The Tattling Gossip of the Newsheets

There is a tall long-sided dame,
(But wondrous light) ycleped Fame,
That like a thin chameleon boards
Herself on air, and eats your words:
Upon her shoulders wings she wears
Like hanging sleeves, lined through with ears,
And eyes, and tongues, as poets list,
Made good by deep mythologist.
With these, she through the welkin flies,
And sometimes carries truth, oft lies;
With letters hung like eastern pigeons,
And Mercuries of furthest regions;
Diurnals writ for regulation
Of lying, to inform the nation,
And by their public use to bring down
The rate of whetstones in the kingdom.
About her neck a packet-mail,
Fraught with advice, some fresh, some stale;
Of men that walked when they were dead,
And cows of monsters brought to bed:
Of hailstones big as pullets' eggs,
And puppies whelped with twice two legs:
A blazing star seen in the west,
By six or seven men at least.
Two trumpets she does sound at once,
But both of clean contrary tones.
But whether both with the same wind,
Or one before, and one behind,
We know not; only this can tell,
The one sounds vilely, th'other well;
And therefore vulgar authors name
Th'one Good, the other Evil Fame.