THE COUNTRY CLUB. A POEM.  
 flowers in a container  
LONDON: Printed for Walter Kettilby, at the Bishops Head in St. Paul's Church-yard. 1679.   

THE Country Club.  

tired with repeated follies of the Town,  
I sought abroad some new Diversion:  
And promised to myself some three miles off,  
I might far Cheaper buy an hours Laugh.  
Thither I steered, where the brisk City Blades  
Huff, and return as merry as the Maids.  
One of the Crew it was my chance to meet,  
A merry Rogue, half drunk, and so a Wit.  
Big with Relations of the Hare late killed;  
Of Dog, of Horse, of Hound, of spacious Field:  
No puny Champion from Campain got free,  
More proud could talk, more haughtily than he.  
Sir, I suppose, says my young Spark, you know  
Th' intrigues of Hunting, and the Club below.  
But ere you thither march, to make you merry,  
Let's bub a Pint of Harry's new Canary;  
'Twill make you fitter for that grand Cabal:  
Take my Advice, here's to you; have at all.  
I took it, went, and found what he had said  
To be full true: for I'd been much afraid,  
Had I not first been animated up,  
And guarded thither, by a Chirping Cup.  
Such noise, such stink, such smoke there was, you'd swear  
The Tempest surely had been acted there.  
The cries of Star-board, Lar-board, cheerly boys,  
Is but as demi rattles to this noise,  
Like whispers to a Hollow; or in truth  
You are a way, Sir, to a full mouthed oath:  
The sight as terrifying too, appears,  
As does the clamour to your tender ears.  
Each thing looks bigger, for the smoke that's there  
Augments the Objects, like the Atmosphere:  
It makes a puny Star, scarce dare intrude,  
As large as one, oth highest Magnitude.  
Should a crowned Head within these Walls appear,  
No knee would bow with reverential fear.  
No Saint is owned, unless a Leveller.  
The Cap of Maintenance, with ermines lined,  
Would be out-fac'd by Hat skewr'd up behind.  
Should Poet wander hither, be assured on't  
His head, though crowned with laurels green and verdant,  
cobbler with noddle twined by leather thong,  
Should jostle him, and rhyme out Bawdy Song.  
It no distinction makes of great and small:  
Thus Death, and thus the Grave, does equal all.  
Birds of a Feather join, they say, in flight;  
But now the ancient Proverb hits not right.  
Here Cocks oth Game, Rooks, goose too, and the Owl,  
Flock all together, as one sort of Fowl:  
With joint consent they crow, caw, cackle, hoot,  
And make each night, a merry, merry 'bout.  
Pipe being smoked, Cup drunk, I pick up one,  
A Doughty Wight,( and a true Mothers Son)  
Who knew full well the first and ancient meeting  
Of this same Club, from whence I had my greeting,  
To give a true account of the beginning  
Of this trim Conclave, where I had been sinning:  
Twice hawking, spitting twice, twice wiping beard;  
These sounds from formal mouths were plainly heard.  
Although I might recount far tales, my Son,  
Far fetched off Tales, by Ancestors were done;  
Yet I shall wave them all, and only now  
Teach thee by what means we came here, and how.   

The greatest Cities did at first begin  
From low Foundations, and some tricks were mean.  
Venice and Mexico first got command,  
By entertaining all that came to hand.  
And Rome in'ts Infancy, Asylum's made,  
To shelter ev'ry wandring Runagade.  
And thence by good supplies made strong and able,  
Proved eftsoons t'its Neighbours Formidable.  
So the grave founder of this grand Cabal,  
Finding, at first, effects to be but small,  
Hangs out an Anchor, 
The Club was at the Sign of the Anchor.  that each hopeless wretch,  
( Nay, prithee mind me, 'twas a pretty fetch)  
Might take the symbol, and avoid despair;  
There's many did it, some of them are here:  
And ticked, and ticked, and troul'd the Nine-pins down,  
And bub'd down Ale, cried heigh for our Town;  
And soothed in Cullies that holp bear their charges,  
And oft-times would to Landlord give a largesse.  
Of Hospitable Landlord, they the famed  
Soon spread abroad, and flourished o'er his name;  
How that he was the truest, honests Bully,  
So daintily could keep off Wives unruly:  
used to approach at times of Co'r la Few,  
And solemnly to Spouse, beat up Tattoo.  
How cleverly to Duns he'd give response,  
Within whose Walls, his Guest had built up Sconce  
With Troth, Sir, to my knowledge, he but once  
Within this door hath put in faithless foot  
This month; nay, I could clap another to't.  
This noised abroad, each discontented sharker,  
To shun the sound of his quotidian barker,  
Or Wife, or Dun, or ought else that approaches;  
Here takes his station, and as sound as roche is.   

When thus, in space of time, the House 'gan fill,  
And that 'twas flocked to both by good and ill;  
Came several and inrol'd themselves, that so  
The better they each Fop might dive into.  
Numbers still daily swarmed, to lie at catch,  
And formidable Stratagems to hatch.  
Smith comes to hammer out the Ironmonger;  
And weakening him, to make himself the stronger.  
Tanner, his brains, like to his hides does stretch,  
To bring the Butcher over with a fetch.  
The Baker in a heat ferments his brain,  
To prove the Meal-man is a Rogue in grain.  
The Brewer thinks himself to be a wise man,  
If he can here fetch over my Excise-man.  
The Bricklayer, if he can oretop the Mason.  
The Barber if from Goldsmith get a basin.  
Thus each( in short) strive to trepan the other,  
Although their animosities they smother.   

