Classic Poem

Yes, yes, 'tis Cloris sings, 'tis she,
Marke how the Nimphes and Shepherds all
Flock to her; soe the Master Bee
The swarm leads with his Awfull call,
Soe to the thracian Lyre the floods
Resorted, and the Listning woods,
Soe shoals of Dolphins on the green waves spring,
When Doris or her Sea-borne daughters sing.

And soe her Noats their Hartes benumm,
One looks pale, Others eyes Oreflow
With tears of pleasure, perhaps Some
Distill from Sad Harts, tears of woe.
But as if fetterd in a chain
Soe soft their passions felt noe pain,
She stopps no sooner, but th'inchanted thronge
Straight Crye, Sweet Cloris sing an Other Song.