EXPOSTULATIUNCULA, sive QUERIMONIUNCULA ad ANTONIUM [ATHERTON] Ob Poema JOHANNIS GRUBB, Viri Tou wavu ingeniosissimi in lucem nondum editi.

TONI! Tune sines divina poemata Grubbi

Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any longer,
Τούνομα σου shall last, Ω Γρυβε διαμπερές αει,
Grubbe tuum nomen vivet dum nobilis ale-a
Efficit heroas, dignamque heroe puellam.
Est genus heroum, quos nobilis efficit ale-a
Qui pro niperkin clamant, quaternque liquoris
Quem vocitant Homines Brandy, Superi Cherry-brandy.
Sæpe illi long-cut, vel small-cut flare Tobacco
Sunt soliti pipos. Ast si generosior herba
(Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum)
Mundungus desit, tum non funcare recusant
Brown-paper tostâ, vel quod fit arundine bed-mat.
Hic labor, hoc opus est heroum ascendere sedes!
Ast ego quo rapiar? quo me feret entheus ardor,
Grubbe, tui memorem? Divinum expande poema.
Quæ mora? quæ ratio est, quin Grubbi protinus anser
Virgilii, Flaccique simul canat inter olores?

At length the importunity of his friends prevailed, and Mr. Grubb's song was published at Oxford, under the following title:

THE BRITISH HEROES

A New Poem in honour of St. George

By Mr. JOHN GRUBB

School-master of Christ-Church

OXON. 1688.

Favete linguis : carmina non prius

Audita, musarum sacerdos

Canto.

Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon,

THE story of king Arthur old

Is very memorable,

The number of his valiant knights,

And roundness of his table ;

HOR.

The

The knights around his table in

5

A circle sate, d'ye see :

And altogether made up one

Large hoop of chivalry.

He had a sword, both broad and sharp,

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Y-cleped Caliburn,

Would cut a flint more easily
Than pen-knife cuts a corn;
As case-knife does a capon carve,
So would it carve a rock,
And split a man at single slash,

From noddle down to nock.
As Roman Augur's steel of yore

Dissected Tarquin's riddle,

So this would cut both conjurer
And whetstone thro' the middle.

He was the cream of Brecknock,
And flower of all the Welsh :

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But George he did the dragon fell,

And gave him a plaguy squelsh.

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

Pendragon, like his father Jove,

Was fed with milk of goat;

And like him made a noble shield

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Of she-goat's shaggy coat:

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On top of burnisht helmet he

Did wear a crest of leeks;

And

And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod

Drew tears down hostile cheeks.

Itch and Welsh blood did make him hot,

And very prone to ire;

H' was ting'd with brimstone, like a match,
And would as soon take fire.

As brimstone he took inwardly

When scurf gave him occasion,
His postern puff of wind was a
Sulphureous exhalation.
The Briton never tergivers'd,

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He wounded, and, in their own blood,

Did anabaptize Pagans :

But George he made the dragon an

Example to all dragons.

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time,

Challeng'd a gyant savage;

And streight came out the unweildy lout

Brim-full of wrath and cabbage:

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60

He

He had a phiz of latitude,

And was full thick i' th' middle ;

The cheeks of puffed trumpeter,

And paunch of squire Beadle*.

But the knight fell'd him, like an oak,
And did upon his back tread;
The valiant knight his weazon cut,

And Atropos his packthread.
Besides he fought with a dun cow,

As say the poets witty,

A dreadful dun, and horned too,

Like dun of Oxford city :

The fervent dog-days made her mad,

By causing heat of weather,

Syrius and Procyon baited her,

As bull-dogs did her father:

Grasiers, nor butchers this fell beast,

E'er of her frolick hindred;

John Dosset + she'd knock down as flat,
As John knocks down her kindred:

Her heels would lay ye all along,

And kick into a swoon;

Frewin's cow-heels keep up your corpse,

But hers would beat you down.

* Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known at Oxford.

A butcher that then served the college.

A cook, who on fast nights was famous for selling cow-heel and tripe,

She

She vanquisht many a sturdy wight,
And proud was of the honour;
Was pufft by mauling butchers so,
As if themselves had blown her.
At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy,

But all that would not fright him;
Who wav'd his winyard o'er sir-loyn,

As if he'd gone to knight him.
He let her blood, frenzy to cure,
And eke he did her gall rip;

His trenchant blade, like cook's long spit,
Ran thro' the monster's bald-rib:
He rear'd up the vast crooked rib,

Instead of arch triumphal :

But George hit th' dragon such a pelt,

As made him on his bum fall.

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St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow,

The Turkish squadrons slew;

And fetch'd the pagan crescent down,

With half-moon made of yew:

105

His trusty bow proud Turks did gall

With showers of arrows thick,

And bow-strings, without strangling, sent
Grand-Visiers to old Nick:

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Much