WISE Men begin at th' Enterprises End,
Sense shou'd the Aim, ere 'tis an Act, commend;
With Courtiers, Fencers, Lawyers, Poets still
Boldness makes up, their want of Force, or Skill;
And Zeal is oft, the Pious Fools Excuse,
Whose rude Pray'r is the Deity's Abuse;
So when defaming Libels flie abroad,
Profaneing the high Name of earthly God,
[Page 2] I too, scarce hold taking great Name in vain,
Must with new insolence, of theirs complain;
Who thinks your Name by Slaves can lessen'd be,
Do's to your Honour, but more Injury;
Of all your Provinces, yet ne're was known,
Parnassus (Sir) Rebellious to the Crown,
Province of Wit, more than the rest your own
Tho Poets still, by Courts were kept Threadbare,
In Verse, for Monarchy, true Wits declare,
A Wit's your true, Indigent Officer
Still out of Royal Sight, kept below Stairs,
Appearing through his Coat, seldom appears;
Court litter ere has been a Spaniel Crew;
To Fawning, Sloth, yet scarce to Master true,
Suff'ring no Poor, to come in Master's view;
If Royal Bounty, ought to Stranger throws,
The Houshold greedy Fawners interpose;
So Wretch for whom 'twas meant, the Boon must lose;
[Page 3] I am the only Spaniel of the Crown,
Kick'd out, and yet must still be hanging on,
The kinder too, for being but ill us'd,
To baffled me, why is Court-grace refus'd?
Where 'tis Preferment, but to be abus'd.
But Poet 'mongst State-Lyars can't put in,
And Wit with Politicks, scarce ere there, seen,
The only bashful Lyar too, comes there,
And only hungry, ill clad, Flatterer;
Flatt'ry with Wit, like Paint on a good Face,
Instead of setting off, heightning Disgrace,
And Flattery makes Wit thought counterfit,
As red, which does appear too plain to sight,
Renders suspected, undawb'd neighb'ring White;
Wit, like unfarded Beauty, will appear,
Still best bare-fac'd, and when Men peep most near;
Yet Fucus Flattery's too hard for Wit,
Tho by Wits shelter she do's safest sit,
[Page 4] Mole Flatterer, sole danger of great Men,
Who raises levels up, whilst Heart's unseen,
Heaving loose Hills, for trampling proud Court foot,
In unsmooth Court paths, still to spurn about;
Court-Underminers, are still trod upon,
Yet to destroy them, each great Man has one;
As Elephants have Mice to eat 'em down;
The Horse, has lurking Bot, the Dog his Worm,
Poet, has Worm call'd Wit, to do him harm;
Each Mortal, do's own Bane about him bear,
So great Prince has, his sticking Flatterer;
Flattery copper Coin to current Wit,
Tho so Court current, ne're pass'd with you, yet;
That Ivy of Court Cedars, whose Embrace,
Hinders its high Stocks growth, its worst disgrace,
Destruction to best Pallaces high walls,
Whil'st from her clinging growth, huge Fabrick falls;
But you hate Flattery, as you love Wit,
Bold Flattery, always too hard for it;
[Page 5] For Flatterers, tho you low Race disown,
Still think themselves, Appendixes o'th' Crown,
So sticking Sploach, Golds lustre will deface,
And Cobwebs oft, hang safest on high place,
To Courts, perpetual hanging on, Disgrace;
Wit like your Robes, none but you there have on,
Easie Majestick free, to be aim'd at by none;
In Conversation make no diff'rence yet,
Distinguish'd then as first but by your Wit,
Which like your Gold, from you do's freely flow,
