  I Sing the old World in an infant story! I sing the new World in an ancient ditty! I sing this World; yes, this World's shame and glory! I sing a Medley of rigour and of pity! I sing the Court's, City's, and the Country's fashions! Yet sing I but of Love and her strange Passions! I sing that anthem lovers sigh in sadness! I sing sweet times of joys in wo[e]-ven verses! I sing those lines, I once did act in madness! I sing and weep! (tears follow birth and hearses!) I sing a Dirge! a Fury did indite it! I sing Myself! whilst I myself do write it. I invocate, to grace my Artless labour, The faithful goddess, men call Memory (True Poet's treasure, and their Wit's best favour); To deck my Muse with truest poesy! Though Love write well, yet Passion blinds th'affection. Man ne'er rules right, that's in the least subjection. Sweet Memory! Soul's life, new life increasing! The Eye of Justice! Tongue of Eloquence! The Lock of Learning! Fountain never ceasing! The Cabinet of Secrets! Caske[t] of Sense! Which governest Nature, teacheth Man his awe! That art all Conscience, and yet rul'st by Law! Bless thou, this Love Song-Air of my best wishes! (Thou art the Parent nourisheth Desire!) Blow, gentle winds! safe land me at my blisses! Love still mounts high, though lovers not aspire. My Poem's Truth! Fond poets feign at pleasure! A loving subject is a Prince's treasure. |
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