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The Master to His Scholars, barring him out at Christmas.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Master to His Scholars, barring him out at Christmas.

In good time (Youths) why how now boyes, what ail ye?
What's here to do, Bellum Grammaticale.
I thought that arms should have given place to Arts,
But You can't say, and now ye play Your parts.
A Man that at Your Barrocadoes looks,
Would think that you are, now, close at your books.
Your manners (Boyes) has got a Letbean Cup:
If You bar out, your Master must break up?
And if I do? Ile be upon Your Jacks,
(Rebels) and hang ye on each others backs.

31

What have we here? a race of brutish Tartars?
Take Quarter, or, Ile fall upon Your Quarters.
Twigs, I shall bend ye, or, if longer crost,
Ile bend the twigs about ye to Your cost.
What saucy writings this on the School door,
Were not my eyes abus'd enough before?
Thus in a Castle, You your suit commence,
As if you durst not trust your innocence.
Your part is not to prate, but stand in awe,
No custom (Pigmies) but my will's your law.
And, if ye still plead with me at this bar,
You'l find me Judge, and Executioner.