The Disguise. 1665

RAther than suffer this, my injur'd Muse!
Mount now, and spur thy sku-bald Pegasus;
And turn Apparitor. Here's bastard Wit
Laid at thy Door, if thou wilt Father it.
Observe the Castling well! What, no Wall-eye,
Mare-face, or Mark, to know the Stallion by?
Look there at lowest end a Buttock-brand;
A Transcript from that in the Father's hand.
His shrivel'd Name (fit for a larger Stage)
Shows like to Bajazet within his Cage;
His envious-black-mouth'd Verses make it said
A Knot of Snakes, torn from Erinnis head.
A peevish Fiend within a Circle shut;
Homer's fond Fables ramm'd into a Nut;
A Knave in Fetters; Gotham in a Map;
A crafty Fox caught justly in a Trap.
Thy Name, methinks, peeps forth, and seems to be
(As th' Owner ought) upon a Pillory.
Justice triumphant is; nor can it choose,
When such a Hang-man's catch'd in his own Noose.