(( Prepared by Dr T H Corns, University College of North Wales

From:	V002@UK.AC.BANGOR.COMPLAB.VAXA 10-JUN-1988 14:32

The text is based upon the transcription of the manuscript 
made by Allan Pritchard, in Abraham Cowley, The Civil War, 
University of Toronto Press, 1973.
I have 'normalised' it in the sense that I have used the
same spelling for each incidence of every word, usually the
modern spelling, but not always so. It's fairly accurate.
I have no permissions from U Toronto, because I suppose
it's really my edition of the text. The punctuation isnt
very scrupulous.
Beset wishes Tom
))
What rage does England from itself divide
More than seas do from all the world beside?
From every part the roaring canon play;
From every part blood roars as loud as they.
What English ground but still some moisture bears
Of young mens blood, and more of mothers tears?
What airs unthickened with some sighs of wives!
And more of maid for their dear lovers lives!
Alas, what triumph can this victory show
That dies us red in blood and blushes too!
How can we wish that conquest, which bestows
Cypress, not bays upon the conquering brows!
    It was not so when Henry's dreadful name;
Not sword, nor cause, whole nations overcame.
To further west did his swift conquests run;
Nor did his glories set, but with the sun.
In vain did Roderick to his holds retreat;
In vain had wretched Ireland called him great.
Ireland which now most basely we begin,
To labour more to lose, then he to win.
    It was not so, when in the happy east
Richard, our Mars, Venus's isle possessed.
'Gainst the proud moon, he the English cross displayed,
Eclipsed one horn and the other paler made,
When our dear lives we ventured bravely there,
And digged our own to gain Christ's supulchre.
That sacred tomb which should we now enjoy,
We should with as much zeal fight to destroy!
The precious signs of our dead lord we scorn,
And see his cross worse than his body torn!
We hate it now both for the Greek and Jew,
To us 'tis foolishness and scandal too.
To what with worship the fond papist falls,
That the fond zealot a cursed idol calls.
So twixt their double madness here's the odds,
One makes false devils, the other false gods.
    It was not so when Edward proved his cause
By a sword stronger than the salic laws
Though fetched from Pharamond: when the French did fight
With women's hearts against the woman's right.
The affrighted ocean his first conquest bore,
And drove red waves to the sad Gallic shore.
As if he'd angry at that element been,
Which his wide soul bound with an island in.
Where now's that spirit with which at Cressy we,
And Poitiers, forced from fate a victory.
Two kings at once we brought sad captives home;
A triumph scarcely known to ancient Rome.
Two foreign kings, but now alas we strive
Our own, our own good sovereign to captive.
    It was not so when Agincourt was won,
Under great Henry served the rain and sun.
A nobler fight the sun himself ne'er knew,
Not when he stopped his course a fight to view.
Then death, old archer, did more skilful grow;
And learned to hit more sure from the English bow.
Then France was her own stories sadly taught,
And felt how Caesar, and how Edward fought.
    It was not so when the vast fleet of Spain
Lay torn and scattered o'er the injured main.
Through the proud world a virgin terror struck,
The Austrian crowns and Rome's seven hills she shook.
To her great Neptune homaged all his streams,
And all the wide stretched ocean was her Thames.
Thus our forefathers fought, thus bravely bled,
Thus still they live, whilst we alive are dead.
Such acts they did as Rome and Caesar too
Might envy those whom they did once subdue.
We're not their offspring sure, our heralds lie;
But born we know not how, as now we die.
Their precious blood we could not venture thus;
Some Cadmus sure sowed serpents' teeth for us.
We could not else by mutual fury fall, 
Whilst Rhine and Seine for all our armies call.
Choose that, or peace; ye have a prince, ye know,
As fit for both, as both are fit for you.
Furious as lightning when wars' tempests came,
But calm in peace, calm as a lambent flame.
    Have we forgot those happy years of late
That saw nought ill, but us who were ingrate?
Such years as if earths youth renewed had been,
And that old serpent time had cast his skin.
As gloriously, and gently did they move,
As the bright sun that measured them above:
Then only in books the learned could misery see,
And the unlearned ne'er heard of misery.
Then happy James with as deep quiet reigned,
As in his heavenly throne by death he gained
And lest this blessing with his life might cease,
He left us Charles, that pledge of future peace.
Charles under whom with much ado no less
Than sixteen years we endured our happiness:
Till in a moment from the north we find
A tempest conjured up without a wind.
So soon the north her kindness did repent,
First the peace maker, and next war she sent.
Just Tweed, that now had with long rest forgot
On which side dwelt the English, which the Scot,
Saw glittering  arms shine sadly on his face, 
Whilst all the affrighted fish sunk down apace.
No blood did then from this dark quarrel flow:
It gave blunt wounds that bled not out till now;
For Jove who might have used his thundering power
Chose to fall calmly in a golden shower.
A way we found to conquest which by none
of all our thrifty ancestors was known.
So strangely prodigal of late we are,
We there buy peace, and here at home buy war.
    How could a war so sad and barbarous please
But first by slandering those blessed days of peace?
through all the excrements of state they pry,
Like empirics to find out a malady.
And then with desperate boldness they endeavour,
The ague to cure by bringing in a fever:
This  way is sure to expel some ills; no doubt;
The plague will drive all less diseases out:
What strange wild fears did every morning breed?
Till a strange fancy made us sick indeed;
And cowardice did valour's part supply,
Like those that kill themselves for fear to die.
What frantic diligence in these men appears,
That fear all ills, and act o'er all their fears?
Thus into war we scared ourselves, and who
But Aaron's sons that the first trumpet blew!
Fond men! who knew not that they were to keep
For God, and not to sacrifice their sheep.
The churches first this murderous doctrine sow,
And learn to kill as well as bury now.
The marble tombs where our forefathers lie,
Sweated with dread of too much company.
And all their sleeping ashes shook for fear,
Lest thousand ghosts should come and crowd them there.
    Petitions next for every town they frame,
To be restored to those from whom they came.
The same style all and the same sense does pen,
Alas, they allow set forms of prayers to men.
O happy we! if neither men would hear
Their studied forms nor God their sudden prayer!
They will be heard and in unjustest wise
The many-mouthed rout for justice cries.
They call for blood which now I fear does call,
For blood again much louder than them all.
In senseless clamours and confused noise,
We lost that rare and yet unconquered voice.
So when the Thracian Lyre was drowned
In the bistonian women's mixed sound,
the wandering stones, that came before to hear,
forgot themselves and turned his murderers there.
The same loud storm blew the grave mitre down,
it blew down that, and with it shook the crown.
Then first a state without a church begun;
Comfort thyself, dear church, for then 'twas done.
The same rude storm to sea great Mary drove,
The sea could no such dangerous tempest move.
The same drove Charles into the north, and then
Would rudelier far have driven him back again.
To fly from noise and tumults is no shame,
Ne'er will their armies force him to the same.
They all his castles, all his towns invade,
He's a large prisoner o'er all England made.
He must mot pass to Ireland's weeping shore,
The wounds these surgeons made, must yield them more.
He must not conquer his lewd rebels there,
Lest he should learn by that to do it here.
The sea they subject next to their commands,
The sea that crowns our kinds, and all our lands.
Thus poor they leave him, their base pride and scorn;
As poor, as these, now mighty men, were born.
When straight whole armies meet in Charles's right,
How no man knows; but here they are, and fight:
A man would swear that saw his altered state,
Kings were called gods because they could create.
Vain men! 'tis heaven this swift assistance brings;
The same is lord of hosts, that's king of kings.
Had men forsook him, angels from above
(The Assyrian host did less their justice move)
Would all have mustered in his righteous aid,
And thunder 'gainst your canon would have played.
It needs not so; for man desires to right
Abused mankind; and, wretches, ye must fight.
    Worcester first saw it, and trembled to the view,
Too well the ills of civil war she knew.
Twice did the flames of old her towers invade,
Twice called she in vain for her own Severn's aid.
Here first the rebel winds began to roar,
Broke loose from those just fetters which they bore.
Here mutinous waves above their shores did swell,
And the first storm of this dire winter fell:
But when the two great brethren once appeared,
And their bright heads like Leda's offspring reared,
When those sea-calming sons of Jove were spied,
The winds all fled, the waves all sunk, and died.
How fought great Rupert! with what rage and skill?
Enough to have conquered had his cause been ill.
Comely young man! and yet his dreadful sight,
The rebels blood to their faint hearts does fright.
In vain alas it seeks so weak defence;
For his keen sword brings it again from thence.
Yet grieves he at the laurel thence he bore,
Alas, poor prince, they'll fight with him no more,
His virtue will be eclipsed with too much fame;
Henceforth not he will conquer, but his name.
Here Sandys with tainted blood the fields did stain,
By his own sacrilege and Kent's curses slain.
The first commander did heaven's vengeance show,
And led the rebels' van to shades below.
    On two fair hills both armies next are seen,
The affrighted valley sighes and sweats between.
Here angels did with fair expectance stay
And wished good things to a king as mild as they.
There fiends with hungry waiting did abide;
And cursed both but spurred on the guilty side.
Here stood religions, her looks gently sage;
Aged, but much more comely for her age.
There schism, old hag, but seeming young appears,
As snakes by casting skin renew their years.
Undecent rags of several dies she wore
And in her hands torn liturgies she bore.
Here loyalty an humble cross displayed,
And still as Charles past by she bowed and prayed.
Sedition there her crimson banner spreads,
Shakes all her hands, and roars with all her heads.
Her knotty hairs were with dire serpents twist,
And all her serpents at each other hissed.
Here stood white truth and her own host does bless,
Clad with those arms of proof, her nakedness.
There perjuries like canon roared aloud,
And lies flew thick like canon's smokey cloud.
Here learning and th'arts met; as much they feared,
As when the Huns of old and Goths appeared.
What should they doe? unapt themselves to fight,
They promised noble pens the acts to write.
There ignorance advanced, and joyed to spy,
So many that durst fight they knew not why.
From those who most the slow-souled monks disdain,
From those she hopes for the old monks' age again.
Here mercy waits with sad but gentle look
(Never, alas, had she her Charles forsook).
For mercy on her friends to heaven she cries
Whilst justice plucks down justice from the skies.
Oppression there, rapine and murder stood,
Ready as was the field to drink their blood.
A thousand wronged spirits amongst them moaned,
And thrice the ghost of mighty strafford groaned.
Now flew their canon thick through wounded air,
Sent to defend and kill their sovereign there.
More than he them, the bullets feared his head,
And at his feet lay innocently dead.
They knew not what those men that shot them meant,
And acted their pretence, not their intent.
    This was the day, this the first day that showed,
How much to Charles for our long peace we owed.
By his skill here and spirit we understood,
From war nought kept him but his people's good.
In his great looks what cheerful anger shone!
sad war and joyfull triumph mixed in one.
In the same beams of his majestic eye,
His own men life, his foes their death espy.
Great Rupert this, that wing brave Wilmot leads,
White-feathered conquest flies o'er both their heads.
They charge as if alone they'd beat the foe,
Whether their troops followed them or no.
They follow close, and haste into the fight.
So swift the rebels fly, as if each fear,
And jealousy they framed, had met them there.
They heard war's music and away they flew,
The trumpets fright worse than the organs do.
Their souls which still did new by-ways invent,
Out at their wounded backs perversely went.
Pursue no more, ye noble victors stay,
Lest too much conquest lose so brave a day.
For still the battle sounds behind, and fate
Will not give all, but sets us here a rate.
Too dear a rate she sets, and we must pay,
One honest man for ten such slaves as they.
Streams of black tainted blood the field besmear,
But pure well-coloured drops shine here and there.
They scorn to mix with floods of baser veins,
Just as the ignobler moistures oil disdains.
Thus fearless Lindsey, thus bold Aubigny
Amidst the corps of slaughtered rebels lie,
More honourably then Essex e'er was found,
With troops of living traitors circled round.
rest to your valiant souls, ye sacred pair,
And all whose deaths attended on ye there.
You're kindly welcomed to heaven's peaceful coast
By all the reverence martyrs' noble hoste.
Your soaring souls they meet in triumph all,
Led by great Stephen their old general.
Go Wharton now, prefer thy flourishing state,
Above these murdered heroes' doleful fate.
Enjoy that life which thou durst basely save,
And thought a sawpit nobler than a grave.
Thus many saved themselves, and night the rest,
Night that agrees with their black actions best.
A dismal shade did heaven's sad face o'erflow,
Dark as the night slain rebels found below.
No gentle stars their cheerful glories reared,
Ashamed they were at what was done, and feared:
Lest wicked men their bold excuse should frame
From some strong influence given their rays by fame.
To duty they, order and law incline,
they who ne'er erred from one eternal line,
As just the ruin of these men they thought,
As Sisera's was, 'gainst whom themselves they fought.
Still they rebellion's end remember well,
Since Lucifer the great, that shining captain fell.
For this the bells they ring, and not in vain
Well might they all ring our, for thousands slain:
For this the bonfires their glad brightness spread,
When funeral flames might more befit their dead:
For this with solemn thanks they vex their God,
And whilst they feel it, mock the almighty's rod.
They proudly now abuse his justice more,
Than his long mercies they abused before.
Yet these the men that true religion boast,
The pure, and holy, holy, holy, hoste.
What great reward for so much zeal is given?
Why, heaven has thanked them for it, as they thanked heaven.
    Witness thou, Brainford, say thou ancient town,
How many in thy streets fell grovelling down?
Witness, the red coats weltering in their gore,
And died anew into the name they bore.
Witness those men blown high into the air.
All elements their ruin joyed to share.
In the wide air quick flames their bodies tore,
Then drowned in waves they're tossed by waves to shore.
Witness thou Thames who wast amazed to see
Men madly run to save their lives in thee,
In vain; for rebels' lives thou wouldst not save,
And down they sunk beneath thy conquering wave.
Good, reverence Thames, the best beloved of all
Those noble floods that meet in Neptune's hall,
London's proud towers which thy fair head adorn
Move not thy glory now (but grief and scorn).
Thou grievest to see the white-named palace shine,
Without the beams of its own lord and thine.
Thy lord, who is to all as good and free,
As thou, kind flood, to thine own banks canst be.
How does thy peaceful back disdain to bear,
The rebels' busy pride from Westminster?
Thou who thyself, dost without murmur pay
Eternal tributes to thy prince, the sea!
    To Oxford next great Charles triumphant came,
Oxford the British muses second fame.
Here learning with some state and reverence looks,
And dwells in buildings lasting as her books.
Both now eternal, but they had ashes been,
Had these religious vandals got but in.
Not Bodley's noble work their rage would spare,
All books (they know) the chief malignants are.
In vain they silence every age before;
For pens of times to come will wound them more;
The temple's decent wealth, and modest state,
Had suffered, that their avarice, this their hate.
Beggary and scorn into the church they'd bring,
And make God glorious, as they made the king.
O happy town to whom loved Charles his sight,
In these sad times gives safety and delight!
Thee fate with civil war itself does bless,
Scarce wouldst thou change for peace this happiness.
'Midst all the joys kind heaven allows thee here,
Think on thy sister, and shed then a tear.
    What fights did this bad winter see each day?
Her winds and storms came not so thick as they.
yet nought these far-lost rebels could recall,
Nor Marlborough's fate, nor Cirencester's fall.
Still, still for peace the gentle conqueror sues,
By his wrath they perish, yet his love refuse.
Not yet is that plain lesson understood,
Writ by kind heaven in Brook's and Hampden's blood.
Chad and his church saw where their enemy lay,
And with just red new marked their holiday.
Fond man! this blow the injured Crozier struck;
Nought was more fit to perish, but thy book.
Such fatal vengeance did wronged Chalgrove show,
Where Hampden both began, and ended too,
His cursed rebellion; where his souls repaid,
With separation great, as that he made.
Hampden whose spirit moved o'er the goodly frame
Of the British world, and out this chaos came.
Hampden a man that taught confusion, art;
this treason's restless, and yet noiseless heart.
Hampden whose brain brain like Etna's shop appeared,
Where Thunder's forged, yet no sound outwards heard.
'Twas he contrived what e'er bold Martin said,
And all the popular noise that Pym has made.
'Twas he that taught the zealous rout to rise,
And be his slaves for some feigned liberties.
Him for this great design hell thought most fit;
Ah, wretched man! cursed by too good a wit!
    If not all this your stubborn hearts can fright,
Think on the west, think on the Cornish might.
The Saxon fury to that far-stretched place,
Drove the torn relics of great Brutus's race.
here they of old did in long safety lie,
Compassed with seas, and a worse enemy.
Ne'er till this time, ne'er did they meet with foes,
More cruel and more barbarous, than those.
Ye noble Britons who so oft with blood
Of pagan hostes have died old Tamar's flood.
If any drop of mighty Uther still,
And Uther's mightier son, your veins does fill,
Show now that spirit, till all men think by you,
The doubtful tales of your great Arthur true.
Ye have shown it, Britons, and have often done,
thinks that have cheered the weary setting sun.
Again did Tamar your dread arms behold,
As just and as successful, as of old.
He kissed the Cornish banks, and vowed to bring,
His richest waves to feed the ensuing spring.
But murmured sadly and almost denied,
All fruitful moisture to the Devon side.
Ye sons of war, by whose bold acts we see,
How great a thing exalted man may be.
The world remains your debtor that as yet,
Ye have not all gone forth, and conquered it.
I knew that fate some wonders for you meant,
When matchless Hopton to your coast she sent.
Hopton so wise he needs not fortune's aid,
So fortunate his wisdom's useless made.
Should both those two, his tried companions fail,
His spirit alone and courage would prevail.
Miraculous man! how would I sing thy praise,
Had any must crowned me with half the bays
Conquest has given thee, and next thy name,
Should Barclay, Slaning, Digby press to fame.
Godolphin thee, thee Greenville I'd rehearse,
But tears break off my verse.
How oft has vanquished Stamford backwards fled,
Swift as the parted souls of those he led.
How few did his huge multitudes defeat?
(For most are ciphers where the numbers great)
Numbers alas of men tha made no more,
Than he himself ten thousands times told o'er.
Who hears of Stratton fight but must confess,
All that he heard or read before was less?
Sad Germany can no such trophy boast,
For all the blood these twenty years she has lost.
Vast was their army and their arms were more,
Than the hoste of hundred-handed giants bore.
So strong their camps it did almost appear
Secure, had neither arms nor men been there.
In Hopton breaks, in break the Cornish powers,
Few and scarce armed, yet was the advantage ours.
What doubt could be their outward strengths to win,
When we bore camps and magazines within?
