A PANEGYRIC TO My LORD PROTECTOR, OF The present Greatness and joint Interest of His Highness, and this Nation.  
By E. W. Esq.  
May. 31 LONDON, Printed for RICHARD LOWNDES at the White Lion in S. Paul's Churchyard, near the little North-door. 1655.   

A PANEGYRIC TO My LORD PROTECTOR, OF The present Greatness and joint Interest of His Highness, and this Nation.  

WHilst with a strong, and yet a gentle hand  
You bridle faction, and our hearts command,  
Protect us from ourselves, and from the Foe,  
Make us unite, and make us conquer too.   

Let partial spirits still aloud complain  
Think themselves injured that they cannot Reign,  
And own no liberty but where they may  
Without control upon their fellows prey.   

Above the waves as Neptune showed his face  
To chide the winds, and save the Trojan Race;  
So has your Highness, raised above the rest  
Storms of Ambition tossing us repressed.   

Your drooping Country torn with Civil Hate,  
Restored by you is made a Glorious State,  
The seat of Empire where the Irish come,  
And the unwilling Scotch to fetch their doom.   

The Sea's our own, and now all Nations greet  
With bending sails each Vessel of our Fleet.  
Your power extends as fare as winds can blow,  
Or swelling sails upon the Globe may go.   

Heaven that hath placed this Island to give Law  
To balance Europe, and her States to awe,  
In this conjunction doth on Britain's smile,  
The greatest Leader, and the greatest Isle.   

Whether this Portion of the world were rend  
By the rude Ocean from the Continent,  
Or thus created, it was sure designed  
To be the sacred refuge of mankind.   

Hither th' oppressed shall henceforth resort  
Justice to crave, and secure at your Court,  
And then your Highness, not for ours alone,  
But for the World's Protector shall be known.   

Fame swifter than your winged Navy flies  
Through every Land that near the Ocean lies,  
Sounding your name, and telling dreadful news  
To all that Piracy, and rapine use.   

With such a Chief the meanest Nation blest,  
Might hope to lift her head above the rest.  
What may be thought impossible to do,  
By us, embraced by the Seas, and you,   

Lord of the World's great Waste, the Ocean? we  
Whole Forests send to Reign upon the Sea,  
And every Coast may trouble or relieve,  
But none can visit us without your leave.   

Angels and we have this Prerogative,  
That none can at our happy Seas arrive,  
While we descend at pleasure to invade  
The Bad with Vengeance, and the Good to aid.   

Our little World the Image of the great,  
Like that amidst the boundless Ocean set,  
Of her own growth hath all that Nature craves,  
And all that's rare, as Tribute from the Waves.   

As Egypt does not on the Clouds rely,  
But to the Nile owes more than to the sky,  
So what our Earth and what our Heaven denies,  
Our ever-constant friend the Sea supplies.   

The taste of hot Arabia's spice we know,  
Free from the scorching Sun that makes it grow;  
Without the Worm in Persian-silks we shine,  
And without planting drink of every Vine.   

To dig for Wealth we weary not our limbs,  
Gold (though the heaviest mettle) hither swims:  
Ours is the Harvest where the Indians mow,  
We plough the deep, and reap what others sow.   

Things of the noblest kind our own soil breeds;  
Stout are our men, and warlike are our steeds;  
Rome (though her Eagle through the world had flown)  
Can never make this Island all her own.   

Here the third Edward, and the black Prince too,  
France Conquering Henry, flourished; and now you,  
For whom we stayed, as did the Trojan State  
Till Alexander came to urge their Fate.   

When for more Worlds the Macedonian cried,  
He witted not Thetys' in her Lap did hid  
Another yet, a World reserved for you,  
To make more great than that he did subdue.   

He safely might old Troops to Battle lead  
Against th' unwarlike Persians, and the Mede,  
Whose hasty flight did from a bloodless field,  
More spoil than honour to the Victor yield.   

A Race unconquered, by their Clime made bold,  
The Calcedonians, armed with want and cold,  
Have by a Fate indulgent to your Name  
Been from all Ages kept for you to tame.   

Whom the Old Roman-wall so ill confined,  
With a new chain of Garrisons you bind:  
Here foreign Gold no more shall make them come,  
Our English iron holds them fast at home.   