Besides, some say, the Master oth Cabal  
Is a sly Rogue, brought up in Hobbs his Hall.  
And has with much of self-improvement took  
His Maxims from a subtle wheadling book;  
Which plain, as nose on face, does make't appear,  
That all Society first sprung from War.  
For here( says he) should I not have the shade,  
Of ought appears i'th form of a brisk Lad,  
Were't not for something grumbled in their gizzard;  
I know this to be true( yet am no Wizard.)  
For either home domestic jars make breaches,  
( If there no outward be to cause these itches)  
Or some sad sullen thoughts in breast immured,  
Disturb them, and they here hope to be cured.  
Here have I seen the poor enamoured Youth,  
When he and's Mistress could not fadge, forsooth;  
By half an hours stay( though nere so stupid)  
Walk huffing out, and cry A pox of Cupid.  
Here comes you cursing of the Court a Monsieur,  
Because his weighty business cant be done, Sir.  
Damn these delays, says he, but when well freighted,  
Forgets at Porters lodge he ever waited.  
Next steps in Reformade, loud as a Canon,  
Who oft his Formidable Foes had ran on,  
And seen much smoke, and much of noise had heard;  
Banning another, in his place preferred:  
He takes off's Brimmer, there's a Calm, he's then  
As tame an Animal as other men.  
His place a near broken Citizen supplies,  
With brimmers of Salt Water in his eyes.  
And heavily bewailing want of Trade,  
smokes off his pipe, and says the times are bad.  
But soon takes heart again, he sees the worst on't:  
He drinks off's Ale, and before he'l break will burst on't,  
Good Ale, says he, our ancient Bards do tell us,  
In War makes Souldiers, and in Peace good fellows.  
Here grown half moldy, Pettifogger gets,  
Whom long Vacation wonderfully frets;  
And want of Seasons opportunely good  
For working mischief in, much incommodes:  
smoothed with a Tost and Ale, he waves his passion,  
And to his Clients, Preaches Arbitration.  
Up Creeps to him( fresh from his Northern journey  
By innate Sympathy, well verst Attorney.  
And( overturn dry) makes many ruful faces,  
Till Beer and Brandy clear up his Grimaces.  
He sweats, then he'l be merry, swim or sink,  
Throws away parchment, paper, pen and ink.  
Vows to sit heavy on the Judges Jerkins,  
And travesty Cook, Littleton and Perkins.  
Here Poet takes his shelter, crying, Damn a  
Confounded Audience, understand not Drama.  
He takes his glass, crys, I'm noth ' first was hist,  
It was Ben Johnsons Fate, and he's dismissed.  
Here Jack takes refuge when his bill's protested,  
And finds his Room by Patient unmolested:  
Doffs of his Chimick liquour( as for Ale  
He hates it as product Galenical)  
And eftsoons by't inspired, gravely tells us,  
He'l make a man, byth' rules of Paracelsus.  
Here grave maintainer comes, of Aristotle,  
Each new Philosopher about to throttle,  
Much out of sorts; but ere he's took his bottle,  
Ingenuously confesses, in his heart, he's  
A true Disciple of Monsieur Des carts.  
Here Ptolemaick stickler takes his Can,  
Th' Antagonist of Rules Copernican.  
freting at puppies that believe the Sun  
Stands still, and that the earth trips up and down:  
Yet my great Hero ere he quits his ground,  
Sings Tory-rory, that the World goes round.  
So take it how you will, hows'ere you vent it,  
They all came here by being discontented.  
Each tribe of them, at first, assembled were  
Together, par la fortune de la Guerre.  
Thus Arthurs great round table first was filled,  
And mustered up a Club of Lads that swill'd,  
And drenched themselves full well, and took their beer in,  
And then went briskly out a Chevaliering.  
And truly if we matters rightly scan,  
The very name, Club, 'tis Herculean.  
And the Grand Master of this famed Cabal, 
The Master of the House, where the Club was kept, was Clerk of the Parish, and had hung his Room round with the Scutcheons of those whose Funerals he had attended.   
In order to't has furnished like to Hall,  
Of ancient Justice, with Shield and Escutcheon,  
( Which oft he wipes down, and esteemeth much on)  
The spacious Area where his Knights he musters,  
And entertains his formidable Dusters.  
Of Warlike stratagems these are the prise  
He valves and esteems more than his eyes.  
For from opposing crowds away he bore um,  
When he and's Myrmidons, had death before um.   

