"Why weren't the Royal Regiment sent for Flanders? / With English hearts of Oak, and Horns well steel'd, / To Butt the Puny Monsieur from the Field."
— Mountfort, William (c.1664-1692)
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed for J. Hindmarsh ... R. Bentley ... and A. Roper [etc.]
Date
1691
Metaphor
"Why weren't the Royal Regiment sent for Flanders? / With English hearts of Oak, and Horns well steel'd, / To Butt the Puny Monsieur from the Field."
Metaphor in Context
With the sad prospect of a Long Vacation,
The Fear of War, and Danger of the Nation;
Hard we have toil'd this Winter for new Plays,
That we might live in these Tumultuous Days.
Sad Days for us, when War's lowd Trumpets sound,
Nothing but Beaux and Parsons will be found:
Look to't, you Men of Battel, of Renown,
They'll claw your Ladies off, when you are gone:
Servants for Quality. Your Beaux's of Sense:
Will's Coffee-House is the Office of Intelligence;
And for the Masks who hunt the smaller Fry,
Their Chocolet-House will their wants supply:
Our Play presents you with all sorts of Men,
From keeping Courtier, to the horn'd Citizen,
Whose handsome Wife brings in the constant Gain.
At Greenwich lies the Scene, where many a Lass
Has bin Green-Gown'd upon the tender Grass.
If Flamstead's Stars would make a true Report,
Our City Breed's much mended by the Court:
What Wagers about Mons were lately laid?
Had all that Money to the King been paid.
It might have sav'd the Tax of each Man's head.
I heard a Shop-keeper not long since swear,
If England's old Militia had been there,
We had spoil'd the Monsieur's Projects for this Year.
Since they depend so on their own Commanders.
Why weren't the Royal Regiment sent for Flanders?
With English hearts of Oak, and Horns well steel'd,
To Butt the Puny Monsieur from the Field.
But those who threaten him so much, I fear,
Were they encampt where any Foe was near,
Wou'd wish themselves behind their Counters here.
The Fear of War, and Danger of the Nation;
Hard we have toil'd this Winter for new Plays,
That we might live in these Tumultuous Days.
Sad Days for us, when War's lowd Trumpets sound,
Nothing but Beaux and Parsons will be found:
Look to't, you Men of Battel, of Renown,
They'll claw your Ladies off, when you are gone:
Servants for Quality. Your Beaux's of Sense:
Will's Coffee-House is the Office of Intelligence;
And for the Masks who hunt the smaller Fry,
Their Chocolet-House will their wants supply:
Our Play presents you with all sorts of Men,
From keeping Courtier, to the horn'd Citizen,
Whose handsome Wife brings in the constant Gain.
At Greenwich lies the Scene, where many a Lass
Has bin Green-Gown'd upon the tender Grass.
If Flamstead's Stars would make a true Report,
Our City Breed's much mended by the Court:
What Wagers about Mons were lately laid?
Had all that Money to the King been paid.
It might have sav'd the Tax of each Man's head.
I heard a Shop-keeper not long since swear,
If England's old Militia had been there,
We had spoil'd the Monsieur's Projects for this Year.
Since they depend so on their own Commanders.
Why weren't the Royal Regiment sent for Flanders?
With English hearts of Oak, and Horns well steel'd,
To Butt the Puny Monsieur from the Field.
But those who threaten him so much, I fear,
Were they encampt where any Foe was near,
Wou'd wish themselves behind their Counters here.
Categories
Provenance
Searching "steel" and "heart" in HDIS (Drama)
Date of Entry
06/13/2005
