Classic Poem

A Time there was when as the Moone desird
The Sunne to make hir a fitt Peticote:
Who did refuse to doe what shee requir'd,
Sith hee in hir suche often change did note:
So, can no wisedome well proportion out
To these Phanlasticks (uarious, as vaine)
A rate of Wealth to bring the yeare about,
Sith now they loue, what straigthe they lothe againe
These, of all light Things, burden most the Earth:
Of whome their is no helpe, no hope, no vse:
Whose Mothers labored idly in their birthe,
To beare such idle Things, for Things abuse:
Each Slaue to vice may vs'd bee in his kind.
But ther's no vse of the vnconstant Mynd.