Classic Poem

Whether the Turkish new moon minded be
To fill his horns this year on Christian coast;
How Poles' right king means, without leave of host,
To warm with ill-made fire cold Muscovy ;
If French can yet three parts in one agree;
What now the Dutch in their full diets boast;
How Holland hearts, now so good towns be lost,
Trust in the shade of pleasing Orange tree;
How Ulster likes of that same golden bit
Wherewith my father once made it half tame;
If in the Scottish court be welt'ring yet;
These questions busy wits to me do frame;
I, cumbered with good manners, answer do,
But know not how, for still I think of you.