Rome rhym'd to death being a collection of choice poems, in two parts / written by the E. of R., Dr. Wild, and others of the best modern wits. 1683 Approx. 184 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 68 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A57500 Wing R1758 ESTC R16454 12255983 ocm 12255983 57484 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A57500) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 57484) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 925:2) Rome rhym'd to death being a collection of choice poems, in two parts / written by the E. of R., Dr. Wild, and others of the best modern wits. Rochester, John Wilmot, Earl of, 1647-1680. Wild, Robert, 1609-1679. [4], 130 p. Printed for John How ..., London : 1683. Reproduction of original in the University of Illinois (Urbana-Champaign Campus). Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700. Anti-Catholicism -- England -- Poetry. 2002-04 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2002-05 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2002-06 Judith Siefring Sampled and proofread 2002-10 Aptara Rekeyed and resubmitted 2002-11 Judith Siefring Sampled and proofread 2002-11 Judith Siefring Text and markup reviewed and edited 2002-12 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion ROME RHYM'D TO DEATH . Being a Collection OF CHOICE POEMS : In two parts . Written by the E. of R. Dr. Wild , and others of the best Modern Wits . LONDON , Printed for Iohn How , at the Seven Stars , at the South-West corner of the Royal Exchange , in Cornhill . 1683. ROME RHYM'D to DEATH ROME Rhym'd to Death , &c. An Exclamation against POPERY : By Dr. WILD . PLot on proud Rome ! and lay thy damn'd Design As low as Hell , we 'll find a Countermine : Wrack thy curst Parts ! and when thy utmost Skill Has prov'd unable to effect thy Will ; Call thy black Emissaries , let 'em go To summon Traytors from the Shades below , Where Infant Treason dates its Monstrous Birth ; Is nurst with Care , and after sent on Earth : To some curst Monks , or wandring Iesuits Cell ; Where it thrives faster than it did in Hell ! Call bloody Brutus up , Lean Cassius too ; Let Faux and Catesby both , be of the Crew ! — Nay , rather than want Help , let your BVLLS run , And Damn the Devil , if he do not come ! Yet after all your Plots , and Hatchings , we ( So long as CHARLES and 's Senators agree ) Will warm our Hands at Bone-fires , Bells shall Ring ; And Traytor 's Knells no longer Toll , but Sing . We doubt not Rome , but Maugre all thy Skill , The Glorious GOD of our Religion will , In spite of all thy Art , preserve It still ! And his peculiar Care of It to shew , Defend in Health , It s Great DEFENDER too ! I' th' Interim , Do thou new Crimes invent , And we 'll Contrive as subtil Punishment . 'T is Autumn now with us ; and every Tree , Instead of Fruit , may bend with Popery . ` T would be a Novel , tho no hated Sight , If every Bough should bear a Iesuite ! We 'll meet your Plots with Pikes , Daggers , with Swords ; And stead of long Cravats , we 'll lend you Cords . Each Stab in Private , we 'll with Use return : And whilst one Hangs , the other he shall Burn ; Till Tybourn's long-impoverish'd Squire appear , Gay as the Idol , fills the Porph'ry Chair . Yes , Mighty CHARLES at thy Command we 'll run Through Seas of Rebels Blood , to save thy Crown . Our Wives , Estates , and Children too , shall be But Whetstones to our Swords , when drawn for thee . We 'll Hack , and Slash , and Shoot , till Rome Condoles ; And Hell it self is cloy'd with Traytors Souls : 'Till Godfrey's wronged Ghost ( which still does call For Shoals of Rebels to attend his Fall ; ) Cries out , Dear Protestants , no more pursue Their Guilty Blood , my Manes have their Due ! This , Mighty Monarch ! at thy Beck or Nod , Shall be effected , as Thou wer 't a God ; With so much Readiness , thy Royal Tongue Shall hardly Speak , c're we revenge the Wrong On thy curst Enemies ; who whilst they state Thy Death , shall feel themselves th' intended Fate ; And by a quick Reverse , be forc'd to try The Dire Effects of their own Treachery . Poor Scarlet Harlot , couldst thou stand in want Of a Genteel , and Generous Gallant , Whose Noble Soul to Baseness could not yield ; But wou'd ha●e try'd thy Int'rest in the Field , We had not thus thy Policies condemn'd ; But thought Thee worthy of a Foe , or Friend : Both which , with equal Estimate thou l't find , Were always valu'd by an English Mind . But Thou of late , so Treacherous do'st grow , That we should blush , to own thee either now . Base , and Perfidious too , thou do'st appear ; Sland'rest a Pope , and spoyl'st an Emperor . What! is the Eagle from the Mitre flown ? Is there of Caesar nothing left in Rome ? Must that Renowned City , here-to-fore Fam'd for her Vertues , well as for her Pow'r ; Instead of Consuls , Vagabonds employ ? And suborn Felons , MONARCHS to destroy ? Bribe Men ( thro' Want made boldly Desperate ) To Fire-ball Cities , to their Grov'ling Fate ; Whilst Hellish-Iesuits Porters Garbs profane ; Assist the Fire , and Bless the growing Flame ! Must Rome's Great Pope , whose Piety should run As an Example , thro' all Christendom ; Whose Signal Vertues , Arguments should be Of his Admir'd Infallability ? Does he hire Ruffains , Iustices to Kill ; And send the Murd'res Pardons at his Will ? Bids them in Hereticks Blood their hands embrue ; Tells them withal 't is Meritorious too ! — If this thy Practice be , false Rome Fare-well ! — Go , Teach thy Doctrine to the Damn'd in Hell ! Where , by Black Lucifer's Destructive Pride , Thou may'st in part thy future Fate decide : Whil'st from our City we thy Imps remove , To shake their Heels in some cold Field or Grove . Since both by Ours , and all Mens just Esteem . They 're fitter to Converse with Beasts than Men. A New Song on the Hellish Popish Plot ; Sung by BELZEBUB , at a Merry-meeting of the Devils . I. COme Brother Devils , with full Bowls Let us refresh our thirsty Souls . If there be joy in Heaven when men repent ; Why should not we As merry be , When thousands to our Regions are sent . II. And first let 's give unto Christ's Vicar The Supremacy o' th' Liquor . We 'l drink his health , and may his Kingdoms grow ; The farther he Extends his See , The larger our Dominions are below . III. Of Heaven and Hell Popes have the Keys , And damn or save whom e'r they please : 'T is sign they are our friends , if this be true ; They send to th' Skies Their Enemie , And let in here only their Popish crue . IV. Next to our Friends the Priests of Mass , A Bumper round about shall pass . As many Proselyte● to Hell they win , As we trepan In tempting Man. By helping to Indulgencies for sin . V. Before the day of doom , 't is said , We Devils must be bound and laid : But if the Popish-Priests on earth may dwell , from tempting wee May well be free ; They 'l do more harm than all the arts of Hell. VI. Yet after death these Saints are made , And Divine honour to them 's paid : To them for help the common people cry , Oramus vos , Servate nos , Whilst in these flames they here tormented lye . VII . But since the name of Saints they gain , Who for their Church have felt the pain Of transitory earthly fires ; then sure Much more that name The Priests may claim , Who for their Church eternal flames endure . VIII . Oft have I try'd the British-Land To re-inslave to Romes command If in that lesser World I had my hopes I 'd sing Old Rose , And fuddle my Nose ; The Universe should quickly be the Popes IX . Early and late what pains I take For th' Catholick Religion 's sake , Did they but know , me too they 'd Canonize : My Cloven-foot And Horns they 'd put Among those Reliques that they highest prize . X. First to conspire , Guy Faux I mov'd Though Fatal to himself it prov'd . After that upwards to the firmament It could not rent The Parliament , Him downwards to this place the Powder sent . XI . And at this time to kill the King , And Popery again to bring , Many I 've tempted ; if i' th' first they fail , A Counterplot Still they have got , I hope their next Attempt may yet prevail XII . The French are ready to send o're Their Armies to the Brittish-shore . To set fresh forces on the English ground I have again Perswaded Spain , Although in eighty-eight their strength it found . XIII . The English Papists too I 'le Arm , And they shall rise at the Allarm : One blow these forces shall together joyn , If Charles they kill , I have my will , Against the Protestants they shall combine . XIV . How do I long to see that day , When Bibles shall be took away , And Popish Legends in their places laid ; When the Beads motion Shall be devotion And in an unknown tongue Prayers shall be said . XV. With joy I think upon the time , When Whoring shall be thought no crime ; When Monks and Fryers ev'ry place shall store . When Marriage all A sin shall call , And Images for God they shall adore . XVI . But by their own Accomplices I hear that all detected is . Th' impeached Traitors into Goal are thrown , Their Arms are found Hid under ground , And all their Letters to the King are known . XVII . Th' unwelcom news by Staley came , Who hansel'd Tyburn for the same . With his own hand , had he been longer lived In open day The King to slay , Raviliae-like , he says he had contrived . XVIII . O that these puny Rogues I 'd got . That did relent and spoil the Plot : If it were possible , more cruelty I would Invent Them to torment , Than e're was exercis'd on Godfery . XIX . But since we can't come at these men ; Let 's swinge the rest for trusting them . Each of you take his tort'ring instrument ; With Hangmans Noose When Life they lose , On the Conspirators our spleen wee 'l vent . XX. In the mean while 't is best I think , To make an end of all our drink : That when they 're come , and in the height of pain Their Teeth they gnash , And Throats would wash , Nothing to cool their Tongues may here remain . On the Burning of several Cart-loads of Popish Books , at the Royal Exchange . WElcome blest day , that happily didst save Our Church and Nation from a threatned Grave : A day ! must never Marks of Hononr want , Whilst there survives one grateful Protestant ; But in our Callender shall stand inrol'd Through every Age , with Characters of Gold. As once proud Haman , with a curs'd Decree , Had sign'd God's Peoples general Destinie , So cruel Factors now of Hell and Rome , Resovl'd on England's universal Doom : But Heaven's bright Eye Revea'ld the Hellish Plot , Which had it prosper'd boldly might have shot At the Celestial Throne , put out the Sun , And made the world back to its Chaos run , Though deep as Hell they laid the black Designe , Fate blasts their Projects with a Countermine : And then the desperate Vndertakers be Like Haman , sentenc'd to the fatal Tree : Thus Pharaoh perish'd , Israel scap'd free . And shall such Mercies ever be forgot ? No , no — Were we so thankless , they would not Permit it ; whose new Treasons still we see Revive their Old ones to our Memorie . The Cockatrice on the same Eggs doth brood ; Rebellion's Venom is their natural food . Rome's Founder by a Wolf , ( 't is said ) was nurs'd , And with his Brother's blood her walls at first He cemented : whence ever since we finde Her Off-spring of a Ravenous , Bloody Kinde . Long since with temporal arms and flags unfurl●d She Tyranny o're Conquer'd Nations hurl'd And now with spiritual thraldom grasps the world . Sooner the Aethiop may blanch his skin , And Devils cease from tempting men to sin ; Sooner shall darkness dwell in the Suns beams And Tybur mix with our Thames Purer Streams , Than the slie Iesuit his old arts will leave , Or cursed nets of Treasoncease to weave . But now behold ! methinks a gallant Sight . Doctrines of Darkness yonder brought to Light : Boone-fires in Earnest ! where Rome's Pamphlets fry , And Popish Authors pass their Purgat'ry . Unto the Fire their Books most justly came , Which first were wrote to set us in a Flame . As in the Air the burning Papers flew , We might in Emblem that Religion view , Which makes a while a glorious glittering Blaze , And with gay Pomp inviteth fools to gaze ; Pretends directly towards heaven to fly On whings of flaming Love and Charity : But waite a while , approach a little nigher Its Glory fades , grows faint , and does Expire . What at first view appear'd so warm and bright , Like painted Fires , yields niether Heat , nor Light , But Grose and Earthly down it comes again , And with its Blackness , where 't doth touch doth stain . Was it for this the Monk in his dark Cell , With nitrous Earth , and Brimstone stoln from Hell , First compos'd Gun-powder , that it might be The future Engine of their Butchery ? At one sad stroak to Massacre a Land , And make them fall , whom Heaven ordain'd to stand ? Or could the bold , but silly Traytors hope , Great Britain e're would Truckle to the Pope ? Erect and Lofty still her Genius stands , And defies all their Heads , and all their Hands . Nor shall their Strength or Policy , e're reach Our ruine , if our Crimes op'e not the Breach : Still we are safe , till our Transgression merits The dreadful Reformation from such Spirits . They dig in vain , nor need our Nation fear Dark-Lanthorns , whilst God's Candlesticks are here . " The Purple-Whore may lay her Mantle by , " Until our Sins are of a Scarlet-dye . Lord ! may they never to that Bulk proceed , Nor fester so within , that we should need Italian Horse-leeches to make us bleed . May Reviv'd London never more become The Priests Burnt-Offering to Insulting Rome . With Guarding Mercies still our Soveraign tender , And be thou His , as He 's thy Faiths Defender . The Catholick Ballad : Or an Invitation to Popery . To the Tune of 88. SInce Pop'ry of late is so much in debate , And great strivings have been to restore it , I cannot forbear openly to declare , That the Ballad-makers are for it . We 'l dispute no more then , these Heretical men Have exposed our Books unto laughter , So that many do say , 't will be the best way To sing for the Cause hereafter . O the Catholick Cause ! now assist me my Muse , How earnestly do I desire thee ! Neither will I pray to St. Bridget to day , But only to thee to inspire me . Whence should Purity come , but from Catholick Rome ? I wonder much at your folly ? For Saint Peter was there , and left an old Chair , Enough to make all the World holy . For this Sacred old Wood is so excellent good , If our Doctors may be believed , That whoever sits there needs never more fear The danger of being deceived . If the Devil himself should ( God bless us ) get up Though his Nature we know to be evil , Yet whilst he sat there , as divers will swear , He would be an infallible Devil . Now who sits in this Seat , but our Father the Pope ? Which is a plain demonstration , As clear as Noon-day , we are in the right way , And all others are doom'd to damnation . If this will not suffice , yet to open your eyes , Which are blinded with bad Education ; We have Arguments plenty , and Miracles twenty , Enow to convince a whole Nation . If you give but good heed , you shall see the Host bleed , Aud if any thing can perswade ye , An Image shall speak , or at least it shall squeak In the Honour of our Lady . You shall see without doubt the Devil cast out , As of old by Erra Pater ; He shall skip about and tear like a dancing Bear , When he feels the Holy Water . If yet doubtful you are , we have Relicks most rare , We can shew you the Sacred Manger ; Several loads of the Cross as good as ere was To preserve your Souls from danger . Should I tell you of all , it would move a stone-wall , But I spare you a little for pity , That each one may prepare , and rub up his ear , For the second part of my Ditty . Now listen again to those things that remain , They are matters of weight , I assure you , And the first thing I say , throw your Bibles away , 'T is impossible else for to cure you . O that pestilent Book ! never on it more look , I wish I could sing it out louder : It has done men more harm , I dare boldly affirm Than th' Invention of Guns & Powder . As for matters of Faith , believe what the Church saith , But for Scripture , leave that to the Learned ; For these are edge-tools , & you Laymen are fools , If you touch them you are sure to be harmed . But pray what is it for , that you make all this stir ? You must read , you must hear , and be learned : If you 'l be on our part , we will teach you an Art , That you need not be so much concerned . Be the Churches good Son , and your work is half done , After that you may do your own pleasure : If your Beads you can tell , and say Ave Mary well , Never doubt of the Heavenly Treasure . For the Pope keeps the Keys , and can do what he please , And without all peradventure , If you cannot at the fore , yet at the back-door Of Indulgence you may enter . But first by the way , you must make a short stay At a place called Purgatory , Which the Learned us tell , in the buildings of Hell , Is about the middlemost story . 'T is a monstrous hot place , and a mark of disgrace , In the torment on 't long to endure : None are kept there but Fools & poor pitiful Souls , Who can no ready money procure . For a handsom round Sum you may quickly be gon , For the Church has wisely ordaind , That they who build Crosses and pay well for Masses , Should not there be too long detaind . So that 's a plain case , as the Nose on ones Face , We are in the surest condition , And none but poor Fools and some niggardly Owls , Need fall into utter perdition . What aileth you then , O ye great and rich men , That you will not hearken to reason , Since as long as y' have Pence , y' need scruple no offence , Be it Murther , Adultery , Treason . And ye sweet-natur'd Women , who hold all things common , My addresses to you are most hearty , And to give you your due , you are to us most true , And we hope we shall gain the whole party . If you happen to fall , your Penance is small , And although you cannot forgo it , We have for you a cure , if of this you be sure To confess before you go to it . There is one reason yet , which I cannot omit , To those who affect the French Nation , Hereby we advance the Religion of France , The Religion that 's only in fashion . If these rea●ons prevail , ( as how can they fail ? ) To have Popery entertain'd , You cannot conceive , and will hardly believe , What benefits hence may be gain'd . For the Pope shall us bless ( that 's no small happiness ) And again we shall see restored The Italian Trade , which formerly made This Land to be so much adored . O the Pictures and Rings , the Beads & fine things , The good words as sweet as Honey , All this and much more shall be brought to our door , For a little dull English-money . Then shall Justice and Love , & whatever can move Be restored again to our Britain . And Learning so common , that every old woman Shall say her Prayers in Latin. Then the Church shall bear sway , & the State shall obey , Which is now lookt upon as a wonder , And the proudest of Kings , with all temporal things Shall submit and truckle under . And the Parliament too , who have tak'n us to do And have handled us with so much terror , May chance on that score ( 't is no time to say more ) They may chance to acknowledge their error . If any man yet shall have so little Wit As still to be refractory , I swear by the Mass , he is a meer Ass , And so there 's an end of a Story . A Continuation of the Catholick Ballad inviting to Popery ; Vpon the best Grounds and Reasons , that could ever yet be produced . To an excellent Tune , called , The Powder-plot . FRom Infallible Rome , once more I am come , With a Budget of Catholick Ware , Shall dazle your Eyes , and your Fancies surprize , To embrace a Religion so rare . Oh! the Love and good Will , of his Holiness still , What will he not do for to save ye : If such Pains and such Art , cannot you Convert , 'T is pity but Old Nick should have ye . Now our Priests are run down , and our Iesuits aground And their Arguments all prove invalid : See here he hath got , an unheard of New-plot , To Proselite you with a Ballad . Then lay by your Jeers , and prick up your Ears , Whilst I unto you do display , The advantage and worth , the Truth and so forth Of the Roman Catholick way . If you did but behold the Faith and the Gold , Of which Holy Church is possest ; You would never more stray , in the Heretical way , But flie to her Lap to be blest . The Pope is the Head , and doth Peter succeed , ( Pray come away faster and faster ) He succeeds him 't is true , but would you know how , T is only in denying his Master . He 's Infallible too , what need more ado , And ever hath Truth in possession : For though once Mob Ioan , Ascended the Throne , The same was no breach of Succession . Our Church and no other , is the Reverend Mother Of Christians throughout the whole Earth ; Though Older they be , perhaps far than she , Yet they must owe unto Her their Birth . Our Faith is so great , so sound and compleat , It scorneth both Scripture and Reason ; And builds on Tradition , sometimes Superstition , And oft-times Rebellion and Treason . Our strict Purity , is plain to each eye , That Catholick Countries view ; For there to suppress , the sins of the Flesh , Sodomy is in use ; and the Stews . Our Zeal has been felt , whereever we dwelt , On all that our Doctrine deny : If we have a Suspicion , we make Inquisition , And straight the poor Hereticks fry . In vain they may plead , or their Scriptures read , We value them all not a Pin : The best Argument , that we can invent , Is with Fire and Sword to begin . A most Godly way , whatever they say , Since it their Salvation o●tains , Makes them Orthodox , with blows and with knocks , And hammers Faith into their Brains . A God we can make , of a thin Wafer-Cake , And eat him up when we have done : But a Drop of the Cup , Lay-men must not sup , For the Priest guzles that all alone . We have terrible Bulls , and Pardons for Gulls , Holy Water to Scar-crow the Devil ; With Consecrate Swords , take them on our words , They shall make the Great Turk be civil . We have Saints great store , and Miracles more , With Martyrs a great many from Tyburn ; Pretty Nuns that dwell , mewd up in a Cell , As chast as Night-walkers of Holbourn . We have Holy Blood , we have Holy Wood , A Ship-load , or some such matter : We have Holy Bones , and some Holy Stones , Would make an old Ladies Chops water . We have Holy Men , seen but now and then , Monks , Abbots , and Capuchin Friars , With Merits so great , they can buy one a Seat In Heaven , or else they are Liars . Then all you that would sure Salvation procure , And yet still live as you list ; Do but mutter and pray , and say as we say , And your Catholicks good as e're P — . We are brisk and free , and always agree , Allowing our selves to be jolly ; And the Puritan Tricks , of dull Hereticks . We count but Fanatical Folly. Swearing and Whoring , Drinking and Roaring , All those are but Venial Transgressions : The Murthering of Kings , and such petty things , Are easily Absolv'd in Confession . A little short Penance , doth wipe away Sin , And there 's an end of all trouble ; Which having dispatcht , you may fall to 't agen , And safely your Wickedness double . Bring a good round Sum , Sins past and to come , Shall presently be forgiven ; But this you must know , before you do go , The Excize runs high upon Heaven . For we have the Price , of every Vice , Assest at a certain Rate ; So near at a word , we do them afford , Not a Penny thereof we can bate . But if you 're content , a while to be pent , And in Purgatory purged ; A smaller Spell , shall preserve you from Hell , And keep you from being scourged . Though you have liv'd a Devil , in all kind of Evil Bequeath but a Monastery , And Angels your Soul , without Controul , To Abraham's Bosom shall Carry . Nor need you to fear , who have bought Lands dear That were Holy Churches before ; We 'l lend them for life , but for your Souls health At your Death you must them restore . Thus Popery , you see , will kindly agree , If you will it but embrace . But if you delay , there 's somany i' th way , That you will hardly get a good place . The Critical Time , is now in the prime , See how Holy Mother does smile , And spreading her Arms , to preserve you from harms , So gladly would you Reconcile . To which purpose behold , do but tell out your Gold , And all things in readiness be ; For the next Year , His Holiness ( we hear ) Doth intend a Jubilee . You that Pardons would have , or Indulgence crave , To ROME , to ROME be trudging , And do not contemn , good Advice from a Friend , Nor take his Ballad in dudgeon . On ROME's Pardons , By the E. of R. IF Rome can Pardon Sins , as Romans hold , And if those Pardons can be bought and sold , It were no Sin , to adore and worship Gold. If they can purchase Pardons with a Sum , For Sins they may commit in time to come , And for Sins past ; 't is very well for Rome . At this rate , they are happiest that have most , They 'l purchase Heaven at their own proper cost : Alas , the Poor ! all that are so , are lost . Whence came this Knack , or when did it begin ? What Author have they , or who brought it in ? Did Christ e're keep a Custom-House for Sin ? Some subtile Devil , without more ado , Did certainly this sly Invention brew , To gull'em of their Souls and Mony too . Written by Stephen Colledge , the day before he dyed . Wrongful Imprisonment Hurts not the Innocent . WHat if I am into a Prison cast , By Hellish Combinations am betray'd , My Soul is free , although my Body's fast : Let them Repent that have this Evil laid , And of Eternal Vengeance be afraid ; Come Racks and Gibbets , can my Body kill , My God is with me , and I fear no Ill. What boots the Clamours of the Giddy Throng ? What Antidotes against a poysonous Breath ? What Fence is there against a lying Tongue , Sharpen'd by Hell , to wound a Man to Death ? Snakes , Vipers , Adders do lurk underneath : Say what you will , or never speak at all , Our very Prayers ( such Wretches ) Treason call . But Walls and Bars , cannot a Prison make , The free-born Soul enjoyes it's Liberty ; These Clods of Earth it may incaptivate , Whilst Heavenly Minds are conversant on high , Ranging the Fields of Blest Eternity : So let this Bird sing sweetly in my Breast , My Conscience clear ; a Rush for all the rest . What I have done , I did with good Intent , To serve my King , my Country , and the Laws , Against the Bloody Papists I was bent , Cost what it will , I 'le ne're repent my Cause : Nor do I fear their Hell-devouring Jawes . A Protestant I am , and such I 'le die , Maugre all Death , and Popish Cruelty . But what need I these Protestations make , Actions speak Men far better than their Words : What e're I suffer for my Country's sake , Not Cause I had a Gun , or Horse , or Sword , Or that my Heart did Treason e're afford : No , 't is not me ( alone ) they do intend , But Thousands more , to gain their cursed Ends. And sure ( of this ) the World 's so well aware That here it 's needless more for me to say , I must conclude ; no time have I to spare , My winged hours fly too fast away , My work ( Repentance ) must I not delay . I 'le add my Prayers to God , for Englands good , And if he please , will seal them with my Blood. O blessed God! destroy this black Design Of Popish Consults ; it 's in thee we trust , Our Eyes are on thee , help , O Lord ! in time , Thou God of Truth , most merciful and just , Do thou defend us , or we perish must : Save England Lord , from Popish Cruelty , My Country bless , thy will be done on me . Man's Life 's a Voyage , through a Sea of Tears , If he would gain the Heaven of his Rest , His Sighs must fill the Sails ( whilst some men steers ) When storms arise , let each Man do his best , And cast the Anchor of his hopes ( opprest ) Till Time , or Death , shall bring us to that Shore , Where Time nor Death , shall never be no more . Laus Deo : S. C. From my Prison in the Tower , Aug. 15. 1681. Amen . LONDON's Fatal Fall : Being an ACROSTICK , &c. Written ( as a Second Poetical Diversion ) the 8 th . of September , 1666. L o ! now confused Heaps only stand O n what did bear the Glory of the Land. N o Stately Places , no Edefices , D o now appear : No , here 's now none of these , O h Cruel Fates ! Can ye be so unkind ? N ot to leave , scarce a Mansion behind . L et England then lament , and let her keep A dismal day , let every Soul to weep T o wash away those Sins , that thus provoke E ternal Heavens all-consuming stroke . L et Penitential Tears quench out the Fire Y et reigning in our Lusts , let that expire . E lse we can have no blessed Confiden●e , N or hopes in Heavens merciful Defence . G race is the best inducement too to move L ove from the God of Mercies , God of Love. A sighing Heart becomes this Tragedy , N ero's may laugh at it , so must not we . D on 't soon forget this greatest Accident , S ince Iulius Caesar enter'd into Kent . G reatest of Men or Cities , now ye see L ay subject unto Heavens just Decree . O let us then be careful to prevent R eligiously , such future punishment . Y esterday though not thought of , yet ye see N othing to day but sad extremity : O bdurate Hearts might melt to see a flame , W hich made e'en Bells themselves to do the same . B arbarians may weep to see a City E steem'd so much , destroy'd , ( Ah pitty ! pitty ! ) C onduits not now , but Gutters , ran with Wine . O ils also did unto the like combine . M ortality ne'er Men so fast did mow , A s the consuming Flames did Housen now . T roy's Flames were fatal , What did those begin ? R ape was the cause of that , and that was Sin. A nd we have Hellen's too too many , that G od knows , our guilt ( I fear ) do aggravate . I ncontinency's ( in our sinful time ) C all'd by fond Man , a Failing , not a Crime ; K nowledge by Will is so disfigured , S atan now as a Saint is worshipped . T hen this it is , ( We cannot but confess ) O btrudeth Judgments on our happiness . R epent then , God will ( if we Sinno more ) Y ield us more Blessings unto those before . A QVADRVPLE ACROSTICK on LONDON . L-o ! what a Chaos this unhappy Fal — L , O-nly a dismal sight , and signs of W — O , N-ow Metamorphis'd , Ovid writeth o — N ▪ D-emocritus had wept too ( doubtless ) ha — D O-nly Melpomene's the Singer wh — O N-ow each , a Stoick look too putteth o — N. L-ends us instead of Englands Capital — L. O-ffers our Opticks objects , Things are s — O N-o such , not to , but from , Confusio — N. D-estiny rais'd an Object then so sa — D. O-rders my Muse , and best becomes it to — O. N-othing but Clouds appear , the Sun is go — N. LONDON Anagram , NOLO . DOLO . The EXPLICATION . THough Now I am unwilling , wOes attend Me , so I grieve by fOrce , Let Heaven send Such Detriment no more , for nOw I find , Grief wilL alONe DepOse the Noblest mind , Thus this will highest Spirits subjugate , They must ( though most unwilling ) yield to Fate . LONDON's Epitaph . HEre lies the Flower ( as you may understand ) Not of a Family , but of a Land ; A beauteous LADY , Nations did her court , And all the World unto her did resort : She had a vast Estate ( as may appear ) And many Sisters , but made none her Heir ; No , She ( that they the more might sadly mourn ) Has all , consumed with her in her URN . But from those Ashes all her Sisters crys Are , that another PHAENIX yet may rise ; And all hopes are , Heaven yet will send Unto'em such another in the End. Vpon the Fifth of November . HAil happy Hour , wherein that Hellish Plot Was found , which , had it prosper'd , might have shot At the Celestial Throne ; at whose dread stroke Atlas had reel'd , and both the Poles had shoke : And Tellus ( sympathizing in the woe ) Had felt an Ague and a Feaver too : Hell-Gates had been set ope , to make men say , Saint Peter's Vicar hath mistook his Key . Methinks I see a dismal gloomy Cell , The Lobby-Porch and Wicket unto Hell , The Devil's Shop , where great had been his Prize , Had he prevail'd to make his Wares to rise . Say , gentle Drawer , were they Casks of Beer ? Or was old Bacchus tunn'd and firkin'd there ? Nay , then the Pope's turn'd Vintner : Friends , behold What mortal Liquor 's at the Mitre sold ! Fire-spewing Aetna with good Cause may fear That her Distemper springs from too much Beer : And old Enceladus may well confess That all his Belching's caus'd by Drunkenness . Had wretched Dives begg'd a Drop of this , To allay his heat , the Fool had ask'd amiss : His hapless Rhet'rick might have done him wrong , 'T would have tormented , not have could his tongue . Had Heber's Wife but known this Trick of thine , She 'd spar'd her Milk , & given the Captain Wine . Strange , sure , had been th' Effects ; it would have sped Our lawful King , and left the Pope instead . Right Drunkenness indeed , which , for a space , Steals Man away , and leaves a Beast in 's place . 'T had caus'd a general intoxication . The stag'ring , nay , the Downfal of the Nation . Oh murth'rous Plot ! Posterity shall say , His Holiness o're-shoots Caligula . The Pope by this and such Designs ( 't is plain ) Out - Babels Nimrod , and Out-butchers Cain . About this time the brave Mounteagle , whose Firm Love to his Religion rather chose To break the Roman Yoke , than see the Reign Of deceas'd Mary , wheel about again , Receiv'd a Letter in a dubious sense , It seem'd a piece of Stygian Eloquence : The Characters look'd just like conj'ring Spells ; For this bout Hell here spoke in Parables . The Pope's and Devil's Signets were set to 't , Th Clo●en Mitre and the Clo●en Foot. But shall our State by an unlook'd-for Blow Receive a mortal Wound , and yet not know The hand that smote her ? shall she sigh and cry , Like Polyphemus , Out is quench'd mine Eye ? Is England by the angry Fates sad Doom Condemn'd to play at Hot-cockles with Rome ? No , Man of Myst'ries , no , we understand Thy Gibb'rish , though thou art confounded , and Have found thy meaning ; Heav'n can read thy hand . Thus were our Senate like to be betraid By a strange Egg which Peter's Cock had laid : For had the servant hatch'd it , the Device Had prov'd to us a baneful Cockatrice . Now like proud H●man being stretch'd upon The heightned Pegs of vain Ambition , Above Pride's highest Ela , how he took Poor Mordechai's advancement , and could brook Hanging , instead of Honouring ; that Curse Which made him set the Cart before the Horse : Just such was Faux , his baffled hopes bequeath No comforts now , but thoughts of suddain Death . Like Haman's fate , he only could aspire To be advanced fifty Cubits higher . What Phoebus said to th' Laurel , that sure he Said to the Gallows , Thou shalt be my Tree . But didst thou think , thou mitred Man of Rome , Who bellowest threatnings and thy dreadful Doom , And like Perillus roarest in thy Bull Curses and Blasphemies a Nation full , At one sad stroke to Massacree a Land , And make them fall , whom Heaven ordain'd to stand . No , though thy head was fire and thou could turn Thy Ten Branch'd Antler to a Powder-horn ; Still we are safe , till our transgressions merit A Reformation from such a Spirit As comes from thence : our Nation need not fear Dark Lanterns , whilst God's Candlestick is here . The Purple Whore may lay her Mantle by , Until our Sins are of a Scarlet-dye . Those Horns alone can sound our overthrow , And blow us up , which blew down Iericho , Christ bless this Kingdom from intestine quarrels ; From Schism in Tubs , and Popery in Barrels . The DEVIL pursued : Or , The right Saddle laid upon the right Mare . A SATYR upon Madam CELLIERS standing in the Pillory , By a Person of Quality . ALas ! What has this poor Animal done , That she stands thus before the rising Sun , In all the heats of Infamy and Disgrace , The sure Remarks of a bold Brazen-face ? Truly for no great hurt , nor for much harm ; Only inventing to spill Royal Blood , to keep it warm ; Fire Cities , Burn Houses , and Devast Nations ; Ruine us in all our several Stations . But who would think it from the Woman fine , A thing whom Nature it self hath made Divine , That she should act such horrid barbarous things , As to design to stab Statesmen , and to Murder Kings ? But here she still appears for her ill acts , Like second storms after Thunder-claps . Philosophers tell us , The best things corrupted are the worst , And from their own fine species are ever curst . When once we take to Ill and Vices Road , We then paint our selves much like the Toad ; Since Vice not only horrid is from the being of Nature , But also from the thing it self , and from its own feature . Who makes us look at once , and that several ways , Like squinting people , from their false Optick Rays . This teaches us therefore how a strange a thing is Religion , That makes one a Vulture , the other a Raven , and the other a Widgeon ; To be so very false , in the instructing those To commit such horrid