State-poems; continued from the time of O. Cromwel, to this present year 1697. Written by the greatest wits of the age, viz. The Lord Rochester, the Lord D-t, the Lord V-n, the hon. Mr. M-ue, Sir F. S-d, Mr. Milton, Mr. Prior, Mr. Stepney, Mr. Ayloffe, &c. With several poems in praise of Oliver Cromwel, in Latin and English, by D. South, D. Locke, Sir W. G-n, D. Crew, Mr. Busby, &c. Also some miscellany poems by the same, never before printed 1697 Approx. 417 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 129 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-11 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A61352 Wing S5325A ESTC R219192 99830704 99830704 35158 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. A61352) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 35158) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1876:02) State-poems; continued from the time of O. Cromwel, to this present year 1697. Written by the greatest wits of the age, viz. The Lord Rochester, the Lord D-t, the Lord V-n, the hon. Mr. M-ue, Sir F. S-d, Mr. Milton, Mr. Prior, Mr. Stepney, Mr. Ayloffe, &c. With several poems in praise of Oliver Cromwel, in Latin and English, by D. South, D. Locke, Sir W. G-n, D. Crew, Mr. Busby, &c. Also some miscellany poems by the same, never before printed Prior, Matthew, 1664-1721. Hind and panther transvers'd to the story of the country-mouse and the city-mouse. aut Rochester, John Wilmot, Earl of, 1647-1680. aut University of Oxford. Now carefully examined with the originals, and published without any castration. [8], 248 p. s.n.], [London : Printed in the year MDCXCVII. [1697] The words "The .. S-d," and "D. South .. G-n," are joined by right braces; the words "Mr. Milton .. Ayloff, &c." and "D. Crew .. Busby, &c." are joined by left braces. With a table of contents. In verse. Text is mixed Latin and English. Caption title on p. 1 and p. 111: State poems continued. Includes Prior, Matthew. The hind and panther transvers'd to the story of the country-mouse and the city-mouse; with a divisional title page; pagination and register are continuous; published originally in 1687. Includes selected poems from Musarum Oxoniensium. Reproduction of the original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery. 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. 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In general, first editions of a works in English were prioritized, although there are a number of works in other languages, notably Latin and Welsh, included and sometimes a second or later edition of a work was chosen if there was a compelling reason to do so. Image sets were sent to external keying companies for transcription and basic encoding. Quality assurance was then carried out by editorial teams in Oxford and Michigan. 5% (or 5 pages, whichever is the greater) of each text was proofread for accuracy and those which did not meet QA standards were returned to the keyers to be redone. After proofreading, the encoding was enhanced and/or corrected and characters marked as illegible were corrected where possible up to a limit of 100 instances per text. Any remaining illegibles were encoded as s. Understanding these processes should make clear that, while the overall quality of TCP data is very good, some errors will remain and some readable characters will be marked as illegible. Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor. The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines. 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 Cromwell, Oliver, 1599-1658 -- Poetry. Great Britain -- History -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. 2003-04 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2003-05 SPi Global Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2003-09 Judith Siefring Sampled and proofread 2003-09 Judith Siefring Text and markup reviewed and edited 2003-10 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion State-Poems ; CONTINUED From the time of O. Cromwel , to this present Year 1697. WRITTEN ●y the Greatest WITS of the Age , viz. ●he Lord Rochester , ●he Lord D — t , ●he Lord V — n , ●he Hon. Mr. M — ue , 〈◊〉 F. S — d , Mr. Milton , Mr. Prior , Mr. Stepney , Mr. Ayloffe , &c. WITH ●everal POEMS in Praise of Oliver Cromwel , in Latin and English , by D. South , D. Locke , Sir W. G — n , D. Crew , Mr. Busby , &c. ●lso some Miscellany POEMS by the same , never before Printed . Now carefully Examined with the Originals , and Published without any Castration . Printed in the Year MDCXCVII . The PREFACE . PRefaces being generally to prepossess the Reader of a good Opinion of the Performance , how trifling soever ; and commonly , Mountebank like , the meaner the Book the more Encomiums in the Preface ; which you will be deceived of here , for I shall only give you matter of Fact , how this Book came to be publish'd . About four months ago I sent into the World a Collection of Poems on Affairs of State , from the time of Oliver Cromwel , to the time of King James II. Written by the greatest Wits of the Age , viz. The Duke of Buckingham , Lord Rochester , Lord B — st , Mr. Milton , And. Marvell Esquire , Mr. Sprat , Mr. Dryden , Mr. Waller , &c. which being found to be genuine , met with good Acceptance ; Since that Book came out , a great many excellent Poems have been sent me from very good hands , pressing to have a Continuation thereof made , which at last I resolved to do , upon the receiving some Copies of Verses printed at Oxford , 1654. in praise of Oliver Cromwel , on his making Peace with the Dutch ; finding several Persons , who now make the greatest figure in the Common-wealth of Learning to be concerned therein , I thought the World would be willing to see what such Great Men as Dr. South , Mr. Locke , &c. said on such an extraordinary Occasion , I have printed their own Latin , and kept strictly to their Sense in the Translation , and those they wrote in English are also published , this begins the Book . Then follow several excellent Poems , written by the Lord Rochester , Esquire Marvell , &c. during the Reign of King Charles II. omitted in the former Collection : As also those writ in the Reign of King James II. by the Lord D — t. Sir F. S — , Mr. Prior , Mr. Stepney , Mr. Rymer , &c. and particularly those incomparable Pieces of the Hind and Panther transvers'd to the Story of the City-Mouse and Country-Mouse , and the Man of Honour , written by the Honourable Mr. M — ue . And since the Revolution , you have several Copies , writ by the Lord Cutts , Mr. Tate , Mr. Shadwell , Mr. Ayloffe , &c. Lastly ▪ some Miscellany Poems , by the same Great Men , never before Printed . And in this Collection Names are not made use of to countenance spurious Pieces , but the Poems themselves speak the Greatness of their Authors , if no Name had been thereto . In short the said State-Poems , and this Continuation thereof , make a Compleat Collection of all that are valuable in that nature , for these forty years ; and is the best Secret History of our late Reigns , as being writ by such great Persons as were near the Helm , knew the Transactions , and were above being brib'd to flatter , or afraid to speak truth . And so I leave them to the Reader . INDEX . Select Poems out of Musarum Oxoniensium in Oliv. Protect . &c. 1654. A Poem in Latin , by Nath. Crew Page 1 The same in English 1 — In Latin , by M. Mew 3 Translated into English 3 — in Latin , by W. Godolphin 4 — translated into English 5 In Latin , by Rob. South 7 Translated into English 7 In Latin , by J. Locke 8 Translated into English 8 In Latin , by J. Busby 9 Translated into English 19 In Latin by , J. Vaughan 11 Translated into English 12 A Poem on the same Subject , written in English by J. Locke 13 Another on the same Subject , by VV. Godolphin 13 On K. Charles's Return , by the L. Rochester 16 A young Gentleman desiring to be a Minister of State , thus qualifies himself 16 On the King's Voyage to Chatham , to make Bulwarks against the Dutch , and the Queens Miscarriage thereon , 17 A Charge to the Grand Inquest of England 1674. 19 The Gyants Wars out of a Greek Fragment 1682. 23 On the Statute at Stocks-Market ▪ 30 A Satyr , by the Lord R — r 32 Another by the same 33 A Satyr 35 The Royal Buss 41 VVindsor , by the Lord Rochester 43 The second Advice to a Painter , by the Author of the first 45 Stafford's Ghost 48 On the Dutchess of Portsmouths Picture 51 Hownslow-Heath , 1686. 51 The Dissenters Thanksgiving for the late Declaration 56 The Dispute by the Lord R — r 57 Julii Mazarini Cardinalis Epitaphium 58 Satyr unmuzl'd 60 The Hind and Panther , transvers'd to the Story of the Country Mouse and City Mouse 65 The Man of Honour , by the Honourable Mr. Mountague 111 The Man of no Honour 115 The Vision 119 The Converts 122 The humble Address of your Majesty's Poet-Laureat , and other your Catholick and Protestant Dissenting-Rhimers , with the rest of the Fraternity of Minor Poets , inferiour Versifiers and Sonetteers of your Majesty's antient Corporation of Parnassus 126 The Laureat 128 On the Bishops Confinement 132 Advice to the Prince of Orange , and the Pacquet-Boat returned 133 A Stanza lately put upon Tyburn 135 Harry Care 's last Will and Testament 135 A new Catch in praise of the Reverend Bishops 137 Protestanism revived , or the persecuted Church triumphing 138 The Council 140 The Audience 141 An Epistle to Mr. Dryden 143 The Dream 146 Over the Lord Dover's Door 1686. 149 Over the Lord Salisbury's Door 1686. 150 To the speaking Head ibid. An Essay writ over his Door on an Instittuion and Induction 151 The Fable of the Pot and the Kettle , as it was told by Coll. Titus , the Night before he kist the King's Hand 152 An Epitaph on Henry Care 153 A Lenten Prologue refus'd by the Players 1682. 154 A Paper fixed on the King's Chappel Door on Easter-Day 1687. 156 On King James's Pistoling a Mastiff-Dog at Banbury , in his last Progress 157 The Metamorphosis 159 Caesar's Ghost 162 The Fourth Satyr of Boileau , by VV. K. 1687. 