Satyrs upon the Jesuits written in the year 1679, upon occasion of the plot, together with the Satyr against vertue, and some other pieces by the same hand.

Satyrs upon the Jesuits written in the year 1679, upon occasion of the plot, together with the Satyr against vertue, and some other pieces by the same hand.

Table of contents

[1]

Title page

ADVERTISEMENT.

SATYRS UPON THE JESUITS.

PROLOGUE.

SATYR I. Garnet's Ghost addressing to the Jesuits, met in private Cabal just after the Murder of Godfrey.

SATYR II.

SATYR III. Loyola's Will.

§

SATYR IV. S. Ignatius his Image brought in, discovering the Rogueries of the Jesuits, and ridiculous Superstition of the Church of Rome.

[2]

Title page

TO THE READER.

A POEM: Supposed to be spoken by a Town-Hector. PINDARIQUE, In imitation of Mr. Cowley.

An Apology for the preceding Poem, by way of Epilogue, to be annexed.

[3]

THE PASSION OF BYBLIS IN Ovid's Metamorphosis Imitated in English.

THE Passion of Byblis OUT OF Ovid's Metamorphosis, B. 9. F. 11. Beginning at Byblis in exemplo est, ut ament concessa puellae. And ending with —Modumque Exit, & infelix committit saepe repelli.

[4]

Title page

A SATYR Upon a WOMAM, who by her Falshood and Scorn was the Death of my Friend.

ERRATA.

§

§

[Page]

[Page]

SATYRS UPON THE JESUITS: Written in the YEAR 1679.

Upon occasion of the PLOT, Together with the Satyr against Uertue, AND Some other PIECES by the same HAND.

LONDON: Printed for Ioseph Hindmarsh, at the Black Bull in Cornhill. 1681.

ADVERTISEMENT.

[Page]

[Page]

THE Author might here (according to the laudable custom of Prefaces) entertain the Reader with a Discourse of the Original, Progress, and Rules of Satyr, and let him understand, that he has lately Read Casaubon, and several other Criticks upon the Point, but at present he is minded to wave it, as a vanity he is in no wise fond of. His only intent now is to give a brief account of what he Publishes, in order to prevent what censures he foresees may colourably be past thereupon: And that is, as followeth:

[Page]What he calls the Prologue, is in imitation of Persius, who has prefix'd somewhat by that Name before his Book of Satyrs, and may serve for a pretty good Authority. The first Satyr he drew by Sylla's Ghost in the great Johnson, which may be perceiv'd by some strokes and touches therein, however short they come of the Original. In the second, he only follow'd the swing of his own Genius. The Design, and some passages of the third were taken out of the Franciscan of Buchanan. Which Ingenuous confession he thinks fit to make, to shew he has more modesty than the common Padders in Wit of these times. He doubts, there may be some few mistakes in Chronology therein, which for want of Books he could not inform himself in. If the skilful Reader meet with any such, he may the more easily pardon [Page] them upon that score. Whence he had the hint of the fourth, is obvious to all, that are any thing acquainted with Horace. And without the Authority of so great a President, the making of an Image speak, is but an ordinary Miracle in Poetry. He expects, that some will tax him of Buffoonery, and turning holy things into ridicule. But let them Read, how severely Arnobius, Lactantius, Minutius Felix, and the gravest Fathers, have railly'd the fopperies and superstitions of the Heathen, and then consider, whether those, which he has chosen for his Argument, are not as worthy of laughter. The only difference is, that they did it in Prose, as he d [...]es in Verse, where perhaps 'tis the more allowable.

[Page]As for the next Poem (which is the most liable to censure) though the World has given it the Name of the Satyr against Vertue, he declares 'twas never design'd to that intent, how apt soever some may be to wrest it. And this appears by what is said after it, and is discernable enough to all, that have the sence to understand it. 'Twas meant to abuse those, who valued themselves upon their Wit and Parts in praising Vice, and to shew, that others of sober Principles, if they would take the same liberty in Poetry, could strain as high rants in Profaness as they. At first he intended it not for the publick, nor to pass beyond the privacy of two or three Friends, but seeing it had the Fate to steal abroad in Manuscript, and afterwards in Print, without his knowledge; he now thinks it a justice due to [Page] his own Reputation, to have it come forth without those faults, which it has suffer'd from Transcribers and the Press hitherto, and which make it a worse Satyr upon himself, than upon what it was design'd.

Something should be said too of the last Trifle, if it were worth it. 'Twas occasion'd upon Reading the late Translations of Ovid's Epistles, which gave him a mind to try what he could do upon a like Subject. Those being already forestal'd, he thought fit to make choice of this of the same Poet, whereon perhaps he has taken too much liberty. Had he seen Mr. Sandys his Translation before he begun, he never durst have ventur'd: Since he has, and finds reason enough to despair of his undertaking. But now 'tis done, he is loath to burn it, and chooses rather [Page] to give somebody else the trouble. The Reader may do as he pleases, either like it, or put it to the use of Mr. Jordan's Works. 'Tis the first attempt, he ever made in this kind, and likely enough to be the last, his vein (if he may be thought to have any) lying another way.

SATYRS UPON THE JESUITS.

[Page]

PROLOGUE.

FOr who can longer hold? when every Press,

The Bar and Pulpit too has broke the peace?

When every scribling Fool at the alarms

Has drawn his Pen, and rises up in Arms?

And not a dull Pretender of the Town,

But vents his gall in pamphlet up and down?

When all with license rail, and who will not,

Must be almost suspected of the PLOT,

And bring his Zeal, or else, his parts in doubt?

[Page]In vain our Preaching Tribe attack the Foes,

In vain their weak Artillery oppose:

Mistaken honest Men, who gravely blame,

And hope that gentle Doctrine should reclaim.

Are Texts and such exploded trifles fit

T' impose and sham upon a Iesuit?

Would they the dull Old Fisher-men compare

With mighty Suarez and great Escobar?

Such threadbare proofs and stale Authorities

May Us poor simple Hereticks suffice:

But to a sear'd Ignatian's conscience,

Harden'd, as his own Face, with Impudence,

Whose faith is contradiction-bore, whom lies,

Nor nonsence, nor impossibilities,

Nor shame, nor death, nor damning can assail;

Not these mild fruitless methods will avail.

'Tis pointed Satyr and the sharps of wit

For such a prize are th' only weapons fit:

Nor needs these art or genious here to use,

Where indignation can create a muse:

[Page]Should Parts and Nature fail, yet very spite

Would make the arrant'st Wild, or Withers write.

It is resolv'd: henceforth an endless War,

I and my Muse with them and theirs declare;

Whom neither open malice of the Foes,

Nor private daggers, nor Saint Omer's dose,

Nor all that Godfrey felt, or Monarchs fear,

Shall from my vow'd and sworn revenge deter.

Sooner shall false Court favourites prove just

And faithful to their King's and Country's trust:

Sooner shall they detect the tricks of State,

And knav'ry suits and bribes and flatt'ry hate:

Bawds shall turn Nuns, Salt D—s grow chast,

And paint and pride and lechery detest:

Popes shall for Kings supremacy decide,

And Cardinals for Huguenots be tried:

Sooner (which is the great'st impossible)

Shall the vile brood of Loyola and Hell

Give o're to Plot, be villains, and rebel;

[Page]Than I with utmost spite and vengeance cease

To persecute and plague their cursed race.

The rage of Poets damn'd, of Women's Pride

Contemn'd and scorn'd, or proffer'd lust denied:

The malice of religious angry Zeal,

And all cashier'd resenting statesmen feel:

What prompts dire Hags in their own blood to write,

And sell their very souls to Hell for spite:

All this urge on my rank envenom'd spleen,

And with keen Satyr edge my stabbing Pen:

That its each home-set thrust their blood may draw,

Each drop of Ink like Aquafortis gnaw.

Red hot with vengeance thus, I'll brand disgrace

So deep,, no time shall e're the marks deface:

Till my severe and exemplary doom

Spread wider than their guilt, till I become

More dreaded than the Bar, and frighten worse

Than damning Popes Anathema's and curse.

SATYR I. Garnet's Ghost addressing to the Jesuits, met in private Cabal just after the Murder of Godfrey.

[Page]

BY hell 'twas bravely done! what less than this?

What sacrifice of meaner worth & price

Could we have offer'd up for our success?

So fare all they, who're provoke our hate,

Who by like ways presume to tempt their fate;

Fare each like this bold medling Fool, and be

As well secur'd, as well dispatch'd as he:

Would he were here, yet warm, that we might drain

His reeking gore, and drink up ev'ry vein!

That were a glorious sanction, much like thine,

Great Roman! made upon a like design:

[Page]Like thine? we scorn so mean a Sacrament,

To seal and consecrate our high intent,

We scorn base blood should our great league cement:

Thou didst it with a slave, but we think good

To bind our Treason with a bleeding God.

Would it were His (why should I fear to name,

Or you to hear't?) at which we nobly aim!

Lives yet that hated en'my of our cause?

Lives He our mighty projects to oppose?

Can His weak innocence and Heaven's care

Be thought security from what we dare?

Are you then Iesuits? are you so for nought?

In all the Catholick depths of Treason taught?

In orthodox and solid pois'ning read?

In each profounder art of killing bread?

And can you fail, or bungle in your trade?

Shall one poor life your cowardice upbraid?

Tame dastard slaves! who your profession shame,

And fix disgrace on our great Founder's name.

[Page]Think what late Sect'ries (and ignoble crew,

Not worthy to be rank'd in sin with you)

Inspir'd with lofty wickedness, durst do:

How from his throne they hurl'd a Monarch down,

And doubly eas'd him of both Life and Crown:

They scorn'd in covert their bold act to hide,

In open face of heav'n the work they did,

And brav'd its vengeance, and its pow'rs defied.

This is his Son, and mortal too like him,

Durst you usurp the glory of the crime;

And dare ye not? I know, you scorn to be

By such as they outdone in villany,

Your proper province; true, you urg'd them on,

Were engins in the fact, but they alone

Share all the open credit and renoun.

But hold! I wrong our Church and Cause, which need

No foreign instance, nor what others did:

Think on that matchless Assassin, whose name

We with just pride can make our happy claim;

[Page]He, who at killing of an Emperour,

To give his poison stronger force and pow'r

Mixt a God with't, and made it work more sure:

Blest memory! which shall thro' Age to come

Stand sacred in the lists of Hell and Rome.

Let our great Clement, and Ravillac's name,

Your Spirits to like heights of sin inflame;

Those mighty Souls, who bravely chose to die

T' have each a Royal Ghost their company:

Heroick Act! and worth their tortures well,

Well worth the suff'ring of a double Hell,

That they felt here, and that below they feel.

And if these cannot move you, as they shou'd,

Let me and my example fire your blood:

Think on my vast attempt, a glorious deed,

Which durst the Fates have suffer'd to succeed,

Had rival'd Hell's most proud exploit and boast,

Ev'n that, which wou'd the King of fates depos'd,

Curst be the day, and ne're in time inrol'd,

And curst the Star, whose spiteful influence rul'd

The luckless Minute, which my project spoil'd:

[Page]Curse on that Pow'r, who, of himself afraid,

My glory with my brave design betray'd:

Justly he fear'd, lest I, who strook so high

In guilt, should next blow up his Realm and Sky:

And so I had; at least I would have durst,

And failing, had got off with Fame at worst.

Had you but half my bravery in Sin,

Your work had never thus unfinish'd bin:

Had I bin Man, and the great act to do;

H'ad dy'd by this, and bin what I am now,

Or what His Father is: I would leap Hell

To reach His Life, tho in the midst I fell,

And deeper than before.—

Let rabble Souls of narrow aim and reach

Stoop their vile Necks, and dull Obedience preach:

Let them with Slavish aw (disdain'd by me)

Adore the purple Rag of Majesty,

And think't a sacred Relick of the Sky:

Well may such Fools a base Subjection own,

Vassals to every Ass, that loads a Throne:

[Page]Unlike the soul, with which proud I was born,

Who could that sneaking thing a Monarch scorn,

Spurn off a Crown, and set my foot in sport

Upon the head, that wore it, trod in dirt.

But say, what is't, that binds your hands? do's fear

From such a glorious action you deter?

Or is't Religion? but you sure disclaim

That frivolous pretence, that empty name:

Meer bugbare-word, devis'd by Us to scare

The sensless rout to slavishness and fear,

Ne're known to aw the brave, and those that dare.

Such weak and feeble things may serve for checks▪

To reign and curb base-mettled Hereticks;

Dull creatures, whose nice bogling consciences

Startle, or strain at such slight crimes as these;

Such, whom fond inbred honesty befools,

Or that old musty piece of the Bible gulls:

That hated Book, the bulwark of our foes,

Whereby they still uphold their tott'ring cause.

[Page]Let no such toys mislead you from the road

Of glory, nor infect your Souls with good:

Let never bold incroaching Virtue dare

With her grim holy face to enter there,

No, not in very Dream: have only will

Like Fiends and Me to covet and act ill:

Let true substantial wickedness take place,

Usurp and Reign; let it the very trace

(If any yet be left) of good deface.

If ever qualms of inward cowardice

(The things, which some dull sots call conscience rise)

Make them in steams of Blood & slaughter drown,

Or with new weights of guilt still press 'em down

Shame, faith, religion, honour, loyalty,

Nature it self, whatever checks there be

To loose and uncontroul'd impiety,

Be all extinct in you; own no remorse

But that you've balk'd a sin, have bin no worse,

Or too much pitty shewn.—

[Page]Be diligent in mischief's Trade, be each

Performing as a Dev'l; nor stick to reach

At Crimes most dangerous; where bold despair,

Mad lust and heedless blind revenge would ne're

Ev'n look, march you without a blush, or fear,

Inflam'd by all the hazards, that oppose,

And firm, as burning Martyrs, to your Cause.

Then you're true Iesuits, then you're fit to be

Disciples of great Loyola and Me:

Worthy to undertake, worthy a Plot

Like this, and fit to scourge an Huguenot.

Plagues on that Name! may swift confusion

And utterly blot out the cursed Race:

Thrice damn'd be that Apostate Monk, from whom seize,

Sprung first these Enemies of Us and Rome:

Whose pois'nous Filth dropt from ingendring Brain,

By monstrous Birth did the vile Insects spawn,

Which now infest each Country; and defile

With their o'respreading swarms this goodly Ile.

[Page]Once it was ours, and subject to our Yoke,

'Till a late reigning Witch th' Enchantment broke:

It shall again: Hell and I say't: have ye

But courage to make good the Prophesie:

Not Fate it self shall hinder.—

Too sparing was the time, too mild the day,

When our great Mary bore the English sway:

Unqueen-like pity marr'd her Royal Pow'r,

Nor was her Purple dy'd enough in Gore.

Four or five hundred, such-like petty sum

Might fall perhaps a Sacrifice to Rome,

Scarce worth the naming: had I had the Pow'r,

Or bin thought fit t' have bin her Councellor,

She should have rais'd it to a nobler score.

Big Bonfires should have blaz'd and shone each day,

To tell our Triumphs, and make bright our way:

And when 'twas dark, in every Lane and Street

Thick flaming Hereticks should serve to light

And save the needless Charge of Links by night:

[Page] Smithfield should still have kept a constant fire,

Which never should be quench'd, never expire,

But with the lives of all the miscreant rout,

Till the last gasping breath had blown it out.

