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- Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry - 5/10 -

With Mr. _Speaker's_ Letter, To fetch Folks in, and find Folks out, Which Fools believe without dispute, Because they know no better.


With borrow'd Ships, and hir'd Men, The _Irish_ to reduce, Who will be paid the Lord knows when; 'Tis hop'd whene'er you want again, You'll think of that Abuse.


Ye laid sham Taxes on our Malt, On Salt, on Glass, on Leather, To wheedle Coxcombs in to lend; And like true Cheats, you dropt that Fund, And sunk them all altogether.


And now y'are piously enclin'd The Needy to employ; You'd better much your time bestow To pay neglected Debts you owe, Which makes them multiply.


Against Prophaneness you declar'd, And then the Bill rejected; And when the Arguments appear'd, They were the worst that e'er were heard, And best that we expected.


'Twas voted once that for the Sin Of Whoring Men should die all; But then it was wisely thought again. The House would quickly grow so thin, They durst not stand the Tryal.


King _Charles_ the Second knew your aim, And Places gave, and Pensions; And had King _William's_ Mony flown, His Majesty would soon have known Your Consciences Dimensions.


But he has wisely given you up To work your own desires, And laying Arguments aside, As things that have in vain been try'd, To Fasting calls, and Prayers.

CHORUS-- Your Hours are choicely employ'd, Your Petitions lie all on the Table, With Funds Insufficient, And Taxes Deficient, And Deponents innumerable. For shame leave this wicked Employment, Reform both your Manners and Lives; You were never sent out To make such a Rout, Go home, and look after your W----s.


A Butcher's Son's Judge Capital Poor Protestants for to enthral, And England to enslave, Sirs; Lose both our Laws and Lives we must When to do Justice we entrust So known an arrant Knave, Sirs.

Some hungry Priests he did once fell, With mighty Strokes sent them to Hell, Sent presently away, Sirs; Would you know why? The Reason's plain They had no _English_ nor _French_ coin To make a longer stay, Sirs.

The Pope to Purgatory sends Who neither Money have nor Friends, In this he's not alone, Sirs; For our Judge to Mercy's no inclin'd, 'Less Gold change Conscience and his Mind, You are infallibly gone, Sirs.

His Father once exempted was Out of all Juries [6]; why? because He was a Man of Blood, Sirs; And why the Butcherly Son (forsooth) Shou'd now be Jury and Judge both Cannot be understood, Sirs.

The good Old Man with Knife and Knocks Made harmless Sheep and stubborn Ox Stoop to him in his Fury; But the brib'd Son, like greasie Oaph, Kneels down and worships Golden Calf, And so do's all the Jury.

Better thou'dst been at Father's Trade, An honest Livelihood to have made, In lamp'ring Bulls with Collars, Than to thy Country prove unjust, First sell, and then betray, thy Trust, For so many hard Rix-Dollars.

Priest and Physician thou didst save From Gallows, Fire, and from the Grave, For which we can't endure thee; The one can ne'er absolve thy Sins, And th'other (tho' he now begins) Of Knav'ry ne'er can cure thee.

But lest we all shou'd end his Life, And with a keen-whet Chopping-Knife In a Thousand pieces cleave him, Let the Parliament first him undertake, They'll make the Rascal stink at stake, And so, like a Knave, let's leave him.

[Footnote 6: By an old law, butchers and surgeons were unable to serve on juries.]




When B----t [7] perceiv'd the beautiful Dames, Who flock'd to the Chapel of Holy St. _James_, On their Lovers the kindest Looks did bestow, And smil'd not on him while he bellow'd below, To the Princess he went With Pious intent This dangerous Ill in the Church to prevent: "O Madam!" quoth he, "our Religion is lost If the Ladies thus ogle the Knights of the Toast.


"Your Highness observes how I labour and sweat Their Affections to raise, and new Flames to beget; And sure when I preach all the World, will agree That their Ears and their Eyes should be pointed on me: But now I can't find One Beauty so kind As my Parts to regard, or my Presence to mind; Nay, I scarce have a sight of any one Face But those of old _Oxford_ and ugly Arglas.


"These sorrowful Matrons, with Hearts full of Truth, Repent for the manifold Sins of their Youth: The rest with their Tattle my Harmony spoil; And Bur--ton, An--sey, K--gston, and B--le [8] Their Minds entertain With thoughts so profane 'Tis a mercy to find that at Church they contain; Ev'n Hen--ham's [9] Shapes their weak Fancies intice, And rather than me they will ogle the Vice. [10]


"These Practices, Madam, my Preaching disgrace; Shall Laymen enjoy the just Rights of my Place? Then all may lament my Condition for hard, To thresh in the Pulpit without a Reward. Then pray condescend Such Disorders to end, And from their ripe Vineyards such Labourers send; Or build up the Seats, that the Beauties may see The Face of no brawny Pretender but me."


The Princess, by rude Importunities press'd, Tho' she laugh'd at his Reasons, allow'd his request; And now _Britain's_ Nymphs in a Protestant Reign Are locked up at Pray'rs like the Virgins in Spain,

Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry - 5/10

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