Classic Poem

To the Countess of Exeter upon her brach Lemons whelping An Ode or Song

Lemon has whelpt O Joyfull newes
Enough for to create a Muse
Out of the dullest block
That can to hunting sport pretend
Wherfore pray Jove some Nectar lend
Apollo Helicon unlock

Ther is noe hound for nose and speed
Allthough of Creet or Sparta breed
Could ever hunt soe well
Or drive a Chase wher Pan doth Keep
(The Huntsmans curse) his flock of sheep
Soe she's 'thout paralell

That fancy is but poor and silly
To court a whelp that comes of Lilly
Her strain's not half soe rare
For though she some times well may run
She cannot match this Paragon
She wants a M[istres]s care

And heer I'm ravisht with a Spell
The Greater happines to tell
This Creature soe befrended
As t'be intiteled and Crownd
Not my Lord's Brach but Ladies Hound
Wherwith her Fame's ascended

Some doe goe farr and pas the seas
For Lemons, and for Oranges
And ventrous jorneys take
I wish from hence they'l stay at home
And only to this Kennell come
More proffit sure they'l make

Others doe deem't a trick of bliss
If they can Compass but a Kiss
Of what is more precise
Which makes the Vicket of the toune
Doft Girdle, Casssock, Hose, and Goune
For to Monopolize.

Such suer doe howld the Proverb true
That better horse-flesh is their due
Soe clayme it for a fashion
And judg the crime but Light not hevy
Thus to part Tiths: with Tribe of Levy
To help on Reformation

For 'tis not fit that He alone
From Pulpit-Elevation
Such Canaan should discover
When Bewty bountifull transferrs
Her flames into th'Parishioners
Inspiring each a lover

But heer's enough; nor This nor That
Must Coupled be at any rate
Unto my Lemon heer
Diana and her Nimphs nere knew
Soe Saint-Like hound for sent and View
Nor like Containes the Spher.