Classic Poem

I' ME rent in 'twayne, your horses turning thus
Transcribing mee the torne Hippoletus .
No Traytor suffers a more Quarterd fat
When doomed to stride from Lud to Bishopsgate.
Hither & hence at once, thy euery Sphere
Doth by a double Motion Enterfere,
And when his native forme inclines him East
By his first mouer hee is ravisht west.
Peace fond Philosopher thy Problems donne
No rest ith' poynt of my Reflection:
My Tropick whirles mee to a distant soyle
The Bullet flying makes the Gun recoyle.
Death's but a Separation though endorst
With Spade & Jauelin, wee are thus diuorst.
My soule hath taken wing, & I expresse
The Corps returning to my Principles.
But Death's not all, Reluctance tags the Curse
With black Despayre, aske but the aged Nurse
Shee proues salvation from a death thats mild
Hee went away iust like a Chrysome child
But Loue like Cacus makes mee trauell so
My feet still contradict mee as I goe.
In proofe wherof see how this foundered Rhyme
Hunts counter & Rebounds into thy Clyme.
My splay-foot Journey is both right & wrong
Backwards is forwards in the Hebrew tongue.
Then since my soule bends Northward thus with thee
Let thine the Counterpane goe South with mee.