So Nero did, such was the prudent course

Taken by all his mighty successours,

To tame like Hereticks of old by force:

They scorn'd dull reason and pedantick rules

To conquer and reduce the harden'd Fools ▪

Racks, gibbets, halters were their arguments,

Which did most undeniably convince:

Grave bearded Lions manag'd the dispute,

And reverend Bears their doctrins did confute▪

And all, who would stand out in stiff defence,

They gently claw'd and worried into sence:

Better than all our Sorbon dotards now,

Who would by dint of words our Foes subdue.

This was the riged discipline of old,

Which modern sots for Persecution hold:

[Page]Of which dull Annalists in story tell

Strange legends, and huge bulky volumus swell

With Martyr'd Fools, that lost their way to hell.

From these, our Church's glorious Ancestours,

We've learnt our arts & made their methods ours:

Nor have we come behind, the least degree,

In acts of rough and manly cruelty:

Converting faggots and the pow'rful stake

And Sword resistless our Apostles make.

This heretofore Bohemia felt, and thus

Were all the num'rous proselites of Huss[?]

Crush'd with their head: So Waldo's cursed rout,

And those of Wickliff here were rooted out,

Their names scarce left. Sure were the means, we chose,

And wrought prevailingly: Fire purg'd the dross

Of those foul heresies, and soveraign Steel

Lopt off th' infected limbs the Church to heal.

Renown'd was that French Brave, renown'd his deed,

A deed, for which the day deserves its red

Far more than for a paltry Saint, that died:

[Page]How goodly was the Sight! how fine the Show!

When Paris saw through all its Channels flow

The blood of Huguenots; when the full Sein,

Swell'd with the flood, its Banks with joy o'reran!

He scorn'd like common Murderers to deal

By parcels and piecemeal; he scorn'd Retail

I'th' Trade of Death: whole Myriads died by th' great,

Soon as one single life; so quick their Fate,

Their very Pray'rs and Wishes came too late.

This a King did: and great and mighty 'twas,

Worthy his high Degree, and Pow'r, and Place,

And worthy our Religion and our Cause:

Unmatch'd 't had bin, had not Mac-quire arose,

The bold Mac-quire (who, read in modern Fame,

Can be a Stranger to his Worth and Name?)

Born to outsin a Monarch, born to Reign

In Guilt, and all Competitors disdain:

Dread Memory! whose each mention still can make

Pale Hereticks with trembling Horrour quake.

[Page]T'undo a Kingdom, to atchieve a crime

Like his, who would not fall and die like him?

Never had Rome a nobler service done,

Never had Hell; each day came thronging down

Vast shoals of Ghosts, and mine was pleas'd & glad,

And smil'd, when it the brave revenge survey'd.

Nor do I mention these great Instances

For bounds and limits to your wickedness:

Dare you beyond, something out of the road

Of all example, where none yet have trod,

Nor shall hereafter: what mad Catiline

Durst never think, nor's madder Poet feign.

Make the poor baffled Pagan Fool confess,

How much a Christian Crime can conquer his:

How far in gallant mischief overcome,

The old must yield to new and modern Rome,

Mix Ills past, present, future, in one act;

One high, one brave one great, one glorious Fact,

Which Hell and very I may envy—

Such as a God himself might wish to be

[Page]A Complice in the mighty villany

And barter's heaven, and vouchsafe to die.

Nor let Delay (the bane of Enterprize)

Marr yours, or make the great importance miss.

This fact has wak'd your Enemies and their fear;

Let it your vigour too, your haste, and care.

Be swift, and let your deeds forestall intent,

Forestall even wishes ere they can take vent,

Nor give the Fates the leisure to prevent.

Let the full Clouds, which a long time did wrap

Your gath'ring thunder, now with sudden clap

Break out upon your Foes; dash and confound,

And scatter wide destruction all around.

Let the fir'd City to your Plot give light;

You raz'd it half before, now raze it quite.

Do't more effectually; I'd see it glow

In flames unquenchable as those below.

I'd see the Miscreants with their houses burn,

And all together into ashes turn.

[Page]Bend next your fury to the curst Divan,

That damn'd Committee, whom the Fates ordain

Of all our well-laid Plots to be the bane.

Unkennel those State-Foxes, where they ly

Working your speedy fate and destiny.

Lug by the ears the doting Prelates thence,

Dash Heresie together with their Brains

Out of their shatter'd heads. Lop off the Lords

And Commons at one stroke, and let your Swords

Adjourn 'em all to th' other world—

Would I were blest with flesh and bloud again,

But to be Actor in that happy Scene!

Yet thus I will be by, and glut my view;

Revenge shall take its fill, in state I'le go

With captive Ghosts t'attend me down below.

Let these the Handsells of your vengeance be,

Yet stop not here, nor flag in cruelty.

Kill like a Plague or Inquisition; spare

No Age, Degree, or Sex; onely to wear

A Soul, onely to own a Life, be here

[Page]Thought crime enough to lose't: no time nor place

Be Sanctuary from your outrages.

Spare not in Churches kneeling Priests at pray'r,

Though interceding for you, slay ev'n there.

Spare not young Infants smiling at the brest,

Who from relenting Fools their mercy wrest:

Rip teeming Wombs, tear out the hated Brood

From thence, & drown 'em in their Mothers bloud.

Pity not Virgins, nor their tender cries,

Though prostrate at your feet with melting eyes

All drown'd in tears; strike home as 'twere in lust,

And force their begging hands to guide the thrust.

Ravish at th'Altar, kill when you have done,

Make them your Rapes the Victims to attone.

Nor let gray hoary hairs protection give

To Age, just crawling on the verge of Life:

Snatch from its leaning hands the weak support,

And with it knock't into the grave with sport;

Brain the poor Cripple with his Crutch, then cry,

You've kindly rid him of his misery.

[Page]Seal up your ears to mercy, lest their words

Should tempt a pity, ram 'em with your Swords

(Their tongues too) down their throats; let 'em not dare

To mutter for their Souls a gasping pray'r,

But in the utt'rance choak't, and stab it there.

'Twere witty handsom malice (could you do't)

To make 'em die, and make 'em damn'd to boot.

Make Children by one fate with Parents die,

Kill ev'n revenge in next Posterity:

So you'll be pester'd with no Orphans cries,

No childless Mothers curse your memories.

Make Death and Desolation swim in bloud

Throughout the Land, with nought to stop the floud

But slaughter'd Carcasses; till the whole Isle

Become one tomb, become one funeral pile;

Till such vast numbers swell the countless summ,

That the wide Grave and wider Hell want room.

Great was that Tyrants wish, which should be mine,

Did I not scorn the leavings of a sin;

[Page]Freely I would bestow't on England now,

That the whole Nation with one neck might grow,

To be slic'd off, and you to give the blow.

What neither Saxon rage could here inflict,

Nor Danes more savage, nor the barbarous Pict;

What Spain nor Eighty eight could ere devise,

With all its fleet and fraught of cruelties;

What ne're Medina wish'd, much less could dare,

And bloudier Alva would with trembling hear;

What may strike out dire Prodigies of old,

And make their mild and gentler acts untold.

What Heav'ns Judgments, nor the angry Stars,

Forein Invasions, nor Domestick Wars,

Plague, Fire, nor Famine could effect or do;

All this and more be dar'd and done by you.

But why do I with idle talk delay

Your hands, and while they should be acting, stay?

Farewell—

If I may waste a pray'r for your success,

Hell be your aid, and your high projects bless!

[Page]May that vile Wretch, if any here there be,

That meanly shrinks from brave Iniquity;

If any here feel pity or remorse,

May he feel all I've bid you act, and worse!

May he by rage of Foes unpitied fall,

And they tread out his hated Soul to Hell.

May's Name and Carcase rot, expos'd alike to be

The everlasting mark of grinning infamy.

SATYR II.

[Page]

NAy, if our sins are grown so high of late,

That Heav'n no longer can adjourn our fate;

May't please some milder vengeance to devise

Plague, Fire, Sword, Dearth, or any thing but this.

Let it rain scalding showres of Brimstone down,

To burn us, as of old the lustful Town:

Let a new deluge overwhelm agen,

And drown at once our Land, and Lives, and Sin.

Thus gladly we'll compound, all this we'll pay,

To have these worst of Ills remov'd away.

Judgments of other kinds are often sent

In mercy onely, not for punishment:

But where these light, they shew a Nations fate

Is given up and past for reprobate.

When God his stock of wrath on Egypt spent,

To make a stubborn Land and King repent,

Sparing the rest, had he this one Plague sent;

[Page]For this alone his People had been quit,

And Pharaoh circumcis'd a Proselyte.

Wonder no longer why no cure like these

Was known or suffer'd in the primitive days:

They never sinn'd enough to merit it,

'Twas therefore what Heavens just pow'r thought fit,

To scourge this later and more sinful age

With all the dregs and squeesings of his rage.

Too dearly is proud Spain with England quit

For all her loss sustain'd in Eighty eight;

For all the Ills our warlike Virgin wrought,

Or Drake or Rawleigh her great Scourges brought.

Amply was she reveng'd in that one birth,

When Hell for her the Biscain Plague brought forth;

Great Counter-plague! in which unhappy we

Pay back her sufferings with full usury:

Than whom alone none ever was design'd

T'entail a wider curse on Human kind,

But he who first begot us, and first sinn'd.

[Page]Happy the World had been, and happy Thou,

(Less damn'd at least, and less accurst than now)

If early with less guilt in War th'hadst dy'd,

And from ensuing mischiefs Mankind freed.

Or when thou view'dst the Holy Land and Tomb,

Th'hadst suffer'd there thy brother Traytors doom.

Curst be the womb that with the Firebrand teem'd,

Which ever since has the whole Globe inflam'd;

More curst that ill-aim'd Shot, that basely mist

That maim'd a limb, but spar'd thy hated brest,

And made th' at once a Cripple and a Priest.

But why this wish? The Church if so might lack

Champions, Good works, and Saints for the Almanack.

These are the Ianizaries of the Cause,

The Life Guard of the Roman Sultan, chose

To break the force of Huguenots and Foes.

The Churches Hawkers in Divinity,

Who 'stead of Lace and Ribbons, Doctrine cry:

Romes Strowlers, who survey each Continent,

Its trinkets and commodities to vent.

[Page]Export the Gospel like mere ware for sale,

And truck'd for Indigo and Cutchineal.

As the known Factors here the Brethren once

Swopt Christ about for Bodkins, Rings, and Spoons.

And shall these great Apostles be contemn'd,

And thus by scoffing Hereticks defam'd?

They by whose means both Indies now enjoy

The two choice blessings Pox and Popery;

Which buried else in ignorance had been,

Nor known the worth of Beads and Bellarmine,

It pitied holy Mother Church to see

A world so drown'd in gross Idolatry.

It griev'd to see such goodly Nations hold

Bad Errors, and unpardonable Gold.

Strange! what a godly zeal can Coyn infuse!

What charity Pieces of Eight produce!

So you were chose the fittest to reclaim

The Pagan World, and give't a Christian Name.

And great was the success; whole Myriads stood

At Font, and were baptiz'd in their own bloud.

[Page]Millions of Souls were hurl'd from hence to burn

Before their time, be damn'd before their turn.

Yet these were in compassion sent to Hell,

The rest reserv'd in spite, and worse to feel,

Compell'd instead of Fiends to worship you,

The more inhuman Devils of the two.

Rare way and method of conversion this,

To make your Votaries your Sacrifice!

If to destroy be Reformation thought,

A Plague as well might the good work have wrought

Now see we why your Founder weary grown,

Would lay his former Trade of Killing down;

He found 'twas dull, he found a Gown would be

A fitter case and badge of cruelty.

Each snivelling Hero Seas of Bloud can spil,

When wrongs provoke, and Honour bids him kill.

Each tiny Bully Lives can freely bleed,

When prest by Wine or Punk to knock o'th' head:

Give me your through-pac'd Rogue, who scorns to be

Prompted by poor Revenge or Injury,

But does it of true inbred cruelty:

[Page]Your cool and sober Murderer, who prays

And stabs at the same time, who one hand has

Stretch'd up to Heav'n, t'other to make the Pass.

So the late Saints of blessed memory,

Cut throats in godly pure sincerity:

So they with lifted hands and eyes devout

Said Grace, and carv'd a slaughter'd Monarch out.

When the first Traitor Cain (too good to be

Thought Patron of this black Fraternity)

His bloudy Tragedy of old design'd,

One death alone quench'd his revengful mind,

Content with but a quarter of Mankind:

Had he been Iesuit, had he but put on

Their savage cruelty, the rest had gone:

His hand had sent old Adam after too,

And forc'd the Godhead to create anew.

And yet 'twere well, were their foul guilt but thought

Bare sin: 'tis something ev'n to own a fault.

But here the boldest flights of wickedness

Are stampt Religion, and for currant pass.

[Page]The blackest, ugliest, horrid'st, damned'st deed,

For which Hell flames, the Schools a little need,

If done by Holy Church is sanctified.

This consecrates the blessed Work and Tool,

Nor must we ever after think 'em foul.

To undo Realms, kill Parents, murder Kings,

Are thus but petty trifles, venial things,

Not worth a Confessor; nay Heav'n shall be

It self invok'd t'abet th' impiety.

" Grant, gracious Lord, (Some reverend Villain prays)

" That this the bold Assertor of our Cause

" May with success accomplish that great end,

" For which he was by thee and us design'd.

" Do thou t'his Arm and Sword thy strength impart,

" And guide 'em steddy to the Tyrants heart.

" Grant him for every meritorious thrust

" Degrees of bliss above among the Just;

" Where holy Garnet and S. Guy are plac'd,

" Whom works like this before have thither rais'd.

[Page]" Where they are interceding for us now;

" For sure they're there. Yes questionless, and so

Good Nero is and Dioclesian too,

And that great ancient Saint Herostratus,

And the late godly Martyr at Tholouse.

Dare something worthy Newgate and the Tow'r,

If you'l be canoniz'd and Heav'n ensure.

Dull primitive Fools of old! who would be good?

Who would by vertue reach the blest abode?

Far other are the ways found out of late,

Which Mortals to that happy place translate:

Rebellion, Treason, Murder, Massacre,

The chief Ingredients now of Saintship are,

And Tyburn onely stocks the Calendar.

Unhappy Iudas, whose ill fate or chance

Threw him upon gross times of ignorance;

Who knew not how to value or esteem

The worth and merit of a glorious crime!

Should his kind Stars have let him acted now,

H'ad dy'd absolv'd, and dy'd a Martyr too.

[Page]Hear'st thou, great God, such daring blasphemy,

And letst thy patient Thunder still lie by?

Strike and avenge, lest impious Atheists say,

Chance guides the world, & has usurp'd thy sway;

Lest these proud prosperous Villains too confess,

Thou'rt sensless, as they make thy Images.

Thou just and sacred Power! wilt thou admit

Such Guests should in thy glorious presence sit?

If Heav'n can with such company dispense,

Well did the Indian pray, Might he keep thence.

But this we onely feign, all vain and false,

As their own Legends, Miracles, and Tales;

Either the groundless calumnies of spite,

Or idle rants of Poetry and Wit.

We wish they were: but you hear Garnet cry,

" I did it, and would do't again; had I

" As much of Bloud, as many Lives as Rome

" Has spilt in what the Fools call Martyrdom;

" As many Souls as Sins; I'de freely stake

" All them and more for Mother Churches sake.

[Page]" For that I'll stride o're Crowns, swim through a Flood,

" Made up of slaughter'd Monarch's Brains and Blood.

" For that no lives of Hereticks I'll spare,

" But reap 'em down with less remorse and care

" Than Tarquin did the poppy-heads of old,

" Or we drop beads, by which our prayer's are told.

Bravely resolved? and 'twas as bravely dar'd

But (lo!) the Recompence and great Reward,

The wight is to the Almanack preferr'd.

