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         Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687.
      
       
         This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A67339 of text R835 in the  English Short Title Catalog (Wing W507). Textual changes  and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more  computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life.  The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with  MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish.  This text has not been fully proofread 
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         ESTC R835
         12241353
         ocm 12241353
         56782
         
           
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         Early English books online.
      
       
         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A67339)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 56782)
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             A panegyrick to my Lord Protector by a gentleman that loves peace, union, and prosperity of the English nation.
             Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687.
          
           8 p.
           
             Printed by Thomas Newcomb ...,
             London :
             1655.
          
           
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
             One of two editions published in the same year.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Political poetry, English -- Early works to 1800.
        
      
    
       A67339  R835  (Wing W507).  civilwar no A panegyrick to my Lord Protector, by a gentleman that loves the peace, union, and prosperity of the English nation. Waller, Edmund 1655    1788 1 0 0 0 0 0 6 B  The  rate of 6 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the B category of texts with fewer than 10 defects per 10,000 words. 
        2002-11 TCP
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        2003-01 John Latta
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             A
          
           PANEGYRICK
           TO
           MY
           Lord
           Protector
           ,
           BY
           A
           GENTLEMAN
           THAT
           Loves
           the
           Peace
           ,
           Union
           ,
           and
           Prosperity
           OF
           THE
           English
           Nation
           .
        
         
           
             CLAUDIAN
             :
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               Gaudet
               enim
               virtus
               testes
               sibi
               jungere
               Musas
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Carmen
               amat
               quisquis
               Carmine
               digna
               gerit
               .
            
          
        
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           by
           
             Thomas
             Newcomb
             ,
          
           in
           
             Thames-street
          
           over
           against
           
             Baynards-Castle
             ,
          
           1655.
           
        
      
    
     
       
       
       
         
           
             A
          
           PANEGYRICK
           TO
           MY
           Lord
           Protector
           ,
        
         
           
             WHILE
             with
             a
             strong
             ,
             and
             yet
             a
             gentle
             Hand
          
           
             You
             bridle
             Faction
             ,
             and
             our
             Hearts
             command
             ;
          
           
             Protect
             us
             from
             our Selves
             ,
             and
             from
             the
             Foe
             ;
          
           
             Make
             us
             Unite
             ,
             and
             make
             us
             Conquer
             too
             ;
          
        
         
           
             Let
             partial
             Spirits
             still
             aloud
             complain
             ,
          
           
             Think
             themselves
             injur'd
             that
             they
             cannot
             Raign
             ,
          
           
             And
             own
             no
             Liberty
             ,
             but
             where
             they
             may
          
           
             Without
             controule
             upon
             their
             Fellows
             prey
             .
          
        
         
           
             Above
             the
             Waves
             as
             
               Neptune
            
             shew'd
             his
             Face
          
           
             To
             chide
             the
             Winds
             ,
             and
             save
             the
             
               Trojan
            
             Race
             ;
          
           
             So
             has
             your
             Highness
             rais'd
             above
             the
             rest
          
           
             Storms
             of
             Ambition
             tossing
             us
             represt
             :
          
        
         
           
             Your
             drooping
             Country
             torn
             with
             Civill
             Hate
             ,
          
           
             Restor'd
             by
             you
             ,
             is
             made
             a
             glorious
             State
             ;
          
           
           
             The
             seat
             of
             Empire
             ,
             where
             the
             
               Irish
            
             come
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             unwilling
             
               Scotch
            
             to
             fetch
             their
             doome
             .
          
           
             The
             Sea
             's
             our
             own
             ,
             and
             now
             all
             Nations
             greet
          
           
             With
             bending
             Sayles
             each
             Vessel
             of
             our
             Fleet
             ;
          
           
             Your
             Power
             extends
             as
             farr
             as
             Winds
             can
             blowe
             ,
          
           
             Or
             swelling
             Sayles
             upon
             the
             Globe
             may
             goe
             .
          
