Although the old maxim remains still in force, So far the whole kingdom poets you have made, You have made king Charles himself a poet : But provoke not his Mufe, for all the world knows, Already you have had too much of his profe. A WESTERN WONDER. Do you not know, not a fortnight ago, How they bragg'd of a Western Wonder? When a hundred and ten flew five thousand men, With the help of lightning and thunder? There Hopton was flain, again and again, With a new Thanksgiving, for the dead who are living, But now on which fide was this miracle try'd, I hope we at last are even; For Sir Ralph and his knaves are rifen from their graves, To cudgel the clowns of Devon. And there Stamford came, for his honour was lame Of the gout three months together; But it prov'd, when they fought, but a running gout, For his heels were lighter than ever. For For now he out-runs his arms and his guns, What Reading hath cost, and Stamford hath loft, These wounds will not heal, with your new great feal, Now, Peters and Cafe, in your prayer and grace, Ifaac and his wife, now dig for your life, A SECOND WESTERN WONDER. You heard of that Wonder, of the Lightning and Thunder, Which made the lye fo much the louder : Now lift to another, that miracle's brother, Which was done with a firkin of Powder. O what a damp it ftruck through the camp! It blew him to the Vies, without beard or eyes, When When out came the book, which the News-monger took From the Preaching Ladies letter, Where in the first place, ftood the Conqueror's face, Which made it fhew much the better. But now without lying, you may paint him flying, And now came the poft, fave all that was lost, By a trick fo ftale, or elfe fuch a tale Might amount to a new Thanksgiving. This made Mr. Cafe, with a pitiful face, Though his mouth utter'd lyes, truth fell from his eyes, Now fhut up fhops, and spend your last drops, For the laws not your caufe, you that loath 'em, Left Effex should start, and play the second part Of the worshipful Sir John Hotham. NEWS NEWS FROM COLCHESTER. Or, A proper New Ballad of certain Carnal Paffages betwixt a Quaker and a Colt, at Horfly, near Colchester, in Effex. To the tune of " Tom of Bedlam." A LL in the land of Effex, Near Colchester the zealous, On the fide of a bank, Was play'd fuch a prank, As would make a ftone-horfe jealous. Help Woodcock, Fox and Naylor, For brother Green 's a ftallion: Of converting the Pope, Even to our whole profeffion How brother Green was mounted. And in the good time of Christmas, Which though our faints have damn'd all, That a damn'd cavalier E'er play'd fuch a Christmas gambal ? Had thy flesh, O Green, been pamper'd Hadft thou sweetned thy gums Or profane minc'd pye hadft fwallow'd: Roll'd up in wanton fwine's flesh, The fiend might have crept into thee; Then fullness of gut Might have caus'd thee to rut, And the devil have fo rid through thee. But, alas he had been feafted. By our frugal mayor, Who can dine on a prayer, And fup on an exhortation. 'Twas mere impulse of spirit, Though he us'd the weapon carnal : Filly foal, quoth he, My bride thou shalt be: And how this is lawful, learn all For if no refpect of perfons Be due 'mongst fons of Adam, In a large extent, Thereby may be meant That a Mare 's as good as a Madam. Then without more ceremony, Not bonnet vail'd, nor kiss'd her, But |