TOM A BEDLAM by WILLIAM BASSE

FORTH from the dark and dismal Cell,
Or from the deep abiss of Hell,
Mad @3Tom@1 is come to view the World again,
To see if he can Cure his destemper'd Brain:

Fears and Cares oppress my Soul;
Hark, how the angry Furies howl;
@3Pluto@1 laughs, and @3Proserpine@1 is glad,
To see poor angry @3Tom of Bedlam@1 mad.

Through the World I wander night and day,
To find my stragling Senses,
In an angry mood I met Old Time
With his Pentateuch of Tenses;

When me he spies,
Away he flies,
For Time will stay for no man;
In vain with cryes,
I rend the Skies,
For Pity is not common.

Cold and comfortless I lye,
Help, help, oh help, or else I dye!
Hark, I hear @3Apollo@1's Team,
The Carman 'gins to whistle;
Chast @3Diana@1 bends her Bow,
And the Boar begins to bristle.

Come @3Vulcan@1 with Tools and with Tackles,
To knock off my troublesome shackles:
Bid @3Charles@1 make ready his Wain,
To bring me my Senses again.

II.
Last Night I heard the Dog-star bark,
@3Mars@1 met @3Venus@1 in the Dark;
Limping @3Vulcan@1 heat an Iron Bar,
And furiously made at the great God of War.

@3Mars@1 with his weapon laid about,
Limping @3Vulcan@1 had got the Gout;
His broad Horns did hang so in his light,
That he could not see to aim his blows aright.

@3Mercury@1 the nimble Post of Heaven
Stood still to see the Quarrel;
Gorrel-belly'd @3Bacchus@1', Gyant-like,
Bestrid a Strong-beer Barrel:

To me he Drank,
I did him thank,
But I could drink no Sider;
He drank whole Buts,
'Till he burst his Guts,
But mine was ne're the wider.

Poor @3'Tom@1 is very Dry;
A little Drink, for Charity:
Hark! I hear @3Acteon's@1 Hounds,
The Huntsman Hoops and Hollows;
Ringwood, Rockwood, Jowler, Bowman,
All the Chace doth follow.

The Man in the Moon drinks Clarret,
Eats Powder'd-Beef, Turnep, and Carret:
But a Cup of Malligo Sack
Will fire the Bush at his Back.

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