To Dr. F. B[eale]; On His Book Of Chesse. - Poem by Richard Lovelace
Sir, how unravell'd is the golden fleece:
Men, that could only fool at FOX AND GEESE,
Are new-made polititians by thy book,
And both can judge and conquer with a look.
The hidden fate of princes you unfold;
Court, clergy, commons, by your law control'd.
Strange, serious wantoning all that they
Bluster'd and clutter'd for, you PLAY.
Comments about To Dr. F. B[eale]; On His Book Of Chesse. by Richard Lovelace
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Read poems about / on: fate
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You