%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> THE / CAR-MAN'S POEM: / OR, / ADVICE to a Nest of Scriblers. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1680-1680 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 05/09/2012 32565

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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

R220142 CAR-men turn Poets now, why may not I? / Then Horse, and Cart, and Whip, stand you three by: Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 479690 THE / CAR-MAN'S POEM: / OR, / ADVICE to a Nest of Scriblers. THE CAR-MAN'S POEM: OR, ADVICE to a Nest of Scriblers. THE CAR-MAN'S POEM: OR, ADVICE to a Nest of Scribblers. 1680-1680

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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 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 5/9/2012 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America labor/ craft politics/ government Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 5/9/2012 2:04:49 PM XBallad Tokatyan, Anita Created XML Version of Ballad 5/9/2012 2:04:49 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/9/2012 2:04:49 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/9/2012 2:04:49 PM Transcriptionist Two Bell, Erik Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/9/2012 2:04:49 PM Transcriptionist One Doss, MacKenzie Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/30/2011 Checker Percy Ross Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 5/18/2011 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
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CAR-men turn Poets now, why may not I? Then Horse, and Cart, and Whip, stand you three by: Nay, but I lack my Whip to lash those Cattel, That by their Scribling bid the Kingdom Battel. Woud I coud lash you with such mighty force, As I have usd to lash my drudging Horse. Its the dull Satyrs of this envious Age, That puts my Fancy in so great a rage; They swarm in evry Street, in evry Shop, They are the Froth of evry idle Fop. He that has nought to do, takes Pen and Ink, Calls for some Paper, and a Pot of Drink, And then the Maggot works, and Noddle rings, And theyl not spare the best of British Kings: Malice, and Pride, and Drink are all agreed, Then drive on, Car-man: but none cries, God speed. Their wicked Wits on wheels, but why so fast? I am afraid youl pay for this at last: Your head-strong Fancy must be curbd ere long, The Judge will make you sing another Song, A Kings a puny thing in your conceit; And all by reason of a shallow Pate: A Dukes a Trifle, and a Queens a Toy; Its death to you to sing out Viv le Roy. And a grave Bishop, or a learned Dean, You do abhor as much as King and Queen: Judges are next to nothing in your eye. So boldly from all Government you fly, That with your dirty, frothy, hair-braind Pen, You lash our Kings, even like our Common men. Touch not the Lords Anointed, it is said; But when with Ale and Beer youre muddy made, When with a little Drink your heads are warm, You touch the King, and do his Prophets harm: You rail, abuse, contemn, despise and jeer, You lash them like your Horses, without fear: It matters not for Sence, be they but Rhimes, Then there is hopes theyl suit with these sad Times. Away they run to Smith, and he corrects them; Thats a mistake, he Prints, and he Protects them: From Friend to Friend they march about the Street, And evry Baptizd Brothers glad to seet: Oh how they shrug their Elbows with delight, To see such dangrous things appear in sight. Hes wise thats bold, the fittest man for th Times, That dare presume to write the worst of Rhimes: Hang Sence, thats out of fashion, so is Reason; Come let us see you write Sedition, Treason, Move for a Commonwealth, cry down the King, Another Royal Head to th Block lets bring; Rail at the Bishops, and the Common-Prayer, Abuse the Papists, this is past compare: Let us beat down all these too Loyal Elves, Then we may hope we shall set up our selves. This is the language of the Baptizd Beast, The heart of evry Presbyterian Priest.
Did they but fear a God, theyd love a King, They seldom Harp on such a pleasant String: They make long Prayrs your Houses to devour, Theyl pray for half a day, and preach an hour; Theyl Fast in earnest; turn up th white o th eyes, Evn like a Paraketto to the Skies: Theyl walk demurely, chatter like a Saint, Their language is so zealous, smooth and quaint, You woud not think that they coud act ought ill, Much less that they their Sovreign Lord woud kill. Give them but powr, youl find them greater Cheaters, Then old Nol Cromwell, or his Chaplain Peters. What has our Law no limits for our words? And shall our Pens cut like two-edged Swords, And none regard them? shall our Libels swarm, And will no Judge take notice of the harm? Seditious Libels surely have a Charm, Theres not one Judge that dare put forth his arm. Then let our Pamphlets swarm about the City, Be deaf and do not shew Conformists pity; Satyr them unto death, the days our own, Our Judges now we find are weary grown: Spare neither King nor Subject, let all share Alike that love the Mass and Common-Prayer: Come, drive on, Car-man, set thy brains to work, And write as if it were against the Turk. Puddle-dock Coach-man, hold thy Dung-Cart Pen, Spurn not against such great and powrful men; They do but let you run to your wits end, Now you must pay for what you wrote, my Friend. Thou that didst sin against both Judge and King, And stole the Honey, now must feel the Sting: Thy Libels now are all upon the File, That swarm like Hornets in a pleasing Isle. Imprimis, Answer thy Tom Ticklefoot, I fear that that will put thee hardly tot: Item, remember thy late New-years-Gift, Thy Neck thou from this Noose canst no way shift, Unless it from a twisted Halter be, Unto a Wooden Noose calld Pillory: And thy late Satyr will not be forgotten, When Smith and Anvil are decayd and rotten. Judgment has Leaden heels, but without doubt At the long run twill find the Rabble out: Then woe be to you, better you were choakd, Then deal with Judges that you have provokd; My life for yours theyl stick upon your Skirts, And pay you home for all your Jeers and Flirts: You and your hireling Scriblers will repent, That they their Time, and you your Money spent. One witty Dolben, and a sharp Recorder, Will timely bring you all to better order: A Pillory will tell us you were Rogues, To write against a Judge so just as Scroggs, Whose Worth and Judgment, Wit and Justice flies With far more Fame, thanks to your Scribling Lies.
FINIS.