171 A Congratulatory Poem on his Highness the Prince of Orange's coming into England , by Mr. Tho. Shadwell 174 — on Queen Mary's Arrival in England ▪ by Tho. Shadwell 178 The Observator 180 A Miracle , how the Dutchess of Modena ( being in Heaven ) prayed to the Blessed Virgin , that the Queen might have a Son ; and how our Lady sent the Angel Gabriel with her Smock , upon which the Queen was with Child 184 The Dialogue 186 On the University of Cambridg's burning the Duke of Monmouth's Picture 1685. who was formerly their Chancelour , by Mr. Stepney 189 On the Commencement at Cambridg , by Mr. Ayloffe 192 To Mr. Fleet Shepperd , by Mr. P — r 193 An Explanation of King James's Declaration 195 On the Death of the Queen , by the Lord Cutts 199 Tunbrigialia , or the Pleasures of Tunbridg , in a Letter to a Friend , by P. Causton , Merchant 202 An Essay on Writing , and the Art and Mystery of Printing 212 Prologue by the E. of R — r 218 On the melting down the Plate , or the Piss-Pot's Farewell 215 On Content 216 Tunbridg-VVells , by the Earl of R — r 218 In memory of Jos. VVashington , Esq late of the Middle Temple , an Elegy written by N. Tate 223 Friendship 226 The Wish 227 The Deliverance 228 A Song ex Tempore 229 Of Solitude 229 A Satyr against Brandy 263 A Prologue , by Mr. Montfort 238 On the Infanta of Portugal 238 A Pindarique , by the Lord R — r 239 On the Return of King Charles II. 241 On the Invention of the new Lights 244 On the Invention of the Penny-Post by Mr. Dockwra 246 State-Poems CONTINUED . Select POEMS out of Musarum Oxoniensium 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 . Sive , Ob Foedera , Auspiciis Serenissimi Oliveri Reipubl . Angl. Scot. & Hibern . Domini Protectoris , Inter Rempubl . Britannicam & Ordines Foederatos Belgii foeliciter Stabilita , Gentis togatae ad vada Isidis Celeusma metricum . SAnguineis nescit miles se mergere rivis : Navigat in portu , cui modo Sanguis , Aqua . Nil laudis Neptune petas , nil Aeole ; solus Protector propriâ haec perficit acta manu . Nath. Crew , è Coll. Line . Com. Thus rendred into English. THE Souldier now forgets the Sanguine Seas , He rides in Harbour , and enjoys his Ease . No thanks to Gods of Sea or Wind we ow , These Blessings from our great Protector flow , His happy Hands alone , the welcome Boon bestow . Nath. Crew , è Coll. Lin. Com. REgnis minatur multa Regentium Mutatus ordo : Scilicet arduos Casusque fatalesque genti Saepe ferunt nova sceptra pestes . Ast , ecce , nullis obruta viribus Pugnas cruentas inter , & horridas Lites & irarum procellas , Anglia , firma manens , triumphat . Vis nempe belli nulla nec exteri Illam movebat , neve domestici : Sed pressa , palmae par virenti , Ponderibus melius resurgit . Hic quippe , sacro numine prosperam Major potestas protegit Angliam , Illique primas jure grates Incolumes tribuant Britanni . Quaecunque virtus convenit integro , Quaecunque fama , aut gloria Principi , Te , Summe , laudarunt , Tibique Conspicuum peperere nomen . Tantus fuisse & Victor , & Hostium Fudisse tantas robore copias , Nunquamque devinci , relinquis Perpetuae monumenta Famae Heroas armis pristina gens novem Claros recenset , nos tamen addimus , Tantamque virtutem colemus , Teque decem numeramus , orto . Vis magna belli , magna potentia Tantam nequibat perdere gloriam : Nec contra Achilleos furores Hectoreae valuêre vires . Nostri triumphi Tu decus unicum , Nostrae salutis Tu caput unicum , Partâque nos , per Te salute Ecce hilares remanemus Angli . Matth. Mew , C. C. C. Schol. Thus rendred into English. WHen with the rolling Tydes of Fate New Governours assume the state , The Change a strong Convulsion makes And all the trembling Nation shakes : New Mischiefs follow Counsels new , As Death's destructive Shafts the spreading Plague pursue . Yet still unshock'd Britannia stands , And angry Fate it self commands . Tho ravag'd with intestine Jars , And batter'd oft with foreign Wars , As Palms beneath their Burdens rise , And when oppress'd the most shoot strongest tow'rd the Skies . A greater Numen guards us now , To whom our grateful Britons bow . Thee , mighty Prince , Thy Virtues crown , Thy Regal Fame , thy vast Renown , Thy happy Slaves in Peace proclaim With Triumphs loudly spread as thy Immortal Name . To Conquer always to confound The best , the bravest Armies round , Are Honours all reserv'd for Thee . We now another Worthy see , A Captain for the former Nine , With more auspicious Stars and Courage more divine . Dutch Arms were vain , and vain their Force To stop thy Fates victorious Course , Hector himself , the brave must yield When great Achilles takes the Field . Thy Honours all our Triumphs grace . In Thee we all our Safety place , And by thy Shade secur'd , thy sacred Trunk embrace . Matth. Mew , C. C. C. Schol. SIC Civile Chaos dum Bellum gessit & una Massa , Aer , Tellus , Aequor & Ignis erant . Deformi Congressa prius Certamine , tandem Semina concordi Foedere junxit Amor. Et modò quae latuere suis Elementa tenebris , Clarior , amotis litibus , Orbis erant . Pace ligant simili vicinas Foedera gentes , Cùm daret Antiquum Vis inimica Chaos . Accensae madidis concurrunt Ignibus Undae , Usta in Aquis fuerant Corpora , Mersa Focis . Fulmineo Balista mihi par visa Tonanti , Explosos quoties projicit illa Globos : Talia Sanguineos fecere Tonitrua Nimbos , Dum tota effuso Membra cruore pluunt . Quisque sibi fuit Aequor ; in imo pectore volvit Fluctus ; Irato saevior usque Freto , Quis Deus has tollit , quae tanta potentia Lites ? Numina Confusum quae secuere Chaos ? Haec Dextrâ praestas , Haec Mente ( Britannice Caesar ) Multa foràs tibi sunt , plura Trophaea domi . Pectora vicisti nostra , Invictissime Princeps , Nos Idem Batavis , & Tibi junxit Amor. Tormentis Belgae sternuntur & Ensibus ; Anglos Quae superant , Animi sunt ea Tela Tui . Quae Martem , Pontique minas compescuit , ipsum Quae vicit Bellum , Pax ea Vestra fuit . Nascentem è Pelago Venerem reticete ( Poetae ) Pulchrior è nostro Gurgite surgit Amor. Guil. Godolphin , ex Aede Christi . Thus Translated . WHen Civil War through all the Chaos reign'd , And Air and Earth with Floods and Flames maintain'd An uncouth Contest . Love at last disclos'd Its Force , and all th' Atomic Broils compos'd . And the late darksome Elements in one , A brighter World with nobler Beauty 's shown . So Peace unites the Nations long abus'd . With Jealousies and envious Arts confus'd . Wet Flames the Peace with burning Waters broke , Men blaz'd in Waters , and were drown'd in Smoke . Not Iove o'eraws the World with Thunders more Than wide-mouth'd Canons with their dismal Roar , Their hideous Notes presag'd a Storm of Blood , And scatter'd Limbs unsluc'd the crimson Flood : Each Tar a Sea within his Breast contain'd , And loudest there the noisie Tempest reign'd . What Power , what God the dreadful War could lay , Or through Confusion shoot a peaceful Day ? Thy Hand and Head , Great Caesar , made them cease , And crown'd thy Brows with Wreaths of lasting Peace . Love shot from Thee our easy Souls subdu'd , And made one Band the Dutch and Us conclude ; Force tam'd the Dutch , to Love the English yield , And to thy Politicks resign the Field . Love , Sir , at your Command rough Mars expell'd , Hush'd angry Storms , and warlike Furies quell'd . No more ye Bards of Sea-born Venus sing . Fair Love could only from our British Ocean spring . Guil. Godolphin , ex Aede Christi . INtulerant miseranda duae sibi bella Sorores , Utraque fatales , utraque Parca sibi . Sic in sanguineam mare commutatur Arenam , Quae gladiatorum bella , necesque videt . Has fluctus , illas rapiunt incendia naves Et miscent aestus flamma fretumque suos . Quaeque mori solita est flammis exhorruit undas , Ne mediis Phoenix mersa periret aquis ; Belligeros quot pugna duces , quot sustulit unda ? Sic tamen ipsa solent astra subire fretum . Sic mare Caeruleum est : sed sicut Caerulea Vena , Quae tumet incluso sanguine plena fluens . Non nostrae Batavus submisit Carbasa Classi , Nec quamvis habuit vela , modestus erat . At sic deposuit tandem Leo Belgicus iras , Securam ut ducat per mare Phryxus ovem . Caetera bella licet pugnasque Elementa sequantur , Sola tamen pacis foedera servat Aqua . At Tu Dux pariter Terrae Domitorque profundi , Componunt laudes Cuncta Elementa Tuas . Cui Mens alta subest pelagoque profundior ipso , Cujus fama sonat , quam procul unde sonat . Si currum ascendas domito poene Orbe triumphans In currus aderunt Axis uterque Tuos : Inclusam populi Tua fert vagina salutem , Ut Lateri hinc possis semper adesse Tuo . Tu poteras solus motos componere fluctus , Solus Neptunum sub tua vincla dare . Magna simul Fortis vicisti , & multa : Trophaeis Ut mare sic pariter , cedit Arena tuis . Nomine Pacifico gestas insignia Pacis , Blandaque per titulos serpit Oliva tuos . Seston Abydos amat : Batavas colit Anglia Terras , Insula Te Tanto facta Beata Duce . Insula quam Pelagus , simul & Victoria cingit , Quaeque ( quod his praestat ) cingitur Ense Tuo . Rob. South , ex Aede Christi . Thus Translated . A Fatal War two angry Sisters wag'd , And to each others sure Destruction rag'd ; The Theatre the neighb'ring Seas were made , Where bloody Prizes surly Sword-men play'd . The shatter'd Fleets the Seas and Flames divide , Each rolling in with an impetuous Tyde . The Phoenix once in spicy Flames expir'd , But now with horror from the Floods retir'd , Brave Souls their Fates in purple Waters met : As falling Stars beneath the Ocean set . The Seas all Azure shew'd , like azure Veins When the small Rills the crimson Humour stains . The Dutch to England scorn'd to strike the Sail , Seem'd to be modest , but refus'd to veil . But now the Belgic Lion leaves to roar , And Golden Flocks float safe tow'rd the Shore . While other Elements embroil'd remain , The Seas alone a peaceful League maintain . Sir , at your Feet , whom Seas and Lands obey , The Elements submissive Garlands lay . Seas are less deep than your capacious Soul , Your Fame sounds far as noisy Waters roul . Should you in Triumph o'er the World appear , Your Chariot Wheels the groaning Poles would bear . Your Sword laid by , the Scabbard's fill'd with Peace , And girds your happy Side with awful Ease . You only could the swelling VVaves restrain , And lay your Fetters on the conquer'd Main . The Seas , the Shores their Trophies yield to you , VVho could the Many and the Great subdue . Your happy Name their peaceful Emblems grace , And Olive VVreaths your Regal Arms embrace . England the Hand to pleas'd Batavia gives , And happy in her great Commander lives , By Conquests guarded and by Seas inur'd , But more by your Victorious Arm secur'd . Rob. South , ex Aede Christi . PAX Regit Augusti , quem vicit Julius , Orbem : Ille sago factus clarior , ille togâ . Hos sua Roma vocat magnos , & numina credit , Hic quod sit mundi Victor , & ille Quies . Tu bellum ut pacem populis das , unus utrisque Major es : Ipse orbem vincis , & ipse regis . Non hominem è Coelo missum Te credimus ; unus Sic poteras binos qui superare Deos ! J. Locke , ex . Aede Christi . Thus Translated . A Peaceful Sway the great Augustus bore O'er what great Iulius gain'd by Arms before . Iulius was all with Martial Trophies crown'd . Augustus for his peaceful Arts renown'd . Rome calls 'em Great , and makes 'em Deities , That for his Valour , this his Policies . You , mighty Prince , than both are greater far , Who rule in Peace that World you gain'd by War. You sure from Heav'n a finish'd Hero fell , VVho thus alone two Pagan Gods excel . J. Locke , ex Aede Christi . PAX peregrina diu binas nunc uniet oras , Surget ab armato funere viva salus : Undique laerantes animant●● foedere Belgae E sano Anglorum corpore corpus habent : Unde sumus medici & simul medicamina , vulnus Quod bellum inflixit sanat amica quies : Dum nimium gustant de salso flumine Belgae , Dicunt , plus aloes quam salis aequor habet . Ad PROTECTOREM . Magne Leo , qui Marte potes ; Germania vires , At placidam victrix Anglia sentit opem : Victorum Princeps , arctoque volumine victos Cingis ; Tu centrum , circulus orbis erit . Una catena duas gentes complectitur , ipsam Et terram & pontum continet una manus : Sedata est populi rabies nec Belgica classis , Nec loquitur pelagi saevior ira minas : Pace silent hostes , bello , formidine languent , Solicitat mentes terror amorque suas : Quid faciat secura Tuae fiducia Plebis , Si Te victorem diligat ipse timor ? J. Busby , A. M. ex Aede Christi . Thus Translated . PEace , absent long two States to Union brings , So Life and Love from dying Fury springs . The merry Dutch ensoul'd with Peace revive , Their State by English Substance kept alive . So we both Physic and Physicians prove , And heal the VVounds of VVar with Balms of Love. The Dutch too oft drench'd in the brackish Main , Yet most of Bitter , not of Salt complain . To the PROTECTOR . Lion of War , whose Roar the Dutch dismaid , While conqu'ring England felt your gentler Aid ; Great Prince , to whom the greatest Conquerors bow , Whose binding Force the vassal'd World allow , That World the Circle , but the Centre thou ▪ One Chain two Nations can at once inclose . One Hand the Sea and Land in Peace compose . The Mole grows quiet , and we now can meet No Fears from Sea , nor from the Belgic Fleet. Hush'd in a Peace , and faint with Fears in War , Terrors and Love our joint Commanders are , What then could your confiding Subjects do If through their Fears , their Loves your conquering Arms pursue . J. Busby , A. M. ex Aede Christi . DIscolor excutitur vultus , turbataque rerum Difflatur facies , & nova forma redit . Eclipsin memini sic olim Lampada coeli Quae patitur tenebris exiluisse suis. Quaeque sui vindex ( nuper licet alta jaceret Mersa umbris , ) fruitur liberiore polo. Quas tibi pro tanto dignas persolvere grates Munere , nostra ( Ducum Maxime ) musa valet ; Qui res restituis , rupro velut ordine quassas , Ausus es & populos asseruisse tuos . Non te deflexit vario Fortuna tumultu , Nec quâ turba ruit , praecipitasse libet . Qui stabili Tamesin junxisti foedere Rheno , Arte pari Batayûm Corda fretumque domas . Auspiciis ( Cromwelle ) tuis tria Sceptra triumphant , Teque senes , pueri , sexus & omnis amant . Inde , quòd Armorum Proceres legumque potentes Patriciis sese cinctibus induerint . Auspice te , duris fas impallescere Chartis : Auspice te , vati vena secunda fluit . De Jove Creta suo quicquid vel Apolline Delos Dixit & Alcidi gloria si qua fuit ; In te mixta fluunt , alios quae sparsa coronant . Fixisti nutu qui tria Regna tuo . In tua transmisit Neptunus Sceptra tridentem ; Nec minus Herculeo robore transtra quatis ▪ Consiliis & mente vales , moderaminis Artes Doctior , aut nodos texere nemo potest . Nunc pro te Camber , pro te quoque litigat Anglus , Ille suum jactat , jactat & ille suum : Perge precor . Regnis faustumque sit Omine tanto : Crescat honos : geminâ Pallade cinctus eas . J. Vaughan , A. M. è Coll. Iesu. Thus Translated . NOW with a better Face Affairs appear , And smoother Looks the cheerful Nations wear . So have I seen the Sun eclips'd a while , But quickly with recovering Lustre smile . What thanks , great Prince , can our weak Muse repay For all the Blessings of this glorious day ? Your prudent Hand our shatter'd State repairs , And bravely dares assert our lost Affairs . No Change of Fortune e'er could bend your Soul , No headstrong Rout your Politics controul . You make the Rhine to Royal Thames be true , And both the Seas and Belgic Hearts subdue . Three Realms by your auspicious Stars are blest You of all Age and Sex's Hearts possest . By you we safely to our Books retire , Your gallant Acts the Muses Sons inspire , Crete boasts of Iove , her Phoebus Delos sings , And great Alcides tunes the lofty Strings . In you their scatter'd Glories all combine Whose Nod could make three mighty Realms resign . Neptune to you his Royal Trident sends . The groaning Oar your wond'rous Vigour bends . None rules with greater Art , nor can we find An Arm more fatal nor a larger Mind . The Welch and English for your Birth contend . And for that Glory both with Zeal pretend . Go on , the Realms with happy Omens guide VVhile Fame attends you with a swelling Tyde , And they like twin Minerva's guard your side . J. Vaughan , A. M. è Coll. Iesu. IF Greece with so much Mirth did entertain Her Argo coming laden home again : With what loud Mirth and Triumph shall we greet The wisht Approaches of our welcome Fleet : When of that Prize our Ships do us possess , Whereof their Fleece was but an Emblem , Peace ? Whose welcome Voice sounds sweeter in our Ears , Then the loud Musick of the warbling Spheres . And ravishing more than those , doth plainly show That sweetest Harmony we to Discord ow. Each Sea-man's Voice pronouncing Peace doth charm , And seems a Syren's , but that 't has less Harm And danger in 't , and yet like theirs doth please Above all other , and make us love the Seas . W'have Heaven in this Peace , like Souls above , W'have nought to do now but admire and love . Glory of War is Victory , but here Both glorious be 'cause neither 's Conqueror . 'T had been less Honor if it might be said They fought with those that could be conquered . Our re-united Seas , like Streams that grow Into one River , do the smoother flow : VVhere Ships no longer grapple but like those , The loving Sea-men in Embraces close . VVe need no Fire-ships now , a nobler Flame Of Love doth us protect , whereby our Name Shall shine more glorious , a Flame as pure As those of Heaven , and shall as long endure : This shall direct our Ships , and he that steers , Shall not consult Heaven's Fires , but those he bears In his own Breast . Let Lilly threaten VVars : VVhilst this Conjunction lasts we 'll fear no Stars . Our Ships are now most beneficial grown , Since they bring home no Spoils but what 's their own . Unto these branchless Pines our forward Spring Ows better Fruit , than Autumn's wont to bring : VVhich give not only Gems and Indian Ore , But add at once whole Nations to our store : Nay , if to make a VVorld's but to compose The Difference of things and make them close In mutual Amity , and cause Peace to creep Out of the jarring Chaos of the Deep : Our Ships do this so that whilst others take Their Course about the World , ours a World make . J. Locke , Student of Ch. Ch. AS when two Streams divided gently glide , The lofty Banks their humble Powers decide . The Husbandmen divert them where they list , Nor can those weaker Floods their Dams resist . But if they join , and to one Torrent grow , Swelling they rage , and no Restraint will know ; Over th' adjoining Fields dilate their Wings , Hatching that Plenty : which the Summer brings . Such the Events have been , and such the Fates Of our disjoin'd and re-united States . Who , while asunder from each other torn By cruel War , became their Neighbours scorn . But since that * Power which now informs our Age , Hath reconcil'd the Strength , and quell'd the Rage Of the disturbed Sea , the Fire , the Wind , And ( what is more ) the Tempests of our Mind . Far now our Ships their Canvas Wings shall stretch , And the World's wealth to richer England fetch . Till greater Treasures overspread our Coast Than Tagus or Pactolus Sands can boast . With this Design our busie Vessels range About , to make our Isle the World's Exchange . Others in Times of Brass and Iron live , Nought but our Pines the Golden Age can give : Which fell'd bear better Fruit than when they stood The Branching Glories of the Fruitful Wood. No foreign Navy shall impeach their Course , Circling the Globe with uncontrouled Force . While , with the Sun , they round the World , their Might Becomes as Universal as his Light. Making those Bounds which bind the farthest Land , The Limits , Cromwell , of thy large Command . Cromwell ! the Name which made a greater Noise Among his Foes than Waves or Canons Voice . 'T is he that conquers when he please , and he That makes Greek Fables English History . Tell me , Astrologers , th' Event ; and make From this Conjunction a new Almanack . Storms oft enrich the Soil : and since our Peace Proceeds from War , we hope for more Increase . So Bones which have been broke become more sound , And Hydra stronger from its fruitful Wound . Than War nought could our States have closer ty'd , They 're join'd by Kind who are by Blood ally'd . Such our Agreement is , as when one Flame Meeting another , both become the same . Hermophroditus so and Salmacis ( VVhose Bodies join'd in a perpetual Kiss ) VVith our two States receiv'd like Union ; VVent Two into the Stream , return'd but One. W. Godolphin , St. Ch. Ch. The End of the Poems on Oliver Cromwell , and his making a Peace with the Dutch. To King CHARLES the Second , on his Return . VErtue 's Triumphant Shrine ; who dost engage At once three Kingdoms in a Pilgrimage , VVhich in Extatic Duty strive to come Out of themselves , as well as from their Home . VVhilst England grows one Camp , and London is It self the Nation , not Metropolis ; And Loyal Kent renews its Arts again , Fencing her VVays with moving Groves of Men. Forgive this distant Homage , which doth meet Your blest Approach on sedentary Feet . And tho my Youth , not patient yet to bear The weight of Arms , denies me to appear In Steel before you ; yet , Great Sir , approve My manly VVishes , and more vigorous Love. In whom a cold Respect were Treason to A Father's Ashes , greater than to you . VVhose one Ambition 't is , for to be known By Daring Loyalty your Wilmot's Son. Rochester , Wadh. Coll. A young Gentleman desirous to be a Minister of State , thus pretends to qualifie himself . TO make my self for this Employment fit I 'll learn as much as ever I can get Of the Honourable Gray of Ru — n's VVit. In Constancy and sincere Loyalty , I 'll imitate the grateful Shaftsbury . And that we may assume the Churches Weal , And all Disorder in Religion heal , I will espouse Lord Hall — x's Zeal . To pay respect to sacred Revelation , To scorn th' affected Wit of Prophanation , And rout Impiety out of the Nation . To suppress Vice , and Scandal to prevent , Buckingham's Life shall be my Precedent , That living Model of good Government . To dive into the Depth of States-mens Craft , To search the Secrets of the subtlest Heart , To hide my own Designs with prudent Art. To make each Man my Property become , To frustrate all the Plots of France or Rome , None can so well instruct as my Lord Moon . For moral Honesty in Deed and Word , Lord W — r Example will afford , That and his Courage too are on record . Upon the King's Voyage to Chatham to make Bulwarks against the Dutch , and the Queen's Miscarriage thereupon . WHen Iames , our great Monarch , so wise and discreet , Was gone with three Barges to face the Dutch Fleet , Our young Prince of Wales , by Inheritance stout , Was going to aid him , and peep'd his Head out . But seeing his Father , without Ships or Men , Commit the Defence of us all to a Chain , Taffy was frighted and sculk'd in again . Nor thought , while the Dutch domineer'd in our Road It was safe to come further and venture abroad . Not Walgrave , or th' Epistle of Seigneur le Duke Made her Majesty sick , and her Royal Womb puke ; But the Dutch-men picqueering at Dover and Harwich , Gave the Ministers agues and the Queen a miscarriage , And to see the poor King stand of Ships in such need , Made the Catholicks quake , and her Majesty bleed . I wish the sad Accident dont spoil the young Prince , Take off all his Manhood , and make him a Wench . But the Hero , his Father , no Courage did lack , Who was sorry on such a pretext to come back . He mark'd out his Ground , and mounted a Gun , And 