________________________________________________
Title: The Sacrifice To Apollo
Author: Michael Drayton [
More Titles by Drayton]
Priests of APOLLO, sacred be the Room,
For this learn'd Meeting: Let no barbarous Groom,
How brave soe'r he be,
Attempt to enter;
But of the Muses free,
None here may venture;
This for the Delphian Prophets is prepared:
The profane Vulgar are from hence debared.
And since the Feast so happily begins,
Call up those fair Nine, with their Violins;
They are begot by JOVE,
Then let us place them,
Where no Clown in may shove,
That may disgrace them:
But let them near to young APOLLO sit;
So shall his Foot-pace over-flow with Wit.
Where be the Graces, where be those fair Three?
In any hand they may not absent be:
They to the Gods are dear,
And they can humbly
Teach us, our Selves to bear,
And do things comely:
They, and the Muses, rise both from one Stem,
They grace the Muses, and the Muses them.
Bring forth your Flagons (fill'd with sparkling Wine)
Whereon swollen BACCHUS, crowned with a Vine,
Is graven, and fill out,
It well bestowing,
To ev'ry Man about,
In Goblets flowing:
Let not a Man drink, but in Draughts profound;
To our God PHOEBUS let the Health go Round.
Let your Jests fly at large; yet therewithall
See they be Salt, but yet not mix'd with Gall:
Not tending to disgrace,
But fairly given,
Becomming well the place,
Modest, and even;
That they with tickling Pleasure may provoke
Laughter in him, on whom the Jest is broke.
Or if the deeds of HEROES ye rehearse,
Let them be sung in so well-ordered Verse,
That each word have his weight,
Yet run with pleasure;
Holding one stately height,
In so brave measure,
That they may make the stiffest Storm seem weak,
And damp JOVES Thunder, when it lowd'st doth speak.
And if ye list to exercise your Vain,
Or in the Sock, or in the Buskin'd Strain,
Let Art and Nature go
One with the other;
Yet so, that Art may show
Nature her Mother;
The thick-brained Audience lively to awake,
Till with shrill Claps the Theater do shake.
Sing Hymns to BACCHUS then, with hands upreared,
Offer to JOVE, who most is to be feared;
From him the Muse we have,
From him proceedeth
More then we dare to crave;
'Tis he that feedeth
Them, whom the World would starve; then let the Lyre
Sound, whilst his Altars endless flames expire.
[The end]
Michael Drayton's poem: Sacrifice To Apollo
________________________________________________
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
