A COLLECTION OF 86 Loyal Poems, All of them written upon the Two late PLOTS, VIZ, The Horrid Salamanca PLOT in 1678. AND THE Present Fanatical Conspiracy in 1683: To which is added, Advice to the CARVER, Written on the Death of the late L. Stafford WITH Several Poems on their Majesties Coronation, Never before Published.

Collected by N. T.

Printed by N. T. at the Entrance into the Old-Spring-Garden near Charing-Cross, 1685.

THE PREFACE TO THE READER▪

READER,

I Here present Thee with the LOYAL POEMS that have severally scatter'd in Print, and ventur'd most of them to Peep into the World, even in the Highest of Dangers and worst of Times; when the very Pestilential Air of Poison'd Se­nates, and Infected Kingdoms rag'd high­est, and Threatned Fatallest; being a whole Collection of all that durst look abroad since the first Apparition of all the Popish Hob­goblins, either contain'd in, or raised by that unparallel'd Piece of Discovery the Salaman­ca Narrative: That Master-piece of Hocus Pocus, where the Dextrous Operator Titus so much out-went every little Brother of the Slight of Hand, the Puny Juglers of the [Page] Age; that whereas Their feebler Art can only swallow Knives or Daggers, This greater Hictius Doctius, could Gorge or Disgorge Fire-Balls and Black-Bills; nay, Squadrons and Armies, either above or be­low Ground; and tho with no less than three Kingdoms for their Spectators, scarce one English Eye-sight quick enough, or one Head-piece deep enough to detect the Le­gerdomain. But that Egyptian sort of Darkness being a little over, and our Eng­lish Pericranes having either new Brains put in, or our Old ones new washt, or some thing like it, Thanks to the [...]are and Con­duct of our Royal Exorcists, two of the Best and Wisest of Kings, who are at pre­sent dispossest of those Popish Demons and Spectres, that so All-to-be▪ Devil'd us, whilst the Fanatical Incantations that rais'd them, are both Detected and Baffled▪

I confess indeed, that the greatest part of these Poems have been of my Own Printing and Publication; and truly some of them at no little Charge; That particular Poem, [Page] called, A Dialogue betwixt the Devil and the Ignoramus Doctor, &c. Having Cost me little less than Forty Pounds. For the Worthy Robin Hog, the Engineer of the Faction, and the Assistant Swearing-Master to the Great Beuk-blawer Titus; partly in Vindication of the Whig Dagon, the Popish Plot, was Generously pleas'd to Out-Law me in the Crown-Office for Printing that Dialogue: Together with another as Mortal a Crime, in my Weekly Intelligence, Number 60. viz. For pub­lishing the Guild-hall Rioters; Two Sins (let me tell you) enough, either of them alone, to pull down his Severest Vengeance▪ For in the first place, the Reputation of the Doughty Author of Invisible Commissions, Screw'd Guns, and Silver Bullets, was so nice a point, and so tender a Concern to so Violent a Plot. Zealot as Robin, that nothing less than utter Destruction was deserv'd from him by so Insolent a Transgressor as my self, for Daring so much as to Doubt the Gigantick Veracities of his Adored Gamaliel Titus▪

And then for that second, as Hainous a Guilt of mine; my Exposing the Guild­hall Rioters (Oh, Monstrum Horrendum!) my Daring to touch the Whig Honour and Innocence of those Schismatical Confron­ters of Authority; that under the Umbrage of Bethelite Sheriffs, and Barnardiston Ju­ries, were lobouring so hard in the old Road of Religion and Liberty, as to be almost got up to the old Perch again of mounting Rebels upon Thrones and Monarchs upon Scaffolds. My Affronting those Dear and Darling Repulican Boutefeus in Vindica­ting the Honour of the Matchless Sir John Moore, that most Indefatigable of Patriots, and Best of Magistrates, whose Ever-memo­rable Resolution, Loyalty and Success alone, almost turn'd the whole Ballance; and I may (without Flattery) say Effectively Secur'd even Monarchy it self▪ All this I say was so Over-damnable an Offence to the Constitution and Kidneys of little Robin, that 'tis not to be wonder'd, if it raised his Fiercest and most Implacable Dudgeon against me.

But, alas, those two fore-mentioned Un­pardonable Faults alone have not suffer'd his Severest Rebuke, but likewise my Publica­tion of the Hue and Cry after Titus Oates when turn'd from Whitehall. The Poor Prisoners Lamentation for the loss of Sheriff Bethel: Let Oliver now be forgot­ten; With Oates's Manifesto, or a Dia­logue between Titus Oates and the Dr. of Salamanca, have all felt the the same Lash, and provoked the same Mortal Indignation from him: For, alas, the least Attempt, or Venture of Unmasking, or Exposing of Im­posture, Fanaticism and Villany; or the least Defence of the Government, Monar­chy or Succession, was so Capital a Crime to the Offended Robin, that he was ever presently upon my Back upon the least Trans­gression of that too Criminal kind; and ne­ver left me, till with many a Zealous Puff and Blow he was sure to Light the Coals, and Burn my Fingers for't.

These, Gentlemen, have been my Faults, and this Prosecutor my Scourge for them. [Page] And truly to give him his du [...], and show you truly the Considerable Figure he has made in the World; considering the many Misfortunes that have attended the Garagantua Affida­vit Heroe TITUS; and how the Popish Kings-Bench Cloyster Immured that quondam St. Omerian True Protestant, and Silenced that never to be forgotten Oracle; whilst Poxes, Gibbets, Goals and Beggary, and other such like Acciden­tal Mundane Calamities have scattered and discomfited the Dugdales, Tubervils, Mac­nemara's, Commine's, and the rest of the Evidential Forces; Considering, I say, all this Universal Defeat and Mortality, our single Robin was resolved to Supply them all; and as the Terrible Goliah Cham­pion of the whole Party, stept forth with his Fore-head of Brass, and the rest of his Armour of Impudence, and with an open▪ mouth'd Defyance, bellows Death and Dam­nation to every man that durst Love either Truth, Honour or Honesty. And to shew you that he wanted neither Courage nor [Page] Conduct for such an Undertaking, he has sufficiently manifested by his long and daily Atchievements, his great Abilities in both kinds, when dreading neither Evangelists on one Hand, nor Devil on the other, he be­gan to Swear through Brick-walls no less than two years before the Doctor Swore through so much as one Key-hole.

And truly not to be Idle in any Thriving Vocation in the days of Yore, he played Sir William Wallers Jackall, and with a full Cry of Popery and Idolatry, bunted down Gold-Chains and Apostle Spoons with him, for Beads and Crucifixes, and Old Jaco­busses for Peter-pence; and so played at Pick-pocketing and Burglaring, under the cloak of True Protestant Justiceing with him, as well as the Worshipful Sanctified Land-Pyrate himself▪ By such, and many other Feats of Activity, having well lined his Pockets, and thereby not a little pufft up his Pride, he had through long Use and Practice so far surmounted the Silly Punctillio [...]s of Justice and Conscience, (as a thing so much [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] below him) that he boggled at nothing, tho never so Villanous, to gratifie either his Interest or Revenge. And really take all those of my Profession together through the whole Town, no man has felt half the weight of his Heavy Swearing Hand as my Self have done. For though Malice and Rapine gave him his daily Bread, he has made it his restless and indefatigable study more particu­larly to ruine me, then all mankind beside. Nay, not content with Prosecuting me for the above nam'd Dialogue, and the rest of those Honest and Loyal Pamphlets, He endea­voured to Blast my Reputation as much as he had done my Fortunes, and that two by an im­putation as Ridiculous as Impudent, for he Ma­liciously offer▪d to Swear that I had Printed more Whig-Pamphlets than any other Per­son in Town, so egregious a piece of Forgery, that nothing but a Countenance as steeled as his own, could ever have invented.

Readers, I now beg your Pardon for Troubling you with nothing but Complaints and Crievances; an unrelishing Subject for [Page] a Preface, had not my long load of Suffer­ings extorted them from me, and made them thus publick for the Vindication of my Loyalty, a part where no Man is wounded, without some Exclamation at the smart.

But that he hath not done this without the hopes of Reward, is a plain Case; for an Eminent Ignoramus-Jury-man (lately Apprehended) publickly presented him with 6 [...] l. 13 s. 4 d. in the space of a few Months; besides divers private Guifts from the Party for his great Service done them.

However, I should not have dwelt so long upon so Inconsiderable a Varlet as this, had it not been to show how Capritious some mens Fortunes are, that even so inconside­rable a Varlet, should give so great a stroke towards any mans Ruine. But Shame and Scorn have at last over-taken him: For he is turn'd out of his Imployment with Dis­grace, and Despised by all Mankind, which in a great measure hath eased the Pain of

Your Humble Servant, NAT. THOMPSON.

A Table of all the several Loyal Poems contained in this Book.

  • THe Waking Vision, or Reality in a Fancy. Page. 1
  • The Deliquium; or the Grievance of the Nation disco [...]er'd in a Dream. 7
  • Sejanus, or the Popular Favourite in his Solitude and Sufferings. 15
  • A Canto upon the Miraculous cure of the King's Evil, performed by the late D. of M. 21
  • Tom Ross's Ghost to his Pupil: he Duke of M. &c. 24
  • The Oxford Alderman's Speech to the D. of M. at his entrance into that City [...]out September, 1680. 25
  • The Ghost of the late Parliament at Westminster, to the Parliament to meet at Oxford, 1681. 27
  • The Parliament Dissolv'd at Oxford, March the 28 1681 29
  • A Panegyrick upon OATS, 34
  • An Epithilamium upon the Marriage of Captain William Bedloe. 38
  • Fune [...]al Tears upon the Death of Captain William Bed­loe, who dyed at Bristol 43
  • Anagram and Acrostick upon the Salamanca Dr. 44
  • The Convert Scot, and Apostate English. 45
  • A Postscript upon the Duke of York's return from Scot­land. 55
  • The Mad man's Hospital, or a present Remedy to cure the Presbyterian Itch, 57
  • Tony's Soliloquies, &c. 60
  • The Badger in the Fox trap, or Satyr upon Satyr. 62
  • The humble Wishes of a Loyal Subject. 78
  • The Politicians Down- [...]a [...]l, or Potapsky's Arrival at the Netherlands, and the Congratulation of the Pro­testant Joyner at their meeting. 80
  • [Page]A Congratulation of the Protestant Joyner to Anthony K. of Poland, upon his Arrival into the other World. 87
  • The King of Poland's Gh [...]st, or a Dialogue betwixt Pluto and Ca [...]on upon his Reception. 92
  • The Countrey Man's Complaint and Advice to the King. 96
  • Advice to the Carver, Written upon the Murder of the late William Lord Viscount Stafford, 97
  • Shaftsbury's Farw [...]l, [...]r the new Association. 113
  • Dagon's Fall, or Sir Will. Waller turn'd out of Com­mission. 117
  • A Dialo [...]ue between the Devil and the Ignoramus Dr. 120
  • Tyburn's Courteous Invitation to Titus Oates: 123
  • The Reformation, a Satyr. 125
  • Advice to his late graceles Grace the D. of M. 128
  • The Solicitous Citizen▪ or much ado about nothing. 130
  • The Charter, a Comical Satyr. 134
  • A Character of London Village. 156
  • True Loyalty in its Colours, or a Survey of the Lauaa­ble Address of the Young Men and Apprentices of the City of London, to His Majesty. 159
  • Loyalty Tryumphan [...], or a Poem on the numerous Loyal Addresses to His Majesty. 162
  • The Club of Loyalists. 164
  • The Dissenters truly describ'd. 166
  • The Loyal Letany, &c, 170
  • The Fanatick Rampa [...]t, or a Poem on the an Election 174
  • Poor Robin's Dream, or the Vision of Hell, or a Dia­l [...]gue between the Ghost of Bedloe & Tonge. 176
  • A Dialogue between the Devil and the [...]. 186
  • A Congratulatory Poem on Sir John Moore Knt. Mayor of the City of London. 189
  • [Page]The Car-man's Poem, or advice to a Nest of Scriblers. 191
  • The last Will and Testament of Anth. K. of Poland. 196
  • An Epitaph upon his Bowels. 199
  • The Case is alter'd now, or the Conversion of Anthony K. of Poland, publish'd for satisfaction of the Sancti­fy'd Brethren. 200
  • The K. of Poland's last Speech to his Country-men. 202
  • Fitz-Harris's Farwel to the World, or a Traytors just Reward. 206
  • The last and truest Discovery of the Popish-Plot, Disco­ver'd by Rumsey, West, &c. 207
  • Several Poems written by the Right Honourable Henry Lord Arundel of Warder, and Count of the Sacred Roman Empire, whilst Prisoner in the Tower, 212
  • Majesty in misery, or an Implorati n to the King of Kings written by His Majesty King Charles the first, in his durance at Carisbrook-Castle, 1648. 218
  • Interrogatories, or a Dialogue between Whig & Tory 221
  • A Poem on the Relief of Vienna. 222
  • An exact Narrative of the Popish-Plot, shewing all the cunning contrivances thereof. 224
  • The Second Part to the same. 228
  • The third Part, written by a Lady of Quality. 233
  • The fourth Part, written by a Lady of Quality. 237
  • The great Despair of the London whigs for the loss of their Charter. 241
  • A Panegyrick to His Royal Highness James D. of York, upon His Majesty's late Declaration, &c. 243
  • To His Ro [...]al Highness the Duke of York. 246
  • A Congratulatory Poem upon the happy Arrival of His Royal Highness James D. of York, at London, April the 8th. 1682 249
  • To His Royal Highness upon his Arrival from Flanders. 255
  • [Page]To His Royal Highness the Duke of York upon his Return to the Care and Management of the Navy of England. 259
  • A Welcom to His Royal Highness into the City of London April the 20th 1682. 261
  • A Farewel to His Royal Highness the Duke of York on his Voyage to Scotland October 20th▪ 1680. 263
  • The Dukes Welcom from Scotland to London. 264
  • An Heroick Poem on her Highness the Lady Ann's Voyage into Scotland: With a little Digression upon the Times. 266
  • Islington Waters. 270
  • Serenissimis Principibus Eboracensibus, & Albaniensibus Ducibus, ter Maximis in Angliam Reducibus Con­gratulator. 276
  • A Pindarique Ode, upon the late Horrid and Damnable Whiggish Plot. 280
  • A Pindarique Ode, upon His Majestics Review of His Forces at Putney-Heath. 287
  • The Melancholly Complaint of Doctor Titus Oates. 291
  • An account of an Apparition that appeared to Titus Oates, 311
  • A Paradox against Liberty, Written by the Lords, du­ring their Imprisonment in the Tower. 314
  • The last Speech of Sir Edmondbury Godfrey's Ghost. 322
  • Advice to the Painter's Adviser. 323
  • The Hypocritical Christian; or the Conventicle Citizen. 326
  • On the Kings most Happy and Miraculous Deliverance at Newmarket. 334
  • A Pastoral upon the Death of her Grace the Dutchess of Ormond. 336
  • Funeral Tears to the Sacred Memory of our late Sove­raign King Charles the Second. 341
  • [Page]Scotlands Loyalty; or, Sorrowful Sighs on the Death of our late Sovereign His Sacred Majesty. 344
  • An Elegy on the Deplorable and never enough to be La­mented Charles II. 347
  • To his Sacred Majesty King James II. 349
  • Ireland's Tears, A Pindarique Poem upon the Death of▪ our late Soveraign Charles the II. and the Peaceful and Happy Succession and Inauguration of our present Great Monarch King James the II. 351
  • An Heroick Poem most humbly Dedicated to the Sacred Majesty of Katharine Queen Dowager. 362
  • The Description of the Coronation. 369
  • A Poem on the Coronation. 388

BOOKS Printed by Nath. Thompson at the Entrance into the Old-Spring-Garden near Charing-Cross.

A Choice Collection of 180 Loyal Songs, with the Musical Notes Composed by the best Masters of that Art; All of them writ­ten unce the two late PLOTS, viz. The Horrid Salamanca Plot in 1678. and the Fanatical Conspiracy in 1683. Intermixt with some New Love Songs. With a Table to find every Song: To which is added an Anagram and an Accrostick on the Salamanca Doctor. The Third Addition, with the Addition of 40 New Songs never before in Print; With the Musical Notes to each Song. price bound 2 s. 6 d.

The Lawyer Out-law'd; or, a Brief Answer to Mr. H [...]nt's defence of the Charter. With some useful Remarks on the Commons Pro­ceedings in the last Parliament at Westminster, in a Letter to a Friend. Price 6 s.

The Genealogies of the High-born Prince and Princess, George and Anne of Denmark, &c. shewing the Lineal Descent of these two Noble and Illustrious Families; with their Matches, Issues, Times of Death, Place of Sepulchre, Impresses and Devices, &c. From the year of Grace M. to this present year 1685. Extracted from the most Authentick Testimonies of the best Historians and Antiquaries of their times. Price bound 1 [...].

Janua Scientiarum: Or, a Compendious Introduction to Geogra­phy, Chronology, Government, History, Phylosophy; And all Gen­tile sorts of Literature. Price [...]ound 1 [...].

POEMS. THE VVAKING VISION; OR, REALITY in a Fancy.

AS I was walking, reading in a Book,
Of all the Plots that Hell had undertook,
Methought I heard a sudden murmuring Rout,
And cu [...]ious to behold, I fac'd about;
When soon the Croud did to my sight appear,
With a young Hero stalking in the Rear.
Their Leader was an old man, known too well
By that false traiterous name Achitophel:
He fac'd about, and waving round his Wand,
The cringing Rout stood still upon's command.
Lieutenant Absolom forsook the Rear,
And strutting forward, did i'th' Front appear.
Thus fixt in their Array, the first that broke
The silence, was Achitophel; who spoke
With roaring voice, and visage most austere,
When to his Eccho all the Rout gave ear:
All big with expectations, till the bold
Snake-like Achitophel this story told.
I need not tell you of the case betwixt ye,
If you remember Forty eight and Sixty:
How happy were we in the first of those,
When no man durst our Laws and Wills oppose;
Wills as obliging as the Persian Laws;
We fought, and prosper'd in the good old Cause:
None durst oppose our Faction, or appear
In vindication of a Cavalier.
Then all our Party in one humour stood
To bleed the Nation, tap the Royal Blood.
Till envious Death at last did basely trip
Old Noll up with his short Protectorship.
Then turn'd the Game, and Monk began to sing
In Loyal tone, Now Boys a King, a King!
Against our wills he did by force restore
The King to that which was His Right before;
Then all those plaguy Rogues call'd Cavaliers,
Began to peep abroad, and shake their Ears;
Each one expecting from the King to be
Rewarded for his Truth and Loyalty.
When thus we saw our Plots go down the wind,
We chang'd our Note, and spake in other kind.
And made the World believe 'twas only We
Restor'd the King to Crown and Dignity:
When if we could but still have been obey'd,
No Stuart e're had Englands Scepter sway'd.
But since what's done can't be undone again,
Why stand we idle, gazing here in vain?
Let's try our wits, and Plot for to obtain,
And play the Old Game over once again:
Do as our Fathers did, come, play our parts,
And let the people know you're English hearts
That are not given to change.—
Eighty one offers us a mark as fair,
As ever Forty did: come;—strike;—prepare,
Take Oaths of Secresie, and Covenant
To ease the Nation of her groans and want.
(Right and Religion, Liberties and Laws,)
Will make the Rout quickly espouse our Cause:
Tell 'em if they don't stir they're quite undone;
Religion's ruin'd, Liberties are gone:
Perswade 'em that the Pope and Popish Train,
Are just returning to the Land again:
That's a pretence ne're fails, but always takes,
And of a Bad Old Cause a Good One makes.
Now, now's the time; strike up, for if you miss,
You'l never meet a time so pat as this.
Here's Popish Plots discover'd and found out,
With Fears and Jealousies to charm the Rout;
And soon perswades them all their Lives are lost,
That they must burn like Martyrs at a Post,
Unless they get the Popish Party quell'd,
That are by Evil Counsellors upheld:
Here's Grievance upon Grievance: these are Knaves,
And those would make the free born Subjects Slaves:
Tell them the King's a Tyrant, and Oppressor,
And that we have a damn'd Popish Successor:
The Parliament's Disolv'd, and we must be
Govern'd by Arbitrary Tyrany:
But yet be sure to keep you in the shade,
And do what e're you do in Masquerade.
If any Senator against you sit,
Be sure to call him Papist, Jesuit,
Mac-Tory, Protestant in Masquerade,
That would your Liberties and Rights invade.
Now one word more, and I have spoke enough,
Go fall to work, for I have found you stuff.
Which having spoke, the Rout were jogging home,
But soon return'd at voice of Absolom;
Who with andacious tone cry'd hark, my friends,
Come side with me, if you'l attain your ends;
Achitophel shall change, and take the Rear,
And I my self will in the Front appear;
And good old David soon shall know that I
VVill be his Heir, or else I'll bravely die.
VVhat though my Mother was his Concubine?
The fault was hers, I'm sure it was not mine:
I am his Son, and from his Loins did spring:
I am of Royal Blood, and will be King:
Do you but help me to obtain the Crown,
I'll rule by Law, and all your Foes put down;
I'le part the King and Council quite asunder,
And will redress the Griefs you labour under:
If once I can but to the Throne attain,
I'le grant New Charters, and the Old maintain.
At which the Rout with hollows fill'd the Skies,
And cry'd, We'll venture all for Liberties:
VVhen suddenly the Rout did disappear,
And all the Coast was in an instant clear.
Then I began to think which was the worse,
Fanatick Blessing, or a Popish Curse:
I put them in two Scales to try their weight,
And found the Ballance equi-ponderate;
But holding them a while, I quickly found
As this was hoisted up, that kiss'd the ground:
Then suddenly I found the meaning out;
This ruins quickly, but that round about.
Then to my mind my thoughts began to sing,
Go haste, and what thou'st heard inform the King:
I durst not go, but presently I wrote,
And seal'd it up, and sent the King this Note.

To the KING.

DRead Sir, if you will Rule this Land in peace,
Expel your Foes, and Friends will soon in­crease:
Your Ruine does, Sir, too too plain appear,
Rome leads the Van, Geneva brings the Rear.
If you'l be safe, you must expel them both,
The Roman Gnat, and the Dissenting Moth:
And vigorously let them understand,
You are their King, and will like King command.
And if you e're expect to gain your Ends,
As well as open Foes, take heed of Friends;
I mean a flatt'ring Friend, whose only shew
Makes him a Friend, but really is not so.
Learn by your Father, not to trust to those
That in the end will prove confiding Foes.
Consider on't, you're in a woful straight,
Think but on Forty one, and Forty eight.
I only speak this for a Precedent,
For Heav'n I hope will all such things prevent.
You're now the Darling of all Loyal hearts,
And may be still, if you will take their parts:
But if you bear with Faction, or with Rome,
And do delay to give them both their doom,
All Loyal men must suffer by those two,
And be in spight of [...]ate undone with You.
You must be sure to ruine both, or none;
If one remain, you're sure to be undone:
For if you ruine Rome, on equal scores,
To shut the Window, but leave ope the Doors;
Ʋnless you ruine the Fanaticks too,
For know one Nation can't hold Them and You.
Those men I fear against your Life combine,
That strive to cross you in your good design;
And those men sure would yield to put you down,
That tell the People. You are not their own.
Pardon me, Sir, if I your quiet break,
For Poets dare at all Adventures speak.

The Deliquium: or the Grievance of the Nation discovered in a Dream.

FRom evenings Coffee, lac'd with long Argu­ment
Of the Kings Power and Rights of Parliament,
And hot▪ brain'd Company, who make it their Vocation,
Waving their own, to mind th' Affairs o'th' Na­tion;
Whose noddles for these many months have been
Hatchers of Grievances, unfelt, unseen;
Ill-manner'd Fools, whose ignorance is Hate,
They understand not, therefore blame the State.
Their real grievance is their want of sense,
Beasts in all things, but in Obedience.
Cloy'd with their noisy Cant (in equal plight
Of laughter, scorn, and grief) I bid good night:
Troubl'd to think of Englands Grand Disease,
Groaning with th' burthen of such Sots as these;
To bed I went, where restless long I lay,
Despair'd of sleep, and waiting for the day:
Lord! (said I) must our Monarch ne're have rest?
The more indulgent, th' more he is opprest
With Fools that know not, think not what they want;
Their desire Granted, they'l soon cure the Grant:
Yet the King's still in fault! methinks I see
Tears flowing down the Cheeks of Majesty.
If I am troubled, how much more is He,
Who bears the burthen of their Calumny?
Thus lay I 'long, my Soul quite spent with Sighs,
When sleep insensibly stole o're my Eyes.
From lump of Flesh unchain'd, methought my Soul
Through dark unwholsom Foggy Mists did rowl;
Horrour increasing still, methought I came
To the dire Mansions of Eternal Flame,
The Gates of Brass transparent were, and thence
Flew Azure flames with smoak of nauseous stench,
With a confused noise of Howls and Groans,
Such as would melt (if any thing can) the Stones.
The horrour quell'd my Spirit, that I stood
'M z'd and insensible as Stone or Wood,
Till by a Friend reviv'd; cheer thee, quoth he,
This place as yet is not design'd for Thee.
He led me through the Gates, where lo, a place,
Larger than all this lower Worlds vast space,
The torments gave some light (else dark as night)
A pale bituminous discoulor'd Light,
Millions of wretched Souls my Fancy view'd,
VVeltring in flames, with Pitch and Brimstone strew'd.
Just at the Gate th' Infernal Senate sate;
For know, that Hell's no Kindom, but a State;
A Democratick State; for it affords
(As I was told) no King nor House of Lords:
Tho' Lucifer's a kind of Prince, he sate
But Chair-man, or rather Speaker to the State;
A Troop of Ghastly Fiends surround his chair,
All which of a Select Committee were,
VVho (having plaid their Devils part so well)
Had been Elected Burgesses of Hell:
Two who were lately to Ʋtopia sent,
Stood now for Members of the Parliament.
O Yes, was strait proclaim'd; appear, appear,
You that are Candidates; Mighty Lucifer
Assures his Vote for him who merits best
For his Utopia Service; All the rest
To Lucifer with formal Bows submit;
They would consent to what His Grace thought fit.
Python appear'd; Great Sir, said he, since I
VVent with this Honourable House's Embassy
T' Ʋtopia, I ha' brought that Realm to be
(An't please Your Grace,) in all Conformity
To your desire; But first I must confess
Letters of Credence from his Holiness
(Your Grace's Correspondent) I procur'd
To some Lords there; whom I before Insur'd
By my Ignatian Friends; O! they're a Crew
Of the most hearty, diligent and true,
Zealous unwearied Boys, to propogate
VVhat may conduce to th' good of this our State:
Had they but cunning equal to their will,
This place with humane Souls they'd quickly fill;
You'l need no other Fiends: These did my work,
And privily about the Realm did lurk:
Some ign'rant Bigots they engag'd, and some
Only with th' pleasing pride of Martyrdom;
Some by Ambition's Bait were finely caught,
All things at once boldly to venture at:
But I confess, though all my Art I try'd
To bring the Great Almanzor to our side,
I fail'd; but then I got it buz'd that He
Would soon make one in the Conspiracy;
This tickl'd, and engag'd them in that Plot
VVhich by th' Ʋtopians ne'r will be forgot.
In short, This Honourable House knows well
How I've deserv'd a Burgess-ship in Hell;
If not, we've some Jesuits here can tell.
Then through the House a murmuring Applause
Shew'd that they all inclin'd to Python's Cause.
VVhen Syphax, th' other Candidate appear'd,
Great Sir, said he, I hope my Cause (when heard)
VVill gain your suffrage; Mighty Sir, you know
M'Opponents method was a while ago
Us'd by Cantarogax, Your Agent then
To th' same Realms, tho' but in vain; since when
Others with like Effects have us'd it; I
Us'd the experienc'd Rule, Presbytery:
This was the method, Mighty Lucifer!
That brought ten thousand Rebel Souls a year
For twenty years together to this place,
For Python's part, an't please your Grace,
He hatch'd a Plot I must confess; but what
Effects did this his so much talkt of Plot
Produce? VVhy 'faith he e'en sent here no more
Than those who were Your Grace's own before.
For my own part, I to the House will give
Of all my Actions a short Narrative.
In grave and comly Hypocritick Dress,
Bearing the outward form of Godliness,
I cloath'd my self, and to Ʋtopia went,
Haunted the City, Court and Parliament▪
And in short time pick'd up a numerous Crew
Of all Religions, every Sect a few:
I made all those my own who took great pains
To make their seeming Godliness their gains:
All those who use Religion for a fashion,
Or seem to thrive by th' ruine of the Nation;
All who'd at Court their expectations crost,
Or by ill manners had Preferments lost:
All those who were engag'd in the late Broils,
In the King's Death and the three Nations Spoils,
And had this King's late Act of Grace abus'd
By their unnatural Ingratitudes:
All who had lost their Games, and now would fain,
For their own turn, have the Cards dealt again,
I found one fit at last to steer these right,
A Favourite of theirs, a much fam'd VVight,
Capricio call'd, and thereby hangs a Tale,
Meager his Visage is, his Face as pale
As his Deeds black; Dame Nature sure design'd
That by his out-side men might know his mind,
Hell's in his Body, and his shrivl'd Skin
Seems dropping from his rotten Bones within:
His Corrupt Tortur'd Body does convey
Fresh spleen and rancour to his Heart each day;
Which lest it shou'd o'reflow, or by mishap,
Be over-charg'd from Sun or Fleece, a Tap
Is in his Body fixt, with curious Art,
Which from his double Envy-canker'd heart,
By pumping, does exhaust th' exundant Juice,
Reserving still enough for's daily use.
With this half Fiend I many Consults had,
And we at last this Resolution made,
Almanzor's due Succession to oppose,
Among his many unprovoked Foes
We chose young Marcion, not for any love,
But to undo the Youth, as time will prove:
Poor easie Prince, he littte thinks that we
Prostitute this his weak Credulity
To our own use, to Anarchize the State,
And hasten his two soon intended Fate:
Disgusted Lords we got some two or three,
To put their helping hands to Anarchy.
Amongst the rest one Libertino nam'd,
Of him I must confess I was asham'd,
His vicious Life did much disgrace the Cause;
But 'twas enough his hate to King Church, Laws
And Goverment in general, drew the rude
Unthinking, Jealous, Headlong Multitude
To esteem him so that he this Title bears,
One of the Protestant Utopian Peers.
With these in close Cabals sometimes I past,
And forg'd a feasible Design at last:
'Twas thought without some provocation 'twere
Not fit our Cause in publick should appear:
I pitch'd upon a Rogue, the truth to tell,
Has not his Fellow even here in Hell,
Among our Crew we forg'd a Plot, which he
First brought to light; A Re-discovery
He made as soon, swore to, and was believ'd,
Then our good Party found themseves aggriev'd
And cry'd aloud These Tories, Brethen see;
Behold, we say, the Lords Delivery.
This was some Bishop sure, or Masquerader.
Soon after this a Son accus'd his Father;
Forward and backward swears, at last he vows, Sir,
He was subborn'd by that same Papist Towzer.
Things went on well, & now they thought 'twas time,
The Ladder of Rebellion they should clime:
The Senate sate; High for the Good Old Cause,
Magna Charta, and Fundamental Laws,
No Arbitrary Power, but we must give
Necessary Limits to Prerogative,
Tho' the King mayn't, yet We may break the Laws,
Punish at pleasure, though without a Cause;
Then must Almanzor be excluded; He
Has too much Spirit, too much bravery;
They must and will have presently Redress,
Of a long Bead-roll of Grievances.
And these are such as the K. won't, nor can't,
Nature and Conscience will not let him grant:
If not, no Money, Sirs, what e're come on't;
A Fig for Foreign Foes, so the K. want.
Councellors must be tax'd, and most of all
Hali, whom they had nought to charge withal,
But only 'cause he could discern the weather,
And judge when Elements would clash together;
They do not think it safe that any Lord
That has but sense, should sit at Council-Board;
Those that sit there should in their Foreheads have
Their Beast-ships mark of either Fool or Knave;
Who lov'd the K. was Voted straight to be
Betrayer of the Subjects Liberty
And their old long-lov'd Darling Property.
Capricio tells them next, they want a Prince
Fit to be trusted with the Rule; and since
The present King's not such, they think 'twere fit
That they be trusted both with Him and It.
In short, I've brought that Kingdom, now of late,
In all Conformity so near our State,
That whosoever sees both, will surely Swear
'Tis an exact true Pattern of This here.
Then such loud shouts from all the Senate came,
That I awak'd, and found it but a Dream.

SEJANUS: Or the Popular Favorite now in his solitude, and Sufferings.

IS this thy Glory now? is this thy Pride,
Of sticking to the Saints, and Godly side?
Religious bugbear words that fright from hence
From Subject, all their Loyalty to Prince,
Make black Rebellion, seem white Innocence;
Entitle Heaven, to the vilest Crimes,
Make Deity, like th' Rabble, blame the Times.
Mad Zealots! so Atheistically civil,
Baspheme the Gods, to Complement the Devil.
The mightiest of the inspir'd Saints, is come
To Crown himself with fancy'd Martyrdom:
Geneva Whig, that still cries out at Rome,
But raises still Domestick Broils at home.
How quietly Great Charles might end his Reign,
Which all in troubles the poor Prince began,
Now vext by Ghost, meer shadow of a Man:
The cunning Hypocrite, that still can spy
The smallest Mote in his kind Prince's eye,
By Zeal, and Nature, made so double blind,
That in his own the Beam he cannot find:
Some say but one vast Luminary stands
In's surrow'd brow, and watches all the Land;
But sunk into its hole, crept out of sight,
As if it were afraid to see the Light,
His Skull's too narrow Circle can't contain
His Tow'ring thought, & vast Gygantick brain;
Blinded again with hopes of Reformation,
Poor little Poliphemus of the Nation;
That mighty Monster brav'd the rising Floud,
And this can wade thro' a whole Sea of Blood.
How hath this wretched Isle been chang'd, and curst,
Since thou wert born, and since it knew thee first!
How did its Tributary Rivers pay
A bloody, dreadful Homage to the Sea!
VVhilst on the Purpl'd Ocean thou didst ride,
And tack about still with the Wind and Tide:
This floating Bark, he now again would Steer,
Ah! treacherous Pilot, and false Mariner;
The Kingdom's yet scarce mended Hulk to save,
VVould launch again into the Purple wave:
Religious Bully! that can cheat a Nation,
And make it perish, working out Salvation.
Three Kingdoms he o'relooks, & soon can count
The Tories all, from Barwick, to the Mount:
S [...] Cities, Shires, to find what each afford;
Calls this Tantivy, that Protesting Lord:
Sees what grave Noddle's for Caballing fit,
And who are Bromigens of Sense and VVit.
These are the faculties of Soul and Mind,
And here his Body as compleat you find;
From's liquid Corps, distills a fleeting gore,
And the whole Carcass, makes one putrid Sore.
The better to Emit this flowing Sap,
His Belly carries still a Tap,
Through which black Treason, all its dregs doth strain
At once, both Excrements of Guts and Brain;
But some will have his clear, thin Body pass
For a refin'd sort of Optick-glass:
Some make the polisht Fabrick of his Bone
A glittering Skeleton of Specular Stone.
Old Ovid's Muse from hence may take her flights,
Her Argus only had an hundred sights;
This little Monstrous Corps, is Eye all o're,
And the whole Body sees at every Pore;
Sees hatching Thought, meer Embrio of a Plot,
Nay sees it oft before it be begot.
But to say truth, his Opticks are but two:
Yet more than Ovid's Centinel can do
With 100 Eyes, that many things could view;
But this sees many hundred ways with two:
So quick, so nimble, and such rolling Eyes,
They watch each other, like two cunning Spies,
Lest This declare for King, and That for People,
For Cities Pyramid, or Churches Steeple.
Poor turning, winding, weathercock of State,
Set on the doubtful Pinacle of Fate,
And now will turn again, if not too late.
If well corrected for his Insolence,
The little Spaniel fawns upon his Prince;
But once escap'd the Ax, or fatal Loops,
Straight to the dull unthinking Rabble stoops,
Pufft up with the vain blast of Vulgar breath,
Thus small State-Urchins hurry to their death:
So the kind Air with an officious blast,
Tosses poor Bubbles, to the Clouds at last;
Dances the little Globe about the Skie,
Then breaks the glittering Ball it fann'd so high.
So Romes fam'd Darling once that govern'd all,
With the inconstant Rout did stand or fall;
Th' obliged Camp, their General did Crown,
Then dragg'd his ragged Carcass thro' the Town.
Weak Fools! that think they may securely flee
On the loose wings of wild Inconstancy,
Or on its Metaphor, the Mobile.
Disgusted by the Rout▪ this cunning Wight
Runs cringing to his injur'd Monarch straight,
Whose goodness is too ready to forgive,
Faulty alone in suffering Him to live.
Advanc'd to follow Mace, and wear a Gown,
The Tony then saw Mutineers in Town,
But now they all True Protestants are grown.
Whilst he unto its Chambers can resort,
There's nought alas, of Popery at Court;
Clap the Prophetick Soul but in the Tow'r,
It straight Divines of Arbitrary Pow'r.
Now leaves the Rout, and then as soon as able,
Leaves his good Prince, just as he left the Rabble.
Who e're before saw such a little thing
Contend with Monarch, grapple with a King!
Of Oyants o [...]t we read, that fought the Skies,
Cu [...]t back the Thunder of the Deities;
But ne're of Pigmy Lord that did the same,
A Lord that's only fit to fight with Crane.
This buisy Noddle of the Factious Crew,
Not now distinguish'd by th' old northen blew,
(The Badge of upstart Whigs must still be new)
With his Green Bob in this new Senate sits,
And round him all those Liv'ry-men of wits;
Some raze a name, and some insert a clause,
Order their Bills themselves, & vote them Laws:
With awful care some Scriblers penning be
A Speech for Sister Scotlands Liberty,
'Gainst Lauderdale's unbounded Tyranny.
There a young Scribe is copying out a Cant,
Next morn for to be spoke in Parliament:
Up starts an Hector, swears upon a Book,
'Gad you shall see we'll exclude the Duke.
This brings a Bill 'gainst Arbitrary Power,
And That will send a Member to the Tower;
One Votes him to be Censur'd on his Knees,
This cries Discharge, That, Let him pay his Fees:
And in the little Club you fairly see,
Of that great Senate an Epitomee.
But now the mouth of this Young Rump is gone,
The dissolv'd Members scatter in the Town;
Poor Tony's now confin'd, and like to write
All that fierce Indignation can Indite;
His second Volume quickly will appear,
The Tower always made Him Scribler.
As below on some bright Meteor gaze,
Poor Panick Fools admire a little blaze,
Which once dropt down, regardless we pass by,
As too vile object for our scornful Eye,
The gazing Croud thus him in Lustre view,
Caress, admire, and adore him too;
But once Eclips'd, or shaded in a Cloud,
Away runs all the silly buzzing Croud.
All thy past shifts will serve thee now no more,
Or there is scarce another left in store:
The Tempter his old Sorc'ress doth forsake,
VVhen once h'hath brought the wither'd Hag to Stake:
When the glib changing Monster once was ta'ne▪
And fetter'd in the cunning Shepherds chain,
VVith all his wiles he never could escape,
Tho' chang'd to Fish, to Dragon, and to Ape,
And every minute put on other shape.
Our sad distracted Albion gazing round,
She saw no Foe, but still she felt a wound:
The bleeding Deer thus trembling stands at Bay
But can't find where the close hid Archer lay.
As on the winding Banks, and watry Maze,
VVhere fam'd Meander cuts his crooked ways,
The lost confounded Traveller doth gaze.
At last kind Fate, or Providence doth bring
The poor despairing Soul unto the Spring:
So some kind Angel, Genius to this Isle,
VVhere peace, alas! with thee could never smile
Hath taught us now to make her flourish still,
Shewn us the hidden Source of all her Ill.
Reason the Plummet, Wit the Line shall be,
Both stretcht to fathom, and to measure thee:
Lead through the Labyrinth of all thy Tricks,
All the wild Mazes of thy Politicks.

A Canto upon the Miraculous Cure of the K's Evil, perform'd by the D. of M. in 80.

AS Popish Farriers use t'imploy
In their own Trade the good St. Loy,
The Saint to whom they have Recourse,
As to Heavens Master of the Horse:
To him they loudly cry for Mercy,
On Ragged Colts that have the Farcy;
For
For Hackneys Gall'd to him they Pray,
And Drink dead Drunk upon his day:
So to his Grace of M—Trots,
A Filly Fole that had the Bots;
For still she knew, (and 'twas no News)
He kept the Mares, though not the Muse.
But had you seen the Skittish Jade,
You would have thought her Drunk or Mad;
For at first dash his Hand she seiz'd,
Much was th' Ambitious Heroe pleas'd.
So sweetly did Don Quixot Grin;
When the Maid Marrian of the Inn
He thought was some Enchanted Queen;
Askt his Dead-doing Hand to Kiss;
But what White Devil danc'd in this?
Some Fly, some Rat, or Great old Pus,
Or Spirit Mephostophilus;
Or Pug that Paracelsus wore
In the Pomel of his Sword before;
Or Healing Virtue that as Rare is,
Is sent His Grace by's Aunt of Fayries,
Who aids him thus in Hugger Mugger,
So did Doll Common, Abel Drugger.
Some sweaty Devil in his Palm,
Transfuses Brine instead of Balm;
And Brine you know is good for th' Itch,
In any mangy Dog or Bitch:
Long in his Fist the Leprous Drab,
Paddles and pores familar Scab.
The Witch her Dam had set her Fancy
Agog upon this Chyromancy;
To view each Line the Hag Importunes,
And thus Young Gipsie reads his Fortunes.
The men of Westminster shall pass
High Votes in Honour of Your Grace;
No Prayers for fear of the Black-Rod,
They'l Vote (I fear) No King, No God.
Great stickling there shall be for Two,
Pillory'd Benjamin and You.
What will you give me the next Spring,
If then You are not Crowned King?
By Oates before we Reap next Crop,
Oates in a Tub will Preach You up.
So Sybel ended her vile Guessing,
And each to other gave their Blessing;
But Oh! the Green sick Girls may boast,
This Duke hath Cur'd them to his Cost;
Though now he cuts his Capers high,
He may with False-staff one day cry,
(When Age hath set him in the Stocks)
A Pox on my Gout, a Gout of my Pox.
Yet that Fat Knight with all his Guts,
That were not then so sweet as Nuts,
Though oft he boldly fought and winkt,
Led Harry M—by Instinct;
Reveres a Buckram Prince of Wales,
His great Heart quops, his Courage quails.
The Lyon Rampant is too wise,
To touch a Prince, though in Disguise:
Much less a Prince so Kind and Civil,
To touch a Kingdom for Kings-Evil.
He means to make it (for its Health)
A Common Whore, a Commonwealth.
The stroaker Graitrix was a sot,
And all his Feat-tricks are forgot;
But Duke Trinculo, and Tom Dory,
Will be a famous Quack in story.
Let every scabby City Cuckow,
Fly into Your Hedge-lane to look You,
If Seventh Sons do things so Rare.
In You seven Fathers have a share.
Shew us some more of these fine Mocks,
Shew then Your Black Art, Your Black Box.
'Tis thought you've there some pure Receipt,
Great Mountebank of our sick State.
Your Zany, who this Cure reveals,
Tell us in March Your Highness heals.

Tom Ross's Ghost to his Pupil.

SHame of my Life, Disturber of my Tomb,
Base as thy Mothers prostituted Womb;
Huffing to Cowards, fawning to the Brave,
To Knaves a Fool, to credulous Fools a Knave,
The King's Betrayer, and the Peoples Slave.
Like Samuel at the Necromantick Call,
I rise to tell thee, God has left thee, SAƲL?
I strove in vain thy Infected Blood to cure,
Streams will run muddy where the Spring's impure.
In all your meritorious Life we see
Old TAAFS invincible sobriety.
Places of Master of the Horse, and Spy,
You (like Tom H—d) did at once supply:
From Sydney's Blood your Loyalty did spring;
You shew us all your Fathers but the KING,
From whose too tender and too bounteous Arms,
(Ʋnhappy he who such a Viper warms;
As dutiful a Subject, as a son)▪
To Your true Parents, the whole Town you run.
Read if You can, how th' old Apostate fell,
Out-do his pride, and Merit more than Hell:
Both He and You were gloriously bright,
The first and purest of the Sons of Light:
But when like Him you offer'd at the Crown
Like Him, your angry Father kick▪ You dawn.

The Oxford Alderman's Speech to the D, of M. at His entrance into that City about September 80.

STout Hanibal, before He came to Age,
Perpetual Wars with Rome was sworn to wage!
You lead us to such Wars; Oh happy We!
Great Prince! You are a Soldier good as He:
Though some will say, (to give the Devil his due)
He was as good a Protestant as You.
You to the Whore of Whores, the Whore of Rome,
Devoted from Your own chaste Mothers Womb;
Though in the Schools of Jesuits true bred,
You scorn'd to learn of them to write or read:
A Protestant! (the more to be admir'd)
That never were Instructed, but Inspir'd,
So unconcern'd from Popery You pass,
No use of Ʋnderstanding in the Case.
True Interest (that all other things o'repowers)
And generous Indignation made You Ours:
Even so in Spain to Mass come Trading Jews,
Cast Drabs turn Quakers but to spite the Stews.
But Fears and Jealousies of You we scorn,
That are so true a Son of Honour born;
And since have made both Gog and Magog bleed,
Act but the Demagogue, You'l do the Deed:
You'l Damn and Ram proud Antichrist to Hell;
But force Him first to work one Miracle.
He that with four hard words, and one Grave Nod,
Turns an insipid Wafer into God;
Were You a Dough-bak'd Duke, with less ado,
To Prince of Wales might Transubstantiate You.
Do you but say't, we'l swear that You are so,
And rather Kiss Your Hand, than Kiss His Toe:
Resolv'd, Resolv'd, It must not be gain said;
Faith we'l believe Your Mother was a Maid.
Why should You think Ambition any Crime?
We'll make You Duke of Venice in goodtime:
Or, if You scruple to Ʋsurp the Crown;
Having once rais'd Ʋs, You may then sit down.
You, or Your Friends shall have the foremost place;
Perhaps we'll joyn Sir Armstrong with Your Grace:
Whether You Reign, or He, it is all one,
Great Alexander's Dear Hephestion.
But when You come to Reap these goodly Fruits,
Sweet Sir, remember these our Suits,
First, Let these Lordly Bishops to Pot;
'Tis plain their Lordships all are in the Plot,
They hold none lawful Heirs, but lawfully be­got.
Our Commonwealth's a Castle in the Air,
If we Pray for King or Common▪ Prayer.
These Paltry Schollars, blast them with I breath,
Or they'l Rhime your Grace and Ʋs to death.
Then O brave we! then hey for our good Town!
Then up go we when Wit and Sense go down.

The Ghost of the late Paliament to the New one to meet at OXFORD

FRom Deepest Dungeon of Eternal Night,
The Seats of horror, sorrow, pains & spight,
I have been sent to tell Your tender Youth
A Seasonable and Important Truth!
I feel (but Oh too late) that no Disease,
Is like the Surfeit of Luxurious Ease;
And of all others, the most tempting things,
Are too much Wealth, and too Indulgent Kings.
None ever was Superlatively Ill,
But by degrees, Industry and Skill:
And some, whose meaning hath at first been fair,
Grow Knaves by Use, and Rebels by Despair,
My time is past, and yours will soon begin,
Keep your first Blossoms from the blast of Sin;
And by the Fate of my Tumultuous ways,
Preserve your selves, and bring Serener Days.
The busie subtile Serpents of the Law,
Did first my mind from true Obedience draw;
While I did Limits to the King Prescribe,
And took for Oracles that Canting Tribe;
I chang'd true Freedom for the name of Free,
And grew Seditious for Variety.
All that oppos'd me were to be accus'd,
And, by the Law Illegally abus'd!
The Robe was summon'd, M—d in the Head,
In Legal Murder none so deeply read:
I brought him to the Bar, where once he stood,
Stain'd with the (yet Un-expiated) Blood
Of the Brave Strafford, when 3 Kingdoms rung,
With his accumilative Hackney Tongue;
Prisoners and Witnesses were waiting by;
These had been taught to Swear, & those to Dye;
And to expect their Arbitrary Fates,
Some for Ill Faces, some for Good Estates:
To fright the People, and alarm the Town,
Burnet & Oates imploy'd the Reverend Gown:
But while the Triple Mitre bore the Blame,
The Kings Three Crowns were all their aim,
I seem'd, (and did but seem) to fear the Guards,
And took for mine the Bethels and the Wards,
Anti-monarchick Hereticks of State,
Immoral Athiests, Rich, and Reprobate.
But above all I got a little Guide,
Who every Foard of Villany had Try'd;
None knew so well the old pernicious way,
To Ruine Subjects, and make Kings Obey;
And my small Jehu at a furious rate,
Was driving Eighty back to Forty Eight.
This the King knew, and was resolv'd to bear;
But I mistook his Patience for his Care.
All that this Happy Island could afford,
Was Sacrific'd-to my Voluptuous Board.
In his whole Paradice One onely Tree
He had excepted by a strict Decree;
A Sacred Tree which Royal Fruit did bear,
Yet It in pieces I Conspir'd Tear;
Beware my Child! Divinity is there.
This so out▪ did all I had done before,
I could attempt, and He endure no more,
My un-prepar'd and un-repenting Breath,
Was snatcht away by the swift Hand of Death;
And I (with all my Sins about me) hurl'd,
To th' utter Darkness of the lower World:
A dreadful place where you too soon shall see,
If You believe Seducers more than Me.

The Parliament Dissolv'd at OXFORD,

March the 28th. 1681.
UNder 500 Kings Three Kindoms grone:
Go Finch Dissolve them, Charles is in the Throne,
And by the Grace of God will Reign alone.
What would the Commons have? the Royal Line
Heaven does dispose of; 'tis not Theirs, nor Mine,
But His by whom Kings Rule, and are Divine.
I represent the King of Kings, who gave
The Crown, the Sword, the Scepter; what I have;
I am Gods Servant, not the Peoples Slave.
Their Frantick Votes, & Mad Resolves I hate;
I know a better way to heal a State,
Than to Sin rashly, and Repent too late,
Bid them be gone F. they are damn'd uncivil,
To oblige Me to follow them to th' Devil;
To save Three Kingdoms I will not do Evil.
The Presbyterian's sick of too much Freedom,
Are ripe for Beth'lem; it's high time to bleed 'em;
The 2d. Charles does neither fear nor need 'em.
I'll have the World know that I can Dissipate
Those Impolitick Mushrooms of our State,
'Tis easier to Dissolve than to Create.
They shan't Cramp Justice with their feigned flaws;
For since I govern only by the Laws;
Why they should be exempt, I see no cause.
To the Laws they must submit; 'tis in vain
E're to attempt to shake off those again;
For where Charles commands, there must Justice Reign.
When the Peoples Father does espouse the Law,
All those who Subjects from their Duty draw,
Do Viper-like, through Parents Bosom gnaw.
When they attend Me next, F. bid them bring
Calmer thoughts; bid them propose Legal Things;
Such as may both become Themselves & Kings.
This will the Joys of our little World Compleat,
And all attempts of Foreign Foes Defeat;
Making the People Happy, Monarch Great.

The RECOVERY.

YEt once more Peace turns back her head, to smile,
And take some pity on our stubborn Isle;
She and her Sister Truth now Hand in Hand,
Return to visit our forsaken Land.
I see, I see, O Albion! Bless the Sight!
Truth (long Eclips'd) lift up her Sacred Light,
And chase away the obscene Birds of Night.
Th'ill boding Screech-Owl we so long did fear,
Hov'ring above us in our thick'ned Air;
Whose fatal note was never heard, but Death
Follow'd th' Infernal Evidencing Breath.
Hail lovely Truth! Oh! spread thy Rays Divine,
And bid thy dawning Beams more fully Shine;
Already thy Glad Influence we find,
And all now see, but they who will be blind:
They see whilst thou hold'st up thy Guiding light,
The dangerous errour of their Former Night;
A Night, which all our Heaven did invade,
By the dire skill of State Magicians made:
In a dark Cell the Wayward Brothers met,
I'th' midst a Chair there was for Satan set;
Which in his Abs [...]ce———
A little wither'd Conjurer supply'd,
And all his Imps drank Venom from his side:
His word was (then He out his Tap did pluck,)
Come my young Pugs of Treason, come and suck:
This Hellish Rite perform'd, to work they go
To raise up Darkness from the shades below;
Thick Mists of Popular Fears and Jealousies
Did at their Necromantick Call arise,
And in Black Clouds hid the British Skies.
Here first their unskill'd Spirits the visions play'd,
And learnt their Visions to the Hatfield Maid:
Here first were rais'd the wond'ring world to
The Armies Harris muster'd in the Air.
But now the Charm's dissolv'd, & England's free scar,
From the Enchantment, does its madness see;
See its vain fears of that expected day,
No Royal Blood stain'd the Fifteenth of May:
Prevailing Truth has open'd Britains Eyes,
And Folly seen, begins to make her wise.
O let us then Unite, make Faction cease,
Nor think Confusion is the way to Peace;
That Schism must the Churches Fall prevent,
Or breaking Law, secure the Government.
Let Traytors to expected Tryal come,
And from the mouth of Justice receive their doom:
'Tis so, the Traytor comes, now, now maintain
Justice thy Seat, nor bear the Sword in vain.
Tho Hackney Speakers wou'd o're Law prevail,
And Conquer Thee by telling a false Tale;
Though Factious or Guilty Lords appear,
To blunt that Sword whose edge they justly fear;
Tho Garter Blue, and Star the Court should awe,
But Oh! that Star does now its Beams withdraw;
Nor at the Tryal will its Light dispence,
To cherish Treason with its Influence.
VVhat then are they who from thy hand would snatch
The blackest Traytor Hell did ever hatch?
When they but once that Horrid Paper see,
Which does almost exceed in Villany,
Satan, or his Vicegerent Shaftsbury;
Who in this Cause so much had never done,
But that he knew the ugly Brat his own.
Yet all in vain strives Councellour and Lord,
Revenging Goddess, speak the fatal Word;
Nor let Confession turn aside thy Blow,
But once strike Rogues that own that they are so;
Had this been early done, t'had sav'd the Guilt
Of so much Blood so prodigally spilt;
While certain Villany did hurry hence,
To unjust Death suspected Innocence.
But Justice now in this Triumphant Scene,
Thy Shame does end, and Triumph does begin▪
All this to thy Defender Charles is due,
Who now with Thee His Glory does renew;
Already with fresh Beams the Crown does shine,
Power Sacred grows, and Majesty Divine,
His Majesty's Scepter's in His Hand held fast,
Nor like a Reed is bent with every blast:
Hold, hold Great Charles, this Resolution hold,
And in thy own and Kingdoms Cause be Bold;
What ever of this mighty Body, Thou
The Head resolv'st, We thy Hands will do;
Dare to be Happy, and to make Us so.
How Great is Majesty, and how August?
How God like, when 'tis resolutely Just?
Then 'tis that Willing Subjects gladly meet,
To throw their Lives before their Monarchs feet;
Then 'tis their Fortunes they before him lay,
Sue to be Rul'd, and Glory to Obey.
Such Charles is now thy State, and such the Train
Of these that now Petition thee to Reign;
See, even thy Prodigal Son does now desire,
To leave his Husks, & Swine, & Wapping Mire,
In which so long he wallow'd up and down,
Known to each Dirty Kennel of the Town;
And to his injur'd Father, and his Lord,
Would by his much wrong'd Ʋncle be restor'd:
How well has Williams, Jones, and W—n,
B—h, G—d, T—y, their great Duties done!
How have they taught the People to Repent
Their Zeal for their great Idol Parliament?
How have they shewn the Arbitrary way
That Monster took to make us all its Prey?
They to lose all, claim'd more than was their Right,
And strech'd their Power only to break it qui [...]e.
These, these are they who have true service done,
Meriting their Sacred Favours from the Crown:
These, these have made a Dissolution be,
Not Wisdom only, but Necessity.
These thus remov'd our Jealousies and Fears,
Were ever so Deserving Pensioners!
Then Charles, since all things now conspire to bless
Thy peaceful Age with Conquest and Success;
Begin, Resolve, and Venture to be Great,
Nor overthrow these vast Designs of Fate:
Begin at home, purge thine own House, and free
From Villains Tongues the Ears of Majesty;
False P—s from thy Bed-Chamber Discard,
Let Catch-pole Br—s thy Crourt be bar'd,
Nor leave one Factious R—l in the Guard.

