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<DATE>2007-09-02</DATE>
<RESPSTMT>
<NAME>Mona Logarbo</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
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<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch B070819.tech.</ITEM>
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<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="UM" ID="A89445">
<STC T="W">M32</STC>
<BIBNO T="oclc">45097832</BIBNO>
<VID>171414</VID>
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<TEXT LANG="eng">
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<DIV1 TYPE="poem">
<PB REF="1"><!-- PDF PAGE 7 -->
<HEAD>A WIPE for
ITER-BOREALE WILDE:
OR,
An Infallible Cure for the Gout.</HEAD>
<L>GOUT! I conjure thee by the pow'rful names</L>
<L>Of <HI>Monk</HI> and <HI>Brown,</HI> and their victorious fames,</L>
<L>To tell me (&s;peak no doubt thou can&s;t: &s;peak, come,</L>
<L><NOTE N="*" PLACE="marg">Gout &s;o called in his Letter to <HI>Calamy.</HI></NOTE> A <HI>Presbyterian Bi&s;hop</HI> can't be dumb)</L>
<L>Why did&s;t thou &s;hackle the Poetick feet</L>
<L>Of thy lov'd Ma&s;ter, when it was mo&s;t meet</L>
<L>They &s;hould be jogging. Can <HI>Monk</HI> and <HI>Brown</HI> die,</L>
<L>And <HI>Wild</HI> be tame? not write an Elegie?</L>
<L>Gout! thou'rt ingrateful: Ha&s;t &s;o &s;oon forgot</L>
<L>Who made thee Bi&s;hop, did he make thee &s;ot?</L>
<L>See Presbyterian Humility;</L>
<L>Ev'n their Di&s;tempers Governors mu&s;t be,</L>
<L>A Gout in&s;tall'd a Bi&s;hop! hence we know</L>
<L>Who you had rather &s;hould be at your toe.</L>
<L>If thou art Bi&s;hop, Gout, &s;peak, what do&s;t ail?</L>
<L>Bi&s;hops the Churches lo&s;s u&s;e to bewail.</L>
<L>Gout! keep thy place; if thou can&s;t live at ea&s;e:</L>
<L>Pity a Bi&s;hop &s;hould leave's Dioce&s;s.</L>
<L><HI>Monk, Brown</HI> die unlamented! &s;ad di&s;a&s;ters!</L>
<L>See, &s;ee how Presbyterians love their Ma&s;ters:</L>
<L>You that at Publick Triumphs &s;owrely look,</L>
<L>That in your faces ev'n without a book,</L>
<L>A Let'ny may be read; dare you not cry</L>
<L><HI>Good Lord deliver's</HI> when &s;uch men do dy?</L>
<L>That Conventicles mu&s;t go down 'tis &s;igne,</L>
<L>When Conventiclers have forgot to whine.</L>
<L>Shall <HI>Englands</HI> Tru&s;ty, Loyal General dye?</L>
<L>And go to's grave without a &s;ingle &s;igh?</L>
<L>When <HI>Calamy,</HI> Rebellious Trump'ter &s;hall</L>
<L>Whole volleys have di&s;charg'd at's Funeral:</L>
<L>This &s;eems not fair play, <HI>Wild,</HI> ev'n to us boyes,</L>
<L>But you like us love them that make mo&s;t noi&s;e.</L>
<L>Hold! Hold! this is not all: this proud with&s;tander</L>
<L>Can't chu&s;e but hate <HI>Monk</HI> 'cau&s;e he was Commander</L>
<L>Stay furious Mu&s;e: Let's breath a little; come,</L>
<L>We'll in again by-th' help of <HI>Haw</HI> or <HI>Hum.</HI></L>
<L><HI>Hum, Haw,</HI> nay &s;tay, what &s;hall we hold forth next?</L>
<L>We'll keep t'our bu&s;ine&s;s, though we leave our Text.</L>
<L>But to the matter: <HI>Wild</HI> 'tis wi&s;ely done,</L>
<L>No people yet ador'd the &s;etting Sun.</L>
<L>To Heath'ni&s;h cu&s;toms Saints cannot conform,</L>
<L>When we are calme&s;t, then's their Cue to &s;torm.</L>
<L>We applaud men when they go off the &s;tage;</L>
<L><NOTE N="*" PLACE="marg"><HI>Witne&s;s</HI> Iter Boreale.</NOTE> They when they enter, &s;lighly to engage</L>
<L>Them to their party: Such perver&s;e Comedians</L>
<L>Are all the&s;e Crab-like, cro&s;s-grain'd Presbyterians.</L>
<L><HI>Monk!</HI><NOTE PLACE="marg">Iter Boreale.</NOTE> that one Mono&s;yllable out &s;hines</L>
<L><HI>Plantagenets</HI> bright name, and <HI>Con&s;tantines.</HI></L>
<L>They have the art to time things: this was wrote</L>
