POEMS In BURLESQUE; WITH A DEDICATION In BURLESQUE, TO Fleetwood Shepherd, ESQUIRE.

Cui bene ni palpere recalcitrat undi (que) tutus.
Hor.

Printed for the Booksellers of London and Westminster, 1692.

ERRATA.

IN Pag. 9. the last line, for Butterflowers, read, Butterflies. In Pag. 14. line 19. for Caves, read, Cliffs. In Pag. 17. beginning of the last line, for with, read Will. In Pag. 19. line 9▪ for form read, from

TO FLEETWOOD SHEPHERD, Esq (que)

SIR,
IF Verse but vocal Painting be,
As Painting is dumb Poetry;
A Dedication in Burles (que)
In vocal Painting is grotes (que)
For was there ever Dedication
Without some fulsome Commendation?
And has not all Burles (que) its Birth,
And afterwards its Name from Mirth?
Now to Commend at once and rally,
Are things which either will not Tally;
Or Mirth with Praise will look as odly,
As Rakels when by chance they'r Godly:
Though, Shepherd, it requires Address,
Thy Praise in Laughing to express,
I'll boldly venture ne're the less.
May the Propitious Comick Muse,
Burles (que) Conceits, and Terms infuse;
[Page]And thou, O jolly God of Laughter
Attend, and usher down Jove's Daughter;
And both inspire and grace the Verse,
Which for your Shepherd I rehearse.
Can you do less for him, when he
Has been your constant Votary?
He ner'e lies down, and never rises,
But still to you he Sacrifices,
He Sacrifices Man and Beast,
The Lay-man and the very Priest:
For still his Victims by sixt Rules
Each Morn are Knaves, each Evening Fools,
By him with pointed Wit dissected,
To all laid open and detected,
For animals of rotten insides,
Or who have strange prodigious blindsides:
And though the Sacrifice is found
Still thus defective and unsound,
The Victims wanting Noble parts,
Their Brains sometimes, sometimes their Hearts,
'Tis therefore, Shepherd, does them chuse,
For such he knows you least refuse.
He ner'e gave Gods or Men offence,
By off'ring to you Truth and Sense,
For those he uses to defend
A Wit, a Courtier, yet a Friend.
But now stop short in thy Career,
That this may be rejected Fear;
[Page]For er'e since Praise hath been a Traffick
A Panegyrick's not worth a Fig,
It may be had with a full Pocket
By ev'ry pert and noisie Blockhead,
Whose Cloaths and Talk are render'd Tawdry
By nasty Colours and by bawdry.
Then Shepherd, farewel Commendation
Now by the Law of Dedication,
(The Author's just Retaliation)
Since I have spoke so much of thee
Thou must hear something too of me.
'Twas I who Sung our brave Tarpawlin,
Engaging like a Devil bawling,
And Monsieurs Navy sorely mawling,
Names of French Men of War.
His Formidable, his Victorious,
His Proud, his Thunderer, his Glorious,
His Strong, his Terrible, his Fierce,
(Strange names for Butlers jolly Verse!)
Till ev'ry Ship with its great Name,
By being Clapperclaw'd became
An Irony and Jest of Fame.
Ah,
Apostrophe to the Offi­cers of the Fleet.
Bully Tar! could that be Civil
To use poor Monsieur like a Devil?
Poor Monsieur! who with Pains exceeding
Had try'd so long to teach thee breeding
To beat his Brains out! ah! to crop him
Shorter by' th' Head, or else to lop him,
[Page]And not to leave him Limbs enow,
Ah Gods! to make one jaunty Bow?
And then to set his First Rateson Fire
To serve thee for a Roguish Bonfire!
To Mawl the rest, their Rigging tear,
And leave them destitute and bare!
Que Diable des gens Barbares!
Or was this bustle and this fight-all
Design'd and acted in requital
Of Monsieurs pains, that as at Land
He made thee Breeding understand,
Thou mights't at Sea take him in hand?
And bring him by a lusty Swindging
To low Saluting and to Cringing,
If so; how great's th' extent and Latitude
O Bully Tar, of thy Sea-Gratitude!
This Fight,
Return to Mr. Shep­herd.
as 'tis to thee well known
I've Sung in quite another Tone:
Now dwindling I resume the Battle
Wag'd once betwixt Suburbian Cattle.
Thus does a Falcon soaring rise,
And at some noble Quarry flies,
But stoops, when it can fly no more,
At Carrion, which it left before.
This Battle Read too, and the while
If thou approv'st it, Shepherd, Smile.
[Page]But though thou lik'st it, Laugh not out,
For all the Versifying Rout,
A bold and a presuming Nation,
If once they know thy Approbation,
Will mawl thee with perpetual Billets,
And pelt thee with Poetick Pellets,
Send thee more Scrawls, more various Pothooks,
Than are i' th' Letter-Case of M—
Thou wilt on ev'ry hand be pepper'd,
For all who Write would fain please Shepherd:
Nay, to take his, and Dorset's Heart
The Nine their utmost Charms exert,
Their Charms of Nature and of Art.
Whilst by their Looks, their Air, their Dress,
They to the wond'ring World no less
Than Virgin-Goddesses confess;
What they aspire to by their Charms
Is to be bless'd in Dorset's Arms:
Pleas'd, ravish'd with his Approbation,
Tho Damn'd by all the Fools i' th' Nation.
Now for one Compliment in Rhime.
And so t' have done, for 'tis high time.
There's, no Man more Your Humble, than is, SIR,
Your Obedient Servant,

