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EBBA 32180

Huntington Library - Miscellaneous
Ballad XSLT Template
The Grateful Non-Conformist;
OR,
A RETURN of THANKS
To Sir JOHN BABER Knight, and Doctor of Physick, who
sent the AUTHOR Ten Crowns.

TEn Crowns at once! and to one man! and he
As despicable as bad Poets be!
Who scarce had wit, (if you requird the same)
To make an Anagram upon your name;
Or to out-pun a Barber, or prepare
An Epitaph to serve a Quinbrough Mayr:
A limping-Levite, (who scarce in his prime)
Could woo an Abigail, or say Grace [i]n Rime:
Ten Crowns to such a thing! Friend tis a Dose
Able to raise dead Ben, or Davnans Nose;
Able to make a Courtier turn a Friend,
And more then all of them in Victuals spend.
This free Free-Parliament, whose Gifts do sound
Full Five and twenty hundred thousand pound,
You have out-done them, Sir; yours was your own,
And some of It shall last when Theirs is gone.
Ten Crowns at once! and now at such a time,
When love to such as I am is a Crime
Greater than his recorded in Jane Shore,
Who gave but one poor loaf to th starvd Whore:
What now to help a Non-conformist! now,
When Ministers are broke, that will not bow:
When tis to be unblest, to be ungirt;
To wear no Sirplice, does deserve no Shirt:
No Broth, no Meat; no Service, no Protection;
No Cross, no Coyn; no Collect, no Collection:
You are a daring Knight, thus to be kind.
If Trusty Roger get it in the Wind,
Heel smell a Plot, a Presbyterian Plot,
Especially for what you gave the (Scot:)
And if the Spiritual Court take fire from Crack,
Theyl clap a Parritor upon your Back,
And make you shrug, as if you wore the Collar
Of a Cashiered Red-Coat, or poor Scholar.
What will you plead, Sir, if they put you to t?
Was it the Doctor or the Knight did dot?
Did you, as Doctor, flux some Usurer,
And with your quick make his dull Silver stir?
Or did your Zeal you a Knight-Templer make,
To give the Church the Booties you should take?
Or, was it your desire to beg Applause,
Or shew affection to the GOOD OLD CAUSE?
Wast to feed Faction, or uphold the stickle
Between the Old Church and New Conventicle?
No, none of these; but I have hit the thing,
It was because You knew I lovd the King.
Ten Crowns at once! Sir youl suspected be
For no good Protestant, you are so free:
So much at once! Sure you nere gave before;
Or else, I doubt, mean to do so no more:
This is enough to make a man protest
Religio Medici to be the best.
The Christians for whose sakes we are undone,
Would have cryd out, O tis too much for one
Either to give or Take! what needs this wast?
O how they love to have us keep a Fast!

Five private Meetings (whereat each four Men
In black Coats and white Caps (youl call them then
A Teem of Ministers) have tuggd all day,
Deserving Provender, but scarce got Hay;
Where I (myself have drawn my part some hours)
Have not afforded such returns as yours;
Id wish them watch, and keep me sober still;
Not want of guilt in them, nor want of Will
In me, but want of Wine does make me Tame,
Or else Id sacrifice them to the Flame
Of a high-blazing Satyr; heres a Man
Who neer pretended at your Rates, yet can
More freely feed us, with Coyn and good Dishes
Than they, (yet thats their Alms) with sighs & wishes.
O for a Rapture! how shall I describe
The love of thousands to their Reading Tribe?
Who so maintaind them when they lost their Places,
They did not lose one Pimple from their Faces;
But after all, full fraught with Flesh and Flagon,
Came forth like Monks, or Priests of Bell and Dragon:
One would have judgd, by their high looks and smells,
They had layn-in in Cellars not in Cells;
Where they grew big and battend: for no doubt
Some that went Firkins in, came Hogsheads out.
But ours in two years time are Skin and Bones,
And look like Grandams, or old Apple-Johns:
One Lazarus amongst them was too much;
But ert be long, we all shall look like such;
And when that comes to pass the world shall see
Who are the Ghostly Fathers, They or we:
And then our Bellies without better fare
Will prove as empty as their Noddles are.
Though We be silenct, our Guts wont be so;
But make a Conventicle as they go:
And by their Grumbling shew greet Discontent:
And if you listen Strange Reports do Vent.
Peace, Colon, peace, and cease thy croaking din;
Thou art condemnd to be a Chitterlin.
Except thy Latitudinarian Tripes
Conform, and turn themselves to Organ Pipes.
Nigardly Puritans! blush at the odds
Betwixt their BONNERs and our meagre DODs;
You give your drink in Thimbles, they in Bowls;
Your Church is poor St. Faiths, but theirs is POWLS.
And whilst you Priests and Altars do despise,
Yourselves prove Priests, and we your Sacrifice.
But why do I permit my Muse to whine?
I wish my Brethren all such Cheeks as mine;
And those that wish them well, such Hearts as thine.
My noble BABER! I have chosen you
For my Physitian, and my Champion too:
Give me sumetimes but such a Dose, and I
Will neer wish other Cordial till I die:
And then proclaim you a most Valiant Knight;
Shew but such Metal, though you never fight.


FINIS.

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