THE RAMBLE: AN ANTI-HEROICK POEM. Together with Some Terrestrial Hymns and Carnal Ejaculations. By Alexander Radcliffe, of Greys' Inn, Esq — Semel insanivimus omnes. LONDON, Printed for the Author, and are to be sold by Walter Davis in Amen Corner. 1682. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, JAMES Lord Annesly. My Lord, THE only pretence I had for making this mean Offer to your Lordship is, That your Lordship was pleased to excuse some of these loose Lines when they were in single Sheets: Tho I must confess I proposed a great Advantage, knowing that they shall live above the reach of Censure under your Lordship's Protection, not without some Ambition of being known to your Lordship by the Title of, Your Lordship's most Humble and most Obedient Servant, Alex. Radcliffe. THE AUTHOR TO THE READER. Honest Reader, IF I thought you would not smile immoderately, I could tell you, That by the Command of some Honourable Personages, Mark ye! and at the Request of my Noble Friends, D'ye mind me! these Trifles made a Sally into the World, stepped into the Light, appeared in this undress, or as a Modern Author has it, was Impetuously Hurried into the Press, (by which he verified, Festinans Canis coecos peperit catulos.) This you know is the true Cant of many Prefacers; as who should say, Gentlemen, my Book begs your pardon for this Intrusion. But if such kind of Stuff will not pass as an Excuse for Publication, I'll tell ye what will; by chance I overheard an offer of some foolish Guinneys, and when those Toys are proposed, such is our Human Frailty, we consent to the printing of any thing. I have not further to say in the behalf of this Affair, since many of these things were wrote several years ago, when Youth and too much Money represented Extravagance a Virtue. This is the last of this nature I shall ever own; the next shall be some Remarks upon the Life and Death of a true pious Protestant Dissenter, with the Excellency and Necessity of Perjury and Equivocation in a devout Separatist; and that you'll say is a serious business. — Paulo majora canamus. God b'ye lovingly. The Booksellers Preface to his Customers. Obliging Gentlemen, THE Ingenious Author having, next to his pleasure of writing these Poems, taken care to Dedicate them to a Person of Honour, and also provided an Epistle to the Reader, hath left me nothing to do, but for my profit to print and to sell them. But there having been some part of The Ramble formerly printed, under the notion of a Natural Presumptive to my Lord Rochester, for Justice to that Noble Lord, as also for defending of Liberty and Property to my Author, whose Right as well as my own is invaded; I resolved to bring an Habeas Corpus, and remove The Ramble home again, which was so falsely, maliciously, imperfectly, and feloniously made public. I am likewise to tell you, that the foresaid Poem called The Ramble, is here enlarged above two thirds more than heretofore you have seen it. I hope it will please you, good honest Gentile Reader; if so, it will sell; and if it sells, it will please me too; and so our little share of the world will naturally run in a concord, without tormenting ourselves with Fears and Jealousies, or setting up for monstrous Whigs, Tantivy Tories, Abhorring Addressers, or other inferior no Protestant Plots and Tory Plots. For my part (Gentlemen) I am resolved (nemine contradicente) to live in a whole skin so long as I can, hoping no Irishman will make a dead blow upon me; and I do hereby promise upon the word of an honest Stationer, that I will not endeavour to alter the Government, as it is established by Law either in Church or State. In fine, I am satisfied this Book of Poems hath no couched Treason in it, nor Arbitrary Power, and therefore I presume to Print it, without staying for the Sussrage of an Act of Parliament. Such as it is take it amongst you, and so God bless you all. Vale. The Contents. NEws from Hell Page 1 As concerning Man 9 Have a care what you do 10 A Hard Case 13 The Canary Mistress 15 What are you mad? 17 Money's all 19 Songs Burlesqued or Varied. As Amoretta and Phillis sat 21 Hail to the Myrtle Shades 22 The poor Whore's Song 24 Now now the Fights done 27 Tell me dearest 28 Mr. Drydens' Description of Night 31 Disdain yet still I will love thee 32 Now at last the Riddle is expounded 33 To the Tune of Per fas per nefas 34 An Epitaph upon the worthy and truly vigilant Sam. Micoe Esq 35 Upon Mr. Bennet Procurer extraordinary 37 To a late Scotch Tune 39 Upon a Bowl of Punch 40 Upon the Pyramid 45 Upon a superannuated Couple lately married 49 On the Protestants Flail 51 The Narrative 52 The fourteenth Ode of the second Book of Horace 56 The tenth Ode of the second Book of Horace 59 Horace's well wishes to a scurvy Poet gone to Sea, Epode 10. in Maevium 61 A Call to the Guard by a Drum 63 Dr. Wild's humble Thanks for His Majesty's gracious Declaration for Liberty of Conscience 74 These for his old Friend Dr. Wild, Author of the Humble Thanks, etc. 81 The Ramble 85 The Lawyer's Demurrer argued 110 The Swords Farewell upon the Approach of a Michaelmass Term 116 Wrote in the Banqueting in Greys' Inn Walks 121 POEMS. News from Hell. SO dark the Night was that old Charon Could not carry Ghostly Fare-on; But was forced to leave his Souls, Stark stripped of Bodies, amongst the Shoals Of Black Sea-Toads, and other Fry, Which on the Stygian Shore do lie: Th' amazed Spirits desire recess To their old battered Carcases; But as they turn about, they find The Night more dismal is behind. Pluto began to fret and fume Because the Tilt Boat did not come. To the Shore's side he straight way trudges With his three Soul-censuring Judges, Standing on Acherontic Strand, He thrice three times did waft his Wand: From gloomy Lake did straight arise A meager Fiend, with broad blue Eyes; Approaching Pluto, as he bowed, From's head there dropped Infernal Mud; Quoth he, A tenebris & luto I come— 'Tis well, quoth surly Pluto. " Go you to t'other side of Styx, " And know why Charon's so prolix: " Surely on Earth there cannot be " A Grant of Immortality. Away the wriggling Fiend soon scuds Through Liquids' thick as Soap and Suds. In the mean while old Aeacus, Craftier far than any of us; For mortal Men to him are silly; Besides he held a League with Lily; And what is acted here does know As well as t'other does below: Thus spoke," Thou mighty King of Orcus, " Who into any shape canst work us; " I to your Greatness shall declare " My Sentiments of this Affair. " Charon you know did use to come " With some Elucid Spirit home; " Some Poet bright, whose glowing Soul " Like Torch did light him cross the Pool: " Old Charon then was blithe and merry, " With Flame and Rhapsody in Ferry. " Should he gross Souls alone take in, " Laden with heavy rubbish Sin; " Sin that is nothing but Alloy; " 'Tis ten to one he'd lose his way. " But now such Wights with Souls so clear " Must not have Damnation here; " Nor can we hope they'll hither move, " For know (Grim Sir) they're damned above; " They're damned on Earth by th' present Age, " Damned in Cabals, and damned o'th' Stage. " Laureate, who was both learned and florid, " Was damned long since for silence horrid: " Nor had there been such clutter made, " But that this silence did invade: " Invade! and so 't might well, that's clear: " But what did it invade?— an Ear. " And for some other things, 'tis true, " We follow Fate that does pursue. A Lord who was in Metre wont To call a Privy Member C— Whose Verse, by Women termed lewd, Is still preserved, not understood. But that which made 'em curse and ban, Was for his satire against Man. A third was damned, 'cause in his Plays He thrusts old Jests in Archees days: Nor as they say can make a Chorus Without a Tavern or a Whore-house; Which he to puzzle vulgar thinking, Does call by th' name of Love and Drinking. A fourth for writing superfine, With words correct in every Line: And one that does presume to say, A Plot's too gross for any Play: Comedy should be clean and neat, As Gentlemen do talk and eat. So what he writes is but Translation, From Dog and Partridge conversation, A fifth, who does in's last prefer 'Bove all, his own dear Character: And fain would seem upon the Stage Too Manly for this flippant Age. A sixth, whose lofty Fancy towers 'Bove Fate, Eternity and Powers: Rumbles i'th' Sky, and makes a bustle; So Gods meet Gods i'th' dark and justle. Seventh, because he'd rather choose To spoil his Verse than tyre his Muse. Nor will he let Heroics chime; Fancy (quoth he) is lost by Rhyme. And he that's used to clashing Swords Should not delight in sounds of words. Mars with Mercury should not mingle; Great Warriors should speak big, not jingle. Amongst this Heptarchy ofWit, The censuring Age have thought it fit To damn a Woman, 'cause 'tis said, The Plays she vends she never made. But that a Greys' Inn Lawyer does 'em, Who unto her was Friend in Bosom. So not presenting Scarf and Hood, New Plays and Songs are full as good. These are the better sort I grant, Damned only by the Ignorant: But still there are a scribbling Fry Ought to be damned eternally; An unlearned Tribe, o'th' lower rate, Who will be Poet's spite of Fate; Whose Character's not worth reciting, They scarce can read, yet will be writing: As t'other day a silly Oaf Instead of Jove did call on Jose: Whose humble Muse descends to Cellars, Or at the best to Herc'les' Pillars. Now Charon I presume does stop, Expecting one of these would drop; For any such Poetic Damn'd-boy Will light him home as well as Flambeau. Aeacus' just had made an end, When did arrive the dripping Fiend, Who did confirm the Judge's speech, That Charon did a Light beseech. They fell to Consultation grave, To find some strange enlightened Knave. Faux had like t'have been the Spark, But that his Lantern was too dark. At last th'agreed a sullen Quaker Should be this business Undertaker; The fittest Soul for this exploit, Because he had the newest Light: Him soon from sable Den they drag, Who of his Sufferings doth brag; And unto Heel of Fiend being tied, To Charon's Vessel was conveyed. Charon came home, all things were well; This is the only News from Hell. As concerning Man. TO what intent or purpose was Man made, Who is by Birth to misery betrayed? Man in his tedious course of life runs through More Plagues than all the Land of Egypt knew. Doctors, Divines, grave Disputations, Puns, Ill looking Citizens and scurvy Duns; Insipid Squires, fat Bishops, Deans and Chapters, Enthusiasts, Prophecies, new Rants and Raptures; Pox, Gout, Catarrhs, old Sores, Cramps, Rheums and Aches; Half witted Lords, double chinned Bawds with Patches; Illiterate Courtiers, Chancery Suits for Life, A teazing Whore, and a more tedious Wife; Raw Inns of Court men, empty Fops, Buffoons, Bullies robust, round Aldermen, and Clowns; Gownsmen which argue, and discuss, and prate, And vent dull Notions of a future State; Sure of another World, yet do not know Whether they shall be saved, or damned, or how. 