To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth
On The New Forcers Of Conscience Under The Long Parliament
To seise the widow’d whore Plurality
From them whose sin ye envi’d, not abhorr’d,
Dare ye for this adjure the civill sword
To force our consciences that Christ set free,
And ride us with a classic hierarchy
Taught ye by meer A. S. and Rotherford?
Men whose Life, Learning, Faith and pure intent
Would have been held in high esteem with Paul,
Must now he nam’d and printed Hereticks
By shallow Edwards and Scotch what d’ye call:
But we do hope to find out all your tricks,
Your plots and packing worse then those of Trent,
That so the Parlament
May with their wholesome and preventive shears
Clip your phylacteries, though bauk your ears,
And succour our just fears,
When they shall read this clearly in your charge,
New Presbyter is but Old Priest writ large.
To the Lord General Cromwell, May 1652
Guided by faith and matchless Fortitude
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough’d,
And on the neck 2 of crowned Fortune proud 5
Hast reard Gods Trophies, and his work pursu’d,
While Darwen stream 3 with blood of Scotts imbru’d,
And Dunbarr feild 4 resounds thy praises loud,
And Worsters 5 laureat wreath; yet much remaines
To conquer still; peace hath her victories 10
No less renownd then warr, new foes aries
Threatning to bind our soules with secular chaines:
Helpe us to save free Conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves whose Gospell is their maw.
On the Late Massacre in Piedmont
Methought I saw my late espoused saint
Milton, John. The Poetical Works of John Milton, Project Gutenberg, 2014, is licensed under no known copyright.