Page:Three Poems upon the death of the late Usurper Oliver Cromwell (1682).djvu/29

 So from that Crimson Flood Which thou by fate of times wert led Unwillingly to Shed Letters and Learning rose, and were renew'd. Thou fought'st not out of Envy, Hope or Hate, But to refine the Church and State; And like the Romans, what er'e thou In the Field of Mars didst mow, Was, that a holy Island thence might grow. Thy Wars, as Rivers raised by a Shour Which Welcome louds do pour; Though they at first may seem To carry all away, with and inraged Stream Yet did not happen, that they might destroy Or the better parts annoy; But all the filth and Mud to scower And leave behind a Richer Slime, To give a birth to a more happy power.

In Field unconquer'd, and so well Thou didst in Battels, and in Arms excel, That Steelly Arms themselves might be Worn out in War as soon as thee. Success so close upon thy Troops did wait, As if thou first hadst conquered Fate; As if uncertain Victory Had been first overcome by thee; As if her wings were clipt and could not flee, Whilst thou didst only serve, Before thou hadst what first thou didst deserve. Others by thee did great things do, Triumph'st thy self and mad'st them Triumph too: Rh