Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TOWNSMEN'S PETITION OF CAMBRIDGE, by THOMAS RANDOLPH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TOWNSMEN'S PETITION OF CAMBRIDGE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Now, scholars, look unto it
Last Line: And the scholars must domineer.
Subject(s): Cambridge University


NOW, scholars, look unto it,
For you will all be undone;
For the last week (you know it)
The townsmen rid to London.
The mayor, if he thrives,
Hath promis'd, on his word,
The king a pair of knives,
If he'll give him a sword,
That he may put the beadles down,
And walk in worship here,
And kill all scholars in the town
That thus do domineer.
And then unto the Court
They do themselves repair,
To make the king some sport,
And all his nobles there.
He down upon his knee,
Both he and they together:
A sword, he cries, good king, give me,
That I may cut a feather.
There's none at all I have at home
Will fit my hand, I swear;
But one of yours will best become
A sword to domineer.
These scholars make such reaks,
As makes us all afeard,
That if to them a townsman speaks,
They will pull off his beard.
But if your grace such licence gives,
Then let us all be dead;
If each of us had not as lief
He should pull off his head!
They call us silly drunkards, too;
We know not why, nor where:
All this, and more than this, they do,
'Cause they will domineer.
A speech if I do make.
That hath much learning in't,
A scholar comes to take,
And sets it out in print.
We dare not touch them for our lives:
Good king, have pity on us!
For first they play upon our wives,
And then make songs upon us.
Would we had pow'r to beat,
And turn on them the jeer;
Then we would do the best we could,
But we would domineer.
They stand much on their wit:
We know not what it is;
But surely, had we liked it,
We had got some of this.
But since it will no better be,
We are constrain'd to frame
Petitions to your majesty
These witty ones to tame.
A sword would scare them all, I say,
And put them in great fear;
A sword of yours, good king, we pray,
That we may domineer.
Which, if your grace permits,
We'll make them look about 'em;
But yet they have such pleasant wits,
We cannot live without 'em.
They have such pretty arguments
To run upon our score:
They say fair words and good intents
Are worth twice as much more,
And that a clown is highly grac'd
To sit a scholar near;
And thus we are (like fools) outfac'd,
And they do domineer!
Now, if you will renew
To us your grace's charter,
We'll give a ribbon blue
To some knight of the garter.
A cap, also, we want,
And maintenance much more;
And yet these scholars brag and vaunt,
As if they had good store.
But not a penny we can see,
Save once in twice seven year;
They say it is no policy
Drunkards should domineer.
Now reason, reason cries alas!
Good lordlings, mark it well!
A scholar told me that it was
A perfect parallel.
Their case and ours so equal stand,
As in a weigh-scale true;
A pound of candles on each hand
Will neither higher show.
Then, prythee, listen to my speech,
As thou shalt after hear;
And then I doubt it not, my liege,
But we shall domineer.
Vice-chancellors they have,
And we have mayors wise;
With proctors and with testers grave,
Our bailiffs you may size.
Their silver staves keep much ado,
Much more our silver maces;
And some think that our sergeants, too,
Their beadle-squires outfaces.
And if we had a sword (I think)
Along the street to bear,
'Twould make the proudest of them shrink,
And we should domineer.
They've patrons of nobility,
And we have our partakers:
They've doctors of divinity,
And we have basket-makers.
Their heads, our brethren dear;
Their fellows, our householders;
We'll match them, and we think to bear
Them down by head and shoulders.
A sword give us, O king, we pray,
That we may top them there;
Since every dog must have its day,
Let us once domineer.
When they had made the king to laugh,
And see one kiss his hand,
Then little mirth they make, as if
His mind they understand.
Avoid the room, an usher cries,
The king will private sup;
And so they all went down like fools,
As they before went up.
They cried, God bless his majesty!
And then, no doubt, they sware,
They'll have the town made a city,
And here so domineer.
But wot ye what the king did think,
And what his meaning was?
I vow unto you, by this drink,
A rare device he has.
His majesty hath plann'd it,
That they'll be ne'er the better;
And so he means to send it
All in a Latin letter;
Which when it comes for to be read,
It plainly will appear,
The townsmen they must hang the head,
And the scholars must domineer.





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