Classic Poem

When one or other rambles,
To Fishermen and Shambles,
To Pothecaries Shops:
For Physick and for Vittles,
Which they cut with their Whittles,
And play the dainty Fops,
Then I go to my Garden,
But no flesh, nor Pope's Pardon,
Now in the time of Lent;
But herbs and Eggs there gather,
Whereon I'm feeding rather
Than on such graisement.
How be it a good Cony,
Young Chickens, Chees and honey,
I heartily do own,
Distasting likewise never
What Roots and Fruits soever
In Fields are sown and grown.
The best things for my Palat
Are parsnips, Corn and Sallet,
And sugar'd Apple-pyes,
For Med'cine I use Lillies:
They cure most all what ill is
In man's heart, brain, and Eyes.
Next Sage with hyssop rises,
Preferred to those Spices,
Fetcht from the East and West.
My pen now waxing weary,
I leave off to be airy:
Short Follies are the best.