Classic Poem

The youthly Shepheards wonning here ,
And Beauties rare displayd appeare:
What exercise hee chiefe affects,
His Name, and scornefull love neglects.

1

In Ida Vale (who knowes not Ida Vale?)
When harmelesse Troy yet felt not Græcian spite:
A hundred Shepheards woon'd, and in the Dale,
While their faire Flockes the three leav'd Pastures bite:
The Shepheards boyes, with hundred sportings light,
 Gave winges unto the times to speedy hast:
 Ah foolish Lads, that strove with lavish wast,
 So fast to spend the time, that spends your time as fast.

2

Among the rest that all the rest excel'd,
A dainty Boy there wonn'd, whose harmelesse yeares,
Now in their freshest budding gently sweld;
His Nimph-like face ne're felt the nimble sheeres,
Youth's downy blossome through his cheeke appeares:
 His lovely limbes (but love he quite discarded)
 Were made for play (but he no play regarded,)
 And fit love to reward, and with love be rewarded.

3

High was his fore-head, arch't with silver mould,
(Where never anger churlish rinkle dighted)
His auburne lockes hung like darke threds of gold,
That wanton aires (with their faire length incited)
To play among their wanton curles delighted.
 His smiling eyes with simple truth were stor'd:
 Ah! how should truth in those thiefe eyes be stor'd,
 Which thousand loves had stol'n, and never one restor'd.

4

His lilly-cheeke might seeme an Ivory plaine,
More purely white than frozen Apenine :
Where lovely bashfulnesse did sweetely raine,
In blushing scarlet cloth'd, and purple fine.
A hundred hearts had this delightfull shrine,
 (Still cold it selfe) inflam'd with hot desire,
 That well the face might seeme, in divers tire,
 To be a burning snow, or else a freezing fire.

5

His cheerefull lookes, and merry face would proove,
(If eyes the index be where thoughts are read)
A dainty play-fellow for naked love;
Of all the other parts enough is sed,
That they were fit twins for so fayre a head:
 Thousand boyes for him, thousand maidens dy'de,
 Dye they that list, for such his rigorous pride,
 He thousand boyes (ah foole) and thousand maids deni'd.

6

His joy was not in musiques sweete delight,
(Though well his hand had learnt that cunning arte)
Or dainty songs to daintier eares indite;
But through the plaines to chace the nimble Hart,
With well tun'd hounds; or with his certaine dart,
 The tusked Boare, or savage Beare to wound;
 Meane time his heart with monsters doth abound,
 Ah foole to seeke so farre what neerer might be found!

7

His name (well knowne unto those Woody shades,
Where unrewarded lovers oft complaine them)
Anchises was; Anchises oft the glades,
And mountaines heard Anchises had disdain'd them;
Not all their love one gentle looke had gain'd them,
 That rockey hills, with echoing noyse consenting,
  Anchises plain'd; but he no whit relenting,
 (Harder then rocky hils) laught at their vaine lamenting.