Classic Poem

Why puts our Grandame Nature on
Her winter coat, ere Summer's done?
What, hath she got an ague fit?
And thinks to make us hov'ring sit
Over her lazie Embers? else why should
Old Hyems freeze our vernal blood?
Or as we each day, grow older,
Doth the world wax wan and colder?
'Tis so: See how nak'd Charitie
Sterves in this frozen age! whilst we
Have no other heat but glow-worm zeal
Whose warmth we see but cannot feel.
All chang'd are Ceres golden hairs
To Clouded greys and nought appears
In Flora's dresse: our hopes do die
And o' th' sudden blasted lie.
Heav'ns glorious lamps do waste away,
The Elements themselves decay,
And the mixt bodies mutinie
By a rebellious sympathie;
Whilst the distemper'd world grows pale
And sickning threatens death to all:
So in an instant waters swept
The old worlds monsters, whilst they wept
Its funeral: but the new world's sins
Are so deep dy'd no flood can rinse.
Nothing but lightning and Heav'ns fire
Can purge our pestilential aire.