VERSES On the Siege of Gloucester, and Col. Massey.  
SO stands a Rock (rooted within the main)  
In spite of Tempests, whilst the waves in vain  
In curled heaps, which on his bosom beat,  
Fall back in foam, and make a faint retreat:  
As Gloster stood against the numerous powers  
Of the Besiegers, who with Thunder-showers  
Charged her old ribs, but vanished like a storm  
With their own loss, and did no more perform  
Then Squibs cast in the air, which throw about  
Some furious sparks, and so in smoke go out:  
'Twas not her Trenches which their force withstood,  
Nor River purpled with Malignant blood,  
Canon, nor Bulwarks raised with martial art,  
That did secure her, but great Masseys' heart,  
That was the Fort, no engine could beat down,  
Nor Mine blow up, more strong than was the Town,  
Impregnable as a Rock, they sooner might  
Plunder the Fire of heat, the Sun of light,  
Then him of virtue; neither could reward  
Nor battery of Court-Honours break his Guard,  
Nor promises nor threats an entrance got,  
But did return as fruitless as their shot;  
And when the fuel for Defence was wasted,  
Even to the last extremes his valour lasted.  
For formidable Essex, from a far  
Upon the Mountains (like a Blazing-star)  
Appears to the Malignants, and portends  
Ruin and Death: but his distressed Friends  
With animating vigour he inspires,  
And warns at distance by auspicious fires,  
As when the Sun with his ascent doth clear  
The Winter Tempests, and recrute the year:  
'Tis said, The satire fled from man aghast,  
When he perceived his breath with the same blast  
To cool and heat; had here that satire been,  
He might from flames the like effects have seen.  
These courage got, and those their courage lost,  
And what to these gave heat, to those was frost;  
' Stead of Granadoes, Curses now they dart,  
With volleys of God-dammees, and so part.  
Gloster is freed, her Being and her Name,  
Made Monuments (Brave Massey) to thy Fame;  
Her Temples and her Pyramids now turn  
Thy Trophies, which were like to be thy urn,  
Whilst we dispute, which to ascribe to thee,  
An active or a passive Victory;  
And are in doubt in which thou were't most brave,  
When thou didst thousands kill, or thousands save.   

Printed according to Order.