An answer to The tale of a nettle: Written by D. D'Foe.
WHen the Good Man was won to ſo Gracious a Deed,
As to Tolerate the Nettle and his Curſed Seed,
He ne'er imagin'd this Vip'rous Brood
Wou'd be ſo Ungrateful and monſtrouſly Rude,
As to plead any Title to the Right of his Ground;
Which had Coſt the Juſt Man ſo many fair Pound.
He then caſt about what to do in the main,
And Council he call'd to adviſe with the ſame.
Good Sir, ſays the Council, do but try 'um with ſpeed.
They pretend to much Sanctity, call em ſelves the Lords ſeed
And none are ſo righteous and ſeemingls Holly,
As the Offſpring of Nettle. Hypocritical Folly
I preſume you have gotten, and inſtead of being juſt,
I doubt they'll Betrap you on any diſgust:
Therefore I adviſe you without more ado,
You now being old, may grow wiſer too;
For Experience will teach, what I now ſhall declare,
Let none in your Ground any port of it ſhare,
But ſuch as will ſwear to be True to your Heir,
And Support You and Him against all Invaders
Of Yours and his Right; let no deſperate Bravado's
Make you the more fear them, or eſteem your ſelf little,
For they'll ſoon cut you out by the Scythe or the Sickle:
If once they are ſure that you dread their Power,
You nor Yours ſhall never be quiet one Hour.
I thank you, good Friend, for your good Advice,
I'll follow your Counſel, and ſtrait in a trice
He ſummon'd the Nettles, and told them the Cauſe.
A Motion he made for to bind them in Laws,
For their good and's own; and ſo would in ſhort
Admit them to hold that Poſſeſſion in part
Of his Ground they poſſeſſed, if they would with ſpeed
Swear to preſerve it to him and his Seed.
They unanimouſly conſented, and without more ado,
Took the Oaths unto Him, and his Succeffor too;
Thus being admitted to a free Toleration,
A handle they got for their preſent Poſſeſſion,
And now they began to diſpute with their Maſtêr,
And incroached on him, even faſter and faſter,
And told him in ſhort they'd aright to his Land,
For he gave 'em Poſſeſſion under his own Hand.
And thus they daily created Him trouble,
And plaguly vex'd the good Man that was Noble;
They mighty Combuſtion did raiſe in his Ground,
And Cedars and Elms they met their Deaths Wound,
And all ſorts of Trees that were Royally given,
Were rooted up quite, tho' their Tops reach'd to Heaven:
And after they had thus deſtroy'd his Poſſeſſion,
The Royal-Oaks-Head was cut off by Commiſſion,
And nothing there left but Brdmbles and Buſhes,
Viporous Stinging Nettles and ſilly poor Ruſhes;
The Bramble bore ſway, and beat down the reſt
Of all his fine Plants, and Fruits of the beſt,
And ſo it continued in Confuſion ſo long,
Till Right did take Place and o'ercome Wrong.
And now ſince the Ground is reſtored as before,
Take care how the Nettle Stings you any more:
And ſince the Handle you have once again got,
Keep it faſt leſt your Ground goes once more to Pot.