'Twere better than that Man had never been, Than thus to be perplexed: God save the Queen. Have a care what you do. I. WHile Men endeavoured to adorn The guilded Crest of bloody Mars, Poor Love met with contempt and scorn, Nor had he one Rag to his Arse. II. His Wings were clogged with melting Snow, Hardly supported by his Legs: He had no string left to his Bow, His Arrows too had lost their Pegs. III. I who had always seen him gay, Wondered to find him thus distressed; I told him if with me he'd stay, He might be welcome to my Breast. IV. With a faint Smile he showed his joy, And softly to his Lodgings crept, Where some design disturbed the Boy, He prattled all the time he slept. V. With a large Sigh his Soul I filled, Which made a rumbling in his Guts; Into his mouth I Tears distilled, Tears bigger far than Hazzle Nuts. VI His strength returned to every Limb, I let him round about me play; I thought myself secure of him, Not dreaming he would run away. VII. But this base perfidious Elf Ungratefully from me did part, Not only stole away himself, But took along with him my Heart. VIII. To Celia than I did repair With peremptory Hue and Cry, Being assured this stolen Ware Must light into her custody. IX. She owned it with obsequious art, And drew on me this dire mishap, ' Stead of returning me my Heart She gave me a confounded Clap. A Hard Case. WHen trembling Prisoners stand at Bar In strange suspense about the Verdict: And when pronounced they Guilty are, How they're astonished when they've heard it! When in a Storm a Ship is tossed, All ask, What does the Captain say? How they bemoan themselves as lost, When his Advice is only, Pray! And as it was my pleasing chance To meet fair Celia in a Grove; Both Time and Place conspired t'advance The innocent designs of Love. I thought my happiness complete, 'Twas in her power to make it so: I asked her if she'd do the feat, But (silly Soul!) she answered, No. Poor Prisoners may have mercy shown, And shipwrecked men may have the luck To see their Tempests overblown, But Celia I shall never The Canary Mistress. FOndling forbear, 'tis Heresy to think There is a Mistress equal to thy Drink; Or if in love with any, 't must be rather With that plump Girl that does call Bacchus' Father. Thou mayst out-look, armed with her warm embrace, Ten thousand Volleys shot from Woman's Face, Who would withstand without this Aid Divine Ten thousand times as many Tears of thine; As many Sighs and Prayers would be her sport, Exalted she so long maintains her Fort. But when Diviner Sack hath fired thy Blood, Creating Flames which cannot be withstood; To which is added Confidence as great As his, that aimed at Jove's Celestial Seat; Boldly march on, not granting her the leisure Of Parley; 'tis the Speed augments the Pleasure. If she cry out, with Kisses stop her Breath; She cannot wish to die a better Death. Tell her the pleasant passages between The God of War and Loves more gentle Queen. When feeble Vulcan came, and in a fear Lest they would not continue longer there, He chained 'em to the sport, with an intent To keep such Lovers for a Precedent; Glad to behold a tempting pleasure that His weak Endeavours never could create. Then struck her Breasts those Mountains of Delight, Whose very Touch would fire an Anchorite. Next let thy wanton Palm a little stray, And dip thy Fingers in the Milky Way: Thus having razed her, gently let her fall, Loves Trumpets sound, Now Mortal have at all. A happy end thus made of all your sport, Led her where every Lover should resort, Where Madam Sack's enthroned, the tempting'st Lass That e'er was seated in a Venice Glass. Last, that this sense of Pleasure may remain, Cast away Thought and fall to Drink again. Drink off the Glasses, swallow every Bowl, And pity him that sighs away his Soul For that poor trifle Woman, who is mine With one small Gallon of Immortal Wine. To get a Mistress Drinking is the knack; Love's grand existence is Almighty Sack. What are you mad? I'LL mount my thoughts to Giant height, I'm Constellation in conceit. I'll pluck down Sol, and mount his Sphere; Then sullen Daphne shall appear, And seeing me grasp Phoebus' Rays, Shall cringe and crown me with her Bays. I'll rape the Moon, it shall be said, Cynthia hath changed the name of Maid; Her twinkling Girls shall all be ta'en, No Virgin left to bear her Train. Thus conquering Sun, Moon, and Stars, Against God's themselves I'll levy Wars. Or if on Earth my Mind can rest, I'll be a Monarch at the least. Our dull Plebeians shall grow quicker, Rincing their muddy Brains in Liquor. The Miser then shall scatter Cash, For Wine shall change his Balderdash; And sing and drink, and drink and sing, Till every Subject turns a King. The conquered Gods shall make us Legs, Entreating they may sip the dregs. Thus will we tipple till the World Into Oblivion is hurled: And when we feel old Age does come, We'll post into Elysium; And there our chiefest Joys shall be To think of past Felicity. Money's All. BEauty is Nature's acquaint Disguise, A Covert for the Game we hunt; Being pinched but once or twice it dies, And leaves behind a slimy Honour's the pleasing Cheat of Men, The White that does discover Blots; Like to the Plague at height, which then Produceth gaudy purple spots. Wisdom the Souls grave penury, Which he that owns dares not be brave; But with dull Morals must comply, Lest the fond Age should call him Knave. But he whose Wealth ne'er knew a measure, May be truly termed free; For while he rules alone in Treasure, He commands the other three. Several Late SONGS Burlesqued or Varied. As Amoretta and Phyllis sat, etc. AS Tom and I well warmed with Wine Were sitting at the Rose, In came Sir John with dire design To ply us in the close. The threatening Bumpers to remove I whispered in his Ear; Ah Tom, a bloody Night 'twill prove, There is no staying here. There is no, etc. None ever yet had such an art In filling to the Brim; Nor can you e'er expect to part, If once engaged with him. Fly, fly betimes, for at this rate, We certainly are sunk: In vain (said Tom) in vain you prate, I am already drunk. I am already drunk. Hail to the Myrtle Shades, etc. Pity the private Cabal, Ah pity the Green Ribbon Club; They've cut off poor Strephon's Entail, And Strephon has met with a rub. Strephon has still the same Creatures, Who fill him with many a doubt; But Strephon won't stoop to his Betters; Ah Strephon, ah why so stout! Strephon once capered and pranced; Who but Strephon at Masks and at Balls! Strephon the Saraband danced, But Strephon now leads up the Brawls. Strephon who never had the skill To use either Figure or Trope; For Strephon has no lofty Style, Nor e'er was cut out for a Pope. Strephon though not by his Tongue Has drawn to him Parties and Factions, People that make the day long By buzzing of private Transactions. Strephon has little to say, But laughs at the Lord knows what; But the Club meets every day, And sits with eternal Chat. The Poor Whore's Song, in allusion to the Begging Soldier, Good your Worship cast an Eye, etc. GOod young Lecher cast an Eye Upon a poor Whore's misery: Let not my antiquated Front Make you less free than you were wont. But like a noble Rogue Do but disembogue, And you shall have our constant vogue; For I am none of those That a bulking goes, And often shows Their Bridewell blows, Or New Prison Lash, For filing of Cash, Or nimming Prigsters of their Trash. But I at Court have often been Within the view of King and Queen; A Guiney to me was no more Than Fifteen Pence to a Suburb Whore: And when he did tilt, I did briskly jilt, And swallowed Pego to the Hilt. A Pox was very near, For Bubo did appear, Had not my Surgeon then been there. Once at the Bear in Drury Lane The Bullies left me for a Pawn; But I made my party good, To Fifteen Guinneys and a Broad. Oh you would little ween How that I have been As great a Jilt as e'er was seen. But if Mother Bennet came With a Wheedle or a Flame, She'd tell you how I cut the Sham. From thence I marched to Creswels House, Under the name of a Merchant's Spouse; And there I played the secret Lover, Lest jealous Husband should discover. Oh then came in the Rings, And such like things, Which eldest Apprentice often brings. But now my poor— Contrary to its wont, Must pocket any small Affront. Now Now the Fight's done, etc. NOw Now the Heart's broke, Which so long has complained; And Clarinda triumphs In the Conquest sh'as gained. Love laughs at the sight, At the mischief does crow; For a Love-wounded Heart Is to him a fine Show. He plays up and down, and he sports with the Heart, And he shows it about on the point of his Dart. But since the