Occasions Off-spring Or Poems upon Severall Occasions: By Mathew Stevenson |
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A gratus ades
To my highly honoured cozen Mr B. C. Comming to Norwich.
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 | Occasions Off-spring |  |
A gratus ades To my highly honoured cozen Mr B. C. Comming to Norwich.
And art thou come boone Ben? then Norwich say,Thankes (noble Phosphor) for this wisht for day
Then wellcome, wellcome, be they ever dumb:
That say not now wellcome B. C. wellcome:
Had I bene mute from birth, I now had broke,
All tounge tyes, and with dumb borne Atis spoke;
As Jove came downe the trifle to discusse,
T'wixt frogs and mice; so camst thou downe to us;
Both from above: though, here some difference lyes;
Hee came from heave'ns, thou from earth's paradise.
Yee both desend, being both divinely bright,
To dazle our inferiour Orb with light:
The country swaines' cause they alas could spell
No higher title, call thee Collenell;
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Thinke thou art Ceres, and resound their horne.
Devoutly beg thy largesse, and out vye,
The thunder with the ecch'o of their cry.
But when thou camest in at Stephens gate,
Thou gav'st our city cause enough of prate;
O how the people hurry, hurry ran,
To gaze upon thee as lf more then man!
What heards of Aproners at every looke?
Read on thy robes Norfolks illustrous Duke?
Weavers, like shutles, here, and there peep out,
And make no workon't for the revell rout.
Who finding how in vaine they strive for roome,
Each in a sustian furrey to his loome.
Returnes, And armed with his well try'd beame,
Levels his passage through th' oposing stream;
You'd laugh to see, how Taylours skipt about,
As mad as dogs to see themselues cut out.
VVishing theire needles had no eyes so they,
(Poore theeves) might see their bellyfull to day.
The that her from the top oth' house, seing all,
Capers as if hee car'd not for a fall;
But tis too tedious to recite the rest,
They that were part oth Crowd can tell you best.
O how they shrunk into each others arme!
T'was a great mercy, that there was no harme:
Their bodyes twin'd, and tounges lay never still,
As if the rout had bene a twistring mill.
In deede the Mayor, and all the skarlet Donnes,
The bells too, and the thunder thumping Gunnes.
Had bene your entertainment; but of late,
Tis superstition and growne out of date,
Nor had I thought t'haue writte, but your advance.
Constraind mee, Orpheus. playes, & trees must dance
I am created post by my Theame,
Like Memnon's statute by Apollos,. beame.
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