The Third English Civil War poem; Much darker than the others, concerning the hopes and fears of a young Parliamentarian Trooper, just before The Battle of Naseby; June 14, 1645.

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Come, walk with me down through the meadows we have known since we were young,
far past the old mill on the river, where our love affair began.
For, we must discourse solemnly, concerning what has come to pass;
the Warrant has arrived, this morn; my Regiment has called at last.
I must seek out my troop in Ipswich town, a distant, toilsome ride.
Too soon, I must away, my love; from thee, my fears I cannot hide.
Though vanquish'ed on Marston Moor, the Royalists march East and South;
and we shall have them in the Shires before this month of June be out.

But now, my love, I must entreat thee; heed these words I speak to thee.
This morn, arrived another letter dark with menace... certainly.
T'would seem, in Essex, there prevails a Malcontent of cunning guile,
and soon, to Suffolk, he may stray; "Witchfinder General" is he styled.
His name is Matthew Hopkins; a dour Suffolk Puritan
from out the Wedham Hundreds, he, and his vile watchers came.
They feed on Village gossip, and innuendo bold;
with "Here, a Witch " and "There, a Witch"... scores settled, new and old.

They seek out old, defenceless women; those, whom wagging tongues condemn;
but also, they seek fair young maids, for fouler pleasures, when no men
are there, who can protect their virtue by the pistol and the sword,
beware, my love, if they draw near; I do beseech thee; heed my words.
Should they manifest themselves about here; this... thine best defence;
appear devout, be kind to all; by word and deed, give no offence.
Cast aside those gowns I love, that show thine bosom, soft and white;
become the close-necked Puritan; pious, chaste; a sound deceit.

And, if the venomous countenance of Hopkins, shows in Easton, fair;
should he, his Witch-hunts prosecute; firm set in place, awaiting there;
laid with Saxmundham Garrison... a plot of desperate enterprise.
They stand prepared to ride a Troop of Horse here, 'ere the need arise.
They wait the warning signal, thus: thrice peal the Church bells, clear and long,
and they shall ride, with naked sword, to smite this foul Malignant down.
Thus, to confound his evil trade; he bears no Warrant to impeach;
And, Suffolk Troopers stand together... each to all, and all to each.

So, heed my words, love; couch thy fear; these things may yet, not come to be.
I shall return, 'ere comes the Autumn... if God's hand protecteth me,
and, we shall walk again the meadows, past the mill, by riverside;
and, before the snows of winter, I shall take thee for my bride.
Farewell to thee, my own true love; to horse! a'fore Noon, we needs muster.
Entreat me one last, lingering kiss; no tears to dim thine bright eyes lustre.
At Eventide, gaze Westward... seek ye out the newborn Evening star;
and I will seek her too; remembering how beautiful you are.