Classic Poem

If Musick, wild Herds tameness taught,
And on rude Savages has wrought,
And from wild Throngs , to Cities brought.

What gentler Pow'r , and softer Flame ,
May such commanding Beauty claim,
Whose silent Musick , Beasts can tame?

What force is in your naked Arm ,
That does the little Satyr charm,
And of its savageness disarm?

The boldest of the Wood-Nymphs Race,
Could not this Savage thus embrace,
Or court it, with so rough a Grace .

To act his Sports , you him persuade,
To shew what crooked turns he plaid,
And doubles , he in Hunting made.

You teach him all his Pranks , and how
He leap't from Tree to Tree , and now
His dance cut short, from Bough to Bough .

As through High Woods rough waies he past,
His shady Tail behind him cast,
Nuts, browner than himself to tast.

Happy, in climbing you , to show,
How he the Top Branch climb'd , and so
Ran down the Boughs , in stairs , below.

A braver Height , he thus does soar,
Upon your lifty Shoulders bore,
Then his High Travels knew before.

As pleasant , and as frolick now,
While you his merry Tricks allow,
As dancing, on a bending Bough.

Though wild , he had his Liberty ,
What Tree to perch on, and what Tree
His Nuts to gather from, as free.

Nor Nuts , nor Freedom were so sweet,
As what he in a Chain does meet,
Unperch't , and prostrate at your Feet.