ANDREW MARVELL
So restless Cromwell could not cease In the inglorious arts of peace,
But through adventurous war
Urged 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 Caesar'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 reserved 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;
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