ACADEMIA:
OR THE
HUMOURS
OF THE
University of Oxford.
I 'Intend to give you a Relation,
As prime as any is in the Nation:
The Name of th' place is–let me see,
Call'd most an end the 'Versity;
In which same place, as Story tells,
Liv'd once Nine handsome bonny Girls,
Highly in olden Time reputed,
Tho' now so thawct'd and persecuted;
Schollars belike now can't abide 'um,
So that they're fain to scout and hide 'um,
Or's sure as you're alive they'd beat 'um;
Out of the place they'd chose to seat 'um
And they who won't be seen to maul 'um,
Revile, bespatter 'um, or becall 'um.
E'ne these sly Curs would Strumpets make 'um,
When e're they catch 'um can, or take 'um,
And pinch 'um, till they've made 'um sing ye,
The filthy'st stuff as one can bring ye,
The end of all such Rascals wooing,
Proves many a heedless 'Girle's undoing:
All these, and twenty more Abuses,
Are daily offer'd to the Muses.
You may perceive, I'me mightily
Disturb'd, they're us'd so spitefully;
And must confess, where's no denying,
That I can hardly hold from crying;
But that I mayn't be seen to bellow,
Like 'Girl forsaken by a Fellow,
Roar, throw my Snot about, and blubber,
Like School-Boys, or an am'rous Lubber,
I'le lay aside my Bowels yearning,
And talk of Schollars, and their Learning.
When the young Farmer, or young Farrier,
Comes jogging up with 's Country Carrier,
Well hors'd as he, for I have seen 'um
Both have but one good Horse between 'um:
But two Bums, with one Horse there under,
Is no great matter of a wonder;
For some are fain to ride o'th 'packing,
Made easie with good Straw, and Sacking,
Kindly contriv'd for's Buttocks sake,
Which otherwise might chance to ake:
But then there's no great fear of tumbling,
Altho the Nag were giv'n to stumbling;
He can't be hurt (Sir,) if you'd have him,
So that if I might tell my mind, Sir,
I'd's live ride so, as ride behind Sir,
Then if the Young-Mans Band or Cravit,
Handkerchief, Neck-cloath, what you'll have it,
Be ill put on, or off be blow'n,
The Carrier tyes, or pins it on;
Or he had been a very Clown, to
Be bred and born i'th same Town too.
And knew his Friends so well, and knew him;
That wou'dn't have been civil to him;
Beside, a charge given by his Mother,
To use him kinder than another.
Now being arrived at his Colledge
The place of Learning, and of Knowledge;
A while he'll leer about, and snivel ye,
And doff his Hat to all most civilly,
Being told at home that a shame Face too,
Was a great sign he had some Grace too,
He'l speak to none, alas! for he's
Amaz'd at every Man he sees:
May-hap this lasts a Week, or two,
Till some Scab laughs him out on't, so
That when most you'd expect his mending,
His Breeding's ended, and not ending:
Now he dares walk abroad, and dare ye,
Hat on, in Peoples Faces stare ye,
Thinks what a Fool he was before, to
Pull off his Hat, which he'd no more do;
But that the Devil shites Disasters,
So that he's forc'd to cap the Masters,
He might have nail'd it to his Head, else,
And wire it Night, and Day a Bed, else,
And then de'e see, for I'de have you mind it,
He had always known where to find it;
But of a bad thing, make the best say,
And of two Evils chuse the least pray,
He must cap them; but for all other,
Tho 'twere his Father, or his Mother,
His Gran'um, Unckle, Aunt, or Cousin,
He wo' not give one Cap to a dozen;
Tho you must know he flows with Mony,
Giv'n by his Mam, unto her Hony;
His Aunt, their Six-pence were apiece too,
Having had the luck to sell their Geese to
Some profit, that same Market-day,
Being th' o're night he came away:
But f'rall they were so loving to him,
Besure they'd always see him doing,
Because they entertained this Hope,
In time he might become a Bishop;
That often he had cause to grumble,
Under thick-fisted Master Fumble:
The Master of the School was he,
And slash'd him for his good, de'e see,
Beating his Brains into his Collar,
That he might prove the better Schollar.
He looks upon it as a Blessing
Beyond his wish and his expressing;
A good Substantial, and no Fiction,
To be free from his Jurisdiction,
With's Fellow Rake-Hells gets acquainted,
Who might i'th Country have been Sainted.
These kindly hug young Soph, and squeeze him,
And of his Cash t' a Farthing ease him;
This being done, and being so,
He's at a loss now what to do.
So here I'le leave him, I must tell ye,
With a Heart panting in his Belly;
But lest Depair prove his undoing,
E're long I'le come again unto him,
With some of's hackle and profession,
Tho I must make a short digression;
These being of another sort, then
Those who're design'd for Inns of Court-men.
Who most an end come up a Horse-back,
Tho many a time they're brought a pick-pack,
Like Geese to Market, niddle, noddle,
So high, no mar'l their Brains prove oddle.
Another sort of idle Loaches
Come lolling up to Town in Coaches;
Those I've spoken of, de'e observe me,
Either's a Servitor to serve ye,
Brings Bread and Beer, or what is call'd for,
Eating what's left, Trencher and all (Sir:)
Or else a Commoner may be,
And thinks himself better than he,
Because he shou'd pay for his eating,
But can't, unless you'l take a beating.
The next, who 'as leave to domineer,
Adds Gentleman to Commoner,
Most dearly tender'd by his Mother,
Who loves him better than his Brother;
So she at home, a good while keeps him,
In White-broath, and Canary steeps him:
And tho his Noddle's somewhat empty,
His Guts are stuft with Sweet-meats plenty:
Madam's most sadly tosticated,
Knowing her Boy but empty-pated,
Lest the soft Squire might starved be,
When e're he's sent to'th' Versity;
Which to prevent, and to befriend him,
A Pye, or Cake, she'll quickly send him,
Directed for her loving Son,
Living i'th Colledge in Oxford Town;
Charging her Man to let him know,
That they're all well, and hope he's so:
But what his Mother sent up with him,
Being much more than now she gives him,
And all consum'd; he thinks it best
To hide, and eat by himself the rest:
His will at home (Sir,) always having,
But made his Stomach, the more craving;
May hap they'd twenty hundred Dishes,
And twenty thousand sort of Fishes,
Of which, when but a little Elf,
He'd eat the greatest part himself;
De'e think then 'twould not make the young Lad
At a Three half pence Meat become sad,
Which at the Colledge, you must know, Man's
No more, nor less; than one Boys Commons?
And then, they make a hideous clutter
For a Farth'n Drink, Bread, Cheese, or Butter;
And would that pay, now, in your thinking,
For washing of the Pot they drink in?
