Bred up, where discipline most rare is,
In military Garden Paris. <>
For soldiers heretofore did grow
In gardens, just as weeds do now,
Until some splay-foot politicians 175
T'APOLLO offer'd up petitions
For licensing a new invention
They'd found out of an antique engine,
To root out all the weeds that grow
In public gardens at a blow, 180
And leave th' herbs standing. Quoth Sir Sun,
My friends, that is not to be done.
Not done! quoth Statesmen; yes, an't please ye,
When it's once known, you'll say 'tis easy.
Why then let's know it, quoth Apollo. 185
We'll beat a drum, and they'll all follow.
A drum! (quoth PHOEBUS;) troth, that's true;
A pretty invention, quaint and new.
But though of voice and instrument
We are the undoubted president, 190
We such loud music don't profess:
The Devil's master of that office,
Where it must pass, if't be a drum;
He'll sign it with Cler. Parl. Dom. Com.
To him apply yourselves, and he 195
Will soon dispatch you for his fee.
They did so; but it prov'd so ill,
Th' had better let 'em grow there still.
But to resume what we discoursing
Were on before, that is, stout ORSIN: 200