%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A / DIALOGUE / Between / DEATH / AND / Doctor ROBERT WYLD, / Who Dyed lately of an APOPLEXY. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1679-1679 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 06/22/2014 33070

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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

R37746 D. NO Roring Christmas shalt Thou keep, now Rore / Bold Wit! W. Oh! oh! Hhohh! Well! I'le cry no more, Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 365 A / DIALOGUE / Between / DEATH / AND / Doctor ROBERT WYLD, / Who Dyed lately of an APOPLEXY. A DIALOGUE Between DEATH AND Doctor ROBERT WYLD, Who Dyed lately of an APOPLEXY. A DIALOGUE Between DEATH AND Doctor ROBERT WYLD, Who Died lately of an APOPLEXY. 1679-1679

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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 6/22/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America death Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/22/2014 1:58:14 PM XBallad Chow, Jeremy Created XML Version of Ballad 6/22/2014 1:58:14 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/22/2014 1:58:14 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/22/2014 1:58:14 PM Transcriptionist Two Pedersen, Emily Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/22/2014 1:58:14 PM Transcriptionist One Ortiz Mazariegos, Jennifer Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/21/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 5/21/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/13/2012 Checker William Hildalgo Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/29/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/29/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/29/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/22/2012 Bibliographer Olivia Miller Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
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Death. NO Roring Christmas shalt Thou keep, now Rore Bold Wit! Wyld. Oh! oh! Hhohh! Well! I'le cry no more, Alas, it is for Thee, not Me, to Rore. A Deadly Blow! But where's thy Sting? There lies The King of Terrors cow'd out! In Sacrifice (An Eucharist) Lord, take this Soul to Thee, By Death Thou hast slain Death, Redeemed Me. Grave, take the Carcass, at the reck'ning Day With Interest the Principal repay. Take Worms meat (they'l scarce lick the punched Face,) Bring't up in Glory, though sown in Disgrace, In never-fading Beauty it shall rise, And be transplanted int' yon Paradise.) They'l Digg the Kernels out (the Eyes) Digg on! One Breakfast makes the Head a Skeleton. They'l tease the Hands, and Toes, and Paunch (their Fence) Intolerable Pains, have numb'd all Sense. 'Twas not Seer Sheldon, when he turn'd Me out, Did Me perplex; no, it was Bishop Gout. Death did me vex and terrifie much less, I'le now be gone out of his Diocess. I con you T[h]anks. Bish. Gout proceeded on, You grante[d] me a Prohibition. Adieu, my Lord. Death. I'm but a Pursivant, To th' Court you to conduct, by Heaven sent. Wyld. I liv'd a Martyr all my Dayes, now I, In flaming Spices, like a Phoenix, Dy. My Heart bleeds for the Church and State, I faint, Take of my Cordial, Surviving Saint. Proud Babel Reels, it Totters, it will Fall, As sure as Lambeth stands against White-Hall. Come Seraphims, and bear this Soul above, Impatient to see her Vines, her Love. One Stroke, with all the Clusters, Lop'd the Vine, One chop'd off Love. Ha, ha! their Lot is Mine. They were so quick at Work, their Master's Voice Soon call'd them off; Into your Master's Joyes. More Blessed Sight I'le see, ('Twill satisfie) The Glorious, Ever-blessed Trinity. Whom I Ador'd and Lov'd sometimes, Him I For ev'r will Love, Admire, and Glorifie; So, so, I'll spend a Blest Eternity, In everlasting Love, Delights and Joy. Hal--Le--Lu--Jah. Alas! Poor Scholar, hast thou felt the Stroke Of matchless Death? Are all thine Heart-strings broke? Who'l sing thine Iter Empyraeum? I After [t]hy Blood-suck send this Hue and Cry.
Great Wyld is slain! Slain! Let this Shreek fly round Till Hills, and Dales, and Rocks, and Shores rebound, Unto Pale Pyrene, and from thence go on Over Parnassus unto Helicon. Raise up the sluggish Sisters, Three times Three, In Lamentations Drop one Elegie. Streams Ever-flowing from each Muses Eye May Spring a Fountain, now their Well is Dry. Tagus and Ganges will astonish'd be, And all th' Antipodes as well as We. Who slew the Muses Darling, of Mankind The Choice Delights? Search out until you find. Who was't kill'd the Divine? Who slew the Poet? Eccho. Eat! What Nimble Chaps, what Cormorant was he Could eat up Wyld? Might not he poyson'd be? Who poyson'd Wild? Wakeman with all his Main Could not get Sacred Charles out of his Wain. He pawn'd his Skill, though Justice might not spy, A Plaister to the Fist affects the Eye. Death (that Jesuit) so greedy grown It chapt up Robert, and let George alone. Romes Emissary Leeches, so fine bred, Won't touch Posteriors, they chap at th' Head. AN EPITAPH. HEre lies Poor Robin, most enriched one With Nature's Dowre, Graces large Portion. Nature brought Reason, Prudence, Eloquence, And Magnanimity, Munificence, Courage and Constancy, and Matchless Wit. Grace Him adorn'd with Faith, and Hope, and Love, That Saints below he might excell, above With Patience, in none admired more; Nature and Grace on him laid out their Store. Rome's Plot to strangle Justice in Godfrey, Hell's was; in Wild, to choak Divinity. Here lies the Poet, here lies Poetry, Here's the Divine, here lies Divinity. Ah Fools! an inexhausted Spring doth Lye, Justice in Charles, in God, Theology.
London, Printed in the Year 1679.