Yet for all this, his Tutor cryes ye,
Sufficient 'tis, and may suffice ye;
Knowing from being bred a Schollar,
Much eating breeds both Flegm, and Coller,
Much praying him, does much advise it,
If he loves Learning, to despise it:
Glutt'ony (thinks Soph), who e're abhorr'd it,
That had wherewith, and could afford it?
Tho' like a Log he stands, he's thinking,
He lives by eating and by drinking,
And finds it so unreasonable,
He mayn't eat all that come to Table;
That truth, he may advise him to't,
But for his part he'll never do't,
Preach till his heart akes, of forbearing,
He for his share, will ne're be sparing;
And when he's told 'tis naught for's head, to
Lye all the livelong day a-bed so;
He fears his Tutor would prevent
His having any Nourishment.
When Categorematical,
A Word, you'd think the Devil and all,
But hold!– I think there is another,
Should a' took place as Elder Brother,
'Tis, let me see, now, whach'ee call,
Syncategorematical.
Were it Old Nick, enough to musle him,
For all his years, and standing, puzle him;
Soph, when this comes, (as I was saying,)
Begins to know the use of praying,
Blessing himself, and his Relations,
From these, and such like Conjurations:
Master Existence, almost mad is,
To see one stupid as this Lad is,
And 'faith and troth, it is a woe thing,
When he need say no more then, nothing
You mean by those long words, or something;
Then en't the Logger head a Bumpkin:
For's pains the Tutor but a looby,
To make this hubbub with a Booby;
And think, that all his care can do,
May alter, what he's born unto.
A Fool both bred and born was he,
Was so begot, and so must be;
And's Mother's have him so, the rather
That in him, she might see his Father.
'Tis not a Tutors circumspection,
Can keep the Blockhead from infection,
While the Distemper's in his Nature,
You must expect him a Man-hater;
Being one o'th Puppys o'th' Nation,
Both by descent, and inclination.
Following his Noble Ancestors,
A company of lazy Curs,
Bord'ring like them, so much on Beast,
Loves what's the farthest off the least;
Tho's Tutor thinks his over-dulness
Comes from his often over-fulness,
And that his Brains become so muddy,
From having Pastys in his Study;
But he might lay aside that fear,
Could he but find one two days there;
But why, not eating do him good tho',
By breeding Brains as well as Blood so.
No matter, tho' his Tutor jobes him,
His Father but the better loves him,
Asking, If's Son has got a Punck yet,
Whores ye, and gets ye often drunk yet;
Being told by's Man, he took him quaffing,
For joy he bursts his sides with laughing:
And prithee John (says he) and how was't?
Ha, drunk, 'ith' Cellar, as a Sow, wast?
John simpers, makes a Leg, or so;
And since his Worships pleas'd to know,
An't like ye, we were something mellow,
For I Sir, and another Fellow–-
The justice growing into a Passion,
Cuts him 'ith' midst of his Relation,
Cries, where was your young Master Sirrah?
O ho, quoth John–and say– where wor' a,
Down in the Cellar too, I wot,
But I was so goun, Ide forgot,
For I've a lamentable head,
'Specially when I'me cut 'ith' Leg,
But Master, (Sir) need never spare it,
Hoa has a pure strung head to bear it;
And so 'ud need (Sir for ought I know,
Few Scholards are so learn'd as hoa;
I'de give your Worship all my earning,
To have hoa's stock (Sir) of Book-learning;
Something (Sir,) did my Master say,
For I was bent, to bring't away,
But I've a plaguee Head-Piece–look now.
I ha't– 'twas Latin, for the Cook now,
Hoa call'd him Choke us– so't must be,
I knew 'twas somewhat of Cookery.
Here my Old Master laughs most surely,
Tho' John looks all the while demurely;
And while he's pleas'd beyond expression,
To understand his Sons Profession;
John steals out to the place they wish him,
I mean, among the Maids 'ith Kitchin;
They'd got there too, young Master's Sister,
Her Mother yet not having mist her;
They that wa'n't there, were very sorry,
All longing so to hear John's Story,
Of where, and how, and what hea'd seen,
And in what Colleges hea'd been;
Thus having made a general Muster,
The Men and Maids got of a Cluster,
Having all bid him welcome home, John,
Bess scatching of her Pate, cries, come John,
How does my little Master do?
Cries John, no small one, now I trow;
Now, should you see'n, you wou'dn't known,
O Ceremony! hoa's hougely grown!
Make a brave Man, but given grace;
Why, hoa lives in a sweetly place;
(Crys Tom,) he made you welcome surely:
O ay (cryes John,) we revel'd purely!
Our Tenants feast to that, mun nothing's,
We purg'd, as we had dranck at both ends,
Count, what came tumbling down our Hoases,
Beside what flew out from our Noses;
'Twould make one split ones Guts I swear tho,
But for my part it made me stare tho;
There's in the Cellar, to my thinking
1 A Horn, or something else to drink in,
Which being fill'd full, as it can hold,
'Tis his that drincks it off I'm told;
But here's the thing that makes the rout,
When you drinck deep it flyes about,
And dout's one's Eyes, and makes one cough,
So that one ne're can tope it off;
Such ugly tricks I can't endure, I,
For't spoil'd the Band Sue wash'd so purely,
And all my Bosome fell adown too,
When I'de no other Shirt in Town too;
And 'cause they'l have no Fresh-men there,
At first the Scollards salt one's bear;
O law ! I wish'd my self at home;
It made me spue so; ay (says Tom,)
As good a staid at home and thresh John,
And so have ever been a Freshman;
And where was this (cryes Bess,) at Queens,
There Mr. William went it seems,
Queens, ay (says John,) as neat a place
As could be made to hold her Grace:
O ay (cryes Tom,) I think I've heard so,
The Queen was once a Schollar there too;
(Cries John,) 'tis true, from thence it came,
That ever since it has her Name.
Tom asks, what fine things to be seen,
Beside the Colledge of the Queen?
(Cries John) a many in the Town:
First there's a houge'ous masty 2 Clown,
As you go into th' Physick Garden,
Master ne're shew'd me, but I star'd in,
The Yat's all hung about with whimwhoms,
As Fishes Bones, and other thingums:
This Giant stands as you come first in,
For I took heart at last to thrust in;
His Head has got an Iron Cap on,
To keep of Showers, or what might happen;
His Face is like a Man's, to see to,
And yet his Bodies but a Tree too:
Strutting, 'a holds a Club on's Shoulder,
Which makes him look more fierce and bolder;
And I was told there was another,
Which now is 3 dead, and was his Brother:
I went on th' other side to eye'n,
Not careing much to come to nye'n;
Least with his Club he should be doing;
But the Folks said, one might go to him:
But for my part, I did not care,
To look in's Face he did so stare.
