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But cries as foon, Dear Dick, I must be gone ;
Fool! 'tis in vain from wit to wit to roam; ; 15 Know, sense, like charity, begins at bome.
* DUKE UPON DUKE.
An excellent new Ballad.
To the Tune of Chevy Chace.
TJordings proud I tune my lay,
Who feast in bow'r or hall : Tho' Dukes they be, to Dukes I fay,
That pride will have a fall.
Now, that this fame it is right footh,
Full plainly doth appear,
And Nic. of Lancastere.
When Richard Cour-de-Lion reign'd,
(Which means a lion's heart),
Each play'd a lion's part.
Such honour did them prick ;
And if your a--se, a kick.
Look in their face, they tweak'd your nose,
At every turn fell to't ;
They fought from head to foot.
Of these the Duke of Lancastere
Stood paramount in pride;
His foes, and friends beside.
Firm on his front his beaver fate;
So broad, it hid his chin ;
And fear'd to tan his kin.
With Spanish wool he dy'd his cheek,
With essence oil'd his hair ; No vixen civet-cat so sweet,
Nor could so scratch and tear.
Right tall he made himself to show,
Tho' made full short by God; And when all other Dukes did bow,
This Duke did only nod.
Yet courteous, blithe, and debonnair
To Guise's Duke was he: Was ever such a loving pair? How could they disagree?
Oh, thus it was : He loy'd him dear,
And cast how to requite him ; And having no friend left but this,
He deem'd it meet to fight him.
Forthwith he drench'd his defp'rate quill,
And thus he did indite :
“ This eve at whisk ourself will play,
“ Sir Duke ! be here to-night.” Ah no ! ah no! the guileless Guise
Demurely did reply;
So fore the gout have I.
And fiercely drove them on;
O kingly Kenfington !
All in a trice he rush'd on Guise,
Thruft out his lady dear;
And smote him on the ear.
But mark, how 'midst of victory
Fate plays her old dog trick !
And fo down fell Duke Nic.
Alas, oh Nic.! oh Nic. alas !
Right did thy goffip call thee : As who should say, Alas the day
When John of Guise shall maut thce!
For on thee did he clap his chair,
And on that chair did fit;
To do --what was not fit.
Up did it thou look, oh woeful Duke!
Thy mouth yet durft not ope, Certes for fear of finding there
Ad, infead of trope.
“ Lie there, thou caitiff vile! quoth Gaise ;
* No joeet is here to save thee : “ The casement it is that likewise;
“ Beneath my feet I have thee. “ If thou haft aught to speak, speak out."
Then Lancastere did cry, • Know'st thou not me, nor yet thyself ?
“Who thou, and who am I? “ Know'At thou not me, who (God be prais'd)
“ Have brawlid and quarrell's more, • Than all the line of Lancastere,
• That battled heretofore? • In fenates fam'd for many a speech,
“And (what some awe must give ye, “ Tho' laid thus low beneath thy breech),
“ Still of the council privy ; & Still of the ducby chancellor ;
“ Durante life I have it ; “ And turn, as now thou doft on me,
“ Mine aeon them that gave it.” But now the servants they rush'd in ;
And Duke Nic. up leap d he : I will not cope against such odds,
But, Guise ! i'll fight with thee : To-morrow with thee will I fight
Under the green-wood tree; “ No, not to-morrow, but to-night
(Quoth Guise) I'll fight with thee.”
And now the fun declining low
Bestreak’d with blood the skies ; When, with his sword at saddle-bow,
Rode forth the valiant Guise.
Full gently pranc'd he o'er the lawn;
Oft rollid his eyes around,
Who was not to be found. :
Long brandish'd he the blade in air,
Long look'd the field all o'er :
And eke the coach and four.
From out the boot bold Nicolas
Did wave his wand so white,
Wherein he meant to fight.
All in that dreadful hour so calm
Was Lancastere to see,
Or only take a fee,
And so he did for to New Court
His rowling wheels did run: :Not that he fhunn'd the doubtful strife ;
But bus’ness must be done.
Back in the dark by Brompton park,
He turn'd up thro' the gore ;
All in his coach and four.
Mean while Duke Guise did fret and fume,
A fight it was to fee,
Under the green-wood tree.
Then wet and weary home he far’d,
Sore mutt'ring all the way, “ The day I meet him, Nic. shall rue
“ The cudgel of that day.