Classic Poem

B V t stay: (sad Genius ) How doe griefes transport
Thy exil'd senses? Is there no resort
To fork'd Parnassus ' sacred Mount? No word,
No thought of Helicon? No Muse implor'd?
I did invoke, but there was none repli'd;
The nine were silent, since Metaenas dy'd:
They have forsaken their old Spring: 'tis said,
They haunt a new one, which their teares have made:
Should I molest them with my losse? 'Tis knowne
They finde enough to relament their owne:
I crave no ayde, no Deitle to infuse
New matter: Ah! True sorrow needs no Muse.