EBBA 36439

British Library - Luttrell Ballads

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On the ANSWER to
Dr. WILDS POEM;
UPON
Mr. CALAMY's Imprisonment.

GLancing (as I pass'd) aside

Upon a Ballad-Stall, I spy'd

A Sheet, with Poem sprinckled o're;

At Sight, it seem'd like Lawyers Lore,

With Lines that stood so thin and wide,

As though they rated were by th' side,

(And sure the Printer, that gave more

Then Clerks pay for them, will be poor;)

By this I thought, and by his Wit,

I had the Squint-ey'd Author hit;

'Guest it the Pettyfoggers Rhime:

But that it came forth in Term time;

When the Green Bag, his Pia Mater

Is better fraught; John Taylors Water

Is now converted into Wine;

Th[a]t Poet now, can drink and dine

On Dishes of more solid fare,

Then the Camelion Sisters are;

Or yet Cook Lorrells; no need steal

Ben Johnsons Sweapings for a Meal:

But I'm mistaken in the man,

There is another in the Van

Of Libellers, Heroick Leader,

And (to the Sense of Female Reader)

A Champion stout; his name let pass,

It Rhimes to Madam Baltinglasse,

With whom he Cheek by Jole doth walk,

And can do more with her than talk;

This is the Bishops trusty Roger,

That bites with Teethy Quill like Badger;

He that with help of Halbert Blade,

Ned Bagshaw by the Heels hath laid;

When all his Troops of Verse and Prose,

With all their dry and down-right Blowes

Upon his sides, could make no dint,

Nor more leave on them, then the print

Of his foul Pen; This, this is he

Tramples on Wild and Calamy

With saucy Feet of Ballad Meetre,

Than which, the stinking Souls are sweeter

Of Ballad Singers, or the Train

Of Match Girls out of Rosemary Lane:

Some write of Poets licking Spit

From Homers Lips the nasty wit

That from his squalid Nib doth fome,

Speaks him of some such Sire to come;

Jack Puddings Chaps with Custard smear'd,

And mix'd with Candle smutted Beard,

Not half so loathsom looks as thine;

There's not one Muse of all the Nine

So sluttish, but abhors to be

Accounted Patronesse to thee.

But oh! bold Bard with brazen Front,

That durst put Hudebras upon't!

And filch away that Authors Fame,

By counterfeiting of his Name;

Not as Bathillus did, who put

His Name to Virgills Verses; but

With far more impudence and shame,

Thou hast to thine put Virgills Name;

Thus Vagabonds get Bread and Cheese

In Country Towns, by Shifts like these,

And by a counterfeited Passe

Oft whipping scape; but Hudebras

Shall not secure thee from my Scourge;

For though thy Wit can little urge

A Poets Rage, yet who can see

The foame of base scurrility

On such men thrown by foul-mouth'd Muse,

And not a little Whipcord use?

Which to a Halter I could twist,

And make thy Wreath on't (if I list)

But such grosse Lines for Muse to weave,

Is much beyond Poetick Leave;

A Satyrist may lash (no doubt)

But not beyond his Whip Lash out;

Thus to invade the Hangmans place

With Sledge and Halter; foul disgrace

Of Poets Pen to treat of these,

Which only Reader, Rout can please;

Nay, (which the Muses more detest)

To talk of Halters not in jest;

A Poets Wit though ne're so keen,

May be endur'd if without Spleen:

But when the Bard once angry grows,

His Wit outmatch'd, at best he shows.

Then take thy swing I'le give thee Rope;

Tangle thy self, I do not hope,

Nor shall my wish extend to see,

That Bishop lay his hands on thee,

Which thou for Calamy and Wild

Provided hast, in Verse so vil'd;

That 'twere lesse Torture to be hung

Out right, then thus be Ballad Sung

By Sluttish Muse; let those that cry

Kitchin-Stuffe to thy next reply;

If more thou writest at this Rate,

May'st thou be match'd at Billingsgate;

Where with thy Hawkers on thy side,

Thy prowesse will be better try'd;

No Regiment of Red-Coats Stout,

But of Red-petty-Coats the Rout,

For thy Encounter fittest are;

So Farewell Womans Man of War.

FINIS.
LONDON, Printed for R.B. 1663.

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EBBA 36439