't is thought , without such a pretence he had run . For his Army and Navy were said to increase , As appears ( when we have no occasion ) in Peace . Nay , if the Dutch come , we despise them so much Our Navy incognito will leave them i' th' lurch ; And to their eternal Disgrace we are able To beat 'em by way of a Post and a Cable . Why was this Sir , left out of the wise Declaration That flatter'd with hopes of more Forces the Nation , 'T would have done us great Good to have said you intended The Strength of the Nation , the Chain should be mended . Tho we thank you for passing so kindly your word , ( Which ne'er yet was broke ) that you 'd rule by the Sword , A Charge to the Grand Inquest of England , 1674. ROom for the Bedlam C — ns , Hell and Fury ! Room for the Gentlemen of our Grand Iury. Led by no conjuring Bayliff with white Wand , But stately Mace in stalking Giant 's hand . Call them o'er , Cryer , swear them every Man , And let an Oath fetter 'em if it can . The Foreman first , preferr'd before the rest , 'Cause he has learnt the Art of Prating best . Then Howard , Powell , Garaway and Meers , Temple and S — ( who yet wears his Ears ) Candish the Fop , Whorwood that Senior Soph , Some fresh come on , some lately taken off . When these have kist the Book , swear all the rest The numerous swarm of this too Grand Inquest . Five hundred strong , a formidable Crew ; Would you could say of half , good Men and true . Stand close together , Sirs , and hear your Charge , In brief , which Lawyers use to give at large . Imprimis , as to Treason , let that pass , Since to talk Treason boldly , long since was A Priviledge of your House , and shortly you Will privileg'd be to plot and act it too . For Sacrilege , Thefts , Robberies and Rapes , Murders , Cheats , Perjuries , with such petty Scapes ; Of which your selves you too well guilty know : Transmit these Trifles to the Courts below . But if a Member chance to get a Scar , For the Cause , or by fortune de la Guerr , You of the Inquest strictly must implore Whether the wound were given by Rogue or Whore ; Vote it a Breach of Privilege , then pass An Act Sir Iohn's Nose is as whole as ' t was . If a blunt Porter justle from the wall , Or knavish Boy at Foot-ball give a fall , To one O' your House ; let Boys and Porters be Sent to the Tower , or brought upon their Knee . But above all beat boldly every where For your just Rights and Privileges here , Find them out all , and more than ever were . Search the Repositories of the Tower , And your own Brains to stretch your lawless Power , Ransack your Writers Selden , Needham , Pryn , Rather than fail bring the sly Jesuit in . Then swoln with Pride and Poyson suckt from these , Vote your own Privilege , is what you please . Thus fortifi'd , each Member is supreme . What Court of Justice dares touch one of them . The King disdains not to submit his Cause , To the known Course and Tryal of the Laws . Each Subject may his King with safety sue But King nor Subject can have Right from you , Who are Law-givers , Judge , and Party too . With what distemper'd Counsels are we fed , When such Convulsions are on England bred ? The very Arse is hoisted o'er the Head. Well may you sit in Love , with all your hearts It is a Posture proper to those Parts . Humble as Spiders while they crawl below , Despis'd , afraid of every Spurn and Blow , Crept in your Hole once , you imperious grow . Spread Laws , Oaths , Snares for other Men to fall , And you your selves may trample on them all . From Privilege of Sov'reign Parliament , ( If you have any Breath and Time unspent ) In the next place to Grievances proceed , Such Grievances as make the Subject bleed . What we nam'd last before , may here stand first , For of all Plagues , with which this Nation 's curst , The Privilege of Parliament is worst . Then with full Throats and empty Brains let fly Against the Rise and Growth of Popery , Power Arbitrary , and the Prerogative Royal , Monopolies and Imprisonments illegal , Offices set to sale , and scarce a Clause Well executed of the Cobweb Laws , But , ( tho corrupt enough ) touch not th' Arcana Of your dread Idol , ( Law ) your great Diana . 'T will make the Nation , full of Lawyers , rave , With Tongue and Pen , Nonsense and Noise ; who have By this false Oracle heap'd up more Gold , Than e'er that Goddesses High-priest of old . 'T would kindle amongst your selves a Civil War , For those Gallants , tho not the greatest are Of your whole House , the loudest half by far . If ten or twelve create us such Vexation , What do ten thousand of them in the Nation . But pass not o'er the Grievances before You have , with all your might , knock'd down once more A Grievance your Design may ruinate , As a Welch Knight gravely observ'd of late . Resolv'd the Boys and Footmen shall no more Attend their Lordships at the Lobby-door : For should the Commons pass some wholsome Vote , In their own house , to cut their Lordships Throats , Those Rascals might , with their short Clubs and Swords Dare impudently to protect their Lords , And , by endeavouring their Preservation , Highly oppose the Safety of the Nation , Then thunder out against Supplies mispent , The Customs wasted through ill management ; Curse the Commissioners to the Pit of Hell , Till some of you creep in , then all is well . Impeachment on Impeachment next renew With impudent Redress against all who Have better Heads or truer Hearts than you . On numerous Articles let each Charge run , But , when it comes to th' upshot , prove not one . In the last place , tho least of all you mind it , ( Yet you must pull a Crow where e'er you find it , ) With seeming Diligence , bravely take in hand The Strength , Defence , and Honour of the Land. But then in this be sure you do no more Than just spoil what was well begun before . Your fatal Policy too well does shew , Those lofty Cares do not belong to you . When the proud Belgick Lyon stood at bay , At once the easier and the nobler Prey , When he for Fear more than for Rage did roar , His Arse to lash as it ne'er was before . When such a Friend by chance kind Fortune threw , No more expected than deserv'd by you . Who but a Parliament could slight it , when We might have drown'd that Lyon in his Den , Or beat him to a fawning Whelp agen . You kindly spar'd your Money and your Foe , E're you much older or much wiser grow , You may expect with Interest from these The timely Fruits of your untimely Peace . Let the French proudly brave us on the Main , The Dutch our Trade , the Seas and Indies gain . Let all the World appear concern'd so far , As to be Party in this general War. Tho loud our Honour as our interest calls , You 'll have no Swords drawn but within your Walls . When thus , to your no little Shame at last , You have many Months in doing nothing past ; As Curs have shown their Teeth , but durst not bite ; As Fops have drawn their Swords , but dare not fight . A private Bill or two , rather than none , Get pass'd , then bravely vote a Session . Thus when your Power , tho not your Pride , abates Your Purses grown as empty as your Pates , 'T is time to send you home to your Estates , And to your Wives , who ( may be understood T' have been more active for the publick Good. In their lower Sphere than you ) to crown the Plot , Present you pretty Babes you ne'er begot The GIANTS WARS . 1682. Some Passages preceeding the Giants War , translated out of a Greek Fragment . — Vo's exemplaria Graeca Nocturna versate mane , versate diurnam . Iovis omnia plena . — By Dr. B — THis Rumor entring angry Titon's Ears , His horrid Heart-strings with new Gall besmears , In rage he Saturn by the Codpiece took , And scar'd him so with wrathful hideous Look , Within the Flesh , that his long Shin bones shook . Brother , said he , Brother , what Curses strange Did from your Mouth , and Oaths in Vollies range ? How much you swore by Stygian Powers ? you swore , All Hell consenting with united Roar ; On Earth nought in upon my Hopes should break , Nor from your Loins degenerate Bantling sneak . Yet now of Iove the Woods and Valleys ring , Iove's health all drink , of Iove all say and sing ; Iove fills the Court , the Country and the Town , All call him Saturn's Son , and rightful Heir of the Crown . Saturn aghast , sinks down into a Couch , ( In other points might for his Manhood vouch ) Long meagre Face with foreign Muslin wipes , Then speaks to Titon with protesting lips , What have I left unsaid , what left undone , To make you next Successor on the Throne ? If my Seed lives , it was not Saturn's fault , I gave all over to the Summer Salt. Bet if disloyal Pity sway'd my Wife , Or out of Crosness she have sav'd a Life , Her and her Brat I will renounce this hour , Declare him Bastard and his Mother Whore. At this the Giant half contented grins , His fester'd Soul to cooler mood inclines . The wonted Tempest from his brow retreats , And Rage more hostile through his Nostrils beats . Saturn , long lost , and from his Senses ta'en , Now finds , and feels , and shews himself again . And strait does to his fair Messina send . From the Isthmus to the Promonthory's end . To those the large Trisenian Valleys till That Poelion climb , that by Cytherea dwell , And , void of wrath Dordonian Timber fell ; That Pydna round the Polydea plow , And Lelia where amorous Pigeons coo ; Ceon under Hill , Iolius in the Clay , Hemapolis , Daulis , Oeclelia , Where Minstrels strange the Muses did provoke , And Dorion , where they Roger's Fiddle broke . Who Trophian Fields , and Appian let to farm , And Calydon , which lovely Lasses warm . VVho from Caphareus view the Ocean wide , The ruddy Squires o'er Northern VVorlds that ride . In Beef-land who keep house , and on the Coast Eubaeum , where the noblest Surloyns roast . VVho Hebras drink , who in Asopus soke , And who with melted Corn Acheloian Horns provoke . VVho chase the foaming Boar o'er brake and burn , And glad at night Erymanthian Rashers turn . These and his other Barons far and near , And Bishops that with Hecatombs make chear , Are by that Mouth all summon'd to appear . Said he , these since I cannot single strive , Shall joint Advice in Pan-Ionian give . You call ( quoth Titon mad , and like to burst ) The Pan-Ionian — 's B — d you shall call the Pan-Daemonian first , Hell , Acheron , and Styx , by which you swore , Give their Advice , what Counsel needs there more ? Shall common Breath our Royal Wills debate ? What we , what you and I resolve is Fate . In secret , only 'twixt our selves you vow'd , You swore to me , does that concern the Crowd ? Then rouze , and act as the Affair enjoins , And seize the vile Pretender to your Loins . Then answer'd Saturn , with a Visage mild , Brother , wouldst have me , I will eat my Child , Be Caterer you , and lay him in my dish . Said like a King , quoth Titon , but I wish , You had more early mouth'd him , whilst a Chick , For now perhaps he in your Fangs may stick , And find us both a cross damn'd Bone to pick. Half mad half Prophet thus the Giant rav'd , When to the teeth a fresh alarm him brav'd . Fame , strong and thick , his obstinate Eares invades . Says High and Low , white Staves with humble Spades . From Hall and Cottage , from both Town and