And as in War all is turned topsy turvy,  
And what seems pleasant eftsoons looks but scurvy;  
And various changes, happen in a minute,  
That oft-times many Centuries don't spin out:  
So proves it here, one night they're civil fellows;  
The next you'd think the Devil blew the bellows.  
All vary postures, several shapes put on,  
And change their colours like chameleon.  
Sometimes they pled it off as they were wild all,  
And then you'd take it for a formal Guild-hall.  
Then swiftly wheeling off from that discourse,  
They fall to't gravely, like Parishioners.  
Sometimes of Headboroughs you have the History,  
Of making of all sorts of rates the mystery;  
And such like feats as these, and then'ts a Vestry.  
Sometimes they stretch it out so far, you'd say,  
Each understood the Eastern Cabbala.  
Oft disemboquing crabbed things would pose us,  
And then you can't but say they're Synagogues.  
But still in all these changes 'twould have been odd,  
You'd say, if sometimes ' twant as 'twere a Synod.  
But they, for that, almost each night provide,  
And talk of all Religions, far and wide.  
That should there, by perchance, step o'er the grounsel;  
A Foreign Dominatio vestra once, he'l  
Mistake it for a Conclave, or a Council.  
When State-affairs their empty noddles fill;  
To see how lustily the Rogues will swill:  
Like to the ancient Greeks, who never sate  
Without full bowls, at any grand debate;  
And ne're would give their judgement resolute,  
Till drunk and sober they had dived into't.  
You'd take them, by their drinking, to be bent,  
All to set up for a Greek Parliament.  
But mark conclusions, you shall hardly sit ye  
A pissing while, or singing out a Ditty;  
Till they adjourned into a grand Committee,  
To canvas privately some main concern,  
With which they're pregnant, and their bowels yern.  
Which soon resolved on, they at once report;  
And the Scene changes into Dover Court.  
Thus Proteus like, the mutable Divan  
Change every minute, and turn Cat in pan.  
Such a Bigot Assembly, such a Diet,  
As ne're can keep in the same posture quiet.   

So that when thus, our Monsieurs met together,  
'Twould hardly hold, at first, with them fair weather.  
Each of the other sly grew, and suspicious,  
And had their several humours, and Capricio's.  
Therefore to stop foul jealousies, heart-burnings,  
( Rude animosities, and unfriendly yearnings)  
On mutual pacts and Covenants they pitched,  
( Look yonder where on t'hangings they are stitched)  
Like the twelve Tables branched into their Sections,  
Which answer in a trice all sly objections,  
And finally determine each dispute,  
Before they fall Emphatically to't:  
So that though they're as humersome a Fry,  
And Whimsical a Corporeity,  
As man shall meet withal; yet though they Jar  
And snarl a little, 't nere proves open War:  
They suddenly agree, each Mothers Son,  
And nought but faggots make Combustion.  
I scarce had time to thank mine ancient Monsieur.  
For th' far fetched Story which he did recount, Sir;  
When up starts one with looks as high and fierce.  
As if he'd whip mine Antiquaries Arse.  
Why what, says he, care we a fig for Mars.  
This fool has been an hour your brains moulding,  
And all to make you think we met by scolding:  
That Wars, and Scuffles, and I know not what,  
conjured us hither by unlucky Fate,  
As if weed all been bread at Billingsgate.  
Our meeting here was gravely first designed,  
To fortify the better part, the Mind.  
In logic how well Argument shall an Age,  
And better, last you, with a handsome manage.  
In metaphysics, how to give the go by,  
By saying that's in Loco, this in Ubi.  
In morals nicely to a hair display,  
Matter and form of Eutelechia.  
As for the Body( which is but the shell)  
O'th metaphysic kernal Psychical,  
From matter, and Terrestrial Hyle sprung.  
( Of which so much platonic Bards have sung)  
Alas we wave it as the fulsome Karkass,  
Which still contains in't, something more remark has,  
'Tis this we strive to burnish up, and brighten.  
To mundify, irradiate, and enlighten.  
Which oft we do by'th help of this same liquour,  
Which heats, and makes its Energies the quicker.  
The words were scarcely could came from's mouth,  
When formidable Smith waxed fierce and wrath.  
Says he, you're monstrously abused, ne'er go, Sir,  
Our meeting here was neither so, nor so, Sir.  
But let me tell you, Sir,( as I may say)  
To spend our penny, in an honest way;  
And when w'have made the Iron Bars cry thwick thwack,  
To recreate our Souls at Whisk and Tick-tack.  
Never believe such canting rogues as these,  
theyed make you think the Moon's made of green cheese.  
Out of such paltry Curs, I much abhor um,  
We scarce can play at Put, in quiet, for um.  
If one perchance, in pet, should give rebuk, Sir,  
Cry you're a Cheat, and t'other you're a Rook, Sir.  
They'd call a Constable ere you're ware on't,  
And make you such a formidable stir on't.  
They'd tell you 'twas implacable design,  
As ere had Guelph against the Ghibeline.  
I'll tell thee what, old Boy, these men of art,  
That thus pretend to play it off so smart.  
( Will't give me leave but for to speak my mind on't,  
Old Tost) I'll say't, they are as much behind hand,  
In ought( as you would cry) belongs to business,  
As Novice that to Lecture bound to listen is,  
They huff, and cock, and scarce will look upon you,  
Because they've learnt to writ, and red, and con you.  
But take my youngsters in a grand concern,  
As how to stave off, or provide for Barn,  
laid by some careful Matron in Church Porch:  
You'l see my Coxcombs all left in the lurch.  
They'l tell you nought toth' purpose with a Whinian,  
But some old saw's they've learnt out of Justinian.  
As much toth' matter( I dare fairly wage it)  
As if they'd quoted Laws oth' Areopagite.  
Each man( I know not how they'l answer't) Sir, goes  
To put in force the Statutes of Lycurgus.  
They'd swallow all within the deep Abism  
Oth' Mystical Athenian Ostracism.  
As if that none had noddle philosophic,  
But under rusty Hat, or Cap that's Gothick;  
Or ought of Justice could be in his breast,  
That was not owner of an empty Chest.  
Why were't not now for to be ruled, de see mun,  
By Statutes whilom made at lacedaemon:  
Why signify as much as Country Justice,  
When as his Nose well Nutmegd with a tost is,  
Produces, hastily about to dress him  
For County Sizes where his folk caress him,  
He scarce had ended, when a fourth began;  
Wives were at first, says he, meet helps for man,  
Till they began to scold; which scolding taught us  
To seek this refuge, where their tongues have brought us.  
Here nappy Ale drives grief away, and sorrow,  
And here we spin out night until the morrow.  
No whining cries of Wife or Child disturb us;  
Here's nothing here, of either for to kerb us.  
Here Captains meet, and tell us direful stories.  
Of pirates, Mountaineers, and Irish Tory's.  
Here my young Sophister makes learned discourse  
Of good, and bad, of better and of worse.  
Cabal resents it as my Lord Mayors Horse.  
Here Smith recounts how, by the art of Vulcan,  
Mars with the Goddess Venus, was found sculkin.  
Mason tells orders five, of sage Vitruvius,  
And travellers of Vulcano's and Vesuvius.  
Glazier of Stories whilom wrought by cunning,  
Where folk in ancient Window fat a Sunning.  
Brewer recounts, how british Bards of Yore,  
Fuddled in Barly-broth, and  told fourscore.  
But since the plaguy Weed, called Hop, came in,  
We scarcely live the Age of thrice fiveteen.  
Surgeon speaks words as cramping as the Gout,  
And almost breaks his teeth to bring them out;  
Tells you of Orifice, Dilaceration,  
Contusion, Fracture,( terms of newest fashion,)  
All tending to your Worships information.  
With such like learned diversions as these are,  
The tedious hours of the night, we measure;  
Of which I'll tell you more when I have leisure.   