The violent sword outdid their muskets' ire,
It struck the bones, and there gave dreadful fire.
We scorned their thunder, and the reeking blade
A thicker smoke than all their canon made.
Death and loud tumult filled the place around,
With fruitless rage fallen rebels bit the ground.
The arms we gained, wealth, bodies of the foe,
All that a full-fraught victory would bestow.
Yet stayed not Hopton thus, but still proceeds,
Pursues himself through all his glorious deeds:
With Hartford and the prince he joined his fate,
(The Belgian trophies on their journey wait.)
That prince who oft had checked proud Waller's fame,
And fooled that flying conqueror's empty name.
Still by his loss this fertile monster thrived,
This serpent cut in parts rejoined and lived;
It lived and would have stung us deeper yet,
But that bold Greenville its whole fury met.
He sold like Decius his devoted breath,
And left the commonwealth heir to his death.
Hail, mighty ghost, look from on high and see,
How much our hands and swords remember thee.
On Roundway Down, our rage for thy great fall,
Whet all our spirits and made us Greenvilles all.
One thousand horse beat all their numerous power,
Bless me! and where was then their conqueror!
Coward of fame! he flies in haste away,
Men, arms and name leaves as the victors' prey.
What helped these iron regiments which he brought?
That moving statues seemed, and so they fought.
No way for death but by disease appeared,
Canon and mines, a siege, they scarcely feared.
Till 'gainst all hopes they proved in this sad fight,
Too weak to stand and yet too slow for flight.
The furies howled aloud through trembling air,
The astonished snakes fell sadly from their hair.
To Lud's proud town their hasty flight they took,
The towers and temples at their entrance shook.
In vain their loss they attempted to disguise,
And mustered up new troops of fruitless lies.
God fought himself, nor could the event be less,
Bright conquest walked the fields in all her dress.
    Could this white day a gift more grateful bring?
Oh yes! it brought blest Mary to the king.
In Keinton field they meet, at once they view,
Their former victory and enjoy a new.
Keinton the place that fortune did approve,
To be the noblest scene of war and love.
Through the glad vale ten thousand cupids fled,
And chased the wandering spirits of rebels dead.
Still the loud scent of powder did they fear,
And scattered eastern smells through all the air.
Look, happy mount, look well for this is she,
That toiled and travailed for thy victory.
Thy flourishing head to her with reverence bow,
To her thou owest that fame that crowns thee now.
From far stretched shores they felt her spirit and might;
Princes and gods at any distance fight,
At her return well might she a conquest have,
Whose very absence so much conquest gave.
    This in the west; nor did the north bestow
Less cause their usual gratitude to show.
With much of state brave Cavendish issued forth,
As swift and fierce as tempests from the north,
Cavendish whom every grace and every muse,
Kissed at his birth, and for their own did choose.
So good a wit they meant should not excel
In armes; but now they see it, and like it well.
So large is that rich empire of his heart,
Well may they rest contented with a part.
How soom forced he the northern clouds to flight?
And struck confusion into form and light.
Scarce did the power divine in fewer days,
A peaceful world out of wild chaos raise.
Bradford and Leeds propped up their sickly fame,
They bragged of Hostes and Fairfax was a name;
Leeds, Bradford, Fairfax's powers are all his own,
and quickly, as they vote men overthrown.
Bootes from his wain looked down below,
And saw our victories move not half so slow.
I see the gallant earl break through his foes,
In dust and sweat how gloriously he shows!
I see him lead the pikes! what will he do?
Defend him god! Ah whither will he goe?
Up to the canon mouth he leads; in vain,
They speak loud death, and threaten till they are ta'en.
So Capaneus two armies filled with wonder,
When he charged Jove and grappled with his thunder.
Both hostes with silence and pale terror shook,
As if they all, not he, were thunder-struck.
The courage here and boldness was no less,
Only the cause was better and success.
Heaven will let nought be by their canon done
Since at Edge-hill they sinned and Burlington.
    Go now, your silly calumnies repeat,
And make all papists whom ye cannot beat.
Let the world know some way with whom you're vexed,
And vote them Turks when they overthrow ye next.
Why will ye die, fond men! why would ye buy
At this dear rate your country's slavery?
Is it liberty? what are those threats we hear
From the base rout? can liberty be there?
Why do ye thus the old and new prisons fill?
When that's the only why, because you will!
Fain would you make God to thus tyrannous be,
And damn poor men by such a stiff decree.
Is it property? why do such numbers then
From God beg vengeance and relief from men?
Why are the estates and goods seized on of all
Whom covetous and malicious men miscall?
What's more our own than our own lives, but, oh,
Could Yoemans, or could Bourchier find it so?
The barbarous coward, always used to fly,
Did know no other way to see men die.
Or is it religion? what then means your lies,
Your sacrilege and pulpit blasphemies?
Why are all sects let loose, that e'er had birth
Since Luther's noise waked the lethargic earth?
'Tis madness only; which thou powers above,
Father of peace, mild lamb, and galless dove,
Gently allay, restore to us our sight,
And then, oh, say once more, Let there be light.
Speak to the restless sword, and bid it stay,
Stop plague and famine whilst they're yet on the way.
But it that still their stubborn hearts they fence,
With new earth-works and shut thee out from thence,
Go on, great God, and fight as thou has fought.
Teach them, or let the world by them be taught. 

Thus like a deluge war came roaring forth,
The bending west o'erwhelmed, and rising north.
A deluge there; and high red tides the while
O'erflowed all parts of Albions's bleeding isle.
For dire Alecto, risen from Stygian strand,
Had scattered strife and arms through all the land.
In a black hollow cloud, by ill winds driven,
She sat; o'ershadowed earth and frighted heaven.
Thus like Triptolemus through wide air she rode;
And all the fertile glebe with discords sowed.
The fatal seed still dropped she as she went,
And her own clouds with a shrill trumpet rent.
Great Britain's aged genius heard the sound,
Shook his grey head, and sunk into the ground.
The astonished ploughmen the sad noise did hear,
Looked up in vain, and left their work for fear.
Pale women heard it from afar, and pressed
The crying babes close to their panting breast.
    The nightborn virgin stopped on Hopton Heath;
thrice filled the baleful trumpt with deadly breath;
Scarce had the fatal sound thrice strook the air,
When straight her own dear Gell and Brereton's there.
