Classic Poem

A Gnat mistaking her bright Eye
For that which makes, and rules the Day,
Did in the Rayes disporting fly,
Wont in the Sun-Beams so to play.

Her Eye whose vigour all things draws,
Did suck this little Creature in,
As warmer Jet doth ravish straws,
And thence ev'n forc'd embraces win.

Inviting Heat stream'd in the Rayes,
But hungry fire work'd in the Eye;
Whose force this Captive Gnat obeys,
And doth through it her Martyr dye.

The Wings went into Air; the Fire
Did turn the rest to Ashes there:
But ere death, strugling to retire,
She thence enforc'd an easie Teare.

Happy O Gnat though thus made nought,
We wreched Lovers suffer more,
Our Sonnets are thy Buzzings thought,
And we destroy'd by what w'adore.

Perhaps would she but our deaths mourn,
We should revive to dye agen:
Thou gain'dst a Tear, but we have scorn;
She weeps for Flies, but Laught at Men.