POEMS DURING CIVIL WAR AND PROTECTORATE
��The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor
spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and
choice, Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we
may rise To hear the lute well touched, or artful
voice
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air ? He who of those delights can judge, and
spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise.
��TO CYRIACK SKINNER (1656)
CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean ap- plause,
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,
Which others at their bar so often
wrench,
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what
the French.
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heaven a time or- dains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains
��TO THE SAME
(1655)
CYRIACK, this three years' day these eyes,
though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
��Bereft of light, their seeing have for- got ;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight ap- pear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope, but still bear up and
steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask ?
The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied
In Liberty's defence, my noble task, Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask
Content, though blind, had I no better guide.
��ON HIS DECEASED WIFE (1658)
METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
Whom Jove's great son to her glad hus- band gave,
Rescued from Death by force, though
pale and faint.
Mine, as whom washed from spot of child- bed taint
Purification in the Old Law did save,
And such as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heaven without re- straint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind.
Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her per- son shined So clear as in no face with more delight.
But, oh ! as to embrace me she in- clined,
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.
�� �
