Page:Three Poems upon the death of the late Usurper Oliver Cromwell (1682).djvu/25

 Though thou want not our praises, we Are not excus'd for what we owe to thee: For so men from Religion are not freed. But, from the Altars, Cloud must rise, Though Heaven it self doth nothing need; And though the Gods don't want, an Earthly Sacrifice.

Great life of Wonders, whose each year Full of new Miracles did appear! Whose every Month might be, Alone a Chronicle or a History! Others great Actions are But thinly scatter'd here and there; At best, all but one single Star: But thine the Milky way, All one continued light, and undistinguish't day. They throng'd so close, that nought else could be seen Scarce any common Sky did come between What shall I say, or where begin? Thou mayest in double Shapes be shown; Or in thy Arms, or in thy Gown. Like Iove sometime with Warlike Thunder, and Sometimes with peaceful Scepter in thy hand, Or in the Field, or on the Throne; In what thy Head, or what thy Arm hath done. All that thou didst was so refin'd, So full of Substance, and so strongly joyn'd; So pure, so weighty Gold, That the least grain of it, If fully spread and beat, Would many leaves, and mighty volumes hold. Rh