Sonnet 16

Cromwell, our cheif of men, who through a cloud

Not of warr onely, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith & matchless Fortitude,
To peace & truth thy glorious way hast plough'd,

And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud [ 5 ]

Hast reard Gods Trophies & his work pursu'd,
While Darwen stream with blood of Scotts imbru'd,
And Dunbarr feild, resounds thy praises loud,

And Worcesters laureat wreath; yet much remaines

To conquer still; peace hath her victories [ 10 ]
No less renownd then warr, new foes arise

Threatning to bind our souls with secular chaines:

Helpe us to save free Conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves whose Gospell is their maw.