[Page] THE Justice of PEACE: Or a Vindication of PEACE FROM Several Late PAMPHLETS, Written by Mr. Congreve, Dennis, &c.
In Doggrel Verse
Written at the Request of a YOƲNG LADY, and DEDICATED to her.
By a POET.
I'll own, that you write better than I do,
But I have as much need to write as you:
What tho the Excrements of my dull Brain
Flow in a harsh and an insipid Strain;
While your Rich Head eases it self of Wit?
Must none but Civet-Cats have leave to Sh-t?
Rochest.
LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1697.
A POEM On the PEACE.
Dedicated to a Young LADY.
ASSIST me Muse, who oft has been
Kind Midwife to my Teeming Brain;
Who to its Pangs no sooner didst
Apply thy gentle Artful Fist,
But out came Bantling, Scan'd by Finger,
And soon as Born turn'd Ballad-singer;
And as 'twould crack its tender Weazon,
In Rhyme 'gan Squawling without Reason.
Assist me Muse in this last Issue;
For which may ever Gown of Tissue
[Page 2] Grace thy fair Corps, and double Nancy
Fill Helicon to Inspire thy Fancy:
And Thou, First-Cousin to the Nine,
In whom both Wit and Beauty shine,
Bright Nymph, my kind Inspiring Guide,
Oh, sit down gently by my Side;
Make tuneful Crambo thy Pastime,
And help thy Slave to pump for Rhyme;
That in lewd Doggrel I may fall at
Making of Peace, so quaint a Ballad,
That may, as Simple as my Pen is,
Congreve out-Rhyme, and out-Rage Dennis.
Instead of saying what we want,
Dennis.
One Banters us with rumbling Cant;
Talks of deep Pindar's sounding Lyre,
Of Rapture, Fury, Flame and Fire:
[Page 3] As if no Peace cou'd e'er be had,
But Hairb [...]ain'd Poet must run Mad.
Another writes such soothing Number,
C [...]gro [...].
'Twoud almost lull one to a Slumber;
In Frontispiece stands Birth of Muse,
A Porch too big for such a House:
In gentle Strains he tells a Tale
Of Heavenly Orb, and Earthly Ball;
By dint of Rhyme he proves it clear,
That the World hangs in Ambient Air;
Sings of Creation, and rehearses
Good Prose of Moses in bad Verses.
But sure Transported Bard forgot,
Peace was the thing he shou'd be at;
For what is Genesis pray to it,
More than Religion to a Poet?
Since nought my honest Heart can hinder,
But in a plain unborrow'd Dress,
I'll treat of nothing but meer Peace.
Great Nassau with his Red-coat Rabble
Has put an end to Europe's Squabble;
Bid Bloody Kings no more to Bristle,
But making Peace, go home and Whistle;
Bid 'em bright Armour no more perk in,
Or else egad he'd Thresh their Jerkin.
So have I seen two Punks call Names,
Till Wars engage the bloody Dames;
With their loud Tongues they beat Alarms,
And wheat their Talons into Arms;
[Page 5] Then by the Ears fall both a tugging,
As if good Ears were made for Lugging:
Till some Grave Baud, with goodly Mein,
A Peaceful Ʋmpire goes between;
Bids 'em leave off their shameful Pother,
And shoves this one way, that another:
Then both to Articles agree,
And to the Matron Thanks decree;
Who Shame prevented they ne'er wist on,
And sav'd a Sea of Blood right Christian.
Now Peace restores our former Treasure,
Each Sex may drown themselves in Pleasure;
The Men shan't pale for want of Red look,
Nor Green-sick Damsels whine for Wedlock
Rejoyce ye merry Drinking Souls,
Let Wine fly round in lusty Bowls.
The Vintners (marry stop their Vitals)
Who ear'st while drain'd our Pockets quite all;
(For Red, like Cordial Sack of Yore,
We paid, at least Tick'd dear on Score)
Ask but one Shilling for a Bottle;
And then that two will buy a Pottle,
Is not unknown to him at all
Who's vers'd in sequel Logical.
Now Taverns shan't be left in Lurches,
But Sweat like squeez'd Dissenting Churches.
Poor younger Brothers (who last Season
If one bless'd Night they Soak'd their Weason,
Were forc'd upon themselves t' Entail
A long Week's Lent, or live on Ale.)
[Page 7] What Comfort Peace to them affords,
Who now can get as Drunk as Lords?
What Christian Soul would not be willing
To be well Fudled for a Shilling?
Now Small-beet Poets (whose sick Rhymes
Shew they ne'er saw the Merry Times,
When Wine a Genius did infuse,
And every Bottle was a Muse)
As poor as are Parnassus's rents,
In God-like Red can spend some pence.
