362 



NOTES AND QUERIES. 



[2nd s. No 45., Nov. 8. '56. 



And couldst thou, Mun, be such a sot 

 As not to smell a powder-plot? 

 And looking nine ways couldst not spy 

 What might be seen with half an eye. 



What planet rul'd that luckless daj'. 



When thou, by traitors call'd away. 



Thy hasty hapless course didst steer 



To 'fatal flogging Westminster? 



For hat and gloves you call'd in haste, 



And down to execution pass'd. 



Small need of hat and gloves, I trow ; 



Thou mightst have left thy breeches too! 



Perhaps thy soul, to gain inclin'd, 



Did gratis copies think to find ; 



Or else, mistaken hopes, expected 



To have at least the press corrected. 



Correction they designing were 



More difficult, but better far. 



Tho' whatsoe'er the knaves intended, 



Thou'rt but corrected, not amended. 



No ! let it ne'er by man be said. 



The pirate's frighted from his trade : 



Tho' vengeful Birch should flea his thighs, 



Tho' toss'd from Blankets he should rise, 



Or stand fast nail'd to pillories ! 



" To see thee smart for copy-stealing. 

 My bowels yearn with fellow feeling. 

 Have I alone oblig'd the press 

 With fifteen hundred treatises. 

 Printers and stationers undone, 

 A plagiary in ev'ry one ? 

 Yet always luckily have sped. 

 Nor suflfeV'd in my tail or head. 

 My shoulders oft have ach'd, 'tis true, 

 Misfortune frequent with us two ! 

 Law claims from thieves, and pamphleteers, 

 Stripes on the back, and pain of ears ; 

 And cudgels too a power derive 

 Around our sides executive : 

 A power, tho' not by statute lent, 

 Yet justified by precedent. 

 But law or custom does not give 

 • Such tyrannous prerogative ; 



To turn thy brains, and then extend 

 Their fury 'to thy nether end ! 



" Inhuman punishment, inflicted 

 By stripling Tories, rogues addicted 

 To arbitrary Constitution ; 

 'Twas Eom'e ! 'Twas downright persecution ! 

 I sweat to think of thy condition 

 Before that barb'rous Inquisition. 

 Lo ! wide-extended by the crowd. 

 The Blanket, dreadful as a shroud. 

 Yawns terrible, for thee, poor Mun, 

 To stretch, but not to sleep upon. 

 Glad wouldst thou give thy copies now, 

 And all tin"- golden hopes forego ; 

 Some favour from their hands to win, 

 And 'scape but once with a whole skin : 

 Yet vain, alas ! is thj' repentance, 

 For Neck or Nothing is thj' sentence : 

 How dost thou lessen to the sight, 

 With more than a poetick flight ? 

 I ken thee dancing high in air, 

 With limbs alert, and quiv'ring there : 

 So, whizz'd from stick, I've seen to rise 

 A frog, sent sprawling to the skies, 

 By naughty boys, on sport intent. 

 Caught straggling from its element. 



} 



This scene some Graver shall invite, 

 To stamp thy form in black and white : 

 Haply in future times to grace 

 Some ever-open frontispiece. 

 With mouldy veteran authors stale, 

 Sustain'd by packthread and a rail : 

 Where Crouch, sweet story-teller, keeps, 

 And BuNYAN, happy dreamer, sleeps : 

 Near him perchance aerial Thou, 

 Aloft shalt thy proportion show ; 

 For ever carv'd on wooden plate, 

 Shalt hang i'th' air like Mahomet. 

 Whate'er thine effigy might do, 

 Thy person could not hover so. 

 Happj' at Westminster for thee, 

 Cou'dst thou have hung by geometry? 

 But, ah ! the higher mortals soar. 

 So Fate ordains, they fall the lower ; 

 With swifter rapidness down-hasting, 

 For nothing violent is lasting. 

 With greater force thj' forehead came, 

 Than engine, or than batt'ring ram ; 

 Nor blankets interposing wool, 

 Could save the pavement, or the skull. 



" This sure might seem enough for once, oh ! 

 This tossing up, and tumbling down so ; 

 And well thy stomach might incline 

 To spue without emetick wine : 

 Their rage goes farther, and applies 

 More fundamental Injuries! 



*' Like truant, doom'd the lash to feel, 

 Thou'rt dragg'd, full sore against thy will, 

 To school to sufifer more and worse, 

 No wonder if you hang an arse : 

 As thy posteriors could foresee 

 Their near-approaching destiny. 

 The school, the direful place of Fate, 

 Opes her inhospitable gate ; 

 Which ne'er had j'et such rigour seen, 

 No ! not from Busby's discipline. 

 And, first of all, the cruel rabble 

 Conduct thee, trembling, to a table : 

 Thy wriggling corps across they spread. 

 Two guard the heels, and two the head. 

 The rest around, a threatning band. 

 With each his fasces in his hand. 

 Dreadful, as Roman lictors stand. 

 So oft a four-legg'd cur I've known. 

 By hind legs, and by fore kept down 

 To be dissected, while physician 

 Stands o'er with weapon of incision. 

 The scene they order to disclose ; 

 ' Strip, pull his breeches o'er his hose : 

 ' Nay, farther, make the coast yet clearer, 

 'Tho' near the shirt, the skin is nearer.' 

 So said, so done, they soon uncase 

 Thy only penetrable face, 

 The breech, the seat of bashfulness. 

 As hence we gather by its caring, 

 So very rarely for appearing ; 

 Nor oft its pretty self revealing. 

 Devoid of sight, but not of feeling : 

 And now upon th}' rump they score thee, 

 And pink thy flesliy cushions for thee. 



" Come, hold him fair, we'll make him know 

 What 'tis to deal with scholars — ' Oh ! ' 

 Quoth Edmund : — Now, without disguise. 

 Confess, quo' they, thy rogueries. 

 What makes you keep in garret high 

 Poor bards tied up to Poetry ? 



ijc ucau. 



and, ") 

 I, [ 

 d. J 



irei 



} 



I 



