The remainder of the political poems, which had made their first appearance as broadsheets, were reprinted after the Revolution in the well-known Collection of Poems on Affairs of State.[35:1] These verses were never owned by Marvell, and it is probable that some of them, though attributed to him, are not his at all.  We have only tradition to go by.  In the case of political satires, squibs, epigrams, rough popular occasional rhymes flung off both in haste and heat to be sold with old ballads in the market-place, we need not seek for better evidence than tradition, which indeed is often the only external evidence we have for the authorship of much more important things.

Now to return to the Nunappleton poetry.

In a poem of 776 lines Marvell tells the story and describes the charms of the house which Lord Fairfax built for himself during the war, and to which, as just narrated, he retired in the summer of 1650.  The story is only too familiar a one, being writ large over many a fine property.  Appleton House was Church loot.  In the time of Henry, “the majestic lord that burst the bonds of Rome,” the old house at Nunappleton was a Cistercian nunnery, a religious house.  In 1542 the community was suppressed and its property appropriated by the great-grandfather of the Lord-General—­one Sir Thomas Fairfax.  The religious buildings were pulled down and a new secular house rose in their place.  In these bare and sordid facts there is not much room for poetry, but there is a story thrown in.  Shortly before 1518 a Yorkshire heiress, bearing the unromantic name of Isabella Thwaites, was living in the Cistercian abbey, under the guardianship of the abbess, the Lady Anna Langton.  Property under the care of the Church is always supposed to be in danger, and the Lady Anna was freely credited with the desire to make a nun of her ward, and so keep her broad acres in Wharfedale and her messuages in York for the use of Mother Church.  None the less, the young lady was allowed to go about and visit her neighbours, and whilst so doing she fell in love with Sir William Fairfax, or he fell in love with her or with her estates.  Thereupon, so the story proceeds, the abbess kept her ward a close prisoner within the nunnery walls.  Legal proceedings were taken, but in the end the privacy of the nunnery was invaded, and Miss Thwaites was abducted and married to Sir William Fairfax at the church of Bolton Percy.  The lady abbess had to submit to vis major, but worse days were in front of her, for she lived on to see the nunnery itself despoiled, and the fair domains she had during a long life preserved and maintained for religious uses handed over to the son of her former ward, Isabella Thwaites.

Our poet begins by referring to the modest dimensions of the house, and the natural charms of its surroundings:—­