University of Virginia Library

I Sing (though not in strain as they
In ev'ry line do merit Bay)
Not Hector, or the brave Æneas,
Amphiarus, nor Dapaneus;
Nor yet of Thetis valiant son,
Nor Prentice stout of famous Lon-
Don-Town; they're all such little brats,
That unto these they seem but Sprats
Of whose bold deeds I mean to write:
I chant o' th' man so full of might,
Before whom Thunder-thumphing Jove
Ran swifter then from Hawk doth Dove.

I treat of horrid Typhon's acts,
Whose eyes do equalize his facts,
And out of whose each shoulder springs
As many arms as there are Strings
On all the Fiddles of this Town,
Or Sheep that graze on Barsted-down.
Among which arms there doth appear
A head would cause Old Nick to fear,
And tremble too, did he but gaze on't,
I'll lay a Picce with him that layes on't.
So cross a Rogue was never seen
By Begger blinde of Bednal-green
With both his eyes. So much for that:

Now of his Brothers I must chat
A while; and let you understand,
Such children never were of Land,
(Nor of the Earth; but for Rhimes sake,
The Land for Earth this time I take.)
But to the point: pox on the Rhime,
'Thas forc'd me to commit a Crime
Against exactness.) These Braves then,
Who look'd like devils more then men,
Yeelded not in the least for strength,
For thickness, talness, bredth or length,
For rooting strong oaks, tearing rocks,
Breaking doors, or picking locks,
Passing the Seas without a bridge,
Or skipping o'er a great house-ridge;
Making a Switch of greatest Oak,
With which the bones of Gods they broke
That ne'er did brag on't (when return'd
Up to the heav'ns, where had sojourn'd
Their Godships) unto their said brother
Both by the father and the mother.
I have digressed somewhat long:
No matter, now I'll to't ding-dong.

You Muses nine that saw the fight
From horrid mount, and in what plight
The Gods were, when great Jove with fear
Ran here and there, and everywhere;
Upon his Horse-bird got astride;
The devil take the hindmost, cry'd;
And ran as swift from Pole to Pole,
As if h'd had at his bum-hole
The God of Fire; in danger great
To break his neck ere the retreat
Had been accomplisht; till his Bird
On Nilus-sands did drop a T---
Fain would I know the thing (or shape)
The fearful Gods did deign to Ape:
For this most certain is, and true,
They all did fear and tremble too:
But whether Conquest Gyants great
Did favour, or the Gods did beat,
Is not confirm'd; for since that time
Has not been seen in any clime
Gyants nor Gods; which makes some say
There's no such thing (a-lack-a-day!)
As Muses nine, or God Apollo.
But mark you what doth after follow:
For Mercury (the King of Posts)
Brings this same news from both the hosts.

All in the Land of Lumbardy
There dwelt, a Kyte? no, let me see,
There dwelt a Gyant: now I'll speed,
(The better day, the better deed)
'Twas on a Sunday just past noon,
That Typhon having with a Spoon
Big as is an English Wherry,
Cramb'd as much as Gut could carry
Of Whales white-broth, and of the meat,
Which in his Maw did cause a heat,
Invited Brothers, gentile Lubbers,
To play with him at Nine-pins, Rubbers.
I think 'tis fit to let you know,
Before I any further go,
Those Pins they were long-pointed rocks
That with his hands, and some few knocks
H'ad fram'd, that they lookt even so:
The Bowl beat out (by strength of blow)
Of the same stuff; though not so round,
But that there might be rounder sound.

It was about the midst of May,
When jolly was the world, and gay:
Thessalia was the proper place
In which this jovial Gyant-race
Did make their Match, in Recreation
To play a Set for a Collation
At Nine-pins. Eight did fiercely play;
The other betted (as some say.)