A Panegyrick upon OATES.
Silvestrum Tenui Musam Meditemur Avena.

OF all the Grain our Nation yields
In Orchards, Gardens, or in Fields,
There is a Grain (which tho 'tis common)
Its Worth till now, was known to no man.
Not Ceres Sickle 'ere did Crop
A Grain with Ears of greater hope;
For why? some say, the Earth ne're bore,
In any Clime such Seed before.
Yet this Grain has (as all must own)
To Grooms and Hostlers well been known;
And often has, (without disdain,)
In musty Barn and Manger layn;
As if it had been only good
To be for Birds and Beasts the Food:
But now by new inspired force,
It keeps alive both Man and Horse:
Speak then my Muse, for now we guess,
What Grain it is, thou wouldst express.
It is not Barley, Rye, or Wheat,
That can pretend to such a Feat;
'Tis OATES, bare OATES, which become
The Health of England, Bane of Rome,
And Wonder of all Christendom.
And therefore OATES has well deserv'd,
From Musty Barn to be prefer'd,
And now in Royal Court preserv'd;—
That, like Hesperian Fruit, OATES may
Be Watch'd and Guarded Night and Day;
Which is but just Retaliation
For having Guarded a whole Nation.
Hence every lofty Plant which stands
'Twixt Barwick Walls, and Dover Sands;
The Oak it self, which well we stile,
The Pride and Safe-guard of our Isle,
Must Wave and Strike its Lofty Head,
And now Salute an Oaten Reed.
For surely Oates deserves to be
Exalted far [...]bove any Tree.
Th' Aegyptians once (tho' it seems odd)
Did Worship Onyons for a God;
And poor peel'd Garlick was with them
Esteem'd beyond the greatest Gem.
What would they done, had they, think ye,
Had such a Blade of Oates as we?
OATES of such known Divinity!
Since then by Oates such good we find,
Let Oates at least now be enshrin'd,
Or in some Sacred Press inclos'd
Be only kept to be expos'd;
And all fond Reliques else, shall be
Deem'd Objects of Idolatry.
Popelings may tell us, how they saw
Their Garnet's Picture on a Straw;
'Twas a great Miracle we know,
To see him drawn in little so,
But on an Oaten Stalk, there is
A greater Miracle than this;
A Visage, which with lively Grace
Does twenty Garnets now Out-face,
And Twig of Dodona's Grove
E'en speaks as if inspir'd by Jove.
Nay, to add to the Wonder more,
Declares unheard-of Things before,
And thousand Mysteries does unfold,
As plain as Oracles of old;
By which we steer Affairs of State,
And stave off Britain's sudden Fate.
Let's then, in honour of the Name
Of Oates, enact some Solemn Game,
Where Oaten Pipe shall us inspire
Beyond the Charms of Orpheus's Lire;
Stones, Stocks, and every senseless thing
To Oates shall Dance, to Oates shall Sing,
Whilst Woods amaz'd to th' Ecchoes ring.
And as (that Hero's Names may not
When they are rotten, be forgot;)
We hang Atchievements o're their Dust;
(A debt to their great merits just:)
So if Deserts of Oates we prize,
Let OATES still hang before our Eyes;
Thereby to raise our Contemplation,
OATES being to this Happy Nation
The Mystick Emblem of Salvation.

An Epithalamium upon the Marriage of Captain William Bedloe.

Ille ego qui quondam gracili modulatus Avena,
Arma virumque Cano.—
I, he, who Sung of humble OATES before,
Now Sing a Captain and a Man of War.
GOddess of Rhime, that didst inspire
The Captain with Poetick fire,
Adding fresh Lawrels to that brow
Where those of Victory did grow,
And statelyer Ornaments may flourish now.
If thou art well recover'd since
The Excommunicated Prince:
For that Important Tragedy,
Would have kill'd any Muse but Thee;
Hither with speed, Oh! hither move,
Pull buskins off, and since to Love,
The ground is holy that you tread in,
Dance bare-foot at the Captains Wedding.
See where he comes, and by his side
His charming fair Angelick Bride:
Such, or less lovely was the Dame
So much Renown'd, Fulvia by name,
With whom of old Tully did joyn,
Then when his Art did undermine,
The Horrid Popish Plot of Cateline.
Oh fairest Nymph of all great Britain,
(Though thee my Eyes I never set on)
Blush not on thy great Lord to smile,
The second Saviour of our Isle;
What nobler Captain could have led
Thee to thy long'd-for Marriage Bed;
For know that thy all-daring Will is
As stout a Hero as Achilles;
And as great things for thee has done,
As Palmerin or th' Knight o'th' Sun,
And is himself a whole Romance alone.
Let conscious Flanders speak, and be
The Witness of his Chivalry.
Yet that's not all, his very word
Has slain as many as his Sword:
Though common Bulleys with their Oaths
Hurt little till they come to blows,
Yet all his Mouth-Granadoes kill,
And save the pains of drawing steel.
This Hero thy resistless Charms
Have won, to fly into thy arms,
For think not any mean design,
Or the inglorious itch of Coyn,
Could ever have his breast controll'd,
Or make him be a Slave to Gold;
His Love's as freely given to Thee,
As to the King his Loyalty,
Then, Oh receive thy mighty prize
With open Arms and wishing Eyes,
Kiss that dear Face, where may be seen
His Worth and Parts that sculk within;
That Face that justly stil'd may be
As true a Discoverer as He.
Think not he ever false will prove,
His well known Truth secures his Love;
Do you a while divert his cares
From his important grand affairs:
Let him have respite now a while
From kindling the mad Rabbles Zeal.
Zeal that is hot as fire, yet dark and blind,
Shews plainly where its birth-place we may find,
In Hell, where tho' dire flames for ever glow,
Yet 'tis the place of utter Darkness too.
But to his Bed be sure be true,
As he to all the world, and You,
He all your Plots will else betray,
All ye She-Matchiavils can lay.
He all designs you know has found,
Tho' hatch'd in Hell, or under ground;
Oft to the world such secrets shew,
As scarce the Plotters themselves knew;
Yet if by chance you hap to sin,
And Love while Honour's napping shou'd creep in.
Yet be discreet, and do not boast
O'th' Treason by the common Post.
So shalt thou still make him Love on
All Virtues in Discretion.
So thou with him shalt shine, and be
As great a Patriot as He;
And when, as now in Christmass, all
For a new Pack of Cards do call,
Another Popish Pack comes out
To please the Cits, and charm the Rout;
Thou mighty Queen shalt a whole Suit command,
A Crown upon thy Head, a Scepter in thy Hand.

Funeral Tears upon the Death of Captain William Bedloe.

SAd Fate! our valiant Captain Bedloe,
In Earths cold Bed lies with his head-low;
Who to his last made out the PLOT,
And Swearing dy'd upon the spot.
Sure Death was Popishly affected,
She had our Witness else protected;
Or down-right Papist; or che Jade
A Papist is in Masquerade.
The valiant Bedloe, Learned Oates,
From Popish Knives sav'd all our Throats:
By such a Sword, and such a Gown,
Soon would the Beast have tumbl'd down.
They conquer like the Hebrew King,
And Oaths at Rome's Golia sling;
And never take God's name in vain;
As many Oaths, so many slain.
The stoutest of the Roman Band
Could not their thund'ring Volleys stand;
But all those Missioners of Hell
By dint of Affidavit fell.
Great things our Heroe brought to light;
Yet greater still kept out of sight:
And, for his King and Countreys sake,
Still New Discoveries could make:
In proper season to relieve,
He still kept something in his sleeve,
He was become, for England's good,
An end less Mine, a wastless Flood▪
Still Prodigal, yet never Poor;
No spending could exhaust his Store.
But Eeath, (alas)! that Popish Fiend,
To all our hopes has put an end;
Has stopt the Course, and dry'd the Spring
Which new Plot-tidings would bring.
This Witness (did the Fates so please)
Had sworn us into Happiness?
Made the Court Chaste, Religion Pure,
And wrought an Ʋniversal Cure;
Sworn Westminster into good Order;
Reform'd Chief Justice and Recorder;
The Land from Romish Locusts purg'd,
And from Whitehall the Chits had scourg'd;
Had judg'd the great Succession-Case,
And sworn the Crown to the right place.
ENGLAND! thy mighty loss bemoan;
Thy watchful Centinel is gone!
Now may the Pilgrims Land from Spain,
And (Ʋndiscover'd) cross the Main:
Now may the Forty thousand Men
In Popish Arms be rais'd agen:
Black-Bills may flie about our Ears:
(Who shall secure us from our Fears?)
Jesuits may fall to their old Sport
Of burning, slaying Town and Court,
And we be ne'r the wiser for't.
Then pity us; exert thy Pow'r,
To save us in this dangerous hour:
Thou hast to death sworn many men,
Ah! swear thy self to life again.

ANAGRAM and ACROSTICK On the Salamanca-Doctor,

Ana­gram.
  • TITUS OATS
  • JUST A SOTT.
WHen Adam proper Names on Beasts con­fer'd,
The Salamanca-Doctor was it'h' Herd;
The Midwife, she foresam 'twould prove a Dunce,
So gave him Name and Character at once:
Which but unfold, and joyn again with Art,
Both Sott and Drunkard lurk in ev'ry part;
Nor is his Temper thus alone betray'd,
'Tis on his Face in Ruby Signs display'd.
Well may we doubt the Gospel of that PLOT,
Whose chiefest Evidence is JUST A SOTT.

AN ACROSTICK.

Trayter to God, damn'd Source of Blasphemy,
Insect of Hell, grand Mass of Perjury;
Thorough pac'd Villain, second unto none,
Ʋnless to Judas▪ (if by him out-done;)
Satan's black Agent, Hells Monopoly,
Of all that's called Sin and Villainy:
Acursed Parent of an Hell-bred Brood,
Teacher of Lies, Spiller of guiltless Blood;
Englands dark Cloud, Eclipsing all her Glory;
Satan's Delight, and Hells Repository.

The Convert SCOT, and Apostate ENGLISH.

1.
CLeveland; thy Ashes (sure) will rise,
The Scots, are Proselites become,
Here were those Rebels in disguise;
And now thou wouldst reverse their Doom.
2.
'Twas our Fanatick Presbyter,
The Devils Factors made the Plot,
By them misled, the Scots did Err;
When then thou call'dst, Apostate Scot.
3.
The Proverb; From the North no Good,
Is now turn'd South, where Perjur'd Slaves
Swear us to Goals; and in a Flood
Of Butchery, scarce give us Graves.
4.
The Damned Crew of Angels fall,
Whose Pride first mov'd them to Rebel,
But you Incarnate, worst of all,
Through Malice God and Man would Sell.
5.
Devil to Devils all were true,
But Man to Man▪ no thought can reach,
Nature would cease to be, if you
Might cut off all you would Impeach.
6.
The Laws construction doth lie
In Judges Breasts; the Letter kills;
Justice, such Evidence throws by,
Whose lives are Infamous for Ills.
7.
There's seven of them, and seven more,
Have Covenanted all with Hell,
To make seven deadly Sins their Whore;
None ever knew her half so well.
8,
These Villains charge themselves with Crimes
They have not done? Damn'd Policy!
That what they swear at other times
May be believ'd, though Perjury!
9.
To which a Pardon-being had,
Then Hang who e're they will accuse;
And make the Raging Rabble mad,
When any man for Justice Sues.
10.
Reason is Witchcraft; or else why
Can any Man of Sense believe
Such Basket-Crew, e're came so nigh
To Courts and Councils to deceive.
11.
Commissions, Armies, Fleets, and France,
All this Intrigue discover'd be
Oates, Bedloe, Dugdale, Dangerfield and Prance,
Who can believe so strange a Lye?
12.
Did ever men sell their Belief
To Goals and Pillories? who yet
Gives Credit to a Common Thief,
Or Branded Rogue on mischief set?
13.
Plague of the Innocent, the Nations Curse,
The hand of Heaven will cut down;
Since God made Man, none ever worse
Pretended yet to save a Crown.
14.
But these the Vulgar Hereling Slaves,
The Bashaws use to Storm their Works,
And raise themselves upon their Graves;
Such are our English (Noble) Turks.
15.
Justice awake, Scroggs sit thou fast,
Thou wert o'r rul'd by Perjuries:
But Langhorn's Case urges thy hast,
To clear fair Truth from Forgeries.
16.
Now un-deceived, be just and bold,
You dare enough, do then as well,
And growing Good, as you grow Old,
Ages to, come may your Justice tell.
17.
Our Laws are founded, or should be,
On the Laws of God, Who never Kill
When they can Save; and yet you see
How Blood of Innocents we Spill.
18.
The Law condemns a Priest to die,
But Supream Law commands them no,
That for their Lives they must not flie;
One of the two they must forego.
19.
Our Faith in many points agree,
Our Birthrights we may claim of old;
What is it then to any he
If ancient Verity I hold.
20.
Likely, you Err, for upward look,
What ages past believ'd do I,
And nearer to the Spring, the Brook
Far distant, doth in Puddles die:
If at the Fount, I Drink or Wash,
The Christal Spring hath us'd no dash.
21.
Hath Charity deserv'd to Die,
Our Saviour Suffered for that;
We sometimes kill an Enemy,
Not murther Friends for none knows what.
22.
Our Laws receive their force from Power,
And the Offenders forfeit Life;
Here 'tis, where Law doth Law devour,
And why, such Law, would end the Strife?
23.
Men long in Peace, deserving well
From King and Country, now surpriz'd,
And charg'd with Crimes, no age can tell,
But those who have this Plot devis'd.
24.
Now worthy Scrogs, your Brethren too;
Unbyass'd let your Judgements fall;
We dare the World, what they can do,
May we have Justice, when we call.
25.
Oh! Cleaveland, hadst thou liv'd this age,
Thou couldst not Write, unless to Lie;
For none but Devils tread our Stage:
Where speaking Truth, you surely Die
For publick Good or Popery.
26.
A King to Govern, or else none,
A Linsey woolsey Government;
'Tis Rabble Property they own,
And say 'tis Law, or so 'tis meant.
27.
They stalk with one ambitions Fool,
Affecting Popularity;
Make use of Him as a Close-stool,
First fill Him up, then throw Him by.
28.
The Monster Mobile, then Roars,
Prepar'd by th' Mountebank of State,
We'll have no Fools, nor Sons of Whores,
A Common wealth shall end their Date.
29
Nor King, nor Parliament, nor Laws,
Kill all pretenders to the Crown;
Nor Lords, nor Bishop; those Py'd Daws,
With all adherents shall go down.
30.
Then up go we, we'll share the Land;
Too long they have usurp'd our Right:
And now by turns, we'll all command,
And shew the World our last New Light.
31.
Are we not good as Fisher-men?
Our Hogan-Mogan Neighbours now;
They were call'd Traytors; and what then?
Their King that was, now does them allow.
32.
They did Reform, it thriv'd, so good,
God did intend what they should be;
They were inforc'd to let some Blood,
(As We) to purge Idolatry.
33.
Your Elders Laws have that vast scope,
Preliminary to all Power;
Each in his Parish would be Pope,
Like Baal's Priests all things devour.
34.
These are your Saintships Rules of State,
And Lueifer hath Lectur'd you;
All above you, ye Deadly hate,
And would not God should have his due.
35.
Must still the Van Religion,
Led on by Lies and false pretence,
Bring up the Rear Rebellion;
And blind your Reason without Sense.
36.
Set up an Idol-Parliament
Which with false Worship men adore,
As if Religion were now meant,
The House of Commons, Common-Whore.
37.
The slights of Hocus not so plain,
Though Cheats our sight, yet none believe,
But Hocus still he doth remain,
Through fine Conveyance in his Sleeve.
38.
Thus Captain Satan leads you on;
Your Pride and Malice makes you Swell,
Then Captain leaves ye all alone,
You'l find the way your selves to Hell.
39.
Damn'd Hypocrites, Rebellious Race,
In Power Impudent and Bold;
Pale Whining Cowards; Face to Face
Your Good and Hopes lyes in your Gold.
40.
Short-sighted Fools, can your base Coin
Corrupt that God who Kings protects,
Or suffer you to break that Line,
Which he hath made, and still directs.
41.
'Tis not to cast down Popery,
But by your counterfeited Zeal;
To raise New-Englands Anarchy,
Devolving to a Commonweal.
42.
Too long on Caterpillers, I
Digression make; but now to Men
Whose Honour, in Antiquity
Deserves to be reviv'd again.
43.
Religion early there embrac'd
By Race of Kings, Christians bold,
Brave men at Arms, and not debas'd;
And now this Age revives the Old.
44
Now Sweet blows the Northern Air,
Dispelling Mists, and no Clouds there;
The Rebel Covenant washed fair,
No thoughts against an apparent Heir.
45.
Brave Scots go on, a Braver man
Ne're wanted yet Protection,
Than our Great Duke of York; what can,
But This, merit Oblivion?
All that is past of Guilty Fact,
Lies buried here, in this one Act.
46.
None live Unblemish'd, or who not deceiv'd,
Who ever Trusts unhappily
May err; If none must be believ'd,
We must forsake Society.
47.
Frailties to all men are allow'd;
We Plume not here on Angels Wings;
The weak or fearful in a Cloud,
Cannot distinguish best of Things.
48.
Repentance wipes out blackest Spots,
If ye relapse y'are sick to death,
Be henceforth call'd the Convert-Scots,
This Covenant sign now with your Breath.
49.
A Glorious occasion now
Courts ye with opportunity:
Let after-ages say of You
When all men fail'd us, You stood by.
50.
Your King, your Country, all their Friends
Now need your Duty, and your Love,
Bravely appear, and make amends;
Let's Hand in Hand together move.
51.
Down with your Kirk-Roost, Curb them so
They cannot hurt; take Sword in Hand,
Defend your King from In-bred Foe.
And York conduct you in Command.
52.
The Law of Nature binds Mankind,
And that Religion is so true,
To give and take with equal mind,
To God and Caesar, what is due.
53.
Rouse then, Brave men, let the World see,
What you dare do for Royal Blood;
Your Lives and Country are not free;
'Less you maintain Monarchy Good.
54.
But if ye fail, all Good mens Curse
On you and your Posterity:
May ye be Slaves, and what is worse,
Beg Bread of your Presbytery.

A Postscript upon the D. of York's Return to Scotland.

NOw York again Shines in our Sphere,
A constant Day-light, true born Son;
Which doth forebode a Happy Year,
Now finish what you have begun.
2.
If your wild Spirit is, possest
With Hellish Principles Rebel,
And against Legal Power protest,
Send them the shortest way to Hell.
3.
For speedy Justice in a Storm,
And Mutiny more Souls doth Save,
Then slow Proceeding by Laws Form,
Lost time, a Master's made a Slave.
4.
Examples made to terrifie,
Makes men consider what they do;
where no Reprieve is, but must Die,
Men are unapt t'engage that Foe.
5.
Let your Great Council make an Act,
And by that Act all Subjects Bind,
To take an Oath, or else be Rackt,
Till the Succession they have Sign'd.
6.
Our Lofty Shrubs rais'd by the King,
That on his Seat, Justice Out-face,
Must tumble down, that no such thing
Be ever nam'd; but with Disgrace.
7.
Ingrateful Brutes, baser than Slaves,
The fallen Angels is your sin,
Who for your Makers do dig Graves;
But in those Pits your selves fall in.
8.
Foolish Achitophels; his Fate
Follows your Steps, and you must Die
For the same Cause, and at the Gate,
Where Treason's joyn'd with Perjury.
9.
The Protestant Religion
Is the false cry, and common Cheat
Of all your Atheism; who have none,
Nor will, till brought to Judgement Seat.
10.
There by Confession purge your Guilt,
Mercy may meet you at the Stage,
Tell Godfrey's Death, and what Blood's Spilt
By your Designs, and peoples Rage.
11.
Then, not till then, three Kingdoms may,
In Unity give Praise to God;
And all good men rejoyce, and say,
Charles's Scepter is like Aaron's Rod.
12.
Then all true Subjects will obey,
The wild [...]anaticks will Conform;
Then all the World with Us will say,
God Sav'd us in a mighty Storm.
13.
If you deny, all thinking Men
Conclude an Arbitrary Power,
Design'd by You, to save you, when
Y'are no where Safe but in the Tower.

The Mad-men's Hospital: or a present Remedy to Cure the Presbyterian Itch.

OH, Happy Soyl! unhappily possess'd,
Your Natives now invade your sacred
And that Religion we all profess'd,
Must now by Extirpation surcease: Peace;
Our Laws are broken, Birthrights ta'en away;
Banish'd or Murder'd, Innocents betray.
2.
This Hell-bred change, hath Reformation brought
By bold Interpretation of Text;
What was believ'd, and our Forefathers taught,
By new Dark-Lanthorn-Lights is now per­plext
New Governments set up, the Rabble see
A way to Rule the Church, and Monarchy.
3.
Oh, treble damn'd! Rebels to God and King!
Who first Arms into the Roundheads hands,
Taught them to know their Bruitish strength; who bring
A right of Levelling on all mens Lands:
Like Hounds unhunted, left to their own Chase,
Seize all that cross their way, Noble or Base.
4.
They love the King, as School-boys Masters love,
Let them do what they will; how good a man,
Correct them, he's a Tyrant, none above
Them, they admit, then govern them that can:
Break up the School, a Commonwealth their cry's,
Learning hath fool'd the World, and taught us Lies.
5.
Thus in this wilful and presuming Age,
Where Reason's blinded with Opinion,
For current Truth, upheld by th' Peoples Rage,
They spurn at Truth, and true Religion:
Those Beast-like Rights, which greater beasts perswade,
Are the false Opticks of their cheating Trade.
6.
Poor Countrymen! the whole worlds hate or scorn
Led by a creeping Will oth' Wisps false Fire;
Like him to Malice, and to Mischiefs born,
Leads you to perish in a poyson'd Myre:
Pride made the Devil, what is't made Thee so?
Malice; so coupled, both together go.
7.
But tell me yet, Mad-men have Intervals,
What end do you propose, suppose your Plot
Should take effect, that Palaces, and Halls,
The King, the Duke, Lords, Papists, and who not
Should in one ruine fall; what will succeed?
Cutting of Throats, making each other bleed.
8.
For Jesus Christ will not descend to Reign,
You (in his Members) crucifie him here;
In time compleat, when he will come again,
'Twill be to Your Confusion and Fear:
Order supports the World, nothing can stand
Without it; Beasts have Order and Command.
9.
Those very Sects, who now together joyn,
Will then divide, and each their claim advance:
This is the Truth I hold; that Lorship's mine;
'Tis false, 'tis not, 'tis for the K. of France:
For when that one anothers Blood we draw,
'Tis time a third should come to give us Law.
Y'are on a Precipice, and one step more,
Y'are lost; return, for Judgment's at your dore.
10.
Recipe.
Take but one grain of Faith from the Rock pure,
And fix it fast to the right Anchor-stock,
Mixt with the Oyl of Charity; 'twill cure,
Apply'd to the Heart side; Probatum hoc:
This never fail'd, lasts while the World endures,
Close kept; and all Mankind's diseases cures.

Tony's Soliloquies.

WHen the Plot I first invented,
I was ravish'd in conceit,
To see its frame so well cementeds
Varnish'd over with Deceit.
It was an Infant of my Spirit,
Nay, the Darling of my Soul,
If its contrivance be a Merit,
By Jove the Cooper did well Boul.
2.
For to give this Engine Motion,
To arrive where it did tend,
I fill'd the Vulgars ears with 'Notion,
And Gospel of my Oaten Friend;
I anted [...]ted all Transactions,
Distinguish'd Stiles of New and Old,
In the State I made such Fractions;
Some I bought, and some I sold.
3.
The Mobile I so distemper'd,
With the Magick of my Care,
None but wou'd his Soul have ventur'd
Where brave Tony bore a Share;
Have I not in Abomination
Held the Miter and Lawn Sleeves,
And Itcht at a second Sequestration,
To pull down such Ghostly Theeves.
4.
Have I not taught the Sanhedrim
To Imperate, and not Obey?
They had Genu-flection done to them,
Which men to Crowned Heads do pay.
Then would I Barter for Repeal
O'th' Five and Thirtieth of Queen Bess,
To make a way for Commonweal,
(The Centre of Our Happiness.)
5.
How many hot and high Debates,
In favour of th' Exclusive Bill,
I bandy'd 'twixt the two Estates,
(Th' effects of my depraved will!)
By Subornation, to the Block
I brought, a Loyal Noble Peer;
And trusted others to that Lock,
Which cost my Buck and me so dear.
6.
In fine, poor profligated Wretch,
For to indulge my Minion Spight,
My Seared Conscience I did stretch,
And did Old Rowley's Guards Indict.
I did espouse all Wickedness,
And only lov'd what's purely Evil;
In that alone was my Excess;
Then take thy own Associate; Devil.

The Badger in the Fox-Trap, or a Satyr upon Satyrs.

COmus nor Momus, now must be my Theam,
My Muse must mourn in a more serious strein.
Since I, who ne'r could write to humor Men,
To humor Beasts, must now indulge my Pen.
One April Evening, I alone did lye,
In my Chamber Window, some three Stories high,
To view the prospect of the welcom Spring,
And hear Night's Choristers their Anthems sing.
But all those Chanting Quire soon were scar'd,
By a voice unhallowed, they and I both heard.
The more the Calm, the more the noise increast,
Voice like a Man, but call'd it self a Beast.
With Hums, and Haws, and Groans did thus be­gin,
Did ever God create so Vile a thing!
Internal and External Hoddy-doddy,
A perfect Monster both in Soul and Body.
Besides my Names and Titles are as Numerous,
As all my Actions, various still, (and Humorous;)
Some call me Tony, some Achitophel;
Some Jack a-dandy, some old Matchivel,
Some call me Devil, some his Foster-Brother,
And Turn Coat Rebel all the Nation over.
And some compare me to a sneaking Snail,
Who keeps its Shell in storms of Wind and Hail.
Some call me Hydra with a hundred Heads,
And some a Monster all of Matchless Legs;
Others the Scab from whence the Infection Breeds
Some call me Hedge-hog in a Prickly Skin,
And that a treble Fiend is wrapt within.
But a Badger now, caught by a Fatal snap,
By th'longest Leg, within the Foxes Trap.
Which here was laid for some such Animal;
When e're I'm freed, I surely drop to Hell.
The more I tug, the more the Spring doth bind me,
Nay one tug more leaves all my Legs behind me,
My Limbs and Sinues, are so feeble grown,
That were I loose, I cannot stand alone,
Each member doth each others grief bemoan.
Tho' I from God deserve this punishment,
Why should the Devil such a Friend torment,
Whom I have ever took for my Protector,
And for ten thousand Souls he is my Debtor.
Can he at last a Treacherous Guardian be,
As I've been to all that trusted me.
'Tis for his sake that I'm Deform'd and Hist at,
As Wizards all their Life; like Rams-horns Twisted.
But poor Devil, now perhaps suspected me,
That I'de Recant to get my Liberty.
And therefure Hampers me in this Crampt Jail,
That I have scarce room to wag my poor old Tail.
Which I'le ne're do, to gain three Kingd more,
Than my Ambition, hop'd to make me sure,
Who knows what Nick hath yet for me in store?
Poor Fi [...]nd, on me us'd to have tender Care, scar.
And made me eminent in Peace & War,
And yet I have Sense Children and Fools to
By teaching Ben and [...]ranck to Write great Lies;
How mighty Monsters quarrel in the Skies.
Visions at Hatfield, either White or Green,
Far more Prodigious than the Fairy Queen.
To make them believe the Papists still are Plotting,
Te cut the Throats o'th' Saints whilst they are Napping.
And that they burnt the City down about us,
As sure as I was ever Stout or Honest.
And that they'l endeavour for to do't again,
To lay the Land in universal Flame;
Tho' they themselves be stifled in the Steam.
And how to make the Neighbours hate each other
And for Revenge to Murder one another;
And to make a King to sell a Royal Brother.
And to make the great ones like Pike in Pond,
To Devour the Smaller over the Land.
These are but pretty Symptoms of the Shams,
When my Familiar gave but single Drams.
But when for sickly State we do contrive,
Oh! Roger, Roger! Oh! my Dribling side!
Come bring a Spoon, before I am quite Spent,
And from this Tap receive my Excrement.
Why Roger, Harry, Tom, Will, Martha—
Where's all the Rogues and Bitches, some of you come forth a-
The great Defluction of my Canker'd Spleen,
The Scum o'th' poyson will not stay within,
But drams from th' Conclave of declining parts,
And quite obstructeth my Etherick Arts;
Well, I keep Currs, but I'm the Dog that barks.
Then he himself unbuckl'd, and let fly
Venemous Extraction, till his Pump waxt dry.
Which he perceiving, tug'd and pumpt the more
Till all his Engines he in pieces tore,
Then like an Ass, the Badger he did rore.
He Snarl'd, and Curst▪ and Swore he was undone,
Expos'd to the Scorn of every Mothers Son.
Having lost the Sluice which many years had stood,
And at his pleasure drown'd the Land in Blood.
And tho' to's ruine it made the wider Gape,
He found himself the Faster in the Trap.
He Hal'd his Limbs, which had his Soul long hated.
But the Badger's fast, and fears he shall be baited.
But am I now forsaken of my Friends,
Fools, nor Knaves, Servants, nor none attends.
Hells damn'd Fiends, break off those Slavish Chains,
Release your Friend, in these unpitied Pains.
Where's my Companions, o'th' same Imputa­tion
My Fellow Sharers in the Ruine o'th Nation.
Where's my Cabals, and Mercenary Men,
Where's Silly Perkin, where's Franck, Dick and Ben;
Where's all our Senate, with their lowd Debates,
Where's our Committees, those Impish Quacks of State?
What no Redress?
Fiends, Furies, Goblins, Ushers of Black Shades.
Infernal Hell-Hounds, I Conjure your Aids.
Rise up and Tear my Tired Limbs asunder;
Let me like Faustus be a second Wonder.
Then one in Black came limping with all Speed,
I thought the Devil had been come indeed;
So did the Badger, and on his Tail did Squat,
Badg.

Good Mr. Devil, do not take me yet.

Dr.
I am no Devil, but Chief Doctor in the Synod,
Who came from Salamanca in a Minuit.
Let's feel your Wounds, to Cure you I will try.
B.
Oh! Cursed R—thou'rt as foul within as I.
What need'st thou feel me Dog, thou wilt undo me,
My Victim's gone, a man may see quite through me.
I am past the help of Doctor or of Devils,
Nothing but Death, can cure these growing Evils.
D.
But since your Distemper is so Deep and Bloody,
And I a Doctor both for Soul and Body;
Prepare your self to make a True Confession,
Be it what it will, I'le give you Absolution.
I am not like those common sort of Priests,
Who Absolve none but their own Silly Geese.
I Pardon all, both—Biter, Dipper, Pendant,
Tho' Perjury and Treason hang at the end on't.
All sorts of Rebels, Hypocrites and Atheists,
I Pardon all, but Cavaliers and Papists.
B.
Some of my Sins are Forty years of Age,
Must I bring those again upon the Stage?
D.
Yes those to choose, they are old, and now grown Hory,
Shake out the Bag, and make an end o'th Story.
B.
But how shall I begin this great Con­fession?
Which in my Soul doth make this great Im­pression.
D.
Not like the Papists with a Bleer'd Contrition▪
Speak boldly, with Conscience like a Tanner,
Make every sin a Trophy of your Honour.
B.
Why, in Forty one, and two, and three, and Four
I then began to love a handsom W—
D.

Very good Sir, well and how much more?

B.
The rest are State-Affairs, not to be dis­clos'd,
And by Malignants, are too much suppos'd.
And so all that, may well be thus Excus'd;
I own I have, both Church and King abus'd.
D.

But you must Specify each dubious Query,

B.

Nay then 'twill last from June till January.

Dr.

Well we must follow Order, Course and Form,

B.
Plague dam the Order, I such custom scorn:
It has been my Study, ever from my Cradle,
To break all Formal Order, far as I was able.
And must I now, to save an old damn'd Soul,
Go disimbogue, each Cranny, Chink and Hole?
D.
The more you own, your Crime will be the Lesser,
Hear to your Reverend Father, and Confessor.
B.
Propha [...]e [...]mpostor, Reverend do'st thou say,
That hast been Perjur'd twenty times a day;
In Capital and Mortal Bloody Cases,
To Murther Innocents with thy Disgraces.
D.
'Twas to Oblige our Sworn Fraternities,
And to destroy the Causes subtile Enemies.
B.
Well Dr. now I find you are much Reform'd,
Since our Cabals have Falter'd and Dissolv'd.
D.
'Twas still my na [...]e to S [...]il with the Wind;
Come scrape the Kettle, out with what's behind.
B.
Lord Father, you have such influence o're me,
I wou'd speak all, but that you'l quite abhor me.
D.
Oh! you little Bashsul, Old, Arch Wag,
You know I neither dare Divulge nor Brag.
B.
Why, in Forty three, I then began to Feel,
Which way Dame Fortune wou'd bring round her Wheel.
Then I laid hold on that great Instrument,
And left the King for K. and Parliament.
Me they embrac'd, and my Advice did crave,
Finding I'd wit enough to be a Knave.
Then I fell on, 'gainst Church, and King and Heaven;
And Still my Conscience with times kept Even:
And ne're Recanted what I Undertook,
Till K. was kill'd, and th'Son the Land forsook.
And then the Scepter fell in Traitours Hands,
And I was ready to assist Commands.
Then I was made a Minister of State,
And found a way the Church to Extirpate.
Then I helpt Noll to set up Presbyters,
And pull'd the Bishops Surplice o're their ears;
And made the Clergy look like Privateers.
As they went down, Tub-Preachers they did rise,
Preach'd Order, Altar down, and Sacrifice.
I made him know, through States great Policy,
Those were the men to maintain Tirany.
Noll being safe, by what I had done for him,
Suspected me, 'cause I Betray'd my King.
Then to our Tribe he openly Proclaims,
He'd never Trust a man that had three Names,
He Smoak'd my Soul from its Minority,
Still to be Opposite to all Authority.
Then I was forc'd new Measures for to take,
With the Kings Friends some small Contracts did make,
I Beg'd they wou'd with Patience be con­tented,
For the Kings Return, a means was just in­vented
But this was done, when I could not prevent it.
I put my self i'th Front o'th Sufferers,
Tho' like to them, I had neither Wounds not Scars.
When he arriv'd with glorious Acclamations,
And fill'd with Joys the Longing Expectations,
All Loyal Hearted Souls of these three Nations.
And every heart that had been Musket Proof,
For K. and Country under Fortunes Roof,
Had Broke the Fatal Spells of Slaveries,
With Joys did meet the King upon their Knees.
I like a Spaniel-whelp did lurk a Loof,
And Squint quite through the Opticks of my Hoof.
Expecting when the K. on me would Call;
And cry my Merits up above them All.
But when I found He did mind me no more,
Just to His Feet, I Crept upon all Four.
Then Clutch'd his Royal Hand between my Paws,
As if I'd never been for Good Old Cause.
Then His Clemency remitted what was past,
With Place and Title, he my Honour Grac'd.
Which I improv'd, till I was grown so High,
That I again did envy Monarchy.
Which being smelt by York, I was Degraded,
And out of all my Dignities Defeated.
And ever since my Brain has been a working,
For Sweet Revenge, my Soul hath still been lurking.
To several Attempts I did aspire,
E're I could pitch on one that would take Fire.
Till I had got this Fatal-Plot well grounded,
With Seconds, and with sham-plots to surround it.
Which serves as Paint upon an old Bawds Face,
To fill up Furrows, and to give a Grace;
As Painters always Imperfection Blaze.
And here we'l make Friendly, Fair Conclusion,
I prithee Doctor give me Absolution.
D.
Nay hold a while, your Crimes but now begin Sir,
These were but Virtues to your latter Sins Sir.
You must rub up your Brains and Face about,
We have the Plot-Mystick, yet to Hammer out.
B.
G—Dam your Reverence, let that go by,
You are as deep i'th dirt in that as I;
D.
Pox rot your Honour, that's a Plaguy Lie.
You have confest, you were the Engeneer,
That draw'd the Lines, which way the Plot would Bear;
That who shou'd keep the Front, and who the Rear.
B.
[Page 72]
And had not your Impudence still over acted,
Our Purpose long ere this had been Perfected.
D.
'Zounds 'twas for that, that I by you was chosen,
'Cause I could Out-face all the Truth in Heaven.
B.
But not to Snap the Council up like Pea­sants,
And call them Rascals in the Royal Presence.
Nor yet to call the Life-Guards Popish Traitors,
As if we were their Makers and Creators.
Nor to throw an Odium on them at their Inns.
When you saw our party totter like Nine-pinns
Too late to make the world esteem us Kings.
Nor to call Inn-keepers Rogues for entertaining
The King's Life-Guards; those things [...]ivulg'd our meaning.
Nor to call your self the Saviour of the Nation;
As if there had been Oats from the Creation.
D.
'S death, Have you not acted worse than this?
You vex me so, I scarce have time to P [...]s [...].
You have these seven years, made it your study
To draw disgussed Parties to a Body.
You held Communion with Tub-Preachers jug­gling,
And draw'd their Brethren altogether, smug­gling
Their holy Siscers with whom they Ingender,
And bring forth Brood that's light with th' same Tinder:
Who are bred up in [...]ears and Jealousies,
Wherewith you daily blind their pur-blind eyes.
And thus you draw the hearts of silly Subjects
From their own Sovereign, to be odious Objects:
For this Impression in their Infancy
Deprives them of the sence of Loyalty.
Thus you seduce the Land for future Ages,
To be a Den of Bruits; for wild out-rages;
Worse than wild Beasts, who still own some Su­preme;
Both Infidels and Indians do the same.
B.
Had you this Doctrine from Salamanka,
Where you ne're were, I know well, Sir, I thank ye?
You need not instance these most biting twinges,
Since our Designs are all slung off the hinges.
You're ten times worse, were your faults sum'd together,
Tho' thou pretend'st to be my Ghostly Father;
For thou art neither Prot, 'Byter, nor Papist:
Best thou canst boast of, is Inhumane Atheist.
D.
You cross old Cur, resolve me these few Questions,
And I'le importune you for no more Confessions.
Who was the cause of Scotlands late Rebellions?
Who promis'd to assist their Force with Millions?
Who was't draw'd Perkin from his Royal Father,
To be cajoll'd into the Peoples Favour?
Who was't contriv'd the drawing of Petitions;
To gull the Nation into blind Seditions?
Who was't contriv'd Cabballing in the City,
And to school Evidence, chose a Committee?
Who first contriv'd to Peach both Peers and Judges,
And make them scape before the Bar like drud­ges?
All those in eminent Places, and great Favour,
Yet never could be brought in guilty neither?
Who told the Commons that, 'gainst every Trial,
They must seclude all Members that were Loyal?
That none might ever pass for due Elected,
Unless approv'd on by the disaffected?
Who was it first that cursed Maxim mov'd,
That every Act for Money be [...],
Unless Prerogative were squeez'd [...] shov'd?
Who was't contriv'd to have the Gu [...]ds indicted,
When we our selves the Cit [...]-Guards united?
Who was it cry'd, No Money for the King,
Till Kingly Powers into [...]our hands we bring?
Who was it cry'd, The King must not be trusted,
With his own Life, while we are thus disgusted?
And that the People they were still in danger
Of Native Papists, and of Popish Stranger;
Till th' Militia, Cinque-ports, Navy and the rest,
Were all expos'd unto our Care and Trust?
Who was't that writ the Address for Shire,
As if all had been Subscribers that were there,
A voting for the Members, and had lear'd on't
Tho' ten in all the Number never heard on't?
Who was it first invented the Black Box,
And the Black Bills which were to give such knocks?
Who was made privy unto Godfrey's Death,
For which three men already lost their breath?
Who was't converted Law into a Cloak,
To shelter Knaves, and Innocents to Choak?
Who was't that gave the Synod Approbations,
For to contrive Committees for Vexations,
And made a Conventicle Synod for three Na­tions?
Who gave Advice to Libel Church and State,
And none must mind the meaning till too late,
And the King's Friends made odious out of date?
Who was't perswaded those turn'd out of Places
Of great Authority, to make strange faces;
And cry out Popery is now approaching;
Tho' they before conceived no such poaching?
Who was't gave out, that a thousand Watermen
Had all conspir'd to Petition, when
The Parliament to Oxford were conven'd,
That they might sit at Westminster for them;
But ne're were heard of more from Smith nor Ben?
Who was't endeavour'd all that preparations,
To guard the City Members in their stations
To Oxford; which look'd far more Arbitrary
Than Forty One, or absolute old Harry?
Who was the occasion of the late Obstruction
Of the Adresses of the Cities loyal Production;
Was't not the Canker of your Taps defluction?
Who school'd Fitz-Harris for two years to­gether,
And tann'd his Conscience thick as Bullocks Leather;
And kept him for reserve to sweep the Court
Of King and Queen, and all that them support?
And now the Fool begins to stink for fear,
And is in danger quite as much as we are:
But makes such scruples to put by the Coller,
As if he meant to hang Sir William Waller.
Who hath influenc'd all this Perjury,
Which hath out-fac'd both Law and Loyalty?
Who is't that holds the Plot still by the Tail,
As Sea-men tug, to tack about their Sail;
And now by one small breeze of Justice breath,
Fear to be shipwra [...]'d to eternal Death?
Who animated the wild Votes of late,
To make themselves Comptrollers of the State;
And that their Votes without concurrence might
Impeach the Crown, or Peers in spight of Right?
Who was't destroy'd both Monarchy and Law,
And would make it Lawful by a second blow?
Who cry'd these Visions and strange Revela­tions,
Tells us for Wars we must make Preparations,
Whilst we know no danger but our own Dam­nations?
Who made the Speech burnt by the Hangman's hand,
Which did both Threaten, and the King Com­mand?
In short, Who was this Hellish Plot's Contriver?
Who was it's Plaintiff-Engine; who its Driver;
If it was You, ingeniously confess't,
And I'le give you Absolution for the rest.
B.
Nay, Doctor, now I find you'l not abhor me,
For you your self makes my Confession for me.
Then nods and fleers, and at this Motion grins;
These are but Title-pages of my Sins.
D.
Nay, for the rest we'l ne'er stand to unhole,
They'r only symptom-Infects in your soul,
Flaws of distinction between fair and foul.
B.
Well, since I find that all my hopes are past,
E're to shake off what I pull'd on so fast,
But that I, at worst, can hang my self at last.
Rather than live under this ill, true notion,
After your kind Advice and friendly Caution,
I must confess, tho' with a feign'd Devotion,
All these black Crimes which to my Charge you lay,
And many a thousand ten times worse than they,
Since I'm imperfect to perform the rest;
He whisper'd then, and I suppose confest;
Thus far degenerated from a Beast.
And then the Doctor, with his bended Chin,
Canted some words, and so absolv'd his sin.
And swore by the Holy Doom of his best Trade,
Badger thou art Papist now, as good as e're was made:
By this Canonick Salamanka Gown,
I give to thee my best Benediction.
B.
[Page 78]
The Badger then began to frisk and squail,
As a Cow that's stung with Hornets in the Tail.
Thou Popish Dog, had I but power to rally,
I'de make thee know I hate all Christian Folly.
But in the interval to prevent new Broils,
Aurora rose, and all the Sequel spoils;
Whose splendrous looks, with Phoebus in the Rear,
Drives all Malignants to a darker Sphere,
Their Conscience then with fear began to crack;
The Doctor hoal'd, with the Badger at his back.

The Humble Wishes of a Loyal Subject.

MAY Blood of Innocents no more Disgrace
The Stuarts Name, nor fly in Charles's Face;
Let Tyrants wear those Stains whose due they are,
Whilst High Born Kings the Rod of Justice bear.
May proud Rebellious Faction tumble down,
And haughty Freedom truckle to the Crown.
May stubborn Peers, Pimps to a Common-weal,
(Maugre all Ignoramus Juries) feel
The Keen-edg'd Ax: May Shute and Pilkington
And Cornish take the Law of Abbington;
May Bethel, and such Citt Sh'risss understand
The jerk of their own Hireling Ketch's Hand.
May Ward Rewarded be by Them he serves,
On the Triangle Tree, as He deserves;
May Moore ne're cease to stand up for the Crown
'Gainst the Presumptuous Rabble of the Town▪
May Ignoramus never more present
It self in Court until a Parliament
Decide the Cause, how Treason justify'd
May be by Ignoramus, thus deny'd.
May Knaves be Banish'd from Your Sacred Court
And thither none but Honest Men resort.
May subtile Two-fac'd Lawyers Chat no more,
Whether Succession be of Right, or Power:
May YORK return Your Senators to Face,
And justify his High-born Princely Race.
May Godsrey's Murderers appear on Stage,
To Pin the Scene of this Tumultuous Age:
May Hill and Green ne're cease in Heav'n to pray,
Till we behold that happy welcom Day.
May all that wish for Change of Government,
To pull down KING, to set up Parliament,
Like Noll and Bradshaw, Scot and Peters, be
Rewarded for their Wicked Policy.
May pure Rogue, Three Names, end his Aged days
In Hempen String to his Eternal Praise;
And Hang by Quarters o're the City Gates,
With Head on Tower, for his noble Feats;
Whilst his own Zealous Bigots, passing by,
Behold their Demi god extol'd to th'Sky.
May the Great Name of STƲART now be­come
Mirour and Terrour to all Christendom:
Under the Name of CHARLES, may Charlémaine
Be couch'd for Power, for Virtue Charlébone.

The Polititian's Downfall; Or Potapski's Arrival at the Netherlands: And the Congratulation of the Protestant Joyner at their Meeting.

‘Flectere si nequeo Superos, Acheronta movebo. —Virg.’
IS Tapski Dead? Why then the States-man ly'd
Who wou'd Immortal be and Deify'd.
Strange Pride! th' exalted Lucifer is hurl'd
By strong Impulse of Fate from th' Belgic World.
The Burgo-master's ba [...]'d in's intent,
Descends from Watry t'a Fiery Element.
But stay! could his Vast Soul retire from hence?
And quit the ruins of decayed sence,
Without some Prodigy in Nature shown?
No swinging Thunder-bolt from Heaven thrown?
No dismal Harbingers of Fate come down?
Sure Nature slept, when Fate did strike the blow;
No Earth-quakes, no Convulsion-Fits below?
No Star or fiery Comet in the Sky
To Usher in this Mans Mortality?
'Tis strange that thus in Bed he took his Nap!
Could all the Putrid Excrements o'th' Tap
Support the hollow Cask no longer here?
Was't so infirm the Lees it could not bear?
Bless me! thus free from both th' extreams,
From Tower-Hill Sledge and Smithfield Flames,
Serenely did he moulder into Dust,
And Monsieur Ketch he disappointed most.
His buisie, active Soul (that long was pent
Within a Putrid, ill contrived Tenement)
Is quietly retir'd; but clog'd with Sin,
And Treason, in Elysium can't get in.
Deny'd his rest thus in the Seat of Bliss,
He sinks below into the damn'd Abyss:
There he roves now, and restless till he find
Some black mouth'd Villain suited to his mind.
Bless'd be his Fate! in a Dark Prison nigh,
Old Tapski does St. Stephen there espy
What Salutations past the Devil can tell,
The loud Report has circulated Hell,
Of this great Man's Arrival here to Dwell.
And here he shews State-gambol [...] and his Tricks,
(For Hell and Holland love Good Politicks)
The Livery men now meet with one intent
To Chuse this Fiend-like Tapski President
The Carpenter transported, laughs to see
His Patron brought to Hell to this degree.
He grins with his extorted ill-look'd Face,
And makes now Devil▪ like a damn'd grimace,
To see Old Tapski mounted in his Place.
Brave Fortune sure! and if it still run even,
Farewel our Saint, it will be Captain Stephen.
The new State-Puppet does now Act with care,
With damn'd Old wheedling Tricks, grows Popular.
He at the Helm sits, says all things sure,
No dismal fear of Arbitrary Power.
Puf't and exalted thus he hates those near
Th' affections of his Master Lucifer.
His Soul is like as 'twas when pent in clay
Still forming black designs for Anarcy,
To Stab Hells well compacted Monarcy.
He swears by Styx and A [...]heron to see,
That Hell, like Holland a Republick be,
To this the discontented Damn'd agree.
In order to 't this Pest of every Nation,
Does sneakingly produce th' Association.
The damn'd themselves start at the bold Adven­ture,
Do there deny to feal the Indenture.
He frets at this, yet Swea [...]s he'l use more Tricks,
He'l win him with his City Politicks.
He'l buz the Ignorant Rabble in the Ear,
And them with's Rhetorick possess with Fear:
Tell 'em of Jesuits Plots, and Plots forsooth,
All which these credulous Hell-hounds snap for truth.
He bawls that Property may be secur'd,
Without it all these Flames can't be endur'd
Their stench says he will vex us when confin'd;
We're doubly damn'd if once it be design'd,
That we should lose the Freedom of our mind.
The Fundamental Laws of Subjects gone,
When we can't range for satisfaction.
When chain'd in Dungeons we are past relief,
Resolv'd by stratagem, I'le be Hell's Chief:
The Joyner with his Two Foot Rule draws near,
Shews his fine Raree-show 'gainst Lucifer.
To hear his wit about him they do throng,
And in a Lord's Apartment there 'twas Sung.
The Joyner swears he came to this intent,
To Square and Plain this Form of Govern­ment.
They all Applaud this Man, a Man of parts,
Well skill'd in State, as in Mechanick Arts.
Next him a Bull-fac'd Lawyer here approaches,
And with extended Lungs the matter broaches.
He there pleads high, makes tedious Speeches,
Which pleas'd the miscreant Authors of the Breaches.
Old Bradshaw with's great Catalogue there stood,
Of Rebel Whelps bedaub'd with Monarch's Blood;
Tho 'twing'd with pains, tormented with despair,
Yet smile to see their Brother Tapski there.
These Quondam Judges, Lawyers, Clerks combine
To alter Government, and the State resine,
To purge the Court from Councellors that are Evil.
They're seeming kind to their own Chief the Devil.
Thus Tapski well surrounded with his Friends
Republick Demons and stinking sulphrous Fiends,
S [...]yly pursues his Interest and By▪ ends.
At this the Hellish Brood begin to frown.
They see this damn'd Committee're Factious grown,
Their Principles and Practices they disown.
But Tapski's cunning, still he laughs and leers,
No disappointment in the matter fears.
Infernal Government his squint Eyes view,
But Beelz [...]bub its Charter will renew,
L [...]st Tapski look and find a flaw in't too.
Suspicious Members of the Lower House,
By strong Resolves the States-men indispose
From bearing Office in their Black Cabal.
(Green Ribbon Clubs are Epidemical.)
Tapski degraded thus! what now remains;
What is the consequence but Links and Chains?
A draught of liquid Brimst [...]ne 'mongst the Flames?
Strange fate! he's seiz'd and [...]urri'd o [...] th' Stage,
And can't escape the Demons Popular Rage.
Infernal Officers do ra [...] and tear,
And drag him into Dungeons of despair,
'Mongst Croaking Toads and Adders he's cou­sin'd,
Which is but sad diversion to his mind;
Their dismal noise can't lull the Fiend asleep,
They are but frightful Comforts in the Deep.
Now Tapski racks his Brains for a release,
And tries all methods which he thinks may Please.
He Flatters and Collogues in hopes to gain
Some Intervals of ease from lingring pain:
But still his sly attempts are all in vain.
Baffl'd by this his Kind, Perswasive way
He'l vindicate him self by force of Law;
The Hellish Presidents and Customs reads,
And Bradshaw on his side profoundly pleads,
To have an Habeas Corpus, this they guess,
Will Tapski's wicked Grievances redress.
But Pox! the learned Sophisters of Hell
These artificial Cheats do know full well.
The thing's deny'd; cast out, and in the sence
Of Learned Men it's deem'd an high offence.
Tapski a mild recanting Paper brings;
(He fawns still after disobliging Kings:)
His flatt'ring stile they joyntly do refuse,
His Tresonous Crimes admit of no excuse.
He is impeach't, to Tryal he must come,
But Tapski hopes for to divert his doom.
If Bethel's Friends in lower Regions be,
He doubts not but the Law will set Him free.
He'l laugh at Malice and Infe [...]nal Furies,
If there he finds his Ignoramus Juries.
And there's one pik'd to Tapski well affected,
But they fail now, because not well directed;
The Pilkingtonian Sneaking Trick's detected.
Last thus; Old Tapski's Tongue begins to faulter;
And tho by Knaves he hath scap't th'Ax and Halter,
Yet now lies mute, dejected and forsaken,
And all the Accomplices of th' Treason taken.
In deepest Dungeons are these Traitors pent,
For thus conspiring 'gainst the Government.
A Fury Engines new and strange provides,
To clapperclaw and thwack his Leach'rous sides,
They're whip't with Rods well soakt in Devils Piss:
(That's worse than Mother [...]reswel's flogging is)
They lowdly roar, and grunt like Hogs in Stye,
Have burning Sulph'rous Flames to drink when dry.
They feel the strange variety of Evils
What's worse, they're piss't upon by Tiny Devils,
No Habeas Corpus can these Imps remove
From dismal Bonefires, or from burning Stove,
For ever must they be confin'd to Chains
No intermission from their horrid pains.
Farewel Old Tapski, cursed at thy Birth,
Thou publick scorn of Hell, as well as Earth:
Farewel Old Treason, since the Traytor now
Is gone a Pilgrimage to Hell below.

A Congratulation of the Protestant-Joyner to Anthony King of Poland, upon his Arrival in the Lower World.

Joyner.
WElcom, my Lord, unto these Stygian Plains;
Welcom unto a Land where discord reigns:
This is a Land your Lordship will approve,
From whence these States hope you will ne'r re­move.
Welcom to These, as to the States above,
[...]rom them I'm come, and this blest News I bring,
Discord is dead, and they have chosen you King.
Pride, Envy, Malice, Hell would soon decay.
Should Peace appear, and Disord fade away.
Anth.
Thanks Friend, whoe'r thou art, for this bless'd News,
The Name of King I hate, yet can't refuse;
I wish some other Name they would confer.
Joyn.

What think you then, my Lord, of Emperour?

Anth.
Spoke like a Roman Soul; who, tho they hate
The Name of Kings, yet Emperours create.
Joyn.

Or, if these please not, what if you should be Dubb'd of Mankind Plenipotentiary?

Anth.
Spoke like a Non-con's Soul, that very Name
Does all my Vitals heat, and sets my Soul on flame.
Let me embrace, and hug thee in my Arms;
That Hogen-Mogen word is full of Cha [...]ms:
There's Beauty in't that leads my Soul away,
And I must follow, though I go astray,
Joyn.
What means my Lord by that recanting Speech?
To go astray implies you've made some breach.
Anth.
The observation of it does imply
You have been boil'd i'th world as well as I.
Joyn.
'Tis true, my Lord, I aim'd at mighty Things,
To subvert Kingdoms, and to murder Kings;
To teach the Nation to be Picts once more,
And die their Skins with their own [...]rimson Gore:
That is the truest stain, that ne're will out;
Witness his Father, murder'd by the Rout.
Anth.
That's the dead-bone, which (touching) bleeds a new;
And that's the cause I did the Son pursue:
Like Cataline, our Mischiefs are not sure;
But by effecting greater to secur [...].
Joyn.
But since i'th' world your Taper does not shine
[...]ike Damocles tho Presbyterians dine;
The Sword of Justice trembles o're their [...]ead,
And hangs secur'd but by one single thread;
There needs no Atropos to cut the string,
One blast of Treason more against their KING,
Does all the Vengeance on their own heads bring.
Ant.
You seem a Convert now, Prithee declare,
What is your Name? From whence, and what you were?
Joyn.
[Page 89]
My Lord, survey this Face, and you will find
( [...]ith a small recollecting of your mind)
What my profession was, and what's my Name,
By whom imploy'd, from whence, and what I am.
Anth.
I seriously observe you, but can't tell,
You are so alter'd since you came to Hell;
But guess you are a Man of no great Fame;
Nor ever had, until of late, a Name:
A Name, I mean, that does deserve Renown
For Murder, or for striking at the Crown.
Joyn.
Small Shrubs, my Lord, may tall as Cedars grow;
What was John Leyden and Massanello?
What was Wat Tyler and Jack Straw of late?
And our prodigious Oliver's great Fate,
That made all Europe shake? To such a height
I might have rose; but Fortune ow'd a spight,
And struck it home just in the nick of Time;
And for a Throne, I did a Gallows clime.
My Lord, you sure may know me now;—
Anth.
I do;
Your Name is Colledge, and I pity you.
But prithee tell me, for I fain would know,
In all my journey hither, to and fro,
I could not spy one glimmering light of Heav'n;
For all was dark, but what from hence was giv'n,
Only some Link-boyes Skeletons did ply
I'th' way with Lights most dreadful to the eye.
What is the reason? For I've heard men tell
Strange Stories, and that viewing Heav'n is Hell,
And not enjoy't; Prithee what shall I do?
I'de give a world that happy place to view.
Joyn.
The reason is, You did in Holland die;
A place that to the Centre lies so nigh,
That you're no sooner dead, but you are here;
It is a shorter cut by half a Year:
It lies so low, and sunk so deep i'th Sea,
It wants the use o'th Primum Mobile.
Had you in England staid, and dy'd as I,
You might have clipt the Air, and reach'd the Skie.
Anth.
But since I'm forc'd into this dark abode,
Describe the pleasures of that blessed Road:
I fancy that some pleasure will ensue,
To hear that told which I shall never view.
Joyn.
No sooner was my Soul discharg'd of Clay,
But up it sprang, and pinion'd quick it's way;
I pass'd the Orbs with wonder and delight,
And wa'n't took notice of in all my flight;
At last, on Hean'ns Battlements I stay'd,
And all that bright Imperian round survey'd;
Observ'd how the Primum Mobile did fly
Ten thousand times more swifter than the Fye:
The vast Expance did all with Glory shine,
A Gate of [...]eal did on my right hand stand,
And Peter, (as I guess, by th' Keys in's hand)
Who ope'd the door, and all pure Souls receiv'd,
I thought to enter too, but was deceiv'd.
Anth.
What happiness to those blest Souls was giv'n!
Who'd plague their King and Conntrey to lose Heav'n!
Joyn.
[Page 91]
He took me by the hand, and turn'd me round;
[...]id me avant, for that was holy Ground:
Yonder's your Road; down there the Angels fell
And so must You. At which I struck at Hell;
I or in a moment (so quick was my Fate!)
My Head was dash'd against Hells Iron-gate,
(Which then was shut) A wonder to the Crowd!
Open the door! I boldly yaul'd aloud:
A thund'ring Voice I heard; From whence? From who
D'ye come? I strait reply'd I came from You
I am a Joyner by my Trade, and come
To sit and Wainscot up his Lordships Room.
At which the Gates flew ope: I entred in,
Swept clean the Room of all things there but Sin;
She must remain, and your Companion be,
For ever, and to vast Eternity.
Anth.
I'm mad! I rave! The Vulture gnaws my Breast!
I wou'd repose, but 'tis in vain to rest.
No rest is here! My scorching Entrails burn!
And all my Guts to horrid Snakes do turn!
Oh, cursed Fate! that I should die so soon,
When all my Treasons scarce did reach their Noon!
Oh! had I but a little longer stood,
I would have made the Nation flow with Blood:
But I am dead; yet still I must Rebel,
And add more Flames unto the Flames of Hell;
I'll make grim Pluto tremble in his Throne,
And all the Subterranean Empire groan;
I'll make 'em drink again the bitter Cup,
And undermine their Hell and blow 'em up.
With that he foam'd at mouth, hung out his Tongue,
(At which a horrid ugly Scorpion hung;)
His Eyes so hot did glow, made Fiends admire;
And burnt so fierce, as Hell it self cry'd Fire;
But a shagg'd Fiend appear'd, and in a trice
Hurl'd his hot Soul into a Hell of Ice.
Where may each Traytor, that their Kings con­troul,
Fin'd his Estate entail'd upon their Soul.

The King of Poland's Ghost: Or a Dia­logue betwixt Pluto and Charon, upon his Reception.

Pluto.

HOld Stygian Sculler, what hast brought me here?

Charon.

The Soul, Sir, of your long-wish'd noble Peer.

Pl.

What? not the King of Poland's?

Ch.

Yes 'tis it:

Pl.
You old Tarpawlin, will you ne're learn Wit?
Who bid you touch at Dantzick and be hang'd,
D' ye think my Furies long to be harangu'd?
Ch.
[Page 93]
Stop the mistake, and let your Passion cease,
He ne're came there, for Poland's still in Peace;
But I suppos'd you waited for your Prey,
And therefore Amsterdam'd in his way.
Pl.
Pox on your Zeal, you did it for your Fare,
Could'st think I want Incendiaries here?
Ch.
No, no, Sir; I have Passengers enough
That spoke their Places, and gave Earnest too?
And though y'had Boute▪ [...]eu's enough before,
Yet such as This ne're touch'd th' Infernal Shore:
Scilla, Sejarus, Cataline and Noll,
Must give our Politician the Wall.
They, cruel wretches, sought Imperial sway
Py Fire and Slaughter, ours a milder way.
They fought e'ne like your Furies for a Crown,
He by Petitions softly bowls it down.
Kings may be fell'd, and never hurt a Limb,
And Pluto's self fall gently under him.
But Sir, you're safe, for e're he came at Styx,
He drew and rack'd off all his Politicks.
[...]l.
I can't tell that, Coopers are cunning blades,
We Devils scarce can dive into their Trades;
The Lees of one rich Pipe may ferment more,
And I am plaguy loath to lose my Power.
Ch.
Fy [...]luto! y'are too jealous of your Pee [...],
He that hath been your Drudge this 50 year;
If you begin to slight old Servants thus,
'Twill be a great Discouragement to Us.
[...]l

Why didst not take Elizium in thy way?

Ch.
Why Sir, the Keeper feign'd he'd lost his Key;
And would not slip the Lock for all my Pray'rs;
I touch'd besides at Purgatory Stairs,
(The Trimmers office as some term it well,
Because it squints both toward Heav'n and Hell)
But 'twould not do, Pl. No? what could they object?
He seems the very Founder of the Sect.
Ch 'Tis true; but they urg'd, 'twas like an Inn
Where Folks a while were baited for their Sin,
Then like cur'd Lunaticks turn'd out again.
And they alledg'd, my Charge was past all cure,
And nothing in the world was e're said truer;
For 'tis not all the Saints in Heav'n and Earth,
Were he once in, could ever pray him forth.
Pl. Well Charon, I forgive thee, for I see
Thou speak'st both for thy Client and thy Fee:
But how stand Causes on the British Shoar,
Since they have lost the Bawble they adore.
Cha. Why they resent it in a various way,
And some there are who do not stick to say,
That the Elm-board foregroan'd this fatal day.
That th' Albion Rocks relent, and change their hue
And eve'n Tyburn puts on Mourning too▪
Your dear Friend Titus cloaths himself in Crape,
(Masculine Titus) your out-doing Ape,
Who's got above the Dispensation of a feeble Rape.
Other's there are who are not troubled much,
But rather seem beholding to the Dutch;
For this one kindness they to Britain do,
Commutes for Chattam and Am [...]na too.

The Country-mans Complaint and Ad­vice to the KING.

WE only can admire those happy times
Of Innocence, unskill'd in Laws & Crimes,
When Gods were known by Blessings own'd by Prayer,
And 'twas no part of Worship for to Swear:
Clearer than Fountains, and more free than those,
Impartial Truth they all to each disclose.
To hear and to believe were strictly joyn'd,
And Speech thus answer'd what it first design'd.
But Oh unhappy State of Humane kind!
Nought dreadful now our Awe, or Faith can bind
Vows and Religions are but bare pretence,
Oaths are found out to shackle Innocence,
And Laws must serve a Perjur'd Impudence.
Tumults address for Blood, Witness for Hire deceives,
And Judge is forc'd to Sentence what he ne're believes.
All Truth and Justice, blushingly withdraw,
Leaving us nothing but the Form of Law:
Whereby Rogues profligate and hardned in their Vice
Proscribe all Loyal men, as Factions raise their
Poor Land! whose Folly to swift Ruine tends,
Despis'd by Foes, un-aided by its Friends.
In vain does Heaven her Fiery Comets light,
We stifle th'Evidence, and still grope in night:
Baffled by Fools, betray'd by perjur'd Knaves,
Rather than Subjects, we'll be branded Slaves:
And by a vain pursuit of airy Bliss,
Forfeit substantial real Happiness;
Change Monarchy (from all Oppression free)
Religion, and its Native Purity,
True Freedom, without lawless Liberty:
For thousand Masters, worst of Tyranny,
For frantick Zeal, formal Hypocrisie,
For Licence to rude rabbles, Hell and Slavery.
And all this wrought by old known Cheats and Rooks,
Gods! to be twice Cajol'd by Cants and Looks!
So [...]s, worse than Brutes, to run into that Net
We see, and know for our destruction set!

To the KING.

A Rise, O thou once Mighty Charles, arise,
Dispel those mists that could thy piercing Eyes;
Read o're thy Martyr'd Father's Tragick Story,
Learn by his Murder, different wayes to glory.
How fatal 'tis, by Him is understood,
To yield to Subjects, when they thirst for Blood,
And cloak their black Designs with Publick Good.
As thou art God-like by thy Pity, show
That thou art God-like by thy Justice too:
Lest we should count thy greatest Vertue, Vice,
And call thy Mercy, servile Cowardise.
Of old, when daring Giants skal'd the Skie,
The King of Gods ne [...]e laid h [...]s Thunder by,
To hear Addresses for their Property.
But quell'd His Rebels by a stroke Divine,
And left example how to deal with Thine.

Advice to the CARVER.

BRing me a Man with animating Stroaks,
Whose pregnant Steel gives Life to form­less Rocks;
Stone now must speak, since humane Race is grown,
In Heart and Brain more dull and hard than Stone.
Carver thou must erect with learned Toyl
To Truth and Innocence a sacred Pile:
Marble and Brass are Elements too frail,
From Age to Age these Records to entail.
Some harder Mettal should imploy thy Art,
Than Pharaoh's or our Judges stony Heart.
From the deep Quarries of Immortal Truth,
Digg out Materials to out-live the Tooth
Of eating Fame, and gnawing Calumny,
Whilst Envy and her Snakes drop off and dye,
And raise our Heroe's Monumental Shrine
When Earth and Stars give off to shine,
Which the last Fire may burnish and refine.
First Carver, Let thy speaking Marble tell
How the dire Monster Perjury from Hell,
When first he rais'd his Head, and saw our Light,
Nature gave back, and trembled at the sight.
Comets his Eyes, Curl'd Adders were his Hair,
Nothing of Poyson can with Theirs compare.
Couch'd in his Lips a Brood of Aspicks lay,
To all his Words their Venom these convey.
His Tongue's a Two-edg'd Sword in Lawyers hand,
Whose double stroak no Innocence can stand.
His Hands are gor'd in Blood, like Vulture's Claws,
The Engines of his Murders are the Laws;
A! Holy Justice vindicate thy Cause:
No longer let this Monster Triumph thus,
And make thy Sacred Courts his Slaughter-house.
A Belt he wore, on which the Imbroiderer wrote
The History of the Hellish Popish Plot,
A Bunch of Snakes made up the Shoulder Knot.
At his Belts end a mighty Budget hung,
Where Narratives and Informations throng,
Letters, Commissions, Infinite were there,
Were there, for no where else did they appear.
All stuft with Treasons of the largest Size,
Armies to raise, and in Rebellion rise.
[...]i [...]y and [...]eet to burn, destroy the KING,
Under a [...]orr [...]ign Yoak our Land to bring.
These Poysoned Arrows, ready for the Day
O [...] Bat [...]el, in our Monsters Quiver lay.
Such was his Natural Hue, and Proper Arms;
But when he rang'd abroad by Magick Charms,
So chang'd a Shape to Vulgar Eyes he wore,
That whom they should Abhor they do Adore.
Of Pure Rebellion over his Head they put
A Solemn Veil of the Geneva Cut.
Thus all his Ghastly Countenance did shade,
And a False Saint of a True Divel made.
Next on his Shoulder dangl'd to his Knee,
A Cloak of Presbyterian Loyalty.
Thus safely covers Hell it self, and draws
The Peoples Admiration and Applause.
Curs'd be that Loyalty in Stile Submiss,
In Action Treasonable, like Judas Kiss;
That does in humble Phrase their Soveraign woo,
He'll graciously be pleas'd, Himself t' undo;
Of all Prerogatives to strip the Crown,
And for His Safety's sake, His Power lay down.
To quit His Ʋseless Guards, that so He may
Gently become Theirs and the Peoples Prey.
If this is deny'd, then the Great Guns must Rore
Of Popish Plots, and Arbitrary Power.
Then must his Friends, his Wife and Brother fall,
A Heccatomb to Hypocritick Gall.
What follows needs no Prophet to reveal,
A Late Experience does too sadly tell.
Carver it now thy boldest Stroak will ask,
To Trace this Monster in his Loyal Mask:
How first he Crept, who now so high does Sore,
And Stole in at the Cranny of a Door,
Like a young Sinner checkt with Doubt and Fear,
Bashful and Tim'rous his Beginnings were;
But silent Awe did not restrain him long,
For soon the Speechless Elf [...]ound out a Tongue,
A Tongue who to a mighty States-man's Ear,
With great Success our Monster did prefer;
A Tongue which now with Dives may recant
In vain, and Cooling Drops for ever want.
At first our States-man waver'd to and fro,
Fearful to hold him fast, or let him go,
Under the Veil of Zeal and Loyal Cloak,
The Fiend beneath he easily did Smoak;
But judging that his outward Shape and Dress,
The Genius of our Nation would higly please,
At last he chose to entertain the Elf,
And let poor Naked Truth shift for it Self.
This he conceiv'd old Grudges would attone,
Make People, King, and Parliament his own.
This would Raise Money, this would Armies Pay;
But these false hopes scarce liv'd a Winter's day.
For soon the Pamper'd Beast unruly grew,
And in the Face of his own Keeper flew:
And Breaking loose, with his Departing Heels
Gave him a Bruise, which still the Patient feels.
Now did that other Monster, Lying Fame,
Her Brother Saint, the Nation round proclaim,
And every Weak and every Factious Breast, down,
With this Infernal Spirit is possest.
Some with large Swallow, take his Words all
And the Romance as a Fifth Gospel own.
Others for want of [...]aith with noise supply,
And this Diana greet with lowdest Cry.
All the High places of the Land is stor'd
With Altars, where this Moloch is ador'd.
In Church, in Court, in every Justice-seat,
All It with Incense and Prostration greet.
This Idol's Unclean Worship prostitutes
The House of Prayer, and Prayer it self pollutes,
The very Streets their impious Homage pay,
And with Burnt Offerings convert Night to Day.
'Tis not the Blood of Beasts that can asswage,
This All devouring Moloch's hungry Rage.
In his Infernal Rights there is allow'd,
No other Sprinkling but of Humane Blood.
Victims and Temples too must feel the Knife,
The Living Temples of the God of Life.
Nor Bodies only will his Rage suffice,
A Nation's Souls are now his Sacrifice.
Thrice happy they who with clean Hands and Heart
Act in his Tragedy the Victims part.
Who in White Robes follow their Chief the Lamb,
In all his Thorny paths of Death and Shame:
Who Dying feel no other Grief and Pain,
But for the Guilt of those by whom they're slain,
Who march the safest and the shortest way
To Blissful Canaan through this Purple Sea.
Next Carver, thy Recording Steel must shew
The Monster joyn'd with his Confederate Crew.
Scouring our Coasts, and Ravaging our Land,
Whilst no opposing Power his Shock can stand.
As if the Nation were by angry Heaven,
To his Dire Rage in Execution given.
Thy Piece this general Slaughter may dispose,
By lessening Distance artfully to lose.
But in the Front of the main Work, thy hand
In solid Brass must make our Hero stand,
Stand gloriously in his Immortal Shrine,
Which neither Rust shall Eat, nor Age shall Mine,
And shall out-live all but their Guilt and Hell,
By whose Conspiring Perjury first He fell.
Yet to be just, Great Soul, we must allow,
Thou all thy Glories to their Crimes must owe.
Life's to thy Parents for Illustrious Birth,
Which is but a Portion of Nobler Earth.
Art thou in Debt then to the Monsters Rage,
By which with Heavens Applause thou left'st the Stage.
Stafford's great Name in old Records did sleep,
And lay regardless among the Common Heap;
With Dust and Rubbish almost cover'd o'er,
Thy Setting Sun its Lustre does restore,
When ever fair Astraea shews her Face,
And Slow-pac'd Truth shall Factious Rage dis­place,
It will be said of thy old Norfolk Line,
Some with their Blood are stain'd, and others shine.
Carver, to Sacred Truth this work we vow,
Thy Chi [...]el must no flattering Touches know;
Nor Common Actions raise, nor Vices skreen,
Shew him but where the Hero does begin.
And yet the failing of our Lives past Race,
Exalt the Power and Victory of Grace.
There trace him first where 'twas his happy Fate,
To be thought worthy of the Monster's hate.
The surest Mark of the Almighties Love,
Is when the Powers of Hell against Us move.
Shew him Accus'd, Imprison'd and Oppress'd,
There was he first for Heaven's Militia prest;
Then was he Train'd and Disciplin'd for War,
A War in which the Slain, the Conque [...]o [...]s are.
Then did his Thoughts true Liberty pos [...]ess,
His Body's S [...]isure was his Souls Release.
Next lead him from the Prison to the Bar,
The Place of Combat, and the Sea [...] of War;
Bring through all the Ba [...]b'rous Noise and Shout
Of an Insulting and Blood thirsty Rout:
Nearly allay'd in Manners, Cause and Cry,
To that old Tribe that bellow'd, Crucify.
But these harsh Sounds were Musick to his Ear,
Whose Christian Heart knew neither Guilt nor fear;
Now in the Circle of a Theater,
All England did Epitomiz'd appear:
Each in their several Ranks themselves diffuse,
The Peers to Try, the Commons to Accuse:
Lawyers to Plead, Witnesses to Swear,
People to gaze, Ladies to see and hear.
But this Assembly shall hereafter know,
GOD and his Angels were Spectators too.
With awful Pomp here Justice seem'd enthron'd,
The Sword she bare, the Ballance was post-pon'd.
Ah Carver, had thy Steel the force to raise,
From Fates Eternal Book these Leaves of Brass,
This dismal Scene of Horrour we'd expunge,
Which did in Guilt of Blood a Nation plunge;
For who false Oaths so easily believe,
Their Crime resemble those who stoln Goods receive,
And through such light Belief if Blood be spilt,
No Forms of Justice can wipe off the Guilt.
What Cause in this Corrupted Age is try'd,
That ever wants an Oath on either side.
Judges themselves their way can hardly see,
Through the thick Mists of growing Perjury.
Shall Oaths for Goods and Land be laid aside,
And all receiv'd where Men for Life are Try'd?
Shall neither Profit, Malice, nor ill Fame,
Nor Counter-proofs bate this devouring Flame?
Can nothing but Heavens Judgements make it known?
How Earth with Blood and Perjury does groan?
Now with loud Summons, signal of the War,
The Cryer calls our Prisoner to the Bar.
Some previous Storms and Skirmishes past o'er,
The Charge begins, and the great Ordnance roar:
The Monster from his Battery rais'd on high,
A Thundering Peal of Mortal Oaths let fly,
Whilst from the Lawyers Throats in fatal sound
In loud repeating Echoes does rebound.
Since first the Monster touch'd in English Land,
He and the Gown-men went still hand in hand.
Who in a formidable League combin'd,
To drive All before them, and run down Man­kind.
'Tis true the Gospel and the Law reveal
The ways to future Bliss, and present Weal:
But when ill Acts convert them to a Trade,
They Guard not, but our Happiness Invade.
As Labouring Men their Hands, Cryers their Lungs,
Porters their Backs, Lawyers hire out their Tongues.
And vilest are those Hirelings who abuse,
Their Calling to the most destructive Use:
A Tongue to Gain and Hire accustom'd long,
Grows quite insensible of Right or Wrong,
And true and false with them is Cross and Pile,
The Winning side is only worth their while.
And of that Tribe some Tongues no less are gor'd,
With Blood of Innocents, than Herod's Sword.
The Breath of Lawyers and of Peoples Minds
Are like the yielding Waves, and blustering Winds▪
Each Mobile its Driver does obey,
These Tempests raise by Land, as those by Sea:
And so the Crowd to whose discerning Skill,
The greatest Cry is Demonstration still.
Second the Charge with Hums and rude Ap­plause,
And on the Monster's side pre-judge the Cause.
Alas of Peers themselves, this high Degree,
From this contagious Frenzy is not free!
That generous Blood which Nobler Veins doth fill,
No Faction should enflame, no Fear should chill,
They in a higher Region plac'd, should know
None of those Popular Storms, which rage be­low;
But should with serene Thoughts and Courage bold,
And with Impartial Hand the Ballance hold:
Yet like those Peers of Heaven we find of late,
Too many faln from their Exalted State;
And from Attendance on the Highest Throne,
To serve a factious Populace sunk down.
But still the Fall of the Apostate Band,
Makes for their Glory who with firmness stand.
Truth will to both be just, Angels that fell
The first Distinction made of Heaven and Hell.
Now Carver, with some likeness to express
Our Hero greater still in his Distress,
Proving the Storms, standing the rudest shock,
Thy work requires something more firm than Rock;
Of bloody Slanders, who undaunted can
The deadly Shock endure, is more than Man.
Nothing of Sublunary Growth, or Make,
Of that Immortal Temper can partake.
We learn this Lesson only from the Chair,
Where God and Man joyntly Professors are.
No less a Master could make understood
A Doctrine so averse to Flesh and Blood.
Thus taught, our Champion perfect in his Roll
Did honour to his Master and his School;
For with such Calm of Mind and Air serene,
As in white Innocents is only seen;
He saw his Life by bloody Oaths atack't,
And the dire Charge by a whole Nation backt.
He saw his Honour and himself run down,
By horrid Hellish Crimes, but none on's own.
Their Crimes they only were who swore them so,
And who those Oaths so lightly did allow.
It was not to find out Truth they thither came,
But like keen Huntsmen to run down the Game.
For with design all was so aptly squar'd,
Their Tackling and their Tools so well prepar'd,
The Oaths were all so positive and home,
That for the Lawyers Skill they left no room.
They ran at ease, and hardly did blow for't,
For never yet did a false Oath swear short.
Our Prisoner wanted not in his Defence
Proofs of their Guilt, and his own Innocence.
But from such lyes what Pleading can relieve,
Which some invent, some swear, and most believe.
When byas'd Minds Faction or Fear does fill,
They judge not by their Reason, but their Will.
All on the Favour'd side they Gospel call,
And on the Other side all is Apocriphal.
But on these Judges heavy Judgementsly,
Who use false Weights when Life and Death they try,
And the deciding Ballance hold a wry.
Now from the Fatal Urn the Lots are cast,
Judgement of Death is on our Hero past.
Some when they found him Guilty, wept, but still
They did like Crocadiles, both Weep and Kill;
And the Inhumane Verdict to Disguise,
As Pilate wash'd his Hands, they wash'd their Eyes.
More at the Barr than Block, at H'estminster,
Than on Tower-Hill: suffer'd our guiltless Peer.
A just Regard must of those few be had,
(The Good are still out-number'd by the Bad.)
Who yielded not to Factions swelling Tide,
But follow'd Truth, though on the weaker side,
Carver, in Living Brass inscribe their Name,
As some Attonment of our Nation's Shame.
Tell future Time how manfully they stood,
And durst in such an Age as Ours be Good.
Thus of their Glory will thy Work partake,
But of the Adverse Part no mention make.
Heaven's Retribution will more fully tell
Which did in Honour, which in Guilt, Excell.
The time is come for Divine Power to shew,
When Nature is too weak, what Grace can do.
No greater Load on Innocents can ly,
Than for a Crime so Infamous to dy.
And yet more Unconcern'd than others Give,
He does the Sentence of his Death Receive.
Of all the Law inflicts, that only Part
Which touch'd his Wife and Children, touch'd his Heart;
Nothing but their Undoing rais'd his Fears,
His Death in them a Massacre appears.
But Heaven's Elixir can our sharpest Pains
Convert to Joy, to Liberty our Chains.
Can Glory reap where Infamy is sown,
Turn Death to Life, our Cross unto a Crown?
Thus in his Carriage none the Marks could see
Of a Defeat, but signs of Victory.
He march'd with such Assurance from the Bar,
As Conquering Generals from a Prosperous War.
His seeming Friends thought it not yet too late,
(Since Nature on their side was Advocate)
With the strong Baits of Life, and an Access
Of Wealth and State, to draw him to confess.
To all the vain Suggestions on their side,
Our Christian Hero thus in short reply'd:
My Age no less doth give me than the Doom,
So near a Prospect of the World to come,
That twere a foolish Bargain to Redeem
With an Eternal Stain my Inch of Time:
By that of others I shall chuse to Dye,
Rather than live by my own Perjury.
If I confess the Plot my Life's my own,
Then welcom Death, with all its outward Shame,
It is my Joy that I Truth's Martyr am.
One would believe by all this mighty Strife,
You value more the Plot, than the KING's Life.
For the First's sake, the Last you can forgive;
But no Denyers of the Plot must live:
Nor Conscience nor my Honour will Dispence,
That I should Murder my own Innocence.
And rather than I falsly will expose
The Lives of Guiltless Men, my own I'll lose.
Their Art or Friendship was amaz'd to find,
So great a Calm and Constancy of Mind;
And when they found eluded every Bait,
They gave him up to his own Sullen Fate.
But as to Christ, into the Desert led
The Tempter vanish'd, Angels did succeed,
So did our Hero's Soul (this Combat past)
An Earnest of Heavens Joyes begin to taste.
On GOD spent all his Thoughts, on Prayer his Breath,
To his new Purchase he so long'd to go,
And take Possession, that Death seem'd too slow.
That Tragick Scene to every Eye but his,
That Day of Guilt to some, to Him of Bliss,
At last appears, and Swarms of People crown'd
The Fatal Hill, for Noble Blood renown'd.
Of different Temper each his Pleasure finds,
Part come with Curious, Part with Cruel Minds:
Some only in the Strangeness of the Sight,
Others in the Butchery and his Blood, delight.
Poor Animals! how Savage and how Blind,
They want the Eyes and Bowels of Mankind.
And now to Them and Him the welcom Hour,
Summons our Noble Prisoner from the Tower,
As some East-Indian Carack homeward bound,
Of Earth's vast Globe having gone all the round,
Twice cut the Line, and with bold Canvas run
Beyond the Limits of its Rival Sun,
Making to it's Native Port, the Cheering Gale
With Joy each Heart, with Wind fills every Sail:
So does our Hero, now from Storms releast,
Move to the Scaffold as his place of Rest.
Heaven this last Favour does to him afford,
To tread the Footsteps of his Dying LORD:
In whom live all his Hopes, dye all his Fears,
By whom Tower-Hill, Mount Calvary appears.
On his Great Leader in his Dying State,
He hopes in Glory, as in Death to wait;
And that his Blood, for Crimes pretended, spilt
Of his True Sins may cancel all the Guilt.
The Scaffold Steps, did Jacob's Ladder seem,
The Scaffold was a Monarch's Throne to him:
And with such Joy he did resign his Breath,
As other Mortals save themselves from Death;
For those who caus'd his Death, was his last Prayer,
And his last Words his Innocence declare.
Stafford farwell: May thy Pacifick Blood,
Of Crimes and Judgments stop the Raging Flood.
Our Blindness cure, and by a holy Charm,
Of it's Dread Thunder, Angry Heav'n Disarm.
In vain their Bloody Guilt some strive to skreen
With Forms of Law, and Oaths of Perjur'd Men.
What weak Excuse, how slight those Fig-leaves are,
Christ and his Martyrs, and King Charles declare.
Judge on which side disputed Truth mustly,
All swear, these swear and live, these swear and dye,
In vain your Bable of a Plot you boast,
'Gainst Heaven and Truth, your Labour will be lost.
No more your fancy'd Deluge can prevent,
Which must with Blood and Perjury cement.
Already 'mongst the workmen by just Doom
Of Jarring Tongues the old Confusion's come.
Heavens Beacons lighted in a Blazing Star,
Too sure a signal of Impending war!
This Corrupt Mass away it self will purge,
And all by Turns will be each others Scourge.
Then with his Gauls should Brennus hither roll,
How will your Geese protect your Capitol.
The name of TITƲS will hereafter sound,
As once in Palestine, on British Ground:
A Perjur'd Tongue like Records will afford,
Of Slaughters here as there the Victor's Sword,
I wish Repentance may their Eyes Unseal,
And from their harden'd Hearts remove the Steel,
And that the Victims of their Cruelty,
As Martyr's Blood Pacifick Hoasts may be.
God may for them men's Prayers receive,
When they the Prayers of Dying men believe.
But if their poyson'd Hearts they will obdure,
For such Malignity Heaven has no Cure.
Now Carver, thy Instructed Chissel may,
To the rude Stones their proper Forms convey.
His Glorious Image better Light will give,
To make thy Labours and these Numbers live▪
All other Hero's of a lesser Rate,
Owe to the Poets their Immortal State.
That lasting green they from their Laurels take,
Which does the freshness of their Glory make.
But our high Theam this order does reverse,
For now the Subject will Embalm the Verse,
Which as the Shadow on the Sun doth wait,
Will justly, though obscurely Him relate:
And in that Noble Office shall out-live
These worst of Times, and Time it self survive.

Shaftsbury's Farewell: Or the New As­sociation.

GReatest of Men, yet Mans least Friend, farewel;
Wits Mightiest, but most Useless Miracle;
Where Nature all her Richest Treasures stor'd,
To make one vast unprofitable Hoard:
So High as thine no Orb of Fire can rowl,
The Brightest, yet the Most Excentrick Soul;
Whom midst Wealth, Honours, Fame, yet want of ease,
No Power could e'er oblige, no State could please;
Be in thy grave with peaceful slumbers blest,
And sind Thy whole Life's only Stranger, Rest.
Oh, Shastsbury! had thy Prodigious Mind!
Been to Thy self, and thy Great Master kind,
Glory had wanted Lungs thy Trump to blow,
And Pyramids had been a Tomb too low.
Oh that the World (Great States-man) ere should see
Nebuchadnezzar's Dream fulfill'd in Thee!
Whilst such low Paths led Thy Great Soul astray,
Thy Head of Gold mov'd but on Feet of Clay.
Yes, from Rebellions la [...]e Inhumane Rage,
The Crimes and Chaos of that Monstrous Age,
As the old Patriarch from Sodom flew,
So to Great CHARLES His Sacred Bosom Thou;
But Oh! with more than Lot's Wifes fatal Fault,
For which she stood in Monnmental Salt.
Though the Black Scene Thy hasting Foot-step flies,
Thy soul turns back, and looks with longing Eyes.
Ah, Noble Peer, that the Records of Fame
Should give [...]rostratus and Thee One Name;
Great was his bold Atchievement, Greater Thine,
Greater, as Kings than Shrines are more Divine;
Greater, as vaster Toils it did require
T'inflame Three Kingdoms, than One Temple fire,
But where are all those blust'ring Storms re­tir'd,
That roar'd so loud when Oliver Expir'd?
Storms that rent Oaks, and Rocks assunder broke,
And at his Exequies in Thunder spoke.
Was there less cause, when Thy last Doom was giv'n,
To waken all the Revellers of Heaven?
Or did there want in Belgia's humble Soil
A Cedar fit to fall Thy Funeral Pile?
No; Die, and Heav'n th' Expence of Thunder save,
Hush'd as Thy own Designs, down to Thy Grave.
So hush'd may all the Portents of the Skie
With Thee, our last great Comet's Influence die:
May this One Stroke our lowring Tempests clear,
And all the Fiery Trigon finish here.
With Thee expire the Democratick Gall;
Thy Sepulchre and Lethe swallow all:
Here end the poyson of that Vip'rous Brood,
And make Thy Urn like Moses's wondrous Rod;
So may Our Breaches close in Thy One Grave,
Till Shaftsbury's last Breath Three Nations save;
And dying thus, t'avert His Countreys Doom,
Go with more Fame than Curtius to His Tomb.
But is he dead! How! Cruel Belgia, say!
Lodg'd in thy Arms, yet make so short a stay!
Ungrateful Countrey! Barbarous Holland Shoar!
Cou'd the Battavian Climate do no more!
Her Shaftsbury's dear Life no longer save!
What? a Republick Air, and yet so quick a
Oh! all ye scatter'd Sons of Titan weep,
This dismal day with solemn Mournings keep;
Like Isral's Molten-Calf your Medals burn,
And into Tears your Great Letemur turn;
Oh! wail in Dust, to think how Fates dire frown
Has thrown your dear Herculean Column down.
Oh, Charon! waft thy Load of Honour o'er,
And land Him safely on the Stygian Shoar:
At His Approach, Fames loudest Trumpet call
Cromwel, Cook, Ireton, Bradshaw, Hewson, all,
From all the Courts below, each well pleas'd
All the Republick Legions numerous Host,
Swarm thick, to see your Mighty Heroe land,
Crowd up the Shoar, and blacken all the Strand;
And, what'ere Chance on Earth, or Pow'rs accurst,
Broke all your Bonds, your Holy Leagues all burst:
This Union of the Saints no Storm shall sever,
This Last ASSOCIATION holds for ever.

Dagon's Fall: Or Sir William Waller turn'd out of Commission.

GOod GOD! what means this sudden Alteration!
The Fop that has so long disturb'd the Nation,
By's Pride, and Pomp, and Pow'r, is now Turn'd out,
And hardly pity'd by the silly Rout.
He was as stout, and lofty as old Hector,
Usurp'd the Power of our damn'd Protector;
As Fierce and Cruel as a Tyger's whelp,
He wanted neither strength, nor art, nor help
To do and undo; he was grown so great,
That the Creation was amaz'd to see't.
He had his Coach and Horses, Footmen too,
And into th' City rode, to make a shew;
But little thought when drawn by Whitaker
His fatal downfal it had been so near▪
To put a Sword into a Madmans hand,
It may make Bloody Work within the Land.
Papists and Protestants were all alike,
Both sent to lodge with Church and thin-jaw'd Dyke.
No Day scarce pass'd without some mischief done,
Into all Companies the Fool did run.
The Goaler sure gave him a snack of Fees,
For Prisoners flock'd even like a Swarm of Bees.
Here Ten were sent him for a Popish Plot,
There Two more to please a Buggering Sot.
Then a New Plot is feign'd, and more secur'd,
'Uds flesh, my Friends, this cannot be endur'd!
Printers, Apprentices, and many more,
In all I do believe near twice two score.
They all are Plotters, yet by Jove not one,
Can tell you what was said, or what was done.
The Gate-house is become a Babel now,
Confusions came upon us none knew how,
But he that wrought the Mischief now is found,
'Twill puzzle any man to prove him sound.
He's rotten at the Heart I'll lay my Life,
No wonder he begot us all this Strife.
Well, now the Cause is gone, the effect will cease,
I hope we shall enjoy our former Peace.
This Leaven leaven'd the whole Lump,
And made us fear another sawcy Rump.
He study'd out new Plots, and for what ends?
Only to please his Presbyterian Friends.
Ah but my Friend, thou thy last Dice hast thrown,
For which the Presbyters begin to groan,
Thy buisie active Soul (I do not jest)
Had lately sent it a Quietus est.
And that which doth thy Grief and Sorrow double,
Thou art not Rich for all thy needless trouble
Soul take thine ease, thou very well mai'st sing.
For thou hast got a Writ of ease from th'King:
Thou hast much Goods laid up for many years,
Say that, and I will give thee both my E [...]s.
Leave but the Factious out, go through the City,
Thou wilt not find a Man enclin'd to pity.
Hang him cries one, he was a buisie Knave,
He shew'd no Mercy, nor he none shall have.
Mischief was all his aim, and his design,
When he brought Hickey to a glass of Wine.
The mischief which so eagerly he sought
For others, he himself too dearly bought:
But I am almost weary of my Rhimes,
For I consider these are Trayterous Times.
Had but this buisie Fool his late Commission,
This wou'd have cost me a devout Submission;
I had been surely sent to Goal for Treason
As Thompson was, and had a greater Reason▪
But God be thanked curst-Cows have short Horns,
He must and shall endure our Flouts and Scorns.
We may go boldly on, and fear no fall;
No painted Staff will answer at his Call.
Now he is down, down with him, now's the Season;
For if he rise he'l Goal us all for TREASON.

A Dialogue betwixt the Devil and the Igno­ramus Salamanca Doctor.

Devil.
B [...]hold from the Infernal Lake I'm come,
To fright thy Soul to it's Eternal Doom:
To tell thee, Villain, that thy Reign's expir'd,
And now be sure thou shalt no longer hir'd
[...]e by Me, no, nor any of the Damn'd,
To drench in Innocent Blood this mournful Land.
Hence then begone, and do no more pursue
Villanies Hell could ne'er act, but by you:
Now Heaven stops my Power, and I thy Hand,
And now I tell thee, Doctor, Thou art damn'd.
Doctor.
O Spectre! spare a while my dreadful Doom!
Go back and tell the Damn'd, I come, I come;
Only let me compleat the Ills I've begun,
Then Heaven farewel, and unto You I come.
Devil.
The Blood o'th' Innocent aloud does cry,
Revenge, Revenge, on cursed Doctor Ti—
No more o'th' Innocent shall bleed, nor die.
Doctor.
Well, the time's come, the fatal day's at hand,
That I for ever, ever must be damn'd:
O curs'd Revenge! what Mischiefs have I done?
Abjur'd the Father, and blasphem'd the Son.
The Sacred Spirit of Truth at once have I
Banish'd; and that my vengeance I might buy,
I've caus'd the best of Innocents to dye.
See where their Ghosts appear in Purple ray'd, afresh;
Victims, by Perjury alone betray'd:
See how they shake their Heads, and bleed
Their wounds gape wide in their new murder'd flesh;
And these most frightful Visions come, cause I
Th' bloody Villanous Murderer stand by.
'Tis true, that I the cruel Murderer am,
And thousands more by Perjury to trepan
I solemnly did vow, and often swear,
And none t'escape, from the Peasant to the Peer;
Nay Sacred Prelates, Princes, Queens and Kings,
Should have made up my Bloody Offerings.
Ten Thousand more of Innocents had dy'd,
'Cause I King, Queen, and Duke had Sacrific'd:
Cities and Towns I'd Fir'd, if not withstood,
And quench'd the flames with Innocent Blood.
Let me but live in this world three years more,
This Island then shall swim in Christian gore;
I'le subvert Governments, and murder Kings,
Sow discord among Friends; I'le do such things
Shall make the World believe there is not that
Villanous thing I have not power to act:
I'le make the World believe (let me but stay)
That Light is Darkness, and that Night is Day;
That I the Saviour of the Nation am,
And that CHRIST was of no avail to Man;
Then I the Sacred Gospels will destroy,
Swear they'r but fictious Stories, and a Lye;
Perswade them that the Bible's but a Farce,
No more to be esteem'd than is my A—
So I'le improve the Art of Perjury,
That none who are not skill'd in Villany
Shall live; thus will I fit this Isle for Hell,
And then adieu the World, and Heaven farewel.
Thus I a Learned Doctor will commence,
And by the People be ador'd for Nonsence,
And with Sedition I their Souls will influence.
Devil.
Peace thou prophane wretch, hold Villain, hold,
For now with Heaven and Earth thou art too bold,
And I must tell thee, another Winter old
Thou shalt not be, thy life and Soul are sold:
When flat on th' Altar Thou thy self didst lay,
Remember that thou gav'st thy Soul away
To me; and swor'st for ever thou'dst be mine,
Mightst thou but compass thy Hellish Design;
To imbrue thy Hands in Innocent Blood,
And murder all who had the face of good:
Devils and Hell thou hast in this outdone,
By thy damn'd Perjury ith' face oth' Sun▪
Hence then be gone to Hell, away, away,
For in this place thou shalt no longer stay.
[Spoken by an old Acquaintance]
Why how now Doctor, vanish'd fled and gone,
What none but Monsieur Devil and You alone?
Are all your Papists come to this damn'd end.
Thus to be hamper'd and ridden by a Fiend?
Unpitiedly; blaspheme and groan thy last,
Belch forth thy unhallow'd Soul, and blast
Hell it self, with thy unsanctified Breath,
And groveling ith' shades of Eternal Death,
I leave thee. Ha, ha, ha, ha, poor Doctor,
Good Night little good Mr. Devil's Doctor.

Tyburn's Courteous Invitation to TITUS OATES, the Salamanca Doctor.

OH! name it once again; will Titus come?
My dearest, hopeful, that long-wish'd for One,
For whom my Triple Arms extended were,
(To hug with close Embraces) many a year.
Haste! haste! my choicest Darling, whom I love,
And thy long-promis'd kindness let me prove.
That Right Thou plead'st for, which indeed's thy due,
Though Others I've deny'd, I'll grant it You:
The World shall find I willingly will bear,
And dance thy Carcase 'twixt the Earth and Air.
In Hemp'n-string I'll lull thee fast asleep,
And prevent all the Dangers of the Deep.
Oh, how I love thee! 'cause I've heard thou'st been
So well acquainted with all kinds of Sin,
And, with a false and strange Religious Guise,
Destroy'd the Innocent, abus'd the Wise.
What crafty Lessons didst thou teach to men!
How to Rebell, and told the time best when;
Urg'd to Exclude a Right and Lawful Heir,
Unthrone a King, and swore away a Peer.
Thy Zeal through two-inch-Boards was plainly seen,
When Satan prompt thee to swear 'gainst the Queen:
Besides those many guiltless Souls that dy'd
A Sacrifice to thy Luciferian Pride.
Yet, yet, beloved Titus, my dear Son,
(Reputed Saviour, for thy Mercies shewn,)
And well maist claim my Palace as thine own:
Thou'lt find me kinder far than Courtiers; I
Will never turn thee out unril thou die:
And, since White-hall has left thee, I'll provide
That Lodging for Thee, where old Noll was ty'd.

The REFORMATION. ASATYR.

‘Tempora mutantur, & nos mutamur in illis.’
HOW Roman-like did our Old Rebel Dye,
With His last breath profaning Majesty?
And braving Heav'n it self, He w'd not stay
(Lest 'twere a piece of cowardise) to Pray.
And cannot all this Gallantry Engage
Some Zealot, spurr'd up to Poetick Rage?
But not a word—there's not one Ballad made,
Curtis I see, will have but slender Trade,
For Rhymers now begin to Renegade:
I wonder'd not at Converts of the Cits,
Yet still I thought some Epidemick Wits
Wou'd ne're have Grace enough for Proselytes.
But edifying Ketch does seldom fail,
And when All miss, He's certain to prevail.
Jack's a great Bug-bear—for his very sight
Did our bold Whiggish Oracles so fright,
That there's not one of all the Canting Fry,
Can write a failing Brothers Elegy.
Nay, lesser yet—Their Club will not afford
A Farewel Speech; unless 't be for a Lord.
The meaner Tyburn Saints have nought to say,
Besides their Pater Noster, and Away—
A way they march to their true Friends below
Cursing the blabbing H—rd as they go.
But Shafts smiles to see 'em come so thick,
For He's resolv'd to play another trick,
And have one Bout at Politick Old Nick:
For Stephen Vows they cannot live in Hell,
Except they make the little Dev'ls Rebel,
And after, Vote it to a Common-weal.
'Tis pleasant, Faith, to see a Babe of Grace
Masking Geneva Looks with Loyal Face;
Then gravely tell you that He never stood
Too fierce a Stickler for the Brother-Hood
And ne'er meant Mischief, but for Publick g [...]od.
Thus Pious Wh—deeply Read in Lives,
French Leagues, Scotch Covenants, and Narratives,
Though (the next Oxford sitting) He design'd
T' Impeach Minc'd Pyes as Popishly inclin'd,
Has now made tender Conscience so comply,
He'll allow Surplice, Cross, and Litany.
Nay any thing, for th' Godly Reformade
Seems so to hate the Salamank [...] Trade,
That now a Passive Lecture He'll disgest,
As well as Meroz at Forbidden Feast,
Tho' Jeakel spoke with sacred Nonsence blest.
Next Bethel wisely turning with the Tide,
Thinks to shake off the once-Beloved-Side,
And doth the whole Design so much resent,
You'd almost Swear, He lov'd the Government:
Yet still He closely favours the Intrigue,
And quits the Sh—from his Holy League.
Arn—that early Martyr for the Cause,
So maul'd in Jack'napes Lane by Popish Claws,
Was pity'd, till some Tell-tales understood
That He, like Priest of Baal, in zealous mood,
First Scratch'd Himself, and then did Murder cry,
And hang'd a Brace of Tories by the by,
No Engine kills like a Religious Lye.
But He, and Stout Sir Tr—(that cou'd Vote
For Freedom with as Popular a Note
As any of the House) begin to shrink,
Humbling themselves with Penitential Chink.
So W—ms, who the same brave Motto wore
As Cataline, and Cassius, did before,
Doth now His Latine Poesie Paraphrase,
Will's For the King, (If not against His Grace
And Tr—laying down that Great Command,
Will All His Taunton Forces now Disband.
And thus, Forsooth, whilst Loyalty's in Fashion,
W'are like to have a Hopeful Reformation,
But Subtile Roger bids Us have a Care,
'Tis dang'rous yet to Trust these Saints too far,
'Tis Ten to One, if Jove's Great Mercy can
Of Whig, or Trimmer, make an Honest Man.

Advice to His GRACE.

AWake, vain man; 'tis time th' Abuse to see;
Awake, and guard thy heedless Loyalty
From all the Snares are laid for It and Thee.
No longer let that buisie juggling Crew
(Who to their own mis deeds entitle You,)
Abuse Your Far: Consider, Sir, the State
Of our unhappy Isle, disturb'd of late
With causeless Jealousies, ungrounded Fear,
Obstinate Faction, and Seditious Care;
Gone quite distracted for Religion's sake;
And nothing their hot brains can cooler make,
(So great's the deprivation of their sence,)
But the excluding of their lawful Prince:
A Prince, in whose each Act is clearly shown,
That Heaven design'd him to adorn a Throne;
Which (tho' He scorns by Treason to pursue,)
He ne'er will quit, if it become His due.
Then lay betimes your mad Ambition down;
Nor let the dazling Lustre of a Crown
Bewitch your Thoughts; but think what mighty care
Attends the Crowns that Lawful Princes wear;
But when ill Title's added to the Weight,
How insupportable's the Load of State!
Believe those working Brains Your Name abuse;
You only for their Property do use:
And when they'r strong enough to stand alone;
You, as an useless Thing, away'l be thrown.
Think too, how dear you have already paid,
For the fine Projects Your false Friends had laid.
When by the Rabbles fruitless Zeal You lost
Your Royal Fathers Love, Your growing Fortune cross'd;
Say, was Your Bargain, think ye, worth the Cost?
Remember what Relation, Sir, you bear
To Royal Charles; Subject and Son You are;
Two Names that strict Obedience does require;
What Frenzy then does your rash Thoughts inspire,
Thus by Disloyal Deeds to add more Cares,
To them of the bright Burden that he wears?
Why with such eager speed hunt You a Crown
You're so unfit to wear, were it Your own?
With Bows, and Legs, and little Arts, You try,
A rude, unthinking Tumults Love to buy:
And he who stoops to do so mean a Thing,
Shows, He, by Heaven, was ne're design'd for King.
Would you be Great? do Things are Great and brave
And scorn to be the Mobile's dull Slave:
Tell the base Great Ones, and the shouting Throng,
You scorn a Crown worn in another's wrong.
Prove Your high Birth by Deeds Noble and Good;
But strive not to Legitimate your Blood. Ephelia.

The Solicitous Citizen: Or Much-ado about NOTHING.

COntinual Hubbub, and the noise of Plot,
Idle Suspicions of he knows not what,
The Pope, the Devil, and the [...]rench, five years
Have (it enslav'd to Jealousies and [...]ears;
Nor any Prospect yet of Peace appears:
Bandy'd about 'twixt Credit and Despair,
Who's safe (he cries) while such Designs there are?
And (what is more perplexing) can't tell where.
No, though of late he to his side have got
TITƲS, that Devil at cold scent of Plot;
But he (poor Cur) at Oxford lost his Fame,
Where he Ran counter, to's eternal shame;
There the base man, Disloyal and Ʋnjust,
A second time prov'd Traytor to his Trust:
In vain from him Discoveries you hope;
The Cur (Pox on him)'s foil'd; A Rope, a Rope.
But this to [...]it no satisfaction gives;
He's still uneasie, and in Fear he lives:
C [...]ies, there are others who can find out Plots,
(And Make perhaps) as well as Dr. Oats;
Says, Wiser Heads than his the City Rule;
(Or else said, Each Cit had been a I ovl.
Say what ye will, we will secure our Home,
Be all in readiness at Beat of Drum;
Who knows how soon the K. of France may come?
The Guards each night, you'd split to see the Farce,
(Like Rattle-Snakes, with Bandaleers at A—
Ty'd to long Swords, and drest in Greasie Buff,
Majestic Porters) through the City huff;
Whilst Leader, Fore-horse-like, the Pageant mak [...]s
With formal strut, and's gawdy Tassel shakes.
In this brave Pomp they march to Rendesvouze,
And there from Nine till Six securely bouze.
In damn'd Mundungus, and as nasty Nantz,
They curse the Pope, and huff the K. of France.
Does but poor whore about their Quarters budge
Whom undkind Stars do force till Ten to trudge;
Stait brustling Myrmidon cries, Who comes there?
Stand, or I'll fire; or stir a foot that dare;
Raises the Guards, (for such Alarms are common)
Two hundred men to seize on one poor Woman.
Why here so late? (cries Leader) On what score?
What are you? I'm a Woman. You're a Whore:
And, Fellow Buff-Coats, a suspicious One:
For ought I know, the Whore of Babylon.
As you say Captain, it may be Pope Joan.
Such Feats as these our mighty Dons of war
Perform, to show the world how much they dare,
And then to judge what plaguy Curs they are.
But here dull Cit is out in's Policy,
While he on woman does his Manhood try:
Credulous Ass, there's no more gross mistake,
Citizens Wives Beasts of their Husbands make.
Believe me Cit, thou'dst better far neglect
The Plots Abroad, and those at Home inspect:
Need'st no Contriving Jesuits fear, but th'Leagues
of Wife with Courtier, th' Islington Intrigues.
Was it well known to each contented Sot
What's done at home, how Jacky was Begot,
He'd be more jealous of his Wife than th' Plot.
But of all Pates, Cit has the softest one;
(The better (cries the Wife) to Graft upon;)
But he by such damn'd Dulness is undone:
While on him ev'ry Rascal puts a Trick,
Care, Curtis, Baldwin and Seditious Dick:
Such Rogues as these do still Suspicions give,
And make new Plots that no man can believe:
One buzzes This, one That Report in's Ear;
One makes him hope, another makes him fear,
Just like four Mastiff-Dogs upon one Bear.
Thus curious Cit these Plaguy Rascals mawl,
Who knows not which the True or False to call,
But honestly (dull Soul believes 'em All.
This makes 'em in the City chuse alone
To vent their Libels; for there can't be shown
One Treason-Writer at our end o'th' Town:
These are the Knaves who make the Cits suspect
Their Prince, that he their Safety does neglect,
Whose only Care (Heav'n knows) is to protect:
These are the Villains who our Jars increase,
Nor till they're Hang'd can we e're hope for Peace.
Each Cobler's Statesman grown, and the bold Rable
Convert each Ale-house-Board to Council-table;
One censures this, another blames that fashion,
And thus they settle the Affairs o'th' Nation:
On Votes and Councils are their Judgments past,
And in what form they please Affairs they cast;
Thus Colledge did, but he was hang'd at last.

