Classic Poem

SECTION I .

Honour turned to Contempt.

These now, that younger are than I,
Do me deride and mock,
Whose fathers never were so high
As shepherds of my flock.

This trust to them I scorn'd to give,
My num'rous herds to keep;
Nor with my dogs could grant them leave
To sit and guard my sheep.

For vicious, vile, and base they were,
Old beggars through the street;
To them I justly might prefer
The dust below their feet.

Yet now I'm to their sons a jest,
They mock me to my face;
They me revile, contemn, detest,
And treat me with disgrace.

Young striplings thus against me rise,
Regardless of my age;
My name they daub with sland'rous lies,
In fierce unbridled rage.

SECTION II .

Prosperity turned to Calamity.

I look'd for good, since good I chose;
Since kind, I hop'd for light:
But then came evil, crosses, woes,
And clouds of dismal night.

Vexatious day did me prevent;
And, hopeless of relief,
Without the sun I mourning went
In agonies of grief.

With owls and dragons joint I cry'd,
I'm now their mate and kin,
With burning heat my bones are dry'd,
And black my wither'd skin.

My harp, that made a joyful noise,
Is turn'd to mourning deep;
My organ chang'd into the voice
Of them that doleful weep.