Classic Poem

Come live with mee and be my Love
And thou shalt all the pleasures prove
The mountaines' towring tops can show,
Inhabiting the vales below.
From a brave height my starre shall shine
T'illuminate the desart Clime.
Thy Summer's Bower shall overlooke,
The subtill windings of the Brooke
For thy delight which onely springs,
And cutts her way with Turtle's Wings.
The Pavement of thy Roomes shall shine,
With the Bruis'd treasures of the Mine,
And not a Tale of Love, but shall
In Mineture adorne thy wall.
Thy Closett shall Queenes Casketts mock
With rustick jewell of the Rock,
And thyne own light shall make a Gemme,
As bright of these, as Queenes of them.
From this thy Spheare, thou shalt behould
Thy Snowy Ewes troope or'e the mold,
Who yearely pay my Love a peece
Of Tender Lamb, and Silver Fleece.
And when Sols Rayes shall all combine
Thyne to out burne, though not out shine,
Then at the foote of som Greene Hill,
Where Crystall Dove runns murmuring still,
Weele Angle for the bright eyd Fish,
To make my Love a dainty Dish;
Or, in a Cave, by Nature made,
Fly to the Covert of the Shade,
Where all the Pleasures wee will Proove,
Taught by the little God of Love.

And when bright Phebus scorching beames,
Shall cease to Guild the Silver Streames,
Then in the could Armes of the Flood
Wee'le bathing coole the factious blood,
Thy beautious Limbs the Brooke shall grace,
Like the reflex of Cynthia's face,
Whilst all the wondring fry do Greete
The welcom Light, adore thy feet,
Supposeing Venus to be come
To send a kisse to Thetis home.
And following night shall trifled bee,
Sweete; as thou know'st, I promis'd thee;
Thus shall the Summers dayes, and Nights,
Be dedicated to thy delights.
Then live with mee, and be my Love
And all these Pleasures shalt thou proove.

But when the saplesse Season brings
Cold Winter on her shivering wings,
Freezing the Rivers Liquid Face,
Into a Crystall Lookeing-Glass,
And that the Trees theire Naked bones
Together knock, like Skeletons,
Then with softest, whitest Locks,
Spun with the tribute of thy flocks,
We will orecast thy whiter Skin,
Winter without, a Springe within.
Att the first peepe of day Ile rise,
To make the sullen Hare thy prise
And thou with open Armes shalt com
To bidd thy Hunter welcom home.
The Partridge, Plover, and the Poote
Ile with the subtle Mallard shoote;
The Fellfare, and the greedy Thrush
Shall drop from every Hawthorne Bush,
And the slow Heron downe shall fall,
To feede my Fayrest Fayre withall,
The Fether'd People of the Ayre,
Shall fall to be my Phyllis' Fare,
Noe storme shall touch thee, Tempest move;
Then live with mee, and be my Love.

But from her cloister when I bring,
My Phyllis to restore the Springe,
The Ruffling Boreas shall withdraw,
The Snow shall melt, the Ice shall thaw;
The Ague-ish Plants Fresh Leaves shall shew,
The Earth put on her verdant hue,
And Thou (Fair Phillis) shalt be seene
Mine, and the Summers beautious Queene.
These, and more Pleasures shalt thou proove;
Then Live with mee, and be my Love.