 | The Revels of the Gods |  |
96
THE Revels of the GODS:
OR, A Ramble thro' the Heavens.
When
Punch, that inspires us with Wit and with Gladness,
Had rais'd up my Spirits almost to a Madness,
My Fancy bewildred, 'twixt Sixes and Sevens,
By th'help of my Muse toss'd me up to the Heavens.
The Stars, as I pass'd, shone as Glorious as Day,
And like Link-Boys, methought, Light me on in my way:
The Moon look'd so bright, as she whilr'd thro' the Air,
I had Kist her, but that she's as Chaste as she's Fair.
Whilst Sol, who to Nature so Loving a Friend-is,
Was Rip'ning of Sugar and Spice in the Indies.
Had rais'd up my Spirits almost to a Madness,
My Fancy bewildred, 'twixt Sixes and Sevens,
By th'help of my Muse toss'd me up to the Heavens.
The Stars, as I pass'd, shone as Glorious as Day,
And like Link-Boys, methought, Light me on in my way:
The Moon look'd so bright, as she whilr'd thro' the Air,
I had Kist her, but that she's as Chaste as she's Fair.
Whilst Sol, who to Nature so Loving a Friend-is,
Was Rip'ning of Sugar and Spice in the Indies.
I being thus Rambl'd, where few could have found-me,
And strange Constellations mov'd flaming around-me;
At last over-heard such sweet Musick and Mirth,
Exceeding whatever I'd heard upon Earth:
I prickt up my Ears like a Horse at a Horn,
That I might the Place of this Jollitry Learn:
And coming by chance to Aquarius's Dwelling,
I found the Old Gentleman Stagg'ring and Reeling,
I enter'd his House, being a Glorious Abode,
Whilst the Drunken Old Sot knew me not from a God,
But rowl'd, like a Swine, up and down with his Pitcher,
And Swore he was Greater than Jove, nay, and Richer.
Whilst I was afraid he'd have a Jostl'd a Star,
And have Drown'd the low'r World by breaking his Jar;
I follow'd the sound that so Ravish'd my Ear,
And higher advanc'd, between Pleasure and Fear.
And strange Constellations mov'd flaming around-me;
At last over-heard such sweet Musick and Mirth,
Exceeding whatever I'd heard upon Earth:
I prickt up my Ears like a Horse at a Horn,
That I might the Place of this Jollitry Learn:
97
I found the Old Gentleman Stagg'ring and Reeling,
I enter'd his House, being a Glorious Abode,
Whilst the Drunken Old Sot knew me not from a God,
But rowl'd, like a Swine, up and down with his Pitcher,
And Swore he was Greater than Jove, nay, and Richer.
Whilst I was afraid he'd have a Jostl'd a Star,
And have Drown'd the low'r World by breaking his Jar;
I follow'd the sound that so Ravish'd my Ear,
And higher advanc'd, between Pleasure and Fear.
At last looking round me, I happily see
The Beings above us as Merry as we;
Each God, by his Goddess, sat Round in a Ring,
Some Drinking, whilst others Sang Hey ding a ding.
Each Health that they Drank with a Bumper was Crown'd,
Which without Hesitation went chearfully round;
Whilst Stars of huge bulk, of a Modern Creation,
Were newly Light up for their Illumination.
The Fat that before 'em stood fill'd with good Liquor,
Was high as Pauls Church, but abundantly thicker,
That no Drowthy God should its smallness Complain-on,
It held near as much as the Mediterranean.
The Cup they Drank round ('twas Damnation to skip)
Was in form of a Boat, but as big as a Ship,
Which Launch'd into Nectar, had Circular motion,
And swam round the Bowl, like the Ark in the Ocean.
To say like a Ship, is a little beside-it,
Because it no Sails had, or Rudder to Guide-it:
But with the good Liquor it mov'd the same way,
And run with the Stream, like the Vicar of Bray.
The Muses stood by 'em, with Cittern and Fiddle,
And when the Gods Drank, there was Hey diddle diddle:
A Song too sometimes, when Apollo was Merry,
No Hymn, but a Catch, such as Boat to the Ferry.
The Beings above us as Merry as we;
Each God, by his Goddess, sat Round in a Ring,
Some Drinking, whilst others Sang Hey ding a ding.
Each Health that they Drank with a Bumper was Crown'd,
Which without Hesitation went chearfully round;
Whilst Stars of huge bulk, of a Modern Creation,
Were newly Light up for their Illumination.
The Fat that before 'em stood fill'd with good Liquor,
Was high as Pauls Church, but abundantly thicker,
That no Drowthy God should its smallness Complain-on,
It held near as much as the Mediterranean.
98
Was in form of a Boat, but as big as a Ship,
Which Launch'd into Nectar, had Circular motion,
And swam round the Bowl, like the Ark in the Ocean.
To say like a Ship, is a little beside-it,
Because it no Sails had, or Rudder to Guide-it:
But with the good Liquor it mov'd the same way,
And run with the Stream, like the Vicar of Bray.
The Muses stood by 'em, with Cittern and Fiddle,
And when the Gods Drank, there was Hey diddle diddle:
A Song too sometimes, when Apollo was Merry,
No Hymn, but a Catch, such as Boat to the Ferry.
The Goblet to Jove's mighty Hand being come,
He fills it, and mounts it 'twixt Finger and Thumb;
Altho' 'twas as big as I told you in Truth,
I've show'd with what ease he Convey'd it to's Mouth:
No wonder, for Mortals in History find,
That Gods can do Miracles when they've a Mind.
A Health Jove began, to the best end of Juno,
By which they had often been Junctus in Uno;
The Bowl went about with much simp'ring and winking,
Each God lick'd his Lips, at the Health he was Drinking.
Whilst Venus and Pallas look'd ready to Rave,
That her Goddessship's Scut should such Preference have
The Bowl being large enough, hoping the rather
Their amiable Rumps might have swam altogether.
He fills it, and mounts it 'twixt Finger and Thumb;
Altho' 'twas as big as I told you in Truth,
I've show'd with what ease he Convey'd it to's Mouth:
No wonder, for Mortals in History find,
That Gods can do Miracles when they've a Mind.