There lyes a 4 Tooth, I tell a Fib too,–
Some call't a Tooth, but most a Rib do.
A vast thing 'tis, what e're it be,
And put there for a Rarity.
When you are gone a little further,
You happen just on such another;
5 A Crane it is, as People tell ye,
Grow'ing from a Tree Stalk by the Belly.
Whether alive or no's, no knowing,
Her Bill touts up, just as if crowing.
Well! they all bless'd themselves that heard it,
How John beheld it, and ne're fear'd it;
But what they stood the most upon Sir,
Was how he slip't by the Man Monster.
Which made his Fellow Servants say,
John had more mind to Sights then they.
But as for Elsabeth, she cry'd,
If I had seen it, I had dy'd .
John being wiser, term'd them Fools,
Well, thence I hobl'd to the Schools:
Listning (cryes John,) to hear a Noise there,
But then belike there were no Boys there.
For if there had, there'd been a lurry,
Such as Dogs make, that Cattle worry.
Look ye, the Housen all are Tyl'd,
The Door way's Pitch'd; I was so soil'd
With the damn'd Stones, where one goes,
They do so knock, and bump ones Toes.
The Schools de'e mark's a very fair place,
With Rooms built round it, but a square place.
The Doors all something writ upon,
By which there's something may be known.
I ask'd a Scollard that stood leaning,
What that was writ for, and the meaning?
Hoa told me, that they was– a Tu–d;
Now I've forgot it ev'ry word.
No matter, so much I can tell ye,
One may be taught there all things well'y.
That 6 Schools to learn ye conjuring,
7 'Tother to Whistle, and to Sing,
And how to play upon the Fiddle,
To keep the Lads from being idle.
But what to greater good amounts,
A 8School they have to teach Accounts;
By which each one may cast up nearly,
How many Farthings he spends yearly.
A Door I spy'd was open standing,
I budg'd no farther than my Band in:
But by a Scollard I was holp in,
A civil Youth, and a well spoken;
We went together up the Stair Case,
Going, till coming to a 9 rare place,
As thick of Books as one could thatch 'um,
And Ladders stood about to reach 'um.
On each side were two 10 round things standing,
Made so to turn about with handling:
By 11 one they knew, as I am told,
When Weather would be whot or cold,
What time for setting, and for sowing,
When to prune Trees the best for growing;
By this they make the Almanacks,
And twenty other harder knacks;
And 'tis by this they conjure too Man,
Knowing a Thief from any true Man.
So that you'd think the Devil's in 'um,
Goods lost, or stole again to bring 'um;
And tho' a good while I have seen it,
I ne're can count you half, that's in it.
The 12 other thing when round it's whurld,
Shews all the Roads about the World,
May find if well you look about,
There all the Ponds and Rivers out;
But that the Schollard was in haste so,
Hoa wou'd have shewn our House at last too.
So I went all about the Meeting,
Some People in their Pews were 13 sitting
Tho' but a few, here and there one,
The Minister not being come;
I'le say't, I long'd to hear the Preaching,
I warran't 'ee, ay, 'twas dainty Teaching.
I ask'd a young Youth what it mean'd,
That all them Conjuring Books are chain'd:
Hoa said they being full of Cunning,
It seems would else have 14 been for running,
Before they had them Chains, they say,
A number of them run away.
There's such an Oceant still, I wonder'd,
How they could miss a thousand hunder'd.
But that indeed again is something,
They can know all things by the round thing.
As I went on, the 15Folk that reads,
Would many times pop up their Heads.
And douck 'um down (may hap) again,
And these are call'd the Learned Men.
And look for all the World as frighted,
But were I to be hang'd, or knighted,
I can't imagine what mought ail'd 'um,
For could they think one wou'd a steal'd 'um;
Well, by and by, there's one comes to me,
I thought the Fellow might have knew me,
Hoa said, I must make a stomping,
And that it was no place to jump in;
Whop Sir, thought I, and what ado's here,
About the Nails that in ones Shoes are;
Hoa told me that the Men are earning,
A world of something by their Learning,
And that a Noise might put them out,
So that they ne're could bring't about.
Well, cause hoa made a din about 'um,
I daff'd my Shoes, and went without 'um.
The Fellow 16gern'd, (and cry'd,) what's that for?
(I said,) and what would you be at, Sir?
My Shoes I take under my Arm,
Rather than do their Worships harm,
Because I would not leave the room,
Before the Minister be come.
At that, hoa laugh'd; so for my part,
I thought the Fool would break his Heart,
I was so mad to see 'n flout ma,
I long'd almost to lay about ma,
But thinking that might there be Evil,
I thought 'twere better to be civil:
Tying my Shoes upon my Feet,
I went down Stairs into the Street.
(Says Betty) well, and prithee John,
Of what Religion is this Town?
No, No, (Says Tom,) but first let's hear,
What else, is to be seen there:
No more hast, then good speed, (cries John,)
I shall be with you all anon;
The next place that I comes you in,
Was a most lovely spacious thing,
To know the Name, is no great matter,
But now I think on't, 'tis the 17 Thatter,
The Thatter Yard about beset is,
With Holly, and with Iron Lattice,
The ends of which, same Bars made fast are,
In Posts of Stone or Alablaster,
And upon every Postes top,
There's an Old Mans Head set up;
About there stand a many 18 brave Stones,
Which are for all the World like Grave-Stones,
I marle why they were carry'd there!
No Folks belike are buried there.
The House is round–our Master has,
You know, a Round-House in the Close;
This is much such another Building,
But for the Painting and the Guilding,
The leading on the top, and then too,
'Tis twenty times as big agen too;
A top of all's a little 19 Steeple,
But ne're a Bell to call the People.
Down in the Cellar 20 folks are doing
Something that makes a world of bowing,
Some throw Black Balls, their Heads some throwing,
As if they Arse-ward were a mowing,
Stooping a little more to view 'um,
They kindly ask'd me to come to 'um,
But look ye (Tom) for here's the thing now,
One could not come in at the Window,
And for my share, I could no more
Fly in the Air, than find the door;
A world of Paper there was lying,
Besides a deal as hung a drying,
They being wet as I suppose,
Were hung on Lines, as we hang Cloaths;
The Folk below began to hollow,
Whop, you there, honest Country Fellow;
We'll print your name, What is't I wonder?
