The most excellent Oliver Cromwell Lord Gen ll: of Great Britain. Chancellor of the University of Oxford, & Ld: Chief Gove●… ʳ: of Ireland & ●…    

VENI; VIDI; VICI.  
THE TRIUMPHS OF THE Most Excellent & Illustrious, OLIVER CROMWELL, etc.  
Set forth in a Panegyricke.  
Written Originally in Latin, and faithfully done into English Heroical Verse, By T: M: Jun. Esq  
Whereto is added An Elegy upon the death of the late Lord Deputy of Ireland, the much lamented, HENRY IRETON, etc.  
LONDON, Printed for john Tey, at the White Lion in the Strand, near the New Exchange, 1652.   

TO THE Most Excellent, and Right Honourable, as well for his valorous Achievements, as His Incomparable Virtues, His Excellency OLIVER CROMWELL, Lord General of Great Britain, Chancellor of the famous University of Oxford, Lord Chief Governor of Ireland: A Member of the Parliament of England, and of the Right Honourable the Council of State.  
IT is reported of Caesar, Right Honourable Lord, that he never rejoiced more than when he heard his valiant exploits were spoken of in simple Cottages, alleging this, that a bright Sun shines in every corner; which makes not the beams worse, but the place better. My Lord, having seen the following Panegyricke in Latin, a Language too high for the greatest part of our Nation to understand: and considering that it was a jewel exposed only to the view, not to the understandings of all, made me presume to render it into English, that even the meanest of our Natives might be able in their hearts with joy and thankfulness to confess the greatness of their Obligations to your Excellency; by whose successful and divinely victorious hand the yoke is broken off their necks, and their happy Liberty restored, that thereby, with that great Macedonian Conqueror, there may not be so much as a Miller but both loves and praises thee.  
Neither durst I offer to any other hand what is only fit to be laid on thine own Altars, lest I might become presumptuously foolish, but that as the Acts sung in the ensuing Panegyric were thine own, the honour of them thine own, so thou only thyself wert fit to be their Patron. Accept therefore, Most Noble Sir, these weak endeavours, whose only aim hath been to publish and make known thy Virtues in our uttermost Borders, and that it may appear how evidently the hand of God hath gone along with thee in all thy Actions, and carried thee with triumphal honours through the midst of so many dangers.  
May the Great God of Heaven and Earth still carry you on that you may add triumph to triumph, and be victorious on every side, till arrived at that height of earthly happiness than which no man can enjoy more, you may at last be crowned with eternal felicity; which is the humble desire, and hearty Prayer of  
Jan. 30. 1652. My Lord, Your Excellencies most devoted, in all duty and observance, Tho. Manley Junior.   

To my Honoured Friend Mr. THOMAS MANLY on his accurate Translation, etc.  
SEE how the Thespian Girls can dare those Fates  
That threaten Kingdoms, and disorder States:  
Ages to come, had never known the use  
Of wily War, had Fishers Buskined Muse  
Been silent; he doth traitorously conspire,  
Even to does member the Maeonian Lyre;  
His fancy like a flame her way does take,  
Leaving no tract for aftertimes to make  
Progression; Is't not strange, see, here's no odds  
Betwixt his worthies, and the Grecian Gods,  
The frowns of Mars, and dire Bellona's rage  
Drawn to the life, in each elaborate page  
So that the Effigy of our Famous Nol  
Rather than here, deserves Rome's Capitol,  
But if such thanks to him be due, what praise,  
What Hecatombs of Beev's, what Groves of Bays  
Shall we design thy worth, who mak'st his Song  
To veil its Bonnet, to our English tongue.  
Th' Indulgent censure of succeeding times  
Shall crown thee (Manly) for thy flowing Rhyme,  
With the same Chaplet that wreaths Sands his brow,  
This he predicts, who honours thee, I vow,  
SAMUEL SHEPPARD.   

Errata.  
PAge 3. line. 4. for sat read state. p. 10. l. 14. bear, r. owe, p. 11. l. 13. dear, r. done, p. 12. l. 1. expect her, r. expects she, ibid. l. 12. brow, r. brows, p. 23. l. 15. straining, r. streaming, ibid. l. 17. bracked, r. wracked, p. 31. l. 14. on, r. or, p. 33. l. 7. th●●e, r. them, p. 34. l. 6. for, r. so, p. 38. l. 9 Muse, r. Muses, p. 52. l. 16. louring, r. lowing, p. 76. l. 17. laid, r. lay, p. 92. l. 1. the, r. Thou.   

A GRATULATORY Song of PEACE: OR, Triumphal Canto for the Victories of the Most Illustrious and Right Honble OLIVER CROMWELL, etc.  
Dedicated to the Lord Precedent BRADSHAW, And the rest of the Right Honble the Council of STATE, etc.  
In the year of our Redemption, 1652; And of England's Restored Liberty, 4 Translated into English out of Latin, BY T: M: Jun. Esq   

To the Allworthy (The good hand of the great God so ordaining; And by the choice of the Supreme Authority of ENGLAND) The Overseer of the Commonwealth, and Regained Liberty, JOHN Lord BRADSHAW, Sergeant at LAW, Chief justice of CHESTER, Chancellor of the Duchy and County Palatine of LANCASTER, LORD HIGH-PRESIDENT OF THE Right Honble the Council of STATE:  
AS ALSO, To the rest of those ever Renowned Patriots, Sitting Members of the same Right Honble Council,  


Lords Commiss ners of the great Seal of England. 

Bulstrode Whitlock,  
John Lisle,    
Lords Chief justices of England. 

Oliver Saint-John,  
Henry Rolls,    
Charles Fleetwood, Lieutenant-general of the ARMY.  
Knights and Baronet's. 

Sir Arthur Haslerigge,  
Sir Henry Vane, junior,  
Sir William Masham,  
Sir James Harrington,  
Sir Gilbert Pickering,    
Colonels. 

William Purefoy,  
Valentine Walton,    
Richard Salloway.  
Esq 

Thomas chaloner,  
Thomas Scot,  
John Gourdon,  
John Carew,  
Nicholas Love,  
Dionys Bond.    
Philip Earl of Pembroke.  
Philip Sidney Viscount Lisle.  
Knights of the Bath. 

Sir William Constable,  
Sir Peter Wentworth,    
General Rob. Blake, Admiral of the Sea.  
Colonels. 

Alexander Popham,  
Anthony Stapylton,  
Herbert Morley,  
john Downes,  
Henry Marten,    
Esq 

Robert Wallop,  
Cornelius Holland,  
Isaac Penington,  
Abraham Burwell,  
Henry Nevell,  
William Masham,  
Henry Herbert,  
john Dixwell,  
William Heyes.  
john Corbet, etc.      
F. F.  
Happiness, Victory, Triumphs, & ●…   

The Epistle Dedicatory.  
Honoured Lord, and you most eminent & worthy Patriots,  
THat I should go unarmed into the field to meet the Muses, the wishes of a few might easily persuade me, since my own affections drew me; by which Incitement egged on as by Spurs, I recalled my now old-grown Genius from the Camp to the Court, from the War to congratulate the return of the Lord-Chief-Generall. And who in such ovations would not even be wrapped beyond himself? Who can contain his joy within bounds at so solemn, so public a Triumph? That we may the better perceive the effects of this rejoicing, we must first weigh the causes. Cast your eyes then upon our conducting General, whose heroic acts (exceeding even the utmost limits of belief) to the present age proclaim their own triumph, and amazes succeeding generations with their greatness. Consider how with more than Herculean strength he struck off the Head of those Hydra's of superstition with his Conquering Sword! How many Centaurs breathing forth nought but slavery hath he tamed! How many Troops of enraged enemies hath he overthrown, and offered them so humbled as so many satisfactory victims to the public liberty! Hence it proceeds that war is banished from our borders: hence is it that the serener beams of Concord have so clearly darted down upon us: O the happiness of Britain grown even beyond expectation great! For who can but admire so many the elaborate endeavours of the Parliament? Who will gainsay you the succeeding upholders of our State? Who but will confess the immediate providence and Divine Finger of God to be seen even apparently in the victorious, achievements of our General; In the acts of our Parliament, the Supreme Authority; And in your own consultations and designs? That therefore the happiness of our established Commonwealth may the more largely be notified to all the world, weigh we but equally in the balance of our serious consideration the tottering basis even of the most firmly seated thrones; but if your enemies are yet so stubborn that they will not be convinced thereby, let them peruse that excellent piece with a little seriousness that clearly declares the Prerogative of Kings, and evidently defends the Privileges and liberty of the people: but whereto tends this? I will not obtrude upon your wisdoms trifling examples, or vain relations: for I have only mentioned these few, that all your malicious enemies may know, and knowing confess, that God alone is King of Kings, and Lord of Lords, that he puts down Princes from their Thrones, and disposes of the powers of the world after his own pleasure.  
Away than you malicious enemies of order; and since ye acknowledge all powers to come from God, obey the present as God's stewards placed here by himself for the governing of the Commonwealth. Me-think, even our public profession of Religion should draw us to this, if our own security also did not whisper the same; for it is somewhat an inhuman thing to resist our common, our public Parents, and altogether repugnant to reason, to kick against the Pricks. But I deviate from my first proposition; and humbly beg your pardon, most worthy Fathers of the Commonwealth, hoping you will cherish these first-fruits of my duty under the wings of your indulgent protection: Which have betaken themselves with a blushing humility to the sanctuary of your Honour's goodness. An Olive is sometime brought in amongst the costlyest dainties and well relished too; sometimes the Ivy doth happily grow and increase among trees of a greater tallness: And you, most Noble Heroes, suffer this low-growing Ivy to creep forth among the Laureate Cypresses of your Eminencies. If you approve of these my desires, and favour my present endeavours, you will infuse new life and confidence into me, who may enterprise a greater work worthy acknowledgement, perhaps both from yourselves and future ages.  
In the mean while, the All-great, the All-good God make you all unanimous even for ever, that thereby his Church may be glorified, & the Common good and liberty be inviolable to all the people, that the secure peace and quiet of a flourishing Commonwealth may be reciprocal from you and yours to the Commonwealth; that ye may be blessed here in earth with continuing happiness, and in heaven with future eternity, which is, and shall be prayed for by  
The most obliged to your Honours by all bonds of duty and obedience, F. F.   

A Gratulatory Ode of Peace.  

