Classic Poem

I.

When Phebus heard Ianthe sing
And sweetly bid the Groves rejoice,
Jealous He smote the trembling String,
Despairing, quite, to match her Voice .

II.

Smiling, her Harpsicord She strung:
As soon as She began to play ,
Away his Harp poor Phebus flung;
It was no Time for Him to stay.

III.

Yet hold; before your Godship go
The Fair shall gain another Prize:
Your Voice and Lyre 's outdone, you know;
Nor less thy Sunshine by her Eyes .