Rare motives to be damn'd for holy Cause,

A few red letters, and some painted straws.

Fools! who thus truck with Hell by Mohatra

And play their Souls against no stakes away.

'Tis strang with what an holy impudence

The Villian caught, his innocence maintains:

Denies with oaths the fact untill it be

Less guilt to own it then the perjury:

By th' Mass and blessed Sacraments he swears,

This Mary's Milk, and t'other Mary's Tears;

And the whole muster-roll in Calendars.

[Page]Not yet swallow the Falsehood? if all this

Won't gain a resty Faith; he will on's Knees

The Evangelists and Ladie's Psalter kiss

To vouch the Lye: nay more, to make it good

Mortgage his Soul upon't, his Heaven and God.

Damn'd faithless Hereticks, hard to convince,

Who trust no Verdict, but dull obvious Sense.

Unconscionable Courts, who Priests deny

Their Benefit o'th Clergy, Perjury.

Room for the Martyr'd Saints! behold they come!

With what a noble Scorn they meet their Doom?

Not Knights o'th Post, nor often carted Whores

Shew more of Impudence, or less Remorss.

O glorious and heroick Constancy!

That can forswear upon the Cart, and die

With gasping Souls expiring in a Lye.

None but tame Sheepish Criminals repent,

Who fear that idle Bugbear Punishment:

Your Gallant Sinner scorns that Cowardice,

The poor regret of having done amiss:

Brave he, to his first Principles still true,

[Page]Can face Damnation, Sin with Hell in view:

And bid it take the Soul, he does bequeath

And blow it thither with his dying Breath.

Dare such as these profess Religions Name?

Who, should they own't, and be believed, would shame

It's Practice out o'th World, would Atheists make

Firm in their Creed, and vouch it at the Stake?

Is Heaven for such, whose Deeds make Hell too good

Too mild a Penance for their cursed Brood?

For whose unheard-of Crimes and damned Sake

Fate must below new sorts of Torture make,

Since, when of old it fram'd that place of Doom,

'Twas thought no Guilt like this could thither come

Base recreant Souls! would you have Kings trust you?

Who never yet kept your Allegiance true

To any but Hell's Prince? who with more ease

Can swallow down most solemn Perjuries

Than Bullies common Oaths and canting Lies?

Are the French Harries Fates so soon forgot?

[Page]Our last blest Tudor? or the Powder-Plot?

And those fine Streamers that adorned so long

The Bridge and Westminister, and yet had hung,

Were they not stoln, and now for Relicks gone?

Think Tories loyal, or Scotch Covenanters;

Rob'd Tygers gentle; courteous, fasting Bears,

Atheists devout, and thrice-wrack'd Mariners:

Take Goats for Chast, and cloyster'd Marmosites,

For plain and open two-edg'd Parasites:

Believe Bawds mod [...]st, and the shameless Stews,

And binding Drunkard Oaths, and Strumpet's Vows:

And when in them these Contradictions meet,

Then hope to find 'em in a Loyolite:

To whom, tho gasping, should I credit give,

I'd think 'twere Sin, and damn'd like unbelief.

Oh for the Swedish Law enacted here!

No Scarecrow frightens like a Priest Guelder:

Hunt them, as Beavers are, force them to buy

Their Lives with Ransom of their Lechery.

Or let that wholsome Statute be reviv'd,

Which England heretofore from Wolves reliev'd:

[Page]Tax every Shire instead of them to bring

Each Year a certain Tale of Iesuits in:

And let their mangled Quarters hang the Ile

To scare all future Vermin from the Soil.

Monsters avaunt! may some kind Whirlwindsweep

Our Land and drown these Locusts in the deep:

Hence ye loth'd Objects of our Scorn and Hate,

With all the Curses of an injur'd State:

Go foul Impostors, to some duller Soil,

Some easier Nation with your Cheats beguile:

Where your gross common Gulleries may pass,

To slur and top on bubbled Consciences:

Where Ignorance and th' Inquisition Rules,

Where the vile Herd of poor Implicit Fools

Are damn'd contentedly, where they are led

Blindfold to Hell, and thank and pay their Guide.

Go where all your black Tribe, before are gon,

Follow Chastel, Ravillac, Clement down,

Your Catesby, Faux, and Garnet, thousands more,

And those, who hence have lately rais'd the Score.

Where the Grand Traitor now and all the Crew

[Page]Of his Disciples must receive their Due:

Where Flames and Tortures of Eternal Date

Must punish you, yet ne're can expiate:

Learn duller Fiends your unknown Cruelties,

Such as no Wit, but yours could ere devise,

No Guilt but yours deserve; make Hell confess

It self out done, its Devils damn'd for less.

SATYR III. Loyola's Will.

[Page]

LOng had the fam'd Impostor found Success,

Long seen his damn'd Fraternities increase,

In Wealth and Power, Mischief and Guile improv'd

By Popes, and Pope-rid Kings upheld and lov'd:

Laden with Years, and Sins, and numerous Skars,

Got some it'h Field, but most in other Wars,

Now finding Life decay, and Fate draw near,

Grown ripe for Hell, and Roman Calendar,

He thinks it worth his Holy Thoughts and Care,

Some hidden Rules and Secrets to impart,

The Proofs of long Expecience, and deep Art,

Which to his Successors may useful be

In conduct of their future Villany.

Summon'd together, all th' Officious Band

The Orders of their Bed-rid Chief attend;

Doubtful, what Legacy he will bequeath,

[Page]And wait with greedy Ears his dying Breath.

With such quick Duty Vassal Fiends below

To meet commands of their Dread Monarch go.

On Pillow rais'd, he do's their Entrance greet,

And joys to see the Wish'd Assembly meet:

They in glad Murmurs tell their Joy aloud,

Then a deep Silence stills th' expecting Croud,

Like Delphick Hag of old by Fiend possest,

He swells, wild Frenzy heaves his panting Brest,

His bristling Hairs stick up, his Eye-Balls glow,

And from his Mouth long flakes of Drivel flow:

Thrice with due Reverence he himself doth cross,

Then thus his Hellish Oracles disclose.

Ye firm Associates of my great Design,

Whom the same Vows, and Oaths, and Order joyn,

The faithful Band, whom I, and Rome have chose,

The last Support of our declining Cause:

Whose Conquering Troops I with Success have led

Gainst all Opposers of our Church, and Head;

Who e're to the mad German owe their Rise,

Geneva's Rebel, or the hot[?] brain'd Swiss;

[Page]Revolted Heret [...]cks, who late have broke,

And durst throw off the long-worn Sacred Yoke:

You, by whose happy Influence Rome can boast

A greater Empire, than by Luther lost:

By whom wide Nature's far-stretch't Limits now,

And utmost Indi [...]s to its Crosier Bow:

[...]o on, ye mighty Champions of our Cause,

Maintain our Party, and subdue our Foes:

Kill Heresy, that rank and poisonous Weed,

Which threatens now the Church to overspread:

Fire Calvin, and his Nest of Upstarts out,

Who tread our Sacred Mitre under Foot;

Stray'd Germany reduce; let it no more

Th' incestuous Monk of Wittenburge adore:

Make Stubborn England once more stoop its Crown,

And Fealty to our Priestly Soveraign own:

Regain our Church's Rights, the Island clear

From all remaining Dregs of Wickliff there.

Plot, enterprize, contrive, endeavour: spare

No toil nor Pains: no death nor Danger fear:

[Page]Restless your Aims pursue: let no defeat

Your sprightly Courage, and Attemps rebate,

But urge to fresh and bolder, ne're to end

Till the whole world to our great Califf bend:

Till he thro' every Nation every where

Bear Sway, and Reign as absolute as here:

Till Rome without Controul and Contest be

The Universal Ghostly Monarchy.

Oh! that kind Heaven a longer Thread would give,

And let me to that happy Juncture live:

But 'tis decreed!—at this he paus'd and wept,

The rest alike time with his Sorrow kept:

Then thus continued he—Since unjust Fate

Envies my race of Glory longer date;

Yet, as a wounded General, e're he dies,

To his sad Troops, sighs out his last Advice,

Who tho' they must his fatal Absence moan,

By those great Lessons conquer when he's gone;

So I to you my last Instructions give,

And breath out Counsel with my parting Life:

[Page]Let each to my important words give Ear,

Worth your Attention, and my dying Care.

First, and the chiefest thing by me enjoyn'd.

The Solemn'st tie, that must your Order bind,

Let each without demur, or scruple pay

A strict Obedience to the Roman Sway:

To the unerring Chair all Homage Swear,

Altho' a Punk, a Witch, a Fiend sit there:

Who e're is to the Sacred Mitre rear'd,

Believe all Vertues with the place conferr'd:

Think him establish'd there by Heaven, tho' he

Has Altars rob'd for Bribes the choice to buy,

Or pawn'd his Soul to Hell for Simony:

Tho' he be Atheist, Heathen, Turk, or Iew,

Blaspheamer, Sacriligious, Perjured too:

Tho' Pander, Bawd, Pimp, Pathick, Buggerer,

What e're Old Sodoms Nest of Lechers were:

Tho' Tyrant, Traitor, Pois'oner, Parricide,

Magician, Monster, all that's bad beside:

Fouler than Infamy; the very Lees,

The Sink, the Jakes, the Common-shore of Vice:

[Page]Strait count him Holy, Vertuous, Good, Devout,

Chast, Gentle, Meek, a Saint, a God, what not?

Make Fate hang on his Lips, nor Heaven have

Pow'r to Predestinate without his leave:

None be admitted there, but who he please,

Who buys from him the Patent for the Place.

Hold these amongst the highest rank of Saints,

Whom e're he to that Honour shall advance,

Tho' here the Refuse of the Jail and Stews,

Whom Hell it self would scarce for lumber chuse:

But count all Reprobate, and Damn'd, and worse,

Whom he, when Gout, or Tissick Rage, shall curse▪

Whom he in anger Excommunicates

For Fryday Meale and abrogating Sprats,

Or in just Indignation spurnes to Hell▪

For jeering holy Toe and Pantofle.

What e're he sayes esteem for Holy Writ,

And text Apocryphal if he think fit:

Let arrant Legends, worst of Tales and Lies,

Falser than Capgraves and Voragines,

[Page]Than Quixot, Rablais, Amadis de Gaul,

If signed with Sacred Lead, and Fisher's Seal,

Be thought Authentick and Canonical.

Again, if he ordain't in his Decrees,

Let very Gospel for meer Fable pass:

Let Right be Wrong, Black White, and Vertue Vice,

No Sun, no Moon, nor no Antipodes:

Forswear your Reason, Conscience, and your Creed,

Your very Sense, and Euclid, if he bid.

Let it be held less heinous, less amiss,

To break all Gods Commands, than one of his:

When his great Missions call, without delay,

Without reluctance readily Obey,

Nor let your Inmost Wishes dare gainsay:

Should he to Bantam, or Iapan command,

Or farthest Bounds of Southern unknown Land,

Farther than Avarice its Vassals drives,

Thro' Rocks and Dangers, loss of Blood and Lives;

Like great Xavier's be your Obedience shown,

Outstrip his Courage, Glory and Renown;

[Page]Whom neither yawning Gulphs of deep Despair,

Nor scorching Heats of Burning Lime could scare:

Whom Seas nor Storms, nor Wracks could make refrain

From propagating Holy Faith and Gain.

If he but nod Commissions out to kill,

But becken Lives of Hereticks to spill;

Let th' Inquisition rage, fresh Cruelties

Make the dire Engins groan with tortured Cries:

Let Campo Flori every Day be show'd,

With the warm Ashes [...] [...]e Lutheran Brood:

Repeat again Bohemian Slaughters ore,

And Piedmont Vall [...]s dro [...]n with floating Gore:

Swifter than Murthering Angels, when they fly

On Errands of avenging Destiny.

Fiercer than Storms let loose, with eager hast,

Lay Cities, Countries, Realms, whole Nature wast.

Sack, ravish, burn, d [...]st [...]oy, slay, massacre,

Till the same Grave their Lives and Names interr.

These are the Rights to our great Mufty due,

The sworn Allegience of your Sacred Vow:

[Page]What else we in our Votaries require,

What other Gifts next follows to enquire.

And first it will our great Advice befit,

What Souldiers to your Lists you ought admit,

To Natures of the Church and Faith, like you,

The foremost rank of Choice is justly due

'Mongst whom the chiefest place assign to those,

Whose Zeal has mostly Signaliz'd the Cause.

But let not Entrance be to them denied,

Who ever shall desert the adverse Side:

Omit no Promises of Wealth and Power,

That may inveigled Hereticks allure:

Those whom great learning, parts, or wit renowns

Cajole with Hopes of Honours, Scarlet Gowns,

Provincialships, and Palls, and Triple Crowns.

This must a Rector, that a Provest be,

A third succeed to the next Abbacy:

Some Princes Tutors, others Confessors

To Dukes, and Kings, and Queens, and Emperors:

These are strong Arguments, which seldom fail,

Which more than all your weak disputes prevail.

[Page]Exclude not those of less d [...]rt, decree

To all Revolters your Foundation free:

To all whom Gaming, Drunkenness, or Lust

To Need and Popery shall have reduc'd:

To all, whom slighted Love, Ambition crost,

Hopes often bilk't, and Sought Preferment lost,

Whom Pride, or Discontent, Revenge or Spite,

Fear, Frenzy, or Despair shall Proselite:

Those Powerful Motives, which the most bring in,

Most Converts to our Church and Order win.

Reject not those, whom Guilt and Crimes at home

Have made to us for Sanctuary come:

Let Sinners of each Hue, and Size, and Kind

Here quick admittance, and safe Refuge find:

Be they from Justice of their Country fled

With Blood of Murders, Rapes, and Treasons died:

No Varlet, Rogue, or Miscreant refuse,

From Gallies, Jails, or Hell it self Broke loose.

By this you shall in Strength and Members grow

And shoals each day to your thron'gd Cloysters flow:

[Page]So Rome's and Mecca's first great Founders did,

By such wise Methods may their Churches spread.

When shaven Crown, and hallowed Girdle's Power

Has dub'd him Saint, that Villain was before;

Enter'd, let it his first Endeavour be

To shake off all remains of Modesty,

Dull sneaking Modesty, not more unfit

For needy flattering Poets, when they writ,

Or trading Punks, than for a Iesuit:

If any Novice feel at first a blush,

Let Wine, and frequent converse with the Stews

Reform the Fop, and shame it out of Use,

Unteach the puling Folly by Degrees,

And train him to a well-bred Shamefulness.

Get that great Gift and Talent, Impudence,

Accomplish't Mankind's highest Excellence:

'Tis that alone prefers, alone makes great,

Confers alone Wealth, Titles, and Estate:

[Page]Gains Place at Court, can make a Fool a Peer,

An Ass a Bishop, can vilest Blockheads rear

To wear Red Hats, and sit in Porph'ry Chair.

'Tis Learning, Parts, and Skill, and Wit, and Sense,

Worth, Merit, Honour, Vertue, Innocence.

Next for Religion, learn what's fit to take,

How small a Dram does the just Compound make.

As much as is by Crafty States-men worn

For Fashion only, or to serve a turn:

To bigot Fools its idle Practice leave,

Think it enough the empty Form to have:

The outward Show is seemely, cheap and light,

The Substance Cumbersome, of Cost and Weight:

The Rabble judge by what appears to th' Eye,

None, or but few the Thoughts within Descry.