ALL hail great Patron of our English Isle!  
Dreadful as lightning to the Irish vile,  
Double triumpher o'er the Scottish crown,  
Chief refuge of the godly when cast down,  
Restorer of our liberty once lost!  
All Hail! whose warlike actions every coast  
Doth Echo, and the world fill with the fame  
Of the deserving virtues of his Name.  
Rise now ye Muses, help ye Virgin Choir  
Aeonian Nymphs, once all your skill inspire;  
Favor my task, our Generals praise I'd sing,  
From whose each act Honour and greatness spring.  
And thou, who of the supreme Parliament,  
Art (justice prop) the worthy Precedent,  
With the same calmness both of breast and eye  
That you into much greater writings spy,  
Deign but to look at ours, Thalia théns  
May happen somewhat stoop to grace my pen.  
And you brave Heroes, whose grave counsels wait  
Upon the high designments of the State;  
And who skilled in the Laws do first amend,  
And then the burden of their rule defend:  
So that stout Atlas is not said more even  
With a strong shoulder to prop up the heaven,  
You steer the English, you the Pilots are,  
You sit at prow and poop in peace and war,  
While you do seek Charybdis sad to fly,  
And would put off the Rocks of Monarchy,  
With safe and gentle gales you change the Scene,  
And make a Sat where Monarchy hath been;  
Thus free from danger at the last in health  
Arrives i'th' port a happy Commonwealth.  
Tell me ye Muses in your milder Vein  
To sing these changes what must be my strain.  
These joyed retreats no verse can truly sing,  
Cromwell's return doth nought but raptures bring.  
Till now the earth groaned through the weight of war,  
Scarce was the care of cattle, use of share;  
The fields were barren and did uselessly,  
Through the neglect of ceasing Husbandry.  
Wisdom was out of date, had no regard,  
Minerva and the Muses small reward,  
The pious Prophets little leisure had,  
With warlike tumults being made afraid.  
Such and the like displeasures always are  
Attendants on the rage of kindled war.  
Cromwell but thou (thy Country's hope and care,  
Pious in Peace and politic in war;  
The present age their glory reads in him,  
And the amazement of succeeding time)  
Hast shut up Janus place with treble gates,  
And strongly called back Peace from lower shades,  
Whence to the Rulers both and people brought  
Shows better times to those that better sought.  
Hence to us English springeth up new bliss,  
And just reward to learning promised is.  
Parnassian Laurel will put forth new shoots,  
The mourning Muses will retune their Lutes,  
To sing new verses: no less doth the State,  
Arms being laid aside, grown moderate,  
Revive and rise again even from her urn  
At thy so wished, thy so joyed return,  
Feeling her changed reins she doth implore,  
That Tyrants never her may ravish more.  
Religion saw thee come and hasted hither,  
Mercy and Piety met thee together,  
And here began to settle: Justice too  
Came back from heaven, and here herself did show;  
And banished from our English Coasts those jars  
Which breeding factions had commenced wars.  
As the Sun entering th' Agenorian sign,  
The happy Planet doth the earth refine,  
And the celestial virtue quickening th'earth  
Begins new pledges for a tender birth:  
So doth blest England flourish joyed while she  
Her General returning safe did see;  
The dancers leaped, the Music sweetly played,  
The warlike Trumpet too rejoicing made,  
No hostile clangor to blood-swelling veins,  
But sweetly Warbles forth some gentler strains.  
The zealous vulgar this just joy resent,  
Meeting therein City and Parliament;  
The Soldier more safe rejoices now  
With Olive wreathes on his triumphal brow;  
He even his welcome General adores,  
And out of's heart to heaven thanksgiving powers.  
Thrice happy Britain's, whom the world so call,  
Under the care of such a General!  
As Children, Parents, England values thee,  
Or as a Bride her Husband, so doth she:  
Whilst broke with Scottish tumults, growing harms,  
And shook with cruel Mars his bloody arms,  
Begins at last at least to hope to see  
Her Treasure-blood-bought quiet under Thee.   

But stay my Muse, rash Clio, whither away?  
Thou knowst not how thy sails plow up the Sea;  
Hold in, and lesser use the wind and Sail,  
At the first setting out Oars best prevail.  
It is enough for trial once to soar  
Up to the highest top of glories store;  
But if high flying now I shipwreck shall,  
I shall arise much prouder by my fall;  
For why? 'twould comfort both, and credit be  
In such a gulf of virtues even to die.  
The league of peace so long since made was broke,  
By the unfaithful Scot, who did provoke  
The harmless English injurious harms,  
To punish treachery with Victorious arms.  
The Scottish truce thus broken, strait contempt,  
A while was thrown on th' English Parliament;  
Deceits by little to increase begin,  
At which report Bellona entering in,  
Taking the Vizer off did soon produce  
The horrid actions that were then in use.  
As fire raked up in ashes doth revive,  
And by a gentle blast new heat receive;  
First burning softly, with the hafle plays,  
And like uneven shrubs, anon doth blaze  
More fiercely, while still it burning moves,  
And levels without number woods and groves;  
Sparing nor knotty Beach, high Ash nor Pine,  
So much renowned for that head of thine;  
Thus rageth Scotland in her war, her ire,  
While every house brings fuel to the fire:  
While every hand and age more arms do bring,  
Scotland of nought but warlike troops did ring.  
Such was the madness of the Priests, and such  
The Presbyterian power, and so much  
Besides the people's dote were so great,  
Of that which heaven withstands, 'tis vain to treat.  
A swift, a sure revenge, plagues, death, what not  
Will persecute the Covenant-breaking Scot  
God will destroy them: Cromwell doth appear  
With his unconquered troops victorious there,  
Removing hence, the war he there doth start,  
More cunning than the foe in his own art.  
Thus the unhappy Scot is compassed round  
Within the limits of his proper ground,  
And turned their sword on their own plotting pate,  
By them for us intended with such hate:  
Thus did Perillus in those torments die  
Wherein the others had designed to lie.   

The General proceeds; the Common peace,  
And common danger do his cares increase,  
To waft his troops to Scottish ground in time;  
Who meets a sickness cures it in its prime.  
He undertook this journey, that he might  
His countries honour and the people right:  
Worthy revenger of unfaithful acts,  
Whose virtue famous by so many facts,  
Oppressed with so many treacheries,  
Ennobled with so many victories,  
Tried with so many sufferings; yet no art  
Could make him waver, fear, give ground or start;  
Learning at last that ridicle to know,  
A Scottish battle is but wars mock-show.  
So the fair Cypress having fixed his roots,  
Boasting her high-top-growing, heaven-sent shoots  
Doth nothing fear winters tempestuous storms,  
Nor Tyrant Aeolus his threatened harms.   

Then go to Fame, paint out old Times best story,  
We can no less than Roman Trophies glory;  
Admire our Cromwell, fading England's fort,  
A sconce whereto the Britain's may resort.  
Not Italy to Fabius, nor Greece  
So much doth bear to her Themistocles,  
Nor Carthage proud to her known Haraill,  
As we to our renowned General:  
Nor Trojan Hector, nor Aeneas just,  
Penelope's Ulysseses neither must,  
Or Priam Equal him: though Fame their glory boast  
Upon the confines of each several coast.  
Blessed Hero, whose uprightness all commands,  
Whose joy in virtue more than triumph stands,  
Thou scornest the people's suffrage, or their praise,  
Those airy cracks cannot thy Trophies raise;  
Thus dost thou valiant Leader overthrow  
Thine enemies, thyself thus conquer too.  
While you kerb passions sea, and wand'ring sense,  
You show yourself guarded with reasons fence,  
As Castor is reported to restrain,  
Those tamed yoke-bearers with Amyclean rain,  
Well dear! thou care of heaven! the sole renown  
Of future ages, Britain's fort and crown,  
Thy Country owns thee as her Dearest Son,  
Yet doth to thee as to a Father run;  
While showing hearty Love, she quits now free,  
All former Ties at thy return for Thee.  
Expect her peace I her reformation must  
Have thee her refuge, her assured trust;  
The fatal judgement seat doth ask the same,  
The Courts of Justice even adore thy name,  
And in the fatal danger that they stand,  
Implore the help of thy victorious hand.   

But too much haste is nought, stay, what do I  
In this mean paper scribble things so high?  
These are not things for our so humble quill,  
Void or of worth, or confidence, or skill;  
Nor Ivy dare I put among the boughs  
Of conquering Cypress circling round your brow.  
Why should I speak the rest? why should I blaze  
The civil battles of our troubled days?  
To count the conquered foes, the nobles slain,  
This is a labour, this a work of pain;  
Whose many funerals and hearses stand,  
So many Trophies of thy conquering hand.  
Marston, and famous York will Pillars raise,  
With large inscriptions for thy greater praise:  
Naisby Triumphal Arches will compile,  
Excelling far the Pyramids of Nile;  
Though to the wand'ring stars th' advance their head,  
And in Fame's book are the world's wonders read.   

This was no period, here no end as yet  
To his atcheivement, or his praise was set;  
England alone can't circumscribe his fame,  
The world it selfe's too narrow for his name:  
While o'er the sea you waft your troops, and go  
Implacably upon another foe,  
Ogygian nets were laid; the Irish shore  
Trembled at thy approach, though proud before.  
Thus conqueror in England, you proceed  
The Rebell-Irish to chastise with speed;  
O'er whom victorious too, at last you come  
To scourge the Scot in his own hated home.  
And brought'st their necks under a double chain,  
Who were before impatient of the rain.  
The glory is as great, the happiness,  
Of conquering that people, is no less  
Than from that feared watching Dragon fell,  
By cunning stratagems the fleece to steal;  
Or the half Bull, half man Chimaera tame,  
Kept in the Cretan Labyrinth of fame.  
Thus you proceed still happily, and do  
As often fight, so often triumph too.  
While for your Country's liberty and right,  
While for Religion's sake you truly fight;  
Even God will help you, and the stars will stand,  
Assistant to your troops in rear and van.  
The heaven stays for thee, moving not a jot,  
An ample Weight of glory hast thou got.  
To have the thunderer lead thee as it were,  
And to have servants full of pious care,  
Vulcan himself put on thy arms, and those  
Sicilian Cyclops magazines compose,  
Bron●es thy feared Crest and helmet made,  
And Steropes tempered the active blade  
Of thy all-threatning sword, Pyracmon yields  
His best endeavours to thy massy shields;  
Thy Huntingdon doth still this favour crave,  
Thee with her native brooks and springs to lave.  
Tethys herself brought up thy horse, near whom  
Arion, Theron can't for courage come,  
Nor Cyllarus, nor Aethon can compare,  
Made tame by Pollux hand the yoke to bear.  
On Soldier's backs how well do corslets sit!  
How well do martial hearts and brestplates sit!  
When once the Scottish Armies saw the fire  
Diffuse itself, each minute growing higher,  
When once they saw our so-increasing light,  
And crests whose tops like diamonds shined bright,  
There mightst thou in amazement see menstand,  
Of fearful coward hearts, and trembling hand,  
And trees were from their stations like to fall,  
Such was the presence of our General.  
As on the Lybian coasts, when weaker beasts  
See a fierce Lion range those long-left wastes,  
If they distrust their heels and fear to f●y,  
Strait at his feet they lay them down to die.  
So barbarous Scotland did thy entrance dread:  
Magnanimous Cromwell, fear near made her dead;  
The shadow of so great a name as Thine,  
Made Caledonia tremble when but seen,  
So did our standards fright those Scottish slaves,  
They shunned our troops and sought them safer caves.  
Like Crows that hover o'er those fields, where Mars  
Hath glutted's fury in the heat of wars,  
Sitting securely safe, while all is still;  
Preying now here, now there with greedy bill;  
But if a hasty huntsman, or by chance  
On that sad place a traveller do glance,  
Affrighted strait their pitch-like-wings they take,  
And with outstretched necks the same forsake.  
Tell me ye Scots: how oft were you defeat  
By warlike Cromwell? Towns how strong and great,  
With Forts and Castles hath he overthrown?  
In one years' compass, how much hath he done?  
Go to, and call to mind that former fight,  
When famous Cromwell with his very sight  
Uanquished your coward Armies, and did venture  
The quitted garrison of Dunbur to enter.   