A Health Jove began, to the best end of Juno,
By which they had often been Junctus in Uno;
The Bowl went about with much simp'ring and winking,
Each God lick'd his Lips, at the Health he was Drinking.
Whilst Venus and Pallas look'd ready to Rave,
That her Goddessship's Scut should such Preference have
99
Their amiable Rumps might have swam altogether.
Thus both being Vex'd, Venus swore by her Power,
The Nectar had something in't made it drink Sowre:
Which Pallas confirm'd by her Shield and her Sword,
And Vow'd 'twas as Musty besides as a T---d.
But Juno perceiving 'twas out of ill-Nature,
That Venus and Pallas abus'd the Good-Creature,
Because to her Peacock Precedence was given,
As the best and the finest Fledg'd Bird in the Heaven:
Insinuating, under a wink and a snicker,
As if the good Health had Corrupted the Liquor:
And finding they'd cast this Reflection upon her,
In Juno 'twas Justice to stand by her Honour:
Who raising her Bum from her Seat in a Passion,
To Venus and Pallas she made this Oration:
Pray, Goddesses! What do you mean I beseech-it,
To basely Reflect on my Tippet-de-witchet?
I know by your Smiles, Leering Looks, and your Winks,
And your Items and Jeers, you'd Insinuate it Stinks:
Dispraising the Nectar, well knowing you meant,
That a Health to my Tw---t gave the Juice an Ill-Scent.
Nay, Laugh if You Please, for I know I'm extreamly
To blame, thus to blurt out a Word so unseemly.
But all know the Proverb, wherein it is said,
That a Tw---t is a Tw---t, and a Spade is a Spade;
And now I'm provok'd, for a Truth I may tell-it,
Tho' as a Red as a Fox, yet it smells like a Vi'let.
By Jove I'll be Judge, if I am not as sweet
I may say, as a Primrose from Head to my Feet.
And he, you may swear, who's my Husband and Lover,
Has Kist me, and Felt me, and Smelt me all over;
And if he can say an Ill Scent does arise,
From my Toes, or my Armpits, my Ears or my Thighs,
Like Rotten old Cheshire, low Vervane, or Ling,
And altho' I'm a Goddess, I'll hang in a String.
Your self, Lady Fair, that arose from the Sea,
Sure will not presume to be fragrant as me:
The Spark that has laid at your Feet all his Trophies,
Has smelt you sometimes strong as Pickl'd Anchovies:
But what if he has, were you Ranker and Older,
You'd be e'en good enough for a Smith or a Soldier.
The Nectar had something in't made it drink Sowre:
Which Pallas confirm'd by her Shield and her Sword,
And Vow'd 'twas as Musty besides as a T---d.
But Juno perceiving 'twas out of ill-Nature,
That Venus and Pallas abus'd the Good-Creature,
Because to her Peacock Precedence was given,
As the best and the finest Fledg'd Bird in the Heaven:
Insinuating, under a wink and a snicker,
As if the good Health had Corrupted the Liquor:
And finding they'd cast this Reflection upon her,
In Juno 'twas Justice to stand by her Honour:
Who raising her Bum from her Seat in a Passion,
To Venus and Pallas she made this Oration:
Pray, Goddesses! What do you mean I beseech-it,
To basely Reflect on my Tippet-de-witchet?
I know by your Smiles, Leering Looks, and your Winks,
And your Items and Jeers, you'd Insinuate it Stinks:
Dispraising the Nectar, well knowing you meant,
That a Health to my Tw---t gave the Juice an Ill-Scent.
Nay, Laugh if You Please, for I know I'm extreamly
To blame, thus to blurt out a Word so unseemly.
But all know the Proverb, wherein it is said,
That a Tw---t is a Tw---t, and a Spade is a Spade;
And now I'm provok'd, for a Truth I may tell-it,
Tho' as a Red as a Fox, yet it smells like a Vi'let.
By Jove I'll be Judge, if I am not as sweet
I may say, as a Primrose from Head to my Feet.
100
Has Kist me, and Felt me, and Smelt me all over;
And if he can say an Ill Scent does arise,
From my Toes, or my Armpits, my Ears or my Thighs,
Like Rotten old Cheshire, low Vervane, or Ling,
And altho' I'm a Goddess, I'll hang in a String.
Your self, Lady Fair, that arose from the Sea,
Sure will not presume to be fragrant as me:
The Spark that has laid at your Feet all his Trophies,
Has smelt you sometimes strong as Pickl'd Anchovies:
But what if he has, were you Ranker and Older,
You'd be e'en good enough for a Smith or a Soldier.
These Words put the Goddess of Love in a Fire.
And made her look Redder than Mars that was by her
My Beauty, says Venus, obtain'd the Gold Apple,
Mine A---s Kiss, says Juno, you shall have a couple.
I'd have you to know, Queen of Sluts, I defie you,
And all you can say, or the Bully that's by you.
And made her look Redder than Mars that was by her
My Beauty, says Venus, obtain'd the Gold Apple,
Mine A---s Kiss, says Juno, you shall have a couple.
I'd have you to know, Queen of Sluts, I defie you,
And all you can say, or the Bully that's by you.
And as for that Tomboy, that boasts she can wield,
In Quarrels and Brangles her Lance and her Shield,
That never yet Tasted the Heavenly Blessing,
But always lov'd Fighting much better than Kissing:
I know she'd be glad to be Ravish'd by Force,
By some Lusty God, that's as strong as a Horse.
But who'd be so forward, unless he was Tipsie,
To chuse for a Miss such a Masculine Gipsie;
A Tirmagant Dowdy, a Nasty Old Maid;
Who slights Copulation, as if she was Spay'd:
Which makes me believe, that under her Bodice,
She wants the dear Jem that's the Pride of a Goddess.
In Quarrels and Brangles her Lance and her Shield,
That never yet Tasted the Heavenly Blessing,
But always lov'd Fighting much better than Kissing:
I know she'd be glad to be Ravish'd by Force,
By some Lusty God, that's as strong as a Horse.
But who'd be so forward, unless he was Tipsie,
To chuse for a Miss such a Masculine Gipsie;
A Tirmagant Dowdy, a Nasty Old Maid;
Who slights Copulation, as if she was Spay'd:
101
She wants the dear Jem that's the Pride of a Goddess.