Mak't you an Engine to ambitious Pow'r

To stalk behind, and hit your Mark more sure:

A Cloak to cover well-hid Knavery,

Like it when us'd, to be with ease thrown by:

A shifting Card, by which your Course to steer,

And taught with every changing Wind to veer.

[Page]Let no nice, holy, Conscientious Ass

Amongst your better Company find place,

Me and your great Foundation to disgrace:

Let Truth be banish't, ragged Vertue fly,

And poor unprofitable Honesty;

Weak Idols, who their wretched Slaves betray;

To every Rook, and every Knave a Prey:

These lie remote and wide from Interest,

Farther than Heaven from Hell, or East from West,

Far as they e're were distant from this brest.

Think not your selves t' Austerities confin'd,

Or those strict Rules, which other Orders bind:

To Capuchins, Carthusians, Cordeliers

Leave Penance, meager abstinence, and Prayers:

In lousy rags let begging Friers ly,

Content on straw, or Boards to mortify:

Let them with Sackcloth discipline their Skins,

And scourge them for their madness and their Sins:

Let pining Anchorets in Grotto's starve,

Who from the Liberties of Nature swerve:

[Page]Who make't their chief Religion not to eat,

And plac't in nastiness and want of Meat:

Live you in Luxury and pamper'd Ease,

As if whole Nature were your Cateress.

Soft be your Beds, as those, which Monarch's Whores

Ly on, or Gouts of Bed-rid Emperours:

Your Wardrobes stor'd with choice of Suits, more Dear

Than Cardinals on High Processions wear:

With Dainties load your Board, whose every Dish,

May tempt cloy'd Gluttons, or Vitellius's Wish,

Each fit a longing Queen: let richest Wines

With Mirth your Heads Inflame with Lust you [...] Veins:

Such as the Friends of Dying Popes would give

For Cordials to prolong their gasping Life.

Ner'e let the Nazarene, whose Badge and Name

You wear, upbraid you with a Conscious Shame

[Page]Leave him his slighted Homilies and Rules,

To stuff the Squabbles of the wrangling Schooles:

Disdain that he and the poor angling Tribe,

Should Laws and Government to you prescribe:

Let none of those good Fools your Patterns make;

Instead of them, the mighty Iudas take.

Renown'd Iscariot, sit alone to be

Th' Example of our great Society:

VVhose daring Guilt despis'd the common Road,

And scorn'd to stoop at Sin beneath a God.

And now 'tis time I should Instructions give,

VVhat Wiles and Cheats the Rabble best deceive:

Each Age and Sex their Different Passions wear,

To suit with which requires a prudent Care:

Youth is Capricious, Headstrong, Fickle, Vain,

Given to Lawless Pleasure, Age to gain:

Old Wives in Superstition over-grown,

VVith Chimny Tales and Stories best are won:

'Tis no mean Talent rightly to descry,

VVhat several Baits to each you ought apply.

[Page]The Credulous, and easy of Belief,

VVith Miracles, and well fram'd Lies deceive.

Empty whole Surius, and the Talmud drain,

Saint Francis and Saint Mahomet's Alcoran:

Sooner shall Popes and Cardinals want Pride,

Than you a Stock of Lies and Legends need.

Tell how blest Virgin to come down was seen,

Like Play-House Punk descending in Machine:

How she writ Billets Doux, and Love-Discourse,

Made Assignations, Visits, and Amours:

How Hosts distrest, her Smock for Banner bore,

Which vanquish't Foes, and murdered at twelve Score.

Relate how Fish in Conventicles met,

And Mackril with Bait of Doctrine caught:

How Cattle have Iudicious Hearers been,

And Stones pathetically cryed Amen:

How consecrated Hive with Bells was hung,

And Bees kept Mass, and Holy Anthems Sung:

How Pigs to th' Rosary kneel'd, and sheep were taught

To bleat te Deum and Magnificat:

[Page]How Fly-Flap of Church-Censure, Houses rid

Of Insects, which at Curse of Fryer dy'd:

How travelling Saint, well mounted on a Switch,

Rid Iournies thro' the Air, like Lapland Witch:

And ferrying Cowls Religious Pilgrims bore

O're waves without the help of Sail or Oar.

Nor let Xaviers great Wonders pass conceal'd,

How Storms were by th' Almighty Wafer quell'd;

How zealous Crab the sacred Image bore,

And Swam a Cath'lick to the distant Shore.

With Shams like these, the giddy Rout misled,

Their Folly and their Superstition feed.

'Twas found a good and gainful Art of Old

(And much it did our Churches Power uphold)

To feign Hobgoblings, Elves and walking Sprites,

And Faires dancing Salenger a Nights:

White Sheets for Ghosts, and Will-a-wisps have past

For Souls in Purgatory unreleast.

And Crabs in Church-Yards crawl'd in Masquerade,

To cheat the Parish, and have Masses said.

[Page]By this our Ancestors in happier Dayes,

Did store of Credit and Advantage raise:

But now the Trade is fall'n, decay'd and Dead,

Ere since contagious Knowledge has or'e spread

With Scorn the grinning Rabble now hear tell

Of Hecla, Patricks hole, and Mongibel;

Believ'd no more than Tales of Troy, unless

In Countries drown'd in Ignorance like this.

Henceforth be wary how such things you feign,

Except it be beyond the Cape, or Line:

Execpt at Mexico, Brazile, Peru,

At the Molacco's, Goa, or Pegu,

Or any distant or remoter Place,

Where they may currant and unquestion'd pass:

VVhere never poching Hereticks resort,

To spring the Lye, and mak't their Game and Sport.

But I forget (what should be mention'd most)

Confession our chief Priviledge and Boast:

That Staple ware which ne're returns in vain,

Ne're balks the Trader of expected Gain▪

[Page]'Tis this that spies through Court-intrigues and brings

Admission to the Cabinets of Kings:

By this we keep proud Monarchs at our Becks,

And make our Foot-stools of their Thrones and Necks:

Give 'em Commands, and if they Disobey,

Betray 'm to th' Ambitious Heir a Prey:

Hound the Officious Curs on Hereticks,

The Vermin which the Church infest and vex:

And when our turn is served, and Business done,

Dispatch'em for Reward, as useless grown:

Nor are these half the Benefits and Gains,

VVhich by wise Manag'ry accrue from thence:

By this w' unlock the Misers hoarded Chests,

And Treasure, though kept close as States-mens Brests:

This does rich VVidows to our Nets decoy,

Lets us their Jointers, and themselves enjoy:

To us the Merchant does his Customes bring,

And payes our Duty tho he cheats his King:

To us Court-Ministers refund, made great

By Robbery and Bank-rupt of the State:

[Page]Ours is the Souldiers Plunder, Padders Prize,

Gabels on Letchery, and the Stews Excise:

By this our Colledges in Riches shine,

And vy with Becket's and Loretto's Shrine.

And here I must not grudge a word or two

(My younger Vot'ries) of Advice to you:

To you whom Beautie's Charms and generous Fire

Of boiling Youth to sports of Love inspire:

This is your Harvest, here secure and cheap

You may the Fruits of unbought Pleasure reap:

Riot in free and uncontroull'd Delight,

Where no dull Marriage clogs the Appetite.

Tast every dish of Lust's variety,

VVhich Popes, and Scarlet Lechers dearly buy,

VVith Bribes and Bishopricks, and Simony.

But this I ever to your care commend,

Be wary how you openly Offend:

Lest scoffing lewd Buffoons descry our shame,

And fix disgrace on the great Order's fame.

VVhen the ungarded Maid alone repairs

To ease the burthen of her Sins and cares;

[Page]When youth in each, and privacy conspire

To kindle wishes, and befriend desire;

If she has Practis'd in the Trade before,

(Few else of Proselytes to us brought o're)

Little of Force, or artifice will need

To make you in the victory succeed:

But if some untaught Innocence she be,

Rude, and unknown in the mystery;

She'l cost more labour to be made comply.

Make her by Pumping understand the sport,

And undermine with secret trains the Fort.

Somtimes, as if you'd blame her gaudy dress,

Her Naked Pride, her Jewels, Point, and Lace;

Find Opportunity her Breasts to Press:

Oft feel her Hand, and whisper in her ear,

You find the secret marks of lewdness there:

Somtimes with naughty sence her blushes raise,

And make 'em guilt, she never knew, confess:

" Thus (may you say) with such a leering smile,

" So Languishing a look you hearts beguile:

[Page]" Thus with your foot, hand, eye, you tokens speak,

" These Signs deny, these Assignations make:

" Thus 'tis you clip, with such a fierce embrace

" You clasp your Lover to your Brest and Face:

" Thus are your hungry lips with Kisses cloy'd,

" Thus is your Hand, and thus your Tongue employ'd.

Ply her with talk like this; and, if sh' encline,

To help devotion give her Aretine

Instead 'oth' Rosary: never despair,

She, that to such discourse will lend an Ear,

Tho' chaster than cold cloyster'd Nuns she were,

Will soon prove soft and pliant to your use,

As Strumpets on the Carnaval let loose.

Credit experience; I have tri'd 'em all,

And never found th' unerring methods fail:

Not Ovid, tho' 'twere his cheif Mastery,

Had greater Skill in these Intrigues, than I:

Nor Nero's learned Pimp, to whom we ow

What choice Records of Lust are extant now.

This heretofore, when youth, and sprightly Blood

Ran in my V [...]ins, I tasted and enjoy'd:

[Page]Ah those blest days!—(here the old Lecher smil'd,

With sweet remembrance of past pleasure fill'd)

But they are gone! Wishes alone remain,

And Dreams of joy ne're to be felt again:

To abler Youth I now the Practice leave,

To whom this counsel, and advice I give.

But the dear mention of my gayer days

Has made me farther, than I would, digress:

'Tis time we now should in due Place expound,

How guilt is after shrift to be atton'd:

Enjoyn no sow'r Repentance, Tears and Grief;

Eys weep no cash, and you no profit give:

Sins, tho' of the first rate, must punish'd be,

Not by their own, but th' Actor's Quality:

The Poor, whose purse cannot the Penance bear,

Let whipping serve, bear feet, and shirts of hair:

The richer Fools to Compostella send,

To Rome, Monserrat, or the Holy Land:

Let Pardons, and th' Indullgence-Office drain

Their Coffers, and enrich the Pope's with gain:

[Page]Make 'em build Churches, Monasteries found,

And dear bought Masses for their crimes compound.

Let Law and Gospel rigid precepts set,

And make the paths to Bliss rugged and strait:

Teach you a smooth and easier way to gain

Heavn's joys, yet sweet and useful sin retain:

With every frailty, every lust comply,

T' advance your Spiritual Realm and Monarchy:

Pull up weak Vertue's fence, give scope, and space

And Purlieus to out-lying Consciences:

Shew that the Needle's eye may stretch, and how

For largest Camel-vices to go thro'.

Teach how the Priests Pluralities may buy,

Yet fear no odious Sin of Simony,

While Thoughts and Ducats well directed be:

Let Whores adorn his exemplary life,

But no lewd heinous Wife a Scandal give.

Sooth up the Gaudy Atheist, who maintains

No Law, but Sense, and owns no God, but Chance.

Bid Thieves rob on, the Boistrous Ruffian tell,

He may for Hire, Revenge, or Honour kill:

[Page]Bid Strumpets preseverse, absolve 'em too,

And take their dues in kind for what you do:

Exhort the painful and Industrious Bawd

To Diligence and Labour in her Trade:

Nor think her innocent Vocation ill,

Whose income do's the sacred Treasure fill:

Let Griping Usurers Extortion use,

No Rapine, Falshood, Perjury refuse,

Stick at no Crime, which covetous Popes would scarce

Act to enrich themselves and Bastard-Heirs:

A small Bequest to th' Church can all attone,

Wipes off all scores, and Heav'n and all's their own.

Be these your Doctrins, these the Truths you preach,

But no forbiden Bible come in reach:

Your cheats and Artifices to Impeach.

Lest thence lay-Fools Pernicious knowledge gets

Throw off Obedience, and your Laws forget:

Mak'em belive't a spell more dreadfull far

Than Bacon, Haly or Albumazar.

Happy the time, when th' unpretending Crowd

No more, than I, its Language understood.

[Page]When the worm-eaten Book, link'd to a chain,

In dust lay moulding in the Vatican;

Despis'd, neglected, and forgot, to none,

But poring Rabbies, or the Sorbon known:

Then in full pow'r our Soveraign Prelate sway'd,

By Kings and all the Rabble-VVorld Obey'd:

Here humble Monarch at his feet kneel'd down,

And beg'd the Alms and Charity of a Crown:

There, when in Solemn State he pleas'd to ride,

Poor Scepter'd slaves ran Henchboys by his side:

None, tho' in thought, his Grandure durst Blasphem,

Nor in their very sleep a Treason Dream.

But since the broaching that mischeivous Piece,

Each Alderman a Father Lumbard is:

And every Cit dares impudently know

More than a Council, Pope and Conclave too.

Hence the late Damned Frier, and all the crew

Of former Crawling Sects their poision drew:

Hence all the Troubles, Plagues, Rebellions bre [...]d,

We've felt, or feel, or may hereafter dread:

[Page]Wherefore enjoyn, that no Lay-coxcomb dare

About him that unlawful Weapon wear;

But charge him chiefly not to touch at all

The dangerous Works of that old Lollard, Paul;

That arrant Wickliffist, from whom our Foes

Take all their Batt'ries to attack our Cause;

Would he in his first years had Martyr'd been,

Never Damascus nor the Vision seen;

Then he our Party was, stout, vigorous,

And fierce in chase of Hereticks like us:

Till he at length by th' Enemies seduc'd,

Forsook us, and the hostile side espous'd.

Had not the mighty Iulian mist his aims,

These holy Shreds had all consum'd in flames:

But since th' immortal Lumber still endures,

In spite of all his industry and ours;

Take care at least it may not come abroad,

To taint with catching Heresie the Crowd:

Let them be still kept low in sence, they'l pay

The more respect, more readily obey.

[Page]Pray that kind Heav'n would on their hearts dispense

A bounteous and abundant Ignorance,

That they may never swerve, nor turn awry

From sound and orthodox Stupidity.

But these are obvious things, easie to know,

Common to every Monk as well as you:

Greater Affairs and more important wait

To be discuss'd, and call for our debate:

Matters that depth require, and well befit

Th'Address and Conduct of a Iesuit.

How Kingdoms are embroil'd, what shakes a Throne,

How the first seeds of Discontent are sown

To spring up in Rebellion; how are set

The secret snares that circumvent a State:

How bubbled Monarchs are at first beguil'd,

Trepann'd and gull'd, at last depos'd and kill'd.

When some proud Prince, a Rebel to our Head,

For disbelieving Holy Churches Creed,

And Peter-pence is Heretick decree'd;

[Page]And by a solemn and unquestion'd Pow'r

To Death, and Hell, and You, deliver'd o're:

Chuse first some dext'rous Rogue well tried and known,

(Such by Confession your Familiars grown;)

Let him by Art and Nature fitted be

For any great and gallant Villany,

Practis'd in every Sin, each kind of Vice,

Which deepest Casuists in their searches miss,

Watchful as Jealousie, wary as Fear,

Fiercer than Lust, and bolder than Despair,

But close as plotting Fiends in Council are.

To him in firmest Oaths of Silence bound,

The worth and merit of the Deed propound:

Tell of whole Reams of Pardon new come o're,

Indies of Gold, and Blessings endless store:

Choice of Preferments, if he overcome,

And if he fail, undoubted Martyrdom:

And Bills for Sums in Heav'n, to be drawn

On Factors there, and at first sight paid down.

[Page]With Arts and Promises like these allure,

And make him to your great design secure.

