S ONNET S; 463 IV. To the Lord General CROMWEL L. Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud Not of war only, but detradions rude, Guided by faith and matchiefs fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way haft plough'd, And on the neck of crowned fortune proud 5 Haft rear'd God's trophies, and his work purfued, While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field refounds thy praifes loud, And Worcefter's laureat wreath. Yet much remains To conquer Bill; peace hath her vidories 10 No lefs renown'd than war : new foes milt Threatning to bind our fouls with fecular chains : Help us to fave free confcience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whole gofpel is their maw. V. To Sir HENRY VANE the younger; Vane, young in years, but in Page counfel old, Than whom a better fenator ne'er held The helm of Rome, when gowns not arms repell'd The fierce Epirot and the African bold, Whether to fettle peace, or to unfold 5 The drift of hollow hates hard to be fpell'd, Then to advife how war may belt upheld Mcve by her two main nerves, iron and gold, In all her equipage : befides to know Both fpiritual pow'r and civil, what each means, lo 'What fevers each, thou haft learn'd, which few have done : The bounds of either (word to thee we owe : Therefore on thy firm hand religion Jeans In peace, and reckons thee her eldeft fon. VL
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