Classic Poem

( CONJECTURED TO BE ON OLIVER CROMWELL .)

PART I .

Draw near, good people all, draw near,
And hearken to my ditty;
A stranger thing
Than this I sing
Came never to this city.

Had you but seen this monster,
You would not give a farthing
For the lions in the grate,
Nor the mountain-cat,
Nor the bears in Paris-garden.

You would defy the pageants
Are borne before the mayor;
The strangest shape
You e'er did gape
Upon at Bart'lomy fair!

His face is round and decent,
As is your dish or platter,
On which there grows
A thing like a nose,
But, indeed, it is no such matter.

On both sides of the' aforesaid
Are eyes, but they' re not matches,
On which there are
To be seen two fair
And large well-grown mustaches,

Now this with admiration
Does all beholders strike,
That a beard should grow
Upon a thing's brow;
Did ye ever see the like?

He has no skull, 'tis well known
To thousands of beholders;
Nothing but a skin
Does keep his brains in
From running about his shoulders.

On both sides of his noddle
Are straps o' the' very same leather;
Ears are implied,
But they are mere hide,
Or morsels of tripe, choose ye whether.

Between these two extendeth
A slit from ear to ear,
That every hour
Gapes to devour
The sowce, that grows so near.

Beneath a tuft of bristles,
As rough as a frize-jerkin;
If it had been a beard,
'Twould have serv'd a herd
Of goats, that are of his near kin.

Within a set of grinders
Most sharp and keen, corroding
Your iron and brass
As easy as
That you would do a pudding.

But the strangest thing of all is,
Upon his rump there groweth
A great long tail,
That useth to trail
Upon the ground as he goeth.

PART II .

T HIS monster was begotten
Upon one of the witches,
By an imp that came to her,
Like a man, to woo her,
With black doublet and breeches.

When he was whelp'd, for certain,
In divers several countries
The hogs and swine
Did grunt and whine,
And the raveus croak'd upon trees.

The winds did blow, the thunder
And lightning loud did rumble;
The dogs did howl,
The hollow tree in the' owl —
'Tis a good horse that ne'er stumbled.

As soon as he was brought forth,
At the midwife's throat he flew,
And threw the pap
Down in her lap;
(They say 'tis very true.)

And up the walls he clamber'd,
With nails most sharp and keen,
The prints whereof,
I' the' boards and roof,
Are yet for to be seen.

And out o' the' top o' the' chimney
He vanish'd, seen of none;
For they did wink,
Yet by the stink
Knew which way he was gone.

The country round about there
Became like to a wilder-
ness; for the sight
Of him did fright
Away men, women, and children.

Long did he there continue,
And all those parts much harmed,
'Till a wise-woman, which
Some call a white witch,
Him into a hog-sty charmed.

There, when she had him shut fast,
With brimstone and with nitre
She sing'd the claws
Of his left paws,
With tip of his tail, and his right ear.

And with her charms and ointments
She made him tame as a spaniel;
For she us'd to ride
On his back astride,
Nor did he do her any ill.

But to the admiration
Of all both far and near,
He hath been shown
In every town,
And eke in every shire.

And now, at length, he's brought
Unto fair London city,
Where in Fleet-street
All those may see't
That will not believe my ditty.

God save the King and Parliament,
And eke the Prince's highness.
And quickly send
The wars an end,
As here my song has — Finis .