And here to know the sundry ways to kill,

Is worth the Genius of a Machiavel:

Dull Northern Brains in these deep Arts unbred,

Know nought but to cut Throats or knock o'th' Head.

No slight of Murder of the subt'lest shape,

Your busie search and observation scape:

Legerdemain of Killing, that dives in,

And juggling steals away a Life unseen:

How gawdy Fate may be in Presents sent,

And creep insensibly by Touch or Scent:

How Ribbands, Gloves, or Saddle Pomel may

An unperceiv'd but certain Death convey;

Above the reach of Antidotes, above the pow'r

Of the fam'd Pontick Mountebank to cure.

What er'e is known to quaint Italian spite,

In studied Pois'ning skill'd and exquisite:

What e're great Borgia or his Sire could boast,

Which the Expence of half the Conclave cost.

[Page]Thus may the business be in secret done,

Nor Authors nor the Accessaries known,

And the slurr'd guilt with ease on others thrown.

But if ill Fortune should your Plot betray,

And you to mercy of your Foes a prey;

Let none his Crime by weak confession own,

Nor shame the Church, while he'd himself attone.

Let varnish'd Guile and feign'd Hypocrisies,

Pretended Holiness and useful Lies,

Your well-dissembled Villany disguise.

A thousand wily Turns and Doubles try,

To foil the Scent, and to divert the Cry:

Cog, shamm, outface, deny, equivocate,

Into a thousand shapes your selves translate:

Remember what the crafty Spartan taught,

" Children with Rattles, Men with Oaths are caught:

Forswear upon the Rack, and if you fall,

Let this great comfort make amends for all,

Those whom they damn for Rogues next Age shall see

Made Advocates i'th' Church's Litany.

[Page]Who ever with bold Tongue or Pen shall dare

Against your Arts and Practices declare;

What Fool shall e're presumptuously oppose,

Your holy Cheats and godly Frauds disclose;

Pronounce him Heretick, Firebrand of Hell,

Turk, Iew, Fiend, Miscreant, Pagan, Infidel;

A thousand blacker Names, worse Calumnies,

All Wit can think, and pregnant Spite devise:

Strike home, gash deep, no Lies nor Slanders spare;

A Wound though cur'd, yet leave behind a Scar.

Those whom your Wit and Reason can't decry,

Make scandalous with Loads of Infamy:

Make Luther Monster, by a Fiend begot,

Brought forth with Wings, and Tail, and Cloven Foot:

Make Whoredom, Incest, worst of vice and shame,

Pollute and foul his Manners, Life, and Name.

Tell how strange Storms usher'd his fatal end,

And Hells black Troops did for his Soul contend.

Much more I had to say, but now grow faint,

And strength and Spirits for the Subject want:

[Page]Be these great Mysteries I here unfold,

Amongst your Order's Institutes enroll'd:

Preserve them sacred, close, and unreveal'd;

As ancient Rome her Sybils Books conceal'd.

Let no bold Heretick with sawcy eye

Into the hidden unseen Archives pry;

Lest the malicious flouting Rascals turn

Our Church to Laughter, Raillery, and Scorn.

Let never Rack or Torture, Pain or Fear,

From your firm Brests th'important Secrets tear.

If any treacherous Brother of your own

Shall to the World divulge & make them known,

Let him by worst of Deaths his Guilt attone.

Should but his Thoughts or Dreams suspected be,

Let him for safety and prevention die,

And learn i'th' Grave the Art of Secresie.

But one thing more, and then with joy I go,

Nor ask a longer stay of Fate below:

[Page]Give me again once more your plighted Faith,

And let each seal it with his Dying Breath:

As the great Carthaginian heretofore

The bloudy reeking Altar touch'd, and swore

Eternal Enmity to th' Roman Pow'r:

Swear you (and let the Fates confirm the same)

An endless Hatred to the Lutheran Name:

Vow never to admit or League, or Peace,

Or Truce, or Commerce with the cursed Race:

Now through all Age, when Time or Place soe're

Shall give you pow'r, wage an immortal War:

Like Theban Feuds let yours your selves survive,

And in your very Dust and Ashes live.

Like mine, be your last Gasp their Curse—At this

They kneel, and all the Sacred Volum kiss;

Vowing to send each year an Hecatomb

Of Huguenots an Offering to his Tomb.

[Page]In vain he would continue—Abrupt Death

A Period puts, and stops his impious Breath:

In broken Accents he is scarce allow'd

To faulter out his Blessing on the Crowd.

Amen is echo'd by Infernal Howl,

And scrambling Spirits seize his parting Soul.

§

[Page]

[Page]

THE Fourth Satyr Upon the JESUITS.

SATYR IV. S. Ignatius his Image brought in, discovering the Rogueries of the Jesuits, and ridiculous Superstition of the Church of Rome.

[Page]

[Page]

ONce I was common Wood, a shapeless Log,

Thrown out a Pissing-post for every Dog:

The Workman yet in doubt what course to take,

Whether I'd best a Saint or Hog-trough make,

After debate resolv'd me for a Saint,

And thus fam'd Loyola I represent:

And well I may resemble him, for he

As stupid was, as much a Block as I.

My right Leg maim'd at halt I seem to stand,

To tell the Wounds at Pampelune sustain'd.

[Page]My Sword and Souldiers Armour here had been,

But they may in Monserrats Church be seen:

Those there to blessed Virgin I laid down

For Cassock, Surcingle, and shaven Crown,

The spiritual Garb in which I now am shown.

With due Accoutrements and fit disguise

I might for Centinel of Corn suffice:

As once the well-hung God of old stood guard,

And the invading Crows from Forrage scar'd.

Now on my Head the Birds their Reliques leave,

And Spiders in my mouth their Arras weave:

And persecuted Rats oft find in me

A Refuge and religious Sanctuary.

But you profaner Hereticks, who e're

The Inquisition and its vengeance fear,

I charge stand off, at peril come not near:

None at twelve score untruss, break wind, or piss;

He enters Fox his Lists that dares transgress:

[Page]For I'm by Holy Church in reverence had,

And all good Catholick Folk implore my aid.

These Pictures which you see my Story give,

The Acts and Monuments of me alive:

That Frame wherein with Pilgrims weeds I stand,

Contains my Travels to the Holy Land.

This me and my Decemvirate at Rome,

When I for Grant of my great Order come.

There with Devotion rapt I hang in Air,

With Dove (like Mahomets) whisp'ring in my ear.

Here Virgin in Galesh of Clouds descends,

To be my safeguard from assaulting Fiends.

Those Tables by, and Crutches of the lame,

My great Atchievments since my death proclaim:

Pox, Ague, Dropsie, Palsie, Stone, and Gout,

Legions of Maladies by me cast out,

More than the College know, or ever fill

Quacks Wiping Paper and the Weekly Bill.

[Page]What Peter's shadow did of old, the same

Is fancied done by my all pow'rful Name;

For which some wear't about their Necks and Arms,

To guard from Dangers, Sicknesses, and Harms;

And some on Wombs the barren to relieve,

A Miracle I better did alive.

Oft I by crafty Iesuit am taught

Wonders to do, and many a juggling Feat.

Sometimes with Chaffing Dish behind me put,

I sweat like Clapt Debauch in Hot House shut,

And drip like any Spitchcock'd Huguenot.

Sometimes by secret Springs I learn to stir,

As Paste-board Saints dance by miraculous Wire

Then I Tradescant's Rarities outdo,

Sands Waterworks and German Clockwork too,

Or any choice Device at Barthol'mew.

Sometimes I utter Oracles by Priest,

Instead of a Familiar possest.

[Page]The Church I vindicate, Luther confute,

And cause Amazement in the gaping Rout.

Such holy Cheats, such Hocus Tricks as these,

For Miracles amongst the Rabble pass.

By this in their Esteem I daily grow,

In Wealth enrich'd, increas'd in Vot'ries too.

This draws each year vast Numbers to my Tomb,

More than in Pilgrimage to Mecca come.

This brings each week new Presents to my Shrine,

And makes it those of Indian Gods outshine.

This gives a Chalice, that a Golden Cross,

Another massie Candlesticks bestows:

Some Altar Cloths of costly work and price,

Plush, Tissue, Ermin, Silks of noblest Dies,

The Birth and Passion in Embroideries:

Some Jewels, rich as those th' Aegyptian Punk

In Jellies to her Roman Stallion drunk.

[Page]Some offer gorgeous Robes, which serve to wear

When I on Holydays in state appear;

When I'm in pomp on high Processions shown,

Like Pageants of Lord Mayor or Skimmington.

Lucullus could not such a Wardrobe boast,

Less those of Popes at their Election cost;

Less those, which Sicily's Tyrant heretofore

From plunder'd Gods and Iove's own Shoulders tore.

Hither as to some Fair the Rabble come,

To barter for the Merchandize of Rome;

Where Priests like Mountebanks on Stage appear,

T'expose the Frippery of their hallow'd Ware:

This is the Lab'ratory of their Trade,

The Shop where all their staple Drugs are made;

Prescriptions and Receipts to bring in Gain,

All from the Church Dispensatories ta'en.

The Pope's Elixir, Holy Water's here,

Which they with Chymick Art distill'd prepare:

[Page]Choice above Goddards Drops, and all the Trash

Of modern Quacks; this is that Sovereign Wash

For fetching Spots and Morphew from the Face,

And scowring dirty Cloaths and Consciences.

One drop of this, if us'd, had pow'r to fray

The Legion from the Hogs of Gadara:

This would have silenc'd quite the Wiltshire Drum,

And made the prating Fiend of Mascon dumb.

That Vessel consecrated Oyl contains,

Kept sacred as the fam'd Ampoulle of France;

Which some profaner Hereticks would use

For liquoring Wheels of Jacks, and Boots, and Shooes:

This makes the Chrism, which mixt with Snot of Priests,

Anoints young Catholicks for the Church's lists;

And when they're crost, confest, and die; by this

Their lanching Souls slide off to endless Bliss:

As Lapland Saints when they on Broomsticks fly,

By help of Magick Unctions mount the Sky.

[Page]You Altar-Pix of Gold is the Adobe

And safe Repository of their God.

A Cross is fix'd upon't the Fiends to fright,

And Flies which would the Deity beshite;

And Mice, which oft might unprepar'd receive,

And to lewd Scoffers cause of scandal give.

Here are perform'd the Conjurings and Spells,

For Christning Saints, and Hawks and Carriers Bells;

For hallowing Shreds, and Grains, and Salt, and Bawms,

Shrines, Crosses, Medals, Shells, and Waxen Lambs:

Of wondrous virtue all (you must believe)

And from all sorts of Ill preservative;

From Plague, Infection, Thunder, Storm, and Hail,

Love, Grief, Want, Debt, Sin, and the Devil and all.

Here Beads are blest, and Pater nosters fram'd,

(By some the Tallies of Devotion nam'd)

Which of their Pray'rs and Oraisons keep tale,

Lest they and Heav'n should in the reck'ning fail.

[Page]Here Sacred Lights, the Altars graceful Pride,

Are by Priests breath perfum'd and sanctified;

Made some of Wax, of Hereticks Tallow some;

A Gift which Irish Emma sent to Rome:

For which great Merit worthily (we're told)

She's now amongst her Country Saints inroll'd.

Here holy Banners are reserv'd in store,

And Flags, such as the fam'd Armado bore:

And hallow'd Swords and Daggers kept for use

When resty Kings the Papal Yoke refuse:

And consecrated Ratsbane, to be laid

For Heretick Vermin which the Church invade.

But that which brings in most of Wealth and Gain,

Does best the Priests swoln Tripes and Purses strain;

Here they each week their constant Auctions hold

Of Reliques, which by Candles Inch are sold:

Saints by the dozen here are set to sale,

Like Mortals wrought in Gingerbread on Stall.

[Page]Hither are loads from emptied Charnels brought,

And Voiders of the Worms from Sextons bought,

Which serve for Retail through the World to vent,

Such as of late were to the Savoy sent:

Hair from the Skulls of dying Strumpets shorn,

And Felons Bones from rifled Gibbets torn;

Like those which some old Hag at midnight steals,

For Witchcrafts, Amulets, and Charms, and Spells,

Are past for sacred to the cheap'ning Rout;

And worn on Fingers, Breasts, and Ears about.

This boasts a Scrap of me, and that a Bit

Of good S. George, S. Patrick, or S. Kit.

These Locks S. Bridgets were, and those S. Clares;

Some for S. Catharines go, and some for hers

That wip'd her Saviours feet, wash'd with her tears.

Here you may see my wounded Leg, and here

Those which to China bore the great Xavier.

[Page]Here may you the grand Traitor's Halter see,

Some call't the Arms of the Society:

Here is his Lanthorn too, but Faux his not,

That was embezl'd by the Huguenot.

Here Garnet's Straws, and Beck [...]t's Bones and Hair,

For murd'ring whom some Tails are said to wear,

As learned Capgrave does record their sate,

And faithful British Histories relate.

Those are S. Laurence Coals expos'd to view,

Strangly preserv'd and kept alive till now.

That's the fam'd Wildefortis wondrous Beard,

For which her Maidenhead the Tyrant spar'd.

Yon is the Baptist's Coat, and one of's Heads,

The rest are shewn in many a place besides;

And of his Teeth as many Sets there are,

As on their Belts six Operators wear.

Here Blessed Maries Milk, not yet turn'd sour,

Renown'd (like Ass's) for its healing pow'r,

Ten Holland Kine scarce in a year give more.

[Page]Here is her Manteau, and a Smock of hers,

Fellow to that which once reliev'd Poictiers;

Besides her Husbands Utensils of Trade,

Wherewith some prove that Images were made.

Here is the Souldiers Spear, and Passion Nails,

Whose quantity would serve for building Pauls:

Chips some from Holy Cross, from Tyburn some,

Honour'd by many a Iesuits Martyrdom:

All held of special and miraculous Pow'r,

Not Tabor more approv'd for Agues cure:

Here Shooes, which once perhaps at Newgate hung,

Angled for Charity that past along,

Now for S. Peter's go, and th' Office bear

For Priests, they did for lesser Villains there.

These are the Fathers Implements and Tools,

Their gawdy Trangums for inveigling Fools:

These serve for Baits the simple to ensnare,

Like Children spirited with Toys at Fair.

[Page]Nor are they half the Artifices yet,

By which the Vulgar they delude and cheat:

Which should I undertake, much easier I

Much sooner might compute what Sins there be

Wip'd off and pardon'd at a Iubilee.

What Bribes enrich the Datary each year,

Or Vices treated on by Escobar:

How many Whores in Rome profess the Trade,

Or greater numbers by Confession made.

One undertakes by Scale of Miles to tell

The Bounds, Dimensions, and Extent of Hell;

How far and wide th'Infernal Monarch reigns,

How many German Leagues his Realm contains:

Who are his Ministers, pretends to know,

And all their several Offices below:

How many Chaudrons he each year expends

In Coals for roasting Huguenots and Fiends:

[Page]And with as much exactness states the case,

As if h'ad been Surveyor of the place.

Another frights the Rout with rusul Stories,

Of wild Chimaera's, Limbo's, Purgatories,

And bloated Souls in smoaky durance hung,

Like a Westphalia Gammon or Neats Tongue,

To be redeem'd with Masses and a Song.

A good round Summ must the Deliverance buy,

For none may there swear out on poverty.

Your rich and bounteous Shades are onely eas'd,

No Fleet or Kings Bench Ghosts are thence releas'd.

