Classic Poem

Dead must to dead, the liuing to the liuing,
The graue cannot be capable of loue,
It ill beseemes thy youth to be thus greeuing:
Must thou a mourner restlesse euer proue?
Thy beauty was not fram'd to such behoue,
That thy sweete yeeres should still consumed be
A votresse vnto loues-foe, chastity,

Let vestalls, who all other Nuns excells,
Closely immur'd from mens society,
While as they chat in their religious cells,
Maintaine this idle theame of chastitie,
Let this their Euen-song, and their Matins be,
A text more fitting that retired sort,
Then for the tender beauties of the Court.

Beauty (God knowes) was not ordain'd to mone,
Nor to liue chastely at her first creation:
For skilfull Nature, who hath made the Sunne
To giue vs light, made her for procreation,
Not Image-like for ostentation,
But as choise fruites are made-of for choise seedes,
And stately Stallions to breed stately steeds.

As th' Apple to the taste, the Rose to smell,
The pleasant Lilly to delight the eye,
Gould for the touch, sweete Musick greefe to expell,
So rarest beauty was ordained to be,
The mindes desired full saciety,
The treasure of the soule, the hearts delight,
Loues full contentment both by day and night.

Stray but along the pleasant fields and see,
If that each creature loues not in some measure,
The wanton birds fit billing on each tree,
To see the faire Pawne wooe, it were a pleasure,
Beauty alone is not the Princes treasure,
Marke well each flock, by mountaine or by plaine,
Is follow'd by some louing Nimph or Swaine.

There feeds the Heifer, and the gentle Ewe,
Courting the proud Bull, and the sawcy Ramme,
There does the courser his hotte loue pursue,
With his braue breeder in a mutuall flame:
The timorous Hare, and Conie doth the same,
So doth the princely Stagge, the milke white Hinde,
All loue according to their course of kinde.

And if it be not that sole bird of wonder,
Th' Arabian Phaenix, nothing breath's but loues,
Which vestall like, doth spend of yeares fiue hunder,
And neuer loues sweete operation prooues;
The thought thereof, so much her chaste minde mooues,
That as agreeu'd to liue so long alone,
At length she burnes for sorrow in the sunne.

How then vnkindly honor with thee deales,
Who so vntimely would thy life bereaue?
As if that nothing now saue death auailes,
Nor that thou could not liue vnlesse a slaue,
How fondly loe, she seekes thee to deceaue,
There's no such danger, if thou wilt beleeue,
From hence therefore, let no such thoughts thee grieue.

The meekest conquerors to a yeelding foe,
That euer yet aspir'd to greatnesse hight,
Are the braue Romans, who as wisely know,
To vse their mercy as they doe their might;
Let not dispaire so much thy soule affright,
For why thy fates more good to thee designe,
If thou do not against thy fates repine.

Conceit that thou must brauely liue in blisse,
Thinke that thy minde and fortune shall agree,
Who knowes but that thy noble friend ere this,
Has mollified proud Scipios hard decree?
'Tis time enough sweete Queene for thee to dye,
When thou art not thy selfe, euen then alasse.
When thy true glasse shall shew thy wrinckled face.