Iter Oxoniense:
OR,
The going down of the ASSES to OXENFORD.
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SInce Muddiman the gainful Trade laid down,
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Of writing a whole Sheet for half a Crown,
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A thousand Scriblers have retaild the Trade,
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And News is now the Towns great Staple made.
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Now, Giles! the Caduceus shall be thine;
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Thou hast a specious Title to the Nine.
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The Crow or Goose from which thou pullst thy Quill,
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Have gin thee Seisin of Parnassus Hill.
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Couldst thou till May, in Prose and Verse go on,
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Thy Purchase would at last be Helicon.
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Thou mightst enlarge thy small Retinue then,
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And for thy one poor lousie Boy, keep ten.
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Thou at thy Bingos mightst resume the Chair,
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And be thy self a Speaker there:
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Thou mightst thy Secretaries keep, and give
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Orders, how much each one should write, to live.
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Thy Bingos house shall be thy Pen,
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To keep thy Porcupines, thy Satyrs den.
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From whence, could the poor Scribling Tribe but still
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Continue for to Dart their Quill,
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And tender Reputation (if but wounded) Kill,
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Thou needst not be dejected at this Rate,
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Nor claw thy head about Affairs of State;
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Nor at this dismal Rate lament,
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Cause Oxfords to receive the Parliament.
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Thy Porcupines when ere they write,
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When they let fly, they hit the White;
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When Innocence and Loyalties the Mark,
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At such bright Buts they can discharge i th dark.
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At Rovers let them shoot, no matter why,
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Whether the Sheet contain a Truth or Lye,
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The News, if false, is more like Mercurie.
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Thy Satyrs may make bolder Sallies hence,
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And Ravish Votes and Speeches thence;
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Faith this will dot, and will return the Pence.
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But if the Scholars catch thy Monsters there,
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Theyl treat em with their sharp Pig-market chear,
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And send the Sturdy Vagrants back again,
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With the safe Pass-port of the Birchen train.
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Necessitys the Quiver whence they draw,
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Which has no more of Conscience than of Law.
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Their featherd Shafts their points to Envy owe;
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Factions the twist that strings their Bow.
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What, moody Bingo! come, the busie Bee
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Now Spring comes on, abroad will flee,
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And then, with what she gathers up and down,
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Supply this greater Hive the Town.
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Thy Stock with Drones will Swarm,
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Tis such as Coffee-houses warm,
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Such as are useful, though they feed,
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These cherish and maintain the Breed.
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Tis News and Coffee calls in these,
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As Sound and Ringing does the Bees.
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Alas! they sure our buzzing may forgive;
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All that we aim at, is (like Men) to live.
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We Car no stings, nor bags of Honey;
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No, Bingo, we are all for ready Money.
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And if perhaps sometime we do let fall
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One word o th times, O straight we are all gall;
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Cotton, Hill, Claypoole, Walden, Mills, and Pike,
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Who like unto St. Dunstans Church-men strike,
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As I the greatest Motion, point the time,
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Tis by my Trunk such Ivy knows to climb.
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Theres Piggot, Madder, Bill, and Mason too,
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With Blear-eyd Blackhall, and a hopeful Crew
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Of Hawkers, such as do compleat my Train,
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And never swing my paper-Lure in vain.
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These, Bingo, do attend their Monarchs call:
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News is my Province, and Im ownd by all.
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These bring their Tributes when we please to meet,
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Near th Ruines of St. Pauls new shodden feet;
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Which we allay, and coin first in our Mint;
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We Current maket, by putting it in Print;
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Tis but a Penny-Cheat, if nothings int.
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And why maynt Paper go as well at last,
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As Leather-Money did in Ages past?
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At last, to make the Parliament compleat,
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(For the whole Nation in that Body meet)
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Tis fit that we to Oxford should repair,
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Faith my Camelions choak for want of Air:
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And tho we halt, yet we still Members are.
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Like King-Fishers, they fly along the stream,
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But never brood, like them, when tis serene;
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They rather Porpus-like in Tempests play,
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And shew their Head more in the March than May.
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But how my Tribe I shall to Oxford bring,
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That Canaan, Bingo! that, ay thats the thing!
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If you the Royal Caravan provide,
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We all are then to our hearts wish supplyd.
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For at the least, Retainers to the Court
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We shall be thought, and youl get Money fort:
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Thou shalt to th Crew as frugal Purser go;
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I have designd it, and it must be so.
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I have already furnisht out my House,
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Tis the old Hall of the famd Mother Lowse.
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They lay a claim tot: as we creep along,
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Thoult know we are at least one thousand strong.
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Assurd of Trade, provide thyself a Room;
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My Ants will to their wonted hillock come;
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And there our labours shall increase thy heap,
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And both a Harvest from the Scholars reap.
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For we, like Harlots, when too common grown,
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Find Trading quickest where were most unknown.
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Coffee and News can never want a Trade,
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Whilst both to Cheat the People can be made.
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