Says I, one's John (Sir,) t'other Blunder;
They bid me walk that way a little,
I'de find a dore about the middle:
Which having found, (said they,) Go in,
Not saying any kind of thing;
Well, in comes I, where Men were picking,
Of little things, that makes a nicking:
And hoa that sent me, not to cheat ma,
Came up, as I came in, to meet me;
Hoa told me, them small things were Letters,
And that the Men themselves were Setters;
And so would you think it! why, this same too,
Bid one o'th Fellows do my Name too:
And so'a did, and down we went,
To have John Blunder put in Prent;
And here 'tis for you all to look on't,
See, if they have not made a Book on't;
Look, Look, (cryes Bess,) so 'tis I vow!
John Blunder, as I live 'tis so.
But hold, let's read the rest on't tho;
Let Tom, he's the best Scollard ho:
John being just come from Oxford, too
Most thought, that best his Name he knew,
Having seen how 'twas put together,
They knew he could not miss on't neither;
So out he read it in a Tune,
John Blunder, Oxford Printed June:
But coming to the Figures, was
(But that Tom help'd him) at a loss,
Not knowing what i'th' world to do,
To know if that was one or two;
At last 'twas found to be One Thousand
Six Hundred; Seventy and a dozen.
(Says John) the Printers are such Sots,
This bit of Paper cost two Pots,
Beside, it cost me two Pence more,
To one that sits to 21 dup 'a dore,
That is, quite (as it were) wothin there,
Where one sees all that's to be seen there;
So, in went I, with this same Maiden,
And not till I come out I paid 'en;
It is the finest place, that ever
My Eyes beheld, it's wrought so clever:
The 22 top's all pictur'd most completely,
Squar'd into Golden Frames so neatly;
Why, there is drawn a power of things,
Nay, I dare say, they all are Kings,
Drest up in Silken Garments finely,
Some look ye soure, and some look kindly;
There's some kiss some, may hap a Drab there,
Speaks a Wench fine, she gives a stab there,
There's some a fighting, ones a wooing,
With little Boys a flying to him:
There's 23 one looking grinning, welle'e mad,
With Eels, all done about her Head,
She taps Folks till their Blood runs out 'um,
With all their Guts hanging about 'um;
There's Seats on purpose built (they say there,)
For Folks to sit on, they as may there:
There is a Gallery made just so,
As that is in our Church you know.
Bess asking, What there might be done in't?
John said, 'Twas built to look upon it,
And that the Scollards might at leisure,
Sit there, and smoke, and take their pleasure.
Says Tom, Those who sit higher up,
I warr'ntee care not much to smoke.
And so–ay so, says John, (says he,)
For them they built the Gallery;
That they the better might look up,
And mind the Babies at the top,
And to say truth, Tom, I had rather,
See that, then smoke a month together;
So, when I paid, I ask'd the Woman,
Which was the next place to go to, mun;
She ask'd me, if I ever was,
Oh! such a develish Name it has, 24
These ugly hard words vex me more, then–
–Well, say it is at the next dore then;
And there it is, she says, she's sure,
There is a world of fine things more,
But that the baster'd was not willing,
To let me in under a Shilling,
I swear, I would have given a Groat,
To please my mind, with all my heart;
But 'cause the plaguy Dog was crass,
I turn'd, and bid 'em kiss mine A–-,
But being pretty late, and so,
And I not knowing where to go,
So, I went home, and went to bed,
And snor'd till morning, like one dead;
Well, up I gets, and having quaff'd,
A two quarts mug, my morning Draught;
I had a swinging mind to go,
And hear the Organs you must know:
And Land-lord said, as one might hear 'um,
At Christ-Church, which was pretty near one,
Who e're knows Oxford, 'tis not far,
My Horse being set up at the Star .
I thought I'de as good slip o're one day,
Look ye, because this same was Sunday;
For my share, I was loth to choose,
That day to go a seeking Shows.
But, going down to Queens, to see
If my Young Master well might be;
And passing over 25 Carryfox,
Which is the Market-place of Ox–-
Ford, where two little Pigmys stands,
Such nimble-twiches of their Hands;
Just o're the place where Folks sell Butter,
And with two Hammers keep a clutter;
It being their business (so belike,)
To knock, when e're the Clock shall strike,
A Bell, that's hung ye so between,
That so, they might besure to see'n;
Alive, sure as a band, a band is,
With Heads no bigger then ones hand is,
As long–lets see, if I can tell now,–
About as long as from my Elbow,
Elsabeth said, She met a Fairy
One morning early in the Dairy:
Cries John, Just such a one 'twas Betty,
Such Folks I vow are very pretty .
Why, I've seen too New-Colledge mount,
And stood ye a good while upon't;
And Maudling walks, and Christ-Church Fountain,
A thing that makes a mighty sprouting:
Well, Monday comes, and hardly neither,
Before Day-break, I hies me thither;
But I found out by Peoples saying,
These Organs would not yet be playing.
And that I might go home again,
And come and hear 'um just at Ten,
By then the Bells had all done ringing,
The Folks were come, and set a singing,
There's some are fat, and some are lean,
And some are Boys and some are Men,
But what I'me sure will make you stare,
They all stand in their 26 Shirts I swear;
Here Susan blush'd, and John beseeches,
To tell, if these all wore no Breeches.
Cries John, that one can hardly know,
They wear their Linnen things so low;
Each one when they come in, stand still,
Bowing and wrigling at the Sill;
I look'd a while and mark'd one Noddy,
27 Something he bow'd to, but no Body,
For these and other things as apish,
The Town-folks term the Scollards Papish;
The Organs set up with a ding,
The White-men roar, and White-Boys sing,
Rum, Rum, the Organs go, and zlid,
Sometimes they squeek out like a Pig,
Then gobble like a Turkey Hen,
And then to Rum, Rum, Rum again:
What with the Organs, Men, and Boys,
It makes ye up a dismal Noise;
All being over as I wiss,
Out come they like a Flock of Geese.
The place as I went in at, there
A kind of Yat-house, as it were;
A top of which a Bell is hung,
Bigger than e're was look'd upon,
I understood by all the People,
'Twas bigger than our Church and Steeple;
At Nine at night, it makes a Bomeing,
And then the Scollards all must come in.
Now I've told all that e're I see,
Unless the brazen Nose it be,
Clapt on a College Yat to grace it,
And shew, may hap, they're brazen Faced;
And there's another thing I think on,
The Devil looking over Lincoln;
Their Faults besure, he kindly winks on,
Tho other Colleges he squints on;
A world of pity 'twas, I swear,
That our Young Master was not there.
Bess willing, yet to be more knowing,
Demands what Clothes Schollars go in?
