A NEW BALLAD UPON D R. OATES HIS Retreat from White-Hall, Into the City.  
To the Tune of, I'll tell Thee Dick where I have been.  

I.  
Canst tell me, Ceres, What cursed Fate  
Hangs o'er the Head of Oats of late?  
Or what Cross Planet Reigns?  
That Oats, the Noblest Thought at first,  
And Best, should now be held the Worst,  
And Vilest of all Grains?   

II.  
Oats, that same brave & swaggering Blade,  
Which th'other Day, with lofty Head,  
His Fellows all o'retoped;  
Should for a Roguish Weed be thrown  
Out of the Court, and now full blown.  
Be in the Blossom Cropped?   

III.  
Oats, that was whilom thought to be  
For the King's Horse, fit Company,  
(God bless him evermore!)  
Should now by every Groom be spurned,  
And for a Rogue in Grain be turned  
Out of the Stable-Door?   

IV.  
Had these Oats musty been, or stale,  
Or had they any Noisome Smell,  
They had of Blame not failed:  
But These (as Musk itself) were Sweet,  
With Coat as Black as any Jet;  
But somewhat too Long-tailed.   

V.  
That Tyrant's Jades, that Oats & Hay 
Diomedes,   
Refused for Man's Flesh, I dare say,  
Ne'er such an Oat did taste:  
And, pity 'twas, his Worth to show,  
That He had not been long ago,  
Into their Manger cast.   

VI  
The Case is hard, that Oats, that fed  
The Noblest Beast, that lived in Mead,  
On Pastures Green, or Heath well;  
Should be, at last, Himself turned down  
Into the Common of the Town,  
To feed the Calves of Bethel.   

VII.  
But cheer up, Oats; 'tis no Disgrace:  
These Calves are of the City Race,  
(There are none such at White-Hall;)  
And freely will their Milk give down,  
(And thou canst stroke them well, 'tis known)  
To feed Thee in Requital.   

VIII.  
Some have the Pedigree, and Strain  
Of Oats, derived from that Blessed Grain,  
Which Egypt's Famine freed:  
And I believe, what they aver;  
For, without doubt, these (Our) Oats are  
Of the true Gipsy Breed.   

IX.  
Nay, others have his Parents blamed,  
They had the Brat not Joseph named;  
But they herein had erred:  
For that Good Man at Court, at last,  
For his Deserts was highly grace't;  
Not for a Rogue Cashiered.   

X.  
Yet, I doubt not, but of such known  
Divinity had Oats there grown,  
He would have with a Rope,  
Amongst their Leek, and Onyon-Gods,  
(As more deserving it by odds,)  
Been long ago Trust up.   

XI.  
Shall We, who boast true Gospel-Light,  
Instead of doing Him that Right,  
Then treat Him worse than Pagan?  
And Excommunicate Him clear  
Out of our Courts, as if he were  
A Minister of Dagon?   

XII.  
This sure is a New Popish-Plot;  
Who seeing now we in a Knot,  
Begin to hang together;  
Think't the best way, (which Heaven defend!)  
Is to untie us, and to send  
Our Doctor, God knows whither.   

XIII.  
You Charitable City-Dames,  
If now you will set up your Names,  
Preserve Him like Sweetmeats:  
He flies to You, to be Secure;  
Keep close your Fore-Doors; but be sure,  
Guard well your Posterne-Gates.   
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed for W. Brown, in the Year, 1681.