Classic Poem

O, why should Nature niggardly restraine!
That Foraine Nations rellish not our Tongue,
Else should my Lines glide on the Waves of Rhene ,
And crowne the Piren's with my living Song:
But bounded thus, to Scotland get you forth,
Thence take you Wing unto the Orcades ,
There let my Verse get glory in the North,
Making my Sighes to thaw the Frozen Seas;
And let the Bards within that Irish Ile,
To whom my Muse with fierie Wings shall passe,
Call backe the stiffe-neck'd Rebels from Exile,
And mollifie the slaught'ring Galliglasse ;
 And when my flowing Numbers they rehearse,
 Let Wolves and Beares be charmed with my Verse.