Classic Poem

(Fragment)

I

L OOKE out! look out! I heare noe noise,
Have we not lost the roaring Boyes?
Soe long a truce has never been
Since first the Leaguer shut us in.

II

The Winds, of their veine hopes bereft,
Have sure the noble Fortresse left,
And, having spent their fruitlesse rage,
Are gone to whisle in their Cage.

III

'Tis so my Boyes! the daye's our owne!
The bafled Foe is fled and gone.
The Seige is rais'd, and we have won
By timely Succour of the Sun.

IV

There on Dore's flowry banks wee'l waite
With treacherous hook and tempting baite;
Her skaly people to betray,
More for the pleasure then the prey.