For the most part (says John,) they wear
Such kind of Gowns as Parsons are;
Some Trenchers on their Heads have got,
As black as yonder Porridge-Pot;
And some have things, exactly such
As my Old Gammers mumbles Pouch,
Which sits upon his Head as neat,
As 'twere sew'd to't by e'ry Pleat:
Some I dare day, are very poor, tho
They wear their Gowns berent and tore so,
Hanging about them all in Littocks,
That they can hardly hide their Buttocks.
When they want Mony, I belives,
The Lads are fain to sell their Sleeves,
Because they have their stunt of Victuals,
And that I'me sure, but very little's,
For look ye, many a time I meet,
Many happen twenty in the Street,
With handsome Gowns to look upon,
And ne'r a Sleeve to all their Gowns.
You know Young Master for a Meater,
Was for his Years a handsome Eater;
Well, and his Sleeves are gone already,
And his was a New Gown too, Betty,
And hangs about his Legs in shatters,
I swear, 'has torn it all to tatters.
I held a jag aloft, to shew'n,
And bid'n let the Taylor sew'n.
Hoa laught, and cry'd, Why, that's no fault John,
Hoa tor't, to pass ye for a 28 Saltman;
But I have sometimes met with some
Young Men, may chance with a whole Gown,
Holding 'um out as if they'd dry 'um,
So that one hardly can get by 'um.
Cry'd Tom, So drunk they could not miss 'um,
What nasty Dogs they're to be-piss 'um.
Cry'd John, No, while they have a Gown,
They make use of their time to shew'n.
Now you have all, let's go to Bed,
I well'y long to lay my Head:
And John that motion made, because
Their Eyes by this time all drew Straws;
All thank him round, Sue, Bess, and Tom,
And went to Roost all ev'ry one.
Now John has done his Banbury Story,
With no small Pride or little Glory,
Beside a lusty Tost and Ale,
As soon as he had done his Tale,
Which Tale, if you too soon forget it,
I vow, I should be strangely fretted;
I should not stand so much upon it;
But that my Tale depends so on it;
That if this John should be left out,
I know not how to bring't about:
Alas! I should be very willing,
To give full fourty round broad Shilling,
To tell a Tale as well as he,
And purchase such a Memory;
But 'cause I'de have you think me honest,
I shall go back, so as I promis'd.
I think I brought them up to Town,
And staid till all their Coin was gone:
Their Needs by this time has bereft 'um.
Of the bare scent on't, all I left 'um;
By this time, Master has forgot,
His Mothers Sweet-meats for a Pot,
And the Pack-rider (such another,)
Loves a Girl better than his Mother,
Being much of a Faculty,
In general, they much agree,
To scrub all day, a Nut-brown Table,
With all the might, as they are able;
From hence it is, that some poore Fellows
Have so thin Cloathing at their Elbows.
In this Opinion I am bold,
Because the Reason is two-fold.
For here they spend their Wits and Coin too,
In getting nothing, spend their time too;
And tho, they take so much Delight
To make their Landlord's Table bright,
And wear their Gowns and Elbows out,
In labouring to bring't about;
Seldom their Hostess so befriends 'um,
To mend, or pay the Man that mends 'um.
Now what will Mothers Hony do,
Depriv'd of Cloaths and Mony too;
But send by 29 Basset, or John Hickman,
A Line, to make his Friends more quick Man,
That he's in a most sad Condition,
Worse I believe, than Nick could wish him,
And that he wants more Mony, so
He knows not what i'th world to do;
Hopes they're well, as at this sending
He is and so he falls to ending.
Now if his Friends are poor or witty
Enough to fain they're so, or 30 Nitty,
For want of Mony, to say truth,
Most an end makes a hopeful Youth:
But those who count by Pocket-fulls,
Empt them together with their Sculls,
To a Hat-full of Head, 'tis fair,
If Brains a Thimble-full be there,
Enough to practice by a Sample,
How they may pass for Schollars ample;
In spight of vacant Heads, and Hours,
Half Gowns are always Seniours,
So halv'd and jag'd, if needs you'l know,
If Seniour Soph 'has Gown or no;
Looking on's Shoulders, and no lower,
Perhaps it may be in your power.
When they've been there about a Quarter,
Say half a Year, or such a matter,
Their Friends think it more orderly
To send their Mony quarterly;
By this time, they have more occasion
For Ready, than the poor o'th Nation,
Thinking they better know the use on't;
A Peer o'th Realm is less profuse on't;
That Week o'th Quarter, as they have it,
He's damned with them who thinks to save it:
Now for that necessary Trick,
To book, and score, and run a Tick,
For Gown and Cap, for Drink, and Smoke,
And so much more for Ink, and Chalk;
Five pound a Coat,–-- Ink, Five more–-- Ten
Six Bottles,–- Chalk as much agen;
A Glass broke, Six pence –- so much more,
Because 'twas put upon the Score.
And at this rate the Coxcombs run
Their Daddies out of House and Home;
Those that in Debt, the least may be,
Perhaps owe Hundreds two, or three,
Till fallen downright sick of Duns,
Keeps Chamber, till the Carrier comes;
The ready Mony, when they send it;
He must upon his Mistress spend it;
And so that very Night he runs
To honest Joan of Hed–-tons,
Who brags she has been a Beginner
With many an after-harden'd Sinner;
As to a Book an Introduction's
To Vice, so she, and her Instruction's;
And since the Doctrine of her School's
Practis'd, and follow'd so by Fool's,
For pray, in all our Modern Hist'ries,
Look me a Fool without a Mistriss.
Whose part's to set the Gins, and bait 'um,
And the snared Ideot's part, to treat 'um,
So Schollars, who do all by Rules,
without Example, won't be Fools,
And dedicate their ready Monies,
To please, and to divert their Honies;
Not, that they're given all to whoreing;
Some are for honest downright roaring,
And quite another sort of Fellows,
Love nothing but a noise, and Ale-House:
I would not have you here mistake me;
I know not how, 'tis you may take me,
Ne're think think these Youngsters, by their looks,
Will mate their Heads, with silly Books:
Which a Cann-Lover minds no more,
Then he that loves an ugly Whore,
Being none but Ugly in the Town,
Since one Mal's dead, and t'other gone;
The Lads content are in their Room,
To Court a Moppstick, or a Broom,
Drest in a Night-Rail, and a Settee,
Dear Nancy call it, and their Betty,
But then, he makes a hideous quarter,
If once ammomer'd on's Taylors Daughter;
You may then, at the same Church see him,
Which Father, Mother, has, and she in
Coming out, down he vales his Bonnet,
And next day pelts her with a Sonnet,
But if she stubborn chance to prove,
He makes a Changeling of his Love,
And in a strange Poetick Ire,
Grows very Smutty, very dire,
As sharp as may be, to say truth,
Seeing his Muse had ne're a Tooth;
And heretofore, 'twas no great matter,
For Teeth to any private Satyr;
But now let each look to his Brawls,
And not refer't to Generals;
Since now, there wants a publick Prater,
To raise the Hiss, or Hum oth' Theater,
Such as we took for Owls, and no Men,
Who knew not how t'abuse the Women,
'Twas then, no more, but let some Lad,
Highly disturb'd and Vengeance mad,
Where the Girl gave just cause, or no,
Let him, to Terræ Filius go:
'Twas he, knew how to mak't appear;
As true, as you alive stand there,
Wise Sparks, and bold, who durst to tell them,
Their Faults, who could, and did expell them.
