Poems On several Choice and Various Subjects Occasionally Composed By An Eminent Author. Collected and Published by Sergeant-Major P. F. [i.e. James Howell] |
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To my Dear Mother, The University of Oxford,
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 | Poems On several Choice and Various Subjects |  |
To my Dear Mother, The University of Oxford,
Before Mr. Cartwrights Poems Of CHRIST-CHURCH.
1650.
Alma Mater,
Many do suck thy Breasts, but now in some
Thy Milk turns into froth, and spumy scum:
In Others it converts to rheum and fleam,
Or some poor Wheyish stuff in steed of Cream.
Thy Milk turns into froth, and spumy scum:
In Others it converts to rheum and fleam,
Or some poor Wheyish stuff in steed of Cream.
In Some it doth Malignant Humors breed,
And make the Head turn round, (as that side Tweed)
Which Humors vaporing up into the Brains,
Break out to odd Fanatik sottish strains;
It makes them dote and rave, fret, fume and foam,
And strangely from the Text in Pulpits roam:
When they shold preach of Rheims, they prate of Rome;
Their Theme is Birch, their Preachment is of Brome;
And make the Head turn round, (as that side Tweed)
Which Humors vaporing up into the Brains,
Break out to odd Fanatik sottish strains;
It makes them dote and rave, fret, fume and foam,
And strangely from the Text in Pulpits roam:
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Their Theme is Birch, their Preachment is of Brome;
Nor mong thy Foorders onely such are found,
But who came ore the Bridge are much more Round.
But who came ore the Bridge are much more Round.
Some of thy Sons prove Bastards, fordid, base,
Who having suck'd Thee throw Dirt in Thy face:
When they have squeez'd thy Nipples and chaste Paps,
They dash thee on the Nose with Frumps and Raps;
They grumble at thy Commons, Buildings, Rents,
And wold Thee bring to Farthing Decrements.
Who having suck'd Thee throw Dirt in Thy face:
When they have squeez'd thy Nipples and chaste Paps,
They dash thee on the Nose with Frumps and Raps;
They grumble at thy Commons, Buildings, Rents,
And wold Thee bring to Farthing Decrements.
Few by thy Milk sound Nutriment now gain,
For want of good Concoction from the Brain.
For want of good Concoction from the Brain.
But this choice Son of Thine is no such Brat;
Thy Milk in Him did so Coagulat,
That it became Elixir, as we see,
In these smooth streams of fluent Poesie.
Thy Milk in Him did so Coagulat,
That it became Elixir, as we see,
In these smooth streams of fluent Poesie.
| Poems On several Choice and Various Subjects | |