Speak (if old griefs 'tis lawful to renew)  
You that the confines of (once) Gladsmore known,  
Relate those slaughters; when stout Lambert fought,  
The great Montgomery, and to nothing brought  
Both his and Naeirnyes troops; I say relate  
When his small force on Hamilton did wait,  
And in a hasty, yet well ordered fight,  
Great-bragging Kerr and's fellows put to flight.  
Lambert, what more should I of thee set down?  
That art thy Countries both and York's renown  
Who drawest the English with the cords of Love,  
But mak'st the Scots thy swords sharp edges prove,  
While careless of thy blood, thou dost increase  
And to the English wouldst establish Peace.  
Who can recount the foes slain by thy hand?  
What arms have been reduced by thy command?  
For Maro's quill these things are only fit,  
They only suit with Homer's sharper wit.  
Great Fleetwood! of our present age the glory,  
Of future times the trust and faithful story,  
It is not fit, nor can our humble string  
The worthy praises of thy actions sing.  
For why? such plenty cloys, and I grow dry  
Like Tantalus in midst of waters high.  
Nor can I speak enough of what was done  
By thy famed virtues gallant Harrison;  
That by thy growing merits dost augment,  
Thy Country's honour: neither art thou spent  
With stolen titles studying how to rise,  
But lying vainer honours dost despise,  
Knowing that granted truth, that thou shalt get  
More noble glory, to be good then great.  
Whaley, who truly can thy praise set forth?  
Most noble Deane, what can describe thy worth,  
Potent at sea and land, whose ready skill  
Is fortunately met with active will?  
Or who, brave Okey, can thy deeds rehearse  
As they deserve in a sublimer verse?  
Nor can I famous Lytcot pass thee by,  
Or let M●nkes actions in oblivionly,  
Under the first of whom myself begun  
In Martial paths a ready course to run.  
First when the Scots on English riches preyed,  
Next when our troops the Irish did invade.  
No more, it is enough, I must not pass  
Th' appointed limits of my hourglass.  
To you, brave Soldiers, I this little sing,  
Summing great acts in compass of a ring;  
The time perchance may come, (if once my Muse  
Can take the boldness confidence to use)  
That I may write such fields, such deeds, such wars,  
More largely, by the help of favouring stars,  
And to discover in a graver strain,  
The many Triumphs of your Irish gain.  
With such like Omens warlike Lambert still  
Proceeds, and Scotland doth with terror fill,  
Which strait began with an inveterate hate  
Some new seditions to meditate.  
The villages lost peace; when Country Clowns,  
And brawny neatherds fled to fenced towns.  
What rage and terror than was in the breast  
Of Musleborow, spoilt of her rest,  
To hear her neighbouring Crosier's crack, and see  
O'er all her bordering fields slain bodies lie?   

Say, when our Leader did possess those hills  
Of Pencland, and their tops with footmen fills.  
How was th'adjoining Country moved, and how  
Did murmurs through the villages creep now?  
The sword and bullet knocking at the gate,  
Red-house was opened to the soldiers strait,  
And Collington seeing our lucky hap,  
Yieldest thyself into the conquerors lap.   

Relate that happy Omen of our war,  
The famed wondrous battle of Dumbar,  
Fit to be kept for ever holy, when  
Cromwell, more strong in's virtue then in's men,  
O'erthrew the headstrong impious rout of those,  
Called the Kirk-party but the Church's foes.  
What liberty was then, how cruel rage  
Was acted by the sword on every age!  
The bullets flew, o'er all the field were spread  
Disheartened men that dying were, or dead;  
Nor from the darkened sky doth ever fall  
So much, so great, so terrible a hail,  
Even when the Sun his shining lustre shrouds  
Under the threatening veils of sable clouds;  
Or when thick mists the darkened air bedew,  
Foreshowing rainy weather to ensue.  
The ground infectious grew, with such a blast  
Was laid as open all the woody waist;  
The beech's fall, the husbandman doth find  
His broken corn lodged by this furious wind,  
And nipped his blooming hopes even in their bud,  
Which in his thoughts before as ripened stood;  
Thus did Bellona proud of slaughter rage,  
Boasting herself in funerals and strage  
Fell Mars his work, while with the blood that's shed  
The very hands of every man grew red.  
Alas! what store of Scottish Commons fell,  
What Priests, what clerks, what leaders? how did swell,  
That great account by the vast multitude,  
Of the unknown and name-less vulgar rude?  
Tell me ye Muses, what loss did redound,  
What damage to those Scottish vagabonds.  
Flying dispersed o'er the scattering plain,  
Unto the neighbour garrison, though vain.  
Alas! the pastures did abound with woe,  
Proceeding from that tragic overthrow;  
The bodies of slain men lay scattered here,  
Wounded and maimed in their members there,  
Straining their purple blood upon the grass,  
Even moving pity in such foes as pass.  
As in a ship bracked by stor my blasts,  
Whose broken ribs, here, there, the Ocean casts  
Now under water, now above again.  
What discord grows there in the swelling main!  
The decks can't keep the sailors, now the mast,  
Anon the Sailyard 's in the waters cast.  
Here the sails float far off, and there behold,  
Both Pilots seat, and rowers lose their hold.  
Such madness in that Scottish rout did reign,  
So fell their Soldiers, so their youth was slain.  
The horse forsake the foot; th'unhappy foot  
Turning the scale strait leave the horsemen to't.  
But see! their coward leaders arms thrown by  
Leave both forsaken, and most basely fly;  
By providence thus Cromwell, still you bear  
A Laurel in your hand as conqueror;  
Thus with the sword the falling Scot you reach,  
And the rewards of peace from war you fetch;  
Extracting honey from that fatal juice,  
Which all men else as poisonous refuse:  
Let all posterity think how memorable  
That fight to th' English was and profitable!  
Which we who find the profit must confess,  
Then the great'st acts of former times no less.  
For if we weigh the English few weak hands,  
And note the foes so great, so many bands;  
Marius himself gave not so great a blow,  
Unto the Cimbriams' in their overthrow:  
Nor was that famed Persian defeat,  
At Marathon so cruel or so great,  
When stout Miltiades the fight made good,  
Even till the field was buried in blood.   

Thus happy Cromwell, daring greatest things,  
Adds wounds to wounds, slaughters to slaughters brings;  
Leaving the road, his sword new ways did hew  
Through that base people, till a conquest grew.  
Let fame forget each ancient Roman wight,  
And not Fabritius or Serranus cite:  
Flaminius cease or Fabius to read,  
That by delays his slaved Country freed;  
Speak not of Pompey, nor the deeds enhance  
Of Caesar, that to heaven their fame advance.  
Neither let Greece in all her height of pride,  
Brag of her Heroes that were Deified,  
Nor her Ulysseses of so sharp a wit,  
Nor Jason that the golden fleece did get.  
For why? the Virtues of our General  
Equal the Trophies of these worthies all.  
What said I equal? heaven will witness bear,  
Our Mars his fame exceeds their want as far  
As the tall Cypress, that so high doth grow,  
O'retops the Ivy that but creeps below.  
For if we may speak truth, but one great deed,  
The ancient Heroes famous oft decreed;  
One Hector made Achilles famed, and one  
Darius raised the name of Macedon.  
But one Heraclian victory did create  
Pyrrhus not only great but fortunate.  
To Hannibal one Cannae gave a name,  
Scipio from him did raise a latter fame.  
One Mithridates heightened Pompey's praise,  
Whose fall did Julius Caesar's Trophies raise;  
So the Lernaean Lake one Hydra bred,  
In the Arcadian woods one wild boar fed,  
On the Nemean rock one Lion was,  
One Geryon for Three bodies did surpass,  
But one Antaeus of Gigantic frame,  
Whom thou Alcides with thy club didst tame.  
But Cromwell's greater yet, whose frequent blows  
Thousand Gigantike monsters overthrows,  
Taming proud Nobles with a fatal stroke,  
Bringing their necks under a servile yoke;  
Revenger of Scotch Tyranny, who will,  
On the poor people better laws distil.  
At last, report had carried near and far,  
The news of this, the slaughter of Dumbar,  
And the Kirk-party overthrown relates.  
Thus forced by their neighbours evil fates,  
And the quick fall of many castles strong,  
To Istrome, Crawford, Godward that belong,  
To reckon which would to a volume mount,  
And 'tis unfit at present to recount:  
They yield themselves, and to our mercy leave  
Their empty walls, our Soldiers to receive.  
As a free Lion ranging in the plain,  
Doth mock the barking of the dogs as vain,  
And conscious of his strength, fears nought, but fiyes  
Enraged on the Hunts-mens' treacheries,  
Chase the dogs, and Huntsmen here and there,  
Making a Vacuum where he doth appear.  
Whole herds of beasts through terror stand as dumb,  
And at his pleasure Vassals do become,  
Being too few to tire the preying paw  
Of wolves and bears or glut their greedy maw;  
Choosing their death, they'd be one Lion's food,  
Rather than thousand dogs should suck their blood.   

Tell me ye Muses (that do oft relate  
The greater actions of a rising state.)  
Tell me I say, what horrors did arise,  
In edinburgh's sad dwellers hearts and eyes,  
When first our General did invest about  
That City with his spreading armies stout?  
Say, in thy streets how did the tumults roar,  
When, Edinburgh, thy Natives greater store  
Fled, and of comfort did themselves bereave,  
And of their own accord their dwellings leave;  
When both the Soldiers and Commanders runs  
Shelt'ring themselves in High-land Garrisons?  
Like birds by coming winter forced away  
To warmer climates for a surer stay.  
Such was that City's terror, and so great.  
But the more generous sons of Mars retreat  
Into the Castle, that for building rare  
And strength, with our best English may compare;  
Then which in all the Caledonian land  
(Sterling except) a rarer doth not stand.  
For this those other Castles doth outvie,  
As a grand monastery built on High,  
Those other creeping houses doth outgo,  
Which round about it placed are below.  
Or as the Moon those lesser light excels  
That in the sky are hidden as in cells.  
Now Cromwell's fame and labours did design  
The Castle and defenders t'undermine.  
Upon the towers they their standards place,  
Part guard the walls, part are in other case  
Loading with stones the upper battlement.  
Nor did their rage stay here, but further went  
Within, without their fury they display;  
Here some the corn, there others cut down hay,  
Cramming their bags to bursting, corn and all  
That they can reach hoarding within their wall,  
And what through fear they can't import they burn,  
Themselves chief foes unto their fruits and corn.  
Alas poor wretched Citizens, whose fate  
Is to become sadly unfortunate?  
Whither, O whither do you think to fly  
From a Provoked angry Deity?  
Though you enclose yourselves in rocks, and heap  
Up strengths together liberty to keep;  
Yet neither walls nor forts can force delay  
On swift revenge, when in her hastened way  
The strongest gates cannot resist her force;  
No brazen walls withholds her in her course:  
Nor can your Castle, (which such Columns bear  
Though to the clouds its lofty head it rear,)  
Can from the scourge of Cromwell's wrath secure  
Your guilt, or to you liberty insure.   

But now under the walls our General came  
And of his coming overwent the fame,  
(That they might never into question call,  
The careful mercy of our General)  
When drawing near, he first a summons sent,  
That if they would be speedily content  
To yield the Castle so besieged, he  
Would give them quarter and fair liberty.  
Such pious godly care we only find  
Kept in the casket of a noble mind;  
But they elated with vainglorious pride,  
With boasting brags our clemency deride.  
(Free from our Soldiers, in their Castle safe)  
With jeering tannts they at our proffers laugh;  
Strait they're alarmed, and the trumpers sound  
To arms, each Scot takes his appointed ground.  
And now with wrath the blood begins to boil,  
The cruel sword, and fire begin the spoil,  
The heaven even thunders with the noise of war,  
The flying bullets dark the troubled air.  
Nor do the Northern winds more loudly rage,  
When Aeolus opening their close kept cage,  
Le's there rush out, and calleth back again  
Orion with the winds that shower down rain.   

On th' other side did Cromwell's army stand  
Triumphing in their victory, not gained;  
A squadron of old footmen pitched here,  
Who for a famous death had quit all fear;  
And with undaunted courage dare to run,  
And meet the bullet from the thundering gun,  
Dreadless receiving the swords direful stroke,  
Even destiny itself they dare provoke.  
The famous General bold on these strait calls  
For warlike Engines to approach the walls.  
Wherewith the strongest He can soon make weak,  
And through the inmost rooms of Castles break.  
Nor in the Cannon was his only hope,  
Worse Instruments of death are now laid open;  
A Mortar-peece was brought, whose very sight  
Sufficient was th' immured for to fright  
(About the mouth it did appear more wide  
In a great Circle raising up the side)  
When it goes off, you sulphurous flames may note  
Framed by the Cyclops, belching from his throat;  
You would believe the heaven were darkness grown,  
And that the Basis of the Earth made moan:  
It did but make a noise, and strait there was  
A Breach, whereby whole Troops of men might pass.   