THE CONTENTS.

  • THE Triumvirate: Or the Battle. p. 1.
  • A Days Ramble in Covent-Garden: A Letter in Burlesque, &c. p. 9.
  • The Story of Orpheus Burlesqu'd. p. 14.
  • Epigram upon a lewd Roaring Scotch Parson. p. 17.
  • Vpon the same Burlesque. p. 18.
  • The Two FRIENDS. p. 19.
  • An Explication of Mr. Tate's Riddle, in the Gen­tleman's Journal for April. p. 21.

The Triumvirate: OR, THE BATTLE. Written Aug. 91.

AS when the Ugly Face of Night,
The Sun does to the Ocean fright,
Neptune and Proteus, with their Train,
The merry Monsters of the Main,
The Red-fac'd God Carrowsing meet,
And with large Draughts his Presence greet;
Like Luck does at like Hours attend
His Deputy at Br—k-street-End:
To whom three strange prodigious Creatures,
And Monsters of Amphibious Natures,
Half Beasts, half Fish, together hie,
Who though on Land they often lie,
Yet are they never throughly dry,
And when they cease to drink, they dy;
[Page 2]Like Whales, their Bulks a Flood contain,
Which in the Air they Spout again;
They swallow still like Fish, (to keep
The Allegory) whilst they sleep,
Each gulps his Beer-glass, and i' th' fact
With drowsie Nod commends the Act.
Me an Acquaintance did invite,
This Bartholomew-Fair to see the Sight,
And just at Twelve we went one Night,
Where there were stranger Creatures shown,
Than ever at the Fair were known;
And if you think I say too much,
Survey their Pictures here and judge,
The first, hight Robin, a queir Spark is,
A lewd Soul with a righteous Carkass.
Virgin Vermillion, or True Blue,
Is not of such a Saint-like hue,
He Baudy talk'd with the same Faces,
With the same Goggles, Whines, Grimaces,
That our Enlightned Men say Graces.
They who sat at th' end of the Table,
Took him for Holderforth right able,
And look'd with Reverence on his Visage
Too grave and antique far, for this Age,
To those he seem'd a Gifted Teacher,
To us who heard him a rank Letcher.
So Parson Hugh, with Groan and Snivel
Made half his Congregation drivel,
[Page 3]Whilst B—s set to show did tickle
The other half o' th' Conventicle.
This Fellow chatter'd thus uncleanly
With the same Looks Folk act obseenely.
When Nature conscious of a Sin,
So unworthy of her, and so mean,
In height of Exstacy is seen,
With ugly Penitential Meen;
So much for Saint, the next's an Atheist,
Who for his Morals held it safest:
He bragg'd, that he like Beasts should dy,
And did both God and Devil deny,
As Boys a days, when Succours nigh
Can Rawhead Rally and defy,
That Rawhead who with panick Frights,
Ne're fails to make them stink a Nights,
So does this wight the Devil disown,
And haunted by him, when alone,
Does in Revenge from's Chamber run,
To swear there's no such thing at th' Sun,
Yet does so stare whilst he denys him,
That one would almost swear he spies him,
Though as for Staring his Pretence is
To look about for his lost Senses:
His hagard Eyes, and fiery Face,
Both are his Hoary Head's disgrace;