A third the wicked and debauch'd to please,

Crys up the vertue of Indulgences,

And all the rates of Vices does assess;

What price they in the holy Chamber bear,

And Customs for each Sin imported there:

How you at best advantages may buy

Patents for Sacrilege and Simony.

[Page]What Tax is in the Leach'ry-Office laid

On Panders, Bawds, and Whores, that ply the Trade:

What costs a Rape, or Incest, and how cheap

You may an Harlot or an Ingle keep;

How easie Murder may afforded be

For one, two, three, or a whole Family;

But not of Hereticks, there no Pardon lacks,

'Tis one o'th' Churches meritorious Acts.

For venial Trifles less and slighter Faults,

They ne're deserve the trouble of your thoughts.

Ten Ave Maries mumbled to the Cross

Clear scores of twice ten thousand such as those:

Some are at sound of christen'd Bell forgiven,

And some by squirt of Holy Water driven:

Others by Anthems plaid are charm'd away,

As men cure Bites of the Tarantula.

But nothing with the Crowd does more enhance

The value of these holy Charlatans,

[Page]Than when the Wonders of the Mass they view,

Where spiritual Jugglers their chief Mast'ry shew

Hey Iingo, Sirs! What's this? 'tis Bread you see;

Presto be gone! 'tis now a Deity.

Two grains of Dough, with Cross and stamp of Priest,

And five small words pronounc'd, make up their Christ.

To this they all fall down, this all adore,

And strait devour what they ador'd before:

Down goes the tiny Saviour at a bit,

To be digested, and at length beshit:

From Altar to Close Stool or Jakes preferr'd,

First Wafer, next a God, and then a—

'Tis this that does th'astonish'd Rout amuse,

And Reverence to shaven Crown infuse:

To see a silly, sinful, mortal Wight

His Maker make, create the Infinite.

None boggles at th'impossibility;

Alas, 'tis wondrous heavenly Mystery!

[Page]None dares the mighty God-maker blaspheme,

Nor his most open Crimes and Vices blame:

Saw he those hands that held his God before,

Strait grope himself, and by and by a Whore;

Should they his aged Father kill or worse,

His Sisters, Daughters, Wife, himself too force.

And here I might (if I but durst) reveal

What pranks are plaid in the Confessional:

How haunted Virgins have been dispossest,

And Devils were cast out to let in Priest:

What Fathers act with Novices alone,

And what to Punks in shriving Seats is done;

Who thither flock to Ghostly Confessor,

To clear old debts, and tick with Heav'n for more.

Oft have I seen these hallow'd Altars stain'd

With Rapes, those Pews with Buggeries profan'd:

Not great Cellier, nor any greater Bawd,

Of Note and long experience in the Trade,

Has more and fouler Scenes of Lust survey'd.

[Page]But I these dang'rous Truths forbear to tell,

For fear I should the Inquisition feel.

Should I tell all their countless Knaveries,

Their Cheats, and Shamms, and Forgeries, and Lies.

Their Cringings, Crossings, Censings, Sprinklings, Chrisms,

Their Conjurings, and Spells, and Exorcisms;

Their motly Habits, Manciples, and Stoles,

Albs, Ammits, Rochets, Chimers, Hoods, and Cowls.

Should I tell all their several Services,

Their Trentals, Masses, Dirges, Rosaries;

Their solemn Pomps, their Pageants, and Parades,

Their holy Masques, and spiritual Cavalcades,

With thousand Antick Tricks and Gambols more;

'Twould swell the summ to such a mighty score,

That I at length should more volum'nous grow,

Than Crabb, or Surius, lying Fox, or Stow.

Believe what e're I have related here,

As true as if 'twere spoke from Porph'ry Chair.

[Page]If I have feign'd in ought or broach'd a Lie,

Let worst of Fates attend me, let me be

Pist on by Porter, Groom, and Oyster-whore,

Or find my Grave in Jakes and Common-shore:

Or make next Bonfire for the Powder-plot,

The sport of every sneering Huguenot.

There like a Martyr'd Pope[?] in Flames expire,

And no kind Catholick dare quench the Fire.

§

§

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[Page]

A SATYR AGAINST VERTUE.

‘Aude aliquid brevibus Gyaris aut carcere dignum Si vis esse aliquis—’ Juven. Sat.

LONDON, Printed for Io. Hindmarsh, 1680.

TO THE READER.

[Page]

THIS had never seen the Light, but that the Publisher does propose Gain to himself by it; and Interest you know governs the World. It cannot, I am sure, do much hurt, for that there are but few will understand it; and for the more ingenious, I hope, they will make better use of it.

T. A.

A POEM: Supposed to be spoken by a Town-Hector.
PINDARIQUE, In imitation of Mr. Cowley.

[Page]

NOW Curses on ye all, ye vertuous Fools,

Who think to fetter free-born souls,

And tie 'um up to dull morality and rules.

The Stagyrite be damn'd, and all the Crew

Of Learned Idiots, who his steps pursue;

And those more silly Proselytes whom his fond precepts drew

Oh, had his Ethicks been with their wild Author drown'd,

Or a like Fate which these lost Writings found,

[Page]Which that grand Plagiary doom'd to fire,

And made by unjust Flames expire:

They ne're had then seduc'd Morality,

Ne're lasted to debauch the world with their lewd Pedantry.

But damn'd and more (if Hell can do't) be that their cursed name,

Who e're the Rudiments of Law design'd;

Who e're did the first model of Religion frame,

By nought before but their own power or will confin'd:

Now quite abridged of all their Primitive Liberty

And slaves to each capricious Monarchs Tyranny.

More happy Brutes who the great Rule of Sense observe,

And ne're from their first Charter swerve.

Happy whose lives are meerly to enjoy,

And feel no sting of sin which may their bliss annoy.

Still unconcern'd at Epithets of ill or good,

Distinctions, unadulterate Nature never understood.

[Page]

2.

Hence hated Vertue from our godly Isle,

No more our joys beguile,

No more with thy loath'd presence plague our happy state,

Thou enemy to all that's brisk, or gay, or brave, or great.

Be gone with all thy pious meagre Train,

To some unfruitful unfrequented Land,

And there an Empire gain,

And there extend thy rigorous command:

There where illiberal Natures nigardise

Has set a Tax on Vice.

Where the lean barren Region does enhance

The worth of dear intemperance.

And for each pleasurable sin exacts excise,

We (thanks to Heaven) more cheaply can offend,

And want no tempting Luxuries,

No good convenient sinning opportunities,

Which natures bounty could bestow, or Heavens kindness lend.

[Page]Go follow that nice Goddess to the Skies,

Who here too sore disgusting at increasing Vice,

Dislik'd the world, and thought it too prophane,

And timely hence retired, and kindly ne're return'd again.

Hence to those airy Mansions rove,

Converse with Saints and holy folks above;

Those may thy presence woo,

Whose lazy case assords them nothing else to do:

Where haughty scornful I,

And my great Friends will ne're vouchsafe thee company.

Thou'st now a hard unpracticable good,

Too difficult for flesh and blood:

Were I all soul, like them, perhaps, I'de learn to practise thee.

3.

Vertue, thou solemn grave impertinence,

Abhorr'd by all the men of wit and sense.

[Page]Thou damn'd fatigue, that clogst lifes journey here,

Though thou no weight of wealth or profit bear;

Thou puling fond Green-sickness of the mind,

That makest us prove to our own selves unkind,

Whereby, we Coals and Dirt for diet chuse,

And, Pleasure, better food, refuse.

Curst ill, that lead'st deluded Mortals on,

Till they too late do find themselves undone,

Chous'd by a Dowry in reversion.

The greatest Votary thou e're could'st boast,

Pity so brave a Soul, was on thy service lost;

What wonders he in wickedness had done,

Whom thy weak power could so inspire alone!

There long with fond amours he courted thee,

Yet dying, did recant his vain Idolatry.

At length, though late, he did repent with shame,

Forc'd to confess thee nothing but an empty name.

[Page]So was that Leacher gull'd whose haughty love,

Design'd a Rape on the Queen Regent of the Gods above.

When he a Goddess thought he had in chase,

He found a gaudy vapour in the place,

And with thin Air beguil'd his starv'd embrace.

Idely he spent his vigour, spent his blood,

And tyr'd himself to oblige an unperforming Cloud.

4.

If Human bind to thee, 'ere worship paid,

They were by ignorance misled,

That only them devout, and thee a Goddess made.

None hap'ly in the Worlds rude untaught infancy,

Before it had out-grown its childish innocence.

Before it had arriv'd at sense,

Or watch'd the manhood and discretion of Debauchery;

None[?] in those antient godly duller times,

When crafty Pagans had ingross'd all crimes▪

[Page]When Christian fools were obstinately good,

Nor yet their Gospel freedom understood.

Tame easie Fops who could so prodigally breed,

To be thought Saints, and dye a Calender with red:

No prudent Heathen e're seduc'd could be,

To suffer Martyrdom for thee.

Only that errant Ass whom the false Oracle called wise;

No wonder if the Devil uttered lies.

That snivelig Puritan who in spight of all the mode,

Would be unfashionably good,

And exercis'd his whining gifts to rail at Vice;

Him all the Wits of Athens damn'd.

And justly with Lampoons defam'd.

But when the mad Phanatick could not silencd be,

From broaching dangerous Divinity;

The wise Republick made him for prevention die,

And sent him to the Gods and better company.

[Page]

5.

Let fumbling Age be grave and wise,

And Vertues poor contemn'd Idea prize,

Who never knew, or now are past the sweets of Vice,

While we whose active pulses beat

With lusty youth and vigorous heat,

Can all their Bards—and Morals too despise,

While my plump veins are fill'd with lust and blood.

Let not one thought of her intrude,

Or dare approach my breast,

But know its all possest

By a more welcome guest.

And know I have not yet the leisure to be good.

If ever unkind destiny,

Shall force long life of me;

If 'ere I must the curse of dotage bear,

Perhaps I'll dedicate those dregs of Time to her,

And come with crutches her most humble votary.

[Page]When sprightly Vice retreats from hence,

And quits the ruine of decayed sense,

She'l serve to usher in a fair pretence,

And banish with the name, a well dissembled impotence.

When Ptisick, Rheums, Catars, and Palsies seize,

And all the Bills of Maladies,

Which Heaven to punish over-living Mortals sends;

Then let her enter with the numerous infirmities,

Her self the greatest plague, which wrinkles and gray hairs attends.

6.

Tell me, ye Venerable Sots, who court her most,

What small advantage can she boast,

Which her great Rival hath not in a greater score ingrost.

Her quiet calm and peace of mind,

In Wine and Company we better find.

Find it with pleasure to combine.

[Page]In mighty Wine, where we our senses steep,

And Lull our Cares and Consciences asleep,

But why do I that wild Chimaera name?

Conscience! that giddy airy Dream,

Which does from brain-sick heads and ill-digesting stomachs steam.

Conscience! the vain phantastick fear

Of punishments, we know not when nor where:

Projects of crafty Statesmen to support weak Law,

Whereby they slavish Spirits awe,

And dastard Souls to forc'd obedience draw.

Grand wheedle which our Gown'd Impostors use,

The poor unthinking Rabble to abuse.

Scarecrow to fright's from the forbidden fruit of vice,

Their own beloved Paradise:

Let those vile Canters wickedness decry,

[Page]Whose Mercenary tongues take pay

For what they say;

And yet commend in practice what their words deny,

While we discerning Heads, who furthest pry

Their holy Cheats, deny

And scorn their frauds,

And scorn their sanctified Cajoulery.

7.

None but dull Souls discredit vice,

Who act their wickedness with an ill grace;

Such their profession scandalize,

And justly forfeit all that praise:

All that esteem that credit and applause,

Which we by our wise manage from a sin can raise.

A true and brave transgressor ought

To sin with the same spirit Caesar fought:

Mean Souls! offenders now no honours gain,

Only debaucher of the noble strain.

Vice well improved yields bliss and fame beside,

And some for sinning have been deifi'd:

[Page]Thus the lewd Gods of old did move,

By those brave methods, to their seats above.

E're Iove himself the Sovereign Deity,

Father and King of the immortal Progeny,

Ascended to that high Degree;

By crimes beyond the reach of weak Mortality,

He Heaven one large Seraglio made,

Each Goddess turn'd a glorious Punk o'th▪ trade;

And all that Sacred place

Was filled with Bastard Gods of his own race:

Almighty Lechery got his first repute,

And everlasting whoring was his chiefest Attribute.

8.

How gallant was that wretch whose happy guilt,

A Fame upon the Ruines of a Temple built!

Let fools, said he, now quietly alledge,

And urge the no great fault of Sacriledge:

I'le set the Sacred Pile on flame,

And in its Ashes write my lasting Name,

[Page]My name which thence shall be

Deathless as its own Deity.

Thus the vain-glorious Caron I'le out-do,

And Egypts proudest Monarch too;

Those lavish Prodigals who idly did consume

Their Lives and Treasures to erect a Tomb,

And only great, by being buried, would become,

At cheaper rates than they I'le buy Renown.

So spake the daring Hector, so did Prophesie,

And so it prov'd, in vain did envious Fate

By fruitless methods try

To raze his well-built Fame and Memory

Amongst Posterity:

The Boutefeu can now Immortal write,

While the inglorious Founder is forgotten quite.

9.

Yet greater was that mighty Emperor;

A greater crime befitted his high Power,

[Page]Who sacrific'd a City to a Jest,

And shew'd he knew the grand intrigues of humor best.

He made all Rome a Bonefire for loud Fame,

And Sung, and play'd and danc'd amidst the Flame;

Bravely begun! yet pity there he stay'd,

One step, to Glory, more he should have made:

He should have heaved the noble frolick higher,

And made the People on that Funeral expire,

Or, providently, with their blood put out the Fire.

Had this been done,

The utmost of glory he had run;

No greater Monument could be

To consecrate him to eternity,

Nor should there need another Herald of his praise but me.

10.

And thou yet greater Faux, the glory of our Isle,

Whom baffled Hell esteems its chiefest Foyl;

[Page]'Twere injury should I omit thy name,

Whose actions merit all the breath of Fame.

Methinks, I see the trembling shades below,

All round, in humble reverence bow;

Doubtful they seem, whether, to pay their Loyalty

To their dread Monarch, or to thee:

No wonder he grew jealous of thy fear'd success,

Envy'd Mankind the honour of thy wickedness,

And spoil'd that brave attempt which should have made his grandeur less.

How e're regret not, mighty Ghost,

Thy Plot by treacherous fortune crost,

Nor think thy well deserved glory lost.

Thou the full praise of Villany shalt ever share,

And all will judg thou art compleat enough, when thou could'st dare,

So thy great Master fared, whose high disdain,

Contemn'd that Heaven, where he could not Reign,

When he with bold ambition strove,

T' usurp the Throne above,

And led against the Deity an armed Train,

[Page]Though from his vast designs he fell,

O're-power'd by his Almighty Foe,

Yet gained he Victory in his overthrow.

He gained sufficient Triumph that he durst Rebel,

And 'twas some pleasure to be thought the greatest one in Hell.

11.

Tell me, you great Triumvirate, what shall I do

To be illustrious as you?

Let your example move me with a generous fire,

Let them into my daring thoughts inspire

Somewhat compleatly wicked, some vast Gyant-crime,

Unthought, unknown, unpattern'd by all past and present time.

'Tis done, 'tis done, I think I feel the powerful charms,

And a new heat of sin my spirit warms;

I travel with a glorious mischief, for whose birth,

My Soul's too narrow, and weak fate too feeble to bring forth.

[Page]Let the unpitied vulgar tamely go

And stalk for company, the wide Plantation below:

Such their vile Souls for viler Barter sell,

Scarce worth the damning, or their room in Hell.