He scarce had done when up starts Vertuoso,  
Hopes all suppose these men to talk but so so.  
For, Sir, says he,( 'tis true we're not yet met)  
But by and by you shall see such a Set  
of philosophic Sparks,( but they're not come yet)  
Alas, alas, the Ompha is but dumb yet.  
Till they approach all that you list to's nothing,  
A palpable delusion, and higotting.  
Ah, you shall see um bang it er't be long, Sir,  
With Arguments well fortified, and strong, Sir.  
Here comes your chemist in full fraught with Art,  
Tells how for to extract oil from a Fart.  
And smartly guesses, at a sudden view,  
The causes and effects oft's burning blew.  
Here in learned Thesis, and a formal discourse,  
Barber relates shape of Grand Seign'ors Whiskers.  
How Nose from plumper breech may be supplied,  
Of what diseases Bethlem Gahor dyed.  
Here comes you one, looks you meal-mouthed, forsooth,  
As if that Butter would not melt in's mouth:  
Yet one of's Arguments dare but gain-say,  
He proves a Tube Stentorophonica.  
Here comes another( pray but mark his gate)  
You'd think mehap this fellow cannot prate;  
But take my word for't, Sir, he is a shrowd one.  
And mystic Juncto better nere allowed on.  
He'l tell you how, by sympathized hands,  
To correspond, though in far distant Lands.  
How without Letter, for to know what coyn-a,  
Dutch Merchant has in's Chest lies at Amboyna.  
How by reflecting Letters on the Moon,  
From Looking-glass, strange business may be done.  
How you may straightly bind another's fancy  
By what you think on, be it nel or Nancy.  
How in your sleep to make you give Narration,  
Of all intrigues 'twixt you and your Relation.  
He'l teach you in a philosophic vein,  
How to renew old Purple Tyrian.  
How to make Napkins like to those of Nero's.  
( In which they used to burn their ancient Heroes)  
In short, how to regain what lost there is  
In Pancirol: de rebus perditis.   

