Classic Poem

COME , you from homely Kent,
And I from wilder Flint,
In Cornwall will we pitch our tent,
Where waits good fellowship without stint
To welcome us with hearty
Kind greeting to their party.

Through merry shires at morn
Speed you your iron way:
I sail from Mersey, Southward borne,
To-morrow at the close of day.
In rime and reason, ocean
Is followed by commotion.

If the good ship go down,
As, well may come to pass—,
Though you won't wear your poet's crown,
And I be nowise Lycidas,—
With elegaic verses
See you that decked my hearse is.

Wet dolphins shall not waft
Me at least home again.
How Lycid's friends through tears had laughed
To see him on such slippery craft
Scudding upon the Cornish main,
While Michael stared, neglecting Spain!
Rest no such one sole guilt on
Your verse, my master Milton!

Till Mullion see us both,
Fare you and all yours well.
Good saints, I shall be little loth
To leave the ocean's roll and swell—
Better to live at Mullion
A kitchen maid or scullion.