Bloody News from CHELMSFORD: OR, A Proper New BALLAD, CONTAINING A true and perfect Relation of a most barbarous Murder committed upon the Body of a Country Curate, who dies[?] of a great Wound given him in the bottom of his Belly, by a most Cruel Country-fellow, for being too familiar with his Wife.
To the Tune of Chevy Chase.
GIve o'er, ye rhiming
Cavaliers,
That
jeer'd[?] at every turn;
And sung how
Jane towards
Elders Cur
In flames of love did burn.
You too that writ how
Peters Hugh,
Was
Butchers Cuckold-maker;
Or penn'd the Courtship past between
She-Filly, and the
Quaker.
But come Droll-rampant
Hudibras,
Laureat of Garden-Paris,
Bring me the great
Bruino's spoils,
(That Champion that so rare is.)
For I would do as
Nero fell
With
Primitive Christians did;
I'd make a
Cassock for my
Priest,
And
[...] him in
Boar's hide.
In
Essex (which like
Affrick still
Some
Monster is a yeilding,
Where once was bred
a Roundheaded Colt,
And now a
Cavalier Gelding.)
Neer
Chelmsford Town a certain grave
Conforming Parson dwelt,
Chast from the Navil to the Teeth;
Yet this good man was
Gelt.
Dull Laymen have small reverence
For any man of worth;
A Churlish
whorson did the feat:
Sad Hint for Holder-forth!
He dreaded not his Ghostly face,
Nor Circle of his Girdle,
[...] him like to
Traitor, new▪
Cut down, and laid on
Hurdle.
Now you that would the story know,
That nothing may escape us,
Hark how poor
Levite came to dy
A
Martyr to
Priapus.
There liv'd a crafty
boorish wight
Neer Palace
Sacerdotal[?],
Whose Spouse most amiable was.
The
Sum of Beauty Total.
Lovelier then she for whom
Jove turn'd
Himself to milk-white
Bull a:
Fair
Rosamond was not so bright,
Nor half so comely
Trulla.
[...]er then smiles of Infant day,
[...]
Servant can
[...]'s to
Mistress)
Ah▪ 'twas the Sorcery of
that Face▪
Led
Teacher into distress.
HE spy'd
her first from Pulpit high
In
pause, the first Pray'r after,
When zeal had turn'd up white of ey
To stare on Churches rafter.
(Quoth he to self,) why stand I here
(Giving the Glass a jolt)
To
utter Sermon by
retail
Which might be done by
Dolt?
Is not
yon Woman purer
Text
To handle then an
Homily?
Sure 'twould be
fruitful truth to teach
Her, duties of a Family.
Thus having thought, in haste he read
To people
printed lurry;
Yet, that he could not say't
by heart,
For
her sake he was sorry.
For now at
spawling intervals
His eye did onely taste her,
But
race was run with greater speed
Then
Nun saies
Pater Noster.
The
Swain her
Husband all this time
Watch't whilst the
Parson Pray'd;
He mark't his
leers when finger was
At end of Sentence laid.
Observ'd those
Arrows shot from sight
At his fair
But were level'd.
But swore the
Priest had better bin
In mothers womb
be-divel'd.
Psalm sung, As from
Cornelius Tub,
The
Parson came down,
reeking;
And till he found that
Hobnails house
Vow'd never to lin seeking.
At last he came to humble
Cot
Shrine, where his
Goddess was
Doublet of
Straw, Breeches of
clay,
And fundament of
Grass.
In
Age of
Gold, as
Poet tells,
(Who seldome see such day)
This was the place where
Vertue slept
Upon a lock of Hay.
The
Dame, right busy at her work,
Sweet butter was a churning;
When at the
motion of the stick
Priest's bowels fell a yeirning.
Fair
Nymph (said he)
incontinent,
Lay by thy
Typical Churn;
(And then the Varlet turn'd aside
To steal a lecherous giern.)
Phy
(Angel blest) why should that hand
A
wooden Instrument hold,
Design'd to wield a better
thing
Then Scepter made with Gold?
Excellent Creature! be as kinde
As fair. "
An heart obdurate,
"
Is Satan's Anvil, where he
knocks?
Shall
he knock, and not
Curate?
O Woman, put the
Dev'l behinde,
But put the
Priest before:
Full many a
She for
Cloke-divine,
Hath done as much, or more.
When I commenced
Batchelor,
All
Cambridg
[...]
[...]ld adore me:
Why should a thing of feeble Sex
Think much to
fall before me?
"This said: Nay,
Pish, the good VVife cry'd:
Nay, stand away, for shame!
"Are you a Minister, and care;
No more for a good Name?
Good Name (quoth he)? with that
She smil'd;
And so they snugg'd together:
But He had better slept i'th' street,
Then in her Bed of Feather▪
For just about that fatal hour
VVhen
Dev'l came for
Doctor-
-Faustus; as
Key of Lead had him,
And in a dead
Sleep lockt her;
The jealous
Bumpkin blunders in:
Unseasonable Guest!
VVelcome as stones in Oats to Horse,
Or
Skull at
Egypt Feast.
O Caitiff vile, said
Country-man;
And catcht him by the throat:
I'll wreck my malice on thy blood,
Thou curst
Canonical-Goat.
"Make me a Cuckold, Reading Rogue!
"No Pulpit serve but
Susan's?
"Must
Susan's Smock your Surplice be?
"I'll take away that Nusance.
"Good husband, (
quoth the panting wife)
"Proceed in wrath no further,
"Lest you be turn'd out Churches pale,
"For one committing murder.
"
Sir, gentle Sir, the Priest reply'd,
As well as he could speak▪
For
Pesant held his Gouty Fist
Hard on his Enemies Neck.
As[?]
Tunes, when Finger's taken off,
From Flajolet do come;
So issu'd words from
Curate's mouth,
VVhen
Lout remov'd his
Thumb.
"Sir I confess that I have wrong'd
You, and your loving wife.
Confess and hang, cry'd surly Boor;
(And strait he drew his
Knife.)
The
glitt'ring[?] Blade, as keen as that
VVhich
F
[...]lton bought near Tow'r,
Made
Susan's heart go
Pit-a-pat,
And
Lovers face look sow'r.
"Hold, honest Friend, Sir
Roger cry'd;
"What? wilt thou take my life?
"
No: but I'll
seize those
arms wherewith
Thou hast subdu'd my VVife.
Though
Theologu' wept, and
Wife did beg,
Churl slighted words and tears:
And at one
gash from
Curate took
Musquet and
Bandaliers.
Thus
RVMP in
Forest not content
To fell down
Timber tall,
Fanatiqu' Slaves stubb'd
root and branch,
Nay,
Vnderwoods, and all.
"Now, Sir, (
said Swain) if e'er you chance
"Hereafter to be Pope,
"There will not need a sacred Chair
"Your Holiness to
[...]rope.
"Go, go, live
abaste[?], as Clergy should,
"(Course taken by your betters)
"But come not near to
London-town,
"For there live Capon-eaters.
But lo! while
Scoundrel thus did taunt
The man of holy Function,
Wife well perceiv'd that body spent
Had need of
extream Vnction.
Then did she wring her sweating Palms,
And loudly did complain:
But sighs and groans, and bellows-snout,
To
dying
Bums[?] are vain.
The blood continually ran
From
place as
bare as
Common;
Yet,
even then, good
Curate cast
A dying
glaunce at
Woman.
"Farewel,
said he: bid Parsons all
"Beware of
Baver's[?] fate:
"For when they shall be serv'd like me,
"Their dumps will be too late.
This said,—the
Curates mortal
Cask▪
VVith Ribband
hoopt[?] about▪
Roll'd down the Hill, and slipp
[...] Life
For want of
Tap ran out.
The EPITAPH.
COurteous Reader! underneath
These Spires of fading Grass
Lies Curate, who (if VVives may judge)▪
An able Preacher
was.
We hope his Soul in Heav'n is safe.
(Though some scarce think so can:)
For, though he sometimes liv'd upright,
He di'd no
Perfect Man.
FINIS.
OXFORD▪ Printed in the Year MDCLXIII.