Consecrated to the Glorious Memory of His
Most Serene and Renowned Highness, Oliver,
Late Lord Protector of This Commonwealth, etc.
Written After the Celebration of his Funeral
...
1.
Ask not the cause why sullen spring
So long delays her flowers to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing
...
(OR A LAYMAN'S FAITH)
Dim, as the borrow'd beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wand'ring travellers,
...
Now with a general peace the world was blest,
While ours, a world divided from the rest,
A dreadful quiet felt, and worser far
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Sylvia the fair, in the bloom of fifteen,
Felt an innocent warmth as she lay on the green:
She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guessed
By the towsing and tumbling and touching her breast:
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Thus you the sad catastrophe have seen,
Occasioned by a mistress and a queen.
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A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchang'd,
Fed on the lawns, and in the forest rang'd;
Without unspotted, innocent within,
She fear'd no danger, for she knew no sin.
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Dedicated to the Memory of the Late Countess of Abingdon.
As when some great and gracious monarch dies,
Soft whispers first and mournful rise
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Old as I am, for lady's love unfit,
The power of beauty I remember yet,
Which once inflamed my soul, and still inspires my wit.
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High state and honours to others impart,
But give me your heart:
That treasure, that treasure alone,
I beg for my own.
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