        
         
           
             Heav'n
             ,
             that
             has
             plac'd
             this
             Island
             to
             give
             Lawe
             ,
          
           
             To
             balance
             
               Europe
               ,
            
             and
             her
             States
             to
             awe
             ,
          
           
             In
             this
             Conjunction
             does
             on
             
               Brittain
            
             smile
             ,
          
           
             The
             greatest
             Leader
             ,
             and
             the
             greatest
             Ile
             ;
          
           
             Whether
             this
             portion
             of
             the
             World
             were
             rent
          
           
             By
             the
             rude
             Ocean
             from
             the
             Continent
             ,
          
           
             Or
             thus
             Created
             ,
             it
             was
             sure
             design'd
          
           
             To
             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
             Worlds
             Protector
             shall
             be
             known
             :
          
           
             Fame
             ,
             swifter
             then
             your
             winged
             Navie
             ,
             flyes
          
           
             Through
             every
             Land
             that
             near
             the
             Ocean
             lyes
             ,
          
           
             Sounding
             your
             Name
             ,
             and
             telling
             dreadfull
             newes
          
           
             To
             all
             that
             Piracy
             and
             Rapine
             use
             :
          
           
             With
             such
             a
             Chief
             the
             meanest
             Nation
             blest
             ,
          
           
             Might
             hope
             to
             lift
             her
             Head
             above
             the
             rest
             ;
          
           
             What
             may
             be
             thought
             impossible
             to
             doe
          
           
             For
             us
             embraced
             by
             the
             Sea
             and
             You
             ?
          
        
         
           
             Lords
             of
             the
             Worlds
             great
             Waste
             ,
             the
             Ocean
             ,
             wee
          
           
             Whole
             Forrests
             send
             to
             Raigne
             upon
             the
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             And
             ev'ry
             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
             Seat
             arrive
             ,
          
           
             While
             we
             descend
             at
             pleasure
             to
             invade
          
           
             The
             Bad
             with
             vengeance
             ,
             or
             the
             good
             to
             aide
             :
          
           
             Our
             little
             World
             ,
             the
             Image
             of
             the
             Great
             ,
          
           
             Like
             that
             amidst
             the
             boundless
             Ocean
             set
             ,
          
           
             Of
             her
             own
             Growth
             has
             all
             that
             Nature
             craves
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             that
             's
             Rare
             as
             Tribute
             from
             the
             Waves
             ;
          
           
             A
             
               Egypt
            
             does
             not
             on
             the
             Clouds
             rely
             ,
          
           
             But
             to
             her
             
               Nyle
            
             owes
             more
             ,
             then
             to
             the
             Sky
             ;
          
           
           
             So
             what
             our
             Earth
             ,
             and
             what
             our
             Heav'n
             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
             digg
             for
             Wealth
             we
             weary
             not
             our
             Limbs
             ,
          
           
             Gold
             ,
             though
             the
             heavy'st
             Metall
             ,
             hither
             swims
             ;
          
           
             Ours
             is
             the
             Harvest
             where
             the
             
               Indians
            
             mowe
             ,
          
           
             We
             plough
             the
             Deep
             ,
             and
             reap
             what
             others
             Sowe
             .
          
           
             Things
             of
             the
             noblest
             kinde
             our
             own
             soyle
             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
            
             flourisht
             ,
             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
            
             cry'de
             ,
          
           
             He
             wist
             not
             
               Thetis
            
             in
             her
             Lapp
             did
             hide
          
           
             Another
             yet
             ,
             a
             world
             reserv'd
             for
             you
          
           
             To
             make
             more
             great
             ,
             then
             that
             he
             did
             subdue
             :
          
           
             He
             safely
             might
             old
             Troops
             to
             Battail
             leade
          
           
             Against
             th'
             unwarlike
             
               Persian
               ,
            
             and
             the
             
               Mede
               ,
            
          
           
             Whose
             hastie
             flight
             did
             ,
             from
             a
             bloodless
             Field
             ,
          
           
             More
             Spoyle
             then
             Honor
             to
             the
             Victor
             yield
             ;
          
        
         
           
             A
             Race
             unconquer'd
             ,
             by
             their
             Clyme
             made
             bold
             ,
          
           
             The
             
               Calidonians
            
             arm'd
             with
             want
             and
             cold
             ,
          
           
             Have
             ,
             by
             a
             fate
             indulgent
             to
             your
             Fame
             ,
          
           
             Bin
             ,
             from
             all
             Ages
             ,
             kept
             ,
             for
             you
             to
             tame
             ,
          
           
             Whom
             the
             old
             
               Roman
            
             wall
             so
             ill
             confin'd
             ,
          
           
             With
             a
             new
             chain
             of
             Garisons
             you
             bind
             ,
          
           
             Here
             forraign
             Gold
             no
             more
             shall
             make
             them
             come
             ,
          