Nature ne're join'd a lewder Phys.
To such a Reverend Skull as his.
[Page 4]So on some Hills perpetual Snow
Lyes, whilst the Vine buds just below,
He Urgin Ned, and Saint-like Robin,
To leave off Stumming for dry Bobbing,
Did kiss and chatter too, and hug,
A little nasty Female Pug,
Who being Offensive to the Nose
Is by Antiphrasis call'd Rose.
His fiery Snout slopt her's that Sallow,
Like Flame that Lambent lies on Tallow,
Which did all four to a Course dispose,
And two Drabs more, being fetch'd by Rose,
They mount and box about their Lasses,
Like Lombards riding Post on Asses.
When see the sad Reverse of Fate,
Of happiest Mortals the frail State,
Robin for Gold the root of Evil
Had made a Contract with the Devil;
That is, had Married a curst Wife,
That Hellish Plague of human Life.
She having notice of Bob's Doxy,
And fuming much at such a Proxy,
Came thundering in, and took her Vagrant,
Ipso Facto, in Guilt that's flagrant:
Judge what Impression this injurious
Action made on one so furious,
The Drabs as soon as e're they spy'd her,
Threw every one of them her Rider,
[Page 5]Starting like Jades, that cast their Load,
If once the Devil comes cross the Road.
When strait advancing to her Moiety;
Sweet Sir, said she, I wish much Joy to you,
And your new Bride, a wish that's due
To one so Kind and Just as you.
With that Sh' unmercifully fisted
Poor sneaking Bob, who ne're resisted.
Ay me! how chang'd! he's he no more,
Wh' Engag'd so bravely just before;
But differs as victorious Hector
Did from his pale and bloody Spectre,
When Brutal Ned to help his Fellow,
With all his Lungs began to Bellow.
Old Bob, quoth he, Old Bob so doughty,
Wilt thou be Cow'd by by such a Dowdy?
Take Crab-tree here Old Boy, and Bast her,
Until she owns her Lord and Master.
Vile Sot said she to Ned, but such
A Title honors thee too much;
For Sot supposes somthing Human,
Thou art a Bear, not born of Woman;
Tom Dove thy Sire was, and another
Furr'd Muscovite like him, thy Mother,
Who having Cubb'd thee from her kick'd thee
(Seeing thee so hideous) and ne'er lick'd thee:
What do'st thou here now, where few venter,
Till of thy Absence sure, to enter?
[Page 6]For Men a Nights ne'er see thee Sup,
But what they've eat themselves, comes up,
Whilst thou devouring meat, dost cram it
More nauseously than they theirs Vomit:
Why should Beasts love Debauches, fit
Only for Men, and Men of Wit?
Whom Wine inspires with Noble Sense,
That can a Surfeit recompence,
Who in their Qualms a Breeding lye
Children that live to Eternity:
But thou a despicable Toper,
Art still Ned V— Drunk and Sober;
Diff'ring as Wild Bears do from Tame,
More fiercely Brutal, else the same;
Perhaps incapable of thinking
Thou striv'st to shew thou'rt Man by Drinking,
For void of of Reason and of Goodness,
Thou'st nought that's Human but thy Lewdness.
Spouse being resolv'd to be severe,
Was running on in full career,
When urg'd by his fermenting Choler,
Ned threw a pot of Port to maul her;
The Wine fell on her as she Buckled,
The Pot flew o're to swinge her Cuckold,
And hitting full his Jobbernoll,
Broke op'n the Lodging of his Soul;
The Walls to its furious Battry yielding,
The Mansion was but Paper-Building;
[Page 7]A wretched Tenement, a Shed
That never had been Furnished,
Purely design'd for one to keep in't
That would do nothing else but sleep in't;
And that was Robin's dreaming Soul,
Which spying in its House this hole,
Had frighted, like to have left its Quarters,
Enrolling Bob amongst the Martyrs.
Spouse who by death of Moiety
Thought she had lost her Property,
Tho she retriev'd her Liberty,
Took up a pot of Chamber-lye
And Wine at second hand, a Medly,
Of odious hue and Savour deadly,
And coming slily behind Ned,
Now raising Robin from the Dead,
Fixt it like Armour on his Head,
Whilst running down on every side him,
Its foul Contents did strangely dight him;
Its Fumes cast Ned into a Swound,
His Armour clang'd against the Ground;
Mean while his brave Virago fully
Determin'd to revenge her Bully,
Took two great Candlesticks and aim'd
Two Mortal Blows at Spouse, but Maim'd
The Atheist; who in his Affliction,
Gave us his usual Benediction;
[Page 8]For tho he God sometimes denies,
Now fervently he to him crys,
And prays with unfeign'd Supplication
And hearty zeal for the Damnation
Of the Militant Congregation;
Nay, against such a riotous Rout,
Himself to the Devil gave Judgment out,
When Rose to revenge her Roysters Quarrel,
Amongst us all threw an Oister-Barrel,
And flung it too with a resolution
To bring his Judgment to Execution;
Its clattering shels amongst us fall,
Signal of universal Brawl;
Then to the Table Atheist blunder'd,
Himself Intrenching strongly under't,
For by the noise he thought it Thunder'd,
For Discord now outrageous grew,
Bottles in rattling Vollies flew;
Of Arms which range now finds for Mischief,
O Times! O Manners! Bottle is Chief,
Souls outside Clapperclawing more,
Than inward Jobbernol before:
Bottle in Fellowship Men uniting
And fram'd for the World to take delight in.
Now the curs'd Instrument's made of Fighting,
And Sots are just about to Perish,
By what was purely form'd to Cherish;
[Page 9]A Glassy Shower does ore us hail,
And Potts succed when Bottles fail.
I dopt for safety as an Officer
Does in a Fight, when he's a Novice there,
When with strange noise and hideous bustle
In closer Fight they encountring Justle,
Their Wits they lose, their Light's put out,
All's dark within them and without:
Then Friend fell foul on every Friend,
Such Fate does Civil Wars attend.
Wild Uproar and Confusion follow'd,
Ore roling Bully Doxy wallow'd;
She Schrick'd, he Roar'd, for Light some hollow'd,
In vain alas! Drawer was fast,
Gentle Aurora heard at last.
I by the dawn found out the the Door,
Then down I ran and firmly Swore
Never to mix with Monsters more.