Inspir'd thus, on Conquering Kings
They'll say a great many fine things;
And Celia hopes to see her name
Edg'd in with curious Anagram.
Even I, least of the Rhyming Crew,
Do all this Stuff to Claret owe;
[Page 8] Am able to get soundly Drunk,
And in lewd Sonnet praise a Punk.
And ye, who catch Mankind with your Gi [...]
Whether good Wives or dainty Virgins,
Shall be paid off your long Arrears,
VVhich have been due these seven Years.
No more shall needy Cit refuse
Benevolence to his craving Spouse,
For fear a costly Brat shou'd hap
To spend his Rents in Plumbs and Pap.
No more shall tender Maids make Ditty,
(VVhom I with all my Soul do pity)
Or tell their Grievance at St. Stephen's,
Parrliament.
That Marriage goes at Six and Sevens;
[Page 9] No more shall they intreat both Houses
To grant them a supply of Spouses:
Husbands shall come as fast as Hops,
And Bride-beds swarm with Fools and Fops.
No more shall puling Wenches Languish.
Or Pipes and Cinders eat in Anguish.
Coffers and Chests begin to fill,
And Money whisks round like a Wheel:
Where all that are Distress'd and Broken,
May now have leave to put a Spoke in.
No more shall Christian People bicker
'Bout wicked Bills of Bank or Chequer;
No more shall deal in Paper Trash,
Or take a Stick for ready Cash.
[Page 10] Nor will we Lombard-Smiths intreat
They'd please their humble Trouts to Cheat;
And send us lightly-laden home,
With half of the too heavy Summ.
Chink shall no more be a coy Coquet;
But Grace of God fill ev'ry Pocket.
The publick Grievance of the Nation
Taxes; shall quite grow out of Fashion;
Assessors shall leave off to Hector,
Nor such a Name be as Collector.
Tough Country Louts their Beer shall pull up,
Nor Curse the King at every Gullup;
Since Rural A [...]e's as free from Tax,
As Rural Lasses from the Pox.
[Page 11] How merry will be nown dear Honey,
Now he pays nought for Matrimony?
For sure no Tax needs be impos'd
On those who are in Wedlock Noos'd;
'Tis dear enough to buy House—Riot,
VVith sale of Liberty and Quiet.
And when Dear Duck is fetch'd away,
'Twil sure his Sorrow much allay,
To hear how moderate the Rate is,
That he may have a Pit-hole Gratis.
How will the King's Liege Folks rejoice,
To see again his roaring Boys?
VVhile our dear Army was in Flanders,
And ran the risque of forty Dangers;
[Page 12] We Mourn'd and Pray'd, and took our Beads all,
For fear a Hair shou'd from their Heads fall.
Now they're escap'd from Bombs and Billows,
And live at home like honest Fellows.
By God's great blessing they're come over
Our Hen-roosts to Protect and Cover;
In VVinters Bleak and Summers Sultry,
From dirty Thieves to keep our Poultry.
How will the Idle Rake-hells roam on
Sail'sbury Plain or Hounslow Common?
How proudly weild their Blades right Trusty,
Or mount their Muskets now grown Rusty?
Their blustring Looks and huffing State
VVill envy through the VVorld create,
To see how England can with ease
Such standing Bullies keep in Peace.
What need I tell you, in Great Britain
What Happiness each Soul will light on?
No more shall wicked Lay-Men bilk
Their Teacher of Tithe-Eggs and Milk.
Quacks shall see glittring Fees come thick,
Now Folks have Money to be sick.
Loud Lawyers, who for means of Living
With one another fell a striving.
Will now set others by the Ears
And plead good Neighbours into Jars.
Secure the Merchant plows the Main,
From distant Climates reaps his Gain;
Sends Spouse at home rich Silk and Jewel,
Which for her kind Gallant won't do ill.
Pimps, Whores and Bawds, and all the Throng
That Life and Pleasure does prolong,
[Page 14] To Flourish, as of old, begin,
Now we've nought else to do but Sin.
O Lewis, thanks to thee we doom
For all past Favours and to come;
What Grape, though of Most Christian Race,
Is good enough thy Health to Grace?
Since thou'st been pleas'd to give us Peace,
Consult our Luxury and Ease.
Send thy good Breeding unto White-Hall.
And to our Cellars thy Wine quite all;
Thy Privateers to English Saylors,
And Shoulder-knots to London Taylors.
Send what e'er shall thy goodness please;
Send us all France—but its Disease.
FINIS.