The poem
Whether the Turkish new moon minded be To fill his horns this year on Christian coast; How Poles' right king means, with leave of host, To warm with ill-made fire cold Muscovy;
If French can yet three parts in one agree; What now the Dutch in their full diets boast; How Holland hearts, now so good towns be lost, Trust in the shade of pleasing Orange tree;
How Ulster likes of that same golden bit Wherewith my father once made it half tame; If in the Scotch court be no welt'ring yet:
These questions busy wits to me do frame. I, cumber'd with good manners, answer do, But know not how, for still I think of you.