THE IRISH footmen's POETRY. OR GEORGE THE runner, AGAINST HENRY THE WALKER, In defence of John the Swimmer. Being A Sur-rejoinder to the Rejoinder of the rusty Ironmonger, who endeavoured to defile the clear streams of the Water-Poet's Helicon. The Author GEORGE RICHARDSON, an Hibernian Pedestrian. Printed in the year 1641. TO GEORGE RICHARDSON HIS current FRIEND IN any part of the King's Dominions. NO more (friend George) shall we see Thee marching in the infantry, Now, thou hast gotten greater force, And mounted on the winged Horse, After no chariot thou shalt run Henceforth, but that of Phaeton. H. F. To GEORGE RICHARDSON the Pedestrian Poet. WHen first thy lines I read, I did admire Them like the learning of Promethean fire; For he, who knows thee have so little Art Could think that nature should so much impart To raise thee to the height to vindicate Th'Aquatique Poet, from the furious hate Of weavers, tinkers, (through the nose that whistle) Ironmongers, and Brethren of the bristle? Now trust me George, this work deserves such praise, That not to us but unto after days 'T will say thou wer`t a Poet of a maw, As great, as thy great namesake of the Law. W. B. To my ingenuous Countryman the author. 'TIs stranger you would go swift paced steps forsak And rest a stranger's task to undertake Doubtless you mean to ride hence forth; this matter, Deserves a horse, if not to ride by water. T. LL. GEORGE RICHARDSON the author to the most ingenious aquatique Poet Mr: JOHN TAYLOR. SIr though a stranger to yourself, your worth Is known to me, by what you have set forth; And though I cannot judge, yet I admire The lively flames of your Phaebean fire; Which wise-men do approve, none do deprave, But such as know not fancy, as this slave; Rusty, as his old iron, dull, as stone, Or th'anvill, that his ware is wrought upon. Who stupid slave (by what he never writ But bought for's money) your undoubted wit, Would call in question, Sir, my infant muse (Seeing this slave persist in his abuse; And knowing, 'twould a great dishonour be For you to match your ingenuity With his notorious folly,) speedily Did undertake to make a swift reply. Which (Soon as my employment did allow Me time) in two hours' space, I did run through. Upon the title of Walker's book. BEhold the Master piece of Walker's wit, Fancying his friend the devil here at shit. Who first with malice did inspire his breast, And then his first books matter did suggest. But 'tis some silly fiend (as sure as day) The same perhaps was made an ass i'th' play Long since, but I'm deceived, there's much brave wit I'th' play, but Walker's books have none of it. What are they fit for then, that only rail? nought, but to wipe his shitten devil's tail. 1. His view of the transformed devil. What wondrous raptures this our Author here Doth dream of wine, who hardly e'er drank beer, Or any thing so mighty Horace's lyre Tells us what drink doth most, what least inspire? 2. His pedigree. A Monstrous Birth! sprung from the sheaves of wheat, Treshed out he should have said, for sure the great Father of this brave spark some tough blade was, That cudgeled the corn, and slashed the grass; For such his base demeanour speaks him, I Do not detract from the old family Of Bredsall all this while, nor do I know Whether he be extracted thence, or no. Oft 'tis of worthy families the fate, To send some Children forth degenerate. But by his manners he should rather be Of that Ape carrier's affinity Hight Richard Walker, but called Cherry-lickam, Whom with his well taught-beast I saw at Wickam Doing rare tricks, with many a lofty strain For England's King, but clapped his Arse at Spain. Told money, which his Master cannot do; Yet he a Walker is, and Wanderer too. But let's admit our libeler to be Sprung from the wheaten Bredsall family, And that the Golden-sheaves that do belong Unto that family, this ironmonger Er may justly challenge for his own, yet he Hath arms, which better fit his quality. The arms of his own achievement. A Gridiron passant, on which lies A libeler doth symbolize A Cart, that doth up Holborn pass, A sable trivet next, we place In chief, which you may easily Conceive, doth Tyburn signify, To seek a Rope we'll not take pains, For worst delinquents hang in chains, Then for supporters, there shall stand Two men as true as steel, in hand They rusty Iron forks shall wield, Thus you may blazonize his shield. 