Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry | Page 4

man?Is unable to make a poor Flash in the Pan.?Fire, Flood, and Female, begin with a letter,?But for all the World's not a Farthing the better.?Your Flood is soon gone, and your Fire you must humble,?If into Flames store of Water you tumble;?But to cure the damn'd Lust of your Wife's Titilation,?You may use all the Engines and Pumps in the Nation,?As well you may p---- out the last Conflagration.?And thus I have sent you my Thoughts of the matter;?You may judge as you please; I scorn for to flatter:?I could say much more, but here ends the Chapter.
A PANYGYRICK UPON OATES.
Of all the Grain our Nation yields?In Orchard, Gardens, or in Fields,?There is a grain which, tho' 'tis common,?Its Worth till now was known to no Man.?Not Ceres Sickle e're did crop?A Grain with Ears of greater hope:?And yet this Grain (as all must own)?To Grooms and Hostlers well is known,?And often has without disdain?In musty Barn and Manger lain,?As if it had been only good?To be for Birds and Beasts the Food.?But now by new-inspired Force,?It keeps alive both Man and Horse.?Then speak, my Muse, for now I guess?E'en what it is thou wouldst express:?It is not Barley, Rye, nor Wheat,?That can pretend to do the Feat:?'Tis Oates_, bare _Oates, that is become?The Health of England_, Bane of _Rome,?And Wonder of all Christendom.?And therefore Oates has well deserv'd?To be from musty Barn prefer'd,?And now in Royal Court preserv'd,?That like Hesperian_ Fruit, _Oates may?Be watch'd and guarded Night and Day,?Which is but just retaliation?For having guarded a whole Nation.?Hence e'ery lofty Plant that stands?'Twixt Berwick_ Walls and _Dover Sands,?The Oak itself (which well we stile?The Pride and Glory of our Isle),?Must strike and wave its lofty Head.?And now salute an Oaten Reed,?For surely Oates deserves to be?Exalted far 'bove any Tree.?The Agyptians once (tho' it seems odd)?Did worship Onions for their God,?And poor Peelgarlick was with them?Esteem'd beyond the richest Gem.?What would they then have done, think ye,?Had they but had such Oates as we,?Oates of such known Divinity??Since then such good by Oates we find,?Let Oates at least be now enshrin'd;?Or in some sacred Press enclos'd,?Be only kept to be expos'd;?And all fond Relicks else shall be?Deem'd Objects of Idolatry.?Popelings may tell us how they saw?Their Garnet pictur'd on a Straw.?'Twas a great Miracle, we know,?To see him drawn in little so:?But on an Oaten stalk there is?A greater Miracle than this;?A Visage which, with comly Grace,?Did twenty Garnets now outface:?Nay, to the Wonder to add more,?Declare unheard-of things before;?And thousand Myst'ries does unfold,?As plain as Oracles of old,?By which we steer Affairs of State,?And stave off Britain's sullen Fate.?Let's then, in Honour of the Name?Of OATES, enact some Solemn Game,?Where Oaten Pipe shall us inspire?Beyond the charms of Orpheus Lyre;?Stone, Stocks, and e'ery sensless thing?To Oates_ shall dance, to _Oates shall sing,?Whilst Woods amaz'd to t'Ecchoes ring.?And that this Hero's Name may not,?When they are rotten, be forgot,?We'll hang Atchievments o'er their Dust,?A Debt we owe to Merits just?So if Deserts of Oates we prize,?Let Oates still hang before our Eyes,?Thereby to raise our contemplation,?Oates being to this happy Nation?A Mystick Emblem of Salvation.
THE MIRACLE.
TO THE TUNE OF "O YOUTH, THOU HADST BETTER BEEN STARVED AT NURSE."
I.
You Catholick States-men and Church-men, rejoyce,?And praise Heaven's Goodness with Heart and with Voice;?None greater on Earth or in Heaven than She,?Some say she's as good as the best of the Three.
Her miracles bold?Were famous of old,?But a Braver than this was never yet told;?'Tis pity that every good Catholick living?Had not heard on't before the last Day of Thanksgiving.
II.
In Lombardy-Land_ great _Modena's Duchess [3]?Was snatched from her Empire by Death's cruel clutches;?When to Heaven she came (for thither she went)?Each Angel received her with Joy and Content.
On her knees she fell down,?Before the bright Throne,?And begged that God's Mother would grant her one Boon:?Give England a Son (at this Critical Point)?To put little Orange's Nose out of Joynt.
III.
As soon as our Lady had heard her Petition,?To Gabriel, the Angel, she strait gave Commission;?She pluck'd off her Smock from her Shoulders Divine,?And charg'd him to hasten to England's fair Queen.
"Go to the Royal Dame,?To give her the same,?And bid her for ever to praise my Great Name,?For I, in her favour, will work such a Wonder,?Shall keep the most Insolent Hereticks under.
IV.
"Tell James (my best son) his part of the matter?Must be with this only to cover my daughter;?Let him put it upon her with's own Royal Hand,?Then let him go travel to visit the Land;
And the Spirit of Love?Shall come from above,?Though not as before, in form of a Dove;?Yet down He shall come in some likeness or other?(Perhaps like Count Dada), and make her a Mother."
V.
The Message with Hearts full of Faith was receiv'd,?And the next news we heard