Grange , From Heath and Ham , and Iove's Retirement range . Nor this by stealth or nightly caution done But in broad Day , and open to the Sun. Now Titon into downright Rage flies out , He picks his nose , and stamps , and flings about . Here gripes , there cuffs , then swings his barbarous Steel , But Saturn's Stones his first dire Vengeance feel . Then musters he all that in Cellars sculk , Cry Boh in Entries , or that snore on Bulk , In Alleys sneak , Suburbian Garrets cram , Tories of double Form , and tripple Name ; From Gaols escap'd , from Pillories unpinn'd , And from high Padd compleatly disciplin'd ; Skip-kennels , Roysters , Ruffians all profane , And Buggerers too , a foul ungodly Train Those who from Loughs , their tainted Seed had drawn , Monsters of Orkes , and Bogs ungracious Spawn . Say , Muse , who did in chief that Crew command , And in the front , against Iove's Thunder stand . Rhoetus did head a bold blasphemous Rout , Gyges did there with hundred Elbows strut , And no less terrible Iapetus , Aegean , Briareus , Enceladus , Aloud Typheus God and Nature curst , Typheus 't was that shoulder'd Pelion first , And sure he Pelion had on Ossa thrown , But Nature vext compell'd him set it down . Lordalius every Limb did Monster bode , The furthest Thules groan beneath his Load , His Tongue a thousand Serpents did unfold , When out at length it thirty furlongs roll'd , Drawn back , and furl'd , and doubled up again , And scarce contain'd within the spacious Den ; A thousand Dogs all kennell'd in his Paunch , On murther'd Greeks they did insatiate scranch , They drank , they wallow'd there in humane Gore , Yet at his Arse still snarl and bark for more You 'd think unmuzzled Corbin kept the door ; The Mastiffs round his Sister Cylla's Womb , That in the Ocean with such fury foam , Are ty'd up short , and worry not from home : But nauseous are Lordalius foisting Rooms , Makes Dogs meat all and Carrion where he comes . Camp must have Trull , great wickedness will stick , Unless male Strength has aid from female Trick ; These had Permethe , who in fatal hour , Was hither wafted from the Celtick shore . What Giant durst have plotted to remove The Crown from Saturn , or Saturnian Iove , But for this Sorceress , ever on the watch , At easie hours , and in her Nights Debauch ; So that where Threats and open Forces fail'd , Her filthy and obscene Devices held . Then prostituted Hand , and Lips , and Tongue On his soft Part mysterious Fazzels hung , And empty Nerves with false deceiving Vigor stung . Not all the Juice from deadly Hemlock prest , All the benumming Opium of the East , E're was on wretched Indian Prince impos'd Could , like her Charms , have Saturn's Senses doz'd . With midnight Murmur , with unhallowed Spell , And magick Lory Circe in her Cell , Transform'd him Beast who ever came to hand , An Ass , a Hog , or Dog , at her command ; But never Dog with Tail to Bottle wed , Never was Hog in Mire plung'd over head , Never was Ass , when he by Hunger tir'd , Mumbling a Thistle , his broad Lips bestirr'd , Deform'd , ridiculous , despicable made , As thou , O Saturn , by this Hag betray'd . She turns him into all and every thing , To any Shape but that of Man and King. Somtimes so far from Man and King undone , You see him loose among the Spaniels run , Sometimes like Bird , unto the Ducks he flies , And flutters there , as goodly and as wise . Sometimes when she would have him great appear , She does his Form into a Stallion reat , Bridle in mouth , she whisks him to the wall , Astride she goes , St. Dennis have at all ; Whips him o'er Hedge and Ditch , o'er Dirt and Mire , Bramble and Bogs , thro Water and thro Fire ; Till ridden Blind , like Bayard in the Mill , About he comes , about she brings him still , The Circle she , be Centre where it will. 'T was in this Figure prancing Saturn scorn'd His first dear Joys , and holy Hymen spurn'd . Thus Titon's Host with Rogues and Ribbalds fill'd , Olympus ward , in wild presumption rul'd . An awkward thing there was of monstrouus growth , All over indefatigable Mouth , This Monster with a Mouth for Drum supply'd And Trumpet , and all Dinn of War beside , Hell not so black , nor open'd e'er so wide . He having the Battalions squinted o'er , These words did to the gaping Rabble roar , That Iove his Bastard Saturn had declar'd , And who dare disbelieve his Royal word . Now , against Titon you Fanaticks say , His Altar stands the Babylonish way . Howe'r it stands , he does not stand at all . We must with Royal Titon stand or fall . Nor may his mode of sacrificing scan , Tho he should sacrifice both God and Man , We 'll have him King , and Kings may what they can . Now his blue Eye-balls turn , he makes a pause , And gathers round the Hum and high applause . Which the grim Scoundrels bellow out amain Then Tongue unsheath'd thus brandishes again , Brave Brother Giants , tho against the Law And Heav'n we fight , that sticks not in our maw ; When we once conquer , all the World 's our own , Rich Land in Country , and fine House in Town ; But should their goodly worships win the Fight , And beat us , what the Devil get they by 't ? Will those that loll in Silks be mew'd in Straw , Or leave their Roast-meat , to feed here on Raw , The Strength is ours , the Courage and the ods , But conquer them , and we shall be the Gods. With these last accents Mouth expecting stands , Till every Giant claps his hundred Hands . The Gods , the Gods all cry with horrid yell , High Heaven they shook , and almost frighted Hell , Whilst Eccho does in Rocks , the Gods repeal . The Gods , by Ossa bandy'd o'er the Plain , Olympus trembling toss'd it back again ; The dangerous Deep and Caverns under ground , With hoarser Groan , the Gods , the Gods resound . Shepherds aloof that view'd the grisly Rout , Fainted and said the Gods must go to pot . Some peeping from their holes did see ( or fear'd They saw ) to Heaven , long scaling Ladders rear'd ; Nimble as Bears , the ugly Giants climb , And every God they met tear limb from limb ; The Skies all broken down , no Age they spare , From holy House to the old one in the chair , One thought he saw a graceless , great , unshav'd , Unshapely , shabby Giant eat a God ; Another spy'd a raw Gigantick Youth , Soaring with an Immortal in his Mouth Who sprawl'd and sprawl'd , but could not spare one tooth . One pities Heav'n , and of strange havock dreams , How on the floor spilt Aqua Vita swims ; With gay attire torn , tumbled and defac'd , There Wig , there Cravat , there imbroider'd Vest. The simple Clowns thus fancied , but Heaven safe Did at their Care , and rustick Folly laugh . Yet gaping Priest gulp'd the Tradition down . And all his Creed to after Ages own'd . But say not , you profane , Heav'n had no share In that days toil , Heaven's Champion Iove was there , Heaven's darling Iove , and now immediate Care. — Titania pubes Fulmina dejecti fundo volvuntur in imo . Virgil. On the Statue at Stocks Market . AS Citizens that to their Conquerors yield , Do at their own charge their own Cittadel build , So Sir Robert advanc'd the King's Statue , in token Of a Broaker defeated , and a Lumbard-street broken . Some thought it a mighty and gracious Deed , Obliging the City with a King on a Steed . When with Honour he might from his word have gone back , He that waits for a Calm is absolv'd by a Wreck . By all it appears from the first to the last To be a Revenge , and as Malice forecast , Upon the King's Birth-day to set up a thing That shews him a Monkey more like than a King. When each one that passes finds fault with the Horse , Yet all do assure that the King is much worse ; And some by its likeness Sir Robert suspect , That he did for the King his own Statue erect . To see him so disguis'd the Herb-women chide , Who upon their Panniers more decently ride . So loose are his Feet that all Men agree , Sir William Peak sits much faster than he . But a Market , as some say , doth fit the King well , Who oft Parliaments buys and Revenues doth sell : And others to make the similitude hold , Say his Majesty himself is oft bought and sold. Sure this Statue is more dangerous far , Than all the Dutch Pictures that caused the War. And what the Exchequer for that took on trust , May henceforth be confiscate for Reasons most just . But Sir Robert , to take the Scandal away , Does the fault upon the Artificer lay ; And alleges the thing is none of his own , For he counterfeits only in Gold , not in Stone . But Sir Robert of the Vine , how cam't in your thought , That when to the scaffold your Liege you had brought , With Canvas and Deals you e'er since do him cloud , As if you had meant it his Coffin and Shrowd ? Hath Blood him away as his Crown he convey'd ? Or is he to Clayton gone in masquerade ? Or is he now in his Cabal closely set ? Or have you to the Compter remov'd him for debt ? Methinks by the equipage of this vile Scene , To change him into a Iack-pudding you mean. Or else thus expose him to popular flour . As tho we 'd as good have a King of a Clout . Or do you his Errors out of Modesty veil , With three shatter'd Planks and the rags of a Sail ? To expose how his Navy was shatter'd and torn , The same day that he was restored and born . If the Judges and Parliament dont him inrich , You will scarcely afford him a Rag to his Breech . Sir Robert affirms they do him much Wrong , 'T is the Graver at work to reform him so long . But alas he will never arrive at his End , For 't is such a King no Chisel can mend . But with all his faults pray give us our King , As ever you hope for December or Spring . For tho the whole World cannot shew such another , We had better have him than his bigotted Brother . SATYR . By the Lord Ro — r. MUst I with patience ever silent sit , Perplext with Fools who will believe they 've wit. Must I find every place by Coxcombs seiz'd , Hear their affected Nonsense , and seem pleas'd . Must I meet Hen. — m where e'er I go , Arp Arran , Villain F — , nay Poultney too . Shall He — t — pertly crawl from place to place , And scabby Vill — s for a Beauty pass . Shall H — and B — n Politicians prove , And S — presume to be in Love. Who can abstain from Satyr in this age ? What Nature wants I find supply'd by Rage . Some do for Pimping some for Treach'ry rise , But none 's made great for being Good or Wise. Deserve a Dungeon if you would be great , Rogues always are our Ministers of State Mean prostrate Bitches , for a Bridewel fit , With England's wretched Queen must equal sit . Ran — g and fearful M — are preferr'd , Vertue 's commended , but ne'er meets Reward . who 'd be a Monarch to endure the prating Of N — l and sawcy Ogle — p in waiting . Who would S — s drivling Cuckold be ? Who would be G — and bear his Infamy ? What wretch would be Green's ill begotten Son ? VVho would be Iames out-witted and undone ? VVho would be S — a cringing Knave ? Like Hallifax wise , like Bearish Pembroke brave ? VVhat Drudge would be in Dryden's cudgell'd skin ? Or who 'd be safe and senseless like Tom. T — A SATYR . By the same Hand . Nobilitas sola atque unica Virtus est . NOT Rome , in all her Splendor , could compare VVith those great Blessings happy Britain's share . Vainly they boast their Kings of heavenly