Men-Miracles With other Poemes. By M. LL. St [i.e.Martin Lluelyn] |
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The Life and Death of Jacke the Nimble, cheife saddle Nagge to Doctor S. C. of C.
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The Life and Death of Jacke the Nimble, cheife saddle Nagge to Doctor S. C. of C.
The
Trojan Horse as Homer notes,
Was fill'd with Men, instead of Oates.
And if for Provender he seekes,
They brought him halfe a pecke of Greekes.
An Army came, and he was for't all,
Grasse and Hay, the men were Mortall,
Yet sure it would amaze a stranger,
To see an Army in his manger.
But Nimble Jacke despis'd this Fable,
Nor was a Sinon Groome on's Stable.
Jacke was no Stratagem I tell yee,
To put his Riders in his Belly:
Nor Gin as knowes the Ostler William,
To ruine all the men of Ilium.
But leaves this Record of his fall,
He ne're was such a Canniball,
But gentle Sirs, if youl be quiet,
Weel tell you more then of his Diet.
His Comely crest, his goodly Ey,
And all his Physiognomie.
His eare erect, his cleanely Nose,
That ne're was troubled with a Pose.
Or the moist Glaunders, whose releife
Might make him weare a Handchercheife.
His Ivory Teeth now weepe, for harke,
I thinke they scarce outliv'd the marke.
His head was neate, which he held in
Like Maides that force a Double Chin.
So spruce so coy it still did sit,
Either with Snaffle or with Bit:
Breast firly broad, and Backe, I take it,
Could ne're be sadled, calld when naked.
Full Flanke, Round Belly, if you mind it
With Legs before, and eke behind it.
And so descend we to his Shankes,
Which ne're were knowne to either Bankes.
Not him, who when you heare it youl
Say, kept the Horses dancing Schoole.
He taught them Congee all, and bow,
And cringe, nay aske not, God knowes how.
But this though ne're so well h'had knowne ye,
Had carriage faire, sanz Ceremony.
Yet Jacke, though plaine, defies the Devill,
To say he ever was uncivill,
And did not greet both Cloake and Gowne,
As much as any horse in Towne.
Was fill'd with Men, instead of Oates.
And if for Provender he seekes,
They brought him halfe a pecke of Greekes.
An Army came, and he was for't all,
Grasse and Hay, the men were Mortall,
Yet sure it would amaze a stranger,
To see an Army in his manger.
But Nimble Jacke despis'd this Fable,
Nor was a Sinon Groome on's Stable.
Jacke was no Stratagem I tell yee,
To put his Riders in his Belly:
Nor Gin as knowes the Ostler William,
To ruine all the men of Ilium.
41
He ne're was such a Canniball,
But gentle Sirs, if youl be quiet,
Weel tell you more then of his Diet.
His Comely crest, his goodly Ey,
And all his Physiognomie.
His eare erect, his cleanely Nose,
That ne're was troubled with a Pose.
Or the moist Glaunders, whose releife
Might make him weare a Handchercheife.
His Ivory Teeth now weepe, for harke,
I thinke they scarce outliv'd the marke.
His head was neate, which he held in
Like Maides that force a Double Chin.
So spruce so coy it still did sit,
Either with Snaffle or with Bit:
Breast firly broad, and Backe, I take it,
Could ne're be sadled, calld when naked.
Full Flanke, Round Belly, if you mind it
With Legs before, and eke behind it.
And so descend we to his Shankes,
Which ne're were knowne to either Bankes.
Not him, who when you heare it youl
Say, kept the Horses dancing Schoole.
He taught them Congee all, and bow,
And cringe, nay aske not, God knowes how.
42
Had carriage faire, sanz Ceremony.
Yet Jacke, though plaine, defies the Devill,
To say he ever was uncivill,
And did not greet both Cloake and Gowne,
As much as any horse in Towne.
But there's another Bankes I wisse,
Whom Jacke knew not no more then this.
Who though he after kept a Taverne,
Shod's horse with Gold yellow as Safferne.
From him Jacke alwayes kept aloofe,
Finer in Body then in Hoofe.
And held it ill to praunce in street,
With's Masters whole estate at's feet.
And casting shooe did never hoppe,
Instead oth' Smith toth'Goldsmiths' shop.
Whom Jacke knew not no more then this.
Who though he after kept a Taverne,
Shod's horse with Gold yellow as Safferne.
From him Jacke alwayes kept aloofe,
Finer in Body then in Hoofe.
And held it ill to praunce in street,
With's Masters whole estate at's feet.
And casting shooe did never hoppe,
Instead oth' Smith toth'Goldsmiths' shop.
This for his Bulke for speed alas
A freer ne're made meale on Grasse.
And since the wise Horse Heraulds finde,
He was a Beast of Spanish kinde.
Begot in the Iberian coast,
Where winds get Nags to travel Post.
A freer ne're made meale on Grasse.
And since the wise Horse Heraulds finde,
He was a Beast of Spanish kinde.
Begot in the Iberian coast,
Where winds get Nags to travel Post.
But, Reader, though we praise Jacke thus,
We grant he was no Pegasus,
Though prance he doth, though heeles he flings,
Yet we allow he had no wings.
For Sir, I tell you in a word,
Jacke was a Horse, and not a Bird.
Heel take it ill, if after ages
Shall thinke his stables were his cages.
We grant he was no Pegasus,
Though prance he doth, though heeles he flings,
Yet we allow he had no wings.
43
Jacke was a Horse, and not a Bird.
Heel take it ill, if after ages
Shall thinke his stables were his cages.
And now 'twould puzzle wisest Carrier,
Or Beasts Hippocrates the Farrier.
To riddle what disease might call,
Deare Jacke to his disastrous fall.
Twas neither filthy Bots, nor Spavin,
Which other horses often have in
Their Flesh diseased, he did not founder,
His legs were smooth as any Flourder.
Not sicke of what men call the yellow,
Nor over-rode did melt his Tallow.
But come from Uxbridge died to see
So many men more Beasts then He.
Who would not yeild the King his right,
As who should say, nay then good night.
Or Beasts Hippocrates the Farrier.
To riddle what disease might call,
Deare Jacke to his disastrous fall.
Twas neither filthy Bots, nor Spavin,
Which other horses often have in
Their Flesh diseased, he did not founder,
His legs were smooth as any Flourder.
Not sicke of what men call the yellow,
Nor over-rode did melt his Tallow.
But come from Uxbridge died to see
So many men more Beasts then He.
Who would not yeild the King his right,
As who should say, nay then good night.
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