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The Lady-Errant

A Tragi-Comedy
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
To my dear Mother the Vniversity of Oxford, Upon Mr Cartvvright's Poems.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

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To my dear Mother the Vniversity of Oxford, Upon Mr Cartvvright's Poems.

Alma Mater,

Many do suck thy Breasts, but new in som
Thy milk turns into froth and spumy scum;
In Others it converts to rheum and steam,
Or some poor wheyish stuff in stead of cream;
In Som it doth malignant humors breed,
And make the head turn round as that-side Tweed;
These humors vapor up unto the brains,
And so break forth to odd fanatic strains;
It makes them dote and rave, fret, fume and foam,
And strangely from their Texts in Pulpits roam,
When they should speak of Rheims, they prate of Rome,
Their theam is birch, their preachment is of broom:
Nor 'mong the Forders only such are found,
But they who pass the Bridg are quite as Round.
Som of thy Sons prove Bastards, sordid, base,
Who having suck'd Thee throw dirt in thy face,
When they have squeez'd thy Nipples, and chast Papps,
They dash thee on the Nose with frumps and rapps;
They grumble at thy Commons, Buildings, Rents,
And would bring Thee to farthing Decrements;
Few by thy milk sound nutriment now gain
For want of good concoction of the brain.
But this choice Son of thine is no such brat,
Thy Milk in him did so coagulat
That it became Elixar, as we see
In these mellifluous streams of Poesie.
Iames Hovvell.