Of all the Grain our Nation yields
In Orchard, Gardens, or in Fields,
There is a grain which, tho' 'tis common,
Its Worth till now was known to no Man.
Not Ceres Sickle e're did crop
A Grain with Ears of greater hope:
And yet this Grain (as all must own)
To Grooms and Hostlers well is known,
And often has without disdain
In musty Barn and Manger lain,
As if it had been only good
To be for Birds and Beasts the Food.
But now by new-inspired Force,
It keeps alive both Man and Horse.
Then speak, my Muse, for now I guess
E'en what it is thou wouldst express:
It is not Barley, Rye, nor Wheat,
That can pretend to do the Feat:
'Tis Oates, bare Oates, that is become
The Health of England, Bane of Rome,
And Wonder of all Christendom.
And therefore Oates has well deserv'd
To be from musty Barn prefer'd,
And now in Royal Court preserv'd,
That like Hesperian Fruit, Oates may
Be watch'd and guarded Night and Day,
Which is but just retaliation
For having guarded a whole Nation.
Hence e'ery lofty Plant that stands
'Twixt Berwick Walls and Dover Sands,
The Oak itself (which well we stile
The Pride and Glory of our Isle),
Must strike and wave its lofty Head.
And now salute an Oaten Reed,
For surely Oates deserves to be
Exalted far 'bove any Tree.
The Agyptians once (tho' it seems odd)
Did worship Onions for their God,
And poor Peelgarlick was with them
Esteem'd beyond the richest Gem.
What would they then have done, think ye,
Had they but had such Oates as we,
Oates of such known Divinity?
Since then such good by Oates we find,
Let Oates at least be now enshrin'd;
Or in some sacred Press enclos'd,
Be only kept to be expos'd;
And all fond Relicks else shall be
Deem'd Objects of Idolatry.
Popelings may tell us how they saw
Their Garnet pictur'd on a Straw.
'Twas a great Miracle, we know,
To see him drawn in little so:
But on an Oaten stalk there is
A greater Miracle than this;
A Visage which, with comly Grace,
Did twenty Garnets now outface:
Nay, to the Wonder to add more,
Declare unheard-of things before;
And thousand Myst'ries does unfold,
As plain as Oracles of old,
By which we steer Affairs of State,
And stave off Britain's sullen Fate.
Let's then, in Honour of the Name
Of OATES, enact some Solemn Game,
Where Oaten Pipe shall us inspire
Beyond the charms of Orpheus Lyre;
Stone, Stocks, and e'ery sensless thing
To Oates shall dance, to Oates shall sing,
Whilst Woods amaz'd to t'Ecchoes ring.
And that this Hero's Name may not,
When they are rotten, be forgot,
We'll hang Atchievments o'er their Dust,
A Debt we owe to Merits just
So if Deserts of Oates we prize,
Let Oates still hang before our Eyes,
Thereby to raise our contemplation,
Oates being to this happy Nation
A Mystick Emblem of Salvation.