A Ballad on the Giants in the Physic Garden in OXFORD, who have been breeding feet as long as Garagantua was Teeth.  
To the Tune of the Counter Scuffle.  

WHat is our Oxford Africa?  
It teemeth Monsters every day  
About Eastbridge which is the way  
To Whately.   

In Boberts' Garden there are two,  
Which lately had nor foot nor ,  
Which now have both in public view  
most stately.   

That these are Giants you may guess,  
Byth' Foot as well as Hercules,  
And as by Talons nothing less  
Than th' Lyon.   

They're Grim as any dog of Hell,  
Though heads so many we cant tell,  
For only two (and yet that's well)  
We spy on.   

Two heads are better fare than one  
In any Consultation,  
But these don't join but fix like stone,  
Their Noddles.   

They speak by Figures or by signs  
Without Communication lines,  
Or any Books of deep Divines  
New Moddles.   

Without th'Library or the place  
At the South Port, where Bacon's Face  
A Friar of our English Race  
Did venture.   

On that men call, bless us! Black Art,  
By which he made the clowns to start,  
And drove some of them with a F—  
To th'Center.   

This Roger (so his Forename shows)  
These heads did make, with Copper Nose  
And taught them language that out goes  
Our knowledge.   

But how I wonder came their Feet  
So green, so great, so thick, so neat  
A hundred come them for to greet  
From College.   

Nay one from Ricot of late days  
Who 'mong th● Peers may wear the Bays  
These verdant Gallants to their praise  
Did visit.   

Whereby these Giants credit got  
And he that late the Poem wrote,  
But 'tis 〈◊〉 Ballad, is it not?  
Who'll miss it.   

Our Giants are familiar  
With Simpling Tribe, and minister  
The Plant, Tres-humble Serviteur.  
And Physic   

Of Agrimony, Sage, and Rue  
And garden Rhabarb, Dosed true,  
If 〈…〉  
By 〈◊〉   

They guard a Book full of such Plants  
And fright out snails, locusts, and Aunts  
And any vermin foul that haunts  
These places.   

Apples they do preserve as good,  
As in Hesperian Orchard stood,  
Which make lambs-wool 〈…〉  
  

All sorts of Cherries do grow here,  
And strawberries frequent appear,  
Conceive I pray at time o'th' year,  
For Winter   

As well as Time, will nip sweet Face  
And spoil those Colours Ladies Grace  
When that Grim fire doth set his Mace  
Or Print there.   

Here's medc'nall herbs for Galenists,  
Not powders for our new Chemists  
Who are lame Vulcan's fiery Priests  
And hammer   

Spirits out of the simple leaves  
And vigorous dust, which Jesuit gives  
Far worse the patiented oft receives  
From's Gammer.   

Alders-gate street doth not afford  
Such heaps of herbs for bed, or board,  
Nor piles of Salads, sauces stored  
For belly,   

Nor Westminster, nor yet the Strand  
Nor any Garden of the Land  
Such herbs as come through jacob's hand  
Can sell ye.   

Besides the marvels of Peru,  
Of most delicious various hue  
No Painter can with pencil do  
Such colours.   

There's stems of Alo's like Whale-bone,  
And teeth like Swordfish every one,  
Yet never yet hurt any one  
Oth' Scholars:   

For Jacob and his Giants will  
Not suffer any thing that's ill  
(Unless it be for purge or pill)  
There growing,   

For all the plants are of his pains,  
He digs, he sets, but heaven raines  
But 'las! he has but little gains  
For's Sowing.   

There is a youth called little Jack  
That shall with working break his back  
(Unless his breakfast he do lack)  
he'll muck it   

Like any ploughman in the field  
Until the ground her fruit do yield,  
So of't with water hath he filled  
His Bucket.   

What would you more than Giants high  
Forbear ye to approach too nigh,  
You'll fright the Lady Dulciny  
TO BOSO.   

And yet that Lady hath a Knight  
That will drink w … ●hen he should li●  
〈…〉 his might  
To do so.   

To all adventures dangerous,  
As the Mill nigh can tell to us,  
This Knight w●●● some times ficrcely rush  
And's Man stern   

There's no av●●ding of that Knight,  
 
 
〈…〉 Lantern.   

Not Faux-like on a black design  
To mirth he only doth incline  
●nd hath a Page, if no Moon shine,  
Attending   

For he'll not carry coals nor light  
Nor yet his Squire, who goes upright  
But yet they are for any wight  
Defending   

Or injured Lady, or Fleeced sheep  
Good lack what Racket they do keep  
And never Eat, nor Drink, nor Sleep  
Till Giant,   

And one-eyd Monsters humbled are  
Unto their feet, which smell most rare,  
With making constant Feud, and war  
o Fie on't!   

What though these Giant's harnessed be  
Completely too, That's Cap a Pe,  
And can with Feet deal lustily  
In boxes.   

Yet Don Quixot is armed also  
With brass helmet of Mambrino  
he'll suffer them no harm to do  
To's doxes:   

So that 'tis prudence to induce  
The Knight and Giants to a Truce,  
That we the Garden still may use  
In quiet,   

And drink what springs from Scurvy grass  
(Without making a scurvy face,)  
So shall we keep this pleasant place  
From Riot   

And filthy Routs which spoil soft joys,  
The sports of the mad Girls, and Boys,  
When they are in their merry Toys  
And Ranting   

But Bobert is a sober soul  
And watches like an Athens Owl  
To see of mirth no lawful jowl  
Be wanting.   

But if the Poet, as is meet,  
For these his pains you do not greet  
He thus takes penance in a sheet  
To please you.   

In Print when he doth next appear  
He hopes to make it plain and clear  
That of your Melancholy fear  
he'll ease you,   

If not he'll lay another gin  
And try to catch you once therein  
To put you on a merry pin  
And jolly:   

If then he fails his Badger rhymes  
Shall to the tune of Carfax Chimes.  
Sing Nought ●●●l please the present times  
But Folly.    
FINIS. 1662.