THE Baiting of the TYGER: OR, A true Relation of a bloody Rencounter that lately happen'd between a foreign Cat, and four great English Dogs, at the Cockpit Royal near St. James's Park, in the presence of several Dukes, Lords, Knights, Ladies, Squires, and Cits: Together with a particular Relation how the first Dog was slain, and the rest dangerously wounded. Set forth in a piece of Doggrel, for the benefit and satisfaction of the Publick.
I Have read of Bull Fights,
Rencounters of Knights,
Dog-fighting, and such sport as that:
I have seen Dogs and Bears
Together by th' Ears,
And a Rabble a worrying a Cat.
I have hear'd much of Don,
And of
Sancho his Man,
Of
Bevis, of
Guy, and
Orlando;
How St.
George slew the Dragon,
An Exploit we still brag on,
And from ruin deliver'd the Land O.
I have seen a fierce Beau,
That has made a fine show,
Undergoing a sharp Bastinado:
Seen a Squire in a Muff,
Endure Kick and Cuff,
Without lugging out to make a-do.
But this is mere Tattle,
Compar'd to the Battle
Between the great Dogs and the Tyger:
And had you been there,
You'd have said, I dare swear,
You ne'r saw a Cat of more vigor.
The first that came at him,
Had you seen how he scrat him,
How he rak'd off his Skin and his Fur:
How he suck'd out his vital,
Oh! who can recite all,
But must needs lament the poor Cur?
The second indeed
Did better succeed,
And gave him a snap on the Snout.
But yet for all that,
He'ad been slain by the Cat,
Had the Battle been fairly fought out.
The third and the fourth,
Came scurvily off;
But withal did bravely distinguish
Themselves more fool hardy,
Than any ways tardy;
In short, the Dogs were true English.
The Sport was sublime,
Too big for my Rhime,
And who would think much of a Guinea
To see a Cat scratch and bite,
Houl, grin, p— and sh—
There's no Man, I'm sure, but a Ninny.
I appeal to the Ladies,
To those that now a-days
Are neither quite vertuous nor common,
If they e'er saw a Brute
So fiercely dispute,
On his Back, the grand posture of Woman?
Indeed for the squabble,
Between th' Gentry and Rabble,
That was not so well I confess:
I'll tell you by th' by,
When 'twas you Lye, and you Lye,
I wish'd my self out of the Press.
To conclude, tho the Sport
Was the first of the sort,
'Twas damnable dear of a Guinea;
If a thing be but new,
Let what will ensue,
Ye follow't as the Devil were in ye.
LONDON: Printed in the Year, 1699.