Classic Poem

You gave me an estate near town, you say
My window-ledge provides a larger! Nay,
How can you dare to term it so to me?
One sprig of rue Diana's grove must be,
A cricket's leg could shade it over quite,
An ant despoil it in a single night,
The tiniest rose-leaf cover it, and rare
As Cosmus' nard is any herbage there;
A gherkin cannot lie at length; though small
And tightly coiled a snake can cover all;
A slug half-starved there is—the willow-bed
Nurtured a gnat—the famished brute is dead;
A mole is ditcher—and he ploughs as well;
There was a mushroom but it could not swell;
The fig and violet, so cramped were they
As not to open to the light of day;
A mouse is there, my bailiff dreads it more
Than if it were the Calydonian boar;
When ripe the crop, fell Procne down may flit
And in her nest may garner all of it;
If it escape her ravening claws and bill,
An empty snail-shell it may chance to fill;
Priapus' figure may not here abide,
Shorn of his staff, he could not get inside;
Then for the wine, in place of cask or butt,
We store the vintage in a pitch-dressed nut;
To call the place a field is quite absurd,
Take out or change two letters of the word,
Change L to E, omit the second letter,
And give me the result, 'twould suit me better.