But these mad whipsters, have given o're now,
And lash these, and the Town no more now.
The Act, a time they did all this at,
Is still a time as much to hiss at,
At which time, when so e're it comes,
Wife Men of Gotham, change their Gowns,
Which is a kind of Term, d'ee see,
I use for taking a Degree.
Having had other things to follow,
They pray their Chum, or Chamber-Fellow,
To help them out to say their part,
For want of time to get't by heart;
For here the Misery of it lies,
When they're oblig'd to exercise,
Which is, e're they take a Degree,
Some Fellow, or what e're he be;
Asks him if things be so, or so,
To which he answers ay, or no,
And if he happens to say right,
He gets ye his Degree, in spight
Of Lousie Learning, to which end,
Some better Scholar, and his Friend,
H'intreats, because he would not miss,
To hold his Finger up at Yes;
And when his turn comes to say no,
To do his finger so, or so.
And now no question, but you'l ask 31
How 'tis, they so neglect their Task,
Folks can't do all at once, for look, Sir,
They've more to do, than con a Book, sure,
For Sundays work, it very fare is,
To see, who preaches at St. Maries,
Peep in at Carfax Church, to see there,
Either who preaches, or what sbe there:
Then, as if troubled with the Squitters,
Away they seque it to, St. Peters,
When up into the Chancel coming,
Which most an end is full of Women,
About they strut a while, and seek out,
And one vouchsafe at last, to pick out,
Or cry; pox, ne're a handsome Woman:
And Preacher being in Prayer Common;
They can't a while so long to stay,
To see who Preaches there to day:
So, in their way down to St. Giles,
For more dispatch, they take St. Miles,
'Cause they're oblig'd, e're Church be done,
To thrust their Nose in every one;
Which makes them run, and sweat, and Blurry
And puts them in the deadliest hurry,
For 'tis you know, a Common saying,
Business admits of no delaying .
When coming to the Quaker's Meeting,
Where some are standing, some are sitting,
Eyes shut, with open Mouths, some lunging,
Amidst the Brother-hood, they scrunge in,
Approaching of a handsome Sister,
With her Eyes closed, make bold to kiss her;
Which mov'd her Spouse, but never mov'd her;
Taking him for a Friend that lov'd her;
But her Friend John, suppos'd that he,
Bestow'd no Kiss of Charity;
Which made his Gutts for madness, wamble,
Friend (says he) giving him a jumble,
Do thou, I say, let her alone,
Or else, 'twere better thou wert gone;
Do so, in thy own Steeple-House,
And not in other Peoples House.
To which the Schollar answers, rat it,
What makes the Fellow so mad at it.
He wonders what the Quaker thinks on't,
'Twas done to her, and still she winks on't .
But Quack slips out to tell the Procter,
How Schollars kist his Wife, and mock'd her;
At our Assembly, hard by here,
The Young Men still (I'me sure) are there;
So I made haste to come to thee,
That thou might'st come thy self and see:
Since 'tis thy business to protect 'um,
Prithee do thou therefore correct 'um.
After this Speech the Proctor coming,
Sets all the Crew of Roysters running,
And upon all he lays his Hands,
He either takes them or their Gowns;
And he's glad on't with all his heart,
Who gets off with his Gown in part,
Not being a thing accounted shameful,
To have's Gown lessen'd by a handful,
Since all the punishment and shame
Light's only on the Fools, are ta'ne;
Like Birds, put in a Cage to whisle,
Unless they patch up an Epistle,
To'th Proctor, for the which he looks, 32
Besure in every one, one's Books,
Fills his Head, full as ere't can hold,
Because e're long they must be sold;
Thrumming out several scraps of Latin,
As like as Dowlas is to Satin:
An expeditious way, and better
Then make of his own head, a Letter,
Or wanting Books to tumble o're,
He gets a Letter made before;
Hackney Epistle to the College,
For those who have but little knowledge;
No sooner this the Proctor sees,
But his offence he strait forgives,
For joy of which, he roars most deadly,
And fails that afternoon to medly,
Near half a mile, or such a matter,
It lyes as you go down the Water;
A place at which they never fail,
Of Custard, Cyder, Cakes, and Ale,
Cream, Tarts, and Cheese-Cakes, good Neats Tongues,
And pretty Girls to wait upon's.
Schollars by right in studying Hours,
Or should not late be out of Doors,
But having found with how much ease,
At worst the Proctor they appease,
And long e're this, and for the future,
Knowing how to satisfy their Tutor.
Some Country Stranger, or a Brother,
Some Friend Relation or another,
Being come to Town only to stare,
Will be a Week or Fortnight here;
And he can do no less, than go
Sometimes to wait on him, or so,
Treat him, go with him up and down,
At least, and shew him all the Town:
That he at home might tell a Story,
O'th Theatre and Labo'ratory.
And ever when one Strangers gone,
Besure they'l have another come;
And then you know, it would be evil,
If they to Strangers be uncivil;
And then sometimes their Father sends,
Or else some other of their Friends,
(They say,) a Letter of Attorney,
Praying them to take a little Journey,
To such a Town near two hours going,
To take some Money they have owing;
The Postscript runs, Dear Son or Cozen,
Make haste to go, or else you'l los'en.
When Tuesday comes, he's up by Noon, 33
Least Douson's dancing should be done,
'Cause he'd be there, he very fairly
Forsakes his Bed so very early.
Tho he sate up the Night before,
To smoke his Bed–mat, for the Dore
By Nine, is always so fast shut,
That no Soul living can get out.
As for Tobacco he'd forgot it,
Tho e'ry Night he us'd to sot it,
And so was fain to do as a' could,
Because he cou'd not do as he would.
And truth, they care not one should know it,
But they're as poor as any Poet:
Fortune, that Enemy to sense is,
She makes Fools poor for bare Pretences.