Race , A G — incarnate England's Throne does grace . Chaste in his Pleasures , in Devotion grave , To his Friends constant , to his Foes he 's brave ; His Justice is through all the world admir'd , His VVord held sacred , and his Sceptre fear'd . No Tumults do about his Palace move , Freed from Rebellion by his People's Love ▪ Nor do we less in Counsels wise prevail , As all our late Transactions plainly tell . Not only Prorogations good create ; But th' adjourn'd Play-house is a Corps d' Estate . So Learned Chymists , when they long have try'd For Secrets thrifty Nature fain would hide , In basest Matters often Spirits find , VVhich Providence for greater Use design'd . But who can wonder at such vast Success , Our Cato S — ne'er promis'd less . Abroad in Embassies he first was fam'd , Where he so strictly England's Rights maintain'd . At home an humble Creature to her Grace , And Mrs. W — preferr'd him to the place . Then for Commanders both by Sea and Land , Heaven has bestow'd them with a liberal hand . Y — k , who thrice chang'd his Ships through warlike Rage , And M — , who 's the Scipio of the age . The first long Admiral , but more renown'd For P — x and Popery than publick Wound . This is the Man whose Vice each Satyr feeds , And for whom no one Vertue intercedes . Destin'd for England's plague , from infant time , Curst with a Person f — than all Crime . But mightier Knights than these do still remain , Plimouth , who lately shew'd upon the Plain , And did by Hewit's Fall immortal Honour gain . So Mouse and Frog came gravely to the field , Both fear'd to fight , and yet both scorn'd to yield . Their famous Billets Deux and Duel prove Them both as fit for Combat as for Love. Amongst all these 't were not amiss to name P — ney , to whom St. Omers siege gave fame . Nor do Wits less our polisht Court adorn , Than Men of Prowess , for Atchievments born . Romantick M — t , who in empty lines His happier Rival tediously defines ; They well knew how to value painted Toys , And left the Tartar to be catch'd by Boys ; But his chief Talent is in Histories , Which of himself he tells and always lies . Daincourt would fain be thought both VVit and Bully ; But Punk-rid R — not a greater Cully , Nor tawdry Isham , intimately known To all poxt VVhores and famous Rooks in town . No Ladies my respectful Muse will name , She thinks it Blasphemy to touch their Fame . Safe may they live who faithful are and kind , But may lewd Scourers no Redemption find . May young and old incessantly give thanks For that blest Nursery of Intrigue Mil-banks . May Leister fields repair their Matrons fall . But still subscribe in Feasts of Love to th' Mall , And Mrs. Strafford yield to B — Hall. A SATYR . Barbara Pyramidum sileat miracula Memphis . OF all the VVonders since the VVorld began , Since Man's Creation , and the Fall of Man , There 's none so unaccountable to me As the most common things we daily see . VVhich way soe'er I look methinks I view , Something that is extravagantly new ; That entertains my all admiring Eyes VVith various unexpected Prodigies . And all I gaze upon , appears to me , Like any thing but what it ought to be . Find out the Man that you would think most fit For blustering Bully , he 's the Man of Wit , And noisily does bear the Bays away , Speaking what common Sense would blush to say . Shew me another , Body Soul and all Fram'd to cut Capers , he 's a General ; And when his warlike Arm has time to rest , Turns Buffoon Statesman , to make up the Jest , A third by Nature for the Bays design'd , VVith awkward Body , and distorted Mind . Supported by his nauseous Impudence , Proves an eternal Plague to Men of sense : And tho scarce fit to make the Rabble sport , Sets up for tawny Darling of the Court. Another guilty of a worse mistake , Poor Man 's in danger of Narcissus fate , Doats on his Person , thinks himself design'd For the relief of Longing Womankind ; Fancies his squinting Eye and clumsie Shape , On every Female Heart commits a Rape ; Presumes too with that Face the prize to win , Fit only for Lent-Preachers threatning Sin. I mean the Warriour , famous far and near For Dr — n's wit , but for no borrowed Fear ; VVisely he uses his Friends Head to write VVith more success than his own Arm to fight ; Yet without wonder we look down and see Heroick Blue adorn his trembling Knee . Ulysses with stout Ajax did contend , And by his crafty Cunning gain'd his end ; But 't was thought strange , that in the bloody Field , He should obtain the fam'd Achilles Shield . But here 's the Prize of Honour stole away By one who ne'er yet saw a Scarlet Day , But represented in some Tragick Play. Yet every Collar Feast he struts along , VVith Courage squinting on the gazing Throng . He pleads , and says Ulysses ne'er did more , He has deceiv'd , betray'd , and fasly swore . VVhat if a Friend for Interest he expose , 'T is dull to gain a Regiment by Blows . In his designs upon frail Womankind , His ill Success has humbled so his mind , That like Cameleon living on the Air , He 's satisfi'd with Noise , and if the Fair Be thought his Prey , his Coachmans Wife supplies The absent vainly wisht for Deities . Such unregarded blindly we pass by , And yet admire what 's less a Prodigy . Do we not daily crowd with longing mind , To see a Beast of an unusual kind , Some odd uncommon Creature , that the Iade Its Mother has brought forth in Masquerade . VVhilst the Chief Monster Man unminded goes , Tho , of the two , the fitter for the Shows . He 's the most strange , and should the most surprize , VVho will be so , yet can be otherwise . VVhos 's all mistaken Talents spur him on To lead a Life in contradiction . This brings to mind a Knight of mighty Fame , Fairly in publick he plays out his Game , Betimes bespeaks Balconies for I know He 'll teach you how to handle angry Foe . In Cheapside next he 'll deal most deadly Blows , If not prevented by a scratch on 's Nose . Of what I 've said , I this Example bring , This contradicting , proud , vain , nauseous thing . Swarthy his Skin , a hanging Look on 's Brows , His Head with VVhimseys fill'd , and mad as How 's ; His Sword like Pen he handles writing fair , Quivering makes dashes in the wounded Air ; Yet the vain Fool expects the Women all Should breathless at his feet admiring fall . Queen Sheba would have travell'd twice as far , Could she for Solomon have met Sir Car. How do these Twins in all things but Estate , Rail at themselves , whilst they each other hate . Each on his Dunghil proudly does insult , But Conscience rules , and Peace is the result . Plutarch ne'er met two to compare so fit , Blind in their Eyes alike , as in their VVit , Equally vain , they love with like Success , Their Wrongs with equal Fortune they redress . Each , tho a naked Sword does make him start , Looks big , admiring his own martial Heart . The one too scribbles , but in Lines as dull , As those of our new made Governour of Hull . For Prowess , Wit , Good-nature , Honesty , Religion , Honour and Humility , One only Hero dares with these contend , The brave Lord Og — 's Paramour and Friend . His Ancestors were men of mighty Fame , France felt an Earthquake at the very Name ; But he whose Soul can no harsh thought admit , Takes care to cure it of its Ague fit ; His tender Heart , in softer Breast enshrin'd , For gentler use by Nature was design'd . A just Revenge admittance seeks in vain , To his converted Soul where Peace does reign . What tho' his Father's bloody Murtherer live , His Charity compels him to forgive . But now from railing let us rest a while , Some few have Merit in our wretched Isle . Those whom our honest Poet discommends , Because they 've been his Patrons and his Friends . We may conclude 't is Interest guides the Pen , And ranges Fools with wise deserving Men ; Since in the front of our kept Laureat's Plays , Long Dedications speak a Booby's Praise ; And Women of the highest Rank appear , As chast , nay chaster than Lucretia there . I write not for Applause , nor do I strain For Money a dull mercenary Brain , Measure not Verse as Ribbon by the Ell , My stock of Wit 's not good enough to sell , Nor yet so poor as that my needy Pen Should rail , for want of matter at good Men. I will not , where no fault is to be found , Slander the Dead , for Lies dig under ground ; Nor to be thought a brisk aspiring Wit , Rail at a Monarch for my Praises fit , Censure , if to unbend his head from Care , He with his Subjects in some Pleasure share ; A blessed Lot we to our Soveraign give , Permit him only as our Drudge to live ; Excess of Goodness , which I own his Crime , Factious Petitioners will cure in time ; Then like the Frogs in Esop we may grieve , When foolishly we hoping to relieve By changing our imaginary Smarts , Find 't is that Change that breaks our stubborn hearts . I 'll not complain Honours bestow'd on him Who for his Country ventur'd that same Limb That 's now adorn'd , whose gen'rous Courage too , Aiding our Neighbours , to the French-man 's wo , Shew'd 'em what English Swords were us'd to do . Nor empty Paradoxes will maintain , Lift a malicious Arm , but all in vain , Striking at him the Ball rebounds and hurts , 'T is not like fighting Duels in our shirts ; 'T is trying to pierce Armour with a Sword , Calling him Fool , who when he speaks the word , Loudly proclaims the Liar ; but 't is fine To swear the Sun and Moon did never shine . I may mistake , but think my Nature good , Yet some Temptations cannot be withstood . I cannot always with Heracleus weep , Nor in a drowsie Silence ever sleep , Faith I must laugh , seeing the Letter drop , Given the pert Dame , by disappointed Fop ; Nor can I stifle my surprise , when I Follow Lord All-Pride , in his train espy , One who before did him no Injury , Crowning his Brows with deserv'd Infamy , But since his Wife he publickly call'd Whore , So much oblig'd he now can rail no more , 'T was what himself had often done before . His strict attendance Gratitude does show , How comes our Metal'd-man to stoop so low . Yet of all Frantick Fools none seems to me So vainly proud of his own Infamy , As he , who pleas'd to head the factious Rout , Of gaping Boors , and lead the Fools about . Forfeits his Loyalty , his Friends and Fame , And all to crown the Author of his shame ; Yet in good humour pleas'd to be allow'd The most notorious Cuckold in the Crowd . The Deeds of mighty Heroes I rehearse , Croud not four harmless Fools into one Verse : 'T is not a scabby Chin can raise my Spleen , Nor Rival to the Moor of Mazarine . My soaring Muse flies with a nimble wing From such low Objects , scorns of such to sing ; Should she at every humble Quarry stoop , And range each puny growring Fop with S — 'T would make those Shrubs of Folly hope to prove Equal to that tall Cedar of the Grove . Y' expect some sentence now e'er I conclude , I 'm tired , excuse me therefore if I 'm rude , And take my leave abruptly , faith 't is time , When all Fools write , to think no more of Rhime , The ROYAL-BUSS . AS in the days of yore were ods Betwixt the Giants and the Gods , So now is rife a fearful Brawl Between the Parliament and Whitehal ; But , blest be Iove , these Gods of ours Are greater in their Guilt than Pow'rs . Tho then