Classic Poem

A Dialogue betweene

Night and Araphil. Night .

Let silence close thy troubled eyes,
 Thy feare in Lethe steepe:
The starres bright cent'nels of the skies,
 Watch to secure thy sleepe. Araph .

The Norths unruly spirit lay
 In the disorder'd Seas:
Make the rude Winter calme as May ,
 And give a lover ease. Night .

Yet why should feare with her pale charmes,
 Bewitch thee so to griefe?
Since it prevents n'insuing harmes,
 Nor yeelds the past reliefe. Araph.

And yet such horror I sustaine
 As the sad vessell, when
Rough tempests have incenst the Maine,
 Her Harbor now in ken. Night .

No conquest weares a glorious wreath,
 Which dangers not obtaine:
Let tempests 'gainst thee shipwracke breathe,
 Thou shalt thy harbour gaine. Araph.

Truths Delphos doth not still foretell,
 Though Sol th' inspirer be.
How then should night as blind as hell,
 Ensuing truths fore-see? Night .

The Sunne yeelds man no constant flame,
 One light those Priests inspires.
While I though blacke am still the same,
 And have ten thousand fires. Araph.

But those, sayes my propheticke feare,
 As funerall torches burne,
While thou thy selfe the blackes dost weare,
 T'attend me to my Vrne. Night .

Thy feares abuse thee, for those lights
 In Hymens Church shall shine,
When he by th' mystery of his rites,
 Shall make Castara thine.
A Dialogue betweene

Night and Araphil. Night .

Let silence close thy troubled eyes,
 Thy feare in Lethe steepe:
The starres bright cent'nels of the skies,
 Watch to secure thy sleepe. Araph.

The Norths unruly spirit lay
 In the disorder'd Seas:
Make the rude Winter calme as May ,
 And give a lover ease. Night .

Yet why should feare with her pale charmes,
 Bewitch thee so to griefe?
Since it prevents n'insuing harmes,
 Nor yeelds the past reliefe. A RAPH .

And yet such horror I sustaine
 As the sad vessell, when
Rough tempests have incenst the Maine,
 Her Harbor now in ken. Night .

No conquest weares a glorious wreath,
 Which dangers not obtaine:
Let tempests 'gainst thee shipwracke breathe,
 Thou shalt thy harbour gaine. A RAPH .

Truths Delphos doth not still foretell,
 Though Sol th' inspirer be.
How then should night as blind as hell,
 Ensuing truths fore-see? Night .

The Sunne yeelds man no constant flame,
 One light those Priests inspires.
While I though blacke am still the same,
 And have ten thousand fires. A RAPH .

But those, sayes my propheticke feare,
 As funerall torches burne,
While thou thy selfe the blackes dost weare,
 T'attend me to my Vrne. Night .

Thy feares abuse thee, for those lights
 In Hymens Church shall shine,
When he by th' mystery of his rites,
 Shall make Castara thine.