Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek
That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.
Thy age, like ours, O soul of Sir John Cheek,
Hated not learning worse than toad or asp,
When thou taught'st Cambridge and King Edward Greek.
ON THE SAME
(1645-6)
{{ppoem|I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs
By the known rules of ancient liberty,
When straight a barbarous noise environs me
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and
dogs;
As when those hinds that were transformed to frogs
Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny,
Which after held the Sun and Moon in fee.
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs, That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood,
And still revolt when Truth would set them free.
Licence they mean when they cry Liberty;
For who loves that must first be wise and good:
But from that mark how far they rove we see,
For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood.
ON THE NEW FORCERS OF CONSCIENCE UNDER THE LONG PARLIAMENT
(1646)
BECAUSE you have thrown off your Prelate
Lord,
And with stiff vows renounced his Liturgy*
To seize the widowed whore Plurality, From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorred,
��Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword To force our consciences that Christ set
free,
And ride us with a Classic Hierarchy, Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rutherford? Men whose life, learning, faith, and pure
intent, Would have been held in high esteem
with Paul
Must now be named and printed heretics By shallow Edwards and Scotch What d' ye-call! But we do hope to find out all your
tricks,
Your plots and packing, worse than those of Trent,
That so the Parliament May with their wholesome and preventive
shears
Clip your phylacteries, though baulk your ears,
And succour our just fears, When they shall read this clearly in your
charge: New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large.
��TO MR. H. LAWES ON HIS AIRS (1646)
HARRY, whose tuneful and well-measured
song First taught our English music how to
span Words with just note and accent, not to
scan With Midas' ears, committing short and
long, Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the
throng, With praise enough for Envy to look
wan;
To after age thou shalt be writ the man That with smooth air couldst humour
best our tongue. Thou honour'st Verse, and Verse must
lend her wing To honour thee, the priest of Phoabus*
quire, That tunest their happiest lines in hymn
or story. Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee
higher
�� �
