A satyr against common-wealths

A satyr against common-wealths

Table of contents

Title page

A PREFACE TO THE READER.

A SATYR AGAINST Common-Wealths.

The Epilogue being an Anti-Republican Catch.

A SATYR AGAINST Common-Wealths.

[Page]

(1)

I'LE not forbear—for who can longer ſtay

When Loyal Muſes bid me not delay

But nodding promiſe an auſpicious way?

Thus Caeſar once Heaven's anger to attone

Beck'nd to, by a God, paſs'd Rubicon,

To ſcourge his own Republick, haughty Rome.

A Commonwealth! curſe on that nauſeous name

Which from the Devil with damnation came;

He firſt ſet up the curs'd reforming Trade,

And boldly ſought Heaven's Empire to invade;

Till blaſted by Joves Thunder, down he fell,

State-holder to the Commonwealth of Hell.

'Tis a poor ſneaking form of Government;

Kings, Gods: but they, the People repreſent;

Here Men with ſwinging Trowſers awe.

And divine Collar-bands give Law.

Tell me my Muſe for thou knows beſt

—Is it not worth a Jeſt?

To ſee a pair of Repreſentatives

Leaving their charge of Children, and their Wives,

Who th' other day in their nown Country ſate

As Referees about a broken pate?

[Page] And talk'd Sedition over Table-Beer

At the Next Seſſions ſtreight appear

To manage Government's grand Affair?

Would it not make a Stoick laugh to ſee

Thoſe Men of mickle Glee,

Who in their Pariſh-Church all their devotion owe

To a fring'd Cuſhion or a matted Pew,

Diſtinguiſh'd from the crowd of the Church-militant,

By a gilt Bible of Alma Mater's print?

And 'mongſt the Rout for Devotees do paſs,

'Cauſe their Devotion's height'nd by their baſs,

At the next opening of a Parliament,

Loudly diſpute about Church-government;

And with grave Speeches, tell you to an hair

Where lies the Placket of the Roman Whore.

Nay and unravel, with the greateſt eaſe

Raſh Calvin's Myſtical Decrees.

Can tell the Intrigues of the Celeſtial Powers;

And open Heaven as a Cheſt of Drawers:

In this Box, they give out the Elect muſt lye,

In that Reprobates damn'd to Eternity.

(2)

Laſh Satyr, laſh with furies hiſſing Snake

Thoſe Knaves, who kill'd their King for Conſcience-ſake.

'Twas Conſcience was the fatal Dog and Bell

That led thoſe blinded Bigots down to Hell.

In outward Show they hated worldly Coin,

Yet Conſcience ſtill, like Chriſtmas-Box, took in

Cavaliers Feaſters, and without a Sin.

They us'd the cutting Hanger of the Spirit;

As Switz his Sword for Money, not for Merit.

Had they ſeen Jove when Danae's lap he wet

With Golden Showers, to Heav'en he near had got,

Tho a God, to Guinies he had turn'd him ſtreight.

They made a Golden Calf without a Sin;

Each Attribute had a Jacobus been.

Conſcience in them was very free, and kind,

It was the Spaniel dictate of the Mind

That leap'd for every thing, that Rump ordain'd.

[Page] What ever Government was fram'd by Fate,

Shock fetch'd and carried ſtill the Glove of State;

O Conſcience! Conſcience! what thou art I'le tell;

Thou art the Goodman's Gooſe, that with each yell,

When Danger's nigh, ſaves the Souls Capitol.

Thou art the bad Man's

A River Famous for it's petrifying quality.

Peak, that ſtraightway turns

All the Souls ſofter dictates, into ſtones.

Like the prodigious Hebrews Rod,

That turn'd the Aegyptian Waters all to blood.

(3)

From Presbyter to Independent paſs:

We'l throw ſome Grains in Nol the Brewer's Face,

'Tis true he'd have his Beer both old, and ſtrong,

But his Religion always new and Young.

H' abus'd the Catholick Faith in pious mock,

And Primitive Religion, ſtil'd old Hoc.

Yet for all his Zeal, to reform the Rout,

He always wore a Popiſh Snout;

The red upon his Noſe as Poets tell;

Look'd like what we a Scarlet Hood do call,

Couchant on Surplice Theological.

