The Gossips. 1666

MY fate is, when I write to you,
To own old favours, or beg new.
Not strange with Poets; since an Alms
And Thanks, make up the Book of Psalms.
'Tis lawful, when, like th' Alms-house wont,
The Benefactor's shewn i'th Front.
My wants need no more Vouchers take
Then that I Verse, and Children make.
Both got in an odd itching Vein;
Expensive to the Purse, and Brain.
Yet of the two Children are most;
With labour born, brought up with cost.
Especially since Gossips now
Eat more at Christnings, than bestow.
Formerly when they us'd to troul
Gilt Bowls of Sack, they gave the Bowl;
Two Spoons at least; an use ill kept;
'Tis well now if our own be left.

Since Friends are scarce, and Neighbours many,
Who will lend mouths, but not a penny;
I must (since poor, as almost may be)
Thyestes like, cook up a Baby.
Or if you grant not a supply,
Must ev'n provide a Crisome Py,
It will be tenderer then Gelly,
So long parboil'd in Mothers Belly.

Venus and Mars Conspirers be,
And frown'd on my Nativity.
My Fortunes, first by War o'rpow'rd,
And now, alas, by Love devour'd.
Children will rob what Round-heads left;
Yet we make blessings of the theft.
The gain's soon told, if we compare
Our joy with grief, our hope with care.
Children grow up as we decay,
Their structures on our Graves they lay.
And Christning-Feasts are but a Toll
Exacted, or an earlier Dole.
A Font brings far the heavier doom
To a poor Father, than a Tombe.
We're brought to th' Grave with Solemn state,
Where Friends and Mourners kindly wait:
Worms on our Corpses only thrive;
But Guests devour us here alive.
To you the Pow'r, Sir, only falls
To save me from these Canibals.
A Buck, you know, oft' stops the fury
Both of an hungry Iudge and Iury.
Please to bestow one; He shall run
In four Parks then, instead of one.
Wee'l follow th' Chase so, that he shall
Be forc'd to leave the Crusted Wall;
'Till to the inmost Copse he skips,
Pal'd round with Teeth, and hedg'd with Lips.
There Blown, and hot we will design,
To make him plunge in Ponds of Wine.
Then, Sir, your health begun shall be,
As Crown to the Solemnity.
And he who dares that health disown,
Shall have the Horns, and not the Crown.