A
PANEGYRICK
UPON
OATES
SILVESTREM TENUI MUSAM MEDITEMUR AVENA.
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OF all the Grain our Nation yield's
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In Orchards, Gardens, or in Fields,
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There is a Grain, (which tho 'tis common)
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Its Worth till now, was known to no man
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Not Ceres Sicle 'ere did Crop,
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A Grain with Ears of greater hope;
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For why? some say, the Earth n'ere bore
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In any Clime, such Seed before.
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Yet this Grain has (as all must own)
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To Grooms and Ostlers well bin known;
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And often has, without disdain,
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In Musty Barn and Manger layn;
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As if it had bin only good
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To be for Birds and Beasts the Food:
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But now by new inspired force
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It keeps alive both Man and Horse
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Speak then, my Muse, for now we guess,
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What Grain it is, thou wouldst express.
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It is not Barley, Rye, or Wheat,
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That can pretend to such a Feat;
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'Tis Oates, bare Oates, which is become
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The Health of England, Bane of Rome,
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And Wonder of all Christendom.
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And therefore Oates has well deserv'd,
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From Musty Barn to be prefer'd,
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And now in Royal Court preserv'd;
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That, like Hesperian Fruit, Oates may
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Be watch'd and Garded night and Day;
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Which is but just Retaliation
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For having Guarded a whole Nation.
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Hence every lofty Plant which stands
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'Twixt Barwick Wals and Dover Sands,
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The Oake itself, which well we stile
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The Pride and safe-guard of our Isle,
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Must Wave and Strike its lofty Head,
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And now Salute an Oaten Reed:
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For surely Oates deserves to be
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Exalted far 'bove any Tree.
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Th' Egyptians once (tho' it seems odd)
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Did worship Onyons for a God;
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And poor peel'd Garlick was with them
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Esteem'd beyond the greatest Gemm.
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What would they 'done, had they, think ye
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Had such a Blade of Oates as we?
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Oates of such known Divinity!
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Since then by Oates such good we find,
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Let Oates at least now be enshrin'd,
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Or in some sacred Press enclos'd
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Be only kept to be expos'd;
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And all fond Reliques else, shall be
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Deem'd Objects of Idolatry.
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Popelings may tell us, how they saw
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Their Garnet's Picture on a Straw;
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'Twas a Great miracle we know
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To see him drawn in little so,
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But on an Oaten Stalk, there is
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A greater miracle than this,
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A Visage, which with lively Grace
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Does Twenty Garnets now Out-face,
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And like Twig of Dodona's Grove
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Ev'en speak's as if inspir'd by Jove.
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Nay, to add to the Wonder more,
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Declares unheard-of Things before,
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And Thousand mysteries does unfold,
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As plain as Oracles of old;
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By which we steer affaires of State,
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And stave off Britain's sullen Fate.
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Let's then, in honour of the name
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Of Oates enact some Solemn Game,
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Where Oaten Pipe shall us inspire
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Beyond the Charms of Orpheus Lyre;
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Stones, Stocks and every Senceless thing
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To Oates shall dance, to Oates shall sing
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Whilst Woods amaz'd to th' Ecchos ring
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And as (that Hero's names may not
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When they are rotten; be forgot)
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We hang Atchievements o're their Dust;
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(A debt to their great merits just:)
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So if Deserts of Oates we prize,
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Let Oates still hang before our eyes;
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Thereby to raise our Contemplation,
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Oates being to this Happy Nation
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The Mystic Embleme of Salvation.
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