A Days Ramble in Covent-Garden: A Let­ter in Burlesque to C. D. March 20. 1691.

COlonel, the Spring comes on a main,
Beauties and Flow'rs peep out again;
Now gawdy Punk, new Rigg'd and gay,
As Beaux or Butter-flowers in May,
[Page 10]Brisk as a Snake that casts her Skin
Comes out in particolour'd trim,
To bask on flowry Banks, and play
In the new Suns reviving Ray,
To twine round heedlless Swain, and sting
The VVretch suspecting no such thing.
Now Country 'Squires send up their Women
To get their own and Husbands Trimming;
(By which themselves these latter find
Fairly distinguish'd from Mankind)
And to requite them we send down
Verse, the lewd product of the Town:
Amongst' the rest, for want of better,
I send you these by way of Letter.
Last week just come to Town, I took
A Pious walk to visit C
Pox'd beyond hope of Health or Pardon
The rankest VVeed in Covent-Garden,
That done, I took a turn i' th' Square,
But had but little time been there,
Till I with Satisfaction found,
The VVorld still ran its constant round,
There still a Drum each Morning brings
Sev'ral feather'd two Legg'd things,
Plato de­fin'd a Man a two leg­ged thing without Feathers.
Not Men, you say, you'll prove by Plato,
Not Men indeed so wise as Cato.
But VVights, whose Noddles and a Feather
Agree extremely well together.
[Page 11]Light, wavering, vain Inconstant Fools,
The working Politicians Tools,
VVh' engage and serve like Whores for pay,
And sometimes Jilt too, and betray:
Hurried by Drums, tumultuous rattle,
At States-mans will to breach or battle;
Leave Bottle, Tent, and Camping Jade,
And blundring run where Fate has laid
Inevitable Ambuscade.
So when some Swain for Sport or Food,
Brushes the out-side of a VVood:
And with cleft Sticks makes clatt'ring din,
Woodcock that nuzling lies within,
Strait scampers headlong on to gin:
But hark the Bell, the Parsons Trumpet,
Sounds a Charge to a Ghostly Combat;
VVarns Sporting Female to arise
T' a sadder Mornings Exercise:
She does, and washes first, and Paints well,
Then piously Obeys the Saints Bell:
And now 'tis time to leave the Stout,
And join at Church with the Devout,
VVhere Virgins Counterfeit and Stale,
Are daily in Rows expos'd to Sale.
Second-hand Houshold-stuff, which tarnish'd,
To pass for new is vamp'd and Varnish'd.
The ancient Temple of the Jews
VVas but a Mart, ours is a S—
[Page 12]He thence was driv'n who sold a Dove,
We suffer here the trade of Love.
From Church I went to drink some Coffee,
The Juice inspiring Modern Sophy;
For as some rural Swains of Old,
(As by their own Records wer'e told)
Tasted of Pagasean Stream,
And then grew Poets in a Dream;
So Sots sip Coffee, and have Visions,
Which make them pass for Polititians.
To Wills I went, where Beau and VVit
In mutual Contemplation sit;
But which were VVits, and which were Beaus,
The Devil sure's in him who Knows,
For either may be which you please,
These looks like those who talk'd like these:
To make amends, there I saw Dryden,
VVhom Pegasus takes so much Pride in,
He suffers few beside to ride him:
Somtimes at once he gets a Pack
Of young raw Rhymers on his Back,
But with them runs so far away,
They're never hear'd of from that day:
Enrag'd he th' awkward Burden feels,
Tosses his Head and flings his Heels.
And when h' has thrown each Poetaster,
He then comes Ambling home to his Master.
[Page 13]Since my design in sending these,
Is not to tire you, but to please,
'Tis time t' have done, for what's behind,
Some more commodious hour I'll find;
Yet e'er I leave you, I can't chuse
But send you down the Freshest News.
When Monsieur spy'd false Burgher hamper'd
In fatal Noose on Mons's Rampert,
This was writ upon the false news that the French had rais'd the Siege, upon the Discovery and Exe­cution of some Trea­cherous Burghers.
He and his Forty thousand Scamper'd.
As Scythian Slaves that came to fight
With Swords, with Whips were put to Flight.
The sight of tall erected Gallows
Had like effect upon these Fellows.
A certain Sign that every Villain
Fears Hanging, tho he Laughs at Killing.
But now to come to honest People,
C—s grown as noisey as a Steeple;
Does so obstrepreously Gabblle
I'th' dark, you'd swear he's a huge Rabble;
Haranguing Member is not near
So loud, yet bauls for half a Shire;
Nor Serjeants when like VVinds that jar,
Coifd Brothers make tempesteous VVar,
And ne'er leave storming till they find
Justice grown Deafer than She's Blind.

The Story of Orpheus Burlesqu'd.