We are his Grandees, and expect as high preferments there,

For our good Service, as on earth we share.

In them, sin is but a meer privative of good,

The frailty and defect of flesh and blood:

In us 'tis a perfection, who profess

A studied and elaborate wickedness.

We are the great Royal Society of Vice,

Whose Talents are to make discoveries,

And advance Sin like other Arts and Sciences.

It's I the bold Columbus, only I,

Who must new Worlds in Vice descry,

And fix the pillars of unpassable iniquity.

12.

How sneaking was the first debauch we find,

Who for so small a sin sold humane kind.

[Page]How undeserving that high place,

To be thought Parent of our sin and race,

Who by low guilt our nature doubly did debase:

Unworthy was he to be thought

Father of th' fi [...]st-born Cain, which got

The noble Cain, whose bold and gallant act

Proclaim'd him of more high extract.

Unworthy me,

And all the braver part of his Posterity.

Had the just Fates design'd me in his stead,

I had done some great and unexampled deed;

A deed which should decry

The Stoicks dull Equality,

And shew that sin admits transcendency:

A deed wherein the Tempter should not share

Above what Heaven could punish, and above what he could dare

For greater c [...]imes than this I would have fell,

And acted somewhat which might merit more than Hell.

An Apology for the preceding Poem, by way of Epilogue, to be annexed.

[Page]

MY part is done, and you'l, I hope, excuse

Th' extravagance of a repenting Muse,

Pardon what e're she hath too boldly said,

She only acted here in Masquerade.

For the slight Arguments she did produce,

Were not to flatter Vice, but to traduce.

So we Buffoons in Princely dress expose,

Not to be gay, but more ridiculous.

When she an Hector for her Subject had,

She thought she must be Termagant and mad.

That made our Spark like a lewd punk o'th' Town,

Who by converse with Bullies wicked grown,

Has learn'd the Mode to cry all Vertue down.

But now the Vizards off, she changes Scene,

And turns a modest civil Girl agen.

[Page]Our Poet has a different tast of Wit,

Nor will to th' Common Vogue himself submit.

Let some admire the Fops whose Talents lie

In venting dull insipid Blasphemy,

He swears, he cannot with those terms dispense,

Nor will be damn'd for the repute of sense.

Wits name was never to profaneness due,

For then you see he could be witty too:

He could Lampoon the State, and Libel Kings,

But that he's Loyal, and knows better things,

Than Fame, whose guilty Birth from Treason springs.

He likes not Wit which can't a Licence claim,

To which the Author dares not set his Name.

Wit should be open, court each Readers eye,

Not lurk in sly unprinted privacy.

But Criminal Writers, like dull Birds of Night,

For weakness, or for shame avoid the light;

May such a Jury for the Audience have,

And from the Bench, not Pit, their doom receive.

[Page]May they the Tower for their due merits share,

And a just wreath of Hemp, not Laurel, wear:

He could be Bawdy too, and nick the times,

In what they dearly love: Damn'd placket Rhimes,

Such as our Nobles write—

Whose nauseous Poetry can reach no higher

Than what the Codpiece, or its God inspire.

So lewd they spend at quill you'd justly think,

They wrote with something nastier than Ink.

But he still that little Wit, or none,

Which a just modesty must never own,

And a meer Reader with a Blush at one.

If Ribauldry deserved the praise of Wit,

He must resign to each illiterate Citt,

And Prentices and Car-men challenge it.

Even they too can be smart and witty there;

For all men on that Subject Poets are.

Henceforth he vows, if ever more he find

Himself to th' busie itch of Verse inclin'd,

[Page]If e're he's given up so far to write,

He never means to make his end delight:

Should he do so, he must despair success,

For he's not now debaucht enough to please,

And must be damn'd for want of wickedness.

He'l therefore use his Wit another way,

And next the ugliness of Vice display.

Though against Vertue once he drew his Pen,

He'l ne're for ought, but her defence agen.

Had he the Genius and Poetick rage,

Great as the Vices of this guilty Age.

Were he all Gall, and arm'd with store of spight,

'Twere worth his pains to undertake to write;

To noble Satyr he'd direct his aim,

And bite Mankind, and Poetry reclaim,

And shoot his Quill just like a Porcupine

At Vice, and make it stab in every Vein,

The world should learn to blush,

[Page]And dread the Vengeance of his—Wit,

Which more than their own Consciences should fright,

And should think him for Heavens just Plague design'd

To visit for the sins of lewd Mankind.

§

THE PASSION OF BYBLIS IN Ovid's Metamorphosis Imitated in English.

[Page]

[Page]

LONDON, Printed for Io. Hindmarsh, 1681.

THE Passion of Byblis OUT OF Ovid's Metamorphosis, B. 9. F. 11. ‘Beginning at Byblis in exemplo est, ut ament concessa puellae.’ And ending with ‘—Modumque Exit, & infelix committit saepe repelli.’

[Page]

[Page]

YOU heedless Maids, whose young and tender hearts

Unwounded yet, have scap'd the fatal darts;

Let the sad tale of wretched Byblis move,

And learn by her to shun forbidden Love.

[Page]Not all the plenty, all the bright resort

Of gallant Youth, that grac'd the Carian Court,

Could charm the haughty Nymphs disdainful heart,

Or from a Brother's guilty Love divert;

Caunus she lov'd, not as a Sister ought,

But Honour, Shame and Blood alike forgot:

Caunus alone takes up her Thoughts and Eyes,

For him alone she wishes, grieves and sighs.

At first her new-born Passion owns no name,

A glim'ring Spark scarce kindling into flame;

She thinks it no offence, if from his Lip

She snatcht an harmless bliss, if her fond clip

With loose embraces oft his Neck surround,

And Love is yet in debts of Nature drown'd.

But Love at length grows naughty by degrees,

And now she likes, and strives her self to please:

Well-drest she comes and arms her Eyes with darts,

Her Smiles with charms and all the studied arts,

Which practis'd Love can teach to vanquish hearts.

[Page]Industrious now she labours to be fair,

And envies all whoever fairer are.

Yet knows she not, she loves, but still does grow,

Insensibly that thing she does not know:

Strict honour yet her check'd desires does bind,

And modest thoughts on this side wish confin'd:

Only within she sooths her pleasing flames,

And now the hated terms of Blood disclaims:

Brother sounds harsh; she the unpleasing word

Strives to forget and oftner calls him Lord:

And when the name of Sister grates her ear,

Could wish't unsaid, and rather Byblis hear:

Nor dare she yet with waking Thoughts admit

A wanton hope: but when returning night

With Sleep's soft gentle spell her Senses charms,

Kind Fancy often brings him to her Arms:

In them she oft does the Lov'd Shadow seem

To grasp, and joys, yet blushes too in Dream.

She wakes, and long in wonder silent lies,

And thinks on her late pleasing Extasies:

[Page]Now likes and now abhors her guilty flame,

By turns abandon'd to her Love and Shame:

At length her struggling thoughts an utt'rance sind,

And vent the wild disorders of her mind.

" Ah me! (she cries) kind Heaven avert! what means

" This boading form, that nightly rides my dreams?

" Grant 'em untrue! why should lewd hope divine?

" Ah! why was this too charming Vision seen?

" 'Tis true, by the most envious wretch that sees,

" He's own'd all fair and lovely, own'd a prize

" Worthy the conquest of the brightest eyes:

" A prize that wou'd my high'st ambition fill,

" All I could wish;—but he's my Brother still!

" That cruel word for ever must disjoyn,

" Nor can I hope, but thus, to have him mine.

" Since then I waking never must possess,

" Let me in sleep at least enjoy the bliss,

" And sure nice Vertue can't forbid me this:

[Page]" Kind sleep does no malicious spies admit,

" Yet yields a lively semblance of delight:

" Gods! what a scene of joy was that! how fast

" I clasp'd the Vision to my panting breast!

" With what fierce bounds I sprung to meet my bliss,

" While my wrapt soul flew out in every kiss!

" Till breathless, faint and softly sunk away,

" I all dissolv'd in reeking pleasures lay!

" How sweet is the remembrance yet! though night

" Too hasty fled, drove on by envious light.

" O that we might the Laws of Nature break!

" How well could Caunus me an Husband make!

" How well to Wife might he his Byblis take!

" Wou'd God! in all things we had partners bin

" Besides our Parents and our fatal Kin:

" Wou'd thou wert nobler, I more meanly born,

" Then guiltless I despair'd and suffer'd scorn:

" Happy that Maid unknown, whoe're shall prove

" So blest, so envied, to deserve thy love.

[Page]" Unhappy me! whom the same womb did joyn,

" Which now forbids me ever to be thine:

" Curst fate! that we alone in that agree,

" By which we ever must divided be.

" And must we be? what meant my Visions then?

" Are they and all their dear presages vain?

" Have dreams no credit but with easie love?

" Or do they hit sometimes and faithful prove?

" The Gods forbid! yet those whom I invoke,

" Have lov'd like me, have their own Sisters took:

" Great Saturn and his greater Off-spring Iove,

" Both stock'd their Heaven with incestuous love:

" Gods have their priviledge; why do I strive

" To strain my hopes to their Prerogative?

" No, let me banish this forbidden fire,

" Or quench it with my blood, and with't expire:

" Unstain'd in honour, and unhurt in fame,

" Let the same Grave bury my Love and Shame:

" But when at my last hour I gasping lie,

" Let only my kind Murderer be by:

[Page]" Let him, while I breath out my soul in sighs,

" Or gaze't away, look on with pittying eyes:

" Let him (for sure he can't deny me this)

" Seal my cold Lips with one dear parting Kiss.

" Besides, 'twere vain should I alone agree

" To what another's will must ratifie:

" Cou'd I be so abandon'd to consent,

" What I have pass'd for good and innocent,

" He may perhaps as worst of Crimes resent.

" Yet we amongst our race examples sind

" Of Brothers, who have been to Sisters kind:

" Fam'd Canace cou'd thus successful prove,

" Cou'd crown her wishes in a Brother's love.

" But whence cou'd I these instances produce?

" How 'came I witty to my ruine thus?

" Whither will this mad frenzy hurry on?

" Hence, hence, you naughty flames, far hence be gone,

" Nor let me e're the shameful Passion own.

[Page]" And yet shou'd he address I shou'd forgive,

" I fear, I fear, I shou'd his suit receive:

" Shall therefore I, who cou'd not love disown

" Offer'd by him, not mine to him make known?

" And canst thou speak? can thy bold tongue declare?

" Yes, Love shall force:—and now methinks I dare.

" But lest fond modesty at length refuse,

" I will some sure and better method chuse:

" A Letter shall my secret flames disclose,

" And hide my Blushes, but reveal their cause.

This takes, and 'tis resolv'd as soon as said,

With this she rais'd her self upon her bed,

And propping with her hand her leaning head:

" Happen what will (says she) I'le make him know

" What pains, what raging pains I undergo:

Ah me! I rave! what tempests shake my breast?

" And where? O where will this distraction rest?

Trembling, her Thoughts endite, and oft her Eye

Looks back for fear of conscious spies too nigh:

[Page]One hand her Paper, t'other holds her Pen,

And Tears supply what Ink her Lines must drain.

Now she begins, now stops, and stopping frames

New doubts, now writes, and now her Writing damns.

She writes, defaces, alters, likes and blames:

Oft throws in haste her Pen and Paper by,

Then takes 'em up again as hastily:

Unsteady her resolves, fickle and vain,

No sooner made, but strait unmade again:

What her desires wou'd have she does not know,

Displeas'd with all what e're she goes to do:

At once contending, shame and hope and fear

Wrack her tost mind, and in her looks appear.

Sister was wrote; but soon mis-giving doubt

Recals it, and the guilty word blots out:

Again she pauses, and again begins,

At length her Pen drops out these hasty Lines.

[Page]" Kind health, which you and only you can grant,

" Which, if deny'd, she must for ever want;

" To you your Lover sends: ah! blushing shame

" In silence bids her Paper hide her name:

" Wou'd God! the fatal message might be done

" Without annexing it, nor Byblis known,

" E're blest success her hopes and wishes crown.

" And had I now my smother'd grief conceal'd,

" It might by tokens past have been reveal'd:

" A thousand proofs were ready to impart

" The inward anguish of my wounded heart:

" Oft, as your sight a sudden blush did raise,

" My blood came up to meet you at my face:

" Oft (if you call to mind) my longing Eyes

" Betray'd in looks my souls too thin disguise:

" Think how their Tears, think how my heaving Br [...]ast

" Oft in deep sighs some cause unknown confest:

" Think how these Arms did oft with fierce embrace,

[Page]" Eager as my desires, about you press:

" These Lips too (when they cou'd so happy prove,

" Had you but mark'd) with close warm kisses strove

" To whisper something more than Sisters love:

" And yet, though rankling grief my mind distrest,

" Though raging flames within burnt up my breast,

" "Long time I did the mighty pain endure,

" Long strove to bring the fierce disease to cure:

" Witness the cruel Pow'rs, who did inspire

" This strange, this fatal, this resistless fire,

" Witness what pains (for you alone can know)

" This helpless wretch to quench't did undergo:

" A thousand Racks, and Martyrdoms, and more

" Than a weak Virgin can be thought, I bore:

" O'rematch'd in pow'r at last I'm forc'd to yield,

" And to the conqu'ring God resign the field:

" To you, dear cause of all, I make address,

" From you with humble pray'rs I beg redress:

[Page]" You rule alone my arbitrary fate,

" And life and death on your disposal wait:

" Ordain, as you think fit; deny, or grant,

" Yet know no stranger is your suppliant.

" But she, who, though to you by Blood allied

" In nearest bonds, in nearer wou'd be tied.

" Let doating age debate of Law and Right,

" And gravely state the bounds of just and fit;

" Whose wisdom's but their envy, to destroy

" And bar those pleasures which they can't enjoy:

" Our blooming years, more sprightly and more gay,

" By Nature were design'd for love and play:

" Youth knows no check, but leaps weak Vertues fence,

" And briskly hunts the noble chase of sence:

" Without dull thinking we enjoyment trace,

" And call that lawful, whatsoe're does please.

" Nor will our guilt want instances alone,

" 'Tis what the glorious Gods above have done:

[Page]" Let's follow where those great examples went,

" Nor think that Sin, where Heaven's a precedent.

" Let neither aw of Father's frowns, nor shame

" For ought that can be told by babbling fame,

" Nor any gastlier fantom, fear can frame,

" Frighten or stop us in our way to bliss,

" But boldly let us rush on happiness:

" Where glorious hazzards shall enhance delight,

" And that, that makes it dangerous make it great.

" Relation too, which does our fault increase,

" Will serve that fault the better to disguise;

" That lets us now in private often meet

" Bless'd opportunities for stoln delight:

" In publick often we embrace and kiss,

" And fear no jealous, no suspecting eyes.

" How little more remains for me to crave!

" How little more for you to give! O save

" A wretched Maid undone by love and you,

" Who does in tears and dying accents sue;

[Page]" Who bleeds that Passion she had ne're reveal'd,

" If not by love, almighty love compel'd:

" Nor ever let her mournful Tomb complain,

" Here Byblis lies, kill'd by your cold disdain.

Here forc'd to end, for want of room, not will

To add, her lines the crowded Margin fill,

Nor space allow for more: she trembling, folds

The Paper, which her shameful message holds;

And sealing, as she wept with boading fear,

She wet her Signet with a falling Tear.

