FLAGELLƲM POETICƲM: OR, A SCOURGE FOR A Wilde Poet.

BEING An Answer to Dr. Robert Wild's Let­ter, Directed to his Friend Mr. J. J.

Upon Occasion of His Majesties De­claration for Liberty of Conscience.

LONDON, Printed for J. L. Anno Dom. 1672.

SIR,

I Am so far from not believing you (as you say) a Merry Fellow, that I am desirous to dispossess all from that belief, from the relation you claim to a Beggar; and those sins you secretly exclaim against, which have registred you in the number of Cripples; but give me leave to tell you, you are more merri­ly dispos'd than the gravity of your Function can allow of. I do not see wherein you can further contribute to the jolly blush of your cheeks, than what you have done; had you been so much a lover of that pottage you pre­tend, you would have lookt more like a milk­sop than you do: I like the man that carries in his face the tincture of that bloody banner he fights under, and would not have any mans countenance prove so much an Hypocrite to cross a French Proverb:

His Nose plainly proves,
What Pottage he loves.

I am sorry you discover the worst symp­tome of a bad nature in your disrespect to Musick; if that excellent Philosopher spake true, he cannot be inclin'd to Virtue, that is not a lover of Harmony: And yet I perceive you are no enemy to Psalm-tunes well whist­led; I pretend to no skill therein, wherefore I shall leave it to your judgment; it may be for the tunes sake you admire the Psalms too, so compos'd as if Hopkins had design'd therein to justle out the Lyturgie.

Psalms, which if David, from his seat of bliss,
Should hear, he'd little think they'r meant for his.

And now Sir, with a bob at Hierarchy, you come to a good King for your money; I hope you do not intend thereby to revive the old trade of King-selling; but let that pass, and let us see what account you give of his Majesties De­claration: but hold, I must traduce my obser­vations on yours with this digression. The Gentleman, who read your Letter to the [Page 5]Company, wherein I was, had run over three Pages; but coming to that place, wherein you gave so exact an Account of the hour of the Day, by Mortals Maws yawning for Mor­sels, and how much concern'd your own were, in the pains you took your self, for their spee­dy satisfaction, I had then a brimmer of Claret at my Mouth; though that was full, my ears were open, & some small-head Louse enter'd, which tickled them so Violently, that being forced into a Laughter, open flew the flood­gates of my Chops, and drowned the Eyes of my gentle Reader with Claret; this un-advised Laughter made his Eyes look Blood-shot, and his Band lookt as if it had been washt in the Red-Sea; not knowing how to take this acci­dent, he askt, What might occasion this my strange disorder; I could not so compose my self, but my Answer was interrupted several times with Laughing; so that brokenly, I told him, that my fancy was fixt strongly on the Doctors posture, as he sate hold­ing the Pan over the fire; somtimes I resem­bled him to the hungry Ghost of Fryer Bacon; [Page 6]somtimes a New-England grave Elder, who as he turn'd the Herrings, did patiently suffer the sparks of persecution to flie about him uncon­cern'd, so that the appetite of Carnal satis­faction might have no cause to complain; but that which mov'd me most to laughter, was, the consideration of this Carnal mans fearful desertion; that that man, who was accustom­ed after the outragious heats of the Pulpit were over, to be immediatly put to Bed, with nine Caps to keep in his remaining Wit (too fleet of foot) and a quart of Muld Sack to lull him asleep, now to be left alone to the fury of a sputtering frying-pan, without the com­miseration of a tender — hearted Petticoat. However I am sorry for your slender atten­dance, and your being coursly dealt withall as to a Table-cloath; look not on't as any great penance, to have your Table cover'd with an Horse-cloath, since it may be, at that very time when it belong'd to your Horse, many Houses of God were then turn'd into Stables. But why so angry Dr. with the Bishops? What, is it because your Sleeves are not of the same [Page 7]complexion with theirs; if so, we have cause to believe that Holland hath rais'd all this difference; 'tis thought Father— mouth, with a Bishoprick, had been silenc'd for ever railing so bitterly against the Prelats; but I have more charity for you, than to believe that the wind of Profit can blow your Wea­ther-cock where it list. And now I must com­mend your manners in lowring your Top-sale to the Kings Arms; sure 'twas no Steeple-crown'd Hat you wear, having an aversion to Steeples, and therefore have left them with the Ropes to the Sons of our Church, for which I must Ring you a peal, for stiling our Reverend Clergy Jack-daws, with other foul reflections, as if you intended to write your good old cause in Masquerade. What? upon the merry pin again, here's laughing with all my heart, but at what I pray? His Majesties Declaration shorne, or clipt, and looking like a poll'd Am­sterdam Divine, or one of the Geneva Cut; sure Sir, me-thinks this object should be so far from procuring laughter in you, that it should rather extract tears from the remembrance of [Page 8]your Quondam Brethrens Sufferings, whose Busie-Heads, and sawcy Tongues, were cha­stiz'd by the loss of their Ears; I hope yours ere long will lye more open to a better understan­ding. But now lets see what he observes in this Declaration: Why he acknowledgeth 'tis all goodness to their Party; then why do you thus snarle Mr. Dr? Since the Royal Clemency hath given both you, & us, his leave to choose our way to our Everlasting Rest; let us not Justle one the other by the way, since we are all mixt (as in the Ark) together, let us not dis­pute who are the Cleane, and who the Ʋn­clean. And now give me leave to Laugh too; I perceive, you highly applaude the Month of March, for introducing your Years of Jubilee, the Fifteenth of that Month you esteem above all other Holy-Days; from whence I observe, that though you slight those the Church hath injoyn'd us to observe, yet you will not neg­lect the observance of one of your own ma­king. But whither do I Ramble? Hold, let me see; what feats of Activity the Dr. hath learn'd; Bartholomew Fair, is not far off: 'tis well he begins to practise, and may act his [Page 9]well for ought I know; since he confesseth himself as nimble as the Gentleman that Dances on the High Rope; dancing on the High Rope is improper; yet though he is ignorant of the terms, he may better come to understand the Rope hereafter. And are you then so nim­ble? Had you been troubled with the Kings-Evill, it might have been stroak'd out of you; but of all the Remedies I have read of, that of a Plaister of Liberty of Conscience, applied hot to the Patient, is, I find the most speedy cure for a Gouty Distemper. This digression had like to have made me forget what account he gives of his Minister, a pious, and prudent Man, and discovers no grimace's at the Lyturgie, as if he were drinking a Potion, nor in his Sermons make's other make [...]faces as if he were giving them one. It is well that this good Gentlemans Face is not rumpled as most of his Brethrens are, by drawing their mouths this way and that way, and opening their Jaws so wide, as if they would swallow the Lid of the Pulpit, and then suddainly shut them, as if they were snapping at Flies. Doctor, you may be igno­rant of the Carriage & ridiculous Gestures of [Page 10]some of your Brethren in their Sermons, and therefore be pleas'd to mind in the concluding of this Pamphlet, what I lately observ'd in one of your Congregations.

At last to conclude, you say mocking is cat­ching, and that there is Dirt enough in every street to be dawb one another with; 'tis very true, and I am very sorry you flung the first Handful; you may be pelted with enough, if all were of a mind. The discharging of your Gun, in Garrison, at this unseasonable time, ought to Alarum the Vigilent to stand upon their Guard; have a care of over-charging your Blunderbuss, it may one time or other put your Shoulder out. Rail against the Pope as long as you please, it is safe enough, being far enough off; no Language is too bad for him, call him Crafty Knave (for he goes by several Names) 'tis all one to me; but trample not on the Ashes of the Reverend Prelates, late­ly deceas'd; nor do not go about to extenuate the Light, of those glorious Lamps, that in spite of Hell, will shine eminently in our Churches:

De Mortuis nil nisi bonum,
De vivis nil nisi verum.

Licentia Poetica: or, Observations on a late Silenc'd Minister.

IS, lately was, (I now may name the place)
(A pretty Covert for the Babes of Grace,)
Where silenc'd Ministers enough were met,
To make a Synod; and may make one yet.
Their blessed Liberty th'ave found at last,
And talk'd for all those years, of silence past.
Like some half-pin'd, and hunger-starved men,
Who, when they next get Victuals, surfeit then.
In this Assembly, one, t'avoid contest,
Did mount the Pulpit, there to teach the rest.
Where that we men, more patiently might hear
Non-sence, to Heav'n at first, he spoke it there.
First whin'd, then whisper'd, then aloud did rore;
Now drew his long words, and then leapt'em o're.
Such various tones, that I admir'd, and said,
Sure all the Congregation in him pray'd.
'Twas the most tedious Soul, the Divelest He
That ever came to Doctrnies Twenty-three
And Nineteen Uses, how he drew his Hum,
And quarter'd Haws, talkt naught but Opium.
No Feaver a mans eyes could open keep;
All Argus body he'd have preacht asleep.
For half an hour, nought but O Lord he cries,
Puk't warmness, and this melts the Sisters eyes:
They snob'd aloud, then did I loudly snore,
Till a kind Psalm told me the dangers o're.
Being out of doors, one told me I must dine
With him, and to encourage, he had store of wine.
I by this frien'd to his large Hall was led,
Where some Grave Clergy-men I saw, well fed,
But by a newer stile distinguished;
Whether most renown'd Batchelours they be
Of Art, or reverend Sophs of no Degree.
Now they discourse, some stories here relate
Of bloody Papists, Plots against the State;
But against Bishops they all rail'd, and I
Said boldly I'de defend the Hierarchy.
To th' Hierarchy they meant no harm at all,
But root and branch 'gainst Bishops; too't we fall:
I like a Fool, with Reasons, and these men
With wrested Scripture; a slye Teacher then
Thrust in his ears, so speaks th' Apostle too:
How speaks he Friend? not through the nose like you.
A hideous form was ready to begin,
When by most blessed fates the meat came in.
But then so long, so long a Grace was said,
That a good Christian, when he goes to bed,
Would be contented with a shorter Prayer;
O how the Saints injoy'd the Creature there!
Three Pasties in the minute of an hour,
Large, & well wrought, they root & branch devour.
They tooth a' naile fell to't; no lazie hand,
In vain the lesser Pyes hope to withstand.
On Geese, and Capons, with what zeal they feed,
And wondring cry, a goodly Bird indeed.
Their stomacks cram'd (as greedy as their eyes)
All study now, who shall appear most wise.
Their spirits warm'd, yet from'em no Jests came,
But what like Cripples halted, and were lame.
At length says one, I think the Declaration