Men whom she loved, and twice had saved before
From Hasting's sword, when thousand fates it bore
On the keen point; when from his dropping blade
Warm souls reeked out, and mists around him made.
Just as the sword raised itself up to his prey,
In a blind cloud she snatched them both away.
Let now (said she) less villains fill their room,
These have a race of mischiefs still to come.
They have; and now meet here by her dread call,
To bear the curse of great Northampton's fall.
Up marched the loyal earl, and joyed to see
Their numbers, and vain odds for victory.
Still as he marched gay conquest near him kept;
But still (ah me!) she sighed, and still she wept.
Up to their horse our troops advance; and see
The power of custom! at first charge they flee.
Their proud-mouthed canon all forsaken lay;
Gaped with wide horror, but had nought to say.
Why do the conquering troops so far pursue,
And Edgehill's almost-victory renew?
Whilst the brave earl engaged with enemies round,
Still gives a death, and still receives a wound?
O God! his horse is shot; it falls, and throws
The noble burden into a crown of foes.
Yet still he fought, till he on every side
With slaughtered corps had almost fortified
The place he stood in; for each blow he struck,
Cut out a life and name from fate's large book.
At last he groans and reels with many a stroke;
The brambles round all dread the tottering oak.
They profer life, but he to them disdains
To owe one drop in all his generous veins.
He scorns to accept the safety of his head
From villains, who their own had forfeited.
The fettered souls below of those he slew,
Curst his free spirit, whilst up through air it flew.
Look back, great spirit, as thou dost mounting go;
And see thyself again in the field below.
Midst the loud throng behold thy gallant son,
Cut out his way to fame as thou hast done.
Like thee, in all but death, the brave youth is found,
In that too come too near thee by  wound.
O stay, bright planet, stay a while, and view,
Our just revenge set more in red that you.
'Tis gone, and shades drop down on all; by night
The rebels now are saved; at more, by flight.
    Ye bold Cornavian race, from hence begin
Your lesson, from hence dread the effects of sin.
Ope wide your gates; great Rupert is come down;
What wilt thou do, black Vulcan's noisy town,
Old Birmingham? loud fame to thee affords
A title from the make, not use of swords.
Did e'er Pyracmon and big Brontes prove
The new-made thunders' force against their Jove?
The high born Welsh disdain a stop so base;
Down falls the barbarous Cyclops' sooty race.
They knock the earth, and every cave around
Echoes as loud, as to their anvils sound.
How bravely there the noble Denbigh lead?
Till, oh, wide death gaped in his wounded head.
An old and youthful soldier! O sad sight!
The crimson stream all stains his reverend white!
Go burn the wicked town, and let it all
Be one bright pyre for his great funeral.
Into one glowing forge the whole streets turn;
So Etna, Vulcan's other shop, does burn.
Too late the foolish rebels peace desire;
Like Paris's lust quenched when his Troy's on fire.
The ghosts see flames beneath, as they drop down,
And wondering think that still they view their town.
The neighbouring Rea starts back with pale affright,
To see his waves pierced through with dreadful light.
    Lichfield's strong close beheld this light afar; 
Beheld in vain, and still prepared for war.
Hence, ye profane; this is a sacred place;
Long hallowed by the peaceful mitred race
of reverend Duina; fear to offend this see,
Founded at first, and built by victory.
Not here, oh, do not here proud ensigns spread,
To affright the ghost of canonised Ced.
The souls of thousand bishops midst ye stand,
And with heard prayers add strength to Rupert's hand.
Rupert is come, and the place stormed round;
All shapes of active mischief fill the ground.
Some whilst the walls (bold men!) they attempt to scale,
Drop down by a leaden storm of deadly hail.
Some with huge stones are crushed to dust beneath,
And from their hasty tombs receive their death.
Some leave their parted hands on the highest wall,
The joints hold fast a while, then quake, and fall.
Nature and art did courage overpower,
And the proud wall at last grew conqueror.
The unwearied prince scorns to be conquered so;
The labouring spade and pickaxe sound below.
With a dire noise the earth and wall is rent,
High into air the unwilling stones are sent.
Twice all about, the ground did tremble there,
First with the violent shock, and next with fear.
The wicked guards thought it had some earthquake been,
Their souls confessed the guilt of Corah's sin.
A breach is made, and entered; but, oh, stay;
sell not your valours or high fates for prey.
Whilst ye seek that, behold our soldiers ta'en, 
The matchless Digby hurt, and Ussher slain,
The rest driven back by their despairing steel,
Achilles like, our victory slain in the heel.
Yet when their boiling veins did once begin
To cool and let some thought and providence in;
When Rupert's spirit they weighed, a spirit no less
Driven on by ill, than spurred by good success,
They yield the place and their lives' forfeit save;
Reserved by fate for some less hallowed grave.
Unhappy men! who can your curses tell?
Damned, and infamed for fighting ill so well!
    Such fate and edge did Lincoln rebels feel
[            ] flaming steel.
Oft did the noble youth whole armies chase;
Hector in his hands, and Paris in his face. 
Oft from his sword the vanquished Parham fled;
the man looked big, and joyed when he was dead.
At last old Gainsborough his sad fall beheld;
And all along Trent's mournful waters swelled.
Too few the waves that thirty rivers brought.
The sullen stream crept silent by his shore,
Mute as the fish his populous current bore.
Whilst he, with thousand foes strewed lifeless by,
In all the triumphs of brave death did lie.
Like some fair flower, which more say freshly gay,
In the field's general ruin mown away.
The hyacinth, or purple violet,
Just languishing, his coloured light just set.
Ill mixed it lies amidst the ignobler grass;
The country daughters sigh as by it they pass.
    Meanwhile the Essexian army marched about;
Their Reading blaze by Chalgrove's storm blown out.
Down towards their camp avenging angels move;
Before them clouds of pale diseases drove;
Faintness, and thirst, madness, and sickly heats;
The brood God's wrath joined with man's sin begets.
Armed with this strength death sets at once on all
Their quarters; their proud boasts grow weak, and fall.
Oxford, a prisoner king, and wealthy prey,
(Bold, seely hopes) sunk into air away.
A deadly damp does their stiff veins surprise,
And leaden fate sits in their fixed eyes.
