Iter boreale With large additions of several other poems: being an exact collection of all hitherto extant. Never before published together. The author R. Wild |
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III.
Old Holofernes was no sooner laid,Before the Idols Funeral Pomp was paid,
8
Let fools that trusted his true Mourners be.)
Richard the Fourth, just peeping out of Squire,
No fault so much, as th' old one was his Sire;
For men believ'd,—though all went in his Name,
Hee'd be but Tenant till the Landlord came:
When on a sudden (all amaz'd) we found
The seven years Babel tumbled to the ground;
And he, poor heart, (thanks to his cunning Kin)
Was soon in Querpo honest Dick agen.
Exit Protector.—What comes next? I trow,
Let the State-Huntsmen beat again.—So-ho,
Cries Lambert, Master of the Hounds,—Here sits
That lusty Puss, The Good Old Cause,—whose wits
Shew'd Oliver such sport; That, that (cries Vane)
Lets put her up, and run her once again:
She'l lead our Dogs and Followers up and down,
Whilst we match Families, and take the Crown.
Enter th' old Members: 'Twas the Month of May
These Maggots in the Rump began to play:
Wallingford Anglers (though they stunk) yet thought
They would make baits, by which Fish might be caught;
And so it prov'd, they soon by taxes made
More money than the Holland Fishing Trade.
| Iter boreale | |