Classic Poem

TEN. SILVAN. Tell me, gentle howre of night,
Wherein dost thou most delight?
BAS. HOWRE. Not in sleepe. SIL. Wherein then?
HOWRE. In the frolicke vew of men.
SIL. Lovest thou musicke? HOWRE. O 'tis sweet.
SIL. Whats dauncing? HOWRE. Ev'n the mirth of feete.
SIL. Joy you in Fayries and in elves?
HOW. We are of that sort our selves.
   But, Silvan , say, whie do you love
   Onely to frequent the grove?
SIL. Life is fullest of content
  Where delight is innocent.
HOW. Pleasure must varie, not be long.
   Come then lets close, and end our song.
CHORUS. Yet ere we vanish from this princely sight,
Let us bid Phoebus and his states god-night.