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Nay, even so far as undoing will do it,
You have made King Charles himself a poet :
But provoke not his Muse, for all the world knows
Already you have had too much of his prose. '56'
not know, not a fortnight ago,
How they bragg’d of a Western Wonder ?
When a hundred and ten slew five thousand men
With the help of lightning and thunder?
There Hopeton was slain again and again, S
Or else my author did lie ;
With a new Thanksgiving for the dead who areliving,
To God and his servant Chidleigh.
But now on which side was this miracle try'd?
I hope we at last are even;
For Sir Ralph and his knaves are risenfromtheirgraves
To cudgel the clowns of Devon.
And there Stamford came, for his honour was lame
Of the gout three months together ;
But it prov'd, when they fought, but a running gout,
For his heels were lighter than ever.
For now he outruns his arms and his guns,
And leaves all his money behind him.
But they follow after ; unless he takes water,
At Plymouth again they will find him.
What Reading hath cost, and Stamford hath lost,
Goes deep in the Sequestrations ;
These wounds will not heal with your new great seal,
Nor Jepson's declarations.
Now Peters and Case, in your pray’r and grace, 25
Remember the new Thanksgiving ;
Isaac and his wife, now dig for your life,
Or shortly you'll dig for your living,
You heard of that Wonder, of the lightning and
Which made the lie so much the louder : [thunder,
Now list to another, that iniracle's brother,
Which was done with a firkin of powder.
what a damp it struck thro' the camp
But as for honest Sir Ralph,
It blew biin to the Vies without beard or eyes,
But at least three heads and a half.
When out came the book which the newsmonger took
From the preaching lady's letter,
Where, in the first place, stood the conqueror's face,
Which made it shew much the better.
But now, without lying, you may paint him flying,
At Bristol they say you may find him ;
Great William the Con. so fast he did run, 15
That he left half his name behind him.
And now came the post, save all that was lost;
But, alas ! we are past deceiving
By a trick so stale, or else such a tale
Might amount to a new Thanksgiving.
This made Mr. Case with a pitiful face
In the pulpit to fall a-weeping ;
Tho' his mouth utter'd lies, truth fell from his eyes,
Which kept the Lord Mayor from sleeping.
Now shut up shops, and spend your last drops as
For the laws, not your cause, you that loath 'em,
Lest Essex should start, and play the second part
Of the worshipful Sir John Hotham.
BETWEEN SIR JOHN POOLEY
AND MR. THOMAS KILLIGREW.
To thee dear Tom! myself addressing,
Most queremoniously confessing
That I of late have been compressing.
Making efforts with all my puissance;
For soine venereaf rejouissance,
I got (as one may say) a nuisance.
Kil. Come leave this fooling, Cousin Pooley, 10 And in plain English tell us truly Why under th' eyes you look so bluely?
'Tis not your hard words will avail you; Your Latin and your Greek will fail you, Till you speak plainly what doth ail you.
When young you led a life monastic,
And wore a vest ecclesiastic;
Now in your age you grow fantastic.
POOL. Without more preface or formality,
A female of malignant quality
Set fire on label of mortality;
The fæces of which ulceration
Brought o'er the helm a distillation
Thro' th' instrument of
KIL. Then, Cousin, (as I guess the matter) 25 You have been an old fornicator, And now are shot 'twixt wind and water.
Your style has such an ill complexion,
That from your breath I fear infection,
That ev’n your mouth needs an injection.
You that were once so economic,
Quitting the thrifty style laconic;
Turn prodigal in macaronic.
Yet be of comfort, I shall send-a
Person of knowledge, who can mend-a
Disaster in your nether end-a--
Whether it pullen be or shanker,
Cordee, and crooked like an anchor ;
Your cure too costs you but a spanker.