THE Good Old Cause REVIVED.
POets of old, about to write, did use
T' invoke th' assistance of some friendly Muse:
But now the Fashion's almost laid aside
And Muses place by Painter is supply'd:
Each puny Brother of the Rhiming Trade,
At every turn, implores the Painters aid;
And fondly enamour'd of his own foul Brat,
Crys in an extacy, Paint this; Draw that;
Draw Conclaves, Fights, Plots, Fires and in a Ring
Draw evil Councellors about the King.
I fear, left being at every Fools command,
Painter, th' hast spent thy Colours, tir'd thy Hand.
I'le not augment thy Labours, only see
If thou canst find an ancient Draught for me,
A Draught which taken forty years ago,
Contains the Origine of Englands woe.
Look! here it is; now view a while with me
How far those Dismal Times and ours agree.
Seest thou a sort of Men, Demure, Precise,
With Faces Scru'd, and turn'd up whites of Eyes,
Black Cloakt and double Capt, that Mounted stand
Aloft, with sacred Comment in their Hand,
Teaching with new coind Phrase, and uncouth Tone,
Till holy Sister weep, and Brethren groan;
From these, thou'lt say, is any danger nigh?
In these fair Flowers do Asps in Ambush lie?
Alas! Those Wolves cloath'd like the harmless Sheep
Scatter that Flock which they pretend to keep.
Peace flies their Aspect weresoere they come;
By them God Scourges sinful Christendom,
Against Romes tiranny they Preach, in hope
Of being one day each Man a petty Pope.
Nothing can stand before their high-flown Zeal,
But down it must, be't Church or Common Weal:
Puft up with self esteem, they think that none
Heav'n Gates can enter, but their Sect alone.
They're Gods true Israel, Saints that never fall
When once enlightned by his Heavenly call.
Whatever opposite to them, doth stand,
With Egypt, Sodom, Babilon, they brand,
Hence tis when Fire, and Sword, and civil Hate,
Stird up by them, have overturnd a State;
When Horses feed in Temples, where before
St. Pauls.
With Prayers and Praises Men did God Adore;
When Kings and Churches, sacred Lands are sold,
T' enrich the Rebel Saints, will ill-got Gold;
Themselves by no less Guide, they Fancy led,
Than Jacobs Seed, when they from Pharaoh fled:
Crying, while hourly they new Babels build,
Babel's orethrown, the Scriptures are fulfild.
Thus were they heretofore, thus are they still;
Give them but Power i'le warrant for their Will.
But Painter lets a little farther view;
Next in the Scene appears a long rob'd Crew,
Who, 'gainst the King Rebellious Arms to move,
Can out of Magna Carta, Treason prove.
As heretofore some Commentators thought
That all things were in Homers Poems taught;
All Acts of Peace and War, each useful Trade,
Even how the Grecians well-soal'd Boots were made:
So can these Sages of the Law, with ease,
In Magna Carta find out what they please.
They torture her to speak against the King
Where she her self (good Soul) means no such thing:
Rich.
From Burdeaux, Winsors, and Carnarvans Raign,
2d. Hen. 6.
Weak Monarchs all, their Presidents are tane.
Edw. 2.
What grants, arm'd force did from those Princes draw,
They now esteem as Fundamental Law.
Those Kings, their Subjects first depos'd, then flew,
And are we therefore bound to do so too?
Where Tresons past, fresh Treasons justify,
That Nations Ruin cannot, but be nigh.
What the fourth Henry and third Richard gave
Both Usurpers.
To gain the People, now as due they crave.
Thus, what Usurpers and forc'd Kings have done,
Urging as firm, they undermine the Throne.
What serves the Royal Cause, they blast it all
At once, by saying 'twas Tirannical.
A pretty way Objections to unty!
Like him that answerd, Bellarmine 't's a lie!
Who thus what makes against him may refuse,
Ile call him Bungler if the day he loose:
Is there no way then left, whereby to bring
These popular Champions over to the King?
Preferment is their end, their Only Aim,
Stop but their mouths with this, they'l soon grow tame.
But Princes, by experience rendred wise,
Should scorn to use those feeble remedies.
For one bought off, the yet remaining Tribe
Will louder bark, in hopes to get a Bribe.
Next these, the popular Nobles march along,
Painter I almost think thou'st done them wrong.
For their own Interest sure they ought to be
The Bulworks to defend our Monarchy.
Of all mixt Prodigies, none more abhorr'd
Should justly be, then a Plebeian Lord.
And where such monstrous Births do oft appear,
Sad signs they are of some Disaster neer.
Part of th'ignoble Mass, obscure they ly
Till quickned by a ray of Majesty.
As out of Chaos, when the old World began,
Rude Clay, by God inspir'd, became a man:
So, by the Royal Word these Men refin'd,
Start up new Creatures of another kind;
Yet now ungratefully they seek t' orethrow
That Power, to which their Origine they ow.