coy Nymph So disdainful is grown, The power of her Charms We'll for ever disown; We'll slight the fond Brat, Love no longer shall wrack us, We'll shake off his Chains For the pleasures of Bacchus. Then fill us more Wine, fill the Glass to the brim; Thus we'll patch up our Hearts, they shall last our Life-time. Tell me dearest prithee do, Why thou wilt and wilt not too, etc. TEll me, Jack, I prithee do, Why the Glass still sticks with you: What does Business signify, If you let your Claret die? Wine when first poured from the Bottle All its strength and vigour flies; So says ancient Aristotle. If it stand In your hand, It will then disband All its Spirits in a trice. Who dares then refuse to swallow All the Wine that out he puts, Will find some heavy Judgements follow, Vinegar, Single Beer, Or such dismal Gear, To torment his wambling Guts. Since to all subduing Wine Lofty Arguments resign; He wrongs himself that sits and prates Of grave Matters or Debates. Talk not then of Merchandizes, Or what Interest may accrue By Taxes, Subsidies, Excises, Liberty, Property, Or Monopoly; 'Slife 'tis enough to make one spew. Be as you were ever jolly, Let it not stick at your door; Business is the greatest folly. Here's a Glass, Let it pass, He's a formal Ass, That e'er talks of Business more. Mr. Drydens' Description of Night. ALL things were hushed as Nature's self lay dead, The Mountains seem to nod their drowsy head; The little Birds in Dreams their Songs repeat, And sleeping Flowers beneath the Night dew sweat. Even Lust and Envy slept, etc. Thus Burlesqued. All things were hush as when the Drawers tread Softly to steal the Key from Master's head. The dying Snuffs do twinkle in their Urns, As if the Socket, not the Candle, burns. The little Footboy snoars upon the Stair, And greasy Cookmaid sweats in Elbow Chair. No Coach nor Link was heard, etc. Disdain, yet still I will love thee; Nothing, etc. Filled up, yet still I will take it; Filled up, I'll ne'er forsake it: Although My doom I know, This Glass another will usher, Good faith it must be so, Though drinking of this Brusher, I shall neither stand nor go. Now at last the Riddle is expounded, etc. OLD Beelzebub was Father of Sedition; Pride and Arrogance began division In Religion, And taught men to combine. Fetch up the t'other double Bottle, I will wash away design; Bring a Spinster, though she have a hot Tail, No Kingdom is inflamed by Love or Wine. The busy Party are the idle Fellows, Fools that are suspicious and too jealous, Let Hell lose, The Devil's in 'em sure. While he that drinks de die & in diem, And all night hugs a Whore; What Treason or Rebellion can come nigh him, Since he's employed each minute of an hour? To the Tune of Per fas per nefas. A Pox o' these Fellows contriving, They've spoiled our pleasant design; We were once in a way of true living, Improving Discourse by good Wine. But now Conversation grows tedious, O'er Coffee they still confer Notes; ' Stead of Authors both learned and facetious, They quote only Dugdale and Oats. A Traitor still gives a denial, When a Glass is filled up to the best: By drinking we know who is Loyal, A Brimmer's the only Test. He that takes it 's untaunted of Treason, He from all Impeachment is freed; He may lose his Feet for a season, But never shall lose his Head. An Epitaph upon the Worthy and truly Vigilant, Sam. Micoe Esq HEre Honest Micoe lies, who never knew Whether the Parish Clock went false or true. A true bred English Gentleman, for he Never demanded yet Quell heur est il? He valued not the Rise of Sun or Moon, Nor e'er distinguished yet their Night from Noon. Until at last by chance he closed his Eyes, And Death did catch him napping by surprise. But first he thus spoke to the King of Fears, Have I in Taverns spent my blooming years, Outsate the Beadle nodding in his Chair, Outwatched the Bulker and the Burglarer; Outdrank all measure filled above the Seal, When some weak Brethren to their Beds did reel; And there when last nights Bottles were on board, When Squires in Cloaks wrapped up in corners snored; I only clad in my old Night Campain, Called for more Wine and drank to 'em again? Have I made Sir John Robinson to yield, Sent haughty Lang stone staggering from the Field? And unto meager Death now must I sink, Death that eats all without a drop of Drink? You steal my Life (grim Tyrant) 'cause you knew Had I sat up I'd killed more men than you. Quoth surly Death, Statutum est, sic dico; Sat vigilasti— Bonos Nochios Micoe. Upon Mr. Bennet, Procurer Extraordinary. REader beneath this Marble Stone Saint Valentine's Adopted Son, Bennet the Bawd now lies alone. Here lies alone the Amorous Spark, Who was used to lead them in the dark Like Beasts by Pairs into the Ark. If Men of Honour would begin, He'd ne'er stick out at any Sin, For he was still for Stickinged in. If Justice chiefest of the Bench Had an occasion for a Wench, His reverend Flames 'twas he could quench. And for his Son and Heir apparent, He could perform as good an errand Without a Tipstaff or a Warrant. Over the Clergy had such a lock, That he could make a Spiritual Frock Fly off at sight of Temporal Smock. Like Will ' i'th' wisp still up and down He led the Wives of London Town, To lodge with Squires of high renown. While they (poor Fools) being unaware, Did find themselves in Mansion fair, Near Leic'ster Fields or James' Square. Thus Worthy Bennet was employed; At last he held the Door so wide, He caught a cold, so coughed, and died. To a late Scotch Tune. THomas did once make my Heart full glad, When I set him up to rule at the Helm: But Thomas has proved but a naughty Lad, For Thomas I fear has betrayed my Realm. I gave him a House, I gave him Grounds, I gave him a hundred thousand pounds, I gave him the Lord knows what Gadzounds: But Thomas, etc. The finest Courtier that e'er was seen, He praised my Port, and he praised my Mien, He praised all the Ladies at Court but the Q— Yet Thomas, etc. I gave him all Christian Liberty, I let him sometimes lig by me, I let him feel my Duchess' Knee, Yet Thomas, etc. Upon a Bowl of Punch. THE Gods and the Goddesses lately did feast, Where Ambrosia with exquisite Sauces was dressed. The Edibles did with their Qualities suit, But what they should drink did occasion dispute. 'Twas time that old Nectar should grow out of fashion, For that they have drank long before the Creation. When the Sky-coloured Cloth was drawn from the Board, For the Crystalline Bowl Great Jove gave the word. This was a Bowl of most heavenly size, In which Infant Gods they did use to baptise. Quoth Jove, We're informed they drink Punch upon Earth, By which mortal Wights do outdo us in mirth. Therefore our Godheads together let's lay, And endeavour to make it much stronger than they. 'Twas spoke like a God,— Fill the Bowl to the top, He's cashiered from the Skies that leaveth one drop. Apollo dispatched away one of the Lasses, Who fetched him a Pitcher from Well of Parnassus. To Poets new born this Liquor is brought, And this they suck in for their first Morning's draught. Juno for Lemons sent into her Closet, Which when she was sick she infused into Posset; For Goddesses may be as squeamish as Gipsies, The Sun and the Moon we find have Eclipses. These Lemons were called the Hesperian Fruit, When vigilant Dragon was set to look to't. Six dozen of these were squeezed into Water, The rest of the Ingredients in order come after. Venus, th' Admirer of things that are sweet, And without her Infusion there had been no Treat, Commanded two Sugarloafs white as her Doves, Supported to th' Table by a Brace of young Loves. So wonderful curious these Deities were, That this Sugar they strained through a Sieve of thin Air. Bacchus gave notice by dangling a Bunch, That without his Assistance there could be no Punch. What was meant by his signs was very well known, So they threw in three Gallons of trusty Langoon. Mars a blunt God, who cared not for dis-course, Was seated at Table still twirling his Whiskers: Quoth he, Fellow Gods and Celestial Gallants, I'd not give a Fart for your Punch without Nants; Therefore Boy Ganymede I do command ye, To fill up the Bowl with a Roundlet of Brandy. Saturn of all the Gods was the oldest, And you may imagine his Stomach was coldest, Did out of his Pouchet three Nutmegs produce, Which when they were grated were put to the Juice. Neptune this Ocean of Liquor did crown With a hard Sea-Bisquet well baked by the Sun. The Bowl being finished, a Health was begun; Quoth Jove, Let it be to our Creature called Man; 'Tis to him alone these Pleasures we owe, For Heaven was never true Heaven till now. Upon the Pyramid. To the Tune of Packington's Pound. I. MY Masters and Friends, and good People draw near, For here's a new Sight which you must not escape, A stately young Fabric that cost very dear, Renowned for straight body and Barbary shape; A Pyramid much high'r Than a Steeple or Spire, By which you may guests there has been a Fire. Ah London thou'dst better have built new Burdelloes, T'encourage She-Traders and lusty young Fellows. II. No sooner the City had lost their old Houses, But they set up this Monument wonderful tall; Though when Christians were burnt, as Fox plainly shows us, There was nothing set up but his Book in the Hall. And yet these men can't In their Conscience but grant, That a House is unworthy compared to a Saint. Ah London, etc. III. The Children of Men in erecting old Babel, To be saved from Water did only desire: So the City presumes that this young one is able, When occasion shall serve to secure them from Fire. Blowing up when all's done Preserves best the Town, But this Hieroglyphic will soon be blown down. Ah London, etc. IV. Some say it resembles a Glass fit for Mum, And think themselves witty by giving Nicknames: An Extinguisher too 'tis fancied by some, As