The CHARTER. A Comical SATYR.

Fire! Fire! Fire! Help, for we're all in Flames!
Pra [...] come▪ for the good Lords sake of Three Names!
Sons [...] Commitees, and Sequestrators,
Old Rebe [...], and new Associators;
Call t [...] [...]'d Officers, and Justice,
(Whose Mettle like to be eat with Rust is,)
Step to the Synagogue, and Jenkins Pew,
Call all the Gentiles, and knock up the Jew;
For such curs'd Wild-fire's amongst us thrown,
(Worse than the Jesuits) 'twill burn's quite down;
A Vengeance Fi [...]e-ball call'd Quo Warranto,
Will bring all our hopes to Achoranto.
AS Sampson's Strength up in his Hair was ty'd,
Rebellions Strength was in the Charter hid;
Late in a Trumpet Treason every Punk
Could speak; now't must be wisper'd through a Trunk;
By [...]harter, Brother Traytor we could free,
Now there's no Priviledge for Perjury:
Next time my Lord, beware the Medal-house.
Though we'd be damn'd for't, we can't save your souse;
We've done as much for you as men could do,
Ventur'd our Souls, and lost our Charter too.
And is that all? Come, ben't crest-fall'n, make shift
And bear up, Ill help you at a dead lift;
Something may yet be done, though we daren't touch
On Meal Tub-Plots lest caught i'th' Bolling­hutch.
How says your Lordship, (for your Honour's free)
Capital Member of our Company;
And you know well that 'tis out of Fashion,
(For Tradesmen to sink in Desperation;)
Methinks, though we broke at State (for sins,)
We may drive the old Trade of Cony-skins,
And Kid-knapping? Sell Brock and Dog-skin-Muff,
And country Captains cheat with Horse skin-Buff?
We must imploy our Talents, still, devise,
A hundred Prodigies, and Prodigious Lyes;
The Hook of Popery won't take small
Fish now, (fy on't) the French have quite marr'd all,
The Whore of Babylon, and Antichrist
He hath ground to powder and spoil'd our Grist;
Who would have thought that Ʋnchristian King
Would stop our Mouths with such a Christian thing?
But yet we'l sigh, and groan, and shake the head,
In time Rebellion may be brought to Bed,
With good Midwifery, and good Wives aid,
To whom such Tales as these must still be said;
How a Child spoke as soon as born we'll tell;
(Perhaps before, to ears that could hear well;)
Tell Northern men how Six Suns did appear
At once i'th South; to Southern, Eight Moons there.
Then for a touch of Prophecies we'l say,
The Isle O Brazeel but the other day
Appear'd to a good Master of a Ship,
Where an old woman that gave Death the slip
E're since the Deluge, told him, that the Time
Of the Saints Government was now at Prime;
Down goes Baalam, Ashteroth and Dagon,
Down goes Bell, and then up goes the Dragon.
But now let's gybe the Sail, and catch the Wind
And make a tack to fetch you up behind.
There was a time (they say) since the World stood,
You had a Charter never to be good.
Have you forgot your Routs and Ryots, when
You forc't the best of Kings, and best of Men
To fly from's Royal Pallace, and betake
Himself to Forest-shelter, and the brake?
When the Divine Magicians of your Town
Chang'd you to Wolves and Dogs to hunt him down?
Have you forgot how you the Queen did force,
And High-born Issue to a sad Divorce
From their Royal Father? Have you forgot
How you made th' Crown and Miter go to pot?
First Clamour, then Petition, Last you bring
Rebellion, a compleat Sin-Offering:
Say Obediah, tell me if you please,
Had you a Charter for such Tricks as these?
Once more Beloved; Have you forgot when
Beat up for Bankrupt and Religious Thrums?
When Hungry Levites and starv'd Prentices
Sally'd from their dark Cells and Penthouses,
And like the Plagues of Egypt spreads all o're,
Some for to stench us, all for to devour?
Have you forgot how you did Stab the King
And Church, with Bodkin, Thimble, Spoon and Ring,
And like the Indians prostitute your selves,
For th' Devilish Idols of your Cause and Elves?
Say Annanias, tell me if you please,
Had you a Charter for such Tricks as these?
Surely the Act of Amnesty is split
On those claim pardon, won't renounce the Guilt;
A Realm divided 'gainst it self can't stand,
Nor City, if by such as you 'twere man'd;
In vain are Oaths and Witnesses, if th' Shreive
Can pack a Jury, that will not believe:
A Turk's a good Evidence, ('tis very true)
Against a Christian not against a Jew.
The Pope and Conclave sure have chang'd their Nests,
And took your Quarters up within your Breasts;
Their high Prerogatives to You resign'd,
Can damn the Innocent, and saint the Fiend;
Or else your Conscience and Religion
Are inspir'd with Mahomet's Pidgeon,
A Race of Chequer-work that's intertext
With the worst Christian and worst Jew mixt,
A kind of circum uncircumcised kind,
Can Swear the Body, and not swear the Mind;
(As Senators (for to get in) must Swear;
Then keep the COVENANT to Depose the Heir;)
And all this's done by virtue of the Full
Charta pro Causa, and a Tub-Pulpit full,
Sons of Oedipus, we know you enough,
The mark of Cain is graven on your Brow;
Not for the Churches, nor for the Crown-Land,
But for the Twelve Apostles 'tis you stand.
St. Paul for London, St. Peter for Rome,
Judas for the Suburbs till the day of Doom;
'Tis not the first time you have shew'd your Leige,
How you hate Idols, but love Sacriledge;
'Tis hard to say, to whom we're most in Debt,
To the Jesu, or to the Judas-it;
Lyons and Ʋnicorns support our Arms,
But these are th' Beasts that do support our Harms.
Now to the Quo Warranto we must Tack,
Joyn my Lord's Kennel to the City Pack;
Speak, Joller, Jolly, Jewel, Whig-dog; Quest,
Bouncer, Bawler, Blew-lips, and the rest.
O Divine Charter, It would burst my heart,
If th' Ark from Israel should thus depart!
But don't bring Pleas as vast as th' Book of Mar­tyr
T' obstruct Justice, and prolong your Charter;
Speak to th' point good Brother, what can'st say
To keep this Charter ever and for ay?
Please You my Lord, our Charter's sacred made
By Grants so many, none can it invade;
Of Twenty Kings and Senats hath the Seal.
The Pope had more before he did Rebel
Against the Law of God and of the King,
He was confiscate for the self-same thing;
The Law's the Rule of Peace, it doth not jar
In't self, it hath no Repugnance, nor War.
If Kings themselves can't give their Crowns away,
Then Kings by Law can't Themselves betray.
Look you Brother, here You have Misus'd
Your Charter, and the known Laws abus'd;
Ryots and Routs, You that should them suppress,
You have promoted to a great Excess;
You have pick'd Juries, pack'd them for your Cause,
And this destroys the Fundamental Laws;
You that should Schism and Faction quell, support
Ʋnlawful Meetings, and to them resort;
What shall I say of Oaths? You Allegiance Swear
To day, to morrow would expel the Heir;
Whose Crimes beyond all Presidents go,
Forfeit their Cha [...]els, and their Charter too.
To this we answer, Let the sinner die,
A Tooth for a Tooth, and Eye for Eye;
Let the Transgressors of the Law be lasht,
But do not let the Law it self be dasht;
Things that have Sanction of long time, and great
Authority, should not be lightly set.
In days of old, when Subjects Innocence,
Virtue and Goodness did oblige their Prince;
The greatness of the Monarch's mind was such,
They thought good Subjects could not have too much;
But yet they ne're intended publick wrong
By private Act, that's but an ill-tun'd Song;
They us'd their Charter meerly to support
The Government, You to betray the Fort;
And 'twas not Sodom's sins, But 'twas the Men
Cast Town and Charter in the Sulphrous Fen;
Your Oracle hath spoke, and 'tmust be so;
Carthago delenda est, down 'tmust go.
Where now do all our Learn'd Chaldeans keep?
Be our Soothsayers and 'Strologers asleep?
I' th' Blazing Stars Predictions was a Flaw;
You said Antichrist for Anti-Law.
Oft men of Art by Figure take that Scope
To mean the Charter, when they nam'd the Pope;
Well, there's no help for't now, she must be stript
That's caught a Whoring, and severely Whipt;
The doubt of Tyrany late turn'd your Maw;
How do You like this Governing by Law?
When Lunaticks are in their Frantick fits,
'Tis the best Expedient to reduce their Wits.
Son of a Slave, is't not enough to cheat
Fools of their Money, but you must defeat
Them of their Souls? Duties to their GOD and Prince?
Was this the Trade you're bound to 10 years since?
Sell your Pole-davis, pack up your false Ware,
And be content to cheat your Chap-men there;
You ne're were Prentice to a States-man sure!
Say some Great Knave, (to draw thee to this Lure,)
Should stroke thee on the addle head, and cry;
Come honest Tom, (Thou know'st better than I)
We're like to have sad times you see;
Religion groans, and bleeding Liberty;
The honest subject he must be disgrac'd,
And every sober Officer displac'd;
We can't keep Feast nor Fast for th' Nations good,
But all's misconstru'd and misunderstood;
The Plot is vanish'd, and the Duke appears;
Tom, han't we cause for Jealousies and Fears?
Perhaps thou sigh'st then till thy Buttons Crack,
And (as thy Soul was tort'ring on the Rack)
From the Vesuvus of thy smoaking Zeal,
Thou bellow'st forth this lamentable Peal.
Ah! My dear Lard! Happy the Womb that bore,
'An heart so Noble, Israel can deplore,
'In such sad Times as these when Woes us shroud,
'That Moses will conduct us in a Cloud!
'We are all grieved with Extremities,
'And Pharaoh's deaf to all our Plaints and Cries
'Our Wills with Bridle, and our Mouths with Bitt
'Are held by force, our Sanhedrims shan't sit;
'We can't stoop down to Baal; Saints that have right
'To Judge the Earth are Ravish'd of their might;
'Our Handsare Fetter'd, and our Hearts com­plain,
'That free-born Spirits should be thrall'd in Chain;
'These, and ten thousand grievances we have;
'But you must save poor dying Souls from th' Grave.
'Sweet Lord, [But Orpheus,] who should take the pain
'To bring Euridice from Hell again?
How drooping? [quoth my Lord?] hold up good Tom,
Of my Spirit of Sulphur take a Dram;
Though at a Slight or two, wer'e almost gone,
He's a poor Juggler, that ha'nt more tricks than one,
I'le call my familiar,—Presto appear;
He comes,—and whispers in my Ear.
Courage Monsieur, and do not be dismaid,
From Pluto's Councel-Board, I'le still bring aid;
Stand but your ground, and doubt no over­throw,
Whilst there's a Fury in the deep below;
Fig for the Globe and Scepter too to boot,
The Trades-man's Yard is longer by a Foot;
Be Impudent enough, Affronts repeat,
Nothing so brave as th' Base to brow the Great.
A thousand ways, a thousand Wiles we'l try,
In Town must set the Stygian Company,
Whose Country Factors must retail their Wares
From House to House as do the Scotchmen theirs.
Complain of Taxes in time of Wars;
In Peace of Trade, and evil Councellors;
Invet'rate Letchers when their Lust departs,
To keep the Sports up, they must use new Arts.
We must the Crowns Prerogative impair,
The Negative voice in th' Commons declare,
To Counterfeit the COIN 'tis Treason made,
But not the PRINCES Power to invade;
'Tis Orthodox the longest Day you live,
Your Rights t'Encroach, and Rob th' Preroga­tive.
Slight all the Kings Alliances, disgrace
Foreign Embassadors in every place;
Say that Ben Hadu Otor's scarce half man'd
[Though wiser far] than all our Knaves i' th' Land;
We are all Brethren, and we now must plow
With all our Heifers, Might and Main must bow;
Every new Moon a new Parliament can't
Re-mind the Folk, that they're the Government;
We shall have one at last I'me sure, and then
We'l make such Senators shall make us Men:
The Tide may turn, States have their Ebb and Flow,
And we may catch them when the Water's low;
Children must be provided for, and Wars
May hap, Crowns themselves are not free from cares;
Then Money must be had, our Silver Coin
Shall buy good part of Pharaoh's Golden Mine;
We are all Tradesmen now, and what we give
'T shall be but Bartring for Prerogative;
Fetch the Adressors up, and scour the Coast
Of all the Tories and abhorring Hoast;
Hang up the Judges, and Grand-Juries clap
Close in Goals that stood i' th' Royal Gap;
Dawn but that day, (quoth Tom) and we will Sing,
A Headless Council and a Headless King.
Hold quoth my Lord, too fast, now you ramble;
(Quoth Tom) to keep pace wi' y' I must amble.
Bless me my Stars! Can such as these men be
The Bulwarks of our Church and Liberty?
Send them to the Morocco in Exchange
For's Estriches and Lyons, they're Beasts more strange.
The French 'tis said, Fees any one that's rare,
Pray Cross the Waters, and to Him repair;
If there be any Spirits that excell
You in Sedition, they must come from Hell.
We know the idol of your Charter's dear
To you, as Laban's Gods to Rachel were
In her pollutions which she slily hid,
Because all search their Modesty forbid;
But your pollutions in your Charter Reign.
And hope it shall your wickedness maintain.
No Date of Time, no Power on Earth can give
Such Sanction as to make Corruption live.
But Master Ignoramus, make right view;
And sure 'tis not your Charter squints, but You;
There's no such thing as the Kings friends shall bleed,
And's Mortal Enemies for Treason free'd.
You're fine Fellows to Judge the twelve Tribes; I fear
By Magna Charta you will scarce sit there:
Cabbage twice boild's stark naught, and th' discourse
(You know) in Pulpit still the same, is worse.
Consider Rabby, You are wise and sage,
Rebels and Jubilees thrive but once an Age:
Alas you know it was but th' other Day
With Drum and Trumpet, Fool and Knave this Play
Was Acted to our cost of Lives and Ore,
Pack up your Nawls, we'll be deceiv'd no more:
Grant some great Lord or two did chance to jar
(With Cedars well as Shruhs, such Chances are;)
But yet methinks, the Twigs should grateful be
To th' Root that gave them all their Bravery.
Malice ne're want's for Mischief, and Revenge
Is dearer much to Mortals, than the Fringe
Of Heav'n; The Soul of Body and 'State;
And ev'ry Nerve's imploy'd to serve its Hate.
The cunning and the crafty must be bought,
The young and sportive; they are easy caught;
The discontented they must be left alive,
With hopes of his ambitious Retrieve;
Sticks of all sorts and sizes it must get,
To make the Flame, and to increase the heat;
And still Religion makes the Oven red,
Or else quite spoild's the Batch of Ginger-bread.
Then crawl the Insects forth, their Kingdom's come,
Still where the Carrion is those Creatures rome,
And buzzing up and down the Town they cry,
For Liberty, and for Truth we'll die.
To Hang for Rascals first, I wish you'd try.
Ha [...]k Villains, hark! Your base Rebellious Lust,
And your [...]oyalties have the self-same gust;
Your Goats Blood cannot itch so much, to down
With Both as we to prop the Church and Crown.
I saw your Spells (the Votes;) 'twas bravely done;
As with the Father you'd deal with the Son,
I've seen your Martyr's, Peters, Scot, and Viner,
Sainted in Gold, with Colledge the Joyner.
I've seen your Pamphlets, Libels Books of print;
Such ne're before came from the Devil's Mint.
I've seen the Doctors Depositions too;
And faith he's done as much as man could do.
Won't all this Old-new-found-Art do the work,
To pull the King down, and set up the Kirk?
What? No Cornucopia to be found?
Be all our Knights-Templers laid under ground?
Are our Braves good for nothing, but to lap
Th' infected droopings of a silver Tap?
Alas! we want Ingredients; Give
Us a Parliament that shall ever live,
And the Militia, we're compleatly Blest;
CESAR do that, and then, Sir, do your best.
What Snake-hair'd Fury with Infernal Brand,
Broke loose from Hell thus to inflame the Land?
Shall we be jealous of our blest Content,
Till cracking th'strings, we break the Instrument?
Shall our Arch-Angel of the Devil's See
Drown'd Four and twenty of our Hierarchy;
And by a whirl-wind from the Stygian-Lake,
A Glorious Monarch, and Three Kingdoms wreck?
Down Asmodeus, down to the burning Pits,
Where thy Councel of State in Brimstone sits:
In that dark Conclave let thy Envy range:
Changing but That, never expect more change.
Here Pity checks my Spleen, and who can tell
Good Angels sorrows, when the Train too fell?
But they were blest with great perfection,
And (though seduc'd) the Crime was All their
Beneath the Firmament it is not so,
Here's imperfection in the High and Low.
One Lucifer on Earth may dangerous prove,
More than a Legion to One Saint above.
But see! the Murder'd Martyrs Ghosts appear!
Your Native Prince and Fathers Shades stand there!
Lend Them your Eyes, the Rabble not your Ear.
And what would the mad Rabble have? Let's try:
And who would ask, but one as mad as I?
Can the turbulent wind tell why it blows?
Gr tumbling Ocean why it Ebbs and Flows?
The senceless Rabble's but that Dust which flies
With every puff of wind into our eyes:
It makes you pur-blind, and defiles your Shooes;
Rather to piss on't than to court it choose.
I'll dare the Sun, which hath survey'd the Earth
Ever since Eve gave Cain and Abel Birth;
In all his Travels, if he can declare
A people Franchis'd as the English are?
All others Birth-right Bondage is; but We
Surfeit with Cates, and glut with Liberty.
If Heaven should bid a Subject to implore
What bliss we want, he could not ask for more;
Oh the unhappy state of Happiness!
They enjoy more that do enjoy much less;
Rome in it's Pomp and Pride could never shew
Men of that bulk of Wealth in England flow;
And every Cottager lives frank and free
As Jove, Here's a perpetual Jubilee:
Hear one great Truth an English Subject sings,
We have one Emperour, and a Million Kings.

To the KING.

Celestial Prince, descended from above,
With Goodness, and the wisdom of great Jove;
Hov'ring the Doves with thy Seraphick Wings,
Still Shielding Church and State from Serpents Stings,
Accept the Addresses of our Humble praise
'Tis all the Incense Men to God can raise.
When civil War Three Kingdoms did inthrall,
You were the Saviour that Redeem'd us all,
And rais'd miraculously from their Graves,
Thre Soul-sunk Nations that were Slaves to Slaves;
Mean Thanks do mighty favours quite disgrace,
But dull Ingratitude becomes the base:
How Justly may'st thou let thy Thunder fly?
Both Giants and Pigmies doom'd to dye.
What, will they war with Jove? in vain, in vain;
Whom th' Gods have Crown'd, in spight of Worms shall Reign;
Repent proud Dust before it he too late,
Strike Sail; my Muse shall be your Advocate.
Hear great Apollo, Phoebus lend thine Ear
To an unpolisht Muse's humble Prayer.
She lifts no Phaetontick palm on high;
Lo, her request is veil'd with Modesty;
Thou that art goodness Essence, Thou that keeps
Clemency waking that she never sleeps;
Look on the Errours of Mortality,
With the kind Aspect of your God-like Eye.
Though they have sin'd (and certainly a Sin
To death, had it against a bad Prince been,)
And their Transgressions in an high degree,
Are aggravated to sin thus against Thee;
My poor Muse begs, (although their sins be great,)
That Thou wouldst not Forget, to forget.

To the DUKE.

And Thou great Hero of loud Fames first rate
(Still partner of your Royal Brothers Fate)
Who baffle Mischief, and her Dart despise,
And stand the firmer for her Batteries;
Whilst Envy toyls her self quite out of breath,
You undisturb'd can smile the Wretch to death.
Malice is now in a Consumption grown;
To see her self mistook in You alone;
Still the more venom that on You they throw,
Still you the Taller, and more lovely grow;
Can walk the Fiery Furnace, and no Hair
Sing'd, no smell of Fire, no impair:
Fond men! To hope they can destroy whom Jove
Preserves by Wonders, and peculiar Love:
Never before prosumptive Heir did sure,
Worse Wrongs from most presumptive Men en­dure,
Well may they droop their Heads, and Ne [...]ks in­cline,
As Tulips Frost bit with a Northern Wind;
To Prudence still and Piety you'r Just,
And do forgive whom none will wish to trust.

To the LORDS.

You of the Constellation that maintain
Your starry Glories, from Apostate stain;
You whose chaste Loyalty for ever stream'd
To th' Royal Lamp of Honour whence You beam'd,
You shall for ever share the Muses Praise,
Whilst Helicon hath Drops, Apollo Bays.

To the GENTRY.

Come Brothers of the Minor-Stars, that are
No wandring Planets, but fixt in Your Sphere;
You that have vow'd to be so True
To Charles, that to your selves you be so too;
(And sure I am your Oath will not be broke,
You'l bow to Destiny, before the Yoke)
We must not praise nor thank our selves, that's vain,
That were but Champarty (You know in grain;
But we'l so Loyal and so Faithful live,
That Church and Crown's Fees Us no thanks shall give.

To the Common-Councel and Court of Aldermen.

And You brave Citizens, so Rich and Wise,
(The Boons of Heavens, due to Loyalties)
Heaven marks them who from Allegiance stray,
(With Children, Wits, or Fortunes quite awry.)
You that hold th' Rains, curb the head-strong Jaws
Of Asses kickt at Governours and Laws;
You know that Trade doth still most profit bring,
To them are true to God, and to their King;
Long may You live, and may the Town and Court
Be happy in the prayers of my poor heart;
May no King want such Citizens, I pray,
Nor Towns-men Prince, like him they now enjoy.

To the Livery-men.

But You that are now of th' new Livery,
And Old Leven, look for no thanks from me;
Keep to your Gods; on damned Bradshaw call,
Implore the shades of Ireton and Noll
To come improv'd from Hell, and be so good
To set crackt men with Plunder up, and Blood;
The Rabble shall no longer Rule this Town,
Rebellions Charter must now go down:
But yet we'l beg the King that he would please
To give another on good terms as these.
Countreys o'regrown with Beasts of Rapine, be
Ty'd to destroy the common Enemy,
And bound by Charter yearly to afford
So many Fox or Wolf-skins to the Lord.
London, once bounded in Walls, is now bound­less
Grown from a City to a Wilderness,
More and worse Vermin lurk in 't's Holes and Dens,
Than Wolves in Tory-land, or Frogs in Fens:
If they renew their Charter, may they pay
A Rebels head for Quit-Rent every day,
And a Whores Liver, till the Town be found
Honest, and (like the Loyal Countrey) sound.
Now we have done, we have not done; what's there?
See how the Mutinous Women appear!
Nip Insurrections in the bud; Drums beat
A parl, and let us with the Females treat;
What would the good wives have? Forbear slaughter!
Then quoth the Amazons, we'l keep our Charter;
And thus pleads first a Mouse trap makers Wife;
Before we'l loose our Honour, we'l lose Life;
Honour than Food or Rayment priz'd more high;
For It we'l live, and for It we'll die
Farewel Charter, Farewel Gentility,
Next comes a bouncing Butchers Wife i'th' Van,
With a Cow-killing Pole ax in her Hand,
D'y' think we'l lose our Charter? and be stil'd Fro,
As Fish-women be in Bore-land, and well so?
Master Punch kills an Ox, and Twenty Sheep
Each week i'th' year, and I the Stall do keep;
Shall all this Blood (besides a Free-mans Wise)
Now loose it's Honour? by my Butchers Life
For our Noble Charter we will stand and fall,
For if we loose our Arms, we then loose all.
Then spoke a Chandlers wife with Ale-stufft-Lungs
As big as Tun, foaming at all her Bungs;
D'ye think I'le sit at Bar all day for th' Fees
I get by Porter's penny Bread and Cheese,
And see the Slaves like Clowns in Sussex, come,
And cry, Dame where is your Husband? at home?
Shall double Drink place to feeling so give?
Shall't be Madam Creswel, and not Mis Keeling?
Quoth Mistress Fough, 'twould be a stinking life,
If I were not Master Gold finders Wife;
If farewel Charter, then farewel to all
The good Nobility of Pin-makers Hall,
Stand to your Arms, both Life and Limb shall go
To save our Honour and our Charter too.
A Reverend Matron, in whose Loyal face,
Was every touch of Modesty and Grace,
Hearing the Grievances, ventur'd the Crowd,
And thus she spake, and thus their Ears they bow'd;
'Dear Sisters of the Livery, appease
'The boistrous bellows of your Passions cease;
'You know that oftentimes untimely fears
'Unform the Men, and them transform to Hares,
'And Jealousie's our Sexes cursed Spell,
'Transforms us Angels to the Hags of Hell.
The last old Charter which you so deplore,
Was granted to us in the days of Yore,
And many an odd thing was in't; 'twas done
When th' Land with Popery was over-run,
And now by Law 'tis so repugnant found,
That th' Law it self is in that Charter drown'd;
But there's another in the Mint for You,
According to your hearts desire, New, New;
Not after the old Superstitious Fashion;
But New, according to the Reformation:
For we that were but Mistresses before,
Shall now be Masters, Lords, and something more;
Moreover 'tis provided, all the Geese
In London shall have two Ganders apiece;
Double man'd; And if that be not satis,
You shall have your Boys on Sundays Gratis,
This said, they shout, and made the Welkin ring;
Cry'd, Damn th'old Charter, and God save the King.

A Character of London-Village.

By a Countrey Poet.
A Village! Monstrous! 'Tis a mighty Beast,
Behemoth, or Leviathan at least;
Or like some Wilderness, or vast Meander,
Where to find Friends one long enough may wander.
The Towring Chimneys like a Forrest show,
At whose low Branches do Balconies grow.
When I came there at first, I gazed round,
And thought my self upon Inchanted Ground;
Or else that I (in Rapture being hurl'd)
Was lately Dead, and this was th' other World.
But was surpriz'd with Doubts, and could not tell
Which of the two 'twas, whether Heav'n or Hell:
The Noise and Shows my Eyes and Ears invade,
By Coaches, Cryes, and Glitt'ring Gallants made.
My Reason was convinced in a Trice
That it was neither, but Fools Paradi [...]e;
Ladies I saw, not Handsom one in ten;
Great store of Knights, and some few Gentlemen.
Fine Fellows Flanting up and down the Streets,
Where Fop and Flutter each the other Greets;
Each Mimick Posture does an Ape present,
While Humble-servant ends the Complement.
For Garb and Colour there's no certain Rule,
Here is your Red, your Blew, your Yellow-Fool.
Most of these Gallants seem to view Refin'd;
The Out-side wondrous Gay, but poorly Lin'd.
I saw some of them in the Play-house-Pit,
Where they three hours in Conversation sit,
Laugh and talk Loud, but scarce a grain of Wit.
The Ladies to ensnare will something say,
Tending to show the Brisk Gallants their way,
But scorn as much to prattle sence as They.
Here comes a Hero cover'd close from Air,
By Porters born in a Silk-Curtain'd-Chair.
Whose Sire in honest Russet Trail'd a plow,
And with stout Flayl conquer'd the haughty mow.
Next after him, is by six Horses drawn,
A piece of Logwood, in a Coach alone,
Looking like Scanderbeg on ev'ry one.
Who soon a whispering Baud softly invites,
To a new Suburb Miss and there he lights.
But at some little distance from the place,
Handsom he seems, all cover'd o'er with Lace.
That nearer shews an old and ugly Face.
There goes a Brisk Young Lass in a gay Dress,
Here an Old Drone in Youthful Gawdyness.
Strange Miracles of Nature here are plac'd!
Ill-Favour'd Wenches, Cracks; some Fair, are chaste.
The Temp'rate Sick: Great Drinkers live in Health.
Here Usurers have Wit, and Poets Wealth.
The Coffe-House, the Rendezvous of Wits,
Is a Compound of Gentlemen and Cits;
And not all wise, or else their Wits they smother,
They sit as if Afraid of one another.
So Pick-pocket (when deeper Lister's by)
Budging aloof, disowns the Mystery.
In comes a Cockt-up Bully, Looking big,
With Deep-fring'd Elbow-Gloves, and Ruffl'd Wig,
He turns his Back to th' Chimney with a Grace,
Singing and Staring in each Strangers Face;
Talks Mighty things, his late Intrigues, and then
Sups off his Dish, and out he struts agen.
And as I Rambled through this Quondam-City,
I look'd on Founding Pauls with Tears of pity;
But wiping off, with an auspicious Smile,
Being like to rise the Glory of this Isle,
Village, for now to you I tell me Tale,
You have produc'd a mountain from a dale:
The Country thought the fire had quite undone ye,
But now I find you have both Zeal and Money.
I cross'd the Thames much broader than the Brook,
Where I have bath'd, and little Fishes took.
From Bear-Garden I Westminster mightview,
And tho their Outside lookt of different hue,
Yet therin each is so much Noise and Pother,
I scarce knew how to difference one from th' other.
But at the Court indeed I saw great Things,
The Noblest Subjects and the Best of KINGS:
These things I did observe, and many more,
But Tyr'd with the Relation, I'll give o'er.

True Loyalty in its Colours: Or a Sur­vey of the Laudable Address of the young Men and Apprentices of the City of Lon­don, to His MAJESTY.

NO Name, because you can't write well? a Fist
Is a Good Hand, that can write Loyalist.
Go on Brave Youths, and let your Paper show,
What Love what Service to your King you ow.
How well, Now, London, must be Judge of Thee,
When in thy Sons we find such Loyalty.
What? Though the Jesuits a brooding lye,
To hatch for us a Mortal Enemy;
Loyal Addresses shall like thunder kill,
The Poison-gathering Viper in the Shell:
And quickly make the Factious Gang leave off,
To Lace their Coffee with Seditious Stuff.
The Roul contains most Trades, who Swear they'l be
One Man t'oppose their Princes Enemy.
Th'Ingenuous Pothecary makes up a Pill;
And Swears, it knows both how to Salve and Kill,
The Keen edg'd-Barber with his Razor votes,
Instead of Cutting Beards, to Cut their Throats.
The Shooe-Maker protests he'd rather choose,
To wind Cord for their Necks, than for their Shooes.
The Cobler too wou'd meddle with the Fools;
And wou'd instead of Soles, Translate their Souls.
The Nimble Taylor swears each Finger itches,
To cut their Coats more than to sow their Breeches.
The brisk Ʋpholsterer swears by his Feather,
Their Souls and Bodies he will Quilt together.
The Damming Vintner Vows next time to bring,
Confounded wine to them that hate his King.
The Greasy Butcher Swears by's Oxe's Head,
That at one Blow he'll strike Sedition Dead;
Then Cut it open, Quarter it, and Treat
The Devil with a Dainty Dish of Meat.
The Cockt-up Haberdasher briskly debates,
For Brushing of their Coats instead of Hats.
The Artificial Surgeon fain would Box 'em,
And send them all to Hell with a Pox to 'em.
The Cook cries cram 'em in my Pot's Belly,
And I will stew their Rump-Beef to a Jelly:
A Carpenter comes in with a few Cringes,
And fain wou'd have 'em Hang'd upon new Hin­ges.
Then a Hot▪ Bell-Founder cryes out of Spite,
They dead my Trade let them be hang'd out­right.
But the slye Broaker Vows he dos not dare
Venter his Coyn on such deceitful Ware.
Next unto him comes the ruff Brick-layer,
And he's for Building up the Common Prayer:
The Loyal Coach-man this Sentence Broaches,
I am for making Plotters draw my Coaches.
The Brazier is for Burning them, to see
What Mettle afterwards they'l prove to be.
The Strong-Water-Man would be at Stilling,
Of their ill Humours, not at Killing.
Then comes the Lawyer hatching of some Evil,
And fain would bring him into Bond with th' Devil;
But says the Attorney, Let 'em make (uds luds)
An Execution t' me of Body and Goods.
The Rare-loyal Weaver makes a pother,
To have 'em Kickt from th'one side to the other.
The Gold-smith likes 'em best, for well he knows,
Such Mettle both for Gold and Silver goes.
They'l take what stamp we please, they are such Witches;
A Caesar's Head as well as Oliver's Breeches.
Last comes a Printer, (and sayes) Let me Dye,
If I don't brand 'em to Eternity:
I will transfer to future Age their Plot,
And what Reward their cunning Coleman got:
I will Transprint King Charles his Death, and bid
The Children Weep, for what their Fathers did,
Papists and Factious, both shall go to Pot,
While the True Loyally Draws a better Lot.

Loyalty Triumphant: Or a Poem on the Numerous Loyal Addresses to His MAJESTY.

ROuse up my Muse! For, how in such a Cause,
Canst thou be Lazy, or admit a Pause?
Why do not Words flow faster then thy Ink,
Or forward Verse, scarce give the leave to think
Thy Pen in such a Cause should Pregnant be,
To Write thy Fellow-Subjects Loyalty:
Subjects that dare in spight of Faction show,
How much they to the best of Princes owe;
That dare in spight of all the Politick Crew,
Who would the People and their KING subdue,
Be truly Loyal, Honest, Just, and Good,
Four things the Others never understood;
Or if they ever did, have long forgot,
Since first Sedition in their Hearts took Root.
Their Leaders Soul, as well as Eyes, do squint;
And could we search the Heart, the Devil's in't:
He seems in shew, as Loyal as the best;
But a full Fury Lodges in his Breast.
Ambition, that Curst Fiend that fain would Tread,
Once more upon his Royal Masters Head:
Nor are his Followers behind in Zeal,
T'advance the Good Old Cause, and Common­weal.
Reading the Votes of Parliament, I found
The KING with honest Men enco [...]ast round,
Who for the Publick Good, did Wisely Vote,
That He for Tangier should not have a Groat;
At His own Charge He must the War maintain,
Or Tangier might be Lost, for He in vain
Assistance sought from them, unless He'ed give
In Pawn, for it, His own Prerogative;
And against Nature's Laws cease to Defend,
An only Brother, and a faithful Friend.
He must Exclude Him from the English Crown;
That when Great York they once had tumbled down,
They might set up an Idol of their own;
Whom if they cannot manage to their wills,
And make him Authorise unheard of Ills:
They'l without scruple hurle them head-long down,
And tearing from his Brows the totter'd Crown,
Each will be King, and set it on his own.
Amongst five Hundred Men, some few there were,
That durst for Loyalty and Truth declare;
That durst the King's Prerogative Maintain,
'Gainst Mighty Matchivel, and all his Train:
But once discover'd, they like common Foes
Or Spies, upon the Actions of the House,
Are first made Kneel before the Bar, and then
Our Loyalists such Principles despise,
Are still contriving how their King may rise,
How they may make Him Powerful, and Great,
And in full Splendour keep his Royal Seat;
Still acting what their chearful words express,
Whilst each of them performs a whole Address.
Oh! may they still persist in doing well,
Till there be no Tongue left their Deeds to tell;
That they who did in This their King regard,
May in the other world meet their Reward.

The Club of Royalists.

COme Ganemede, and fill each Glass with Wine,
Let each Muse Drink her share, then fill up mine:
I with the Nine will Revel all this night,
Till Charles his Health bring back the Morning Light.
But hold a little, Whither am I gone?
What need I run so far as Helicon?
Whilst Riding on each Beam, the Sun doth bear
As Loyal Drinkers as the Muses are:
For they I fear have caught th'infection too,
Since their own Sons bravely themselves undo:
For one who formerly stood Candidate,
For Wit and Sense with Men of highest Rate:
Apostatizes from his former Acts,
And from his own Cambyses Fame detracts.
No more in Verse his Mighty Talent shows,
But Libels Princes with Malitious Prose.
This Man in Cornhill if you chance to meet,
Or near the Middle of Threadneedle-street:
Know 'tis to pay his Homage to the Sun,
Or rather to the Hot-brain'd Phaeton,
Whom Ovid blames; but he does more commend
Advising straight the Chariot to Ascend.
What? Though the world once more were set on Fire,
Shall his Young Heroe bawk his great Desire?
No, let the Head-strong Youth his Steeds drive on,
Tread on his Fathers Counsels, and his Throne.
I envy not those happy Men that Ride
With him in's Guilded Coach, my humble Pride
Desires no Courser, but a Hoggs-heads Back,
Where mounted with a Bowl of Sparkling Sack.
With Russel, Capel, Cooper, and the rest,
I'le Drink Confusion to each Caballist.
Damn their Sun-Tavern Clubbs; but hold, my Rage
Condemns the only Honest Men of th' Age:
The truest Patriots England 'ere did breed,
Who Viper-like, on their own Mother feed;
Tear up their Bowels with a base pretence,
Of feigned Piety and Conscience:
Good Gentlemen, how careful are they grown,
To suppress Papists, and subvert the Throne?
They for Religion strive, but wise men know,
From whence their greatest Discontents do flow.
Zeal for the Good Old Cause enflames their breast,
But the chief Fuell's, Private Interest.

The Dissenter truly Described.

WHat shall a glorious Nation be o'rthrown
By Troops of Sneaking Rascals of our own?
Must Civil and Ecclesiastick Laws,
Once Truckle more under the good Old Cause?
Shall these Ungrateful Varlets think to Live,
Only to Clip Royal Prerogative?
Shall all our Blood turn Whey, whilst we do see
Men both Affront, and Stab the Monarchy?
I'm all inflam'd with a Poetick Rage,
And will Chastise the Follies of the Age.
Thoughts crowd so fast upon me, I must write
Till I've display'd the Gaudy Hypocrite.
He's one that scarcely can be call'd a Man,
And yet's a Pious, Holy Christian.
He's big with Saving Faith (he says) yet He
Has not one spark of common Charity.
'Gainst Reason he perpetually whines,
Because it Contradicts his Black Designs.
He dis-esteems dull Morals; for a Saint
My well-beloved Brethren must not want.
Soul-warming Thoughts; so warm that they did dwell,
First in the Womb, then at the Breasts of Hell.
He Flouts the Common Prayers, yet the poor Fool
Himself, not Them, does turn to Ridicule.
He hates a Form, yet loves his dear Non-sense;
Nauseats his God with his Impertinence.
With Eyes turn'd up, Mouth screw'd, and Monky-Face,
He lowdly bawls to God for Saving Grace.
With Meen so base, and scurvy, as if even
His Apish Postures only would please Heaven.
And then his Sniv'ling Tone, to the most High,
He does conclude, is Curious Melody.
If Things succeed not as his Humour wou'd,
He strait grows Angry, and he Huffs his God?
And this (as if God knew not what to do.)
And that wou'd have been for thy Glory too.
Then Muffl'd in his Cloak, Roger begins
In's Sermon, to dawb forth, Soul-killing-sins;
Murder, and Theft, and Pride, and Gluttony, &c.
Which in their Lives none more Applauds than He.
Yet if you do survey the List with care,
You'l quickly find Rebellion is hid there.
And when he's prest to Duties for some Hours;
He ne'r puts in The Higher Powers.
At Surplice, and Lawn-sleeves, he takes offence,
Because they are the Types of Innocence;
For that he hates, and with It men of Sense.
The Reverend Prelates he still vilifies,
'Cause they detect his cursed Villanies.
Hang them, they bark, come let us pull them down,
For this same Mitre does support the Crown.
They'r the King's truest Friends, yet thought it good,
To drown his Kingdoms in a Sea of Blood.
They the King's Person would protect, they said,
Yes, yes, forsooth by Cutting off his Head;
And this they did, inspir'd by Zeal alone,
To fasten Christ in his Triumphant Throne.
As if Damn'd Lyes, False Oaths and base Deceit,
Propt up his Throne, and made him truly Great.
As if the Devil himself that acted them,
Did bring the Luster to His Diadem.
Nay, they go on yet with the same Intents,
By moulding to their Minds New Parliaments.
Some of the Great, they by their whimseys guide,
To like their Treason, and to stem their Pride.
In other things, like methods they pursue,
For even the Shrieves must be Fanaticks too.
The Judges too, they'd to their Party gain,
Did they want either Honesty or Brain,
And when their Wheedling Tricks do fail on these,
They poison soon some Countrey Justices.
Then had they once the dear Militia,
They'd mount the Saddle, and make Charles obey:
Thus first they'd make Him but a very Straw,
And then at List controll, and give Him Law.
In fine, they are the Foes of Royal State,
Order is the great Object of their Hate.
Nor God, nor Men, these Furies seek to please,
They'd bruise the Crown, and tear our Surplices.
They'd Undermine the Churches Harmony,
And Ride a full Carier to Popery.
They all Mankind, except Themselves Despise,
Chiefly the Great, for being Good and Wise.
Some Subtile have, and some have Giddy Souls,
Some Fools, some Knaves, and some are Knaves and Fools.
These Vermine would even the best things com­mand,
And suck all the Sweetness of the Land.

The Loyal LETANY.

FRom a new model'd Jesuit in a Scotch Bon­net,
With a Mass under's sleeve and a Covenant on it,
From Irish Sedition blown out of French Sonnet,
Libera nos Dom.
From Conspiring at Joe's and Caballing at Mews
From Sr. Gutts holy Tub of Uncircumcis'd Jews,
From Gibbet and Halter which will be their dues,
Lib. &c.
From a Parliament-man rak'd out of th [...] Embers,
From Knights that haunt Counters and Lunatick Members,
From Presbyt. Januaries, and Papists Novembers,
Lib. &c.
From hugging a Witch and consulting the Devil,
From Welch Reprimands which are something uncivil,
From the Touch of a Scot to cure the King's-evil,
Lib. &c.
From the mutinous Clamours of such as raise fears,
From those that wou'd set us together by the Ears,
Who still for the Shipwrack of Monarchy steers,
Lib. &c.
From Rebellion wrapt up in a Humble Petition,
From the Crafty Intrigues of a Suttle Politician,
From a Geneva Divine and a Staffords Physician,
Lib. &c.
From serving Great Charles as his Father before,
And Dis-inheriting of York without why or wherefore,
And from such as Absalom has been, or more.
Lib. &c.
From Libelling the Government and Actions of Kings,
From Vindicating Sectaries in Illegal Things,
From Encouraging Faction which Rebell. brings,
Lib. &c.
From Murmuring for sending the Parliament home,
From choosing Fanaticks to sit in their Room,
That the Actions of Forty may not be our doom,
Lib. &c.
From late Irish Massacres by Paptsts done,
From Seditious Cut-troats which thing is all one,
From murthering the Father and banishing the Son,
Lib. &c:
From putting three Towns to the Sword in Cool Blood,
From robbing and spoiling the Land for its Good,
From Cloaking their Crimes by a Warrant from God,
Lib. &c.
From shrouding all Villanies under the Cause,
From making us happy by giving Sword Laws,
From Trampling o'th Mitre and Crown with Applause,
Lib. &c.
From Hunting the King and abjuring his Race,
From Cleansers of Bung holes usurping his place,
From Preachers in Tubbs that are void of all Grace.
Lib. &c.
From Vulcan's Treasons late forg'd by the Fan,
From starving of Mice to be Parliament-man,
From his Copper Face thet outface all things can,
Lib. &c.
From Unbridling the Faction the King to dis­mount,
From giving for each thing to Subjects account,
From letting P's Domineere as they were wont.
Lib. &c.
From Voting Lords useless and dangerously Ill,
From hanging of Bishops up for dropping the Bill,
From letting Fanaticks have too much of their Will,
Lib. &c.
From purging the House to obstruct our free choice,
From Resolving the King to Oppose with one Voice,
From such that at Mischief do daily rejoyce,
Lib. &c.
From all the Seditious that love not the King,
From such as a Civil War once more would bring,
Deliver us good Lord, let each true Subject sing,
Lib. &c.

The Fanatick Rampant: Or an Election at Cambridge.

ONE day I heard a zealous shout,
I then look'd up, and lo the Rout
Of Saints were come to Town.
Who by their Hats right gravely set,
And Collar-bands, I guess were met
To cry the Bishops down.
But see how grosly I did err,
For they came only to prepare
Against that Codly bustle.
And therefore did most fervently,
With Carnal Throats extended cry,
A Russel, yea, a Russel.
Some cry'd a Russel, some again
Mistook the Name, and cry'd Amen.
Some with erected Fist,
Cry'd, O, we find by Revelation,
That this is He must heal the Nation
And hamstring Antichrist▪
At length there comes me a Free-holder,
With Head inclin'd to the Left Sholder,
And Circumcised Hair.
Who with his Snout all wet with Snivel,
And looks enough to scare a Devil,
Did thus begin his Prayer.
Lord, if thou dost thy Saints regard,
Look on the Keepers of thy Heard,
Even on thy chosen Russel.
See but what honour we have done him,
And then, thou needs must poure upon him,
Thy blessings by the Bushel.
Thy tender Flock, Lord, he'll not pound
But doth regard the Poor.
Lord he hath done more for my Wife
Than e're I did in all my Life,
O blessed Senatour.
Do thou in time his Worship bring,
To be, to be, a Lordish thing;
As was his Noble Kin—
Thou seest how He alone doth stand,
And hates the great ones of the Land.
O well doth he begin.
Then give him Grace Lord not to cease
Till he hath broke the Cord of Peace,
That Girdle of the Whore.
That we again may see that day.
In which we all may preach and pray.
And then I'le ask no more.
With rhat I spy'd an Image fair,
High mounted in his stately Chair.
I think to mock the Pope.
Down Brethren to the Gallows gang;
Said I, he shall not burn, but hang.
Though I pay for the Rope.

Poor Robin's Dream: Or the Visions of Hell.

WHen th'charming News had passed Cha­ring Cross,
And they depos'd that would dismount that Horse.
The Senatours their hated patience forc't,
As Thames once for Sempronia stopt her course.
Like Boys that were just from a Vineyard scar'd,
All stood amaz'd, but ne'er a word was heard.
But when they found they were pursu'd by none,
But th' Master stood only to keep his own.
They then unto their wonted Passion flew,
And swore they'd prove those Grapes to be their due,
Next time they came they'd have their Master too
I'th City. All their steady-Heads they tost,
Like Wives at Billingsgate, when a good Bar­gain's lost.
Ballads of grief about the Town they sent,
As if they lost a Loyal Parliament.
Such clam'rous Consternations, with safe Cryes,
Enough to tear great Jove down from the Skies.
None daring to confront those Factious Athiests,
Dreading the scand'lous Name they call Church-Papists.
Then I e'ne laid me down upon my Bed,
Where sundry Contemplations seiz'd my troub­led Head.
In a trembling Trance I on a sudden fell,
Wherein I saw that damned Den call'd Hell.
Where ten thousand Sons, with Legions of black Fiends,
Of burning Reb. there they made their Skreens.
Old Noll and Bradshaw, Ireton and Pride,
Burning like Beacons; on the other side.
Then perjur'd Rogues, drawn up in arched Rings,
Their Tongues like Serpents, shew'd their flaming Stings,
Thought I, is this the fruit of killing Kings?
When that Scene chang'd, methought I clearly saw,
A solemn Conventicle groan out yells of woe.
Their Hats pinn'd to their heads with siery nails,
Their Ears drawn out as large as Spanish Frails.
Their Eyes like oval Lanthorns; glowing Rouls,
Or flaming [...]lambois from their treach'rous Souls.
Their Mouths unto their ugly Ears were drawn,
Spirits froth'd out, like poison'd, foul Frog-spawn.
Upon their Backs was writ in Blood, I see,
Damn'd for Rebellion and Hypocrisie.
'Mongst this prodigious and confused Throng,
The Holder forth was called Dr. Tonge;
Who so excell'd, Hugh Peters being there,
That he was forc'd to fall into the Reer.
Till interposed by a Champion stout,
With flaming Sword made way through th' hel­lish Rout.
Bedlow.
And cry'd to Tongue thou damn'd Orator,
Thou art the cause of my Soul burning here.
Tonge.
Why what wast thou when first I did thee know?
But one condemn'd for Robbery by the Law.
Bedlow.
Why what wast thou poor Fool in Forty one?
But a poor Weaver just leapt from thy Loom.
Then stept into a Tub to preach Sedition,
And tookst the Covenant for thy Commission.
Which thou pursu'dst till all the Rump was ruin'd,
And Charles return'd, and to his Right resum'd.
And then thou mad'st a Breech of thy own Mouth,
Sworst back again, but never preachedst Truth,
And in thy Age, more treach'rous, than in youth:
Tonge.
That cannot be imputed Perjury,
To swear for those that rule by Tyranny.
Or for any else, as Times may turn by fits,
That's but a Knack of living by ones Wits.
But I ne'er Rob'd upon the King's High-way,
Nor boasted on't unto my Friends next day.
Nor I ne'er feign'd my self to be a Lord,
Nor pilfer'd Coyn without the help of Sword,
Nor ne'er was proved perjur'd by Record.
Bedlow.
Thou damned Hell-hound, hast thou now forgot,
Who was so active in the Popish Plot?
'Twas Thou that patch't up our Depositions,
And then deliver'd them without Commissions.
Which thou madst him pretend he had disperst,
Then thou thy self turn'd Tail and was releast.
Yet still thou didst persevere in thy Sin.
Taught Tony and the rest to bring me in.
To meet you at Cabals, and Foxes-Hall,
Where I receiv'd my Lessons from you all.
You taught me what to speak, who to impeach,
All Loyalists you brought within my reach.
Both Queen and Duke [...] to the Block must bring,
Nay—had I'liv'd, I must have peacht the K—
Now who's the cause of my Soul's suffering?
Tonge.
All this I own was Truth, and ten times more,
But thy black Soul was damned long before.
Thou had'st committed Murther, Theft and Rape,
So 'twas impossible thy Soul shou'd 'scape.
For had'st thou liv'd till each true string had twang'd,
Thou then had'st surely been both damn'd and hang'd.
Bedlow.
[Page 180]
Thou splay mouth'd [...]iend, I hold thy words in scorn,
Thou deserv'dst hanging long e're I was born.
Thou and thy Brother Baxter, Spawns of Evil,
Who kept your correspondence with the Devil.
And spew'd your poyson over Three brave Nations,
And brought in Oates to all their Desolations.
The Devil taught you how to tutor Cooper,
And Belzebub himself his Over-looker.
One Paw upon the Tap holds in the Bung,
The other guides his tottering Head and Tongue.
And cryes, My Tony thou shalt live to see
England's Destruction, and its Monarchy,
And my chief Engine, Tony, thou shalt be.
And of all the Plots and Sham-p. thou art Father,
And all the Evidence thou'st patcht together;
For which Indulgence I'le inspire thee still,
And thus the Devil helps old Matchiavel.
Tonge.
Why? Tony was the cause of my Damnation,
It was his malice that enflam'd the Nation.
'Twas He, under pretence of doing good,
That squeez'd poor Innocents, and broach'd their blood.
'Twas He that made his Grace a stalking Horse,
And hid himself behind his pocky Arse.
'Twas He that taught Tub-Preachers to seduce
The People, to choose Membes for their use.
Such as in the late Rebellion play'd their parts,
And now are downright Rumpers in their hearts.
To all the Olivarians that are living,
His damned Documents he is daily giving.
'Tis He that all the Rebels now controuls,
For fear they should repent and save their Souls.
Or rather that they may come boldly on,
By force of Arms to end what he begun.
Or else his head must fly for what is past,
And's Tap must burst, to shew his Soul is curst.
Bedlow.
For Godfrey's death, 'twas thou perswadedst me
To come in Guilty; that black Perjury
Doth gnaw my Soul in these Infernal Flames,
That guiltless Blood cryes Vengeance through my veins,
And showrs upon me in perpetual streams.
I swore that of that murther I did know
A Man that in my life I never saw,
Yet three mens Lives I took by perjur'd Law.
Tonge.
Tony and Godfrey's Brother that contriv'd,
To make the forged Plot the more believ'd.
The truth of which they never yet would tell,
Neither Oates, nor us that're now in Hell.
If e'er that stifled Murther be unvail'd,
Old Tony's mouthing Gang will soon be quail'd.
And those Cabals which daily now devise,
As th' old one dyes, to make new Plots to rise.
They'l then disperse, left they all be trepann'd,
And their wise heads forsake their souls that's damn'd.
Bedlow.
[Page 182]
Thou now speak'st like a Subject when 'tis too late,
Or one that knew not what they would be at.
'Tis their ambition to be thrown in Goals,
'Twould raise the Rout if Habeas Corpus fails.
Then Tony' l grieve▪ and prog about for [...]oin,
T' encourage his possessed Herd of Swine.
Lurk in his hole to see' em stand Tail to Tail,
But ne'er come out, till he finds who'l prevail.
Tonge.
When he was young he never durst to fight,
But in malicious mischief took delight.
For when the Nation flow'd with Blood before,
Tony was always thirsting after more.
How many thousand Pound this Plot has cost him,
To buy the bloods of those that never crost him?
When he has got poor Innocents condemn'd,
By his patch't Evidence, how eagerly he'l send
To those that have most int'rest in the Rout?
He'l hire them t'come to force the Prisoners out,
To see them sacrifis'd before his Snout.
Which they'l soon do, or else break down their hold;
For why are Toney's Cattle bought and sold?
While they are butchering, old Tony flears,
For more such Bargains smells with both his ears.
Toney hir'd Arn—for to cut's own Throat,
Arn—was cunning did but half the Joke.
Yet kept his Money and remain'd his Debter,
And promis'd him the Lives of some were better.
Tho Tony's sides have several Teer of holes,
He lusts after Bodies as the Devil after Souls.
For if e'er this Trade of Papist-hanging's ended,
He'll bring in Presbyter and Independent.
Both Care and Curtis, Smith and pillor'd Ben,
After the best, he'l hang the worst of men.
All that his Pate hath drawn in to support him,
He'll hang them all, if Fate do ever thwart him.
Both Lords and Evidence that's now for him,
Nay perhaps his Grace who now he's making K.
Or those who all this prosecution commence,
He can hang them with the same Evidence.
Should he have liv'd till such a Change broke
To save himself he would have hang'd us both.
He's such a Knave, and They such silly Elves,
When he has a mind, he'l make 'em hang them­selves.
Bedlow.
Heart, Blood and Wounds, would he have hang'd up Bedlow?
Oh that my Lady Mother did but know
That cursed Cannibal? had I liv'd two years longer,
I'de have hang'd him that rotten damn'd Whore­monger.
Let's out of Hell, the Porter we can bribe,
We'll bring him Tony's Soul, or some of that damn'd Tribe.
We'll tell the King that Tony is the cause,
Of all this Plotting, and subverting Laws.
That Tony is so treacherous, and so apish,
That he's the Head of all the plotting Papists.
For 'twas his Plot, and none but he contriv'd it,
And he's the Rogue that ever since reviv'd it.
Each Prison round the Town he searches duly
For Evidence to reeommend to Rowly.
But takes such pains to teach each t'others Chapter,
As a man to make a Spaniel Dog a Setter.
Which must impeach Bishop and Judges too,
And all that for the King withstand his Crew.
The Courtiers he corrupts till they're discarded,
Then by his Tribe for him they must be guarded.
While he sits at the Helm to guide Sedition,
All legal Laws he counts meer Superstition.
He sits environ'd round with Brother-Vipers,
Who imitates his Nods like Scotch Bag-pipers.
Pendent and Biter, and Mare-frigging Quaker,
Keep time, Tony, that brave Law Bear-baiter.
For he united them to stand together,
'Gainst all that's Lawful, Loyal, or whatever
That's direct opposition to the Crown,
To pull the Bishop and Monarchy down.
But he illustrates his grave Dispute,
By quaint Objections, coyn'd against the Duke.
'Gainst him his Bristles hath long time stood snarling,
Yet cannot spit his Poyson beyond Sterling,
Could he wrench out that Pillar of the State,
He thinks the rest would fall in's hands by fate,
What a graceful Noll old Tony then would make?
Just like a Monkey he'd become the Throne.
His Court Buffoons and Pugs of the same Spawn.
Then Tony would be sure that all's his own.
Could he perswade the King to sell his Brother,
He'd never break his Brains to find another.
To keep Sedition and support the State,
Tony himself would be Legitimate.
Lets give the King this Caution, for 'tis true.
That he in time may do what's best to do.
With that a thundring noise their Contract broke,
The Den was darkn'd with infernal Smoke,
Horror of yells and groans the Spirits strains,
Till on a sudden all flasht out in flames.
In which she Conventicklers sprawling cry'd,
For all Eternity must this abide?
With that a shower of Blood fell down upon 'em,
In which they spew'd & stunk like Reb. dam'em
For 'twas the blood of Innocents they'd drawn,
When they liv'd here, to make the K. their own.
Some of the Heads were hang'd up by the Tong.
The rest the Devils pitch about with Prongues.
To make way for approaching great Procession,
Which howl'd & roard without an Intermission.
Their Tongues hung out with Froth like lathe­ring Soap,
These were the Rabble burning of the Pope.
'Mongst whom were Curtis, Harris Smith & Care,
The Scene was just like that at Temple-bar.
Both Pope and Pageants, Jeffreys and the Friers,
Of these that did support them and the Rout,
But there they roar'd, & here they us'd to shout.
Both Squibs and Crackers from their mouths did fly
'Gainst Church and State, they belcht out Blaspemy.
Their Skins were vail'd with City-Mercuries,
Seditious Libels and their forged Lyes.
Which taking fire at once made such a smother,
Down fell the Pageants, Rout, and all together
Did sprawl, and howl in that infernal Flame,
Then I awak'd, and all was but a Dream.

A DIALOGUE betwixt the Devil and the Whigs.

Now, Reader, tell me, if you can,
Which is the Devil, who the Man;
For if a Tekelite be a Turk,
They both do (All) the Devils Work.
Whigs.
WE have pursu'd those Plots thou didst invent,
And made our Parties in a Parliament,
And to no purpose, what can we do more?
Thou let'st the Tories in, yet keep'st the Door.
Devil.
When ought doth not succeed, you first blame Me,
Amongst your selves Ye never did agree:
Your Wise-false-Brethren have undone your Cause,
And from no Subjects, slav'd you to the Laws.
Whigs.
[Page 186]
We know no Laws but those our Selves do make
And Hanging ne're confess (All) for Thy sake:
Thou know'st what we have done, and more would do,
But deal'st with us, as Witches, and leav'st us so.
Devil.
My Power is to Incline, not to Compell,
You are the Ministers to Act for Hell;
But do not send me those I did expect,
Through your base Cowardise, or Fools neglect.
Whigs.
Can We do more than Thou; We kill'd a KING.
And his Best Subjects did to Judgement bring:
We sent them hence, when they were under Ground,
We thought all Flesh, was in the Devil's Pound.
Devil.
You speak as you believe, were it not so,
Thousands of you might unto Heaven go;
But Your Association with Me
Will keep us Friends to all Eternity,
And never be reproach'd for Perjury.
Whig.
Thou the first Rebel, taught'st us to Rebel,
Surely Thou need'st no Company in Hell.
Thou shamd'st Us in Contriving of this Plot,
That GOD himself would oversee the Blot,
Because that in his Name it was Begot.
Devil.
[Page 188]
There is a Bard as strange as is his Name,
A Power you know not, who hath rais'd his Fame,
'Tis He, whose Wisdom Countermin'd your Arts,
And on your selves return'd your poyson'd Darts.
Whig.
That Devil Observator, Oh! 'tis He
We would not see (GOD) in His Company:
Our very Thoughts, He seem'd to know so well,
They were in Print, before they were known in Hell
Devil.
His Demon circles Him, I cannot Kill,
Nor Hurt him, so much as to shake his Quill,
He Writes such Truths, and Speaks such Sacred Things.
The Churches Champion, and the Guard of Kings.
Whig.
Though Thou Confess, Thou canst not yet Repent.
No more than We; Then down when we are sent,
There curse the Fates, who spin so long his Thread
That he will live, to see our Children Dead.
Devil.
Take Comfort yet, the Blood that You have spilt,
No more Age can paralel your Guilt.
I did corrupt the Mobile of Heaven.
You did the like on Earth; now We are even.
This Kindness I will do; Over my Furies,
I'll make You Presidents, Judges, or Juries.

A Congratulatory Poem to Sir John More Knight, Lord Mayor Elect of London.

NO sooner doth the Aged Phenix dye,
But kind indulging Nature gives Supply;
Sick of her solitude she first retires,
And on her Spicy Death-bed then expires:
Thus unconcern'd, Sir Patience now declines
The Sword, and all his Dignities resigns;
Next under God and Royal Charles, 'twas He
Defended persecuted Liberty.
When the fierce fury of the Romish Flood
Broke out beyond its limits, He withstood
The threatning Deluge of the angry Main,
And forc'd its beating Billows back again;
His circumspection seasonably reads
The dark Intrigues of vain projecting heads:
He cou'd all Foreign Maladies resent,
And equally Intestine Broils prevent.
But now, as dying Parents first commend
Their Issue to th' tuition of a Friend,
And then, as if their chiefest care was past,
Pleas'd with the Settlement, they breath their last:
So he perceiving busie Date appear,
That with a Period will close his year,
Contentedly resigns his dying Claim,
To the Successor of his Charge and Fame;
One whose wise Conduct knows how to dispence
Rigour to Guilt, and help to Innocence.
Here we the City's wise Results may scan,
Their very choice is Metropolitan;
So Universal their Elections are,
That England in the Happiness doth share.
On then great Magistrate, and, like the Sun,
Set with the splendid Glory you begun,
Disperse such hovering Clouds as wou'd benight,
And Interpose themselves 'twixt Us and light;
You boldly dare your noble Trust attest,
Without a base perswading Interest.
When pleasing Flattery puts on her Charms,
To take with gentle Arts and soft Alarms,
Fixt with a gallant Resolution, You
Ʋncase the Hypocrite, and bids adieu.
In this confus'd and ill digested State,
Where Plots new Plots, to counter-plot, create,
Trusting to Reasons Conduct as your Guide,
You'l leave the threatning Gulphs on either side;
And then erect such Marks, as may appear,
To caution others from a Shipwrack there.
'Tis now resolv'd, the Romanists shall see
The mean Effects of all their Policy;
The Puritans will but expect in vain,
Their Pious Frauds will gull the Land again:
You, like a great Columbus, will find out
The hidden Worlds of deep Intrigues and Doubt,
Whilst to your new Discoveries we give
Our thanks, such worthless Presents as we have.
England no more of Jealousies shall know,
But Halcyon Peace shall build, and Plenty flow,
And the proud Thames, swell'd high, no more complains,
But smilingly looks on the peaceful Plains;
No angry Tempest then shall curl her Brow,
Glad to behold revived Commerce grow,
Whilst emulous of your Example, We
Strive who shall most express their Loyalty:
No Factions shall us from our selves divide,
More than the Sea, from all the World beside,
But link'd together in one Chain of Love,
And with one Spring unanimous we'll move;
That, to our Foes regret, it may be said,
We are again One Body, and One Head.

The Car-man's Poem; Or, Advice to a Nest of Scriblers.

CAR-men turn Poets now, why may not I?
Then Horse, and Cart, and Whip, stand you three by:
Nay, but I lack my Whip to lash those Cattel,
That by their Scribling bid the Kingdom Battel.
Wou'd I cou'd lash you with such mighty force,
As I have us'd to lash my drudging Horse.
It's the dull Satyrs of this envious Age,
That puts my Fancy in so great a rage;
They swarm in ev'ry Street, in ev'ry Shop,
They are the Froth of ev'ry idle Fop.
He that has nought to do, takes Pen and Ink,
Calls for some Paper, and a Pot of Drink,
And then the Maggot works, and Noddle rings,
And they'l not spare the best of British Kings;
Malice, and Pride, and Drink are all agreed,
Then drive on, Car-man; but none cries, God speed.
Their wicked Wit's on wheels, but why so fast?
I am afraid you'l pay for this at last:
Your head-strong Fancy must be curb'd e're long
The Judge will make you sing another Song.
A King's a puny thing in your conceit;
And all by reason of a shallow Pate:
A Duke's a Trifle, and Queen's a Toy;
It's death to you to sing out Viv'le Roy.
And a grave Bishop, or a learned Dean,
You do abhor as much as King and Queen:
Judges are next to nothing in your eye,
So boldly from all Government you fly,
That with your dirty, frothy, hair brain'd Pen,
You lash your Kings, even like our Common men,
Touch not the Lords Anointed, it is said;
But when with Ale and Beer you're muddy made
When with a little Drink your heads are warm,
You touch the King, and do his Prophets harm:
You rail, abuse, contemn, despise and jeer,
You lash them like your Horses, without fear:
It matters not for Sense, be they but Rhimes,
Then there is hopes they'l suit with these dull Times.
Away they run to Smith, and he corrects them;
That's a mistake, he Prints, and he protects them:
From Friend to Friend they march about the Street,
And ev'ry un-Baptiz'd Brother's glad to see't:
Oh how they shrug their Elbows with delight,
To see such dang'rous things appear in sight:
He's wise that's bold, the fittest man for th'Times,
That dare presume to write the worst of Rhimes.
Hang Sence, that's out of fashion, so is Reason;
Come let us see you write Sedition, Treason,
Move for a Commonwealth, cry down the King,
Another Royal Head to th' Block let's bring▪
Rail at the Bishops, and the Common-Prayer,
Abuse the Papists, this is past compare:
Let us beat down all those too Loyal Elves,
Then we may hope we shall set up our selves.
This is the Language of the Baptist Beast,
The heart of ev'ry Presbyterian Priest.
Did they but fear a God, they'd love a King,
They seldom Harp on such a pleasant String:
They make long Pray'rs your Houses to devour,
They'l pray for half a day, and preach an hour;
They'l Fast in earnest; turn up th' white o'th' eys,
Even like a Par [...]ketto to the Skies:
They'l walk demurely, chatter like a Saint,
Their Language is so zealous, smooth and quaint,
You wou'd not think that they cou'd act ought ill.
Much less that they their Sover'ign Lord wou'd kill.
Give them but pow'r, you'l find them greater Cheaters,
Than old Noll Cromwel, or his Chaplain Peters.
What has our Law no limits for our words?
And shall our Pens cut like two-edg'd Swords,
And none regard them? shall our Libels swarm,
And will no Judge take notice of the harm?
Seditious Libels surely have a Charm,
There's not one Judge that dare put forth his Arm.
Then let our Pamphlets swarm about the City,
Be deaf, and do not shew Conformists pity;
Satyr them unto death, the day's our own,
Our Judges now we find are weary grown:
Spare neither King nor Subject, let all share
A like that love the Mass and Common Prayer:
Come, drive on, Car-man, set thy brains to work,
And write as if it were against the Turk.
Puddle-dock Coach-man, hold thy Dung-Cart Pen,
Spurn not against such great and pow'rful men;
They do but let you run to your wits end,
Now you must pay for what you wrote my Friend.
Thou that didst sin against both Judge and King,
And stole the Honey, now must feel the Sting:
Thy Libels now are all upon the File,
That swarm like Hornets in a pleasing Isle.
Imprimis, answer thy Tom Ticklefoot,
I fear that that will put thee hardly to't:
Item, remember thy late New-years-Gift,
Thy Neck thou from this Noose canst no way shift
Unless it from a twisted Halter be,
Unto a wooden Noose call'd Pillory:
And thy late Satyr will not be forgotten,
When Smith and's Anvil are decay'd and rotten.
Judgement has Leaden heels, but without doubt
At the long run 'twill find the Rabble out:
Then woe be to ye, better you were choak'd,
Than deal with Judges that you have provok'd;
My life for yours they'l stick upon your Skirts,
And pay you home for all your Jeers and Flirts:
You and your hireling Scriblers will repent,
That their Time, and you your Money spent.
One witty Jeffreys, and a sharp Recorder,
Will timely bring you all to better order:
A Pillory will tell us you were Rogues,
To write against a Judge so just as Scroggs,
Whose Worth and Judgment, Wit and Justice flies
With far more Fame, thanks to your Scribling Lies

The Last Will and Testament of Anthony King of Poland.

MY Tap is run; then Raxter tell me why
Should not the good, the great Potapsky dye?
Grim Death, who lays us all upon our backs,
Instead of Scythe doth now advance his Ax:
And I, who all my life in broils have spent,
Intend at last to make a Settlement.
Imprimis, for my Soul (though I had thought
To 've left that thing, I never minded, out)
Some do advise, for fear of doing wrong,
To give it him, to whom it doth belong;
But I, who all Mankind have cheated, now
Intend likewise to cheat the Devil too:
Therefore I leave my Soul unto my Son,
For he, ( [...]s Wise men think,) as yet has none.
Then for my Polish Crown, that pretty thing,
Let Mon—take't, who longs to be a King;
His empty Head soft Nature did design
For such a light and airy [...]rown as mine.
With my Estate, I'll tell you how it stands,
Jack Ketch ought t'have my Cloaths, the King my Lands.
Item I leave the damn'd Association
To all the wise disturbers of the Nation,
Not that I think they'l gain their ends thereby,
But that they may be hang'd as well as I.
Armstrong (in Murders, and in Whoring skill'd,
Who twenty Bastards gets for one man kill'd)
To thee I do bequeath my Brace of Whores,
Long kept to draw the humours from my Sores;
For you they'll serve as well as Silver-Tap,
For Women give, and sometimes cure a Clap.
H—d my partner in Captivity,
False to thy God and King, but true to Me,
To thee some heinous Legacy I'd give,
But that, I think, thou hast not long to live;
Besides thou'st wickedness enough in store
To serve 'thy self and twenty thousand more.
To thee (young G—y) I'll some small Toy pre­sent,
For you with any thing may be content,
Then take the Knife with which I cut my Corns,
'Twill serve to pare and sharp your Lordsh. Horns,
That you may rampant M—push and gore
Till he shall leave your House, and change his Whore.
On top of Monument let my Head stand
It self a Monument, where first began
The Flame that has endanger'd all the Land.
But first to Titus let my Ears be thrown,
For he, 'tis thought, will shortly have his own.
I leave old Baxter my invenom'd Teeth
To bite and poison all the Bishops with.
Item I leave my Tongue to wise Lord N—
To help him bring his what-de-call-ums forth,
'Twill make his Lordship utter Treason clear,
And he in time may speak like Noble Peer.
My Squinting Eyes let Ignoramus wear,
That they may this way look, and that way swear.
Let the Cits take my Nose, because 'tis sed,
That by the Nose I them have always led;
But for their Wives I nothing now can spare,
For all my Live's time they have had their share.
Let not my Quarters stand on City Gate,
Lest they new Sects and [...]actions do create;
For certainly the Presbyterian Wenches
In Dirt will fall to Idolize my Haunches;
But, that I may to my old Friend be Civil,
Let some Witch make them Mummy for the Dev.
To good King Charles I leave (though faith, 'tis pity)
A pois'ned Nation, and deluded City,
Seditions, Clamours, Murmures, Jealousies,
False Oaths, Sham-Stories, and Religious Lies.
There's one thing still, which I had quite forgot,
To him I leave the Carcass of my Plot,
In a Consumption the poor thing doth lie,
And when I'm gone, twill pine away and die.
Let Jenkins in a Tub my worth declare
And let my Life be writ by Harry Care;
And if my Bowels in the Earth find room,
Then let these Lines be writ upon their Tomb.

An Epitaph upon his Bowels.

YE Mortal Whigs for Death prepare,
For mighty Tapski's Guts lie here,
Will his great Name keep sweet, d'y' think!
For certainly his Intrals stink.
Alas 'tis but a foolish pride
To out-sin all mankind beside,
When such Illustrious Garbage must
Be mingled with the Common dust.
False Nature! That could thus delude
The Cheater of the Multitude;
That put his Toughts upon the Wing,
And egg'd him on to be a King,
See now to what an use She puts
His Noble great and little Guts▪
Tapski, who was a man of Wit,
Had Guts for other uses fit,
Though Fiddle strings they might not be
(Because he hated Harmony)
Yet for Black puddings they were good,
Their Master did delight in Blood:
Of this they should have drank their fill
(King Cyrus did not fare so ill)
Poor Guts could this have been your hap
Sheriff Bethel might have got a snap,
But now at York his Guts must rumble,
Since you into a hole did tumble.

The Case is Alter'd now: Or the Conver­sion of Anthony King of Poland, publi­shed for satisfaction of the Sanctified Brethren.

EV'n as a Lyon, with his Paws up-rear'd,
As he would tear in pieces all the Herd:
So of late days, you Whigs, as Rampant were:
An honest Tory scarce to speak did dare.
Nay, it was almost an offensive thing;
The Bell-man scarce dar'd cry, God save the King!
Thou, my dear Titus, and the Popish Plot,
Did'st fire my Zeal, and make my Head so hot,
That then I whisper'd loud unto the Nation,
Now, now's the Nick of Time for Reformation.
You hufft and hector'd at a mighty rate,
When Parliaments of your own Mettle sate;
As if you had o're-grown the King and Laws,
And were beginning a New Good Old Cause;
But Remedy in Season did appear,
And stop't the Fury of your hot Carrear.
Thus for a while I danc'd to my own Pipe,
Till I was grown Association ripe.
But then Addresses from each County came,
And Loyalty did soon put out the Flame.
Then was the time, that Tyburn claim'd his due;
But had it not for want of such as You:
Yet it had some small satisfaction giv'n,
By the deserved Death of Traitor Stephen.
Cabals, and Factious Clubs so rife were grown,
And old Rebellious Seed so thick were [...]own,
I hop'd e'er this the day would be my own.
In Coffe Houses you did domineer,
Aud pratled Treason without Wit or Fear.
Reason and Loyalty you over-rul'd;
And settled Nations, whilst your Coffee cool'd.
The point you argued with a surly Face;
And he that did not yield, and give you Place,
Was term'd by you a Tory, void of Grace.
One House, one Town, one Kingdom scarce could hold
Tory and Whig, Sir Whig was grown so bold.
For this Recital, Sirs, pray do not blame us,
We ne'er baulk't Justice by our Ignoramus▪
No, no, you meant no Harm, I oft was told;
No more did your Rebelling Sires of old.
Thus, for a while, with Factious Rage you burn'd;
But, Heav'n be thank'd, the Scales at last are turn'd:
The Wheel, at length, is mov'd a little round,
And its worst Pieces lowest to the Ground.
The State has found a way to cool our Feavors,
Quench our new Lights, and curb our strong Endeavours;
And we are taught Complyance with more ease,
To What, and When, and how the King shall please.
We to your Private Meetings now can come;
And seize your Holder forth, and send you home;
Meet You at Guild-hall, or elsewhere; and then,
Help You make Choice of Loyal Honest Men.
The Memory and Name of Moor be blest;
That Loyal President for all the rest.
Let Faction cease, and Loyalty get Ground.
Till not one Whig be in the Nation found:
Then we'el rejoice, as in the Days of Yore,
And Salamancka's shall be known no more.

The King of Poland's Last Speech to his Countrey-men.

I Know, you hope all once to be
Great Men of Note and Majesty;
For this our now Supremacy
Is Nonsence.
Why should one Man for ever sway
A Scepter, (who's but made of Clay?)
Why may not we our selves obey
In Conscience?
But now 'tis come, Alas, we see,
That all our Fame turns Infamy:
Ah! such a thing is Policy
With Tories.
The buzzing Jealousies and Fears,
Into the Peoples list'ning Ears,
For all those many busie years,
Are Stories.
Since in late Plots w'have gone astray,
'Tis time to look another way,
And not in such a Case delay;
'Twill harm us.
No doubt, y'have heard of Forty One,
Of all the Prancks that then were done,
And of the happy Conquest won:
Let's arm us;
And play those very Cards agen,
For all those Antients were but Men;
Five Israelites may well beat ten
Philistines.
Let's cry Oppression through the Town,
Oppression of the Court and Gown,
And raise in Tumult, every Clown
To Listings.
We'll first expose the Laws to Shame,
And next the Loyal Part defame;
If Good or Bad, they'r all the same,
No odds make.
Yet let Religion be the Word,
To shade Rebellion and the Sword;
Then play the Divel under board,
For God's sake.
Then be not wanting in your Lies;
In Plots and Shams and Forgeries;
To blind the weak and gazing eyes,
With Fables.
But if you wou'd enjoy the Land,
Let the dark Roman joyn his Hand,
He Force and Councel can command
In Caballs.
Which though it seem as strange as Nile,
'Tis Lawful to unite in Guile;
Our Intrest's ne're the worse that while,
But further.
For all their Principles are mine;
Their Tricks to guild a black Design;
Their Warrant's to unite and joyn
In Murther.
What if you were not born to Land,
Or to be Persons in Command;
'Tis ne'er the worse at second Hand,
But fashion.
Is it not base (a Curse) to see,
When we should live equally,
Such odds and such Majority's
I'th' Nation.
And though we find no fault in State,
Or any other Potentate;
Yet those great Names will raise debate,
And wrath, Sirs.
Since then 'twill be so good a Feat,
Let's once (for all) the Work compleat:
For nothing else can make us Great,
In troth, Sirs,
My Opticks (Friends) almost can see
A new form'd Lump of Anarchy;
Whilst under foot lies Monarchy,
And hated.
Methinks I see those very Men,
I hate and envy once agen,
From many thousands unto Ten,
Abated.
Ah! sweet Revenge, and bold Ambition,
Infects both Us, and half the Nation;
The Cause of Wise Association
So lately:
And well't may plague us all, to see
Some, though no better Men than We,
To live in Pomp for Loyalty,
So stately.
I knew when once the Good Old Cause
Was nam'd aloud with great Applause:
Blest times for Liberty! no Laws,
To fright all:
Therefore if once it come to Test,
And we again with Lawrel blest,
The stronger side must be the best,
At Whitehall.
And if all Lords you chance to be,
Who knows what Hell designs for me?
We'l make our Lives one Jubilee,
And wonder.
So being out of Breath, and spent;
Alas, (said he) much more is meant.
At last (with Pox) he hurrying went,
Like Thunder.

Fitz-Harris his Farewel to the World: or a Traytors Just Revvard.

FArewel great Villain, and unpitied Lye,
Instead of Tears drawn from a tender Eye;
Ten thousand Traytors like Fitz-Harris dye.
Unhumane Monster, to the World ingrate,
An Enemy to the King, the Church and State;
Had'st thou been starv'd, 't had been too kind a Fate.
His Crimes were horrid, Infamous and base,
Deserves a total extinct of his Race;
Banish his Name unto some dismal place.
What's worse than injuring Sacred Majesty,
For which he suffered on the Fatal Tree;
May all Men suffer when Rob'd of Loyalry.
England may then be glad, with Triumph sing,
When all her Foes are vanisht with a string;
The Golden Age from Halcion-days will spring.
Those Wolves that Plot Protestant Lambs to Gull,
May Heaven obstruct the Engines of their Scull;
Give them of Tyburn, good Lord, their Belly full.
Giddy-headed Youths, have been seduc'd of late,
Beyond their Wits, talk of the Affairs of State;
Obedience learn to avoid Fitz-Harris Fate.
Those publick Libellers with Zeal and Heat,
With some unheard of Novelty daily treat;
If they write falsly, tie them from their Meat.
Tell th'Ambitious, they 're Fools and strive in vain,
To undermine a Crown, King Charles will Raign:
To be true and honest is the safest Gain.
I hope to see Justice at Tyburn done,
If so, some hundreds may have cause to run;
Give them what they, deserve, their Thread is spun.
Bid proud Petitioners good Advice approve,
Make an Address and in one Body move;
With all Humility t'gain their Prince's Love.
I'de sooner lose a Limb, from th' Monument fly,
Endure the worst of Torments till I dye;
Than willingly deserve my King's displeasing eye.
London, on thee all flourishing joys descend,
Heav'ns bless the Government and Governours to the end;
Unanimous to agree, your Soveraign to defend.
The Man that burnt Diana's Temple down,
Did it on purpose a Villain to be Crown'd;
'Mongst Rogues (Damn'd Rogues) he got Re­nown.
How many thousands are there in the Nation,
Meer Knaves, but Saints in private Congregation;
Love Monarchy, with mental Reservation.
The Gods rebuke the Error of the Age,
Let Moderation Tumultuous men asswage;
But hang all those against their King engage.
Let all Dissenting Brothers love the King,
To the Church Unite, 'tis a goodly thing;
With Brethren to agree, and with Te Deum sing.
Heav'ns bless his Majecty, with Plenty, Joy and Peace.
To all that love the King Heavens give increase;
Confound his Foes to pray I ne'er will cease.
—Non est Lex justior ulla
Quam Necis Artificis, Arte perire sua.

The last and truest Discovery of the Popish-Plot, by Rumsey, West, and other great Patriots of their Countrey.

BUt Oh! This late Conspiracy, so Dire
(By Providence prevented by a FIRE,)
No Age can parallel; so Black Design
The fiercest Furies, (could not place a Mine,)
From their dark Caves, to give so great a blow,
And at one Burst, Three Kingdoms overthrow!
Merciless Flames we'll now Innocent call,
Since Fire's allarm hath preserv'd Us all;
Thrice happy Fire of Providence, whose Good
Was Bon-fire for the saving Royal Blood;
Heav'n forc'd their Safety, drove them from that place,
That they might live to see a longer Race.
What desperate despairing damned Crew
Would Fell the Royal Oaks, plant cursed [...]ew?
Did Shaftsbury descend into the Pit,
And Pluto's President of War doth fit?
Are Sheriffs, Juries, and his perjur'd Slaves,
All silent Now, as they were in their Graves?
No; Thou retain'st thy Counsel at the Bar,
And [Good-enough] to make a Civil War:
Tho thou canst not return, hast none to send?
Murder and Treason thou hast left thy Friend:
Thy Breath, O British Scylla, still remains,
Whose Poyson stagnates your ill Livers Veins;
Thou damn'd Achitophel, counseledst a Vote,
If the KING dy'd, to cut the Tapisis Throat;
Nay, if a House by accident was fir'd,
From Them must Reparation be requir'd.
Imposture Hypocrites invent a [...]lot,
Deceive the Mobil [...]e, and League the Scot,
Then Loyal Innocents they guilty bring;
Reserve the Honour yet to Kill the KING.
The Comets blaze, and the Portents, you know,
Did signifie the Nations Overthrow;
And You the Ministers of Fate must be,
The Hang-men-Murderers of ROYALTY.
No, Paracides, though you pervert the sence,
Heaven is not pleas'd till you are hang'd from hence:
The Stars discover your dark Plots below,
Your Malice would make Heav'n Guilty too:
Just like old Satan, when he did Rebel;
He once was good, You never; mend in Hell,
Since none but You could ever claim a Right
By horrid Murder to Eternal Night:
Had you succeeded. Oh what Seas of Blood
Had drown'd the World, and made a second Flood!
The Horrible Events no Man can think,
Blood-thirsty men, with drinking, thirst for drink.
Nothing but Death can quench their Furious Zeal;
No Plot nor Parliament his Acts repeal:
Those Lies, confirm'd by Oaths and Impudence,
Were once believ'd by Men of soundest sence:
This the deciding Plot 'twixt Heav'n and Hell,
(Though you repent not) shall confess you fell;
Lucifer-like, you curs'd Associates
Thought your selves strong enough against the Fates.
But Providence appears, the Fiends throw down,
And once again the Royal Ooak does Crown:
How Guilt doth tremble now! How, hide and flie!
The Innocents stood still, un-call'd, to die:
Down with your Pillar, there in Rubbish lie,
The Pyramid of Truth's above the Skie:
The Sacred Monuments of Wise and Good
Are wash'd away from hence, like Noah's Flood;
But true Tradition shall never die,
But Blooming still to all Eternity,
Let all our Prayers, incens'd by true Zeal,
Defend us from Fanatick Commonweal.
Devils believe, and (when compell'd) confess,
Yet Devils still; Our Criminals no less:
Not like true Penitents, confess all sin,
They hide the worst, the Devil's still within;
What the Scotch-Whig dares not, these Rebels do,
Both Will and Act into Damnation go,
Whilst we with Prayers, Offerings of Praise,
Send our Thanksgivings up for these past days:
Our days were almost spent; one minute more
Had made Three Kingd. like a Common-Shore,
Run down with Royal Blood of Purple Gore.
Infinite mercy, (wonderfully shown)
Preserve the Royal Blood upon the Throne;
And that we may have Blessings, when we sing,
Glory to GOD, Peace, Health unto the King.

Poems written by the Right Honourable Henry Lord Arundel of Warder, and Count of the sacred Roman Empire, whilst Prisoner in the Tower.

I. A Valediction to the WORLD
HEnce all ye Visions of the Worlds delight,
You treach'rous Dreams of our deluded
Passion too long hath seiz'd on Reasons Right, sence,
And play'd the Tyrant in her own defence:
Her flatt'ring Fancies hurri'd me about.
To seek content which I could ne'er find out.
If any pleasure did slide o'er my sence,
It left a mark of shame when it went thence.
And when possest, it relished no more;
And I remain'd as Thirsty as before:
Those pleasant Charms that did my heart seduce
Seem'd great pursu'd, but less'ned in the Use;
And that false Flame that kindled my Desire,
E'er I could Taste, the Pleasure did expire.
But Reason now shall re-possess her Throne,
And Grace restore what Nature had o'erthrown,
My Better Genius prompts me to declare
Against those Follies, and to side with Her:
She tells me 'tis high time to stemm that Tide,
Whose Torrent doth us from our selves divide.
Those Brutal Passions do un-man our Mind,
And rule, where Virtue had them Slaves design'd.
Such Usurpation shall prevail no more,
I will to Reason her just Rights restore:
And make my Rebel Heart that Duty pay
To Her, which to my Sence was cast away.
But this (dear Lord) must be Thy work, not mine,
Thy Grace must finish what I but design:
It is Thy Pow'r alone that first doth Move,
Then give Us Strength to Execute and Love.
For Nature hath by Custom so prevail'd,
And such Dominion o'er our Sence entail'd,
That we can never hope but by Thy Hand
To free our Captive Souls from her Command.
That fatal Liberty which for our Good
Thou gav'st us, was ill us'd, worse understood.
Men made by Reason, not like Beasts, t' obey,
Losing that Reason, prove more Beasts than they;
And sure they lose it, when they do dispence
With their known Duty, to delight the Sence.
Since then thy Bounty doth my Heart inspire,
Make me to Do, as well as to Desire:
Set so my warring Heart from Passions free,
That it may ne'er love any thing but Thee.
By thy sweet force my Stubborn heart incline
To quit my Conduct, and to follow Thine:
So shall my Soul by double Conquest prove,
Bought by thy Blood, and conquer'd by thy Love.
II. Persecution no Loss.
WHat can we lose for him, when all we have
Are but the Favours which his Bounty gave;
And which, when Losses force us to restore,
God only takes 'em for to give us more:
And by an happy Change doth kindly prove,
He takes our Fortunes but to give us Love.
How vainly should that Beggar chide his Fate,
Who quits his Dung-hill for a Chair of State:
So fares it with us, when God doth displace
The Gifts of Fortune for the Gifts of Grace.
God on Sufferings set so high Esteem,
He that way chose the lost World to Redeem:
And when his Love and Nature were at strife,
He valu'd more his Sufferings than his Life.
And shall Opinion have more pow'r to move
Than his Example, Doctrine, or his Love!
Love makes Afflictions pleasing; to complain,
Lessens our Merit, and augments the Pain.
Let's humbly then submit to his Design,
And give that freely which we must resign:
So shall our Losses prove the best Increase
Of future Glory, and our present Peace.
—Which grant for thy [...]assion.
III. On those Words of the Psalm,—God chasti [...]eth whom he loveth.
IF then the Earnest of thy Favours be
Afflictions, good God, let 'em light on me.
I▪ll glory more in such a kind Distress,
Than in all Comforts where thy Love is less.
And by my Misery I'll make it known
In spite o'th World, how much I am Thy own;
No fruitful Showr's shall by the thirsting Plant
Be kindlier entertain'd than Scorn and Want.
Or Loss of Honour, Fortune or Delight
Shall be by me; That which did once affright▪
And fill'd my troubled Mind with Care and Grief,
Shall be my future Comfort and Relief.
I never more will court a smiling Fate
Since he's so happy, that is desolate.
Afflictions shall be pleasing, since they come
Like friendly show'rs to send us sooner home.
And by thy love, such Charms are in 'em found
As cure the Heart; which they intend to wound;
Such strange Effects doth Grace in us produce
To change as well their Nature, as their Use.
IV. Considerations before the Crucifix.
WHen I behold Thee on that Fatal Tree
(Sweet Jesu) Suffering, and that 'tis for me;
When I consider in that Purple Flood
My Sins ebb out, but with thy Life and Blood;
When I reflect how dear my Soul hath cost,
I'm mov'd to wish it rather had been lost;
For how can that Life please that doth destroy
The Life of him, by whom we Life enjoy.
And yet to wish thou hadst not suffer'd so,
Were to condemn thy Love and Wisdom too;
For if we joy in what thy Death hath brought,
We must allow the pains with which 'twas bought:
So both our Life and Death unitedly,
Nature's Life is to have her Maker die.
It is thy will (dear Lord) must be obey'd,
And in that Duty both these Debts are payd.
O let my Soul, in a due measure, find
A Joy becoming, and a mourning Mind;
A Joy in thy kind Will, ev'n whilst it made
Sun-shine in Nature by thy God-head's shade.
A grief to see the Torments Sin did merit,
And Man deserv'd, God should himself inherit.
That thus divided 'twixt thy Pain and Will,
We may resign with Joy, and yet grieve still.
Uniting so these Trophies of thy Love,
That weeping here, we may rejoyce above.
V. Ʋpon the Pains of Hell.
O Restless Groans! O sloathful Tears!
O vain Desires of fruitless Tears!
One timely Sigh had eas'd that Flame,
Which Millions now do seek in vain;
Eternal Penance now's thy Fate,
For having wept and sigh'd too late:
That short remorse that thou didst flie,
Is chang'd into Eternity;
Neglected Mercy hath no room,
When Justice once has fixt his Doom.
Prevent them timely by thy Care,
That endless Penance of Despair;
Then weep betimes, your Tears here may
Turn Night into Eternal Day;
It's only they have power to move,
And turn God's Blessing into Love;
If by the Virtue of his Grace,
Thou shewest them a proper place;
Which grant we may for Christ's sake.

Majesty in Misery: Or an Imploration to the KING of Kings;

Written by His late Majesty King CHARLES the First in his durance at Carisbroke Castle, 1648.
GReat Monarch of the World, from whose Arm springs
The Potency and Power of Kings,
Record the Royal Woe, My Sufferings,
And teach my Tongue that ever did confine
Its Faculties in Truth's Seraphick Line,
To track the Treasons of Thy Foes and Mine.
Nature and Law by Thy Divine Decree,
(The only Work of Righteous Loyalty,)
With this dim Diadem invested Me.
With it the sacred Scepter, purple Robe,
Thy holy Unction, and the Royal Globe,
Yet I am levell'd with the Life of Job.
The fiercest Furies that do daily tread,
Ʋpon My Grief, My Gray Discrowned Head,
Are those that owe My Bounty for their Bread.
They raise a War, and Christen It the CAUSE,
Whilst Sacrilegious Persons have Applause,
Plunder and Murther are the Kingdom's Laws.
Tyranny bears the Title of Taxation,
Revenge and Robery are Reformation.
Oppression gains the name of Sequestration.
My Loyal Subject, who in this bad Season
Attended me, (by the Law of God and Reason)
They dare Impeach, and punish for High-Treason.
Next at the Clergy do their Furies frown,
Pious Episcopacy must go down,
They will destroy the Crozier and the Crown.
Church-men are chain'd, and Schismaticks are freed,
Mechanicks preach, and Holy Fathers bleed,
The Crown is crucified with the Creed.
The Church of England does all Faction foster,
The Pulpit is usurpt by each Imposter,
Ex tempore excludes the Pater Noster.
The Presbyter and Independent's Seed,
Springs from broad blades to make Religion bleed,
Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed.
The Corner Stone's misplac'd by every Pavier,
With such a bloody Method and Behaviour,
Their Ancestors did crucifie our Saviour.
My Royal Consort from whose Fruitful Womb,
So many Princes legally have come,
Is forc'd in Pilgrimage to seek a Tomb.
Great Britain's Heir is forced into France,
Whilst on his Father's Head his Foes advance,
Poor Child! He weeps out his Inheritance.
With My own Power My Majesty they wound,
In the King's Name the King Himself's uncrownd,
So doth the Dust destroy the Diamond.
With Propositions daily they inchant,
My Peoples Ears, such as due Reason daunt,
And the Almighty will not let Me grant.
They promise to erect My Royal Stem,
To make Me Great, [...]' advance my Diadem,
If I will first fall down and Worship Them.
But for Refusal they devour My Thrones,
Distress My Children, and destroy My Bones,
I fear they'll force Me to make Bread of Stones.
My Life they prize at such a slender Rate,
That in My Absence they draw Bills of Hate,
To prove the KING a Traitor to the State.
Felons attain more Priviledge than I,
They are allow'd to Answer e'er they dye;
'Tis Death to Me to ask the Reason why.
But Sacred Saviour, with Thy Words I woo
Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to
Such as Thou know'st do not know what they do.
For since they from the LORD are so disjoynted,
As to contemn the Edict He appointed,
How can they prize the Power of his Anointed?
Augment My Patience, nullifie My Hate,
Preserve My Issue, and inspire My Mate,
Yet though We perish, bless this Church and State.

Vota dabunt quae Bella negarunt.

Interrogatories: Or a Dialogue between WHIG and TORY.

Whig.

WHat is term'd Popery?

Tory.

To Depose a King.

W.

What's true Presbytery?

T.

To Act the Thing.

W.

What's our best way to thorough Reforma­tion?

T.

By Lies and Fables to embroil the Nation.

W.

Of Sin, what's greatest?

T.

Perjury.

W.

What then of Perjuries the worst?

T.

By Hired Men.

W.
[Page 222]

What Hired Perjury doth God most abhorr?

T.

That which Religion feigns pretences for,

W.

When doth this Crime portend a Kingdom's [...]all?

T.

When countenanc'd 'tis Epidemical.

W.

What follows from degrading a Successor?

T.

A Right of next Dethroning a Possessor.

W.

When shall free Subjects be no more opprest?

T.

When once they know what 'tis they'd have redrest.

W.

When shall sweet Concord our lost Peace re­pair?

T.

When Covenant agrees with Common Prayer.

W.

When shall the Brethren cease to groan?

T.

When Eighty Two returns to Forty One.

W.

Of all Mankind, what's the most Injur'd thing?

T.

Tis a French Subject, or—(God save King.

On the Relief of Vienna, a Hymn for the True-Protestants.

REnown'd be Christian Arm,
The Turkish Whigs be damn'd,
And lousie Holwel in their Head,
Who our blue Saints has shamm'd.
II.
These are your precious Rogues!
Rather than not Rebel
Against their Lawful Prince, and God,
They'l joyn the Devil of Hell.
III.
These are your True-blue-men,
Who Persecution cry,
When They, with Julian their old Friend,
The Christian God defie!
IV.
But he has found an Arm
To do the Royal Work,
And vindicate Himself, against
True-Protestant and Turk.
V.
'Twas a true Christian Prince
That made him know His pleasure,
And taught the Villains what is due
Both to their GOD and CESAR.
VI.
God bless our good King CHARLES.
And JAMES, His own dear Brother;
And may they both live long, live long,
To Sucour one another.
VII.
God bless the King of Poland too,
And every Christian KING;
The Name is sacred; Hang the Dogs
Who do not love the Thing.

A Narrative of the Popish Plot, shewing the cunning Contrivance thereof.

The Contents of the First Part.
How Sir Godfrey is kill'd, his Body they hide,
Which brought out in Chair, a Horseback does ride,
How Jesuits disguis'd our Houses do fire;
How subtly they Plot, & the King's death conspire;
Of divers great Lords drawn in to their Bane,
An Irish Army, and Pilgrims from Spain.
I.
GOod People I pray, give ear unto me,
A Story so strange you have never been told
How the Jesuit, Devil, and Pope did agree
Our State to destroy, and Religion so old:
To murder our King,
A most horrible thing!
But first of Sir Godfrey of his Death I must sing;
For how e'er they disguis'd, we plainly can see,
Who murder'd that Knight, no good Christian cou'd be.
The truth of my story if any man doubt,
W'have witnesses ready to swear it all out.
II.
At Somerset-house, there is plain to be seen
A Gate which will lead you into the back-Court;
This place for the Murder most fitting did seem,
For thither much People be freely resort:
His Body they toss'd
From Pillar to Post,
And shifted so often, t'had like t'have been lost;
To watch with dark-lanthorns the Jesuits did go,
But no ways distrusted our honest Bedlow.
The truth of my story, &c,
III.
Lest such close Contrivements at length should take air,
When as his dead Body corrupted did grow,
They quickly did find an invisible Chair,
And set him on Horse-back to ride at So-hoe:
His own Sword to th'Hilt,
To add to their Guilt,
They thrust through his Body, but no Blood was spilt;
T'have it thought he was kill'd by a Thief they d d mean,
So they left all's Money, and made his Shoes clean
The truth of my story, &c.
IV.
To shew now th'excess of Jesuitical Rage,
They this Loyal City to ruin would bring,
'Cause you Citizens are so religious and sage,
And ever much noted as true to your King:
T'your Houses they go
With Fire and with Tow,
Then pil [...]er your Goods, and 'tis well you 'scape so;
Y'have seen how they once set the Town all in flame;
Yet 'tis their best Refuge, if we believe Fame.
The truth of my story, &c.
V.
By Bedlow's Narration is shown you most clear,
How Jesuits disguis'd into Houses will creep;
In a Porter's or Carman's Frock they appear,
Nay, will not disdain to cry Chimney sweep;
Or sell you Small-Cole,
Then drop in some hole
A Fir-ball, or thrust it up by a long Pole.
But I now must relate a more tragical thing,
How these Villains conspir'd to murder our King.
VI.
At the' White-horse in April was their main Con­sult,
Where a Writing these Plotters wickedly frame;
The Death of our Sov'reign was the result,
To which at least Forty all signed their Name:
They would not do that
In the place where they sat,
Trusty Oats must convey't from this man to that;
To make sure work, by Poison the deed must be done,
By a long Dagger, and shot from a Gun▪
The truth, &c.
VII.
For fear at St. Omers their Oats might be miss'd,
They agreed with a Devil t'appear in his place,
In a Body of Air, (believe if you list)
Which lookt just like Oats, and mov'd with the same grace;
'Tcou'd Plot, it cou'd Cant,
Turn eyes like a Saint,
And of our great Doctor no feature did want:
Thus hundred did swear they saw Oates ev'ry day.
But true Oates was here, and the Devil saw they.
The truth, &c.
VIII.
From Father Oliva Commissions did come,
To raise a great Army much Treasure is spent;
The Old Man did once think to take Post from Rome,
For to ride at the Head of them was his intent;
But Bell [...]s' was fit
(Who can deny it?)
To command in his place, when his Gout wou'd permit;
Lord Stafford was proper'st to trust with their pay,
Old Ratcliff to range them in Battel-Array.
The truth, &c.
IX.
Th' High-Treasures place the Lord Powis did
(Men of desp'rate Fortunes oft venture too far;)
Lord Peters would hazard Estate, and his Ease,
And Life for the Pope too, in this holy War;
Lord Ar'ndel, of old
So war-like and bold,
Made choice of a Chancellors Gown we are told;
All these did conspire with the Lord Castlemain,
Who now his good Dutchess will ne'r catch again.
The truth of my Story, &c.
X.
Great store of wild Irish, both civil and wise,
Designed to joyn with the Pilgrims of Spain,
Many thousands being ready all in good guise,
Had vow'd a long Pilgrimage over the Main:
To arm well this Host
When it came on our Coast,
Black Bills forty thousand are sent by the Post,
This Army lay privately on the Sea-shore,
And no man e'er heard of 'em since or before.
The truth, &c.

The Second Part.

I.
THe Plot being thus subtly contriv'd, as you hear,
To God knows how many this Secret th' fear;
impart;
Some famous for Cheats, yet their faith they don't
To tie a Knave fast they had found a new Art:
They swore on a Book,
And Sacrament took;
But you'l find if into their grave Authors you look,
To forswear's no sin (as the Recorder well notes)
Nor Treason, Rebellion, nor cutting of throats.
The truth, &c.
II.
Still blinded by Zeal, and inveigl'd by Hope,
Store of Arms they provide for Fight and De­fence;
The Lords must command as Vice-roys of the Pope
And all over England they raise Peter-pence:
Their Letters they send
By Bedlow their Friend,
Or else by the Post, to shew what they intend;
Some hundreds Oats saw, which the Jesuits did write,
'Tis a wonder not one of them e'er came to light.
The truth, &c.
III.
Pounds two hundred thousand they to Ireland sent,
Fifteen thousand to Wakem. for Potions & Pills.
Forty thousand in Fire-works we guess that they spent,
And at least ten thousand for the foresaid Black Bills;
Fifteen hundred more
Grove shou'd have, they swore,
Four Gentleman Ruffians deserv'd Fourscore;
Pious Pickering they knew was of Masses more fond,
And for thirty thousand they gave him a Bond.
The truth, &c.
IV.
These two, to kill the King by promises won,
Had now watch'd for some years in St. James's Park.
And Pickering (who nver yet shot off a Gun)
Was about to take aim, for he had a fair mark:
Just going to begin't,
He missed his Flint,
And look in Pan, there is no Powder in't;
For which he their Pardon did humbly beseech,
Yet had thirty good lashes upon his bare Breech.
The truth, &c.
V.
But a sadder mischance to the Plot did befall,
For Oates their main Engine fail'd, when it came
No marvel indeed if he cozen'd them all, to't;
Who turn'd him a begging, and beat him to boot.
He wheeling about,
The whole Party did rout.
And from lurking holes did ferret them out,
Till running himself blind, he none of them knew,
And fainting at Councel, he could not swear true.
The truth, &c.
VI.
To strengthen our Dr. brave Bedlow's brought in,
A more credible Witness was not above ground;
He vows and protests, whate'er he had been,
He wou'd not swear false now for five hundred pound:
And why should we fear
They falsly would swear,
To damn their own Souls and lose by it here;
For Oates, who before had no peny in Purse,
Discov'ring the Plot, was 7 hundred pound worse.
The truth, &c.
VII.
Two Witnesses more were let loose from the Jayl,
Though One, 'tis confest, did run back from his word;
(In danger of life a good man may be frail)
And th' Other they slander for cheating his Lord:
T'each one of these men
The Jesuits brought ten,
To disprove 'em in time and in place, but what then
One Circumstance lately was sworn most clear,
By a Man who in hopes has four hundred a year.
The truth, &c.
VIII.
Besides 'twas oft urg'd, We must always suppose,
To murder the King a great Plot there has been;
And who to contrive it so likely as those
Who Murders and Treasons do hold for no sin?
Things being thus plain,
To plead was in vain,
The Jury instructed again and again,
Did find them all Guilty, and to shew 'twas well done,
The People gave a Shout for Victory won.
The truth, &c.
IX.
'Tis strange how these Jesuits, so subtle and wise,
Should all by the Pope be so basely trepann'd,
To hang with much comfort when he shall ad­vise,
And go to the Devil too at his command.
He may give them leave
To lye and deceive;
But what when the Rope does of Life them be­reave?
Can his Holiness, think you, dispense with that pain,
Or by his Indulgence raise them again?
The truth, &c.
X.
Yet, like Mad-men of Life a Contempt they ex­press,
And of their own happiness careless appear;
For Life or for Money not one wou'd confess,
They'd rather be Damn'd, than be Rich and live here.
But surely they rav'd,
When God they out-brav'd,
And thought to renounce him the way to be sav'd,
And with Lies in their mouths go to Heav'n in a string:
So prosper all Traytors, and God save the King.
The truth of my Story if any one doubt,
We have Witnesses ready to swear it all out.

Concordat cum Recordo

Cl. Par.

The third Part.

Written by a Lady of Quality.
The Plot is vanish'd like to a bashful Sprite,
Which with false flashes, [...]ools could only fright.
The wise, (whose clearer Souls can penetrate,)
Find's shadows drawn before Intrigues of State.
God bless our King, the Church, and Nation too,
Whilst perjur'd Villains have what is their due.
I.
THe Presbyter has been so active of late,
To twist himself into the Myster of State,
Giving Birth to a Plot to amuse the dark World,
'Till into Confusion three Kingdoms are hurl'd;
It is so long since,
He Murther'd his Prince,
That the unwary Rabble he hopes to convince,
With Jingling words that bears little sence,
Deluding them with Religious pretence.
II.
Their Scribling Poet is such a dull Sot,
To blame the poor Devil for hatching the Plot;
The Murther o'th' King, with many things more,
He falsly would put on the Jesuits score:
When all that have Eyes,
Be they foolish, or wise,
May see the sly Presbyter through his disguise;
Their brethren in Scotland has made it well known,
By Murthering their Bishop what sins are their own.
III.
The Poet, whose sences are somewhat decay'd,
Takes Joan for a Jesuit in Masquerade:
His Muse ran so fast, she ne'er look'd behind her,
Or else to a Woman she would have prov'd kin­der.
His fury's so hot,
To Hunt out the Plot,
That fain he would find it where it is not,
Although I've expos'd it to all that are wise,
He has stifled his Reason, and blinded his Eyes.
IIII.
An old Ignis fatuus, who leads men astray,
And leaves them i'th the Ditch yet still keeps his way,
In politique head first framed this Plot,
From whence it descended to Presbyter Scot,
Who quickly took Fire,
And assoon did expire,
Having grave sactious fools their zeal to admire;
Who for the same cause would freely fly out,
But Plotting's more safer to bring it about.
V.
Here's one for Religion is ready to fight,
That believes not in Christ, yet swear's he's i'th right;
If our English Church (as he says,) be a Whore,
We're sure 'twas Jack Presbyter did her deflowr;
He'd fain pull her down,
As well as the Crown.
And prostitute her to every dull Clown;
To bring in Religion that's fit for the Rabble,
Whilst Atheism serves himself that's more able.
VI.
A Pestilent Peer of a levelling Spirit,
Who only the Sins of his Sire doth inherit;
With an unsteady mind, and Chymerical brain,
Which his broken Fortune doth weakly sustain,
He lodg'd i' th' City
Like Alderman brave,
Being fed up with Faction to which he's a slave;
He never durst fight, but once for his Whore,
Which his feeble Courage attempted no more.
VII.
Another with Preaching and Praying wore out,
Inspir'd by th' Covenant is grown very stout;
Th' old Cause to revive it is his design,
Though the fabrick of Monarchy he undermine:
He tortur'd his Pate,
Both early and late,
I'th' Tower, where this Mischief he hop'd to cre­ate;
But to Countrey dwelling he now doth retire,
To Preach to Domesticks whilst they do admire.
VIII.
Another with Head both empty and light,
For the good Old Cause is willing to fight;
I'th' Choice of fit Members for th' next Parlia­ment,
He spit out his zeal to the Rabbles content,
Whilst his wife in great State
Chose a Duke for her Mate,
For whose sake a Combustion he needs would create
For since his Indulgence allows her a Friend,
He'd make him as great as his Wish can extend.
IX.
There's one whose fierce Courage is fal'n to de­cay
(At Geneva inspir'd,) he's much led away;
He would set up a Cypher instead of a King:
From Presbyter zeal such folly doth spring.
He once did betray,
A whole Town in a day;
And since did at Sea fly fairly away:
He had better spin out the rest of his Thread,
In making Pot-Guns, which disturb not his Head.
X.
Some others, of Fortunes both disperst and Low,
With big swelling Titles do's make a great show;
A flexible Prince they would willingly have,
That to Presbyter Subjects should be a meer slav;
They'd set him on's Throne,
To tumble him down,
They scorn to submit to Scepter and Crown;
And into Confusion, or Commonwealth turn,
A People that hastens to be undone.
If such busy heads that would us confound,
Were all advanc'd high, or plac'd under ground;
W'd honour our King, and live at our ease,
And make the dull Presbyter do what we please,
Who has cheated our Eyes,
With borrow'd disguise,
Till of all our Reason they'd taken Excise;
But let's from their slavery strive to be free,
And no People can e'er be so happy as we.

Upon the Popish PLOT.

