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Of all Graine our Nation yields In Orchards Gardens or in Fields There is A Grain w$ch$ tho tis com̄on Its Worth till now was known to no man Not Ceres cicle ere did crop A Graine with eares of greater hope; For why? some say the earth n'ere bore In any clime such seed before.
 * Yet this Graine has (as all must own)

To Grooms and ostlers well been known; And often has without disdaine In musty barne and manger laine As if it had bin only good To be for Birds and Beasts the Food: But now by new inspired force It keeps alive both man and horse. Speake then, my Muse, for now we gues What Graine it is thou wouldst expres. It is not Barley, Rye, or Wheat, That can pretend to such a feat

That like Hesperian Fruit Oates may Be watchd and guarded night and day; Which is but just Retaliation For having guarded A whole Nation.
 * Hence every lofty Plant which stands

'Twixt Barwick walls and Dover sands, The Oake it selfe, which well wee stile The Pride and safe guard of our Isle, Must wave and strike its lofty head, And now salute an Oaten Reed For surely Oates deserves to be Exalted far 'bove any Tree.
 * The Egiptians once (tho it seems odd

Did worship onions for A God And poore peeld Garlick was with them Esteemd beyond the greatest Gemm.

Since then by Oates such good wee find, Let Oates at least now be enshrind, Or in some sacred Pres inclosd Be only kept to be exposd; And all fond Reliques else shall be Deemd objects of Idolatry. Popelings may tell us how they saw Their Garnets Picture on A straw Twas a Great miracle wee know To see him drawn in little so, But on an Oaten stalk there is A greater miracle than this A visage which with lively grace Does twenty Garnets now out face, And like Twigg of Dodona's Grove Ev'en speaks as if inspird by Jove. Nay to add to the wonder more, Declares unheard of things before And Thousand misteries does unfold As plain as Oracles of old; By which wee steer affairs of State And stave of Brittaines sullen Fate.
 * Lets then in honour of the name

Of Oates enact some solemne Game, Where oaten Pipe shall us inspire, Beyond the charms of Orpheus Lyre;

And as (that Hero's names may not When they are rotten be forgott) Wee hang Atchievments o're their dust, (A Debt to their great merits iust;) So if deserts of Oates wee prize, Let Oates still hang before our eyes: