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All in a trice he rufh'd on Guife,
Thruft out his lady dear;

He tweak'd his nofe, trod on his toes,
And fmote him on the ear.

But mark, how 'midst of victory
Fate plays her old dog trick
Upleap'd duke John, and knock'd him down,

And fo down fell duke Nic.

Alas, oh Nic.! oh Nic. alas!
Right did thy goffip call thee:
As who should fay, alas the day
When John of Guise fhall maul thee !

For on thee did he clap his chair,
And on that chair did fit;
And look'd, as if he meant therein
To do---what was not fit,

Up didft thou look, oh woeful duke!:

Thy mouth yet durft not ope, Certes for fear of finding there A t---d, instead of trope.

"Lie there, thou caitiff vile! quoth Guife;
"No fheet is here to save thee; U
"The cafement it is fhut likewife;

"Beneath my feet I have thee,
I 3

" If

"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' ft thou not me, who(God be prais'd) “Have brawl'd, and quarrel'd 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 dutchy chancellor ; "Durante life I have it ;

"And turn, as now thou doft on me,
"Mine a---e on them that gave

But now the fervants they rush'd in;
And duke Nic. up leap'd he:
I will not cope against such odds,
But, Guife! I'll fight with thee:

To-morrow with thee will I fight
Under the green-wood tree;

it."

"No, not to-morrow, but to-night "(Quoth Guile) I'll fight with thee."

And

And now the fun declining low
Beftreak'd with blood the fkies;
When, with his fword at faddle-bow,
Rode forth the valiant Guife.

Full gently pranc'd he o'er the lawn;
Oft' roll'd his eyes around,

And from the stirrup ftretch'd to find
Who was not to be found.

Long brandifh'd' he the blade in air,
Long look'd the field all o'er:

At length he spy'd the merry-men brown,
And eke the coach and four.

From out the boot bold Nicholas
Did wave his wand fo white,
As pointing out the gloomy glade
Wherein he meant to fight.

All in that dreadful hour fo calm
Was Lancastere to fee,

As if he meant to take the air,
Or only take a fee :

And fo he did---for to New Court

His rowling wheels did run:

Not that he fhunn'd the doubtful ftrife;

But bus'ness must be done.

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Back in the dark, by Brompton park,
He turn'd up through the Gore;
So flunk to Cambden houfe fo high,
All in his coach and four.

Mean while duke Guife did fret and fume,
A fight it was to see,
Benumb'd beneath the evening dew
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. fhall rue
"The cudgel of that day.

"Mean time on every piffing-poft
"Pafte we this recreant's name,
"So that each piffer-by fhall read
"And pifs against the fame."

Now God preserve our gracious king,
And grant, his nobles all

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May learn this leffon from duke Nic.
That pride will have a fall.

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IF meagre Gildon draws his venal quill,

I wifh the man a dinner, and fit ftill: If dreadful Dennis raves in furious fret, I'll answer Dennis, when I am in debt. 'Tis hunger, and not malice, makes them

print;

And who'll wage war with bedlam or the mint?

Should fome more fober criticks come

broad,

If wrong, I fmile; if right, I kifs the rod. Pains, reading, study, are their juft pretence; And all they want is fpirit, tafte, and sense. Commas and points they fet exactly right; And 'twere a fin to rob them of their mite: Yet ne'er one fprig of laurel grac'd those ribalds,

From flashing Bentley down to pidling Tibalds,

Who thinks he reads, when he but fcans and Spells;

A word-catcher, that lives on fyllables. Yetev'n this creature may fome notice claim, Wrapt round and fanctify'd with ShakeSpear's name.

Pretty! in amber to obferve the forms Of hairs, or ftraws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms!

The

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