A Panegyric to My Lord Protector, of the Present Greatness, and Joint Interest, of His Highness, and This Nation

While with a strong and yet a gentle hand,You bridle faction, and our hearts command,Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe,Make us unite, and make us conquer too;

Let partial spirits still aloud complain,Think themselves injured that they cannot reign,And own no liberty but where they mayWithout control upon their fellows prey.

Above the waves as Neptune show'd his face,To chide the winds, and save the Trojan race,So has your Highness, raised above the rest,Storms of ambition, tossing us, repress'd.

Your drooping country, torn with civil hate,Restored by you, is made a glorious state;The seat of empire, where the Irish come,And the unwilling Scots, to fetch their doom.

The sea's our own; and now all nations greet,With bending sails, each vessel of our fleet;Your power extends as far as winds can blow,Or swelling sails upon the globe may go.

Heaven (that hath placed this island to give law,To balance Europe, and her states to awe),In this conjunction doth on Britain smile;The greatest leader, and the greatest isle!

Whether this portion of the world were rent,By the rude ocean, from the continent,Or thus created, it was sure design'dTo be the sacred refuge of mankind.

Hither th'oppressed shall henceforth resort,Justice to crave, and succour, at your court;And then your Highness, not for ours alone,But for the world's Protector shall be known.

Fame, swifter than your winged navy, fliesThrough every land that near the ocean lies,Sounding your name, and telling dreadful newsTo all that piracy and rapine use.

With such a chief the meanest nation bless'd,Might hope to lift her head above the rest;What may be thought impossible to doBy us, embraced by the sea and you?

Lords of the world's great waste, the ocean, weWhole forests send to reign upon the sea,And every coast may trouble, or relieve;But none can visit us without your leave.

Angels and we have this prerogative,That none can at our happy seats arrive;While we descend at pleasure, to invadeThe bad with vengeance, and the good to aid.

Our little world, the image of the great,Like that, amidst the boundless ocean set,Of her own growth hath all that Nature craves,And all that's rare, as tribute from the waves.

As Egypt does not on the clouds rely,But to the Nile owes more than to the sky;So what our earth, and what our heaven denies,Our ever constant friend, the sea, supplies.

The taste of hot Arabia's spice we know,Free from the scorching sun that makes it grow;Without the worm, in Persian silks we shine;And, without planting, drink of every vine.

To dig for wealth we weary not our limbs;Gold, though the heaviest metal, hither swims;Ours is the harvest where the Indians mow;We plough the deep, and reap what others sow.

Things of the noblest kind our own soil breeds;Stout are our men, and warlike are our steeds;Rome, though her eagle through the world had flown,Could never make this island all her own.

Here the Third Edward, and the Black Prince, too,France-conqu'ring Henry flourish'd, and now you;For whom we stay'd, as did the Grecian state,Till Alexander came to urge their fate.

When for more worlds the Macedonian cried,He wist not Thetis in her lap did hideAnother yet; a world reserved for you,To make more great than that he did subdue.

He safely might old troops to battle lead,Against th'unwarlike Persian and the Mede,Whose hasty flight did, from a bloodless field,More spoils than honour to the victor yield.

A race unconquer'd, by their clime made bold,The Caledonians, arm'd with want and cold,Have, by a fate indulgent to your fame,Been from all ages kept for you to tame.

Whom the old Roman wall so ill confined,With a new chain of garrisons you bind;Here foreign gold no more shall make them come;Our English iron holds them fast at home.

They, that henceforth must be content to knowNo warmer regions than their hills of snow,May blame the sun, but must extol your grace,Which in our senate hath allowed them place.

Preferr'd by conquest, happily o'erthrown,Falling they rise, to be with us made one;So kind Dictators made, when they came home,Their vanquish'd foes free citizens of Rome.

Like favour find the Irish, with like fate,Advanced to be a portion of our state;While by your valour and your bounteous mind,Nations, divided by the sea, are join'd.

Holland, to gain your friendship, is contentTo be our outguard on the Continent;She from her fellow-provinces would go,Rather than hazard to have you her foe.

In our late fight, when cannons did diffuse,Preventing posts, the terror and the news,Our neighbour princes trembled at their roar;But our conjunction makes them tremble more.

Your never-failing sword made war to cease;And now you heal us with the acts of peace;Our minds with bounty and with awe engage,Invite affection, and restrain our rage.

Less pleasure take brave minds in battles won,Than in restoring such as are undone;Tigers have courage, and the rugged bear,But man alone can, whom he conquers, spare.

To pardon willing, and to punish loth,You strike with one hand, but you heal with both;Lifting up all that prostrate lie, you grieveYou cannot make the dead again to live.

When fate, or error, had our age misled,And o'er this nation such confusion spread,The only cure, which could from Heaven come down,Was so much power and piety in one!

One! whose extraction from an ancient lineGives hope again that well-born men may shine;The meanest in your nature, mild and good,The noblest rest secured in your blood.

Oft have we wonder'd how you hid in peaceA mind proportion'd to such things as these;How such a ruling sp'rit you could restrain,And practise first over yourself to reign.

Your private life did a just pattern give,How fathers, husbands, pious sons should live;Born to command, your princely virtues slept,Like humble David's, while the flock he kept.

But when your troubled country called you forth,Your flaming courage, and your matchless worth,Dazzling the eyes of all that did pretend,To fierce contention gave a prosp'rous end.

Still as you rise, the state, exalted too,Finds no distemper while 'tis changed by you;Changed like the world's great scene! when, without noise,The rising sun night's vulgar light destroys.

Had you, some ages past, this race of gloryRun, with amazement we should read your story;But living virtue, all achievements past,Meets envy still, to grapple with at last.

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.

That sun once set, a thousand meaner starsGave a dim light to violence and wars,To such a tempest as now threatens all,Did not your mighty arm prevent the fall.

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?

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.

So when a lion shakes his dreadful mane,And angry grows, if he that first took painTo tame his youth approach the haughty beast,He bends to him, but frights away the rest.

As the vex'd world, to find repose, at lastItself into Augustus' arms did cast;So England now does, with like toil oppress'd,Her weary head upon your bosom rest.

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;

Tell of towns storm'd, of armies overrun,And mighty kingdoms by your conduct won;How, while you thunder'd, clouds of dust did chokeContending troops, and seas lay hid in smoke.

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,

To crown your head; while you in triumph rideO'er vanquish'd nations, and the sea beside;While all your neighbour princes unto you,Like Joseph's sheaves, pay reverence, and bow.

Written about 1654.'Joseph's sheaves': Gen. xxxvii.