Good Deeds ill Requited: OR, AN ANSWER TO INNOCENCE UNVEILED. BEING A POEM In Vindication of Dr. Oates and Mr. Bedloe.  
WIse Solomon has said, 'Tis sometimes fit  
To answer one, that has nor Sense, nor Wit,  
Lest the vain Fop grow wise, in's own Conceit.  
A Poem! Bless us, Muses! railing Rhimes,  
Where Discord only, and no Music chimes:  
Where Malice, and no Wit or Sense is shown,  
And Puddle-dirt at worthy men is thrown.  
That mortal man in paltry Rhyme should prate,  
Like a she- Orator of Billingsgate;  
Who, if she ever did at Crambo play,  
Might rail in Rhyme, and better things would say.  
Poor quibbling Fool did lack some Oaten drink,  
To help inspire his wooden Wit, I think,  
Who his fine Poem ushered (out upon't!)  
With a most silly Quibble in the Front.  
Those very Men his Worship termeth Fools  
Handle edge, better than he rhyming, tools:  
And though these men he Saviour's calls in scorn,  
And doth with Coxcombs, Fools, and Knaves, adorn  
His railing Verse; they shall in Story dwell  
In Heavenly Fame, like Angels that ne'er fell,  
Whilst such as he lie in Oblivions Hell.  
What Stuff he's made of, all the world may see;  
But Jesuits Heart won't with Fool's Brain agree.  
We can his Spleen however well detect;  
Their Evidence he'd make of no effect.  
At that alone his squinting Verses look,  
A safer way indeed than Reading took:  
But 'twill not do; his Rhymes do Reason lack,  
For all the Law, of which you so much crack;  
The Foiled may rise, and lay some on their back.  
Touch the galled back of any furious Beast,  
He'll by't and kick, or wince and fling at least;  
And he that meddles, when the Beast does feel,  
Had need be guarded well, 'gainst iron heel.  
I am no Surgeon, and shan't rake in Sore;  
The World have Eyes, and I shall say no more.  
If some say Black is White, I am content,  
Or call a running Sore an Ornament.  
The Romans did not cackling Geese despise,  
Who kept their Capitol from a Surprise:  
But we fling Dirt at men, like unwise Sots,  
Who have the Nation saved from Jesuits Plots.  
Since Jesuits can't the Nation now trepan,  
They'll do it all the Mischief that they can,  
And with foul Mouths, worse Pens, and lying Notes,  
Rail with full Cry, at Bedloe, and at Oats.  
Who will hereafter Traitors Plots make known,  
If no Encouragement to these are shown?  
When scurrilous Pamphleteers shall daily try  
To make their Evidence to seem a Lie;  
To make them Jugglers, wicked, perjured Knaves,  
Inventors of strange Plots, the worst of Slaves;  
Men who of right by us should honoured be,  
Their Names made great to all Posterity;  
And for Encouragement, and greater Grace,  
Their Statues set up in some public place.  
Whate'er that scribbling Poetaster writes,  
Those very Commons which his Worship slights,  
May in good time make Truth and Justice known;  
And who the Knaves are then, will best be shown.  
Then Oats and Bedloes Story will be told,  
And 'twill appear they have not been too bold,  
But that both Truth and Justice once was fold.  
FINIS.