Half startled at this Paganish Harangue,  
Forth from the Grave, and the all-poising gang,  
By slow degrees, like Ghost, ariseth one;  
showed in his looks, each Office of the Town:  
Full many a bruise upon his head he bore,  
Wounds, he when Constable, received of Yore.  
Of which he bragged, as Champion would of Scars  
received in gallic, or in Flemish Wars.  
His countenance full duskish; as attending  
Roads grown unpassable for want of mending.  
Some of the Gravel still stuck on his face,  
Some on his heart,( as Stony as the ways.)  
If in his visage ought of Grace could lurk,  
He, when Church-warden, stolen it from the Kirk.  
Some little know not what's of fierce was seen  
In's cheek heroic, since he'd Beadle been.  
Sir, Sir, says he, there's many a Church rate  
Has erst been penned by this now aching pate.  
I've paid both Scot and Lot too in my Parish,  
And swing'd my Neighbours when they proved Currish,  
And youngster, though I speak it here before um,  
I might, Sir, have been Justice, and o'th' Coram.  
But let that pass, I ne're ambitious was,  
There's too too many of them now I'th place;  
That want poor Souls, that want,( I'll say no more)  
Wit and good parts, their learning is too poor.  
I'll tell you, why d'e think that i'd appear,  
'Mongst this same foolish ribble rabble here.  
Were't not( poor souls they know not their own good)  
( Pray, Sir, d'e mind me, am I understood?)  
I say, were't not for to spy as 'twere,  
The strange enormities committed here.  
No, Sir, I'm not to pleasure such a drudge yet,  
My Wife, and Family, can both avouch it;  
I seldom three-pence pull from forth this budget,  
But for the public good; not only purse  
I can stretch open, but myself disburse:  
Can with myself dispense, three times each Bowl  
I've emptied, and thrice more would, though brimful,  
To do um good; but troth the saying's right,  
You nere can make the blackamoor clean white.  
They're all of them a pack of musty Vermin,  
Fit Company for none but Rogues and Carr-men.  
But follow me, young stripling, as thou'rt able,  
I'll bring thee to a fry full sociable.  
Not gusling Hog-wash; but are cheerly merry,  
With the true liquour, Lad, good brisk Canary.  
His Summons I obeyed; and three-pence paying,  
I cheerly followed, as I'd been a Maying.  
Almost approached the place, my Son, says he,  
I bring thee to discreet Society.  
Walk in, says he, when straight full many a beard,  
Some stroked, some wagging, to my view appeared:  
A comely crew, they seemed, of brisk old sparks,  
As 'twere the Scene o'th' ancient Patriarks.  
Faces like theirs( would you directly scan um)  
Were wrought, of old, ith' Hangings of my Grannum;  
Nay, certainly, for tapestry I'd took um,  
Had not, sometimes, the Gout and palsy shook um.  
These Elves nought else but Jointures and Debentures,  
Freehold and Copy, Leases and Indentures,  
Could hoarsly mutter; how to gulp an Heir,  
As easy as the Wine they swallow there.  
How Lass to mary to Lad nere so Pocky,  
So his Estate prove firm enough, and Rocky.  
How tender Youth to deformed Punck to join,  
So on her back she hath a Silver Mine.  
How to build Turrets that the Skies may brave,  
When as one foot's already in the Grave.  
One gravely tells the seven years Remarks,  
Of what he'd done when apprentice, or when Clerk.  
How many Tankards on his back had leaned;  
How many shoes and Trenchers he had clean'd.  
How many hardships he'd endured, how toiled,  
And yet at length how Providence had smiled.  
T'other pulls in his beard, and belly shoves,  
Stretches, and shows, the extent of his fringed gloves.  
I've know the time, says he, when such a one,  
For all he's now so brisk and bulky grown.  
So humersome, so flippant, and so haughty,  
Has snapped at a dry Crust, as a rich Booty,  
Until my Grandsire( lest he should turn Zany)  
Took him i'th Shop, and taught him turn a penny.  
Another( Maudlin drunk) weeps out to see  
Such overflowings of iniquity.  
Ah what an Age we live in, cries a third,  
Queen Bess would grieve to see't, upon my word.  
When i'th mean while these men, when youthful, sowed  
The sins, with which the Nations overflowed.  
And lest the future Age should want for more,  
Hoar'd up as Bankers, the remaining store.  
On still they go, relating matters quaint,  
And I( there was some cause) to untruss a point.  
And coming back( with fearful expectation  
Of repetitions, of each mans resolution)  
Was intercepted by an eager noise  
Of rustic sound, and many a Rural voice.  
Each wight of them, as merry were as passes,  
And all in Fresko, taking off their glasses.   

Says one, were you last night at Mother Bunkeys?  
weed Ale, you Rogues, made all on's look like Monkeys.  
Well fortified with mickle malt, true Stingo,  
As stale as if'thad come from Saint Domingo.  
I warrant thou'st forgot we are to gullup.  
A Cup of March to night, with widow Trollup.  
wilt make one at the next we are to dust off  
At Mother Damnables, by little Listaff.  
Ah Rogue, the times that thou and I ha' seen,  
With old Jack Hubbins! how, a brace of kine?  
The price goes high yet, ha, old boy, and when,  
When shall we pull down Dobsons hedge again,  
And rifle Hen-roost: ah the days, the days,  
That we have seen! but, prithee Lad, how Pease?  
What is the Mart no lower yet? and how,  
How does that honest Lad, Jack Little, do?  
( O 'tis a Varlet that) but what, you know  
Old Dick the Huntsman's dead; there was a toucher,  
You saw him play with Hacklethroat the Butcher.  
Ah how he yirk'd the Rogue, how neat and clever  
He threw in's strokes: there's Shuuttle-throw, the Weaver,  
And he, and Tom the Tinker, were a Club  
Of Lads, would have encountered beelzeebub.  
What, has our Neighbour Thrifty built his Barn yet?  
What's the intrigue 'twixt Dick( I can't discern it)  
And Will oth Harrow? that's a very rascal,  
Hast red the learned bucolics wrote by Maskal?  
Some say that Virgil undertook the Thesis.  
Has Widow Gripeall yet renewed her Leases?  
( There was a tickler) Well, how oats the Comb?  
When shall we give old Trot his welcome home?  
Thus with Pindarick tang, and wild transitions,  
He runs you on more uncouth odd Divisions,  
Then did Paul Wheel, when as he played at Crambo,  
With all the String, on his well-tuned De Gambo.   

