A DOSE for CHAMBERLAIN, AND A Pill for the DOCTOR; Being an ANSWER to two Scurrilous Pamphlets, Written against the AƲTHOR of the ASSES COMPLAINT, &.
WHat ailes this
bauling Puppy thus to prate?
I think the
Genius of
Billings-gate
Hath lately
crept into his
Soul; Alas!
That
City Dogs should
bait the
country Asse?
And doth the
beast stand
silent whilest this
Proctor
For
Earl and
Balaam, wich the busy
Doctor
derk his
dull sides; and not so much as
Kick
The
Sexton, nor the
Piss-pot Emperick?
'Tis strange he
speaks not, Is his back so
strong
To
bear abuses that he holds his
tongue?
Come, I'le b' his
Oratour for in some
cases
The
Lawyers use to
plead for none but
Asses.
Now what sayes
Chamberlain that
Pamplet-monger,
What dost thou tell the
silly Asse of
Hunger,
Should he (
like thee turn
Parish-Clark, and
cozen
Poor Souls, and
sell his
Prayers six pence a Dozen,
Dine upon
Midwifes fees, and
grease his
chaps
With
Gossips charity and
Female Scraps,
Then would his
Panch like thine be quickly fraught;
And Men would say,
he's better fed then taught.
Thou Preist in
Ginger bread, should he but
plead
For
Drunken sots that cannot
Preach but
read
Such as thy self, O then the
foul-mouth'd whelp
Would
fawn upon the
Asse, and cease to
yelp.
Then peace thou
Iournyman 'oth
Reading pew
Tell us not of a
Giddy-headed crew
Or Sick-brain'd
Sectaries for all men know
'Twas such as
Chamberlain that made them so;
Dumb Dogs drive out their
Parrishes, to Roam;
He needs must
leg that hath no
bread at
home,
But stay I know what Sir Iohn doth intend,
He'd have the
Bishops take him for their
freind;
Devills pretences, always were divine;
I wish it be not so in Cornhill.
A knave may have an Anglê for his Sign;
But
Reader take it on a
Christians word,
When such men
kiss they'l soon
betray their
Lord;
But stay what means the
Docter? has he left
His
Legall murther and his
Veniall theft,
His plotting with his
Druggest and the
Nurse,
Not for to
purge the
body but the
purse.
And turn'd a
Satyrist? Ide thoug
[...]t the man
Had been confind unto a
Cl
[...]se-stole Pan,
But 'tis a mad world, when
Hell breaks loose and he
That is a
Quack, talks of
Divinity;
Then leave your scribling
Sirrah send your
verses
Unto your
Patients to wipe their A—
The
Asses Author scorns to
stroak your
Beard,
Hee'l
foul his
hands that meddles with a T—
Heaven keep this City from
Quacksalving Knaves,
That send
sound men to their
untimely graves.
Here did I think to make an end, but hark,
I have one
word more to the
Parrish-Clerk;
Let
Preachers say
God save King Charles, and then,
'Twill be your Cue
Sir Clerk to say, Amen.
WILLIAM COOK.