%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> Numb. 1. / MERCURIUS DEFORMATUS: / Or the TRUE / OBSERVATOR. / Omne verum deforme imaginatione perversa. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 07/06/2021 36943

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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

P2476 WHen smockless Cinthia scarce had run / Beyond the Tropick of the Sun, Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 132 1: 132 Numb. 1. / MERCURIUS DEFORMATUS: / Or the TRUE / OBSERVATOR. / Omne verum deforme imaginatione perversa. Number 1. MERCURIUS DEFORMATUS: Or the TRUE OBSERVATOR. Omne verum deforme imaginatione perversa. Printer the Mercury Women ?-? the Mercury Women

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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 7/6/2021 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 7/6/2021 2:01:38 PM XBallad King, Joyce Created XML Version of Ballad 7/6/2021 2:01:38 PM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/6/2021 2:01:38 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/6/2021 2:01:38 PM Transcriptionist Two Raychawdhuri, Anita Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/6/2021 2:01:38 PM Transcriptionist One Al halabieh, Deena Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/13/2019 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">Numb.</hi></hi> <hi rend="italic">I.</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">MERCURIUS DEFORMATUS:</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Or the TRUE</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">OBSERVATOR.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">Omne verum deforme imaginatione perversa.</hi></hi></seg>
WHen smockless Cinthia scarce had run Beyond the Tropick of the Sun, And Phoebus with his fiery Taper, Upon the Clouds begun to caper: E're every Cuckold, with his Horn, Had bid Good-morrow to the Morn; And all the lazy London Fops Had set to sale their lowsie Shops. Through muddy Beer, in Rhiming vein, Like tumbling waves upon the Main, My noddle went: but up I rose, Contriving for the other Dose; And through the streets as I did range, I pick'd up one at the Exchange; A Banker that had three times broke, Whom nothing but a Rope could choak: With Di'mond Ring and Beaver Hat, A roaring Wig and Point Cravat; A Conscience made of stretching Leather, As wide as from the Artick hither. His Tongue did run of Turks and Jews, And Daemons sat betwixt his brows. His voice my Spirits did confound, His least word was a thousand pound. Loss, Ruin, and the poor Man's fall, Had all enrich'd the Cannibal: But at a stand my Senses were, How to accost the Conjurer; Yet made Address, and for defence, I arm'd myself with Confidence. Sir, I came from such a Squire, "The issue of a Noble Sire; "His Daughters Portion he must pay, "Tomorrow morning, or today; "If you'll lend him a thousand pound, "He will secure you in his Ground: "He'll prove both honest, and fulfill, "Whate're, in reason, is your will. He peep'd at me with half an eye, Began my suit to shift it by; But I, right slily to prevent him, Threw in a Twenty pound per Centum. We walk'd together Cheek by Jole, As far as Hockley in the Hole: With many a sweet and sugar word, And Rhetorick, all I could afford, I push'd my suit a little bolder, When Miser, with a shrug'd up Shoulder,
A gruntling Voice, and rueful Face, Did thus bemoan his woful case; I'd serve you Sir, but that I'm undone, There's not a poorer man in London; Fortune that Jilt serv'd me a slim Trick, All that I had I lost on Lym'rick. And thus march'd off my broken Miser, And poor Pilgarlick ne're the wiser. Then, broke with grief, I did repair Unto a place, I know not where; Where Athens Owls stand round a Table, And speak as Nature makes them able: But D------n in the middle sits, As great Apollo of the Wits; With Leather Lugs, and Leather Jaws, With greasie Face and nasty Paws; Who, tho he be of Maggots full, Proves Vacuum by his empty Scull. Their These it was an ill-look'd Monster, Whom every Fop and Fool dares conster; Of Ens, and Non-ens, Penetration, Of Causa and of Ubication; But D------n was for Generation. I waited long, till I was weary, For Sylogismus faciens scire. But O the Stoicks with pretences Of