The three first Games this gallant troop
Did play, they took the pains to stoop,
And minde their sport: but growing hot
With tossing too much of the Pot,
(For they had Ale and strong Beer plenty,
More then enough for them and twenty)
They grew to words, from words to blows:
But Typhon with the crooked nose
Stept in between, and cry'd out, Peace;
Whereat the hubbub straight did cease,
So that they spent the whole long day
Without a blow, or farther fray
Then has bin mention'd. But much better
It had been, to prevent a greater
Mischief, had each giv'n to his mate
A rouzing blow upon the pate,
And cross the shins a thousand knocks,
Then Typhon with the snakie locks
Had with a Pin got such a blow,
As made him rub from knee to toe.
It was the great Encelades
(Pox on his picture) broke the peace;
Though some say 'twas against his will,
And meerly by the want of skill:
But Typhon ne'ertheless was neer,
For knock exchanging cuff o' th' ear.
But having made on deed reflexion,
And of his thoughts a recollection,
Still grinning in disdainful wise,
And Lightning flashing from his eyes,
He gather'd Nine-pins up and Boul,
(No Gyant daring him controul)
And hurl'd them up with such a might,
As that they vanisht out of sight,
And could no more be seen by eyes,
But in a moment pierc'd the skies,
And to augment the Gyants wonder,
Did rattle there as claps of Thunder,
Rushing into the very place
Where Gods the Goddesses embrace:
Though they poor souls did not surmize
That Nine-pins would idolatrize:
But cramming Panches full with Nectar,
Such as the Goddesses expect for
Appetite, but by reversion;
For there they hold it an aspersion,
As they in France allow a woman
To gurmundize and drink with no man;
But now and then in private they
Will tipple Nectar fast as Whey.
And thus the Gods resolv'd to drink,
Till night appear'd as black as Ink.
Stout Mars took nothing but Tobacco,
Caring not a Fart for Sack though,
Shunning all celestial rooms
Not scented with Tobacco's fumes.
For since in Holland he had been,
And purchas'd Honour to the keen-
Ness of his weapon, he would dare
With any's valour to compare;
That being noted for a Bragger,
Some Wags ycleped him Sword-dragger:
Yet lov'd he nothing more then smoak
And Beer, for which he'd pawn his Cloak,
And did; but nought could yet prevail,
To work a league with him and Ale:
A firy God, and so uncivil,
He onely liv'd to drink and drivel;
True signe his birth and bringing up
Proceeded from the Pipe and Cup.
But Jupiter, who drank his fill,
Lay fast asleep close by his Gill:
Juno lay by Silenus's Ass:
(He Bacchus foster-father was.)
Who saw them in this plight, might think
They had but little need of drink.
I will not say, Here lay a Punk,
Or there lay one was worse: but drunk
They were like Gods; and ev'ry Goddess
Lay reeking as the joynt that sod is.
Drink by Philosophy we finde,
Quells perturbations of the minde;
Dissolves those cares that do controul
The life and vigour of the soul.
In such a sleep the Gods were cast:
But when a nap or two was past,
They being frighted with the noise
Caus'd by those Nine-pins, Gyant-boys
Had flung; Jove starting up, quoth he,
Is this a time to disagree?
Dissentions are for mortal elves;
Gods should agree among themselves.
By this we seem as Fools and Cods heads,
With Nine-pins to assault the Gods heads.

The Deities by this time heard
Joves voice, which made them sore afeard:
When scales were from the eye-lids broke,
Had they known how, they would have spoke;
But standing all as in a maze,
With eyes did nothing else but gaze,
Quoth Jupiter once more, Who's there?
Where are you all? Bring me a Chayr.
But Venus half awake (good heart)
In stead of answer, let a fart:
But straightway conscious of a guilt,
And fearing scent from what was spilt;
Quoth she, 'Tis nothing, dreadful Sir.
You lye, you Whore; I heard a stir,
And I will know what is the matter.
Thus Jove continu'd raving at her.
Venus said nought, but thought the more,
And pouted at the stile of Whore.

Jove raging still more fierce and mad,
Well may we think not one was glad.
Twice, by the Alcoran he swore,
And bit his thumbs as oft, or more.

Pallas observing well this fit,
Forsakes the place where she doth sit,
Or lie, 'tis no great matter which;
It seems her fingers ends did itch
To be with Jove: so having bow'd,
Spoke words like these, (but not aloud)
Great Sir, whose anger is as fire,
Consuming such as feel your ire,
Be as a God, more prone to love
Then to destroy: Oh let me move
Your pitie; hearken unto me:
Those Cups which on the ground you see
Broke into fitters, and those Glasses,
Are all your own: but now what passes
On earth, which caus'd your Glasses fate,
I cannot to your Grace relate:
Thus much, your Glasses all are broke,
Too brittle to endure the stroke
Come from the Earths side; likewise they
That did the fact are fled away.

Quoth Jove, (& frowning, bit his tong)
The villain shall repent this wrong,
Could I but know him. Momus cry'd,
Surely you are all heavie ey'd;
(And with that mirth he's always in)
'Tis nothing but a blow with Pin.
Quoth angry Jupiter, Buffoon,
Leave fooling, or repent it soon:
Is this a time to carp and jest,
When Mortals dare the Gods molest?
If you'd have heels be kept from fetters,
Be mute in presence of your betters
No more of that; but now I'll know
What mortal there can be below,
Durst in this manner break my rest,
Or hatch such treason in his brest?
Are not the heavens Ninepin-proof?
I swear by Pegasus his hoof,
I'll be reveng'd of Pins and Bowl.

Quoth Pallas, Sir, upon my soul
There's not a Glass left whole: Mon Dieu,
The Gods themselves must drink in shoe.

Thus each day does create new pranks;
Mortals (for mirth) deserve our thanks.
The thanks return'd shall as Rue (bitter)
Be unto all, quoth Jupiter:
If straight I put not Rods in piss
For them, they will do worse then this:
By Pluto, my revenge shall flie
(As th' injury, and I am) high.

