 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
On the Three Dukes killing the Beadle on Sunday Morning, Febr. the 26th, 1670–1.
Near Holborne lies a Park of great Renown,The place, I do suppose is not unknown.
For brevity's sake the Name I shall not tell,
Because most genteel Readers know it well,
(Since middle Park near Charing-Cross was made,
They say there is a great decay of Trade)
'Twas there a Gleeke of Dukes by Fury brought
With bloody Mind a sickly Damsel sought,
And against Law her Castle did invade,
To take from her her Instrument of Trade,
'Tis strange (but sure they thought not on't before)
Three Bastard Dukes should come t'undoe one Whore.
Murder was cry'd (truth is, her case was sad)
When she was like to lose ev'n all she had:
In came the Watch, disturb'd with Sleep and Ale,
By shrill Noises, but they could not prevail,
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Betwixt the Night black Guard and Silver Stars;
Then fell the Beadle by a Ducal Hand,
For daring to pronounce the Sawcy Stand.
The way in Blood certain Renown to win,
Is first with bloody Noses to begin.
The high-born Youths their hasty Errand tell,
Dam ye you Rogue, we'll send your Soul to Hell.
They need not send a Messenger before,
They're too well known there to stay long at Door.
See what mishaps dare ev'n invade Whitehall;
This silly Fellow's death puts off the Ball,
And disappoints the Queen, poor little Chuck,
I warrant 'twould have danc'd it like a Duck.
The Fidlars, Voices, Entries, all the sport,
And the gay Show put off, where the brisk Court
Anticipates in rich Subsidy-Coats
All that is got by mercenary Votes:
Yet shall Whitehall the Innocent, the Good,
See these men dance all daub'd with Lace and Blood.
Near t'other Park there stands an aged Tree,
As fit as if 'twere made o'th' nonce for Three;
Where that no Ceremony may be lost,
Each Duke for State may have a several Post.
What Storms may rise out of so black a Cause,
If such Turd-Flies shall break through Cobweb Laws?
| Poems on Affairs of State | |