English Puritan & Reformed

Dr Wilds Poem

Robert Wild (1609-1679) · 965 words · 4 min

The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo2/B06898.0001.001

Project Note

This is licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND. This license allows reusers to copy and distribute the material in any medium or format in unadapted form only, for noncommercial purposes only, and only so long as attribution is given to the creator.

The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.

This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.

Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.

However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.

This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.

Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org

Dr. Wild's Poem. IN NOVA FERT ANIMUS, &c, OR, A NEW SONG TO AN OLD FRIEND from an OLD POET, Upon the Hopeful New Parliament.

        WE are All tainted with the
        
         Athenian
        
        -Itch,
       
        News, and new Things do the whole World bewitch.
       
        Who would be Old, or in Old fashions Trade?
       
        Even an Old Whore would fain go for a Maid:
       
        The Modest of both Sexes, buy new Graces,
       
        Of Perriwigs for Pates, and Paint for Faces.
       
        Some wear new Teeth in an old Mouth; and some
       
        Carve a new Nose out of an aged Bum.
       
        Old
        
         Hesiod's
        
        gods Immortal Youth enjoy:
       
         Cupid,
        
        though Blind, yet still goes for a Boy;
       
        Under one Hood Hypocrite
        
         Janus
        
        too,
       
        Carries two faccs, one Old, the other New.
       
         Apollo
        
        wears no Beard, but still looks young;
       
         Diana, Pallas, Venus,
        
        all the throng
       
        Of Muses Graces, Nymphs, look Brisk and Gay,
       
        Priding themselves in a perpetual
        
         May.
        
        Whiles doting
        
         Saturn, Pluto, Proserpin,
        
        At their own ugly Wrinkles Rage and Grin;
       
        The very Furies in their looks do twine;
       
        Snakes, whose embroidered skyns nenew their shine;
       
        And nothing makes Great
        
         Juno
        
        chafe and scold,
       
        But
        
         Joves
        
        new Misses slighting her as Old.
       
        Poets, who others can Immortal make,
       
        When they grow Gray, their Lawrels them forsake;
       
        And seek young Temples, where they may grow Green;
       
        No Palsy-hands may wash in
        
         Hypocrene;
        
        'Twas not Terse Clarret, Eggs, and Muskadine,
       
        Nor Goblets Crown'd with
        
         Greek
        
        or
        
         Spanish
        
        Wine,
       
        Could make new Flames in Old
        
         Ben Johnsons
        
        Veins,
       
        But his Attempts proved lank and languid strains:
       
        His
        
         New Inn
        
        (so he named his youngest Play)
       
        Prov'd a blind Ale-house, cried down the first Day:
       
        His own dull Epitaph—
        
         Here lies Ben Johnson,
        
        (Half drunken too) He Hickcupt—
        
         who was once one.
        
        Ah! this sad
        
         once one! once
        
        we
        
         Trojans
        
        were;
       
        Oh, better never, if not still we are.
       
        Rhymes, of Old Men,
        
         Iliack
        
        passions be,
       
        When that should downward go, comes up we see,
       
        And are like
        
         Jews
        
        -Ears in an Elder-Tree;
       
        When Spectacles do once bestride the Nose,
       
        The Poet's Gallop turns to stumbling-Prose.
       
        Sir, I am Old, Cold, Mould; and you might hope
       
        To see an
        
         Alderman
        
        dance on a Rope,
       
        A
        
         Judge
        
        to act a Gallant in a Play,
       
        Or an Old
        
         Pluralist
        
        Preach twice a day;
       
        Of a Thin
        
         Taylor
        
        make a Valiant Knight,
       
        Or a
        
         good Subject
        
        of a
        
         Jesuit;
        
        As an old Bald-pate (such as mine- you know)
       
        Should make his Hair, or Wit and Fancy grow
       
        Nor is there need that such a Block as I
       
        Should now be hew'd into a
        
         Mercury.
        
