Ye Wives who scold fishes sell, <br />Or sing sell your fruit, <br />I want a wondrous thing to tell, <br />Then (if you can) be mute. <br />From some of You one Homer came, <br />Who wrote a ballad first, <br />For He knew neither Parents name <br />Nor livd where he was nurst <br />His verse in length exceeds us all <br />So when a crowd he drew, <br />Like you he got him to a stall, <br />spoke as long as you. <br />Some tatterd Mermaid gave him birth <br />Who crys her oyster wares <br />Or Else some ragged nymph of earth <br />Who sings her Mellow pears <br />If 'twas the nymph of fruit was prest, <br />Apollo was ye Lover: <br />With tunefull cry he filld her breast, <br />got a singing Rover. <br />A Man, tho blind, yet usd to ply <br />Where 'ere he heard of Chear; <br />His dog it seems preserved an eye, <br />Its Master livd by ear. <br />Or if Apollo chancd to Love <br />The Mermaid near ye sea, <br />Whose shriller voice he taught to move <br />With buy my oysters pray. <br />Her shriller voice when raised to Ire <br />Woud thunder on ye crew, <br />So from ye Mother ye Sire <br />Old Homers Iliad grew. <br />then (as big with child she stood) <br />The place she sold her fishes <br />Might in his fancy form a floud <br />To rage in all th' Odysses.<br /><br />Thomas Parnell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ye-wives-who-scold-fishes-sell/
