  On the proud banks of great Euphrates' flood,1 There we sate, and there we wept: Our harpes, that now no musick understood, Nodding, on the willowes slept: While unhappy captiv'd wee,5 Lovely Sion, thought on thee. They, they that snatcht us from our countrie's breast, Would have a song carv'd to their eares In Hebrew numbers, then (O cruell jest!) Come, they cry'd, come sing and play One of Sion's songs to-day. Sing? play? to whom (ah!) shall we sing or play, If not, Jerusalem, to thee? Ah! thee Jerusalem! ah! sooner may15 This hand forget the masterie Of Musick's dainty touch, than I The musick of thy memory. Which when I lose, O may at once my tongue Lose this same busie-speaking art,20 Vnpearch't, her vocall arteries unstrung, No more acquainted with my heart, On my dry pallat's roof to rest A wither'd leaf, an idle guest. No, no, Thy good Sion, alone, must crowne25 The head of all my hope-nurst joyes. But Edom, cruell thou! thou cryd'st downe, downe Sinke Sion, downe and never rise, Her falling thou did'st urge and thrust, And haste to dash her into dust:30 Dost laugh? proud Babel's daughter! do, laugh on, Till thy ruine teach thee teares, Even such as these; laugh, till a venging throng Of woes, too late, doe rouze thy feares: Laugh, till thy children's bleeding bones35 Weepe pretious teares upon the stones. Decoration F
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