Tom Brown's letter from the shades, to the French King in purgatory. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B06159 of text R187001 in the English Short Title Catalog (Wing T1782). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 6 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 B06159 Wing T1782 ESTC R187001 52612454 ocm 52612454 179674 2269047444

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. B06159) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 179674) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English Books, 1641-1700 ; 2796:12) Tom Brown's letter from the shades, to the French King in purgatory. 1 sheet ([1] p.) Printed for Will. Jack-about, London : [1697] In verse. Caption title. Date of publication from Wing. Printed in two columns. Reproduction of the original in the Bodleian Library. eng Louis -- XIV, -- King of France, 1638-1715 -- Poetry. Catholic Church -- Controversial literature -- Poetry. Verse satire, English -- 17th century. Broadsides -- England -- 17th century. eebo Tom. Brown's letter from the shades, to the French King in Purgatory. [no entry] 1697 1 1016 6 0 0 0 0 0 59.06 D The rate of 59.06 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the D category of texts with between 35 and 100 defects per 10,000 words. 2008-01 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-01 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2008-02 Sampled and proofread 2008-02 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-09 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
Tom. Brown's LETTER From the SHADES , to the French King in Purgatory . Facit indignatio Versum . AND wilt thou leave Young Jemmy in the lurch ? A plague confound the Doctors of thy Church . And so abandon poor Italian Molly , That had the sirking of thy Bumm with Holly ! Were I thy Confessor , who am thy Martyr , Dost think that I 'd allow thee any Quarter , No — thou shouldst find what 't is to be a Starter . Lord ! with what monstrous Lies , and senseless Shams , Have we been cullied all along at Sams . Who cou'd have e'er believ'd , unless in Spight , Lewis le Grand wou'd turn rank Williamite ? Thou , that hast look'd so fierce , and talk'd so big , In thy Old Age , to dwindle to a Whig , By Heaven I see thou' rt in thy Heart a Prig. I 'd not be for a Million in thy Jerkin . 'Fore George thy Soul 's no bigger than a Gerkin . H'ast thou for this spent so much Ready Rhino Now , what the plague will become of Jure Divino ? A Change so monstrous I cou'd ne'er have thought , Though Partridge all his Stars to vouch it , brought , S'life I 'll not take thy Honour for a Groat . Ev'n Oaths with thee , are only things of Course , Thou , 'Zoons thou art a Monarch for a Horse . Of Kings distress'd thou art a fine Securer , Thou make'st me Swear , that am a known Non-Juror . But tho' I swear thus , as I said before , Know , King , I 'll place it all upon thy Score , Were Job alive and banter'd by such Shufflers , He 'd out-rail Oats , and Curse both thee and Bouflers . For thee I 've lost , if I can rightly scan 'em , Two Livings worth full Eightscore Pounds per Annum . Then Geese and Pigs my Table ne'er did fail , And Tyth-Eggs merrily flew in like hail , My Barns with Corn , my Cellars cramm'd with Ale . The Dice are chang'd , for now , as I 'm a sinner , The Devil , for me knows where to buy a Dinner . I might as soon , tho' I were ne'er so willing , Raise a whole Troop of Horse , as one poor Shilling . My Spouse , alass ! must flaunt in Silks no more , Pray Heaven for Sustenance she turn not whore ; And Daughter Peggy too , in time I fear , Will learn to take a Stone up in her Ear. My Friends have basely left me with my place , What 's worse , my very Pimples bilk my face . And frankly my Condition to disclose , I most resent the ungratitude of my Nose , On which tho' I have spent of Wine such store , It now looks paler than my Tavern score . My double Chin's dismantled , and my Coat is Past its best days , in Verbo Sacerdotis . My Breeches too this Morning , to my wonder , I found grown Schismaticks , and fallen asunder . When first I came to Town with Houshold-Clog , Rings , Watch , and so forth , fairly went for prog , The Ancient Fathers next in whom I boasted , Were soon exchang'd for primitive Boil'd and Roasted . Since 't is no Sin of Books to be a Glutton , I truck'd St. Austin for a Leg of Mutton . Old Jerom's Volumes next I made a Rape on , And melted down that Father for a Capon . When these were gone , my Bowels not to balk , I trespass'd most enormously in Chalk . But long I had not quarter'd upon tick , E'er Christian Faith , I found grew monstruous sick : And now , alas ! when my larv'd Entrai●s croke , At Partner How 's I Dine and Sup on Smoke . In fine , the Government may do its Will , But I 'm afraid my Guts will grumble still . Dennis of Sicily , as Books relate Sir , When he was tumbled from the Regal State Sir , ( Which by the by I hope will be your Fate Sir , ) And his good Subjects left him in the lurch Turn'd Pedagogue , and Tyranniz'd in Birch : Tho' thus the Spark was taken a Peg lower , Some feeble signs of his old State he bore , And Reign'd o'er Boys that Govern'd Men before . For thee I wish some Punishment that worse is , Since thou ' ast spoil'd my Prayers , now that my Curses . May thy Affairs ( for so I wish by Heavens ) All the World o'er at Sixes ly and Sevens . May Maintenon , tho' thou so long hast kept her ; With Brand-Venereal singe thy Royal Scepter . May all the Poets , that thy Fame have scatter'd , Un-god thee now , and Damn what once they flatter'd The Pope , and Thou , be never Cater C●●…ns , And Fistulas thy Arse-hole seize by Dozens . Thus far in jest ; but now , to pin the basket , May'st thou to England come of Jove I a●k it . Thy wretched Fortune , Lewis , there to prop , I hope thou 'lt in the Fryars take a Shop . Turn Puny Barber there , bleed lousy Carmen , Cut Corns for Chimney Sweepers , and such Vermin , Be forc'd to Trim ( for such I 'm sure thy Fate is , ) Thy own Hugonots and Us Non-Jurors gratis . May all this happen , as I 've put my Pen 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 , And may all Christian People say Amen to● .

LONDON : Printed for Will . Jack about .