Hence by this thunder, with these frequent blows  
Wearied at length, the Castle fearful grows,  
And that walls best upholders, those same Bars  
Which never danger knew in former wars,  
Did now begin to shake, and doubt their strength,  
Fearing their utter ruin at the length.  
The besieged Citizens now in despair  
Their courage lose, and 'tis their only care  
That they together hand in hand may die  
In this so public a calamity.  
All things their ruin fear, and to be brought  
Or to their ancient Chaos, or to nought:  
Now they believe the Stars inflamed may fall,  
And that their eyes see the world's Funeral.  
Not much unlike a well-grown Hart (that doth  
In his fair horns equal the Beech's growth,  
And in his flight the wind) ensnared at last  
Stands at a bay, th' Hunters about him cast  
Into a Ring, seeing himself beset  
By barking Hounds, entangled in a net,  
Perceives their closing shoutings set a date  
Unto his Life, and hasten on his Fate.  
Sad Fate of Scotland! doubly full of woes;  
Within by terrors, and without by foes.  
And in these fractions doubtful what they will,  
Whether to yield their strength or keep it still,  
Th' issue proceeds from wavering desire.  
On this side whispering hope doth good inspire;  
Standing on that side hurtful fear they find  
With various fancies to disturb their mind:  
But taught by greater evils of the wars,  
And by the insluence of malignant Stars,  
While they do weigh the strength of adverse Arms,  
And see their Neighbours daily growing harms;  
Fear overcame at last, and so decreed,  
That to surrender there was fat all need.   

Say; then what glory did our Troops receive,  
When such a Foe did such a Castle leave;  
And Cromwell, having gotten both the Place  
And Magazines, did presently possess  
The same with chosen soldiers of his own,  
Making that Princely Fort his Garrison.  
Thus Edinburgh taken, all the rest  
That were of smaller strength, themselves addressed  
To Him in hope of mercy, learning wit,  
To Cromwel's sword with patience to submit.  
At Paulus deaththe case with Rome thus stood,  
When Cannae was o'erflown with Roman blood,  
Th' Apulians, Brutians, Samnites, fell away,  
With the unfaithful, though rich Capna,  
Opening her Gates to conquering Hannibal,  
Fearing his Force might be too Tragical.  
What should I speak of Kelbright, Kinmore, Hume?  
Or why of Blackness should I talk assume?  
Kilkowbrey's gone, nor could Tantallon scape  
Free from our swords most just though furious Rape:  
Though spurred on by malice, madness, haste,  
With horrid flames he laid whole Townships waste.  
'Tis not my work to write each action,  
Or name each Fort or Town, great Cromwell won,  
That tedious Labour would be much more fit,  
For an Historians accurater wit,  
Who in large folio Chronicles indite,  
Whose length great acts doth rather hide then write;  
Leith, Lithgoe, Rosband, I pass by and more,  
To sing achievements, never done before.   

Tell me ye Muse; how it came to pass,  
That in our Troops such confidence there was;  
And how beyond all common humane sense,  
In all designs we had such confidence:  
When our brave Leader did each day renew,  
His horse the flying enemy to pursue,  
In little boats he sent a thousand foot,  
Over the Frith, to put the foe to rout.  
Who did so well, that the astonished flood  
Was purple coloured with the enemy's blood.  
Great was that work; whose like was never found  
Within the limits of all Scotland's ground.  
Horatius Cocles, thy report be dumb,  
And wonder at the dotage of old Rome.  
Thus is the sea covered with ships and boats,  
Caesar himself did not more safely float  
Upon the Rhine, or tame the prouder course  
Of Rhodanus proud waves by witty force;  
Nor did Augustus teach Araxis so,  
By joining banks, th' yoke to undergo.  
Nor did great Xerxes' merit such a name,  
When he the rolling waves did seek to tame  
By casting fetters on them, and did threat  
Irons to Neptune's self at his retreat.  
Happy that voyage was, happy in both  
Its end and entrance; the Pellaean youth  
Did not more fame by his achievement win,  
Nor with more happy Omens did begin,  
(Feared by the Moors, and Indians) when he was  
Conveyed o'er Ganges as a Common pass,  
And all the dangerous hardships did overcome  
Of the Gigantike Po●us far from home.   

Tell me, what rage or fury thence did flow,  
What wrath in johns-town dwellers hearts did grow,  
When our brave troops possessed the adverse shore,  
And made Fife tremble with their coming o'er,  
While yet we are hardly entered, and our scouts  
The neighbour coasts were ranging round about.  
What a new tempest bringing death did rage,  
Dewing the moistened fields with blood and strage?  
War made men mad, the fields were covered too  
With growing tumults and with ensigns new.  
Their army raged, as if all Scotland had  
To ruin Cromwell a conjunction made:  
But he resolved for all, doth undergo  
Meekly, the worst Fortune can put him to,  
For the high glory of the English name,  
And to protect Religion from shame.  
Protected thus and guarded from above,  
To adverse coasts he doth more boldly move.  
He doth the sword and bullet fearless pass,  
Standing against them as a wall of brass.  
Like to a rock that lifts his towering head  
Above the Sea by tempests furrowed;  
When th' angry winds lift up her waves so high,  
That you would think they'd reach the very sky:  
Yet stands it firmly 'gainst the furious puffes  
Of winds, and th' Ocean's furious Counterbuffs,  
Rising triumpher from his watery bed,  
Breaking the billows with his conquering head.   

Speak (for ye know) how many captains great,  
Were taken with their troops in that defeat?  
How did death triumph in the fields of Fife,  
That covered were with bodies void of life?  
It was a fell-black-day, alas! how there  
In various manners did grim death appear!  
When Lesley fled well-horsed, through cross byways▪  
And among others whom our troops did seize  
As Captives, was unhappy Brown, who gave  
Himself to Lambert's arms, his life to save.   

Speak ye, whose souls are slow and dull as lead;  
Is ancient virtue or retired or dead?  
If that Book speak the truth; if we believe  
What's written there, or it as true receive,  
Ye have been valiant, when your Armies stood,  
And Rhein's and Ister's streams died red with blood,  
And when Count Tilly did affrighted stand,  
To see the wonders acted by your hand.  
All Germany looked on you as the Fort  
Whereto the Dutchmen chiefly did resort.  
Such was your honour then; alas! but now  
Where is that former virtue? do you know  
Only to show the Valour of your state  
Abroad, and be at home degenerate?  
Your spirits, like your soil, are poor and dry,  
At home your hearts are in a Lethargy,;  
Your Army else would not let us surprise  
Calendars fenced house before their eyes:  
In so great danger they like Cowards stand,  
Fearful to lend their Mates a helping hand.   

Thus Cromwell art thou Conqueror, thus do  
Armies surrender up themselves to You.  
Thy conquering sword thousands of foes doth rule,  
Whose habitation is the furthest Thule:  
The valiant Scots and Picts, that did let fly  
Their Ensigns through the lower Germany,  
And those of other Lands that Conquerors be,  
Magnanimous Cromwell, are subdued by Thee.  
Thou dost destroy the Caledonian Boar,  
(Sooner than Meleager could before;)  
Thou brok'st the bonds of tyrants now grown strong,  
And killed'st the Hydra while it yet was young;  
Half-buried England, while you were her Head,  
Raised up herself again as from the Dead;  
By thee regaining strength she rises free,  
Wasted before by Scottish treachery.  
What should I speak of more, what words or wit  
Can such high dare with expressions fit?  
Or how can my so mean endeavours raise,  
Trophies to equal your deserved praise?  
Be it enough (since all my pains fall short)  
To be amazed at the famed report  
Of your great actions, and since all I write  
In these mean papers doth appear too light;  
Seeming to do no more, when all is done  
Then hold a candle to the shining Sun  
Or add a drop unto the Ocean.  
After our Leader had triumphing got,  
Into the Fisian region of the Scot,  
When both Saint johnston's, and Burnt-I stand came,  
And Torwood subjects to thy honoured name:  
And other towns did of their own accord,  
Yield up themselves, and to our troops afford  
Shelter; the half-dead Scots seeing affairs  
Thus to go backward, falling in despair,  
Suffering such woes in their polluted home,  
Resolve from that accursed place to come,  
In so great danger only hoping health,  
(Though much deceived from th' English Commonwealth:  
Such was the confidence, and such the hopes  
Springing among the Caledonian troops.  
But that their hope was vain, the cure was worse  
Than the disease and proved a greater curse:  
Wretches ye headlong run, (changing the star)  
Into the hazards of a sharper war.  
So a poor Sailor tossed from shore to shore,  
When in a storm the winds and waters roar,  
To whom no glimmering star yields any light,  
No Cynosura to direct him right  
In that his unknown way, being struck with fear,  
Not knowing to what place his course to steer,  
Stands void of sense, and while he seeks to fly  
The ro●ks, and barking Scylla to pass by,  
And takes a care Synphlegades to shun,  
Sad Fate doth make him on Charybdis run.   

" What reason, pray, had we to trust you so,  
" That you to England a new guest would go;  
" To take those dainties from us, which you knew  
" Not being called were ne'er prepared for you?  
" Think'st thou the English looked for thee once more  
" That Presbyterian fancies did adore,  
" And on their slaved necks bore calvin's yoke?  
" Tell me ye mad men, what did thus provoke  
" Your minds to this belief that you should have  
" From the discording English, what you crave?  
" Vain hope! Caerdigan cannot help you now,  
" Nor are the Norfolk Rebels helpful, who  
" Proud in their hopes of greater numbers grown,  
" By Rich's smaller force were overthrown.  
" Most honoured Rich, that dost advance thy fame,  
" And by thy virtues raise thy budding name;  
" Who after he had Norfolk quiet made,  
" And those seditions by his Sword allay'de,  
" He falls upon the Scots, who once again  
" Invade us, but he made their journey vain:  
" That they might learn by such mischances sad,  
" Nought to the good is hard, safe to the bad.  
" Keep back therefore, the Fates have all decreed,  
" Ye must not, Brethren, pass the River Tweed.  
" The way that leads to England is beset  
" With thorns, and dismal shades of mountains great.  
" Unlucky Birds did your first March attend,  
" And will wait on you to the very end.)  
" Poor greedy rout! you the sole wretches are  
" That closely nursed our first Civil war;  
" Then wicked thou thy just reward wilt have,  
" And of a double tongue the loss receive,  
" When those Troops slain by us thou shalt bemoan,  
" And in thy loss and nearer ruin groan.  
" Oh! Nation base and treacherous! what lies  
" Have you maintained as greatest verities  
" Under a specious Vizor? Oh what Sects  
" And swarms of Errors did your zeal protect?  
" Who can relate, how wisely you did sow  
" Such seeds of discord as you knew would grow?  
" When thus your policy had gained the day,  
" How on th' entangled English did you prey?  
" With thousands witchcrafts you did them inchant  
" Forcing at last a guileful Covenant.  
" Could love of gold, and like insatiate tricks  
" " Saint you, and with us in our Border fix?  
" Was this your zeal, your Covenant, to rise  
" Moore rich and full by England's miseries?  
" Was this your care to Canaan, that so  
" Your Thistle might in our sweet Gardens grow?  
" And that your Tares might at the least oppose,  
" If not quite choke the growing of our Rose?  
" This was the Scots fully resolved scope,  
" They thought them sure of this their wretched hope.  
" But Heaven forbade the banes, and with the eyes  
" Of pity, looking on our miseries,  
" Turning the scale quite blasted all their hopes,  
" And in their Borders set our valiant Troops.  
" Could the blind zeal of Priests such ills persuade  
" To quiet peace, through Seas of blood to wade:  
" Or that the sword was a fit instrument,  
" Religion to establish with content?  
" O damned impious crew! doth your Kirke teach  
" Her Clerks the very Gospel thus to preach?  
" What godliness is that, with blood and spoil,  
" And rage of War the Churches to defile?  
" Away, and to your Country when you come,  
" This Doctrine may be fit to teach at home:  
" Let your mad Priests belch out these Tenets there,  
" Your Scottish Kirks such things as these may bear;  
" If in these lines you happily may meet  
" Some barbarous names, (your pardons I entreat)  
" For I was forced to use them, since but few  
" Would well agree with such a cock-braine crew.  
" But whither doth this straying errorlead?  
" If I go further, convoys I shall need.  
" Well! all this while I speak but to the wind,  
" And cast a Pearl before a dirty swine.   

