To Dr. F. B[eale]; On His Book Of Chesse.

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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"To Dr. F. B[eale]; On His Book Of Chesse." Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 17 Feb. 2020. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/30251/to-dr.-f.-b[eale];-on-his-book-of-chesse.>.

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