(From an Autograph in the Editor’s possession.)
A ballad late was made,
But God knowes who ’es the penner,
Some say the rhyming sculler,
And others say ’twas Fenner[54]:
But they that know the style
Doe smell it by the collar,
And do maintaine it was the braine
Of some yong Oxford scholler.
And first he rails on Cambridge,
And thinkes her to disgrace,
By calling her _Lutetia_,
And throws dirt in her face:
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
For all the world must grant,
If Oxford be thy mother,
Then Cambridge is thy aunt.
Then goes he to the town,
And puts it all in starch,
For other rhyme he could not find
To fit the seventh of March:
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
For I must vail the bonnet,
And cast the caps at Cambridge
For making song and sonnet.
Thence goes he to their present,
And there he doth purloyne,
For looking in their plate
He nimmes away their coyne:
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
For ’tis a dangerous thing
To steal from corporations
The presents of a king.
Next that, my lord vice-chancellor
He brings before the prince,
And in the face of all the court
He makes his horse to wince.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
For sure that jest did faile,
Unless you clapt a nettle
Under his horse’s taile.
Then aimes he at our orator,
And at his speech he snarles,
Because he forced a word, and called
The prince “most Jacob-Charles.”
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
For he did it compose
That puts you down as much for tongue
As you do him for nose.
Then flies he to our comedies,
And there he doth professe
He saw among our actors
A perfect diocess.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
’Twas no such witty fiction,
For since you leave the vicar out,
You spoile the jurisdiction.
Next that he backes the hobby-horse,
And with a scholler’s grace,
Not able to endure the trott,
He’d bring him to the pase:
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
For you will hardly do it,
Since all the riders in your muse
Could never bring him to it.
Polonia land can tell,
Through which he oft did trace,
And bore a fardell at his back,
He nere went other pace.
But leave him, scholler, leave him,
He learned it of his sire,
And if you put him from his trott
Hee’l lay you in the myre.
Our horse has thrown his rider;
But now he meanes to shame us,
And in the censuring of our play
Conspires with Ignoramus.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
And call ’t not “God knows what,”
Your head was making ballads
When you should mark the plot.
His fantasie, still working,
Finds out another crotchet;
Then runs he to the bishop,
And rides upon his rotchet.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
And take it not in snuff,
For he that weares no picadell
By law may weare a ruffe.
Next that he goes to dinner,
And, like an hardy guest,
When he had cramm’d his belly full
He railes against the feast.
But leave it, scholler, leave it;
For, since you eat his roast,
It argues want of manners
To raile upon the host.
Now listen, masters, listen,
That tax us for our riot,
For here two men went to a ken,
So slender was the diet.
Then leave him, scholler, leave him,
He yieldes himself your debtor,
And next time he’s vice-chancellor
Your table shall be better.
Then goes he to the Regent-house,
And there he sits and sees
How lackeys and subsisers press
And scramble for degrees.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
’Twas much against our mind,
But when the prison doors are ope
Noe thief will stay behind.
Behold, more anger yet:
He threatens us ere long,
When as the king comes back againe,
To make another song.
But leave it, scholler, leave it,
Your weakness you disclose;
For “Bonny Nell” doth plainly tell
Your wit lies all in prose.
Nor can you make the world
Of Cambridge praise to singe,
A mouth so foul no market eare
Will stand to hear it sing.
Then leave it, scholler, leave it,
For yet you cannot say,
The king did go from you in March
And come again in May.
RESPONSIO, &c. PER ⸺ LAKES.
Facta est cantilena,
Sed nescio quo autore;
An fluxerit ex remige,
An ex Fenneri ore.
Sed qui legerunt, contendunt,
Esse hanc tenelli
Oxoniensis nescio cujus
Prolem cerebelli.
Nam primò Cantabrigiam
Convitiis execravit,
Quod vocitat Lutetiam,
Et luto conspurcavit.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Nam istud nihil moror,
Quum hujus academiæ
Oxonia sit soror.
Tunc oppidanos miseros
Horrendo cornu petit,
De quibus dixit, nescio quid,
Et rythmum sic effecit.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Bardos Oxonienses
In canticis non vicimus
Jam Cantabrigienses.
Jam inspicit cratera
Quæ regi dono datur,
Et aurum ibi positum
Subripere conatur.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Nam scelus istud lues,
Si fraudes sodalitia,
Ad crucem cito rues.
Dein pro-cancellarium
Produxit equitantem,
In equum valde agilem
Huc et illuc saltantem:
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Nam tibi vix credetur
Si non sub ejus cauda,
Urtica poneretur.
Tunc evomit sententiam
In ipsum oratorem
Qui dixit Jacobissimum,
Præter Latinum morem.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Orator exit talis
Qui magis pollet lingua
Quam ipse naso vales.
Adibat ad comœdiam
Et cuncta circumspexit,
Actorum diocesin
Completam hic detexit
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Hæc cogitare mente
Non valet jurisdictio
Vicario absente.
Fictitio equo subdidit
Calcaria, sperans fore
Ut eum ire cogeret
Gradu submissiore:
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Hoc non efficietur
Si iste stabularius
Habenis moderetur.
Testis est Polonia,
Quam sæpe is transivit,
Et oneratus sarcina
Eodem gradu ivit.
Tam parce, precor, parcito,
Et credas hoc futurum,
Si Brutum regat Asinus
Gradatim non iturum.
Comœdiam Ignoramus
Eum spectare libet,
Et hujus delicatulo
Structura non arridet.
At parce, precor, parcito,
Tum aliter versatus
In faciendis canticis
Fuisti occupatus.
Tum pergit maledicere
Cicestriensi patri,
Et vestes etiam vellicat
Episcopi barbati.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Et nos tu sales pone,
Ne tanti patris careas
Benedictione.
Tum cibo se ingurgitans
Abunde saginatur,
Et venter cum expletus est,
Danti convitiatur.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Nam illud verum erit,
Quicquid ingrato infecerit
Oxoniensi, perit.
At ecce nos videmur
Tenaces nimis esse,
Gallinam unam quod spectasset
Duos comedisse.
O parce, precor, parcito,
Hæc culpa corrigetur
Cum rursus Cantabrigia
Episcopo regetur.
Sed novo in sacello
Pedissequos aspexit,
Quos nostra Academia
Honoribus erexit.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Nam ipse es expertus,
Effugiunt omnes protinus
Cum carcer est apertus.
At nobis minitatur,
Si rex sit rediturus,
Tunc iste (Phœbo duce) est
Tela resumpturus.
Sed parce, precor, parcito,
Piscator ictus sapit,
Fugatus namque miles iners
Arma nunquam capit.
Et Cantabrigiam non
Lædi hinc speramus,
Ex ore tam spurcidico
Nil damni expectamus.
O parce, ergo, parcito,
Oxonia nunquam dicit,
Cum Martio princeps abiens
In Maio nos revisit.