Still posting on till he'd quiter lost his breath.  
( Like Greyhound after Hare on Hounslow Heath)  
Another( lest the learned Harangue should fall,  
For the Disease 'tis Epidemical,  
And catching as the Itch) takes up the cause;  
And after a severe and weighty pause,  
Perchance, says he, you view with a slight eye  
The beauteous Shape, and comely Symmetry  
In yonder mere, says he, perhaps you do:  
I should be sorry, if I should do so.  
To you, perhaps, there's nothing in her gay,  
To me she heaps of Graces does display.  
View but her pasterns, see how clean she treads;  
With what a comely port her Main she spreads  
Over her flender Neck: There's Back and Thigh  
As if she'd been begot in Barbary.  
Hang all your big paunc'd Race of Flanders, stick um,  
I care not for your Montis instar Equum.  
I'd as lief rouen should have head like to Buffalo's,  
As such a Jobber noll as had Bucephalus.  
Except he'd Horns too, then in Country Fair  
He might bring Toll in, when grown old in War.  
And yet on tother side, I would acquaint ye,  
I dote not on a raw-bon'd Rosinante.  
Ah dapple Gray! there was a mere! as slim 'twas,  
As Gennit got o'th' Wind on Mount Olympus.  
And yet as strong, nimble, and fleet, I wis,  
As Phlegon, or etherial Pyrois.  
Never his like, of old, was seen to come,  
And beat with dusty hoof the Hippodrome.  
Oh, I could writ an Elegy, and vent  
Whole Stanzas, on the ground on which she went.  
If we'l believe old Annals, worse than this  
Had Statue, Tomb, and Apotheosis.  
I could have made Romances on each quarter,  
And paid respect unto her blood like Tartar.  
Nay, but for being barbarous accounted,  
Oft times had pricked a vein when I had mounted.  
Poor fool she's gon; but yet I have her picture.  
Lilly's yet living, is he not? he'd nicked her.  
Her hair by him that now has dont's, too Jetty.  
But hang't the Jade in any Garb is pretty.  
Well, come, lets leave this talk for what's more jolly,  
The very thoughts on't makes me melancholy.   

When just i'th neck, as who should say stacks,  
It were to cure his Hypocondriacks.  
In comes the Huntsmen with the Hounds, full cry,  
And Dick his Groom, for whom for love he'd die.  
Art thou come home, says he? well, how does Trey,  
And gipsy, and the Whelp that, t'other day,  
I sent, to Nurse, to Mother Brackels; what,  
And are the little Rogues grown plump and fat?  
I have a parcel of them quartered just here;  
You'd bless yourself to view um at a muster:  
To see how merrily along they drive,  
What Shouts, and Acclamations they give.  
Such Shouts, quoth one stood by( who used to ban  
And curse a Dog, as Timon did a Man)  
I hate, says my Misokunist, such bawling,  
Such yelping howlets, such a Katterwawling.  
To see a Herd of mongrels wheel about,  
An itchy, mangy, measelized rout  
Of squealing Curs. Hold your confounded tongue;  
Their notes are sweet as Philomela's Song.  
Replies my Country Monsieur, call here Venus,  
Bowman and Rockwood( which a voice like Queen has)  
Heigh Venus, Venus, call you that a squeal? ah,  
There was a note, you Rogue, as high as Ela.  
There's Joler too, and Rockwood; both, de see me,  
Do open you exact in Be fa Bemi.  
Heigh Bowman, Bowman,( nay, lets hear that same out)  
There's notes ten Fathom deeper than the Gamut.  
Hark how it echoes: well, he nere had's Fellow.  
Sirius, and protion, may hear him Bellow.  
And briskly pricking up their listening ears,  
The cheerlier run their courses in their Spheres.  
Are these your mangy Herd, your bawling Curs?  
The Man's distracted; why, I'll tell you, Sirs,  
Diana nere could rally such a crew,  
Yet she was one that understood true blew,  
And was as curious as any she,  
In choice of Dog, and of Dogs Company.  
Queen Dido too had got a nest of Rovers,  
Some say, were good, I value mine above hers;  
Besides, I much suspect her skill to form out  
A Pack of Dogs that could not bear a storm out.  
I fear her Majesty, by her deportment,  
Knew not so well what Hunting, as the sport meant.  
Here is a well-nos'd Hound, I dare turn loose,  
Were here the snufflers of Hippolytus.  
Let his prey pass through ev'ry Element,  
Fire, Air, Earth, Water, still he keeps the scent.  
Here's a Molossus, with a lions Front,  
No Monster ever Affrick bread, can daunt.  
And here's a Bitch, but view her, I'll engage her  
'Gainst surly Dick; nay, what's more, Ursa mayor.  
I have another too, hard by, that dare,  
Seize on a Bull fierce as the Minotaur.  
Close creeping Serpent like toth Earth, you'd say,  
He would not Scale, but Undermine his prey.  
This, as a certain bait, he ever found,  
To bring his lofty Nose unto the ground;  
And yet secure as though entrenched, evade  
All Batteries, that from the Horns are made.  
But here's a lovely Creature, here's a Dog.  
This Grey-Hound( says he, giving one a Jog)  
He'l mount you up without the least being stiff,  
As on plain ground, hill high as Teneriff.  
Here's one shall jump you o'er a Meadow thus,  
As nimble as an Ignis Fatuus;  
Shall glide like Atalanta o'er the Corn,  
And nere press down the Ears: wind but a Horn,  
The Alarum he so quick doth take, you'd say,  
Some mighty Whirlwind hurried him away.  
This Tumbler here, he'l take his head and dab it  
Between his legs, and rolling, catch a Rabbit.  
You know Dick Ostlers Lurcher, there's a gipsy,  
O 'tis a sly old Fox that; out she trips ye:  
She'l run about like Whelp untaught, and whule ye,  
As ' she knew nought oth matter, not she truly.  
Plies it like Water-man, the more to smother  
And hid design, rows one way, looks another.  
And thus, by subtle tricks does slily trowl in  
Her Game, O 'tis a Devil at Cajolling.  
But here's a Setting-Dog, and there's a Percher,  
As sly as she was, if not something archer.   

