A poem upon the prentices feast at Merchant-Taylors-Hall. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B28222 of text R2976 in the English Short Title Catalog. 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. 4KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 2 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 B28222 11880785 Wing P2716 Interim Tract Supplement Guide 1872.a.1.[182] ESTC R2976 ocm99889624

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 Early English books online text creation partnership. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B28222) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 200759) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books; Tract supplement ; A7:2[252]) A poem upon the prentices feast at Merchant-Taylors-Hall. 1 sheet ([2] p.). printed for John Spicer, London : MDCLXXXII. [1682] Caption title. Verse: "The busie town grew still, and city fops". A Whig satire on the apprentices's feast, 9 August 1682. Reproduction of original in the British Library.

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 eng Political satire, English -- Early works to 1800. eebo A poem upon the prentices feast at Merchant-Taylors-Hall. . n/a 1682 2 633 3 0 0 0 0 0 47.39 D The rate of 47.39 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the D category of texts with between 35 and 100 defects per 10,000 words. 2014-06 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2014-08 Sampled and proofread 2014-08 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2015-03 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
A POEM UPON THE PRENTICES FEAST AT MERCHANT-TAYLORS-Hall . THe busie Town grew still , and City Fops Had bid adieu to melancholly Shops , Had left their lonesome Cells , and did repair to Drink , to Whore , to Feast or take the air , I knew not which ; but being young I follow'd The shouting croud , and most devoutly hollow'd . At length arrived at a place they call The Cockscombs Court , or Merchant-Taylors-Hall , Where the starv'd Prentices kept Carnival . I enter'd ; where in most prodigious sort Tables were placed al-a-mode at Court , I saw a Monster as I entred in ( At first I took him for a rowling-Pin ) 'Till bowing with a grave majestick grace Drew up his chaps ; and said Sir take your place ; And so I did ; for at a Loyal dinner There is no difference 'twixt Saint and Sinner : In one place sat an hungry Irish Teague And in another a sly cunning Whigg ; In drouzie murmurs eccho'd round the Hall The different voices of the Festival . At length the young shop Beagles enter'd in And made a most confused hideous din ; They yelp and bawl upon the hunting strain As if they meant to kill the Bucks again , 'Till monumental Pasty did arise , Which stopt their tongues and feasted all their eyes . The sharp set Prentices could scarce forbear W●ue●● . Crape did say a Puny Prayer , Which he made hast to doe ; but kept hi● eye Divinely fixt upon a pudding Pie , Least some base sneaking Rascal should convey The Schollers well beloved Bit away . He having said , they all did cease from prating , Left speaking nonsence and all fell to eating . One cry's God save the King ! Rips up a Pie , But trayterous steam did put out every Eye . And then he damns the Cook , and calls him Sot To serve a Pasty up that was so h●● : Another gently tastes , and then he swore In all his life he ne're eat Buck before ; Another his long silence 'gan to break , But 's mouth was fill'd so full he could not speak ; A fourth ( whom they deem'd to be i' th right ) Declar'd 't was better for to eat then fight . At length their hungry paunches being full , With fill'd up Glasses , and with empty scull Bending their marrow-bones unto the ground With hoarse huzza's the Loyal Health went round . How many converts Wine and Age do make ? When forc'd the earthly Region to forsake The aged sinners whine in pious tone ; So every Drunkard is a Loyal Drone . I ( who as loyal am , as tite , as true , As any of the Drunken Tory crew ) Of all the modern Healths n'ere drank but this The best , the Loyallest , his Majesties . But now was forc'd to drink all Healths of Fame A Catalogue , alas ! too hard to name ; For which base fact , I 'm markt a fallen star In every Presbiterian Callender ; But if they call me sot and fool , and say I was a Rogue ; it was but for a day ; I drank a Papist Health , and since 't was so I had a mental reservation too ; I in deceit to some a fool did show Tories to all are naturally so ; Free from the Peoples censure and disdain I've cast my Tories skin , and now am Whigg again .

LONDON , Printed for John Spicer , MDCLXXXII .