Classic Poem

And you (O Delian Virgins) doe me grace,
When any stranger of our earthie Race
Whose restlesse life Affliction hath in chace,
Shall hither come, and question you; Who is
To your chaste eares, of choicest faculties
In sacred Poesie; and with most right
Is Author of your absolut'st delight;
Ye shall your selves doe all the right ye can
To answer for our Name: The sightlesse man
Of stonie Chios . All whose Poems shall
In all last Ages stand for Capitall.
This for your owne sakes I desire; for I
Will propagate mine owne precedencie,
As far as earth shall well-built cities beare,
Or humane conversation is held deare.
Not with my praise direct, but praises due;
And men shall credit it, because tis true.

Then to Olympus , swift as thought hee flew
To Joves high house, and had a retinew
Of Gods t'attend him. And then strait did fall
To studie of the Harp, and Harpsicall,
All th'Immortalls. To whom every Muse
With ravishing voices did their answers use,
Singing Th'eternal deeds of Deitie.
And from their hands what Hells of miserie
Poore Humanes suffer, living desperate quite.
And not an Art they have, wit, or deceipt,
Can make them manage any Act aright:
Nor finde with all the soule they can engage,
A salve for Death, or remedie for Age.
But here, the fayre-hayrd Graces, the wise Howres ,
Harmonia, Hebe , and sweet Venus powres,
Danc't; and each others Palme to Palme did cling.
And with these danc't not a deformed thing:
No forspoke Dwarfe, nor downeward witherling;
But all, with wondrous goodly formes were deckt,
And mov'd with Beauties, of unpris'd aspect.