Classic Poem

To Northampton

A Garison what else: dost thou not heere
The sufering drum awake the shoomaker
To March beyond his Last, and chang his worke
To fight against the Cawy: worse than Turke
And though there never were more Hides then now
Tis not the weell tann'd skinn of Horse or Cow
Hee seeks to purchase naught stands him instead
Save Cavileeres skinns soundly Curried
Of such he covets to gett many a Dicker
For winter waere because theife take their Licker
Calves-skins is his owne cushion and the fells
Of the flockes bleaters he at market sells
All but what heads the Drum and those hee keeps
Quiets disturbers enemies to sleeps
With the revelia March and the tatoo
Wich by Instinct he learnt from boots or shooe
Why are there scooles for Artists to Commence
When here a bylke hath such intellegence
Nay to Divide the tex of discipline
And measure out the flanker curtaine line
With such Dexteritie as one might swere
That Mars had spawn'd these meteors from his sphere
Let all their trade from Etna can derive
Looke to their Venusses Lest those they—
For us most sure where inspirations been
Concupiscence is but a veniall sin
Like good Arithmatitions here they trie
How to Substract that they may multyply
And by Divisions Logerisme show
Those were but siphers now for figures goe
Counting from one to hundreds the while
Tis hundreds to one but they beguile
Both state and Church and as the Proverbe say
Chuse in thes sunshine Daies to make their Hay.