8 ANDREW MARVELL.
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r BitlboTow, better hold than they :But Nature here huth been 50 free,As if she said, " Leave this to me."Alt would more ne^lly liave defacedWhat she had laid so sweetly wasteIn fi^tgrant gardens, shady wands.Deep meadows, and transparent floods. While, with slow eyes, we these survey.And oti each pleasant footstep stay.We opportunely may relateThe pr<^eas of this house's fate.A nunnery first gave it birth,(For virgin buildings oft brought fortli,)And all that neighboar-ruin showsThe quarries whence this dwelling rose.Near to this gloomy cloister's gatesThere dwelt the blooming vii^in Thwaites,Fair beyond measure, and an heir.Which might deformity make fair ;And oft she spent the summer's sunsDiscoursing with the subtle nuns ;Whence, in these words, one to her weaved.As 'twere by chance, thoughts long conceived :" Within this holy leisure, weLive innocently, as you see.These walls restrain the world without.But hedge our liberty about ;
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