When out came the book, which the News-monger took From the Preaching Ladies letter,

Where in the first place, ftood the Conqueror's face, Which made it fhew much the better.

But now without lying, you may paint him flying,
At Bristol they fay you may find him,
Great William the Con, fo faft he did run,
That he left half his name behind him.

And now came the post, save all that was lost,
But alas, we are paft deceiving

By a trick fo ftale, or else fuch a tale

Might amount to a new Thanksgiving.

This made Mr. Cafe, with a pitiful face,
In the pulpit to fall a weeping,

Though his mouth utter'd lyes, truth fell from his eyes,
Which kept the Lord-mayor from sleeping.

Now fhut up fhops, and spend your last drops,
For the laws not your caufe, you that loath 'em,
Left Effex fhould ftart, and play the second part
Of the worshipful Sir John Hotham.

NEWS

NEWS FROM COLCHESTER.

Or, A proper New Ballad of certain Carnal Paffages betwixt a Quaker and a Colt, at Horfly, near Colchester, in Effex.

To the tune of "Tom of Bedlam."

ALL in the land of Effex,

Near Colchester the zealous,

On the fide of a bank,

Was play'd fuch a prank,

As would make a ftone-horfe jealous.

Help Woodcock, Fox and Naylor,
For brother Green 's a ftallion:
Now alas what hope

Of converting the Pope,
When a Quaker turns Italian ?

Even to our whole profeffion
A fcandal 'twill be counted,
When 'tis talk'd with disdain,
Amongst the profane,

How brother Green was mounted.

And in the good time of Christmas,

Which though our faints have damn'd all,
Yet when did they hear

That a damn'd cavalier

E'er play'd fuch a Christmas gambal ?

Had thy flesh, O Green, been pamper'd
With any cates unhallow'd,

Hadft thou sweetned thy gums

With pottage of plums,

Or profane minc'd pye hadst swallow'd :

Roll'd up in wanton fwine's flesh,

The fiend might have crept into thee;
Then fullness of gut

Might have caus'd thee to rut,

And the devil have fo rid through thee.

But, alas! he had been feafted
With a fpiritual collation,

By our frugal mayor,

Who can dine on a prayer,

And fup on an exhortation.

'Twas mere impulse of spirit,

Though he us'd the weapon carnal :

Filly foal, quoth he,

My bride thou shalt be:

And how this is lawful, learn all

For if no refpect of perfons

Be due 'mongst fons of Adam,

In a large extent,

Thereby may be meant

That a Mare 's as good as a Madam.

Then without more ceremony,
Not bonnet vail'd, nor kifs'd her,

But

But took her by force,

For better for worse,

And us'd her like a fifter.

Now when in fuch a faddle

A faint will needs be riding,
Though we dare not say
'Tis a falling away,

May there not be fome back-fliding?

No fusely, quoth James Naylor, "Twas but an infurrection

Of the carnal part,

For a quaker in heart
Can never lose perfection.

For (as our masters teach us).
The intent being well directed,
Though the devil trepan

The Adamical man,

The faint ftands un-infected.

But, alas! a Pagan jury

Ne'er judges what 's intended;
Then say what we can,

Brother Green's outward man

I fear will be fufpended.

And our adopted fifter

Will find no better quarter,

*The Jefuits.
F 3

But

But when him we enrol

For a Saint, Filly Foal

Shall pafs herself for a Martyr.

Rome, that fpiritual Sodom,
No longer is thy debtor,
O Colchester, now

Who's Sodom but thou,
Even according to the Letter?

A SON G.

MORPHEUS, the humble God, that dwells

In Cottages and smoaky Cells,

Hates gilded roofs and beds of down;
And though he fears no prince's frown,
Flies from the circle of a crown.

Come, I fay, thou powerful God,
And thy leaden charming rod,
Dipt in the Lethéan lake,

O'er his wakeful temples fhake,

Left he should fleep, and never wake.

Nature (alas) why art thou fo

Obliged to thy greatest foe?

Sleep that is thy best repast,

Yet of death it bears a taste,
And both are the fame thing at last.

On