Now Pallas enrag'd at so high a Reflection,
Cry'd out, I thank Jove, I am made in Perfection.
And ev'ry thing have from a Hole to a Hair,
Becoming the Goddess of Wisdom and War;
As Paris well knew, when he took a Survey
Of those parts where a Goddesses Excellence lay;
Who stroak'd it and smil'd, when my Legs he had parted.
And peep'd till I thought his poor Eyes wou'd have started.
Then Licking his Lips, did aver't to be true,
I was each way as full well accomplish'd as you.
Indeed, Madam Juno, I'll therefore be plain,
If ever I hear these Reflections again:
I vow as a Goddess, and no Mortal Sinner,
I shall have no Patience, but handle your Pinner.
Cry'd out, I thank Jove, I am made in Perfection.
And ev'ry thing have from a Hole to a Hair,
Becoming the Goddess of Wisdom and War;
As Paris well knew, when he took a Survey
Of those parts where a Goddesses Excellence lay;
Who stroak'd it and smil'd, when my Legs he had parted.
And peep'd till I thought his poor Eyes wou'd have started.
Then Licking his Lips, did aver't to be true,
I was each way as full well accomplish'd as you.
Indeed, Madam Juno, I'll therefore be plain,
If ever I hear these Reflections again:
I vow as a Goddess, and no Mortal Sinner,
I shall have no Patience, but handle your Pinner.
With that the Great Jupiter rose in great Anger,
And looking on Pallas, was ready to Bang-her,
Pox take ye, says he, is your Scolding a Lecture
That ought to be Preach'd o'er a Bowl of good Nectar?
To Drink we came hither, to Sing and be Civil:
As Gods to be Merry, and not Play the Devil.
Why, Mortals on Earth, that Live Crowded in Allies,
As Landresses, Porters, poor Strumpets, and Baylies;
When got o'er a Gallon of Belch, or a Sneaker
Of Punch, could not wrangle more over their Liquor:
And you that are Goddesses thus to be Squabbling,
As if you were Bred up to Scow'ring and Dabbling!
And all for a Fig, or a Fart, or a Feather,
Or some silly thing that's as trivial as either!
For shame, my Fair Goddesses, bridle your Passions,
And make not in Heaven such filthy Orations
About your Bumfiddles; a very fine Jest!
When the Heavens all know they but stink at the best.
Tho' ye think you much mend with your Washes the matter,
And help the Ill-Scent, with your Orange Flower-water;
But when you've done all, 'tis but playing the Fool,
And like stifling a T---d in a Cedar Close-Stool:
Besides, Gods of Judgment have often Confest,
That the Natural Scent, without Art, is the best.
And looking on Pallas, was ready to Bang-her,
Pox take ye, says he, is your Scolding a Lecture
That ought to be Preach'd o'er a Bowl of good Nectar?
To Drink we came hither, to Sing and be Civil:
As Gods to be Merry, and not Play the Devil.
Why, Mortals on Earth, that Live Crowded in Allies,
As Landresses, Porters, poor Strumpets, and Baylies;
When got o'er a Gallon of Belch, or a Sneaker
Of Punch, could not wrangle more over their Liquor:
And you that are Goddesses thus to be Squabbling,
As if you were Bred up to Scow'ring and Dabbling!
102
Or some silly thing that's as trivial as either!
For shame, my Fair Goddesses, bridle your Passions,
And make not in Heaven such filthy Orations
About your Bumfiddles; a very fine Jest!
When the Heavens all know they but stink at the best.
Tho' ye think you much mend with your Washes the matter,
And help the Ill-Scent, with your Orange Flower-water;
But when you've done all, 'tis but playing the Fool,
And like stifling a T---d in a Cedar Close-Stool:
Besides, Gods of Judgment have often Confest,
That the Natural Scent, without Art, is the best.
The Goddesses all, at these Sayings took Snuff,
And rose from their Seats in a Damnable Huff:
Their Frowns and their Blushes were mingl'd together,
And went off most Angerly, I know not whither.
And rose from their Seats in a Damnable Huff:
Their Frowns and their Blushes were mingl'd together,
And went off most Angerly, I know not whither.
Come, come, says old Bacchus, bestriding a Barrel,
'Tis well they're all troop'd, since they're ready to Quarrel,
Their Tongues are more Noisy to me than a Drum,
And always make Musick where-ever they come.
'Tis strange that a God of such Wisdom as Jove,
And Courage as Mars, should be so much in Love:
That when we'd be Merry, my Dear, and my Sweeting
Must come to Obstruct the Design of our Meeting.
A Goddess, 'tis true, for an half Hours Chat,
When a God's in Distress for a Bit for his Cat,
I approve well enough; but I think, by my Soul,
That a Bear's as good Company over a Bowl.
'Tis well they're all troop'd, since they're ready to Quarrel,
Their Tongues are more Noisy to me than a Drum,
And always make Musick where-ever they come.
'Tis strange that a God of such Wisdom as Jove,
And Courage as Mars, should be so much in Love:
That when we'd be Merry, my Dear, and my Sweeting
Must come to Obstruct the Design of our Meeting.
A Goddess, 'tis true, for an half Hours Chat,
When a God's in Distress for a Bit for his Cat,
I approve well enough; but I think, by my Soul,
That a Bear's as good Company over a Bowl.
103
With that the Gods smil'd, took it all in good part,
And drunk round a Bumper to ev'ry true Heart.
Not Mortals, but Gods, who Couragiously went-in
To Glories Immortal, thro' Gates Adamantin.
Tho' their Hands were all steddy, and Mouths very wide,
Yet Filling, or Drinking, some Drops fell beside:
And what they thus scatter, amidst of their Mirth,
Are Blessings that fall down by chance upon Earth;
And where a Drop lights, there arises a Vine;
Thus Mortals below, came at first by their Wine;
Which kindled a Spirit Immortal within-us:
A Blessing some think Heaven ne'er did Design-us.
And drunk round a Bumper to ev'ry true Heart.
Not Mortals, but Gods, who Couragiously went-in
To Glories Immortal, thro' Gates Adamantin.
Tho' their Hands were all steddy, and Mouths very wide,
Yet Filling, or Drinking, some Drops fell beside:
And what they thus scatter, amidst of their Mirth,
Are Blessings that fall down by chance upon Earth;
And where a Drop lights, there arises a Vine;
Thus Mortals below, came at first by their Wine;
Which kindled a Spirit Immortal within-us:
A Blessing some think Heaven ne'er did Design-us.
The Gods being free, now at Dead Time of Night,
From the Tatling of Gossips that spoil'd their Delight:
With an Audible Voice, Proclaim'd thro' the Skies,
That they now were resolv'd to be Merry and Wise.
A Health to the Moon, Jolly Bacchus began-it,
And swore she'd his Love above every Planet;
In Honour to Cinthia, let th'Heavens Decree,
That Nectar and Day-Light shall never agree.
Let Needy Poor Mortals their Cares wash away,
In the sight of the Sun, and get Drunk in the Day.
But we that are Gods will our Bacchinals keep,
By the Pride of the Moon when the World is a Sleep.
From the Tatling of Gossips that spoil'd their Delight:
With an Audible Voice, Proclaim'd thro' the Skies,
That they now were resolv'd to be Merry and Wise.
A Health to the Moon, Jolly Bacchus began-it,
And swore she'd his Love above every Planet;
In Honour to Cinthia, let th'Heavens Decree,
That Nectar and Day-Light shall never agree.
Let Needy Poor Mortals their Cares wash away,
In the sight of the Sun, and get Drunk in the Day.
But we that are Gods will our Bacchinals keep,
By the Pride of the Moon when the World is a Sleep.
Then Jove fill'd a Bumper, and cry'd, It's well known
That Belus is King of the Heavenly Throne.
I therefore, says he, cannot Toss you a Health,
To any but those that are less than my self;
So here's to those Mortals that lay aside Thinking,
And imitate us, that are Gods, by their Drinking;
Whose Jolly Red Faces are Pleasant to stare at,
And out-shine the Skies by the Vertue of Claret:
To those do I Drink: May they never want Wine,
Whilst the Heavens rowl round, or the Gods are Divine:
By the Pow'r of which Juice, may they Vanquish their Fates
And become, like us Gods, both Immortal and Great:
Which they easily might do, but the Rogue of a Wretch,
Each Vintner I mean, who too greedily stretch
His Profit the larger, and Pocket the wider,
Instead of good Wine, draws 'em Rascally Syder.
That Belus is King of the Heavenly Throne.
104
To any but those that are less than my self;
So here's to those Mortals that lay aside Thinking,
And imitate us, that are Gods, by their Drinking;
Whose Jolly Red Faces are Pleasant to stare at,
And out-shine the Skies by the Vertue of Claret:
To those do I Drink: May they never want Wine,
Whilst the Heavens rowl round, or the Gods are Divine:
By the Pow'r of which Juice, may they Vanquish their Fates
And become, like us Gods, both Immortal and Great:
Which they easily might do, but the Rogue of a Wretch,
Each Vintner I mean, who too greedily stretch
His Profit the larger, and Pocket the wider,
Instead of good Wine, draws 'em Rascally Syder.
When this had gone round, then Apollo began,
Says he, Since Great Jove takes such Notice of Man,
To the Gods, here Assembled, it no great Abuse is,
If I toss a Health to the Sons of the Muses;
Their own Merry Ballads and Comedies tell us,
They're a parcel of good Honest Drunken poor Fellows;
And sometimes can Write you a Poem or Ditty,
(Tho' 'tis but by Chance) that's indifferently Witty.
Come let them Live well, tho' they're ne'er worth a Groat,
May they never want Wine to Inspire 'em with Thought:
For if they once should, 'tis a doubtless Assertion,
Themselves would want Wit, and the World want Diversion:
Their Pains shall be great, and but little their Gains,
Thus they'll never grow Rich by the Worm in their Brains;
But still shuffle on by their Chiming of Words,
To tickle rich fools, or to Flatter great Lords.
Let's give 'em their way, since they can't well forbear it,
That's to Rail beyond Reason, or Praise beyond Merit:
For as the World goes, they must Starve, or by Lies
Make Knaves appear Honest, and Fools appear Wise.
Says he, Since Great Jove takes such Notice of Man,
To the Gods, here Assembled, it no great Abuse is,
If I toss a Health to the Sons of the Muses;
Their own Merry Ballads and Comedies tell us,
They're a parcel of good Honest Drunken poor Fellows;
And sometimes can Write you a Poem or Ditty,
(Tho' 'tis but by Chance) that's indifferently Witty.
Come let them Live well, tho' they're ne'er worth a Groat,
May they never want Wine to Inspire 'em with Thought:
For if they once should, 'tis a doubtless Assertion,
Themselves would want Wit, and the World want Diversion:
Their Pains shall be great, and but little their Gains,
Thus they'll never grow Rich by the Worm in their Brains;
105
To tickle rich fools, or to Flatter great Lords.
Let's give 'em their way, since they can't well forbear it,
That's to Rail beyond Reason, or Praise beyond Merit:
For as the World goes, they must Starve, or by Lies
Make Knaves appear Honest, and Fools appear Wise.
Then Mars Cock'd his Helmet, and fill'd up a Bumper,
Ads-heart, had you Seen't, you'd have Sworn 'twas a Thumper.
Says he, Brother Gods, I expect you'll Oblige-me,
As I have done you, that is fairly to Pledge-me;
A Health to all Heroes, both Pikeman and Gunner,
Called Gentlemen Soldiers, by some, Men of Honour.
From the mighty Commander that leads with his Truncheon,
To th'hungry poor Rogue, that would Fight for a Luncheon.
Or Cut for one Groat twenty Throats in his way,
Provided they're all but dispatch'd in a Day:
To all Gladiators, and such that Delight-in
Scars, Scuffles, and Wars, Bloody Hacking and Fighting,
Whose Faces are Honour'd with Scars and with Patches,
At the Bear-Garden won, or in Drunken Debauches:
Who value no danger, at nothing will shrink,
And sell their own Bloods to get Money for Drink:
To all the bold Mortals in Earth's lower Region,
Who for any King Fight, or for any Religion,
And think 'tis a Wise and a Soldierly way,
To change the best Cause for the much better Pay.
Ye Governing Stars, with this Cup I Command ye,
Send plenty of Whores, good Tobacco, and Brandy
To these my brave Sons, that they ne'er may be Stented;
In these their Delights, and I'll war'nt them Contented;
When Old or Decrepid, then which they most Covet,
A Grave, or an Hospital, pray let 'em have it.
Ads-heart, had you Seen't, you'd have Sworn 'twas a Thumper.
Says he, Brother Gods, I expect you'll Oblige-me,
As I have done you, that is fairly to Pledge-me;
A Health to all Heroes, both Pikeman and Gunner,
Called Gentlemen Soldiers, by some, Men of Honour.
From the mighty Commander that leads with his Truncheon,
To th'hungry poor Rogue, that would Fight for a Luncheon.
Or Cut for one Groat twenty Throats in his way,
Provided they're all but dispatch'd in a Day:
To all Gladiators, and such that Delight-in
Scars, Scuffles, and Wars, Bloody Hacking and Fighting,
Whose Faces are Honour'd with Scars and with Patches,
At the Bear-Garden won, or in Drunken Debauches:
Who value no danger, at nothing will shrink,
And sell their own Bloods to get Money for Drink:
To all the bold Mortals in Earth's lower Region,
Who for any King Fight, or for any Religion,
And think 'tis a Wise and a Soldierly way,
To change the best Cause for the much better Pay.
106
Send plenty of Whores, good Tobacco, and Brandy
To these my brave Sons, that they ne'er may be Stented;
In these their Delights, and I'll war'nt them Contented;
When Old or Decrepid, then which they most Covet,
A Grave, or an Hospital, pray let 'em have it.
When ev'ry God had his Humour express'd,
And Drank like a Cit at an Aldermans Feast;
Their Brains being warm'd upon whimsies were running,
Apollo for Jesting, for Rhiming, and Punning:
And Bacchus, as Merry as Chaplain or Vicar,
Made Blund'ring Orations in Praise of the Liquor:
Whilst Mars Swore by Jove it was Heavenly Nectar,
And Brandish'd his Sword o'er the Bowl like a Hector;
Then pushing i'th' Air, like a Prodigal Fencer,
Cry'd, Here I cou'd have you, and there too again, Sir.
Tho' Frantick and Tipsie, they still Fuddled on,
Till their Guts were quite full, and their Senses quite gone.
That Jove look'd so Pale you might see what he'd been at,
And let fly at last at the End it went in at:
Thus Spew'd into Portugal Dregs so unwholesome,
That first made their Wine so deep-colour'd and fulsome;
Then Bacchus being Leaky, he piss'd into France,
Inriching their Grapes with the Spirit of Nants,
Apollo b'ing given to Poetical Strains,
He blow'd his Nose often to clear up his Brains,
Which fell into th'Islands of Spain, from which Gravy,
Their Wines, tho' so pleasant and strong, yet are heavy,
Enrich'd with the Filth of his Brains you must know it's
The Reason why Sack's so admir'd by our Poets;
Who often have Sung forth such Praises about it,
That they seem to confess they could scarce Write without it;
But Mars being a God of great Strength well as Stature,
The Liquor went thro' him by due course of Nature;
And finding his Guts had occasion for Ease,
Untying his Trousers, and bending his Knees,
He Dung'd into England; which scurvy mishap,
Produc'd us dull Barley instead of the Grape:
From whence we have found that the best of all Soil,
Is a Rotten old T---d for manuring our Isle:
Besides from the Ordure that dropt from the Bum
Of the great God of War, does our Bravery come;
And Drank like a Cit at an Aldermans Feast;
Their Brains being warm'd upon whimsies were running,
Apollo for Jesting, for Rhiming, and Punning:
And Bacchus, as Merry as Chaplain or Vicar,
Made Blund'ring Orations in Praise of the Liquor:
Whilst Mars Swore by Jove it was Heavenly Nectar,
And Brandish'd his Sword o'er the Bowl like a Hector;
Then pushing i'th' Air, like a Prodigal Fencer,
Cry'd, Here I cou'd have you, and there too again, Sir.
Tho' Frantick and Tipsie, they still Fuddled on,
Till their Guts were quite full, and their Senses quite gone.
That Jove look'd so Pale you might see what he'd been at,
And let fly at last at the End it went in at:
Thus Spew'd into Portugal Dregs so unwholesome,
That first made their Wine so deep-colour'd and fulsome;
Then Bacchus being Leaky, he piss'd into France,
Inriching their Grapes with the Spirit of Nants,
107
He blow'd his Nose often to clear up his Brains,
Which fell into th'Islands of Spain, from which Gravy,
Their Wines, tho' so pleasant and strong, yet are heavy,
Enrich'd with the Filth of his Brains you must know it's
The Reason why Sack's so admir'd by our Poets;
Who often have Sung forth such Praises about it,
That they seem to confess they could scarce Write without it;
But Mars being a God of great Strength well as Stature,
The Liquor went thro' him by due course of Nature;
And finding his Guts had occasion for Ease,
Untying his Trousers, and bending his Knees,
He Dung'd into England; which scurvy mishap,
Produc'd us dull Barley instead of the Grape:
From whence we have found that the best of all Soil,
Is a Rotten old T---d for manuring our Isle:
Besides from the Ordure that dropt from the Bum
Of the great God of War, does our Bravery come;
Which makes us, if Anger'd, in Mem'ry of Mars,
To our Enemy cry, that we'll kick 'em o'th' Arse:
A Saying, I'm sure, that is no where in Fashion,
Except among Heroes of this Boxing Nation.
The Sun being now come about to the East,
And each Sottish God was as Drunk as a Beast:
The Goddesses Wak'd in their several Houses,
And finding the miss of their Gallants and Spouses;
Arose in a Fury, for want of possessing
Those Joys, which the Goddesses deem such a Blessing.
And whipping their Petticoats over their Breeches,
They flew with more speed than a Sive full of Witches.
And after some search, found the Gods where they left 'em.
So Dround in their Cups, it of Patience bereft 'em.
To our Enemy cry, that we'll kick 'em o'th' Arse:
A Saying, I'm sure, that is no where in Fashion,
Except among Heroes of this Boxing Nation.
The Sun being now come about to the East,
And each Sottish God was as Drunk as a Beast:
108
And finding the miss of their Gallants and Spouses;
Arose in a Fury, for want of possessing
Those Joys, which the Goddesses deem such a Blessing.
And whipping their Petticoats over their Breeches,
They flew with more speed than a Sive full of Witches.
And after some search, found the Gods where they left 'em.
So Dround in their Cups, it of Patience bereft 'em.
Says Juno to Jove, You're a very fine Blade,
A whole Night together to follow this Trade!
And sit like Swine sotting over your Nectar,
With Bacchus, that Beast, and Mars, that Bully-Hector,
You a Pattern of Vertue! to show good Examples;
T'encourage poor Mortals to build you up Temples;
And practice your self what's so Odious an Evil?
You King of the Gods! You a God for the Devil:
To leave me alone in my Palace all Night-too,
And wrong me of that which you know I have a Right to,
That Cancer at Midnight came Crawling upon me,
And pinch'd with his Claws where 't 'ad like to've undone me.
Pox take you, says Jove, for a Scolding old Drab:
Can you not, at these Years, keep your Whim from a Crab?
Pray call me no Drab, I'm a Goddess of Honour:
For shame you Old Sot use me not in this manner?
Why sure you forget Im your Wife, and no Harlot,
For you, now you're Drunk, to thus Hector and Snarl-at.
Pray come and go home, or I Vow I'll so Scold-ye,
The Heavens shall quickly be too hot to hold-ye.
With that the Great Jove from his Cushion arose,
And found 'twas high time to march Home with his Spouse:
But being ill Vext, let a Fart, to the Wonder
Of all the Low'r World, who mistook it for Thunder.
A whole Night together to follow this Trade!
And sit like Swine sotting over your Nectar,
With Bacchus, that Beast, and Mars, that Bully-Hector,
You a Pattern of Vertue! to show good Examples;
T'encourage poor Mortals to build you up Temples;
And practice your self what's so Odious an Evil?
You King of the Gods! You a God for the Devil:
To leave me alone in my Palace all Night-too,
And wrong me of that which you know I have a Right to,
That Cancer at Midnight came Crawling upon me,
And pinch'd with his Claws where 't 'ad like to've undone me.
Pox take you, says Jove, for a Scolding old Drab:
Can you not, at these Years, keep your Whim from a Crab?
109
For shame you Old Sot use me not in this manner?
Why sure you forget Im your Wife, and no Harlot,
For you, now you're Drunk, to thus Hector and Snarl-at.
Pray come and go home, or I Vow I'll so Scold-ye,
The Heavens shall quickly be too hot to hold-ye.
With that the Great Jove from his Cushion arose,
And found 'twas high time to march Home with his Spouse:
But being ill Vext, let a Fart, to the Wonder
Of all the Low'r World, who mistook it for Thunder.
Then Venus began, but dissembled her Passion,
Because she lay under a high Obligation:
For Whores must be Civil, or else be rewarded
Perhaps with a Kick, or at least be Discarded;
Especially that poor Unfortunate Harlot,
Whose Stars have decreed her to dote upon Scarlet;
Which Venus consid'ring, and knowing to flatter,
Did like a true Jilt rightly manage the matter.
She stroak'd his old Scars, cry'd, My Love and my Dear, I
Am wond'rously Joyful to see you so Merry.
I Dream'd all the Night that my Arms were around thee,
And fancy'd I felt thee, where oft I have found thee:
But when I Awak'd, and perceiv'd you were missing,
And the Pillow, alas! I'd been hugging and kissing;
I Sigh'd, thou I Ponder'd, and wish'd my self with thee,
And could not be happy, my Dear, till I see thee.
But prithee, my Love, now thou'st got thy full Dose,
Let me lead you Home, least you fall on your Nose:
Where I have prepar'd thee a Mess of such Jelly,
Will settle thy Stomach, and warm thy poor Belly.
Because she lay under a high Obligation:
For Whores must be Civil, or else be rewarded
Perhaps with a Kick, or at least be Discarded;
Especially that poor Unfortunate Harlot,
Whose Stars have decreed her to dote upon Scarlet;
Which Venus consid'ring, and knowing to flatter,
Did like a true Jilt rightly manage the matter.
She stroak'd his old Scars, cry'd, My Love and my Dear, I
Am wond'rously Joyful to see you so Merry.
I Dream'd all the Night that my Arms were around thee,
And fancy'd I felt thee, where oft I have found thee:
But when I Awak'd, and perceiv'd you were missing,
And the Pillow, alas! I'd been hugging and kissing;
I Sigh'd, thou I Ponder'd, and wish'd my self with thee,
And could not be happy, my Dear, till I see thee.
110
Let me lead you Home, least you fall on your Nose:
Where I have prepar'd thee a Mess of such Jelly,
Will settle thy Stomach, and warm thy poor Belly.
Says Mars, I'll go with thee, my pretty dear Baby,
A Lovinger Gipsie sure never God lay-by.
Then straight he got up, and together they went,
As great as Old Nick, and the Old Earl of Kent.
Thus Love, Fear, or Int'rest, makes Misses obliging,
When Wives shall presume to be Scolding and Chiding,
A Lovinger Gipsie sure never God lay-by.
Then straight he got up, and together they went,
As great as Old Nick, and the Old Earl of Kent.
Thus Love, Fear, or Int'rest, makes Misses obliging,
When Wives shall presume to be Scolding and Chiding,
Then Pallas with Tongue, loud as Acteon's hollow,
In words, like a Tirmagant, Rav'd at Apollo;
For a Goddess above, like a Woman below,
If she thinks her self Wise, to be sure she's a Shrow.
In words, like a Tirmagant, Rav'd at Apollo;
For a Goddess above, like a Woman below,
If she thinks her self Wise, to be sure she's a Shrow.
Good Morrow, says she, Great Apollo; I'm glad,
That a God of your Parts can so Drunk be, and Mad.
