At this period. Wood states, in his Annals, that when King James was
entertained at Oxford, in 1605, divers Cambridge scholars went thither
out of novelty, to see and hear; and some that pretended to be wits
made copies of verses on that solemnity, of which, he says, I have met
with one that runs--
To Oxonforde the king is gone,
With all his mighty peers,
That hath in grace maintained us,
These four or five long years.
Such a king he hath been,
As the like was never seen:
Knights did ride by his side,
Evermore to be his guide:
A thousand knights, and forty thousand knights,
Knights of forty pounds a year.
which some attribute to one Lake. This example, he adds, was followed
by the Oxonians, when James visited Cambridge in 1614, and "many idle
songs" were made by them upon the proceedings at Cambridge, the most
celebrated of which is the one entitled, "A Grave Poem, as it was
presented in Latin by Divines and others, before his Majesty at
Cambridge, by way of Enterlude, stiled 'Liber novus de adventu Regis
ad Cantabrigiam,' faithfully done into English, with some liberal
advantage, made rather to be sung than red, to the tune of 'Bonny
Nell,'" which poem, says Wood, may be seen in the works of the witty
Bishop Corbet (by whom it was written,) "printed in 1647." But in so
saying our annalist not only _lies_ under a mistake, but Mr. Gutch,
his editor, has not detected it. The poem is not in the edition of
1647, but in that of 1672, which is the third, corrected and enlarged,
and "printed by J. C. for _William Crooke_, at the _Green Dragoon_,
without Temple Bar;" as all may see who will consult the said
editions, both extant in the library of the British Museum. The poem
is comprised in twenty-six stanzas, as follows:--
It is not yet a fortnight, since
Lutetia entertained our Prince,
And wasted both a studied toy,
As long as was the siege of _Troy_:
And spent herself for full five days
In _speeches_, _exercise_, and _plays_.
To trim the town, great care before
Was tane by th' Lord _Vice-Chancellor_,
Both morn and eve he cleared the way,
The streets he gravell'd thrice a day;
One stripe of _March-dust_ for to see,
No _Provost_ would give more than he.
Their colledges were new be-painted,
Their founders eke were new be-sainted;
Nothing escaped, nor post, nor door,
Nor gete, nor rail, nor b----d, nor wh----:
You could not know (oh, strange mishap!)
Whether you saw the _town_ or _map_.
But the pure house of _Emanuel_,
Would not be like proud _Jesebel_,
Nor show herself before the king
An hypocrite, or _painted_ thing:
But that the ways might all prove fair,
Conceiv'd a tedious mile of prayer.
Upon the look'd-for seventh of _March_,
Out went the townsmen all in starch,
Both band and bead into the field,
Where one a speech could hardly wield;
For needs he would begin his stile,
The king being from him half a mile.
They gave the king a piece of plate,
Which they hop'd never came too late;
And cry'd, Oh! look not in, great king,
For there is in it just nothing:
And so preferred with time and gate,
A speech as empty as their plate.
Now, as the king came near the town,
Each one ran crying up and down,
Alas, poor _Oxford_, thou'rt undone,
For now the king's past _Trompington_,
And rides upon his brave grey Dapple,
Seeing the top of _King's-Colledge_ chappel.
Next rode his lordship on a nag,
Whose coat was blue, whose ruff was shag,
And then began his reverence
To speak most eloquent non-sense:
See how (quoth he) most mighty prince,
For very joy my horse doth wince.
What cryes the town? what we? (said he)
What cryes the University?
What cryes the boyes? what every thing?
Behold, behold, yon comes the king:
And every period he bedecks,
With _En et Ecce venit Rex_.
Oft have I warn'd (quoth he) our dirt,
That no silk stockings should be hurt;
But we in vain strive to be fine,
Unless your Grace's sun doth shine;
And with the beams of your bright eye,
You will be pleased our streets to dry.
Now come we to the wonderment,
Of _Christendom_, and eke of _Kent_,
The _Trinity_; which to surpass,
Doth Deck her spokesman by a glass:
Who, clad in gay and silken weeds,
Thus opes his mouth, hark how he speeds.
I wonder what your Grace doth here,
Who had expected been 12 year,
And this your son, fair _Carolus_,
That is so Jacobissimus;
There's none, of all your Grace refuses,
You are most welcome to our Muses.
Although we have no bells to jingle,
Yet can we shew a fair quadrangle,
Which, though it ne'er was graced with king,
Yet sure it is a goodly thing:
My warning's short, no more I'll say,
Soon you shall see a gallant play.
But nothing was so much admired
As were their plays, so well attired;
Nothing did win more praise of mine,
Than did their Actors most divine:
So did they drink their healths divinely,
So did they skip and dance so finely.
Their plays had sundry grave wise factors,
A perfect diocess of Actors
Upon the stage; for I am sure that
There was both bishop, pastor, curat:
Nor was this labour light or small,
The charge of some was pastoral.
Our plays were certainly much worse,
For they had a brown hobby-horse,
Which did present unto his Grace
A wondrous witty ambling pace:
But we were chiefly spoyl'd by that
Which was six hours of _God knows what_.
His Lordship then was in a rage,
His Lordship lay upon the stage,
His Lordship cry'd, All would be marr'd:
His Lordship lov'd a-life the guard,
And did invite those mighty men,
To what think you? Even to a _Hen_.
He knew he was to use their might
To help to keep the door at night,
And well bestow'd he though his Hen,
That they might Tolebooth _Oxford_ men.
He thought it did become a lord
To threaten with that bug-bear word.
Now pass we to the Civil Law,
And eke the doctors of the spaw,
Who all perform'd their parts so well,
Sir _Edward Ratcliff_ bore the bell,
Who was, by the king's own appointment,
To speak of Spells and Magic Ointment.
The Doctors of the Civil Law,
Urged ne'er a reason worth a straw;
And though they went in silk and satten,
They, _Thomson_-like clip'd the king's Latine;
But yet his Grace did pardon then
All treasons against _Priscian_.
Here no man spoke aught to the point,
But all they said was out of joint;
Just like the Chappel ominous,
In th' Colledge called _God with us_,
Which truly doth stand much awry,
Just north and south, _yes verily_.
Philosophers did well their parts,
Which proved them Masters of the Arts;
Their Moderator was no fool,
He far from _Cambridge_ kept a school:
The country did such store afford,
The Proctors might not speak a word.
But to conclude, the king was pleased,
And of the court the town was eased:
But Oxford though (dear sister hark it)
The king is gone but to New-Market,
And comes again ere it be long,
Then you may sing another song.
The king being gone from _Trinitie_,
They make a scramble for degree;
Masters of all sorts and all ages,
Keepers, subsizers, lackayes, pages,
Who all did throng to come abroad,
With _pray make me_ now, _good my Lord_.
They prest his lordship wondrous hard,
His lordship then did want the guard,
So did they throng him for the nonce,
Till he bless them all at once,
And cry'd _Hodiissime_:
_Omnes Magistri estote_.
Nor is this all which we do sing,
For of your praise the world must ring:
Reader, unto your tackling look,
For there is coming forth a book,
Will spoyl _Joseph Bernesius_
The sale of _Rex Platonicus_.
His Majesty was, as usual, entertained with speeches, disputations,
and dramatic exhibitions. Fuller relates, that the following