Edmund Waller

“ To dig for wealth we weary not our limbs;
Gold, though the heaviest metal, hither swims;
Ours is the harvest where the Indians mow;
We plough the deep, and reap what others sow.
Things of the noblest kind our own soil breeds;
Stout are our men, and warlike are our steeds;
Rome, though her eagle through the world had flown,
Could never make this island all her own. ”

“ And o'er these nations such confusion spread,
The only cure, which could from Heaven come down,
Was so much power and clemency in one!
One! whose extraction from an ancient line
Gives hope again that well-born men may shine ”

“ Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse,
And every conqueror creates a muse. ”