acts , and with them close : As what is opened and presented here , By a Popish Midwife , called Madam Cellier . Go to therefore , all ye Papists and Men of the Red Letter , Would you but seriously consider of it , yon would do much better Than Plot such secret Villanies against the State , The direful operations of your ungodly hate . On the Murther of Sir EDMONDBURY GODFREY of WESTMINSTER : An hasty POEM . O Murder ! Murder ! let this Shreik fly round , Till Hills and Dales , and Rocks and Shores rebound ; Send it to Heav'n and Hell ; for both will be Astonish'd and Concern'd as much as we . First send to Endor where of old did dwell An Hag , could Fates of Kings and Kingdoms tell ; If that cannot be found , to Ekron go , To Pluto's Oracle and Hell below . There serve this Hue and Cry , for there 't was hatch'd , ( Except the Priests their Gods have over-match'd . ) Methinks Belzebub , if he be out-done In his Grand Misteries ; and Rome needs none Of his Black Arts , but can Out-Devil Hell , His Envy and Revenge this Plot should tell : And by disclosing in his own defence , Not only vindicate his Innocence , But hasten their destruction , and prevent . Loss of his Trade , ( the Jesuits intent ) Unless he fears them , as indeed he may ; When once in Hell , none shall Command but they . But if this Tragedy be all his own , And Roman Actors ( taught by him ) have shown How they can play all parts he can devise ; Female or Male , with or without disguise : And need no Cacodoemons prompting Art Or Whisper , but can fill up any part ; Fast , Pray and Weep , Swear and Forswear , Decoy , Trapan , Kiss , Flatter , Smile , and so Destroy , Stab , Pistol , Poyson Kings , un-King , de-Throne , Blow up or down , Save , Damn , make all their own . Knows not he then , tho' Founder of the Stage , The Laws of Theatres in every Age. That th' Actors , not the Author of the Play , Do challenge the Rewards of the first day . Make then their names renown'd , and come to hide Such Children of thy Revels and thy Pride ; Send to their Father , and thy eldest Son That Lucifer of Rome , what feats they 've done : That he may make their names be understood , Written in Kalenders of Martyrs Blood. But if the Fiends below be Deaf and Dumb , And this Conjuring cannot overcome ; They and their Imps be damn'd together : I To Gods on Earth will send my Hue and Cry. Arise Just Charles , Three Kingdoms Soul and mine , Great Iames thy Grandfather could well divine ; And without Spell the bloody Riddle Spell , Writ by like S●●●etaries of Rome and Hell. And if Thy Proclamation cannot do , We pray Gods Spirit may inspire Thee too . If Thy Prophetick Vsher did not err , The Mass would enter by a Massacre . The Wounds Thy Godfrey found were meant for Thee , And Thou ly'st Murder'd in Effigie . In Gods Kings Kingdoms Cause this Knight was slain , Let him a Noble Monument obtain ; Erected in your Westminsters great Hall , That Courts of Justice may lament his Fall : And may ( when any Papist cometh near ) His Marble Statue yield a bloody tear . Yet let him not be buried , let him lie , The fairest Image to draw Justice by . There needs no Balm or Spices to preserve The Corps from Stench , his Innocence will serve . Ye Lords and Commons joyn your speedy Votes , A Pack of Blood-Hounds threaten all your Throats . And if their Treason be not understood , Expect to be Dissolv'd in your own Blood. O Vote that every Papist ( high and low ) To Martyr'd Godfry's Corps in person go ; And laying hand upon his wounded Brest , By Oath and Curse his ignorance protest . But Oh the Atheism of that Monstrous Crew , Whose Holy Father can all Bonds undo : Whose Breath can put away the heavi'st Oath ; Who fears no Heaven nor Hell , but laughs at both Therefore a safer Vote my Muse suggests , For Priests and Iesuits can swallow Tests As Hocus Pocus doth his Rope or Knife , And cheats the gaping Farmer and his Wife . Oh Vote each Sign-post shall a Gibbet be , And hang a Traytor upon every Tree . Yet we 'l find Wood enough for Bone-fire-piles , T' inlighten and inflame our Brittish Isles Upon the approaching Fifth November night , And make Incendiaries curse the light . November Fires Septembers may reveal , One Burn ( we say ) another Burn will heal . Lastly , And surely , let this Hue and Cry Reach Heaven , where every Star looks like an Eye To that High Court of Parliament above , Whose Laws are mixt with Justice and with Love ; Whither Just Godfry's Souls already come , And hath receiv'd the Crown of Martyrdom ; Where Murder'd Kings and slaughter'd Saints do cry , Their Blood may never unrevenged lie . Ye Saints and Angels hate that Scarlet Whore , Whose Priests and Brats before your Shrines adore , And in their Massacres your Aid implore : Staining your Altars with the precious Gore : Pour down your Vials on their Cursed heads , And in Eternal flames prepare their Beds . And Thou Judge Jesus Hang'd and Murder'd too , By Power of Rome and Malice of the Iew , In Godfry's Wounds Thine own to bleed anew . Oh Rend Thy Heavens ! Come Lord and take Thy Throne , Revenge Thy Martyrs and Thine own . The Loyal Protestants New LITANY . FRom the Romish Whore with her Triple Crown , Fom the Plot she hath hatch'd , and her Babes now disown , Though they dy'd with a Lie in their Mouth is well known . Libra nos Domine . From such as presume to speak ill of Queen Bess , From a Popish Midwife in a Sanctified Dress , Adorn'd with a Wooden Ruff for a Crest . Libra nos , &c. From Iudas the Purse-bearers Protestant face , From any more of his Machiavel race , That henceforth may ever succeed in his place . Libra nos , &c. From a Doctor that durst prepare such a Dose That would take a Protestant Prince by the Nose , ( Although it be spoken under the Rose . ) Libra nos , &c. From a Papist that Curses the Catholick Whore , Although in his Heart he the same do adore , And still his contriving more Plots than before . Libra nos , &c. From a Jesuit drest up in Masquerade , That understands his Blood-thirsty Trade , That can neither by Justice or Mercy be laid . Libra nos , &c. From Bum●kin and Citt that at random do range ; And for a Sham-Plot do true honesty change , Though come off by the LEE , methinks it is STRANGE . Libra nos , &c. From such a hard Fortune as barely to write But only for Bred from Morning till Night ; That would more than a Crack-farts Courage affright . Libra nos , &c. From those that Sedition do dayly invent To render a breach and gross discontent Betwixt our Great King and Loyal Parliament . Libra nos , &c. From such as do dayly possess us with fears , And yet at the same do prick up their ears , Which care not which Course our Council now steers . Libra nos , &c. That the Rhomish Whore may be stript of her dress , And cast in the Pit that is call'd Bottomless ; That her Plots , Loyal Subjects no more distress . Quesimus te Domine . That Queen Besses Enemies run the same Fate As lately they did in the last Eighty Eight , May never one want to peep through a Grate . Quesimus , &c. That the Purse-bearer Iudas his Protestant face May never resume his former high place , Except for to fall in Eternal Disgrace . Quesimus , &c. That the Doctor beyond Sea in spight of his skill , May never return , but keep close there still ; Or else may he die by his own Poysonous Pill . Quesimus , &c. That Popish Curr in honest disguise , That Curses us all before he do rise , May his Plots be confounded though never so wise . Quesimus , &c. That such whose hands are still dipt in Blood , And intend to make second Noah's Flood , That all such may perish , and all of their Brood . Quesimus , &c. That such as do render the Plot for a Fable , And make it the talk of each Coffee-house Table ; To enter Heaven Gates may they never be able . Quesimus , &c. That such as are forced to write but for bread , May be by the dayly Providence fed , Much rather than those who will Plot till they 're dead . Quesimus , &c. That Seditious Spirits may now be supprest , And that in true earnest , not only in Jest , That such may never more feather their Nest. Quesimus , &c. That those who do dayly possess us with fears , May fall themselves together by th' Ears ; And quit us all from that Cloud which appears . Quesimus te Domine . The JESUIT Ierk'd : A SATYR . AScend , Alecto , from thy Den , and come Just as thou look'st in that Infernal Home , Hell , Fury , Fire , my Fancy , for I have More Cause than Poet e're had yet , to Rave : Thou art my Muse , thy Snakes my Lawrels are , Inspir'd by thee , I 'll Rome's Intrigues declare : Then to thy intermitted Task retire , And pay the Iesuits their Arrears of Fire . A Iesunt old Satan's Envoy is , Sent to succeed the Snake of Paradice ; For when the fatal stroke of Adam's Loss , Was healed by the Great Theanthropos , And that first Argument of Hellish Power , Was quite Confuted by a Saviour : Then baffled Lucifer no answer had , Till he a Iesuit his Rejoynder made , By whom he hopes compleatly to renew The Battel , and once more Mankind undo ; Plotting his Old Dominion to make good By false Implicit Faith , or Fire and Blood : That catches Fools , and These destroy the Wise , Thus all Mankind are equally his Prize . " Shut your Eyes close , believe me , and you 'l see , " Th' Ignatian crys the way t' Eternity : " Deny all Reason , misbelieve your Sense , " Church cannot erre , be that your Confidence : " Pin on your Sleeve your Faith , and tho' you 'r blind , " Take but fast hold , and follow us behind ; " Our open Eyes the way for both will find . This Wine and Wafer now are common Food , But a few words shall make e'm Flesh and Blood ; And though they still the self same things appear , Yet is Christ's very Blood and Body here : Such plain Impostures , such bold Cheats as these , Can surely none but Fools or Madmen please . The Snake of Paradice play'd fairer far With Adam's Wife , and more upon the square ; He call'd an Apple , Apple , bid her see How fair the Fruit , desireable the Tree : The Iesuit's tricks would ne're have ta'ne with Eve , She saw and felt before she did believe : Besides he told her that 't would make her wise , But these the gros●est ignorance advise . And thus we lose our selves b' a greater cheat , Than what the Devil us'd in Eve's Defeat : Thus we our Sense and Reason lay aside , To take an Old Ambitious Pope for Guide . Thus we turn Stocks and Ideots , and then Become good Cath'licks , ceasing to be Men ; As if the only way to save our Souls , Were to be easie Slaves , or senseless Fools . To all this fond Credulity we 're hurld , By slavish fears about a burning World ; So ( to be sure ) to feel no torment there , First strip our selves of all our senses here ▪ Now my Alecto , let 's advance and view The frauds that lurk under Religious shew ; For though to Heaven their fair pretences swell , The root lies deep and dark , as is thy Cell : No Heathen Law-giver , no Pagan Priest , Could e're with such mysterious Wiles infest The superstitious Multitude , for they Are still most apt to fear they know not why ; No Cabalist of State could e're trapan With such firm subtilety as Rome's Divan . And First , lest Holy Church should chance to float Without a last Appeal in endless doubt ; You must with dumb Obedience still repair Unto Rome's Holy Apostolick Chair , That , that 's Infallible and cannot erre . This bold Assumption keeps more in awe , Than Numa with his feig●'d Egeria ; For though it seems at point of Faith to aim , 'T is to be uncontroulibly Supream , Get universal Def'rence , and Create A close dependance on the Roman Seat : Branding on all damnable Heresie , That dare oppose the Apostolick See , Or Rome's Political Divinity . Rome's Doctrine is a secular Device , Mere trick of State in rev'rend Disguise , Th' Ambitious Spawn of latter Centuries . And tho' it proudly boast an ancient Line From Peter , 't is of basest Origine ; A Priestly Brat , by them Ingendred on Ignorance , Fear , and Superstition ; These three compleatly make the Triple Crown , And still support Old Rome's Imperial Throne . How slily do the Priests by help of these Make Men believe , and then do what they please ; How solemnly they dazle vulgar Eyes With fine mysteriovs Holy Vanities : Whose Ceremonious Pomp strikes awful dread In Fools that by their Eyes and Ears are led : But should I here endeavour to declare The num'rous Gimcracks of the Romish Fair , Their mystick Idols , consecrated Bawbles , Feign'd Miracles , and monstrous Holy Fables ; How dead Saints Relicks cure the Gout and Ptisick , And are like Aegypts Mummy , us'd for Physick ▪ How they can scare the Devil with a stench , As young Tobias did to get the Wench . In telling this I might as tedious be , As the return of their next Jubilee ; But these are petty Trifles , petty Toys , Tricks to catch Women , gaping Fools , and Boies ; They have devices of a larger Size , Traps to ensnare the Wary and the Wise. And if you chance to boggle at the Bait , They curse , and cry Damnation be your Fate , And then you swallow it at any rate . Oh! what a melancholly dismal Story They roar in dying Ears of Purgatory ; That rather than the affrighted Wretch will bu●● So long , he 'll all his Gold to Masses turn . Thus Ecclesiastick Chymists ( you 'd admire ) Make real Gold by a fictitious Fire . Next extream Unction comes from whence the Prie● Gets the most good by greasing in the Fist ; But of all cheats that necessary are Unto Salvation , Aur●cular Confession bears the Bell , and seems to me Next to Infallible Supremacy . It wears a Holy Vail , but underneath Is Shame and Slavery far worse than Death : The Priest may tyrannize without Controul , That knows the guilty secret of the Soul. So when the Gentle Sex Confession makes That they have often sinn'd upon their Backs , How easily the Priest comes in for snacks , And shrieves the pretty Pen'tent Alamode , No trick like a Iure Divino Fraud . Thus are their chiefest Doctrines plain Device , Pimp to their Pride , their Lust and Avarice ? In Holy Apostolical Disguise . In short , the whole mysterious Cheat doth lye , In Superstition and Idolatry , Two Spurious Graffs Set in the Tree of Life , Religion , By whose luxurious Branches 't is o'regrown To such a monstrous Disproportion ; That first the Planters would it quite disown . Religion like a modest Rural Maid , No artificial Dress , no Fucus had , But was in Native Innocency clad . Till in Rome's Court she ceased to be such , Thence sprang her Infamy and first Debauch ; There laying plain simplicity aside , She grew to lazie Wantonness and Pride : Yet still some modesty confin'd her home , Nor rambled she beyond the Walls of Rome ; Till proud of her successful Charms , she grew Ambitious greatest Monarchs to subdue ▪ So by deceitful Arts sh' enlarg'd her Power , And made them Slaves that she had serv'd before ▪ Then wisely some the Vassalage forsook , Others repin'd , as weary of the Yoke ; She jealous lest her Universal Sway Should lessen , and her former Fa●e decay ; Mongst others , did the Schoolmens Pen employ To vindicate her Truth and Honesty , ( Schoolmen who ransack Sciences and Arts , To prove with pains that they are Fools of parts ) So these her Honour justify'd in Words , As Bully Iesuits Plot to do with Swords ; But both in vain , for 't is concluded on , Their Mistress is the Whore of Babylon . Shift , shift the Scene , Alecto , Fury , Fiend , Wake all thy Snakes and make this Tragick End ; By Hellish Art raise up in dark Cabal , The Pope , a Iesuit , and Cardinal : Thy self place in the middle raving Wood , With Poysons , Pistols , Daggers , Fire and Blood. Now let this Scene start into sudden sight , By gloomy Flashes of sulphureous Light ; There let his Holiness's Face appear , Full of deep Counsel , weighty thought , and care , Whilst each of you in awful silence hears The sacred Oracle with humble Ears . Was it for this my ample Power was giv'n , For this have I the Keys of Hell and Heaven ? In Vain I boast of a Supremacy , And call my Chair the Universal See : A little Nest of Hereticks cut off From Europe's Earth , at all my power doth laug● Who though they kindly could decline to be A Bar to ballance Gallick Tyranny , Yet still oppose my Holy Monarchy . False Agents Heartless Traytors , have you So often swore by Sacramental Vow , Or to Convert this Island , or undo ? Was your Commission scant , did I deny Plenipotentiary Villany ? Have not I null'd Divine and Humane Laws , That without Let , you might promote the Cau●● Heaven's Laws , though fix'd by an Eternal Seal , Stoop and are liable to my Repeal . Moses once broke these Tables , often I , Not to prevent , but fix Idolatry . Thus had your large Commission no restraint , Nor did you Apostolick Blessing want ; Nay more the blackest Crimes in you were Merit , For which all others endless Flames in herit : So Treasons , Murders , Perjuries , became Sure Monuments of your Eternal Fame ; So Nature's Course was chang'd , yet nothing's done T' Advance the Catholick Religion . Be gone , Slave , fly , Delude with crafty Words , If they prove vain , use Poyson , Fire , and Swords ; Make better work on 't , or I swear by th' Mass , And the Divinity of Holy Cross — These chance unlucky Words broke all the Spell , They vanisht , and Alecto sunk to Hell. On the Murther of Sir EDMONDBURY GOD FREY . ARe these the Popes Grand Tools ? Worshipful Noddies ! Who but blund'ring Fools Would ever have forgot To Burn those Letters that reveal'd their Plot ? Or in an Ale-house told that Godfrey's Dead , Three Days before he was Discovered ; Leaving the silly World to call to mind That Common Logick , They that hide can find ? But see their Master Pollicy on Primrose Hill , Where their great Enemy Like Saul upon Mount Gilboa doth lye , Fal'n on his Sword , as if he himself did Kill . But oh , the Infelicity ! That Blood was fresh , and gusht out of the wound , This so congeal'd that not one spot was found : No , not upon his Sword , as if it wou'd Tell us 't was guiltless of its Masters Blood ; Some Carkasses by bleeding do declare , This by not bleeding , shews the Murtherer . But to its broken Neck I pray What can our Polititians say ? He Hang'd , then stab'd himself , for a sure way . Or first he stab'd himself , than wrung about His Head for madness , that advis'd him to 't ; Well Primrose , may our Godfrey's Name on thee ( Like Hyacinth ) inscribed be : On thee his Memory shall flourish still , ( Sweet as thy Flower , and lasting as thy Hill ; ) Whilst blushing Somerset to her Eternal shame , shall this Inscription bear : The Devil 's an Ass , for Jesuits on this spot Broke both the Neck of Godfrey , & their Plot. A Passionate SATYR upon a Devillish Great He-Whore that lives yonder at ROME . A Pox on the Pope , with his damn'd bald Pate , What a stir hath this Toad made here of late ; Such a Noise and a horrible Clamour Is here with this Whore , a Plague of God on her . Must the Kingdom and State be at a loss , Leave their sweet Peace to lye under a Cross ? Must Church and Church-men be expos'd to scorns , Tost up and down by a Beast with Ten Horns ? Must Christians that know no more but one God , Worship Ten Thousand , or be scourg'd with a Rod ? Must Beads , and a Cross , and a Relick from Ione , Make us fall down to Prayers right or wrong ? Must Hobgoblin Mass , that 's learn'd of Old-Nick , Complement God for the Well and the Sick ? Must Water bless'd by a Conjuring Monk , Scoure away Sins from a Pockyfi'd Punk ? Must Souls be pray'd out , the Devil hath got , At so much per Mass , else there they must rot ? Must Sinners be sav'd by Old Sinning Gulls ? I 'll ne're beg your Pardon , those are damn'd Bulls . Must We , Canibal-like , eat up our God , Or else must We not in Heaven have aboad ? Must Fire and Wood burn all that won't bow , Worship S. Doll , and the Devil knows who ? Must Ignorance be our Guide to Glory , Then Heaven I 'm sure is but an Old Story . Must all Men be blind that open their Eyes , That Priests may do what they please with their Wives● Must killing of Kings , and Princes to boot Be Marks that the Pope is sound at the Root ? Must a Conclave of Rogues , and Jesuit Priests , Perswade all the World to Worship the Beast ? Must the Pope order all by Sea and by Land , Who must turn out , and who is to 〈◊〉 Must those be intrusted that swear and receive What e're you impose , that they may deceive ? Must Iudas be saved that eat of the Sop ? No , by the Mass , he deserved the Rope : Must such be employed at Sea and at Shore , That would subvert all to set up the Whore ? Must those be good that designed to seem such ? Who in Parliament time subscrib'd to the Church : Must We all be undone by a damn'd Popish Crew , Some that is about us , and some We ne're knew ? Must the King and his Friends see and know this , And yet be advised that nothing's amiss ? Must this be the Trap , then the Devil take it , Our Hogs We 've brought to a blessed Market . Vpon the Execution of the late Viscount STAFFORD . I. SHall every Jack and every Jill , That rides in State up Holbourn Hill By aid of Smithfield Rhymes defie The Malice of Mortality ? And shall Lord Stafford dye forgot ? He that would needs be such a Sot , To dye for love of a damn'd Plot ? No , Viscount , no ; believe it not . II. Diana's Temple , all in flame , Advanc'd th' Incendiaries Name ; Ruffians , and Bauds , and Whores , and Theives , In Ballad Records live new lives : And shall a Lord because a Traytor , In such an Age so given to flatter , Want that which others , Saints to him , Ne're want to fame them , Words , and Rhime . III. Oh Sir ! the Papishes , you know Have much more gratitude than so ; For this same Lord that brake the Laws Of God and Man , to serve their Cause , Shall live in Pravers , and Almanacks Beyond what Ballad-Monger makes ; And some Years hence , you 'l see , shall work Such Miracles , would turn a Turk . IV. Blest is that Man that has a Box To save the Saw-dust in , that sokes His tainted Blood , or can besmeare One corner of his Muckinder : Oh! then , some Ages hence they 'l cry Lo , Stafford's Blood , and shed for why ? For nothing but because he sought To kill his Prince , and sham the Plot. V. Now they that dye for crimes like these , The Papists send to Heaven with case : For they secure 'em safe from Hell , Which once believ'd , the rest is well . A strange Belief , that Men should think That were not drunk with worse than Drink ; That such Rewards as Deifying , By Treason should begain'd and Lying . VI. The Man that for Religion dyes , Has nothing more before his Eyes : But he that dyes a Criminal , Dyes with a load , and none can call Religion that which makes him dream , Obduracy can hide his shame . VII . The Pope may do what he Conjectures As to the business of his Pictures , The Colours ne're can hide the Crimes , Stories will read to after Times . And 't will be found in the Hangman's Hands , Will strangely blur the Pope's Commands . VIII . Had he but shewed some Christmas Gambles , And Headless took St. Denis Rambles : The Plot had been a damnable thing , And down had gon the Scaffolding ; But 'cause his Lordship this forgot , Men still believe there is a Plot. IX . Where was St. Dominick asleep ? Where did St. Frank his Kennel keep ? That on a business so emergen , They did not brisly teize the Virgin ? To let his Lordship play a Prank Her Grace becoming , and his Rank ? X. But they that Heaven and Earth Command , You see sometimes they 're at a stand ; For truth to tell ye , should the Saints Be bound to hear all Fools complaints ; Their Lives would be as void of mirth In Heaven , as formerly on Earth . XI . Now Ballad●wise before he 's dead , To tell ye what the Sufferer said ; He both defended , and gain-said , Held up his hands and cry'd , and pray'd , And swore he ne're was in the Plot , No , by his Vicountship . God wot . XII . Come , come , Sir , had it not been better To have dy'd to Death common Debter ? And that upon your lasting Stone , This Character had been alone ? Here lies a very Honest Lord , True to his King , true to his Word . XIII . But those of your Religion , Are now a days so damn'd high flown , You think that nothing makes a Saint But Plot refin'd , and Treason Quaint ; And Heaven accepts no Offerings , But Ruin'd Kingdoms , Murdered Kings . XIV . Now you that knew who were his Judges , Who found him Guilty without grudges , Who gave him over to the Block , And how he sham'd to save the stroak , If you believe the Speech he made ye , Le'strange , and P — ton's shame degrade ye . XV. Thus us'd all Arts that could cajole , You may be sure , his silly Soul ; And were those promises perform'd , With which his Conscience they had charm'd , Who would betray a Cursed Plot , To be when Dead , the Lord knows what ? XVI . But if those jolly Promises Do send thee into Little ●ase , As certainly they must undo thee , What ever Fools and Knaves said to thee ; Then Phlegeus like in Hell condole , And Curse them that betray'd thy Soul. XVII . Now God preserve our Noble King , And bless all them that thus did bring Unto the Block that silly Head , That car'd not what it did or said . And all good Men may Heaven defend , From such a vile untimely End. The Lord STAFFORD's Ghost , &c. FRom Stygian shade , lo , my pale Ghost doth rise , To visit Earth , and these sublunar Skies ; For some few moments I'm in Mercy sent , To bid my Fellow-Traytors to Repent : Repent before you taste of Horrid Fate , Your Guilt confess , before it be too late . I am not here arriv'd on Earth , to tell The hidden secrets that belong to Hell : Nor am I sent to publish or declare ▪ Who are tormenters , whom tormented there . For now I know that it is Heavens decree , These things to Mortals still shall secrets be ; Who have fantastick Dreams , and nothing know , Of what is done above , or yet below : But I have seen with my Immortal Eyes , Things that with horror do my Soul surprize ; Too late alas ! too late , I see my Sin , With strange Chymera's I 've deluded been , By a curs'd brood , who sounded in my Ear , Dye obstinate , no Chains of Conscience fear : Upon us firmly let your Faith be built , We can and do Absolve you from your Guilt ; And after this , you need no more Repent , For you a Martyr dye , and Innocent . O Cursed Men ! who on Wretches thus Intrude , And thus poor Souls , Eternally delude : Whilst they believe what these deluders say , Li●e is snatch'd from them , and they drop away ; And falling down , by Charon Death they 're hurl'd Into the Mansions of a dismal World , Where Conscience stands , and stares them in the face , Shewing a Table of Eternal Brass : In which in noted Characters are wrot Their whole lifes crimes , which living they forgot . With Conscience these have an Eternal strife , And Curse the vain delusive Dreams of Life : With torment now their crimes read o're and o're , And waking , see they did but Dream before : Too late , and than too late , what Plague is worse ? They see their folly , and themselves they Curse ; They Curse themselves , because they did believe , And doubtly Curse those who did them deceive . When to the fatal Scaffold I was brought , I said , and did what I was bid , and laught , Tho' Conscience said , I did not what I ought . Stoutly the Guilt , as I was bid , deny'd , And for the Cause , I Rome's great Martyr dy'd . I that Religion then esteemed good , And gladly would have seal'd it with my Blood , Because I then no better understood . Let not the World to vain delusions flye , I did for Treason , not Religion , dye . Tho' on the Scaffold I would not confess , My Ghost , alas ! too late can do no less . Let all Complotters warning take by me , The World we may delude , but God doth see ; Tho' what we did should never come to light , It can't be hid from the Almighty's sight : Give God the Glory , and confess your Crime , Confess your horrid Treason while you 've time ; Publick Confession shews you do Repent , And is the best way to grow Innocent . I see too late , I have been led astray , And by Error , far from Truth , was led away ; For that Religion never can be good , That would erect it self by Humane Blood. I pin'd my self upon anothers sleeve , And blindly I did as the Church believe ; What my delusive Guides did bid me do , That I believ'd was Holy , Just , and True. With Zeal I acted , and hop'd for Applause , Of Men and Heaven , in so good a Cause : But Oh! I sigh , and now my Airy Ghost , Shivers to think what Blessings I have lost : The broadway to Destruction then I took , And Vertues Road my blinded Zeal mistook . But you my Friends , who yet are left behind , Now to your selves , and to your Souls be kind ; Open her Eyes , and be no longer blind , Pry my sad End , do you your Errors find . Confess your Crimes before it be too late , Confess , confess , before you yield to Fate : Before from Life , and from the World you go , Before that you descend to Shades below , Before your Souls taste of Eternal Woe . Truth cannot Dye , it stronger is than Death , Remains when Mortals have resign'd their breath ; To amazed Souls with Conscience she appears , To aggravate , and to encrease their fears . Confess her while you live , though drawn to Sin , Repentance with Confession doth begin . Believe no longer that accursed Brood , Who on the Necks of Kings have proudly trod , Nor him who thinks himself an Earthly God. Those Hectoring Jesuits who so Zealous be , Who think to Rule the World by Policy ; Who to the Gallows seem with joy to come , To be the Martyrs , and the Raints of Rome . When Life is fled , and they are gon from hence , In tumbling down are waked into Sense ; Where all amaz'd , and wondring where they 've bin , They howl , and cry , and wish to Dye agin . Beware I say , be fool'd no longer here , For Rhadamanthus is a Judge severe . Hark! I am call'd , I must descend below , But let me Prophesie before I go : See the bright Star● which o're your Heads doth shine , I can as well as Gadbury Divine ; What the bright stream of Radient Light doth mean , Which every Night so frequently is seen . Hear me , O Rome ! though in your Cause I dy'd , Nigh is the setting of your Pomp and Pride : That Star doth shew , that day is near at hand , That Rome no longer shall the world command , And many Years it hath not now to stand . By that bright stream , which still points to the East , The Everlasting Gospel's Light 's exprest : Which just is breaking forth , and doth bespeak , That its most Glorious Day 's about to break ; When Peace , and Truth , and Righteousness shall stand , Everlasting Pillars set in every Land , And Christ in Power alone the world command . Then shall the world shine with Eternal Glory , And Perhaps , may then leave PVRGATORY . The Ghosts of Edward Fitz Harris , and Oliver Plunket , who were Executed at Tyburn for High Treason , &c. Fitz Harirs . I Groan and Languish to Relate My Countries present Case and State , Which now lies under pressures great . I have been in my time a Thing , That would have done ought 'gainst the King , Whereby I Popery in might bring . I Boggled not Shams to devise , Whereby to charge upon ( with Lies ) The Presbyterians Plotting Guise . Tho' they in Truth for ought I knew , Had naught under design or view But what was Loyal , Just , and True. In order this Sham-Plot to vent , I a damn'd Libell did invent , 'gainst both the King and Government . Plunket . Tush , Fellow Martyr , Tush I say , You do what misbecomes your way , Rome's Plottings if you do betray . For what Man ever think you , got A Pardon for being in the Plot , That to the last deny'd it not ? Or ever heard you was there one That was o' th Roman Church a Son , But went on as he had begun ? D' ye think you ever sav'd shall be , If you retract not what you say , And Holy Church don't justifie ? I as a Priest pronounce you damn'd , You shall be into Hell now Cram'd , If you persist in things forenam'd . And there in endless Torments lye , Whilst all our Rogueries I deny , And thereby into Heaven fly . Fitz. If Heaven Sir , you think to win , By persevering in known Sin , You will I doubt fall into th' Gin. For if one Crime that unrepented Be damnable , how you 've prevented Your Fate I know not , but contented Am , that you should a Papist dye , And so by telling many a lye , To Heav'n reach , but I , Poor I , Will make a free and true discov'ry Of what I know at large or by Of this vile Plot which I decry ; ●ost Heartily confessing , that 〈◊〉 truly sorry am , for what ●●ve done , t' advance the Romish Plot. ●or now at last I plainly see ●omes Religion's damn'd Heresie ●ept up , and carryed on by Cursed Cruelty . ●or else how comes it pray about , Our Friends to 'th Cause have been so stout Toth ' very last , to brave it out ? 〈◊〉 wonder how you durst presume , God's Sacred Name in Mouth t'assume , To justifie your Lyes , and Rome . And thereby weakly to keep up The Credit of your damn'd Pope , Tho 't cost you Hell for 't , and a Rope . I do confess I justly dye For serving you and Popery , In Villanies I Blush to say . My Judges freely I forgive , Being one no way deserv'd to Live , No , nor the grace of a Reprieve . 'T was favour great indeed , I think , For th' King to give me , on the brink Of my sad Fate , time e're I sink . Wherein I reconcil'd might be To the enraged Diety , For Crimes against His Majesty . And might my Countries danger tell , And what had surely it befell , ( Viz. ) All Protestants that therein dwell . Oh! that this time allotted me , Whereon depends my Eternity , May tend to extirpate Popery . May I therein do all such things , As may Attone the King of Kings , Which is the thing true comfort brings . And likewise warn poor England yet , In this dark day , e're it be too late , To avoid both French and Popish ▪ State. And may it , as one Man , oppose It self to Ruin by its Foes , And strive to save it self from Threat and Woes . May now my Soul lie down in Peace , And ne're hereafter may it cease , To praise the God of Infinite Grace . Pl. What long Harangues , Sir , have you mad● You 've made me by 'em quite afraid , To Persevere in what I said . I do confess likewise , that I Concern'd was much i' th Villany , For which I am Condemn'd to Die. And that from Popish Treachery , England was like Reduc'd to be . To French and Romish Tyranny . But this I always took for Truth , That what comes out o' th' Churches Mouth , Is Oracle from North to South . And when I knew the Church had given Power to go on with the Old Leaven , I thought it surely come from Heaven . But now I doubt I was mistaken , And fear Rome Babel will be shaken , If England throughly awaken . I am in Truth in doubt , we shall E're long receive a lasting fall , Ne're more to vex the World at all . And though I Dye o' th' Church of Rome , Yet I believe those things will come Upon her , which will be the Final Doom . Fitz. Sir , If you do these things Believe , Your self you wretchedly deceive , If that you quickly don 't receive . The Protestants Religion 's good , Which I almost Conform to cou'd , But for my having sought their Blood. Pl. If then Sir , you are not convinced Which is the Right , pray do not mince it , But leave to Time for to evince it . And let us hearttly both joyn , And in our Prayers now combine , I' th' words of the ensuing Line . Both. May God long Bless the King , we Pray , And all Plots 'gainst him still bewray . Popish and Factious , and let all Men lay Amen . The Answer of Coleman's Ghost , to H. N's . POETICK OFFERING . Rise Nevil , Rise and do not punish me , With the vain sight of your Idolatry . You may with equal Reason call upon The good Saint I●arus or Phaeton , Who do the Sacred Name deserve as far , As some who blush in Roman Kalendar : With like Ambition I design'd to know No other Triumphs but of things below ; And rather labour'd how there might be given , French Crowns , postponing all the Crowns of Heaven . Favour'd in this , because kind Heaven declines My high Intr●gues , and baffles my Designs . None with more covetous Zeal pursu'd our Cause , Or fell a more due Sacrifice to Laws . In that sad day when strangled Life expir'd , And the just flames my bloody Limbs requir'd , Whilst my hot Soul in hasty flight retires , From Tyburns only Purgatory Fires . Immortal shapes crowd on in Troops to view , My Plotting Soul and stopt me as I flew , Such Spirits who Incarnate ever mov'd In their By-Paths , and never quiet lov'd . The Cunning Machiavel drew near and fear'd , Screek't a● the sight of me and disappeard . Shewing how weak all human Plots are laid , Where Hopes and Souls have always been betray'd . Scylla and Marius wondring at our Crimes , Pityed the near misfortune of our times , Sigh'd at those streams of blood which were to run , And curst our Tables of Proscription . Fierce Cataline our Villany decry'd , To whom the bold Cethegus soon reply'd , How New Rome imitates and yet exceeds In dire Conspiracies our puny deeds ! Great Caesars Ghost with Envy lookt on me , That for Romes sake I aim'd at more