And tho to smoke they're so Delighted,
They want wherewith to Pot and Pipe it,
And so all Night, They and their Chums,
Sit whiffing Straws till morning comes;
And then betake them to their Beds,
And lye till Four to ease their Heads:
But being oblig'd to come to Prayers,
Whipping the Surplice o're their Ears;
At Six some places, some at Ten,
To Prayers, that done, to Bed again.
Wednesday being come six Hours ago, 34
He's up, and say, he's ready too;
Forsooth, he rose that day so rare,
Because he'd take the Country Air.
Perhaps some Fools rise more betimes,
And meet with but unwholesome Rimes,
Which for the World they would not go in,
From Letters Schollars are so knowing;
Now for their way of going a shooting,
Sometimes a Horse-back, sometimes Footing:
Approaching some Lone House, or Cottage;
Reaking with Bacon, Herbs and Pottage,
Ne're knock, but baul out, Who's within there?–
Who's there?–- two or thee come to dine here.
Then Jenny coming out in Kersey,
Makes to the Gentle Folks a Cursey;
Her Mother calling from within,
Jane, bid the Gentlefolk come in;
In they come, Welcome by her Troth,
Who freely sets them all she hath;
Glad in their hearts, that Folks so brave,
Will please to eat all they have.
Can you eat in a homely Tray?
You're welcome all as I may say .
They've done, but having other Butts,
Beside the stuffing of their Gutts.
Jane going for to'ther Pot of Ale,
They seldom of a flitching fail;
The Mother sometimes going after,
To wring the Tap in for her Daughter,
The while they get it from the rack,
And take their leaves when she comes back,
The good Wife vexing, can't but think,
'Tis strange they would not stay, and drink!
But then she's in a woful taking,
When once she comes to miss her Bacon.
But she's in as much woe agen,
For losing of her speckled Hen;
The Scholars, as for their parts, they
Go home rejoicing in their Pray;
And at the very next Farmers door,
Shoot two or three Ducks, and Pullets more;
Thus being provided of good Victles,
Their next care is to wet their Whisles,
Contriving where 'twere best to seat 'um,
And of the best way to defeat 'um;
Because as I before was saying,
They've bitterly against all Paying;
So having call'd for what they will,
And yauld, and sung, and drunk their fill;
Going forth as to untruss a Point,
They run their Legs near out of Joint,
'Till they have reached the Town agen,
And some such other 35 bouzing Ken,
Playing a world of pretty Knacks,
As oft as People turn their backs,
Melt the Folks Flagons, burn their Bellows,
Then sear a loft their Names 'ith' Ale-house.
And in their Breeches put their Candles,
The Snuffers and the Flaggon handles .
Next Morning raging Hostess comes 36
To's Chamber door with other Duns:
There's such a din and such a drumming,
As if the King of France was coming:
As if their Business were to keep him
And all the College too from sleeping.
Then sometimes hold their hands for cunning,
And lend an ear to hear him coming:
Because if he should think them gone,
He would peep out twenty to one.
Their patience tir'd, to't they go,
Ran dan, tara ran, clutter to quo.
Are you within, Sir, Mr. Snear–-
Yes that he is, and knows who's there,
Knows all your Voices great and small,
And to the Devil sends ye all.
Casting an Eye, first thro' a Chink,
One of his Neighbours fitting think,
To open gingerly the door,
Because he is not very sure,
But that some Ambuscade might fire,
Before the neatly could retire,
Having by this judicious care,
Perceiv'd the Coast all around him clear,
That every individual Dun,
His Neighbours are, and not his own;
He with a Noble Courage speaks,
And to them thus his mind he breaks,
Sirs, if you'd speak with Mr. Snear,
You must not think to find him there;
He went abroad Three hours ago,
And goes out ev'ry morning so;
But Sir, tho now he b'en't within,
Pray when, de'e think, he will come in?
When he goes out by thee or four,
He comes not in 'till ten, or more:
Because his business will not let him,
I wonder that you never met him:
If with him you'd so fain a' spoken,
You should come e're the Gates are open.
They thank him for his gracious Speeches,
And then toward him turn their Breeches,
Going their ways, tak't for a warning,
To come more early the next Morning.
Now Snear releas'd thus of his Cares,
Tells all his Duns down all the stairs.
Before he's very sure he's safe,
He dare not wry his Mouth to laugh.
Truely, there comes a deal of good,
From Fellowfeeling Neighbourhood!
T'other comes to Congratulate,
With him the goodness of his Fate,
Who thro' the Key-hole looks to see him,
And asks if there no more be we'him,
Assur'd he's Solus, to be short,
Comes boldly out, and thanks him for't.
But now it being dinner time,
They venture to the Hall to dine,
Where Baxter, one that lets out Horses,
Comes, hoping to repair his Losses;
And being wiser than the rest,
Thinks there to find his Debters best,
Who mind their Cramming, but not so,
But they've an Eye for such a Foe,
Contriving, Dinner done, to tumble
Together, all out in a Bundle;
Deceiving thus his Vigilance;
Who to repair this great mischance,
Setting up's Throat, begins to hollow it,
Sir, Sir, why Sir, there, Mr. Shallow-wit;
But as for Mr. Shallow-wit, he
Has more wit, than to hear or see,
So in the Crow'd, away he goes,
And nothing of the matter knows:
Creditor doubts if that might be him,
Or else concludes he did not see him;
And since 'tis so the bubbl'd Dun,
Contented as he can, goes home.
'Twere to be wonder'd why the Towns-men,
Have so much foolish Faith for Gowns-men,
But here the Mystery of it lies,
These seeming Fools, are truly wise,
For if they can by all their comings
To Hall, and Chambers, all their dunnings,
Their horrid threats, that for the future,
They'l come no more, but tell their Tutor .
Or of some piece of Merriment,
To tell the Head, or President.
If by these Arts he clears one score,
He can sustain the loss of four:
And he that to be honest chooses;
In paying, pays him all he looses.
So that the Trader might afford it,
To lose the rest, and never word it;
But that your Merchants ever love,
Something to gain o're and above.
Always when once 'tis Afternoon,
Duns with the Colleges have done;
And Scholars looking well about,
With caution, venture to go out;
For many times it happens so's,
I'th' very face to meet their Foes:
With Sir, you know you owe me, for
Maintaining of your Spotted Cur;
I'me sure, I bought him as good Meat,
As any Christian, Sir, could eat:
If there's in Man any Belief,
I always fed the Whelp with Beef;
A deal of Money, I disburst so,
And Money going out of Purse so–
I'de ask'd your Tutor, but to stay me,
You said, that you'd next Quarter pay me,
'Las I'me a poor Man, that you know,
And yet you'l never pay me too.