The sacred flame wanes in their tortured heads,
From thence through all the bones and marrow spreads.
Their feeble hands the weapons' burden hate,
And trembling knees deceive their bodies' weight.
some fell like sickly autumn's yellowish leaves,
The deaths as silent then, as now their graves.
Some madly talk, blaspheme, and rave about,
The fiends and furies scourge their spirits out.
The pent-up fire in their wild heads does swell;
And their scorched souls drop roaring into hell.
Great God, thine hostes from such a curse defend;
May none but rebels' lives so sadly end!
Some whilst the watch and sentinels they keep,
Nod into a black and everlasting sleep.
Some, as they move, their ranks and lives forsake,
And a quick march to eternal quarters make.
Their fellows gaze around, amazed to espy
So many fall, and yet no Rupert nigh.
The Essexian ghosts below all wondering stood,
To see whole troops come down unstained with blood. 
In vain they oft remove, change of the air,
Up march the vengeful angels of their rear.
Infections brought them in by every wind;
And swarmed of country curses crowd behind.
Towards London's frantic town the tawny hoste
Retreats, and there sighs forth a fruitless boast.
Before from keinton such torn pride they brought,
Then God and man, but God alone now fought. 
    At the same time he fought almost alone,
When Waller's boastful powers were overthrown.
Both to their dens, well worried both, retreat,
There snarl, and grin, and brag which least was beat.
When (lo!) two armies by two princes lead,
At Bristol's walls their conquering crosses spread.
Where beauteous Frome weds Avon's wealthy tide,
(Avon stout bridegroom, Frome a lovely bride)
Bristol, the goodly city, stands alone;
And sees two countries, but submits to none.
Herself alone a province large and wide,
For what in land she wants, in sea is supplied.
The  furthest eastern waves her arms can tell,
And magellanic fishes know them well.
Nowhere can Thetis her blue head uprear,
Nowhere look round, and not see Bristol there.
All nature was her own by wide commerce,
And her rich streets saw all the universe.
Thus streams of wealth flowed in with every tide,
But in rushed fulness of bread, and pride.
Straight they the bonds of freest duty broke,
And from their necks cast Charles's gentle yoke.
Instead of him whom heaven did highest place,
The son of two great kingdoms' crowned race,
Whom did these senseless sinners choose to obey,
Whom but the unworthy seed of factious Say?
At once their faith and reason forsook;
The devil for God, and Fiennes for Charles they took.
In vain their strong-built castle makes them bold,
In vain, though it boast a prisoner king of old.
In vain, alas, they trust the works they have made,
And think our sword less powerful than the spade.
Should fates again give Briareus a birth
And all those great first rebels of the earth.
Should they assist your arms (as sure they do)
And cast up works of hills on hills for you.
Not those would guard this cause in which ye fight,
Nor Fiennes guard them although his cause were right.
Rupert this side, and Maurice that, assail;
Ne'er yet did Rupert, ne'er did Maurice fail
In what their swords were drawn for; at first sight
Of their keen blades did fate our victory write.
On this side Maurice with the nimble might
Of strong-limbed western youth, begins the fight.
They scorn the grimmest dangers of the place;
Still Lansdown, Stratton is still before their face.
They joy to kill their foes, they joy to die;
In the deep trenches proud and gasping lie,
Glad even in death, if they can fill them so;
A stream of enemies' blood does downward flow.
But, oh, what devil misled those shot so right;
And added fate to their uncertain flight,
By which they Slaning, and Trevanion found?
They could not sure have meant so proud a wound.
Both hit, as if they hd both a mind to spare;
Both in the thigh; but, oh, death crept in there!
Both matchless men! and friends so nearly grown,
That each felt least that wound which was his own.
Meanwhile great Rupert by main force possessed
Their blood-dyed works, and to victory pressed.
Into the streets they break; and all around
The groans of men, and shrieks of women sound.
There valiant Lunsford, there the hero fell,
And with rich blood did their base channels swell.
The accursed bullet his strong heart pierced through;
Away his spirit, swift as the bullet flew.
O sad! two minutes more had conquest shown;
Just now they beg their lives, and yield the town.
they march unarmed away; the conquerors give
A pardon, but fate only a reprieve.
Then first did Fiennes's conscience ache and smart,
Then first the vengeful serpents stung his heart.
His guilty soul shook with each blast of wind;
The tread of Rupert's horse still sounds behind.
Still on each side his murders vex his sight,
Bourchier on the left, and Yeomans on the right.
Halters and brands the angry figure shakes;
The palfry starts, the rider sweats and quakes.
Thus happy now was Bristol forced to be;
And Charles laid here fast hold upon his sea.
    From hence great Maurice with his western force,
to Isca's stubborn siege turn back their course.
Isca an ancient,strong, and factious town;
Peace gave it wealth, and often wars, renown.
Here did the race of Saxon triumphs stay,
Troy's fatal seed they drove from hence away.
Hither the Danes' victorious poleaxe came;
It felt great sweno's rage in blood and flame.
Yet they the swelling Norman durst oppose,
Till heaven itself, declared which side it had chose.
Down at his feet, down fell the unbattered wall;
The city's stones did homage first of all.
Strange was the sight; yet not so strange a show
That they fell then, as that they fell not now.
Thrice since that time did they a siege sustain;
First courtney's wrath here tired itself in vain.
In vain did Warbeck's tragic pageant here,
With arms as weak, as his false claim, appear.
The painted rose was here discerned too well,
All his false leaves soon lost their hue and fell.
Much  of good fame did this good action get;
And Henry's sword bears witness still of it.
Alas, thou wisest king, what hast thou done?
They'll use it 'gainst thy best and greatest son.
Again they prove their faith, and nobly fight
'Gainst sword, and famine, and the Cornish might.
The Cornish then rebel, the Cornish fall;
Their strength (we see) and boldness is not all.
The causes change now changes both their dooms;
Isca rebels, and Cornwall overcomes.
Warwick, the public pirate, brings them aid,
And dares, like an high tide, the land invade.
He seeks his prey both upon earth and sea;
so lives the doubtful crocodile and he.
What dares not he who can like Jonas sleep
In midst of his rebellion and the deep.
Who can a mind constant in sin retain
Amidst those dreadful wonders of the main,
Who fears no shipwreck, which the storms foretell,
When mutinous waves rise up, and winds rebel!
