Classic Poem

Doe not their prophane Orgies heare,
Who but to wealth no altars reare.
The soule's oft poys'ned through the eare.

Castara rather seeke to dwell
Ith' silence of a private cell.
Rich discontent's a glorious hell.

Yet Hindlip doth not want extent
Of roome (though not magnificent)
To give free welcome to content.

There shalt thou see the earely Spring,
That wealthy stocke of nature bring,
Of which the Sybils bookes did sing.

From fruitlesse Palmes shall honey flow,
And barren Winter Harvest show,
While Lillies in his bosome grow,

No North-winde shall the corne infest,
But the soft spirit of the East,
Our sent with perfum'd banquets feast.

A Satyre here and there shall trip,
In hope to purchase leave to sip
Sweete Nectar from a Fairies lip.

The Nimphs with quivers shall adorne
Their active sides and rouse the morne
With the shrill musicke of their horne.

Wakened with which, and viewing thee,
Faire Daphne her faire selfe shall free,
From the chaste prison of a tree:

And with Narcissus(to thy face
Who humbly will ascribe all grace)
Shall once againe pursue the chase.

So they whose wisdome did discusse
Of these as fictions: shall in us
Finde, they were more then fabulous.