University of Virginia Library

To Mr. James Stronge Bachelour, upon his wonderful Poem called Joanareidos.

What a fine piece of poetrie appears!
Such as hath not been seen these many years:
So strange for matter, and so strangly writ
That Joanareidos is matchless yet.
The Iliads and Odysses must give way,
And fam'd Ænæados yield up the day:
The high Austriados must also yield,
And Mortemeriados leave the field.
For where's that poet (all the world among)
That must not vail the bonnet to James Strong?
Thou bachelour of Arts, or rather bungler,
Or bachelour in life to whom the stronglier
(What else should move thee to commend thy sluts,
That might'st have spent thy time in cracking nuts,
Or looking birds-nests? or (what's best of these)
In eating butter'd cake, or tosted cheese)
Hail our James Strong! (Strong James!) whose every line
Draws like a cable all our wondring ey'ne,
And general applause from friends and foes,
And many strangers up and down (he trowes.)
O'tis a wondrous book; each word doth smell
As if't had something in it of a spell:
The lines are charming, and (if I guesse right)
They will bewitch women to scold and fight.
Old Robin Hood your western dames excel
Scarlet, and little John, and Adam Bell,
Clem of the Clough, and William Cloudeslee,
And all the out-laws of the Greenwood tree.
Had Guy of Warwicke, and the bold Sir Bevyes,
Stukely, and Jonny Armstrong made their levies
Of the most valiant Souldiers of their time,
And come to this siege, th'had been bet at Lime.
The Chubs in buff trembled, when (like to Turks)
The saw thy Joanes to rage upon the works,
They might have burnt their foes in piteous plight,
Had they but been their bed-fellows a night.
But oh! their fury was so rash, they kept
That fire within, for those they did protect:
So (for their zeal unto the Cause) perhaps
They pay'd them with a plaudite of claps.
Merciless then they were (there is no doubt)
That spar'd no friends within, nor foes without.
Nor within walls onely their valour lay,
But field too, as thy title page doth say:
And I believe their mettle they have shown
Under some Hedges, if the truth were known.
But I digress their power to relate,
It is a theme onely becomes thy pate.
I for thy pains (if such there can be found)
Wish thee one of thy Joanes, and that Joane sound;
That thou may'st lime her, and (on her) in time,
Beget a race of Joanes to fight for Lime.
O happy New-Inn-Hall! (where thou hadst luck
Such savoury dregs of poetry to suck)
For all will say it henceforth must excel
(For rhiming) Kates-Hall and Emanuel.
This Nation may report (upon their Oathes)
As Coriate did exceed for writing Prose;
So thou for penning an Heroick Song
Dost all surpass; In meeter being James Strong.