For shame, you Young Fop, leave affronting the Muses
And give not Young Girls such Ungod-like Abuses:
D'ye see how you've spoil'd a good Harp and a Fiddle?
Would any poor Drunkard but you be so Idle?
D'ye hear how the Signs and the Planets, cry shame-on,
The Great God of Wisdom as Drunk as a Dray-man?
Your Sons upon Earth, if your Aid be desir'd,
Are likely by you to be finely inspir'd!
When you their God's Fuddled, Pray what can they make us,
But Drunken dull Catches in Praise of Old Bacchus?
And not Sing of Heroes, of Arms, or of Love,
But of Sots, such as Bacchus, Apollo, or Jove:
Who, when you get safe to Aquarius's Quarters,
Can sit till you Spew, like a parcel of Porters.
Are you God of Wisdom, of which I am Goddess?
Reel home mighty Wit, for a staggering Novice,
And not tarry here with your Head and Arms dangling
As if you were some Parish Ideot or Changling.
That a God of your Parts can so Drunk be, and Mad.
For shame, you Young Fop, leave affronting the Muses
And give not Young Girls such Ungod-like Abuses:
D'ye see how you've spoil'd a good Harp and a Fiddle?
Would any poor Drunkard but you be so Idle?
D'ye hear how the Signs and the Planets, cry shame-on,
The Great God of Wisdom as Drunk as a Dray-man?
Your Sons upon Earth, if your Aid be desir'd,
Are likely by you to be finely inspir'd!
When you their God's Fuddled, Pray what can they make us,
But Drunken dull Catches in Praise of Old Bacchus?
111
But of Sots, such as Bacchus, Apollo, or Jove:
Who, when you get safe to Aquarius's Quarters,
Can sit till you Spew, like a parcel of Porters.
Are you God of Wisdom, of which I am Goddess?
Reel home mighty Wit, for a staggering Novice,
And not tarry here with your Head and Arms dangling
As if you were some Parish Ideot or Changling.
This Reprimand vext Apollo a little,
Because she was only his Part'ner in Title.
His Wife had she been, there was some Reason for it,
And then the poor God must with Patience have bore-it:
But since she was neither his Miss, nor his Spouse,
Yet behav'd her self so like a Turbulent Blouze:
Apollo in Passion, as well as in Liquor,
Took Courage, and bid her Be gone, or he'd Kick-her:
The Goddess at that was most highly affronted,
And scolded so long till she groan'd and she grunted;
But Apollo still Swore, Jolly Bacchus and he,
As long as they'd Drink, never parted wou'd be.
From whence Wit and Wine are so closely United,
With which the low'r World are so greatly Delighted.
Because she was only his Part'ner in Title.
His Wife had she been, there was some Reason for it,
And then the poor God must with Patience have bore-it:
But since she was neither his Miss, nor his Spouse,
Yet behav'd her self so like a Turbulent Blouze:
Apollo in Passion, as well as in Liquor,
Took Courage, and bid her Be gone, or he'd Kick-her:
The Goddess at that was most highly affronted,
And scolded so long till she groan'd and she grunted;
But Apollo still Swore, Jolly Bacchus and he,
As long as they'd Drink, never parted wou'd be.
From whence Wit and Wine are so closely United,
With which the low'r World are so greatly Delighted.
As the Gods have Decreed, let no other Temptation,
Be ever admitted to make Separation;
But let us, poor Mortals, with diligence follow
The God-like Example of Noble Apollo.
Be ever admitted to make Separation;
But let us, poor Mortals, with diligence follow
The God-like Example of Noble Apollo.
141
THE Dutch-Guards Farewel TO ENGLAND.
In Times of Great Danger, have we been so Civil,
To save your Religion from Pope and the Devil?
The Freedoms and Laws which your Kingdom may boast,
Have we lost Restor'd 'em, before they were Lost?
Your Lives we Preserv'd, from the Priests Bloody Slaughter,
Endang'ring our Own by our Crossing the Water.
We might have been Kill'd too, but that we were Cunning,
And turning our Tails, sav'd our selves by our Running.
Must these our Adventures with Shame be Rewarded
And not in the Leiger of Fame be Recorded?
Must we, the Battalions of Chosen Dutch Skaters,
Be drove by a Law from your Wives and your Daughters,
And kick'd from the Crown, like a parcel of Traytors?
Must we that Redeem'd you from Pop'ry & Slav'ry,
And made you all Free in the use of your Knav'ry,
Be Recompenc'd thus for our Courage and Brav'ry?
O England! O England! 'Tis very hard Measure;
And things done in Haste, are Repented at Leisure.
To save your Religion from Pope and the Devil?
The Freedoms and Laws which your Kingdom may boast,
Have we lost Restor'd 'em, before they were Lost?
Your Lives we Preserv'd, from the Priests Bloody Slaughter,
Endang'ring our Own by our Crossing the Water.
We might have been Kill'd too, but that we were Cunning,
And turning our Tails, sav'd our selves by our Running.
Must these our Adventures with Shame be Rewarded
And not in the Leiger of Fame be Recorded?
Must we, the Battalions of Chosen Dutch Skaters,
Be drove by a Law from your Wives and your Daughters,
And kick'd from the Crown, like a parcel of Traytors?
Must we that Redeem'd you from Pop'ry & Slav'ry,
And made you all Free in the use of your Knav'ry,
Be Recompenc'd thus for our Courage and Brav'ry?
142
And things done in Haste, are Repented at Leisure.
But since we are forc'd to take leave of your Nation,
And Lope Scellum after a very Odd fashion;
Where our Frows and our Skildren were happily Settled;
To Tell you the Truth, we are damnably Nettled.
We bid you farewel, since we're bound to forsake-ye;
And heartily Wish a French Devil may take-ye;
May Discords Domestick arise and Consound-ye;
And Lewis this Summer with Forces Surround-ye.
May your Taxes encrease, till it quite has undone-ye;
And the Dutch run away with your Trade and your Money.
In the Midst of all which, may your Bankers forsake-ye;
And run with their Treasure to Holland and break-ye.
And Lope Scellum after a very Odd fashion;
Where our Frows and our Skildren were happily Settled;
To Tell you the Truth, we are damnably Nettled.