They that henceforth must be content to know  
No warmer Region than their hills of snow,  
May blame the Sun, but must extol your Grace,  
Which in our Senate hath allowed them place.   

Preferred by Conquest happily overthrown,  
Falling you rise to be with us made one:  
So kind Dictator's made, when they came home,  
Their vanquished foes, free Citizens of Rome.   

Like favour find the Irish, with like fate  
Advanced to be a Portion of our State,  
While by your valour and your bounteous mind  
Nations divided by the Sea are joined.   

Holland, to gain your friendship is content  
To be our Out guard on the Continent:  
She from her fellow Provinces would go,  
Rather than hazard to have you her foe.   

In our late Fight, when Canons did diffuse,  
Preventing Posts, the terror, and the news,  
Our neighbour-Princes trembled at their roar,  
But our Conjunction makes them tremble more.   

Your neverfailing Sword made War to cease,  
And now you heal us with the Acts of Peace:  
Our minds with bounty, and with awe engage,  
Invite Affection, and restrain our Rage.   

Less pleasure take brave minds in Battles won,  
Then in restoring such as are undone;  
Tigers have courage, and the rugged Bear,  
But Man alone can whom he Conquers, spare.   

To pardon, willing; and to punish, loath;  
You strike with one hand, but you heal with both  
Lifting up all that prostrate lie, you grieve  
You cannot make the dead again to live.   

When Fate or Error had our Age misled,  
And o'er this Nation such confusion spread:  
The only cure which could from Heaven come down,  
Was so much power and piety in one.   

One whose extraction's from an Ancient Line,  
Gives hope again that well born men may shine:  
The meanest in your nature mild and good,  
The noble rest secured in your blood.   

Oft have we wondered how you hide in peace,  
Amid proportioned to such things as these,  
How such a Ruling spirit you could restrain,  
And practice first over yourself to Reign.   

Your private life did a just Pattern give  
How Fathers, Husbands, Pious Sons should live,  
Born to command, your princely virtues slept,  
Like humble Davids, while the flock he kept.   

But when your troubled Country called you forth,  
Your flaming courage, and your matchless worth,  
Dazzling the eyes of all that did pretend  
To fierce contention, gave a prosperous end.   

Still as you rise the State exalted too,  
Finds no Distemper whilst 'tis changed by you;  
Changed like the world's great scene, when without noise  
The rising-Sun nights vulgar lights destroys.   

Had you some Ages past this Race of Glory  
Run with amazement we should read your story,  
But living Virtue all Achievements past  
Meets Envy still to grapple with at last.   

This Caesar found, and this ungrateful Age  
With losing him, went back to blood and rage.  
Mistaken Brutus thought to break their Yoke,  
But cut the bond of Union with that stroke.   

That Sun once set, a thousand meaner Stars  
Gave a dim Light to Violence and Wars,  
To such a Tempest as now threatens all,  
Did not your mighty Arm prevent the fall.   

If Rome's great Senate could not wield that sword  
Which of the Conquered world had made them Lord,  
What hope had ours while yet their power was new  
To rule victorious Armies but by you?   

You that had taught them to subdue their Foes,  
Can Order teach, and their high spirits compose,  
To every Duty could their minds engage,  
Provoke their courage, and command their rage.   

So when a Lion shakes her dreadful main,  
And angry grows; if he that first took pain  
To tame his youth, approach the haughty beast,  
He bends to him, but frights away the rest.   

As the vexed world to find repose at last  
Itself into Augustus' Arms did cast:  
So England now, doth with like toil oppressed,  
Her weary head upon your bosom rest.   

Then let the Muses with such notes as these  
Instruct us what belongs unto our Peace;  
Your Battles they hereafter shall indite,  
And draw the Image of our Mars in fight.   

Tell of Towns stormed, of Armies overcome,  
Of mighty Kingdoms by your Conduct won,  
How while you thundered Clouds of dust did choke,  
Contending Troops, and Seas lay hid in smoke.   

Illustrious Acts high raptures do infuse,  
And every Conqueror creates a Muse,  
Here in low streyns your milder deeds we sing,  
But there (My Lord) we'll Bays and Olive bring:   

To Crown your head while you in Triumph ride  
O'er vanquished Nations, and the Sea beside,  
While all your neighbour-Princes unto you  
Like joseph's sheaves pay reverence, and bow.   
The End.