Classic Poem

Upon a mischance or fall

As dark as pitch
The night in which
Noe moon nor star appears
A Doctor Bowld
His steps mistowld
Soe tumbled downe the stears

Twas in October
And he was sober
For as if thirsty he fell
And brused his head
That he lay for dead
At the dore of the Fresco sell.

Soe He never spoak
Though his pipe it was broak
His box of Tobacco and all
His browe and his eyes
Did suffer likewise
Was not this a terrible fall?

Yet at the length
He guatherd some strength
And came to himself again
Complaines his director
And Lant-horn protector
Had plotted to beat out his braine.

Why should we then skorn
The Light or the horne
When those of such use may be
To save and defend
As the daylight doth end
And conduct in securety.

I will noe more wonder
Though't lighten and thunder
We uppermost Fates must endure
And yeild to all's don
Heer under the sun
Soe Phisitian thyself thou mayst cure.