Classic Poem

Come not to me for scarfs, nor plumes,
Nor from the needy look for gould;
Incense wee have, but noe perfumes,
Nor noe such fleece in all our Fold,
As Jason wonn,
But wooll home spunn
To keepe us from the winters cold;
And when our garments should be thinne,
We leave the Fleece and take the skinn;

Which heere we neither pinke, nor race,
Unlesse a bramble or a thorne,
Deriding of the printers place,
Supply his offices in scorne;
Nor yet much lesse
Strive to possesse
Things that might be as well forborne.
What wee can spare, wee never lack;
A sheapheards wardrobe is his back.

Our roofes are low, our cabins small,
Our loves, as well as loaves, are browne,
Yet soe contented there withall,
Wee seeke noe finer in the towne;
For thach and mudd
Sometimes have stood,
When lead and marble weare blowne downe,
And love, they say, as often rests
In sunnburnt, as in snowy breasts.

And by my sheapheards kalander,
Tis love alone, thou com'st to seeke,
And our predictions seldome erre,
For though unstudied in the Greeke
Or Hebrew tongue,
Sheapheards have sung
Southsayings, which the learned like,
And I may hitt perhaps on this
Upon a trueth when doctors misse.

The pulcee of love beates in our eyes,
And when that goes as quick as yours,
Admit the patient seldom dies,
Experience noe such life assures;
For as the stone
Kills not alone,
But Feavers frequently procures,
Which deaths sadd offices fullfill,
Soe love must cease, or death will kill.

Take but the country aire a while,
And if thou wilt descend soe lowe,
To please thyne eare, wee'll raise our stile,
Which soe refind perhaps may grow,
Thy hearing sence
Shall not stirr hence,
Admit thyne eyes from court doe goe;
For every homely thing we have,
Att least in title, shalbe brave.

A mountaine toppe shalbe thy throne,
Thy Percian carpetts flowry feildes;
Thy cooch with green mosse over growne,
As unshorne velvet, summer yealds;
Thy lamp by night
The constant light,
That glisters, wher the gloworme builds,
Thy sparver a well tufted tree,
Ore heaven itselfe, thy canopy.

A larke shall call thee from thy rest,
And sing thee mattens every day;
The nightingall that warbells best
Shall vespers every evening saye;
The wise ant preach,
And bees shall teach
Us, how to rule, and to obaye;
A crane the watch and ward shall keepe,
And noe lambe bleat, to breake thy sleepe.

And if a Feather of Loves winges,
To slacken and retard his flight,
The goulden-headed shaft he brings,
Impoverishing his quiver quite,
The scarfe fame tyes
About his eyes,
Thy stepps may hitherward invite,
Thou mayst from this tyme forth dispose
Of him and us, and each of those.

Thou needes must thinke, I know full well
Wher Love resides, that undertake
Without the helpe of charme, or spell,
Hee shall soe quick appearance make,
Yet thinke withall
His power not small,
That in the plurall number spake,
Though likely to be sick and ill,
Hee is so apt to make his will.

But as the wisest sorte dispose
Of all they have in perfect health,
Least wayward sicknesse fancy those
That are unworthy of their wealth,
So passion free
Doe I by thee,
Scorning thou shouldst come in by stealth,
Or watch my weakenesse or a Fit
Of love, and soe inherite itt.

Att court new Fashions are not strange,
But heere wee ever keepe our old;
There love (they say) consists in change,
Heere, after one, all ours are told.
The first is last,
Because wee cast
One hand can but another hold;
But they have loves, wee understand,
For every finger of the hand.

Brothers and sisters, cosens, freindes,
And two scarce parted in the wombe
At court, for their peculiar ends,
Hard by Loves cradle build their tombe.
Heere hee survives
Eyther two lives,
Or els Fills up an empty roome;
And after such a league beginns,
Though strangers borne, wee dye like twinns.

And after death the lowly mynde
And humble spirite raysed by grace
A place in glory sooner finde
Than they who vainely seeke a place.
Thou mayst soe caught
Perhapps be brought,
Though slow at first, to mend thy pace,
And cast thy purple roabes away,
To take a scripp and sheapheards grey.