GRANDSIRE BOB To the COLLEDGE-YOUTHS, By the AUTHOR Of that PEAL.

Gentlemen of the Noble Crew Of Colledge-Youths, there lately blew A wind, which to my Noddle flew (upon a day when as it Snew;) Which to my Brains the Vapors drew And there began to work and brew, 'Till in my Pericranium grew Conundrums, how some Peal that's New Might be compos'd? and to pursue These thoughts (which did so whet and hew My flat Invention) and to shew What might be done, I strait withdrew Myself to ponder—whence did accrue This Grandsire Bob, which unto you I Dedicate, as being due Most properly; for there's but few Besides, so ready at their Q—— (Especially at the first View) To apprehend a thing that's New; Though they'l pretend, and make a shew, As if the intricat'st they knew; What Bob doth mean, and Grandsire True, And read the course without a Clue Of this new Peal: Yet though they screw Their shallow Brains, they'l ne're unglue The Method on't (and I'm a Jew) If I don't think this to be true, They see no more on't than blind Hugh. Well, let their tongues run Titere tu, Drink muddy Ale, or else French Lieve, Whil'st we our Sport and Art renew, And drink good Sack till Sky looks blew, So Grandsire bids you All adieu. R.R.