Classic Poem

I.

Tis true the beauteous Starre
To which I first did bow
Burnt quicker, brighter far
Then that which leads me now;
Which shines with more delight;
For gazing on that light
So long, neere lost my sight.

II.

Through foule, we follow faire,
For had the World one face
And Earth been bright as Ayre,
We had knowne neither place;
Indians smell not their Neast;
A Swisse or Finne tastes best,
The Spices of the East.

III.

So from the glorious Sunne,
Who to his height hath got,
With what delight we runne
To some black Cave, or Grot?
And Heav'nly Sydney you
Twice read, had rather view
Some odde Romance , so new.

IV.

The God that constant keepes
Unto his Dieties,
Is poore in Joyes, and sleepes
Imprison'd in the skies:
This knew the wisest, who
From Funo stole, below
To love a Beare, or Cow.