As Jove was venting thus his spleen,
Sol enters with his wearied Teem,
And hearing Jove make such a clatter,
Said to the next, Pray what's the matter?
Straight did Silenus tell him what
Befel them all, and what had not.
Says Sol to Jove, I'll tell you, Sir,
For I saw all that caus'd this stir.
Be brief, quoth Jove, (and omit nothing)
Because prolixity is loathing.

Sol having briefly laid the state
Of dreadful Typhons acts of late;
Quoth Jove, A word to th'wise: now stay,
I will that straight, without delay,
God-Mercury descend to th' earth;
His message 'tis must spoil their mirth:
Let him shew Typhon his mistake,
Who thinks of Jove an Ass to make;
Tell him, his Gyant-like retinue,
Nor all the stock of their Revenue,
Shall hinder justice: they shall know,
Whether 'tis I, am Jove or no.
Be sure you do your Message well,
In State and Order; to them tell
Their own. Mercury having heard
The Embassie, he stroakt his beard,
(Or Chin in lieu) saluted hand,
And scrap'd a leg: I understand
(Quoth he) my duty, and the strife.
With that he 'gins to handle Knife,
Or Sword, which girting on his side,
Doth next his Snakie Staff provide:
Slips on his winged shooes, on's head
He clapt his feather'd Cap, and fled
As fast as wings could bear him down,
O'er River, Citie, Wood and Town.

At last he came unto the place
Where Typhon and his Gyant-race
(Some standing, others sate on Crupper)
Were just providing for their Supper:
Of what the Supper did consist,
See here a true and perfect List.

An hundred lustie Oxen slain,
Which they had stole by might and main
From Herds-men; Sheep some four times more,
Got by the means as said before,
Which Cacus a notorious knave,
Had stole by night, and hid in Cave:
'Twas he that thought he once could beat
(And fought with) Hercules the Great;
But lost his Kingdom, and at length
His life, by Hercules his strength.
This Cacus did in Carthage raign;
At length in Italy was slain.
There leave we him, and fall to Mutton,
As good as ever knife was put on.
Their Sheep they roasted whole on Trees,
Instead of Spits, and that with ease:
Trees that for length, & strength, & barks,
Bore Sheep as little Spits do Larks.
The rank beneath was less; the last,
About the smalness of a Mast.
Their fire a Forest was, which they
Design'd before for that same day.

They thus prepar'd, in came the God,
Who crying, Humh! and giving nod,
Began his brief and formal story,
And they to round him tory-rory.
Quoth one of them, Whoop holiday!
'Tis very true, what do you say?
Then quoth another, with disdain,
The God is out, begin again.
I tell you once more, that great Jove
(Quoth Mercury) who rules above,
Has sent me here, to let you know
He rules (as well as there) below;
And were you bigger then you are
Ten times, yet he is higher far:
Your men are Rogues, & women Whores,
And he's resolv'd to pay your scores:
His threats are chiefly to you, Typhon,
For having lewdly spun your life on,
He sendeth word you are a Knave,
A Thief, a Cheat, a Rascal, Slave;
And does command that straight you go
And buy him Glasses: doing so,
If they be Venice, number cent,
His choler may no farther vent.
Then, with acknowledgement of blame,
Present to Jupiter the same;
And let him (with submission) know,
'Tis your request to kiss his toe:
Be ready too, without a halt,
To cry Peccavi for your fault:
Then if you adde, 'Tis past and gone,
And never shall the like be done;
This contest may not onely end,
But Jupiter will be your friend.

The Gyants hearing this discourse,
With stomacks big as that of horse
Began with scorn to laugh and scoff.
The God in studie to get off,
As being fearful. Typhon then:
Though you are Gods, and we but Men,
(Quoth he) yet know, for I'll be plain,
If you a quarrel will maintain,
And that with neither fear nor wit;
Tell Jove, I hold no answer fit,
But this: We will not purchase Glasses
For him, nor his celestial Asses:
Let him send Ganimed, that elf,
Or take the pains to go himself.

The nimble God before in plight,
Was now enraged at this flight;
In milde expressions gave a threat,
But durst not any more repeat:
For Gyants valu'd Gods no more
Then Swine do Pearl, or costly Ore.
But Mercury, more knave then fool,
Put up (as Proverb faith) his Tool;
And instantly he took his flight,
Till gotten clearly out of sight.
We'll now suppose h'as reacht his home,
And unto Jupiter is come:
For he had flown with greater speed
Then I can write, or you can read.

The Gods themselves that hourly move
In highest orbs, can drink and love;
And so did Jove, who scorn'd to shrink,
Whilst heart to love, or mouth to drink:
He drank so much that very day,
That all his Sense was fled away;
And Mercury concealed Tale,
Till Jove had slept away his Ale.