Lo! I have made a Calendar for every Year,
That Steel in strength, and Time in Durance shall out-wear:
And if I marked well the Stars Revolution,
It shall continue till the Word's Dissolution,
To teach the ruder Shepherd how to feed his Sheep,
And from the Falser's fraud his folded Flock to keep.
Go, little Calendar, thou hast a free Pa**port;
Go but a lowly Gate amongst the meaner Sort.
Dare not to match thy Pipe with Tityrus his Stile,
Nor with the Pilgrim that the Plough-man-plaid awhile:
But follow them far off, and their high Steps adore,
The Better please, the Worse displease; I ask no more.
Merce non mercede.