        When Winter's gone, the Owl his foot may spare,
       
        And to the
        
         Nightingales
        
        resign the Air.
       
        Such is the beautiful new face of things:
       
        By Heavens kind Influences, and the Kings,
       
        Joy should inspire; and all in measures move,
       
        And every Citizen a
        
         Virgil
        
        prove.
       
        Each
        
         Protestant
        
        turn Poet; and who not
       
        Should be suspected guilty of the
        
         Plot;
        
        If, now the day doth dawn, our Cocks forbear
       
        To clap their Wings and Crow, you well may swear,
       
        It is their want of Loyalty, not Wit,
       
        That makes them sullen, and so silent sit.
       
         Galli
        
        of
        
         Gallick
        
        kind—I will say no more,
       
        But that their Combs are Cut, and they are sore;
       
        Yet to provoke them, my old Cock shall Crow,
       
        That so his Echo round the Town may go.

       Upon the New PARLIAMENT.
       
        MY Landlord underpropit his House some years,
       
        Was often warned—'Twould fall about his Ears;
       
        For the main Timber, That above, and under,
       
        By every Blast was apt to rend asunder.
       
        This year He gently took all down, and then
       
        What of the Old proved sound, did serve agen.
       
        May all the New be Heart of
        
         English
        
        Oak,
       
        And the whole House stand firm from fatal stroke,
       
        And nothing init, the Founder e're provoke.
       
        My
        
         Grandam,
        
        when her Bees were old and done,
       
        Burnt the old Stock, and a new Hive begun;
       
        And in one year she found a greater store
       
        Of
        
         Wax
        
        and
        
         Honey
        
        then in all before.
       
        Variety and Novelty delights;
       
        Old Shooes and Mouldy Bread are
        
         Gibeonites.
        
        When Cloaths grow thread-bare, and breeds Vermin too,
       
        To
        
         Long Lane
        
        with them, and put on some new:
       
        When Wine turns Vinegar—All Art is vain,
       
        The World can never make it Wine again.
       
        'It is time to wean that Child, who bites the Breast;
       
        And Chase those fowls that do befowl their Nest.
       
        When
        
         Nolls
        
        Nose found the Rump began to smell;
       
        He dockit it, and the Nation likit it well.
       
        Cast the old-markit and greazy Cards away,
       
        And give's a new Pack, else we will not play;
       
        Nothing but Pork, and Pork, and Pork, to eat!
       
        Good Lanlord give's fresh COMMANS for our Meat.
       
         Trent
        
        Council Thirty years lay sows'd in pickle,
       
        Until it proved a stinking Conventicle.
       
        And now Old
        
         Rome
        
        plays over her old Tricks,
       
        This
        
         Seventy-nine,
        
        shall pay for
        
         Sixty-six:
        
        Out of the Fire, like new refined Gold,
       
        How bright new
        
         London
        
        looks above the Old,
       
        All Creatures under Old Corruptions groan,
       
        And for a New Creation make their moan:
       
        The
        
         Phoenix
        
        (of herself grown weary) dies
       
        Unto succession a burnt-sacrifice.
       
        Old Eagles breed bad Hawks, and they worse Kites,
       
        And they blind Buzzard (as Old
        
         Pliny
        
        Writes),
       
        Deans, Prebends, Chaplains think themselves have wrong,
       
        When
        
         Bishops
        
        live unmercifully long;
       
        And poor
        
         Dissenters
        
        beg they may ascend
       
        Into a Pulpit from the Tables end.
       
        And who hath not by good experience found
       
        Best Crops are gained by new-broken ground,
       
        And the first seed—OATS sifted clean and sound?
       
        But yet Old Friends, Old Gold, Old King, I praise:
       
        Old
        
         Tyburn
        
        take them who do otherwise:
       
        Heaven Chase the Vultur from our Eagles Nest,
       
        And let no Ravens this
        
         March
        
        -Brood molest?
       
         So Sings poor Robin Redbrest.

FINIS.