The Trojan Horse

A Horse I am, who bit,
Reine, rod, Spur do not feare,
When I my Riders beare,
Within my Wombe, not on my Back they sit.
No streames I drinke, nor care for Grasse or Corne;
Art me a Monster wrought
All Natures workes to scorne;
A Mother I was without Mother borne,
In end all arm'd my Father I forth brought:
What thousand Ships, and Champions of renowne
Could not do free, captiv'd I raz'd Troy's Town.