set up on purpose to put out the Flames. But whatever they shall This Workmanship call, Had it never been thought on 'thad been a Save-all. Ah London, etc. V. Some Passengers seem to suspect the grave City, As men not so wise as they should be, or so; And oftentimes say, 'Tis a great deal of pity So much Coin should be spent and so little to show. But these men ne'er stop To pay for going up, For all that's worth seeing is when y'are atop, Ah London, etc. But O you proud Nation of Citizens all, Supposing y'had reared but only one stone, And on it engraved a stupendious Tale, Of a Conflagration the like was ne'er known: It had been as good T'have humoured the Crowd, And then y'had prevented their laughing aloud. Ah London, etc. Upon a Superannuated Couple lately married. I. AN Aged Couple have combined, And stock of years together joined, To vie with Time 'tis now designed. II. Old Emblem with thy Sith and Sand, Thy cankered power they do withstand, Nor Fate itself shall here command. III. In vain will all their Projects be; Great Time, they must acknowledge thee, When they endeavour Rem in Re. IV. They represent (each tedious night, When they their feeble force unite) Methusalem th'Hermaphrodite. V. Of the grave Posset made with Sack A holy Sacrament they make, Which they with like devotion take. VI The dancing Guests like Lightning flew, This venerable Brace moved too As Cripples in the Jovial Crew. VII. While Music played this solemn Pair Kept time to every sprightly Air, With deepmouthed Cough and hoarse Catarth. VIII. And now their wishes are complete, With chaste desires in Bed they meet; The Wedding seems a Winding sheet. IX. There let us leave them, there they're safe, The next remove is to their Grave; Epithalamium proves their Epitaph. On the Protestants Flail. IN former days th' Invention was of Wracks, To dislocate men's Joints and break their Backs: But this Protestant Flail of a severer sort is, For Lignum vitae here proves Lignum mortis. The Narrative. I. COme prick up your Ears, if they are not gone, For this Deponent hath lost his own; His Neck goes next 'tis forty to one, Which no body can deny. II. Now this Deponent doth depose, That he was once one of the King's Foes, But now he thanks God he's none of those: Sure our Deponent will lie. III. He swears that once there was Harry the Eighth, Who was divorced from's first Wife Kate, And that he cut off another's Pate, Which no body can deny. IV. Even so (quoth he) I can witness bring, That the Q— did consent to the death of the K— But we are informed there was no such thing; For our Deponent will lie. V. He swears that before the Tower of Babel Kain knocked out the Brains of his Brother Abel; Here he swears to a Truth and not to a Fable; Which no body can deny. VI Even so (quoth he) some bloody work Was carried on by his Brother of Y— But His Highness is neither a Jew nor a Turk, For our Deponent will lie. VII. He swears that once in Noah's time, There was a great Flood that brought a great Stream, And all were drowned that could not swim; Which no body can deny. VIII. And now (God bless us) we're all in a fright, For we had like t'have been ruined quite, Our Throats should all have been cut in the night; But our Deponent will lie. IX. Further he swears that S. Peter from Heaven, Had such an absolute power given, That whom he pleased were condemned or forgiven, Which no body can deny. X. Even so (saith he) Commissions went out From the Pope to raise both Horse and Foot, That whom he pleased he might slash and cut; But our Deponent will lie. XI. Some where or other S. Paul does aver, That an Oath puts an end to all bustle and stir, By which he confirms it is lawful to swear; Which no body can deny. XII. There was foolish swearing in former days, But our Deponent has altered the case, For ' has made more mischief than ever there was, For our Deponent will lie. The fourteenth Ode of the second Book of Horace. Eheu fugaces, Posthume, Posthume, Labuntur anni— SEE, Posthumus, how years do fly; Nor can the smoothest Piety Fill up one wrinkle in the Face, Or stop Old Ages certain pace, Or quell Mortality. When dying if thou shouldst design To offer up at Pluto's Shrine, As many Bullocks fat and fair, As theyare days in every year, One hour would not be thine. See the thrice bulky Geryon stand, Shackled in Ropes of Stygian: On t'other side the doleful Pool See the extended Tityus' roll, Where all Mankind must land. This irksome Shore must entertain The greatest Prince that e'er shall reign: As great a welcome shall be there Made to the meanest Cottager; Distinctions are in vain. In vain we eat the chance of War, Where the most frequent dangers are. In vain we do secure ourselves From troubled Seas, or Sands, or Shelves, Or a cold Winter fear. By all the Human Race at last Muddy Cocytus must be past; Where th'impious Daughters fill a Sieve, Where Sisyphus in vain does strive To stick the Rowler fast. We bid Farewell to Land and House, To th' joys of an untainted Spouse; And to the silent Groves and Trees, Whose Height and Shade at once do please: But there sad Cypress grows. Then shall rich Wines brought from Campain, Which you with Locks and Bolts detain, Be by your worthy Heir let loose, To give a Tincture round the House, Where he does entertain. The tenth Ode of the second Book of Horace. Rectiùs vives, Licine, neque altum Semper urgendo— THat thou mayst steer thy course with greater ease, Plunge not far amidst the deepest Seas: Or filled with horror when the Ocean roars, Press not hard upon unequal Shores. Who ever does admire the Golden Mean, Is not penned up in Cottages unclean; Inhabits not obscure and sordid Cells, Nor courts the lofty Hall where Envy dwells. The Pine Trees vexed by winds because 'tis tall; The higher the Tower, the greater is its fall. By Heaven's Artillery are Mountains shook, And mightiest Hills are soon Thunder struck. In adverse Times a well prepared Mind With reason hopes a better change to find; In prosperous days wishes no further good, But modestly does fear Vicissitude. Heaven doth disfigure Earth with Winter's Rain, And the same Heaven guilds the Earth again. If at one instant things succeed not well, There follows not an everlasting Ill From Bow and Dart Apollo doth retire, And sometimes takes in hand his charming Lyre, And by soft Notes excites the Female Quire. When in some dangerous Straits your Bark shall ride, Let never failing Courage be your Guide: But if your Fortune blow auspicious Gales, Let Wisdom then contract your strutting Sails. Horace's well wishes to a scurvy Poet gone to Sea, Epode 10. in Maevium. Mala soluta navis exit alight, Ferens olentem Maevium, etc. WIth an unhappy Freight that Ship is stored, That took the fulsome Maevius aboard. Auster remember what you have to do, 'Tis in your power to split the Ship in two. Eurus the Black, this your Command shall be, To spoil the Tackle, and disturb the Sea. Aquilo rise, and be your Fury shown, As much as when you Trees have overthrown. And in dark night no friendly Star appear, As when Orion leaves the Hemisphere. Nor more of Calm at Sea let him enjoy, Than conquering Grecians when they sailed from Troy; When Pallas to avenge the sin of Fire, By water made Ajax's Crew expire. What sport 'twould be t'observe the Sailors sweat, And see thy Earthen Face look paler yet! To hear thy Howl and unmanly Cries, In vain beseeching angry Deities! Or let the Southern Winds drive thee away Into the bellowing Gulf of Adria. But if thy Carcase should be cast on shore, That Cormorants the Carrion may devour: To th'Tempests then a Holiday we'll keep, By offering up a Ram or some black Sheep. A Call to the Guard by a Drum. RAt too, rat too, rat too, rat tat too, that rat too, With your Noses all scabbed and your Eyes black and blue, All ye hungry poor Sinners that Foot Soldiers are, Though with very small Coin, yet with very much Care, From your Quarters and Garrets make haste to repair, To the Guard, to the Guard. From your sorry Straw Beds and bonny white Fleas, From your Dreams of Small Drink and your very small ease, From your plenty of stink, and no plenty of room, From your Walls daubed with Phlegm sticking on 'em like Gum, And Ceiling hung with Cobwebs to staunch a cut Thumb, To the Guard, etc. From your cracked Earthen Pisspots where no Piss can stay, From Roofs bewrit with Snuffs in Letters the wrong way; From one old broken Stool with one unbroken Leg, One Box with ne'er a Lid to keep ne'er a Rag, And Windows that of Storms more than yourselves can brag, To the Guard, etc. With trusty Pike and Gun, and the other rusty Tool; With Heads extremely hot, and with Hearts wondrous cool; With Stomaches meaning none (but Cooks and Sutler's) hurt; With two old tottered Shoes that disgrace the Town Dirt; With forty shreds of Breeches, and no one shred of Shirt, To the Guard, etc. See they come, see they come, see they come, see they come, With Alarms in their Pates to the call of a Drum; Some lodging with Bawds (whom the modest call Bitch's) With their Bones dried to Kexes, and Legs shrunk to Switches; With the Plague in the Purse, and the Pox in the Breeches, To the Guard, etc. Some from snoring and farting, and spewing on Benches, Some from damned fulsome Ale, and more damned fulsome Wenches; Some from Put, and Size Ace, and Old Sim, this way stalk; Each man's Reeling's his gate, and his Hickup his talk, With two new Cheeks of Red from ten old Rows of Chalk, To the Guard, etc. Here come others from scuffling, and damning mine Host, With their Tongues at last tamed, but with Faces that boast Of some Scars by the Jordan, or Warlike Quart Pot, For their building of Sconces and Volleys of Shot, Which they charged to the mouth, but discharged ne'er a Groat, To the Guard, etc. They for Valour in black too, the Chaplain does come! From his