THE Baiting of the TIGER: OR, A true Relation of a bloody Rencounter that lately happened between a foreign Cat, and four great English Dogs, at the Cockpit Royal near St. James' Park, in the presence of several Dukes, Lords, Knights, Ladies, Squires, and Cits: Together with a particular Relation how the first Dog was slain, and the rest dangerously wounded. Set forth in a piece of Doggrel, for the benefit and satisfaction of the Public.  

I Have read of Bull Fights,  
Rencounters of Knights,  
Dog-fighting, and such sport as that:  
I have seen Dogs and Bears  
Together by th' Ears,  
And a Rabble a worrying a Cat.   

I have heard much of Don,  
And of Sancho his Man,  
Of Bevis, of Guy, and Orlando;  
How St. George slew the Dragon,  
An Exploit we still brag on,  
And from ruin delivered the Land O.   

I have seen a fierce Beau,  
That has made a fine show,  
Undergoing a sharp Bastinado:  
Seen a Squire in a Muff,  
Endure Kick and Cuff,  
Without lugging out to make .   

But this is mere Tattle,  
Compared to the Battle  
Between the great Dogs and the Tiger:  
And had you been there,  
You'd have said, I dare swear,  
You ne'er saw a Cat of more vigour.   

The first that came at him,  
Had you seen how he scrat him,  
How he raked off his Skin and his Fur:  
How he sucked out his vital,  
Oh! who can recite all,  
But must needs lament the poor Cur?   

The second indeed  
Did better succeed,  
And gave him a snap on the Snout.  
But yet for all that,  
He'ad been slain by the Cat,  
Had the Battle been fairly fought out.   

The third and the fourth,  
Came scurvily off;  
But withal did bravely distinguish  
Themselves more fool hardy,  
Than any ways tardy;  
In short, the Dogs were true English.   

The Sport was sublime,  
Too big for my Rhyme,  
And who would think much of a Guinea  
To see a Cat scratch and by't,  
Howl, grin, p— and should—  
There's no Man, I'm sure, but a Ninny.   

I appeal to the Ladies,  
To those that now a-days  
Are neither quite virtuous nor common,  
If they e'er saw a Brute  
So fiercely dispute,  
On his Back, the grand posture of Woman?   

Indeed for the squabble,  
Between th' Gentry and Rabble,  
That was not so well I confess:  
I'll tell you by th' by,  
When 'twas you Lie, and you Lie,  
I wished myself out of the Press.   

To conclude, though the Sport  
Was the first of the sort,  
'Twas damnable dear of a Guinea;  
If a thing be but new,  
Let what will ensue,  
Ye followed as the Devil were in ye.    

LONDON: Printed in the Year, 1699.