THE
Baiting of the TYGER:
OR,
A true Relation of a bloody Rencounter that lately hap-
pen'd between a foreign Cat, and four great English
Dogs, at the Cockpit Royal near St. Jamess Park, in
the presence of several Dukes, Lords, Knights, Ladies,
Squires, and Cits: Together with a particular Relation
how the first Dog was slain, and the rest dangerously
wounded. Set forth in a piece of Doggrel, for the benefit
and satisfaction of the Publick.
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I Have read of Bull Fights,
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Rencounters of Knights,
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Dog-fighting, and such sport as that:
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I have seen Dogs and Bears
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Together by th' Ears,
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And a Rabble a worrying a Cat.
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I have hear'd much of Don,
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And of Sancho his Man,
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Of Bevis, of Guy, and Orlando;
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How St. George slew the Dragon,
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An Exploit we still brag on,
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And from ruin deliver'd the Land O.
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I have seen a fierce Beau,
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That has made a fine show,
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Undergoing a sharp Bastinado:
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Seen a Squire in a Muff,
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Endure Kick and Cuff,
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Without lugging out to make a-do.
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But this is mere Tattle,
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Compar'd to the Battle
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Between the great Dogs and the Tyger:
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And had you been there,
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You'd have said, I dare swear,
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You ne'r saw a Cat of more vigor.
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The first that came at him,
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Had you seen how he scrat him,
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How he rak'd off his Skin and his Fur:
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How he suck'd out his vital,
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Oh! who can recite all,
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But must needs lament the poor Cur?
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The second indeed
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Did better succeed,
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And gave him a snap on the Snout.
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But yet for all that,
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He'ad been slain by the Cat,
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Had the Battle been fairly fought out.
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The third and the fourth,
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Came scurvily off;
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But withal did bravely distinguish
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Themselves more foolhardy,
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Than any ways tardy;
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In short, the Dogs were true English.
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The Sport was sublime,
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Too big for my Rhime,
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And who would think much of a Guinea
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To see a Cat scratch and bite,
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Houl, grin, p--- and sh---
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There's no Man, I'm sure, but a Ninny.
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I appeal to the Ladies,
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To those that now a-days
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Are neither quite vertuous nor common,
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If they e'er saw a Brute
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So fiercely dispute,
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On his Back, the grand posture of Woman?
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Indeed for the squabble,
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Between th' Gentry and Rabble,
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That was not so well I confess:
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I'll tell you by th' by,
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When 'twas you Lye, and you Lye,
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I wish'd myself out of the Press.
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To conclude, tho the Sport
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Was the first of the sort,
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damnable dear of a Guinea;
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If a thing be but new,
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Let what will ensue,
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Ye follow't as the Devil were in ye.
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LONDON: Printed in the Year, 1699.
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