preaching o'er Pots now to pray o'er a Drum. All ye whoring and swearing old Red Coats draw near, Like to Saints in Red Letters listen and give ear, And be godly awhile ho, and then as you were, To the Guard, etc. Aftersome canting terms, To your Arms, and the like, Such as Poyfing your Musket, or Porting your Pike; To the right, To the left, or else Face about; After rattling your Sticks, and your shaking a Clout, Hast your Infantry Troops that mount the Guard on foot, To the Guard, etc. Captain Hector first marches, but not he of Troy, But a Trifle made up of a Man and a Boy; See the Man scant of Arms in a Scarf does abound, Which presages some swaggering, but no blood nor wound; Like a Rainbow that shows the World shan't be drowned; To the Guard, etc. As the Tinker wears Rags whilst the Dog bears the Budget, So the Man stalks with Staff whilst the Footboy does trudge it With the Tool he should work with (that's Half Pike you'll say;) But what Captain's so strong his own Arms to convey, When he marches over loaden with ten other men's Pay? To the Guard, etc. In his March (if you mark) he's attended at least With Stinks sixteen deep, and about five abreast, Made of Ale and Mundungus, Snuff, Rags, and brown Crust for, While he wants twenty Tailors to make up the cluster, Which declares that his Journey's not now to the Muster, But to the Guard, etc. Some with Musket and Belly uncharged march away, With Pipes black as their Mouths, and short as their Pay; Whilst their Coats made of holes show like Bonelace about 'em, And their Bandeliers hang like to Bobbins without 'em, And whilst Horsemen do clothe 'em, these Foot-scrubs do clout 'em, For the Guard, etc. Some with Hat tied on one side, and Wit tied on neither; Wear grey Coats and grey Cattle, see their Wenches run hither, For to peep through Red Lettuce and dark Cellar doors, To behold 'em wear Pikes rusty just like their Whores, As slender as their Meals and as long as their Scores, To the Guard, etc. Some with Tweedle, wheedle, wheede; whilst we beat Dub a Dub; Keep the base Scotish noise, and as base Scotish scrub: Then with Body contracted, a Rag open spread, Comes a thing with red Colours, and Nose full as red; Like an Ensign to the King, and to the King's Head, Towards the Guard, etc. Two Commanders come last, the Lieutenant perhaps, Full of Low Country Stories and Low Country Claps. To be next him the other takes care not to fail, Powder Monkey by name that vents stink by whole sale, For where should the Fart be but just with the Tail Of the Guard? etc. And now hay for the King Boys, and hey for the Court, Which is guarded by these as the Tower is by Dirt; These Whitehall must admit and such other unhouse ye, Each day lets in the drunk, whilst it lets out the drowsy, And no place in the world shifts so oft to be lousy. Thank the Guard, etc. Some to Scotland-Yard sneak, and the Sutler's wife kisses; But despairing of Drink till some Countryman pisses, And pays too (for no place in the Court must be given) To the Can-office then, all a Foot-Soldier's Heaven, Where he finds a foul Fox, soon, and cures Sir— On the Guard, etc. Some at Sh— house public (where a Rag always goes) At once empty their Guts and diminish their Clothes. Though their Mouths are poor Pimps (Whore and Bacon being all Their chief Food) yet their Bums we true Courtiers may call, For what they eat in the Suburbs, they sh— at Whitehall, For the Guard, etc. Such a like Pack of Cards to the Park making entry, Here and there deal an Ace, which the Jews call a Sentry, Which in bad Houses of Board's stand to tell what a clock 'tis, Where they keep up tame Redcoats as men keep up tame Foxes, Or Apothecaries lay up their Dog's Turds in Boxes. Oh the Guard, etc. Some of these are planted (though it has been their lucks Oft to steal Country Geese) now to watch the King's Ducks; While some others are set in the side that has Wood in, To stand Pimps to black Masques that are oft thither footing, Just as Housewives set Cuckolds to stir their Black Pudding. Oh the Guard, etc. Whilst another true Trojan to some passage runs, As to keep in the Debtors, so to keep out the Duns; Or a Apprentice, or his Mistress, with Oaths to confound, Till he hies him from the Park as from forbidden ground, 'Cause his Credit is whole, and his Wench may be sound, And quits the Guard, etc. Now it's night, and the Patrole in Alehouse drowned, For nought else but the Pot and their Brains walk the round; Whilst like Hell the Commander's Guard-chamber does show, There's such damning themselves and all else of the Crew, For though these cheat the Men, they give the Devil his due, On the Guard, etc. Whilst a Main after Main at old Hazard they throw, And their Quarrels grow high as their Money grows low; Straight they threaten hard (using bad Faces for Frowns) To revenge on the Flesh, the default of the Bones, But the Blood's in their Hose, and in Oaths all their Wounds. Like the Guard, etc. In the Morning they fight, just as much as they pray; For some one to the King does the Tidings convey For preventing of Murder; Oh 'tis a wise way! Though not one of 'em knows (as a thousand dare say) That belongs to a dead man, unless in his pay For the Guard, etc. With their Skins they march home no more hurt than their Drums, But for scratching of Faces, or biting of Thumbs; And now hay for fat Alewives, and Tradesmen grown lean; For the Captain grown Bankrupt, recruits him again, With sending out Tickets, and turning out Men From the Guard, etc. Straight the poor Rogue's cashiered with a Cane, and a Curse, Fall from wounding no Men, now to cut every Purse: And what then? Man's a Worm; these we Glow-worm's may name: For as they're dark of Body, have Tails all of flame. So tho' those lived in Oaths, yet they die with a Psalm. Farewell Guard, etc. Dr. Wild's Humble Thanks for His Majesty's gracious Declaration for Liberty of Conscience, Mar. 15.72. NO not one word can I of this great deed In Merlin or old Mother Shipton read! Old Tyburn take those Tychobrahe Imps, As Silger, who would be accounted Pimps To the Amorous Planets; they the Minute know When Jove did Cuckold old Amphytrio, Ken Mars, and made Venus wink, and glances Their close Conjunctions and Midnight Dances; When costive Saturn goes to stool, and vile Thief Mercury doth pick his Fob the while; When Lady Luna leaks, and makes her Man Throw't out of Window into th'Ocean. More subtle than th'Excisemen here below, What's spent in every Sign in Heaven they know. Cunning Intelligencers, they will not miss To tell us next year the success of this; They correspond with Dutch and English Star, As one once did with CHARLES and Oliver. The Bankers also might have (had they gone) What Planet governed the Exchequer known. Old Lily, though he did not love to make Any words on't, saw the English take Five of the Smyrna Fleet, and if the Sign Had been Aquarius, then they'd made them Nine. When Sagittarius took his aim to shoot At Bishop Cousin, he spied him no doubt; And with such force the winged Arrow flew, Instead of one Church Stag he killed two; Gloucester and Durham when he espied, Let Lean and Fat go together he cried: Well Will Lily, thou knewest all this as well As I, and yet wouldst not their Lordships tell. I know thy Plea too, and must it allow, Prelates should know as much of Heaven as thou. But now, Friend William, since it's done and passed, Pray thee give us fanatics but one cast, What thou foresawst of March the Fifteenth last; When swift and sudden as the Angels fly, Th' Declaration for Conscience Liberty; When things of Heaven burst from the Royal Breast, More fragrant than the Spices of the East. I know in next years Almanac thou'lt write, Thou sawst the King and Council over night, Before that morn, all sit in Heaven as plain To be discerned, as if 'twere Charles' Wain. Great B, great L, and two great AA's were chief, Under great Charles to give poor Fan's relief. Thou sawst Lord Arlington ordain the Man To be the first Lay-Metropolytan. Thou sawst him give Induction to ● spital, And constitute our Brother Tom Dolittle. In the Bear's Paw, and the Bulls right Eye, Some detriment to Priests thou didst espy; And though by Sol in Libra thou didst know Which way the Scale of Policy would go; Yet Mercury in Aries did decree, That Wool and Lamb should still Conformists be. But hark you Will, Steer-poching is not fair; Had you amongst the Steers found this March-hare, Bred of that lusty Puss the Good Old Cause, Religion rescued from Informing Laws; You should have yelped aloud, hang's the end, By huntsmen's rule, of Hounds that will not spend. Be gone thou and thy canting Tribe, be gone; Go tell thy destiny to followers none: Kings Hearts and Councils are too deep for thee, And for thy Stars and Doemons scrutiny. King Charles Return was much above thy skill To fumble out, as 'twas against thy will. From him who can the Hearts of Kings inspire, Not from the Planets, came that sacred Fire Of Sovereign Love, which broke into a flame; From God and from his King alone it came. To the King. So great, so universal, and so free! This was too much, great Charles, except for thee, For any King to give a Subject hope: To do thus like thee would undo the Pope. Yea though his Vassals should their wealth combine, To buy Indulgence half so large as thine; No, if they should not only kiss his Toe, But Clement's podex, he'd not let them go: Whilst thou to's shame, thy immortal glory, Hast freed All Souls from real Purgatory; And given All Saints in Heaven new joys, to see Their Friends in England keep a Jubilee. Suspect them not, Great Sir, nor think the worst; For sudden Joys like Grief confound at first. The splendour of your Favour was so bright, That yet it dazzles and o'erwhelms our sight: Drunk with her cups my Muse did nothing mind, And until now her Feet