The Sparks so thunder-struck at this,
He hardly can tell what he is,
Protests to Harry, he is willing
To pay, bids him, here, take that shilling,
Being all he has now in his Pocket,
As for his Chest he can't unlock it,
Because he has either spoil'd his Key,
Lost it, or laid it out o'th' way;
And says, when e're he comes for the rest,
He'll pay him, or he'll break his Chest.
These words give Harry Satisfaction
Beyond th'event, or threaten'd Action;
Who fancies in this Chest a Mint,
When there is ne're a penny in't.
Therefore to shun such Brunts as these,
Scholars in walking cross the Ways,
Ne're grutching Shoo-feather, or ground,
For more convenience circle round,
And many times set up a running,
And all for fear of Duns, and dunning;
Let their Walk for Example this be,
To Weavers School, from Corpus Christi:
Thro' Christ-Church, Penny-farthing Street,
Where there lives none he fears to meet;
His way down by St. Thomas lyes,
And so he slips by Paradice,
And falls to running there from going,
Least any should come out as know him,
Because he owes them for his Custard,
Nor paid yet for his Tongue, and Mustard;
Tho once being took, he made a promise.
From Castle-Bridge, up from St. Thomas:
Thro Bullocks-Lane, unsight, unseen;
He's like a spright in Glouster-Green,
From thence he goes out by St. Giles's,
And thro' the Fields which near a mile is,
Yet by then twenty you could tell,
He's arriv'd safe in Holy-well;
And when you're come about the middle,
You may know Weavers by the Fiddle;
A Boarding, and a Dancing School,
Where People learn to go by Rule,
And 'tis high time he there should be,
It being something now past Three;
To be there's, of concern as much
To him, as going is to Church,
Going to see, more than to hear,
The very same as he does there;
Dancing being done, and Dangers past,
He get's to's College safe at last:
He might by much a nearer way found,
That is, by Maudlins, and the Grey-hound,
And mist the Town as well; but there's
So deeply plung'd o're head and ears,
The very Signs enough to fright him,
Lest the curst Dog in it might bite him.
Next day, when all the House is snoring, 37
Before his Duns are up before him,
As if their Souls made up one Song,
The Stairs as by Agreement throng,
And so harmoniously each one
Raps at his Door as in his turn;
Tho' met; but one of all those Fools there,
Knows what the benefit of Shools are;
He was that one, who sure as can be,
Missing a Bottle of lovely Brandy,
And being in a world of Dolour,
And finding out this worthy Schollar;
Both too alone, for only saying,
That he desir'd that he would pay him;
Threatned for Payment was with Pumping,
And put to save himself by jumping
O're a Wall, might break his Neck,
To keep his Back from being wet.
'Tis so unsafe for any Dun,
To 'accost a Schollar all alone;
At many, tho he looks so leering,
He'll make a single one to fear him:
As I before said, I say here,
'Tis well they are enow for Snear,
Beating his Dog, they keep him waking,
And spoil his Peace, as well as Napping.
Here was his Shoe-maker, and Taylor,
His fiery Hostess, Mrs. Rayler;
And Drawers shaking off their Noddles,
For loosing of their Wine and Bottles;
And a kind Girl beside, who had
Made him a Twelve-month since a Dad;
Good reason why she came to seek him,
For something towards the Infants keeping,
Among the Crowd for Payment whining,
was she that us'd to make his Linnen;
Where grumbling an Old Gardner stood,
Who lost his Hedge for Fire-wood:
Beside his Rake, his Hoe, and Shovel,
And half the Faggots off his Hovel;
And Country-men, amidst all these,
For loosing Turkeys, Hens, and Geese,
Mercury was there, who on the wing, goes,
To make him pay for's Ladies Windows:
And in his hand he bore a Ticket,
Demanding reason why he brake it?
His Landress having all his Linnen,
Need never Dun, or go to Spinning,
Washing, because he's fain to pay for't,
He seldom wears but half a Day-Shirt,
At first she'l chop, and change, and choose 'um,
And dextrously at last she'l loose 'um
Nor by this most ingenious way,
Can hardly get up half her pay;
His Bedmaker whilst at the Ale-house,
For Pay can seize his Bed and Pillows,
And for that Reason is more cunning,
Then to bestow the pains to dun him.
The Dunners having hinted been, 38
That Mr. Snear was now within,
Were fully bent for very spight,
To stand all at his Door til Night,
And by so close a Siege go nye they,
To make him truly fast his Friday;
No longer able to sustain it,
No more than's Father to maintain it:
Snear vows to morrow he'l be going,
From all the Noise of Mony owing;
For Schollarship he here forswears it,
And takes his tatter'd Gown, and tares it.
And now his restless Duns are gone,
He takes his farewell of the Town,
Meeting at Midnight with the Proctor,
With less concern then if a Doctor,
Not only very boldly meets him,
But to return his Question, beats him;
Which having done, as fast he runs,
As when he us'd to meet his Duns:
And in his Flight, breaking his Shin, now's
Fully reveng'd on the next Windows;
In which Sport when his hand is in,
He lays about like any thing,
Roaring, and hallowing down the Streets,
Swears to knock down the next he meets.
Wallowing all Night in such Abuses,
Nor studies for next days Excuses,
Knowing he shall complete his Sport
At home, or at the Inns of Court,
'Cause I'me not willing to suppose here,
Our Teachers ever such as those were.
The Day now coming on a new, 39
Wherein he bids the Town adieu,
Having no encouragement to tarry here,
Sends for his Wardrobe by the Carrier.
Now free at liberty and peace is,
Secure, unask'd, goes where he pleases,
Here cruel Duns, nor fear'd expulsion,
Can shake his Soul to a Convulsun,
Bearing the Learning off, he's free
From all the Plagues o'th 'Versity
No Cæsars loss lamented more yet,
Then where he us'd to book and score it;
The Tears of Mothers, and of Duns,
Hers for lost Children, theirs for Sums,
More unconstrain'd are, and true,
Then those I shed in this Adieu.
F I N I S.
ADVERTISEMENTS.
THE Secret Intreagues of the French King's Ministers, at the Courts of several Princes, for the Enslaving of Europe. With Reflections on the Interest of those Princes. qto: price 1 s.
Buchanan's Detection of Mary, Queen of Scotland, concerning the Murther of her Husband. Quarto price 1 s.
The Right of the People over Tyrants, by John Milton. Quarto, Price 6 d.
Some Modest Remarks on Dr. Sherlocks Case of Allegiance, &c. Quarto. Price 6 d.