ITER BOREALE HIS COUNTRY CLOWN: OR, THE Country Scourg'd for their Barbarisme TO THE CITIZENS.
NOT a hard Bed ith' Country to procure?
These Citizens are Pest'lent fellowes sure
Varlets! And void of Christian concern,
Had they been Gypsies they had lain ith' Barn,
But see what comes on't; they that left enough
Good Beds at home they are turn'd Hedgbirds now.
What evil Star guided you to this Rable,
You can't adore your Saviour, not ith' Stable.
There Argus waits so to way-lay a Stranger,
He must a wise Man be that gets to the Manger.
Rude salvages did on Paul's shipwrack take
Much more compassion, and a Bonfire make:
But, let a Man but look, as from the City,
And, though a Brother, fear has swallow'd pitty.
There's Corn enough in Egipt one would think,
Yet double money can't buy Bread and Drink,
The rustick scumme the generous City slightes
And Israel crowches to the Gibeonites:
There is no Famine, but a foolish dread,
Yet money [...]nnot purchase mouldy Bread:
Thus among Theeves fell the unhappy Man,
But th' Country yields not a Samaritan;
Yet, say some one had full of mercy bin,
It were in vain to bring him to an Inne:
Especially with two pence, for I saw't,
We could not drink at Door once for a groat.
And yet I understand their fear was such
Not that we brought too little, but too much;
Eat no more Pigs, and Geese with my consent,
And let 'em hang themselves to pay their Rent.
Slight but a while the Capon, and the Conie,
The Landlord then may take Eggs for his Mony.
But now keep off, whence come ye pray, from London?
I and my Wife and Family are undone;
He starts, and his hair stares, then back he flies,
Look what a Basilisk lurks in his Eyes,
Stand off thou gashly terrour to Beholders,
Away with that Deaths head upon his Shoulders;
The Grave expects thee, and methinks I see
The very Wormes how they crawle after thee.
Your carriage to the dead so barbarous was
That they scarce got the burial of an Ass.
But we may cross your Briefe for it, when you
Burn your old Barns that we may build ye new:
Your Courtesie from July to September
Shall be requited with a Pray Remember.
If this be the Event, let me fall then
Into the hands of God, and not of Men;
Of Men? I am mistaken it appears;
Of Wolves and Tygers, Panthers, Vulturs, Bears,
Mastiffs, hold there my passion is misled;
They're Country Currs, hang [...]m, not so right bred,
Bumkins, and Boobies, every mothers son
Is baser then the ground he goes upon;
Their [...]ordid feet are shod with wooden Clogs,
Job would have scorn'd to set 'em with his Dogs.
What shall I say? they are a senceless stock
Of sandal'd Jewes from top to bottom block;
Natures rough cast, and Chaos like enorme;
Cubs that are scarcely yet lickt into forme.
They are (as wittily the Poet writes)
In Understanding very Adamites.
Next Lord Mayors day brings up the gapeing Clown,
But we will hiss and hoot him out of Town,
And make the Rusticks hast so to be gone,
That their Hubnails shall fire at every stone.
As to a Citizen midst this abuse
T'have bought a Farme had been a good excuse:
Or far, or near, or wheresoever be it
Never had he so fit a time to see it;
Whilst such as had no money, man, or woman
They found I fear, short Commons on the Common.
Whom now we point at, saying as they pass,
Nebuchadnezzar's newly come from grass.
I could, but time won't let me further go,
And so I bid thee Farewell, Hait Ge Ho.
London, Printed for the Author, 1665.