2. His Disposition. IS it not vain? to tax his muse, that writ Of a bad Subject to discover it Unto the heedless World; that when they see, The thing attired in its deformity, They then may loathe it, that before appeared Pleasing to them, before the mist was cleared. Taylor his whore, if rightly understood Deserves much honour, 'twas his country's good That set his muse on work, the rogue set forth In Spanish, is a book of matchless worth. Which honest men approve, he that doth look Awry on it, is Subject of the book. 4. The Encounter. I Know 'tis not your custom, to abuse The people's ears, with fancies of your muse; For where there's no invention, strains of wit Can have no birth, were you endued with it What monsters you'd beget already's known By fathering of these are not your own. But what you publish here, if we admit To be your own, Taylor those works hath writ, That a just Catalogue of them will fill, More leaves, than you have stained with your quill, Leave then your ostentation, time ne'er saw, An Eagle dared to combat by a Daw. 5. His Religion. 6. His hypocrisy. I'Ve made a scrutiny, but cannot find One word in tailor's book shows him inclined To Popery, 'tis true he can't approve Of Brownists, nor the Familists of love, Of Anabaptists, nor of Adamites, Nor those instruct their audience, when the lights Are out, and by their own example too As well as precept, teach them what to do; Though Ir'nmongers or Feltmakers they be, Or cobblers, or what else fraternity. This being all, 'tis straying he not invites Your spleen, that hath described the Adamites, The Brownists conventicle too that writ, But 'tis your envy to brave tailor's wit, He only is accused, although they be Guilty of as much Popery as he. Your faith I do not question, nor will make Much matter of argument, what side you take. But Taylor's guilty of hypocrisy, Because he did comply with misery. A powerful reason! shame to vent such stuff Snuffers are sweeter ware, with unquenched snuff. 7. The Church persecuted by water. A Title (which doth promise at the least, A copious treatise) like that pregnant beast, That traveled with a mountain, yet brought forth A little molehill, see the lesser worth! Of this poor fellow, who can scarce discern A difference, twixt him, did guide the stern Of the great bark oth'Church, and him that near A bigger vessel than an oar did steer. 8. His weakness in judgement NOw I do pity thee, that dares to tax Another's judgemen? when more time 'twill ask Then was to teach the ass to speak, assigned, To render thy dull wits half so refined, As the well-tutered Ape, that's pupil to Thy namesake Walker; yet with much ado Tha've made an Anagram of thine own name, And an AEnigma to thou think'st, what fame? Will not be due to thee? well thou Mayst scoren The dunghill Pamphlets thou setest forth t'adorn With th'honoured subscription of the name, That's graced, with such an heavenly Anagram. 9 His horrible lies. ONe Distichon is all the verse has writ There's just as many faults, as lines in it. 10. My sincerity to England. IF you affirm this with sincerity, I'm confident in it we do agree. 11. His humble Petition. What forward impudence is this? to dare Before those noble Senators to appear Clad in such rags? if aught 'gainst Church or State, He hath offended, with an equal hate I shall pursue him, or transgressed the laws, And made unto himself a guilty cause, Or that it shall appear, in the least word, He hath ●●aduc'd, that loved, and honoured Lord; But if o'th' contrary it shall appear, His conscience and his judgement, were more clear, And that he did nor Church, nor State traduce, Nor that most noble Lord; with least abuse; Then Caesar-like, when Horace did acquit Himself, before him; then, when 'gainst all right, A base officious Tribune did accuse The harmless recreation of his muse; As, that in mystic Hieroglyphickes, he Had plotted 'gainst the State, some teachery; Great Caesar gave the Poet, higher place In's favour, and the Tribune, the disgrace To wear a pair of ass's ears; so now, When these great Senators, on Taylor's brow Read innocence, his merit they shall raise, By giving thee the whip, and him the bays. 12. The Conclusion. ANd now friend Walker this, but to prepare My muse to encounter, if you dare, With a foot-poet, enter in the sand, You, as you have lost by water may by land. POSTSCRIPT. ALthough in Ireland I was born and bred In England's Church I nourished am and fed Therefore let no dull Brownists apprehend That in defence of Popery I contend; I do esteem both Sects as most a cursed But of the twain I think the Brownist worst. FINIS.