And yet on Exe's streams he learned to fear,
There rose a new and deadlier tempest there.
The canon's murdering blasts from either shore
Their canoes' pride and thin-built safety tore.
here a tall ship sunk by degrees below,
The decks yet seen, now masts, and nothing now.
Here float the waves, and there the men about;
In rush the waves, and crowd their wet souls out.
Some feel hot wounds shot through the dashing flood,
They drink in water, and supplied it with blood.
Some, not yet slain, are caught by fish beneath,
And feel their painful burial ere their death.
Here on the stream two ships for waters call;
The stream looks on, and brings no help at all.
A natural hate though to the flame he bore,
he will not quench it; but hates the rebels more.
So cold and heat on Etna's top conspire,
here frost lie bound, and by them breaks out fire.
A secure peace the faithful neighbours keep;
The emboldened snow next to the flame does sleep.
Some to avoid the fires embrace a wave;
Some, burning planks, from waves there life to save.
What help, alas, could in this change appear?
Only the death that's next them, that they fear.
Warwick beholds dead corps around him swim,
And their last breath heard, when it cursed him.
He dares not longer his just fortune try;
In haste, but slow, the battered vessels fly.
How was the hoping town that night dismayed,
When the next tide cast up to them their aid.
Thus happy Charles obtained without the sea
And without ships a naval victory.
This timely blow well broke the Exetrian pride;
Nor could they long our fierce assaults abide.
With Bristol's fate Stamford the town resigns;
No precedent so fit for him, as Fiennes!
Beware next, Plymouth; for if future things,
Ne'er fail my prophesying muse, in what she sings,
Thy conquest soon fame from my pen shall get;
Meanwhile a sadder victory calls for it yet.
    The imperial hoste before proud Gloucester lay;
From all parts conquest did her beams display.
Fear, sadness, guilt, despair at London meet;
And in black smokes fly thick through every street.
Their best towns lost, no army left to fight!
Charles strong in power, invincible in right!
If he march up, what shall these wretches do?
They're troubled all; and hell was troubled too.
    Beneath the silent chambers of the earth,
Where the sun's fruitful beams give metals birth.
Where he the growth of fatal gold does see,
Gold, which above more influence has than he.
Beneath the dens, where unfleshed tempests lie,
And infant winds their tender voices try.
Beneath the mighty oceans' wealthy caves;
Beneath the eternal fountain of all waves,
Where their vast court the mother waters keep,
And undisturbed by moons in silence sleep.
There is a place, deep, wondrous deep below,
Which genuine night and horror does o'erflow.
No bound controls the unwearied space; but hell,
Endless as those dire pains which in it dwell.
here no dear glimpse of the sun's lovely face,
Strikes through the solid darkness of the place.
No dawning morn does her kind reds display;
One slight, weak beam, would here be thought the day.
No gentle sats with their fair drops of light
Offend the tyrannous and unquestioned night.
here rebel minds in envious torments lie;
Must here forever live, forever die.
Here Lucifer, the mighty captive reigns,
Proud midst his woes, and tyrant in his chains.
Once general of a gilded hoste of spirits,
Like hesper, leading on the spangled nights.
But down like lightning, which him struck, he came,
And roared at his first plunge into the flame.
Myriads of spirits fell wounded round him there;
With dropping lights thick shone the singed air.
Since them the dismal solace of their woe,
Has only been weak mankind to undo.
Round the fond earth their thin-wrought nets they throw;
Worlds of mad souls come crowding down below.
But their dear sin, the sin themselves dare boast,
The sin they love in man, and punish most,
Is proud rebellion, their great son, and sire;
Which kindled first, now blows the eternal fire.
A tall and dreadful fiend! with double face,
One virgin like, and full of painted grace.
Fair seemed her hue, and modest seemed her guise;
Her eyen cast up towards heaven in holy wise.
From her false mouth kind words did always fly,
Religion, reformation, liberty!
Oft sung she psalms, and oft made zealous prayers;
All long and loud, to cheat the unknowing ears.
her other face was grisly black of hue,
And from her staring eyes fierce lightning flew.
Her wicked mouth spoke proud and bitter things,
Blasphemed God's church, and cursed anointed kings.
Thousand wild lies from her bold lips there came;
Her words were bullets, and her breath was flame.
Thus as she went, she enraged the beastly rout,
And hurled unbounded ruin all about.
Like a rough wind all rest and peace she hates,
And joys in the earth-quakes of well-grounded states.
Good God! what hostes has this worst fiend of death,
Sent mangled to the unlovely lands beneath.
There factious Corah and his murmurers roar;
Still curse great Moses, but themselves much more.
Through gaping gulfs thither alive they fell;
And skipped o'er the first death, with haste to hell.
By them, the men, whose factious hiss and sting, 
Did the just scourge of forked serpents bring.
How did their new-come souls start back with fear,
meeting again their fiery serpents here!
David's proud son hangs up in flames by the hair;
A thousand fiends stand round and wound him there.
Still with fresh darts his dropping limbs they tore,
As Joab, and the young men did before.
By him the politic wretch, so fondly wise,
Forever hangs, and as he died, he dies.
And curses both, and hell, and heaven, and all.
By them still Sheba does his trumpet sound;
Fool! for it calls the torturing fiends around.
And there lie those, who cut old Jacobs stem,
And rent in twain the Jessian diadem.
What though the tyrannous king their prayers denied?
What though God spoke it, and fate was on their side?
They who their princes' scourge disdained to bear,
Are by worse tyrants lashed with scorpions there.
There Baasha's head wears still a burning crown,
And Zimri, whose wild spirit came smoking down.
In such fierce flames the traitor now is fried,
That he thinks those scarce warm, in which he died.
What tongue can all these dismal stars of hell,
(As numberless, as those heaven shines with) tell?
But of all lands, (though all send millions in)
More bountiful than Albion none hath been.
There thousand stubborn barons fettered lie,
And curse their old vain noise of liberty.
They who their angry sovereign to oppose,
The hateful yoke of France and Lewis chose.
A vain pretence from John's bad act they bring;
John was a fond wild man, but yet their king.
Next them their sons, who vext old Henry's crown,
Blunted his sword, and his throne plucked down.
Who lopped all branches from the royal oak,
And into many parts the sceptre broke.
Montford the chief, the falsest son of earth,
Till these ungodly times gave [   ] birth.
