Classic Poem

Marke how the Lanterns clowd mine eyes!
See where a moone drake ginnes to rise!
Saturne craules much like an Iron Catt
To see the naked moone in a slippshott hatt.
Thunder-thumping toadstooles crock the pots
To see the Meremaids tumble;
Leather catt-a-mountaines shake their heeles
To heare the gosh-hawke grumble.
The rustic threed
Begins to bleed,
And cobwebs elbows itches;
The putrid skyes
Eat mulsacke pies,
Backed up in logicke breches.

Munday trenchers make good hay,
The Lobster weares no dagger;
Meale-mouth'd shee-peacockes powle the starres,
And make the lowbell stagger.
Blew Crocodiles foame in the toe,
Blind meal-bagges do follow the doe;
A ribb of apple-braine spice
Will follow the Lancasheire dice.
Harke, how the chime of Plutoes pispot cracks,
To see the rainbowes wheele ganne, made of flax.