Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GAME, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT

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GAME, by            
First Line: Not from the stern
Last Line: Let me alone, I shall not spoil thy game.
Subject(s): Competition

NOT from the stern
Portch did I lern
This Lesson, but from civil Reasons Temple:
Nor can thy fine example
Outbrave my sober grounds, or prove that I
A Heretik am in Gentility.


I'needs must tell
Thee, Gallant, still
Thy hounds & hawks I never yet could see
Catch such delight to me,
As oft is caught by these two fingers when
After a flea in hott persute they runn.


Dost thou not know
It is not Thou
That hawk'st & huntest, but thy hound & hawk?
And dost not blush to talk
Of generous Sport, when thou their Lord, at least
Art the Attendant on thy Bird and Beast!


Nay more than so,
Their Vassal too
Thou art, & whether thorough fair or foule
Thy most inslaved Soule
Is glad to thrust thee, yf they lead the way:
Are these the paths to manly noble Joy?


The Griffen, or
The Tygre, farr
Outvie such Joys, when they without the aid
Of hawk or hound have preyd
Upon their game, & needed not, like thee,
For their wilde pastimes borrowers to be.


Is it not fine
Delight to win
This rare applause when thou in weary sweat
Dost from thy sport retreat:
Behold, the Man, & hawks & hounds are come
Ev'n with a conquerd hare or partridge home.


Then, yf you will,
Bate the mad hell
Of oathes which haunts this trade: yet can I not
Be charmd to toile in what
Pretendeth not to yeild me other gains
Then onely this, My Labour for my Pains.


That Sport is known
Best to thine own
Huntsmen & falkners; yet will never they
Unless by ample Pay
Be charmd to follow it: 'tis not the Game,
No, 'tis thy Money which delighteth them.


But noblest things,
Princes & Kings
Are of these Games the granted Soverains too:
And what yf I have no
Ambition to play like them? though they
Perhaps seek nothing less in Sports than Play.


Yet please thy will
And play thy fill;
But tie not me to this thy Loosnes, who
Perchance know what to do.
What yf I rather list to hunt, as high
As Nimrod in the feilds of History?


What yf I take
Delight to make
My Contemplations resolute wings outstretch
Thy hawks sublimest reach?
On, on, for me: yf I above it am,
Let me alone, I shall not spoil thy game.

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