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- Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry - 6/10 -

And all are undone As sure as a Gun: Whenever a Woman is kept like a Nun; If any kind Man from Bondage will save her, The Lass in Gratitude grants him the Favour.

[Footnote 7: Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, who in 1674 was preacher at the Rolls Chapel.]

[Footnote 8: Burlington, Anglesey, Kingston, and Boyle.]

[Footnote 9: Heningham.]

[Footnote 10: The Vice-Chamberlain.]



Oh, say! what is that thing call'd _light_, Which I can ne'er enjoy? What is the blessing of the sight? Oh, tell your poor blind boy.

You talk of wondrous things you see; You say the sun shines bright; I feel his warmth, but how can he E'er make it day or night?

My day or night myself I make, Whene'er I sleep or play; And could I always keep awake, It would be always day.

With heavy sighs, I often hear You mourn my hopeless woe; But sure with patience I may bear A loss I do not know.

Then let not what I cannot have My peace of mind destroy; While thus I sing, I am a king, Although a poor blind boy.



I will sing in the Praise, if you'll lend but an Ear, Of the first Royal Regiment, but don't think I jeer If I vow and protest they are as brave Men and Willing, As ever old _Rome_ bred, or new _Iniskilling_.


Oh, had you but seen them March with that _Decorum_ That no _Roman_ Triumph could e're go before 'em, Some smoking, some whistling, all meaning no harm, Like _Yorkshire_ Attornies coming up to a Term,


On Bobtails, on _Longtails_, on Trotters, on Pacers, On Pads, Hawkers, Hunters, on Higlers, on Racers, You'd ha' swore Knight and Squires, Prigs, Cuckolds, and Pandors. Appear'd all like so many great _Alexanders_,


Whose Warriers who thorow all Dangers durst go. Most bravely despising Blood, Battle, and Foe, Were mounted on Steeds the last Lord Mayor's Day, From _Turky, Spain, Barbary_, Coach, Cart, and Dray.


'Twas that very day their high Prowess was shown, In guarding the King thro' the Fire-works o' th' Town; Tho' Sparks were unhors'd and their lac'd Coats were spoil'd, They dreaded no Squibs of Men, Women, or Child.


The Cornet whose nose, though it spoke him no _Roman_, Was mounted that day on a Horse that feared no man, No Wounds, for all o're his Trappings so sumptuous He had ty'd Squibs and Crackers; 'twas mighty presumptuous.


For note his Design; faith, 'tis worth your admiring: 'Twas to let the Queen se how his Horse could stand firing, Not wisely consid'ring her Majesty's marry'd, And he had been hang'd if the Queen had miscarry'd.


All Hearts true as Steel, but of all brave Fellows Th'Attorney for my money who was so zealous, He went for the Lease of his own House from Home, To make a new covering for the Troop's Kettle drum.


The Lieutenant being thrown by his Jennet, His Son in Law fancying some Treachery in it, Gave the Oaths to the Horse, which the Beast took, they say, But swore by the Lord they went down like chopt hay.


He the Nag of an _Irish_ Papist did buy, So doubting his Courage and his Loyalty, He taught him to eat with his Oats Gunpowdero, And prance to the Tune of Lilly-bolero. [11]

XI. The Tub-preaching Saint was so furious a Blade, In Jack-boots both Day and Night preacht, slept, and pray'd; To call them to prayers he need no Saint's Bell, For gingling his Spurs chim'd them all in as well.


A noble stout Scrivener that now shall be nameless, That in Day of Battle he might be found blameless, A War-horse of Wood from _Duck Carver_ buys, To learn with more safety the Horse Exercise.


With one eye on's Honour, the other on's Gain, He fixes a Desk on _Bucephalus_ Main, That so by that means he his Prancer bestriding, Might practise at once both his Writing and Riding.


But, oh, the sad news which their Joy now confounds, To _Ireland_, their own, like the last Trumpet sounds; Lord! Lord! how this sets them a Waiting Petitions, And thinking of nothing but Terms and Conditions.


Oh, who will March for me? speak any that dare, A Horse and an Hundred Pounds for him, that's fair; Dear Courtiers, excuse me from Teagland and Slaughter, And take which you please, _Sir_, my Wife or my Daughter."

XVI. Some feign'd themselves lame, some feign'd themselves clapt, At last finding all themselves by themselves trapt, The King most unanimously they addrest, And told him the Truth, 'twas all but a Jest.

XVII. "A Jest," quoth the King, and with that the King smil'd, "Come, it ne're shall be said such a Jest shall be spoil'd; Therefore I dismiss you. in Peace all depart, For it was more your Goodness than my Desert."


Thus happily freed from the dreadful Vexation Of being Defenders of this, or that Nation, They kist Royal Fist, and were drunk all for Joy, And broke all their swords, and cry'd _Vive le Roy_.

[Footnote 11: The refrain of a celebrated political song.]



A mighty great Fleet--the like was ne'er seen Since the Reign of K. _William_ and _Mary_ the Q.-- Design'd the Destruction of _France_, to have been, _Which nobody can deny_, etc.


The Fleet was composed of _English_ and _Dutch_; For Men and for Guns there was never seen such, Nor so little done when expected so much, _Which_, etc.


Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry - 6/10

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