Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Nempe sic innumero succrescunt agmine libri,
Saepia vix toto ut jam natet una mari.
Fortius assidui surgunt a vulnere praeli:
Quoque magis pressa est, auctior Hydra redit.
Heu quibus Anticyris, quibus est sanabilis herbis
Improba scribendi pestis, avarus amor!
India sola tenet tanti medicamina morbi,
Dicitur & nostris ingemuisse malis.
Utile Tabacci dedit illa miserta venenum,
Acci veratro quod meliora potest.
Jamque vides olidas libris fumare popinas:
Naribus O doctis quam pretiosus odor!
Hac ego praecipua credo herbam dote placere,
Hinc tuus has nebulas Doctor in astra vehit.
Ah mea quid tandem facies timidissima charta?
Exequias Siticen jam parat usque tuas.
Hunc subeas librum Sansti ceu limen asyli,
Quem neque delebit flamma, nec ira fovis.