Abraham Cowley: Like the peace, but think it comes too late
This happy concord in no blood is writ,
None can grudge Heaven full thanks for it:
No mothers here lament their children’s fate.
And like the peace, but think it comes too late.
No widows hear the jocund bells.
And take them for their husbands’ knells:
No drop of blood is spilt, which might be said
To mark our joyful holiday with red.
The armour now may be hung up to sight.
And only in their halls the children fright.
The gain of civil wars will not allow
Bay to the conqueror’s brow:
At such a game what fool would venture in.
Where one must lose, yet neither side can win?