We bid you farewel, since we're bound to forsake-ye;
And heartily Wish a French Devil may take-ye;
May Discords Domestick arise and Consound-ye;
And Lewis this Summer with Forces Surround-ye.
May your Taxes encrease, till it quite has undone-ye;
And the Dutch run away with your Trade and your Money.
In the Midst of all which, may your Bankers forsake-ye;
And run with their Treasure to Holland and break-ye.
Farewel to your Beef, Pudden, Capon, and Mutton,
And all your fine Dainties, so fit for a Glutton,
You've nothing so Good for a Dutchman to Eat,
As Burgooe, Red-herring, Dry'd Whiting and Scate;
It's Food for a Bugher, or Chief of the State.
Farewel to your Women, made Fine by their Cloaths,
He that tickles their Tobies, endangers his Nose;
They'l ne'er be so Honest and Sound as our Frowes.
Farewel to our Landladies, Heaven reclaim 'em!
Who suffer'd Dutch Boors to so heartily Brim 'em.
And also adieu to their Cuckoldly Spouses,
Whose Wives we Subdu'd, and Commanded their Houses
Farewel to the Fruits of their kind Conversation,
The Brood of Young Flemins we've left in the Nation,
Who in time may Torment-ye (or else a Plague Rot 'em).
And Revenge the affront done to us that Begot-'em;
'Mongst us 'tis the Nature of Sister or Brother,
To punish all Wrongs, done to the Father or Mother;
For that Moral Duty in us is Inherent,
We'll never see Injury done to our Parent.
And all your fine Dainties, so fit for a Glutton,
You've nothing so Good for a Dutchman to Eat,
As Burgooe, Red-herring, Dry'd Whiting and Scate;
It's Food for a Bugher, or Chief of the State.
Farewel to your Women, made Fine by their Cloaths,
He that tickles their Tobies, endangers his Nose;
They'l ne'er be so Honest and Sound as our Frowes.
Farewel to our Landladies, Heaven reclaim 'em!
Who suffer'd Dutch Boors to so heartily Brim 'em.
143
Whose Wives we Subdu'd, and Commanded their Houses
Farewel to the Fruits of their kind Conversation,
The Brood of Young Flemins we've left in the Nation,
Who in time may Torment-ye (or else a Plague Rot 'em).
And Revenge the affront done to us that Begot-'em;
'Mongst us 'tis the Nature of Sister or Brother,
To punish all Wrongs, done to the Father or Mother;
For that Moral Duty in us is Inherent,
We'll never see Injury done to our Parent.
Farewel to the Grandeur and State that we liv'd-in;
And to your deep Bags we have pretty well div'd-in.
Farewel Brother Soldiers, you Drunken poor Fellows,
Who while we were Paid, run the hazard of Gallows,
Like True Men of Honour, in trying your Fortune,
For Money to Compass a Punk and a Quartan.
Farewel to the Pleasures of Kensington Town;
And the Sutlers true Nants, that went merrily down.
Farewel to King William, and Long may he Reign,
Whose Service we're forc'd from; and now to be plain,
Vel G---d we shall ne're live so Happy again.
And to your deep Bags we have pretty well div'd-in.
Farewel Brother Soldiers, you Drunken poor Fellows,
Who while we were Paid, run the hazard of Gallows,
Like True Men of Honour, in trying your Fortune,
For Money to Compass a Punk and a Quartan.
Farewel to the Pleasures of Kensington Town;
And the Sutlers true Nants, that went merrily down.
Farewel to King William, and Long may he Reign,
Whose Service we're forc'd from; and now to be plain,
Vel G---d we shall ne're live so Happy again.
144
An ELEGY ON WHITE-HALL.
Weep all ye Mortals who have Tears to spare
You that have none, continue as you are,
But, if you can't your usual Temper keep,
You, if you please, may Laugh at those that Weep.
But Reader, thou may'st justly ask me why,
Or wherefore, I should have you Laugh and Cry:
I'll tell thee then, if know the Truth you must,
Alas! Alas! White-Hall's Consum'd to Dust;
In Earthly things, Ah! Who would put their Trust?
You that have none, continue as you are,
But, if you can't your usual Temper keep,
You, if you please, may Laugh at those that Weep.
But Reader, thou may'st justly ask me why,
Or wherefore, I should have you Laugh and Cry:
I'll tell thee then, if know the Truth you must,
Alas! Alas! White-Hall's Consum'd to Dust;
In Earthly things, Ah! Who would put their Trust?
Tho' I confess, if I may be so bold,
To tell to you, what I have oft been told,
'Twas but a wicked Structure whilst it stood,
I always thought 'twould never come to Good.
To tell to you, what I have oft been told,
'Twas but a wicked Structure whilst it stood,
I always thought 'twould never come to Good.
Most, I believe, will my Opinion hold,
Like some good Wives, 'twas Ugly, aud 'twas Old.
Some think it was a Palace of Renown,
But I must say (with Rev'rence to the Crown)
It ne'er look'd truly Noble till 'twas down.
As scatter'd Ruins most delightful be,
In whose Disorder we most Beauty see,
Than can be found in Regularitie.
Like some good Wives, 'twas Ugly, aud 'twas Old.
Some think it was a Palace of Renown,
But I must say (with Rev'rence to the Crown)
It ne'er look'd truly Noble till 'twas down.
As scatter'd Ruins most delightful be,
In whose Disorder we most Beauty see,
Than can be found in Regularitie.
145
Before 'twas Burnt, it unregarded stood,
A Shapeless, Homely Pile of Brick and Wood:
But when the Fatal Flames had bore it down.
'Twas Gaz'd, at and Admir'd by all the Town.
A Shapeless, Homely Pile of Brick and Wood:
But when the Fatal Flames had bore it down.
'Twas Gaz'd, at and Admir'd by all the Town.
Alas 'tis gone! And all that does remain,
Is to Rebuild it finer up again;
Which Politicians say will be the Sequel,
So Laugh, or Cry, to me the matter's Equal.
Is to Rebuild it finer up again;
Which Politicians say will be the Sequel,
So Laugh, or Cry, to me the matter's Equal.
| The Revels of the Gods | |