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Poems

or, A Miscellany of Sonnets, Satyrs, Drollery, Panegyricks, Elegies, &c. At the Instance, and Request of Several Friends, Times, and Occasions, Composed; and now at their command Collected, and Committed to the Press. By the Author, M. Stevenson
 
 

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Upon one Bacon Rob'd by a Red Coat.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Upon one Bacon Rob'd by a Red Coat.

The time and place, hunger and hazard set,
And th' Combatants, Calveshead & Bacon met.
Bacon set up his brizzels, one wou'd pawn,
Their life at present, Bacon had been brawn,
VVhom the keen Souldier collard, and so home
Laid at him, Bacon was all of a fome;

103

VVho stoutly thus retorted; be n't mistaken,
To stay your stomack, Sir, know I am Bacon.
Bacon was of good chear, and thought to beat him,
But the rude Redcoat lookt as he wou'd eat him.
And being stomackful, he falls aboard,
In which sharp Conflict, Bacon lost his sword.
About his brains he brandisht his bright slasher,
The very sight of Bacon made him rasher.
And at each slive, cutting at Bacon's britch.
Sixteen by honours, made poor Bacon Flitch.
The Son of Iron follow'd, hackt, and chopt,
Bacon was fat, and in the broil he dropt.
VVho now his Belly full of fighting got,
Never alas, went Bacon so to Pot!
Tormented thus in his own grease, he fries
Poor Bacon turning up the Eggs of's Eyes.
And, seeing that the Souldier was so teasty,
Bacon repented he had been so reasty.
For now he knew not what himself to do with,
Bacon, alas, had ne'er a hamme to go with.
The Souldier from his bones the flesh had taken,
And made a very Sparrib now of Bacon.
At length the Souldier having out of measure,
Larded his leanness with fat Bacon's treasure,
Away marcht off that Rogue of the red list,
Whom, to his cost, Bacon had greaz'd ith' fist.
Bacon hoy'd home too, but he cou'd not gallop,
A man might see Bacon had lost a Collop.

104

But how must Bacon now recruit this Lent?
VVhy Bacon must to Pease incontinent.
To change conditions, Bacon did desire,
Out of the Frying-pan, into the Fire.
But it had been, had he been wise to hear?
Butter for Bacon he had ne'er been there.
VVho can but pitty what the whole destroyes?
Never was Bacon slic'd so in a froise!
But e're he meet again such two-edg'd talk,
Bacon swears he'l be hang'd upon a bawlk:
And that he might the powers above acquaint,
Poor Bacon took him to his Gridiron-Saint:
Yet when at last the matter up was taken,
The Souldier got many a Pound of Bacon.