Fountain of Honor, Wealth, nay true Wit too,
You are a Tyrant only by your Wit,
Tormenting aiming Coxcombs still with it,
And no bold Talker can safe near you sit;
You never triumph, tho you overcome,
Not by your Checks, but Wit, make Talkers dumb;
Monarch of Wit, have all Wits in your pow'r,
Yet ne're made Man blush, who cou'd blush before;
[Page 6] Nay let too, forward dapper Wit, alone,
'Till that his own bold Nonsence runs him down;
So an ill Fencer falls by his own Sword,
The more he pushes, the more out of guard;
But you, Wit, like your Justice (Sir) all know,
More than in punishment in mercy show,
Tho if provok'd none can be sharper too;
But sparing is the part of gen'rous Wit,
Whilst rambling Fools shot, do's all round it, hit;
Loud half Wits, as loud half Braves, bloody'st are,
In their Wits fury, Man, nor Woman, spare;
But true Wits, like your Spaniels have alone,
Their Master Friend, by th'Crowd, kick'd, trod upon;
Wits small great Party, you alone (Sir) are,
Yet Poet, at Whitehall, sole Flatterer,
Who by the Rules of Court, is left to starve,
If not Wit, lying shou'd the Wretch preserve,
Where cutting Friends up do's Knaves mouthfuls carve;
[Page 7] And palling Flattery, helps Fools to dine,
But cou'd Wits force, with Flattery once join,
It ne're cou'd have, improsperous design;
For Wit, with Flattery, like Force with Art,
Lay's open fencing Courtiers cover'd heart;
'Gainst lurking Flattery, few men there are,
Who want their weak side, or do not lie bare;
None but you (Sir) for Flattery too high,
That piercing soft, feather'd Artillery;
Which falls to Earth, aiming up, at the Sky;
Against Court Wind-Guns you alone are fast,
And Poyson-praise, Court-slaves before you taste,
They have first draught, to you presented last:
At Court, Wit lives, alas, like Loyalty,
Maim'd, shabby, out of date, pass'd by;
Thought Favourit of Courts, gets there but shame,
Sole Lyar there too, Subject is to blame;
[Page 8] Like Cavalier, lives on Witts Lottery,
The Play-house, starving Scene of Poetry;
That scrambling Lottery of needy Wit,
Where most times chance is miss'd for one poor hit,
And all with busie, filching Scribling paw,
For art, and pushing blanks most often draw;
Saints meeting Play-houses play down the Stage,
There act more lew'd love, and more Bloody-rage
With Devils, Pope, and Fryers to engage,
And they on Pulpit-Ribaldry grow fat,
On vices of the World to live, and chat,
Better, than any Poet of 'em All,
Or Coffee-holders-forth, who unhir'd Baul;
By Prickear'd, Busie, Lasy is reviv'd,
So did he look so whine, so sneer'd, so griev'd,
And Foe to Plays the greatest Player is
Acts on stale Plot,
(Of 41)
tho People roar, and hiss,
[Page 9] Low'd, bauling Bombast, tragick Villany,
And seriously plays Pulpit-Comedy,
Ridiculous, Religious Mimckry;
For four hours, deaf'ning Galleries and Pit,
While Pulpit-fixt long Ears in Pill'ry sit,
And those merc'less Ear Executioners,
To Pulpits pin down, for five hours, all Ears,
With mauling, rayling, sharp invective Prayers,
Against the Play-houses, so much declare,
Cause such their Meeting-houses, only are;
When Town, had but two, they cou'd ne're agree,
What fewds will rise by late Pluralitie?
Let Cushion-beaters rage, thump Pulpits down,
Each thrash about him, till his Cushion's gone;
And if (Sir) once you take away Saints ease,
His Praying, and his noise, will soon then cease;
So Pillow ta'n from Sick-mans dying Bed,
Strugler gets quiet from his fallen head;
[Page 10] In meeting Play-house, thriving Players do,
To Less then ten, with sharing audience go;
They Tythes alone, for gain-sake still lay down,
Because they think their Flocks fleece all their own
Believe as Saints, so Heaven's sole Heirs they are,
And wrong'd, when they are stinted to tenth share,
Of blessings, which like showers, come without care:
But holy Play-houses, like others do,
Act Tragedies on Kings, in Puppet show,
And with the Royal leave, or sufferance,
By acting so, the active cause advance;
Of Rapin, Rage, Rebellion, nay Lust too,
Where rais'd up Eyes, each Dame and Purse look throw,
There with rude Worship, Church, and Court defame,
In Pray'r take most in vain, God's, and your name;
Yet often'st in their Pray'r you are left out,
But in Pray'r only, 'scape blaspheming Throat;
[Page 11] Such old Reformers, did old Laws withstand,
Such by King-killing, made yours holy Land;
And such, again, (forbid Eternal Pow'r,)
Would so exalt their King as once before,
But you, without Deaths stroak, will ever live,
In deeds of Mercy, like a God, you give,
Yet Death, or vengeance deal with slowest Arm,
By mercy (Sir) you only can do harm;
Yours is, in sparing but destructive hand,
With stroaks you'd heal, State-evil of your Land;
But when you think all's Cur'd the hum'rous Sore,
Missing your Gold, breaks out, worse than before;
Rebellion, like a Fellon, must endure,
Squeesing and anguish, ere 'twill find a Cure;
You ne'r are cruel, but when you forgive,
And Rebels, whom your laws condemn reprieve,
Saving such lives, risques that, by which all live;
[Page 12] When a King's Murder'd, one Man do's not die,
Whole Nations, suffer Death in Monarchy,
And lose their dearest Life old Liberty:
Your Arm, like Heaven's fences with your Foes,
To save those lives who would your power depose;
Excess of Mercy, is self cruelty,
Hazzarding Life that Murderers mayn't die;
Yet sometimes, Trait'rous Friend bids Friend have care,
Makes him turn's Head, to take him unaware,
When none, but his own Trait'rous hand, was near;
But your own sparing hand, you need but fear,
'Cause 'twou'd not kill, but only rage disarm,
Vent'ring your self, not enemy to harm;
Late is your Veng'ance, if it comes at all,
Like Heavens hand, your great Original,
Tardy in punishment, in giving swift,
When merit calls, you give 'till nothing's left;
[Page 13] Kings names, by th' King of Mettles ought to live,
Yet not by Dross they stamp, but Gold, they give;
Kings are Land-Pyrats from their taking pow'r,
By gift, not stamp of Gold, Kings are made more,
By giving each King grows an Emperour;
Yet the sole fault of giving, is excess;
It's overflowing, maks its shallowness,
By giving, Liberality will cease,
All but your self, in your Court, are at ease,
All but your self, there too, proud, big, and high;
O'reflowing honour dreins Spring Majesty,
And when a Prince puts Royal stamp on Brass,
Raising the Mettles price, will his debase;
Some worthless wretches wear high Character,
As Copper Farthings too Kings Image bear,
As well as Gold, which weighs well, and looks right,
Of worth Intrinsick, glorious too, in sight;
[Page 14] When honours grow too cheap, it is a sign,
In other Courts of scarcity of Coin,
So Royal stamp, in Exigences has,
Coin'd Leather, and for sterling made it pass,
But your stamp is the same, on Lead, and Brass;
In heat of stamping often dull Dross may
Mix with pure Gold, and steal its stamp away;
Yet some there are, deserve the stamp I know,
And as true Coin, may make the false to go
When Princes justly honour too confer,
Such honour'd is, his Prince's honourer;
You can make any thing, but your self proud,
Best Kings, are like best Gold, easiest bow'd;
Such is your gentle condescending Reign,
As when Gods rul'd each Village and each Plain,
Ere Ceremony sway'd, Pride, or Disdain,
Or rust of Avarice, did Conscience stain;
[Page 15] And ere intruding, lowd Religion strove,
To change for tattle, silence of the Grove;
Left Heav'nly solitude t'improve the Earth,
And scourc'd silent content, for noisy mirth;
Such your Reign, as when Gods rul'd infant Times,
Your patience, bounty, mercy, are your Crimes;
If they are faults, the Gods are Gods by them,
More than by Thunder, or Stars Diadem;
Your power alone, in saving you employ,
You still save more, than Tyrants wou'd destroy;
Some Kings, out of revenge, but Justice do,
But out of easiness, their pitty show,
And out of highest Vanity, seem low,
You are your Nations King, yet Father too;
Your haughty Brother, Kings by ruin Reign,
Offenders of your Mercy but complain,
When they act o're their Villanies again:
[Page 16] You by forgiving make, and Conquer Foes,
And bind men more, by letting of 'em loose;
Pard'ning, in other Kings, is but an art,
More to enslave, they give Life for a Heart,
Which never must from them again depart;
So give Life, but to take away a Life,
For Death to wretch, from slavery's reprief,
Such Kings reprieve wretch, from the quiet grave,
To make him live in Hell here Gally slave;
To force slave Subjects, is Kings slavery,
A Rape on Hearts, begets disloyalty;
Making your Subjects Hearts unask'd to give,
Is only Gods, and your Prerogative,
Force on Allegiance worse than Rape on Love,
Pleasure, and rule by force, but Tiresom pain will prove
With your rude Nation, you, have kindly strove,
But after all your Courtship, still you find,
The hum'rous sullen harlot, scarce is kind,
[Page 17] The only she, to whom your love apply'd,
Who sawcily, her kindness has deny'd;
Yet will she, beastly prostrate be, lie down,
And common grow to Fop of Shire and Town,
Not worthy for such Majesty to own:
Your Nation was your Mistriss next to Fame,
'Till she prov'd false; your wrong is but her shame,
The more you Court, the Jilt becomes more coy,
Your shew of Love, do's but your hopes destroy;
French Hectors kick, coy Jade e're she'll be kind,
That way of wooing's best most Monarchs find;
Neglect, scorn, and ill nature, best subdue
Her who, then's only lost when you pursue,
She to be follow'd will run out of view:
False Common-wealth, dear Pation of her Prince.
She who has been chief Mistriss of expence,
Is first, who at your giving takes offence;
[Page 18] Jade Common-wealth, who in your bosom lay,
Her whom you watch'd all night, Courted by day,
Proves now your false, and weakning Dalila,
Betraying first your strength your Life wou'd lose,
Clipping your power, you to Philistians expose,
Philist'ans, to Almightiness, old Foes,
Who from your strength to mightiness first rose;
She too, wou'd make great Master but her slave,
Grown proud, scorns him, from bountys first he gave,
Such fickle, false, and humorous next Fame,
Is Mistriss Common-wealth, her Lovers shame,
Who suffers her too high, wou'd be too tame.
Truckling's the way to make Love still despis'd,
For haughtiness, more than for truth oft pris'd:
That Love which can engage, yet will not awe,
Contempt in fine on profferer will draw,
False Subjects, like false Whores but true for fear;
Are Loyallest, when they are kept most bare.
[Page 19] After new Conquests you ne're vainly roam,
To make War which tho scouring far from home,
At length, do's to home rage, and plundring come,
Nay Princes, ravage home, to sack abroad,
With burth'nous War, own Paisents first they load,
To make strange Subjects Vassals to their Throne,
Some squeez, tax, torture, and fire too, their own;
Ambitiously, to others ruin run,
First by own loss, and desolation;
So pushing Kings, like stamping Fencers live,
Upon those sides to which most bangs they give,
As if that Subjects, were like hide-bound stocks,
Whom Prince, by bangs to bearing fruit provokes,
Slave so to Fame, for's glory slaves do's load,
Sets fire on home, to make men fly abroad,
So broken Knave fires own House to get Brief,
His ruin is, his ruins sole relief;
[Page 20] And Poverty in peace, that makes men run,
From Laws; in War, leads always poor Rogues, on;
Kings pillage slaves, 'till pillaging goes round,
By want, as well as rage, Arms first are found,
So those, who cannot live, nor starve at home,
For fear of starving to be kill'd may roam;
Are fitted for a March, before they go,
All hardship, want, first from their Prince they know,
Train'd up at home, for Military Vice,
In Theft, and Soldiers starving exercise,
In suff'ring hunger, thirst, and stripes are brave,
So way to Conquer, is to be a slave;
Home-hunger, and home-thirst the slaves first try,
Thus neighb'ring shore is made Arms nursery,
So Officers in Muster's only stout,
To shew their valour, first their own men rout,
But when none strike again, lay most about.
[Page 21] Soldiers from Officers take bangs, and blows,
That they may learn to take 'em from their foes;
And Soldiers oft by being cloath'd, are stript,
And beng paid, have half their wages clipt,
Like Martial Fools, are Knaves, on honours score,
Most Courts with payments Rob, with gifts make poor
With Titles infamous, with praise a Whore,
Valliantest there, oft of their pay afraid,
Most often too, but with bangs truly paid;
By state cashiers, and Captains are rob'd so,
That art of pillaging they too may know,
E're they themselves may come, to strip a Foe;
So Soldier who, first Arms, and Armour buys,
By his own Arm, or Shot, their mettle tries,
So hack they too, their Soldiers nat'ral Buff,
To find, if that it be true hacking proof,
And when their Geese, and Estridges can live,
On Iron, then tame flock from home they drive;
[Page 22] Then too, on heedless neighbours are let loose,
When they are ready to eat up friends, foes;
So Mastiffs from their hunger, and their chains,
Get courage which their Masters Fold maintains,
And at his Whistle follow him about,
Lapping from Fountain made by Horses foot,
Such, and so hard, is honours Pilgrimage,
To honours shrine, leads many a tedious stage,
Fames crack'd Divote, long gadding undergoes,
As if 'twere got by wearing out ones shoes;
From beating only Hoof, not beat of Drum,
Late Conquerors far Provinces o'recome,
So Pack-horses, with Snapsacks too engage,
The Winds, and Storms, steep Hills, and Drivers rage,
And may be said to make a long Campaigne,
Of which they never but by ribs complain,
Carriers, for loading hard too, so get praise,
And for their going on still name can raise,
[Page 23] And beating of the Hoof so up and down,
To Provinces they trot thro' are well known;
And but for gadding far and near renown'd,
As any Drudge, on Fames Road lately found,
For all late wand'ring Conquests we did see,
Reckon'd for Travels, shou'd much rather be,
If gadding so shou'd get Drudge Prince great stile,
What was Tom Coriat, or great Mandavil?
No Heroes sure take now more care or pain,
Nor World with larger Memoirs entertain;
Whose Printed Campaigns too, walk the World round;
And shew their harden'd Soles, have trod more ground
Than any Fame-hunter, on Earth now found;
When Conquests only trudging Marches are,
Kings are Arms Pedlars, but of Fames small ware;
They too like gadding Filchers bravely do,
Take frighten'd Geese, Pigs, Smocks, wheres'ere they go,
[Page 24] Make Corn, nay Hay, by lying on it Straw,
And Pris'ner Poultery from warm Roost draw,
And all this too, by Gadders Martial Law,
With hasty Course, new Conqu'rers like the wind,
All you blow down, alas, you leave behind;
Skies Circling Tempests, and swift Whirlwinds so,
Before them but old Thatch, and Forrage blow,
And harm, to quiet Sheep, and Cattel do.
