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And since love ne'er will from me flee,
A Mistress moderately fair,

And good as guardian angels are,
Only beloved and loving me.

O fountains! when in you shall I
Myself eased of unpeaceful thoughts espy?

O fields! O woods! when, when shall I be made
The happy tenant of your shade?

Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood:

Here's wealthy Nature's treasury,

Where all the riches lie that she

Has coin'd and stamp'd for good.

Pride and ambition here

Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear;

Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter, And nought but Echo flatter.

The gods, when they descended, hither

From heaven did always choose their way:
And therefore we may boldly say

That 'tis the way too thither.

How happy here should I

And one dear She live, and embracing die!
She who is all the world, and can exclude
In deserts solitude.

I should have then this only fear :
Lest men, when they my pleasures see,
Should hither throng to live like me,

And so make a city here.

ALEXANDER BROME

354.

TELL

The Resolve

ELL me not of a face that's fair,
Nor lip and cheek that's red,
Nor of the tresses of her hair,

Nor curls in order laid,
Nor of a rare seraphic voice
That like an angel sings;
Though if I were to take my choice
I would have all these things:
But if that thou wilt have me love,
And it must be a she,

The only argument can move
Is that she will love me.

The glories of your ladies be
But metaphors of things,
And but resemble what we see

Each common object brings.
Roses out-red their lips and cheeks,
Lilies their whiteness stain;
What fool is he that shadows seeks
And may the substance gain?
Then if thou'lt have me love a lass,

Let it be one that's kind :
Else I'm a servant to the glass
That's with Canary lined.

1620-1666

1621-1678

355.

ANDREW MARVELL

An Horatian Ode

upon Cromwell's Return from Ireland

THE

HE forward youth that would appear
Must now forsake his Muses dear,
Nor in the shadows sing

His numbers languishing.

'Tis time to leave the books in dust,
And oil the unused armour's rust,
Removing from the wall

The corslet of the hall.

So restless Cromwell could not cease
In the inglorious arts of peace,
But through adventurous war
Urgèd his active star :

And like the three-fork'd lightning, first
Breaking the clouds where it was nurst,
Did thorough his own side
His fiery way divide:

For 'tis all one to courage high,

The emulous, or enemy;

And with such, to enclose

Is more than to oppose.

Then burning through the air he went
And palaces and temples rent;

And Cæsar's head at last

Did through his laurels blast.

'Tis madness to resist or blame
The face of angry Heaven's flame;
And if we would speak true,
Much to the man is due,

Who, from his private gardens, where He lived reservèd and austere

(As if his highest plot

To plant the bergamot),

Could by industrious valour climb
To ruin the great work of time,
And cast the Kingdoms old
Into another mould;

Though Justice against Fate complain, And plead the ancient rights in vain— But those do hold or break

As men are strong or weak

Nature, that hateth emptiness,
Allows of penetration less,

And therefore must make room
Where greater spirits come.

What field of all the civil war
Where his were not the deepest scar ?
And Hampton shows what part
He had of wiser art;

Where, twining subtle fears with hope,
He wove a net of such a scope

That Charles himself might chase
To Caresbrooke's narrow case;

That thence the Royal actor borne
The tragic scaffold might adorn :

While round the armed bands

Did clap their bloody hands.

He nothing common did or mean
Upon that memorable scene,
But with his keener eye

The axe's edge did try;

Nor call'd the gods, with vulgar spite,
To vindicate his helpless right;
But bow'd his comely head
Down, as upon a bed.

This was that memorable hour
Which first assured the forced power:

So when they did design

The Capitol's first line,

A Bleeding Head, where they begun,
Did fright the architects to run;
And yet in that the State
Foresaw its happy fate!

And now the Irish are ashamed
To see themselves in one year tamed:
So much one man can do

That does both act and know.

They can affirm his praises best, And have, though overcome, confest How good he is, how just And fit for highest trust.

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