Dr. Wild's Poem In Nova Fert Animus, &c. Or, A New Song To An Old Friend from an Old Poet, Upon the Hopeful New Parliament |
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 | Dr. Wild's Poem |  |
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[We are All tainted with the Athenian-Itch]
We are All tainted with the Athenian-Itch,
News, and new Things do the whole World bewitch:
Who would be Old, or in Old fashions Trade?
Even an Old Whore would fain go for a Maid:
The Modest of both Sexes, buy new Graces,
Of Perriwigs for Pates, and Paint for Faces.
Some wear new Teeth in an old Mouth; and some
Carve a new Nose out of an aged Bum.
Old Hesiod's gods Immortal Youth enjoy:
Cupid, though Blind, yet still goes for a Boy;
Under one Hood Hypocrite Janus too,
Carries two faces, one Old, th' other New.
Apollo wears no Beard, but still looks young;
Diana, Pallas, Venus, all the throng
Of Muses, Graces, Nymphs, look Brisk and Gay,
Priding themselves in a perpetual May:
Whiles doting Saturn, Pluto, Proserpin,
At their own ugly Wrinkles Rage and Grin;
The very Furies in their looks do twine;
Snakes, whose embroydered skyns renew their shine;
And nothing makes Great Juno chafe and scold,
But Joves new Misses slighting her as Old.
Poets, who others can Immortal make,
When they grow Gray, their Lawrels them forsake;
And seek young Temples, where they may grow Green;
No Palsie-hands may wash in Hypocrene;
'Twas not Terse Clarret, Eggs, and Muskadine,
Nor Goblets Crown'd with Greek or Spanish Wine,
Could make new Flames in Old Ben Johnsons Veins,
But his Attempts prov'd lank and languid strains:
His New Inn (so he nam'd his youngest Play,
Prov'd a blind Ale-house, cry'd down the first Day:
His own dull Epitaph—Here lies Ben Johnson,
(Half drunken too) He Hickcupt—who was once one.
Ah! this sad once one! once we Trojans were;
Oh, better never, if not still we are.
Rhymes of Old Men, Iliack passions be,
When that should downward go, comes up we see,
And are like Jews-Ears in an Elder-Tree;
When Spectacles do once bestride the Nose,
The Poet's Gallop turns to stumbling-Prose.
Sir, I am Old, Cold, Mould; and you might hope
To see an Alderman dance on a Rope,
A Judg to act a Gallant in a Play,
Or an Old Pluralist Preach twice a day;
Of a Thin Taylor make a Valiant Knight,
Or a good Subject of a Jesuite;
As an old Bald-pate (such as mine you know)
Should make his Hair, or Wit and Fancy grow;
Nor is there need that such a Block as I
Should now be hew'd into a Mercury.
When Winter's gone, the Owl his foot may spare,
And to the Nightingales resign the Air.
Such is the beautiful new face of things:
By Heavens kind Influences, and the Kings,
Joy should inspire; and all in measures move,
And every Citizen a Virgil prove.
Each Protestant turn Poet; and who not
Should be suspected guilty of the Plot;
If, now the day doth dawn, our Cocks forbear
To clap their Wings and Crow, you well may swear,
It is their want of Loyalty, not Wit,
That makes them sullen, and so silent sit.
Galli of Gallick kind—I'le say no more,
But that their Combs are Cut, and they are sore;
Yet to provoke them, my old Cock shall Crow,
That so his Eccho round the Town may go.
News, and new Things do the whole World bewitch:
Who would be Old, or in Old fashions Trade?
Even an Old Whore would fain go for a Maid:
The Modest of both Sexes, buy new Graces,
Of Perriwigs for Pates, and Paint for Faces.
Some wear new Teeth in an old Mouth; and some
Carve a new Nose out of an aged Bum.
Old Hesiod's gods Immortal Youth enjoy:
Cupid, though Blind, yet still goes for a Boy;
Under one Hood Hypocrite Janus too,
Carries two faces, one Old, th' other New.
Apollo wears no Beard, but still looks young;
Diana, Pallas, Venus, all the throng
Of Muses, Graces, Nymphs, look Brisk and Gay,
Priding themselves in a perpetual May:
Whiles doting Saturn, Pluto, Proserpin,
At their own ugly Wrinkles Rage and Grin;
2
Snakes, whose embroydered skyns renew their shine;
And nothing makes Great Juno chafe and scold,
But Joves new Misses slighting her as Old.