Yet we, from Airy Head no Annals find,
Of the vast Conquests by her Prince the wind,
Honour it self, is in the wind light chaff,
Of which too, whistling rumour will rob half,
It swells, breaks bag, small nourishment do's yield,
And no encrease, tho strew'd on fruitful Field;
And tho it be so stuff'd out to the sight,
See it 'tis dross, and weigh it 'tis but light;
[Page 25] Food fit for proud Beast who bears it about,
Whose Load helps him to fall into the rout,
And when once down, keeps him from coming out:
So gadding Princes, Hackneys are to empty Fame,
Who Loads 'em 'till she Rides 'em down or Lame,
All her trapt'd Hackneys get by trotting on,
To Rodes for Robbers, is to be well known;
By Marching World round, all that Hero's gain,
Is Dirty Boots, and labour for their pain;
For spoiling of the Rodes, and making Padders,
Slaves, Horses, Asses, Thieves so too are Gadders;
By setting, and way-laying treach'rous arts,
As Padders Horses, Hero's steal Mens Hearts,
To Jade 'em in their Service, when weak, lean,
Take trappings off turn 'em to th' Road again,
Disabled slave in force for carrying Arms,
Becomes a Drudge to Villages, and Farms;
[Page 26] Or else a Prince 'gainst his Laws makes Bandits,
Murderers, Robbers, or worse Parasits,
Cruel Assassinates of good Mens fame,
And ne'r let pass unrifled a good name;
Courts are the Garrisons of Lawless Tongues,
Whence all, who are not of 'em suffer wrongs,
If Tribute, Flattery, there be not paid,
From Pimps, and Knaves, the only Royal Aid;
That vile old Court Coin, you Sir have cry'd down,
As too light, and too base for you to own,
Fit only for Court-sweepers humble rout,
Whose Knees, Tongues rub, and lick Court-sploches out;
You are sole Prince, who ever would decry,
For Coin unlawful current Flattery;
Which other Kings are made immortal by
Base damming Immortality, which does
Eternize names, but to their shame, and loss;
[Page 27] If counterfeiting Coin, we Treason deem,
What is't to make a King quite other seem?
If Treasons crime be Coins diminishing,
What is't, to lessen, clip, wash o're a King,
Flattery do's suspected glory bring;
True sterling needs no rub to set it off,
Its own Intrinsick worth, it's valu's proof;
You are sole Prince, wou'd flattery disown,
Which no Kings, but your self wou'd 'ere cry down,
They set their Royal Marks upon it, so,
Will in exchange of favour take it too;
And in their Pallaces, each King to's face,
That counterfeit low Coin, bowing and base,
Treason against him, for him, will let pass;
Almost my crime (great Sir) prays short of you,
Is diminution of your honour so,
That out of duty, I but Rebel grow,
[Page 28] Serving you thus, such pardon shall I want,
As you to self accuser often grant;
But dulness pardon, no where e're cou'd find,
Yet Courts to impudence, have oft been kind;
But that was more, then you Sir ever knew,
Your Officers forgive, nay pay bold crew,
Or else themselves in others they'd condemn,
They modesty, as her twin-wit contemn,
Boldness at Court, they think do's merit show.
Men get Coin, not by Brains but outside brow,
Thick Sculs, frought with but out-side confidence,
Have seldom need of inside bashful sense,
They speak as eat, but from their lib'ral Prince;
Honey of Courts, makes there such dronish swarms,
Mens impudence is wealth there, Womens charms;
But now to modesty, I've lost pretence
Daring Sir, at your praise is impudence,
Sawcy Address to Majesty Offence.
[Page 29] But you, the highest, humblest of your Court,
Have pardon'd Millions of this ins'lent sort,
No modest Writer, but with Pen in's hand,
Thinks he has priviledge to mak's Prince stand,
Poems are but Petitions too in Verse,
Which Authors sufferings, and wants reherse;
Large Portions they of Fame to Princes give,
That you in Verse, and they may by it live,
Like sensless Courtiers with mean flattery,
Think so, Kings grace, they do not beg, but buy;
Bold wretches, to your Memory still sue,
For promises, you gave to them ne're due,
And beg, to be remembred still by you:
A Princess easy'st boon, forgetfulness,
I only beg, for which too, none else press;
Such grant too, without asking Princes give,
By your forgetting, I new way shou'd thrive.
[Page 30] To be forgotten, Sir, were grace to me,
The only ruin'd, by your Memory;
Worst crime is still, rejecting Heavens grace,
Worst punishment, is not to see Gods Face;
None wretched are, who can come where you are,
Wretch is damn'd here, who must that joy forbear:
You are but terrible abroad to Foes,
Your loaded Forehead here no terrour shows,
You do not rule your Subjects with your brows;
With no proud threats, your Neighbours e're alarme,
Nor seek vain stile, to do your Subjects harm,
Conqu'ring abroad, brings desolation home,
Old Subjects are enslav'd, new to o'recome;
Like Torrents, Kings, o'rethrow own banks to roam.