And now all things go back, for cruel Fate  
Sent o'er the Scots our coasts to depraedate;  
And since at home they suffered so much ill,  
At last abroad their Fortunes try they will;  
Not much unlike a cruel Wolf, whom blood  
Of a young tender Lamb makes far more wood;  
Leaving his empty Den, he doth infested  
Sheep-cotes with grinning mouth, and hateful breast,  
Where he a bloody rendezvous doth keep,  
On the securer Neighbours harmless sheep.  
So Scotland thou, forgetting ancient fame,  
And having soiled thy once-better name,  
Unmindful of thy Covenant, dost come  
To spoil the guiltless English in their home;  
Daring to hope, and in that hope you dare  
Some Trophies from our English wreath to tear.  
Oh foolish men, and too too credulous,  
By hopes delusive to be guided thus!  
Your sense is drowned in such a Lethargy,  
Wherein the Hamiltonian troops did lie,  
When happy Cromwell in Lancastrian Plains,  
Did with a handful see his army slain!  
That against heaven with hardened hearts did bowl,  
Nor would b' admonished by proud Pharaohs fall!  
For nor the cruel slaughter of that fight.  
Nor loss of such a battle could you fright.  
For Hydra-like one head cut off, you have  
Not one but two i'th' place, more seeming brave,  
With tongues extended mingling hisses great,  
Wherewith you ruin to opposers threat.  
Like to a bull ta'en from his wont bait,  
At last regathering strength doth fiercely wait,  
And whisking's fatted buttocks doth invite,  
Now with his foot, then with his horns, to fight,  
And then again unto the skirmish cogs,  
By his loud Louring the stout Mastive-Dogs.  
So you poor Scots, like hunted beasts secure  
Account yourselves, till you yourselves immure  
In Worcester, there a gin and net  
To catch yourselves at unawares you set,  
You build the Funeral Pile, whereon you'll lie,  
And do as 'twere appoint your day to die.  
Whom providence enraged doth design  
To ruin for their sin, it gives the line,  
Until at last blind by security  
They are the authors of their misery.   

And now the Scottish Armies wearied are  
With the cross chance of unsuccessful war,  
And with the toil of tedious Marches pressed,  
Till Worcester did become their place of rest:  
Nor was there any place whereto they might  
Betake themselves more safely in that plight;  
The tumult grew so great on every side,  
That very clowns armed to the war did ride.  
And gallant Cromwell daring greatest things  
(Whose very name an equal terror brings  
To Scottish hearts, and fear as dreadful works,  
As Castriots did among the scourged Turks)  
Him all the Scottish Nation fear, and sly  
When with his Army he approacheth nigh.  
Like Chickens, who no sooner see a Kite  
Stoop with his wing, but in a deadly fright  
To the first place of safety they make haste,  
And soon get in, each fearing to be last.  
Or as the Lybian Ostrich; if she spy  
Over the sands by chance men passing by,  
With her rich plumes strait hides both head & eye,  
And by that means conceits herself unknown,  
And now she sees not, thinks she's seen by none:  
So too kind Worcesler did the Scots receive,  
And like a mother all their wants relieve:  
But oh sad offspring, thou most viperous brood,  
Whom nought contents but such a Mother's blood!  
For whose defence that City underwent  
So many slaughters, hath such detriment;  
That if it would, it cannot but retain  
Fresh in its mind the sadness of their gain.  
Alas! unhappy, whither dost thou flee?  
That City will not Refuge stand for Thee,  
Though with the Country you at first prevail,  
And make your first met enemies to quail;  
Yet Cromwel's deadly scourge thou canst not shun,  
Such provocations are not Scot-free done.  
Not much unlike a Ship that Pirate's bears,  
Preying on all, replete with stolen wares  
Of daily spoiled Barks, but if at last  
'Tis on a ship of war adversely cast,  
Alas, how soon it suffers! and must bear  
That loss, for others which it did prepare!  
Her Sails are torn, her Oars are broke, and now  
Tossed by the winds, she doth the Ocean plough,  
Till now no longer able up to keep,  
As she deserved, she's drenched in the Deep.   

And now 'twas fully by the heavens decreed,  
To give the Scots an overthrow indeed;  
The Fates did press it, and the Furies were  
With all their mischiefs summoned to be there.  
The Sun foreseeing that so great defeat,  
Under a cloud did make a sad retreat,  
And to Olympus tremblingly he trips,  
Making an unaccustomed Eclipse;  
The standing Stars distilling waters pour,  
The Scottish woes ensuing to deplore.  
Nor were they long delayed, All-conquering Fate  
Within short time those things did perpetrate.  
For the three fat all Sisters never know  
Their furious wrath intended to foreslow.  
Then ye triumphed, when Cromwell's valiant Train,  
With brave achievements Vpton-bridge did gain,  
What trumpets sounded the alarm then?  
How did the hoarser drums call out the men,  
Hastening those troops that first were in a fright,  
With promised hope of glory to the fight!  
The slaughter with the horsemen doth begin,  
Unto whose help th' enraged foot run in.  
Arm, arm, they cry. And thus both parties meet,  
And with their swords in hand each other greet,  
And that no terrors wanting might appear,  
The Gun re-ecchoing thunder doubles there  
And by their sending show what they prepare.  
The heaven was clouded with a dismal mist,  
Which of thick smoke and bullets did consist;  
The rattling noise of arms did make the ground  
Tremble for fear, and yield a doleful sound.  
Opening her very inmost bowels wide,  
Seen through the open gapings on each side.  
Sure no such noise in heaven and earth doth rise,  
When Jove commands out of his Treasuries  
Whole showers of rain and hail, and brings again  
Those Stars to sight, he did before restrain.  
Nor do enclosed Aetna's flames, though blowed  
By a strong blast of wind, roar half so loud;  
The air grows dark with smoking fires, each stone  
Scorched by the fiery heat sends forth a groan.  
How grew your rage so fierce! O how increased  
Such cruel anger in your heated breast!  
The Armies edg'ling fight, they mingled stand,  
Swords meeting swords, and hand encountering hand.  
Like to the Centaurs, when with dreadful cries  
Against each other they with fury rise:  
Hylaeus pulls up rocks, and Hippason  
With torn up Trees doth lusty strokes lay on;  
Abas with monstrous strength doth Castles throw:  
And Polyphemus coming from below  
Out of his den, with some excessive weight  
Exceeding all the rest the air doth beat;  
Raging Antaeus, Lapithus more fierce  
Does through the sides of his mad brethren pierce;  
Nylaeus rises, and whole woods do shake  
Bistonian Rocks with terror struck do quake;  
Othrys and Ossa tremble, and the rest  
Fear by their doings to be quite suppressed.  
The victory was doubtful, for the fight  
Was full of various changes: now to flight  
This side betook them, and anon they fly  
On the other side: they must or run or die.  
Now with full hopes on Cromwel's Troops she smiles,  
And strait unto the Enemy recoils;  
Thus Fortune kept the triumph doubtful long,  
None could decide who was more stout, more strong.  
As when the Northwind with the Ocean strives,  
And the then calmer waves to tempests drives,  
The tottering ships do first on one side lean,  
Then with the wind to t'other turn again:  
So many turns did in this fight appear,  
Such many changes; and the chance of War,  
Though it stood doubtful yet it did proclaim,  
Bays for the Victor, to the conquered shame.  
One wing of Cromwell's seemed at first to yield,  
And falling in itself, to leave the field:  
But when the Royal Fort our General gained,  
And killed the valiant Scots that it maintained,  
Immediately they on the enemies are  
Quicker than lightning or a falling-star,  
Being the first within the City's wall.  
And now th'example of the General,  
And his so warlike presence did increase  
New strength in those where it began to cease.  
The English Soldiers minds are now on fire,  
And blown with angers bellows still grow higher:  
So force increaseth from received wrong,  
And Vengeance by delay grows twice as strong.  
Nor was't enough for ours, in every street  
The proudest of their enemies to meet,  
And kill, but they search every Lane,  
And every house hath in it some one slain.  
Where search they not? the sword no Church doth pass,  
But rages in the very market place.  
Now a new storm arises, (such as 
* Aeolus  He  
Who keeps the blustering winds did never see,)  
Which did the troubled Citizens assail,  
And in the City's very heart prevail.  
What fury there? when strife, the sword and rage  
Even in the Market acted hourly strage,  
When heaps of dead, and those that stoutly stood  
Filled every house with danger and with blood;  
When both the children's and the mother's cries  
Did with their terror pierce the very skies?  
Virtue and Honour in that fight appear  
Closed in the breast of every High-lander.  
Whom no attempts could break, no valour tame,  
But with their swords, (till killed) they raised their fame.  
The more they were oppressed, the more they raise  
Their greater minds (to their eternal praise)  
In death, not slight, they did their virtue show;  
And from the slaughter rising up anew,  
Like Wolves, they run upon the sword and spear,  
Nor Bullets they, nor armed Legions fear.  
You'd think them either desperate or mad,  
When covered with their shields, themselves they add  
Unto that place where Mars doth reign as chief,  
Scorning the title of a given life;  
Slaughter to slaughter adding, still they go  
First wounding, next they kill the wounded foe.  
Like to a cruel Dragon, full of scales,  
And therein dreadful, 'gainst whom nought prevails,  
Whose brawny back fears no ensuing harms,  
Nor can be pierced by the strongest Arms.  
But if his Belly or more secret parts  
Be once but touched by the meanest Darts,  
How soon he falls, how soon his breath is fled!  
See I how he curls his body (not yet dead)  
In various circling forms! and at his death  
With stretched out tongue, yield up his poisonous breath!  
So the unhappy High-lander doth try  
All means for life, not knowing how to die;  
At last the Sword and Bullet makes a lane  
Among their ranks, and so those Foot are slain.  
Not much unlike a Husbandman, who goes  
Through all his sields, and with his Sickle mows  
The riper Corn, and the fit Grass for hay,  
Where e'er he comes making an open way,  
And lays those Plants which did so glorious stand,  
Like to dead stubble, on the mowed land:  
So do those towering lightnings sadly clear  
The place from Troops, and make a Vacuum there:  
But they undaunted bear the greatest ill  
Standing, their members fallen, and distil  
Their utmost strength until they fall, and show  
Their arms cut from the sinews where they grew.  
Like to a happy Oak, whose Trunk so great  
Is both to birds and beasts a safe retreat,  
Which hath endured the shocks of wind and weather  
Untouched and free for a long time together;  
Laid at, at last, with Axes doth begin  
His lofty head towards the earth to lean,  
Falling with monstrous weight, doth plow the ground,  
Digging as 't were his grave with falling down.  
So those brave Foot, who had the burden bore  
Of that sad fight, all day and night before,  
Seeing their loss, at last began to doubt,  
And fail; their valour was quite wearied out.  
For when the horse ingloriously were fled,  
And left their Royal Squadron vanquished,  
Then all went backwards with the Scots, than they  
For their first treachery received the pay,  
And the revenge due to them till that day.  
Relate; how many carcases there were  
Scattered about the City every where,  
Which nor Eumenideses nor Tisiphone could  
Without a dismal horror but behold,  
Which did increase the shambles, while of course  
Whole herds of beasts died there without remorse.  
So great a work it was to overthrow  
And give the Scots so terrible a blow.   

