Classic Poem

bussy:Ile sooth his plots: and strow my hate with smiles
Till all at once the close mines of my heart
Rise at full date, and rush into his bloud:
Ile bind his arme in silke, and rub his flesh,
To make the vaine swell, that his soule may gush
Into some kennell, where it longs to lie,
And policy shall be flanckt with policy
Yet shall the feeling center where wee meet
Grone with the wait of my approaching feet:
Ile make th' inspired threshals of his Court
Sweat with the weather of my horrid steps
Before I enter: yet will I appeare
Like calme security, before a ruine;
A Politician, must like lightening melt
The very marrow, and not taint the skin:
His wayes must not be seene: the superficies
Of the greene center must not taste his feet:
When hell is plow'd up with his wounding tracts:
And all his harvest reap't by hellish facts.