Classic Poem

A Crambo Song.

Great Phaebus in his vast career,
Who forms the self-succeeding year,
Thron'd in his amber chariot,
Sees not an object half so bright,
Nor gives such joy, such life, such light,
As dear delicious Harriote .

Pedants of dull phlegmatic turns,
Whose pulse not beats, whose blood not burns,
Read Malbranche, Boyle, and Marriote,
I scorn their philosophic strife,
And study Nature from the life,
(Where most she shines) in Harriote .

When she admits another wooer,
I rave like Shakespear's jealous Moor,
And am, as ranting Barry hot;
True, virtuous, lovely was his dove,
But Virtue, Beauty, Truth, and Love,
Are other names for Harriote .

Ye honest members, who oppose,
And fire both Houses with your prose,
Tho' never can ye carry ought;
You might command the nations sense,
And without bribery convince,
Had you the voice of Harriote .

You of the musick common weal,
Who borrow, beg, compose, or steal
Cantata, air, or ariet;
You'd burn your cumbrous works in score,
And sing, compose, and play no more,
If once you heard my Harriote .

Were there a wretch, who durst essay
Such wondrous sweetness to betray,
I'd call him an Iscariot;
But her ev'n satyrs can't annoy,
So strictly chaste, tho' kindly coy,
Is fair angelic Harriote .

While sultans, emperors, and kings
(Mean appetite of earthly things)
In all the waste of war-riot;
Love's softer duel be my aim,
Praise, honour, glory, conquest, fame,
Are center'd all in Harriote .

I swear by Hymen, and the pow'rs
That haunt Love's ever-blushing bow'rs,
So sweet a nymph to marry ought;
Then may I hug her silken yoke,
And give the last, the final stroke,
T' accomplish lovely Harriote .