Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise, And all her jealous monarchs with amaze, And rumours loud, that daunt remotest kings, Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings Victory home, though new rebellions raise Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays Her broken league, to imp their serpent wings, O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand; For what can war, but endless war still breed, Till truth, and right from violence be freed, And public faith cleared from the shameful brand Of public fraud. In vain doth valour bleed While avarice, and rapine share the land. |