Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A66004
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Iter boreale with large additions of several other poems : being an exact collection of all hitherto extant : never before published together / the author R. Wild.
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Wild, Robert, 1609-1679.
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1668
(1668)
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Wing W2136; ESTC R7135
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38,722
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126
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Learning my poor Parents brought up me And sent me to the Universitie There I soon found bowing the way to rise And th' only Logick was the Falacies In stead of Aristotles Organon Anthems and Organs I did study on If I could play on them I soon did find I rightly had Preferment in the wind I follow'd that hot scent without controul I bow'd my body and I sung Fa Sol I cozen'd Doctor Couzens and ere long A Fellow ship obtained for a Song Then by degrees I climb'd until I got Good Friends good Cloaths good Commons and what not I got so long until at length I got A Wench with Child and then I got a blot Before the Consistory I was try'd Where like a Villain I both swore and ly'd And from the whore I made I was made free By purging of my self Incont'nent-LEE But as I scorn'd to father mine own Brat 'T was done to me as I had done with That The Doctors all when Doctor I would be As a base son refus'd to father me With much ado at length by art and cunning My Tears Vows prevail'd with Peter Gunning Me to adopt and for his love and care I will devote my self to Peter's Chair Cambridge I left with grief and great disgrace To seek my fortune in some other place And that I might the better save my stake I took an Order and did Orders take Amongst Conformists I my self did list A Son o' th Church as good as ever pist But though I bow'd and cring'd crost all I only got a Vicarage very small Ere I was warm and warm I ne're had bin In such a starved hole as I was in A Fire upon the Church and Kingdom came Which I straight helpt to blow into a flame The Third Part. MY Conscience first like Balaam's Asse was shy Bogled and winc'd which when I did espy I cudgeld her and spur'd her on each side Until the Jade her paces all could ride When first I mounted on her tender back She would not leave the Protestant dull Rack Till in her mouth the Cov'nant Bit I got And made her learn the Presbyterian Trot 'T was an hard Trot and fretted her alas The Independent Amble easier was I taught her that and out of that to fall To the Tantivy of Prelaâ—ical I rode her once to Rumford with a pack Of Arguments for th' Cov'nant on her back That Journey she perform'd at such a rate Th ' Committee gave me a rich piece of Plate From Hatfield to St. Albans I did ride The Army call'd for me to be their Guide There I so spurd her that I made her fling Not only dirt but blood upon my King When Cromwel turn'd his Masters out by force I made the Beast draw like a Brewers horse Under the Rump I made her wear a Crooper And under Lambert she became a Trooper When Noble Monk the KING did home conveigh She like Darius Steed began to neigh. I taught her since to Organ Pipes to prance As Banks his Horse could to a Fiddle dance Now with a Snaffle or a twined thread To any Government she 'l turn her head I have so broke her she doth never start And that 's the meaning of my broken heart I have found out a cunning way with ease To make her cast her Coat when ere I please And if at Rack and Manger she may be Her Colts tooth she will keep most Wanton-LEE I 'l change as often as the Man i' th Moon His frequent Changing makes him rise so soon To eat Church Plumb-broth e're it all be gone I 'le have the Devil's spoon but I 'le have One. For many years my Tongue did lick the Rump But when I saw a KING was turn'd up Trump I did resolve still in my hand to have One winning Card although 't were but a Knave If the Great Turk to England come I can Make Gospel truckle to the Alchoran And if their Turkish Sabbaths should take place I have in readiness my Friday face If lock in Iron Chest as we are told A Loadstone their great Mahomet can hold The Loadstone of Preferment I presage To Mahomet may draw this Iron Age. The Congregation way best pleas'd my mind There were more Shee s and they most free and kind By Chamber practice I did better thrive Than all my Livings though I skimmed five Mine Eyes are open now my Sins to see With Tears I cry Good People Pardon me My Reverend Fathers Pardon I do crave And hope my Mothers Blessing yet to have My Cambridge sins my Bugden sins are vile My Essex sins my sins in Ely-Isle My Leicester sins my Hatfield sins are many But my St. Albans sins more red than any To CHARLES the first I was a bloody foe I wish I do not serve the Second so The only way to make me leave that trick Is to bestow on me a Bishoprick This is St. Andrews Eve and for his sake A Bishoprick in Scotland I could take And though a Metropolitan there be I 'de be as Sharp and full as Arch as he Now may this Sermon never be forgot Let others call 't a Sermon I a Plot A Plot that takes if it believed be If not I shall repent Unfained-LEE I must desire the Crack-fart of the Nation With rev'rance to let fly this Recantation Our Names ty'd tail to tail make a sweet change Mine only is Strange-Lee and his Le-strange THE PORING DOCTOR OR The Gross mistake of a Reverend Son of the Church in bowing at the namâ— of Judas at St. Pauls November 5. 1663. THe Papists God wot made a notable Plot Against the Church and the State Which some with good reason Call Gunpowder-Treason Discover'd ere 't was too late Those who before Had weltred in gore Of Protestant Martyrs slain Resolv'd with one breath Of Hell beneath To blow up all by a Train The Bishops good men Were in jeopardy then The Lords the Commons the King Religion and Laws For the Catholick Cause To be made a Burnt Offring Thus swell'd with dispight To raise darkness and night Heav'n caused the brood to miscarry That day big with Thunder Held forth Mercies wonder And therefore kept Anniversary You the present Lord Mayor And Brethren repair With the several Corporations To Pauls Church to pray And solemnize the Day That so seasonably saved three Nations But good Doctor When he came before ye The Sacred Gospel to read At Judas his name O horrible shame He bowed his Reverend head Some say that his fight Poor man is not right I wish that it be no worse But others think he To Judas bow'd th' knee For love he bears to the Purse His Worship made doubt Where the battel was fought When Michael did prevail But to me it is clear For an hundred a year He 'l bow to the Dragons Tail Twelve Spiritual Promotions A head full of Notions With stomach more sharp than a Sythe Some of Bishopsgate there Perhaps did appear Whose