Classic Poem

F YE Fuscus, fye; sith th' art so full of Law,
I meruell thou so emptie art of manners!
For, on thy taile thou sitt'st, and all dost draw
That's offer'd thee, without thanks to the owners
Thou mak'st them stand to vnderstand thy minde,
While still thou sitt'st (a sleepe as they suppose)
And oft shovt'st out vnsweet replies behinde.
As if in spight thou did'st it of their nose.
O heauens, Fuscus! what should make thee thinke
That men should watch, and stay, and pray, and pay.
For nought but (worse then nought) to smell thee stinke
As if they so should carry it away?
But Fuseus, If thou winn'st by shooting so,
I blame thee not to draw and then let go.