Classic Poem

You gave m'a Mannour, Lupus , but I till
A larger Mannour in my Window still.
A Mannour Call you this? where I can prove
One Sprig of Rew doth make Diana' s Grove?
Which a Grashopper's wing hides? and a small
Emmet in one day only eats down all?
An half-blown Rose-leaf Circles it quite round,
In which our Common Grass is no more found,
Than Cosmus Leaf? or unripe Pepper? where
At the full length cann't lye a Cucumber,
Nor a whole Snake inhabit? I'm afraid
'Tis with one Worm, one Earewick overlaid;
The Sallow spent the Gnat yet dies, the whole
Plot without Charge is tilled by the Mole,
A Mushroome cannot open, nor Fig grow,
A Violet doth find no room to blow,
A Mouse laies waste the Bounds, my Bayliff more
Doth fear him than the Caledonian Bore ;
The Swallow in one Claw takes as she flies
The Crop entire, and in her Nest it lies;
No place for half Priapus , though he do
Stand without Syth, and t'other weapon too;
The harvest in a Cockleshell is put,
And the whole Vintage tunn'd up in a Nut,
Truly but in one Letter, Lupus , thou
Mistaken wert; for when thou didst bestow
This Mead confirm'd unto me by thy Seal,
I'd rather far th'hadst given me a Meal.