 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
220
To the Lords assembled in Council; The Petition of Tho. Brown.
Humbly Sheweth,
Should you order Tom Brown
To be Whipt thro the Town
For Scurvy Lampoon,
Tate, Southern, and Crown,
Their Pens will lay down.
E'en Durfy himself, and such merry Fellows,
That put their whole trust in Tunes and Trangdillos,
May hang up themselves, and their Harps on the Willows.
For if Poets are punish'd for Libelling Trash,
Jo. Dryden, at sixty, may yet fear the Lash.
To be Whipt thro the Town
For Scurvy Lampoon,
Tate, Southern, and Crown,
Their Pens will lay down.
E'en Durfy himself, and such merry Fellows,
That put their whole trust in Tunes and Trangdillos,
May hang up themselves, and their Harps on the Willows.
For if Poets are punish'd for Libelling Trash,
Jo. Dryden, at sixty, may yet fear the Lash.
No Pension nor Praise,
All Birch and no Bays;
These are not right ways
Our Fancies to raise
To the writing of Plays,
And Prologues so witty,
That jerk at the City;
And now and then hit
Some Friend in the Pit,
So hard, and so pat,
Till he hides with his Hat
His monstrous Crevat.
The Pulpits alone
Can never preach down
The Fops of the Town:
Then pardon Tom Brown,
And let him write on.
But if you had rather convert the poor Sinner,
His foul railing Mouth may be stopt with a Dinner,
Give him Clothes to his back, some Meat and much Drink,
Then clap him close Prisoner without Pen and Ink.
All Birch and no Bays;
These are not right ways
Our Fancies to raise
To the writing of Plays,
And Prologues so witty,
That jerk at the City;
And now and then hit
Some Friend in the Pit,
So hard, and so pat,
Till he hides with his Hat
His monstrous Crevat.
The Pulpits alone
Can never preach down
The Fops of the Town:
Then pardon Tom Brown,
And let him write on.
But if you had rather convert the poor Sinner,
His foul railing Mouth may be stopt with a Dinner,
221
Then clap him close Prisoner without Pen and Ink.
And your Petitioner shall ever pray, &c.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |