John Ogilby

Each thing by Destiny So hastens to grow worse, and backward goes; As one against a stream his Vessel rowes, Who if by chance his arm a little slack, The Boat in the swift Chanel hurries back.

Then Arts began; fierce toyl through all things breaks, And urgent Want strange Projects undertakes.

Various Arts by study might be wrought Up to their height.

Pray for wet Summers, Winters wanting Rain.

Whence Men, a hard Race, sprung.

Love Conquers all, let us submit to Love.

Here sweet Meads, cool Fountains be, Here Groves where I could spend my Age with thee.

Singing let's go, the way shall better please.

Age all things wasts.

But them I'm not so foolish to believe.

The Gods most pleasure in od numbers take.

Now know I what Love is.

Arcadians both, in youth both flourishing, Both match'd to sing, to answer both prepar'd.

O Divine Poet, me thy Verses please More than soft slumber laid in quiet ease.

Begin, sweet Babe, with smiles thy Mother know.

Ambush'd in grass, a deadly Serpent lyes.

Now fields are green, and trees bear silver buds.

Sweet Youth, in Colour no such trust repose.

Britany, from all the World disjoyn'd.

Great things to compare with Small.

The hope of my poor Flock.