37 Had you, some ages past, this race of glory Run, with amazement we should read your story; But living virtue, all achievements past, Meets envy still, to grapple with at last. 38 This Cæsar found; and that ungrateful age, With losing him went back to blood and rage; Mistaken Brutus thought to break their yoke, But cut the bond of union with that stroke. 39 That sun once set, a thousand meaner stars Gave a dim light to violence and wars, To such a tempest as now threatens all, Did not your mighty arm prevent the fall. 40 If Rome's great senate could not wield that sword, Which of the conquer'd world had made them lord; What hope had ours, while yet their power was new, To rule victorious armies, but by you? 41 You! that had taught them to subdue their foes, Could order teach, and their high sp'rits compose; To every duty could their minds engage, Provoke their courage, and command their rage. 42 So when a lion shakes his dreadful mane, And angry grows, if he that first took pain To tame his youth approach the haughty beast, He bends to him, but frights away the rest. 43 As the vex'd world, to find repose, at last Itself into Augustus' arms did cast; So England now does, with like toil oppress'd, Her weary head upon your bosom rest. 44 Then let the Muses, with such notes as these, Instruct us what belongs unto our peace; Your battles they hereafter shall indite, And draw the image of our Mars in fight; 45 Tell of towns storm'd, of armies overrun, And mighty kingdoms by your conduct won; How, while you thunder'd, clouds of dust did choke Contending troops, and seas lay hid in smoke. 46 Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a Muse. Here, in low strains, your milder deeds we sing; But there, my lord! we'll bays and olive bring, 47 To crown your head; while you in triumph ride O'er vanquish'd nations, and the sea beside; While all your neighbour princes unto you, Like Joseph's sheaves,[2] pay reverence, and bow. [1] Written about 1654. [2] 'Joseph's sheaves': Gen. xxxvii. ON THE HEAD OF A STAG. So we some antique hero's strength Learn by his lance's weight and length, As these vast beams express the beast Whose shady brows alive they dress'd. Such game, while yet the world was new, The mighty Nimrod did pursue. What huntsman of our feeble race, Or dogs, dare such a monster chase, Resembling, with each blow he strikes, 9 The charge of a whole troop of pikes? O fertile head! which every year Could such a crop of wonder bear! The teeming earth did never bring So soon, so hard, so huge a thing; Which might it never have been cast (Each year's growth added to the last), These lofty branches had supplied The earth's bold sons' prodigious pride; Heaven with these engines had been scaled, When mountains heap'd on mountains fail'd. 20 THE MISER'S SPEECH. IN A MASQUE.