All things at last thus running back and gone,  
And the whole Army being overthrown;  
And when poor Charles neither by prayers nor force  
Could to a new engagement bring the Horse,  
He grows stark mad, (and trusting arms no more)  
His wretched fortune sadly doth deplore,  
(Weighing His Royal Race, and Kingly Stem)  
And blames the Stars, foes to that Diadem.  
So without more delay, to horse He hies,  
And much afflicted at his loss, he flies  
Among his scattered Troops, t' avoid the fate  
Of Worcester bloody battle, though too late.   

Thus with much labour and expense of blood,  
(Mosley and others dying where they stood)  
Stout Cromwell did th' amazed City win,  
And lead his toiled weary Legions in,  
To take the plunder, due to their desert.  
For a new conquered City must impart  
Of force her Riches, and her captived Youth  
Unto the Conqueror's spoil and pleasure both:  
Rich householdstuff one Soldier plunders there,  
Another Princely Aras hanging here;  
Entering this house he richer comes away,  
Soon growing rich with such a royal prey.   

But there were others, (whom not any love  
Of spoil, but hate against the Scots did move)  
Well horsed, who laying Clemency aside,  
Did of the flying Scots pursuers ride.  
Whom once o'ertaken, strongly they assail,  
Nor do their prayers or tears at all prevail;  
They spread their hands in vain, for they must die,  
And in the dust their hated bodies lie.  
Nor cease they here, still more and more they kill,  
A cruel slaughter doth continue still  
In straggling ruins. that far scattered be,  
As leaves in Winter fallen from the Tree.  
Tempests so great as these are seldom seen,  
Even when the Pleyades have raging been,  
And show their feared head, which showers beget  
Th' Olenian Capricornus to make wet.  
Nor, Congleton, was that revenge the least,  
Which by the angered High-shooes was expressed.  
Nor dost thou, Samback, let the Scots proud horse  
Pass free, but fallest on them with thy force;  
Those Country Clowns, (which neither can nor wil●  
Pardon, forget, or bear the smallest ill)  
As Bees, fly in his face, whose anger drives  
Them from the quiet of Hyblaean hives,  
Sharpening their stings: so these run with delight,  
And those known forces do provoke to fight:  
Some armed with pitchforks, some with clubs, and some  
Only with stones, unto the conflict come.  
Nor without slaughter could they drive them thence,  
Though they stood scarcely in their own defence.  
So when a Troop of many shepherds have  
With valiant Mastiffs slain a Lion brave,  
Which long before the Moorish coasts did waste,  
Th' Inhabitants, overjoyed, meet in haste  
On his despised feared trunk to stare,  
Some pull him by the main, some by the hair  
Of other parts, all fain would be before  
His bared members fearing now no more.  
The ancient mischiefs that he used to do  
At the beginning, they remember now.  
Nor otherwise rage they; what Muse can tell  
Thy grateful anger, Samback, and how well  
The madness of thy many-headed Rout  
Became thee, as to skirmish they went out.   

Nor was that slaughter less, which did succeed  
In the Lancastrian fields by fate decreed,  
When valiant Lilburne Darbyes' forces met  
Like Lightning, and the victory did get,  
Breaking his strongest troops at their first charge.  
But whither stray I? why do I enlarge  
Or dwell on these? If I should strive to write  
Each single battle, mention every fight,  
The day would fail; And th'Ocean hide the sun,  
And stars would glimmer e'er my task were done.   

A glimpse of peace, brave Cromwell now we see,  
Since Scotland's conquered, and o'ercome by thee.  
Thus do you fight, and fight overcome,  
And overcoming triumph: fame be dumb;  
What more can be? here sets he up his rest.  
No, no, his triumphs make the English blest,  
Which way so ere you go, you still prevail,  
Virtue attends you, Fortune fills your sail.  
With what old Heroes may I thee compare,  
Guardian of England, the renown of war?  
For few of these by upright fame were crowned,  
Unwearied zeal with few of these was found;  
Some crimes their Virtue oftentimes did blot,  
Their milky colour oft received a spot.  
As when a cloud obscures that eye of Night,  
The sun withdrawing his, she gives no light.  
As Caesar's conquests did his honour raise,  
And crown his temples with Imperial bays;  
So did his treacherous dealing merit shame,  
And mix dishonour with so great a fame.  
Nay more than this, most horrid but to speak,  
For gold the very temples he did break,  
And stained his sword with country men's dear blood,  
If His unlawful pleasures they withstood.  
Great Hannibal, Cannae thy fame doth praise,  
That battle honour to thy Name did raise;  
That women's slights this Conqueror should spoil,  
This, this alone doth all thy honour's soil.  
The farthest Indie and Taprobane did sing,  
Th' eternal fame of the Aemathian King:  
But when he was enraged, to his disgrace,  
Cruel he'd fly into his Nobles face.  
Even at his feasts of mirth, his cruel sword  
With guiltless blood defiles his very Board.  
But YOu Great Sir, Greater than Cas●r are,  
The Empire of your Virtues reacheth far,  
And keeping Passion under, dost restrain  
Its insolences with the strongest rain.  
No Avarice with its destroying hooks  
Inrolles thy Name in Fame's infamous books;  
At hopes of Lucre you unmoved stand,  
No wretched gold thy spirit can command.  
Nor doth the Carthaginians pattern please,  
By lying long in a continued eafe,  
And too much pleasure to lose warlike State,  
And grow unfit for Mars, effeminate:  
For you a charging horse, and sword embrace  
Before the witchcrafts of a woman's face,  
And hating idle sloth, and sinful peace,  
By constant warfare th' English dost increase.  
Nor like the Macedoni an, drunk with wine,  
Doth passion sway you to a dire design:  
For moderation rules you, not abuse  
Of Life you love, but a more sober use.  
If you be angry, Prudence doth allay  
Your milder temper; Clemency doth sway,  
And seat itself upon your calmer brow,  
Not breaking any that it can make bow.  
One Scipio there is, whose name no blot  
Ever received, whose virtue ne'er had spot,  
With whom, thy Goodness admirably rare,  
And pious zeal may make thee to compare.  
You are both equal in the book of Fame,  
Your equal love of justice saith the same;  
You both alike to maintain chasteness move,  
Both alike goodness, and Religion Love.  
What do I sing thy deeds? alas! my verse  
Neither thy praise nor battles can rehearse.  
They do exceed the Muse's faith, nor can  
The quickest wit their true dimensions scan,  
Unless he saw them and were present by  
At the atcheived deeds, so done, so high;  
Thou Patron of our peace, and of our war  
The just revenger; you our helper are  
You come a new Alcides, and do bear  
Those things upright, that erst declining were.  
The greatness of thy mind did still supply  
Our wants, when losses made us gasping lie;  
You did with succours always ready stand,  
And save from common shipwreck with your hand:  
You did that English-ruine-threatning war,  
Unto the Scots, that plotted it, transfer,  
Like Jove himself, who doth his lightnings throw  
On rocks and Pirates, careful lest a blow  
Should shed our blood, his Thunderbolts doth cast  
Within the limits of some foreign waist.  
Your merits ask, Great Sir, a larger store,  
But you must Pardon, if I can no more;  
'Twould be too great a Task; my skill surmount,  
All the achievements of your hands to count.  
Can I so many great Commanders name?  
No, my weak Muse can never know the same.  
Mongst whom come Grey of Grooby like the Sun,  
His shining Virtue has the rest outgone.  
That is his Country's Father and delight,  
And a true Guardian of oppressed right,  
Whose faith in all the heat of war was tried  
Yet without moving constant did abide;  
Whose constancy was lessened by no harms,  
Was neither shaken nor removed by storms:  
But like an anchor in this sea of blood,  
To stay the wavering people firmly stood.  
Most noble Grey, the rest I'll not repeat,  
Nor speak thy care in Peace, and War how great:  
How many great endeavours didst thou blow  
With fortunes bellows, till at last they grow,  
To famous actions; and how great a light,  
Of Virtue didst thou show at Worcester fight.  
My muse would longer dwell in such a field,  
That she to Disbroughs better times might yield  
Victorious Trophies, raising to the stars  
His fame and acts of Valour in the wars.  
But now to war I here must set an end,  
And what remains to welcome Cromwell send.  
Hail happy star! Sweet comfort bringing light;  
Our Nations and this ages glory bright!  
At whose return, black clouds no more appear,  
Our calmer sky begins to shine more clear.  
The Citizen, and Soldier both rejoice,  
Showing their joy in their triumphal noise;  
Pallas and Mars, arms laid aside, do meet,  
And weekly guarded, at this triumph greet  
Each other, while to laid aside they yield  
The Gorgon's head, the sword, and goatskin shield.  
Thrice happy day that dost deserve a note  
Of happiness never to be forgot,  
Which brought thee safe from Scottish enemies,  
And from the dangers of a dire disease,  
Returning thee to our more safer shore  
More strong and healthful than thou wert before.  
What grateful thanks do we acknowledge due  
Goddard renowned for thy skill to you?  
Which brought back Cromwell from the gates of death,  
And when he gasped, as dying, gave new breath;  
Renewing th' entrails that before decayed,  
And cured his sickness, which had all dismayed.  
Thus Cromwell comes, whom false report had said  
Of his disease so long and doubtful, dead.  
As a kind mother doth in mind embrace  
Her dearest son in some remoter place,  
Is so o'rejoyed, when once she sees the coast  
Of her bewailed pledge so long since lost,  
That words grown insufficient to express  
The weight and greatness of her happiness,  
(Filling her swelling heart and pleased eyes)  
She melts to tears, and when embracing cries:  
So England joys at Thy return, so she  
Ambitious daily grows to honour thee;  
And in the real wishes of her heart  
Shows her sincerest Love to thy desert.  
Cambridge confirmed by thy return, doth boast  
Thee for her Burgess, that her borders coast  
Thy neighbouring birthplace, now remembering those  
Her ancient Honours, doth again propose  
Unto her Muses promised reward  
From thy Paternal fatherly regard.  
And Oxford doth her happiness prefer.  
Triumphing: under Thee her Chancellor.  
And now at last, if it may lawful be,  
Mixtures of small with so great things to see,  
Even I myself moved by your virtue's rage,  
To sing your greatness in this narrow page.  
As in a pleasant garden when we come  
Plucking the flowers, here and there we room,  
Still plucking more, although in nothing rare,  
But that by our own hand they pulled were;  
And as we never count an evening clear,  
Unless we number every chiefest star:  
So with mv humble quill I thought to write  
Only great acts, and famous to recite.  
The time may come, wherein I may declare  
At large the triumphs of your greater war,  
And all your Soldiers famous actions show,  
Laying them open to the public view.  
If those most honoured Nobles of the State  
With their great Precedent but animate  
Kindly these first-fruits of my zeal and toil,  
A new design may grow from every smile.   

