Classic Poem

To the censorious precise

This idle paines I may not cast away,
 Sith with the bad it meetes to turne them backe:
 Least going forward they might goe to wracke;
But heere, with pleasure, they are causd to stay.

The Wits that in FAMES Callender do shine
 With golden Characters (most radiant)
 The double Headed Hill , for This did haunt:
And at Abuse (in this kinde) did repine.

He that once held the Helme of this great STATE
 Thought it no cracke of credit, wracke of Wit,
 By singing thus, to haue a merry fit
When he his Minde (turmoild) would recreate.

Nor that Geneua Doctor (most precise I)
 Who made the Hebrue Bible Latine talke,
 Not dainty made to make his Muse to walke
About this Bus'esse, Wits Soules exercise!

Then though (perhaps) true Wisedome rather would
 To Vulcan sacrifice these pleasant Straines
 (Stretcht to all Eares from my all drawne-out Braines )
Yet Wit, though wilde, we should from Wracke with hold

Though it, heere shew'n (perhaps) appears too light,
 Yet ( Foole ) will not my Bable so forgoe
 For Londons Towre, and why? why, will ye know?
The Towre's a Body , these are minde and Spright:
 For as the minde the Body farre exceeds,
  So Wit doth Wealth , because the Minde it feedes