To Master W. C

WIlly my deare, that late by Haddam sitting,
By little Haddam, in those private shades,
Unto thy fancie thousand pleasures fitting,
With dainty Nymphs in those retired glades,
Didst spend thy time; (time that too quickly fades)
Ah! much I fear, that those so pleasing toyes
Have too much lull'd thy sense and minde in slumbring joyes.

Now art thou come to nearer Maddingly,
Which with fresh sport and pleasure doth enthrall thee;
There new delights withdraw thy eare, thy eye;
Too much I fear, left some ill chance befall thee:
Heark, how the Cambridge Muses thence recall thee;
Willy our deare, Willy his time abuses:
But sure thou hast forgot our Chame, and Cambridge Muses.

Return now, Willy; now at length return thee:
Here thou and I, under the sprouting vine,
By yellow Chame, where no hot ray shall burn thee,
Will fit, and sing among the Muses nine;
And safely cover'd from the scalding shine,
We'l read that Mantuan shepherds sweet complaining
Whom fair Alexis griev'd with his unjust disdaining:

And when we list to lower notes descend,
Heare Thirsil's moan, and Fusca's crueltie:
He cares not now his ragged flock to tend,
Fusca his care, but carelesse enemie:
Hope oft he sees shine in her humble eye;
But soon her angrie words of hope deprives him:
So often dies with love, but love as oft revives him.