           
             Our
             
               English
            
             Iron
             holds
             them
             fast
             at
             home
             ;
          
           
             They
             ,
             that
             henceforth
             must
             be
             content
             to
             know
             ,
          
           
             No
             warmer
             Region
             then
             their
             Hills
             of
             Snow
             ,
          
           
             May
             blame
             the
             Sun
             ,
             but
             must
             extoll
             your
             Grace
             ,
          
           
             Which
             in
             our
             Senate
             has
             allow'd
             them
             place
             ;
          
           
             Preferr'd
             by
             Conquest
             ,
             happily
             o'rethrowne
             ,
          
           
             Falling
             they
             rise
             ,
             to
             be
             with
             us
             made
             one
             ;
          
           
           
             So
             kinde
             Dictators
             made
             ,
             when
             they
             came
             home
             ,
          
           
             Their
             vanquish'd
             Foes
             ,
             free
             Citizens
             of
             
               Rome
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Like
             favor
             find
             the
             
               Irish
               ,
            
             with
             like
             Fate
          
           
             Advanc'd
             to
             be
             a
             portion
             of
             our
             State
             ;
          
           
             While
             by
             your
             Valour
             ,
             and
             your
             Courteous
             mind
          
           
             Nations
             divided
             by
             the
             Sea
             are
             joyn'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               Holland
               ,
            
             to
             gain
             your
             Friendship
             ,
             is
             content
          
           
             To
             be
             our
             Out-guard
             on
             the
             Continent
             ;
          
           
             Shee
             from
             her
             fellow-Provinces
             would
             goe
             ,
          
           
             Rather
             then
             hazard
             to
             have
             you
             her
             Foe
             :
          
           
             In
             our
             late
             Fight
             when
             Cannons
             did
             diffuse
          
           
             Preventing
             posts
             ,
             the
             terror
             and
             the
             newes
          
           
             Our
             neighbor-Princes
             trembled
             at
             their
             rore
             ,
          
           
             But
             our
             Conjunction
             makes
             them
             tremble
             more
             .
          
        
         
           
             Your
             never-fayling
             Sword
             made
             War
             to
             cease
             ,
          
           
             And
             now
             you
             heale
             us
             with
             the
             arts
             of
             Peace
             ,
          
           
             Our
             minds
             with
             bounty
             ,
             and
             with
             awe
             engage
             ,
          
           
             Invite
             affection
             ,
             and
             restrain
             our
             rage
             :
          
           
             Less
             pleasure
             take
             ,
             brave
             minds
             in
             battails
             won
             ,
          
           
             Then
             in
             restoring
             such
             as
             are
             undon
             ,
          
           
             Tygers
             have
             courage
             ,
             and
             the
             rugged
             Bear
             ,
          
           
             But
             man
             alone
             can
             ,
             whom
             he
             conquers
             ,
             spare
             .
          
           
             To
             pardon
             willing
             ,
             and
             to
             punish
             loath
             ,
          
           
             You
             strike
             with
             one
             hand
             ,
             but
             you
             heal
             with
             both
             ,
          
           
             Lifting
             up
             all
             that
             prostrate
             lie
             ,
             you
             grieve
          
           
             You
             cannot
             make
             the
             dead
             again
             to
             live
             :
          
           
             When
             Fate
             ,
             or
             Error
             had
             our
             Age
             mis-led
             ,
          
           
             And
             o'r
             these
             Nations
             such
             confusion
             spred
             ,
          
           
             The
             onely
             cure
             which
             could
             from
             Heav'n
             come
             down
             ,
          
           
             Was
             so
             much
             Power
             and
             Clemency
             in
             one
             .
          
        
         
           
             One
             ,
             whose
             Extraction
             from
             an
             ancient
             Line
             ,
          
           
             Gives
             hope
             again
             that
             well-born
             Men
             may
             shine
             ,
          
           
             The
             meanest
             in
             your
             Nature
             milde
             and
             good
             ,
          
           
             The
             noble
             rest
             secured
             in
             your
             Blood
             .
          
           
             Oft
             have
             we
             wonder'd
             how
             you
             hid
             in
             Peace
          
           
             A
             minde
             proportion'd
             to
             such
             things
             as
             these
             ?
          
           
             How
             such
             a
             Ruling-spirit
             you
             could
             restrain
             ?
          