Nonsense, did confound my senses. Tam grande Sophos Rabble cry'd, And others swore the Wise men ly'd; But I should, were I their Mecaenas, Deferre Noctuas Athenas. For as Reformed Observator, Of all our News the Nomenclator, Deserves the Trumpet and the Drum, To sound and beat's Encomium; These Philosophs, by apprehension, That end debate, by new Contention, That draw the draught, but cannot work it, Like boys, should have their Arses jerked. A lowsie Tylor lately found A lump of Wit, that weigh'd a pound, Which from some Patterer did drop, Or some Athenian Learned Fop, Which seemed per conceptum primum, Quid rationale, but ad imum, An ugly Crab of Contradiction, 'Twixt Ens Reale, and a Fiction: And,
And, when he cram'd it in his noddle, It turn'd his brains into a Coddle; And at the last made him so bad, That he was sent to Bedlam mad. The Country Farmers likewise now Turn Philosophs, and leave the Plough, And stare, like Owls, from every bough. And shortly now scarce will be found A Husbandman to till the ground; No Sofia, Syrus, nor Alexis, To pay the Parliamental Taxes. Thus Rabbies, if you longer sit, You'll craze the Nation with your Wit. Tho I must own you have done more Than all Philosophers before. Squire B------ with all his boyling Kettles, His Limbicks, Pots, and Chymick Mettles, Bids his Inventions all adieu, And leaves the Golden Stone to you. What Fops were all our Old Divines, When you, in less than twenty lines, Discuss those AEnigmatick Theses, (Which all the Universe amazes) That they could never well descry In Systems of Divinity. But some say, it's not worth the while To answer Ignoramus Stile. But sense or nonsense, false or true, We give implicit Faith to you: And he that would the reason know, The Owls of Athens tell us so. Oxford and Cambridge now are Fools, To those our new Athenian Tools, And both must at the Feet down lye Of Londons new Society. King Solomon he could not know The Causes and Effects below: But learned you, like Dancing Bears, Can trace the Footsteps of the Spheres. And with Chimaeras Chain, at Noon, Survey the World that's in the Moon. Our Royal Colledge Virtuoso, Or Foppery-forgers (let them go so) To make themselves in knowledge rich, Made naked Madam Natures Britch; But you, just as she were a Whore, Turn up her Clouts both back and fore. Sure you, by Opium, make her sleep, You dive into her Womb so deep. You Cuckoldize, by your great sense, The Orbs, and stop their influence. The Universe is got with Child, Materia prima is defil'd;
And yet the birth's not worth a Souse, The Hawkers midwife forth the Mouse. Your Volumes, that such knowledge breed, More needful than secundum quid, Gives England whereupon to glory, In Londons new Dispensatory. And many Cities will contest, Where Athens Owls first found a Nest. For they, as blind as Homer, write, Which after Death will come to light. You clear Philosophy from Schism, By your Athenian Catechism. But ah, as Hay'rst the Gazetteer, Did cast the Kingdoms water clear; Our Questions are resolv'd in vain, The doubtful dregs do still remain. All men of sense have now given o're To send you any Questions more; But Kitchin wenches Queries move, How to be cur'd of Nature's love; But still your Remedy's in vain, Their weighty Maiden heads are their pain. You live in darkness, still unknown, Your Brats of Nonsence to disown: You are asham'd to shew your face, Lest you be branded with Disgrace. But Gentlemen, when Madam Nature Is prostitute to every Creature, And all her Secrets are made bare, In Fire and Water, Earth and Air; Then shut your books, and go to bed, Next morning choose some Cobbling Trade. When Aristotle, Moses read, He did approve the work, and said, Of Heaven and Earth, and all that move, Thou speakest well; but how dost prove? But you, in Madam Natures plea, You nothing prove, you nothing say. Hence then Impostors, proud pretenders, Who do discuss, like Kettle-menders, Or Hydra like, with much to do, You wound one Doubt, and raise up two.
ADVERTISEMENT. Reader, This is Number first, and if it find not acceptance, rather than displease you, write but your mind in a Penny-post Letter to Udeis, at the Sign of the Hirco-Cercus, in Utopia, and I assure you it shall be Number last. 3 Graec. Calend. Januar. 1692. London, Printed, and Sold by the Mercury Women, 1691.