Classic Poem

I don't remember I did dip,
In the Caballine spring my lip;
Nor on two-top'd Pernassus sleep,
That thence I should a Poet creep
The pale Pyrene and Helicon ,
I for those men will let alone,
T'whose browes the rambling Ivys cling;
Yet I a clown, my verses bring
To th'Muses altars. Who did show
The Parrat xaire , who the crow
Of old with hollow voyce to prate?
Or pies our words to imitate?
Arts Master, Need, which wit bestowes;
This Artist makes us come to those
Words which our Nature us denies,
Make crowes turn Poets, and the Pies
Turn Poetresses that can sing
Sweet verses from the Pegasean spring.