Iter Oxoniense: OR, The going down of the ASSES to OXENFORD.  
SInce Muddiman the gainful Trade laid down,  
Of writing a whole Sheet for half a Crown,  
A thousand Scribblers have retailed the Trade,  
And News is now the Towns great Staple made.  
Now, Giles! the Caduceus shall be thine;  
Thou hast a specious Title to the Nine.  
The Crow or Goose from which thou pullest thy Quill,  
Have gi'n thee Seis●n of Parnassus Hill.  
Couldst thou till May, in Prose and Verse go on,  
Thy Purchase would at last be Helicon.  
Thou mightst enlarge thy small Retinue then,  
And for thy one poor lousy Boy, keep ten.  
Thou at thy Bingoes mightst resume the Chair,  
And be thyself a Speaker there:  
Thou mightst thy Secretaries keep, and give  
Orders, how much each one should write, to live.  
Thy Bingoes house shall be thy Pen,  
To keep thy Porcupines, thy Satyr's den.  
From whence, could the poor Scribbling Tribe but still  
Continue for to Dart their Quill,  
And tender Reputation (if but wounded) Kill,  
Thou needest not be dejected at this Rate,  
Nor claw thy head about Affairs of State;  
Nor at this dismal Rate lament,  
'Cause Oxford's to receive the Parliament.  
Thy Porcupines when ere they write,  
When they let fly, they hit the White;  
When Innocence and Loyalties the Mark,  
At such bright Butts they can discharge i'th' dark.  
At Rovers let them shoot, no matter why,  
Whether the Sheet contain a Truth or Lie,  
The News, if false, is more like Mercury.  
Thy Satyrs may make bolder Sallies hence,  
And Ravish Votes and Speeches thence;  
I'faith this will do't, and will return the Pence.  
But if the Scholars catch thy Monsters there,  
They'll treat 'em with their sharp Pig-market cheer,  
And send the Sturdy Vagrants back again,  
With the safe Passport of the Birchen train.  
Necessity's the Quiver whence they draw,  
Which has no more of Conscience than of Law.  
Their feathered Shafts their points to Envy owe;  
Faction's the twist that strings their Bow.  
What, moody Bingo! come, the busy Bee  
Now Spring comes on, abroad will flee,  
And then, with what she gathers up and down,  
Supply this greater Hive the Town.  
Thy Stock with Drones will Swarm,  
'Tis such as Coffeehouses warm,  
Such as are useful, though they feed,  
These cherish and maintain the Breed.  
'Tis News and Coffee calls in these,  
As Sound and Ringing does the Bees,  
Alas! they sure our buzzing may forgive;  
All that we aim at, is (like Men) to live.  
We Car' no stings, nor bags of Honey;  
No, Bingo, we are all for ready Money.  
And if perhaps sometime we do let fall  
One word o'th' times, O strait we are all gall;  
Cotton, Hill, Claypoole, Walden, Mills, and Pike,  
Who like unto St. Dunstan's Churchmen strike,  
As I the greatest Motion, point the time,  
'Tis by my Trunk such Ivy knows to climb.  
There's Piggot, Madder, Bill, and Mason too,  
With Blear-eyed Blackhall, and a hopeful Crew  
Of Hawkers, such as do complete my Train,  
And never swing my paper-Lure in vain.  
These, Bingo, do attend their Monarches call:  
News is my Province, and I'm owned by all.  
These bring their Tributes when we please to meet,  
Near th' Ruins of St. Paul's new shodden feet;  
Which we alloy, and coin first in our Mint;  
We Current make't, by putting it in Print;  
'Tis but a Penny-Cheat, if nothing's in't.  
And why mayn't Paper go as well at last,  
As Leather-Money did in Ages past?  
At last, to make the Parliament complete,  
(For the whole Nation in that Body meet)  
'Tis fit that we to Oxford should repair,  
I'faith my Chameleons choke for want of Air;  
And tho' we halt, yet we still Members are.  
Like Kingfishers, they fly along the stream,  
But never brood, like them, when 'tis serene;  
They rather Propus-like in Tempests play,  
And show their Head more in the March than May.  
But how my Tribe I shall to Oxford bring,  
That Canaan, Bingo! that, ay that's the thing!  
If you the Royal Caravan provide,  
We all are then to our hearts wish supplied.  
For at the least, Retainers to the Court  
We, shall be thought, and you'll get Money for't:  
Thou shalt to th' Crew as frugal Purser go;  
I have designed it, and it must be so.  
I have already furnished out my House,  
'Tis the old Hall of the famed Mother Louse.  
They lay a claim to't: as we creep along,  
Thou'lt know we are at least one thousand strong.  
Assured of Trade, provide thyself a Room;  
My Ants will to their wont hillock come;  
And there our labours shall increase thy heap,  
And both a Harvest from the Scholars reap.  
For we, like Harlots, when too common grown,  
Find Trading quickest where we're most unknown.  
Coffee and News can never want a Trade,  
Whilst both to Cheat the People can be made.  
FINIS.