Robert Anton Poems

THE Ladie Anne Randyll, health in both the Worlds.
Madam, behold, your vertues doe intice
The best of art to write the worst of vice,
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I dare not dedicate: this Satyr sings
High as this Planet: points at onely Kings.

Great heart, of this great world, that do'st inspire
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What by his nature moues, and would aspire
Vnder this Planet borrowes his hot fire:
What horrid furie bursts his chaines in hell,
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The next aboue this kingly Planets place,
Highest of all, is Saturn's sullen face:
Pale, and of ashie colour, male content;
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Of all the Planets, this appeares most strange
In apparitions and inconstant change:
Sometime she like a sithe her face doth show,
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Not Iupiter, transform'd to many shapes,
His transmutations, or celestiall scapes;
Amorous imbracings, and adulterate fires,
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