With which thy Steed of Bones and Leather
Has broke his Wind in halting hither;
How durft th', I fay, adventure thus

T'oppofe thy Lumber against us?
Could thine Impertinence find out
No Work t' employ it self about,

Where thou, fecure from Wooden Blow,
Thy Bufy Vanity might'ft show?

Was no Difpute a-foot between
The Caterwauling Bretheren?

No fubtle Qeftion rais'd among

Those out-o'-their Wits, and thofe i'th' Wrong; No Prize between thofe Combatants

O'th' Times, the Land and Water-Saints;
Where thou might'ft ftickle without Hazard
Of Outrage to thy Hide and Mazzard,

And not for want of bus'nefs come
To us to be thus troublesome,

To interrupt our better Sort

Of Difputants, and fpoil our Sport?
Was there no Felony, no Bawd,
Cut-Purfe, nor Burglary abroad?

No

No Stollen-Pig, nor Plunder' d Goofe,
To tye thee up from breaking loofe?
No Ale unlicens'd, broken Hedge,
For which thou Statute might'ft alledge,
To keep thee bufie from foul evil,
And shame due to thee from the Devil;
Did no Committee fit, where he
Might cut out Journey-work for thee;
And fet th' a Tafk, with Subornation,
To stitch up Sale and Sequeftration
To cheat with Holiness and Zeal
All Parties, and the Common-weal?
Much better had it been for thee,
H' had kept thee where th' art us'd to be
Or fent th' on bus'nefs any whither,
So he had never brought thee hither.
But if th' haft Brain enough in Scull
To keep it felf in lodging whole,
And not provoke the Rage of Stones
And Cudgels to thy Hide and Bones;
Tremble and vanish while thou may'st
Which I'll not promise if thou stay'st.

At

At this the Knight grew high in wroth,
And lifting Hands and Eyes up both,
Three times he fmote on ftomach ftout,

From whence at length these words broke out.
Was I for this entit❜led Sir,

And girt with rufty Sword and Spur,
For Fame and Honour to wage Battle,
Thus to be brav'd by Foe to Cattle ?
Not all that Pride that makes thee fwell
As big as thou doft blown-up Veal;
Nor all thy tricks and flights to cheat,
And fell thy Carrion for good Meat ;
Not all thy Magick to repair

Decay'd old Age in tough lean Ware,
Make Natural Death appear thy Work,
And flop the Gangreen in ftale Pork;
Not all that Force that makes thee proud,
Because y' Bullock ne'er withstood

Though arm'd with all thy Clevers, Knives,
And Axes made to hew down Lives;

Shall fave or help thee to evade

The hand of Juftice, or this Blade,

1