Classic Poem

Troynovant is now no more a city.
O great pity! is 't not pity?
And yet her towers on tip-toe stand,
Like pageants built in fairy land,
And her marble arms,
Like to magic charms,
Bind thousands fast unto her,
That for her wealth and beauty daily woo her.
Yet for all this, is 't not pity,
Troynovant is now no more a city?
Troynovant is now a summer arbour,
Or the nest wherein doth harbour
The eagle, of all birds that fly
The sovereign, for his piercing eye.
If you wisely mark,
'Tis besides a park,
Where runs, being newly born,
With the fierce lion the fair unicorn,
Or else it is a wedding hall,
Where four great Kingdoms hold a festival.
Troynovant is now a bridal chamber,
Whose roof is gold, floor is of amber,
By virtue of that holy light,
That burns in Hymen's hand, more bright
Than the silver moon,
Or the torch at noon.
Hark what the echoes say!
Britain till now ne'er kept a holiday.
For Jove dwells here. And 'tis no pity,
If Troynovant be now no more a city.