John Cleveland Poems

o
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Whenas the nightingale chanted her vespers,
And the wild forester couched on the ground,
Venus invited me in th' evening whispers
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Is't come to this? What shall the cheeks of fame
Stretch'd with the breath of learned Loudon's name,
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WHO first reform'd our Stage with justest Lawes,
And was the first best Judge in his owne Cause?
Who (when his Actors trembled for Applause)
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How, Providence? and yet a Scottish crew?
Then Madam Nature wears black patches too!
What, shall our nation be in bondage thus
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THE sluggish morne as yet undrest,
My Phillis brake from out her East;
As if shee'd made a match to run
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I like not tears in tune, nor do I prize
His artificial grief that scans his eyes;
Mine weep down pious beads, but why should I
Confine them to the Muses' rosary?
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