 | Poems by Matthew Stevenson |  |
Upon a City Captain in Eutopia, arresting a Book-seller for beating him.
Book beats down Buffe here, & the Trophies parts,
Why that's no wonder, Arms must yield to Arts.
His War-like Limbs upon the floor were spread,
Never, alas, was Buffe so buffetted.
'Twas a fine fight, had You but been to see't?
There Marslay couchant at Apollo's feet.
The Man of Iron did at first look grim,
But Book turn'd over a new leaf with him.
Could such a martial out-side let in fear?
To quit his station for a Stationer.
Doubtlesse, the City cannot choose but be
Sweetly helpt up, with such Auxil'ary.
She need not fear, he will defend her Wall,
As bravely, as the Gyants do Guild-Hall.
He wears a Guilded Gorget, what of it?
A Ladies Gorget would be far more fit.
A just comparison, for, as I take it,
An Amazon would put him in her placket.
A Booby, a Buffoon, a thing so tame,
He wears no terrour 'bout him, but his name.
And that too, now is so ridic'lous made,
As it makes none except himself afraid.
When Helmets by his prowess should be cleft,
Alas! his heart is with his Mistrisse left.
Set paces through the Street he measures out,
But, cannot, would he hang himself, look stout.
And he does wear, that all the World may see,
The sillyest Head-piece of the company.
And let a real Enemy appear,
I would not, for a groat, be in his Rear.
In brief, the Puppet is scarce fit to be
One of the Life-Guard to a Cherry-tree.
And therefore, lest there a Don Quixot want,
The Windmils take thee for their Combatant.
Yet, if thou shouldst the Wind would blow thee down,
And take advantage of thy copple-crown.
Why that's no wonder, Arms must yield to Arts.
His War-like Limbs upon the floor were spread,
Never, alas, was Buffe so buffetted.
'Twas a fine fight, had You but been to see't?
There Marslay couchant at Apollo's feet.
The Man of Iron did at first look grim,
But Book turn'd over a new leaf with him.
131
To quit his station for a Stationer.
Doubtlesse, the City cannot choose but be
Sweetly helpt up, with such Auxil'ary.
She need not fear, he will defend her Wall,
As bravely, as the Gyants do Guild-Hall.
He wears a Guilded Gorget, what of it?
A Ladies Gorget would be far more fit.
A just comparison, for, as I take it,
An Amazon would put him in her placket.
A Booby, a Buffoon, a thing so tame,
He wears no terrour 'bout him, but his name.
And that too, now is so ridic'lous made,
As it makes none except himself afraid.
When Helmets by his prowess should be cleft,
Alas! his heart is with his Mistrisse left.
Set paces through the Street he measures out,
But, cannot, would he hang himself, look stout.
And he does wear, that all the World may see,
The sillyest Head-piece of the company.
And let a real Enemy appear,
I would not, for a groat, be in his Rear.
In brief, the Puppet is scarce fit to be
One of the Life-Guard to a Cherry-tree.
And therefore, lest there a Don Quixot want,
The Windmils take thee for their Combatant.
Yet, if thou shouldst the Wind would blow thee down,
And take advantage of thy copple-crown.
But, Sir, the Serjeants that you sent to me,
Were they the Serjeants of Your Company?
'Tis like they were, for they had learnt of You,
To come behind, to shew their valour too.
Herein (brave Heroe) you Your self enlarge,
Your Serjeants rally to a Counter-charge.
Were they the Serjeants of Your Company?
'Tis like they were, for they had learnt of You,
To come behind, to shew their valour too.
Herein (brave Heroe) you Your self enlarge,
Your Serjeants rally to a Counter-charge.
| Poems by Matthew Stevenson | |