Classic Poem

The Sun which doth the greatest comfort bring
To absent friends, because the self-same thing
They know they see however absent, is
Here our best Hay-maker (forgive me this,
It is our Countreys style). In this warme shine,
I lie and dreame of your full Mermaid wine.
Oh we have water mixt with Claret Lees,
Drinke apt to bring in dryer heresies
Than beere, good only for the Sonnets strain,
With fustian metaphors to stuffe the brain,
So mixt, that given to the thirstiest one,
'Twill not prove almes, unlesse he have the stone:
I thinke with one draught mans invention fades,
Two Cups had quite spoil'd Homers Illiads;
'Tis Liquor that will find out Sutcliffs wit,
Lie where he will, and make him write worse yet;
Fill'd with such moisture in most grievous qualmes,
Did Robert Wisdome write his singing Psalmes;
And so must I doe this, and yet I thinke
It is a potion sent us down to drink
By special Providence, keeps us from fights,
Makes us not laugh, when we make legs to Knights.
'Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our States,
A Medicine to obey our Magistrates:
For we do live more free than you, no hate,
No envy at one anothers happy State
Moves us, we are all equal every whit:
Of Land that God gives men here is their wit,
If we consider fully: for our best
And gravest man will, with his main house jest,
Scarce please you; we want subtilty to do
The Citie tricks, lie, hate, and flatter too:
Here are none that can bear a painted show,
Strike when you winch, and then lament the blow:
Who like Mills set the right way for to grind,
Can make their gaines alike with every wind:
Only some fellows with the subtil'st pate
Amongst us, may perchance aequivocate
At selling of a Horse, and that's the most.
Methinks the little wit I had is lost
Since I saw you, for wit is like a rest
Held up at Tennis, which men doe the best,
With the best gamesters: What things have we seen,
Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been
So nimble, and so full of subtill flame,
As if that every one from whence they came,
Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest,
And had resolv'd to live a foole, the rest
Of his dull life; then when there hath been throwne
Wit able enough to justifie the Towne
For three dayes past, wit that might warrant be
For the whole City to talk foolishly
Till that were cancel'd, and when that was gone,
We left an aire behind us, which alone,
Was able to make the two next companies
Right witty; though but downright fools, more wise.
When I remember this, and see that now
The Country gentlemen begin to allow
My wit for dry bobs, then I needs must cry,
I see my days of ballating grow nigh;
I can already riddle, and can sing
Catches, sell bargains, and I feare shall bring
My self to speak the hardest words I find,
Over as oft as any, with one wind,
That takes no medicines: But one thought of thee
Makes me remember all these things to be
The wit of our young men, fellows that show
No part of good, yet utter all they know:
Who like trees of the Guard, have growing soules.
Only strong destiny, which all controules,
I hope hath left a better fate in store,
For me thy friend, than to live ever poor,
Banisht unto this home; fate once againe
Bring me to thee, who canst make smooth and plain
The way of Knowledge for me, and then I,
Who have no good but in thy company,
Protest it will my greatest comfort be
To acknowledge all I have to flow from thee.
Ben, when these Scaenes are perfect, we'll taste wine;
I'll drink thy Muses health, thou shalt quaff mine.