Classic Poem

Come, yet, more forth, VOLPONE, and thy chase
Performe to al length, for thy breath wil serue thee;
The Vsurer shal, neuer, weare thy case:
Men do not hunt to kill, but to preserue thee.
Before the best houndes, thou dost, still, but play;
And, for our whelpes, alasse, they yelp in vaine:
Thou hast no earth; thou hunt'st the Milke-white way;
And, through th' Elisian feilds, dost make thy traine.
And as the Symbole of lifes Guard, the HARE,
That, sleeping, wakes; and, for her feare, was saf't:
So, thou shalt be aduanc'd, and made a Starre ,
Pole to all witts, beleeu'd in, for thy craft.
In which, the Scenes both Marke, and Mystery
Is hit, and sounded, to please best, and worst;
To all which, since thou mak'st so sweete a cry,
Take all thy best fare , and be nothing curst .