 | The Poetical Works of the Ingenious and Learned William Meston |  |
Sol chancing to lift up his eye,
From's journal-book, did quickly spy
The stripling, who stood half-amaz'd,
While on these raree-shows he gaz'd
“My son, quoth he, what brought thee hither?”
Sir, if I may but call you father,
Said Phaeton,”
“and if my mother
“Ne'er play'd the whore with any other,
‘Give me some proof to know it by,
‘That I may frankly give the lye
‘To any, be he great or small,
‘Who me a son of whore shall call:
‘For, faith, Sir, I must here confess,
‘I never yet, in market-place,
‘Durst throw a stone, but I did dread,
‘That I might break my father's head.”
From's journal-book, did quickly spy
The stripling, who stood half-amaz'd,
While on these raree-shows he gaz'd
“My son, quoth he, what brought thee hither?”
Sir, if I may but call you father,
121
“Ne'er play'd the whore with any other,
‘Give me some proof to know it by,
‘That I may frankly give the lye
‘To any, be he great or small,
‘Who me a son of whore shall call:
‘For, faith, Sir, I must here confess,
‘I never yet, in market-place,
‘Durst throw a stone, but I did dread,
‘That I might break my father's head.”
| The Poetical Works of the Ingenious and Learned William Meston | |