           
             And
             practice
             first
             over
             your self
             to
             raign
             ?
          
           
             Your
             private
             Life
             did
             a
             just
             pattern
             give
          
           
             How
             Fathers
             ,
             Husbands
             ,
             pious
             Sons
             ,
             should
             live
             ,
          
           
           
             Born
             to
             command
             ,
             your
             Princely
             vertues
             slept
          
           
             Like
             humble
             
               David's
            
             ,
             while
             the
             Flock
             he
             kept
             ;
          
           
             But
             when
             your
             troubled
             Countrey
             call'd
             you
             forth
             ,
          
           
             Your
             flaming
             Courage
             ,
             and
             your
             Matchless
             worth
          
           
             Dazeling
             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
             't
             is
             chang'd
             by
             you
             .
          
           
             Chang'd
             like
             the
             Worlds
             great
             Scene
             ,
             when
             without
             noise
             ,
          
           
             The
             rising
             Sun
             Nights
             vulgar
             Lights
             destroyes
             .
          
        
         
           
             Had
             you
             some
             Ages
             past
             ,
             this
             Race
             of
             glory
          
           
             Run
             ,
             with
             amazement
             ,
             we
             should
             read
             your
             story
             ;
          
           
             But
             living
             Virtue
             ,
             all
             atchievements
             past
             ,
          
           
             Meets
             Envy
             still
             to
             g●apple
             with
             at
             last
             .
          
           
             This
             
               Cesar
            
             found
             ,
             and
             that
             ungrateful
             Age
          
           
             Which
             losing
             him
             ,
             fell
             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
             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
             .
          
        
         
           
             If
             
               Romes
            
             great
             Senate
             could
             not
             weild
             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
             Spirits
             compose
             ,
          
           
             To
             every
             Duty
             could
             their
             Minds
             engage
             ,
          
           
             Provoke
             their
             Courage
             ,
             and
             command
             their
             Rage
             .
          
           
             So
             when
             a
             Lyon
             shakes
             his
             dreadfull
             Mayn
             ,
          
           
             And
             angry
             growes
             ,
             if
             he
             that
             first
             took
             pain
          
           
             To
             tame
             his
             youth
             ,
             approach
             the
             haughty
             Beast
             ,
          
           
             He
             bends
             to
             him
             ,
             but
             frights
             away
             the
             rest
             .
          
           
             As
             the
             vex'd
             World
             to
             finde
             repose
             at
             last
          
           
             It self
             into
             
               Augustus
            
             arms
             did
             cast
             ;
          
           
             So
             
               England
            
             now
             does
             with
             like
             toyle
             opprest
             ,
          
           
             Her
             weary
             Head
             upon
             your
             Bosome
             rest
             .
          
        
         
           
             Then
             let
             the
             Muses
             with
             such
             Notes
             as
             these
          
           
             Instruct
             us
             what
             belongs
             unto
             our
             peace
             ;
          
           
             Your
             Battails
             they
             hereafter
             shall
             indite
             ,
          
           
             And
             draw
             the
             Image
             of
             our
             
               Mars
            
             in
             fight
             :
          
           
           
             Tell
             of
             Towns
             storm'd
             ,
             of
             Armies
             over-run
             ,
          
           
             And
             mighty
             Kingdomes
             by
             your
             Conduct
             won
             ;
          
           
             How
             while
             you
             thunder'd
             ,
             Clouds
             of
             Dust
             did
             choak
          
           
             Contending
             Troops
             ,
             and
             Seas
             lay
             hid
             in
             smoak
             :
          
           
             Illustrious
             acts
             high
             Raptures
             doe
             infuse
             ,
          
           
             And
             every
             Conqueror
             creates
             a
             Muse
             .
          
        
         
           
             Here
             in
             low
             Strains
             your
             milder
             Deeds
             we
             sing
             ,
          
           
             But
             there
             (
             my
             Lord
             )
             wee
             'll
             Bayes
             and
             Olive
             bring
          
           
             To
             Crown
             your
             Head
             ,
             while
             you
             in
             Triumph
             ride
          
           
             O're
             vanquish'd
             Nations
             ,
             and
             the
             Sea
             beside
             ;
          
           
             While
             all
             your
             Neighbor-Princes
             unto
             you
          
           
             Like
             
               Joseph's
            
             Sheaves
             pay
             rev'rence
             and
             bow
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
         
      
    
    

