Page:Three Poems upon the death of the late Usurper Oliver Cromwell (1682).djvu/14

 Lest all the World prevent what we should do, And claim a Title in him by their Praise. How shall I then begin or where conclude, To draw a Fame so truly Circular? For in a round what order can be shew'd, Where all the parts so equal perfect are? His Grandeur he deriv'd from Heaven alone, For he was Great e're Fortune made him so; And Wars, like mists that rise against the Sun, Made him but greater seem not greater grow. No borrowed Bays his Temples did adorn, But to our Crown he did fresh Jewels bring, Nor was his Vertue poysoned soon as born With the two early thoughts of being King. Fortune (that easie Mistress of the young, But to her ancient servants coy and hard) Him at that age her favourites rank'd among When she her best-lov'd Pompey did discard. He, private, mark'd the faults of others sway, And set as Sea marks for himself to shun; Not like rash MonacrhsMonarchs [sic] who theiry outhTheir oath [sic] betray By Acts their Age too late would wish undone. And yet Dominion was not his design, We owe that blessing not to him but Heaven, Which to fair Acts unsought Rewards did joyn, RewnadsRewards [sic] that less to him than us were given Rh