Classic Poem

Come then, and like two Doves with silv'rie wings,
Let our soules flie to' th' shades, where ever springs
Sit smiling in the Meads; where Balme and Oile,
Roses and Cassia crown the untill'd soyle.
Where no disease raignes, or infection comes
To blast the Aire, but Amber-greece and Gums.
This, that, and ev'ry Thicket doth transpire
More sweet, then Storax from the hallowed fire:
Where ev'ry tree a wealthy issue beares
Of fragrant Apples, blushing Plums, or Peares:
And all the shrubs, with sparkling spangles, shew
Like Morning-Sun-shine tinsilling the dew.
Here in green Meddowes sits eternall May,
Purfling the Margents, while perpetuall Day
So double gilds the Aire, as that no night
Can ever rust th'Enamel of the light.
Here, naked Younglings, handsome Striplings run
Their Goales for Virgins kisses; which when done,
Then unto Dancing forth the learned Round
Commixt they meet, with endlesse Roses crown'd.
And here we'l sit on Primrose-banks, and see
Love's Chorus led by Cupid; and we'l be
Two loving followers too unto the Grove,
Where Poets sing the stories of our love.
There thou shalt hear Divine Musaeus sing
Of Hero, and Leander; then Ile bring
Thee to the Stand, where honour'd Homer reades
His Odisees, and his high Iliads.
About whose Throne the crowd of Poets throng
To heare the incantation of his tongue:
To Linus, then to Pindar; and that done
Ile bring thee Herrick to Anacreon,
Quaffing his full-crown'd bowles of burning Wine,
And in his Raptures speaking Lines of Thine,
Like to His subjects; and as his Frantick-
Looks, shew him truly Bacchanalian like,
Besmear'd with Grapes; welcome he shall thee thither,
Where both may rage, both drink and dance together.
Then stately Virgil, witty Ovid, by
Whom faire Corinna sits, and doth comply
With Yvorie wrists, his Laureat head, and steeps
His eye in dew of kisses, while he sleeps.
Then soft Catullus, sharp-fang'd Martial,
And towring Lucan, Horace, Juvenal,
And Snakie Perseus, these, and those, whom Rage
(Dropt for the jarres of heaven) fill'd t'engage
All times unto their frenzies; Thou shalt there
Behold them in a spacious Theater.
Among which glories, (crown'd with sacred Bayes,
And flatt'ring Ivie) Two recite their Plaies,
Beumont and Fletcher, Swans, to whom all eares
Listen, while they (like Syrens in their Spheres)
Sing their Evadne; and still more for thee
There yet remaines to know, then thou can'st see
By glim'ring of a fancie: Doe but come,
And there Ile shew thee that capacious roome
In which thy Father Johnson now is plac't,
As in a Globe of Radiant fire, and grac't
To be in that Orbe crown'd (that doth include
Those Prophets of the former Magnitude)
And he one chiefe; But harke, I heare the Cock,
(The Bell-man of the night) proclaime the clock
Of late struck one; and now I see the prime
Of Day break from the pregnant East, 'tis time
I vanish; more I had to say;
But Night determines here, Away.