<L>When <HI>George</HI> came newly out of th' arms o'th' Scot.</L>
<L>Oh then <HI>Wild</HI> thought for Kirk he would declare,</L>
<L>And thought he &s;hould b' a niggard did he &s;pare:</L>
<L>But mark the end, <HI>George</HI> proves an hone&s;t man,</L>
<L>And's hated by this Presbyterian.</L>
<L>For did he love him, now's a time to &s;how it,</L>
<L><HI>Monk's</HI> death's a &s;ubject that can make a Poet:</L>
<L><HI>Wild!</HI> of that <HI>Syllable</HI> why now ne're a <HI>word,</HI></L>
<L>The rea&s;on's plain; Divi&s;ion it abhorr'd.</L>
<L>If a recanting Penitent but part</L>
<L><HI>With's errors, &s;aying,</HI> Mines a broken heart;</L>
<L>'Gain&s;t him <HI>Wild</HI> writes: Why? <HI>Lee</HI> doth hardne&s; want,</L>
<L>He can't be precious if no Adamant.</L>
<L>If <HI>George</HI> de&s;erv'd no Elegie&punc; from thee,</L>
<L>Yet &s;hall the Dutche&s;s thus rewarded be&punc;</L>
<L>She that from top to toe thee cloath'd; is't meet</L>
<L>Thou &s;hould&s;t not give her one poor winding-&s;heet?</L>
<L>Can&s;t not be <HI>Wild,</HI> but thou't be al&s;o rude?</L>
<L>See (people) Presbyterian Gratitude.</L>
<L>But &s;tay, the Con&s;cientious Si&s;ter-hood</L>
<L>Perhaps do &s;ay, Sweet Doctor't cann't be good,</L>
<L>For to revive a dead <HI>Monks</HI> memory,</L>
<L>We think it &s;avours much of Popery.</L>
<L>Mo&s;t Si&s;ter-like advice! Are the&s;e your fears?</L>
<L>Yet &s;ure <HI>Brown's</HI> name &s;ounds &s;weet i'th' Sectaries ears.</L>
<L>This <HI>Brown's</HI> &s;ure &s;hould in thine his Chaplain <HI>Wild:</HI></L>
<L>Ha&s;t thou thy Patron of his dues beguil'd?</L>
<L>A Presbyterian is the greate&s;t cheat,</L>
<L>He'll not &s;ay Grace where he expects no meat.</L>
<L>Perhaps the&s;e petty things <HI>Wild</HI> hath forgot:</L>
<L>He's thinking what <HI>Noncon.</HI> dare &s;wear, what not.</L>
<L>I dare not &s;wear they're truly Loyal; but</L>
<L>When we their Swords have, I'll &s;wear they'l not cut.</L>
<L>I dare not &s;wear they love to keep the Laws,</L>
<L>But I dare &s;wear they'd run to &s;tart the cau&s;e:</L>
<L>Had they but opportunity to do't,</L>
<L>And <HI>Wild</HI> would follow, though with limping foot?</L>
<L>For all his Crack-f&mdash;brag: <HI>Our King mi&s;led,</HI></L>
<L>We'll bite our nails rather then &s;cratch our head:</L>
<L><HI>Or his</HI> We'll prove more Loyal, and more true,</L>
<L>And give to <HI>Cae&s;ar</HI> and to God his due.</L>
<L><HI>Wild,</HI> hath thy Mu&s;e no &s;ubject? doth &s;he want one?</L>
<L>Let her next prophecy on Doctor <HI>Manton.</HI></L>
<L>And if he &s;tay, <HI>Wild,</HI> come and keep his door,</L>
<L>Hang Conventicles, then you'll ne're be poor.</L>
<L>Your City-Brethren &s;ure will give you bub,</L>
<L>And there with one another you may club</L>
<L>For whining tones, 'gain&s;t Bi&s;hops how to rant,</L>
<L>Rich Wine will make you Doctors loudly cant&punc;</L>
<L>And when guilt robs you of your &s;weet repo&s;e,</L>
<L>O'th' Solemn League and Cov'nant take a do&s;e.</L>
<L>No doubt your hearts with joy it needs mu&s;t fill</L>
<L>To think you &s;uffer: Why? to plea&s;e your will.</L>
<L>There read your <HI>Iter Boreale</HI> o're,</L>
<L>And &s;pell that Backward which you wrote before.</L>
<L>Your &s;ilence now &s;ays you di&s;&s;embled then,</L>
<L>Yet the&s;e are the plain dealing hone&s;t men.</L>
<L><HI>Wild</HI> vow you'll ne're prai&s;e man more, till you know,</L>
<L>Whether he'll live and dye your Friend or Foe.</L>
<CLOSER><SIGNED>I. M.</SIGNED></CLOSER>
</DIV1>
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<BACK>
<DIV1 TYPE="colophon">
<P><HI>LONDON,</HI> Printed in the YEAR, 1670.</P>
</DIV1>
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