Men-Miracles With other Poemes. By M. LL. St [i.e.Martin Lluelyn] |
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To L: C: H: P.
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 | Men-Miracles |  |
98
To L: C: H: P.
Being at his Quarters on his Birth-day.
What Number in thy Teares this Day may weare,
Be't the fond Nurses or the Midwives care:
Thy Date enlarges, and thy Age succeeds,
Not by Account in Calenders, but deeds.
Thou that in Conquests didst thy Non-age bathe,
And like Alcides combate in thy Swathe:
Whose early yeares have in pitcht Feilds beene spent,
Who from the Cradle marcht into the Tent.
He that had seene thy Keinton-courage, when
Slaughter had prest the groaning feild with men.
He that had seene thy Arme be dew thy side,
And thee undaunted gaze ith Crimson Tide:
Thy Sword cut short, and still thou nothing feele,
As if thy Flesh had like thy Sword beene Steele.
Thy wrist surprizd afresh, and yet no bore,
As if the Bullets durst not hurt thee more.
When after these thy Heate could not endure
To be intreated to depart secure.
Be't the fond Nurses or the Midwives care:
Thy Date enlarges, and thy Age succeeds,
Not by Account in Calenders, but deeds.
Thou that in Conquests didst thy Non-age bathe,
And like Alcides combate in thy Swathe:
Whose early yeares have in pitcht Feilds beene spent,
Who from the Cradle marcht into the Tent.
He that had seene thy Keinton-courage, when
Slaughter had prest the groaning feild with men.
He that had seene thy Arme be dew thy side,
And thee undaunted gaze ith Crimson Tide:
Thy Sword cut short, and still thou nothing feele,
As if thy Flesh had like thy Sword beene Steele.
Thy wrist surprizd afresh, and yet no bore,
As if the Bullets durst not hurt thee more.
When after these thy Heate could not endure
To be intreated to depart secure.
He that had seene all this, must needs confesse,
Death cannot fright thee coucht in any Dresse.
Death cannot fright thee coucht in any Dresse.
To trace thy valour, and compile all these,
I should dispatch my Muse beyond the Seas:
Thy home Adventure's great, nor lesse Designe
Was that which leaves thee fam'd beyond the Rhine.
Thus a mixt Fame waites thee, which thou may'st raise,
From Foraigne Trophies, or Domesticke Bayes:
Then cease to count thy Yeares by any Day,
For thou art young, but thy Renowne is Gray.
I should dispatch my Muse beyond the Seas:
99
Was that which leaves thee fam'd beyond the Rhine.
Thus a mixt Fame waites thee, which thou may'st raise,
From Foraigne Trophies, or Domesticke Bayes:
Then cease to count thy Yeares by any Day,
For thou art young, but thy Renowne is Gray.
| Men-Miracles | |