Classic Poem

My name is Parrot, a bird of Paradise,
By nature devised of a wonderous kind,
Daintily dieted with divers delicate spice,
Till Euphrates, that flood, driveth me into Ind;
Where men of that country by fortune me find,
And send me to great ladies of estate.
Then Parrot must have an almond or a date.
For Parrot is no churlish chough nor no flecked pie,
Parrot is no Pendugum that men call a gairling,
Parrot is no woodcock nor no butterfly,
Parrot is no stammering stare, that men call a starling;
But Parrot is my own dear heart and my dear darling;
Melpomene, that fair maid, burnished his beak:
I pray you, let Parrot have liberty to speak.
Parrot is a fair bird for a lady;
God of His goodness him framed and wrought;
When Parrot is dead, she doth not putrefy:
Yea, all thing mortal shall turn into nought,
Except man's soul, that Christ so dear bought;
That never may die nor never die shall:
Make much of Parrot, the Popejay royall.
For that Peerless Prince that Parrot did create
He made you of nothing by His majesty:
Point well this problem that Parrot doth prate,
And remember among how Parrot and ye
Shall leap from this life, as merry as we be;
Pomp, pride, honor, riches and worldly lust,
Parrot saith plainly shall turn all to dust.