Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Good Neighbours, and Friends, pray think it no low Thing,
To hear me descant, now, in Praise, of our Club;
May He, who's averse to't, be Hang'd, in my Bow-string,
Or be damn'd, all his Life-time, to Small-Beer and Bub:
For, tho' some, of late,
At Push-pin, do meet,
And whipping a Top, be the Game of the Great;

Yet, this is the best Club, that ever was seen,
Since Robin Hood's Days, and since little John Green.

114

II

First, then, from the Gods, we derive down our Trade;
(And, truly, the Exercise is most Divine,
For Iris's Bow, 's the First Bow, that was made,
Whose Mettle, and Use, and whose Colours, are fine;
When Rain spoils our Sport,
Then fair Iris we court,
Who shoots Arrows at Clouds, to keep us from Dirt;

O the Gallantest Club that, &c.

III

The first Archer I'll name, is a jolly red Blyth-one,
And ought not, I'm sure, to go unregarded;
'Tis He, as you're told, who murther'd great Python,
And stuck him with Arrows, like a Fowl Larded;
And this the bold Sun,
When, in Wrath, he had done,
He eat him all up, as sure as a Gun;

O the Gallantest, &c.

115

IV

An Archer, moreo'er, was the Son of Juno;
But I'll not say much of the Rough God of War,
For the Son of Venus, the God of Love, you know,
Will please the proud Cestrians better by far;
Who, tho' they do snub,
Sometimes, the Young Cub,
Yet he's the Blind Side, of this Amorous Club,

O the Gallantest, &c.

V

And now, last of all, a Cælestial Dame,
Shall end the Archers, which I quote, from Above;
Who, like mortal Ladies, much loved the Game;
But knew more of the Long-bow, than Courting, or Love:
Diana, I mean,
Who near breath'd a Vein,
But liv'd an Old Maid, sore against the Grain.

O the Gallantest, &c.

116

VI

The Gods then being o'er, let Mortals come in,
For some Gods upon Earth, were Archers, I trow;
Thus blind Hannibal at Cannæ did win,
And Great Alexander, where Granic do's flow;
Thus Cressy was won,
Where Monsieur did run,
Being beat with the Bow; and He's been by the Gun.

O the Gallantest, &c.

VII

Since these, then, were Archers, and Thousands besides,
Who for the Profession wou'd not declare?
Which not only is Antient, but Useful beside,
As, most safely, to you, aver now I dare;
For Bow, well as Physic,
Can cure the Phthisic,
And the String of the same, him, who for, Love is Sick,

O the Gallantest, &c.

117

VIII

If you are for Dose of Med'cine Gymnastic,
And exercising all the Body at once;
Can't you walk with a Bow, as well as with a Stick,
And then you imploy Nerves, Veins, Muscles, and Bones?
But no more I'll produce,
For my Bow, or its Use,
But the Beaux of the Club will speak on to chuse,

O the Gallantest, &c.

IX

The May'r of the Town, the First Archer is He,
And Famous he is, for his Sight and his Size;
Who, it's thought, very soon, a meer Cupid will be;
For sh***ng, or shooting, he winks with both Eyes;
He draws to the Head,
Hems, when He shoots Dead;
But when He shoots ill, there's much more to be said;

O the Gallantest, &c.

118

X

The next Man to Him, is his bulky Recorder,
Who can draw a Bill, better much than a Bow;
But he must come in, to keep up our Order;
For we have more Archers, who shoot but so, so;
Yet, when that is done,
To's Pipe let him run,
He's the best of the Club, at a Pot and a Pun

O the Gallantest, &c.

XI

An Archer, moreover, is Alderman Price;
Who steers, by his Cards, to Ardmail in the Dark;
A Solicitor, too, he is, wonderful Wise,
Tho' some Authors affirm, he was ne'er bred a Clerk
Who, winning at Whisk, Sir
Is jolly and brisk, Sir,
But otherwise frets, hanging Ears, just like his Cur

Ye Players at Whisk, observe well the same,
Picking Nose, pulling Wig, signifies a Bad Game.

119

XII

And now, 'mongst the Clergy, after the Red Gown,
(Whose Inside is bright, tho' their Outside be dark)
The General Vicar, his Tackling has laid down,
Having shot all this while, but ne'er hit the Mark;
But, as for the Sport,
Tho' he be not for't,
Yet, 'tis well for the Club, they've a Friend, in the Court;

O the Gallantest, &c.

XIII

Make Room for the Chanter, he's just come from Cappah,
You may know, by his Haste, he suits on the Wing;
So that as for the White, He cou'd ne'er give't a Slap-a,
And to shoot at a Black, you'll say, 's an odd thing:
Howe'er, for Tit-Bit,
From Pot, or from Spit,
There's none, like the Chanter, the Club that can hit,

O the Gallantest, &c.

120

XIV

Parson Piper, who looks so like an Old Sinner,
By Practice in Shooting, the much worse is grown
So that as for the Widow, there's no Hopes he'll win her
For his Point, more he shoots, the more it hang down
But, O! let him fill
His Pipe, and sit still;
All he'll say to the Club, 's, They may say what they will

O the Gallantest, &c.

XV

But, lastly, have at the jolly School-master,
For a goodly and graceful Member is He;
Who first whips a Boy, and then whips a Tester;
Who Mah's at the Mark, but Hits an old Tree
Now, tho' She of York,
Did not like his Work,
Yet his Point it flies up, it is of the High Kirk;

O the Gallantest Club, Sir, that ever was seen,
Since Robin Hood's Days, and since Little John Green