The School of Politicks or, the humours of a coffee-house: a poem. The Second Edition Corrected and much Enlarged by the Author [i.e. Edward Ward] |
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| VII. | VII.
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| XXI. |
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 | The School of Politicks |  |
VII.
[Scarce was this Son of Thunder gone]
Scarce was this Son of Thunder gone,
Who tir'd the Ears of every one,
Yet with his blust'ring Language warm,
But new Discourse began,
Talk understood by every one
Concerning the late dreadful Storm.
Lord! Neighbour, did you ever hear
(Says one) so terrible a Wind?
I that have liv'd this threescore Years,
The like could never find,
How Sir, (replied his Friend,)—have you forgot
That blust'ring Night that Noll th'Usurper died?
When all the Winds in order tried,
Who should blow hardest on the Spot,
A Storm so dreadful that 'twas thought
About by Witchcraft brought;
When trembling Atheists went to Prayer,
Thinking the Day of Judgment near;
And Fear appear'd in ev'ry Face.
Pish, (cries his Friend,)—what that time was,
I well remember, but, alas!
To the late Wind it was no more,
Than farting of a Cloud, or shrieking of a Door.
I'll tell you: There was lately sent
To me a Letter out of Kent,
Which says, it blew the Devil's Drop
(A Rock by Dover seen)
Along the Shoar, as if't had been
A School-boy's Gig or Top,
And plac'd it on this side the Hope,
And that was strange.—
Who tir'd the Ears of every one,
Yet with his blust'ring Language warm,
But new Discourse began,
7
Concerning the late dreadful Storm.
Lord! Neighbour, did you ever hear
(Says one) so terrible a Wind?
I that have liv'd this threescore Years,
The like could never find,
How Sir, (replied his Friend,)—have you forgot
That blust'ring Night that Noll th'Usurper died?
When all the Winds in order tried,
Who should blow hardest on the Spot,
A Storm so dreadful that 'twas thought
About by Witchcraft brought;
When trembling Atheists went to Prayer,
Thinking the Day of Judgment near;
And Fear appear'd in ev'ry Face.
Pish, (cries his Friend,)—what that time was,
I well remember, but, alas!
To the late Wind it was no more,
Than farting of a Cloud, or shrieking of a Door.
I'll tell you: There was lately sent
To me a Letter out of Kent,
Which says, it blew the Devil's Drop
(A Rock by Dover seen)
Along the Shoar, as if't had been
A School-boy's Gig or Top,
And plac'd it on this side the Hope,
And that was strange.—
—But not by half,
So wonderful (another speaks,) as that
I now am going to relate:
Grazing it to an Essex Calf,
Near to the Shoar, and blew him cross the River,
Quite into Kent, where the poor thing remains
As sound and well as ever.
This caus'd the Company to laugh out-right:
Which Mirth t'increase a jolly Sailer swore,
That on that ne'er to be forgotten Night,
(Though to preserve her they had spar'd no pains,)
Their goodly Ship was stranded near the Shoar,
Laden with Claret from Bourdeaux she came;
The Vessel dash'd to pieces, every Man
Nimbly to save himself began;
I, for my part, seeing a Hogshead float,
Quickly astride upon it got,
And, Faith, I think I was not much to blame,
My drunken Friend and I got safe to Land,
Where in requital of the good
He did me, caus'd his dearest Bloud
To issue from him upon my command,
My Friends and I were merry at his death,
And I shall ne'er forget him while I've breath.
Finding this dull Romantick strain,
Amongst that Company to reign,
Whose Talk was nothing else but Fable,
I, leaving them, went to another Table.
So wonderful (another speaks,) as that
I now am going to relate:
Grazing it to an Essex Calf,
8
Quite into Kent, where the poor thing remains
As sound and well as ever.
This caus'd the Company to laugh out-right:
Which Mirth t'increase a jolly Sailer swore,
That on that ne'er to be forgotten Night,
(Though to preserve her they had spar'd no pains,)
Their goodly Ship was stranded near the Shoar,
Laden with Claret from Bourdeaux she came;
The Vessel dash'd to pieces, every Man
Nimbly to save himself began;
I, for my part, seeing a Hogshead float,
Quickly astride upon it got,
And, Faith, I think I was not much to blame,
My drunken Friend and I got safe to Land,
Where in requital of the good
He did me, caus'd his dearest Bloud
To issue from him upon my command,
My Friends and I were merry at his death,
And I shall ne'er forget him while I've breath.
Finding this dull Romantick strain,
Amongst that Company to reign,
Whose Talk was nothing else but Fable,
I, leaving them, went to another Table.
| The School of Politicks | |