Daily Reviews and Opinions

FAIRFAX, whose Name in Arms through Europe rings,
And fills all Mouths with Envy or with Praise,
And all her Jealous Monarchs with Amaze.
And Rumours loud which daunt remotest Kings,
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VANE, Young in years, but in Sage Councels old,

Then whom a better Senator, ne’re held

The Helm of Rome, when Gowns, not Arms, repell’d

The fierce Epirote, and the African bold,

Whether to settle Peace, or to unfold

The Drift of hollow States, hard to be Spell’d;

Then to advise how War may best be upheld,

Mann’d by her Two main Nerves, Iron and Gold,

In all her Equipage: Besides, to know

Both Spiritual and Civil, what each means,

What serves each, thou hast learn’d, which few have done.

The bounds of either Sword to thee we owe;

Therefore on thy Right hand Religion leans,

And reckons thee in chief her Eldest Son.

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AVENGE O Lord thy slaughter’d Saints, whose bones
Lie scatter’d on the Alpine mountains cold,
Ev’n them who kept thy truth so pure of old
When all our Fathers worship’t Stocks and Stones,

Forget not: in thy book record their groanes,
Who were thy Sheep and in their antient Fold
Slayn by the bloody Piemontese that roll’d
Mother with Infant down the Rocks. Their moans

The Vales redoubl’d to the Hills, and they
To Heav’n. Their martyr’d blood and ashes so
O’re all th’ Italian fields where still doth sway

The triple Tyrant: that from these may grow
A hunder’d-fold, who having learnt thy way
Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

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CROMWELL our Chief of Men, that through a Croud, Not of War only, but distractions rude; Guided by Faith, and Matchless Fortitude: To Peace and Truth, thy Glorious way hast Plough’d, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud Has rear’d God’s Trophies, and his Work pursu’d, While Darwent Streams with Blood of Scots imbru’d; (Read the article)

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[Written in 1642. King Charles I, having raised an army to attack the Parliament, was encamped at Brentford, only a day’s march from London. The city expected an immediate attack.]

CAPTAIN or Colonel, or Knight in Arms,

Whose chance on these defenceless dores may sease,

If deed of honour did thee ever please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms,

He can requite thee, for he knows the charms

That call Fame on such gentle acts as these,

And he can spread thy Name o’re Lands and Seas,

What ever clime the Suns bright circle warms. (Read the article)

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HENCE loathed Melancholy

Of Cerberus, and blackest midnight born,

In Stygian Cave forlorn.

‘Mongst horrid shapes, and shreiks, and sights unholy,

Find out some uncouth cell,

Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings,

And the night-Raven sings;

There under Ebon shades, and low-brow’d Rocks,

As ragged as thy Locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. (Read the article)

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In this Monody the Author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunatly drown’d in his Passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637. And by occasion foretels the ruine of our corrupted Clergy then in their height.

YET once more, O ye Laurels, and once more

Ye Myrtles brown, with Ivy never-sear,

I com to pluck your Berries harsh and crude,

And with forc’d fingers rude,

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.

Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear,

Compels me to disturb your season due:

For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime

Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer:

Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew

Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.

He must not flote upon his watry bear

Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,

Without the meed of som melodious tear.

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