To Dr. F. B[Eale]; On His Book Of Chesse.[94.1]

A 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[94.2] by thy book,
And both can judge and conquer with a look.
The hidden fate[94.3] 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.