The Annual miscellany, for the year 1694 being the fourth part of Miscellany poems : containing great variety of new translations and original copies / by the most eminent hands.

Upon the same.

THou damn'd Antipodes to Common Sense, Thou Foil to Fleckno, prithee tell from whence Does all this mighty Stock of dullness spring.? Is it thy own, or hast it from Snow-Hill, Assisted by some ballad-making Quill? No, they fly higher yet, thy Plays are such I'de swear they were Translated out of Dutch. Fain wou'd I know what Dyet thou dost keep, If thou dost always, or dost never sleep? Sure Hasty-Pudding is thy chiefest Dish, With Bullocks Liver, or some stinking Fish: Garbage, Oxcheeks, and Tripes, do feast thy Brain, Which nobly pays this Tribute back again.

With Dazy Roots thy Dwarfish Muse is fed, A Gyants Body with a Pigmy's head. Can'st thou not find among thy num'rous Race Of Kindred, one to tell thee, that thy Plays Are laught at by the Pit, Box, Gallerys, nay, Stage? Think on't a while, and thou wilt quickly find Thy Body made for Labour, not thy Mind. No other use of Paper thou shou'dst make, Than carrying Loads and Reams upon thy back. Carry vast Burthens till thy Shoulders shrink, But Curst be he that gives thee Pen and Ink. Such dangerous Weapons shou'd be hept from Fools, As Nurses from their Children keep edge-Tools. For thy dull Fancy a Muckinder is fit To wipe the Slabberings of thy Snotty Wit;

And though 'tis late, if Justice cou'd be found, Thy Plays like blind-born Puppies shou'd be drown'd: For were it not that we respect afford Unto the Son of an Heroick Lord, Thine in the Ducking-Stool shou'd take her seat, Drest like her self in a great Chair of State; Where, like a Muse of Quality she'd dye, And thou thy self shalt make her Elegy, In the same strain thou writ'st thy Comedy.