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A NEW BALLAD
UPON
DR. OATES
HIS
Retreat from White-Hall,
Into the City.
To the Tune of, I'le tell Thee Dick where I have been.
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I.
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CAn'st tell me, Ceres, What curst Fate
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Hangs o're the Head of Oates of late?
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Or what Cross Planet Reigns?
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That Oates, the Noblest Thought at first,
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And Best, should now be held the Worst,
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And Vilest of all Grains?
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II.
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Oates, that same brave & swagg'ring Blade,
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Which th'other Day, with lofty Head,
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His Fellows all o're-top't;
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Should for a Roguish Weed be thrown
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Out of the Court, and now full blown.
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Be in the Blossom Crop't?
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III.
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Oates, that was whilome thought to be
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For the Kings Horse, fit Company,
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(God bless him evermore!)
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Should now by ev'ry Groom be spurn'd,
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And for a Rogue in Grain be turn'd
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Out of the Stable-Door?
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IV.
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Had these Oates musty been, or stale,
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Or had they any Noysome Smell,
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They had of Blame not fail'd:
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But These (as Musk itself) were Sweet,
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With Coat as Black as any Jet;
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But some-what too Long-Tail'd.
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V.
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That Tyrants Jades, that Oates & Hay
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Refus'd for Man's Flesh, I dare say,
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Ne'r such an Oate did taste:
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And, pity 'twas, his Worth to show,
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That He had not been long agoe,
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Into their Maunger cast.
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VI.
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The Case is hard, that Oates, that fed
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The Noblest Beast, that liv'd in Mead,
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On Pastures Green, or Heath well;
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Should be, at last, Himself turn'd down
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Into the Common of the Town,
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To feed the Calves of Bethel.
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VII.
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But chear up, Oates; 'tis no Disgrace:
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These Calves are of the City Race,
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(There are none such at White-Hall;)
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And freely will their Milk give down,
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(And thou canst stroak them well, 'tis known)
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To feed Thee in Requital.
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VIII.
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Some have the Pedigree, and Strain
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Of Oates, deriv'd from that Bless'd Grain,
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Which Egypts Famine freed:
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And I believe, what they aver;
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For, without doubt, these (Our) Oates are
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Of the true Gypsie Breed.
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IX.
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Nay, others have his Parents blam'd,
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They had the Brat not Joseph nam'd;
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But they herein had err'd:
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For that Good Man at Court, at last,
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For his Deserts was highly grace't;
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Not for a Rogue Casheir'd.
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X.
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Yet, I doubt not, but of such known
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Divinity had Oates there grown,
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He would have with a Rope,
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Amongst their Leek, and Onyon-Gods,
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(As more deserving it by odds,)
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Been long agoe Trust up.
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XI.
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Shall We, who boast true Gospel-Light,
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Instead of doing Him that Right,
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Then treat Him worse than Pagan?
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And Excommunicate Him clear
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Out of our Courts, as if he were
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A Minister of Dagon?
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XII.
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This sure is a New Popish-Plot;
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Who seeing now we in a Knot,
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Begin to hang together;
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Think't the best way, (which Heav'n defend!)
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Is to untye us, and to send
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Our Doctor, God knows whither.
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XIII.
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You Charitable City-Dames,
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If now you will set up your Names,
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Preserve Him like Sweet-Meats:
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He flyes to You, to be Secure;
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Keep close your Fore-Doors; but be sure,
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Guard well your Posterne-Gates.
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