Classic Poem

COME LEAVE the Cities Strife
And chuse a Countrie Life.
There place my Joyes; and let my wandring mind
Be fixt, and there confined;
There, with my loved Sheepe
And my owne Silvia, I as prince can keepe,
Crowned Monarch, in her Brest,
Equall loving, equall Blest.
Come, Come away my thoughts, be fixed here,
For greater pleasures, have the greater Care.

What though I doe not find,
My Galleries, there Lined
With Atticke hangings, nor Corinthian Plate
(Ensignes of greater State
Placed for more ornament)
Is't in these vanities, to find Content?
I doe not Covet these;
An humble Roofe, may please
An humble mind; and who can tell? there may
Be troubled Thoughts in Downe, as well as Hay.

Though Gray or Russet be
My height of Gayetie,
Though I nor Plush, nor gaudie Sattin have
Enough; I doe none Crave.
What though, my Backe, or Thigh,
Not Cloathed be with Woole, in Tirian Dye!
Nor Beavers Fleece enrich
My Browes! tis not the Itch
Of Glorie takes me; I can often find
In Garments trimme, a Discomposed Mind.

The Colchian Bird's to mee
Noe Baite of Luxurie;
Nor doe I seeke, th' Ionian Partridge more
Then Hens, from my owne Doore;
The Lushious oyster is,
And Lobster, though of treeble price
Not moveing; neither seeke
I Spanish wines, or Greeke
To Stirre my Spirrite; I can gladly bee
Sated with lesse, and Shun the Luxurie.

What tho' perhaps I want
Beauties, and have noe hant
Where I may wanton, and quench lustful fires;
Noe need; for those desires
I doe not harbour. Soe
I flye the Sin, and the occasion too;
For Silvia is to me
More then varietie;
In her deare Eyes I joy, and can take thence
A Flame, or Modestie, and Innocence.

Noe Lustfull Raptures me
Hold in Captivitie.
I seeke noe wanton Mistress; I can Spend
(And wish time might not End)
Dares, and Years, with Silvia;
Shee, to my pleased Thoughts, is more then they
Can fancie, in their Dreams.
I would, these foule extreames,
Not less then Scylla, or Charibdis Shun;
There is an Isthmus, I would fixe upon.

The gaudie Cities pride,
Nor what they boast beside,
Nor their full Treasures, nor their furnisht roomes
Where Silken Madam comes;
Not all the Cloath's they weare
Nor their high feastings, and luxurious fare;
Not Madam's selfe, can make
Mee, countrie Life forsake.
Noe; let them riot, revel, feast, and vant
Their garments rich as these; the Sin I want.
Ile shun Court Care, and the proud Cities Strife,
Center my Joyes, in a poore Countrie Life.