late USURPER Oliver Cromwell Ensuing the same.  By Mr. Waller. 
WE must resign; Heaven 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 tossed  
Into the Air; So Romulus was lost:  
New Rome in such a Tempest missed their King,  
And from Obeying fell to Worshipping.  
On Oeta's top thus Hercules lay dead,  
With ruin'd Okes and Pines about him spread:  
The Poplar too, whose bough he want to wear  
On his Victorious Head, lay prostrate there.  
Those his last fury from the Mountain rend,  
Our dying Hero, from the Continent,  
Ravished whole Towns; and Forts from Spaniards rest▪  
As his last Legacy to Britain left.  
The Ocean which so long our hopes confined,  
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 Tropic is our language spoke,  
And part of Flanders hath received our yoke.  
From Civil Broils he did us disengage,  
Found nobler objects for our Martial rage;  
And with wise Conduct to his Country showed  
Their Ancient way of conquering abroad.  
Ungrateful then, if we no Tears allow  
To him that gave us Peace and Empire too.  
Princes that feared him, grieve, concerned to see  
No pitch of glory from the Grave is free.  
Nature herself took notice of his death,  
And sighing swelled the Sea with such a breath  
That to remotest Shores her Billows rolled,  
Th' approaching Fate of her great-Ruler told.  
FINIS