Not in Hell his Noſe more piercing flames could find

Tipt with damnation, while on Earth he reign'd:

Prometheus did not his whole Man inſpire,

His Noſe onely was damask'd with that fire.

(4)

This England once was thy unhappy State,

When beſt of Monarchs felt the worſt of Fate.

When they had ſent the Martyr to his grave;

They threw hey jinks what Government they'd have:

They Fillip'd up what Powers ſhould prevail,

And ſtead of Head the Counter threw up Tail,

For proof of which, to the Engliſh Rump was given,

A pair of Span-new Breeches, ſent from Heaven.

Theſe were their Arms, by which a Man may gueſs,

Codpiece, and Conſcience was the Good old Cauſe.

[Page] Long had the Engliſh Nation been

Fed with the Manna of a Monarch's Reign;

Long had one Diſh, their cravings ſatisfi'd,

Their weak and ſqueamiſh Stomachs cloy'd,

At laſt, their vitious Palats, not content,

Would have an Ollio of Government:

Something of every thing they crave,

An Anarchy or nothing they would have.

The Gods, who never puniſh with remorſe,

Gave 'em their wiſh, although they wiſh'd a Curſe.

'Stead of the Royal Oak, which long had ſtood,

The top, the glory, of the Wood:

From off the Poplar Tree, the giddy Rout

Wedg'd their blockiſh Sovereigns out.

From thence they hew'd thoſe Logs of Power,

And whittl'd Scepters, as you whittle Scures.

A brace of Patriots from each County ſent,

Sate like the Ghoſts of deceas'd Government.

And without the Houſe of Lords—

Made but a Rigdel Parliament.

Theſe Ap'd their Sovereign with as good a meen

As Dives's Guinies did the Lawful Coin.

They rob'd the Land, by Wars before decay'd,

And whilſt they robb'd they wept and pray'd,

T' attone the mighty ſin they faſt in Tears,

They pray'd by Sabbaths and rebell'd by Years.

Thus the Gods puniſh'd Charles's Foes,

Thus the Gods reparteed all their rebellious Vows.

(5)

Tame Tarquin! that ſo eaſily was won

To part with all the ſplendours of a Crown;

Unking'd he fell in Age and Glory green,

When Rome was Young and in her Teens.

The Latin Rebels puſh'd him from his Throne,

And put a brace of Conſuls in his Room:

Theſe clubbing in Conjunction did diſpence

Like Planets their united influence.

A Snivelling Peer that lov'd his Spouſe too well,

Rather than be a Cuckold would rebell;

[Page] For's Country's ſake he thought it was no ſin:

For well knew he

That Petticoat and Property

With the ſame Letters did begin.

Lucrece the Chaſt, the Fair, of Noble blood

Would not be buſs'd for all that's good,

She would not truckle to her Loves decree,

She would not kiſs, poor heart, not ſhe.

Bravely the Noble Doxy ſtrove,

Though at laſt forc'd to pay her Tax of Love.

When the laſcivious Scene was done,

And the Slut ſaw ſhe was not made a Queen,

She tore her Hair and dainty Quoif,

With a ſharp Ponyard ended all the ſtrife,

And quickly did the little job of life.

For this the Roman Bullies ſeiz'd his Crown,

For this they threw the mighty Lecher down,

And in his ſtead two Conſuls fill'd the Chair,

Almanack Kings that laſted but a Year:

They and their Senate all reform'd anew

From Cit and Bumkin to the Nobler Crew.

The Alphabet it ſelf was croſt,

The Letters that made Rex were loſt

And S. P. Q. did Rule the Roaſt,

Letters that often occur in Roman Hiſtory for Senatus populuſque.

At laſt their Civil Wars made ſuch a ſtir,

They were forc'd to accept the Kingly Power

A Monarch of three Syllables an Emperour.

(6)

Speak out Venetian Punk, thou that do'ſt prate

Of a Republick of ſo long a date;

An Idle Common-wealth, that has

Theſe ſeveral hundred years been making Glaſs!

Each puny Mortal there, pretends to Power,

A calcin'd Cobler makes a Senator.

A Covie of Iſlands ſeated in the Sea,

Make up this proud Venetiae:

'Mongſt th' Quae-Genus-Monſters ſhe is found,

Onely in th' Plural ſenſe declin'd;

Some bits of Earth from th'Continent purloyn'd

[Page] Make up the Wonders of that place;

Famous for Bawds, and mighty pretty Lace;

Each ſuppliant Punk unto her Lord does pay

The glorious Tribute of Poynt-veny.

Each Senator for's Crown a Thimble takes;

And Hieroglyphick Bobbings Scepters makes.

A Duke they have, God-wot, ſo low in ſtock,

That his Toes ſtink for want of Royal Sock.

His ſtingy Meals, hardly deſerve a Rhime,

He keeps an exc'llent Houſe in Peaſ-cod-time;

At ſecond hand he buys his Cloaths,

And runs on Tick for Hoſe and Shoes:

Scarcely odd Money they allow the Crotchet,

To keep the Devil out of's Pocket.

(7)

Stand off you little dwindling States, make room

Holland the Buttock of the World is come

Although not half ſo generous as the Bum

That freſhly does diſcharge it's nat'ral load

Relieves the hungry Earth with dung and food:

But they like greedy Leaches ſtill ſuck in

They drink, and eat, and drink again,

Till like them too You'd think they'd burſt their skin

They love their ranſack'd, ſordid Pelf ſo well

That their Low Countries may be reck'ond Hell

Pluto and they in the ſame Region dwell.

Frugal they are beyond all meaſure,

They'l damn their very Souls for Treaſure.

They hate free ſpending as they hate Free-grace

And count it fond Arminianiſm in Purſe

Their Dortiſh Synod has determin'd thus.

For Gold they ſearch the World and traverſe Indies,

For Sickly Earth that has the Jaundies;

They'l change their Athanaſian Faith

For a Rich Diamond or an Elephants Tooth:

Give 'em a China Diſh or Perſian Cap,

They'l ſtreight turn Turks and Nice for Mecca ſwap;

Of an Engliſh Herring they make no bones,

Their Commonwealth conſiſts of Milts and Roanes;

[Page] The Apoſtles here in great eſteem are had

Onely becauſe they practis'd fiſhing Trade,

Theſe Knaves thoſe pious Anglers imitate,

And boldly Britiſh Gudgeons captivate.

To let you ſee what good they wiſh

Unto the Commonwealth of Fiſh,

Elziver prints with greateſt care he can

Fiſhmonger Hobs's great Leviathan,

A Book which proves Men to be Whales,

A ſtate of Nature ſtuck with finns and ſcales,

They are a People fit for Satyr,

Their Low Countries are no better,

Than the Pudenda of modeſt Nature.

Thoſe Netherlands of which they boaſt,

Are but Creation below the Waſte.

(8)

Cold Switzers that amongſt your other ills

Have planted a Republick upon Hills;

Their Snow that on their Mountains lies,

Gives them kib'd Heels and Conſciences;

That cold and dirty Clime puts them hard to't,

They Ne'r can make a Law without their Boot,

Neither do Juſtice without riding Coat.

They fetch all their Dictators from the Plow,

Who ſcarcely any other Purple know,

But when with Froſts their fire burns blew.

A Cold and barren Soil's the reaſon why,

Kind Heaven ne'r thaws 'em into Monarchy.

'Tis ſtrange that there a Commonwealth ſhould thrive,

Or that republick Weeds or Alps ſhould live.

Theſe Men ſo much extoll'd by Fame,

At firſt from Hannibal's Vinegar bottle came;

When he to cut an eaſier way did uſe

That acid, peeviſh, and ill-natur'd juice,

The riggling Animals that thence did riſe

Leap'd into Men, and made this brutiſh Race.

(9)

Of all the Commonwealths of greateſt Fame

Once more ſtep forth Romulian Dame

[Page] Let your Rebublick Conſuls if they can,

Match the Victorious Macedonian,

A King, wheſe actions ſpake him more than Man.

Sauny the great who'th Race of Men ſubdued,

Conquer'd the World was drunk and ſpu'd.

To th' furtheſt Eaſt he ſpread his Victories,

His glories ſet where the Sun's Glories riſe;

A fight to him was but a drinking bout,

With his Enemies lives he paid the ſhot,

Their Veins like Pitchers emptied out,

He grudg'd over one World tipling to ſtand,

He wou'd have drunk a dozen in a hand,

Finely faith he firkt the Perſian Ninny,

Whoſe Father got his Kingdom by a Whinny,

Mounted on Buceph'lus this Bully Crack'd to ride

Inch and half-ſtone with any King beſide,

Match him all Latium, match him if you can,

Conſuls you had when Commonwealths began,

Conquer'd a luſt or two but ne'er a Man.

Poplicola of whom fame ſpeaks ſo loud

Demoliſh'd his Farm-houſe to pleaſe the Croud,

To pull it down he thought 'twas beſt,

Cauſe 'twas a Cock-loft higher than the reſt.

For theſe and ſuch like things by Livy told,

Amongſt records of Fame he ſtands enroll'd.

(10)

All hail Geneva! to thy Lake all health,

Whom Calvin made a Common-wealth:

Calvin a Biſhop grudg'd to ſee

Lord it in Robes of Soveraignty.

He puſh'd the Miter'd Moppet from his Throne,

He threw the mighty Lawn-ſleeves down:

Biſhop and Bible both believe me

Got a Tranſlation at Geneva.

She cleanſed away the filthy Rags of Rome,

Landreſs ſhe was to the Whore of Babylon;

With Goſpel-Soap ſhe purg'd her Popiſh ſins,

Stifned her Rites and ſtarch'd her Diſciplines;

Women reform'd there at their will,

Women the ſtrapping Sex that ſpells ſo ill.

[Page] The City Dames more zealous far than wiſe

Put the Apocrypha under their Pies,

And made Bumfodder of the Maccabees.

Judith they forc'd to ſtop a broken pane,

And gave Holofernes his Head again.

Chriſt-croſs out of their Alphabet they turn'd

Each Babe an Horn-book had true Proteſtant.

Tell me Religious Royſters, tell me now

Why you are ſo angry when the Organs blow?

Our thoughts like Theban Stones diſorder'd lie,

Till that Religious Harmony

Shapes and cements them into Unity.

I hate that Common-wealth of all the worſt,

I hate their Prick-ear'd Senate and their Prieſts,

Who love a common Whore,

But hate the Common-Prayer.

(11)

Fain would I know eternal Dunces why

You hate the Godlike ſway of Monarchy?

A Government in Heaven allow'd,

Where the bright Monarch makes his Throne a Cloud,

And gently aws the Angelick lovely Croud.

Where Cherubins like glorious Muſes ſit,

And praiſe the Almighty Power in numbers fit,

In the Seraphick ſtrains of heavenly Wit.

Groſly then muſt they err who do affirm,

That Common-wealths are of an heavenly Stem,

And make an Hans-town of the New Jeruſalem.

No, baſe Republicks you can n'er agree

With that delightful Unity.

Your tide of Rule runs in divided ſtreams.

Glow-worms of Power, you ſhine in ſep'rate beams▪

I hate that gaudy Sanhedrim of Lights,

Who by Gommittees rule the Nights;

I mean the Stars, whoſe ſhort Commiſſions run

All in the Name of the departed Sun.

Give me the glittering Monarch of the Day;

At whoſe approach thoſe Tapers ſneak away.

[Page] He reigns by Day and all the Night he drinks,

He ſips and Revels on the Ocean's brinks,

And like a Monarch never ſhrinks.

§

[Page]

[Page]

A SATYR AGAINST Common-Wealths.

Fallitur egregio quiſquis ſub principe credit

Servitium: nunquam libertas gratior extat

Quam ſub rege pio.

Claudian. de laudibus Stiliconis.

LONDON, Printed for Joſeph Hindmarſh Bookſeller to his Royal Highneſs, and Francis Hicks, Bookſeller in Cambridge, 1684,

A PREFACE TO THE READER.

[Page]

[Page]

IN vain do we give Kings the pompous Titles of Great and Mighty: In vain has Heaven allotted them a Power, reſembling that of its own, free and uncontrolable, if like Billiard-Table Kings they are onely ſet up to be ſhaken and thrown down by the ſaucy touches of their humble Vaſſals. If their Authority has ſuch confinements, as ſome Men would have us perſuaded it has, Princes are at beſt but glittering Pageants, all the profeſſions of ſteady Loyalty but ſolemn impertinencies, and Heaven it ſelf is a ſharer in the gaudy Deluſion. It is not long ſince this Iſle was reckon'd amongſt the blackeſt inſtances of Treaſon and Rebellion, when the beſt of Kings and the beſt of Men fell by the rude violence of a conſecrated Axe; ever ſince we have felt the unfortunate conſequences of that diſmal Blow; a Blow which like that that was given to the Worlds great Redeemer, rent the Vail of the Church of England in two, aboliſh'd all its pious Canons, and made them give place to the New-fangled Whimſies of Religious Hypocrites; a fact ſo horrid and unexampled, that if we may believe Salmaſius, Cui ſimile nec praeterita ſecula vidêrunt, nec ventura forſitan videbunt. All this was done under the flattering diſguiſes of Religion, by Men who had the impudence to boaſt of a more than ordinary Inſpiration, and who pretended to have received more light from Heaven, than that Aſs whom the Antients fondly accuſed for drinking up the Moon, who [Page] could throw themſelves into all the Poſtures of Religion, with as great facility as a Skilfull Tumbler can act the Italian Strades, and with a ſort of popular Piety cheated three Nations into a belief, that whatſoever they did, was highly lawful, ſo true is that which Machiavel ſays, fere omnes homines magis ſpecie, & colore rerum, quàm rebus ipſis permoventur & judicant. In vain do our learned Tribe go about to reclaim theſe Men by dint of Argument, all their ſober reaſonings are to them but important Trifles, and were always accounted too weak baits to catch the Carpes of Geneva Lake. And who I pray would take the pains to convince a Taylor by a Syllogiſm, who perhaps after the conſummation of a pair of Breeches, creeps into a Coffee-Houſe, where after he has lin'd his Pallet with that factious juice, he looks upon his long and limber Fingers to have been contriv'd by Nature for the handling of a Scepter, and curſes the bitter fates that had dwindled it into a Needle, away he goes home, and performs the Offices of diſtributive Juſtice upon his Apprentices ſhoulders, and fancies every piece of Parchment cut from an old Bond to make his meaſures withal, little leſs to be than clippings from of Magna Charta. Such a Knave as this deſerves no other Logick than what the Pillory can afford him, to make his Ears pay for the petulancy of his Tongue. Another ſort of Man there is, whom in the Country Language we may call Subſtantial, who perhaps has got fourſcore pounds a year, and joys in having a little Dove-coat annex'd to his Farm-houſe, who is famous all over the Neighbouring Villages for his little Cheſnut Mare, who in a Race at a late Wake ſignalized her ſelf by diſtancing a Cart-horſe; ſuch a Man as this you can never convince by dint of Argument, he tells you roundly that at the firſt opportunity be'l draw his Yard and half of Rapier to defend his Religion and ruſty Bacon from the rude inſults of Arbitrary Power: You would laugh in your Sleeve (if you have any) to hear his brisk and debonair reaſonings, about the Authority of the Commons of England, and you cannot imagine with what deference and regard he is entertain'd amongſt the Mobile, beeauſe he gives them to know the tranſactions of State, and fills the whole Lordſhip with News; 'tis odds but you ſhall ſee him at the next Election of a Knight of the Shire, brandiſhing in his Campagn Coat and Mountero, at the head of a Troop of Dapper-Day-Labourers, on whom prodigal Fortune has munificently beſtow'd two pounds a [Page] Year, and who with complicated Intereſts are ſtriving to ſet up their Idol Repreſentative. Now the defections of ſuch a Man as this from the Principles of Loyalty, we cannot think to obviate by the moſt improved reaſonings; his Prejudices ſtop up all the Avenues of his Soul, hindring the leaſt beam of Truth to enter in, and enlighten his Underſtanding: his too fervent Zeal for his Principles will not give him the leiſure to be convinced, and his ignorance baffles all the attempts of Reaſon: as he does not take up any Opinion for the Affinity it bears to Truth, ſo neither does he relinguiſh any for its oppoſition to the ſame, if his intereſt invites him he eaſily accords with any thing, and his Reaſon finds no regrets in entertaining a profitable Error: as you cannot diſengage him from his miſtakes, ſo neither can you ſettle him in a Truth, although you bring all the Credentials of a firm Demonſtration, and the reaſon is, becauſe a Diſcourſe to him is no more than it is to a School-Boy, the jingling of a Noun and Verb together. If then any thing will do, it muſt be Satyr, and we may if we obſerve, find in the dulleſt apprehenſions a quicker reſentment of a Jeſt than of an Argument, the one renders that ridiculous, which the other perhaps cannot make appear to be falſe, and Satyrs are like thoſe Indian Apes, of whom I have read, that when Alexander came into thoſe parts, They ſtraight rally'd thelr deformed Squadrons, rank'd themſelves in Battalia, camp'd and decamp'd with all the moving Solemnities of a real Army, and brought greater affronts upon that all-conquering Army with their Martial Grimaces, than all the force of Darius and Parus, I have made the Compariſon, let ſome courteous Reader make out the Application. For this cauſe it is that I have ridicul'd all the Commonwealths that lay in my way, from great old Rome to little modern Geneva; What I have ſaid on this Theam, if the Peruſer be not too phlegmatick, muſt needs create in him ſome faſtidious thoughts of that way of Governing. More eſpecially I have hinted at our late pretended Republican Powers, and in particular at their monſtrous innovations about Religions; where I have let any thing ſlip from my Pen, that may ſeem extravagant, I hope it will not be look'd upon as an unruly Effort of my own, but onely as an endeavour to expoſe the Giddy Enthuſiaſts of thoſe times. I ſhall ſay nothing neither as to the matter or manner of the Verſe, I know the whole Poem will labour under the imputations of uneaſie roughneſs, yet I could never imagine that ſmoothneſs ſhould be ſo [Page] abſolutely neceſſary in the dreſſing up of a Satyr; it always ſeeming to me as diſagreeable to ſee a Satyr Cloath'd in ſoft and effeminate Language, as to ſee a Woman ſcold and vent her ſelf in Billings-gate Rhetorick in a gentile and advantageous Garb. I have no more to ſay, onely to deſire the Reader to be as favourable as he can to the firſt endeavours of an unexperienc'd Pen, which is all from

