Classic Poem

Thomalinmy lief, thy musick strains to heare,
More raps my soul, then when the swelling windes
On craggie rocks their whistling voices tear;
Or when the sea, if stopt his course he findes,
With broken murmures thinks weak shores to fear,
Scorning such sandie cords his proud head bindes:
More then where rivers in the summers ray
(Through covert glades cutting their shadie way)
Run tumbling down the lawns, & with the pebles play.

Thy strains to heare, oldChamusfrom his cell
Comes guarded with an hundred Nymphs around;
An hundred Nymphs, that in his rivers dwell,
About him flock with water-lilies crown'd:
For thee the Muses leave their silver well,
And marvel where thou all their art hast found:
There sitting they admire thy dainty strains,
And while thy sadder accent sweetly plains,
Feel thousand sugred joyes creep in their melting veins.

How oft have I, the Muses bower frequenting,
Miss'd them at home, and found them all with thee!
Whether thou sing'st sadEupathuslamenting,
Or tunest notes to sacred harmonie,
The ravisht soul, with thy sweet songs consenting,
Scorning the earth, in heav'nly extasie
Transcends the starres, and with the angels train
Those courts survaies; and now come back again,
Findes yet another heav'n in thy delightfull strain.

Ah! could'st thou here thy humble minde content
Lowly with me to live in countrey cell,
And learn suspect the courts proud blandishment;
Here might we safe, here might we sweetly dwell.
LivePallasin her towers and marble tent;
But (ah!) the countrey bowers please me as well:
There with myThomalinI safe would sing,
And frame sweet ditties to thy sweeter string:
There would we laugh at spite and fortunes thundering.

No flattery, hate, or envy lodgeth there;
There no suspicion wall'd in proved steel,
Yet fearfull of the arms her self doth wear:
Pride is not there; no tyrant there we feel;
No clamorous laws shall deaf thy musick eare:
They know no change, nor wanton fortunes wheel:
Thousand fresh sports grow in those daintie places:
Light Fawns & Nymphs dance in the woodie spaces,
And littleLovehimself plaies with the naked Graces.

But seeing fate my happie wish refuses,
Let me alone enjoy my low estate.
Of all the gifts that fairParnassususes,
Onely scorn'd povertie, and fortunes hate
Common I finde to me, and to the Muses:
But with the Muses welcome poorest fate.
Safe in my humble cottage will I rest;
And lifting up from my untainted breast
A quiet spirit to heav'n, securely live, and blest.

To thee I here bequeath the courtly joyes,
Seeing to court myThomalinis bent:
Take from thyThirsilthese his idle toyes;
Here I will end my looser merriment:
And when thou sing'st them to the wanton boyes,
Among the courtly lasses blandishment,
Think of thyThirsil'slove that never spends;
And softly say, his love still better mends:
Ah too unlike the love of court, or courtly friends!

Go little pipe; for ever I must leave thee,
My little little pipe, but sweetest ever:
Go, go; for I have vow'd to see thee never,
Never, (ah!) never must I more receive thee;
But he in better love will still persever:
Go little pipe, for I must have a new:
Farewell yeNorfolkmaids, andIdacruc:
Thirsilwill play no more; for ever now adieu.