Richard Lovelace

(1618-1657 / London / England)

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.

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Read poems about / on: fate

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

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