Poets, who others can Immortal make,
When they grow Gray, their Lawrels them forsake;
And seek young Temples, where they may grow Green;
No Palsie-hands may wash in Hypocrene;
'Twas not Terse Clarret, Eggs, and Muskadine,
Nor Goblets Crown'd with Greek or Spanish Wine,
Could make new Flames in Old Ben Johnsons Veins,
But his Attempts prov'd lank and languid strains:
His New Inn (so he nam'd his youngest Play,
Prov'd a blind Ale-house, cry'd down the first Day:
His own dull Epitaph—Here lies Ben Johnson,
(Half drunken too) He Hickcupt—who was once one.
Ah! this sad once one! once we Trojans were;
Oh, better never, if not still we are.
Rhymes of Old Men, Iliack passions be,
When that should downward go, comes up we see,
And are like Jews-Ears in an Elder-Tree;
When Spectacles do once bestride the Nose,
The Poet's Gallop turns to stumbling-Prose.
Sir, I am Old, Cold, Mould; and you might hope
To see an Alderman dance on a Rope,
A Judg to act a Gallant in a Play,
Or an Old Pluralist Preach twice a day;
Of a Thin Taylor make a Valiant Knight,
Or a good Subject of a Jesuite;
As an old Bald-pate (such as mine you know)
Should make his Hair, or Wit and Fancy grow;
Nor is there need that such a Block as I
Should now be hew'd into a Mercury.
When Winter's gone, the Owl his foot may spare,
And to the Nightingales resign the Air.
3
By Heavens kind Influences, and the Kings,
Joy should inspire; and all in measures move,
And every Citizen a Virgil prove.
Each Protestant turn Poet; and who not
Should be suspected guilty of the Plot;
If, now the day doth dawn, our Cocks forbear
To clap their Wings and Crow, you well may swear,
It is their want of Loyalty, not Wit,
That makes them sullen, and so silent sit.
Galli of Gallick kind—I'le say no more,
But that their Combs are Cut, and they are sore;
Yet to provoke them, my old Cock shall Crow,
That so his Eccho round the Town may go.
Upon the New PARLIAMENT.
My Landlord underprop't his House some years;Was often warn'd—'Twould fall about his Ears;
For the main Timber, That above, and under,
By every Blast was apt to rend asunder.
This year He gently took all down, and then
What of the Old prov'd sound, did serve agen.
May all the New be Heart of English Oak,
And the whole House stand firm from fatal stroke,
And nothing in't, the Founder e're provoke.
My Grandam, when her Bees were old and done,
Burnt the old Stock, and a new Hive begun;
And in one year she found a greater store
Of Wax and Honey than in all before.
Variety and Novelty delights;
Old Shooes and Mouldy Bread are Gibeonites.
When Cloaths grow thread-bare, and breeds Vermin too,
To Long-Lane with them, and put on some new:
VVhen VVine turns Vinegar—All Art is vain,
The VVorld can never make it VVine again.
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And Chase those fowls, that do befowl their Nest.
VVhen Nolls Nose found the Rump began to smell;
He dock't it, and the Nation lik't it well.
Cast the old-mark't and greazy Cards away,
And give's a new Pack, else we will not play;
Nothing but Pork, and Pork, and Pork to eat!
Good Landlord give's fresh Commons for our Meat.
Trent Council Thirty years lay sows'd in pickle,
Until it prov'd a stinking Conventicle.
And now Old Rome plays over her old Tricks,
This Seventy-nine, shall pay for Sixty-six:
Out of the Fire, like new-refined Gold,
How bright new London looks above the Old!
All Creatures under Old Corruptions groan,
And for a New Creation make their moan:
The Phœnix (of her self grown weary) dyes
Unto succession a burnt-sacrifice:
Old Eagles breed bad Hawks, and they worse Kites,
And they blind Buzzards (as Old Pliny VVrites),
Deans, Prebends, Chaplains think themselves have wrong,
VVhen Bishops live unmercifully long;
And poor Dissenters beg they may ascend
Into a Pulpit from the Tables end.
And who hath not by good experience found
Best Crops are gained by new-broken ground,
And the first seed—Oats sifted clean and sound?
But yet Old Friends, Old Gold, Old King, I prise:
Old Tyburn take them who do otherwise:
Heaven Chase the Vultur from our Eagles Nest,
And let no Ravens this March-Brood molest;
So Sings poor Robin Redbrest.
FINIS.
| Dr. Wild's Poem | |