ORpheus, a one-ey'd Limping Thracian,
Top Crowder of the Barbarous Nation
Was Ballad-Singer by Vocation;
Who up and down the Country strowling,
And with his Strains the Mob Cajoling;
Charm'd them as much as all Men know
Our modern Farces do a Beau,
To hear his Voice they left their Houses,
Their Food, their Handicrafts and Spouses,
VVhilst by the Harmony of his Song
He threw the staring gaping Throng
(A thing deserving Admiration)
Into a copious Salvation.
From hence came all those monst'rous Stories,
That to his Lays wild Beasts danc'd Borees,
That after him where er'e he rambl'd,
The Lyon ramp'd, and the Bear gambol'd,
And Rocks and Caves their Horses ambl'd;
For sure the Monster Mob includes
All Beasts, Stones, Stocks, in Solitudes:
He had a Spouse y [...]lep'd Euridice,
As tight a Lass as er'e your Eye did see,
VVho being one day Carest by Morpheus
In absence of her Husband Orpheus,
[Page 15]As in the God's Embrace she lay,
Dy'd, not by Meaphor they say,
But the ungrateful litteral way;
For as a Modern's pleas'd to say by't,
From Sleep to Death, there's but a way-bit,
Orpheus at first t' appearance grieving,
For one h' had oft wish'd Damn'd whilst Living,
That he might play her her Farewell,
Resolv'd to take a turn to Hell,
(For Spouse he guest was gone to th' Devil)
There was a Husband damnably Civil!
Playing a merry Strein that day,
Along the Infernal King's High-way,
He caper'd on as who should say,
Since Spouse has past the Stigian Ferry,
Since Spouse is Dam'd, I will be Merry;
And Wights who travel that way daily,
Jog on by his Example gaily.
Thus Scraping he to Hell advanc'd,
When he came there, the Devil Danc'd;
All Hell was with the Frollick taken,
And with a huge Huzza was shaken:
All Hell broke loose, and those who were
One Moment past plung'd in Despair,
Sung, hang Sorrow, cast away Care.
But Pluto with a spightful Prank,
(Ungrateful Devil!) did Orpheus thank.
Orpheus says he, I like thy Strain
So well, that here's thy Wife again:
[Page 16]But on these terms receive the Blessing,
Till thou'rt on Earth, for bear Possessing.
He who has play'd like thee in Hell,
Might e'en do tother thing as well;
And Shades of our Eternal Night,
Were not design'd for such Delight;
Therefore if such in Hell thou ufest,
Thy Spouse immediately thou losest.
Quoth Orpheus, I am maul'd I see;
Your Gift and you be Damn'd thought he,
And shall be if my skill don't fail me,
And if the Devil does not ail me.
Now Orpheus saw importance free,
By which once more a Slave was he:
The Damn'd chang'd presently their Notes,
And stretch'd with hideous Houl their Throats,
And two and two together link'd,
Their Chains with horrid Musick Clink'd,
Whilst in the Consort Yell and Fetlock,
Express'd the harmony of Wedlock.
Then by command he lugg'd his Dowdy
To Acheron, with many a How d' ye;
But whilst the Boat was towards them Steering,
The Rogue with wicked Ogle leering,
Darted at her fiery Glances,
Which kindled in her furious Fancies,
Her Heart did thick as any Drum beat,
Alarming Amazon to Combat;
[Page 17]He soon perceives it, and too wise is,
Not to lay hold on such a Crisis.
His Moiety on the Bank he threw
VVhilst thousand Devils look'd a skew.
Thus Spouse who knew what long Repentance
VVas to ensue by Pluto's Sentence,
Could not forbear her Recreation
One poor half day t' avoid Damnation;
But fondly help'd her Husband's Treachery,
Such in hot Climes is Womans Letchery;
Her from his Arms the Furies wrung,
And into Hell again they flung:
He Singing thus, repass'd the Ferry,
Since Spouse is damn'd I will be merry.

Epigram upon a Lewd Roaring Scotch Parson.

A Canting Scot in thy vile Sermons Preaches,
In thy lewd Life the Devil his Doctrin teaches,
Thy Flock is Damn'd; for what confounded Sot
VVith not believe the Devil before the Scot?

Vpon the same Burlesque.

Now Muse to Laugh recite a Farce on,
A Scot from Pedler made a Parson:
This Par­son had been for­merly a Pedler.
The Wight who once retail'd Small VVare,
Now Trades in Precept and in Pray'r,
And grown a Pillar, on that Back
Bears up the Church which bore a Pack,
Ordain'd by wise and worthy Prelate,
As creditable Authors relate,
Purely to cool the Spiritual Pride
Of all Scotch Holders-forth beside;
For Scot promoted to the Desk,
Is on his Brethren a Burles (que)
No Jest for blind and false Devotion
Could e'er be found like Scots Promotion,
No Satyr with severer Jerk
Could Lash the Universal Kirk
A merrier VVight did never drub,
Orthodox, Pulpit, or a Tub:
His Canting more to Laughter urges,
Than ancient Hugh or modern B—s,
And makes more Mirth in Church from Pulpit,
Than Tony Lee, from Stage in Ful-pit,
[Page 19]VVith Hell and Devil and Damnation
He can divert his Congregation:
His own Wifes Flesh and Blood, his Daughter,
Ev'n pisses with excessive Laughter;
She with excessive laughter Pisses,
Some Wheeze,
Scot is both Gray and Purblind.
some Keck, another Hisses.
So when a Grave and Reverend Owl,
The Purblind Parson of the Fowl,
Does form his Pulpit hollow Tree,
(From whence you just his Head may see)
Hollow a loud Futurity;
The Birds about their Prophet flock
To Persecute him or to Mock,
And each does variously revile
His Grave, Gray Noddle, or his Style.

The Two FRIENDS.

FReeman and Wild, two young hot Gallants,
Fam'd through the Town for swindging Talents,
At making or at acting Love,
And Beaus too over and above;
Like Friends had a fine Buxom Woman,
(Like Friends indeed, you'll say) in common,
[Page 20]Now one of these two Sparks attack'd her,
So furiously, so like a Hector;
He got a Girl, who to a Tittle,
Her Mother's Picture was in little:
When both Jack Freeman, and Ned Wild
Would own the Fair, the chopping Child;
Both own the Babe, (and who would not!)
Sweet as the Sin by which 'twas Got;
Ned, that he's sure he Got her Cries,
She has his Dimple and his Eyes:
That she was his, Jack Freeman Swore,
That she resembled him all o're,
The Devil was not more like a Moor:
But when at length the Girl began
To grow capacious of a Man.
Changing their Minds, each Spark chose rather
To be the Sinner than the Father:
Says Wild to Freeman, Jack, this Lass
Is thy own Flesh and Blood; she has
The very Leer of Lewd Jack Freeman,
Ad—ds that Sham won't pass on me, Man,
(Cries Freeman to his Brother Wild)
Mine is the Lass, and thine the Child.
Says Wild to Freeman thou'lt be Damn'd,
[...], ay, Ned, but I won't be sham'd.

An Explication of Mr. Tate's Riddle, in the Gentleman's JOURNAL for April.

PEople d'ye say,
Tom.
that like Jews ramble,
And were produc'd without Love's Gambol,
That higgledy, piggledy, lie together,
And yet were nere Lampoon'd for't neithr,
Who often Laugh, yet ne're are merry,
And whom we ne're Baptise or Bury!
What are these Creatures? let me see;
Why, surely they must Devils Be.
The Dev'l they are!
Frank.
You're out, my Friend:
Now to this Story pray attend,
Which, if 'tis well apply'd, will make
You rectifie a gross Mistake.
In former days when Breoshe,
Who was (as every He or She
In Monsieur-Land did fully know)
Intendant of a Puppet Show,
His stroling Pigmy Clan transferr'd
(Of which hight Punchinello's Laird)
From Paris to the High-Dutch Hans-Towns,
And thence to High-Lands of the Cantons;
[Page 22] Swiss wond'ring to hear Puppet squeak,
And see him frisk with Faiery Freak,
And then a Boree Dance, and a Jig,
Thought (cunning Dog!) this must be Magi
Did Breoshe a Conjurer style,
(But surely Swiss was none the while)
Had like t' have truss'd up the poor Fellow,
And for a Devil took Punchinello.
FINIS.

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