Classic Poem

Fidelia
Why weeps my child, why weeps my dearest boy,
Martius.
To see you weep, dear aunt, it is I cry,
Dry but your eyes, mine of themselves will dry,
Wipe, wipe away those tears, then hugg and buss,
As you are wont, your little Martius.
Then tell me why you left your native land,
And when you took ill fortune by the hand,
For I remember you in better state,
Then tell me how you came unfortunate,
Methinks you've not a shepperdess's mien,
Sure you amongst the Rural maids were Queen.
To vertue I too nearly was aly'd
To have good fortune ever on my side.
But though we suffer, by hard fortunes froun,
A vertuous mind, can never be cast doun,
And that I allways shall depend upon.
now since you ask my fate of former years,
And what's the cause of present griefs and tears,
Come sit thee down, I'll tell thee how ith'fenn,
We fed our flocks upon the banks of Glenn.
My father and his brother Cavaliers,
Stuck to their king as did their ancestors,
Wives portions, and paternal means they spent,
To serve the King against the Parliment,
Thus for their Loyalty being both undone,
Were forcc'd to quit the court, the camp, and town,
They sold their swords and other warlike things,
As did their wives, their petycotes and rings,
And therwithall, bought equipage for plows,
Betook themselves, to mannage sheep and cows,
Instead of scarlet, Russet now they wore,
And sheep-hooks were the leading staves they bore,
Free from court factions, and the discontents,
Which dayly rise in Rebell Parliments,
Free from ambitious plotings how to get,
This prise amongst the rich, that place amongst the great,
And for their Loyal losses, never felt regrett.
They acted peacefully their homly scean,
And lookers on, thought with a gracefull mien
Where fortune wou'd not with their wish comply,
They made their wish bear fortune company,
Here we as in a little Can'an liv'd,
And for our former manna never griv'd.
Here milk and hony, did not only flow,
But we'd a little kind of Eden too,
Well furnish'd with good fruit, fresh herbs, gay flowers,
Fountains and grass-plats, walks, and shady bowers,
Yet more by nature, than by art was dress'd
And our content made of its fruits a feast,
A good old tippling swain, was gardner here,
Hee'd been my unkles corporal ith' war,
This good old man, wou'd wond'rous storys tell,
Of what at Nasby, and Edge-hill befell,
At york and Woster, and I know not where,
At this place wounded, that a prisoner.
Then with a pack of cards, he wou'd make out,
This siege, that fight, and which side had the rout,
This made us children, all such Cavaliers,
We took the Parliments, for mear Bugg-bears,
The solemn festival of Chrismass day,
Fell short of his dear twenty ninth of may.
He'd skipt'd about the Bon-fire like a boy,
And spight of bald-pate burn his cap for joy:
Then out He'd pull his pipe, and play theron,
(Whilst we all danc'd) The King injoys his own.
Thus we pass'd on our days in harmless mirth,
Till time and fate, gave my misfortunes birth,
But therwithall I will not discompose,
Thy tender mind, which yet no sorrow knows,
Martius,
your tale's so pleasing, I cou'd wish to be,
Nothing but ears, and you all mouth to me,
Then pray tell on. — — —
Fidaelia
My brother dy'd — — — (she weeps
— — — That clebrated man,
A gallant youth, philosopher and swain,
Such depth of learning, grac'd his natural parts
That Aristotle might of him learn'd arts,
Nought but his vertue, cou'd his wit exceed,
In fine, he no accomplishment did need.
His vast fraternal love, one cannot tell,
Only on earth, none ever lov'd so well,
That vertue which beyond example drives,
Can only be describ'd by negatives,
Then wonder not, that I again repeat,
No love was e'er so true, pure, perfect, great
Him in my thoughts I plac'd as my defence,
'Gainst course of nature took my parents hence,
'Gainst their lives clue was spun, then by his thred,
Through this worlds labrinth, I thought to be led,
But Heav'n depriv'd me of his needfull aid.
My parents for his death, so much did grieve,
That long they cou'd not this great loss survive,
Now did my life, a different manner role,
Since Heav'n gave this new byas to the bowl,
My flocks decay'd, my barns and houses fell,
My lands grew barran, in fine nought went well,
Thus helpless, friendless, destitute forlorn,
'Twixt debters, creditors, and lawyers torn,
I wander'd on, in hopes of better chance,
Till curssed orange drive us all to France,
And here we wander vagabons alone,
not knowing any, or to any known,
And all methinks do our acquaintance shun.
But honour, conscience, vertue brought us here,
We cannot sink, since they the vessell steer
In this discourse, little Martius falls asleep in her lap
Hah fast asleep; that leaden footed god,
Has o'er his temples, stretched his heavy rod;
They say that sleep's, death representative,
In him's so lovely who wou'd wish to live,
Tis true, his glittering eyes, and noble grace,
Are hidden, by sleeps curtains o'er his face,
But innocence is seated in their place.
His moving lips more sweet and beautious are,
Than roses wafted by a western air,
What is't those pritty lips talk in thy sleep,
'Tis somthing sad, because it makes thee weep, Martius asleep
'Twere happiness to be a shepherds-boy,
If prid did not that happines distroy Fidelia
This truth thou'st found, in sleeps obscure recess,
That pride imbitters all our happiness.
'Tis not true want, that this or that we crave,
But pride makes us think we too little have.
For human nature's by few things supply'd,
If we'd lay superfluitys asside.
This truth, some power does to this child reveal
As he lys dreaming on the griefs we feell.
The bright rays of thy soul peirce the dark cloud
of thy low fortune, which its glories shroud,
So a fair plant in its small seed remains,
Till proper time, its beautious leavs expands
Thy noble race, has not a fairer sprout,
If fortune do but shine to bring it out,
Yet I'd not have thy honour grow too fast,
Lest it obnoxious be, to envys blast.
Wake, wake my sweet, and dry each trickling tear,
Thy worth methinks, proclaimes good fortune near.