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John Milton - Sonnet XVI: To The Lord General Cromwell
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Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud
Not of war only, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough`d,
And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
Hast rear`d God`s trophies, and his work pursued,
While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued,
And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud,
And Worcester`s laureat wreath. Yet much remains
To conquer still; peace hath her victories
No less renown`d than war: new foes arise,
Threatning to bind our souls with secular chains:
Help us to save free conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw.
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