Classic Poem

And, now that every thing may in the proper place
Most aptly be contriv'd, the sheepe our wold doth breed
(The simplest though it seeme) shall our description need,
And shepheard-like, the Muse thus of that kind doth speak;
No browne, nor sullyed black the face or legs doth streak,
Like those of Moreland, Cank, or of the Cambrian hills
That lightly laden are: but Cotswold wisely fills
Her with the whitest kind: whose browes so woolly be,
As men in her faire sheepe no emptiness should see.
The staple deepe and thick, through, to the very graine,
Most strongly keepeth out the violentest raine:
A body long and large, the buttocks equally broad;
As fit to under-goe the full and weightie load.
And of the fleecie face, the flanke doth nothing lack,
But every-where is stor'd; the belly, as the back.
The faire and goodly flock, the shepheards onely pride,
As white as winters snowe, when from the rivers side
He drives his new-washt sheepe; or on the sheering day,
When as the lusty ram, with those rich spoyles of May
His crooked hornes hath crown'd; the bell-weather, so brave
As none in all the flock they like themselves would have.