Hue and Cry, upon Hue and Cry :
Enquiry after a Poet,
Who was Deliver'd of his WITS, on
Tueſday the 21th Inſtant, and has not
ſince been heard of.
Being an ANSWER to the late Verſes about the
Man-Midwife and the Land-Bank.
IF any good Vintner, Diſtiller, or Cook,
In Street, or in Lane, or in Ally, or Nook,
Of a Faith that is large, and of Merits confiding,
Can bring any News of a Poet's abiding,
Whom the Vict'lers all know that are Dealers in Chalk,
And the Perſons muſt treat who will bear with his Talk,
Shall have as genteel a Reward for his Pains
As a Man can deſire for a Calf without Brains.
He's a middle ag'd Man, with a jolly great Noſe,
And mix'd colour'd Stockins, and Shoes out at Toes,
Has a Sword by his ſide of the very ſame Mettle,
With his own modeſt Forehead, or his Landlady's Kettle.
His Head's very large, and his Hands fit enough
For the pittiful thing which he wears for a Muff,
Made, they ſay, from the ſhreds of Eraſmus his Gown,
To ſhew what has lately been done for the Town ;
And that (though ſome may blame him) he's not ſo ill bred,
But if beat by the Living, he can murther the Dead.
As for his Profeſſion, God knows what to ſay,
He was Yeſterday one thing, and another to day,
Sometimes he writes Proſe, and ſometimes he writes Verſes,
Peeps ſometimes in Grammar, and ſometimes in A------
For a Tryal h' has taken moſt things by the Handle,
And now he's e'en turn'd a Stock-jobber in Scandal,
Deals in Half-ſheets, ador'd by the People who cry 'em,
'Cauſe fulſom enough for the Women to buy 'em.
In a word, he's of all ſides, 'thout any reſtraint,
With a Sinner He Curſes, and Prays with a Saint,
With a Non-juror ſwears that Oaths are unrighteous,
With a Williamite, rails at K. J------ like old T-----
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