Sonnet. To Generall Goring, After The Pacification At Berwicke. A La Chabot.
Now the peace is made at the foes rate,
Whilst men of armes to kettles their old helmes translate,
And drinke in caskes of honourable plate.
In ev'ry hand [let] a cup be found,
That from all hearts a health may sound
To GORING! to GORING! see 't goe round.
He whose glories shine so brave and high,
That captive they in triumph leade each care and eye,