But who was at the Cock-match yesterday,  
Was there tough doings there, my Masters say;  
O, crys a Youngster( letting fall a tear)  
Mine came away, 'tis true, the Conqueror,  
But scarce his vanquished foe so long outlived  
As I've been telling on't. O how we grieved!  
Dead, full of gaping wounds, he prostrate lies;  
The winged race nere yet fought such a prise,  
Two braver Birds than these, scarce ever did  
At Mars or Aesculapius Altars bleed.  
But hangt's in vain to pine, 'twill make one sick.  
Ah my poor Chaunticleer! heres to thee, Dick.  
I thought not( says a third) men were so dull yet,  
To make such outcries for a paltry Pullet.  
Had you lost pigeon, pea could perk from ear,  
Or had i'th East been bread a Carrier:  
Or Machine, that by Rules of Art, a flight has,  
As whilom had the Dove made by Archytas.  
Had you, young Eglet lost, or bold Jerfalcon,  
That had indeed been something for to talk on.  
As 'twas my Fate for to have one departed;  
Which was a cunning bide, and mickle art had  
To mount aloft, into the Azure sky,  
Quick, and with sudden spring, so vastly high,  
As to survey you all the Fowl there were  
A cruising in that Counties Hemisphere.  
Then from above, quick, like to lightning, dart  
On his preys back, down with a blow so smart,  
That at the mere rebound, and bare recoil,  
He'd mount you half as high as whence he fell.  
Had you lost Fowl like these, 'thad been some plea,  
For thus your putting finger in the eye.  
But let me tell you, you do very ill,  
To bellow thus for a pipt Cockeril.   

Up starts a fourth, with Fish-rod in his hand,  
Long as the May-pole( very near) i'th Strand.  
With Wicker Budget, large as a Portmantu,  
And looks as stern, as who should say, avaunt you:  
With Hooks, like Butchers Stall, thick sate on's rob,  
Stuck round with flies, as he'd been beelzeebub.  
Having more Chiegos, Worms, and Maggots got,  
Than Munky sick, or Horse dead of the rot.  
Tell you not me of Horse, and Dog, and Chicken,  
Discourse( let you alone) you'd be a week in.  
Says my old Phocis, can you handle Tridont?  
Find out an Eel bank, and then strike it wide in't?  
Can you teach Lamprey for to fawn on no man,  
But his own Master, as er'st did the Roman?  
With all your bounce, do you ken the Art  
Of the slick Panope, or Green Melicert?  
Can you make Shoals of Herrings, gorge a Whale,  
Or force the Sword-Fish, ' make him turn up tail?  
Can you like th' Man oth one side of the Map,  
Bestride the Cub of him, and yirk him up  
With Indian stick in's mouth, as with a bridle;  
Pacing him gently, lest he should be idle.  
And uncouth Sallies make, till come ashore even  
He's way-lay'd, and knocked down as dead as Herring?  
Can you, with a bent finger, catch, as we do,  
Large Lobsters, or not num'd take a Torpedo?  
Or is there any of you here so subtle,  
In his own mist, to catch the fish called Cuttle?  
Can you, as did Arion, Dolphin charm,  
So far, as to convey you through a Storm?  
Or red the Figures on Fish backs, that roll,  
In numerous swarms, nere to the Northern Pole.  
Can you go down in diving Bell, an hour,  
And bring up Oysters, more than twice fourscore,  
From among Thickets, of large Coral wild,  
( On which the Sun-rays never yet had smiled)  
Each freighted with a Pearl, as large and full,  
As that which hangs i'th ear oth great Mogul?  
Hang all your Dogs with their egregious howling,  
Give me the man kens Fishery and Fowling.   

Can with a Shot, bring to his hands contents,  
From watery, or from airy Elements.  
Discharge, in a full piece, at game that's found  
Aloft, and catch it ere it comes to ground.  
Knows how a piece to poise, with Bilbo barrel,  
tempered like Rapier, with which Hectors quarrel.  
And full as light, to clap Dag to the bore,  
And then pareer, and pass with't for an hour.  
And if he finds his Enemy too potent,  
Know's to convey a Shot, as 'twere, by root in't,  
Swift, clever, smooth, neat, even, solid, strong,  
Through his Deaths still bequeathing weapons bung.  
And modify it so from concave part,  
That were he blindfold, it should hit the heart,  
Were it bide, beast, or fish, like Dians Dart.  
Can with a long bow, having sharp keen Arrow,  
From highest Steeple, hit the smallest sparrow?  
Or without winking, at convenient distance,  
Strike Humble Bee, in cloudy Fog, or Mist, once?  
Or with his Arrow-head, pierce and disjoint  
A falling Star, and show it on the point.  
With Demi-culver, can shoot out the pluck,  
At ten miles distance, of an Indian Ruck;  
And without help of Quadrant, to search randon,  
Spite of his teeth make him his prey abandon,  
And drop from 'twixt his claws, though mounted near  
The outmost verge of the Earths Atmosphere?  
Or upon Dragons back, large bullet bolt-a,  
As Silla ston did from his Catapulta.  
And at him still, with half ones, and with whole ones.  
Till down, oth sudden, drops my Draco Volans?  
'Tis thats the man of Art, the rest are butchers,  
Poor idle inconsiderable Pochers,  
Know nothing tends to Game no more than Coach-horse.   

