A
NEW SONG
OF A
New WONDER
In the NORTH.
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FRom the farthermost part of the North we have News
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Of a man of some Note that receiv'd an Abuse:
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For a Dog to be toss'd in a Blanket, 'tis known,
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But alas, what is that to the Maior of a Town?
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For a great Magistrate
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To be us'd at that rate,
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All the World must allow
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It is very hard Fate.
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Ah! is it not strange? amongst Wonders we rank it,
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That the Maior of a Town shou'd be toss'd in a Blanket.
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Had a drunken Tom Tinker the Pennance receiv'd.
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Or a Vintner for stumming his Wine, who'd have griev'd?
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Had they bolted a Baker for making light Bread,
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Or a Taylor for snipping a Yard for a Shred;
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Had it been but a Tapster
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For Nicking and Frothing,
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Wee'd been contented
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To take it for nothing.
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But as the case stands, who, alas! do' n't resent it,
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And wish, now 'tis done, that it might be prevented?
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Diogenes was said once to live in a Tub,
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But a Tenement of Blanket is such an odd Jobb
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For a man of his Rank, we must study the Fact,
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Unless 'twas to mind him of the late Woollen Act.
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However, 'twas unkind
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In the midst of his State,
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So to trouble his thoughts
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With th' approaches of Fate.
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For men when advanc'd to the height of their Glory,
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Have something to dream on besides Purgatory.
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For a new Convert in Relick to be wrapt,
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To Secure him from danger, it often has happ'd;
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But had this been such, in no Story we find
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A Maior to cut Capors like a Witch in the wind;
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Sure there's something exceeding
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Must cause this extream;
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Yet if we dare take it,
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As Old Wifes do Dream,
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Unadvis'dly mistaking between waking and sleep
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He pounded the Parson instead of his Sheep:
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So in that cross humour they were forc'd for to shake him,
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To shew him his Errour as soon as they wak'd him.
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But now, to conclude, ah! Heaven be thank it,
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The Maior had no harm that was toss'd in a Blanket.
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