Written by a Lady of Quality.
Whether you will like my Song, or like it not,
It is the down fall of the Popish Plot:
With Characters of Plotters here I sing,
Who would destroy our good and gracious King:
Whom God preserve and give us cause to hope
His Foes will be rewarded with a Rope.
I.
SInce Counterfeit Plots has affected this Age.
Being acted by Fools, and contriv'd by the Sage:
In City, nor Suburbs, no man can be found,
But frighted with Fire-balls, their heads turned round.
From Pulpit to Pot
They talk'd of a Plot,
Till their Brains were enslav'd, and each man turn'd Sot:
But let's to Reason and Justice repair,
And this Popish Bugbear will fly into Air.
II.
A Politick States-man, of Body unsound,
Who once in a Tree with the Rabble set round
Run Monarchy down with Fanatick Rage,
And preach'd up Rebellion i'that credulous age;
He now is at work,
With the Devil and Turk,
Pretending a Plot, under which he doth lurk,
To humble the Mitre, while he squints at the Crown;
Till fairly and squarely he pulls them both down,
III.
He had sound out an Instrument fit for the Devil,
Whose mind had been train'd up to all that was Evil:
His Fortune sunk low, and detested by many;
Kick't out at St. Omers, not pity'd by any.
Some Whisperers fix'd him
Upon this Design,
And with promis'd Reward did him counter­mine:
Though his Tale was ill told, it serv'd to give fire;
Despis'd by the wise, whilst fools did admire.
IV.
The next that appear'd, was a Fool-hardy Knave,
Who had ply'd the High-ways, and to Vice was a Slave.
Being fed out of Bask in Prison forlorn,
No wonder that Money should make him for­sworn.
He boldly dares swear,
What men tremble to hear;
And learns a false Lession without any fear:
For when he is out, there's one that's in's place,
Relieves his invention and quickens his Pace.
V.
In a Country Prison another was found,
Who had cheated his Lord of One 1000 pound;
He was free'd from's Fetters to swear and inform,
Which very couragiously he did perform.
To avoid future strife,
He takes away Life,
To save poor Protestants from Popish Knife;
Which only has Edge to cut a Rogues Ears,
For abusing the People with needless fears.
VI.
Another starts up and tells a false Tale,
Which straight he rovoked his Courage being frail:
But to fortifie one that needeth his aid,
Being tempted with Money, which much doth perswade;
He swore he knew all
That contrived the fall,
Of one, who that day was seen near to White hall:
Where he by the Treasurers powerful Breath,
More likely by far received his Death.
VII.
A Gown-man most grave with Fanatical form,
With his scribbling wit doth blow up this storm:
For Moth-eaten Records he worships the Devil,
Being now lodg'd at Court he must become civil.
He hunts all about,
And makes a great Rout,
To find some old Prophecy to help him out:
But his friend that was hous'd with him at Fox­hall,
Being joyn'd with his Master still strengthens 'em all
VIII.
Then comes a crack'd Merchant with his shallow Brain,
Who first did lead up his stigmatiz'd Train:
He since is grown useless, his Skill being small,
Yet at a dead lift, he's still at their call.
He has pester'd the Press,
In ridiculous dress,
In this scribling Age he could not do less:
But to so little purpose as plainly appears,
With pen he had as good sate picking his Ears.
IX.
To end with a Prayer, as now 'tis my Lot,
Confounded be Plotters, with their Popish Plot:
God bless and preserve our gracious good King,
That he may ne'er feel the Presbyters sting:
As they brought his Father
With rage to the Block,
So would they extirpate all the whole Stock:
But with their false Plots I hope they will end
At Tyburn, where the Rabble will surely attend.

The great Despair of the London-Whigs for the Loss of the Charter.

THen is our Charter (Polexfin) quite lost?
Is there no Aid from the new sainted Post?
Are our Sham-plots and Perjuries all in vain?
If not, we'll summon Patience back again.
Saints Prayers to Heaven w'have found will not prevail,
But more propitious Hell will never fail.
Then let Almighty TITƲS (for you know)
He needs must be a Magick Doctor too,
For how do you think at Salamancha he
Could take such an Invisible Degree,
Unknown to all the University.
Let him raise up the once great Tapski's Ghost,
With his Retinue, all that num'rous Host
Of brave Heroick Spirits, who could dye
For Treason, and Rebellion juctifie;
Amongst those, Steven condemn'd by wicked Laws,
The Proto-Martyr for the last Good CAƲSE.
Advance you brave Arch-Trait. from the Grave,
Who made Slaves Princes, and your Prince a Slave.
Bradshaw and Cromwel, those two Glorious Names
That raise dull Treason up to Active Flames,
Let these Infernal Worthies then be backt
By Zimri and the Jury that he pactt;
With all the fiery Zealots of the Town,
But chiefly our great Patriot of Renown,
To whom we'll give some pretty Polish Crown.
Not that we promi [...]'d him, for all our Zeal
Is only how to raise a Common weal.
With this Cabal we [...]ll fool all Equity,
And gain what Law has lost by Polity.
Here God-like Tapskie once shall speak again,
And what he speaks Fates shall oppose in vain;
For if Alive he Treason taught so well,
What a vast Traytor now he's school'd in Hell.
Could Cromwel once by force assume the Crown,
And sha'n't this angry Ghost relieve one Town.
Sha'n't Ignoramus, who with no ado
Could save great Tapski, save our Charter too?
But what are only Councels now? The Course
That we would take in this Distress, is Force;
But the Militia now alas, is gone,
'Tis odds to what we had in Forty One,
The Saints are all sequester'd of their Right,
The City govern'd by a Jebusite:
What then should we distressed Rebels do?
Is it too late, can't we for Pardon sue?
Why Good King Charles's Clemency may spare Despair.
Tho' we in two Reb. had our share,
Nor need we hang our selves like Judas for
But let's, like Origen since other hopes are past,
Hope the poor Devil may be sav'd at last.

A Panegyrick to His Royal Highness, upon His Majesties late Declaration; especi­ally dravvn from Unio Dissidentium Pag. 2. Part 14. Pag. 3. Part 3. Pag. 4. Part. 3. and 4.

OF a Just King, the Pow'rful Words declare
Great James presumptive and apparent Heir:
(The words betoken one and self-same Thing:
Though some, Them would under distinction bring.)
Such Declaration, Henry Third of France
Wisely made use of, when some 'gan advance
Pretensive Heirs, Fourth Henry to displace,
(A lawful Heir, though much remote in Race.)
Such Declaration by both Kings must be,
An Act impulsed by Divine Decree,
What good effects from first of these did flow,
The Gallick Chronicles at large do show:
Check'd Henry after Care and War became
Eternally Great in his Fame and Name.
Great Duke in this Declarement acquiesce,
In sweet Repose and Rest thy self possess.
This heavenly opening of thy Brothers Breast,
(With all due Reverence be it exprest,)
Hath likeness unto that in Sacred Text.
Save that a Brother's own'd in stead of Son,
What more than this can in the Case be done?
Who dare henceforth this Kingly Act gainsay,
Who dare against Thy Royal Highness bray,
Surely the Mouths of the tumultuous Crew,
Are stopt, or else to means we bid adiew,
Where a King's Word is, There is Power, so saith
The Sacred Writ on which we ground our Faith.)
Henceforth of just necessity must cease
Those clamors which so much disturb thy peace.
Henceforth no Voyage over British Seas,
Or cold Retirement under Scotch Degrees
Need'st thou to take, but still abide where Birth
Thou first receiv'dst, (passing time in Mirth)
By Sovereign belov'd, by Friends carest,
Rever'd by all, and by the Heavens blest,
Exactly making good that Expectation,
Of being mighty Pillar to this Nation:
A Stay of State, a strong supporting Prop,
Ordain'd to Scale the Point of Honours top:
Long since foretold of thee as we may see
At large exprest in day Fatality.
Nor can'st be spar'd from Serene Charles his side.
Being active vigilant, helpful to Guide
Affairs of State by Land as well as Sea;
For last of which none more renown'd can be,
Let Arragon her Testimonial give,
And Thy Dutch Victory in sixty five.
Which Higgons Muse hath so inspir'dly sung,
Making the Neptune's Heroes chief among.
None may so well that glorious Motto claim,
Of being Terror of the Ocean Main.
Which Louis did for Michael's Knights ordain.
As once a Servant of King Edward's went
With Royal Cup his Master to present,
One foot did trip; being quick he did prevent
(With t'other Legg) the Fall, Godwin of Kent,
Laughing, said to the King, Ev'n thus one Bro­ther
We see is ready still to help another.
The King reply'd, Just so might Alfred me,
But, That remov'd by base Treachery.
The Belgick Sheaf and Aesops Moral Teach,
Betwixt own Brothers there should be no breach.
The Scripture say's, They must together dwell,
Ʋnion's their Heaven, Disunion's their Hell.
Ʋnworthy are they, whosoe'er they are
Fraternal Ʋnion to break that dare.
Then in despight of such as would disjoyn
Your Persons, Live together says Eloigne.
When men are absent, their back friends dare say
And do those things which else they'd ne'er essay,
Divide & impera we may English make,
First separate, and then Advantage take.
Long live Great Prince, who not desir'st to see
Thy Lieges Funeral Solemnity.
But guided by an equal and just Soul,
Humbly submit'st unto Divine controul,
Nor dost expect, but stay to see the Fate,
Ordain'd above, Sign'd from Eternal Date.
We read of Louis a Montpensier Peer.
Who though his Father had been dead 5 year,
Yet took such Grief at seeing of his Grave,
As did streight after him of Life bereave;
Even just so, James we may expect to Dye,
When Charles submits to mortal Destiny:
God's wondrous hand, after a long Exile,
Them hand in hand brought back to Native Isle,
When wisest men esteem'd their state forlorn,
They saw them stated in the Land where born;
A strange agreement they have underwent,
Sometimes of Bliss, sometimes of Discontent:
Why may not then Fraternal Sympathy
Co-operate to dying Harmony?
When thinking what they've suffer'd in times past,
One can't endure the other to out-last;
But as they've liv'd together so to die,
May be their Fate ordain'd by God on high;
The possibility of this is no doubt,
By various Authors we may make it out.
Let 'em both live until they have out-done,
That Age which David calls a wondrous one:
That Royal Prophet whose Afflictions were
So great, and with which James his may com­pare.
Those Clouds are clear'd, the Sun is now brast out,
His Brother's Rays incompass him about;
Apollo's Rays, that can alone dispell
All Fumes and Vapours though exhal'd from Hell;
Those Rays late issued from the Declaration,
For ever making Calm and Still the Nation.
Abs-hinc Aethereas cessans volitare per aur as
(Optatus) placidae Tutus adesto Domi,
Audent-absentis nonnulli rodere famam,
Cum fuerit praesens or a reclusa tenent:
Est [...] cohors. Dux inclite Cominus esto
Si forsan fueris Eminus ista ferit.

To His Royal Highness the Duke.

THey who oppose your Right unto the Crown,
Would, had they pow'r, pull Monarchy quite down:
'Tis not, so qualifi'd they would have one
Of this, or that Religion, on the Throne;
No, no, we know their minds, they would have none.
The men that lately kept from Charles his due,
Now promise fait to disinherit you;
They who explode your Right; to make us slaves,
Are not Presumptive, but Apparent Knaves:
By our Dissentions they would smooth their way,
And from Contenders hope to snatch the prey.
But such men seldom in the end can boast,
They threaten loud, but still their Cause is lost
In such affairs, they'l find it to their cost.
Still the old Cheat, Religion is the Cry,
And made the Ram to batter Monarchy;
'Cause they deserve, they fear the smarting Rod,
And most Religiously distrust their God.
Envy at Regal Sway, (Ah it is sad)
And Zeal misguided made those Bill-men mad:
These took rash measures, and did ill advise;
But without jealousie or wrong surmise,
The future will prove Loyal, Calm, and Wise.
To us it cannot but assurance bring,
That a good man can make as good a King.
Factious design, and damn'd Plebeian rage,
Does to no mean degree distract the Age,
And watch the tott'ring of our settled State.
But can we such Sheep, such careless Elves,
Not to beware the Wolves among our selves?
Those Beasts of Prey, that lurk in a disguise,
That wear our skins, 'tis there our danger lies:
Against their brother-Wolves they raise the cry,
'Cause their Addresses are not half so slie.
A Papist seems a Papist to our sight,
But our Fanatick, 'cause he would not fright,
Daubs o'er the Devil like a Child of Light.
But Ah! great Sir, where you should still Com­mand,
You, like a Stranger, visit your own Land;
You for a moment tantalize our Sight,
Then, like the absent Sun you give us night:
But 'tis the ready way, we must confess,
To make us know and prize our Happiness;
Whilst all do suffer for the faulty few,
England must lose it Self in losing You.
But to Great Britain come——
May You in highest Splendor live, and be
Happy and safe, Great Sir, in One of Three.
Sir, may your Right no otherwise prove vain,
Than by the length of our Great Charles his Reign.
We cannot, Sir, but prove a happy Nation;
One bliss enjoy'd, another in expectation.
There but remains this great Truth in the close,
Your Virtue 'nd Courage, Sir, the whole world knows,
And y' are born for Conquest o'er your Foes.

A Congratulatory Poem upon the happy Ari­val of his Royal Highness JAMES Duke of York, at London, April 8. 1682.

Written by a Person of Quality.
‘Si Natura negat, facit Exultatio Versum.’
NOw to be silent, or to write in Prose,
Were a like Sin, such as I leave to those
Who either have but dull, unthinking brains,
Or whose bad Arguments enhance their Pains.
But when a Thesis is prepar'd and fit,
And nothing wanting but an equal Wit;
I need no Muses help to aid me on,
When that my Subject is my Helicon:
Great YORK is such, who Him their Theme in­tend,
Will nothing find so hard, as how to End.
And see He comes, my Joyes excessive grow,
Like swelling waves each other they o'erflow.
At York's Return, see Heaven and Nature smile,
And gen'ral Gladness spreads o'er all our Isle:
The Valleys, Hills, and Woods, now deckt, and gay,
Welcome his Coming in their best Array:
On every Bough the chirping Minstrels meet,
In tuneful Notes, the God-like James to greet.
At his Approach, the Sun new thaws the Earth,
Who to her lavish Bounties gives quick Birth;
Sure all things, but dissenting Citts, accord,
To own Great JAMES for their next Lawful Lord.
But above All, see Sacred Charles descends
To greet the best of Brothers, best of Friends;
His eager Love, impatient of Delay,
Resolves to meet Him on his tedious way:
And now They're met, who can Their Joys re­veal?
They sure do only know them, who them feel.
York's return'd: T' England what can fate pre­vent
That after this, she can call Discontent?
That Noble Conqu'ror is Return'd; Yorks He
Who's the true Favourite of Victory.
Who whatsoever He attempted, wrought
Event still gladly lackying his wise Thought.
I challenge thee proud Greece, and prouder Rome,
From their first Birth, and to their latest Tomb;
Peruse your Heroes, read their Actions o're,
Make what was somewhat, by Romancing, more:
Add what you can invent, then if you dare
Bring them, yet if with York you them compare,
They shall as much that Competition shun
As a weak Taper, yields to the bright Sun.
Which of Yours Triumpht for anothers Gains,
That theirs might be the Profit, his the Pains.
Brave JAMES has oft for haughty England fought,
And for Unthankful Souls the Conquest brought,
For whilst at Sea, their fiercest Foes He Quells,
For His Reward, the Ungrateful Land Rebels.
Behold, the Nations Curse, a Plot is rais'd,
The Banter'd People stood a while amaz'd,
Tho now'ts decry'd, more than at first 'twas Prais'd.
They find, tho late, that Plots are to th' Precise
The needful'st things, whether they're Truth or Lyes,
To bring in Commonwealths, and Kings to sa­crifice:
But Charles and James are Heav'ns chiefest Care,
Tho their Blest Father perisht in their Snare,
The Gods with his Sons Lives that Martyrs loss Repair.
Blush, Blush thou Speaker to the Damn'd Cabal,
No longer against York and Goodness yawl,
No more to Factious Clubs thou trait'rous In­sect crawl.
Let thy Rebellious Lectures now be at a stand,
Thou Manuscript of Treason in Short-hand;
The Devil's Enchiridion, being no less
Than the Perfection of all wickedness,
In vain are all the Plots you can devise,
Too loud the Father's Blood for Vengeance cries
Then add not to Damnation if thou'rt wise.
Crouch, Crouch, Disloyal Whigs▪ [...]'unthinking Crew,
Not others Ruine, you your own pursue.
No more by Crop-Ear'd Villains cheated be
Both of your Sense, and dearest Loyalty,
By Religious Glow-worms, maskt Impiety.
And Absalom, thou piece of Ill-plac'd Beauty,
As Happy be as Fair, and know thy Duty.
For some what in that Noble Frame I saw,
Which, or a Father, or a King can awe.
And bashful Corah do thou leave to swear;
If not for Law, or Punishments you care,
At least because thou know'st no more, Forbear.
And you ye Vulgar Fiends, ye Scum of Hell,
Whose Grace lies in your Swearing well;
Than you Nile's greedy Beast more mild appears,
That whom it kills bemoans them with its tears:
At last in pity to your Souls give o'er
Let out your Founder'd Hackney-Oaths no more:
Oh! for the Natious Good, and Publick Peace,
May this stupendious way of Plotting cease
Burn all Associations you have writ,
Conspire no more two Princes Fall, they sit
Too near to thunder, and you'll sure be hit.
Brave York unmov'd, your various Ills can bear
Firm as the Center, Fixt as th' Northern Star.
Since Sacred Charles does know him loyal, true,
With a disdainful Scorn he laughs to view
The worst, the lowest dregs of Men dare do.
Go on Disloyal London, stand and see
Your Lawful Prince murder'd in Effigie,
For sure the stroke was aim'd above his Knee.
Raise still your Tumults, but you'll see at length
Antoeus-like, by Falling he'll get strength.
Hence with all shallow Plots, such Juglers blind
The Fond Chimeras of Phantick Minds.
Now York appears, see how they sink away,
As frightful Shades vanish at sight of Day.
Forth, Forth, all Loyal Souls, his Coming greet,
Lay your Hearts low beneath his Royal Feet.
He comes, he comes, sure none but Traitors stay,
When York's the word, and a King leads the way.
Welcom brave Prince, welcom in balmy Rest
To them by Pain, and want of Sleep opprest;
Welcom as Health to th' Sick, to Bridegrooms, Night;
Welcom as to disorder'd Chaos, Light.
Let loudest Shouts strait cleave the yielding Air,
And Bells and Bonfires our vast Joys declare;
Let Rocks, and Hills, and 'Dales, and dancing Floods,
Hear our glad Sounds, who with repeating Noise,
Will help to double our repeated Joys.
Oh! Glorious Sight! Oh! Miracle of Fate!
To see at once Two Princes in their State;
As if Two Suns did harmlesly agree,
Not the kind Heavens to Fright, but Beautifie.
Fill up the Bowls, let Charles and James go round,
And to the Vaulted Sky your Clangors found.
May Charles's Reign flourish in wealth and peace,
Whil'st York's chief care is both of 'em t'increase.
May no Sham-Plots our Happiness e'er thwart,
Or cause these Royal Brothers e'er to part.
Oh! May They Live and Love, while Streams to th' Main
Their Tribute pay, while Skies do Stars sustain.
Having these Two what can our Bliss destroy?
My Verses may have End, but not our Joy.

To His Royal Highness the DUKE, up­on his Arrival.

WHen You, Great Sir, began to disappear,
All Loyal Hearts invaded were with Fear,
Hope, only in Scotch Rebels liv'd, who knew,
Our Courage and our Conduct fled in you.
Pirates and Rebels joyntly did Command,
Turks prey'd on all by Sea, and Scots by Land.
The Turks! who ne'er so insolent were grown
T' approach our British-Coasts, till You were gone.
Though what the Algerines first tempted forth,
Was that which mov'd their Brethren in the North.
Both saw we were forsaken by that Hand,
Which had with equal Glory once maintain'd
Our Flag at Sea, our Scepter on the Land.
Brave Causes both, worthy the Sword alone
Of Charles's Brother, and the Martyrs Son.
What Force is able with that Arm to fight
Which pleads a Martyrs vows, a Sov'raigns right?
Now had you left your Brother's Rule, the Land
And past those Seas which once You did Com­mand;
Beyond our English Bounds, those Bounds that were
To our poor Isle, none to your Arms appear;
Where once your Sword was drawn, your Course you bend,
Your Sword must still beyond Our Rule extend,
Flanders at once does Peace and You receive,
While Foes our Peace disturb, and Traffick grieve,
Yet these alas! like some ill Omens were,
But Harbingers of our approaching Fear.
For He, in whom we all an Intrest crave,
A Brothers You, we those of Subjects have;
Whose mighty Soul could not be well contain'd
Within his own Dominion on the Land
Descends, the Ocean and his Ships to view,
Which oft engage him in deep Thoughts of you.
On your Employment musing, and your Charge,
Wishes in vain, a Subjects Soul so Large.
Fit for the Steerage of so vast a Fleet,
Or near him at the Helme on Land to sit;
Who next the Throne might shine in silent Peace
Or in loud wars, might Thunder on the Seas.
But finding none, He feels the loss though late
Of such a Limb new sever'd from the State.
The first Prince of the Blood now from him gone
Unguarded on the Right hand left the Throne.
For none in Deeds so Great, or Birth so High
His Place in Arms or Councils may supply:
None may of Right ascend, they may invade,
For Princes of the Blood are Born, not Made.
T' enjoy their Titles, and possess their Lot,
None ever are Elected, but Begot.
Wanting his sole Support in all his Care,
His Stay in Peace, and his chief Strength in War.
On whom, the King still in the first place [...]an'd,
And next the King, on whom we all depend.
Unsafe in Rule, uneasie in his Mind,
Tost like the Sea, which labours with the wind,
His Hopes at length, He to Despair re [...]ig [...]s,
Decays in Vigour, and in Health de [...]nes.
Soon as the fatal News once reach'd your ear,
Urg'd with a Brother's Zeal, and Subject's care,
You fly with such like haste as Angels move,
On all the wings of Duty, and of Love.
Angels and You a like Imployment have
To succour Kings, and distress'd Nations save.
The Forreign Shore, which when you did ar­rive
Met You in shew, your Ve [...]el to Receive.
Removing now, l [...]st by its guilty Stay,
It might be thought your Voyage to delay:
Does in Appearance awfully Recede
And seems in Duty from your Vessel fled;
Which proud to bear him for her single Load,
Who still whole Fleets and Armies led abroad.
All Opposition does, like You, despise;
And labour'd by the waves, still higher rise.
No danger can be great enough for Fear
Where Cesar's Brother, and his Fortune are.
His high Extraction, and his happy Fate
The proud Sails sill, and Vessel elevate.
While to the winds her Canvas wings are spread,
The lazy winds you chide, for want of speed;
And with impatience their Delays controul,
For winds compar'd to wing'd Desires, are dull.
Your Thoughts alas! preventing them, before
Your Voyage had dispatcht and reacht the shore.
Nor Landed on the Shore, do you proceed
With more Solemnity, or with less Speed;
With such dispatch arriving at the Court
You Fame prevent, and ev'n outfly Report
As swift, yet not less silent, than the Light,
Of which we hear no news, till 'tis in sight.
Me thinks I see the Royal Brothers meet,
Their Souls and Bodies in Embraces knit.
While in the Union of their Arms is seen,
The closer Union of their Hearts within.
How they embrace, and in th' Embraces melt,
Cannot reported be, It must be felt▪
While Joys too mighty for their Tongues arise,
And flow out in th' expressions of their Eyes.
Such pow'rful Transports, for which, words we want
Which when we imitate, we best shall paint.
Can we who see this, stand unmov'd? Can we
Who see th' embraces of the Brothers, be,
(If their Example, or our Duty bind,)
To them unfaithful, or our selves unkind?
Ah no! let us in Love our strife employ,
And never weep henceforth, but Tears of Joy.

To His Royal Highness the Duke of York, Upon his Return to the Care and Manage­ment of the Navy of England.

GReat Sir, till now I with Impatience staid,
To see what Muse her early Homage paid;
Which doubtless, all, but the Seditious few,
Allow to our great injur'd York is due:
And am with wonder seiz'd You are so long
Un-importun'd by the Poetick throng.
For Faction oft, and vainly they engage,
They scatter Songs, and trifle on the Stage:
For Malice, or for Bread, they always write,
The Great with well plac'd flattery delight,
In Libel, or Lampoon exhausted quite.
Ungrateful Muses! not one Line afford?
When our lov'd Charles has to his Right re­stor'd
The Nations Darling, and the Oceans Lord.
With just contentment all good men beheld
The Hydra of the Rebel-Faction quell'd.
Like Heav'nly Vengeance it was sure, though slow,
Which we to Cesar's steady Virtue owe;
That Virtue, which unshaken as a Rock,
So long has stood the bandying Parties Shock:
Till Mercy, much abus'd, did late consent,
To punish those who never would repent.
One onely thing was left unfinish'd yet,
At once our Joys, and Safety to compleat:
Which our great 'Pilot saw, and strait commands,
The Fleet be rescued from unskilful Hands.
Whom should he chuse for his important Trust,
But one Experienc'd, Valiant, Prudent, Just?
In whom he finds a Brother, and a Friend:
To him deserv'dly does he recommend
Whose Ships, his Courage could so well defend.
When neighb'ring Carthage dar'd our Seas invade
Dispute their Homage, and disturb our Trade:
Our English Scipio to whom Rome must yield,
With shame repuls'd them from the watry Field.
His gen'rous Soul with easie Vict'ry cloy'd,
Humbled that State he could have quite de­stroy'd.
Spar'd only to be Monuments of his Fame,
They tremble still at mention of his Name.
Both Leaders thus their Countreys Foes sub­du'd,
Both paid alike with base ingratitude:
Rome hers, and we our Hero would exclude.
Mistaken Pandors, ignorant and Proud,
With furious Zeal may bawl in Senates loud:
Religion there, and Property may use,
As words of Art the Vulgar to abuse;
But if in higher Stations they appear,
They lose their way, and act beyond their Sphear.
Men born t'improve some little Countrey Seat.
Have Souls too narrow to direct a Fleet.
This Caesar found, and ere it was too late,
Took from their Shoulders the unequal weight.
A Burthen he himself alone can bear,
Or York who now supports the mighty Care.
York our Protecting Genius, by kind Heaven,
To calm our Fears, and growing Tumults given:
From many dangers sav'd, himself to be
His Countreys lasting, best Security.

A Welcom to His Royal Highness into the City, April the 20th 1682.

‘Motto. Invenias paucos hic ut in orbe bonos.’
CLad with the Infant Glories of the Spring,
Haste pious Muse, Great James Divinely sing;
Riding secure in peaceful Albions Bay,
Grateful to Her above the New-born Day.
Welcom Great Sir, salutes you ev'ry where,
Belov'd by Jove, by Birth His chiefest Care:
With buisy joy our Seven-sold Lute we String,
To tell in Notes your Safety to the King;
Mov'd with soft Numbers Envy here is shown,
Each strives to bid you welcom to the Town.
With melting Harmony our Harps are Strung,
Soft as the Love with which the Throne is Hung:
Such Mirth Your Presence adds to Monarchy,
In spite of Rage, and Factious Anarchy
Those Closet-Products of Damn'd Whiggery:
Such new rais'd Plagues of every Corporation,
We will allay by Anti-Association;
Laden with Loyalty our Arms shall be
That Golden Bracelet of blest Unity,
The sole unbias'd Basis of true Property:
Next after Charles a Monarch you may claim,
At whose Protection all our Fortunes aim.
England triumphant now may brighter shine,
Blest with the Rays of thy good Fathers Line;
Crown'd with Religions peaceful Olive, She
With Tory Zeal a Monument to Thee
Shall raise of ever verdant Piety.
Long did our Royal Monarch in his Mind
Hugg your Return, and hop'd that some kind wind
Would lodge you safe within his Sacred Arms,
Where scarce his Scepter feels more pleasing Charms,
Oh! could we raise our groveling Souls to Thee,
Fill'd with a smooth Majestick Harmony!
For to a Crown that Monarch of Delight,
Virtue like Thine Victorious takes her Flight.
But cease my Muse, in wishes speak the rest,
Whilst with two God-like Souls our Albion's blest.

Vivat Rex Carolus, & Caroli Frater.

A Farevvel to His Royal Highness James Duke of York, on his Voyage to Scot­land, October 20. 1680.

GO, Best in all that's good. We cannot bear
The Radiant Lustre of thy Virtues here:
Owls hate the Sun, Dark Deeds abhor the Light,
Ills appear worse still by their Opposite.
Obey thy Heavenly in thy Earthly King,
Confound thine Enemies by Suffering;
O'recome by Good, Let Furious Factions see,
Thine's Peace, when their Religion's Cruelty.
Go Prince, Couragious Prince, Our Champion may
Great Britains Guardian Angel lead thy way;
May the cold Hemisphere Thou go'st to Grace,
Receive new warmth and vigour from thy Face:
May all that's Happy thy Companion be,
Till Heaven bring Thee to Us, or Us to Thee.
Go Prince, Great Britain's Genius with his Train,
Guard thee to Scotland, Bring Thee safe again;
That (like Great Constantine) Thy glorious days,
May Crown thy Sufferings with Immortal Bays.
And as His Zeal, the mis-led World did bring,
To Love and Honour their Celestial King;
So may thy Zeal move this misguided Nation,
To follow Thee in Loyal Reputation,
In being Just, and Faithful to their King;
And all with one accord aloud shall Sing,
Long live Great Charles our Nations Joy,
And all Men sing, Vive Le Roy.

The DUKE's Welcom from Scotland to London.

ART come, Sweet Prince? Wilt' once more daign to chear
With Thy Bright Beams our drooping Hemi­sphere?
Can nothing check thy Love, suppress thy Flame?
Still England's Guardian Angel? Still the same?
Redoubled wrongs on Thee, the Crown, and State,
Can only move Thy Pity, not Thy Hate;
Who Good for Evil dost Retaliate.
Thy tender Heart, and soft-loves conquer'd Will
Plead this, (though bad) This is thy Country still.
Relaps'd into Her former Agony,
Gasping Britannia seeks relief from Thee.
Scotland that once contagious Vip'rous Land,
Doth now our Envy and Example stand;
Charm'd by thy prudent Head, and gentle hand.
Under his Vine each chearful Swain doth sit,
The Serpent's crush'd that once demolish'd it▪
Where Hemlock, Wormwood, Tares and Weeds, did grow,
Now in full plenty Milk & Honey flow.
Thrice Happy Land [...] May our invenom'd Sense
With Treasons, Poyson, feel the Influence
Of this all-healing Planet; May we see
All Hearts and Hands conjoyn'd in Loyalty.
May all Associating Traitors know,
Divinity dwells on a Soveraign Brow.
May those ungrateful Wretches who Contemn
Mercy, find Justice in the Diadem.
Great York, in all things Great; Great in Re­nown;
Great in Succession's Right to Englands Crown;
Great in thy Conduct; Great in Peace and War;
Great in thy Birth; In Virtue Greater far.
But above all, Great in this Mighty thing,
In thy firm Love and Duty to the KING.
Welcom Sweet Prince, Let sober Healths go round,
And all (but Regicides) thy Praise resound.

An Heroick Poem on Her Highness the Lady ANN's Voyage into Scotland: With a little Digression upon the Times.

INgrateful England, curst to that Degre,
Fam'd for Rebellion and Inconstancy;
All thy Possessions and Enjoyments spring
From Monarch's Cares, yet thou'lt obey no King;
To whose vain Humour Nothing is Delight,
Nor Rain nor Sun-shine e'er can happen right;
False and unworthy to obtain alone
The greatest Blessing of the mildest Throne;
Yet, being richer than I can express,
Art justly punisht with Unhappiness;
What thou art envy'd for, and all adore,
Thou throw'st away, and to thy self art poor,
And like the Miser that abounds in Bags,
Wallow'st in Wealth, yet lov'st to go in Rags.
The stubborn Jews their Monarchs still ador'd,
They begg'd a King, and then obey'd their Lord;
But stiff-Neck'd England, just from Slavery sav'd,
Forgets, and longs again to be enslav'd.
Can Rebels ever be with Scepters aw'd,
Rebels that once did sacrifice their God.
True Heirs in Malice to the Fiends of Hell,
which first they practic'd when from heav'n they fell,
And ever since taught Traytors to rebel.
And now lest they should fail to reach him there,
They stab him in his own Vice-gerent here;
For tho' they do it through a Monarchs Name,
The Majesty of Heaven is still their Aim:
Is it thy Nature or thy Planet's spite,
Still to what's present to be opposite?
Wretched be then with vain Mistrust and Fear,
Banisht the sight of the most God-like Pair,
And the bright Daughter of his Highness here;
The Winds and Seas will far more faithful be,
And Rocks and Quick-sands teach Men Loyalty.
Old Albany they now alone shall grace,
Scotland, whence sprung th' Imperial Stewarts Race;
Scotland that boasts a mighty Duke, and Name
Further than Parthia great Arsaces Fame.
PRepare you Heavens, disclose your bright­est Ray,
All Day your Marble, Night your Milkie Way;
Ʋrania comes, the Goddess of our Isle,
Ʋrania, that makes every Creature Smile:
All they were born for, and can wish for here,
Is but to bless her, and be blest by Her.
Ten thousand Cupids guard her as she rides,
And of her golden Bark surround the sides;
Whilst Others fly aloft with Songs, and strow
Such Flow'rs as on the Beds of Eden grow;
For want of winds, with wings supply soft gales,
And with gay Plumes deck all her Virgin Sails:
Ye frightful Storms retreat into your Cave,
Nor leave the Ocean wrinkl'd with a wave;
There, whilst she Sails, intomb [...]d in [...]ollow Earth,
Lie fetter'd close, and gro [...] for want of Birth;
And Heav'n and Seas strive to be most serene,
The Azure Blew, with the smooth glassy Green.
You Sea-Gods and you Nymphs prepare to try
Your skills, and with a Mask delight her Eye.
First, let the Sun send forth such kindly Heats,
As Winter's shine, or Summer when it sets;
No Icy, Cloudy, nor no Soultry Day,
But all like Morning, and those Mornings May:
Then gentle Zephyr unlock all thy store,
And send soft Breezes from the Western Shore;
Such as Arabia [...]elix has refin'd
With Trees of Spice fanning the precious wind;
But just so much as she in State may glide;
And safe in her Neptunian Chariot ride:
Then thou Green God shalt wait on her above,
As on Jove's Daughter, and the Queen of Love.
Let thy shrill Trumpeters, the Tritons, blow;
And summon all the watry Pow'rs below;
The Nayades, and Nereids to appear,
Let all the Subjects of the Flood draw near:
Fair Cytheraea and her Waiters Call,
And Sea Nymphs, to adorn this Ocean's Ball;
Then let the lovely Mermaids come in Place,
Each Mermaid that so doats upon her Face?
Till they shall see how far above their own
Ʋrania's is, and throw their Classes down.
The lesser Fry in Shoals before shall run,
Like Clouds of Insects gather'd by the Sun;
And nimble Dolphins wantonly shall play,
And hunt the Plain, like Spanniels in her way.
Next, let the great Leviathans resort,
And not forget [...]o make the Princess Sport;
But at a harmless distance head the Train,
And from their mighty Engines spout forth [...]
Thus in such awful Manner let it be,
That wondring Angels may look down to see,
And make the Show more full of Majesty.
Thou Nereus, do this mighty Task with Care;
As much as was in Noah's Ark, is here:
For since that Patrierch, when the world was drown'd,
The like was never in one Vessel found.
Her little Yatch and Squadron, as they ride,
Swell to a Fleet and Admiral, with Pride,
Lift up their Flags, like Piramids, on high,
And with their Rain-bow Colours brave the sky:
Th' Egyptian Gallies were not half so proud,
When Cleopatra was o'er Nilus row'd.
Thus gentle Neptune guard her o'er your Sea,
From faithless Albion to glad Albany;
Commit her safely to the longing Shore,
To her first Father's, ancient Fergus Tower,
There, as in Heav'n, her wishes to obtain,
Till she return, and thou art blest again.

Islington WATERS.

EArly (by Four) on Friday Morn,
Ere Phebus did the Skies adorn;
I started up from where I lay,
And look'd what Weather 'twas that day:
It prov'd Serene, it prov'd all Clear,
No sullen Foggs obscured the Air,
In haste my Cloaths I hurry'd on,
Intending streight for Islington;
My Stomach first with Mugg of Stout
I brib'd, to skreen the Vapours out:
With Fringe and Sword, then jogging went,
T' observe, not drink, was my Intent,
For faith I've us'd this Paunch of mine,
So long to Noble Claret Wine,
In troth I dreaded the Events,
'Twixt two such differing Elements,
For should they fight, by Jove, I fear
Each other to outrival there,
In the Hot and rumbling Fray,
My feeble Soul wou'd sneak away,
Now to the ready Road I draw,
And Troops of flocking fools I saw,
One Gang in Chief observing there,
To them apace I hasted near,
In Plush a Doctor then espy'd,
A long Goun Priest did hand his Bride,
Th' Apothecary big and fat,
With Neighbour Cit held serious Chat,
Streight I draw up that trodden way,
And walk and hearken all they say.
Good Sir, says Cit, what do you think
Of this new Metaphysick Drink?
(Then stopt could hold no longer out,
With that prodigious Phrase ev'n choakt;)
The Doctor pausing nothing said,
But looking Grave hung down his Head,
And walking thus demur a while,
At length Began with leering Smile.
What brooks it me an answer make?
I know you'l censure what I speak,
Impute it Intrest or Design,
I thus direct this Speech of mine,
For Vulgar Errours who can mend?
He seems their Foe who is their Friend▪
Themselves the Giddy Rabble cheat,
They make all Fish that comes to Net,
What's now receiving with Applause,
Not minding the Effect or Cause,
The brackish Water swallowing up,
As if 't were Nectar in the Cup.
No consequential ills they fear,
It must be good cause Popular:
Perhaps they'l find altho' too late
The Hugg and Wanton with their sate.
As to my own Respect and Gain,
I find no reason to complain,
For truly I observe this thing,
Since Fame in vogue the Wells did bring,
My Practice doubl'd with my Fee,
And if they hold, they'l treble be,
They cause such dire Mortality.
This said, he stopt, and said no more,
But sneering stalkt along before.
Th' Apothecary in mean while
Applauding, did devoutly smile,
In token too of his Consent,
With the Remains thus on he went.
And I admire (as th' Doctor says)
The head-strong Madness of the days,
That men so wise so learn'd in sense,
Are lur'd with such Impertinence;
They boast that mighty Cures are done,
The Scurvy, Strangury, and Stone,
Gripes and Histerick Passions too,
Green Sicknesses in not a few,
The Dropsy, and Obstructions all;
They'll make 'em Epidemical;
But above all that has been said,
They can retrive a Maidenhead;
Oh! wondrous Virtues! wondrous things!
That flow from those important Springs!
Fate give 'em good success, said I,
The empty'd bowls with more Supply,
Since publick thus I daily pile,
And heap with Bills my loaded File.
I mind your drift, (the Cit reply'd)
And Screw'd his Grinning Teeth aside:
Your Interest (faith) I cannot blame,
Were I engag'd I'd say the same;
But Friends, observe you speak too late,
Experience proves the Virtues great;
Your early Care at first was shown,
By your applause you made 'em known;
In hopes the undigested Spring,
To you might crowding Patients bring:
Then closely did your Interest hide,
Now find your selves 'oth' loosing side,
And by your subtile, slighting Arts,
Cou'd win from them the Peoples hearts:
But (faith) I find wondrous ease,
Since I began, it's seven days;
The Soveraign Dose relax'd my Greif,
And daily does afford Relief:
That Physick here the Spring Instills,
Effects more good than scores of Pills;
My Three-pence here will farther go,
Than Pounds I in your Fees bestow.
What needs there this Intestine stri [...]e,
(Returns the Learned Doctors Wife;)
(Love) let 'em ungain▪ said go on,
They'l find before the Summer's done,
Their Errour vainly was pursu'd,
The Wells their Senses did delude,
And by this rash unruly Trick;
We'est reap th' advantage when they'r Sick.
The Parsons Tongue began to start;
He argu'd the Defensive part,
That th' Waters must unquestion'd be,
In terms of High Phylosophy;
That Heav'n in Mercy had design'd,
These Soveraign Springs to heal mankind.
Impatient now of longer stay,
I slunk in silence strait away;
And to the Waters sailing near,
A harsh confused noise I hear.
Two Cavalier stif [...] Toryes came,
Each Hand on Hilt, Face on a Flame;
Damn me, says one, on Honour Draw,
My Sword shall give your boldness Law;
At this I wisely stept away,
Nor stay'd the Issue of the Fray:
But to the flowing Pump I came,
Promiscuous Crowds buzz'd round the same;
Full Bowls by turns were empty'd out,
Healths to the King there bounc'd about;
They gorg'd it down like Claret-Wine,
Like Florence, or like Muscadine;
From thence I closely thronged out,
And ranged all the walks about;
Here Tradesman's Wife stood big with Cully,
Her Daughter with a Bouncing Bully:
Whilst behind all the Footmen play'd,
And wanton'd with the Chamber-Maid.
A Taudry Jilt as I past by,
Glouted around with wishing Eye,
With Breasts thrust out, and vaunting pace,
With Pockey Ar—and Painted Face,
With Hair in Crisp, and Fuz o'th' Brow,
Scudded and jogged to and fro.
A Gaudy Fop whose Pregnant store,
Scarce paid his entrance at the door,
Prepar'd to accost the Rutting Whore:
By Heav'ns Madam how you shine,
Be pleas'd t' accept a Glass of Wine:
Damn me, how Happy shou'd I be,
Blessed with your Charming Company.
With Mouth screw'd up, and winking Eye,
Just opening with a sweet reply;
Turning with speed, I tack'd about,
And thrust into the Whiggish Rout,
Here State affairs advanc'd the Stage,
With every circumstance o'th' Age;
Some in soft Silence gave their Votes,
And pitty'd suffering Titus Oates:
Whilst some more solid knowing Men,
Curst down the Observators Pen:
And others who as wisely meant,
Made Martyr'd Russel Innocent,
Essex Murder'd, that Armstrong dy'd,
Condemn'd unjustly, and not Try'd;
Some there in private had decreed,
Who shou'd the envy'd Charles succeed.
But——
Tyr'd with the stuff, I turn'd aside,
And Loyal Tory Gamesters spy'd;
Then towards the lower walk I drew,
An Object there my Stout—o'rethrew,
And I began to Purge and Spew:
Weary and Sick with nasty sight,
With Cuckholds made by morning Light;
With Whores pick'd up, which Treason talk'd,
With Fops who to the Waters talk'd;
With Noise, and with an Humming there,
That pierc'd and Eccho'd through each Ear:
I grudged then a longer stay,
So bless'd my self, and came away.

Serenissimis Principibus Eboracensibus, & Albaniensibus Ducibus, ter Maximis in Angliam Reducibus Congratulator.

IN [...]lyte post Carolum Caroli spes certa Coronae
ANglienis gratus Dux Jacobe venis.
COnveniant alacres Regi, Regnó (que) Fideles;
OMine nam fausto Dux Jacobus adest.
BIs laesae Majestatis reus exulet hostis,
URna (que) sit studiis perfidus ipse suis.
SAlva sit, & victrix stirps Regia regnet ab ortu
Legitimo tutus portus, & ara suis.
PRimus es à Carolo, Carolo cum Rege Secundus,
REgis es unanimis Frater, & Alter Ergo.
INgeminent tria Regna tuos Jacobe triumphos
NEc desint titulis aurea Sceptra tuis.
COnstantem post tot Terrâ, pelagó (que) pericla
ELigat in summum Rex ad utrum (que) Ducem.
PRincipe te felix laetetur Wallia, & illum
SUmmo in Concilio dent tibi Regna locum.
VIve igitur Felix Carolo cum Fratre, triumphis
INsultent mundo Frater uter (que) suis.
VIvat utér (que) diù sibi causa salutis utrim (que)
ANglia ter Felix sit sub utro (que) diu.
T,Er Felix quia te benè cepit Scotia,
Anglia quod recipit laeta (que) Ierna cupit.
MArtia lugubrem depone, Britannia, vultum,
A Nglia laetitiae jactet ad Astra sonos.
REgia nam (que) Maria domum revocata quietem,
IN (que) utero Regem fert benè grata tibi.
A Nglia pro dono tali redamato Mariam;
Oblita est culpam nam (que) Benigna tuam.
BEllonae è Regno Studium, rixás (que) Beatrix
EXpellit vultu, quo beat Astra, suo,
AForma micat illa Venus, de Nunmine Juno,
TAnta (que) ab ingenio, Pallas ut illa suo, est.
REvera, ut nomen notat, & virtute Beatrix,
INclyta quae meritis haec tria Regna beat.
XAntus erit Thamesis, tenebrae lux, docta prius­quam
Musa queat meritis dicere digna tuis.
ADventum tamen illa tuum gratatur, & ipso
NOmine, quod redamat, facta Beata tuo est.
NObilibus decus, & plebi solamen, utris (que)
ANNA ades à meritis Gloria, & altus Honos.
INvictis Isabella animis adversa repulsit,
SAncta (que) in exilio robora mentis habet.
ANgelico vultu, rebús (que) Isabella secundis
BElla oculis, gestu, fonte modesta manet.
ERgo per Maria, & terras exempla Beatrix
LEge sua cunctis Anna Isaballa dedit.
LEx benè vivendi tua vita est: Irruat ergo
A, Nglia in applausus Scotia, Ierna tuos.

&

ANNA tibi tribuit Divinar Gratia dotes
NAtura vires exsuperante suas.
NAtura altercans, & gratia dimicat; Annam
AMbae nam (que) suam concupiere Deam.
INter utram (que) Micas Virgo nitidissimà Princeps
NAtura, & supplex gratia facta tibi est.
FOrma tua est elegans, facies pulcherima, mens (que)
ALma, quibus gaudent Juno Minerva, Venus.
NEc sine Germana remanes, tibi nam (que) Maria est
TAlibus à meritis, & pietate soror.
ANatu, specie, vultu, Virtute Coronas
Utra (que) ab Ingenio, consilió (que) merent.
A Nnglia tollè animos, & jam tua commoda tan­dem
NOscito Principibus facta Beata tuis.
GGratia Magna tibi est Carolus mitissimus, illi
LArga est in Bello, Pacé (que) cura tui.
IN (que) Piis Regina tibi, Virtutibus omne
AEQuum de meritis nám (que) Coronat Opus.
Ad Utram (que) ANNAM.
Everti nequit, Anna tum nitidissima nomen
Semper idem inversum nomen utante manet:
Maxima sic virtus semper tua five secundis
Adversisve manet rebus ut ante fuit.
Prima Ducem sequitur mira pietate Maritum
Exilio constans altera & Anna Patrem
Una tribus pietas causa est longinqua petendi,
Exulis O Pietas! O Reducés (que) Pios!
In Regem Pietas bene nota est Principis: Ergo
Principis exilii causa fuisse pium est.
Regiarum Vestrarum Celsitudinum, Celsitudinum, Humilimus Servus, A. S.

A Pindorique Ode, upon the late Horri [...] and Damnable Whiggish Plot.

I.
DIssentiug Bigots, boast no more,
Of Glorious Mischiefs heretofore;
Not all the Troops your Godly Factions led,
Bradshaw and Cromwel in their Head,
Can vie single Shaftsbury
For secure Arts of close-laid Villany;
They but the empty Types, the weighty sub­stance He.
'Tis true these two great Leaders carry'd on
Their bold Designs till Life was done;
But when the Vip'rous pair was crush'd, the Wound
They living made, clos'd and again was sound;
Whilst he, like Serpents of more Pois'nous kind,
Where e're he oncehis fork'd Tongue applies,
Though in the Fatal Act he dies,
Still leaves his Venom and his Sting behind.
II.
M—th and Fssex both were Stung,
And many more by his Envenom'd Tongue;
And strait they all began to swell,
From Sense and Reason strait they Fell;
And Melancholly Fumes possess'd their Brain,
And they wou'd all be Kings, and all wou'd Raign,
Hence their disorder'd passion springs,
And spitting Venom on the best of Kings;
Hence their attempts upon his Life & Throne;
Hence all their secret Mysteries
Of undermining Treacheries,
And hidden Veins of Treasons yet unknown.
But Thou, Great Charles, despise their vain Designs;
The Ʋnicorn, Supporter of thy Arms,
'Gainst all their Poison bears sufficient Charms;
And a much greater Pow'r blows up their deep­est Mines.
III.
Methinks the dark Cabal of Six I see,
Double Triumvirate of Villany;
Exceeding that which went before
In number much, in Mischief more:
Caesar's Adopted Son does first appear;
Art thou, (my Brutus) there?
Thou that wert once so Great and Good;
From the high place wherein you justly stood,
How art thou fallen, O Lucifer?
He once (like you,) was Fair and Bright,
Chief Leader of the Glorious Hosts of Light;
But long (alas!) he cou'd not bear
To see above him plac'd th' Eternal Kings Imme­diate Heir,
He scorn'd Subjection, for a Kingdom fell;
But gain'd Eternal Slavery and Hell:
Thus while from Good to Ill they Headlong tend;
The brightest Angel makes the blackest Fiend
IV.
Next Essex, once deservedly Great,
Though since the Scorn and Mockery of Fate;
Essex whose late Successful sway
Made Ireland Peaceably obey;
And follow'd well Great Ormond's Track, who led him all the way,
His Fathers Bright Example long prevail'd,
And that most Precious Legacy
He left to him of Loyalty;
(So the declining Sun, when chas'd by coming Night,
Still guilds the World a while with the remains of Light:)
But when that Hell and Shaftsbury assail'd,
His Noble Resolutions quickly fail'd,
And all his former Virtues nought avail'd,
Addresses and Petitions first,
(For who can fall at once from good to worst?)
Began the Game: and aiming to Betray,
(Like Judas, All Hail Master, led the way.
Unhappy man! who carry'd on
Too sadly the Comparison!
Tortur'd like him by his Despair,
Like Him, he was his own sad Executioner.
V.
Russel and Escrick next in order were;
Nor did I much admire to see Them there:
Happy the latter of the two, who since
Has wash'd away his Faults in Humble peni­tence;
And by a true Confession
Of others Treason and his own,
With his most Gracious Prince may for the last Atone.
I wave the former, since he justly dy'd,
And by his Death has satisfy'd:
But he has to himself been more unkind;
And his own Libel left behind.
Next Sydney comes; a Name
In brave Sir Philip known to Fame
For Perfect Wit and Loyalty:
Though now by Algernoon mark'd with so black a Dye
As does almost Eclipse the Fame of his Great An­cestry.
Hambden the last; the worthy Son
Of him well known in Forty One:
Grand Patron of the Canting Tribe,
How shall I thee Describe?
None can draw thee according to thy due,
But he that has the knack to Hang and Quarter too.
VI.
These, and a num'rous Train of many more,
Their dark Designs did secretly contrive;
Till Keeling who did long Connive,
To sound their depth, and number all their store,
Broke forth, & shone like Gold a midst the Ore.
Against his Conscience nothing cou'd prevail;
Not Life and Int'rest in the other Scale:
All other by-concerns he laid aside;
And fix'd his mind with Noble Pride
Upon a Name so Good and Great,
As sole Preserver of the Church and State.
What Thanks for such Obligement shall we bring?
Our Fortune and our Lives we owe
For what you did on us bestow;
What then for our Religion, and our King?
Take first our Hearts; while we can only Pray,
God and his great Vice-gerent will repay.
VII.
And now the Horrid Plot appears,
Writ in the blackest Characters;
And ev'ry Page some Bloody Title bears,
Seditions, Treasons, Massacres.
What in a King so Good, what cou'd they see,
To Arm that numerous Conspiracy
Against so mild a Majesty;
Which like the Sun, its beams does wear
Not to Consume, but Warm and Cheer?
Blest Prince! and canst Thou still Dispence
To this unthankful Land thy Gracious Influence,
Still canst Thou shed thy Favours upon those
That are the near Relations of thy Foes?
Brave Capel and Southampton on this Hand,
Essex and Russel on the other stand;
He turn'd from these, and fix'd his Princely view
Upon the Nobler Object of the two;
And as he look'd, on all their Friends his willing Favours threw.
Let Russel's Wife (said he) unpitty'd go;
But shall Southamptons Daughter fall so low?
Essex his Son shou'd want, 'tis true,
But what shall then Brave Capel's Grand-son do
In his Indulgent Memory,
So long great Virtues live, so soon Offences dye
VIII.
Yet him, thus justly fam'd for mildness of His Reign
The Bloody Faction dooms to dye;
And to Enhance their Cruelty,
Wou'd in his Royal Brother Murder him again;
His Royal Brother, who had always bin
A Partner of the Troubles He was in;
Of all his dangers bore a share,
And still with him Joynt-Sufferer:
Ev'n him their Hellish rage Assails;
The Hercules, that when our Atlas fails,
Must with his Shoulders prop the sinking state,
And beat unmov'd the mighty weight.
With them the Loyal, all the Good and Great
Must meet an unrelenting Fate;
For those by strong Antipathy they hate.
IX.
Nor can the Church escape this Cursed Band:
What once was to the worst a Sanctuary,
Can to its self no refuge be;
That with the State does always fall or stand:
And may both stand till Time it self has end;
And still each other mutually defend:
For whilst with open Force, or secret Hate,
The two extreams assault the State;
The English Church keeps on her steady pace,
Fix'd in the middle, Virtues place;
Nor e're Rebell'd against the Throne,
Under whose Gracious shade 'twas planted, and has grown.
But as the Ivy, with whose Verdant Boughs
Her Learned Sons may justly wreath their Bows
Does round the Elm its loving Branches twine;
And when the Axe its kind support assails,
That also feels the Stroke, and with it fails:
So while the Church and State their strict Em­braces joyn;
The same rude Blow, that over-turns the Crown,
Strikes its lov'd Partner too, & hews her down.
X.
Ah! wretched England! how art Thou,
The Worlds late Envy, made its Laughter now?
Is't not enough, that Forreign Foes
Disturb thy quiet, and thy Peace oppose?
But must thy Children, like young Vipers, tear
The womb which did them bear?
Hast thou so few abroad, that Thou must be
Thy own most dreadful Enemy?
At length Unhappy Land thy Errours view;
And give to Caesar, and to God their due;
Leave Factious Arts, nor let so stale a Cheat
Twice in one Age impose upon the State:
Murmur no more, when you shou'd Thanks re­pay;
And value Mercies, least they fly away:
For they who spurn at God, deserve to suffer worse;
And Blessings, (when abus'd,) oft turn into a Curse.

A Pindarique Ode, upon His Majesties Review of His Forces at Putney-Heath.