They still talked on, I slunk away for fear;  
( The crowd beginning now to disappear)  
As doubtful, to be worried by'th discourse  
Of Bull, of Dog, of Hawk, of Whale, of Horse.  
And stealing in amongst my other Monsieurs,  
Who wondered much I had so long been gone, Sirs.  
I found some symptoms of reproof to lie  
Close lurking, in each scrutinizing eye.  
What, you have been, say they, at the gay sight  
Of yonder Miscreants, which in blood delight?  
You know the story of actaeon, don't ye?  
He was a Gentleman went out to hunt you.  
And what became of him? why, he was worried.  
But what's the moral of what Ovid storied?  
Why, only this. That he that won't be quiet,  
But must keep Horse, and Hawk, and Dog at diet  
Will fall to pieces soon, by his own riot.   

'Tis a vile shane to see such venom spread  
o'er all our Youth, 'tis got to such a head,  
Let the controller of my Lord Mayors kennel,  
But blow a Levet, you have all Empannel.  
In several Juries, wisely to determine,  
And give their verdicts, for the killing vermin.  
Large parties sallies make from ev'ry Hall does.  
Shop's left by apprentice, and from Stable Ball goes.  
By its deluding sound all post are hurried.  
As erst the Children by Pyde Piper butted.  
Misled, all march, and with full cries go on  
The path that leads to their destruction.  
Or Beans, and Barly-fields, pasture, and glebe, ye  
Shall have whole Troops march out of our Ephebi.  
To catch a paltry Puss, all leave the Shop-board;  
And then come hungry home and sack the Cupboard.  
As if each Mothers Son did a whole week fast,  
And all by roving out without their Breakfast.  
Here's like, my Masters, for to be good thriving  
When all our Youth run thus a Cony-driving.  
Is it not fine for a well governed City,  
A thing commendable, and very pretty.  
To have each apprentice boy thus to befool us,  
And mount a Cock-horse as he were Iulus?  
Here's some of them so metamorphosed grown  
By their own Shopboards they would scarce be known.  
Hat buttoned up behind, with bunch fantastic,  
Six foot in length, clapped under Buttock a Stick.  
In hand large whip, with hook and whistle furnished,  
By side short sword, but wonderfully burnished.  
Boots up toth Buttocks, Gloves up to the Elbows,  
( You'd think his hands and feet were in the Bilboes)  
Shash round the middle tied, knots round the Wig,  
Horn by his side he blows, till he looks big.  
Thus paganishly dressed, what prying Sir on's  
Could ken him next day, weighing out of Currants!  
Our Ancestors, who erst in time of yore,  
Little starched Ruffs, and large Blew Bonnets wore,  
Nere strid a Horse till vested with a Gown,  
Nor handled Bridle till they Chain put on.  
O, should their Ghosts arise, and view their Off-sping  
About the middle, girded with a Buff-string,  
Coat lined with read, and Peruke with long twist,  
Thrumbuttock'd, and with Gauntilized fist,  
Behind the Counter folding up his ware:  
How would the frighted Apparition stare!  
In air he'd soon dissolve with the amaze,  
To see such change fince good Queen Besses days.  
The truth on't is, our wary praetor Urban  
Would do full seemly well, to set a kerb on  
These wild debauches, and in order to't,  
Begin with his own common Hunt, the rout,  
Each Dog unkennel, and each Bitch turn out.  
Disband but Ringwood, Rockwood, Juno, Venus,  
Matters will soon be understood between us.  
Our Youth will then not wander out of Town,  
Nor make excursions beyond Islington.  
For 'tis the Brute, the Animal, the Dog,  
That sets our City Youngsters all agog.  
Each day you may discern them all ( si lubes)  
To adore um as egyptians did Anubis.  
were't not for these same mongrels daily bawling,  
The Boys would labour fairly in their Calling.   

I gladly took all their reproofs, though checked even  
To death, as 'twere, without the least objecting.  
As giving thanks toth House for their advice,  
Which pleased um as I'd gi'n um Ale and Spice,  
To tell you true, I dreaded inundations  
Of various Glosses, and fresh Annotations.  
Doubting, had I stood up for Dog and Horse,  
Midnight would scarce have ended the Discourse.  
For still I found fresh Company come in,  
And they were but beginning to begin.  
So I being stocked with Noting o'er and o'er,  
So amply full, my head could hold no more,  
I( paying) gently stolen out at the door.  
Making retreat into the silent road,  
Which( though full fraught, with many a Waggonload,  
And loud mouthed Carrier, in his way cajolling,  
His stubborn Horses, while his wheels were rolling)  
seemed, to the t'other noise, like depth of night,  
When all is whist; so wheeling to the right,  
Well stored with Notions, I made hast to Town:  
Which, as you see, I carelessly wrote down.   
FINIS.