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A Panegyrick upon Oates

[by Richard Duke]

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A PANEGYRICK UPON OATES

SILVESTREM TENUI MUSAM MEDITEMUR AVENA

Of all the Grain our Nation yield's
In Orchards, Gardens, or in Fields,
There is a Grain, (which tho 'tis common)
Its Worth till now, was known to no man
Not Ceres Sicle 'ere did Crop,
A Grain with Ears of greater hope;
For why? some say, the Earth n'ere bore
In any Clime, such Seed before.
Yet this Grain has (as all must own)
To Grooms and Ostlers well bin known;
And often has, without disdain,
In Musty Barn and Manger layn;
As if it had bin only good
To be for Birds and Beasts the Food:
But now by new inspired force.
It keeps alive both Man and Horse
Speak then, my Muse, for now we guess,
What Grain it is, thou wouldst express.
It is not Barley, Rye, or Wheat,
That can pretend to such a Feat;
'Tis Oates, bare Oates, which is become
The Health of England, Bane of Rome,
And Wonder of all Christendom.
And therefore Oates has well deserv'd,
From Musty Barn to be prefer'd,
And now in Royal Court preserv'd;
That, like Hesperian Fruit, Oates may
Be watch'd and Garded night and Day;
Which is but just Retaliation
For having Guarded a whole Nation.
Hence every lofty Plant which stands
'Twixt Barwick Wals and Dover Sands,
The Oake it self, which well we stile
The Pride and safe-guard of our Isle,
Must Wave and Strike its lofty Head,
And now Salute an Oaten Reed:
For surely Oates deserves to be
Exalted far 'bove any Tree.
Th'Egyptians once (tho' it seems odd)
Did worship Onyons for a God;
And poor peel'd Garlick was with them
Esteem'd beyond the greatest Gemm.
What would they 'done, had they, think ye
Had such a Blade of Oates as we?
Oates of such known Divinity!
Since then by Oates such good we find,


Let Oates at least now be enshrin'd,
Or in some sacred Press enclos'd
Be only kept to be expos'd;
And all fond Reliques else, shall be
Deem'd Objects of Idolatry.
Popelings may tell us, how they saw
Their Garnet's Picture on a Straw;
'Twas a Great miracle we know
To see him drawn in little so,
But on an Oaten Stalk, there is
A greater miracle than this,
A Visage, which with lively Grace
Does Twenty Garnets now Out-face,
And like Twig of Dodona's Grove
Ev'en speak's as if inspir'd by Jove.
Nay, to add to the Wonder more,
Declares unheard-of Things before,
And Thousand mysteries does unfold,
As plain as Oracles of old;
By which we steer affaires of State,
And stave off Britain's sullen Fate.
Let's then, in honour of the name
Of Oates enact some Solemn Game,
Where Oaten Pipe shall us inspire
Beyond the Charms of Orpheus Lyre;
Stones, Stocks and every Senceless thing
To Oates shall dance, to Oates shall sing.
Whilst Woods amaz'd to th'Ecchos ring.
And as (that Hero's names may not
When they are rotten; be forgot)
We hang Atchievements o're their Dust;
(A debt to their great merits just:)
So if Deserts of Oates we prize,
Let Oates still hang before our eyes;
Thereby to raise our Contemplation,
Oates being to this Happy Nation
The Mystic Embleme of Salvation.
FINIS.