Classic Poem

When Love w i th vnconfined wings
hovers w i thin my gates,
& my divine Althea brings
to whisp er at my grates,

when I lye tangled in her heere
& fettered w i th her eye,
the burds tha t wanton in the ayre
enioyes such Lybertye.

When, Lynett like confined, I
w i th shriller note shall sing
the mercy, goodnesse, maiestye
& glory of my kinge,
when I shall voice aloud how good
he is, how great shold bee,
the enlarged winds tha t curles the floods
enioyes such Lybertye.

When flowing cupps run swiftly round
w i th woe-allaying theames,
our carlesse heads w i th roses crowned,
our harts w i th Loyall flames,
when thirsty soules in wine wee steepe,
when cupps and bowles goe free,
ffishes tha t typle in the deepe
enioyes such Lybertye.

Stone walls doe not a prison make,
nor Iron barrs a cage,
the spotlesse soule an[d] Inocent
Calls this an hermitage.
if I haue freedome in my loue,
& in my soule am free,
angells alone tha t sores aboue
enioyes such Lybertye!