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T' inspire the coward, warm the cold;
His voice, his sole appearance, makes them bold.

Gaul and Batavia dread th' impending blow;

Too well the vigour of that arm they know;

They lick the dust, and crouch beneath their fatal foe.

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His truth, like Heav'n's, was kept inviolate;

For him to promise is to make it fate.

His valour can triumph o'er land and main ;

With broken oaths his fame he will not stain,

With conquest basely bought, and with inglorious gain.

XVIII.

For once, O Heav'n, unfold thy adamantine Book;

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Let them not still be obstinately blind,
Still to divert the good thou hast design'd,

Or with malignant penury

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To starve the royal virtues of his mind.

Faith is a Christian's and a subject's test;
Oh give them to believe, and they are surely blest!
They do; and, with a distant view, I see

Th' amended vows of English loyalty:
And all beyond that object there appears
The long retinue of a prosp'rous reign,

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A series of successful years,

In orderly array, a martial, manly train.

Behold even the remoter shores

A conquering navy proudly spread;

The British canon formidably roars,

While, starting from his oozy bed,

Th' asserted Ocean rears his rev'rend head,

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To view and recognize his ancient Lord again, 515

And, with a willing hand, restores

The fasces of the main.

Riij

ON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL.

WRITTEN AFTER HIS FUNERAL.

I.

AND now 'tis time; for their officious haste

Who would before have borne him to the sky, Like eager Romans, ere all rites were past, Did let too soon the sacred eagle fly.

II.

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Though our best notes are treason to his fame,
Join'd with the loud applause of public voice;

Since Heav'n, what praise we offer to his name,
Hath render'd too authentic by its choice.

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Though in his praise no arts can lib'ral be,

Since they, whose Muses have the highest flown,

Add not to his immortal memory,

But do an act of friendship to their own :

IV.

Yet 'tis our duty, and our interest too,

Such monuments as we can build to raise,

Lest all the world prevent what we should do,

And claim a title in him by their praise.

V.

How shall I then begin, or where conclude,
To draw a frame so truly circular ?

For in a round what order can be shew'd,
Where all the parts so equal perfect are?

VI.

His grandeur he deriv'd from Heav'n alone;
For he was great ere Fortune made him so:
And wars, like mists that rise against the sun,
Made him but greater seem, not greater grow.
VII.

No borrow'd bays his temples did adorn,
But to our crown he did fresh jewels bring;
Nor was his virtue poison'd soon as born

With the too early thoughts of being king.

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Fortune, that easy mistress to the young,
But to her ancient servants coy and hard,
Himat that age her fav'rites rank'd among,
When she her best lov'd Pompey did discard.

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He private mark'd the fault of others' sway, And set as sea-marks for himself to shun; Not like rash monarchs, who their youth betray By acts their age too late would wish undone.

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And yet dominion was not his design;

We owe that blessing not to him, but Heav'n, Which to fair acts unsought rewards did join Rewards that less to him than us were given,

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Our former chiefs, like sticklers of the war,

First sought t' inflame the parties, then to poise:

The quarrel lov'd, but did the cause abhor,

And did not strike to hurt, but make a noise.
XII. 1

War, our consumption, was their gainful trade:
We inward bled whilst they prolong'd our pain;
He fought to end our fighting, and essay'd

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To staunch the blood by breathing of the vein.

XIII.

Swift and resistless through the land he past,

Like that bold Greek who did the East subdue,

And made to battles such heroic haste,
As if on wings of victory he flew.

: XIV.

He fought secure of Fortune as of Fame:

Still by new maps the island might be shown Of conquests, which he strew'd where'er he came, Thick as the Galaxy with stars is sown.

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His palms, though under weights they did not stand,
Still thriv'd; no winter could his laurels fade,

Heav'n in his portrait shew'd a workman's hand,
And drew it perfect, yet without a shade.

XVI.

Peace was the prize of all his toil and care,

Which War had banish'd, and did now restore :

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