Being a Supplement to the last, on the Occasional Bill; And upon the Bishops and Parsons preaching down the Playhouses: The Words fitted to a Comical Tune, call'd Hobb's Wedding.
SInce long o'er the Town
My Fame has been blown
For Sonnets, that suit with each Palate;
Tho' I dare not maintain
Ye Wits, your bold Strain,
I can add an Occasional Ballad.
For as you were right
In a Satyr to bite,
When the Cause was so near Desolation,
So mine is a Theam
Of as great an Extream,
The confounding all Wit in the Nation.
But I am, you must know,
Not for High-Church nor Low,
A Medium, my Intelect chooses;
And some think it wou'd
Do the Nation much good,
If ye all trimm'd like me, in both Houses.
For by moderate Sense,
That can Reason dispense,
Sullen Britains are soonest confuted,
As a mild gentle Breez
Still refreshes the Trees,
That by wild roring Tempests are rooted.
Calm Wit will prevail
More in a smooth Tale
Then lashing Reproof, that sounds louder,
Better ways we may use
Oft, to quench a fir'd House,
Than by blowing up all with Gunpowder.