she could not find. Greediness makes profaneness i'th' first place; Hungry men fill their bellies, then say Grace. We would have Bonfires, but that we do fear The name of Incend'ary we may hear: We would have Music too, but 'twill not do, For all the Fiddlers are Conformists too: Nor can we ring, the angry Churchman swears By the Kings leave the Bells and Ropes are theirs; And let 'em take 'em, for our Tongues shall sing Your Honour louder than their Clappers ring. Nay, if they will not at this Grace repine, We'll dress the Vineyard, they shall drink the wine. Their Church shall be the Mother, ours the Nurse; Peter shall preach, Judas shall bear the purse. No Bishops, Parsons, Vicars, Curates, we But only Ministers desire to be. We'll preach in Sackcloth, they shall read in Silk; We'll feed the Flock, and let them take the Milk. Let but the Blackbirds sing in Bushes cold, And may the Jackdaws still the Steeples hold. We'll be the Feet, the Back, and Hands, and they Shall be the Belly, and devour the prey. The Tythe-pig shall be theirs, we'll turn the Spit; We'll bear the Cross, they only sign with it. But if the Patriarches shall envy show To see their younger Brother Joseph go In Coat of divers colours, and shall fall To rend it 'cause it's not Canonical; Then may they find him turn a Dreamer too, And live themselves to see his Dream come true. May rather they and we together join In all what each can; but they have the Coin; With prayers and tears such Service much avail; With tears to swell your Seas, with prayers your Sails; And with Men too from both our Parties; such I'm sure we have can cheat or beat the Dutch. A thousand Quakers, Sir, our side can spare; Nay two or three, for they great Breeders are. The Church can match us too with Jovial Sirs, Informers, Singingmen, and Paraters. Let the King try, set these upon the Decks Together, they will Dutch or Devil vex. Their Breath will mischief further than a Gun, And if you lose them you'll not be undone. Pardon, Dread Sir, nay pardon this course Paper, Your Licence 'twas made this poor Poet caper. ITER BOREALE. These for his Old Friend Doctor Wild, Author of the Humble Thanks, etc. SIR, HAD I believed report, that said These Rhymes by Doctor Wild were made, I long before this time had sent Some symptoms of our discontent. For since ye have left off being witty, Your humble thanks deserves our pity. I can't imagine what you'll do, Your Muse turned Nonconformist too? And will not easily dispense With the old way of writing sense! She hath received, if that be true, As much Indulgence then as you. Surely (Dear Sir) you did not pray Since you conversed with Tycho Brah. Jove played the wag, and Luna pissed, Do these things with Freegrace consist? Celestial Signs serve to express The good man's heavenly mindedness; There are but Twelve of them in Heaven, Yet he'll name one by one eleven; And if you're not in too much haste, 'Tis ten to one, he names the last. You had been horribly put to't, If Sagittarius could not shoot: Aquarius and the Smyrna Fleet, I'll swear, a very good conceit. But, Doctor, let us know, why will ye Thus vex yourself at William Lily? 'Tis true, he could not find it out, That March would bring all this about; But on that day you well might gather That there would be some change of weather: And change of weather in a Nation Portends a kind of alteration. This favour, you do say, did come Fragrant and full of all perfume, Like Eastern Spices (it should seem) This had done rarely in a Theme. To the next Column— let us see How you discourse His MAJESTY. Where every solemn Epithet Does look like Grace before you eat, Which being said, as rudely you Do take the Boldness to fall to, With Rhymes most reverently sent About Pope Clement's Fundament, And Puns that would provoke the hate Of any under Graduate. Peter Non-con (it seems) must pray, And Judas Church must take the Pay. Some angry men would call him rude Ass, That calls the Church of England Judas, You'll be no Bishop, nor no Curate, 'Tis only Minister that you're at. Minister! It sounds, methinks, Like Pastor Clark of Bennet Fynks. These Favours which the King doth heap Upon your Head, hath made you leap. And since ye have found your feet again, The Gout's got up into your Brain: If capering be so fine a thing, Prithee come over for the King. Your humble Servant, OBEDIAH. Ill Painters when they make a Sign Either of Talbot or of Swine, To satisfy all Persons rogant, That they might make a Hog or Dog on't; Do never think it any shame To underwrite the Creature's Name. WILD made some Verses you must know, ITER BOREALE is below. THE RAMBLE. WHile Duns were knocking at my Door, I lay in Bed with reeking Whore, With Back so weak and P— so sore, You'd wonder, I roused my do, and laced her Gown, I pined her Whisk, and dropped a Crown, She pist, and then I drove her down, Like Thunder. From Chamber than I went to dinner, I drank small Beer like mournful Sinner, And still I thought the Devil in her Clitoris, I sat at Muskats in the dark, I heard a Tradesman and a Spark, An Attorney and a Lawyer's Clerk, Tell Stories From thence I went, with muffled Face, To the Duke's House, and took a place, In which I spewed, may't please his Grace, Or Highness; Should I been hanged I could not choose But laugh at Whores that drop from Stews, Seeing that Mistress Margaret— So fine is, When Play was done, I called a Link, I heard some paltry pieces chink Within my Pockets, how d'ye think I employed 'em? Why, Sir, I went to Mistress Spering, Where some were cursing, others swearing, Never a Barrel better Herring, per fidem, Seven's the main, 'tis Eight, God dam'me, 'Twas six, said I, as God shall sa ' me, Now being true you could not blame me so saying, Sa ' me! quoth one, what Shamaroon Is this, has begged an Afternoon Of's Mother, to go up and down A playing? This was as bad to me as killing, Mistake not Sir, said I, I'm willing, And able both, to drop a shilling, Or two Sir: Goda'mercy then, said Bully Hec— With Whiskers stern, and Cordubeck Pinned up behind, his scabby Neck To show Sir. With mangled fist he grasped the Box, Giving the Table bloody knocks, He throws— and calls for Plague and Pox T' assist him; Some twenty shillings he did catch, he'd like t'have made a quick dispatch, Nor could, Time's Register, my Watch Have missed him. As Luck would have it, in came Will, Perceiving things went very ill, Quoth he, ye add better go and swill Canary, We steered our course to Dragon Green, Which is in Fleetstreet to be seen, Where we drank Wine— not foul— but clean contrary. Our Host, yclept Thomas Hammond, Presented slice of Bacon Gammon, Which made us swallow Sack as Salmon Drink water, Being o'er-warmed with last debauch, I grew as drunk as any Roch, When hot-bak'd-Wardens did approach, Or later, We broke the Glasses out of hand, As many Oaths I'd at command As Hastings, Sabin, Sunderland, Or Ogle, Then I cried up Sir Henry Vane, And swore by God I would maintain Episcopacy was too plain A juggle. But oh! the damned confounded Fate Attends on drinking Wine so late, I drew my Sword on honest Kate O'th' Kitchen, Which H—'s Wife would not endure, I told her tho' she looked demure, She came but lately I was sure From Bitching. A Club there was in t'other Room, I bolted in, being known to some, Such men are not in Christendom For jesting, They use a plain familiar stile, Appearing friendly all the while, Yet never part without a Broil Intestine. The first as Steward did appear, A strange conceited Barrister, Who on all Matters will infer His Reading, A Band had on, that's very plain, A Velvet Coat, a shining Cane, Some Law, less Wit, and not a grain Of Breeding. The Company were in a fit Of talking News about Maestricht, How that the Prince's leaving it Was sudden, Quoth he, (because they should say That he knew less of this than they) Just such a case I read this day In Plowden. An angry Captain that was there, Could Indignation not forbear, Zounds, says he, did Man ere hear Such Nonsense? We talk of Sieges, Camps, and Forts, This Fool's a keeping Country Courts, With musty Law and dull Reports, Damned long since, Go bolt your Cases at the Fire, From Plowden, Perkins, Rastal, Dyer, Such heavy stuff does rather tyre Than please us: Tell not us of Issue Male, Of Simple Fee, and Special Tail, Of Feosments, Judgements, Bills of Sale, And Leases. Can you discourse of Hand-Granadoes, Of Sally-Ports and Ambuscadoes, Of Counterscarps and Pallizadoes, And Trenches, Of Bastions, blowing up of Mines, Or of Communication Lines, Or can you guests the great Designs The French has? The Barrister began to start To hear such bloody terms of Art, And did desire with all his heart A Farewell; Till younger Member of the House, Resenting this as an Abuse, Thought it convenient to espouse His Quarrel. This was a spruce young Squire that Knew the true Manage of the Hat, And every morning tied Cravat With Project: One that was sure he knew the Town, To men of Fringe and Feather known, Mongst whom all Law he would disown, And Logic. Captain, quoth he, I'll tell you thus: You are mistaken much in us, With dint of Sword we can discuss; 'Tis true Sir, You trailed a Pike, or some such thing, In Holland, here you huff and ding: And all the Town (forsooth) must ring Of you, Sir. I can remember you at Lambs, Whither you'd come with forty shams; And swore you would renounce all Games But Tennis: Last night (such luck ne'er man had yet) You played with Countess at Picquet, And that she did (by Jesus) get Twelve Guinnies; Nay worse— just parting with my Lord, He fancied much your Silver Sword, And you wear his not worth a Turd— — A Bauble; But for the Hilt he's like to pay, For you will have his Iron Grey: A swifter Nag is not this day In stable. And all the great design of this Is but to borrow half a Piece, Or