%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> Doctor WILD's Squibs Return'd; Or, / Observations on his Counterfeit Thanks. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1672-1672 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 11/16/2016 32104

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R28502 HOw now my Wild? of Modesty forsook? / Hath Liberty thy Reason Planet-strook? Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 58205 Doctor WILD's Squibs Return'd; Or, / Observations on his Counterfeit Thanks. Doctor WILD's Squibs Return'd; Or, Observations on his Counterfeit Thanks. Doctor WILD's Squibs Returned; Or, Observations on his Counterfeit Thanks. 1672-1672 J.R.

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 11/16/2016 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America politics/ government religious concepts religious figures religious groups Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 11/16/2016 10:51:38 AM XBallad Levinson-Emley, Rachel Created XML Version of Ballad 11/16/2016 10:51:38 AM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 11/16/2016 10:51:38 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 11/16/2016 10:51:38 AM Transcriptionist Two Bell, Erik Transcription of ballad manuscript 11/16/2016 10:51:38 AM Transcriptionist One Wong, Bethany Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/15/2011 Checker Jonathan Forbes Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 7/15/2011 Checker Jonathan Forbes Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 7/15/2011 Checker Jonathan Forbes Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/27/2011 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 10/11/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/11/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
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HOw now my Wild? of Modesty forsook? Hath Liberty thy Reason Planet-strook? Good Manners, that grown scarse too? has thy Z[e]al Devour'd all Civility at a Meal? Doth none remain? is Wild turn'd Hector too? Making the Stars of Heav'n and Earth to bow Under thy Whipcord? or, hast thou Beadle hight? To lash Star-students coming in thy sight, Because they are but Men, and do not know, Kings Hearts as well as God that made them so Old Merlin's Genius haunts thee, or thy Crown Could never be so grossly over-grown With dull Stupidity. Is there no mean Between the Doubtful, and the Epicoene? Must men be Fools or Witches? can't Medics know Approaching Ills, but just the hour too? How Stars incline, for Mortals is enough; What Fates compell, none but the Gods above Can well declare; we'll not presumptuous be: To know in part, is Man's Felicity. Yet, should Astrologers write all they know, They would be then reputed Wild, as thou; 'Tis Treason, Wild, to touch Great things too nea[r] But Madmen of such Crimes stand not in fear: Thy croaking humor is return'd I see, Behold Phanatick Thanks for Liberty! Sure Mercury at thy Birth was in the Ram, In hostile ray of Mars, and thence it came, That thou didst thus disgorge thy troubled breast Which all the friendly Stars would have at rest. Some Opiate I advise thee for thy Health; Thy feav'rish Brain consumes thy spirits wealth. Bless thee from Madness, Wild! thy heat appears So strong 'gainst Bishops, 'thath increast my fears. But hark thee, Wild! what shall I fancie thee? A Theologue, or Spawn of Poetry? If a Divine, such Gravity should appear, As should be charming to each Heart, Eye, Ear; Such Olive Branches from thy Pen should spring As should beget a Love from every thing; Such blessed breathings from the sacred Quire, As kindle in all hearers Holy fire; Good Order then in Churches thou'dst approve, Not gibe at Bishops, but invoke their Love. But ah! my Wild, no such persuading Theme Art thou possest of, (scarsely in a dream)
Thou'rt the Phanaticks Poet, and dost rant As high among them, as the best can cant; Singing of Thousand Quakers, that will fight, As loyally as angry Wild doth write. Thus utt'ring Squibs and Crackers, to provoke Some trifling Sheet to match thy smoak with smoak. No son of Saturn is my Wild I see, For then in private shades he'd quiet be; Nor fruit of Jove, for Jove is Juvans Pater, And helps, by's nourishing rays, our Alma Mater; Protects the Rev'rend Clergie, and maintains Religions rights against Phanatick Brains: Bright Phoebus knows him not, for Princes shine From his fair Beams; Wilds spots endarken him. The beauteous Cynthia in him claims no part, She's a mere stranger to the Poets Art: Besides, she's apt to change; wou'd Wild were so! That he from --- might good Church-man grow. To call him Son of Venus I not dare; And Hermes, nobly placed, will not care To own a Riming railer; 'tis hot Mars, Ill dignifi'd, begets Wild's Metre-wars: He should be placed too with Dragons tail, By th' poys'nous raptures that so fills his sail. Then Son of Thunder, Religious Boanerges, (Great Second unto Pious Doctor Burgess) Not Priest, but Minister, or Poetaster! Whose halting doggrel rimes come from him faster Than Holy Sermons; cease thy Canting strain, Give ease a little to thy tired Brain; No more abuse Grave Prelates, least the curse Of Schisme, Heresie, or some what worse, So closely cling unto thee, that thy Prayers Missing Heav'ns Blessing, stand in need of theirs. They are the Moysesses which daily do Sit in the gap to save such Souls as you. Is't Crime in them that you the Laws oppose, And must your obstinate stomach haulk at those? Youd be thought Loyal, and yet Prelates sting; None hate the Clergie that ere lov'd the King. But durst Wild be as bold with Majesty, As with the Bishops Holy Hierarchy; He would as briskly vomit forth his Gall, (As now 'gainst Bishops) 'gainst ye Monarchs all. So Wild farewell, thy person, parts I love; But mourn thy Principles no better prove.
London, Printed for J.R. Anno Dom. 1672.