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( I )
The Oxfordſhive NINE,
PERUSING the LIST of the TACKERS in Print,
And carefully marking what Members were in't,
Some Names I obſerv'd to moſt Counties did fall :
But Oxford afforded no fewer than All.
Nine Members, Nine Tackers. And more had there been,
And their Number as great as their Spirits were keen :
Or had this ſmall County, more fierce than the reſt,
But ſent up as many as ſome in the Weſt :
A deſperate Riſque we had preſently run
Of the League being broke, and the Nation undone.
Then let us be grateful, and thank Heaven for't,
Since their Heads were ſo hot, that their Hands were ſo ſhort.
But will this agree with their Courtſhip, thought I,
When the Queen was harangu'd, and estol'd to the Sky,
In Her way to the Bath by the Litterate Fry ?
Or can we imagine it mightily ſutes
With Thanks for Her Gift of the Tenths, and Firſt-fruits ?
Unleſs it be grateful in Sons of the Church
Their beſt Benefactreſs, to leave in the Lurch ;
And when for their fakes ſhe had leſſea'd Her Store,
To ſhut up the Purſe and ſupply. Her no more.
For clogging it ſo as ſhe cannot comply,
Is juſt the fame thing as quite to deny.
And Tantalus's Story again to revive,
By giving Her that which She cannot receive.
For if a good Bill with another be join'd,
It ſhould be with One of a ſutable Kind :
But to yoak it with what is not proper to paſs,
Is next to the yoaking an Ox with an Aſs ;
Or to imitate Him, who in Story is ſaid
To couple together the Quick and the Dead.
Or will it agree with their Blenheim Addreſs,
Of Speeches and Verſes ſent Poſt from the Preſs ;
Out-running poor Cambridgein Loyal Pretence,
And before her in Haſte, as behind her in Senſe ?
Will not this make their Poetry backward to chime,
And turn to Burleſque all Addiſon's Rhyme ?
Extolling our Valor, and mighty Succeſs,
When they ſhew by their Tacking they wiſh it were leſs.
Or commending our Cauſe, when with the fame Breath
By ſlopping our Mony they ſtarve it to Death.
Unleſs they ſuppoſe the Nine Muſes alone
Would ballance the Hurt the Nine Members had done :
Or the Queen were ſo weak as to wink at the Wrong,
Forget the Affront, and be pleas'd with a Song.
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|English ballads > Religion & morality > Oxfordshire nine > (1) [Page 1]|
|Description||First line reads: Perusing the list of the Tackers in print. In one column. A satire in verse on the Tackers. Authorship attributed to Charles Darby.|
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