« EelmineJätka »
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,
Goès 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,
Remember the new Thanksgiving;
Isaac and his wife, now dig for your life,
Or shortly you'll dig for your living.
A SECOND WESTERN WONDER. You heard of that Wonder, of the lightning and Which made the lie so much the louder: [thunder, Now list to another, that miracle's brother, Which was done with a firkin of powder, O what a damp it struck thro’ the camp! But as for honest Sir Ralph,
blew him to the Vies without beard or eyes, But at least three heads and a half.
When out came the book which the newsmonger From the preaching lady's letter,
(took Where, in the first place, stood the conqueror's face, Which made it show 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,
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
For the laws, not your cause, you dai loath 'em,
Lest Essex should start, and play the second part
Of the worshipful Sir John Hotham.
To thee, dear Tom! myself addressing,
Most queremoniously confessing
That I of late have been compressing.
Destitute of my wonted gravity
I perpetrated arts of pravity
In a contagious concavity.
Making efforts with all my puissance,
For some venereal rejouissance,
I got (as one may say) a nuisance.
Kil. Come leave this fooling, Cousin Pooley, 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 propagation,
Kır.' Then, Cousin, (as I guess the matter,)
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 rether end-a-
Whether it pullen be or shanker,
Cordee, and crooked like an anchor;
Your cure too costs you but a spanker.
Or tho' your piss be sharp as razor,
Do but confer with Dr. Frazer,
He'll make your running nag a pacer.
Nor shall you need your silver-quick, Sir;
Take Mongo Murrey's black elixir,
And in a week it cures your p-, Sir.
But you that are a man of learning,
So read in Virgil, so discerning,
Methinks t'wards fifty should take warning,
Once in a pit* you did miscarry;
That danger might have made one wary :
This pit is deeper than the quarry,
Pool. Give me not such disconsolation,
Ilaving now cur'd my inflammation,
To ulcerate my reputation.
Tho' it may gain the ladies' favour,
Yet it may raise an evil' savour
Upon all grave and staid behav'our.
And I will rub my mater pia,
To find a rhyme to gonorrhea,
And put it in my litania.
* Hunting near Paris, he and his horse fell into a quarry.