"_To the most Illustrious and most Excellent Lord, the Lord
Whitelocke, Ambassador Extraordinary to the Most Serene Queen of
Sweden. An Ode._

Whitelocke, delight of Mars, the ornament
Of gownmen, from thy country being sent,
Tribunals languish; Themis sad is led,
Sighing under her mourning widow's bed.
Without thee suitors in thick crowds do run,
Sowing perpetual strife, which once begun,
Till happy fate thee home again shall send,
Those sharp contentions will have no end.
But through the snowy seas and northern ways,
When the remoter sun made shortest days,
O'er tops of craggy mountains, paths untrod,
Where untamed creatures only make abode,
Thy love to thy dear country hath thee brought,
Ambassador from England. Thou hast sought
The Swedish confines buried in frost,
Straight wilt thou see the French and Spanish coast;
And them fast bind to thy loved Britany
In a perpetual league of amity.
So wilt thou arbitrator be of Peace,
Her pious author; thou wilt cause to cease
The sound of war, our ears it shall not pierce;
Thou wilt be Chancellor of the universe.
Christina, that sweet nymph, no longer shall
Detain thee; be thou careful not to fall,
Prudent Ulysses, under those delights