Lucifer, once brighter than the Morning Star,
The Rabble of Heaven seduc'd 'gainst God to War:
Nobles, who in a Kingdom discord breed,
Like him in manners, like him may they speed.
They'd fain be Princes, fav'rites if they might,
Since not, resolve to be Enemies for spight.
Against ill Government they daily cry,
Make long Harangues, and scripture Texts apply.
Kings, to your costs they'l teach you, how unwise
It is, such Polititions to despise.
But Painter feign, for you and Poets dare
Do all things, that these Men Court-minions were,
Should we then happier, than at present be?
Should Prince and People then nere disagree?
'Lass! Of the booty might they have a share,
They'd soon consent to fleece the Nation bare.
Painter till then, lets bid them all goodbwye,
And on the following Object cast an eye.
Seest thou a needy rout, that next march ore
The Stage by Fate, or their own Folly poor?
These Men, by want made bold, seek to repair
Their shattered Fortunes, by a civil War.
They care not be the Quarrel wrong or right;
Where there's most hopes of gaining there they fight.
Peace as a lazy Vertue they esteem,
But love to Angle in a troubled Stream.
To Pleas of right, they no respect afford,
Nor knew a better Title than the Sword.
Unless emploid abroad in Forreign Wars;
For want of work they raise Domestick jars.
Religion in their Hearts they all deride,
But make a shew, as Intrest them doth guide.
Hence tis that they for ruling Elders stand,
In hopes one day of sharing Bishops Land.
Who else would mind Church-government at home,
No more than I care who's made Pope at Rome.
Now Scholar go, with one of these Dispute,
By Scriptures, Councils, Fathers, him confute:
Say what thou canst; Church-lands in t'other scale
Will above all thy Arguments prevail.
The hairbraind Rabble next the canvass fills,
By Airy words seduc'd to real Ills.
Cheated of Souls, Estates, Lives, all that's dear,
Taught Arms against the best of Kings to bear.
Fighting for freedom, till a Yoak they drew
On their own Necks, worse than ere yet they knew,
Swearing they knew not what, yet changing still
Their former Oaths for new, though quite as ill.
Oh! Fatal blindness, could we clear those Eyes?
Could we but make the simple Vulgar wise?
Then might old Albion give proud France the Law,
Of whom the Christian World now stands in aw.
Then factious Spirits at home, by all accurst,
Might spit their Venome till for rage they burst,
We should not then, by home-divisions torn
To our Friends cause pity, to our Enemies scorn.
Ah! Might I see those happy days no more;
For Earthly Joys high Heaven would I implore.
These are fond Dreams, but Painter lets awake,
And of the farthest North a Prospect take,
Scotland a barren Climate, there doth stand,
Possest by People fit for such a Land.
A Race whom mother Nature wisely hurl'd
Into that narrow corner of the World.
She never meant that they abroad should roam,
But live among their ragged Hills at home.
Impatient of her Doom, they oft have tty'd,
T' enlarge their Borders on the English side:
But still repulst, they to their grief have known
Their Neighbours Valour, far above their own.
Floddens and Muscleburgs unhappy Scars
Yet mark with red, the Scottish Calenders.
Hence 'tis although both Scepters now are joyn'd,
That they retain still a Revengeful Mind.
Bred up in Troubles which they wish, not fear,
They'd fain disturb our peaceful quiet here.
They're grev'd that Brittains Sun doth never chear,
With his bright Rays their Northern Hemisphere.
But shining by reflexion from afar,
Lets them be govern'd by a lesser Star.
Still for the Kirk, they Prelacy despise,
And call it Popery in a new disguise.
They've heard how Knox, and his Genevian crew
Of old, the Royal Diadem overthrew:
And now they long to see those days again,
Brave days when Saints did over Princes raign!
These Causes thus concurring all in one,
Joyn'd with a Nature to Rebellion prone.
No wonder if from that Tempestuous Sky,
Storms to disturb our Neighbours quiet fly.
Conclusion
Thus Painter have we seen from whence arose,
The fatal Series of our former Woes;
Noughts left; but first to meditate, then tell
How far those times and hours run Parallel.
To the KING.
Great Charles, against whose Crown on either hand,
Rome and Geneva all their forces band,
Thou seest what Clouds the Airy Regions fill;
Stand firm; the times now come to shew thy skill.
In Calms each Passenger the Ship may Guide,
By Winds and Storms an Artful Pilot's try'd.
Keep fast the Helm, on either side to err,
Is alike dangerous, in the middle Stear.
This People common Father, hold on stills
To do them good, although against their will.
What real Prudence dictates that pursue,
But slight the Murmurs of a giddy Crew.
Thus had thy Father done, we nere had known
A Tyrant sitting on the Royal Throne.
Thus may thy Reign just, long, and prosperous be;
Thou in thy Subjects, Happy they in Thee.
FINIS.