Classic Poem

( i )

At Thames faire port
The Nymphes and Shepherds of the Isle resort.
And thence did put to Sea with mirthfull rounds,
Whereat the billowes dance above their bounds,
And bearded Goats, that on the clouded head
Of any sea-survaying Mountaine fed,
Leaving to crop the Ivy, listning stood
At those sweet ayres which did intrance the flood.
In jocund sort the Goddesse thus they met,
And after rev'rence done, all being set
Upon their finny Coursers, round her throne,
And she prepar'd to cut the watry Zone
Ingirting Albion ; all their pipes were still,
And Colin Clout began to tune his quill
With such deepe Art, that every one was given
To thinke Apollo (newly slid from heav'n)
Had ta'en a humane shape to win his love,
Or with the Westerne Swaines for glory strove.
He sung th' heroicke Knights of Fairy land
In lines so elegant, of such command,
That had the Thracian play'd but halfe so well,
He had not left Eurydice in hell.
But ere he ended his melodious song
An host of Angels flew the clouds among,
And rapt this Swan from his attentive mates,
To make him one of their associates
In heavens faire Quire: where now he sings the praise
Of him that is the first and last of dayes .
Divinest Spenser heav'n-bred, happy Muse!
Would any power into my braine infuse
Thy worth, or all that Poets had before,
I could not praise till thou deserv'st no more.

( ii )

As I have seene when on the breast of Thames
A heavenly beauty of sweet English Dames ,
In some calme Ev'ning of delightfull May ,
With Musick give a farewell to the day ,
Or as they would (with an admired tone)
Greet Nights ascension to her Eben Throne ,
Rapt with their melodie, a thousand more
Run to be wafted from the bounding shore:
So ran the Shepherds, and with hasty feet
Strove which should first increase that happy fleet.
The true presagers of a coming storme,
Teaching their fins to steere them to the forme
Of Thetis will, like Boats at Anchor stood,
As ready to convay the Muses brood
Into the brackish Lake , that seem'd to swell,
As proud so rich a burden on it fell.
Ere their arrival Astrophel had done
His shepherds lay , yet equaliz'd of none.
Th' admired mirrour, glory of our Isle ,
Thou far-far-more than mortall man, whose style
Strucke more men dumbe to hearken to thy song,
Than Orpheus Harpe, or Tully's golden tongue.
To him (as right) for wits deepe quintessence,
For honour, valour, vertue, excellence,
Be all the Garlands, crowne his tombe with Bay,
Who spake as much as e'er our tongue can say.
...
He sweetly touched, what I harshly hit,
Yet thus I glory in what I have writ;
Sidney began (and if a wit so meane
May taste with him the dewes of Hippocrene )
I sung the Past'rall next; his Muse , my mover:
And on the Plaines full many a pensive lover
Shall sing us to their loves, and praising be
My humble lines: the more, for praising thee.
Thus we shall live with them, by Rocks, by Springs,
As well as Homer by the death of Kings.
Then in a straine beyond an Oaten Quill
The learned Shepherd of faire Hitching hill
Sung the heroicke deeds of Greece and Troy ,
In lines so worthy life, that I imploy
My Reed in vaine to overtake his fame.
All praisefull tongues doe wait upon that name.
Our second Ovid , the most pleasing Muse
That heav'n did e'er in mortals braine infuse,
All-loved Drayton , in soule-raping straines,
A genuine note, of all the Nymphish traines
Began to tune; on it all eares were hung
As sometime Dido's on Æneas tongue.
Jonson whose full of merit to reherse
Too copious is to be confinde in verse;
Yet therein onely fittest to be knowne,
Could any write a line which he might owne.
One, so judicious; so well knowing; and
A man whose least worth is to understand;
One so exact in all he doth prefer
To able censure; for the Theater
Not Seneca transcends his worth of praise;
Who writes him well shall well deserve the Bayes .