than he , To Conquer all the Isles of Britanny , Yet blam'd the Cruelties which were to come , From that Dictator which now reigns at Rome . Spiritual Dictator ! who more controuls Than he , and claps his Fetters on our Souls ? He told me old Romes Walls had longer stood , If Romulus had spar'd his Brothers blood And that Romes happiness grew always worse , When it resembled the fierce Wolf its Nurse . Ah , my good Friend , how clearly do I find , In this new State the faults of human kind . Nothing procures so high a place above , As Universal Charity and Love , Infus'd and manag'd by the Heavenly Dove Heav'n is quiet Kingdom which we call Your injur'd Scriptures true Original , There no false Comments on the Text appear , Nor must Trents Swurio●s Council dom●●eer . Sometime with me , dear Nevel , you must grant , The Church Triumphant to be Protestant . If against them on Earth Romes Malice thrives , 'T is not Romes Cause prevails , but their ill Lives . So Babylon of old vext Israel , And wicked Men raise Enemies from Hell. As once on Earth I did your good attend , So now for Love I am your Ghostly Friend : Let your Soul hate all bloody ways and things , To subvert States and Laws , to murther Kings . Or you are sure to equal my disgrace , And without Mercy you may name your place . A Dialogue between the POPE and the TURK , Concerning the Propagation of the Catholick Faith. POPE . HAil mighty Monarch ! by whose aid I hope I shall subdue , And for the future make afraid The whole Heretical Crew ; You will both wise and grateful prove While you with me combine , Who always have shew'd you my love , And now your good design . TVRK . What mean these ambiguities With which to me you come ? Is th' Oracle of doubtful lies From Delphos gone to Rome ? Your kindness I ne're understood , Whatever you pretend To him , to whom you ne'er did good , How can you be a Friend ? POPE . Ungrateful Man ! do you forget How I did once betray The Grecian-Empire , which as yet Your Scepter doth obey ? I did the Greeks to Florence call , And kept them there with me : And you were Master made of all , Before we could agree . TVRK . This manifests your wickedness And makes your cause yet worse ; I see no reason you to bless , Though Greece hath cause to Curse : You prove your Treachery indeed , But not your love to me , You 'd ne're have helpt me in my need , If they 'd submitted t' ee . POPE . I think I stood your Friend ( good Sir ) When Iames did aspire : I both did keep him Prisoner , And poyson'd him for hire ; Then against France 't was I did send For your victorious Arms , With promise that I would defend Your Kingdoms from all harms . TVRK . Two Hundred Thousand Florens , when You did my Brother's work , You had : The Benefactor then Was not the Pope but Turk ; 'T is true , me once you did invite Your int'rest to advance ; Not cause you lov'd me , but for spite Against the King of France . POPE . Though still Ingratitude you pay For kindnesses good store , If you 'l be rul'd , I 'le on you lay One obligation more ▪ I 'le raise your Empire yet so high , That you shall straitway yield That I pull down , and only I Do Monarchies rebuild . TVRK . For all your talk , I still do fear That while you make a pother , And with one hand pretend to rear , You pull down with the other : But what is 't now that I must do , My Kingdoms to extend ; That I may see at last that you Are really my Friend ? POPE . Why first I 'le give you all those Lands That 'gainst me do Rebel , Go take them strait into your Hands , I 've curst their Kings to Hell ; I freely to the King of Spain The British Islands gave : He wanted strength those Isles to gain , Which I am sure you have . TVRK . You 're generous Sir , and at one word Great Territories grant , Which if Men gain not by the Sword , They must for ever want : So while you Saintship give to some , And frankly Heaven bestow , I doubt ( what ere 's decreed at Rome ) Their Portion is below . POPE . Whether Heav'n and Hell are in my gift I do not greatly care , ( Let learned Men those Questions sift ) sure earthly Kingdoms are ; I can from antient deeds declare What pow'r belongs to me : The greatest Kings are what they are By my Authority . TVRK . I 've often heard what Tricks you use To help you in your needs , Sometimes you do the World abuse With forged Books and Deeds : Sometimes you Kingdoms give away ( As now you do to me ) Hoping that thus obliged , they Your Vassals still will be . POPE . If I your Benefactor be , I hope you won't think much , ( When I 've rais'd you to high degree ) To Honour me as such : If Vniversal Monarchy You do receive from me , The Vniversal Pastor I May be allow'd to be . TVRK . I understand your kindness now , Me thus you will advance , If unto you I 'le cringe and bow , And after your Pipe dance ; Then you 'l unto me be so kind , That you will crack your brain , Some place i' th Alcoran to find , That shall your Pride maintain . This Honour more you 'l on me heap . Whenever I you meet , That on my Knees I strait must creep , To Kiss your Worships Feet . When ere your Pride I do oppose , You 'l curse me strait to Hell ; My Subjects too shall ne're want those Shall stir them to Rebel . You still unto me plagues will send As you have done to others ▪ From Priests I must my self defend , Worse than aspiring Brothers : Where you set foot no Prince is free , But strait must be your slave , Good Sir , pray cease to treat with me ; I other business have . On Sir John Oldcaste , Lord Cobham , who suffered ' December 1417. ROMES old new fraud in Cobhoms Fate we view ; The Hereticks must still be Traitors too ; All Popish Sham-plots are not hatch'd of late Long since thir Int'rest cnllid in the State ; For God ; and for the King the Prelates cry'd But only meant thir own Revenge and Pride . Had the sly Meal-tub fadg'd , or Irish Oathes Been Jury-proof , old Churches hated Foes Ere now , had been Old-Castled , Hang'd and Burn'd ; And Loyalst Patriots into Rebells turn'a . But Midwife time at last brings Truth to light , For after Death each Man receives his right . Then sleep , brave Hero ! till last Judgments day Raisins to Glory thy twice martyr'd Clay Romes Malice , and thy Innocence display Ignoramus : a Song . To the Tune Law lies a bleeding . [ 1 ] SInce Popish Plotters , Join'd with Bog-Trotters , Sham Plots are made as fast , as Pots are form'd by Potters , Against these Furies There no such Cure is , As what our Law provides , our True and Loyal Iuries . The Action and Paction Thar breeds our Distraction , Is secretly contrived by the Popish Faction . Who sham us and flam us , Trepan us , and damn us , And then grow enraged when they hear Ignoramus . [ 2 ] Traytors are rotten , Yet not forgotten , Nor Meal Tub Devices , which never well did cotten , At evr'y Season Inventing Treason , And Shams that none believed that had or Sense or Reason With fetches and stretches , These notorious Wretches Would get loyal Subjects into their bloody clutches . They sham us , and flam us , &c. [ 3 ] If wicked Tories Could pack their Iuries , That would believe black , white , and all their lying Stories Then by Art Stygian Whig's prov'd a Widgeon , And should be hang'd for plotting against the Popes Religion . They 'd hear a , and swear a Thing that was a meer a Gross Lie as e'r was told , and find it Bella vera . Then sham us and flam us , &c. [ 4 ] This IGNORAMUS , For which they blame us , And to the pit of Hell , so often curse and damn us , Are Men by Tryal . Honest and Loyal , And for their King and Country ready are to dieall , They show it and vow it , Honest Men to know it , Their Loyalty they hold , and never will forgo it . They sham us and flam us , &c. [ 5 ] At the Old-Baily Where men don't dally And Traytors oft are try'd , as Coleman , Whitebread , Staley , Was late Indicted , Witnesses cited , A loyal Protestant , who spight of Rogues was righted , Offences commences 'Gainst all Mens Senses , 'Cause the honest Jury believed not Evidences . They sham us and flam us , &c. [ 6 ] For which a Villain Who for ten Shilling To hang a Protestant shall be found very willing . Now at this season And without reason , Shall call the Jury Traytors , and the Law make Treason In fashion is passion , Curses and Damnation , How quiet should we be , were Rogues sent to their station ▪ They sham us , and flam us , &c. [ 7 ] 'Las what is Conscience i th' Iesuits own Sence . For the Church one may lie , and forswear without offence ▪ Now what a Lurry , Keeps barking Tory , 'Cause he is not able the Innocent to whorry ! Doth wrangle and brangle , 'Cause he cannot intangle , Nor bring honest Tony to the Block or Triangle . They sham us and flam us , &c. 8 I 'll tell you what , Sir You must go Plot , Sir , And get better Witness e'r wise men go to pot Sir , When such abettors , Protestant haters Would damn their souls to hell to make them wicked Traytors ; We mind it and wind it , And are not now blinded , For what we now reject , no honest Iury ' le find it , They sham us and flam us , They ram us and dam us , When according to the Law , we find Ignoramus . A SONG . [ 1 ] A Pox on Whigs we 'l now grow wise let 's cry out guard the Throne , By that we 'l damn the Good Old Cause , and make the Game our own : Religion , that shall stoop to us , and so shall Liberty , We 'l make their Laws as thin as Lawn , such Tory Rogues are We. [ 2 ] When once that Preaching Whineing Crew are crush'd and quite undone , The Poor we 'l banish by our Laws , and all the rest we 'l burn . Then Abbey-Lands shall be possest by those whose right they be , We 'l cry up Laws , but none we 'l use , such Tory Rogues are We. [ 3 ] The Name of Protestant we hate , the Whigs they know it well , And since we can't it longer hide let 's Truth genteely tell . Now Dam me is good Manners grown , and tends to Gallantry , We 'l S — the Nation out of Doors , such Cursed Rogues are We. [ 4 ] What care We for a Parliament , no Mony comes from thence , Would they but give us Coyn enough , we 'l spend the Nations pence . These Two-penny States-men all shall down , a goodly sight to see , To finish all , we 'l plunder 'um too , such Sons of Whores are We. [ 5 ] We 'l build more Universities , for there lies all our hope , And to th' Crape Gown we 'l cringe and creep supposing 't were a Pope ; ●y what he will we 'l him believe , if true or false it be , ●nd while he prays we 'l Drink his Health , such Tory Rogues are We , [ 6 ] What Pimping Whig shall dare controule , or check the Lawful Heir , We 'l take the Rascal by the Pole , and Pox of all his Hair. Then here goes honest Iame's Health , come drink it on your Knee , ●zowns we 'l have none but honest So●ls , such Tory Rogues are We. [ 7 ] These Crafty Whigs are subtle Knaves to give them all their due , And yet we bauk'd the Popish Plot , though they had sworn it true . For this you know who we may thank , But Mum for that , yet we Are bound to pray and praise him for 't , such Tory Rogues are We. [ 8 ] When all these Zealous Whigs are down , we 'l drink and fall a roaring , And then set up the Tripple Crown , 't will Saint us all for Whoreing . When we have quite inslav'd 'um all , our selves cannot be free , Then prithee Devil claim thy own , 〈…〉 9 We 'l chuse their Sheriffs and Juries too and then pretend 't is Law , We 'l bring more Irish o're to swear 'gainst those they never saw : We 'l seize their Charters then they must come beg 'um on their Knee , If this won't do we 'l call the French , such cursed Rogues are We. On the Death of the PLOT . ALas ! what thing can hope Death's Hand to 'scape , When Mother-Plot her self is brought to Crape ? The teeming Matron at the last is Dead ; But of a numerous Spawn first brought to Bed : The little Shamms , Abortives , without Legs , ( She laid , and hatch'd , as fast as Hens do Eggs. ) But they no sooner peep'd into the Light , Than they kick'd up , and bid the World good night . The Bantlings dyed always in their Cradle , And th' Eggs , tho' kept in Meal-Tubs , still prov'd addle . She liv'd to see her Issue go before her ; And some made ( Tyburn-Saints ) who did adore her . But what is strange , and not to be forgot , The Plotters liv'd to see the Death of Plot : And O — if now he will his Credit save , Must raise thee up like Lazarus from the Grave . Men , who their Sences have , do more than think Thee dead , when it is plain thou now do'st stink . Well fare thee Dead ; for living thou mad'st work , For Heathen , Iew , for Christian , and for Turk , For Honest Men , and Knaves , for Wise , and Fool , And eke for many a witless , scribling Tool ; Who now sit mute , pick Teeth , and scratch the Head , Now th' Idol-Mother-Plot of Plots is dead . But loath these are to believe News so sad , And swear they think that all the World are mad : But blame them not for being so much vext , To lose the Uses of a gainful Text. These swear she 's in an Epileptick Fit , And P — will bring her out of it . Let them think on , and their dear selves deceive , When I shall see her rise , I will believe , And not before ? In the mean time from me , Accept , for her , this slender Elegy . I do confess she does deserve the Rhimes Of all the ready Writers of the Times : But with wet Eyes they do in silence mourn , As if they 'd drown the Ashes in her Urn. But here she lies whom none alive could paint , Old Mother Plot , the Devil and the Saint . A Popish-Protestant , Hermophradite , An hidden piece that none could bring to Light. A Mother , and a Monster rare , who had A numerous Issue , and without a Dad ; A very strange , and an unnatural Elf , Who hatch'd , brought forth , and then eat up her self ; Who 's Dead , and stinks , yet whole , and will not Was , is not now , yet ne're shall be forgot . An uncouth Mystery of a Medley Fame , A Plot , a Mother-Plot without a Name . FINIS . Books Printed for Iohn How , at the Sign of the Seven Stars , at the South-West corner of the Royal Exchange , in Cornhil . THe Present State of London . The Protestant School-Master , being plain and easiy Directions for Spelling and Reading English , and an Account of all the Plots , Treasons , Murders and Massacres , committed by the Papists , on the Protestants in most Countrys in Europe , for near 600 Years . Catastrophy Mundi , or Merlin Reviv'd , with Mr. Lilly 's Hiroglyphicks . Romes Follies , or the Amorous Fryars : a Play. 〈…〉 POEMS ON Several Occasions . Written by the E. of R. Dr. Wild and others of the Choicest Modern Wits . THE SECOND PART . LONDON , Printed for Iohn How , at the Seven Stars at the South-West Corner of the Royal Exchange in Cornhill , 1683. Dr. WILD's Poem . In nova fert Animus , &c. OR , A New Song TO AN OLD FRIEND From An OLD POET , Upon the Hopeful New Parliament . WE are All tainted with the Athenian Itch , News , and new Things do the whole World bewitch . Who would be Old , or in Old fashions Trade ? Even an Old Whore would fain go for a Maid : The Modest of both Sexes , buy new Graces , Of Perriwigs for Pates , and Paint for Faces . Some wear new Teeth in an old Mouth ; and some Carve a new Nose out of an aged Bum. Old Hesiod's gods Immortal Youth enjoy : Cupid , though Blind , yet still goes for a Boy ; Under one Hood Hypocrite Ianus too , Carries two fa●es , one Old , th' other New. Apollo wears no Bea●d , but still looks young ; Diana , Pallas , 〈◊〉 , all the throng Of Muses , Graces , Nymphs , look Bri●k ▪ and Gay , Priding themselves in a perpetual May : Whiles doting Saturn , Pluto , Priserpin● , At their own ugly Wrinkles Rage and Grin ; The very Furies in their looks do twine . Snakes , whose embro●dered skins 〈◊〉 their shine ; And nothing makes Great Iuno chafe an●●cold , But Ioves new Misses slighting her as ●●ld . Poets , who others can Immo●tal 〈◊〉 , When they grow Gray , their 〈…〉 ; And seek young Temples , where they may , 〈◊〉 Green ; No Palsie ●and , may wash in Hypocrene ; 'T was not Terse Clarret , Eggs , and 〈◊〉 , Nor Gobbets Crown'd with Gre●k or Span●● Wine , Could make new Flames in Old Ben Iohnsons V●ins , But his Atto●ps prov'd l●nk and languid strain : His New Inn ( so he nam'd his youngest Pla● , Prov'd a blind Ale-house , cry'd down the first Day : His own dull Epitaph — Here lies Ben Iohnson , ( Half drunken too ) He Hick●upt — who was once one ▪ Ah! this sad once one ! once we Trojans were ; Oh , better never , if not still we are . Rhymes of Old Men , Iliack passions be , When that should downward go , comes up we see , And are like Iews-Ears in an Elder-Tree ; When Spectacles do once bestride the Nose , The Poet's Gallop turns to stumbling Prose . Sir , I am Old , Cold , Mould ; and you might hope To see an Alderman dance on a Rope , A Iudge to act a Gallant in a Play , O● an Old ●luralist Preach twice a day ▪ Of 〈…〉 Taylor make a Valiant Knight , 〈…〉 of a Iesuite ; As a● Old ●ald-pate ( such as mine you know ) Sh●●ld make his Hair , or Wit and Fancy grow ; 〈◊〉 is there need that such a Block as I S●ould now be hew'd into a Mercury . When Winter 's gone , the O●d his foot may spare , And to the Nightingales resign the Air. Such is the beautiful new face of things : By Heavens kind Influences , and the Kings , Joy should inspire ; and all in measures move , And every Citizen a Virgil prove . Each Protestant turn Poet ; and who not Should be suspected guilty of the Plot If now the day doth dawn , our Cocks forbear To clap their Wings and Crow , you well may swear , It is their want of Loyalty , not Wit , That makes them sullen , and so silent sit . Galli of Gallick kind — I 'le say no more , But that their Combs are Cut , and they are sore ; Yet to provoke them , my Old Cock shall Crow , That so his Eccho round the Town may go . Upon the new Parliament . MY Landlord underprop't his House some years , Was often warn'd — 'T would fall about his Ears ; For the main Timber , That above , and under , By every Bla●t was apt to rend asunder . This year He gently took all down , and then What of the Old prov'd sound , did serve agen . May all the New be Heart of English Oak , And the whole House stand firm from fatal stroke , And nothing in 't , the Founder e're provoke . My Grandam , when her Bees were old and done , Burnt the old Stock , and a new Hive begun ; And in one year she found a greater store Of Wax and Honey than in all before . Variety and Novelty delights ; Old Shooes and Mouldy Bread are Gibeonites . When Cloaths grow thread bare , & breeds Vermin too , To Long-Lane with them , and put on some new : When Wine turns Vinegar — All Art is vain , The World can never make it Wine again . 