Ad Populum: OR, A Low-Country Lecture to the People OF ENGLAND, After a Thanksgiving Dinner, Aug. 25. 1653.
Whereunto is annexed an EPITAPH Vpon M. H: Vanthromp, made by his owne Secretary, and faithfully translated into English, word for word.
WITH, Another more sober Epitaph by a concealed Author.
⟨Aug: 27th⟩ LONDON, Printed for G. B. in Fleetstreet. 1653.
A Low-Country Lecture to the People of England after a Thanksgiving Dinner.
AFfronted by the Dutch? A Nation that
Began on English Almes, and so grew fat?
That owe their Livelihoods, and latter breath
To our more mercifull Elizabeth;
When on their bended Knees with stretcht out hands,
And stile of poore distressed Netherlands
They got the Golden Fleece; shall these, grown high,
Outbrave us with their Aristocracy?
We grant them High and Mighty, Monstrous strange;
(As th' Grassehoppers upon the old Exchange.)
We grant their Crests like Joves when he was Bull-
Rampant, when Love-sick, and of Vigor full:
Now, now I scent the plot and cunning on't,
That Jove is said to crosse the Hellesp [...]nt;
When being aided with a present Fleet
He and his deare Europa went to Crete:
If Hercules got forty in a Night,
How many Dutchmen Jove before day-light?
Nay Authors there are extant, that averre
That Bacchus was begot a Hollander,
And after th' Act that Melancholly Jove
Took Semele and thrust her in a Stove:
Yet though he lodg'd young Bacchus in his thigh,
These Dutchmen find him out when they are dry;
But lest some envious Wight should thinke we straine,
Let Barkley speake, and we go on againe.
Germani nullâ comitate suavius quam longo nec sobrio conviviò peregrinos credunt accipere, & tam verissimam ab ipsis hospitibus benevolentiam in se expromi, ubi mutuis poculis [Page]innudari non-abnuunt: Immensa cupiditas potus jans confesso vitio illam gentem infestat, nec ad voluptatem tantum haec Thracia libido est, fed in parte Comitatis & penè disciplinae, &c.
Eares they have eminent and Visible,
Slit but the Tip 'tis like a Testicle,
In which should any of them Pendents weare,
A Jack-line to them were but as a haire;
And for a Jewell to so grave a Pate,
Great Tom of Lincolne were most adaequate:
Poore Iohna Gaunt, or puny Warwicks Guy,
Compar'd to these, is a meere Ieffery:
An Hercules, or Omphale in stone,
Are but as Pigmies upon Pelion:
That Man-devouring Lunsford were he put
Under an Arme of theirs, would only strut
Like a young Mandrake, or the Child that grew
Within his side was lately set at view.
What thinke we of three hundred then and more,
Borne at a litter on the Belgick shore,
Of these young Tadpole-spawnes? so vaste a Traine,
As if some Pharaoh to be plagu'd againe:
Had we such teeming wombes, our Army might
Give warning for an Army over-night,
And armed Mirmydons next day appeare,
Ready for battle the ensuing yeare,
In coates of Secundene, instead of Buffe,
True coats of Male, proceeding from the Ruffe
Dame Nature weares, and freely doth bestow
Upon these Red-coats ere she lets them go:
Thus Cadmus with his Serpents Teeth i'th' Earth
Got Mars a new stock by a present birth;
And men ex tempore stood Ranke and File,
Just as the Teeth grew in the Crocodile.
An hungry Campe no doubt, and such as might
Grin at the Foe, and put them all to flight.
Well, go thy way for a stupendious Meg.
Thou needst no Issue in thy Arme or Leg
To draw forth peccant humours, if we yield
Mothers entaile diseases on the Child;
thou art as free from all as Eve when she
Knew not a Bitter-sweet or pippin-Tree.
Lend me beliefe some man of Publique faith,
Or I must stagger at what story saith:
Ne're did Anatomists designe or tell
Toe very one of those his single Sell:
Speake great Van-Helmont, how could all these lie
Without committing Rapes and Buggery?
Grant her the swine fac'd Lady, else to big,
I must not thinke she was so huge with pig;
'Tis so, and hence the Name of Bores that swill
In their crude Barly Broaths and hog wash still.
What though the River Rhene passe by their Coast?
(A thing whereof their hide-bound Writers boast.)
What though Pannonia yield them rich supplies?
Is this a plea for red distorted eyes?
Should one of them, o're taken, reele and fall,
'Twould cause an Earthquake Epidemicall:
Nay, were their Gallowses not made of stone,
Astraea might go hang her selfe for one;
No Justice would be done, for should they do't
In wood, 't would take up fifteene hundred foot,
And yet not serve the turne, whereas alas
They see not so much in a twelve-months space;
Their Fewell is Flora's greene mantle, which
They burne, (as if their Mother was a Witch.)
A Chimny-sweeper there is a worse Trade
Than is a Poet here, and yet 'tis said,
Our English pallats have been so mistaken,
As not to know them by the taste from Bacon:
Nay more, 'tis said, their hides have been sent over,
And serv'd for Shoe-soales twenty miles round Dover.
Well may the Cuts Physitians get from thence
Be more demonstrative to outward sense,
In whom the very Capillary Veines
Appeare like Cable-Ropes, and in their Braines
The Privy parts as visible and faire,
As if one should dissect a Flanders Mare:
The hammer in the Eare like Vulcans, and
The Drum strikes an Alarum at command:
A well appointed Army might get in,
Breake through the Labyrinth and steale the Pin.
Nor is it hyperbolicall to say,
Iohn Lilburne was an Eare-wigg th' other day,
And buz'd about, and did distill into
The Orenge-mongers what they were to do.
What Rage O Citizens, what madnesse now
Makes such a breach 'twixt Maurice grave and you?
He that delighteth in that title more
Than did his Predecestors heretofore;
Who from a Mutton fist would ne're refuse
A clap upon the shoulder, or such News
As Ieffery and Ralph tell on the way,
As they jog homewards on a Market-day;
Such as the fumes afforded that proceed
From Brande wine good store and Indian weed.
O were Erasmus now alive to tell
Their Colloquies when e're they article;
How many large Beere-glasses bid for Peace,
How many more revi'd before they cease:
Peace? 'tis a thing more estimable then
The salted Rump of a Muscovian Hen,
No Pickled-herring like it, 'tis for this
They worship to their drag-net while they fish.
O for a Rhombus here to plead for Peace,
(That they might once more sing sweet Oranges,)
Such as the Adriatick seas did yield
To Nero as the Master of the field;
A Present, such an one as might draw on
The most obdurate to compunction.
Were there but such a Rhombus to be had,
How would the Senators at Hague be glad,
And hope their Gilders and their Duckettoones
Might still be theirs against the Afternoones
Collation, all in Drink (Jack Falstaffe like)
No jarres but those of Wine, none forc'd to strike;
No cautionary Townes demanded then,
No armes be laid downe, no impeaching Men,
Nor fighting, except once in twenty yeers
Or so, to learne how to put on their geeres.
How might they teach this Rhombus to implore
Mercy upon the sea, upon the shoare;
And put it in his mouth, to let them know,
He never was my Lord of Warwicks foe?
Never perswaded Huls delivery,
Or tempted Sir John Hotham with a fee,
Though some Malignant tongue, some spightfull man
Say Rhombus is a Presbyterian.
Cozen to John of Leiden, and that he came,
The Author of that sect to Amsterdam?
This were the way, first teach him how to bow,
When take his Qu, next where to stop, and how
To keep his countenance, and role his eye,
With a beseeming gracefull Modesty;
As for the ground and subject of his speech,
Let it be all submissive to beseech
The victors, that they might no tribute pay,
But rather, that (for ever and a day)
Their fishing might be free, and what they took
Might be their owne, be it with net or hook.
How can they Tributaries be (alasse,)
Out of a few Poor Iohn, and a little Plaice;
A sea-dog or a Tortoisse, or perhaps,
A quarter of an hundred of poor Crabs.
No Salmon in his mouth did ever bring
One piece of silver for an offering,
Nor Flounder, though his mouth would nothing bate,
In compasse of the Mouth at Aldersgate.
If any doe for greater booties toyle,
How doe they lose their labour and their oyle?
The generous Whale, playes with her skill and power,
And sends some Remora Embassadour
To stop their proud designe, and bid them trade
In their beloved herring or dry shad.
How shall an hundred thousand precious soules
Drink after supper, in transcendent boules,
As both their constitution and the fire,
They carry in their veines, eft soones require?
O Herring! Herring! thou art that King-fish,
For whose offences, man must beare all this;
Tis for thy trespasses, tis for thy sin,
But see now what a pickle thou art in;
When boyes in London streets with open throate,
Do cry thee up and downe for five a groat.
If needs Elected Princes, let their be
The Lobster chosen next, clad cap-a-pe:
That with defensive Armes may gaine the field
With Naturall, not artificiall shield:
An Ajax that may laugh within his shell,
And stories of Great Hector vanquisht tell.
But Rhombus may not on, or farther prate,
Nature hath tooke an order well for that:
All that he speaks here, is by Miracle,
Having no Lungs, to helpe one syllable;
Yet for his Country, such a heart as bleeds
To think that they must feed next yeare on greeds,
And graines divorced from their dearest Beer,
What will become then of A vous myn heire?
No set meales once a quarter then, where Tony
Is plac'd above his Mistris, and sleek Ioa-ne
Drinks to her master set at lower end,
By nodd and not by word, as to her friend.
Some hope is of Conversion, where the Iew
Sits with the Gentile (were it so 'ith Pew)
No more of Aarons Bels, no more I tro,
Of very Moses, brought out for a shew,
With ten Commandements (the 11th would be
Not to abuse him, were it very he)
No more shall Innocents of eight dayes old,
Exposed lie, to cruelty and cold.
No more, no more of Circumcision boast,
'Tis seen how the Virility is lost.
Policy, now bids you get men indeed,
Give them Restoratives, not make them bleed:
That they may tug the Oares and Canvas spread,
When the remainder of mankinde is dead:
And every Pirrha, when her mate is gon
Officiate for her lost Deu calion.
If once more yee are beat, let th' women all,
Enter themselves into Mall Cut-purse Hall.
Whence a new stock may come, that scorne to wink
And fight, when for their wench, and not their drink.
FINIS.
EPITAPH.
HEre lies his high and mightinesse—Hick-up,
—sirrha you Raschall fill out tother cup,
His High and mightinesse—(for there I think
I left off)—sirrha shall we have no drinke?
His high and mightinesse—Lord of what not,
Lord of—you rogue bring up a chamber pot.
Lord of what not, Lord of (so farre I'me right,
Bring in some cleane pipes quickly, and a light)
—Lord of what not—Lord of the Ocean deep,
—Hang'd let another make it, I must sleep.
Another.
HEre with his face towards Heaven, great Tromp is laid,
(Thus grinning honour Titles, thus are paid)
A Ship his Tombe and Coffin, where poor he,
Lies a sad Omen to his Souldiery.
The calmer gales in vain now fan the deep,
In vaine they rock the Barque; hee's fast asleep.