But your smooth stream, seeks not to overthrow,
Her own Banks, that to strange Coasts it may go,
Your streams of power, on own Banks ne'er intrude,
Yet yours, Gods overflowing hands similitude;
[Page 31] You, like your
Thames (Sir) keep a temp'rate Course,
The Shore you glide by's fatten'd, not the worse,
Your even Stream seeks but to keep its own,
(From choaking Sands which wou'd its current drown)
But not to undermine its wealthy Coast,
O'reflowing streams by their own Banks are lost;
The more abroad, the stream of pow'r o'reflows,
Drier, and narrower, at home it grows,
Dividing do's oft name, and current lose;
Branching of Pow'r dreins but the first Spring-head,
Foraign o'reflowing makes home, dry and dead;
Making a War, is making Victors less,
And getting power, but at their wealths decrease;
Let other vain Kings, their Wild gaddings boast,
What treasures they of men, for blows have lost,
The cheapest Victories, too dearly cost;
[Page 32] 'Tis sensless glory got by growing poor,
Making new Subjects, by the loss of more,
Kings, when they kill, are Men, Gods when they give,
Not Deaths, or Rapin, bounty makes Kings live,
Fierceness, but makes men fly, Gold makes Men kneel,
'Tis plyant Gold that Conquers not hard steel;
More pow'r Man has, the less 'tis to be us'd,
Using pow'r ill, God whence it came's abus'd;
Subject's a Rascal, whose unequal pow'r,
In Duel-war, has made him Conquerour;
Who with the longest Sword chooses to fight,
Nor cause, nor heart, ('tis to be fear'd) has right,
'Tis infamous by meer strength to o'recome,
Becoming not a King, but wrestling Groom;
Kings who exceed Commission to 'em giv'n,
Are themselves Traitours to the Prince of Heav'n,
[Page 33] And who do's not to execute Heav'ns will,
In sparing Traitours Blood, his own do's spill.
God, great Example to Vicegerents gave
When he threw down the first Rebellious slave,
The Rebels punishments, good Subjects save,
And Justice done reprieves near dying Laws,
Half ty'd up, choak'd, by the new, good old Cause;
But Death's, the only slow reward you give
With Heavenly patience you for Stiff-necks grieve,
Whilst Hypocrites to you, use self deceit,
Who wou'd cheat a wise God, good King, himself do's cheat;
Traitours to you, stabs to own Conscience give,
Ill Life's worst punishment's to let it live,
The envious you execute, by their reprieve,
Who for the good you do, tho 'twere to them wou'd grieve,
To pardon them, will hardly give you leave;
[Page 34] And guilty Conscience is worst Hangman too,
Severest Justice to it self will do.
And Subjects are Self-Felons ith' true Sence,
Who wou'd destroy a Just, and Pard'ning Prince.
The Life of free-born Man is Liberty,
And Life of Liberty is Monarchy,
If we best, first Man's service thraldom call,
What must it be to serve then always all?
The Government o'th' Skies, ours imitates,
Rul'd by one single pow'r, and yet three States;
O might our imitation throughly run,
Your Godlike Reign Eternally last on,
Excepting perpetuity alone;
Our sparing King, lives here a Deity,
Of whom nothing but's wrath can ever dye.
[Page 35] 'Tis but your Justice do's ill Men incense,
You, for Rebellion, leave Slaves no pretence,
Are Good, Great, Merciful, ev'n to Offence,
Kings, but condemn the Just, when they the guilty save,
Suffering Tyrant Slaves, they their own Crowns enslave;
And Subjects mutiny, is madness, rage,
When each for th' publick, 'gainst themselves engage,
For fear of one King, set up Hundreds more,
Who have but pow'r too, but to make 'em poor,
Yet now are saving, on unthrifty score;
So treacherous Trustees, take only care,
To spare the Tenants, but to rack the Heir,
To force releases keep him low, and bare.
FINIS.