Classic Poem

In winter's time, when hardly fed the flocks,
And icicles hung dangling on the rocks;
When Hyems bound the floods in silver chains,
And hoary frosts had candied all the plains;
When every barn rung with the threshing flails,
And shepherds' boys for cold 'gan blow their nails:
Wearied with toil in seeking out some one
That had a spark of true devotion,
It was my chance (chance only helpeth need)
To find an house ybuilt for holy deed,
With goodly architect, and cloisters wide,
With groves and walks along a river's side;
The place itself afforded admiration,
And every spray a theme of contemplation.
But (woe is me!) when knocking at the gate
I 'gan entreat an enterance thereat:
The porter ask'd my name: I told; he swell'd.
And bade me thence: wherewith in grief repell'd,
I sought for shelter to a ruin'd house,
Harb'ring the weasel, and the dust-bred mouse;
And others none, except the two-kind bat,
Which all the day there melancholy sat:
Here sat I down, with wind and rain ybeat;
Grief fed my mind, and did my body eat.
Yet Idleness I saw (lam'd with the gout)
Had entrance when poor Truth was kept without.
There saw I Drunkenness with dropsies swoll'n;
And pamper'd Lust, that many a night had stol'n
Over the abbey-wall when gates were lock'd,
To be in Venus' wanton bosom rock'd:
And Gluttony, that surfeiting had been,
Knock at the gate and straightway taken in;
Sadly I sat, and sighing, griev'd to see
Their happiness, my infelicity.
At last came Envy by, who, having spied
Where I was sadly seated, inward hied,
And to the convent eagerly she cries,
Why sit you here, when with these ears and eyes
I heard and saw a strumpet dares to say
She is the true fair Aletheia,
Which you have boasted long to live among you,
Yet suffer not a peevish girl to wrong you?
With this provok'd, all rose, and in a rout
Ran to the gate, strove who should first get out,
Bade me begone, and then (in terms uncivil)
Did call me counterfeit, witch, hag, whore, devil;
Then like a strumpet drove me from their cells,
With tinkling pans, and with the noise of bells.
And he that lov'd me, or but moan'd my case,
Had heaps of firebrands banded at his face.
Thus beaten thence (distress'd, forsaken wight)
Enforc'd in fields to sleep, or wake all night;
A silly sheep, seeing me straying by,
Forsook the shrub where once she meant to lie;
As if she in her kind (unhurting elf)
Did bid me take such lodging as herself:
Gladly I took the place the sheep had given,
Uncanopied of anything but heaven.
Where, nigh benumb'd with cold, with grief frequented,
Unto the silent night I thus lamented:
Fair Cynthia, if, from thy silver throne,
Thou ever lent'st an ear to virgin's moan!
Or in thy monthly course one minute stay'd
Thy palfreys' trot, to hear a wretched maid!
Pull in their reins, and lend thine ear to me,
Forlorn, forsaken, cloth'd in misery:
But if a woe hath never woo'd thine ear,
To stop those coursers in their full career;
But as stone-hearted men, uncharitable,
Pass careless by the poor, when men less able
Hold not the needy's help in long suspense,
But in their hands pour their benevolence.
O! if thou be so hard to stop thine ears,
When stars in pity drop down from their spheres,
Yet for a while in gloomy veil of night,
Enshroud the pale beams of thy borrow'd light!
O! never once discourage Goodness (lending
One glimpse of light) to see Misfortune spending
Her utmost rage on Truth, despis'd, distress'd,
Unhappy, unrelieved, yet undress'd!
Where is the heart at Virtue's suff'ring grieveth?
Where is the eye that, pitying, relieveth?
Where is the hand that still the hungry feedeth?
Where is the ear that the decrepit steedeth?
That heart, that hand, that ear, or else that eye,
Giveth, relieveth, feeds, steeds Misery?
O Earth! produce me one of all thy store
Enjoys; and be vain-glorious no more.
By this had chanticleer, the village clock,
Bidden the goodwife for her maids to knock;
And the swart ploughman for his breakfast stay'd,
That he might till those lands were fallow laid:
The hills and valleys here and there resound
With the re-echoes of the deep-mouth'd hound.
Each shepherd's daughter, with her cleanly peal,
Was come afield to milk the morning's meal,
And ere the sun had climb'd the eastern hills,
To gild the mutt'ring bourns and pretty rills,
Before the lab'ring bee had left the hive,
And nimble fishes which in rivers dive,
Began to leap, and catch the drowned fly,
I rose from rest, not in felicity.
Seeking the place of Charity's resort,
Unware I happen'd on a prince's court;
Where, meeting Greatness, I requir'd relief,
(O happy undelay'd) she said in brief,
To small effect thine oratory tends,
How can I keep thee and so many friends?
If of my household I should make thee one,
Farewell my servant, Adulation:
I know she will not stay when thou art there:
But seek some great man's service otherwhere.
Darkness and light, summer and winter's weather
May be at once, ere you two live together.
Thus with a nod she left me cloth'd in woe.