Classic Poem

The Answer of L. Blundeston to the same.

This mirror left of this thy bird, I find
Hath not such force to enter in the heart
To root away unthankfulness of mind,
As others have, the virtues to pervert,
(so prone we are to vice).
The tench by kind hath salve for every sore,
And heals the maimed pike in his distress;
The churlish pike for gentleness therefore,
In his reward doth cruelly express
His murd'ring mind, his filthy spotted faith:
When hunger pricks to fill his greedy jaws,
He grips his poor chirurgeon unto death,
Who late to him of life was only cause.
Thy marlions have few aeries in our ground,
But pikes have spawns good store in every pound.