Classic Poem

Upon this hill there sat a lovely swain,
As if that Nature thought it great disdain
That he should (so through her his genius told him)
Take equal place with swains, since she did hold him
Her chiefest work, and therefore thought it fit
That with inferiors he should never sit.
Narcissus' change sure Ovid clean mistook,
He died not looking in a crystal brook,
But (as those which in emulation gaze)
He pin'd to death by looking on this face.
When he stood fishing by some river's brim,
The fish would leap, more for a sight of him
Than for the fly. The eagle, highest bred,
Was taking him once up for Ganymede.
The shag-hair'd satyrs, and the tripping fawns,
With all the troop that frolic on the lawns,
Would come and gaze on him, as who should say
They had not seen his like this many a day.
Yea, Venus knew no difference 'twixt these twain,
Save Adon was a hunter, this a swain.
The wood's sweet quiristers from spray to spray
Would hop them nearer him, and then there stay:
Each joying greatly from his little heart
That they with his sweet reed might bear a part.
This was the boy (the poets did mistake)
To whom bright Cynthia so much love did make;
And promis'd for his love no scornful eyes
Should ever see her more in horned guise:
But she at his command would as of duty
Become as full of light as he of beauty.
Lucina at his birth for midwife stuck;
And Cytherea nurs'd and gave him suck,
Who to that end, once dove-drawn from the sea,
Her full paps dropp'd, whence came the milky-way.
And as when Plato did i' th' cradle thrive,
Bees to his lips brought honey from their hive:
So to this boy they came, I know not whether
They brought, or from his lips did honey gather.
The wood-nymphs oftentimes would busied be,
And pluck for him the blushing strawberry,
Making of them a bracelet on a bent,
Which for a favour to this swain they sent.
Sitting in shades, the sun would oft by skips
Steal through the boughs, and seize upon his lips.
The chiefest cause the sun did condescend
To Phaeton's request was to this end,
That whilst the other did his horses rein,
He might slide from his sphere and court this swain,
Whose sparkling eyes vied lustre with the stars,
The truest centre of all circulars.
In brief, if any man in skill were able
To finish up Apelles' half-done table,
This boy (the man left out) were fittest sure
To be the pattern of that portraiture.
Piping he sat, as merry as his look,
And by him lay his bottle and his hook.
His buskins (edg'd with silver) were of silk,
Which held a leg more white than morning's milk.
Those buskins he had got and brought away
For dancing best upon the revel day.
His oaten reed did yield forth such sweet notes,
Joined in concert with the birds' shrill throats,
That equaliz'd the harmony of spheres,
A music that would ravish choicest ears.
Long look'd they on, (who would not long look on,
That such an object had to look upon?)
Till at the last the nymph did Marine send
To ask the nearest way whereby to wend
To those fair walks where sprung Marina's ill,
Whilst she would stay: Marine obey'd her will,
And hasten'd towards him (who would not do so,
That such a pretty journey had to go?)
Sweetly she came, and with a modest blush,
Gave him the day, and then accosted thus:
Fairest of men, that (whilst thy flock doth feed)
Sitt'st sweetly piping on thine oaten reed
Upon this little berry (some ycleep
A hillock) void of care, as are thy sheep
Devoid of spots, and sure on all this green
A fairer flock as yet was never seen:
Do me this favour (men should favour maids)
That whatsoever path directly leads,
And void of danger, thou to me do show,
That by it to the Marish I might go.
Marriage! (quoth he) mistaking what she said,
Nature's perfection: thou most fairest maid,
(If any fairer than the fairest may be)
Come sit thee down by me; know, lovely lady,
Love is the readiest way: if ta'en aright,
You may attain thereto full long ere night.
The maiden thinking he of marish spoke,
And not of marriage, straightway did invoke,
And pray'd the shepherds' god might always keep
Him from all danger, and from wolves his sheep.
Wishing withal that in the prime of spring
Each sheep he had two lambs might yearly bring.
But yet (quoth she) arede, good gentle swain,
If in the dale below, or on yond plain;
Or is the village situate in a grove,
Through which my way lies, and ycleeped Love?
Nor on yond plain, nor in this neighbouring wood;
Nor in the dale where glides the silver flood;
But like a beacon on a hill so high,
That every one may see 't which passeth by,
Is Love yplac'd: there's nothing can it hide,
Although of you as yet 'tis unespied.
But on which hill (quoth she) pray tell me true?
Why here (quoth he) it sits and talks to you.
And are you Love (quoth she?) fond swain, adieu,
You guide me wrong, my way lies not by you.
Though not your way, yet you may lie by me:
Nymph, with a shepherd thou as merrily
May'st love and live, as with the greatest lord.
" Greatness doth never most content afford. "
I love thee only, not affect world's pelf;
" She is not lov'd that's lov'd not for herself. "
How many shepherds' daughters, who in duty
To griping fathers have enthrall'd their beauty,
To wait upon the gout, to walk when pleases
Old January halt. O that diseases
Should link with youth! She that hath such a mate
Is like two twins born both incorporate:
Th' one living, th' other dead: the living twin
Must needs be slain through noisomeness of him
He carrieth with him: such are their estates,
Who merely marry wealth and not their mates.