I.
THou more than happy Plain,
Thus honour'd with this Glorious Train,
The Awful Monarch of Blest Albion's Isle,
With all His Martial Pomp around
Thus Circled, and thus more than Crown'd;
A Sight would make even wither'd Autumn
And the proud Thames in passing by smile;
Th' August Solemnity,
With a slow Ebb his Rowling waves convey
Down to their Mother SEA,
To pay their Humbler Homage to th' Ador'd
Great Charles the Sea Dread Sovereign Lord.
Imperial CAESAR here
Does no Associating Senates fear.
These Loyal Walls of Steel untainted stand
Whilst faithless Capitols with Royal Gore,
Schism, Sacriledge, and Treason blotted o're,
Eternal Shame and Deathless Infamy shall brand.
No more are our Battalions led
By an ungrateful Brutus in their Head.
Th'avenging Deity from that high Sphere
Has thrown the falling Lucifer:
And the Great Heir of that Immortal Man,
Monk, who our Sun's bright Phosphor, first began
To mend the broken Wheels, and set the vast Machine
Of Monarchy a moving once again,
Now wields the Royal Sword,
To Guard that Majesty's Renown'd Sire restor'd.
II.
Let the Old Roman Triumphs boast no more,
Their Costly Pomp of Yore.
What were their Golden Chariots? What
Those Shining Scenes of State?
Or'e Vassals Heads They only Rode:
O're Prostrate Hearts we'll Mount our Dri­ving GOD.
Whilst Heccatombs of offer'd Souls shall come,
With one Rich Incense, One Persume;
Till Towring to the Sky,
The Universal Great Oblation fly;
The Roman Eagles all Out-soar'd, Outvy'd
Their Pageants, all their gilded Pride,
A Trajan Column or Egyptian Pyramide;
Poor Piles of Earth, and Monuments of Clay,
Far, far beneath the Rites we Pay:
When our united Shouts, Vows, Prayers, all Circling round his Head,
Their more then Coronation Drops shall Shed:
Whilst the Victorious Charles shall March
Under that Brightest, Greatest, most Divine Tri­umphal Arch.
III.
And Sacred Charles to Crown this Glorious Day,
Loud let Thy Canons roar, so Bright thy Ban­nors play;
And hold thy Glittering Brandish't Sword so High.
Till Treasons Awed and Silenced lye;
Till Bursting Envy dye.
Till the Dread Sight alone
Has that intire, and Bloodless Conquest won,
Shall make the Hissing Tongues of Murmur
All husht into a Calm, and Dazled into Peace.
Thus Conquering, thy Halcyon Reign shall be
But one Long Jubilee.
Whilst Thou our Dearer, Greater Jove,
The Greater, tho' less Thundering Name,
Thy Lightning all but Lambent Flame,
Crown'd with Miraculous Mercy Sits above,
And all Beneath Thee LOVE.
Mercy more Wondrous far
Then thy own Native Noon-day STAR.
A Mercy so prodigious as t' excel
All but thy RESTAURATION Miracle.
Mercy that even Heavens hardest Toyl
FANATICISM shall reconcile:
Soften th'invet'rate Hate of Church and Crown,
And all the Iron Hearts melt down.
Mercy and Charles all this Stupendious work shall do;
Nay move without a Pang the Mighty Labour through.
IV.
But whil'st this Faithful Band's unshaken Loyalty
For Charles dares Fight, and for Him dye;
'Tis as the GODS Devotion treats
With precious Odours; all no more
Than Heaps from their own Store:
The Gums which their own Sun creates.
'Tis all but a Creation of thy own,
Whil'st Charles is his own Guard alone,
Inspires that Loyalty protects his Throne.
Nor is alone this Loyal Host,
Th' Auxiliary thy Cause can boast.
For let'em cover all the spacious Plain,
Nay add ten Thousands more to fill the Glori­rious Train:
Great Charles, not half thy Guards are here;
Heavens kindest Angels in that List appear,
They lead the Mighty Van, and These bring up the Rear.

The Melancholly Complaint of Doctor TITUS OATES.

WHat could a curst ungrateful Age do more,
Impostor-like, to punish him so sore,
Whom for a Saviour, they ador'd before.
I was the man, Oh! cruel change of Fate:
Once, the Pillar of the sinking State,
Am now become the very Jayl-birds hate,
Out of a pallace, into a Dungeon thrust,
From six good Dishes, to snap at one brown Crust,
By God and man like Cain, mark't out and curst.
Is this the end of all my promis'd Joys,
I that once made such bussle, and such Noise,
Puft up with Triumphs of the shouting Boys.
With what applause was I receiv'd by th'Rabble
When I gave hopes for to re-build their Babel;
But now they'l hang me, 'cause I was not able.
With watring Chops, I call to mind the cheer,
That oft I made with many a Noble Peer,
Now in good time may snack the Basket here.
I do remember too how tumbling Pence
Came rowling in when I did first commence
Master of th' Art, and Doctor Evidence,
For want of which I never shall get hence.
'Tis strange, that Bolts, and Bars, and Iron Grates,
The just reward of perjur'd Rogues, and Cheats,
Should prove the Praemimum of my Glorious feats,
Ungrateful Slaves! What! have ye quite forgot
How for your sakes strange Kingdoms I did trot,
Brought nothing but th' wonder of my Plot;
Though many shifts abroad I have been put too
Scarce able to provide for Back and Gut too,
And often-times was forc'd to pad a foot too,
Nay, many times I've lain all day in Bed,
Because abroad I durst not shew my head
But when't grew dark, stole out to beg my bread
What I have suffer'd for the Kingdom's sake,
In wants and dangers what I did partake,
And now to fear the Gibbet or the Stake,
Brethren, 'twill cause your tender hearts to ake.
I curst my Country, and deny'd, my Credo,
And for the Nations good, turn'd Renegado,
Receiv'd Cruel Whitebread's Bastinado,
I worship't Idols that were false I knew;
And when I'd done, swore they were Gods most true;
And play'd the Devil for the sakes of you;
I pray'd to Saints, in time of need, with cryes,
Till they had granted my necessities,
My Almes obtain'd their Saint-ships I'd despise;
I chang'd Religion, often as my Name,
Spew'd out and hated whatso'ere I came,
Haunted by th'Devil, Beggary and shame,
Through the wild Sects, and Tribes, I made a Ramble
And to them all did lye, swear, and dissemble,
Enough to make the very Devils tremble,
Thus by me were the silly Jesuits sham'd;
When as with tears I swore I should be damn'd
If not receiv'd into their Holy Band.
I made them think Religion was the Tye,
That did engage me when I came to Spye,
Since 'tis well known, the Devil a bit had I.
I made his Holiness believe, the Pope,
That in his Pardons I conceived such hope,
That for his cause, I'd suffer Fire or Rope;
But when I'd got my foot out of his door,
I Rail'd, and call'd him Babylonian Whore,
And many Horrid things against him swore;
For why? I ne're yet valued Faith or Troth.
Or ever made more scruple of an Oath,
Then of a blast of breath to cool my Broth.
I quickly kill'd the worm, within that gnaws,
And made the Gospel, Prophets, and the Laws,
Come truckle Brethren, to your good Old Cause;
I laught at all Religion, and its Baubles;
Such as Evangelists and holy Tables;
Esteeming them no more then Aesops Fables;
Like merry Lucian, look'd on't as a Tale;
A dull insipid thing, grown Old and Stale,
Serves me to joak on o're a pot of Ale;
I scost't & scorn'd, but ne're would cringe or bow
To those grave fools that do such tales allow,
And would have judg'd them to the Cart or Plow
That with you I might gain repute and fame,
I laught at Conscience as a Bug-bear name;
And shook off quite all modesty and shame,
In hopes once more you'd come to rule the Roast,
I made my self Knight-errant of the Post;
Of which I take the vanity to boast;
For good of Commonwealth without repine,
I franckly Dedicated me, and mine,
Contemning Laws, both humane, and divine;
Vast Sums I in the publick service spent?
Much Money to the needy Jesuite Lent,
When at that time, I'd neither Land nor Rent;
The corresponding Charges I did own,
When to the Lords my just accounts were shown
Besides some By-ones more than e're were known
The many painful journeys, to and fro,
Embassador 'twixt Devil, and Turk to go,
To all the World my vast Expences show;
Besides for Flying-Horses which would scour,
To France or Spain, and back in half an hour,
With Old Nicks Fees for granting me this power
I morgag'd all my Heritage and Lands,
To purchase from the Roman General's hands
Commissions for my new rais'd secret Bands;
But Oh! the Devil poor man was ne're so crost
When God knows what those Roman Bulls had cost,
Lo! suddenly they vanisht, and were lost,
To Mulciber for strange and curious Arms,
Made with such cunning magick spells, & charms,
To fright and fear, and do no further harms;
Procuring of rich Cordials for the King,
The which I judg'd, the safest and surest thing,
Him to his bed, of longest rest to bring;
For Blunderbuss, or Cross-bow, I count nought
Because for secret services they were bought;
Besides, were not well manag'd as they ought;
At many other charges I have been,
For preservation of the Duke and Queen,
And swearing things were never heard nor seen;
For Doctor-shipand Salamanca Fees;
Where Pistoles flew away as thick as Bees;
Pox on their University degrees,
For Ancient Books, that I in Aegypt bought,
From the fam'd Ptolemaeus Study brought
No Gypsie gibberish ones, as some have thought
I bought in Spain, the wity Guzman's works,
The Holy League 'twixt Teckley, and the Turks
With Matchiavel's, state-niceties and querks,
All this, and more, I freely did disburse,
For th' Nations good out of my privy purse
And never thought my self a groat the worse.
But this is nothing to a thousand more,
Good services, that I have still in store,
Such as the Devil himself, ne're did before.
The many famous deeds that I have done,
Since I the Kingdoms mighty work begun,
Have made Ketch half as rich as squire Dun;
What Tongue can tell with how much cunning Art
I did contrive my Plot in every part,
Of which the Tories should have felt the smart.
For whom I list, of It I could accuse,
If to compound with me they did refuse,
I swore good Christians to be Turks and Jews:
The Jesuits I set like any Spanniel,
To do their Work I had a ready Pannel.
That scarce would give them time to buy them Flannel
I watch'd for Priests, as Cat doth watch for Mouse
At midnight, Low-belling from house to house,
Though here each night I'm forc'd to hunt for Louse.
I rail'd at th'Privy Council, and at Scrogs,
And call'd them damn'd confounded Popish dogs,
'Cause they'd not hang all those which I call'd Rogues.
Those were my golden days, my days of Power,
When Great ones fear'd me, when I sent each hour
At least a score to Newgate, and the Tower;
I made them tremble at my very word,
Which did the work as sure as any Sword,
Though now 'tis no more valued than a T—
Then was I stout, as I St. George had been,
At th' Commons Bar to stick I ne'r was seen
Of Treason to accuse Lord, Duke or Queen,
No man durst thwart me, with desire of pelf,
I rag'd and grew to such a peevish Elf,
Had the King vext me, I had peacht Himself;
For at that time I'd brought things to such a pass,
In open Court, I'd bid'em kiss my A—
But now the times are chang'd Alas! Alas!
I was by most Sir Reverenc'd and respected
From Popish Treasons by my Guards protected,
Tho now like Rogue I'm sligted and neglected.
Each word that from my sacred lips then fell,
Received were as holy Oracle,
Tho' now they say 'twas all the craft of Hell.
I Rul'd and Reign'd in mighty pomp and state,
Whilst in the House my Lords and Masters sate,
I furnish'd them with business of debate.
'Twas prety in those days good faith to see
Your Popishly affected Lords with Fee,
And Cap in hand come sneaking after me.
They fear'd my very menaces and frown,
Dreaded my anger more than of the Crown,
For I could pull their lofty Stomachs down.
I was the Tories Plague, their Iron Rod,
I huft the Bishops, on their Miters trod,
Swore what I list, fear'd neither Man nor God.
Just as I pleas'd, State-matters I'd dispose,
Found the Kings Friends to be the Kingdoms Foes;
To smell out Traytors none had such a Nose.
I pointed out Men-worthy, Wise, and Just,
Whom I thought fit for Offices of Trust,
And told the King those were the men he must
Advance, and those great Officers of State,
Well known against their good or evil fate
Depended much on my politick Pate;
For those that did not Romanists annoy,
And their Adherents hated more destroy,
I thought it fit their places to enjoy;
But by Adherents, would you know what's meant
For 'tis a word of very large extent,
All those whom we thought fit to circumvent.
I did advise the Kingdom to disgrace
The next Successor of the Royal Race,
And to exalt a Bastard in his place.
The King I Councel'd into better hands,
To the Navy and the trained Bands,
Content himself to live on his Crown-lands,
T'leave Popish Councils, follow better courses,
Turn out his Guards, those Mercinary Forces,
Live privately, and keep a brace of Horses,
His Guards did terrifie good peaceful men,
He might go live, and trust himself with them,
As safe as Daniel in the Lyons Den;
I did commend him to the Commons care,
Wisht him t'obey, by whispering in his Ear,
The disobedience of his Father dear.
If he'd be wise, and rul'd by them no doubt,
And turn his old and wealthy minions out,
Soon all his business, would be brought about;
They'd give him money, or what else he pleas'd,
When he his Subjects of their Yoke had eas'd,
And every squeamish Conscience was appeas'd.
I always pray'd for the Parliaments sitting,
And that too as long as their Worships thought fitting,
Because when they met, they minded their knitting.
For had they sat on I was in fair hopes
To have got an Estate by cutting of Throats,
But now I shall never be worth Ten Groats.
For I deserv'd the Mannor of Bobbing,
For Plarliament business and other jobbing,
As well as a Thief a Halter for Robbing.
The next good service that I did the Crown,
Was to possess the Country and the Town,
They'd ne're be safe till Monarchy came down.
That Monarchy unjustly still bereaves
Of Liberty, and makes poor Subjects Slaves,
And is upheld by prating Fools and Knaves:
To prove it by example, I did chuse
Some Stories of the old Rebellious Jews,
With some late Manuscripts of Doctor Hugh's.
For in those days when Israel had no King,
Without controll, men might do any thing,
Live merily, and go t'Heaven in a String.
I oft did from the lofty Pulpit ball,
And (not obscurely) hinted to them All,
To trust not much, some Great Ones at White-Hall.
I told Designs were hatching many years,
On both sides whisper'd Jealousies and Fears,
In hopes they'd fall together by the Ears:
I rais'd up Storms and Tempests in the State,
That threatn'd all the Ship with dreadful Fate,
In hopes I should be Chosen Master's Mate,
For why, my Skill in Plotting was ev'n such,
That I had learn'd of the Neighbouring Dutch,
That at the choice the Saylors would not grutch▪
By their own Compass I my course would steer
From Popish Shoals, and Sands, still keeping clear,
Nor lofty Rocks of Tyrany come near.
But Oh! the Fates! the Tempest was descry'd,
The jealous Master all the matter spy'd,
And I was in the Hold fast bound and ty'd.
I had a Post each moment sent from Hell,
A nimble Spark, that new my Genius well,
With express Orders purposely to tell,
And teach me every thing that's done above,
Or underneath the mighty Throne of Jove,
And all his pains was purely for my love.
For by this means I knew of things to come,
As well as what in elder times was done;
And by it all my former Credit won.
For in those days who was so great as I?
Or could so soon strange Mysteries espy?
'Twas almost death to give me but the Lye.
I told the Parliament, how that the Queen
After the murder'd Justice She had seen,
Made a low Courtesie to Hill, and Green.
And thankt, them kindly for the pains they'd ta'en.
I saw the Duke; in Parliament I swore,
I did believe through sixteen Doors, and more,
Communicating with the Roman Whore.
I call'd him stubborn Rogue, that ne're would bend,
And told them plainly he was not their Friend,
Therefore advis'd them to contrive his end.
I workt it so, for all his great Commands,
I made him glad to scape out of their hands,
By shifting for himself in foreign Lands.
I rav'd and went on, and was't not prety
To accuse the King in the secret Committee,
And jeer him at Clubbs and Cabals i'th' City.
I wonder'd how brave English Heroes cou'd
Be Rul'd and Govern'd by the Scottish Blood,
Such Servitude I ne're esteemed good.
Therefore their indignation to appease,
If that they'd issue forth a Writ of Ease,
I'd serve't on Him when their Honours please.
I taught the people that since Babel-Tower,
From them alone Kings did derive their power,
Whom if they pleas'd they might change every hour.
From Club to Club made drunk where e're I came,
I loudly rail'd against the STƲARTS Name,
And did their Fathers Persecutions blame.
I made Dissenting Saints believe that He
Design'd t'ensnare their Souls and Liberty,
And on Him sham'd the Irish Massacre.
I prais'd old Noll the Armies Bully-Rock,
With those good men that brought Him to the Block,
Him above all that gave the fatal knock:
I curst the Fates of that unlucky day
Wherein Old Rowley strangely slipt away,
And would not for his Friends at Worcester stay.
I wisht the Devil might th'Popish Traytor choak
That hid Him from us in the rotten Oak,
Which is as true a word as e're I spoke:
A sneaking Dog whose conscience was so nice,
A Thousand pounds would not the Thiefentice,
I would have don't for half the money, twice.
With grief I celebrate that Feast in May
Which Tories call their great Thanksgiving day,
As for a Judgment then I fast and pray.
These are the Services I've done the Nation
As a fore-runner of new Resormation
And to make way for the Association,
For which I should to great preferment rise,
Rewarded and advanc'd above the Skies
By th' keepers of the English Liberties.
This to be true, Time would have prov'd my words,
Better then Bar of Commons, or of Lords,
By the fair Tryal of your Pikes and Swords,
For as Reformers must, I've wrought some won­ders,
Which should have been confirm'd by Warlik [...] Thunde [...] ▪
Made out by [...], Sacriledge, and Plund [...] ▪
With Roman Bulls, Black-bills, and Smithfied Spits,
I frighted three Kingdoms out of their Wits,
And made them fall into Convulsion-fits.
I made them on a sudden fly to Prayer,
For fear of Mountains falling from the Air,
Which made some soft Pates, of their Brains di­spair.
Some choose to die by true Protestant Ropes,
And some for fear of Papists, cut their Throats,
For which they were beholding unto Oales;
Whilst others frighted with the hideous cries
Of Fairy Armies fighting in the Skies,
By gazing up, lost both their Heads and Eyes.
Some thought the Island was just running round,
No steady place of sooting to be found,
For fear they run away and left the ground.
That Roman Canibals in furious mood,
Were coming to destroy th'Protestants brood,
And eat them all at once for want of food.
No man could [...] on Pillow lay down's head,
As in full Senate learnedly One said,
Least he might [...]ise with [...] Throat cut in's Bed;
For as we are told by a deceased Squire
In's Narratives of Massacres and Fire
How narrowly we scap'd the Papists Ire:
That they had made the great Vesuvian Hills
Into Fire-balls as small as Doctors Pills.
And secretly convey'd them o're in Quills:
The Trayt'rous Jesuits, and their cursed backers,
Had made mount Aetna in Squibs and Crackers
To throw, & burn our Cloaths to Rags & Tatters
All this was but a Tryal of my Skill,
Like th'Exercise of Quixot and his Mill,
I was resolv'd to do more wonders still;
I raised forty thousand of the Dead
Souldiers that from their Camp last Age were fled
And fed them under-ground with Ginger-bread
Armies of Pilgrims I call'd out of Spain,
Embarqu'd in a Nut-shell safely on the Main
And in a trice convey'd them back again.
I made a Prince that was of little stature,
With half a word, a tall and comely Creature,
My very breath chang'd him in every feature;
I rais'd up [...]yges, robb'd him of his Ring,
And by that means convers'd with many a King
So secretly, Themselves knew not th [...] thing;
I beg'd of Juno, Argus's head and eyes
To place abroad in Princes Courts for spyes,
So that I knew of every Enterprize:
I knew all mankind living on the Earth,
Set private marks upon them at their Birth,
Which caus'd amongst some people wondrous mirth;
Though now and then I bawkt by Candle light,
Pox on my sences, and my duller sight,
Could not diserna Squire from a Knight.
These and a thousand other pretty pranks
I've play'd with men of all degrees and Ranks,
For which I did expect some better thanks.
I little thought that this sweet Face of mine,
That looks so like a Reverend Grave Divine,
Should come so soon thro' Iron Grates to shine.
I never dreamt of such rewards as these,
Whilst that I liv'd in Palaces of ease,
Sporting with my prity Gammedes▪
Nor did I think my Labours and my [...]oyles
Should be rewarded in the common Jayls,
Twould make [...] Welch-man swear, Gu [...]s plu [...]er her Nai [...].
But Oh! see what the destinies have brought to pass,
That folks at last should make me such an Ass,
As to keep Colts with Oates instead of Gras [...] ▪
I thought the Nation would have paid my s [...]ore,
For a reward have thrown me something more,
But now I see I am deceiv'd full sore.
As holy Mussel-men do count and write
Their great Hegira from their Prophets flight,
When for Rebellion he was banish'd quite.
So may I date my woes from that same day,
My Polish Princely Patron run away,
And left his people in the mire and clay.
Why did he not take me with him to dwell,
When he embark'd for Holland and for Hell▪
I ne're shall get there half so safe and well.
My mind long since presages dreadful things,
With tortured cryes my Ears already rings,
And think each man some fatal tiding▪ brings▪
My Tongue that never fail'd me yet, now falters▪
I dream of nothing but of Hemp and H [...]her,
And frightful Visions of the Rye-house Ma [...]ers.
Methinks I see some of my Friends come o're,
And becken to me from the Stygian Shore,
All pale, and wan, and welter'd in their gore.
Methinks I see each night stern vengeance stand
Over my head with naked Sword in hand,
Threatning Est Soons to rid me of the Land.
Oft times I dream of those bald gastly Pates
O'th' Bridge, and Quarters o're the City Gates,
Pitying (as 'twere my own) those poor mens fates.
And then I fear, least the just Fates decree
As a Reward for my Fidelity,
The Doctor to adorn the Triple-Tree.
But hang me Sirs, if e're you catch me there,
When once I've brought my self into the snare,
In verbo Sacerdotis I'll declare
The truth of all and every thing I knew,
Which will I'm sure make many men look blew;
Though I ly'd living, dying I'll speake true.

An account of an Apparition that appeared to TITUS OATES.

SOme night last past, as I (accursed) lay,
Tumbling and Tossing, wishing long for day;
Just fallen into a Sleep, I did Espy
(Methought) some frightful Things approaching nye
My trembling Bed: Those who at first appear'd,
Were naked Men with Crimson Blood besm [...]a [...]'d,
Dragging their [...]owels trayling at thei [...] Heel,
Their Breasts ript open, wanted Hearts to feel:
They gently came and drew near to m [...] Bed,
Shew'd what, & who they were, but nothing said
At which I then (though ne' [...] before turn'd red
In every Gesture you might plainly find,
A Soul compos'd, and a well order'd [...],
They knew me not, their Thoughts did [...] more
Their Eyes & Thoughts were fix'd above the Sky
But with true Consort each did Sing this Song,
O Lord most Holy, Lord most Just, [...]?
Just following them, came Two so closely joyn'd
As Matrimonial Bands had e're design'd
For Man and Wife, (perhaps they so might be,)
The one drest-Man-like, t'other contrary;
The Robes he wore were of a Scarlet dye,
Of Aspect Reverend, full of Gravity:
In whose right Hand fast held (methought) I saw
A Book, Intitu [...]ed, Govern by the Law.
Her Dress as Vestal Nuns are made to wear,
From Head to Foot, did purely White appear;
Whose Eyes were Cover'd with the [...] Lawn;
In her right Hand a Naked Sword was drawn,
Pointed towards me, at which I trembled more,
Then at the Bleeding sight I saw before,
As if she knew me, she did boldly come,
Inquird for Conscience, I reply'd, from 'home;
Quoth she, How long? I said, I cou'd not tell,
She very seldom us'd with Me to dwell.
Then with a Bold (I thought commanding) word
To th' Scarlet Gown cryes, Judgment given my Lord
He seem'd reserv'd, and would bu [...] [...] say,
Yet shook his Head, Look▪d [...], and went a­way,
With [...] Signs of a severer day
[...] [...] from that most [...] Dream,
And [...] I [...] upon the [...] Theme.
Alas those [...] I hourly feel,
Are now [...] than I can reveal,
[...] than [...] cou'd tell,
[...] Conscience is to Hell▪
My [...], like Vipers dayly tear
My [...], and I'm all dispair:
The [...] was more mild than mine,
He [...] of his Treacherous Crime▪
[...] to that Cursed Els.
[...] to hang Himself.
But I more miserable far than He
Who dare not do what none will do for me,
Ungrateful Hetch where's thy Civility!
You know that lately, might I had my Will,
And Cornishes and Bethels Sheriffs still,
I wou'd have sworn whilst Death had Power to Kill,
And was in all Superlatively ill.
For I, more fierce than all the Devils, hurl'd,
And strove to turn to Chaos all the World:
For which I'm Plagu'd, and Burn with more than fire
By the strict vengeance of the Almighties Ire.
To Heaven I dare not look, that Glorious Throne
Did evermore my Hateful Crimes disown.
Th' Infernal Spirits seem to dread me too,
Or envy that my Crimes did theirs out-do.
Proscrib'd by all, Where wretched shall I flye?
To hide my Guilt from GOD's All-searching Eye
—But hold, have I not read
Pythagoras Faith, and what the Egyptians said
Of Transmigration of the Souls of Men▪
Into some Birds or Beasts, alas! what then▪
Where may I search? for either Beast or [...]
Deserves the Plague of such a Loaded Soul
What Land e [...]r so accurst as to produce
So foul a Creature, to so foul a Use,
Unless perhaps on that Ʋnhallow'd Ground
Where my Learn'd Tutor dy'd, such may be found
If that proves true, then Titus thou art blest,
And [...]n that hope, accursed Oates take rest,

A Paradox against Liberty, Written by the Lords, during their Imprisonment in the Tower.

A Prison, or the Isle, are much the same;
They onely differ in Conceit and Name.
As Art the first, Nature Immures the last;
Onely i'th larger Mold her Figure's cast.
All Islanders are in a Prison pent,
And none at large, not those o'th' Continent.
Each Mariner's a Prisoner in his Bark.
The living World was prison'd in the Ark.
And though it be abroad a days; the Light
Still lodges in the Prison of black Night.
The Sea it self, is to its bounds confin'd,
And Aeolus in Caves shut up the wind:
Nothing in nature has such vast Extent,
But is imprison'd in its Element.
The Fish in watry Dungeons are inclos'd;
Men, Beasts, and Birds, to Earth and Ayr dispos'd.
If to enlarge their narrow bounds, they strive,
The fatal freedom rarely they survive.
And as with them, we hope with Us 'twill be,
When from their Prisons took, Death sets them free.
Man can no more a native freedom boast;
That Jewel ne're was found, since first't was lost
Twas then transported to the Stygian Coast.
But still there's something which we do esteem,
Onely because 'tis like the polish't Gem,
And this we Freecom call; its credit grows
From a false stamp, the guilded outside shows:
Which a varitious Man attempts to get,
Cheated and ruin'd with the Counterfeit.
Like Children, Soapy-Bubbles they pursue,
And the fantastick Vision, take for true;
But whilst they think bright forms they do em­brace,
Ixion like, they find a cloud i'th' place.
Consent of Crowds exceeding credit brings,
And seems to stamp Truths Image on false things,
Not what's a real good, but what does seem,
Still shares the blind and popular esteem,
Whilst Sense and fancy over-rule their choice,
And Reason in th' Election has no voice.
But Souls in vain have Reasons Attribute.
If to the Rule, they cannot Sense submit.
Hence the Heriock mind makes no complaint,
But freedom does Enjoy, even in restraint.
When Chains and Fetters do their Body bind,
He then appears more free, and less confin'd.
Discord and Care, which do distract him here,
In durance take their leave and come not there.
False Friends and Flatt'rers, then take last adieu
Who often swore how faithful and how true,
Things their dishonest bosoms never knew.
These like the Swallows, in cold weather slye;
A Summers fortune onely draws them nigh.
Flatt'rers a sort of fatal Suckers be,
Which draw the Sap 'till they destroy the Tree.
Fair Virtue to their Ob [...]icks when they bring,
Seems a deform'd and antiquated thing.
Vice they commend, whilst Vertue is despis'd;
The blackest by these Negroes most are pris'd.
These slaves to Vice, do hug so hard and long,
Till like the o'refond Ape, they kill their Young.
Ambition in the Mind's a Feverish Thirst,
Which is by drinking dryer than at First;
And these will feed the humour till it burst▪
When Parasites the Arbiter are made,
They [...] place the Garland on a Beadlam's head.
Riot, Excess, and Pleasure car' the Day,
And Lust (the worst of Tyrants) bears the sway
At whose black Throne they blind Allegiance pay.
Morose [...]d [...] they do account the Grave;
And the M [...]e [...]-man sit only for a Slave▪
The Humble of a Nature poor and base;
The Cha [...] [...]ng a dull insipid Race;
And Temp [...]rance a Gallant's chief disgrace.
In Vertues garb, the great Mans Vice they dress,
Giving it names with sound of Worthiness.
They call his Pride the Graniduer of his mind,
And for his lust the Name they have design'd
[...] a Compli [...]a [...] [...]yr, that makes men kind▪
Profaneness is his Wit; and his Excess
By a Gay janty Humour they express;
All his Debauches too must be no less▪
Thus they lap ruin up, and guild our Crime [...]
But Vice destroys, like Ivy, where it climbs
In us the dangrous state th' Ambitious see
Of Greatness, Avarice, and Flatterie.
Gifts, Honour, Office, Greatness, Grace of Kings,
Raise the Ambitious upon treach'rous wings.
Till from the mighty hights they giddy grow,
And fall into the Ruin lyes below.
If the first fail, which do support our state,
The last our fall serve to percipitate.
This with to dear Experience we have bought,
And learnt a Lesson, which too late was taught.
Prosperity's a Drug that must be ta'ne
Corrected, (Opium like) or else 'tis bane
A more Lethargick quality's in her,
Than ever yet in Opium did appear.
Her fatal Poyson to the Mind she sends,
And uncorrect, in sure destruction ends.
Whilst in the way her guilded snares she lays,
Easie and credulous Man she soon betways;
Who sees her [...]o [...]es and her Lillies here▪
But her concealed Snakes doth never fear.
Prosperity a repasts pu [...] up the Mind
With unsubstantial and unwholesome wind
Tis a [...] do use▪
And [...] ▪
But when Affliction moulds your dayly bread,
'Tis then the staff of Life with which she's fed.
Affliction (like the River Nile) bestows
Her fruitful blessings wheresoe're she flows:
And if when she withdraws, strange Serpents rise
Not in her streams, but in Soyl, it lyes.
Which (like the great Apollo) she strikes dead,
By the same Influence they first were bred,
If she return, and shew her hidden head.
Great minds (like the victorious palms) are wont
Under the Weights of Fortune more to mount.
Strongly supprest, and hurl'd upon the ground,
Fill'd with sublimer thoughts they more rebound
Still careless whether Fortune smile or frown,
Whether she give, or take away a Crown.
Our Walls are Tyded, and by that we know
She always ebbs, when she doth leave to flow,
And constant in Inconstancy does grow.
Make an attacque all Injuries that can,
They sall like Waves beneath a rising Swan.
Freed and secur'd from all discordant Care,
Here we our heads above the billows bear,
Till from our shoulders they transplanted are.
And from their summits, with dum gapes pro­claim
Of a Quincumvirat the trait'rous shame.
But during all this Storm, we still do find
An Anchor and a Haven in our Mind,
Not beaten now, though then expos'd to th' Wind
As Nightingales, our bosoms we expose,
And sing, environ'd with the sharpest woes.
Degraded from vain Honour, here we grow
More great and high, as Trees by lopping do.
Honour's like froth in each Man's glass of Beer;
'Tis least of use, though topmost it appear;
The common Vouchee for ill acts she's grown;
It and Religion all our Mischiefs own.
She raigns in Youth with an unruly heat,
And in her falser Mirrour shews them Great,
Till Age and Time convince them of the cheat.
Rash heads approve what sober Men despise,
And the fantastick Garb offends the Wise;
She rarely now is seen but in Disguise.
True Honour and plain Honesty's the same;
From various Dwellings, comes the various Name:
For whilst she gay in Courts, she's Honour there,
But Honesty with Us in Durance here.
In differing States, most things have difference:
What pleas'd this day, the next offends the Prince.
The Prosperous loath what the Afflicted love;
Prisoners abhor, what free they did approve.
And still there's power in each Mans choice to make,
Himself content, if he can wisely take,
And think his own (though hard) a happy Stake.
In ev'ry state does some Contentment dwell,
And here we find a Pallace in a Cell.
Good is good ev'ry where, and ev'ry thing,
And good can of it self no evil bring.
All good's a raye of the first Light alone,
When Ill approaches, only that's our own,
Vertu's not gain'd by spending of our days
In pleasure, Princes Courts, or from the Rays.
At Vertue's Coast by Travel we arrive,
And so by Travel Virtue's kept alive.
She dwindles if she want due Exercise;
But us'd, grows brighter and still multiplies▪
Virtue increases, Snow-ball-like, rowl'd on [...]
A lazy Vertue's next of kin to None.
Pris'ners indeed they be, that do lay by
At once their Fredom and their Industry.
If Men turn Drones within their hony'd Hyves,
It lyes i'th' Pris'ners heart. and not his Gyves▪
The good grows better here, the bad grows worse,
The Spur that mai [...]es this go, does jade that Horse.
Hence the great'st part are male-content and sad
Since that the Good are fewer then the bad.
A Bliss that springs from p [...]netential joy,
Is the Minds balsome in each sharp Annoy;
Fools only their own Comfort do destroy
To this R [...]rement we can freely go,
'Tis the great'st pace of Majesty below:
Or stirring out imports the World to know▪
The Go [...]ler', Centinel to guard our Doors,
And Castles are contain'd i'th' narrow Floors▪
More happy and more safe, secur'd from Foes,
Than those whom Troops of Enemies enclose
Much more as Pris'ners, our high bliss we boast,
Being secur'd from such a mighty Hoast
Of deadly Foes, so fierce with wrath & might,
Our selves so feeble, and unfit to fight
'Gainst the black band of vicious and Profane,
Who thousands do undo in each Campain.
In the Assault, we seldom brook the Field.
But flye like Hares, or else like Cowards yield.
Yet this the World esteems an hard estate,
And Us, who feel it, count unfortunate.
Shew then, Philosophy! the state wherein
Such Safety, and so much content is s [...]en.
Wherein less rugged or steep hind'rance lyes,
T'obstruct the Path unto Perfection's prize,
The useful Rod's only bound up for this,
To whip and lash the Childish on to Bliss;
Who sull [...]nly refuse the Rod to kiss,
And so the Blessing in the Whipping miss.
Some, like the Whale, only design'd to play
In fruitless pleasures, drive the flying day;
As Boys with Clackers drive the Lent away.
Whilst here, we stop the hours of time, that flyes,
With Contemplation's nobler Exercise.
Maugre all Goals, think we e're long must dye,
And then enjoy an endless Liberty;
Death will redeem from long Captivity.
Man's Life's a Piece spun of a various Thred;
In some 'tis sine, in some a cou [...]ser Web.
The Threads across, th'Occurrences of Fate,
Cut early from the Loom by Death, or late.
The Dread of Kings, Death, does not us dismay;
To Dye's less then be Tantaliz'd each day.
What Man complains, with Weariness opprest,
That Night is come, the only Time to Rest?

The last Speech of Sr. Edmundbury Godfrey's Ghost.

LOok up? Base Croaking zealots of the Age
Before your Frenzy Wits, fall into rage;
Look here? Who Vindicates the Royal Stage.
Godfrey's brave Spirit, doth this day appear,
Tremble ye now for Anger, or for Fear.
His shorthy Ghost, that courted Sacred good,
Has past the dangers, of the Stygian Flood;
Left the Elizian Shades, by strict commands,
To see once more how this poor Cuntrey stands.
But to our shame his grieved Soul doth find,
(Lunatick Zeal) with us hath been too kind,
And struck his Loving Fellow Subjects Blind.
He fears our Disobedience to a Prince,
Whom Heaven protected, (he can the World convince,)
From Zealous rage; and Traytors hands long since.
He sees & fears that in-bread Wars are coming
By Zealous Prayer created, Preach'd by cunning,
Holy long-winded, Fervent, Pious men,
Who seem as innocent as the prety Wren;
But if well try'd, we easily may sind,
They unto none, but themselves are kind;
Envy all happiness, but what's their own,
Have humble out-sides, inwardly o're-grown
With Pride, Ambition, and Self-interest;
Longing with Crowns themselves for to invest.
For what is Monarchy, to them that say,
They are all Monarchs, that zealously can pray?
He sees foul threatnings, and intestine Thunder,
The Plagues of eating Swords, Domestick Plun­der.
Foretels the Fathers striking of his Sons,
Who without mercy, on the old Sire runs;
Sees the Sons base Revenge upon the Father,
Who never leave, till all lie dead together;
Friend killing Friend, a Brother fights a Brother,
And spares his own blood less than any other.
Awake, awake, I say awake betimes,
Before your Souls feed on such Hellish crimes;
Let your own reason clear your blinded eyes,
Let sad experience, banish such Tragedies;
And as you older are, still grow more wise.
Beware those Monsters, that have taught your Zeals,
First to Dethrone your Prince (whom God heals,
Then brings Destruction, to your Publick Weals
For doubtless such base Principles as these,
Cannot, but must the Heavenly Power Displease
Godfrey's fore griv'd-Ghost, weeps Bloody Tears,
Seeing you drawn into Jealousies and Fears,
To act those things, which murdering sorrow bears
Is it so long since, that you have forgot,
Can you so soon wash out that Royal Spot,
Of Sacred Innocent Blood, bring back to mind,
Murd'ring the Sire, then to the Son be kind,
And say again your Zeal had made you blind.
Let no Religious Cloak your Bodies cover,
And under That Both Prince and Country Smo­ther.
To make your selves more hateful, & less good
Then Lucifer and his Rebellious Brood.
But striving (with this Difference in the thing,)
They 'gain their Heavenly—
But you, both 'gainst your Heaven & Earthly King.
Nav e'n a King so good, so sweet, so great,
Makes all your joys and Happiness Compleat:
Them only are excepted, that you see
Fain would be Monarch's, Kings as well as He.
Let not your Loving Godfrey longer weep,
But let his weary Ghost retire to sleep;
Who never can have rest, unless he find,
Your Souls more Loyal, to your Prince more kind;
Endeavouring still to imitate those Quires,
That with their Harps, and Hearts, and Sacred Lyres
Sing to their Heavenly King, who can alone,
Set whom he pleases on an Earthly Throne.

Advice to the Painter's Adviser.

WE Dogs and Lions by their Voices know,
For by their Notes themselves all Crea­tures show;
Yet here's a Thing I know not what to call,
He roars and Barks; what's Good he curses all.
No Monster that e're yet from Africk came,
But what would start at thy prodigious Fame;
Yet we thy Name nor Pedigree can tell,
Thou dar'st Blaspheme beyond the Mouths of Hell.
What shall I call thee, Monster or base [...]iend,
That canst daub Paper to so base an end?
Unmouth that Tongue, maugre its double Pale,
(Fit Instrument to tell the Devils Tale)
Which dar'd blaspheme that Sacred Majesty,
The voice of Angels joy'd to Deisie.
Foul Traitor, to bespatter such a King
With th' Aspish Poison of thy slandering,
Whose ev'ry Action (if the Truth we scan,)
Speaks as much God, as his Foes find him Man?
A Prince so tender of his Subjects Good,
As would redeem the meanest with his Blood;
Heavens Joy, Earths Pride; when After-age shall tell
His Worth and Parts, 'twill want a Parellel.
Let Greece and Rome their Heroes Punies call,
Our Charles the Great, I'm sure outdoes them all.
[...] [...], thy sharp Arrow, bitter word,
[...] more than Europ's many edged Sword.
[...] Heavens look to 't, he that attempts so high
[...] Vice-God Charles, threats Gignatomachy.
So he that stabb'd fam'd MIllain's Duke of yore,
By Practice at his Picture did no more.
[...]ut (Oh! the Devil) see the Serpent flies
To his first course, he doubles his Advice
To a poor Painter, to draw This and That,
And draws himself into the Lord knows what.
Even so those Brats of sin we blush to own,
We bring to others doors, and lay them down,
But (pox upon his Picture,) to be short,
The wary White could have no colour for't;
Else Hell had paid the Wages of th' abuse,
His Quidlibet audiendi's no excuse.
Kings failings (if they are any) ought not lie
An open Prospect for the Vulgar Eye.
He that drew Alexander's scarry Face,
Discreetly put his Finger on the place:
But where's the Artist that can frame a Line,
To Shadow or Eclipse the Glorious Shrine
Of Charles's Ray; what Eagle-Eye can gaze
On so much Sun, or sully such a Blaze.
Illustrious i'th' Abstract, whose each Glance
Would strike Presumption out of Countenance;
Much less can any draw his Treasur'd Mind,
To every Noble Virtuous Mood inclin'd;
Ʋnblemish'd as the Saints, the Sun less clear
In that first Shine which Summer'd all the Year:
Our Painters well knew this, who e're read o're
A Face more puzling Art, a mind much more.
Then, Devil do thy worst, with thy Advice,
Charles and his Court are 'bove thy Calumnies.
Powers and Dignities approach the Skies,
Like Ships the more the Waves do under rise.
But 'tis not each Gods Fate alone, else why
Do Miscreants slight the Angels Ministry?
Ours is but little lower, one remove,
Vicegerent to the King of Kings above.
The best are still the most malign'd with wrong,
Virtue's no fence against a spiteful Tongue;
He is the Object of his Prophanation.
Tho' pure as new fall'n Snow, free from offence,
As blameless Truth, and white as Innocence.
His breath blasts those, whose breath persuming Air,
Makes all (save that) as sweet as they are fair,
Unbitter'd bitterness it self of all,
Earth's Heavenly few, the most Angelical,
But Vice be dam'd, thou art like one of those,
Who giddi'd in a Ship at Sea, suppose
The Continent doth move as well as they,
All tread awry to those whose Feet are splay▪
If (tho our thoughts are free) we must not think
Ill of the King; he that shall black his Ink,
And pale his Paper with words, startles more,
Than, Lord, have mercy, chalk'd upon the door.
To traduce Princes in the shapes of sin,
Wise Painters choose to draw the Devil in;
These are the marks o'th' Beasts, who casts an eye
On those (as on a Basilisk) must die.
The Mecha Pilgrims at their Prophets Tomb,
Need nothing else to make them blind or dumb.
Here now my muse would sit as Judge at last,
And Sentence pass on every Sentence past;
But he's not woth the while, Avant, be gone;
Yet first attend thy Benediction.
Thou that darst own, and dost desire no Name,
But what is Registred to endless shame,
Live long in all the Plagues this World affords;
And if thou wilt repent and eat thy words
To choak thee; or, to give the Devil's due,
The Hang-man draw thee, and thy Painter too.

The Hypocritical Christian; or the Con­venticle Citizen.

WEll! for a careful foresight, sober wit,
Give me a Godly, zealous, Whiggish Cit.
He twice a Week to Week walks,
Where bawling, canting Preacher Nonsense talks
He (squeamish Fool) for Orthodox Divine
N [...]re cares; because he cannot Sob, and Whine
He likes a Tubster with his down cast Face,
His Comic Postures, and his damn'd Grimace.
But hates the Rev'rend Clergy of the Town,
Disdains with Pride a Pulpiteer in Gown.
And every Parson Dr. Crape he'l call;
Like Lad of la [...]e at Merchant-Taylors-Hall.
Whose sneaking looks his Principles betray'd.
It was a sly, starv'd Whig in Masquerade,
A stingy perjur'd, faithless Renegade.
The Godly Puppet came (he said) to see,
And know the Humour of the Company.
But the Glut'nous Ass he was so nasty,
Hew'd down the Walls of the Ven'son-Pasty.
To come to's Rost; Alas! the Tarts and Pyes,
To's Estrich-stomack fell a Sacrifice.
His Appetite was keen for all's pretences,
He pleas'd his Eye, and surfeited his Senses.
Then all the generous Guests traduces,
VVith slurring, dirty, pitiful abuses.
Because they drank a Loyal Health or two,
He calls them Popish, Torish drunken Crew.
A parcel of mean sordid Lads there were,
VVho he was certain near eat Buck before.
For such abuses let the Lad beware,
And so let pimping, Whiggish Harry Care.
VVho's Tugging daily to Promote the Cause,
To Thwart all Justice, and make null the Laws.
One Ignoramus-man (says he) at least,
Is able to purchase all that were at Feast.
All their Estates in equal Ballance lai'd,
By one Whig-Jury-man's would be out-weigh'd.
Faith! Harry's very generous; he prates
As tho he really knew all mens Estates.
Poor Mr. Christian's dead, and the Dukes Grace,
May give to Harry his old Stewards place.
For he's a Godly, Honest Man, and true,
And do's deserve his place, and Pill'ry too.
His too hot Zeal for Teckley Reformation,
In broaching Falshoods, t'embroil the Nation;
The greatest Truths that published can be,
By Hodge; are Story's and damn'd Ribaldry,
If it with his and Gotham's disagree,
The Dukes young Daughter could not live 'twas said
'Twas so infirm a Child, and since 'tis dead.
The Serenading Crew, for all their squeaking,
VVere Thieves, and did intend House-breaking.
Contriv'd with's Grace, a black and dismall War,
To batter him with Fiddles and Guittar,
The Instrument of Death, a small Rechorder,
And Fiddle Stick, and Pipe to do the Murder.
The Chichester Informer took a Pot,
Too much of Brandy; and his Brains were hot.
Broke Windows was a swearing drunken Sot.
H' had wild Freaks, ungovernable Passions,
and dy'd (like Bishop's Horse) of the Fashions.
The fine Prelatic Jade will sure be Sainted,
Yes, yes: If Baxters Book of Saint's reprinted.
Then Curtis, Care with mighty Polander,
Shall have their Names in Whiggish Calender.
And all who carry on the work o'th' Laird.
Shall have a good and bountiful Reward.
In this large Catalogue of Fools and Knaves,
Come Leaden Constables with wooden Staves.
VVith Solemn Oaths they gravely can dispence,
They have a swingeing well stretcht Conscience.
VVho take up th' Office out of mighty Zeal,
To support their Brethren o'th' Common-weal.
They to th' Brother-hood send holy Greetings,
Acquaint them how they'l come t' molest th' Meetings.
Then hey! the Godly Flock's dispers'd & gone.
And all (like young Fledg'd Birds) are quickly Flown.
The Preacher then with's Congregation,
Give thanks for this great Preservation;
And Orders that th' Thanks of the House be sent
To Godly Constable [...]or's good intent.
O! what will not Men do, if this they dare,
To Affront Justice? and themselves Forswear
To Oblige a few, and such a Faction please,
Who in this Government were ne're at ease.
Thus Officer, (though gravely Sworn) Collogues,
Calls Hilton Fool, and all th' Informers Rogues.
Though he hath Warrants with him, that's all one,
In spite of Laws, he Executeth none.
'Tis strange, such Meetings cannot silenc'd be,
Where Preacher bawls so much for Liberty,
And boldly talks of Subjects Property.
Oh! Horrid Insolence! can Justice sleep?
Not see such Vermin into Corners creep?
Seduce poor Women, and on Cit impose,
Draw him through Bogs of Error by the Nose.
Tell him of Plots, and great Designs, forsooth
All which the Cred'lous Cit sucks in for Truth:
That sev'ral Jesuits were up and down,
In close Cabals, for to enslave the Town.
It was not long ago at Lor'mers Hall,
That Youngsters did for Magna Charta Bawl.
And (like Hugh Peters) with new strange Alarms
Bid 'em beware, stand stiffly to their Arms;
To quit themselves like Men, be Strong & Stout,
Secure their Persons, and the Tories Rout,
What! lose the Priv'ledge of Chusing Shri [...]ves,
Why North and Rich will prove two deadly Thieves.
They'l rob you of your Jury's here at home,
And make you fall sad Victims unto Rome.
Then still oppose the Polls of Sir John More,
He hugs that Witch, the Babylonish Whore,
Will ne're your Native Liberty's restore.
Be ready too, your Charter to secure,
Who those damn'd Quo-Warranto's can't endure?
You see that Oxford stoutly doth Defie
Such Writs; and will protect their Liberty.
Ne're trust their Charter in the Hands of King's,
Who'd bauk their Privil'dge, & clip their Wings.
Then stand it out Boys still, and still be Famous,
(Like Oxford Towns-Men) for old Ignoramus.
But I'm inform'd of late that Whiggish Town
Is Alter'd strangely; and is Loyal grown,
An Impudent Resistance do's disown.
The Charter they'l Resign for all the bawling,
Of Foolish Wright, and self-conceited Pawling.
To oppose the Loyalists the Whigs don't dare,
The Youngsters laugh at dull Machine the Mayor
Thus Honesty, I hope, in vogue may be,
And Cit may find his long lost Loyalty,
And baul no more for Bugbear Property.
May names of Parties and Distinctions cease,
May Faction fall, and Loyalty increase,
To Stablish here an Universal Peace.
May Cit to Church devoutly go and Pray,
And ne're despise a Godly-Homily.
Ne're Meet thus in Unhallow'd Barns and Styes,
And blindly Offer their Fools Sacrifice.
Leave Cit, those Synagogues, and do Conform,
Into the Churches Breast at last Return.
Cast off (for shame) the Factious Crew; you know
How they Prophanely impudent do grow.
An Am'rous Brother late so kind and tender,
Did there with Sister Publickly Ingender.
The Preacher saw the Godly Act of Grace,
Saw the Lewd Couple Zealously Embrace.
He nodded, Frown'd, and gravely did Reprove,
Their wicked Satyr's way, of Bruital Love.
Hence forth he'l have a Smarter Rod in Pickle,
For such Debaucher's of's dear Conventicle.
From such Vile Cells as from Contagion flee,
Such Deeds were ne're seen in Monast'ry.
Believe it (to th' Eternal shame of Meetings)
Nor in our Churches are such Carnal Greetings.
Then prithee disaffected Cit Comply
With Law; and thou'lt enjoy thy Liberty.
Securely live beneath thy Vine at ease,
Thy Credit and thy Fortune will increase.
Be Loyal, and defend the Kings Just Right,
Ne're read a Factious Pamphlet with delight.
Ne're feed on Horse-flesh; nor read vain Discourses
'Twixt Charing-Cross & your Wool-Church-Horses
Ne're have a Vicious thought 'gainst Majesty,
But let all Treason-Talkers silenc'd be,
Those Vermin that do girn at Monarchy.
Oppose their barking; and let the World know
You can be honest, if you would be so.
The Comet that appear'd did sure portend,
That all your Factions here will have an end,
And Zealous Conventiclers will then amend.

On the KINGS most Happy and Mira­culous Deliverance at Newmarket.

SO Weapons prosper which are form'd 'gainst Heaven,
Or it is Vicegerent Heavens peculiar Care,
To whom are more then Vulgar Blessings given,
And fire has sav'd whom men more Cruel wou'd not spare.
Some greater Genius him defends,
By mighty means for mighty ends,
And makes his Foes his Footstool be,
Or (what his Goodness more Delights to see)
Makes them his Friends:
II.
Nor do we more Congratulate,
The present safety of the State,
Then future Peace which we anticipate.
Now Treasonous Arts are so Expos'd to view,
The Plots as soon as hatch'd are blasted too.
Popery's coming in they well might cry,
Whose Methods wou'd fulfil the Prophecy.
Nor did they cheat the World who took such Pain
The Jealousies they rais'd shou'd not be vain.
First Arbitrary Power must down,
(Meaning the Crown.)
Then must some Minister be in Disgrace,
Because a Rebel wants his place.
More Liberty the People crave,
Yet know not how to use that which they have.
Next that Mens Properties secur'd must be,
They'd made the King a Property,
What monstrous Blessings wou'd a Change create
Might Atheists mend the Church, and Knaves the State.
But shall we twice be gull'd by one pretence?
With our Allegiance have we lost our Sense?
These very Tricks ruin'd us once before,
Curse of such Arts which now are Arts no more
All that is envy'd still attend the Throne,
And him that sits Thereon.
But when these Earthly Gods shall die like Men.
Let only Nature then
(Nature the Rule of him by whom Kings Reign)
Appoint who next shall grace & truth Maintain.
Many Names of Matchless Heroes of this Race,
Distinguish happy times, till time it self shall cease

A Pastoral upon the Death of her Grace the Dutchess of ORMOND.

Qua nihil majus, meliusve Terris
Fata donavere, boni (que) Divi,
Nec dabunt: Quamvis redeant in Aurum Tempora priscum. Horat.
MYRTILLO. ALEXIS.
MYRTILLO.
IF loaded Eye-lids, and a clouded Brow,
Cross'd Arms and rising Sighs, great Sorrow shew;
And if one Friend may know anothers care,
Why these sad Marks does my Alexis wear?
ALEXIS.
Alas, Myrtillo! cast thy eyes around,
And tell me, what like comfort's to be found?
The Sun has not sent forth one chearful Ray,
But worn a Cloud of Mourning all the day.
See how our drooping Flocks no Pastures heed,
But bleat about us, and neglect to feed!
Let Nature look in all her Orders sad;
Nor Envy dare to shew it, if she's glad;
Since nothing, nothing now can Joy restore,
For Fate has struck, and Pyrrha is no more.
MYRTILLO.
Pyrrha! for whom our daily vows we pay'd,
And best-lov'd Younglings on the Altar lay'd;
For whose long Well-fare, Life, and happy State,
All grateful Pray'rs on the good Gods did wait;
Whose Virtue Nymphs were taught to copy young,
For 'twas the Theme of ev'ry Shepherds Song:
Has Fate at last prevail'd! And is SHE gone!
O whither now shall many wretched run!
The Injur'd, for Redress; the Poor for Aid;
Worth, for Reward; or Grief, to be allay'd:
Since Justice, Pity, Bounty quits our Plains;
But Sorrow grows Eternal, and remains.
ALEXIS.
As full blown Flow'rs, that long have deck'd the ground,
And with their Odours fill'd the Air [...],
Bend down their heads at last to Mother Earth,
And fade away, though to a second [...];
Or as tall Caedars, who (admir'd) have stood
For many years the Glory of the W [...],
[...]inding in time their sacred Roots decay,
Are by the next rude tempest torn away,
So flourish'd Py [...]rha, and as high did rise,
Adorn'd the Farth, and seem'd to reach the Skies.
Fair, without blemish; Lofty, without Pride:
But, Oh! the Tempest rose, and Pyrrha dy'd!
Gone then's all Spring, now Winter's only ours;
Sighs rise like Storms, and Tears must fall like Showers.
MYRTILLO
If full of Years and Honours Pyrrha fell,
Grief may with Swains of humbler Talents dwell
While to a nobler work our minds we raise,
Suspend our Sorrows, and Proclaim Her Praise.
ALEXIS.
As round Heaven's Throne whole Choirs of Angels throng
Yet all their Triumph's one Eternal Song:
So here on Earth should Pyrrah's Praises last,
Till Time's no more, and Natures works lie wast.
MYRTILLO.
Ten let us tune our Reeds; Thou first the Lay
Begin; Our Flocks shall listen, and I'll play:
So up to Pyrrha's Fame our Notes we'll raise,
Suspend our Sorrows, and proclaim her Praise.
ALEXIS.
Mean time, ye boundless Winds, your Gusts forbear,
And all ye Hills and Valleys round give ear:
Keep back ye Rivers, and forbear to run,
Till the great Tale of Pyrrha's [...]ame be done:
Then let each wind bear it where-e'r it blows,
Catch it, ye Hills and Valleys, as it goes,
With your assenting Ecchoes in the close.
Murmur it, Floods, as to your Seas ye creep,
And with It add new Wonders to the Deep;
For the Renown of Pyrrha's Name shall last
Till Time's no more, and Natures Works lie wast.
MYRTILLO.

On then.

ALEXIS.
—As Stars before the rising day
Seem in their Orbs to sink, and dive away;
So all the Nymphs upon our sertile Plains,
Though proud and cruel to their sighing Swains,
When Pyrrha's pow'rful Charms approach'd, they fail'd,
And any Satyr might have then prevail'd:
So much in blooming Youth cou'd she surprize,
Sh'ad all the panting Hearts and wishing Eyes.
Come then, ye Nymphs of Arcadia, draw near,
Weep round her Earth, and all your Garlands tear;
For Pyrrha's Beauty once no Equal knew;
But Fate has seiz'd Her now, and must have You.
MYRTILLO.
Pyrrha's bright Eyes enlightned every Grove,
And sir'd at last Al [...]anders Hear [...] with Love;
The Nymph found Him a Tryumph worth Her Charms,
And She alone was sit to fill His Arms,
Many did either Conquest wish t'ha [...] made,
But only They each other could [...];
For in her Form did Nature seem improv'd,
And He was fram'd to Love, and be Belov'd:
Therefore Heav'n smil'd, and all the Stars look'd kind,
When Pyrrha & Alcander's Hearts were joyn'd.
ALEXIS.
Who has not heard of great Alcander's Name,
So long the Muses Task, and Pride of Fame?
Pan [...]arly chose, and made him great in Pow'r,
When the Wolves rag'd, and did our Flocks devou [...]
He took the guard of the molested Plains;
Saw our Lambs [...]d, & chear'd Ʋs srighted Swains;
Wak'd with us midst dark Nights and pinching Colds,
To drive the howling Monsters from our Folds:
In all which time, Pyrrha, His charming Bride
Oft came, and watch'd as He did, by His side;
Of his worst dangers still her part would bear,
And for all Joys She gave him, ask'd but care.
Now, ye poor Flocks, go bleat about, and stray;
Ye Shepherds, cast your Scrips and Hooks away;
Stretch'd on the ground, your Fatal loss bemoan,
And call on Pyrrha's Name at ev'ry groan.
MYRTILLO.
Full fifty happy years this matchless Pair
Liv'd in unshaken Love; No Jealous care,
Or mean Distrust, did once their Joys molest,
So in a Noble Off-spring were They blest,
Of Warlike Youths, worthy their Fathers Name,
And D [...]ugh [...]s, spotless as their Mothers Fame:
Bold Celadon, the Darling of loud War,
And Strephon now, whose pious shoulders bear
The burden of his aged Fathers care;
Young Damon, lovely as the Beams that play
About our East, and lead the coming Day;
Fair Phyllida, who was with Aegon wed,
And blest Him with a Faithful Fruitful Bed;
Generous Lysca too, by Nature taught
To recommend the poor mans cause unsought.
ALEXIS.
All these the Off spring were of Pyrrha's Womb:
Come then, ye Mothers, mourn around Her Tomb:
In Pyrrha's Name your Mystick Rites perform,
When to your Aid ye would Lucina charm,
Either the lab'ring Matrons pangs to ease,
Or bless the Barren Mourner with increase.
MYRTILLO.
Oh! kind Alexis, still pursue thy Song,
How these fair Branches grew, or wither'd young
ALEXIS.
Brave Celadon through [...]ate untimely fail'd,
And was by Pan and all his Train bewail'd;
Some mourning Muses sung Him to his Tomb,
Yet others selt more grief, and thence were dumb.
Young Damon faded in His Beauties Pride,
And Phyllida no less lamented dy'd.
But long may Strephon's Life rejoyce the years
Of good Alcander, and assist His Cares.
Fulness of time, kind Heav'n, to Lysea give,
'Tis for your Honour, Gods, that she should live;
For She, the more of days you Her afford,
By Her good Deeds will make You more ador'd;
Since Lysea was of pious Pyrrha born,
And Pyrrha's Virtues Lysca's Heart adorn.

MYRTILLO.

Put what shall now give good Alcander joy?

ALEXIS.

The Gods, when Fate took Celadon away,
Call'd Daphnis forth, th' Heroick Race to run,
Which his great Parent had so well begun:
From Celadon's brave Loins young Daphnis came,
[...]ull of His Heat, and conscious of His Fame;
Whose Mind his Fathers Deeds did so imploy,
He grew Alcander's Hopes, and Pyrrha's Joy.
P [...]r [...] ha lov'd Daphnis, and with pleasure found
The Hero's Virtues in the Youth abound.
When Daphnis languish'd, Pyrrha did provide
The charming soft Aminta for His Bride:
Amin [...]a! tender as the Lambs that play
In Sunny morns, and Innocent as They;
Sweet as those [...]v [...]ning Airs that gently blow
Where the rich fragrant Eastern Spices grow;
Calm as our Groves in a fair Summers night,
And [...]ovely as the first-created Light.
Daphn [...] w [...]s born, Amintas with him joyn'd,
To chase all sorrows from Alcander's mind;
To add new Honours to His store of [...]ame,
And a long Race of Heroes to His Name:
[...] [...]me, which shall, with Pyrrha's Praises, last
[...] Time▪ [...] no more, and Natures Works lie wast.

Funeral Tears to the Sacred Memory of our late Soveraign King CHARLES the Second.

THe Noon-day Star, that once out-fac'd the Sun,
Charles his bright Phosphor, has its period [...]un:
And resting Charles, with more six'd Glories crown'd,
Has past his mighty finish'd Circle roun [...].
All th' untired race of Prodigies, the late
Continued shame of this Stupendious sate,
Which once his Restoration Lawrels bore;
Those never-sleeping Pores, now move no more.
Myriads of Gardian Angels all disband;
And Wonders wait no more on his Right Hand.
Whilst Truth invincible, unbyast Right,
Goodness unbounded, Mercy Infinite;
Honour Unsullyed; All the brightest Train
Of Ministring Graces t' his Illustrious Raign,
Their Royal Robes to Funeral Sables turn
All Mourners o're their Sacred Masters Urn:
But'midst the Tears our streaming Sorrows pour
Three Wailing Kingdoms in one Loyal Show [...]
How feebly does our Voice of Mourning sound,
Whilst Royal Eyes in deeper Griefs lie drown'd
No Heart like James with killing Loads o're prest
Kindest of Brothers and of Friends the best.
So sad the pangs of parting Friendship prove,
Immoderate C [...]ief, and ever burning Love
R [...]d His Great Soul, and their keen passage sorce.
Methink [...] I see Him at the Dire Divorce;
Whilst the Gr [...] James like Great Telesia stands,
With [...] Cryes, and with up-lifted Hands,
With rended Garments, and a flowing Show [...]
Of bitt▪ rest Tears deplores the dismal Hour.
Till from above behold the grining Sky;
The Fiery Steeds, and Flaming Chariot fly.
Th' Ascending Saint, 'midst shouting Angels round,
With purer Joys, & brighter Diadems Crown'd.
Here with sad Tyes he took His last Farewell.
And grasp'd the Wondrous Mantle as it fell.
With Prime Transmigrating Glories sir'd,
Fill'd with the Mounting God, with the whole Charles inspir'd.
O Mighty Charles, what have not only We
Three Kingdoms but even Empire lost in Thee?
Founder of Monarchy, for Thou alone
[...]ood' [...]t the unshaken Bulwark of the Throne.
When the old Storm yawn'd for th' Imperial wrack,
Th [...] Hand [...]one beat the sierce Torrent back:
[...]ction & [...] by Thy strong Arm o'rethrown
Whil [...] [...] [...] World was Thy great work alone.
Glory and Peace but in Thy Sun-beams play,
Whilst thou'rt the God of our long Halcyon day.
The Old Fanatick Fiend, so late before
Drunk with a Martyr'd Monarchs Purple Gore.
Whilst with th' Old Poyson, and th' Old Rage he stood.
All Thirsting for new Draughts of Royal Blood,
The Crowns long Foe, and Blackest Imp of Hell,
His Sting just Fastning, Thou alone couldst quell.
Thy Book of Fame with this last Glory fill'd:
What shall Great James on thy Foundations build?
Strike Royal Heir, th' half Conquer'd Serpent dead,
Charles bruis'd his Teeth, and Thou shalt crush his Head.
Peace, Ʋnion, Concord, all so well begun;
Tho' Thou, Great Charles, thy Race like Moses run;
Thy People led by Thy Miraculous Hand
To th' Milk and Honey of a Blessed Land;
Call'd hence too soon by the Almighty Voice:
Saw'st but the Borders of the Promis'd Joys:
That God-like Joshua sills Thy Royal Seat,
Who Thy unfinish'd Wonders shall compleat.
Translated Saint, now thy [...]ull Honours seize
Blest with thy own Eternal Handmaid, Peace
Around thy Head Immortal Honours play,
Brighter thy own Restoration Day,
Like thy own Mercy soft be thy Repose;
Whilst on thy Brow that Perfum'd Fragrance flows,
Sweeter than the Odours even of that Rich Fame
That shall Embalm Thy Everlasting Name.

SCOTLANDS Loyalty; or, Sorrowful Sighs on the Death of our late Sove­raign His Sacred Majesty; CHARLES by the Grace of God King of Great Bri­tain, France and Ireland, &c.

LEt Musick cease; yet let true Subjects Sing
Sad Ela's Note (in Sorrow) for our King;
Whom (to the worth) no Poet can bemoan,
Though all the Seas were turn'd to Helicon.
But there's no need our Sorrow to Infuse,
Or strain Elogiums from a Mournful Muse
In [...] Hearts; the cause of our sad Grief
[...] [...]loods of Tears▪ though in the end Relief.
Great Charles is Dead, who was Great Britains King,
[...] [...]n Exploits, who Trophies great did bring
[...] and [...]lenty to His own three Realms;
[...]rough storms of State, which he did turn to Calms.
Our by-past Prophesies did point Him forth,
Preceding Kings were Shadows of His worth:
Then cast up Virtues to one total sum;
Perfections Product will be found in Him.
We will Engrave His Name in Marble Pure,
With Diamond of the Black Rock, to endure
Till after Ages; that our Children may
Pay Tears (for Tribute) to His Sacred Clay,
Could men in Arms our Sorrows stroak assail,
Or floods of Tears with Cruel Death prevail,
We'd Muster all our Forces then with speed,
And Weeping Eyes should overflow the Tweed.
But sure the King of Kings hath giv'n the stroak,
And Mortals cannot Destiny revoke.
We'll kiss the Rod; though we the smart regrate
Submitting though unto our rigid Fate.
Yet we'll breath doleful Sighs to His sad Herse,
That's dipt in Tears, and Elegiack Verse;
T'immortalize Great Charles His Royal Name,
And be Memento's on the Wings of Fame.
Then rest dear Saint, though dead yet still alive;
(Though laid in dust,) Times Age thou shalt survive;
Thour't mounted high above the Worlds renown
With Kings and Priests, to wear a Cross-less-Crown.
And (though our Grief cannot our loss prevent)
Let this sad Verse but give our Passion vent.

EPITAPH.

HEre lyes Grave, Majestick Dust;
Which (when alive) was Good and Just:
Great Charles the second, Britain's King;
Whose valour makes us Weep and Sing.
His Crown environ'd was with Thorn,
Which makes His Subjects double Mourn▪
By Land and Sea he did our Work:
The Fear, and Terrour of the Turk.
He Peace to Europe did restore,
When other Kings had given it o'r.
Defender of the Faith, that's true,
Ʋntil he had the World adieu.
Let Princes Eternize His Name;
And make his worth their Diadem.
Now since the Sighs that did Eclipse our Skie,
By His Successors Light begins to flye,
O're Tears we'll Triumph; since our sore doth bring
The surest Salve, which is a Lawful King.
We'll p [...] Allegiance due on Charles his score,
To JAMES the VII. and many Millions more.
P. K.

An Elegy on the Deplorable, and never enough to be Lamented Death of the Illustrious, and Serene CHARLES the Second. KING of Great-Britain, France and Ireland, &c. Who departed this Life February the 6th. 1685.

HAng all the Streets with Sable Sad; and call
The Royal Palace, Black and not White-Hall:
Weep Sacred Beads of Loyal Tears, and true,
Of Orient Pearl; but Occidental Hew:
Since Britains Phoebus hath forsook the Stage,
Before he reach'd the Tropick of his Age.
The interval betwixt our Setting Sun,
And Rising Soveraign, 'ere his Light begun
Was short; yet (till our Sorrow soung Relief)
We were near delug'd in the Seas of Grief.
Yet (tho' our Soveraign doth our Mourning 'swage,
And gives our joy of Grief the Weather-gage.
We'll make no Bonesires, for (it were in vain)
Our flowing Eyes would Weep them out again.
All Israel when good Hezekiah dy'd,
To his last B [...]ath, true [...]oyal Honour pay'd;
Where's then the Boldest Critick [...]n deny
[...] CHARLES his worth a D [...]leful EL [...]GY:
[...] Worth, to Times last [...]riod shall Endure,
In [...] of Envy, o [...] the Grave, Secure.
And Children yet [...] with Tears shall pay
A [...] use [...]o his sacred Clay.
He from His Child-hood was of great Renown;
He bore his Cross before he wore his Crown.
Brancht in the stock of Trouble ('tis well known)
His Fruit was Ripe, the Blossom yet unblown.
Great Britains Bane, and Blush Eclips'd his Skie,
E'r- England knew his Soveraignty:
But as his Sun ascended the Noon-day,
A [...] Clouds like Vapours) vanish'd quite away:
[...] [...]right Calms of Peace did still remain
[...]ough the whole Circle of his Halcyon Reign.
Then Rest (dear Saint) tho' now Intomb'd in Dust)
Un [...]il the Resurrection of the Just.
And let our Mourners mitigate their Grief,
Because our Sorrow doth admit Relief:
The Vail of Death no Christian needs dismay;
The King of Kings Himself did guide the Way.
And (since our Sore a Salve along doth bring)
God save Great JAMES, our Second Soveraign King.
Let his D [...]minions preface Black and White;
Since Rising Phoebus dissipates our Night:
Let Loyal Subjects all both cry and Sing
Like Bird [...] Reviv▪d in the returning Spring.
Let Court and City raise their joyful Voice
And Loyal Sighs still Eccho back, Rejoyce:
Till Plotters all Conspiracies lay by,
And Treason turn to purest Loyalty.
Hence th [...]n projecting Traytors, stand aloof;
His Loyal Throne is sure, and Treason-Proof:
Lest sit on Ed [...]e by old Seditious Sm [...]—
Your Treas [...]ns Trapturn round upon your Neck.
His Presence may no [...] Resort,
Nor base [...] [...] his Court;
But Reign in Peace, whil'st we have in our Eye
CHARLES still live in JAMES'S Royalty,
But since he's Dead and gone, let this sad Verse
(Tho' undeserving) yet attend his Herse.

EPITAPH.

HEre lyes Great Charles the Just the Good,
As ever came of Royal Blo [...]d:
To Troubles Born, he Early knew
What Kings (as Men) are subject to:
His Morning Gl [...]ries were [...]'recast,
And by some Fatal Star Opprest.
But as his Sun ascended Noon,
The cruel Comet did fall Down,
In Peace he Liv'd, in Peace he Dy'd;
The Kingdom and the Churches Gui [...]e,
The Guardian of the swelling Main;
The Terrour of the DUTCH and DANE.
At his Command all war did Cease,
And Europe Owes to him her Peace.
Diseases at his Power did Crouch,
And own the Virtue of his Touch.
Let KINGS and PRINCES in him Glory,
And make his Reign their Direct [...]ry.

To His Sacred Majesty King JAMES II.

ALL Hail Great Prince! whom [...]' [...]y Miracle
Preserv'd for Ʋniversal Ru [...];
When Time Your Wondrous Story shall unsold,
Your Glori [...]us Deeds in Arms, when [...] but Young;
Your strange [...]scapes, and Danger [...] shall be told,
Your Battles F [...]gh [...] ▪ Your Guild [...] [...] is [...],
When yet the Elder Generals (not in Fame)
Your Perils dar'st no [...] share,
Alone the raging Torrent You wou'd stem,
And bear before You the fierce Tide of War.
How Spain Records Your Glorious Name;
And how when Danger call'd, for Britains good,
You paid the lavish Ransom of Your Blood.
When the Ingrates shall Blushing read,
How far great Souls the Vulgar can exceed
In Patience, Suffering, and Humility,
Your Condescention, and Your Banishment,
Then let the Obstinate (convinc'd) agree:
You only were preserv'd, and fit, for Sacred Government.
Come listen all, whom needless fears possess,
And hear how Heav'n confirms Your Happiness:
Behold the Sacred Promis'd Prince,
Whom wond'rous Prophets Ages since
Told, When the Mystick figures of the Year,
To such a Number should Amount,
(As sill this Lucky Years Account)
O're England there should Reign a Star
Of that Divine and Gracious Influence,
Should make proud Neighbouring Nations fear:
And Mightier Britains happy Genius prove,
And bless the Land with Plenty, Peace, and Love.
'Tis YOU oh Sacred Sir, for Empire Born,
Shall make the great Prediction true,
And this last Miracle perform,
To make Us Blest, and make Us own it too.
Oh may Your [...]uster with Your Li [...]e renew!
[...]ong may You Shine, and spread Your Beams as far,
As from the Morning to [...]he E [...]ning Star;
'Till Your Convincing Rays, Your Foes o're come.
And for Your Gl [...]rious Magnitude the scanted Globe want room.
FINIS.

Ireland's Tears. A Pindarique Poem upon the Death of our late Soveraign Charles the Second; and the Peaceful and Happy Succession and Inauguration of our pre­sent Great Monarch King James the II.

I.
AS distant Thunder in a rowling Cloud,
First Murmures inwardly, then Roars aloud
O're the amazed list'ning Crowd:
Till the Dread Clap scares ev'ry Mortal Ear;
Too weak Heav'ns angry voice to bear:
Such was the sad astonishing News
Which February's 6th Ides did bring;
The dangerous Sickness of our Dearest King▪
It stun'd all Ears, and did all Minds amuse;
All the sad Tydings so bemoan,
As if it were not His Sickness, but their Own.
Trembling, and full of Fear we wait
To know what the next Messenger will say;
And all the while we Weep, and all the while we Pray.
When suddenly Death's Herald spoke the Dread­ful Fate—
Alas! the Miserable Day!
The News too sad to Hear, too Killing to repeat
II.
Horrour and Cryes fill all around:
Distracted Looks, and Throbbing Hearts,
As if 'twere the last Trumpets sound,
In ev'ry place are found;
And hideous Groans do Eccho from all parts.
Frighted with what I saw, and heard;
But much more with what I sear'd:
The blasted City soon I left,
And as of Reason quite bereft,
I wildly roam'd about to seek some place
Less Doleful than that City was;
Where without Partners, or Lookers on,
I might Enjoy my Grief alone:
And for a little space
Might lay the weighty burden of my Sorrow down.
III.
And long I had not rov'd about,
E're an approv'd Retirement I found out;
Ruins, that to Religion Sacred were of Yore;
Nor now less Venerable than heretofore:
Where all things did my Melancholly Fancy please
Murmuring Waters, awful Cliffs, & wither'd Trees
There Cheerful Birds n'ere Sing, nor e're blows
Nor any Beast, or Humane Face [gentle breeze
Was to be seen upon the lonely Place.
To this Forlorn and Uncouth seat,
Well suited to my Troubled state,
I softly with my load of Grief retreat:
Where each Rock, and ev'ry Tree
Wou'd, (I knew) Condole with me;
Only stearn Fate would un-relenting be.
Thus then with many a Tear and Groan,
My Dead Prince I did bemoan.
IV.
Charles, the Clement, and the Good!
Charles, the Flow'r of Princely Blood!
Of all we Earthly Gods do call,
Charles, the most Belov'd of all!
Our Heart's Delight, Joy of our Eyes;
And whom not we alone did prize,
Through the whole Universe His Glory flies.
Ev'n Nations Strangers to our Faith and God,
Heard of His Fame,
Rever'd His Name,
And Eastern Princes Dazled with His bright Re­nown,
Which did so much Eclipse their own,
Sent their Embassadors Abroad
To Court the Favour of this Second Solomon.
Of Him to learn the Royal Art
To Govern, and secure the Peoples Heart:
While Christendom in ev'ry weighty All
Did to His well-known Justice still Appeal,
Whose Word and Wisdom ever turn'd the Scale.
V.
He that can tell the drops of Rain
Which on an April day do fall,
(Or his sad Subjects Tears can count,
Which to a greater number mount;)
May reckon up the Graces, but not all,
(For that Essay would be in vain,)
Which did adorn his Life and Glorious Reign:
For who will e're Attempt to tell
Things that are unexpressible?
Great Lord of Wit, Patron of Arts He was,
Learnings strong Atlas, Poetry's best Friend;
Crown'd with each Ray, and blest with ev'ry Grace,
That could a Prince, or make, or recommend.
But if in any one He could & did Himself Excel.
'Twas that of Clemency!
Herein He was Heav'ns Parallel.
Nay (be't with Reverence spoke) He Heav'n out-went,
In Pard'ning the Impenitent—
Is Heav'n it self so Merciful as He?
VI.
But as Ten Thousand scatter'd Rays
By Art are made to Center in one Glass;
So all the Tenderness and Love
Which in His Heart did towards all His Subjects move,
First on His Royal Brother fell, and through Him did pass▪
Not fearing loss of Empire, or of Life,
When High-born James's Foes were rife,
When sawcy, Factious Senates menac'd high▪
And blush'd not to Decry
The Crown's Just Heir and Truest Friend to Mo­narchy
Our King close to His Brothers Interest stood,
And stem'd the Impetuous Flood.
To the Damn'd Project soon He put an end,
And shew'd Himself not more a Monarch than a Friend.
Friendship like This the World did never know,
Save what the King of Heav'n did show,
Who, for our sakes, descending here below,
Ceas'd to be Happy, that we might be so.
VII.
How Dear to Heav'n its Champion was, our Prince,
(Who did so well Defend the Crown
And Faith which He receiv'd from thence,
[...]till valuing the Publick Weal, more than his own)
Let the long Chain of Miracles convince,
Which, Maugre all the opposition
Of Fiends, & Fiend-like Men combin'd in one;
Destin'd him for, and Brought Him to, and kept Him on His Throne.
Witness that shining Herald, sent
To tell the World of His Illustrious Birth:
As if Heav'n had hereby meant—
Another God is Born on Earth!
At Noon we saw the New-born Star
Shine on his Infant Brother here,
With a Mild Aspect, yet so Bright and Clear
As did out-vie the Mid-day Sun,
As far as He Himself all other Kings has done
VIII.
And when Rebellion Black and Dire
Had harass'd long His God-like Sire;
Whose Life it Barbarously took away,
Of all things Great and Holy made a Prey,
And turn'd three Kingdoms into One Aceldam▪
Our late (Ah wretched word!) Heav'n-lov'd King,
Kind Providence did wond'rously convey,
And sheltred Him beneath its wing,
From all the Ills which War, and Chance,
And Treasons blacker than the Night,
Did'gainst His Sacred Life advance.
Witness His Happy 'scape from Wor'ster's Bloody▪Fight:
Where Hov'ring Angels with their Mighty
Sav'd Him from all the Hazards of that Dread-Shield▪
And their important Charge, by ways unknown ful Field▪
T' a Neighb'ring Friendly shade, convey'd
Where sturdy Oaks stretch'd out their Arms
(Oh shame to Mans Barbarity!)
To Receive, and shelter Distress'd Majesty. on high
Witness, O Boscobel, thy Monumental Tree!
IX.
From thence through Dangers numberless
In mighty Wants, and deep Distress
At Home, Abroad, by Land and Seas,
(As once his High-fam'd Ancestor, the wandri [...] Trojan Prince
By many a wondrous Providence,
During his Nine Years Exile hence,
Heav'n its Regard of Him did Evidence,
When the Almighty King to shew his care
Of such as his Vicegerents are;
When Humane Force could do no more; And when
Our dying Hopes could ebb no lower;
Did by a Turn, Miraculous Restore
Our King to Us, Us to our King again:
To bringh which Blessed work to pass,
Neither Man's [...]ower, nor Policy had place;
No Contract made, nor Blows were given;
But the astonish'd World saw 'twas
The stupendious work of Heaven!
X.
So Great a Monarch, and so Glorious,
So much Belov'd at Home, & Fear'd Abroad;
(Much too Good alass! for Us:
Wise as an Angel, Generous as a God—
Though calmly Settled to a Lofty Throne,
Was not above the reach of Envious Lookers on
Which made him stand in need of Heav'ns high Patronage;
(And what he needed, he still had,)
To Save his Crown and Person from the Rage
Of Men (with too much Ease) gone Mad.
Witness those Plots, the Faction's fruitful womb
So oft Conceiv'd, tho' still in vain,
Against their Gracious Sovereign:
(Where sometimes the Discoverer
Play'd both the Devil and the Conjurer:)
Which being by Heav'ns great care Abortive still become,
They added to the VVonders of his Reign:
And made his Throne as fix'd and Glorious, as his Wain.
XI.
When lo! the Prince who seem'd Heavns chief Delight,
Its Darling and Prime Favourite,
His Mid-day Glory's all full Blown—
How strangely are they Blasted, Ah! how soon!
But what Heav'n rais'd, Heav'n only can pull down.
Down low as Earth, this Son of the most High is come;
And all his scatter'd Trophies serve, but to adorn his Tomb.
But why! no Prodigy at all?
No Beacon-Comet fir'd above?
(No Monstruous Births, no Storms, no Whale,
Or to Presage, Great King thy Fall,
Or to attend thy Funeral?)
Which Nature's fright might shew & Mankind's wonder move.
Why (seeing a wondrous Star proclaim'd his Birth,)
Did not as wondrous an Eclipse foretel his leav­ing Earth?
Must God-like Kings like Puny Mortals die?
Must Charles the most August—
Be meanly crumbled like Pl [...]beian Dust?
Why deal'st thou with th' Anointed, O King of
Princes! why?
XII.
But while thus Ravingly I spoke,
With a strange Horrour I was struck,
Which dim'd my Eyes, loosen'd my Joynts, and chill'd my Bloud;
Before me straight a Visionary somewhat stood;
Whose Form I could not well discern;
The Genius, likely, of the place,
Or some such Airy Image 'twas;
Of Stature high, Clad in Blue mists, Its Visage stern:
Which with an angry Hollow Tone
Thus stop'd me—
Shall Mortal wight dare to reprove,
Or prie into the things above?
The Prince whose Death you so bemoan,
Was He not th' Almighties Loan?
Who only has took what was his own.
His Awful Meen, and Heavenly Eyes,
Which made all Hearts his Votaries;
His Soul so Soft, yet truly Great,
His Mind so Clear, and so Sedate,
Prov'd well his Extract from the Skies.
XII.
With Milder Accent, and Genteeler look,
The Spright, (less Frightful now,) thus farther spoke.
Then if your much-Lamented King
So Good and Amiable was;
Why wou'd you have some dreadful thing
The smoothness of his Reign deface?
Let Tyrants and Usurpers have
Sea-Monsters, and Rough Hurricanes
Foretel their Death, and dig their Graves,
Such Prodigies suit well their Reigns:
Comets have still a noisy end,
When calmly does the Sun descend:
Or if you must have Prodigies,
Think of the Millions of Weeping Eyes,
The Truest kind of Elegies;
Or else let this be reckon'd one,
That 'tis a Prodigy—That you have none.
In Halcyon-days your Dove like. Prince was born,
Which did with him return;
His Realms five Lustres have Peace's white Li­very worn;
Living, He Peace bestow'd on ev'ry side,
Kept all in Peace, and Peaceably He Dy'd.
XIV.
It scarce had spoke; when, lo! a sudden Thun­der
(for such at first it did appear)
Shak'd the Thin Ghost asunder;
Which strait dissolv'd into its Primitive Air.
From the cold Turf I quickly rais'd my Head,
Left there my Load of Grief, and to the Town for shelter fled;
E're (as I thought) the Storm should fall upon my Head.
The City soon I reach'd, help'd with the wings of Fear:
But my old Grief and Fright soon chang'd into
new Dread and VVonder
When, what I took for Thunders noise,
A second Peal inform'd me was the Canon's roar­ing voice;
VVhich led me to a Loyal Crowd
That with Great Triumph did Proclaim,
VVith Joyful Shouts and Acclamations Loud,
A new Kings Title, and Imperial Name.
Amaz'd at This so easie Change, I said,
May this Prodigious Shout strike all His Ene­mies dead—
Long, and as this Day, Peaceful be His Reign,
And may His God-like Brother live in Him again.
XV.
Poets of old, were Prophets deem'd;
And if they now were such esteem'd,
(And who knows but they may?)
If our Predicting Rhimes
May lucky Omens prove to after Times,
And, that some Good may be presag'd from Names;
Then would I boldly say
These Realms are doubly blest in that of James
Great Britain's Glory did Commence
VVhen the First James did to the whole give Law:
He joyn'd the Kingdoms, & deriv'd from thence
That long white Row of Peaceful years our Happy Fathers saw.
The Second James by Heaven's Decree
VVill the great Healer of our Breaches be,
And as His Wisdom does already give our Fears Relief,
So will His Mercy suddenly Cure all our Publick Grief.
VVell-skill'd He is in all His Royal Grandsires Arts,
VVho joyn'd both Crowns, as He will do all Hearts,
May Heaven fulfil, and own the Prophesie:
But Ireland sure, above the rest
In that Auspicious Name is doubly Blest:
For while the Royal James the English Crown does wear,
And Ormond's Noble James remains His Vice-Roy here,
Ireland will ne're again know cause of Publick Grief, or Fear.

An Heroick POEM Most humbly Dedica­ted to the Sacred Majesty of CATHA­RINE Queen Dowager.

WHat art thou Muse, that do'st the Mind inspire,
And Tun'st the Strings of the Poetick Lyre?
Refin'st the Drossy Soul to Nobler Flame?
VVhat art thou, but a strong desire of Fame?
A greedy Passion of excelling Praise,
VVhich moves in different Tempers, different ways:
To be Admir'd, first made the Souldier Fight,
The Courtier Flatter, and the Poet VVrite.
But all such Thoughts from my griev'd Bosom fled,
VVhen first I heard our Sovereign Charles was dead:
My Soul grew so Opprest with the sad News,
I hated Fame, abhorr'd my once-lov'd Muse,
Of all Desires Grief stop'd the eager Sense,
And froze Ambition to Indifference.
Oh Frail Condition of all Humane Things!
See here the Fate of ev'n the Mightiest Kings;
See here the Glorious Charles, whose Royal worth
Made Him the Judge of the Disputing Earth;
The Arbitration in His Bosom lay,
He held the Scepter of Imperial sway,
And War and Peace did His Commanding will obey.
Like Heav'n (by Heav'ns Decree) within His Breast
The Fates of Kingdoms, and of Empires Rest;
And VVisely was He chose for the great Grace,
For who, like Him, could Govern such a Race
As His own Murm'ring People, sure may guide
VVith Ease and Pleasure all the VVorld beside.
And yet this Monarch—
Tho' all the Earth depended on His Breath,
Here lyes Himself a Subject now to Death.
To the Great Dead I here should Altars raise,
And guild his Lawrels with a Poets praise;
For all that VVrite should choose no other Theam
Than the Immortal Glories of his Name,
And sing to all the VVorld the greatness of his Name.
But oh! I see his Virtues plac'd too high,
I stand, and wonder, but want VVings to fly,
Struck with such Lustre, ev'n the Laureat fell,
Tho' skill'd in all the Arts of Praising well:
'Tis true he fell, but 'twas like Phaeton,
Because he durst aspire to drive the Sun.
Oh boundless Fame! how great is thy excess,
That Thoughts can never reach, nor Words ex­press!
With my small Bark I dare not tempt that Coast,
Where crowds of Ship-wrack'd Poets I see lost:
The greatness of the work disdains their toil,
This Jewel shines too bright to need a foil.
Nor could I think of Verse, Griefseiz'd my Breast
And Grief by Silence is the best exprest;
My Thoughts were dead, till Duty led my way,
To where his Queen, his Mourning Consort lay:
The Happiest Portion of his Happy Life,
The Tend'rest, Kindest, most Observing Wife.
Sorrow in pomp, alas! fills all the Place,
And sits Triumphant upon every Face:
But in her Looks Magnificent appears,
Drest in the sadness of her Royal Tears.
Heccnba, the greatest Queen that World did know,
Fam'd for expression of her mighty Woe,
Had she liv'd now, would here Example had;
Not how to rage, but to be greatly sad:
The Indian Widows, whom mistaken Fame
Admires for d [...]ing in their Husbands flame,
Find of their Grief an easie Remedy,
To live in Pain is harder, than to Die.
Here no unseemly clamour seeks Relief,
Her Breast contains the burthen of her Grief;
Which Fire-like, supprest within her Princely mind.
Lives, and preserves it self by being confin'd,
The Royal Mourner, lay'd in her dark Room,
Receives th' Officious Visits as they come,
Those tedious Forms of Cer'mony and State,
Is a hard Fine she payes for being Great.
This Dismal Scene on my num'd Fancy wrought
And sad Ideas gave new wings to Thought,
The Prophet with his Country born away,
Hung up his Harp, and Wept, but could not Play:
But when with Pious Sorrow he Survey'd
The Great Jerusalem in Ashes laid:
From the sad Object soon new Fancies spring,
And Sacred Aleph first began to Sing.
Good Heav'n, of all thy great Misterious ways
That Reason comprehends not, yet obeys,
None moves men more to wonder, or distrust,
Than thy severe Probations of the Just;
For who can hear of Pious Catharines Name,
(Great in the Glorious Rolls of Holy Fame)
And not from this sad Scene Expostulate,
At least lament the Frailty of our State?
To see that Good and Great both subject are to Fate?
Else Sh' had been free, whose Life is so from Blame,
Whose Thoughts make highest Virtue all their aim,
At which hard mark She always shoots so right,
That every Action nicely hits the White:
Heav'n sent this Blessing on our English shore,
T' Instruct this Isle, and Virtue to restore
From hence long banish'd by misguided heat,
And teach us how to be both Good and Great:
Great in Her Birth, whose Royal Linage Springs
From a long Race of Lucitanian Kings:
And in the current of whose Blood does shine,
Glorious Remains of the Lancastrian Line.
She, as a Dowry, brought to England more
Than any Queen that ever came before,
She plac'd the English Arms upon the Africk shore
But still most Great in this high part of Life,
As England's Queen, and Mighty Charles's Wife:
And yet—
When Charity implores Her as a Friend,
To see with how much Goodness she'll descend
To help th' Opprest, and to redeem the state
Of the Unhappy, that are Slaves to Fate!
So the Bright Sun, that Nature sets so high,
The Glory of whose Beams fill every Eye
From the great height of his Imperial seat
Nourishes all things by his kindly heat.
In those sad times, when with a Powerful Hand
Curst Perjury Infected all the Land;
Justice look'd on, but durst not say one word,
Her Enemy had rob'd her of her Sword,
And by her side her Ballance useless lay
For now, what men believ'd, they du [...]st not weigh
Commanding Vice struck every Virtue still,
All but her Patience how to bear the Ill.
The Epidemick Plague in every Breast,
The wholesom Spirit's corrupted or opprest;
Nothing could now withstand, nothing prevail,
Nothing but her Pray'ers, that n [...]ver fail.
On what vain props all Wic [...]edness is built!
There's some thing Self-confounding still in guilt
Else, (Oh mistaking men!) else how could these,
Innu [...]'d in the success of Villanies,
Not see? That the known Virtues of her Name
Would guard her safe, & that t'attempt her Fame
Must of their Story prove so hard a Test,
As shows the Native baseness of the rest,
Even Zeal it self could never think, that she
So fam'd for Virtue and for Piety,
Could never Cherish wretches to Rebel,
Or strike the Life of Him she Lov'd so well:
'Or that a Prince could Harbour such a Thought,
'Who had so bravely for His Country Fought:
'A Prince within the circle of whose Mind
'All the Heroick Attributes are joyn'd,
'That differently dispers'd, hav [...] made men Great.
A Prince so Lov'd, so much pr [...]serv'd by Fate
'To wear these Glorious Crowns; and to repay
'What in His Brother She has born away,
This show'd the Cheat, show'd what the Plot de­sign'd,
And all men saw, but such as would be Blind:
Susanna-like Accus'd, Her Prayers are heard,
Her Enemies are Punish'd, and she Clear'd:
But 'tis no wonder Heav'n should take Her part
That holds such large Possessions in Her Heart:
Who e're a Glorious Piety would Paint
A great Triumphant Queen, and Praying Saint;
From the high Image of Her Heav'nly Thought
Might draw th'exactest piece was ever wrought.
The rising Sun no sooner did display
His early Beams to kiss the new-born day,
But that she Rose to Offer up Her Prayers
To Crown with Blest success Great Charles's Cares,
That this our Nation may be Prosp'rous still,
And for those few that ever wish'd Her Ill:
Mercy's Her Natures great Prerogative,
She never thinks of Faults, but to Forgive.
'Tis this, Great Queen, that makes me dare to bring
To Your high Fame so poor an Offering.
Your Goodness knows to judge what we intend,
And how to Pardon, if we do Offend.
This knowledge gives me hope you will not blame
My too-aspiring Verse, nor conceal'd Name▪
My humble Duty here my Pride o're Pow'rs,
It dares not live in the same Page with Yours:
The Beams of your great Glory shine so bright,
I turn my Face away from my too much Light.
May Earth, Great Queen, give Joy to all your years,
And Heav'n be still Propitious to your Prayers;
May the great Blessings they alone could send
On Charles's Happy Reign, and Pious end;
Have Pow'r to make him in his second Birth
As great a Saint, as he was King on Earth:
Where e're you pass may all your En'mies bow,
And Fame when she relates your Name speak true,
May you possess a Chain of Happier days,
And better Poets rise to Sing your Praise:
And when the Fates have Seal'd your mighty Doom,
(For Fate, (too well we see) is sure to come)
May Heav'n a Nobler way supply our want,
And hop'd Success to all our Wishes grant,
Then when we loose our Queen, we are sure to find our Saint.

The Description of the CORONATION.

MY Ravish'd Muse in such bright Mazes dance,
So Rapture-struck, and all dissolv'd in Trance,
That I her Pensel but in vain provoke,
To shadow out the Visionary Stroak;
Since She, (like Angels, that above are Blest,)
Feels Extasies too high to be exprest.
Nor blame the Muse that would this Subject shun
Poets and Limners should not meddle with Perfection.
All common stroaks their stinted Art may draw,
Whilst a Bright Vision keeps the Hand in aw.
And if th'Original they don't Transcend,
They only Libel, what they would commend.
And who can add one little common Ray
To the gay Splendor of this Happy Day?
A Day that no Hyperbole can Grace,
The only Paint that Beautifies a Poems Face.
Hail Happy Day! A Day so long Renown'd
For Holy George & several Monarchs Crown'd!
Tho' now thy former Glories dis-appear,
As twinkling Stars, when Day's bright Gods draw near;
Yet greater Honours in their room are given,
From Earth's rag Calander, thou art transcrib'd to that of Heav'n.
Long hast thou worn red Characters below,
But now the Gods will keep thee Holy too.
Tho' the Morn was spread with Rebel-show'rs of rain
Yet Jove's kind hand soon for [...]'d them back again:
And now the Sun which long did Mourning wear
Does in his Noblest Gayest Robes appear.
Whilst on Heav'ns brow no Cloudy frowns were seen,
But as the First-day, Pleasant and Serene.
The gazing Gods throw those dark Skreens away
That they this Sight the Clearer might Survey
But if the Sun had layn a bed 'till now,
Without his aid we'd seen the Glorious Show.
The Souls of Kings and Heroes Blest above,
With Choirs of shining Spirits hither move;
Mantled in Rays of Light ne'r seen 'till now,
On wings of Joy, they hover to and fro,
Follow'd by Chariots so Divinely bright;
To which the Sun but Darkness is, and Night.
Or had this fail'd, we might the Prospect take
From the great Splendor which the Court did make.
As when we would the Richest Jewels try,
We need but their own Light to know them by.
Hark! what soft Aires and Raptures fill the Skies,
Perform'd by Infinite Choires of Deities?
Whilst Mortals too, their rural Musick mix,
And with their Concord the Charm'd Planets fix.
Now Guardian-Angels quit their worted Care,
And flie in Troops to Guild the London Air.
Where Aeolus too in gentle Breezes hast;
Loaded with all the Odours of the East,
The Essence of each Fragrant Flower He brings,
And hovers o'er us with His Balmy Wings.
The Gods owe much to Bounteous Nature too,
From whose Rich Bosom several Treasures flow.
For had She Awkward been, They had been set
To the Expence of greater Wonders yet.
But hold! where does my forward Pensel run
To end the Day, before 'tis scarce begun?
Early I rose this Triumph to attend,
And saw the Royal Pair the Boat ascend.
Whose Sacred Presence such Devotion strike,
Poets themselves want Skill to feign the like.
By slow degrees on Silver Thames they road,
She as a Goddess, He so like a God,
That I with Moses wisht an Interposing Cloud
Objects so Bright should put on a Disguise,
Least the Adorers faint beneath the Rays.
In the same Sphere two mighty Suns behold!
Each of which does contain in a Heav'nly World
And did the Persians see this Royal Pair,
They'd slight their God, and pay their Homage here.
He that has try'd to fix his daring Eyes
On that vast Light which Guilds the Morning Skies,
Will find it yet more daz'ling to Survey
This Pair of Suns, this double Deity.
The rest o'th' Court I with more ease could view,
Yet they made more than Humane Figures too.
With Radiant Jewels being cover'd all o'er,
Half the Worlds Wealth, with its Pride, they bore.
Scarlet beneath the Massy-Lace was hid,
With Imag'ry, o'er Splended Tissue spread.
Here the Fair Sexes Art and Patience see,
Emblem'd in ev'ry Rich Embroiderie!
Eight hideous Weeks, which most should Work, they strove,
Neglecting all the while their Health & Love.
And the green Girls preparing for the Day,
Made themselves Pale, to make their Lovers gay.
On Thames see numerous shining Vessels move,
Which dance like some transported Orphean Grove.
And like the Spheres their Artful measures take,
From the soft Musick their own motions make
But when all did in one close Body meet,
They look'd like some new-built Elisian-street
Or as if the highest Heav'n came down
Fraughted Gems for his dear James's Crown
An earnest of His brighter last Eternal one.
Blest Thames! hadst thou a Tongue thy bliss to own,
My Muse had not then made her weakness known;
But since imperfect signs thy thoughts declare,
I dare intrude as thy Interpreter.
Hail Sacred Princes! thrice she seems to say,
Whom Instinct makes ev'n senseless things obey;
Your Royal Barge on my soft Bosom made,
The happy'st wound that Water ever had.
Ʋnder whose weight may I for ever live,
But, Oh, that wish, You cannot like, forgive!
Long may You wear that Antient Potent Crown,
Which now, (Great Sir) You're going to put on!
And may Your Sacred, Glorious Scepter stand
For ever firm, and easie in Your Hand!
Your Crown too, (Mighty Queen) long may You wear,
And be as Happy, as You're Good and Fair!
And when You'll (late) he pleas'd t' inrich the Skie;
May some kind Stars exhale me too on high!
Where (if the Gods so please) may I reside
Your fix'd, and everlasting Pyramyde!
In the mean while close by Your Pallace side
I will with soft, and constant numbers Glide.
The common Frowns which Nature bid me wear,
Shall at Your awful Presence disappear.
At that Command, I'll henceforth Ebb and Flow,
And will no Neptune (Sir,) no Thetis (Madam) own but You.
This Speech being finisht, she resign'd her care
To the now Honour'd Ground of Westminster;
Where, lo, the Earth is ready to unfold
That Pomp the Sea too narrow was to hold.
But Cloaths of State o're all the ground being spread,
This doleful Speech the sighing Tellus made.
What have I done (ye Gods) that I must meet
This curst Exclusion from my Sov'reigns Feet?
Must I sustain more than half Europe's weight,
Without the just return of viewing it?
But know, whoever did these Coverings lay,
Did spoil the greatest Wonder of this day,
Flora does now in my wrong'd Bosom lie,
Furnisht with all her Summer Treasury;
Long since delighting on great CAESAR's Road
In various Sweets to spread her self abroad.
Raising her Head, she had been Proud to meet
A Noble R [...]ia from Tour Royal Feet.
But slighted thus,—she'd something more to say,
But louder Tryumphs bore the sound away.
Such num'rous Crouds both far and near were seen,
That streets seem'd Pav'd, & houses Tyl'd with Men,
Chequer'd with the Fair Sex, appear'd more bright,
Whowith hard gazing fed their eager sight,
Then sigh'd & wisht, & did the rest in dreams at night.
So closely prest they did one Mass appear,
But when bright James & his fair Queen drew near;
The mighty Bulk did its own self divide,
And made a Golden Wall on either side.
Through which they to the Princes Chamber past,
To take Repose, for Gods themselves must rest
Where having had some short Re-fection,
And Glorious proper Robes of State put on;
In the Abby (now) where Pomp & Tryumph waits
Behold the Royal God-like CANDIDATES?
Where after numerous Ceremonies past,
Of Ʋnction, Oaths, &c. which several hours did last,
Their Sacred Heads receiv'd the Imperial Crown,
By CANTERBƲY's happy hand set on.
Blest Man! what bliss hast thou receiv'd this hour
What couldst thou wish, or could Heav'n give thee more?
Th'exact Description of the Cavalcade,
And the bright Figures ev'ry Order made;
What hands the Scepter, Sword, Staff, Orb did wear,
Or who Curtana, or the Spurs did bear,
Or by what Peers the Crowns supported were
What Favourites next the Presence did remain,
Or what bright Youths bore up the Royal Train
How from the Temple to the Hall They past,
(Where waited for them a Stupendious Feast)
What Hecatomb fell Victims to Their Board,
Or what vast Seas of Wine it did afford.
And lastly, how with the vast Infinite Train,
They to White-Hall, (now Crown'd,) return'd again;
Are Thames that would a mighty Volume ask:
Nor is't a Poets, but the Heralds task.
Besides, it would more charge of time require,
Then now my niggard Fate is pleas'd to spare.
But having yet Survey'd the Court alone,
I now would make the Peoples transports known
But I (alass) want Language to express my own.
Ten thousand Bells in one loud Consort joyn,
Both Earth and Heaven it self to Entertain:
Sure for this Reason they were rais'd on High,
That th' Gods might better hear this Harmony.
The Pleasant Musicks nimble foot-steps hear,
Passing Harmoniously from Sphere to Sphere!
Which now the Starry Battlements has found,
Which, Hark, reverberates, and multiplies the Sound!
They Man's Officious, & Injurious call,
Who interpos'd the design'd Miracle.
For Joy, their useless Ropes away they'd throw,
And Musick on their own accord bestow.
Next, Loyal Fires (the Peoples Offerings) see!
Like Burning Groves raising their Heads on high!
As if this night was destin'd to devour,
What was design'd for the next Winter Store
See how it Mounts, as if't had an intent
To reach the Stagarytes Fictitious Element!
Whilst on Thames too they such vast Fire-works make,
That all her Streams seem but one Flaming Lake
The Frightned Gods thinking their Skies on Fire
For safety to the farthest Heav'ns retire:
They fear'd another Race of Gyants rose,
Who now had Fire instead of Mountains chose.
But when Discreeter Gods saw the intent,
Instead of Thunder and Revenge, they sent
A Herald to proclaim this Complement.
Blest Change! And now the Heav'nly Powers re­joyce
That England does approve of their Wise Choice:
And to its Throne, wrong'd Loyalty restore,
Where Treason stretch'd its ugly Limbs before
Being Loyal grown, Your Bliss is now compleat,
For You before all Blessings had, but That;
This day you've Crown'd a King, whose God-like Reign,
Restores you the Blest Golden Age again.

A Poem on the CORONATION.

FLie Envious Time; why dost our Bliss delay?
Repair Death's & thy wrongs, & give us day
The Day which from our Woes must free us all,
Whom Grief would else Martyr in Charles's fall:
That Ador'd Monarch, whose Illustrious Name
Alone, speaks more, than all the Tongues of Fame
Whose Loss, levy'd a Tax of Sighs, and Moan,
And forc'd the World t'an Universal Groan.
Hold, hold my Muse—The Dawn new-gilds the Skies,
See where Great James our second Sun does rise
And quite exhales these Vapours from our Eyes
Tears, and the Sable signs of Grief, give way,
Chac'd by the Beams of this most Glorious Day;
A Day, doubly design'd by Destiny
To remain Sacred to Posterity.
Something for Geerge's Birth was to It due,
But now it is Three Kingdoms Birth-Day too,
From this Coronation [...]e our Lives Renew.
Each Loyal Heart is struck by'ts Sovereign Rays
And fill'd at once with Gratitude and Praise.
Hark! how the Streets with cheerful Shouts do Ring,
Excessive Joys in ev'ry Bosom spring,
And the whole Town do IO PAEANS sing.
While th' Air as loath such Loyal Sounds to lose
With thousand Ecchoes does prolong each close;
Behold what heaps of Hatts, aloft there fly,
Like thickn'd Clouds, they steal away the Sky.
T' attend this Earthly Jove, the World agrees
In-landers leave their Homes, Sea-men the Seas;
Both English born, & those that Neighbours are;
With Exultation cleave the yielding Air.
So in some Garden, deckt with Flora's Pride,
Where all the Glories of the Spring reside,
There near a Waxen Canopy we see,
Thousands thus Buz about the Royal-Bee.
Nature, at this Solemnity Revives,
And the glad Earth by James's Infl'ence Thrives
Hills, Vallies, Woods, are drest in new Attire,
April at its own Beauty does Admire,
The wing'd Musicians Carol in the Air,
The Spacious Meadows, Green-Plush Mantles wear,
Nay, the pleas'd Heav'n's without a Cloud appear
Whilé all the Flowers of the Spring do meet,
And, than Arabian Spices, smell more sweet,
The Mighty Pan, the Mighty Pan to Greet.
How sensible the Houses are, 'tis He!
Who but in Arras-Gowns the King will see.
Walls, Windows, Roofs, Tow'rs, Steeples, all are set
With several Eyes, but the least Glimpse to get.
And lo, the Costly Pomp is now in view,
Which claims our Wonder, and our Homage too.
The like of this Day's State not Italy Sings,
Consular Triumphs, were but petty things:
Rome too as short of this in Shows, you'll find,
As her Now Glories, are from those declin'd.
Triumphant Sight! In this one Train we may
Of all that's Noble, take a full Survey.
Do Arms Delight ye? Surfeit here your View
On Troops, as can th' Insulting World subdue.
Nay Learning here in its Perfection shines,
And Athens now to Westminster Resigns.
Religion, Law, each her best Charms displays,
Chear'd by the Warmth of his Indulgent Rays;
Who gave His Word, that he'll maintain the State,
His Word, Unalt'rable as the Book of Fate.
VVho'll say, the City Brethren, Misers be,
And but beholds, their this Days Bravery?
None, none; and by their Gallantry, all guess,
Their Loyalty's the Cause of their Excess.
VVhat Rich Attire the Spirit'al Lords array!
VVhat Massie Coronets Adorn the Lay!
Such Cloath of Gold and Silver, Kill my Brain
My Opticks fail, and I grow Blind again.
Arch-Angels sure, leaving their Glorious Sphere
Once-more themselves have Bodify'd, and here
Resolve, as English Nobles to appear.
Princes who've still been waited on, now wait
And Bowing here, they count they sit in State.
But stay!—In this Terrestial Galaxy,
A Glitt'ring Troop, of Beauties I descry,
VVho Ravish with too Bright a Tyranny.
Such Lustre ne're was seen in Thetis Train,
VVhen Drest i'th' Native Jewels of the Main.
At ev'ry Look I take, new Charms arise,
Bright are their Diamonds, Brighter are their Eys.
And in each Lovely Face, do plainly move,
Un-number'd Signs of Beauty, Wit and Love:
Shou'd Cold Diogenes these Fair Ones see.
Pierc'd by their Darts he wou'd Enamour'd be.
But what Fresh Object's this Invades my Eye,
And bids my Soul gaze there Etternally?
Assur'd I am, our Climate never held
Before a Beauty so unparallel'd,
All Heavenly Features joyn themselves in one,
To shew their Triumph in this Face alone;
The Savages, that Worship the Suns Rise,
Wou'd hate their God, if they beheld these Eyes.
The Wealth She wears about her, more does hide
Than it Adorns, Her Native Beauty's Pride.
Mirrour of Heaven! Wonder of the Earth!
Oh! thou Bright Goddess of Caelestial Birth!
Now Caesar's Glory Augmentable seems,
Since You appear, and deign to mix your Beams
'Tis She! 'Tis Englands Queen whom thus we view,
The Crown, not Her, but She the Crown does Grace
Before She sway'd an Empire in Her Face.
Had Virgil liv'd this Mary but to see,
Dido had in Oblivion Slept, and She
Had giv'n his Muse, Her best Eternity.
And now the Monarch of the Day's in sight,
From whom the rest receive their borrow'd Light,
Who giving way, His Brighter Splendour own,
As Stars do vanish at th'approach o'th' Sun.
Oh! what a Flood of Virtues from Him flows!
How like a God Install'd on Earth He shows!
Thus when the Thickest Darkness Phoebus Shrowds,
With greater Fulgence he breaks through the Clouds:
Look on His Face, His Royal Mein but mind,
And to be Traytors now, we must be blind.
Mankind's Delight! and Heavens chiefest Care,
To vict'ry, as to's Crown the Lawful Heir.
The World has always Shook at His Alarms,
At Sea and Land Success still Crown'd His Arms.
Ye Bold Excluders, see your Injur'd Prince,
And may this Sight You of your Crime convince,
Crouch crouch, Rebellious Sirs, & own your Insolence
Both how to Pardon, and Revenge, He knows,
To Guard his Friends, and to Destroy his Foes.
Down, down then at His Feet without delay,
With double Loyalty His wrongs repay;
Lay, lay Him in your Hearts, and beg of Fate,
He long may Reign, though He is Crown'd, but late,
He shall; for th' thing that's slowly's sure done,
And He whom Heaven designs to six on's Throne,
It is the longer sitting Him thereon.
No more shall Lawless, Hair-brain'd Faction [...]age,
But may His Reign bring back the Golden Age.
May from His Sacred Consort's VVomb Increase,
Spring Present Joy, and Future Ages Peace.
Let's keep their [...]ath, which He (a Subject) made,
VVho still His King Unmurmuring Obey'd.
Let's think His Foes be Ours, as so They are,
Think on His Martyr'd Father, and beware.
And let this Sight, (though ended, ne're be done,
But let it still, and still be Thought upon,
And Thought on, ev'n to Convert Rebellion.
LONDON.

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