When he doth faintly work, and when prevail,19 ~A” Only great circles then can be our scale

So tho' thy circle to thyself expressa di á 62
All tending to thy endless l'appiness, “autonodaj1⁄2b
And we, by our good use of it, may try rendu yn yd vł.
Both how to live well (young) and how to die sui fu
Yet since we must be old, and age endures,
His torrid zone at court and calentures,
Of hot ambition, irreligion's ice,
Zeal's agués, and hydroptic avarice,
(Infirmities which need the scale of truth,
As well as lust and ignorance of youth)
Why didst thou not for these give medicines too,
And by thy doing tell us what to do?

Tho' as small pocket-clocks, whose every wheel****
Doth each mismotion and distemper feel,
Whose hands get shaking palsies, and whose string
(His sinews) slackens, and whose soul, the spring,
Expires or
es or languishes, whose pulse, the fly,
Either beat's n

s'not, or beats unevenly;"

every will;

A

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Whose voice, the bell, doth rattle or grow dumb, ri
Or idle as men which to their last hour come;
If these clocks be not wound, or be wound stiff,
Or be not set, or set at e
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So youth is easiest to destruction, i ikaapalagoa da
If then we follow all, or follow nonesti > coll
Yet as in great elocks which in steeples chime, pado
Plac'd to inform whole towns't' employ their time,

An error doth more harm, being general,

When small clocks' faults only on th' wearer fall;
So work the faults of age, on which the eye

Of children, servants, or the state, rely.

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Why wouldst not thou then, which hadst such a soul,
A clock so true as might the sun controul,
And daily hadst from him who gave it thee
Instructions, such as it could never be
Disorder'd, stay here, as a general
Ard great sun-dial, to have set us all?
Oh! why wouldest thou be an instrument
To this unnatural course? or why consent
To this not miracle but prodigy,
That when the ebbs longer than flowings be,
Virtue, whose flood did with thy youth begin,
Should so much faster ebb out than flow in?
Tho' her flood were blown in by thy first breath,
All is at once sunk in the whirlpool death;
Which word I would not name, but that I see
Death, else a desart, grown a court by thee.
Now I am sure that if a man would have
Good company, his entry is a grave.
Methinks all cities now but ant-hills be,
Where, when the several labourers I see
For children, house, provision, taking pain,

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They're all but ants, carrying eggs, straw, and grain; And church-yards are our cities, unto which

The most repair that are in goodness rich:

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There is the best concourse and confluence, asut it:T There are the holy suburbs, and from thence iw s Begins God's city, New Jerusalem,

som of Which doth extend her utmost gates to them'in aul At that gate then, triumphant Soul! dost thou Hobar Begin thy triumph: but since laws allows drove a Tý That at the triumph day the people may

All that they will 'gainst the triumpher say,' 180 Let me here use that freedom, and express

My grief, tho' not to make thy triumph less.
By law to triumphs none admitted be
Till they, as magistrates, get victory;

Tho' then to thy force all youth's foes did yield,
Yet till fit time had brought thee to that field
To which thy rank in this state destin'd thee,
That there thy counsels might get victory,
And so in that capacity remove

All jealousies 'twixt prince and subjects' love,
Thou couldst no title to this triumph have,
Thou didst intrude on death, usurp a grave.
Then (tho' victoriously) thou hadst fought as yet
But with thine own affections, with the heat
Of youth's desires, and colds of ignorance,
But till thou shouldst successfully advance
Thine arms 'gainst foreign enemies, which are,
Both envy and acclamations popular,

(For both these engines equally defeat,

190.

Tho' by a divers mine, those which are great)in (dčov

OBSEQUIES ON LORD HARRINGTON.

Till then thy war was but a civil war,

For which to triumph none admitted are ;·
No more are they who, tho' with good success,
In a defensive war their power express.
Before men triumph, the dominion

Must be enlarg'd, and not preserv'd alone:

Why shouldst thou then, whose battles were to win
Thyself from those straits Nature put thee in,
And to deliver up to God that state

Of which he gave thee the vicariate,
(Which is thy soul and body) as entire
As he who takes indentures doth require;
But did'st not stay t' enlarge his kingdom too,
By making others what thou didst to do:

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210

Whyshouldst thou triumph now, when heav'n no more
Hath got, by getting thee, than 't had before?
For heav'n and thou, even when thou livedst here,
Of one another in possession were ;..

But this from triumph most disables thee
That that place which is conquered must be
Left safe from present war, and likely doubt,
Of imminent commotions to break out, 7

And hath he left us so? or can it be
This territory was no more than he?

No; we were all his charge; the diocese

Of ev'ry examplar man the whole world is;..
And he was joined in commission

With tutelar augels, sent to every one.

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But the' this freedom to upbraid and chide
Him who triumph'd were lawful, it was tied.
With this, that it might never reference have
Unto the Senate, who this triumph gave:
Men might at Pompey jest, but they might not
At that authority by which he got

Leave to triumph before by age he might;
So tho', triumphant Soul! I dare to write,
Mov'd with a reverential anger, thus,
That thou so early wouldst abandon us,
Yet I am far from daring to dispute

With that great Sovereignty, whose absolute
Prerogative hath thus dispens'd with thee
'Gainst Nature's laws, which just impugners be
Of early triumphs: and I (tho' with pain)
Lessen our loss to magnify thy gain

Of triumph, when I say it was more fit

That all men should lack thee than thou lack it.

Tho' then in our times be not suffered

That testimony of love unto the dead

To die with them, and in their graves be hid,
As Saxon wives and French soldarii did;
And tho' in no degree I can express
Grief in great Alexander's great excess,

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250

Who at his friend's death made whole towns divest
Their walls and bulwarks which became them best;

Do not, fair Soul! this sacrifice refuse,
That in thy grave I do inter my Muse,