John Cleveland (1613–1658) (?)

THOU that by ruin dost repair

And by destruction art a founder,

Whose art doth tell us what men are,

Who by corruption shall rise sounder,

In this fierce fire’s intensive heat

Remember this is Tom the Great.

And Cyclops think at every stroke,

Which with thy sledge his side shall wound,

That then some statute thou hast broke

Which long depended on his sound,

And that our college gates did cry

They were not shut since Tom did die.

Think what a scourge ’tis to the city

To drink and swear by Carfax bell

Which, bellowing without tune or pity,

The days and nights divides not well.

But the poor tradesman must give o’er

His ale at eight or sit till four.

We all in haste drink off our wine

As if we never should drink more,

So that the reckoning after nine

Is larger now than that before.

Release this tongue which erst could say

‘Home, scholars; Drawer, what’s to pay?’

So thou of order shall be founder,

Making a ruler for the people,

One that shall ring thy praises wonder

Than the other six bells in the steeple.

Wherefore think, when Tom is running

Our manners wait upon thy cunning.

Then let him raisèd be from ground,

The same in number, weight, and sound.

So may thy conscience rule thy gain,

Or, would thy theft might be thy bane!