Maggots, or, Poems on several subjects, never before handled by a schollar.
About this Item
- Title
- Maggots, or, Poems on several subjects, never before handled by a schollar.
- Author
- Wesley, Samuel, 1662-1735.
- Publication
- London :: Printed by John Dunton ...,
- 1685.
- Rights/Permissions
-
To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
- Subject terms
- English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700.
- Cite this Item
-
"Maggots, or, Poems on several subjects, never before handled by a schollar." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A65464.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 8, 2024.
Pages
Page 82
Even so Renowned Bat of old, a
A poor good-natur'd Hound condol'd, b
As I did.
Tell me, O tell me, you that know,
How Spot the higher Powers so
Offended?
What was the pretty Traytor's Crime,
That her fair Dayes in Beauty's prime
Were ended?
She, ever vigilant and brisk,
Her nimble Tail around would whisk,
Like Fan. Sr.
With Vmph she never went away,
But, by her mumping mean'd to say
Anan Sr.
She was not ugly, rank, nor old;
Tho' she ne'r sung, she was no Scold
Uncivil:
Sweet-Hearts she had, Him, Him, and Him,
O Envy! Envy! O thou Limb
O th' Devil!
With Mouth and Tayl, come when you will,
She smil'd, and would endeavour still
To please ye;
Altho' 'tis true, she was not Fair,
Her Cheeks ne'r shin'd, her Muzzle ne're
Was greasie.
One fault alone in her we find;
Were she not pleas'd, she must be kind
To Neighbours;
Page 83
Which brought poor Tray to a sad pass, c
When he, to please the Love-sick Lass▪
O're-labours.
Well, gone she is, and who can help't?
Ah! gone she is before she whelpt;
Ah cruel!
Let none at too just Sorrows scoff,
Now cross-grain'd Fate has robb'd us of
Our Iewel!
But since poor Spot must go and buss
For our brisk Lord, old Cerberus d
So musty;
Come Lads, let's bid her all adieu,
And own ne're dy'd a Bitch more true,
And trusty!
Go Spot, to the Elysian Plain,
Go Spot, and meet thy Tray again
Far kinder!
What tho' Erynnis on thee scowl,
And make her Snakes about thee howl?
Ne're mind her.
There Spot, be ever brisk and gay;
There thou, without the Bans forbid, thy Tray
May'st marry;
In Fields gilt o're with many a Flower,
In Walks as fine as those of our
King Harry.