'T is time to wean that Child , who bites the Breast ; And Chase those fowls , that do befowl the Nest. When Nolls Nose found the Rump began to smell ; He dock't it , and the Nation lik'd it well . Cast the old-mark't and greazy Cards away , And give 's a new Pack , else we will not Play ; Nothing but Pork , and Pork , and Pork to eat ! Good Landlord give 's fresh COMMONS for our Meat . Trent Council Thirty years lay sows'd in pickle , Until it prov'd a stinking Conventicle . And now Old Rome plays over her old Tricks , This Seventy-nine , shall pay for Sixty-six : Out of the Fire , like new refined Gold , How bright new London looks above the Old ! All Creatures under Old Corruptions groan , And for a New Creation make their moan : The Phoenix ( of her self grown weary ) dyes Unto succession a burnt-Sacrifice : Old Eagles breed bad Hawks , and they worse Kites , And they blind Buzzards ( as Old Pliny Writes ) , Deans , Prebends , Chaplins think themselves have wrong , When Bishops live unmercifully long ; And poor Dissenters beg they may ascend Into a Pulpit from the Tables end . And who hath not by good experience found Best Crops are gained by new-broken ground . And the first feed — OATS sifted clean and sound ? But yet Old Friends , Old Gold , Old King , I prise : Old Tyburn take them who do otherwise : Heaven Chase the Vulture from our Eagles Nest , And let no Ravens this March-Brood molest ; Another . BReak , Sacred Morn , on our expecting Isle , An● make our Albion's sullen Genius Smile ; His Brightest Glories let the Sun Display , He Rose not with a more important Day Since CHARLES Return'd on his Triumphant way : Gay as a Bridegroom then our Eves he drew , And now seems Wedded to his Realms anew . Great Senate , hast , to joyn your Royal Head , Best Council by the best of Monarchs sway'd : Methinks our Fears already are o're blown , And on our En'mies Coast their Terrour thrown . Darlings of Fame , you Brittish Bards that wrote Of Old , as warmly as our Heroes fought , Aid me a bold Advent'rer for the Fame O' th' British State , and Touch me with your Flame ; Steep my rude Quill in your diviner Stream , And raise my daring Fancy to my Theam . Give me th' Heroick Wings — to Soar as High As Icarus did , I would like Icarus Die ! Now I behold the bright Assembly Met , And 'bove the Rest our Sacred Monarch Set , Charm'd with the dazling Scene , without a Crime , My Thoughts reflect on th' Infancy of Time , And wrap me in Idea's most Sublime . I think how at the new Creation , Sate Th' Eternal Monarch in his Heaven 's fresh State ; The Stars yet wondring at each others Fires , And all the Sons of Glory Rankt in Quires . Hail , awful Patriots , Peers by Birth , and you The Commons , for high Vertues , Noble too ! The First by Heav'n , in this Assembly plac'd , And by Heav'ns Voice , the Peoples Votes , the Last . As Various Streams from distant Regions fall , And in the Deep their general Council call ; Conveying thence Supplies to their first Source , And fail not to maintain their rowling Course : Our Senate thus , from every Quarter call'd , And in compleat Assembly here Install'd , Shall deal their Influence to each Province round , And in our Isle no 〈◊〉 Spot be found . Iustice as plenteous as our Thames shall Flow , In Peace the Sailer Steer , and Peasant Plow . From Forreign wrongs safe shall our Publick be , And Private Rights from Home Oppressors free : Degrees observ'd , Customs and Laws obey'd , Dues , less through Force , than Fear of Scandal paid . Proceed , brave Worthies then to your Debates ; Nor to Decree alone our Private Fates , But to Judge Kingdoms and dispose of States . From You their Rise , or Downfall , they assume , Expecting from our Capitol their Doom ▪ You Form their Peace and War , as You approve They close in Leagues , or to fierce Battel move . And though the Pride of France has swell'd so high A Warlike Empire's Forces to D●fie , To crush th' United Lands Confed'rate Pow'r , And silence the loud Belgian Lion's Roar ; Yet let their Troops in Silent Triumph come From Vanquisht Fields , and Steal their Trophies home , Take care their Cannon at Iust Distance Roar , Nor with too near a Volley rouze our Shore ; Left our disdaining Islanders Advance With Courage taught long since to Conquer France , Seizing at Once their Spoils of many a Year , And Cheaply Win what they oft bought too Dear : Their late Success but juster Fear affords , For they are now grown Worthy of our Swords . Howe're 't must be confest , the Gallick Pow'rs Can ne're Engage on Equal Terms with Ours . In Nature we have th' Odds , they Dread , we Scorn , The English o're the French are Conqu'rers Born. The Terrour still of our Third Edwards Name Rebukes their Pride , and Damps their tow'ring Fame ; Nor can the Tide of many rouling Years Wash the stain'd Fields of Cressey and Po●ctiers . A pointed Horrour strikes their Bosoms still , When they Survey that famous , fatal Hill , Where Edward with his Host Spectator stood , And left the Prince to make the ●onquest good . The Eagle thus from her fledg'd Young withdraws , Trusts 'em t' engage whole Troops of Kites and Daw● . Nor has the black Remembrance left their Brest , How our Fifth Harry to their Paris prest , Whilst France wept blood for their hot Dauphins Jest , We fore't their Cavalry their Foot t'ore-run , As Tides withstood , bear their own Billows down : Such was the Virtue of our Ancestours , And such , on just Resentment , shall be Ours ; Our temper'd Valour just Pretence requires , As Flints are Struck , before they shew their Fires . Vpon the Prentices-Feast at Merchant-Taylors-Hall . THe busie Town grew still , and City Fops Had bid adieu to melancholly Shops , Had left their lonesome Cell● , and did repair To Drink , to Whore , to Feast , or take the air , I knew not which ; but being Young I follow'd The shouting croud , and most devoutly hollow'd . At length arrived at a place they call The Cockscombs-Court or Merchant-Taylors-Hall , Where the starv'd Prentices kept Carnival , I enter'd ; where in most prodigious sort Tables were placed al-a-mode at Court , I saw a Monster as I entered in ( At first I took him for a rowling Pin ) 'Till bowing with a grave Majestick grace Drew up his chaps ; and said , Sir take your place ; And so I did , for at a Loyal Dinner There is no difference 'twixt Saint and Sinner : In one place sat an hungry Irish Teague , And in another a fly cunning Whigg ; In drouzy murmurs eccho'd round the Hall The different voices of the Festival : At length the young shop Beagles enter'd in , And made a most confused hideous din ; They yelp and bawl upon the hunting strain As if they meant to kill the Bucks again , Till monumental Pasty did arise , Which stopt their Tongues and feasted all their eyes , The sharp set Prentices could scarce forbear While Dr. Crape did say a Puny Prayer , Which he made hast to do ; but kept his Eye Divinely fixt upon a Pudding pye , Least some base sneaking Rascal should convey The Schollars well beloved bit away . He having said , they all did cease from prating , Left speaking nonsence , and all fell to eating . One crys God save the King ! Rips up a Pye , But trayterous steam did put out every Eye . And then he damns the Cook , and calls him So● To serve a Pasty up that was so hot ; Another gently tastes , and then he swore In all his Life he ne're eat Buck before ; Another his long silence 'gan to break , But 's mouth was fill'd so full he could not speak ; A fourth ( whom they deem'd to be i' th right ) Declar'd 't was better for to eat then fight . At length their hungry paunches being full , With fill'd up Glasses , and with empty Scull , Bending their Marrow-bones unto the ground , With hoarse huzza's the Loyal Health went round . How many converts Wine and Age do make ? When forc'd the earthly Region to forsake , The aged Sinners whine in pious tone ; So every Drunkard is a Loyal Drone . I ( who as Loyal am , as tite , as true As any of the Drunken Tory crew ) Of all the modern Healths ne're drank but this The best , the Loyallest , his Majesties . But now was forc'd to drink all Healths of Fame A Catalogue , alas ! too hard to name ; For which base fact , I 'm markt a fallen star In every Presbiterian Callender ; But if they call me sot and fool , and say I was a Rogue ; it was but for a day ; I drank a Papist Health , and since 't was so I had a mental reservation too ; I in deceit to some a fool did show , Tories to all are naturally so ; Free from the Peoples censure and disdain I 've cast my Tories skin , and now am Whigg again . A Rejoynder to the Whiggish Poem upon the Tory-Prentices-Feast at Marchant-Taylors-Hall . WELL ! Tory Poets answers come at last , The Tory Sots never write Verse in hast ; Or else the Cur got drunk like snoaring Sow , Lay under Board , and never wak't 'till now ; But if the noise the yelping Beagles keep Did waken him , his Verse I 'm sure 's asleep . I 'le swear , I thought ( when first I looked on His Poem ) he had sent me back mine own : It began alike ; alike almost throughout , 'T was only mine was turn'd the inside out : 'T is a damn●d ●rick the Tory Tools have got , To kill an Enemy with his own Shot : Had he not imped me , he 'd been to seek For an Exordium another week ; For of the To●y Poets I must say It 's a witty Rogue can write a Verse a day But Gaffer-Goose-Cap , who tould you such stories , His Majesty sent Bucks to feast the Tories ? You might as well have said the King was drest In Royal Robes , and came to be your guest . But you may speak amiss , amiss may do , It had been Treason if I had said so ; Tories may murder Fame , may Honour kill , May slander Kings , and yet be Loyal still , Their Loyalty consist in doing ill , You may 't is like by these your Verses lewd , Make the mistaken To●y multitude Believe I Treason spake , and that I swore , And I may safely say , you 'l Drink and Whore , But this for truth they all do know before . That Noble-men were Priests , I ne're said so ; But Doctor Crape-Gown's may , for ought I know ; 'T was Scandalum magnatum , if I do in jest But speak one word 'gainst Stewards of the Feast ; Though Lords be high , yet Prentices are low , And lowsie Taylors still were counted so : You may say what you please , but without doubt I may speak Treason against the Rugged-Rout ; And Silly Fops 'cause they 've all Whiggs abhorr'd , Shall have as good a title as a Lord ; And prosecute for scandal whom they please : Such Lordly things are lordly Prentices . No , silly Citts ! for ever doom'd to Shops , Keep still your antient titles , Fools and Fops . This Sham won't take ; I 'm Loyal still and true , Although I 'm scandaliz'd by traiterous you ; Disloyal Tories ! you the Traytors are ; Whilst Loyal Baxter , Curtis , Loyal Care. Bravely maintain their Soveraigns right in truth , Without e're feasting of the snotty Youth , True Whiggs ne're stoopt to such mean tricks as these , To feast the hungry sniveling Prentices . Illustrious Charles ! by all that 's great and high ! ( Tho I am branded with Disloyalty ) No fawning Courtier e're shall so much glose As I 'le detest thine and thy Nations Foes ; No Charles the third , nor budding Embryo-King Shall be the Subject for my Muse to sing . Whilst thou do live ; let Traiterous Tories sooth , And raise Sedition in the Factious Youth ; Long may'st thou live and flourish in thy Throne , Whilst all these little Kings shall basely tumble down . An Answer to the Tories Pamphlet called , The Loyal Feast : To the Tune of Sauney will never be my Love again . TOries are Tools of Irish Race , And well belov'd by Blades of the Town ; They 've Irish Hearts , but an English Face , And Dammee and Huzza is all their tone . With Abhorring and Addressing their time is spent , Quaffing and Cursing , though all in vain : But the main thing they fear is an honest Parliament For Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain . 2. Tories are made like Bristol Cans , Round and hollow , but I 'le tell you more anon ; The Word is , Dammee Iack ! meet me at Sams ; There 's honest Roger , and Flat-footed Tom , Huffing and swearing in Silk so fine , Black-Coats , Red-Coats , Lord and Swain ; E're long they 'l Petition Caesar to resign , For Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain . 3. These are the Lads that fight the Pope's Cause , And all resolved , like pious good men , To hang by nothing but the Right Line and Laws , If the Pope and his Crew return not again ; Bristol's Tears and England's Woes , With Scotland's Groans , do tell us plain , They will not take the Oaths they impose , For Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain . 4. These are the Babes that wou'd shirk off the Plot , And under the Name of the Churches true Sons , Swear , Lye , and Sham , to have it forgot ; But a Pox take the Fops they talk not to Nuns . They 'll swear ( but who'll be thus deceiv'd ) That Godfrey murder'd himself 't is plain ; But the Devil on 't is , they can't be believ'd , Because the Tory's a Rogue in Grain . 5. But hark ! sure I hear the noise of a Feast , Mars and his Sons with a glorious Show , The thing 's very true , though I took it for a Jeast : But here pray observe how they march'd from Bow , O! the vast number , and well accourt'd too : These Bonny-boys , with their glistering Train ; But yet the hir'd Feathers , and Fagot Merchants knew , That Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain . 6. The board being spread with store of Flesh and Fish , The Fat Kid , Wine , and other things besides ; The French Mode observ'd , to garnish every Dish , And each course serv'd up with Crucifix and Bread : Oaths Rot the Whiggs , with Huzza's flew about ; But Slavery and Oppressions , there lay the main , And all to please the Image of the Rout , For Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain . 7. Many fine Shows , and other pleasant Games , Were offer'd after all , to please Spectators Eyes ; The chiefest of which was Londons fatal Flames ; May curses still attend those that mischief devise : These are the Saints that plead Common-Good , Our Persons to secure , but their Intent is plain , To Crown us with Slavery , and Christen us in blood ; For Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain . 8. God save the KING , and the true Royal Iames , Monmouths Duke , and Tony , Englands Friend , And all the honest Souls tho' I omit their Names ; May Mischief in earnest their Enemies attend : But for those Rogues , that truths do oppose , And for Romes Cause , have play'd their Shams in vain ▪ Let Shame and Confusion be Plagues to all those , That are such Tories and Rogues in Grain . The INFORMERS LECTURE To His Sons , Instructing them in the Mysteries of that Religion . COme children , come , and learn your Fathers trade ▪ Though all else fail , here 's good advantage made ▪ Come , come away , and learn my precepts all , They 'l make you rich , you 'l get the Devil and all ▪ Your very breath shall do 't , my art is such , No Lawyer with his Tongue gets half so much : Time ●'re till now did open such a door To wealth , to those who had spent all before . No trade like this , no gains can clearer be ; There 's none have to glory more then we : The gainfull'st trade comes short , the richest ●ails , Merchants themselves may here to us strike Sails . The nimble Cut-purse always works in fears , He ventures Neck and all , we but our Ears : The Souldier ventures hard for Spoils , and so Gets them by force , we don't strike a blow : The High way men oft meet with many a Prey , And yet we drive a richer trade then they : For Jugler-like we need not bid them stand , Blow but a blast , our Money 's in our hand : The Paritor , though he be near of kin , In such a way of trading ne're has bin : The pilfering Thief 's in danger of the Stocks , And Curtizans and Whores may fear the Pox ; This marres their Markets , makes them work in fear , But in our Calling no such dangers are . We need not fear , no dangers in our Eye , At least if we can scape the Pillory : And truly this we need not fear a jot , Hundreds that have deserv'd it , have it not , And if we had , for all their Mocks and Jears , For twenty pound who would not loose his Ears ? We neither Preach nor Pray , we take no pains , Preaching and Praying bravely us maintains : They preach and pray , we swear , yet who gets more ? We thrive by swearing , preaching makes them poor . We sail with tide , against the stream they row , Swearing's the All-a-mode in fashion now . Why should we labour ? will not Swearing do ? That gets both Money and preferment too . Some Swearers formerly did Money give , And yet it is by Swearing that we Live. And Perjury's but a small fault ; what more ? And better too than we , have been forswore : And what a Crime is this ? is this so bad ? 