Classic Poem

Ye dainty nymphs, that in this blessed brook
Do bathe your breast,
Forsake your watery bowers, and hither look,
At my request;
And eke you virgins, that on Parnasse dwell,
Whence floweth Helicon the learned well,
Help me to blaze
Her worthy praise,
Which in her sex doth all excel.

Of fair Elisa be your silver song,
That blessed wight;
The flower of virgins, may she flourish long,
In princely plight.
For she is Syrinx' daughter without spot,
Which Pan the shepherds' God of her begot:
So sprang her grace
Of heavenly race,
No mortal blemish may her blot.

See, where she sits upon the grassy green,
(O seemly sight)
Yclad in scarlet like a maiden Queen,
And ermines white.
Upon her head a cremosin coronet
With damask roses and daffodillies set:
Bay-leaves between,
And primroses green
Embellish the sweet violet.

Tell me, have ye seen her angelic face,
Like Phoebe fair?
Her heavenly haviour, her princely grace,
Can you well compare?
The red rose medled with the white yfere
In either cheek depeincten lively cheer.
Her modest eye,
Her majesty,
Where have you seen the like, but there?

I saw Phoebus thrust out his golden head,
Upon her to gaze:
But when he saw, how broad her beams did spread,
It did him amaze.
He blushed to see another sun below,
Ne durst again his fiery face outshow:
Let him, if he dare,
His brightness compare
With hers, to have the overthrow.

Shew thyself, Cynthia, with thy silver rays,
And be not abashed;
When she the beams of her beauty displays,
O how art thou dashed?
But I will not match her with Latona's seed;
Such folly great sorrow to Niobe did breed.
Now she is a stone,
And makes daily moan,
Warning all other to take heed.

Pan may be proud, that ever he begot
Such a bellibone,
And Syrinx rejoice, that ever was her lot
To bear such an one.
Soon as my younglings cryen for the dam,
To her will I offer a milkwhite lamb.
She is my goddess plain,
And I her shepherd's swain,
Albeit forswonk and forswat I am.

I see Calliope speed her to the place,
Where my goddess shines;
And after her the other Muses trace,
With their violins.
Been they not bay branches, which they do bear,
All for Elisa in her hand to wear?
So sweetly they play,
And sing all the way,
That it a heaven is to hear.

Lo, how finely the Graces can it foot
To the instrument;
They dancen deftly, and singen soote,
In their merriment.
Wants not a fourth Grace, to make the dance even?
Let that room to my lady be yeven:
She shall be a Grace,
To fill the fourth place,
And reign with the rest in heaven.

And whither runs this bevy of ladies bright,
Ranged in a row?
They been all ladies of the lake behight,
That unto her go.
Chloris, that is the chiefest nymph of all,
Of olive branches bears a coronal:
Olives been for peace,
When wars do surcease;
Such for a princess been principal.

Ye shepherds' daughters, that dwell on the green,
Hie you there apace;
Let none come there, but that virgins been,
To adorn her grace.
And when you come, whereas she is in place,
See, that your rudeness do not you disgrace:
Bind your fillets fast,
And gird in your waist,
For more fineness, with a tawdry lace.

Bring hither the pink and purple columbine,
With gillyflowers;
Bring coronations, and sops in wine,
Worn of paramours.
Strew me the ground with daffadowndillies,
And cowslips, and kingcups, and loved lilies:
The pretty paunce,
And the chevisaunce,
Shall match with the fair flower delice.

Now rise up Elisa, decked as thou art,
In royal array;
And now ye dainty damsels may depart
Each one her way,
I fear, I have troubled your troops too long;
Let Dame Elisa thank you for her song.
And if you come hither,
When damsons I gather,
I will part them all you among.