Classic Poem

Come : Come, come! shall wee Masque or mu m ?
by my holly day, what a coyle is heere!
some must sway, & some obay I,
or else, I pray, who stands in feare?
though my toe, tha t I limpe on soe,
doe cause my woe & wellaway,
yett this sweet spring & another thing
will make you sing fa la la la la

ffellow gods, will you fall att odds?
what a fury madds yo u r morttall braines!
for a litle care of the worlds affare,
will you frett, will you square, will you vexe, will you vai[r ?]
No, gods! no! let fury go,
& Morttalls doe as well as they may!
for this sweet &c.

God of Moes, w i th thy toting Nose,
w i th thy mouth tha t growes to thy Lolling eare,
stretch thy mouth from North to south,
& quench thy drought in vinigar!
though thy toung be too Large & too Longe
to sing this song of fa la la la la,
Ioyne Momus grace to vulcans pace,
& w i th a filthy face crye " waw waw waw! "

Brother Mine, thou art god of wine!
will you tast of the wine to the companye?
K ing of quaffe, carrouse & doffe
yo u r Liquor of, and follow mee!
Sweete soyle of Exus Ile,
wherin this coyse was eu er y day,
for this sweet &c.

Mercurye, thou Olimpian spye!
wilt thou wash thine eye in this fontaine cleere?
when you goe to the world below,
you shall light of noe such Liquor there,
though you were a winged stare
& flyeth farr as shineth day;
yett heeres a thing yo u r hart will wing,
& make you sing &c.

You tha t are the god of warr,
a cruell starr p er uerse & froward,
Mars! p r epare thy warlicke speare,
& targett! heers a combatt towards!
then fox me, & Ile fox thee;
then lets agree, & end this fray,
since this sweet &c.

Venus queene, for bewtye seene,
in youth soe greene, & loued soe young,
thou tha t art mine owne sweet hart,
shalt haue a p ar t in Cuppe [&] songe;
though my foot be wrong, my swords full long
& hart full strong; cast care away,
Since this sweet &c.

Great Appollo, crowned with yellow,
Cynthius, fellow-muses deere!
heere is wine, itt must be thine,
itt will refine thy Musicke cleere;
to the wire of this sweet lire
you must aspire another day,
for this sweet &c.

Iuno clere, & mother dere,
you come in the rere of a bowsing feast;
thus I meet, yo u r grace to greet;
the grape is sweet & the last is best.
now let fall yo u r angry brawlee
from im m ortall & wayghtye sway;
tis a gracious thing to please yo u r K ing ,
& heare you sing &c.

Awfull sire, & king of fire!
let wine aspire to thy mighty throne,
& in this quire of voices clere
Come thou, & beare an imorttall drame;
for fury ends, & grace d[e]sends
w i th Stygian feinds to dwell for aye.
lett Nectur spring & thunder ring
when Ioue doth sing &c &c.

Vulcan, Momus, hermes, Bacchus,
Mars & Venus, 2 and tooe,
Phebus brightest, Iuno rightest,
& the mightyest of the crew,
Ioue, and all the heauens great hall,
keepe festiuall & holy-day!
since this sweete spring w i th her blacke thing
will make you sing fa la la la.