What hitherto is done, Great Cromwell lies  
Upon Thy Altars as a Sacrifice.  
Now it becomes the Coll'nels names to show,  
(And but to show them) and to tell those few  
That fell in service, since you first did stand  
As chief Commander in the British Land.  
Of noble Sidney, Bingham, Heynes Id' speak,  
But straight-laced time doth my intentions break.  
Who knows not barkstead's Regiments report,  
The Citizens and Cities happy Fort,  
For who declining were, or wholly broke,  
Fearing their state, themselves to thee betook,  
And turning soldiers under thee, they reach  
To that whereto their Trade would never stretch.  
Thus to thy men thou'rt good, and they in thee,  
And thou in them hast a felicity;  
(And at the supreme Parliaments desire,  
While you brave Captain do at home retire  
Yourself from war, with a more watchful eye  
Th' Army abroad you with Recruits supply.  
And as the Sea, into whose bosom go  
A thousand Rivers, doth more fiercely slow,  
Grown great with many waters, and expands  
Her raging waves o'er all the neighbour sands:  
Such is thy Regiment, which though you drain,  
With fuller numbers still it swells again;  
Now sending forces to the Irish coasts,  
Anon transfunding into Scotland hosts.  
Cobbet; what narrow verse can thee enclose?  
Or who can Talbots worthy praise compose?  
Who did his knowing skill in warfare show,  
When the King's Troops of horse he overthrew;  
Ennobled by thy birth, and in the field,  
By thy true valour, thou to none dost yield.  
Nor can my Quill, O Hasilrige, set forth  
Thy so excelling, so deserving worth.  
Nor may I famous Constable report  
Thy acts in brief, ●…ast striving to be short  
I grow obscure) and in the middle break  
His got same, while I so little speak,  
I pass by Mackworth, and it grieves me sore  
That at the present I may speak no more:  
As of his perseverance in the right  
And wont faith, which neither threats could fright,  
Nor Kingly proffers win to base slight.  
Berry and Gosse, and famous Cox I pass,  
And many other names which ask a place,  
Which I perchance may in a scroll set down,  
With famous Moyle our judge of high renown,  
That smiling fortune may my next part crown.   

Brave Hacker, that hast from the first drawn blood,  
Immovable by art most sirmely stood,  
Both Horse and Foot, and Drums thy praise proclaim,  
And fierce Bellona doth extol thy name.  
Nor will I mention old and ancient acts,  
But I will trace thee in those newer tracts,  
Thy latter deeds, which Scotland will attest,  
And Worcester felt thy scourging hand and breast;  
(And which was first) i'●h' battle of Dumbarre  
The enemy found thy arms were fit for war.  
Nor can I ought of Gravener repeat,  
In whom all gifts of mind and body meet;  
Whose bloody hand, where ere it went, did show  
With how much strength it could lay on a blow.  
Of Bradshaw nought, whose Ancestors have been  
In the Lancastrian fields some ages seen,  
Of old deducted from the Saxon Race.  
Neither for Brooks, nor Crexton have I place,  
Nor have I time to set out Chester's worth,  
Or tell how many Troops they have set forth.  
Or say what Essex did: nor can I look  
On Matthewes, Honney-wood, or famous Cook.  
Nothing of Kenricke, Gibbons, may be said,  
Both which in Kentish fertile fields were bred.   

My Index would to a vast volume swell,  
If I on every several head should dwell;  
If Twisletons, or honoured Birches fame  
I with Fame's shriller trumpet should proclaim;  
I will not speak the gallantry of Pride,  
Nor many others, which I pass beside:  
As Tomlinson and Alred known of all,  
Nor Downing the Scout-master General.  
Beaumond, nor Benner, whom I only name,  
Commanded briefeness doth exact the same,  
By whose victorious arms the English gained  
A glimpse of concord, Tyranny restrained;  
By these increased Liberty they have  
Restored unto them from the very grave.   

Whither doth my rash error lead? do I  
Only to Soldiers yield these praises high?  
I do revoke those speeches, I recall  
My slipping tongue from that unwilling fall;  
For pious Zeal, the pulpits sacred Laws,  
And our own prayers stood bulwarks of our cause.  
Some Ministers examples I'll unfold,  
Whose godly precepts, and monitions bold,  
Strengthened our war-prepared troops with might,  
And made them oft victorious in fight.  
For Arms and Armies of no value be,  
Where not conjoined with true piety,  
And helped with an awful reverence  
Of the divine all-ruling Providence:  
Hence noble Deal and Lockyer you became  
The Pulpits honour, and the Preachers fame.  
And Stapleton in's predecessors great,  
While with diviner virtues he's replete;  
Doth grace the Pulpit on occasion fit,  
With the rich dowries of thy ripest wit.  
That honour in our Armies you have got,  
What help your wisdom and your learning brought  
Unto our forts, the good event doth show,  
And the got triumphs, which from thence did grow,  
And Peter's (though thou scarce wert known before,  
Though thy report had hardly reached our shore.)  
Thy virtuous courage, and thy zeal compile  
Their own record, worthy the highest stile;  
Whether the minist eriall function You,  
Or public civil charges look into.  
Is there a man that in his place doth know  
A quicker wit, a readier hon to show?  
Who in the Pulpit is so oft and free,  
Declaring Heavenly Oracles as He?  
Nor doth he teach like them, who credit win  
By soothing up their Auditors in sin:  
But mindful of the Gospel which you teach,  
And of that saving health whereof you preach.  
You soar more near to heaven, and with the word  
Pierce nearer to the heart than with a sword;  
Only to preach at home, contents not Thee,  
The Utmost limits of the world you see:  
And to the savage Indians where you came  
The Gospel of salvation you proclaim;  
Shining a happy star to guide aright  
Those barbarous people's feet into the light.   

Nor can my little leisure spare to sing  
From what most noble Ancestors you spring,  
Nor what great deeds their honour made to swell,  
Thy noble Lineage let thy Cornwall tell,  
And show your late increased coat of arms,  
How beautified from Hamiltonian harms.  
Thy wondrous zeal the godly doth befriend  
A hand, to all that want or ask, you lend,  
In thy admired virtue quick and wise,  
Who on the common Altars sacrifice.  
You to th' afflicted, like Achates, prove,  
To them, like Atlas, whom sad terrors move;  
The falling English in the heat of war  
Were kept upright by thy upholding care.  
Nazeby, Wales, Ireland, Cornwall, Worcester too  
Sooner or late have felt what you can do;  
Thy frequent toil, thy dangers, thy great heart  
Broke by no threatenings, let those men impart,  
Who versed in war and Marshal bloody strife,  
Know what belong to a right-ruled life.  
Thy travels both in body and in mind  
Let their relation be to them assigned.  
These common things, Peter, I solely own  
Thyself and deeds, being both to me unknown.  
Pardon, I pray, I only mention this,  
That the Priests worth the English may confess;  
And that the people's safety doth not stand  
Fortified only by the soldier's hand.   

And You who of the Council of our State  
Members at present are, or were of late,  
Who by the supreme Senate are decreed  
The first in changed courses to succeed.  
GOD make you all unanimous, and bless  
You with eternal growing happiness:  
And, as Attendants, make the stars to wait  
Upon your high achievements for the State;  
That pure Religion undefiled may be  
Increasing with revived piety,  
Whose sweet perfnme will to the heavens arise  
A grateful and accepted sacrifice.  
Then peace and truth will kiss; and all that sink  
Of horrid blasphemies to Hell will shrink.  
Concord will grow, and all divisions ceafe,  
And all things whisper to the Britons peace,  
Then shall the Wolf, that with a fatal eye  
Did meditate before new treachery,  
Against the lamb; his fierceness laid aside,  
Henceforth together safely they reside,  
And the safe flocks of kids need not to fear,  
When they the roar of the Leopard hear;  
The Lion's whelp and Calf, now void of dread,  
Dare company together in one bed.  
A little child these tamed beasts shall lead  
Unto their pastures where content they feed.  
The Cow doth feed together with the Bear,  
Their young ones are Companions void of fear,  
The Lion leaves to prey; and the same. ficld  
Both to the Ox and him doth fodder yield.  
All deadly poison's's taken from the Asp,  
The sucking child him in his hand may grasp,  
Nor shall the Viper hurt the weaned child,  
That sporteth with him, it is grown so mild.  
These raging beasts shall act no future ill,  
For God will seat his Chosen on a hill.  
Even on Mount Zion: when he shall record  
O'er all the earth the knowledge of the Lord,  
As do the raging waters of the deep  
O'erflow the earth in a tumultuous heap.  
Go on grave Fathers therefore, and imprint  
These secrets in the heart from sacred hint:  
That the first honour of your counsels may  
To God redound, the next that peace may sway  
In all our Regions, while there is a day.  
And thou most honoured Bradshaw by consent  
The parent of our State and Precedent.  
(Although thy innate modesty won't bear  
All thy deserved praises but to hear;  
And though with patience thou dost hardly know  
The burden of thy honour t'undergoe)  
Yet give me leave, thy virtue and thy fame  
Moves me a little to extol thy name.  
The Vindicator of our Liberty,  
And sharp revenger of our slavery;  
When first thy stretched hand did strongly break  
The cruel chains from off the Britain's neck,  
Like faithful Palinurus, without fear  
You undertook a weighty task, to steer  
A raging boisterous people, and procure  
Through unknown swelling waves a haven sure.  
You mindful of your Country's good, uphold  
The Commonwealth, resembling Atlas' bold:  
Free from the cares of a dissembling breast,  
The public you prefer to private rest.  
Hence your unwearied pious zeal and pains  
A glad remembrance to all Ages gains:  
But if your actions here have no reward  
Worthy their merits, 'tis not worth regard;  
All earthly things thy virtue doth surpass,  
And will in heaven have their deserved place;  
Mean while to heaven these are our daily prayers,  
Methusalems' or aged Nestor's years,  
That you may reach to make us English blest,  
And that at last freed from this world's unrest,  
With more content you may, as old in this  
Praeside new Counsels in a State of Bliss.   
FINIS.   

An Animadversion.  
IT was not my purpose to write an elaborate History, but only in brief in a Panegyric, to point at the triumphal victories of our most excellent General. Neither be troubled, Reader, that tying myself to such brevity, I have either slenderly or not at all, touched every single Action, or Actor by name, especially those truly worthy, and Honourable Men Monk and Overton, whose famous acts rather challenge a volume then the narrow scantling of a Page. Nevertheless I shall neither forget these nor those, when (God assisting and by the favour of the Council of State) I shall set forth in their lively Colours the whole series of all things done, (as far as Poesy can) to adorn a second book, taking its beginning from the rendition of S. Johnstown. In the mean, while Gentle Reader.  
If ought you know that may more worthy be,  
Impart them, but if not, use these with me.   

TO THE Most Excellent, The Lord General of Great Britain, OLIVER CROMWELL.  

What force can drive, or what persuade  
My wand'ring mind farther to wade?  
Whence is it, sickle fancy mine  
You bring me to my old design,  
Thy virtue bright,  
our losses do invite,  
(Like harping Flaccus) me to be  
An humble suppliant to thee,  
Who in another cause deserved of late,  
Though sadly crossed by decree of Fate.   

Even providence your arms befriends,  
'Tis not blind Fortune that attends  
Vicissitudes of men, and things:  
But heaven itself such changes brings;  
Who gives and takes  
Esteem from things, and makes  
The smallest things grow great, and can  
Change the renown of any man;  
Though on a Throne to day he sit on high,  
Making his height upon the ground to lie.   

The great disposer whose bare word,  
Or growth or ruin will afford;  
Turning man's heart, and firm intent,  
Against their own accomplishment.  
Thus am I come  
At last unto your home,  
A willing guest; drawn by the fame  
Of your great deeds and honoured name,  
And spotless life; I humbly do appear  
Thy glories trumpet, and Thy Honourer.   

