Classic Poem

To the right honourable the Countesse of Ar.

Wing'd with delight (yet such as still doth beare
Chast vertues stamp) those Children of the yeere
The dayes, hast nimbly; and while as they flie,
Each of them with their predecessors vie,
Which yeelds most pleasure; you to them dispence,
What time lost with his cradle, innocence.
So I (if fancie not delude my sight,)
See often the pale monarch of the night,
Diana , 'mong her nimphs. For every quire.
Of vulgar starres, who lend their weaker fire
To conquer the nights chilnesse, with their Queene,
In harmelesse revels tread the happy greene.
But I who am proscrib'd by tyrant love,
Seeke out a silent exile in some grove,
Where nought except a solitary Spring,
Was ever heard, to which the Nimphs did sing
Narcissus obsequies: For onely there
Is musique apt to catch an am'rous eare.
Castara ! oh my heart! How great a flame
Did even shoot into me with her name?
Castara hath betray'd me to a zeale
Which thus distracts my hopes. Flints may conceale
In their cold veynes a fire. But I whose heart
By Love's dissolv'd, ne're practis'd that cold art.
But truce thou warring passion, for I'le now
Madam to you addresse this solemne vow.
By Vertue and your selfe (best friends) I finde
In the interiour province of your minde
Such government: That if great men obey
Th' example of your order, they will sway
Without reproofe: for onely you unite
Honour with sweetenesse, vertue with delight.

To the right honourable the Countesse of Ar.

Wing'd with delight (yet such as still doth beare
Chast vertues stamp) those Children of the yeere
The dayes, hast nimbly; and while as they flie,
Each of them with their predecessors vie,
Which yeelds most pleasure; you to them dispence,
What time lost with his cradle, innocence.
So I (if fancie not delude my sight,)
See often the pale monarch of the night,
Diana , 'mong her nimphs. For every quire.
Of vulgar starres, who lend their weaker fire
To conquer the nights chilnesse, with their Queene,
In harmelesse revels tread the happy greene.
But I who am proscrib'd by tyrant love,
Seeke out a silent exile in some grove,
Where nought except a solitary Spring,
Was ever heard, to which the Nimphs did sing
Narcissus obsequies: For onely there
Is musique apt to catch an am'rous eare.
Castara ! oh my heart! How great a flame
Did even shoot into me with her name?
Castara hath betray'd me to a zeale
Which thus distracts my hopes. Flints may conceale
In their cold veynes a fire. But I whose heart
By Love's dissolv'd, ne're practis'd that cold art.
But truce thou warring passion, for I'le now
Madam to you addresse this solemne vow.
By Vertue and your selfe (best friends) I finde
In the interiour province of your minde
Such government: That if great men obey
Th' example of your order, they will sway
Without reproofe: for onely you unite
Honour with sweetenesse, vertue with delight.