_As it was presented in Latine by Divines and others before His Majesty
in Cambridge, by way of Enterlude, styled ~Liber novus de Adventu Regis
ad Cantabrigiam~. Faithfully done into English, with some liberal
Additions. Made rather to be sunge than read, to the Tune of Bonny Nell._
(The Notes are from a MS. copy in the Editor’s possession.)
It is not yet a fortnight since
Lutetia[39] entertain’d our prince,
And vented hath a studied toy
As long[40] 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 even he cleans’d the way,
The streets he gravelled thrice a day:
One strike of March-dust for to see
No proverb[41] would give more than he.
Their colledges were new be-painted,
Their founders eke were new be-sainted;
Nothing escap’d, nor post, nor door,
Nor gate, nor rail, nor bawd, nor whore:
You could not know (Oh strange mishap!)
Whether you saw the _town_ or _map_.
But the pure house of _Emanuel_[42]
Would not be like proud _Jesabel_,
Nor shew her self 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[43] of _March_,
Outwent the townsmen all in starch,
Both band and beard, 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;
But cry’d, Oh! look not in, great king,
For there is in it just nothing:
And so prefer’d with tune and gate,
A speech as empty as their plate.
Now, as the king came neer 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 gray dapple,
Seeing the top of _Kings-Colledge_ chappel.
Next rode his lordship[44] on a nag,
Whose coat was blue[45], 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 cry the boys? What ev’ry thing?
Behold, behold, yon comes the king:
And ev’ry period he bedecks
With _En & 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 graces sun doth shine;
And with the beams of your bright eye,
You will be pleas’d 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[46] 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 have expected been twelve year,
And this your son, fair _Carolus_,
That is so _Jacobissimus_[47]:
Here’s none, of all, your grace refuses,
You are most welcome to our Muses.
Although we have no bells to jangle,
Yet can we shew a fair quadrangle,
Which, though it ne’re was grac’d with king,
Yet sure it is a goodly thing:
My warning’s short, no more I’le say,
Soon you shall see a gallant play.
But nothing was so much admir’d,
As were their plays so well attir’d;
Nothing did win more praise of mine,
Then did their actors most divine[48]:
So did they drink their healths divinely;
So did they dance and skip 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 their labour light, or small,
The charge of some was pastoral.
Our plays were certainly much worse,
For they had a brave 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_[49].
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 thought his hen,
That they might Tolebooth[50] _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_[51] bore the bell,
Who was, by the kings own appointment,
To speak of spells, and magick oyntment.
The doctors of the civil law
Urg’d ne’re a reason worth a straw;
And though they went in silk and satten,
They _Thomson_-like[52] clip’d the kings Latine;
But yet his grace did pardon then
All treasons against _Priscian_.
Here no man spake ought to the point,
But all they said was out of joint;
Just like the chappel ominous
I’ the colledge called _God with us_:
Which truly[53] doth stand much awry,
Just north and south, _yes verily_.
Philosophers did well their parts,
Which prov’d them masters of their 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 pleas’d,
And of the court the town was eas’d:
Yet _Oxford_ though (dear sister) hark yet,
The king is gone but to _New-market_,
And comes again e’re it be long,
Then you may make another song.
The king being gone from _Trinity_,
They make a scramble for degree;
Masters of all sorts, and all ages,
Keepers, subcizers, lackeyes, pages,
Who all did throng to come aboard,
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,
Until he blest them all at once,
And cryed, _Hodiissimè_:
_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 Barnesius_
The sale of _Rex Platonicus_.