Classic Poem

For the Kings Musick . 1.

Gently, O Gently, Father, do not bruise
That Tender Vine that hath no Branch to lose; 2.
Be not too Cruel, see the Child doth Smile,
His Bloud was but his Mothers Milk erewhile. 1 Lev.
Fear not the pruning of your Vine,
Hee'l turn your Water into Wine; 2 Lev.
The Mothers Milk that's now his Bloud,
Hereafter will become her Food. Chor.
'Tis done; so doth the Balsam Tree endure
The Cruell Wounds of those whom it must Cure. 1 Lev.
'Tis but the Passions Essay: This young loss
Only preludes unto his Riper Cross. 1.
Avert, good Heav'n, avert that Fate
To so much Beauty so much Hate. 2 Lev.
Where so great Good is meant
The Bloud's not lost, but spent. Chor.
Thus Princes feel what People do amise;
The swelling's Ours, although the Lancing his. 2.
When ye fair Heavens White Food bled,
The Rose, say they, from thence grew Red,
O then what more Miraculous good,
Must spring from this diviner Floud? 2 Lev.
When that the Rose it self doth bleed,
That Bloud will be the Churches Seed. Cho.
When that the Rose, &c .