Poem by John Milton

To Sir Henry Vane the Younger

Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old, 
  Than whom a better senator ne'er held 
  The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms repell'd 
  The fierce Epirot and the African bold, 
Whether to settle peace, or to unfold
  The drift of hollow states hard to be spell'd, 
  Then to advise how war may best, upheld, 
  Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold, 
In all her equipage: besides to know 
  Both spiritual pow'r and civil, what each means,
  What severs each, thou hast learn'd, which few have done:
The bounds of either sword to thee we owe: 
  Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans 
  In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

1. Psalm 114 (When the blest seed of Terah's faithful Son)
2. Paradise Lost : Book 12
3. Paradise Lost : Book 11
4. To the Lord Generall Cromwell, May 1652
5. Paradise Lost : Book 10

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