Unto the mighty as a rain,  
Their tyrannising to restrain;  
To the unarmed as a shield;  
Unto the Soldier's strength you yield,  
The City's light  
Clear, shining, bright;  
Chief Leader of the Epic Choir:  
The drum, the trumpet, and the Lyre,  
Togetherwith the sweeter Lute agree,  
To sing thy praises in a Symphony.   

The heaven assists you in your war;  
Your high and wary counsels are  
Thy Country's stay, the hoped health  
Of the decaying Commonwealth.  
A deadly strage  
To this malignant age.  
When the unhappy Kings ill luck  
The State into a storm did pluck,  
Thy Country found thee her desender then,  
Thou wert a Victor without blood of men.   

Thou dost with meekness happy Guide,  
The greatness of thy chance abide.  
When formerly the war did grow,  
By doubtful causes hindered, slow,  
Then there was need  
of you, great Sir, to lead.  
In dangers by your humble prayer,  
You move the Deity to hear,  
Beloved Guardian sent us from on high,  
Thus dost thou conquer even necessity.   

The cunning Scot, the Irish wild,  
And Wales with hills and mountains filled,  
And all our Northern world confess,  
Thy strength of hand, of head no less,  
Foreigners next  
Shall by thy sword be vexed,  
If 'gainst the English they devise  
Mischiefs by stop of merchandise;  
Whether they quarrels pick not known before,  
Or else pretend a greater, older score.   

Rise up revenger of our harm;  
Quickly prescribe a heavenly charm  
To free our Church from sad debate,  
And fix the Pillar of our State.  
Let banished truth  
From thee receive new growth;  
Silence contentious Schisms, and stand  
A safe protector of our Land;  
Shine like a star in our Horizon, clear,  
And both of heaven and men the joy appear.   

Go, famous for thy acts, replete  
With honours, happy, good, and great  
Exult therein; may no annoy  
Once interrupt thy calmer joy,  
O do not slain,  
With grief too much or vain,  
His gallant funerals: though void of breath  
This Hero lies, yet in his death  
He triumphs in a never dying fame,  
His virtue left him an eternal name.   

Leave of to grieve, and cease to moan,  
Let no sad sigh or fatal groan  
Accompany his funeral:  
Because he lived enough to all,  
Himself, his friends  
And Country; while he lends  
To after ages a clear light  
Arising from his virtues bright,  
And having done what wit could not enlarge,  
Quite wearied out he got a free discharge.  
On God all humane changes tend,  
He all things towards their end,  
Close to true Piety you keep,  
And thence deserved honour reap.  
(Since now come back)  
My Muse shall not be slack,  
Thy praised Encomiums to sing,  
Or grateful Panegyrtckes bring,  
Others may praise thee in a verse more high;  
But none so well, since not so soon as I   

Make me but happy by thy smile,  
If thou with favour deign my toil,  
By that thy favourable breath  
We are (as 'twere) redeemed from death.  
Thus raised by thee,  
It shall our Triumph be,  
In the eternal house of Fame  
To register thy present name,  
That future ages each succeeding hour  
To thy blessed name may new Encomiums power.   

Thy Coat of Arms, brave Cromwell fill,  
And by thy acts add something still  
To make it greater, look and see  
The Commonwealth's calamity,  
And be a stay  
To Religion's decay;  
So will thy Country thee reward  
With more, with new, and fresh regard,  
And Mars, and Pallas will, thy fame to spread,  
With Bays, and Olive crown thy Pregnant head.   

Thus do you sit exalted high,  
Applauded by the joyful Cry  
Of the pleased City; those who are  
Truly religious send a prai●●  
To heaven for thee;  
(Poor Poets) so do we.  
Now on a Dytherambicke Lyre  
Anon in a Pindaric Choir,  
Or else like Virgil we thy deeds rehearse,  
And joyed return in an heroic verse.   

REader (if aught)  
Come and be taught,  
Why do you so  
Look on a picture, or dumb show?  
Would you unconquered Cromwell know? alas!  
View not then a carved face,  
But mark his virtues manifold,  
Then Brass more lasting, more desired than gold.   

Attentive be;  
This, This is He,  
Who, for the Public born, doth Live  
To that, for which Nature did Give  
Him life; whose sharper wit  
For all great counsels fit   

His valour showed  
So oft abroad,  
(Equally happy to his own,  
And to the foe most fatal grown)  
Unto his Country renders him to be  
The fort and Patron of her Liberty.   

Honour his Name,  
This is the same;  
Our freedom's strongest Hold,  
Britain's Alcides bold,  
Th'unwearied Atlas of our State,  
Keeping upright, what would precipitate,  
Diverting all the spleen of fate.   

Acknowledge this,  
He, He, it is,  
England's new leading joshuah, (no less  
Or in his cause or his success)  
Guarded by heaven, to whom the helping stars,  
Serve as inferior Officers.  
Applauded by the righteous, while he fights  
For the Republikes private rights  
And common too—  
A Deadly scourge of Tyranny  
And superstitious Vanity.   

Delighted be;  
For this is He,  
Who when the flood  
Of late shed blood,  
Began to ebb, and cease,  
Brought back the Olive both, and Bays;  
Who shutting all the passages of war,  
And taking away cause of jar,  
With the same sword that he before did cut  
open janus' gates, again the same doth shut.   

Hence Readers go  
And these things show,  
Them to your Children yet to come proclaim,  
And to their offspring let them do the same,  
Both even amazed at our General's fame;  
Whose Monument (which doth in triumph stand,  
o'er enemies conquered by thy hand)  
The world will soon confess without abuse  
'Tis the eighth wonder which she can produce.  
And you (Great Sir) of honours full and days  
To thy eternal praise  
Added at length  
To the nine former Heroes, make the TENTH.    

TO THE Most accomplished Gentleman.  
EDMUND LUDLOW The Most Noble Deputy-Governour of Ireland, when he set forward on his journey thither. An Ode wishing health.  

NEptune make smooth the waves, lest in a throng  
Justling together they grow high, and wrong  
This new Commander. And thou Milford too,  
When he thy neer-adjoyning waves shall plow,  
See that there only be a gentle gale,  
And that no tempest on the main prevail,  
May the contentious wind abate its pride,  
And those their ancient strive lay aside:  
And when he goes, whisper a gentle blast  
Into his sails, to countervail his haste;  
And you the Tritons who dominion have,  
Although unhappy, on each Irish wave,  
Compose their tumults when on high they rise,  
As if their rage would reach the very skies,  
Till your Vice-leader pass the dangerous sands,  
And on th' Ogygian coasts with safety stands.  
And thou most famous Ireton, whose head  
And hand, are always powerful indeed,  
To whom the former nor the present time  
Did ever yield an equal in our Clime,  
Assist thy Ludlow with a free consent,  
Since He this dangerous journey underwent,  
That by conjoined arms he might relieve  
That tedious war and fitting succours give.   

Othou whose worthy memory's more sweet  
Than all the best Companions I meet!  
My fort and comfort! what heroic verse  
Can thy great praises worthily rehearse!  
How, where shall I begin? shall I record  
The valour that thy younger years afford?  
Or that thy Candour! what, a child, you showed  
Of valour, while you ne'er had been abroad,  
Only at Blanford; how you did excel  
Among three restlers! how you showed your skill  
In turning balls: what man did better know  
To throw the Bar, or give a stronger blow.  
With such like trophies you did think no scorn  
The first years of your active youth t'adorn;  
But when a downy cheek makes you put on  
An age more virile, strait these to●es are gone;  
You wish to hear the Trumpet which doth raise  
The Horse's courage to the Rider's praise;  
You loved to bond and curvet; hence it came,  
That in your youth you did begin your fame  
By your great virtue, when as yet your force  
Was tied within a Century of Horse,  
But not your courage, for with them you go  
Through many Troops of a more potent Foe.  
England will speak this of thee, and confess  
The greatness of thy acts with joyfulness.  
Sad Warder Caster, which long siege did tame,  
Will speak thy labours, and confess the same;  
Who, when her walls all broken did appear,  
And all her buildings nought but ruins were,  
Yet did remain valiantly faithful still,  
A Conqueror by suffering so much ill.  
A worthy act, which fame will ever sing,  
Amazement to the present age to bring,  
And future too: then Mayden-Bradley holds  
Out to the world thy fame, renowned of old  
From thy forefathers, known both wise and bold.   

Next happy Wiltshire doth triumphing stand,  
So often saved by thy victorious hand,  
When the destroying Enemy with boasts  
Entered, and rage, into that Country's coasts.  
Wiltshire relate the changes of that war,  
When Ludlow followed the Enemy so far.  
Speak Sarisbury Church-yard, which stood and gazed  
Upon thy passage through the swords amazed;  
Like to a Lion when he is beset,  
Which fearelss runs and breaks the scorned net.  
'Tis a vain work thy praises all to bring  
Within the compass of a narrow ring;  
A little now shall serve; for that we know  
We do unto thy praises much more ow.  
Which we shall pay; if once our Muse can get  
A little respite to refresh her wit.   

In the mean while, brave Captain, go thou on  
With happy Omens, as you have begun,  
That by your Guard, famed Ireton may rise  
Much more conspicuous in the public eyes.  
While to each other force and arms you lend  
The horrid bloody Irish war to end,  
That once again her ruin'd houses may  
Of their rebuilding see the happy day.  
And that poor Ireland, wearied out with age  
May yet grow young again, when freed from strage  
By your most worthy hands; and that sweet peace  
In her may settle first, and then increase.    

TO THE Most Famous, as well for his Valour, as Virtues, HENRY IRETON, Late Lord Deputy of Ireland, A Member of the Parliament of England; As also, Of the Right Honourable, the Council of State.  
At whose Tomb, and to whose Memory this Funeral Elegy is offered and Wept By T. M. Junior.   

An Elegy.  

IS Ireton dead, and yet the heavens not bear  
In such a public loss an equal share?  
Can such a Patron of our Liberty  
Without a grand Eclipse, or Comet die?  
Although not at his death, yet he will have  
The Sun a mourner at his honoured grave.  
The Muse's Fountain is too small, too dry,  
My Quill with fit Encomiums to supply.  
If all your raptures, all your sacred fits  
Could be inspired into my working wits,  
Could Aganippe by some secret vein  
Be brought into the Cisterns of my brain,  
Your fits would fail and that exhale in tears,  
By this new Sun late placed in the spheres.  
Let England speak his worth, Ireland proclaim  
His Trophies, and proud Limrick keep his name  
Engraved in brass, that future times may see,  
And speak his honour to Posterity.  
Great Cromwel's Son! Oh speak not Titles, Fame,  
" But tell his Virtues, give his Soul a name.  
His Valour mixed with such meekeness rare,  
That no old Hero might with him compare,  
But only Moses: And strait called aside,  
And Canaan seen in hopes, he gently died.  
His Wisdom speak, his Temperance, his Zeal,  
And strong endeavours for the Commonweal;  
But that you can't, the Dotes thereof was such,  
That nor my tongue, nor Pen can say how much  
Their Value was; but when that all is done,  
If you would speak their worth, say Ireton,  
Whom all rich graces round about beset,  
And piety the Centre where they met.   

Hence than all smiles, come weeping, change we mirth  
To mourning Dirges, lave the precious earth  
Of this so honoured Patron with our tears  
(Fertile as them the cheek of April wears)  
Let Angels sing his graces, who did call  
His soul to heaven to its original;  
And murmur not that loss, which here but lay  
A pawn that might be called for every day.  
But if upon our sorrow and thy fate  
Poor Mortals could but set an equal rate;  
The world would praise thee, while it did appear  
With a full sorrow, in each eye a tear:  
For where Art fails to yield us her relief,  
Our will to praise thee we'll express in grief.   
FINIS.