Hath chang'd the doom of damning this whole Nation.
Sweet Liberty of Conscience makes me hate
All the supporters of usurped State.
Our freedom is inlarg'd, and that's a thing,
Will make me love, the once loath'd Name of King.
He spake for all the rest, and now I-tro,
'Tis time to feed our Souls; to Church we go.
Sans complement the pious man begins;
The suffering Pulpit groans for Israels sins.
Sins, which in number many though they be,
And crying ones, are yet less loud than He.
Half melted, but more out of breath, he cries;
Not knowing what to say, he wipes his eyes.
Then this pretends, prolixity to shun,
But one word more belov'd, and I have done.
Would it were so, thought I, but much I fear,
That all will not be done these two hours here.
Now, now, he com's to't, as you will find it writ;
Repeats his Text, and takes his leave of it.
And streight to's Sermon in such furious wise,
As made it what 'twas call'd, an Exercise.
The Pulpit's his hot Bath; the Brethren's chear,
Roast Beef, and larded Turkeys break out here.
He dares not now, as thirteen years agoe,
When superstitious decency did grow,
He fear'd, too much in fashion, whet his fist
Against the name of Altar, and of Priest.
Paul and St. Peter sure had had their Doom,
Had this same Frantick known they'd been at Rome.
And now at last, that he may raise new fears,
And make his Gang shake their mysterious ears;
All is not well he doubts, and then begins
To tell, great punishments attend great sins.
If he don't put us into frights, 'tis much,
And stile those Judgments Ours, which waits the Dutch.
At length, long Time, which doth consume and wast
All things, t'an end his Sermon brought at last.
Thus Sir, you have my Story, but am sorry,
(Taunton excuse) it is no better for you.
However read it, as you Pease are shelling;
For you will find, it is not worth the telling.
Excuse this boldness, for I can't avoid
Thinking somtimes, you are but ill imployd.
Fishing for Souls, more fit, then frying fish;
That makes me throw Pease-shellings in your dish▪
You have a Study, Books wherein to look;
How com's it then the Doctor's turn'd a Cook?
Well Doctor Cook, pray be advis'd, hereafter
Don't make your Wife the subject of our laughter.
I find She's careless, and your maid a Slut
To let you grease your Cassock for your Gut.
You are all three in fault, by all that's blest;
Mend you your manners first, then teach the rest.

One use of Exhortation Doctor to your Sisters, and I've done.

PRay don't complain, you now United are;
And are not straited in your Gospel fair.
Let not Pluralty's then be t'ane away,
Though men learn thence, to keep two Wives, you say.
And let not Schollarship I pray go down;
O fie, your Sex so cruel to the Gown.
You don't the kindness of some Schollars know;
The Cambridg-Women would not have it so.
Learning's the Lamp o'th' Land, which shines so bright
Y'are not s'immodest to put out the light.
These things y'are griev'd at; but I pray what next?
O with our Churches solemn forms y'are vext.
The Sign o'th' Cross, the forehead must not bear;
'Twas only you were born to plant Signs there.
No Surplices. Why none I pray d'ye crave?
They'r Raggs of Rome. I know what y'ould have.
Y'oud Preach I warrant? Do so, for no doubt,
A finer Preaching Age, y'oul ne're find out;
Y'ave got the Sp'rit, nay firy tongues, I troe,
And by your talk, they should be double too.
O Times, O Manners! But me-thinks I stay
Somwhat too long, take so much for to day;
Hereafter more, hence be not thus beguil'd,
You'le find we'ave Muses too, as well as Wild.
FINIS.

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