Advice to a Painter, by A. M.
Eſq
Spread a large Canvaſs, Painter, to contain
The great Aſſembly, and the num'rous Train,
Where all about him ſhall in Triumph ſit
Abhorring Wiſdom and deſpiſing Wit,
Hating all Juſtice and reſolv'd to Fight.
Firſt draw His Highneſs proſtrate to the South,
Adoring Rome, with this Speech in his Mouth.
Moſt Holy Father, being joyn'd in League
With Father P—s, D—y, and with Teague,
Thrown at your Sacred Feet, I humbly bow,
I and the wiſe Aſſociates of my Vow;
A Vow, nor Fire nor Sword ſhall ever end,
Till all this Nation to your Footſtool bend:
Thus arm'd with Zeal and Bleſſings from your Hands,
I'le raiſe my Papiſts, and my Iriſh Bands;
And by a Noble well-contrived Plot,
Manag'd by wiſe Fitz—and by Scot,
Prove to the World, I'le have Old England know,
That common Senſe is my Eternal Foe.
I ne'r can fight in a more glorious Cauſe,
Than to deſtroy their Liberty and Laws,
Their Houſe of Commons, and their Houſe of Lords,
Parliaments, Precedents and dull Records;
Shall theſe e'r dare to contradict my Will,
And think a Prince oth' Blood can e'r do Ill?
It is our Birth-right to have Power to kill.
Shall they e're dare to think they ſhall decide
The Way to Heaven, and who ſhall be my Guide?
Shall they pretend to ſay, That Bread is Bread,
Or there's no Purgatory for the Dead?
That Extream Unction is but common Oyl,
And not Infallibly the Roman Spoil?
I will have Villains in our Notions reſt,
And I do ſay it, therefore it's the beſt.
Next Painter draw his M—by his ſide,
Conveying his Religion and his Bride;
He who long ſince abjur'd the Royal Line,
Does now in Popery with his Maſter joyn.
Then draw the Princeſs with her golden Locks,
Haſtning to be envenom'd with the P—
And in her youthful Veins receive a Wound,
Which ſent N. H. before her, under Ground;
The Wound of which the tainted Ch—fades,
Laid up in Store for a new Set of Maids.
Poor Princeſs, born under a ſullen Star,
To find ſuch Welcome when you came ſo far!
Better ſome jealous Neighbour of your own
Had call'd you to a Sound, tho' petty Throne,
Where 'twixt a wholeſom Husband and a Page,
You might have linger'd out a lazy Age,
Than on dull Hopes of being here a Q—
E're twenty dye, and rot before fifteen.
Now Painter ſhew us in the Blackeſt Dye,
The Counſellors of all this Villany:
Cl—d, who firſt appear'd in humble guiſe,
Was always thought too Gentle, Meek and Wiſe:
But when he came to act upon the Stage,
He prov'd the mad Cethegus of our Age;
He and his D—ke had both too great a Mind,
To be by Juſtice or by Law confin'd;
Their boyling Heads can hear no other Sounds
Than Fleets and Armies, Battails, Blood and Woun'ds;
And to deſtroy our Liberty they hope,
By Iriſh Talbot, and old doting Pope.
Next Talbot muſt by his great Maſter ſtand,
Laden with Folly, Fleſh, and Ill-got Land;
He's of a ſize indeed to fill a Porch,
But ne're can make a Pillar of the Church;
His Sword is all his Argument, not his Book,
Alt ho no Scholar, he can act the Cook;
And will cut Throats again, if he be paid;
In th' Iriſh Shambles he firſt learn'd the Trade.
Then Painter ſhew thy Skill, and in fit place,
Let's ſee the Nuncio A—ll's ſweet Face.
Let the Beholders by thy Art eſpy
His Senſe and Soul, as ſquinting as his Eye.
Let B—s autumnal Face be ſeen,
Rich with the Spoils of a poor Algerine,
Who truſting in him, was by him betray'd;
And ſo ſhall we when his Advice's obey'd:
Great Heroes to get Honour by the Sword,
He got his Wealth by breaking of his Word;
And now his Daughter he hath got with Child,
And Pimps to have his Family defil'd,
Next Painter draw the Rabble of the Plot,
G—n, Fitz G—d, Loftus, Porter, Scot:
Theſe are fit Heads indeed, to turn a State,
And change the Order of a Nations Fate;
Ten thouſand ſuch as theſe ſhall ne'r controul
The ſmalleſt Atom of an Engliſh Soul.
Old England on a ſtrong Foundation ſtands,
Defying all their Heads and all their Hands,
Its ſteady Baſis never could be ſhook,
When Wiſer Men her Ruin undertook:
And can her Guardian Angels let her ſtoop
At laſt, to Madmen, Fools, and to the Pope?
No Painter, no cloſe up this Piece and See,
This crowd of Traitors hang'd in EFFIGIE.
Hodge,
a Countryman, went up to the Piramid, His VISION.
WHen Hodge had numbred up, how many Score
The airy Piramid contain'd, he ſwore,
No mortal Wight e'r climb'd ſo high before.
To th' beſt Advantage plac'd, he Views around,
Th' Imperial Throne with lofty Turrets crown'd,
The wealthy Store-houſe of the bounteous Flood,
Whoſe paceful Tide o're-flows our Land with Good:
Confuſed Forms fleet by his wondring Eyes,
And his Soul too, ſeiz'd by Divine ſurprize.
Some God it ſeems had entred his plain Breaſt,
And with's Abode that Ruſtick Manſion bleſt.
A mighty Change he feels in ev'ry part;
Light guides his Eyes, and Wiſdom rules his Heart:
So when her pious Son, fair Venus ſhow'd
His flaming Troy, with ſlaughter'd Dardan's Strow'd,
She purg'd his Optick Films, his clouded Sight,
Then Troy's laſt Doom he read by Heaven's Light;
Such Light Divine did ſeize the dazling Eyes
Of humble Hodge.
Regions remote, Courts, Councils, Policies
The Circling Wills of Tyrants Treacheries
He views, diſcerns, deciphers, penetrates,
From Charle's Dukes, to Europe's armed States.
He ſaw the Goatiſh King in his Alcove,
With ſecret Scenes of his inceſtuous Love;
To whom he ſpoke:
Ceaſe, ceaſe, O Charles, thus to pollute our Iſle;
Return, return to thy long wiſht Exile;
There with thy Court deſile the neighb'ring States.
And by thy Crimes participate their Fates.
He ſaw the Duke in his curſt Divan ſet
To's vaſt Deſigns reaching his Pigmy-Wit,
With a choice Knot of the Ignatian Crew,
Who th' way to Murthers and to Treaſons ſhew:
Diſſenters they oppreſs with Laws ſevere
That whilſt we wound theſe innocents, we fear
Their curſed Seed we may be forc'd to ſpare.
Twice the Reform'd muſt fight a double Prize,
That Rome and France may in their Ruines riſe.
Old Bonner ſingle Hereticks did burn,
Theſe Reform'd Cities into Aſhes turn,
And ev'ry year new Fires make us mourn.
Hybernian Tories plot his cruel Reign,
And thirſt for Engliſh Martyrs Blood again.
Our Valiant Youth abroad muſt learn the Trade
Of unjuſt War, their Countrey to invade;
Others at home muſt grind us to prepare
Our Gallick Necks their Iron Yoke to wear.
Ships, once our Safety and our glorious Might,
Are doom'd with Worms and Rottenneſs to fight;
Whilſt France rides Sovereign o're the Britiſh Main,
Our Merchants robb'd, and brave Sea-men ſlain:
T' inſure his Plot, France muſt his Legions ſend,
Rome to reſtore, and to enthrone his Friend:
Thus the raſh Phaeton with Fury hurl'd,
And rapid Rage, conſumes the Britiſh World.
Blaſt him, O Heaven, in his mad Career,
And let theſe Iſles no more his Frenzy fear:
Curſt—whom all Mankind abhor;
Falſe to thy ſelf, but to thy Friend much more,
To him who did thy promis'd Pardon hope, (Coleman.
And with pretended Tranſports kiſs the Rope;
Ore-whelm'd with Grief, and gaſping out a Lie,
Deceiv'd, and unprepar'd, thou letſt him die
With equal Gratitude and Treachery.
BRITANNIA
and RALEIGH.
By A. M.
Brit.
AH Raleigh, when thou didſt thy Breath reſign
To trembling James, would I had quitted mine.
Cubs did'ſt thou call them? Hadſt thou ſeen this Brood
Of Earls, Dukes, and Princes of the Blood;
No more of Scottiſh Race thou wouldſt complain
Theſe would be Bleſſings in this ſpurious Reign.
Awake, ariſe from thy long bleſt Repoſe;
Once more with me partake of Morlace Woes.
Ra.
What mighty Pow'r hath forc'd me from my reſt?
Oh mighty Queen, why ſo untimely dreſt?
Brit.
Favour'd by Night, conceal'd in this Diſguiſe,
Whilſt the lewd Court in drunken Slumber lies,
I ſtole away, and never will return,
Till England knows who did her City burn;
Till Cavaliers ſhall Favourites be deem'd,
And Loyal Sufferers by the Court eſteem'd,
Till Liegh and Galloway ſhall Bribes reject;
Thus Osburn's Golden Cheat I ſhall detect:
Till Atheiſt L—le ſhall leave this Land,
And Commons Votes ſhall Cut-Noſe Guards disband;
Till Kate a happy Mother ſhall become,
Till Charles loves Parliaments, and James hates Roome.
Ral.
What fatal Crimes make you for ever fly
Your once loved Court and Martyrs Progeny?
Brit.
A Colony of French poſſeſs the Court;
Pimps, Prieſts, Buffoons in the Privy Chamber ſport;
Such ſlimy Monſters ne'r approacht a Throne
Since Pharaoh's Days, nor ſo defil'd a Crown.
In ſacred Ear Tyrannick Arts they croak,
Pervert his Mind, and good Intentions choak;
Tell him of Golden Indies, Fairy Lands,
Leviathan, and abſolute Commands.
Thus Fairy-like the King they ſteal away,
And in his room a Changling Lewis lay.
How oft have I him to himſelf reſtor'd,
In's left the Scale, in's right hand plac'd the Sword?
Taught him their uſe, what dangers would enſue,
To them who ſtrive to ſeparate theſe two?
The bloody Scotiſh Chronicle read o're,
Shew'd him how many Kings in purple gore
Were hurl'd to Hell by cruel Tyrant Lore.
The other day fam'd Spencer I did bring,
In lofty Notes Tudor's bleſt Race to ſing;
How Spain's proud Powers her Virgin Arms controul'd,
And Gold'n Days in peaceful Order roul'd;
How like ripe Fruit ſhe dropt from off her Throne,
Full of grey Hairs, good Deeds, and great Renown.
As the Jeſſean Hero did appeaſe
Sauls ſtormy Rage, and ſtopt his black Diſeaſe;
So the learn'd Bard, with Artful Song ſuppreſt
The ſwelling Paſſion of his canker'd Breaſt,
And in his Heart kind Influences ſhed
Of Country Lore by Truth and Juſtice bred:
Then, to perform the Cure ſo full begun,
To him I ſhew'd this glorious ſetting Sun.
How by her Peoples Looks purſu'd from far,
So mounted on a bright Celeſtial Car,
Out-ſhining Virgo, or the Julian Star.
Whilſt in Truths Mirrour this good Scene he ſpy'd,
Enter'd a Dame, bedeckt with ſpotted Pride,
Fair Flower de Luce within an Azure Field,
Her left Hand bears the Ancient Gallick Shield,
By her uſurp'd; her Right a bloody Sword,
Inſcrib'd Leviathan, our Soveraign Lord;
Her towry Front a fiery Meteor bears,
An Exhalation bred of Blood and Tears;
Around her Jove's lewd rav'nous Curs complain,
Pale Death, Luſt, Tortures, fill her pompous Train:
She from the eaſie King Truth's Mirrour took,
And on the Ground in ſpiteful Fall it broke;
Then frowning thus, with proud Diſdain ſhe broke.
Are thred-bare Virtues Ornaments for Kings?
Such poor Pedantick Toys teach Underlings.
Do Monarchs riſe by Virtue or by Sword?
Who e're grew great by keeping of his Word?
Virtue's a faint Green-Sickneſs to brave Souls,
Daſtards their Hearts, their active Heat controuls:
The Rival God, Monarchs of th' other World,
This mortal Poyſon amongſt Princes hold;
Fearing the mighty Projects of the great,
Shall drive them from their proud Coeleſtial Seat,
If not o're-aw'd: This new-found holy Cheat,
Thoſe pious Frauds too ſlight, t' inſnare the brave,
Are proper Acts of long-ear'd Rout t' inſlave.
Bribe hungry Prieſts to deifie your Might,
To teach your Will's, your only Rule to Right;
And ſound Damnation to all that dare deny't.
Thus Heaven deſigns 'gainſt Heaven you ſhould turn,
And make them fear thoſe powers you once did ſcorn.
When all the Gobling Intereſt of Mankind,
By Hirelings ſold to you ſhall be reſign'd;
And by Impoſtures God and man betray'd,
The Church and State you ſafely may invade;
So boundleſs Law in its full power ſhines,
Whil'ſt your ſtarv'd power in Legal Fetters pines.
Shake off thoſe Baby Bands from your ſtrong Arms,
Henceforth be deaf to your old Witches Charms;
Taſt the delicious Sweets of Sovereign power,
'Tis Royal Game whole Kingdoms to deflower.
Three ſpotleſs Virgins to your Bed I'le bring,
A Sacrifice to you their God and King:
As theſe grow ſtale we'l harras human kind,
Rack Nature till new pleaſures you ſhall find,
Strong as your Reign, and beauteous as your Mind.
When ſhe had ſpoke, a confus'd Murmour roſe
Of French, Scotch, Iriſh, all my mortal Foes,
Some Engliſh too, O ſhame! diſguis'd I ſpy'd,
Led all by the wiſe Son-in-Law of Hyde;
With Fury drunk, like Baccanels they Roar,
Down wth that common Magna Charta Whore:
With joynt Conſent on helpleſs Me they flew,
And from my Charles to a baſe Goal me drew;
My Reverend Age expos'd to Scorn and Shame,
To Prigs, Bawds, Whores, was made the publick Game.
Frequent Addreſſes to my Charles I ſend,
And my ſad State did to his Care commend:
But his fair Soul transform'd by that French Dame,
Had loſt a ſenſe of Honour, Juſtice, Fame.
Like a tame Spinſter in's Seraigl he ſits,
Beſieg'id by Whores, Buffoons and Baſtards Chits;
Lull'd in Security, rowling in Luſt,
Reſigns his Crown to Angel Cromwel's Truſt.
Her Creature O—e, the Revenue ſteals,
Falſe F—ch, Knave Ang—ery, miſguide the Seals;
Mack-James the Iriſh Biggots does adore:
His French and Teague commands on ſea and ſhore:
The Scotch Scalado of our Court two Iſles,
Fale L—le with Adure all defiles.
Thus the States Right marr'd by this Helliſh Court,
And no one left theſe Furies to caſt out:
Ah Vindex come, and purge the poiſon'd State;
Deſcend, Deſcend, e're the Cure's deſperate.
Ral.
Once more great Queen thy Darling ſtrive to ſave,
Reſcue him again from ſcandal and the Grave;
Preſent to's Thoughts his long ſcorn'd Parliament,
The Baſis of his Throne and Government:
In his deaf Ears ſound his dead Fathers Name,
Perhaps that Spell may his ill Soul reclaim;
Who knows what good Effects from thence may ſpring?
'Tis God-like Good to ſave a falling King.
Brit.
As eaſily learn'd Vertuoſo's may
With the Dogs Blood his gentle Kind Convey
Into the Wolf, and make him Guardian turn,
To the bleating Flock, by him ſo lately torn;
If this Imperial Juice once taint his Blood,
'Tis by no potent Antidote withſtood.
Tyrants, like Leprous Kings, for publick weal,
Should be immur'd, leſt the Contagion ſteal
Over the whole. Th' Elect of the Jeſſean Line,
To this firm Law their Scepter did reſign.
To the ſerene Venetian State I'le go,
From her ſage Mouth fam'd Principles to know;
With her, the prudence of the ancients read,
To teach my people in their ſteps to tread;
By their great Pattern ſuch a State I'le frame,
Shall eternize a glorious laſting Name.
Till then, my Raleigh teach our noble Youth,
To love Sobriety and holy Truth:
Watch and preſide over their tender Age,
Leſt Court Corruption ſhould their Soul engage:
Tell them how Arts and Arms in thy young Days
Employ'd our Youth, not Taverns, Stews and Plays:
Tell them the generous Scorn their riſe does ow
To Flattery, Pimping and a Gawdy Shew:
Teach them to ſcorn the Corwells, P—s, Neils,
The Clevelands, Osborns, Berties, Lau—ails,
Poppea, Tegoline and Arteria's Name,
Who yield to theſe in Lewdneſs, Luſt and Fame.
Make 'em admire the Talbots, Sidneys, Veres,
Drake, Cav'ndiſh, Blake, Men void of ſlaviſh Fears,
True Sons of Glory, Pillars of the State,
On whoſe fam'd Deeds all Tongues and Writers wait;
When with bright Ardour their bright Souls do burn,
Back to my deareſt Country I'le return.
Tarquin's juſt Judge and Caeſar's equal Peers,
With them I'le bring, to dry my Peoples Tears.
Publicola with healing Hands ſhall pour
Balm in their Wounds, and ſhall their Life reſtore:
Greek Arts and Roman Arms in her conjoyn'd,
Shall England raiſe, relieve oppreſt Mankind.
As Jove's great Son th' infeſted Globe did free
From noxious Monſters, hell-bred Tyranny;
So ſhall my England in a Holy War,
In Triumph bear ſlain Tyrants from afar;
Her true Cruſado ſhall at laſt pull down
The Turkiſh Creſcent and the Perſian Sun.
Freed by my Labours, Fortunate Bleſt Iſle,
The Earth ſhall reſt, the Heaven ſhall on thee ſmile;
And this kind Secret for Reward ſhall give,
No Poyſonous Serpent on the Earth ſhall live.
On the Statue
at Stocks-Market.
AS Citizens, that to their Conquerors yield,
Do at their own Charge their own Citadel build;
So Sir Robert advanced the King's Statue, a Token
Of a Broker defeated, and Lombard-ſtreet broken.
Some thought it a mighty and gracious Deed,
Obliging the City with a King on a Steed;
When with honour he might from his Word have gone back,
Who that waits for a Calm, is abſolv'd by a Wreck:
By all, it appears from the firſt to the laſt,
To be as Revenge and as Malice forecaſt,
Upon the Kings Birth Day to ſet up a Thing,
That ſhews him a Monkey, more like than a King.
When each one that paſſes, finds fault with the Horſe,
Yet all do aſſure that the King is much worſe:
And ſome by the Likeneſs, Sir Robert ſuſpect,
That he did for the K—his own Statue erect.
To ſee him ſo diſguis'd, the Herb-women chide,
Who upon their Panniers more decently ride:
And ſo looſe are his feet, that all men agree
Sir William Peak ſits more faſter than he:
But a Market they ſay doth fit the King well,
Who oft Parliaments buys, and Revenues doth ſell:
And others, to make the Similitude hold,
Say his Majeſty himſelf is oft bought and ſold.
Surely this Statue is more dangerous far,
Than all the Dutch Pictures that cauſed the War;
And what the Exchequer for that took on truſt,
May henceforth be confiſcated for Reaſons moſt juſt.
But Sir Robert, to take the Scandal away,
Doth the fault upon the Artificer lay;
And alledges the thing is none of his own;
For he counterfeits only in Gold, not in Stone.
But Sir Knight of the Vine, how came't in your thought,
That when to the Sc—Id your Liege you had brought,
With Canvas and Deals you ere ſince do him cloud,
As if you had meant it his Coffin and Shroud?
Hath Blood him away, as his Crown he convey'd?
Or is he to Clayton's gone in Maſquerade?
Or is he in his Cabal in his—ſet?
Or have you to the Compter remov'd him for Debt?
Methinks for the Equipage of this vile Scene,
That to change him into a Jack-Pudding you mean,
Or elſe thus expoſe him to Popular Flout,
As tho' we had as good have a King of a Clout.
Or do you his Errors out of Modeſty vail
With three ſhatter'd Planks, and the Rags of a Sail,
To expoſe how his Navy was ſhatter'd and torn,
The day that he was reſtored and born?
If the Judges and Parliament do not him enrich,
They will ſcarcely afford him a Rag to his Breech.
Sir Robert affirms they do him much wrong;
'Tis the Gravers Work to reform ſo long.
But alas, he will never arrive at his end;
For 'tis ſuch a King no Chizzel can mend:
But with all his faults pray give us our King,
As ever you hope December or Spring:
For though the whole World cannot ſhew ſuch another,
We had better have him than his P—'d Brother.
A Young Gentleman, deſirous to be a Miniſter of State, thus pretends to qualifie himſelf.
TO make my ſelf for this Employment fit,
I'le learn as much as I can ever get
Of the Honourable G—y of R—Wit:
In Conſtancy and ſincere Loyalty,
I'le imitate the grateful Shaftsbury;
And that we may aſſume the Churches weal,
And all Diſorder in Religion heal,
I will eſpouſe Lord H—'s Zeal:
To pay Reſpect to Sacred Revelation,
To ſcorn th' affected Wit of Prophanation,
And rout Impiety out of the Nation:
To ſuppreſs Vice and Scandal to prevent,
Buck—'s Life ſhall be my Precedent,
That living Modal of good Covernment.
To dive into the depth of Stateſmen's Craft,
To ſearch the Secrets of the ſubtleſt Heart,
And hide my own deſigns with prudent Art:
To make each Man my Property become,
To fruſtrate all the Plots of France or Rome,
None can ſo well inſtruct as my Lord Moon;
For Moral Honeſty in Deed and Word,
Lord W—r Example will afford;
That, and his Courage too, are on Record.
To the King.
GReat Charles, who full of Mercy, wouldſt command
In Peace and Pleaſure this, his Native Land;
At laſt take pity of this tottering Throne,
Shook by the Faults of others, not thine own.
Let not thy Life and Crown together end,
Deſtroy'd by a falſe Brother and a Friend.
Obſerve the danger that appears ſo near,
That all your Subjects do each minute fear:
One drop of Poiſon, or a Papiſt-Knife,
Ends all the Joy of England with thy Life.
Brothers, 'tis true, by Nature, ſhould be kind;
But a too zealous and ambitious Mind,
Brib'd with a Crown on Earth, and one above,
Harbours no Friendſhip, Tenderneſs, or Love:
See in all Ages what Examples are
Of Monarchs murther'd by their impatient Heir.
Hard Fate of Princes, who will ne're believe
Till the Stroke's ſtruck which they can ne're retrieve▪
Noſtradamus's PROPHECY.
By A. M.
FOR Faults and Follies London's Doom ſhall fix,
And She muſt ſink in Flames in Sixty ſix;
Fire-Balls ſhall fly, but few ſhall ſee the Train,
As far as from White-hall to Pudding-Lane,
To burn the City, which again ſhall riſe,
Beyond all hopes, aſpiring to the Skies,
Where Vengeance dwells. But there is one thing more
(Though its Walls ſtand) ſhall bring the City lower:
When Legiſlators ſhall their Truſt betray,
Saving their own, ſhall give the reſt away;
And thoſe falſe men by th' eaſie People ſent,
Give Taxes to the King by Parliament:
When bare-fac'd Villains ſhall not bluſh to cheat,
And Chequer-Doors ſhall ſhut up Lumbard-ſtreet:
When Players come to act the part of Queens,
Within the Curtains, and behind the Scenes:
When Sodomy ſhall be prime Min'ſters Sport,
And Whoring ſhall be the leaſt Crime at Court:
When Boys ſhall take their Siſters for their Mate,
And practice Inceſts between Seven and Eight:
When no man knows in whom to put his truſt,
And e'en to rob the Chequer ſhall be juſt;
When Declarations, Lie, and every Oath
Shall be in uſe at Court but Faith and Troth;
When two good Kings ſhall be at Brentford Town,
And when in London there ſhall be not one;
When the ſeat's given to a talking Fool,
Whom wiſe men laugh at, and whom Women rule;
A Min'ſter able only in his Tongue,
To make harſh, empty ſpeeches two hours long;
When an old Scotch Covenant ſhall be
The Champion for th' Engliſh Hierarchy;
When Biſhops ſhall lay all Religion by,
And ſtrive by Law t' eſtabliſh Tyranny;
When a lean Treaſurer ſhall in one year
Make himſelf fat, his King and People bare;
When th' Engliſh Prince ſhall Engliſh men deſpiſe,
And think French only Loyal, Iriſh Wiſe;
When Wooden Shoon ſhall be the Engliſh wear,
And Magna Charta ſhall no more appear;
Then th' Engliſh ſhall a greater Tyrant know
Than either Greek or Latin Story ſhow;
Their Wives to's Luſt expos'd, their Wealth to's Spoil,
VVith Groans to fill his Treaſury they toil;
But like the Bellides muſt ſigh in vain;
For that ſtill fill'd flows out as faſt again;
Then they with envious Eyes ſhall Belgium ſee,
And wiſh in vain Venetian Liberty.
The Frogs too late, grown weary of their pain,
Shall pray to Jove to take him back again.
Sir Edmondbury Godfrey
's Ghoſt.
IT happen'd in the Twilight of the Day,
As England's Monarch in his Cloſet lay,
And Chiffinch ſtep'd to fetch the Female Prey;
The bloody ſhape of Godfrey did appear,
And in ſad Vocal ſounds theſe things declare:
"Behold, Great Sir, I from the Shades am ſent,
"To ſhew theſe Wounds that did your Fall prevent.
"My panting Ghoſt, as Envoy, comes to call,
"And warn you, leſt, like me, y' untimely fall;
"Who againſt Law your Subjects Lives purſue,
"By the ſame rate may dare to murther you.
"I, for Religion, Laws, and Liberties,
"Am mangled thus, and made a Sacrifice.
"Think what befel Great Egypt's hardned King,
"Who ſcorn'd the Profit of admoniſhing.
"Shake off your brandy ſlumbers; for my Words
"More Truth than all your cloſe Cabal affords:
"A Court you have with Luxury oregrown,
"And all the Vices ere in Nature known;
"VVhere Pimps and Panders in their Coaches ride,
"And in Lampoons and Songs your Luſt deride.
"Old Bawds and ſlighted VVhores, there tell, with ſhame,
"The dull Romance of your Laſcivious Flame.
"Players and Scaramouches are your Joy;
"Prieſts and French Apes do all your Land annoy;
"Still ſo profuſe, you are inſolvent grown,
"A Mighty Bankrupt on a Golden Throne.
"Your nauſeous Palate the worſt Food doth crave;
"No wholſom Viands can an entrance have:
"Each Night you lodge in that French Syren's Arms
"She ſtrait betrays you with her wanton Charms;
"Works on your Heart, ſoftned with Love and Wine,
"And then betrays you to ſome Philiſtine.
"Imperial Luſt does o're your Scepter ſway;
"And though a Soveraign makes you to obey.
"Yet thoughts ſo ſtupid have your Soul poſſeſſ'd,
"As if inchanted by ſome Magick Prieſt.
"Next he who 'gainſt the Senate's Vote did wed,
"Took defil'd H. and Heſti to his Bed:
"Fiend in his Face, Apoſtle in his Name,
"Contriv'd to Wars to your eternal ſhame.
"He ancient Laws and Liberties defies;
"On ſtanding Guards and new raiſed Force relies:
"The Teagues he courts, and doth the French admire,
"And fain he would be mounted one ſtep higher.
"All this by you muſt needs be plainly ſeen,
"And yet he awes you with his darling Spleen.
"Th' unhappy Kingdom ſuffered much of Old,
"When Spencer and looſe Gaveſton controull'd;
"Yet they by juſt Decrees were timely ſent,
"To ſuffer a perpetual Baniſhment.
"But your bold States-men nothing can reſtrain,
"Their moſt enormous Courſes you maintain;
"Witneſs that Man, who had for divers years
"Pay'd the Cubb-Commons, Penſions and Arrears;
"Though your Exchequer was at his Command,
"Durſt not before his juſt Accuſer ſtand,
"For Crimes and Treaſons of ſo black a hue,
"None dare to prove his Advocate but you.
"Truſt not in Prelates falſe Divinity,
"Who wrong their Prince, and ſhame their Deity,
"Making their God ſo partial in their Cauſe,
"Exempting Kings alone from humane Laws.
"Theſe lying Oracles they did infuſe
"Of old, and did your Martyr'd Sire abuſe.
"Their ſtrong deluſions did him ſo inthral,
"No Cautions would anticipate his Fall.
"Repent in time, and baniſh from your ſight
"The Pimp, the Whore, Buffoon, Church-paraſite;
"Let Innocence deck your remaining days,
"That After-ages may unfold your Praiſe.
"So may Hiſtorians in new Methods write,
"And draw a Curtain 'twixt your black and white.
The Ghoſt ſpake thus, groan'd thrice, and ſaid no more:
Straight in came Chiffinch hand in hand with Whore:
The King tho' much concern'd with Joy and Fear,
Starts from the Couch and bid the Dame draw near.
Ʋpon the King's Voyage to Chatham, to make Bulwarks againſt the Dutch: And the Queen's miſcarriage thereupon.
WHen James our great Monarch, ſo Wiſe and Diſcreet:
Was gone with three Barges, to face the Dutch Fleet▪
Our young Prince of Wales (by inheritance ſtout!)
Was coming to aid him and peep'd his Head out;
But ſeeing his Father without Ships or Men,
Commit the defence of us all to a Chain,
Taffee was frighted, and ſculk'd in again;
Nor thought, while the Dutch domineer'd on our Road▪
It was ſafe to come further, and venture abroad:
Not Walgrave, or th' Epiſtle of Seignieur le Duke,
Made Her Majeſty Sick, and her Royal Womb puke:
But the Dutch-men Pickeering at Dover and Harwich,
Gave the Miniſters Agues, and the Queen a Miſcarriage;
And to ſee the poor King ſtand in Ships of ſuch need,
Made the Catholicks quake, and Her Majeſty bleed;
And I wiſh the ſad Accident don't ſpoil the young Prince,
Take off all his Manhood, and make him a Wench:
But the Hero his Father no courage did lack;
Who was ſorry on ſuch a pretext to come back:
He mark'd out his ground, and mounted a Gun,
And 'tis thought without ſuch a pretence he had run;
For his Army and Navy were ſaid to increaſe,
As appears (when we have no occaſion) in Peace:
Nay, if the Dutch come, we deſpiſe 'em ſo much,
Our Navy Incognito will leave 'em i'th' Lurch,
And (to their eternal Diſgrace) we are able
To beat 'em by way of a Poſt and a Cable;
Why was this, Sir, left out of the Wiſe Declaration,
That flatter'd with Hopes of more Forces, the Nation?
'Twould have done us great good to have ſaid, you intended,
The ſtrength of the Nation the CHAIN ſhould be mended;
Though we thank you, for Paſſing ſo kindly your Word,
(Which never was broke) that you'd Rule by the Sword;
This Promiſe we know you meant to fulfill;
And therefore you have reaſon (by Gad) to tak't ill,
That the Biſhops, the Biſhops did throw out the Bill.