Philip Sidney

Whether the Turkish new-moon minded be
   To fill her horns this year on Christian coast;
   How Poles' right king means, without 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, cumbered with good manners, answer do,
   But know not how, for still I think of you.