His lordship then was in a rage, His lordship lay upon the stage, His lordship cry’d, All would be marr’d: His lordship lov’d a-life the guard, And did invite those mighty men, To what think you? Even to a _Hen_. He knew he was to use their might To help to keep the door at night, And well bestow’d he thought his hen, That they might Tolebooth[50] _Oxford_ men: He thought it did become a lord To threaten with that bug-bear word. Now pass we to the civil law, And eke the doctors of the spaw, Who all perform’d their parts so well, Sir _Edward Ratcliff_[51] bore the bell, Who was, by the kings own appointment, To speak of spells, and magick oyntment. The doctors of the civil law Urg’d ne’re a reason worth a straw; And though they went in silk and satten, They _Thomson_-like[52] clip’d the kings Latine; But yet his grace did pardon then All treasons against _Priscian_. Here no man spake ought to the point, But all they said was out of joint; Just like the chappel ominous I’ the colledge called _God with us_: Which truly[53] doth stand much awry, Just north and south, _yes verily_. Philosophers did well their parts, Which prov’d them masters of their arts; Their moderator was no fool, He far from _Cambridge_ kept a school: The country did such store afford, The proctors might not speak a word. But to conclude, the king was pleas’d, And of the court the town was eas’d: Yet _Oxford_ though (dear sister) hark yet, The king is gone but to _New-market_, And comes again e’re it be long, Then you may make another song. The king being gone from _Trinity_, They make a scramble for degree; Masters of all sorts, and all ages, Keepers, subcizers, lackeyes, pages, Who all did throng to come aboard, With _Pray make me_ now, _Good my lord_. They prest his lordship wondrous hard, His lordship then did want the guard; So did they throng him for the nonce, Until he blest them all at once, And cryed, _Hodiissimè_: _Omnes Magistri estote_. Nor is this all which we do sing, For of your praise the world must ring: Reader, unto your tackling look, For there is coming forth a book Will spoyl _Joseph Barnesius_ The sale of _Rex Platonicus_. AN ANSWER TO THE FORMER SONG, IN LATIN AND ENGLISH, BY ⸺ LAKES. (From an Autograph in the Editor’s possession.) A ballad late was made, But God knowes who ’es the penner, Some say the rhyming sculler, And others say ’twas Fenner[54]: But they that know the style Doe smell it by the collar, And do maintaine it was the braine Of some yong Oxford scholler.