Classic Poem

Philomelae ac Citharaedi Concertatio

The Sun declin'd and taking leav of Day
Sent a more moderate fier now from his Ray,
When One in musike skilld to Tiber gets
Wher drowning Cares and Shelterd from all heats
By th'shady cov'ring of a well grown Tree
Presents the Ayre with Ayres and Harmony:
Which heard by One in the neer Grove did sit
(Who was the Siren and the Muse to it)
She neerer skips, though hid in Leavs, to find
What sound it was: Then troubeled in Mind,
At Last what His hand did disclose in Noat
She did again returne Him from Her Throat
The musike master finding ther was One
Answerd his Tunes with Imitation
Was pleasd to guive the Nightingale content
And soe more bowldly strikes up's Instrument
As to a fresh encounter: and runs ore
The Strings with more Dexterity than before
Nor is she slow to answer, but replies
In Thousand Noats prickt to varieties:
The Lutanist in Skorne to be out done,
Over the Quavring Strings doth nimbly run
With his right hand, ordring his fingers soe
As some times to strike high, and some times Lowe
Then stops:
Which she observing sutes her part,
To answer Key for Key, and Art for Art,
Now in a wilde Noat she drawes out her strain
Then calls it in with a Jugg Jugg again
And varieth soe her Gammuth as she sings
You'ld Judg All musike harbourd 'neath those wings
The Man admires, that soe much Art and Skill
Of sound, should issue from so small a Bill
And soe with Might and Main prepares to try
A new attempt, in more variety
Of Flatts, and Sharpes, and Mooding Time aright,
Smooth Touches hath for Peace, and harsh for fight
This like wise Philomela sings, and proves
By sweet sweet-singing the sweet flame of Loves
And yet not willing to be overcome
Varies again her Noats to Fife and Drumm:
The Minstrell blusht, and warme with anger, cries
Thou Lutanist to th'Sylvane Deities,
If This one tune I goe to play, Thou doe,
I'le break my Lute and yeild up Bucklers too:
Soe 'thout more words, he guave his Lute a Touch,
Surpast All Imitation t'doe soe much:
For flying ore the strings with Active hand
He had both These, and Those, so at Command
That evry Diapason did present
More Pride of sound, and higher wonderment
To All the Quier, and having got this prayse
He stands expecting which should wear the Bayes:
But She (poor Bird) whose voice had thus been stretcht,
Impatient to be soe far overreacht,
Musters up All her Force, and when she sees
'Twixt His Strings, and Her Native Faculties
Such Disproportian, and that 'twas 'gainst Fate
That Lesser Ayrs should Greater imitate,
Checks Bowldnes, and Impartiall, for greef dies,
And falls unto His Lute a Sacrefize,
As Overcome, Then shews entoombd thus,
How Emulating Vertue deals with Us.