H. P.

The Epilogue being an Anti-Republican Catch.

(1)

Let the Speculative Sot,

Who thinks and lives not,

Tell the World what paps Alma-mater has got;

Let him if he pleaſe his Appetite bilk,

And Huzza the King's Health in a glaſs of her Milk:

From the Nipples of the Vine (the wiſer do know)

That a brisk and more generous liquor do's flow.

(2)

Would you be a Bard Sir,

Of any regard Sir?

Believe me Wine is the beſt Crambo word Sir.

Homer was drunk as e'r Son of a Woman was,

When he Hickupt ſo often [...],

And the old Greekiſh Rhimer had been dabling in Claret,

When he made that reeling Verſe we call Pindarick.

(3)

A Pox of old Noll,

Who our Barrels did toll,

And excis'd each Caviliers affluent Bowl.

To be reveng'd of him, and his Council of Aſſes,

Let's break on the Table all Common-wealth glaſſes,

Boy, take that Venice Glaſs to Republican Saints;

We'll drink the King's Health in true Engliſh Flints.

FINIS.

Information about this book

Title statement

A satyr against common-wealths

H. P.

Edition statement

1684

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Text Creation Partnership,

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Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

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2009-03 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A55808

ID [STC]

Wing P34

ID [STC]

ESTC R5472

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

13084447

ID [OCLC]

ocm 13084447

ID [VID]

97289

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Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A55808)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 97289)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 747:26)

Source

— A satyr against common-wealths, H. P..

Extent

[6], 10 p.

Printed for Joseph Hindmarsh ..., and Francis Hicks ...,. London :: 1684.. (Preface signed: H.P.) (Poem.) (Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.)

Creation

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