Classic Poem

Thou that, by force of All commanding wordes,
Makst all Affections follow thy Commands,
To whome the High'st such height of powre affords
As fully with his grace, and glory stands;
To thee sweet Poeste, offer I this Mite
Of Forcelesse words, deriu'd from lesser might.

Thou that dost scorne Commers with muddy Braines
Or with oughte lesse then Spirits Angelicall,
Who chaunt inchaunting Soule bewitching straines
Whereof but some incindes the Summe of All:
To thee, I sacrifice these Laudes, too leane,
In flames of reale that farre surmount the Meane.

For ├┤ Thou scornst so base as Meane to beare,
Sith that the Meane, in Thee, is held but base:
Though other Arts the Meane doe highly reare,
Thou holdst the Meane to bee an high disgrace;
Then ├┤ with what high Raptures should my Braynes
Entraunced be, to ope thy vertues Vaines?

Which, while I striue to do, my Braines do beate
As if they would worke out their Freedome so:
Who doe attempt to leaue their narrow Seate,
As if they scorn'd to be the Crowne below,
But would be compast in an Angels Crowne,
To make thee Angell bright in deere renowne!

Sweet Helicon, my Braines quite ouerflow:
So shall thy Nectar them intoxicate
And with a firy Wreathe bind thou my Brow,
That mak'st the Muse in Flames to fulminate:
While She, with voice, like Thunder, rattles forth,
The Peales of Praise due to thee, Poesies worth!

From this Foundation might my Muse transcend
The ten-fold Orbs of Heau'n; eu'n to his Throne
That's all in All; there should these praises end,
That higher praises might be His alone;
But, such Transcendents are too high to climb,
For my tir'd Muses Wings, that Lets do lime.

Yet in my Sconce ├┤ make your Rendeuous,
All words that may wing Praise with Angels Plumes,
And ludgement ioyne them fast with Arts Mouth-glue:
That they may hold past Time, that all consumes:
But ├┤ my Will all Words hath ouershot,
Then let my silence praise what Words cannot.