'T is but turn Papist , Pardons may be had . Whoever then is poor may thank himself , Never did Mortals easier get their Wealth . Learn lustily to swear , to damn and rant , And then my Life for yours , you 'l never want . Though swear you must , all swearing will not serve ; Many that swear and curse , yet want and starve . There is an Art in 't all Men do not know , And this I 'le now to you ( my Children ) show , Take my directions and you need not fear , I 'le shew you how , and when , and what to swear . Mark when you swear , be sure to swear for gain , 'T is those that swear for nought , that swear in vain ▪ Be sure Inform , do this without dispute , But yet don't meddle with forbidden Fruit : Observe your Friends , strive not against the tide , Oppose not those that are o' th rising side . Church men in pow'r , what e're be their Offence , Meddle not with , we will with them dispence . For this should be the greatest of your care , To know for whom and against whom you swear . For if you should reform all things amiss , It would undo you , meddle not with this . A thousand Oaths you hear , and many a Lye , Meddle not yet , you 've better Fish to frye ; For swearing , whoring , drinking overmuch , Are genteel sins , and these you must not touch ; 'T is not the Mark at which you ought to aim , You 're Hunts-men , mind not then so low a Game . Though Papists , Atheists , God and Christ blaspheme , If you Inform , you 'l sail against the stream : The Pocky-nose , and the red-pimpled Face , Are not the Persons that you have in chase . These little Sins are not worth reforming , Will never bring a penny for Informing . Fanaticks faults are of a deeper dye , And therefore mind these well , for so do I ; Mind therefore their Offences , yet not all , But chiefly that they do their Duty call . Praying and Preaching , these are worse by far , Than swearing , whoring , or blaspheming are : For men may swear unto their dying day , Before they be compell'd a Groat to pay : Fanatick Preaching though ne're so precise , Is more infectious far than Swearing is . Adultery ! no doubt Fanaticks love it , And are as bad as we , if we co●ld prove it . The mischief is , they sin as bad no doubt In secret , but the Devil brings ours out . If you should find them guilty , for your pains Shame them enough , but this is all your gains . But meddle not too much , such is our Fate , Press them too hard , they will retalliate . Be sure with Whores and Harlots you dispence , For fear you give the worshipful offence . The Sabbath-breakers Sins are less by far , Than the offences of Tub-preachers are . The Sodomites did many things amiss , Yet ne're were guilty of such a sin as this . These Meetings are more dangerous by far , Than Bull-baits , Bear-baits or Cock-fightings are : Stage-plays and Morrice-dances , Masks and Shows , Wakes , May-games , Puppet-plays , and such as those More harmless are ; for all their Mocks and Jears Are innocent , if but compar'd with theirs : You need not such-like numerous meetings fear , There 's none but Loyal Subjects will be here . Whore-house and Stews which Gallants do frequent , Compar'd with these are far more innocent : 'T is five or six crept in some hole to pray , That Plot the ruine of the Monarchy ; Women and Children have been prov'd of late , To be supplanters of the Church and State. Some Country People , though yet out of sight , Do put the King and Kingdome in a fright : And those that neither Sword nor staff did bear , Have made a Riot , put the World in fear . Though France , and Spain , and Rome , and all conspire Against our Land , our City set on Fire : Threaten a Massacre , to spill our blood , To bring in Popery on us like a Flood : If half a score Fanaticks come to hear , They 'l put the Nation in a greater fear . If silly Women , and some simple men Get God but on their side , where are we then ? Keep them asunder , that they might not pray , Or do your best to keep their God away ; For fear lest he should hear when they do cry , And should Conventicle as well as they . If they storm Heaven before us , 't is a venture , Whether they 'l leave us any room to enter . What though for King and Kingdom they do pray , If we will Swear they mind it to destroy ? They Plot in secret , though we do not hear it , We know it well enough , and we dare swear it . The Papists are by far more innocent , For all their Plots , have far less mischief meant . What those call pity , we must confess They prosecute but in a sowler dress . Call it Rebellion , Schism , or what is bad , Those that will kill a dog must say he 's mad . Say they are plotting and conspiring too , And boldly Swear it , if that will not do , What though your conscience give your tongue the lie , Heed not your conscience for to lose thereby . Praying and Preaching ! this is worse by far , Than all the crying Sins of Sodom are , These sins are Acted o're and o're each day , Yet no one yet his forty pound did pay : The fault is greater , and the danger 's more , To teach five Sisters then to bed a score . These are but tricks of Youth , yea harmless toyes , Whatever God and Man and Conscience says . Gods Laws condemn these sins say they : what then ▪ We know not those , we know the Laws of Men. Preaching and Praying , say men what they will , You must regard , this water drives your Mill. One Sermon brings more profit ten times over , Than if you should a thousand Whores discover . Fanatick-preachers bring more gain no doubt , Than if you found so many Jesuits out . Swearing and Whoring now is all in Fashion , Preaching and Praying are the sins of th' Nation . A Jesuit's a mild and Gentle man. If we compare him with the Puritan : Who say in Doctrine they with us agree , And they are Protestants as well as we , 'Gainst Ceremonies only they contend , Which do their queasy Stomacks so offend . Well , be it so : e're they and we agree , We 'll make them swallow Knives as well as we ▪ And though in secret corners now they sneak , E're long we 'll make them either bend or break . We 'll teach them shortly without much a do , To bow to th' Altar and the Image too : Who e're commands , we 'll make them to obey , The Bishops do 't , and therefore why not they ? We 'll bring them down betime , for there 's no doubt If times should change , they 'l be the first stand out . Those that the Bishops Laws do now withstand , We 'll not obey , no though the Pope command . 'Gainst Kings and Kingdoms sins they rage and roar , When in their Tubs they care not who they goar . In a right course therefore that you may sail , Take these directions and you cannot fail . Those men that will not pray and preach in jest , Mark these , they are more dongerous then the Rest. Those that act Sermons as a Stage-players part , You need not fear them , they are sound at heart . Those that against the Nations sins exclaim , Are like to bring you the greatest gain . He that doth rather chuse i' th' fire to burn , Before he 'll Atheist or a Papist turn ; This is a stubborn Rogue , and like to be A Grand affronter of Authority . He that doth bow , and bend , and stand , and sit , And shift his sails still as the Wind doth flit , Observe his Leaders , and his right hand-man , Ne're fear , he 'll never turn a Puritan . But he that Serveth God for love , not mony , Without Tradition or a Ceremony ; As the Apostles did in the days of yore , Who never Cross did use or Surplice wore : And those that in their Family would pray , And not the Sabbath spend in sports and play : Beware of those , for it is ten to one , They 're foully tainted , if not wholly gone : As also those that unto Sermons gad , Papists and Atheists are not half so bad : Watch those , and they will fall into your trap , And when they once are in , let none escape , With Sermon , Prayer , and Fasting bait the Net , And a full draught you will be sure to get . But venture Swearers , Drunkards , never fear , You need not watch them , they will ne're come there : Taverns and Whore houses they haunt 't is plain , You 'l meet them there , but nothing to your gain . Having your prey before you , spare ye none , And whensoe're you Swear , be sure Swear home . I hate these Quaking-fellows , that are loath To swear to purpose , these but spoil an Oath . E're I 'de loose twenty pound for want of reaching , I would swear home , and swear that praying's preaching . In doubtful cases you may safely Swear , For twenty pound who would not loose an Ear ? And sometimes when you cannot come to see , Swear those are present that are us'd to be . March on brave Lads , fear not to drink and roar , While the Fanatick's rich we 'll ne're be poor . We shall get mony from these rustick Boars , To pay our debts , and to maintain our Whores , Like Furies haunt Fanaticks to the Death , Leave not while they have mony , life , or breath . To drink , to drab , to whore , to lye , to swear , It is the Garb that all our Tradesmen wear . Hap'ly they 'l call us Knaves , but 't is no shame , For any honest man to own his name . O but our Names will rot they say ! what then ? Let 's dye like Beasts , so we may live like Men. But God will plague us in a darksome Den , I would we could be sure to 'scape till then . They do their duty : Well , and so do we , Our Wives and Children must maintained be . But of all men , they say , we are the worst , The Fox thrives best ( they say ) when he 's most curst : Many Informers beggars prove to be ; And many Tradesmen break , what 's that to me ? With Stocks and Pillory they would us fear , Many for Mony loose more than an Ear , But ill got Goods third Heirs do seldom see ! We mean our own Executors to be . Sons ply your work while you have ought to do , For fear the Parliament prove Round-heads too : ●nd pray no Law in England may be made ●o help Fanaticks , or to spoil our trade . 〈◊〉 once the Papists get the upper hand , ●ur trade will mend , though other trades should stand , 〈◊〉 this succeed ( my Sons ) let 's never fear , ●hey shall to Mass , as well as Common-prayer . ●●an-while we 'll let them can● , we 'll sing and roar , ●nd with their Money drink , and drab , and whore . An ELEGY upon Marsh , A Publick Sworn INFORMER against Protestant Religious Meetings in the City of LONDON , who Dyed very miserably in the Prison of the Compter . Ulter a Tergo Deus . GO set Scotch Bag-Pipes to the briskest Notes , But let the Singing-men rend all their Throats , Hang Tyburn round with Blacks , and let Ketch squeeze His Eyes to Tears having thus lost his Fees ; My self ( like a young Widdow ) fain would cry , But like her too , I know not how , nor why ; Muse ! get an Onion quickly , or else Woo Some Irish Poet for a Ha-la-loo ; Oh Hone ! Oh Hone ! tell us what didst thou ail Thus to trappan thy self into a Goal ? Thou hadst a stout protection , and 't is said A lumping Pension for good service paid : Some bribes thou got'st , and many a Penalty Was due we trow , and why then wouldst thou dye ? Thy Cloven-footed Masters works not done , Thou shouldst have Ruin'd thousands ere thou d'st gone ▪ Thou shouldst have made each Nonconformist bow , And left them all as poor as thou wert now ; Then mounted on State with solemn pride , Thou might'st to Hell in guilded Chariot ride : Been Pluto's Vice-Roy , and preferred more Than Iudas , or thy brethren all before . But now alass ! thou scarce can get i' th end To be the Groom o' th Close-stool Chamber to the Fiend ▪ But 't is in vain thus to Expostulate , For poor Informers warrant 's out of date ; The Man of Gath is fal'n that did so stickle , And swore to confound each Conventicle ; Grim Death hath by a seizure snatcht him hence , For to receive his dear-earn'd Recompence : Follow the scent , and from the Stygian Lake , Fit Junk for such a wretched Subject take ; Black as his Trade let every Line appear , And each Ear tingle his sad Fate shall hear , Not that I am of that Presumptious fry , Whose sawcy Fingers pick-lock Destiny , Who snatcht Fates-book , and furiously transpose , To Judgments all misfortunes of their Foes ; Vertue may be unhappy , and sometimes Success here waits upon the worst of crimes , ●t is another day , a clearer Light ●ust set all these seeming disorders right ; ●et must we grant that Heaven does now and then ●isibly punish Irreligious Men , ●nd against none its Arrows oftner fly ●han these sworn Enemies to Piety , ● Per●ecuting Spirit never yet ●ut in a Cloud of shame and sorrow set , ●ust God! how equal are thy punishments ●hus blasting base designs with sad events ; ●hough Crafty in self woven Nets is wrapt ●nd in the Pit he digg'd for others , trapt , ●ark how the Ravens and the Scre●ch-Owls cries ●ith frightful Ecchoes chaunt his obsequies . Whether he 's gone now Dead , I shall not say , ●ut whilst alive , he took the broader way ; 〈◊〉 Pythegorean Tenets are not flams , ●e's grown a Woolf by this , and worries Lambs . An Epitaph . Stay Reader ! and Piss here , for it is said ●nder this Dirt there 's an Informer laid , ●f Heaven be pleas'd when Mortals cease from Sin , ●nd Hell be pleas'd when Villains enter in , ●f Earth be pleas'd when it entombs a Knave , ●ure all are pleas'd , for Marsh's in his Grave . On Liberty of Conscience By Dr. WILD . NO , not one word , can I of this great Deed , In Merlin , or Old Mother Shipton read ! Old Tuburn take those Tychobrahe Imp● , Astrologers , who would be counted Pimps To the Amorous Planets ; they the Minuit know , When Iove did Cuckhold poor Amphitryo , Ken Mars , and made Venus wink and glances , Their close Conjunctions , and mid-night Dances , When costive Saturn goes to Stool , and vile Thief Mercury doth pick his Fob the while : When Lady Luna leaks , and makes her man Throw 't out of Window into th' Ocean . More subtle than the Excise-men here below , What 's spent in every Sign in Heaven they know ; Cunning Intelligencers , they will not miss To tell us next year the success of this ; They correspond with Dutch and English Star , As one once did with CHARLES and Oliver . The Bankers might have , had they to them gone , What Planet Govern'd the Exchequer , known . Old Lilly , though he did not love to make Any words on 't , saw the English take Five of the Smyrna Fleet , and if the Sign Had been Aquarius , then they had made them Nine When Sagitarus took his aim to shoot At Bishop Cosin , he spyed him no doubt ; And with such force the winged Arrow flew , Instead of one Church Stagg he killed two , Gloucester and Durham when he espy'd , Let Lean and Fat go together he cry'd . Well Wille Lille , thou knew'st all this as well As I , and yet would'st not their Lordships tell . I know thy Plea too , and must it allow , PRELATES should know as much of Heaven as thou : But now Friend William since it 's done and past , Pray thee , give us Phanaticks but one cast , What thou foresaw'st of March the Fifteenth Last ; When swift and suddain as the Angels flye , Th' Declaration for Conscience Liberty ; When things of Heaven burst from the Royal-breast , More fragrant than the spices of the East . I know in next years Almanack thou 'st write , Thou saw'●t the King and Council over-night , Before that morn , all sit in Heaven as plain To be discern'd , as if 't were Charles's Wain , Great B. great L. and two great AA's were chief Under great CHARLES to give poor Fan's relief ▪ Thou sawest Lord Arlington ordain the man To be the first Lay-Metropolitan . Thou saw'st him give induction to a Spittle , And constitute our brother TOM-DOE-LITTLE . In the Bears paw , and the Bulls right Eye , Some Detriment to Priests thou didst espye ; And though by Sol in Libra thou didst know Whi●h way the scale of policy would go ; Yet Mercury in Aries did decree , That Wool and Lamb should still Conformists be . But hark-you Will , Star-poching is not fair ; Had you amongst the Stars found this March-Hare , Bred of that ●usty Puss the Good Old Cause , Religion rescued from Informing Laws ; You should have yelpt aloud , hanging's the end , By Huntsmens Rule , of Hounds that will not spend , Be gone thou and thy canting Tribe , be gone ; Go tell thy destiny to fools or none : Kings Hearts and Councils are to deep for thee , And for thy Stars and Doemons scrutinie . King CHARLES Return was much above thy skill● To fumble out , as 't was against thy will , From him who can the hearts of Kings inspire , Not from the Planets , came that sacred Fire Of Soveraign Love , which burst into a Flame ; From God and from the King alone it came . To the KING . SO great , so universal , and so free ! This was too much great CHARLES , except for Thee , For any King to give a Subject hope : To do thus like Thee , would undo the Pope . Yea , tho his Vassals should their wealth combine , To buy Indulg●nce half so large as Thine ; No , if they should not only kiss his Toe , But Clement's Podex , he 'd not let them goe . Whil'st Thou , to 's Shame , Thy immortal Glory , Hast freed All-Souls from reall Purgatory ; And given All-Saints in Heav'n new Joys , to see Their Friends in England keep a 〈◊〉 . Suspect them not , Great Sir , nor think the worse ; For sudden Joys , like Grief , con●ound at fi●st , The Splendor of Your Favour was so bright , That yet it dazles , and o'rewhelms our Sight . Drunk with her Cups , my Muse did nothing find ▪ . And until now , her Feet she could not find . Greediness make , Prophaness i' th' first place ; Hungry Men fill their Bellies , then say Grace . We wou'd make Bone-fires , but that we do fea● Name of Incendiaries we may hear . We wou'd have Musick too , but 't will not do , For all the Fidlers are Conformists too , Nor can we ring , the angry Churchman Swears , ( By the King's leave ) the Bells and Ropes are theirs ▪ And let 'em take 'em , for our tongue , shall sing Your Honour louder than their Clappers Ring . Nay , if they will not at this Grace repine , We 'l dress the Vineyard , they shall drink the Wine ▪ Their Church shall be the Mother , ours the Nurse ▪ Peter shall Preach , Iudas shall bear the Purse , No Bishops , Parsons , Vicars , Cur●tes , we , But only Ministers desire to be . We●l preach in Sackcloth , they shall Read in Silk . We 'l Feed the Flock , and let them take the Mil●ust : Let but the Black-birds sing in bushes cold , And may the Iack-Daws still the Steeples hold . We 'l be the Fee● , the Back , and ●ands , and they Shall be the Belly , and devour the Prey , The Tythe-pigg shall be theirs , we 'l turn the Spit , We 'l bear the Cross , they only Sign with it . But if the Patriarchs shall envy show To see their Younger-Brother Ioseph go In Coat of divers colours , and shall fall To rend it , 'cause it 's not Canonical : Then may they find him turn a Dreamer too ; And live themselves to see his D●eam come true . May rather they and we together joyn In all what each can ; but they have the Coyn , With Prayers and Tears such Service much avail : With Tears to swell your Seas , with Prayers your Sails ; And with Men too , from both our Parties ; such I 'm sure we have , can cheat , or beat , the Dutch. A Thousand Quakers , Sir , our side can spare ; Nay , two or three , for they great breeders are . The Church can match us too with Jovial Sirs , Informers , Singing-men and Paraters . Let the King try , set these upon the Decks Together , they will Dutch or Devil Vex. Their Breath will mischief far beyond a Gun , And if you lose them , you 'l not be undone . Accept dread Sir , and pardon this coarse Paper , Your License 't was made this poor Poet caper . THE CHARACTER OF A True English-Man . THe free-born English , generous and wise , Hate Chains ; but do not Government de●pise ; Rights of the Crown , Tribute and Taxes , they When lawfully exacted , freely pay . Force they abhor , and wrongs they scorn to bear , More guided by their Judgment than their Fear , Justice with them was never held severe . There , Pow'r by Tyranny was never got , Laws might perhaps enslave them ▪ Force cannot . Kings are less safe in their unbounded Will , Joyn'd with the wretched Pow'r of doing Ill. Forsaken most , when they 're most absolute ; Laws Guard the Man , and only bind the brute . To force that Guard with its worst Foe to joyn , Can never be a prudent Kings Design , What Prince would change to be a Cataline ? Break his own Laws , shake the unquestion'd Throne , Conspire with Vassals to usurp his own ! Let France grow proud beneath the Tyrant's Lust , Whilst the rackt People crawl , and lick the Dust : The mighty Genius of this Isle disdains Both High-shoon Slavery , and Golden Chains . England to ●ervile Yoke could never bow ; What Conquerors ne're presum'd , who dares do now ? In vain your Holiness does rack your Brain , No Son of yours that happy Isle can gain : Arm'd with blest Bibles , and undated Law , They guard themselves , and keep the World in awe : Whilst CHARLES Survives , and Parliaments can Sit , They scorn your Tories Swords , and Iesuits Wit. ABHORRERS ABHOR'D . ABhorr'd Abhorrers , horribly Abhorr'd ! Monsters more base than Africk can afford ? What ? Not Petition to our Sovereign Lord , That Parliaments might sit , and save the KING And Kingdom too , from those that both would bring To Slavery ; first Lawless Chains at Home , And next intollerable Yokes from Rome ? Be gone ye Fops to France , and there enslave Your selves , and Spurious off-spring ; for a Knave Is fit t'en●ender Vassals ; but too brave Is this Rich Isle , which only owneth those , That Popish Bondage do resolve t' oppose : Was 't thou in England born , and 〈◊〉 born Free ? Thou profane Esan● Nay more vile than He ; To sell thy Birthright to the French and Pope , Where all the Acquisition thou could'st Hope Was wooden-shooes ; Fire , Fagot , and a Rope ? Let Tyburn take thee , and thy fellow Slaves , And all detesting and Abhoring Knaves . Then CHARLES lives sa●e , and quickly may become The Head of ●ll Reformed Christendome : S●●ure the ●elgick fears , and ours at Home . Blast 〈◊〉 - de-Luces , and the Keys of Rome . 