Classic Poem

S R owe no spight to proverbs, or to them
That scratch for grains, while you would find a gemme
Cupido nulla ignoti (Roma n s say)
In old great British tis a shorter way
Vncouth vnkist, — how can you then affect
A thing vnknowne, which some that know reiect?
O freezing fire, perplext and ridling fate
No merite loue, & loue deserv'd is hate!
Can such a power take vp without his scorne
An Ariadne faded and forlorne?
Not such a mistresse, but hirselfe to grace
Donns wittsick muse chose an Autumnall face;
And all gray censors iudge his iudgment green
That deckt a Planetree for his fancies queen,
Our poets Isle is Paradise, and here
The trees of knowledge witt & honour beare,
You need not touch at withering, blasted, mee,
Me, the forbidden & forebitten tree,
Admitt not me your frend or if you dare
That choice will suffer vnder fowle compare
Who shuns learnd physicks aid, can he prevaile
With old Jones Pellitorie & sodden ale?
Or long you like a teeming woman, for
Small cole or durt, which all in health abhorre?
Our nicer braveries & court witts will thinke
You stoopt too low when caught with country Inke;
And yet good fellow gods in olden time
With poor Philemon frolikt, and a rime
Antique & reverend, barmd vpon the wall
In many an alehouse, shews it did befall,
In merry Sherwood, how a wand'ring King
Vnder a millers roofe eat bag-pudding.
And since so nere as Notingame you drew
That Cronicle perchance infected you
Or in the best construction vp you beare
To his high sample whose glad name you weare
Our Ioue & Phaebus ioind, that striks all hearts
With gentle light; with peirsing pleasing darts
And whose vnwrinkled brows so well became
Your towne of late your happie Nottingam
The difference is the king vouchsaf'd to see
My sonne foole then, you now the father, me,
Me so the meanest mongst poetick things
As Royall Charles is Grac'd aboue all kings
Mee worst of scribes as much as you are blest
With worth to reade & power to mend the best.