They who unhappy Edward cast so low,
His wicked queen around whose head does grow
A crown of torturing flame, that shines, and burns;
Her Mortimer close by forever mourns.
Their scorching lusts and all their hot desires
Are now extinquished quite by greater fires.
The unchristian bishop too who first did preach
What now these bishop-haters boldlier teach.
Tormenting heats his subtle brain surprise,
Oh mine head aches still mine head aches, he cries.
But all the art and rage of death does still
Matrevers's spirit and barbarous Gurney's kill.
The pains that dying Edward felt before
would seem his heaven, if only those they bore.
Nor did the second Richard's doleful end
A lesser troop to these black mansions send.
Hither his lords, hither his commons come;
No privilege can save them from the doom.
There Warwick lies, who like a god awhile
Raised and pulled down the king of Albion's isle. 
There Gloucester whom no sacred life withstood
(Blood-thirsty man!) is drowned in boiling blood.
The deformed wretch grinning with pain does show
Far uglier now than any fiend below.
There too an endless multitude is spread,
By Kets and Cades and Tylers thither led.
Long darkness now their ignorance does repay;
Blind, stubborn men, that hither groped their way!
The accursed powder-traitors there remain,
(Ne'er yet did hell, ne'er shall such sinners gain)
Still by swift flames they're torn, and blown up high,
Still those swift flames the nimbler fiends supply.
But ne'er did the large threshing-floor below
A richer crop than this year's harvest know.
At once whole fields of ripened traitors fell;
'Tis only peace breeds scarcity in hell.
Which that the Stygian tyrant might prevent,
He calls below a dreadful parliament.
Deep in a dismal den, Beelzebub's hall,
The fiends all meet at their grim sovereign's call.
From every part of that wide land they come;
The souls awhile rest from their endless doom.
They rest a while; but woe to man above!
For none but mighty ills these sessions move,
The change of a religion or a state,
Mischiefs of greatest consequence and weight.
The affairs of bleeding Britain called them now;
Alas, unhappy isle, what wilt thou do!
They all sit down, and from his direful throne
Of burnished flames the tyrant rose alone.
Much anger in his words, much in his look;
The fiends themselves, and all hell's empire shook.
My friends and fellow gods,
I need not, I suppose, the desperate state,
Of all our British hopes to you relate,
You have heard and seen it, and are ashamed, I know,
To see our bold confederates fallen so low,
Since coward Fiennes did from lost Bristol flee,
Against those solemn oaths to his god and me.
Which shall we endure? shall we sit tame and still,
Suffering  a cause so unjust to thrive so ill?
Shall we behold long sleepy peace again,
The ills of Charles's dull and godly reign?
Shall we again the bishops' pride behold,
Which sixteen hundred years hath us controlled?
It must not be; by my great self I swear
Had I another heaven I'd venture it here;
The cause is ours, ours the chief gain will be;
Is Say or Pym concerned so much as we?
Go then, haste all to Lud's seditious town;
Ye know and love it, scarce hell is more your own.
There's nothing now your great design to stay,
God, and his troublesome spirits are gone away.
I heard the voice, I heard it bid them go;
'Twas a good sound! they left Jerusalem so.
Seek first the men who our high business sway,
Saint-John, the Vanes, Kimbolton, Pym and Say.
Without a noise possess their souls, get in
As subtly as the close original sin
Siezes the new-formed infant in the womb;
And let your acts show first that you are come.
Urge their loud fears, unmask their ugly guilt;
Too shallow is yet the stream of blood they've spilt;
Tell them they all on dangerous rocks are cast,
And some high tide must bring them off at last.
Bid them rush on, break through all sins their way;
Vengeance behind o'ertakes them if they stay.
With such bold deeds let them the world amaze,
That men shall find no leisure to dispraise.
Tell them what mighty names they're like to grow,
Whilst modest Catiline blushes here below;
With shame and envy their high acts he sees,
And seems a Cicero when compared to these.
Tell them how brave a funeral they may have,
They and three kingdoms with them in one grave.
When they shall say to fate, you owe us more,
Then all your famines and sick years before,
When each shall public ruin round him see,
And as he falls, cry out, 'twas done by me.
Their gallant deeds (my friends) will ours excel;
We, we ourselves from heaven less nobly fell.
This at the worst; then brighter things suggest;
All the bold hopes that swell a traitor's breast,
Conquest with slaughter (else 'twill make no show),
The crown cast down to earth, the king more low,
The church's lands (alas, what's that? 'tis less,
Than will suffice their very wantonness,
Much less their avarice), all the kingdom's wealth,
Theirs not  as now by borrowing, plunder, stealth,
But openly confessed and by a law;
For such shall votes be then, and such their awe.
The estates and lives shall be their own of all
Whom they by unpopular names but please to call,
Their rage and furious avarice shall appear,
Boundless as Marius's sword and Sylla's spear.
If in their misty souls there chance to shine
The smallest peaceful glimpse of light divine,
Raise up new fogs, and thicken clouds apace,
Till all our night of hell confuse the place.
Next to their priests; use here all art and care;
Be you to them what they to the people are.
Their sordid souls with dull rewards inflame,
Large feasts and larger gifts and popular fame.
But sometimes shake the haltar and the chain,
Show them their islands and new world again.
Bid them now groan and knock the pulpit more,
Pray longer and preach louder than before,
Bid them renew old blasphemies and fling
All texts of wicked princes at their king,
Bid them their mouth-granadoes cast about,
Till their own fires seize all the catching rout.
Then into every street your force divide,
Swarm like the plagues that scourged old Pharoah's pride,
Men's breasts with thirst of blood and fury fill.
Spare not, for 'twill be thought God's spirit still.
Strengthen weak rebels and confirm the bold,
Add fuel to the hot, inflame the cold.
In different shapes to differing minds appear,
In shapes of hope and zeal and hate and fear.
Learn this wise art from your grand enemy Paul,
And to gain some, do you turn all to all.
Pluck from their hearts each mild and sober thought,
Till war and public woe with joy be bought
Even by the covetous, till pale cowards fight,
And all men crowd to ruin with delight.
Cease not, my friends, till you their ensigns spy,
Advanced 'gainst Charles's army and the sky.
The rest when once their banners spread ye see
Leave to the eternal justice and to me.