Classic Poem

And can the physician make sick men well?
And can the magician a fortune divine?
Without lily, germander, and sops-in-wine,
With sweet-briar
And bon-fire
And strawberry wire
And columbine.

Within and out, in and out, round as a ball,
With hither and thither, as straight as a line,
With lily, germander, and sops-in-wine.
With sweet-briar
And bon-fire
And strawberry wire
And columbine.

When Saturn did live, there lived no poor,
The king and the beggar with roots did dine,
With lily, germander, and sops-in-wine.
With sweet-briar
And bon-fire
And strawberry wire
And columbine.