TO HIS NOBLE FRIEND, MR. RICHARD LOVELACE, UPON HIS POEMS by ANDREW MARVELL

Sir,
Our times are much degenerate from those
Which your sweet Muse, which your fair Fortune chose,
And as complexions alter with the Climes,
Our wits have drawne th' infections of our times.
That candid Age no other way could tell
To be ingenious, but by speaking well.
Who best could prayse, had then the greatest prayse,
'Twas more esteemed to give, than weare the Bayes:
Modest ambition studied only then,
To honor not her selfe, but worthy men.
These vertues now are banisht out of Towne,
Our Civill Wars have lost the Civicke crowne.
He highest builds, who with most Art destroys,
And against others Fame his owne employs.
I see the envious Caterpillar sit
On the faire blossome of each growing wit.

The Ayre's already tainted with the swarms
Of Insects which against you rise in arms.
Word-peckers, Paper-rats, Book-scorpions,
Of wit corrupted, the unfashion'd Sons.
The barbed Censurers begin to looke
Like the grim consistory on thy Booke:
And on each line cast a reforming eye,
Severer than the young Presbytery.
Till when in vaine they have thee all perus'd,
You shall for being faultless be accus'd.
Some reading your Lucasta, will alledge
You wrong'd in her the Houses Priviledge.
Some that you under sequestration are,
Because you write when going to the Warre,
And on the book prohibits, because Kent
Their first Petition by the Authour sent.

But when the beauteous Ladies came to know
That their deare Lovelace was endanger'c so:
Lovelace that thaw'd the most congealed brest,
He who lov'd best and them defended best.
Whose hand so rudely grasps the steely brand,
Whose hand so gently melts the Ladies hand.
They all in mutiny though yet undrest
Sally'd, and would in his defence contest.
And on the loveliest that was yet e're seen,
Thinking that I too of the rout had been.
Mine eyes invaded with a female spight,
(She knew what pain 'twould be to lose that sight.)
O no, mistake not, I reply'd, for I
In your defence, or in his cause would dy.
But he secure of glory and of time
Above their envy or mine aid doth clime.
Him, valiant men, and fairest Nymphs approve,
His Booke in them finds Judgement, with you Love.

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