〈◊〉 after God , to him our thanks we pay , For this ( if but well-us'd ) sure healing day ; That our gr●●t Senate sits , whose joynt Accord Does Vote ABHORRERS all to be Abhorr'd . To the Parliament . HAil , Glorious Senate , welcom as the day To wearied Pilgrims that have lost their way , Night-Mare'd by Goblins , and long led astray . Welcom ! as Liberty to Al●ier-Slaves ; As Gold to Courtiers , or Pardons to Knaves . The half-dead Genius of our trembling Isle At your Approach revives into a Smile : Each drooping Protestant begins look Gray , And dull October Rivals sprightly May. By your Sage Councels we at once become A Match for haughty France and treacherous Rome : But first subdue the Monsters here at Home ▪ Monsters ! that would our Sacred Faith and Laws Or'e-turn , and in their never sa●iate Maws Swallow ( like Egypt's Vermin ) each green thing , Enslave our Persons , and destroy our King ; That seek to strike out both our Eyes , and still Confine ( for sport ) our Sampsons to their Mill. Prevent those dire designs , Dispel our Fears , Blast the Plot at the Root , and by your Cares Secure both us , and our yet unborn Heirs . May Heavens Blessing Crown all your Debates ( On which depend more than three Kingdoms Fates . ) May your blest Union calm out jarring Notes , And Publick-Good give Birth to all the Votes , From each true English Heart these Vows are sent , Long live our King , Long sit our Parliament . A short Reply to Absalon and Achitophel . IN pious times when Poets were well bang'd For sawcy Satyr , and for Sham-Plots hang'd , A Learned Bard , that long commanded had The trembling Stage in Chief , at last run mad , And Swore and tore and ranted at no rate . Apollo and his Muses in debate What to do with him , one cry'd , let him Blood , That says another , will do little good ; His brains infected sure , under his Nose We 'le burn some Feathers of Peru , who knows But that may bring him to himself again ? Ay , for some time says Clyo ; she was more For Opiates , others for Hell●bore . Apollo having heard all they could say , Rose up and thankt them said , he 'd try away He hop'd would do , then call'd a Noble Friend Well verst in Men , and beg'd of him to spend Some time and pains upon this wretch , which he , Agreeing to , went presently to work , Open'd his head , saw where the Maggots lurk , Took many of them out , put them in Sut , Then Added Mercury and Nitre to 't , Mixt and infus'd them well , and after all , Distil'd them in a Limbeck Comical , And drew a Spirit very Soveraign , For those are troubled with the fits o' th' Brain , And gave our Poets some , all he could make The peevish , Squeamish , self-wil'd Coxcomb take , It did him good and cur'd him of those Fits : But 't was too little to restore his Wits : For since he has gin o're to Plague the Stage With the effects of his Poetick rage , Like a mad Dog he runs about the Streets , Snarling and Biting every one he meets . The other day he met our Royal CHARLES , And his two Mistresses , and at them Snarles . Then falls upon the Ministers of State Treats them all A-la-mode de Billingsga●e : But most of all , the glory of our gown , He must be bark't at , Drivil'd , pist upon . He whose soft tongue had charmes enough t' asswage The Tygers fierceness , could not scape the rage Of this same whif●ing Cur ; poor Cerberous , That taught the Rogue to bark , was serv'd just thus . This Vipers brood , contrary to all Laws , The torn out Entrails of his Parent knaws . He gives no quarter , spairs no friend , nor foe , And where he once gets hold , never lets go Until he breakes a Tooth , which he hath done So oft of late that he hath few or none Left in his mouth . Nay which is worst of all On his Physitian he does always fall , And find him out where e're he is , and bawl Eternally , taking in Evil part What he good man did by the rules of Art , And for his good , assisted by a Set Of the most able Le●ches he could get ; Apo●lo vext to see there was no more E●fect of Medicine , bid his Friend give o're , And sent some Chirurgions to him to anoint The Carcase of the whelp in every Joynt With 〈◊〉 of Crab-tree , than which nothing ●etches The itching Venome out of Scribling Wretches Better or sooner , but I know not how It came to pa●● , w●th him it would not do . For ●ince his being anointed , he is ●un Y●lp●ng with Tow●er up and down the Town , And crying out against an Absalon And an Achitop●el . The Currs had got Between them in their Mouths a new Sh●●-Plot , The Twentieth of the Kings , ●●me say indeed It is the same that Mother 〈◊〉 hid , Deep in the Meal-tub , only new lick't o're A●d brought to better shape by half a score Of ●rish Mongrels , newly fetcht from thence , The best in En●land at an Evidence . A little bribe will make them swear devoutly , They 're much more famous for their swearing stoutly , Then for their fighting so , this kind of Cattel Are better far at Roguery than Battel , An Irish man's Antiwood-cock , cares To venture nothing but his head and Ears . This Copper co●n will never with us pass , It looks so scurvily , nay it smells of Brass ; How could you think this would be currant here , That is not so at home ? 'T is cry'd down there : What then shall we do now ; saith you had best Try Scotland next , now it hath past the Test ; Come hither my Dog Towser , come , for I A new Experiment intend to try , I 'le have thee worm'd , hold out thy Venom'd Tongue , What a huge Worm is here ? 'T is an Inch Long , And of the Jebusite smells very strong , If this won't do thou shalt be fairly hung . Oliver Cromwels Ghost . By Doctor Wild. ROws'd from Infernal Caverns void of Light , Where Traytors Souls keep an Eternal Night : Through the Earths friendly Pores at last I come To view the Fate of Mangled Christendome , Treason and Blood , Ruin and Usurpation , Deceit , Hypocrifie , and Devastation ; Envy , Ambition , and untam'd desire , Still to gain more , still to be mounted higher : Wars , Janglings , Murders , and a Thousand more Vices like these , you know were heretofore . The only grateful Bantlings , which could find , A kind Reception in my gloomy mind — — But now alas I 'm chang'd — the Pondrous guilt Of Treason , and the Sacred blood I spilt ; Those crouds of Loyal-Subjects I made groan , Under pretence of strict Religion , When I my self , to speak the Truth , had none : Too weighty for my strugling Soul did grow , And prest it downwards to the shades below , Where it these twenty years has Silent lain , ●ormented with Variety of pain , ●oo great for fleshly Mortals to sustain . No● h●d it bu●g'd as yet — but that the Fame Of 〈◊〉 , Conspiracies , and Murders came 〈◊〉 the Infernal Gates so fast , that I , 〈◊〉 others good , forgot my misery : 〈◊〉 whilst the busie Daemons were Imploy'd ●n culling out a bloody Regicide , ●●ilkt my Keeper , and with wondrous pain , Once more I mount my Native Soyl again ; Where to my Grief , more Villan●es I view , Than Heav'n e're Pardon'd , or than Hell e're knew . Since Lucifer's like Romes Destructive Pride , Both Damn'd himself , and all his Imps beside : Though old in Artful Wickedness I be , Yet Rome , I now Resign the Wall to thee ; Thou in this single Plot , hast now done more Than Mankind , helpt by Hell , could do before . What! was thy swell'd Ambition grown so wide , That nought but Kings could satisfie thy Pride ? Must Monarchs , whom the Heav'n it self do's prize , Now become Morsels for thy gaping Vice. Methought , though hot with Gluttony thou burn , A Pious Justice might have serv'd thy turn ; Especially when , ( to con●ent you more ) Spitted on 's Sword , and Pickled in his Gore ; But now your aim we better understand , He was the Whet — you gap'd for all the Land. Strange Cormorant ! that in her monstrous Breast , Could at one meal three butcher'd Lands digest . Ye Powers ! I thought my Countries Innocence , ( When in fierce Whirlwind ) you had born me hence ) And by the Pow'r of your most just command , Restor'd the Scepter to the owners hand ) Would have sufficient bin to Wall you free From the Ass ●ults of su●h an Enemy . I little thought , when last I took my leave , And sadly entred my unwelcome Grave , That e're the Porphry Idol could command So great a Friendship in our Native Land ; As by that means to hope to circumvent , With black design both King and Government . But yet take heed ye Romish Idiots , That have a hand in these most Hellish Plots ; Who by your base contrivance , hope to bring Ruin to Nations , Death unto a King. Beware , I say , by my Example do , For there 's a God above does all things view : Tho wrapt in Clouds amongst the Skies he dwells , Yet he discerns you in your closest Cells ; See's your Contrivances , and whilst you poor Concei●ed Traytors think your selves secure , He your Clande●tine Plots does plainly view , And will divulge them and their Actors too . Trust my Experience , one who if you will Believe , what all the World says of him still , Had no small share of Pride , Ambition , Wit , Courage and Conduct too to mannage it . By which I wrought my Curst designs so high , I could have match'd my Brewers Family . With the best Blood in Brittain . Right or wrong , Or Life or Death , attend●d on my Tongue : All the three Kingdoms truckled to my Will — But what of this ? — I was a Traytor still . Nay , so intemperate was my folly grown , I boldly offer'd at the Sacred Crown ; Which though I mist , — yet by a holy Cheat , At last I gain'd to fill the tott'ring Seat ; And made ten Thousand Souldiers Arm'd appear With Roaring Guns to plead my Title there . Not doubting but that happy Seat should be Transfer'd from me to my Posterity . But all was insignificant , when Death Unkindly Robb'd me of beloved breath : My Titles all forsook me , and my Race , Instead of them , Inherrit my disgrace . This is the Fate of Traytors here ; but know , That could you think what they endure below , I 'm sure you would be Loyal ; but the Pope By prating Jesuits , has so rais'd your hope , That I in vain those tortures now should tell , You 'l know them when I meet you there — Farewel . R. W. D. D. Upon Nothing . By the E. of R. NOthing thou Elder Brother , Eve to shade , Thou had'st a being e're the World was mad● Well fixt alone , of ending not afraid . E're Time and Place were , Time and Place were no● When primitive Nothing , Something strait begot , Then all proceeded from the great united What! Something , the General Attribute of all , Sever'd from Thee its sole Original , Into thy boundless Self must undistinguisht fall . Yet Something , did thy Nothing Power comman● And from thy Fruitful Emptinesses Hand Snatch Men , Beasts , Birds , Fire , Water , Air , and La●● Matter , the wicked'st Off spring of thy Race , By Form assisted , flew from thy Embrace , And Rebel Life obscur'd thy Reverend Face . With Form and matter , Time and Place did joy● Body , thy Foe , with these did Leagues combine , To spoil thy Peaceful Reign , and Ruin all they Lin● But Turn-Coat Time assists the Foe in vain , And bribed by Thee , destroys their short Lived Reig● And to thy hungry Womb drives back the Slaves aga●● Thy Mysteries are hid from Laick Eyes , And the Divine alone by Warrant pries Into thy bosome , where thy Truth in private lies . Yet this of Thee , the Wife may truly say , Thou from the Virtuous , nothing takes away ; And to be part of Thee , the Wicked wisely Pray . Great Negative ! how vainly would the Wise Enquire , Design , Distinguish , Teach , Devise , Did'st not thou stand to point their blind Philosophies . Is , or is not , the two great Ends of Fate , Of True or False , the Subject of debate , That perfects or destroys designs of State. When they have wrackt the Politicians breast , Within thy bosome most securely Rest , Reduc'd to Thee are least , tho safe and best . But Nothing , why doth Something still permit , That sacred Monarchs should at Council set With Persons thought , at best , for Nothing sit ? Whilst weighty Something , modestly abstains From Princes Courts , and from the States-mans brains , And nothing there like stately Nothing Reigns . Nothing , that dwells with Fools , in grave disguise , For whom they Rever'd Forms and Shapes devise , Lawn Sleeves , and Furrs , and Gowns , when they look Wife . French Truth , Dutch Prowess , British Policy , Hybernian Learning , Scoth Civility , Spaniards Dispatch , Danes Wit are seen in Thee . On Bow-Church and Steeple . Or a Second Poem upon Nothing ! LOok how the Country-Hobbs with wonder flock To see the City-crest , turn'd Weather-cock ! Which with ea●h shifting Gale , veres too and ●ro ; London has now got twelve strings to her Bow ! The Wind 's South-East , and strait the Dragon russels His brazen wings to court the breeze from Brussels ! The Wind 's at North ! and now his hissing Fork , Whirles round , to meet a flattering gale from York ! Boxing the Compass , with each freshing Gale , But still to London turns his threatning Tail. But stay what 's there ; I spy a stranger thing ; Our Red-cross brooded by the Dragons wing ! The wing is warm , but O! beware the sting ! Poor English-Cross , expos'd to winds and weathers , ●orc't to seek shelter in the Dragons feathers ! Ne're had old Rome so rare a piece to brag on , A Temple built to great Bell , and the Dragon ! Whilst yet undaunted Protestants , dare hope , They that will worship Bell ▪ shall wear the Rope , O how our English Chronicles will shine ! Burnt , sixty six ; Rebuilt , in seventy nine , When Iacob Hall on his High Rope shews tricks , The Dragon flutters ; the Lord-Mayors Horse kicks ; The Cheapside-crowds , and Pageants scarcely know Which most t' admire , Hall , Hobby-Horse , or Bow ; But what mad 〈◊〉 set your Zealo● fire ? ( Grave Citizens ! ) to 〈…〉 Spire On Sea-coal Basis ? which will sooner yield Matter to Burn a Temple , than to Build ! What the Coals build , the 〈◊〉 bury ! no Men Of Wisdom , but would dread the threatning Omen ! But say ( Proud Dragon ! ) now prefe●r'd so High , What Marvels from that 〈…〉 ? 〈…〉 Of , sometimes Rev'rend , now Regenerate , Fauls , Thy envious Eyes , such Glories cannot brook , But as the Devil once over Lincoln ▪ look : And envies Poyson , will thy Bowels Tear Sooner than Daniel's Dose , of 〈◊〉 , and Hair ! Then Eastward , to avoid that wounding ●ight , Thy Glaring Eyes upon the 〈◊〉 , light . Adorn'd with Monstrous forms to clear the scope , How much thou art out-dragon'd by the Pope . Ah fools ! to dress a Monument of woe In whistling Sil●s , that should in Sac●loth , go ! Nay strangely wise , our Senators appear To build That , and a Bedlam in a year , That if the Mum-glass crack , they may inherit An Hospital becoming their great merit ! To Royal Westminster , next turn thine eye ; Perhaps a Parliament thou mayst es●y , Dragons of old gave Oracles at Rome ; Then Prophesie , their Day , their Date , and Doom ! And if thy Visual Ray can reach the Main ; Tell 's when the Duke , new gone , returns again ! Facing abont ; next view our Guildhall well , Where Revere● Fox-furrs charm'd by po●ent spell Of Elephants , ( turn'd wrong side outward ) dare Applaud the Plays ; and yet hiss our the Player : Player ! whose wise ●eal for City , Country , King , Shall to all points of the wide Compa●s ring Whilst B●w has Bells , or 〈◊〉 Thames a Spring ! Thy Roving Eye perhaps from ●ague may send 's How the New League , has made Old Foes , New Friends : But let substantial witness , Credence give it , Or Ne're believe me , if the House believe it ! If true , I fear too late ! France at one sup , ( Like Pearl● dissolv'd in Cloepatra's Cup ) Trade , Empire , Neitherlands has swallowed up ! But heark ! The Dragon speaks from Brazen Mouth , Whose words , though wind , are spoken in Good south ! To you of Ratling ●ame , and great esteem ; The higher placed , the less you ought to seem ! To you of Noble Souls , and Gallant Minds , Learn to outface ( with me ) the Huffing winds ! To tim'rous feeble Spirits , that live beneath ; Learn not of me to turn with every breath ! To those who like ( Camelions ) live on Air ; Popular Praise is thin Consumptive fare ! To you who Steeple upon Steeple set , Cut my Cocks-comb , if e're to Heaven you get . The Conclusion . I. LEt Gods un-erring Providence protect Great CHARLES in 's Throne , and all his ways direct ▪ Let all His Foes be scatter'd like the Dust ; And let that Sacred Trust , ( Deriv'd from God alone ) Make a lasting and a happy Throne . II. Let all State-Traytors Plots , be left i' th' Lurch , That hate our Soveraign , and would ruin our Church . May's Royal Temples wear the Imperial Crown , Till Englands Foes come down , With vengeance from that seat Usurpt to ruin us , and make them great . FINIS .