Classic Poem

If thou wilt love me, thou shalt be my boy,
My sweet delight, the comfort of my mind,
My love, my dove, my solace, and my joy;
But if I can no grace nor mercy find,
I'll go to Caucasus to ease my smart,
And let a vulture gnaw upon my heart.

Yet if thou wilt but show me one kind look,
A small reward for my so great affection,
I'll grave thy name in Beauty's golden book,
And shroud thee under Helicon's protection,
Making the muses chant thy lovely praise,
For they delight in shepherds' lowly lays.

And when th'art weary of thy keeping sheep
Upon a lovely down, to please thy mind,
I'll give thee fine ruff-footed doves to keep,
And pretty pigeons of another kind:
A robin redbreast shall thy minstrel be,
Chirping thee sweet and pleasant melody.

Or if thou wilt go shoot at little birds
With bow and bolt, the thrustle-cock and sparrow,
Such as our country hedges can afford,
I have a fine bow and an ivory arrow,
And if thou miss, yet meat thou shalt not lack:
I'll hang a bag and bottle at thy back.

Wilt thou set springis in a frosty night
To catch the long-billed woodcock and the snipe,
By the bright glimmering of the starry light,
The partridge, pheasant, or the greedy gripe?
I'll lend thee lime-twigs and fine sparrow calls,
Wherewith the fowler silly birds enthralls.

Or in a misty morning, if thou wilt
Make pitfalls for the lark and fieldifare,
Thy prop and sweake shall be both over-gilt;
With Cyparissus' self thou shalt compare
For gins and wiles, the ouzels to beguile,
Whilst thou under a bush shalt sit and smile.