Glen Collection of printed music > Printed music > Wit and mirth, or, Pills to purge melancholy > Volume 1

Poems on several Occasions. 355
In Apish Modes they naturally shine, ]
Which we Ape after them to make us fine, >
The late Blue Feather was charmant divine ; I
Next then the slouching Sledo, and our huge Button,
And now our Coats, flanck broad, like Shoulder Mutton :
Fac'd with fine Colours, Scarlet, Green and Sky,
With Sleeves so large, they'll give us Wings to Fly ;
Next Year I hope they'll cover Nails and all,
And every Button like a Tennis-Ball :
Nor on their Industry can he here reflect,
Cause, to our own there must be some respect,
Our Ills come by Misfortune, not Neglect ;
And that they outwit us, we will ne'er agree,
Tho' they have damn'd Luck with our Ships at Sea :
How shall the Satyr then his Venom shed,
Their Heads are full of Air, and ours are full of Lead
Their hot Brains make 'em swear in Elds somes,
We in dull Gamut roar out Blood and Worms :
They to grow cool, from Herbs still seek Relief,
We to grow Hot, deboash our selves in Beef;
And for the Bone, when we to Battle run,
Priests of both kinds ne'er fail to Hiss us on :
To Trim the Matter, and use a Mean,
Our cautious Author in each coming Scene,
Resolv'd to baulk both sides, has us'd to Day,
No Plot, but Love Intrigues quite through his Play,
Yet that 'tis Good, I dare be bold to say :
The Jacks are fierce, and Williamites are flesh'd,
The Poets not so bold, but may be dash'd,
Wit has no Armour proof, 'gainst being thrash'd ;
Therefore in Terror of the Warriours Trade,
Suspends all Satyr 'till the Peace me made.
An