St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy, Seven yeares he kept his horfe, and then stole him away: For which knavifh act, as flaves they doe remaine, But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath flaine, St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France. Sing, Honi foit qui mal y pense, XIV. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. THE SECOND PART. was written about the end of the last century by JOHN GRUBB M. A. of Christ Church, Oxford. All that we can learn concerning this facetious writer is contained in a few extracts from the university Register; by which it appears that he was matriculated in 1667, aged 20 years, being the Son of John Grubb "de Acton Burnel in Comitatu Salop. ❝ pauperis. " He took his degree of Batchelor of Arts, Jun. 7, 1671. And became Master of Arts Jun. 28, 1675. He was still living in Oxford, when a celebrated wit te the following Distich: Alma novem genuit celebres Rhedycina poetas, Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trapp, Young, Carey, These were Bub Dodington (the late Lord Melcombe,) Dr. Stubbes, our Poet Grubb, Mr. Crabb, Dr. Trapp the Poetry Profeffor, Dr. Edw. Young the poet, Walter Carey, Thomas Tickel Efq; and Dr. Evans the Epigrammatist. The Editor has never met with any two copies of the fol lowing ballad in which the stanzas were ranged alike, he has there *The author of Psyche in Dodsley's Miscel. Vol. 3. therefore thrown them into what Seemed to him the most natural order. The verses were originally written in long lines as Alexandrinės, but the narrowneß of the page made it ne-` ceffary to fubdivide them. And altogether made up one Large hoop of chivalry. He had a fword, both broad and sharp, St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France. Sing, Honi foit qui mal y penfe. On top of burnifht helmet he Did wear a crest of leeks; And onions' heads, with dreadful nods, Drew tears down hoftile cheeks. 30. Itch, and Welsh blood did make him hot, And very prone to ire; H' was ting'd with brimftone, like a match, St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France. Sing, Honi foit qui mal y pense. Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time, Challeng'd a gyant savage ; And ftreight came out the unweildy lout 55 Brim-full of wrath and cabbage: He had a phiz of latitude, And was full thick i' th' middle; The As fay the poets witty, A dreadfull dun, and horned too, Like dun of Oxford city: The fervent dog-days made her mad, By caufing heat of weather, Syrius and Procyon baited her, As bull-dogs did her father: Grafiers, nor butchers this fell beaft, E'er of her frolick hindred: John Dorset ** she'd knock down as flat, As John knocks down her kindred: Her heels would lay ye all along, And kick into a fwoon; Frewin's *** cow-heels keep up your corpfe, But hers would beat you down: She vanquifht many a sturdy wight, And proud was of the honour; Was pufft by mauling butchers fo, As if themselves had blown her: * Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known at Oxford. ** A butcher at Oxford. *** A cook, who on fast nights was famous for felling cow-heel and tripe. St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France. Sing, Honi foit qui mal y pense. Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow, Much turbants, and much Pagan pates He made to humble in duft, And heads of Saracens he fixt On fpears, as on a fign-poft: 100 fent |