Classic Poem

Another.

Vngratefull Farmers of the Muses land
That (wanting thrift and iudgment to imploy it)
Let it manureles and vnfenced stand,
Till barbarous Cattell enter and destroy it:
Now the true heyre is happily found out
Who (framing it t'inritch posterities)
Walles it with spright-fild darknes round about,
Grass, plants, and sowes; and makes it Paradise.
To which without the Parcaes golden bow,
None can aspire but stick in errors hell;
A garland to engird a Monarchs brow,
Then take some paines to ioy so rich a Iewell
Most prize is graspt in labors hardest hand,
And idle soules can nothing rich command.