Bacchanalia or A Description of a Drunken Club. A Poem [by Charles Darby] |
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 | Bacchanalia |  |
Are these the Popes Grand Tools?
Worshipful Noddies! who, but blundring Fools,
Would ever have forgot,
To burn those Letters, that Reveal'd their Plot?
Or, in an Ale-house, told, that Godfrey's dead,
Three days before he was discovered;
Leaving the Silly World, to call to mind
That Common Logick, They, that hide, can find?
But see their Master-policy
On Primrose-Hill!
Where their Grand Enemy,
Like Saul upon Mount-Gilboa, doth lie,
Faln on his Sword, as he himself did kill.
But O the Infelicity!
That blood was fresh, and gusht out of the Wound,
This so congeal'd that not one Spot was found,
No, not upon his Sword; as if it wou'd
Tell us, 'twas guiltless of its Master's blood.
Some Carkasses, by bleeding, do declare;
This by not bleeding, shew'd the Murderer.
But, to his broken-Neck, I pray,
What can our Politicians say?
He hang'd, then stab'd Himself, for a sure way?
Or, first he stab'd himself, then wrung about
His Head, for madness, that advis'd him to't?
Well, Primrose, may our Godfrey's Name, on thee
(Like Hyacinth) inscribed be.
On Thee his Memory flourish still,
(Sweet, as thy Flower, and lasting, as thy Hill)
Whilst blushing Somerset, to her
Eternal shame, shall this Inscription wear,
The Devil's an Asse: for Jesuits, on this Spot,
Broke both the Neck of Godfrey, and their Plot:
Thus spake this Sage: whilst I, from thence,
Infer'd, amidst heaps of Impertinence,
Fools sometimes chop on Truth, and Drunkards stumble upon sense.
Worshipful Noddies! who, but blundring Fools,
Would ever have forgot,
To burn those Letters, that Reveal'd their Plot?
Or, in an Ale-house, told, that Godfrey's dead,
Three days before he was discovered;
Leaving the Silly World, to call to mind
That Common Logick, They, that hide, can find?
7
On Primrose-Hill!
Where their Grand Enemy,
Like Saul upon Mount-Gilboa, doth lie,
Faln on his Sword, as he himself did kill.
But O the Infelicity!
That blood was fresh, and gusht out of the Wound,
This so congeal'd that not one Spot was found,
No, not upon his Sword; as if it wou'd
Tell us, 'twas guiltless of its Master's blood.
Some Carkasses, by bleeding, do declare;
This by not bleeding, shew'd the Murderer.
But, to his broken-Neck, I pray,
What can our Politicians say?
He hang'd, then stab'd Himself, for a sure way?
Or, first he stab'd himself, then wrung about
His Head, for madness, that advis'd him to't?
Well, Primrose, may our Godfrey's Name, on thee
(Like Hyacinth) inscribed be.
On Thee his Memory flourish still,
(Sweet, as thy Flower, and lasting, as thy Hill)
Whilst blushing Somerset, to her
Eternal shame, shall this Inscription wear,
The Devil's an Asse: for Jesuits, on this Spot,
Broke both the Neck of Godfrey, and their Plot:
Thus spake this Sage: whilst I, from thence,
Infer'd, amidst heaps of Impertinence,
Fools sometimes chop on Truth, and Drunkards stumble upon sense.
| Bacchanalia | |