be excused (if Ready miss) From Clubbing: The Captain swelled, yet did not know Whether the Youth would fight or no, Or if 'twere safe to give the Foe A drubbing. Company's here, and for their sake, Quoth he, some other time I'll take, For I did never love to make A Bustle, Even when you please, quoth Younker, then I'm every Evening to be seen Amongst witty Coffee-drinkers in Street Russel. One that was Doctor, Rook, and Quack, With whom the Captain used to snack, Because he'd make the first attack On Bubble. Did think it fit to do him right, Although he knew he would not fight, Yet Cully he would sore affright And trouble. Therefore the Captain's part he took; Home Lad, quoth he, unto your Book, If Letters fail, Go Bully-rock The Carrier, For here you must not vent your stuff, We understand you well enough: You must not think to rant and huff A Warrior. I knew when Animal and Ens Was once the chief of your pretence, But now you think y'ave sprucer Sense And Knowledge. When first this Town ye arrived unto, The only Bu'sness ye add to do Was to inquire out those that knew Your College. Certainly Mortal never saw A thing so pert, so dull, so raw, And yet 'twould put a Case in Law, If they would, Than it began to visit Plays, And on the Women it would gaze, And looked like Love in a Maze, Or a Wood Into Fop-corner you would get, And use a strange obstreperous Wit, Not any quiet to the Pit Allowing: And when my Lord came in, you'd spy, If toward you he cast an Eye, YE had lucky opportunity Of bowing, At last you got a swinging Clap, Which ran upon you like a Tap, And lay for Cure of this mishap At Tooting, Then you writ Letters of Advice To Parent, for some fresh supplies, Pretending to the exercise Of Mooting: At length you understood a die, Carry'ing in Fob variety Of Goads, of Bars, of Flats, of High And Low-Dyce. But when you hear the fatal doom, That Father shall remand you home, It hardly will appear you come From Studies. The Youth was just a throwing Glass Of Wine into the Doctor's Face, When Barrister took Heart of Grace, And courage: Doctor, says he, you are a Cheat, A greater Knave walks not the Street, A verrier Quack one shall not meet In our Age. Doctors of Physic we indeed Do most abominably need: If you are one, that scarce can read A Ballad, You served a Doctor,— true, from whom You stole Receipts, being his Groom, Or waiting on him in his Room, As Valet. On Servingmen you used to cut, Giving 'em the high Game at Putskie, And made the Fellows still run out Their wages, With Chamberlain you quit old scores, Ruin the Tapster at all Fours, And still observe the Carrier's hours, And Stages. T' Apothecary next you go, To whom your stolen Receipts you show, That y'ave no Learning he does know, And small Parts: Yet for Advantage does proclaim You as the eldest Son of Fame, And swears your Cures have got a Name In all Parts. Then take your Lodgings at his House, With care and secrecy to chouse Those Fools incurable, that thus Are minded, If y'are desired to write a Bill, Your Eyes have a defluxion still, That if you do but touch a Quill, You're blinded. Amongst gilded Books on shelves you squeeze Old Galen and Hypocrates, For such learned men (say you) as these I'll stickle. Tho' what they were you cannot tell, Giants they might have been as well, Or two Arch-Angels, Gabriel, And Mich'el. In short, you are an empty sauce— Before this word quite out he draws, The Doctor struck him cross the Jaws, God bless us! The Student then proposed a slap, Which on Quack's best of Eyes did hap, With might and main— on Youth fell Captain Bessus. I'th' Room was Justice Middlesex, Who understanding Statute Lex, Being unwilling to perplex A Riot, Softly as he could speak, did cry, (Which no Body observed but I) My Friends, in Name of Majesty, Be quiet. The Youngster first desired a Truce, Because Cravat from Neck hung loose, Captain, quoth he, your Weapon choose, I'll fight thou: Nay then, thought I, if so it be, You're very likely to agree, There's no Diversion more for me, Good night t'ee. And having now discharged the House, We did reserve a gentle sauce, With which we drank another rouse At the Bar: And good Christians all attend, To Drunkenness pray put an end, I do advise you as a Friend, And Neighbour. For lo! that Mortal here behold, Who cautious was in days of old, Is now become rash, sturdy, bold, And free Sir; For having scaped the Tavern so, There never was a greater Foe, Encountered yet by Pompey, No Nor Caesar. A Constable both stern and dread, Who is from Mustard, Brooms and Thread, Preferred to be the Brainless Head— O' th' People, A Gown ' had on by Age made grey, A Hat too, which as Folk do say, Is surnamed to this very day A Steeple; His Staff, which knew as well as he, The Business of Authority, Stood bolt upright at sight of me; Very true 'tis, Those lousy Curs that hither come To keep the King's Peace safe at home, Yet cannot keep the Vermin from Their Cutis. Stand! stand! says one, and come before— You lie, said I, like a Son of a Whore, I can't, nor will not stand,— that's more— D'ye mutter? You watchful Knaves, I'll tell what, Yond Officer i'th' Maypole Hat, I'll make as drunk as any Rat, Or Otter. The Constable began to swell, Although he liked the motion well: Quoth he, my Friend, this I must tell Ye clearly, The Pestilence you can't forget, Nor the Dispute with Dutch, nor yet The dreadful Fire, that made us get Up early. From which, quoth he, this I infer, To have a Body's Conscience clear, Excelleth any costly cheer, Or Banquets; Besides, (and i'faith I think he wept) Were it not better you had kept Within your Chamber, and have slept In Blankets: But I'll advise you by and by, A Pox of all advice, said I, Your Janissaries look as dry As Vulcan: Come, here's a shilling, fetch it in, We come not now to talk of Sin, Our Business must be to begin A full Can. At last, I made the Watchmen drunk, Examined here and there a Punk, And then away to Bed I slunk To hide it, God save the Queen,— but as for you, Who will these Dangers not eschew, I'd have you all go home and spew As I did. The Lawyer's Demurrer argued. By the Loyal ADDRESSERS (the Gentlemen) of Grays-Inne, against an ORDER made by the Bench of the said Society. To the Tune of Packington's Pound, Or, The Round-head Revived. I. DEar Friends, and good People, with Gowns, and with none; I'll tell you a Tale of a parcel of whigs, The Spawn of some Rebels in year Forty One, Who, like their damned Sires, pursue their Intrigues: It occasions amazing, That some Members of Gray's Inn, (Raising: Turn Tail to their King, from whom they'd their You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever, Who refuse an Address made to your Lawgiver. II. By a musty old Custom, called Order of Pension. Giving Thanks to the King was judged an Affray, And strait they Decreed, 'twas just to Disbench One, (S) For showing himself more Loyal than they: So thus the Dom. Com. Speak loudly for some, But propose the King's Interest the word shall be Mum. You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever; Who refuse an Address made to your Lawgiver. III. Men of the Sword they say make a Division, (S) And militant Lawyers their Wisdoms disown, So that from the King to have had a Commission, Does not consist with a tattered old Gown: These men make pretence, Both to Law and to Sense, Yet say the Law's broke, if you fight for your Prince, You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever, Who refuse an Address made to your Lawgiver. IV. From th' Ancients (they urge) this Order comes out, And therefore expect a ready Obedience, But how can that be, since their Mastership's dote, And they themselves have forgotten Allegiance: Therefore let's pray, Both by Night and by Day, That they may Conform, and then we'll Obey. You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever, Who refuse an Address made to your Lawgiver. V. But would it not move a Heart made of Flint, To think that a House must continue no longer, Since the grave Gubernators refused to consent, Except 'twere proposed by a Bar-Iron-monger; (C) Or else by a Brewer, (O) Who serves them with Beer, So small, that they're filled with Suspicion and Fear. You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever; Who refuse an Address made to your Lawgiver. VI Now some of the younger disconsolate fry, (G) As if they'd been still at— Quaeso Magister; Under such strange Apprehensions did lie, They desired to consult the Chappel-Minister, One of the young men, Would not handle a Pen, For my Lord and my Father won't take me again. You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever, Who refuse an Address made to your Lawgiver. VII. The number of those who refused to subscribe, Are fitly compared to the days of poor Job, Few and Evil— and of a Satanical Tribe, Who scandalise all the rest of the Robe; Those of the Bar-mess, Who cried— No Address, Found their Party of Faction were two to one less: You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever, Who refuse an Address made to your Lawgiver. VIII. Now you have heard of these Lawyer's Demurrer, And how their weak Arguments are overruled, Without all Dispute will think an Abhorrer, Of them and Petitions, are loyally bold. For such Impudence, Both at Bar and at Bench, Proceeds from those Men who their King would Retrench; You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever, Who refuse an Address made to your Lawgiver. The SWORD's Farewell, upon the approach of a Michaelmas-Term. HEalth to my Friends, a terror to my Foes, Revenging Wrongs, impatient of blows, Courageous Metal, truest of all Steels, Sure to thy Master, always at his heels; Ready to jog him by the Elbow, when He is confronted by the Sons of Men. Soul of my Weapon, thou shalt take thy Rest; And acquiesce within thy Sable Nest, One Month must fix thee in a certain Station, Thy Master's Term must prove thine own Vacation: Till that's expired (his Honour be thy Pawn) Though here thou'rt hanged yet thou shalt not be drawn, Thou shalt not now too late at Night appear, T'incense the King's Almighty Officer, Nor vex his Watch, lest by his great Command, They knock thy Master down, and bid him stand: Nor fly at Mortal wight, though ne'er so tall, Who passing by Surrenders not the Wall, Nor push at Bailiffs stout denouncing War: We know no Sergeants now but at the Bar. They're fixed (but with such movable devotion,) Come when you will, you'll find them in a Motion. Not willing any Man should be oppressed, 'Tis only Judgement that they would Arrest. Thou shalt not now be bare, when Hector clothes, And backs the Lie with rag● 〈◊〉 swelling Oaths, Now such great words admit a Period, He must speak only truth, so help him God; The Style is changed, (the Season so will have it) If he will swear, 't must be by Affidavit. Thou must not now come forth in view, as once, To fright a Reverend Bawd, and build a Sconce, Nor make a Drawer stand all Night to Skink Full cups, and watch to fill thy Master Drink, To rubisie his Cheeks, though when he will, He can take out a Fieri Facias still. Or Precedents (if common Writs do fail,) Direct to me a special Writ of Ail●. (Whilom at such a Sign convened the Wits; But now no Sign is known except for Writs) Thou must forbear a while at Inn and Inn, IT outbrave whom thou suspectest like to win: No jogging chance must now blind mortal Eyes, We'll find fresh Bail of Men and not of Dice. Pray for an Action now, and not an Ace, Let every Deuce Produce a Debtor's case: And in the stead of every Trey that's thrown, So many Trials may we call our own. To cast a Quatre now we must forget, And call to mind a Quare Impedit. Each Cinque a Capi●s, and for every Size Wish that a Scire Facias may arise. Now we must think Hazard brings little gain, Throw a Mandamus rather than a Main; On certainties 'tis safest to rely, More's gained by Bill, than gotten by the By. To Playhouses thou now shalt bid adieu, Although the Farce be gay enough and new, ne'er before Acted, brings thee not among Those that sell Two and sixpence for a Song. No Idle Scenes fit busy times as these, Instead of Plays we now converse with Pleas; And 't' thought the last do savour more of Wit, For those have Plots to spend, but these to get. (Give way, Great Shakespeare, and immortal Ben, To Do and Roe, John Den and Richard Fen.) Farewell (dearSword) thou'rt proved, and laid aside; Thy youngest Brother, Penknife, must be tried; That thou art best, needs but a thin dispute, Thou woundest skin of Man, he skin of Brute, 'Tis pity such an Urchin long should Reign To raze a Line, when thou canst prick a Vein. 'Tis thou canst make such horrid bloody work Will fright the Pope, and scare the biggest Turk; Thy very name will make a Cripple run Swift as a Courtier from a City Dunn. Now Tom (in Acres rich, is come to Town) To change the Title of a Yeoman's Son, Thou bid'st him kneel, and stroak'st his empty Skull, And mak'st him rise Sir Thomas Worshipful: Thus thou mak'st special Knights of common men, When he hath made his best 'tis but a Pen; Yet such a Pen, that when't has learned its Trade, It may undo the Knight which thou hast made. That thou art monstrous ●aliant is too certain, For instance this, in fine (as saith Sir Martin) thoust killed— But soft, some wiser are than some, I should Marr-all if I discover whom. In point of Honour this, (deny't who can) Thou never turnedst thy Back to any Man: The short and long on't's thus, I'll safely say, Though thou shouldst break, thou wouldst not run away: Yet 'twould not wound thy credit long, for when The Term is done, I'll set thee up again. Cedant ARma togae, concedat laurea linguae. Wrote in the Banqueting-house in Grayes-Inn-Walks. HERE Damsel sits disconsolate, Cursing the Rigour of her Fate, Till Squire Insipid having spied her, taketh Heart of Grace, and squats beside her. He thus accosts,— Madam, By Gad You are at once both fair and sad. She innocently does submit To all the Tyrants of his Wit. The Bargain's made, she first is led To the three Tuns, and so to Bed. But yonder comes a graver Fop, With heavy Shoe, and Boot-hose-top; To him repairs a virtuous Sir, Whose Question is, What News does stir? With Face askrew, he than declares The probability of Wars: And gives an ample satisfaction Of English, French, and Dutch Transaction. Thus chattering out three hours' Tale, They tread to th' Magpie, to drink Ale. Death and the old man. A Paraphrase upon one of Aesop's Fables. A Poor old man, who had by cleaving wood, Full threescore years procured a livelihood; He never ran the various risks of Fate, Each day his shoulders bore an equal weight, Till now at last of Age he did complain, And thought each Load did weigh as much again. One Evening coming home he made a stop, And wanting strength, he let his Burden drop; Then sat upon it, with a proud neglect, And ne'er till now did on himself reflect. What Being's this called Man, and what am I? One of the Drudges of Mortality. I've cut down Wood enough, now Death attend, And to my Life and Labour put an end: With that the Grisly Skelleton appeared, And the old man was from his Senses scared: Quoth Death, Old fellow, if you'd speak with me, I'll give a period to your misery: Oh No, sweet Sir, quoth the amazed Grandsire, I wish it not, as I'm a living man Sir; I only did desire, because I'm weak, And cannot lift this Burden to my Neck, That you'll be pleased, to lend a helping hand, And I am yours, hereafter, to command. Moral. Silly old Wretch, who living art oppressed, Yet dar'st not venture on Eternal rest. Upon the Death of Edward Story, Esq Master of the Pond, and Principal of Bernards-Inn. LET all that read these Lines in Tears be drowned, Since Story's dead, the Master of the Pond; What idle Tales fantastic Poets feign About God Neptune, and his stormy Main, That his Dominion's great, 'tis no such matter, What great Command can there be over Water? To Story's power 'twere Nonsense to compare it, For he was Master of a Pond of Claret: And he this Scarlet Sea, like Moses,— did To all his Club of Israelites divide: And when too late at night some came in dozed, The Pond o'er them, as o'er th' Egyptians closed. This Pond was Helicon, where Story sat Like mighty Phoebus, in his Chair of State: His Tongue made Music like Apollo's Lyre, Which when he used, he silenced, all the Choir; He had his Muses too, but more than Nine, Besides, they're of the Gender Masculine: Of different Subjects every Muse did sing, Which they from john's, or Grays-Inn Walks did bring. Some Foreign Matters sang, another Muse, In humble Style, sang of Domestic News; Some sang of bloody Plots against the Throne And Government; another sang of none; Till by some sign his pleasure was expressed, Then all were quiet while he told a Jest. And as this witty Club he kept in awe, He headed too, a Body of the Law; Yet for all that, as skilful as he was, Death brought his Action without showing Cause. And ran him to the oulawry with such speed, He had not time enough to supersede. With all Mankind Death must his Interest clear, But to call in the Principle's severe. Upon the Memory of Mr. John Sprat, late Steward of Grayes-Inn. CAN any man in reason think it fit That Death should eat a Steward at a Bit? And in one long Vacation should devour, What, in all Conscience, might have served for four? Had it been Termtime he'd have taken course To have repelled both him and all his Force. Villainous Death! he would have placed a Chop With every Dart that thou hast in thy Shop: Thou durst not then attempt him (meagerGlutton) When he and's men were armed with Beef & Mutton; Thou wert afraid to nibble at John Sprat While Barrel-Cod and Whiting were in date, His Voice disbanded thee, and all thy Troop, When gracefully he gave the word, Serve up. 'Twas cowardly to take him, when Raw Fruits, When Turnips, Cucumbers, and Cabbage Roots Had chilled his Blood: he had defied being sick, Had he survived the time they call Tres Mich '. But why had not thy hungry Maw been eased, If Tosborough or Taylor thou hadst seized; Those single parts of Middle-piece and Rump, Insatiate thou! to fall upon the Chump. Since busy Sprat (our Lives Trustee) is dead, The Bottled Joys of Norfolk too are fled: The Thetford-Ale, which won the hearts of Youth, And made them chant his praise with open mouth: Whom afterwards he'd greet in friendly sort, Your Chamber, Sir, I think's in Coney Court. When will't be opportune— to bring my Bill? D'slife, ne'er talk of that man; when you will. Then he (good man) who always knew his time, To Chamber-door would in the Morning climb. Now trusty Sprat is gone, there will not come So Generous a Steward in his Room: He would in younger Brothers still confide: Whose Parents do in Foreign Lands reside: He entertained them well; yet did not know Whether their Friends were living there or no. They scorned to come as Commoners to eat, But took it as the Noble Steward's Treat. Ah cruel Hag! (though Muse be out of breath, Yet see! she ' I have one parting blow at Death) Were there not equal Standards of the Hall, That thou didst call Sprat in a private Call? And, which is worse, by Tyrannous permission, He did go out before he did petition. Some Precedents 'tis likely we shall find Upon the Roll of Commons left behind; Which his surviving Friends (without a Bribe, It is believed) are willing to transcribe: Therefore 'tis hoped (lest Youth should be perplexed) That his Executors may Go out next. His Epitaph. BEneath this Stone, Reader, there lieth flat Upon his Back the trusty Steward Sprat: Disturb him not, for if he chance to stir, He'll say, When shall I wait upon you, Sir? FINIS.