Classic Poem

What time soft night had silently begun
To steal by minutes on the long-lived days,
The furious dog-star, following the bright sun,
With noisome heat infests his cheerful rays,
Filling the earth with many a sad disease;
Which then inflamed with their intemperate fires,
Herself in light habiliments attires.

And the rathe morning, newly but awake,
Was with fresh beauty burnishing her brows,
Herself beholding in the general lake,
To which she pays her never ceasing vows.
With the new day me willingly to rouse,
Down to fair Thames I gently took my way,
With whom the winds continually do play.

Striving to fancy his chaste breast to move,
Whereas all pleasures plentifully flow,
When him along the wanton tide doth shove,
And to keep back, they easily do blow,
Or else forward, thinking him too slow;
Who with his waves would check the winds' embrace,
Whilst they fan air upon his crystal face:

Still forward sallying from his bounteous source,
Along the shores lasciviously doth strain,
Making such strange meanders in his course,
As to his fountain he would back again,
Or turned about to look upon his train;
Whose sundry soils with coy regard he greets,
Till with clear Medway happily he meets.

Steering my compass by this wandering stream,
Whose flight preached to me time's swift-posting hours,
Delighted thus, as with some pretty dream,
Where pleasure wholly had possessed my powers,
And looking back on London's stately towers,
So Troy, thought I, her stately head did rear,
Whose crazed ribs the furrowing plough doth ear.

Weary, at length a willow tree I found,
Which on the bank of this brave river stood,
Whose root with rich grass greatly did abound,
Forced by the fluxure of the swelling flood,
Ordained (it seemed) to sport his nymphish brood,
Whose curled top envied the heavens great eye
Should view the stock it was maintained by.

The lark, that holds observance to the sun,
Quavered her clear notes in the quiet air,
And on the river's murmuring bass did run,
Whilst the pleased heaven her fairest livery ware,
The place such pleasure gently did prepare;
The flowers my smell, the flood my taste to steep,
And the much softness lulled me asleep.

When in a vision as it seemed to me,
Triumphal music from the flood arose,
As when the sovereign we embarged see,
And by fair London for her pleasure rows,
Whose tender welcome the glad city shows;
The people swarming on the pestered shores,
And the curled waters over-spread with oars.

A troop of nymphs came suddenly on land,
In the full end of this triumphal sound,
And me encompassed, taking hand in hand,
Casting themselves about me in a round,
And so down set them on the easy ground,
Bending their clear eyes with a modest grace
Upon my swart and melancholy face.

Next, 'twixt two ladies, came a goodly knight,
As newly brought from some distressful place,
To me who seemed some right worthy wight,
Though his attire were miserably base,
And time had worn deep furrows in his face;
Yet, though cold age had frosted his fair hairs,
It rather seemed with sorrow than with years.

The one a lady of princely port,
Leading this sad lord, scarcely that could stand;
The other, fleering in disdainful sort,
With scornful gestures drew him by the hand,
Who, lame and blind, yet bound with many a band:
When I perceived nearer as they came,
This fool was Fortune, and the braver Fame.

Fame had the right hand in a robe of gold,
(Whose train old Time obsequiously did bear)
Whereon in rich embroidery was enrolled
The names of all that worthies ever were,
Which all might read depainted lively there,
Set down in lofty well-composed verse,
Fitt'st the great deeds of heroes to rehearse.

On her fair breast she two broad tablets wore,
Of crystal one, the other ebony;
On which engraven were all names of yore
In the clear tomb of living memory,
Or the black book of endless obloquy;
The first with poets and with conquerors piled,
That with base worldlings everywhere defiled.

And in her words appeared (as a wonder)
Her present force and after-during might,
Which, softly spoke, far off were heard to thunder
About the world, that quickly took their flight,
And brought the most obscurest things to light;
That still the farther off, the greater still
Did make our good, or manifest our ill.

Fortune, as blind as he whom she did lead,
Changing her feature often in an hour,
Fantastically carrying her head,
Soon would she smile, and suddenly would lour,
And with one breath her words were sweet and sour;
Upon stark fools she amorously would glance,
And upon wise men coyly look askance.

About her neck, in manner of a chain,
Torn diadems and broken sceptres hung;
If any on her steadfastly did lean,
Them to the ground despitefully she flung;
And in this posture as she passed along,
She bags of gold out of her bosom drew,
Which she to sots and arrant idiots threw.

A dusky veil did hide her sightless eyes,
Like clouds that cover our uncertain lives,
Whereon were portrayed direful tragedies,
Fools wearing crowns, and wise men clogged in gyves;
How all things she preposterously contrives,
Which, as a map, her regency discovers
In camps, in courts, and in the way of lovers.