Classic Poem

Marine that waking lay, said: Celandine.
He is the man that hates which some-admire;
He is the wight that loathes whom most desire;
'Tis only he to love denies subjecting,
And but himself, thinks none is worth affecting.
Unhappy me the while, accurs'd my fate,
That Nature gives no love where she gave hate.
The wat'ry rulers then perceived plain,
Nipp'd with the winter of love's frost, disdain,
This nonpareil of beauty had been led
To do an act which Envy pitied:
Therefore in pity did confer together
What physic best might cure this burning fever.
At last found out that in a grove below,
Where shadowing sycamores past number grow,
A fountain takes his journey to the main,
Whose liquor's nature was so sovereign
(Like to the wondrous well and famous spring,
Which in Baeotia hath his issuing),
That whoso of it doth but only taste,
All former memory from him doth waste;
Not changing any other work of Nature,
But doth endow the drinker with a feature
More lovely. Fair Medea took from hence
Some of this water, by whose quintessence
Æson from age came back to youth. This known,
The god thus spake:


Nymph, be thine own,
And after mine. This goddess here
(For she's no less) will bring thee where
Thou shalt acknowledge springs have do[n]e
As much for thee as any one.
Which ended, and thou gotten free,
If thou wilt come and live with me,
No shepherd's daughter, nor his wife,
Shall boast them of a better life.
Meanwhile I leave thy thoughts at large,
Thy body to my sister's charge;
Whilst I into my spring do dive
To see that they do not deprive
The meadows near, which much do thirst,
Thus heated by the sun. May first
(Quoth Marine) swains give lambs to thee;
And may thy flood have seignorie
Of all floods else, and to thy fame
Meet greater springs, yet keep thy name.
May never evet nor the toad
Within thy banks make their abode!
Taking thy journey from the sea,
May'st thou ne'er happen in thy way
On nitre or on brimstone mine,
To spoil thy taste! this spring of thine
Let it of nothing taste but earth,
And salt conceived, in their birth
Be ever fresh! Let no man dare
To spoil thy fish, make lock or ware;
But on thy margent still let dwell
Those flowers which have the sweetest smell.
And let the dust upon thy strand
Become like Tagus' golden sand.
Let as much good betide to thee,
As thou hast favour show'd to me.

Thus said, in gentle paces they remove,
And hasten'd onward to the shady grove,
Where both arriv'd; and having found the rock,
Saw how this precious water it did lock.
As he whom avarice possesseth most,
Drawn by necessity unto his cost,
Doth drop by piecemeal down his prison'd gold,
And seems unwilling to let go his hold:
So the strong rock the water long time stops,
And by degrees lets it fall down in drops.
Like hoarding housewives that do mould their food,
And keep from others what doth them no good.