equal love they burn'd,
And now together are to ashes turn'd;
Ashes! more worth than all their fun'ral cost,
Than the huge treasure which was with them lost.
These dying lovers, and their floating sons,
Suspend the fight, and silence all our guns; 90
Beauty and youth about to perish, finds
Such noble pity in brave English minds,
That (the rich spoil forgot, their valour's prize,)
All labour now to save their enemies.

How frail our passions! how soon changed are 95
Our wrath and fury to a friendly care!
They that but now for honour, and for plate,
Made the sea blush with blood, resign their hate;
And, their young foes endeav'ring to retrieve,
With greater hazard than they fought, they dive. 100

With these, returns victorious Montague,
With laurels in his hand, and half Peru.
Let the brave generals divide that bough,
Our great Protector hath such wreaths enow;
His conqu'ring head has no more room for bays;
Then let it be as the glad nation prays;
Let the rich ore forthwith be melted down,
And the state fix'd by making him a crown;
With ermine clad, and purple, let him hold
A royal sceptre, made of Spanish gold. 110

[1] 'Fight at sea': see any good English History, under date 1656.
[2] 'Marquis': of Badajos, viceroy of Mexico.

UPON THE DEATH OF THE LORD PROTECTOR.

We must resign! Heaven his great soul does claim
In storms, as loud as his immortal fame;
His dying groans, his last breath, shakes our isle,
And trees uncut fall for his funeral pile;
About his palace their broad roots are toss'd
Into the air.[1]--So Romulus was lost!
New Rome in such a tempest miss'd her king,
And from obeying fell to worshipping.
On Oeta's top thus Hercules lay dead, 9
With ruin'd oaks and pines about him spread;
The poplar, too, whose bough he wont to wear
On his victorious head, lay prostrate there;
Those his last fury from the mountain rent:
Our dying hero from the Continent
Ravish'd whole towns: and forts from Spaniards reft
As his last legacy to Britain left.
The ocean, which so long our hopes confined,
Could give no limits to his vaster mind;
Our bounds' enlargement was his latest toil,
Nor hath he left us pris'ners to our isle; 20
Under the tropic is our language spoke,
And part of Flanders hath received our yoke.
From civil broils he did us diseng