Doctor COOPER at Work Upon DAUNCEY'S Bones: AND COOK licking his FINGERS After his Dose and Pill.
O For the
Doctor's lines, or
Cleveland's, Dauncey
To truss thee in, how bravely would I haunse thee,
Then like a Jack o'
Lent the first of
March,
In
Cuerpo thou should'st hang under some
Arch,
There to be play'd on by the wind, and noise
Of
Fish-wives, Orange-wenches, and the
Boyes.
Was't not enough the brethren felt his whip
So smart and keen, but he must make thee skip
Thou Jackanapes? think'st thou, thou piteous elf,
To draw his anger on thy single self,
And rescue so a number? foul-mouth no,
You are beneath him, hee's more worth than so.
Lord, what a holy thing is want of clothes.
How it keeps
Balladers from drink and oaths!
When there's no more to pawn, an oath were vain,
Your words will go as far in
Chart'r 'ouse lane.
Thou seem'st boy to have taken his advice
And gone to school agen, and thou art wise
In doing so, thou may'st be of his stables,
Th'art at the Dunghill now in
AEsop's Fables.
Your mine's Hell deep, we give a guesse what's in't,
Poets w'are sure send nothing to the mint.
W'are pleas'd to see you wince, y'ave a gauld hide,
Your own breath stinks when 'tis to you apply'd.
If your own words refounded be accurst,
Your meaning was not wholsome at the first.
Mark how this saucy
Rascal 'gins his prate,
As though the Doctour were an advocate
OF foul debauchery: when in no mans hearing
He ever spoke of drunkennesse or swearing;
Nor thinks there can be such a sin in fashion
I'th Clergy, 'ts hatch'd in your Imagination:
There 'tis ye slanderous villains that ye frame
An odious abuse, and then declame.
So I have seen a Coward draw his sword
Against a Post, and every blow a word;
Now if thou wer't a man,
I'de have thee here,
And then again he cryes I'de have thee there.
Bring forth your
swearers, and your
drunkards too,
Or on my word this Knight o'th post are you.
I a've a
Physician that without perhaps
Shall cure your mouth secure of
after claps.
Down o' your knees, thank God, and thank me too,
'Tis well, 'tis well, now
Gallows claim thy due;
And when the Surgeons chest has brought you sir
Back from that tree, into their Theatre,
The Doctor for a Lecture shall not stick,
To send your bones unto the Devil to pick.
You might have seen, had you been so inclin'd,
(But as the saying is,
hasty Currs are blind)
The
Doctor knew your
Asse's meaning sir,
And needs not you for an Interpreter.
We like no coxeing friend, nor ever will,
Joab and
Judas both did kisse and kill.
Had
Griffin bray'd against a man or two,
Or on a County where such things they do,
His Libel might have gone untax'd: but now
To write at randome thus, and to allow
A roving Kite with full spread wings to fly
Over the Nation, carrying infamy
Thus undetermin'd;
Dauncey 'tis too much,
Ill minds conclude the
Clergy all are such.
This mischief he has done, and as we mention,
We had but's own word for his good intention.
This has your pious soul done, that can't drink
Yon say, but shall
I tell you what
I think?
What
I have heard?
Danncey I will take leave,
For all your
affidavit, t'undeceive
My silly Countrymen, who live in doubt
Some Minister of worth set this Cry out;
Whose spirit bleeds within him for the sin
That yet the people, and the Clergy's in.
But come chear up my hearts, 'tis no such matter,
This fellow in Divinity does but smatter,
Hangs on the
Presse, and as his learning's small,
His pay's ten groats a ballad, and some Ale:
Which not one Stationer alone does pay for
But all the Crowd, which he goes first to stay for;
The Common spunge, a fellow of no reck'ning,
Shall follow you to an Alehouse but for beck'ning.
And be brought out agen perhaps. But How!
What do I see,
Dauncey, the grizly brow
Of Goblin
Truth, Fathers in
Truth, the thing
Undid the Church, and cut the throat o'th King?
Choak us no more you R—with your minc'd meat,
Fathers, feed's at discretion, we will eat,
I and give thanks too for your institution,
And call you fathers without diminution,
Conservers of Gods Oracles, bring these fellows
Truth to confesse, where they should do't to'th Gallows.
And mark it
Dauncey, see how thou art catch'd,
As if thine own lye to betray th'adst watch'd;
When with comparison thou would'st up-cry
The faith of
Griffin, As hath no reply.
But Mr.
Dauncey, now y'ave shew'd your lack
Of wit and art, let me again go back,
And view the subject of your declamation
Not against things, but vices O this Nation.
Are vices nothing? and's all this ado
Made about nothing, by you Puppies two.
Now you begin to belch up your disgrace,
And spit foul Language in the
Doctor's face;
VVhat are you proud of, that you thus
be-Asse us,
And knave us bluntly, is't Land in
Parnassus?
Who would not swear you'r drunk? it is no ruth
To conscience for a man to swear the Truth.
Would'st thou know what thou art? thou canst not miss't,
In the first Chapter of the
Alchymist,
Where
Sub
[...]l, Doll, and
Face do seem to me
Rayling, to conjure for a name for thee.
There read thy self, th'are thine all, and if't be
Thy chance to scape a sadder destiny,
VVhen with the
Stationers thou hast suck'd so long
Scot-free of Ale, as t'other has, whose tongue
Thou now defendest, mayst thou by good prayers
Rise by degrees, from Link-boy, to the Players;
To be their book-keeper, and then grown bold,
Upon thy parts, when thou art blind and old,
Presume to write a play in thy last age,
And have it basely hiss'd off o' the stage,
For which thy heart must break, if it break not
This minute, for thus having play'd the Sot.
We are ingenuous, and do not deride
Your poverty, you Knaves, no, but your pride;
And cannot choose but laugh, to see the Saints
Have drunken Atheists to defend their plaints.
So
exit Dauncey. — Now comes
Cook in fury,
Lick-spit o'th Law: speak sirrah to the Jury,
There you may find a dozen of the name
You give the Doctor, (Caterpillar of fame:)
Beat me this Buckram Rogue,
Falstaffe, to seven.
Nay if thou wilt, beat him into eleven,
And if they have no better manners then,
Send them to me, I'le beat them all agen.
Knaves that do nought but quirk upon his Calling,
And quit their cause; 'tis time the Asse left bawling.
Martial. Ep.
Dic tandem aliquid de tribus Capellis.
I Thought I'ad finish'd
William now, but hark,
I'ave commendations to thee from the Clark,
Fogg in Rye dough, thou image of a Lawyer,
Fitter to make a Carman, or a Sawyer,
Much more then ord'nary appears in you.
Plead you for Asses, and are Asses too?
Must Readers preach; has the Church no degrees,
Nor order?
Scribes go take the Lawyers fees.
Hell's where confusion is, and rotten speech,
The Lawyer took's own pill, and spoke at's breech.
The journey-pew supplyes his need, as 'tis,
Pray, get your Asse a pulpit to serve his.
He will not be the first Asse that e're spoke
Out of one, and got by't a suit and cloak.
I wish thy libel might have pleas'd where't came,
And that thou'dst had a more auspicious name
At
Westminster Hall Gate, hee'l see that looks,
VVhat's to be thought of disaffected
Cooks.
God blesse King
Charles, so that he ne'er agen
Be troubled with such
Rogues, speak Clark, Amen.
Now stroake the
Doctor's beard, ye Libel flingers;
And if ye foule your hands,
Cooke lick your fingers.
By
Nat. Wildoe.
LONDON, Printed for the Author, 1661.