This done, at trusty Messenger she call'd,

And in kind words the whisper'd Errand told:

" Go, carry this with faithful care, she said,

" To my dear,—there she paus'd a while, and staid,

And by and by—Brother—was heard to add:

As she deliver'd it with her commands,

The Letter fell from out her trembling hands,

Dismay'd with the ill Omen, she anew

Doubted success, and held, yet bad him go.

[Page]He goes, and after quick admission got

To Caunus hands the fatal secret brought:

Soon as the doubtful Youth a glance had cast

On the first lines, and guest by them the rest,

Strait horror and amazement fill'd his breast:

Impatient with his rage he could not stay

To see the end, but threw't half read away.

Scarce could his hands the trembling wretch forbear,

Nor did his tongue these angry threatnings spare:

" Fly hence, nor longer my chaf'd fury trust,

" Thou cursed Pander of detested lust;

" Fly quickly hence, and to thy swiftness owe

" Thy life, a forfeit to my vengeance due:

" Which, had not danger of my Honour crost,

" Thou'dst paid by this, and been sent back a ghost.

He the rough orders strait obeys, and bears

The killing news to wretched Byblis [...]rs;

Like striking thunder the [...]gs stun,

And to her heart quicker [...]t'ning run:

[Page]The frighted blood forsakes her gastly face,

And a short death does every member seize:

But soon as sense returns, her frenzy too

Returns, and in these words breaks forth anew.

" And justly serv'd;—for why did foolish I

" Consent to make this rash discovery?

" Why did I thus in hasty lines reveal

" That dang'rous secret, Honour wou'd conceal?

" I shou'd have first with art disguis'd the hook,

" And seen how well the gawdy bait had took,

" And found him hung at lest, before I strook:

" From shore I shou'd have first descri'd the wind,

" Whether 'twould prove to my adventure kind,

" E're I to untry'd Seas my self resign'd:

" Now dash'd on Rocks unable to retire,

" I must i'th' wreck of all my hopes expire,

" And was not I by tokens plain enough

" Forewarn'd to quit my unauspicious Love?

" Did not the Fates my ill success foretel,

" When from my hands th' unhappy Letter fell?

[Page]" So should my hopes have done, and my design,

" That, or the day should then have alter'd bin;

" But rather the unlucky day; when Heaven

" Such ominous proofs of its dislike had given:

" And so it had, had not mad Passion sway'd,

" And Reason been by blinder Love misled.

" Besides (alas!) I shou'd my self have gone,

" Nor made my Pen a proxy to my Tongue;

" Much more I could have spoke, much more have told,

" Than a short Letters narrow room would hold:

" He might have seen my Looks, my wishing Eyes,

" My melting Tears, and heard my begging Sighs;

" About his Neck I could have flung my Arms,

" And been all over Love, all over Charms;

" Grasp'd and hung on his Knees, and there have dyed,

" There breath'd my gasping Soul out if denied:

" This and ten thousand things I might have done

" To make my Passion with advantage known;

[Page]" Which if they each could not have bent his mind,

" Yet surely all had forc'd him to be kind.

" Perhaps he whom I sent was too in fault,

" Nor rightly tim'd his Message, as he oug [...],

" I fear he went in some ill-chosen hour,

" When cloudy weather made his temper lour.

" Not those calm seasons of the mind, which prove

" The fittest to receive the seeds of love.

" These things have ruin'd me; for doubtless he

" Is made of humane flesh and blood like me;

" He suck'd no Tygress sure, nor Mountain Bear,

" Nor does his breast relentless Marble wear.

" He must, he shall consent, again I'le try,

" And try again, if he again deny:

" No scorn, no harsh repulse, or rough defeat

" Shall ever my desires, or hopes rebate.

" My earnest suits shall never give him rest,

" While Life, and Love more durable, shall last:

" Alive I'le press, till breath in pray'rs be lost,

" And after come a kind beseeching ghost.

[Page]" For, if I might, what I have done, recall,

" The first point were, not to have don't at all;

" But since 'tis done, the second to be gain'd

" Is now to have, what I have sought, attain'd:

" For he, though I should now my wishes quit,

" Can never my unchaste attempts forget:

" Should I desist, 'twill be believ'd that I

" By slightly asking, taught him to deny;

" Or that I tempted him with wily fraud,

" And snares for his unwary Honour laid:

" Or, what I sent (and the belief were just)

" Were not th' efforts of Love, but shameful Lust.

" In fine, I now dare any thing that's ill;

" I've writ, I have solicited, my will

" Has been debauch'd; and shou'd I thus give out,

" I cannot chast and innocent be thought:

" Much there is wanting still to be fulfill'd,

" Much to my wish, but little to my guilt.

[Page]She spoke; but such is her unsetled mind,

It shifts from thought to thought, like veering wind,

Now to this point and now to that inclin'd:

What she could wish had unattempted been,

She strait is eager to attempt agen:

What she repents, she acts; and now lets loose

The reins to Love, nor any bounds allows:

Repulse upon repulse unmov'd she bears,

And still sues on, while she her suit despairs.

FINIS.

§

§

[Page]

A SATYR UPON A WOMAN, Who by her Falshood and Scorn was the Death of my Friend.

Written in the Year, 1678.

LONDON, Printed for Io. Hindmarsh, 1681.

A SATYR Upon a WOMAM, who by her Falshood and Scorn was the Death of my Friend.

[Page]

[Page]

NO she shall ne're escape, if Gods there be,

Unless they perjur'd grow and false as she;

Though no strange judgment yet the murd'ress seize

To punish her, and quit the partial Skies:

Though no revenging light'ning yet has flasht

From thence, that might her criminal beauties blast:

Though they in their old lustre still prevail

By no disease, nor guilt it self made pale.

[Page]Guilt, which blackest Moors themselves but own,

Would make through all their night new blushes dawn:

Though that kind soul, who now augments the blest,

Thither too soon by her unkindness chas'd:

(Where may it be her smallest and lightest doom,

(For that's not half my curse) never to come;)

Though he, when prompted by the high'st despair,

Ne're mention'd her without an Hymn or Prayer,

And could by all her scorn be forc'd no more

Than Martyrs to revile what they adore.

Who, had he curst[?] her with his dying breath,

Had done but just, and Heaven had forgave:

Though ill-made[?] [...]aw no Sentence has ordain'd

For her, no Statute has her Guilt arraign'd.

(For [...], Womens scorn, and Doctor's [...],

All by a [...] way of murder kill.)

[Page]Though she from justice of all these go free,

And boast perhaps in her success, and cry,

'Twas but a little h [...]less perjury:

Yet thinks she not she still secure shall prove,

Or that none dare avenge an injur'd love:

I rise in judgment, am to be to her

Both Witness, Judge, and Executioner:

Arm'd with dire Satyr, and resentful spite,

I come to haunt her with the ghosts of Wit.

My ink unbid starts out, and flies on her

Like blood upon some touching murderer:

And shou'd that fail, rather than want, I wou'd

Like Hags, to curse her, write in my own blood.

Ye spiteful pow'rs (if any there can be,

That boast a worse and keener spite than I)

Assist with malice, and your mighty aid

My sworn Revenge, and help me Rhime her dead:

Grant I [...] Infamy,

So plain, so deeply grav'd on her, that she,

[Page]Her Skill, Patches, nor Paint, all joyn'd can hide,

And which shall lasting as her Soul abide:

Grant my rank hate may such strong poison cast,

That every breath may taint, and rot and blast,

Till one large gang'rene quite o'respread her fame

With foul contagion, till her odious name

Spit at and curst by every mouth like mine,

Be terror to her self and all her line.

Vil'st of that viler Sex, who damn'd us all!

Ordain'd to cause and plague us for our fall!

WOMAN! nay worse! for she can nought be said

But Mummy by some Devil inhabited:

Not made in Heavens Mint, but basely coin'd,

She wears an humane image stampt on fiend;

And whoso Marriage would with her contract,

Is Witch by Law, and that a meer compact:

Her Soul (if any Soul in her there be)

By Hell was breath'd into her in a lye,

And its whole stock of falshood there was lent,

As if[?] hereafter to be true it meant:

[Page]Bawd Nature taught her jilting, when she made,

And by her make designed for the trade:

Hence 'twas she daub'd her with a painted Face,

That she at once might better cheat and please

All those gay charming looks that court the eye,

Are but an ambush to hid treachery;

Mischief adorn'd with pomp and smooth disguise,

A painted skin stuff'd full of guile and lyes,

Within a gawdy Case, a nasty Soul,

Like T— of quality in a gilt Close-stool:

Such on a Cloud those flatt'ring colours are,

Which only serve to dress a Tempest fair.

So men upon this Earths fair surface dwell,

Within are Fiends, and at the center Hell:

Court-promises, the Leagues which States-men make

With more convenience and more ease to break,

The Faith a Jesuite in Allegiance swears,

Or a Town-jilt to keeping Coxcombs bears,

Are firm and certain all compar'd with hers:

[Page]Early in falshood, at her Font she lied,

And should even then for perjury been tried:

Her Conscience stretch'd, and open as the Stews,

But laughs at Oaths, and plays with solemn Vows,

And at her mouth swallows down perjur'd breath,

More glib than bits of lechery beneath:

Less serious known when she doth most protest,

Than thoughts of arrantest Bustoons in jest:

More cheap than the vile mercenariest Squire,

That pli [...]s for Half-crown F [...]es at Westminster;

And trades in staple[?] Oaths, and Swears to hire:

[...]ss g [...]lt than hers, less b [...]ch of Oath and Word

Has stood alost, and look'd through [...] [...]ancebo [...]d;

And he that trus [...]s her in a Death-bed-Prayer,

Has [...] to m [...]rit and save any thing but her.

[...] her gilt d [...]scription does out go,

[...] it out-strip my Curses too;

[Page]Curses, which may they equal my just hate,

My wish, and her desert, be each so great,

Each heard like Prayers, and Heaven make 'em fate.

First for her Beauties, which the mischief brought,

May she affected, they be borrow'd thought,

By her own hand not that of Nature wrought:

Her Credit, Honour, Portion, Health, and those

Prove light and frail as her broke Faith and Vows:

Some base unnam'd Disease, her Carkass foul,

And make her Body ugly as her Soul.

Cankers and Ulcers eat her till she be

Shun'd like Infection, loath'd like Infamy.

Strength quite expir'd, may she alone retain,

The snuff of life, may that unquench'd remain,

As in the damn'd to keep her fresh for pain:

Hot Lust light on her, and the plague of Pride

On that, this ever scorn'd, as that denied:

Ach, anguish, horror, grief, dishonour, shame

Pursue at once her body, soul and fame:

[Page]If e're the Devil-love must enter her

(For nothing sure but Fiends can enter there)

May she a just and true tormenter find,

And that like an ill-conscience rack her mind:

Be some diseas'd and ugly wretch her fate,

She doom'd to love of me, whom all else hate.

May he hate her, and may her destiny

Be to despair, and yet love on and die;

O [...] [...]o invent some wittier punishment,

May he to plague her, out of spite consent;

May the old fumbler, though disabled quite,

Have strength to give her Claps, but no delight:

May he of her unjustly jealous be

For one that's worse and uglier far than he:

May's impotence balk and torment her lust,

Yet scarcely her to dreams or wishes trust:

Forc'd to be chast, may she suspected be,

Share none o'th pleasure, all the infamy.

[Page]In fine, that I all curses may complete

(For I've but curs'd in jest and rallied yet)

Whate're the Sex deserves, or feels, or fears,

May all those plagues be hers, and only hers;

Whate're great favourites turn'd out of doors,

Sham'd Cullies, bilk'd and disappointed Whores,

Or losing Gamesters vent, what Curses e're

Are spoke by sinners raving in despair:

All those fall on her, as they're all her due,

Till spite can't think, nor Heaven inflict anew:

May then (for once I will be kind and pray)

No madness take her use of Sense away;

But may she in full strength of reason be,

To feel and understand her misery;

Plagu'd so, till she think damning a release,

And humbly pray to go to Hell for ease:

Yet may not all these suff'rings here atone

Her sin, and may she still go sinning on,

[Page]Tick up in Perjury, and run o'th' score,

Till on her Soul she can get trust no more:

Then may the stupid and repentless die,

And Heaven it self forgive no more than I,

But so be damn'd of meer necessity[?].

FINIS.

ERRATA.

[Page]

PAge 2. line 19. read there, p. 4. l. 16. r. it, p. 7. l. 1. r. an, p. 25. l. 3. r. curse, p. 30. l. 2. r. Title, p. 35, l. 18. r. bantring, p. 44. l. 14. r. meals, p. 46. l. 2. r. line, l. 9. r strow'd, p. 47. l. 5. r. Natives, p. 48. l. 19. r. Numbers. p. 49. l. 2. r. made, l. 8. r. write, l. 14. r. shamelesness, p. 5 [...]. l. 1. were is wanting, p 59. l. 8. r. unknowing ▪ p. 94. l. 7. r. Maniples, p. 9. l 7. r. vile, l. 8. r. with, p. 98. l. 3. r. Mortality, l. 5. r. thrice cursed, p. 99. l. [...]. r. goodly, l. 14. r. to providence, p. 100. l. 2. r. heretofore disgusted, p. 101. l. 7. r. Iilt, l. 14. r.though, p. 102. l. 8. r. Humane kind, l. 11. & 1. r. known, l. 14. r. reach'd, p. 104. l. 6. r. Beards, l. 14. r. on, p. 105. l. 2. r Ruines, l. 4. r. varnish with her, l 13. r. Quiet and, l. 15. r. too combin'd, p. 106. l 8. r. Project, p. 107. l. 5. r. defie, l. 8. r. dull unbred Fools, l. 15. height of spirit, l. 16. mean soul'd Offenders, l. 17. Debauches, p. 108. l. 3. r. Ev'n Iove, l. 15. r. Impiety, p. 109. l 3. r. Carian, l. 4. Monarchs, l. 10. r. Spite, p. 110. l. 3. r. to his, l 11. Pitch is wanting. p. 111. l. 4. r. Around, l. 7. r. grown, l. 9. thy Act, p. 112. l. 5. r. great'st in Hell, l. 8. r. Examples, l. 11. r. Unknown, unheard, unthought of, l. 12. r. methinks, p. 113. l. 2. r. Stock for company the wide Plantations down, l. 17. r. that sin'd, l. 18. r. Crime, p. 114. l. 5. r. he begot, p. 115. l. 11. r. her speak. p. 117 l. 9.thought is wanting. l. 18. r. the base Itch, p. 118. l. 10. r. a Genius, l. 15. r. by't, l. 16. r. He'd shoot his Quills, next l. r. them, p. 119. l. 1. p [...]inted is wanting. l. 3. r. And all should think him Heav'ns.

Information about this book

Title statement

Satyrs upon the Jesuits written in the year 1679, upon occasion of the plot, together with the Satyr against vertue, and some other pieces by the same hand.

Oldham, John, 1653-1683.

Edition statement

1681

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2003-05 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A53298

ID [STC]

Wing O244

ID [STC]

ESTC R3124

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

12185578

ID [OCLC]

ocm 12185578

ID [VID]

55776

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Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A53298)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 55776)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 614:2)

Source

— Satyrs upon the Jesuits written in the year 1679, upon occasion of the plot, together with the Satyr against vertue, and some other pieces by the same hand., Oldham, John, 1653-1683..

Extent

[8], 154, [1] p.

Printed for Joseph Hindmarsh ...,. London :: 1681.. (Errata: p. [1] at end.) (First edition.) (Each part has special t.p.) (Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.) (A satyr against vertue -- The passion of Byblis in Ovid's Metamorphosis imitated in English -- A satyr upon a woman, who by her falshood and scorn was the death of my friend.)

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