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Andrew Marvell - Last Instructions to a Painter
Work rating: Medium

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And hurls them off e`er since in his career. 

And you, Great Sir, that with him empire share, 
Sun of our world, as he the Charles is there, 
Blame not the Muse that brought those spots to sight, 
Which in you splendour hid, corrode your light: 
(Kings in the country oft have gone astray 
Nor of a peasant scorned to learn the way.) 
Would she the unattended throne reduce, 
Banishing love, trust, ornament, and use, 
Better it were to live in cloister`s lock, 
Or in fair fields to rule the easy flock. 
She blames them only who the court restrain 
And where all England serves, themselves would reign. 

Bold and accursed are they that all this while 
Have strove to isle our Monarch from his isle, 
And to improve themselves, on false pretence, 
About the Common-Prince have raised a fence; 
The kingdom from the crown distinct would see 
And peel the bark to burn at last the tree. 
(But Ceres corn, and Flora is the spring, 
Bacchus is wine, the country is the King.) 

Not so does rust insinuating wear, 
Nor powder so the vaulted bastion tear, 
Nor earthquake so an hollow isle o`er whelm 
As scratching courtiers undermine a realm, 
And through the palace`s foundations bore, 
Burrowing themselves to hoard their guilty store. 
The smallest vermin make the greatest waste, 
And a poor warren once a city rased. 

But they, whom born to virtue and to wealth, 
Nor guilt to flattery binds, nor want to wealth, 
Whose generous conscience and whose courage high 
Does with clear counsels their large souls supply; 
That serve the King with their estates and care, 
And, as in love, on Parliaments can stare, 
(Where few the number, choice is there less hard): 
Give us this court, and rule without a guard.
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