the Heathens were such Fools , Yet they made Gods of better Tools . No Altars then to Plackets were , Nor Majesty by Buss would swear . They 'd hang a Tippet at his Door , Should break a Parliament to please a Whore ; And further to oblige him to it , Would swear by Portsm — h's C — t he 'd do it , And by Contents of th' Oath he had took , Kneel'd down in zeal and kist the Book . They 'd think the Faith too much amiss That such Defenders had as this , And that Religion look'd too poor , Whose Head of th' Church kist A — se of W — re . But this he did , much good may 't do him , And then the Quean held forth unto him . The Devil take her for a Whore : Wou'd he had kist ten years before , Before our City had been burn'd , And all our Wealth to Plagues had turn'd ; Before she had ruin'd ( pox upon her ) Our English Name , Blood , Wealth and Honor. Whilst Parliaments too flippant gave , And Courtiers would but ask and have . VVhilst they are making English , French , And Money vote to keep the VVench , And the Buffoons and Pimps to pay , The devil a bit prorogu'd were they . The kiss of T — t , instead had stood , And might have done three Nations good . But when the Commons would no more Raise Taxes to maintain the VVhore . VVhen they would not abide the Aw Of standing Force instead of Law. Then Law , Religion Property They'd force 'gainst VVill and Popery . VVhen they provide that all shall be From Slavery and Oppession free . That a VVrit of Habeas Corpus come , And none in Prison be undone . That English men should not , like Beast , To war by Sea or Land be prest . That Peace with Holland should be made , VVhen VVar had spoil'd our Men and Trade . That Treason it should be for any , VVithout a Parliament to raise a Peny . That no Courtier should be sent To sit and vote in Parliament . That when an end to this was gave , A yearly Parliament we should have , According to the antient Law , That mighty Knaves might live in aw . That King nor Council should commit An English man for wealth or wit. Prerogative being ty'd thus tight , That it could neither scratch nor bite . VVhen Whores began to be afeard , Like Armies , they should be cashier'd . Then Portsm — th , the incestous Punk , Made our most gracious Sov'raign drunk . And drunk she made him give that Buss That all the Kingdom 's bound to curse , And so red hot with VVine and VVhore , He kickt the Commons out of door . WINDSOR . By the Lord R — r. MEthinks I see our mighty Monarch stand , His pliant Angle trembling in his hand , Pleas'd with the sport , good man , nor does he know , His easie Sceptre bends and trembles so . Fine Representative indeed of God , Whose Sceptre 's dwindled to a Fishing rod. Such was Domitian in his Romans Eyes , When his great God ship stoop'd to catching Flies , Bless us ! what pretty Sport have Deities . But see he now does up from Dotchel come , Laden with spoils of slaughter'd Gudgeons home . Nor is he warn'd , by their unhappy fate , But greedily he swallows every bait , A Prey to every King-fisher of state . For how he Gudgeons takes , you have been taught Then listen now how he himself is caught , So well alas , the fatal Bait is known , Which R — does so greedily take down , And howe'er weak and slender be the String , Bait it with Whore and it will hold a King. Almighty Power of Women ! oh , how vain Are Salique Laws , for you will ever reign . Yet Lawson , thou whose arbitrary Sway Our King must , more than we do him obey , Who shortly shalt of easie Charles's Breast And of his Empire be at once possest . Tho it indeed appear a glorious thing , To command Power , and to enslave a King ; Yet e'er the false Appearance has betray'd , A soft , believing , unexperienc'd Maid , O , yet consider , e'er it be too late , How near you stand upon the brink of Fate . Think who they are who would for you procure This great Preferment , to be made a Whore ; Two Reverend Aunts , renown'd in British story , For Lust and Drunkenness , with Nell and L — . These , these are they your Fame would sacrifice , Your Honour sell , and you shall hear the Price . My Lady Mary nothing can design , But feed her Lust with what she gets for thine , Old Richm — d making thee a glorious Punk , Shall twice a day with Brandy now be drunk . Her Brother Buck — m shall be restord , Nelly a Countess , L — be a Lord. And sure all Honours should on him be thrown , Both for his Father's merit and his own : For Dunkirk first was sold by Clarendon , And now Tangier is selling by the Son. A barren Queen the Father brought us o'er , To make way for the Son to bring a Whore. The Second Advice to a PAINTER . By the Author of the first . NOW Painter try if thy skill'd hand can draw , The horrid'st Scene the trembling World e'er saw . Wipe all your Pencils that the former drew , In dismal colours dip them all anew ; Colours that may in lively parts express The plotted Fall of Monarchs ; in a Dress May fright the World : Crimes which we can't atone With our best Blood , and Christians blush to own . But let me first advise you , e'er you take This work in hand , a small Reflection make , Of all that 's heinous , Murthers , Treasons , Fires , Perjuries , Incests , Rapines , hot Desires Of murthering Kings , I tremble to rehearse , A tottering World and sinking Universe . Think well on these , e'er you begin the part , 'T will heighten Fancy , and affect your Heart . In the upper part of all the Canvas paint His Holiness the Pope , that mighty Saint , Old Satan his Associate too must stand Behind his Chair , to guide his heart and hand . Draw him stuck round with all the Toys that come , From the grand Mint of Lies , old foppish Rome . Bulls , Dispensations , Pardons all the baits He lays for the dull Crowd ; the Book of Rates Will be convenient too , that of every Sin The value may be known , pray cram them in Draw him dispersing with a bounteous hand , For horrid Ends , the Treasures of his land : Dispensing with false Oaths , o● any thing . So that they 'll murther Charles , Great-Britain's King. Poor Fool ! to think the Guardian of his Throne Is grown so dull , and senseless as his own , No , proud Imposture , no , thy Hand 's too short To reach his Head , or make his fall thy sport . Next draw proud France , and his ambitious hope Of being mighty cringing to the Pope , 'T is not his Zeal to him , or to his Laws , That cheats the World , this his Affection draws . 'T is Interest , mighty Interest bears the sway , He dare not , tho he 's willing , disobey . Base Prince , and foolish too , your self you cheat , When on such Terms as these you would be great . You feast your senses , at such costly Rates , That nothing else can serve but Delicates , Dipt in the Blood of Princes , Death of Kings , In your Opinion , are but vulgar things ; If thirst of Empire sway'd a generous Soul , These base low tricks could never sure controul ; But when a Mind 's so firm on mischief bent , No thoughts of Honour can its Crimes prevent . In meanest Actions Princes should be true , And act on principles of Honour too . Then they are sacred to the World and ought To be ador'd , then Disrespect's a Fault . But when both base , degenerate they 're grown , The Vulgar hurl them headlong from the Throne . Go on , vile Prince , in all these Arts and try How soon your Crown will fade , your Empire die . By your Example your own Subjects teach , To strike at Empire , and at Sceptres reach ; And may their first attempt be on thy Head , Dethrone thee first of all , then strike thee dead . Now Painter , to our Subject , dip thy Pen In black , in horrid black , yet once agen . For when a Subject from a King revolts , Conspires his Death , and thinks these things no faults . The Scene must needs be horrid , first begin , With Bel — s his foul ungrateful sin ; Draw him a Monster in as foul a dress , As e'er your heart can think or hand express . Long did he in his Prince's bosome lie , One would have thought , void of all Treachery ; For what base Man but he , could e'er conspire To set that house wherein he lives on fire ; Who would such Treasons harbour in his breast , 'Gainst th' best of Princes , and to him the best . The other Lords must on the stage be led , Draw out each Man with Halter on his head , And Dagger in his heart , with which in vain They often strove to stab their Sovereign . Base Rascals , do you thus your Prince reward ? Have you no Honour left ? or no Regard To Clemency ? which some of you I know Have tasted , or y 'had dy'd for 't long ago ; Had he been cruel , or Tyrannick grown , You 'd had more reason to usurp his Throne ; But to a gracious , and obliging Prince , 'T is past all hopes of pardon or defence . Now Painter , draw me Hell in all its heat , Let sulphurous Flames and dismal Darkness meet ; Draw S — ley , Col — n , and the Jesuits , And in the hottest place as best befits ; Let them endure the flaming Brimstones Rage , These bloody trayterous Miscreants of our Age. These were the Men design'd ( oh bloody Act ) Nay were resolv'd on to commit the fact . Base Rebels , don't you know that Heaven's high hand Has ever kept the Monarch of our Land , And could you think to move our Scene , and do What Heaven 's high Lord had ne'er consented to . Burn on vile Wretches , think well on these things , What Treason is , what 't is to murther Kings . Now draw , in all his Majesty and State , Our Sovereign Prince , just rising from his Fate . Pray paint him laughing at the Follies done , By th' Pope and France , his most unchristian Son. Prithee , old Fellow , prithee tell me why Old England should so much disturb thy Eye ? Is it because we do not doat on you ? And worship all your Saints , we never knew ? If these , Old Man , your Aggravations be , Know we defie thy Malice , Imps and Thee . Stafford 's Ghost . February 1682. IS this the Heavenly Crown ? Are these the Joys Which bellowing Priests did promise with such noise ? Charming my Fears with such lewd Words as these , A Saint , a Martyr , Bliss , Eternal Ease ? Such promis'd Glories were for meaner Deeds , He 's trebly blest by whom our Monarch bleeds . Curs'd Priests did me with other Fools delude , Brib'd with their Gifts of the Beatitude . Had I that Life so unadvis'dly lost , 'T is not your fawning Jesuitish Host Should e'er prevail on my misguided sense , To smother Guilt with Vows of Innocence : Nor thou , false Friend , as false to me or more , Than all thy Oaths for Coleman's Life before ; With thy true Catholick protesting Breath , Shouldst e'er betray me to a perjur'd Death . Blinded with Zeal , what did we once admire A sulph'rous Soul , by Jesuits set on fire ; A head-strong , stupid , rash , bigotted Prince , Declar'd the open Enemy to Sense ▪ Weak are the sacred Ties that should attend , The Name of Sov'reign , Brother , and of Friend ; This pious Sampson would with Joy o'erthrow The Universe , and perish by the blow ; His Plots , tho known , yet he will ne'er give o'er , But still Intriegues with his dear Babel Whore ; So much infected by that Fatal Bitch , He 's all broke out in scabby Zeal and Itch. Could we distinctly view his tainted Soul ; That all the Relicks of S — were small , Compar'd with th' Scars of his P spiritual : 'T is not the powerful Force of Iordan's Streams , Nor his dear Purgatories cleansing Flames , Can e'er remove from his polluted Soul The least remains of a Disease so foul : You 'll say 't is hard that such a one as he Should be depriv'd of Naaman's Remedy ; But there 's Distinction to be made , I hope , 'Twixt those that worship Rimmon and the Pope . Amends for my intended Crimes I make , If Charles from his Lethargick Sleep I wake , But such a Dose of Opiats they have given , To rouse him were a Miracle for Heaven ; I hope , tho when he hears what I can tell , Success may crown my Embassy from Hell. I 'll boldly name those that pursue his Life , And 'mongst his Subjects fester endless Strife ; Their Friends and their Advisers I 'll reveal ▪ Those Holy Men that , toucht with pious Zeal , Are such Well-wishers to the Common Weal . York's most belov'd and boldest Friend is he , Who knows he must succeed by Gadbury ; Yet some with Wonder are surpris'd to find , That in the Loyal Ague of his Mind , His hot fit comes in such a proper time , Whose cold one thought the Covenant no Crime . The next a Slave to his Ambitious Pride , Must be the chief , tho of the falling Side . This Hot-brain'd Machiavel once vainly strove , For what he ne'er can hope the People's Love. But foil'd he flies for Refuge to the Throne , Trusting to th' Bladders of his Wit alone , Without one honest thought to fix them on . The third a Wreck of the divided Chits . Better than jilting Whore he counterfeits ; But not his treach'rous Eyes dissolv'd in tears , Nor the false Vizard his Ambition wears , Can blind the VVorld , or hide what must be seen . His Practices with I — and Mazarine . Vote on poor Fools , ye Commons vent your spleen , Sure France and York are a sufficient Skreen : A Tax at home's a Project old and dull , He 'll find new ways to keep his Coffers full . The French shall some of our fled Gold restore , They suck like Leeches , but they ruine more , VVhen they spue back part of th' infected Ore : 'T is his Contrivance too , by Change of Air , To ease our Monarch of his Fears and Care. They jointly toil to make thy Burden light , Knowing that Quiet is thy chief Delight , They therefore haste and hurry thee to fight . No matter C — , thy Enemies they 'll fright , One stamps , one talks , one weeps thy Foes to flight . I come ( dread Lord ) from the dark Shades below To give thee timely notice of the Blow , VVhich thou may'st yet prevent ; think well of those VVhom now ( mistaken ) you believe your Foes . They who against your will would fix your Crown , Giving you Riches , Happiness , Renown ; Which Metamorphose should accepted be , Because redeem'd from Want and Infamy ▪ ( Observe poor Wanderer , how thou walk'st alone , Might is the Atlas that supports thy Throne ) Haste to comply , defer it not too long , Thou canst not stem a Current that 's so strong . Trust to th' Affections of thy Britains bold , Give them but leave thy Honour to uphold ; Tho Bessus , yet a Caesar thou may'st be , Opprest with Trophies of their Victory . On the Dutchess of Portsmouth's Picture . September , 1682. WHO can on this Picture look , And not strait be wonder struck , That such a peaking doudy thing Should make a Beggar of a King ? Three happy Nations turn to Tears , And all their former Love to Fears ? Ruine the Great , and raise the Small , Yet will by turns betray them all . Lowly born , and meanly bred , Yet of this Nation is the Head : For half Whitehall make her their Court , Tho th' other half make her their sport . Monmouth's Tamer , Ieffery's Advance , Foe to England , Spy to France , False and foolish , proud and bold , Ugly as you see , and Old. In a word , her mighty Grace Is Whore in all things but her Face . HOUNSLOW-HEATH . 1686. Upon this Place are to be seen Many Brave Sights . God save the Queen . NEar Hampton Court there lies a Common , Unknown to neither Man nor Woman ; The Heath of Hounslow it is stil'd : Which never was with blood defil'd , Tho it has been of War the Seat , Now three Campains almost compleat . Here you may see Great IAMES the Second , ( The greatest of our Kings he 's reckon'd ! ) A Hero of such high Renown , Whole Nations tremble at his Frown : And , when he Smiles , Men die away In Transports of excessive Joy. A Prince of admirable Learning ! Quick Wit ! of Judgment most discerning ! His Knowledge in all Arts is such , No Monarch ever knew so much . Not that old blustring King of Pontus , Whom Men call learned to affront us , With all his Tongues and Dialects , Could equal him in all respects ; His two and twenty Languages Were Trifles , if compar'd to His , Iargons , which we esteem but small , English and French are worth 'em all . What tho he had some skill in Physick , Could cure the Dropsy or the Phthisick ; Perhaps was able to advise one To scape the danger of rank Poison , And could prepare an Antidote Should carry 't off , tho down your Throat ? These are but poor Mechanick Arts , Inferior to Great Iames his Parts : Shall he be set in the same Rank , With a Pedantick Mountebank ? He 's Master of such Eloquence , Well chosen Words , and weighty Sence ; That he neer parts his lovely Lips , But out a Trope or Figure slips : And , when he moves his fluent Tongue , Is sure to ravish all the Throng ; And every Mortal that can hear , Is held fast Pris'ner by the Ear. His other Gifts we need but name , They are so spread abroad by Fame , His Faith , his Zeal , his Constancy , Aversion to all Bigottry ! His firm adhering to the Laws , By which he judges every Cause , And deals to all impartial Justice , In which the Subjects greatest trust is ! His constant keeping of his Word , As well to Peasant as to Lord ; Which he no more would violate , Than he would quit his Regal State ! Who has not his least promise broke , Nor contradicted what he spoke ! His governing the brutal Passions , With far more Rigor than his Nations : Would not be sway'd by 's Appetite , Were he to gain an Empire by 't ! From hence does flow that Chastity , Temperance , Love , Sincerity , And unaffected Piety , That just abhorrence of Ambition , Idolatry , and Superstition , Which through his Life have shin'd so bright , That nought could dazle their clear Light ! These Qualities we 'll not insist on , Because they all are Duties Christian ; But haste to celebrate his Courage , Which is the Prodigy of our Age : A Spirit which exceeds relation ; And were too great for any Nation , Did not those Vertues nam'd before Confine it to its native Shore , Restrain it from the thirst of Blood , And only exercise't in Good ! The tedious Mithridatick War , ( The Noise whereof is spread so far ) Was nothing to what 's practis'd here ; Tho carry'd on for forty year , 'Gainst Pompey , Sylla , and Lucullus , High-sounding Names , brought in to gull us : In which the Romans lost more Men Than one age could repair again ; Who perish'd not by Sword or Bullet , But melted Gold pour'd down the Gullet . Heroes of old were only fam'd For having Millions kill'd or maim'd ; For being th' Instrument of Fate , In making Nations desolate ; For wading to the Chin i' th' Blood Of those that in their passage stood : And thought the Point they had not gain'd , While any Foe alive remain'd . Our Monarch , by more gentle Rules , Has prov'd the Ancients arrant Fools : He only studies and contrives Not to destroy , but save Men's Lives ; Shews all the Military skill , Without committing ought that 's ill . He 'll teach his Men in Warlike Sport , How to defend , or storm a Fort ; And , in Heroick Interlude , Will act the dreadful scene of Bude : Here Lorrain storms , the Visier dies ▪ And Brandenburgh routs the Supplies ; Bavaria there blows up their Train And all the Turks are took , or slain . All this perform'd , with no more harm Than Loss of simple Gunner's Arm : And surely 't is a greater Good To teach Men War , than shed their Blood. Now pause , and view the Army Royal , Compos'd of valiant Souls and loyal ; Not rais'd ( as ill Men say ) to hurt ye , But to defend , or to convert ye : For that 's the Method now in Use , The Faith Tridentine to diffuse . Time was , the Word was powerful ; But now , 't is thought remiss and dull : Has not that Energy and Force , Which is in well-arm'd Foot and Horse . Thus , when the Faith has had mutation , We change its way of Propagation : So Mahomet , with arms and terrors , Spread over half the World his Errors . Here daily swarm Prodigious Wights , And strange variety of Sights , As Ladies lewd , and foppish Knights , Priests , Poets , Pimps , and Parasites ; Which now we 'll 〈◊〉 , and only mention , The hungry B●rd that writes for Pension ; Old Squab , ( who 's sometimes here , I 'm told ) That oft has with his Prince made bold , Call'd the late King a Sant'ring Cully , To magnify the Gallick Bully ; Who lately put a senceless Banter Upon the World , with Hind and Panther , Making the Beasts and Birds o' th' Wood Debate what he ne'er understood , Deep Secrets in Philosophy , And Mysteries in Theology , All sung in wretched Poetry ; VVhich rambling Piece , is as much Farce all , As his true Mirror , the Rehearsal ; For which he has been soundly bang'd , But ha'n't his just Reward till hang'd . Now you have seen all that is here , Have Patience till another Year . The Dissenters Thanksgiving for the Late Declaration . 1685. FOR this Additional Declaration , This double Grace of Dispensation , For Liberty and Toleration ; Against Antichristian Violation . VVhatever Zeal misguided Passion , Persuades the Sons of Reformation : 'T is but a sly Insinuation , To work a Popish Inundation , VVe of the new Regeneration ; The well affected of the Nation , That will be useful in our Station . Do offer up our due Oblation ; And make our humble Supplication , VVhile Test and Penals are in fashion ; VVe be not brought in tribulation By the next Synod of the Nation . The DISPUTE . By the E. of R — BEtwixt Father Patrick and his Highness of late , There hapned a strong and a weighty Debate : Religion was the Theme . 'T is strange that they two , Should dispute about that which neither of 'em know . VVhen I dare boldly say , if the Truth were but known , The VVeakness of Patrick , and Strength of his own ; He 'd have call'd it a Madness , and much like a Curse , To have chang'd from a good one , to that which is worse ; But the reasons which made most his Highness to yield , And so willingly quit to S. Patrick the Field , VVere — First , Sir , they cheat you , and leave you i' th' Lurch , VVho tell you there can be any more than one Church . And , next unto that he averr'd for a certain ; No Footsteps of ours could be found before Martin . At which two Reasons , so deep and profound , His Highness had like to have fall'n in a Swoon ; But at length he cry'd out , Father Patrick , I find By the sudden Conversion , and Change of my mind , It is not your Reason , nor VVit can afford Such Strength to your Cause ; 't is the Finger o'th'Lord , For now I remember he somewhere has said , That by Babes and Sucklings his Truth is convey'd . Thus ends the dispute 'twixt the Priest and the Knight , In which , to say truth , and to do 'em both right , He manag'd the Cause , as he did the Sea-fight . Iulii Mazarini Cardinalis Epitaphium . HIC jacet Julius Mazarinus Galliae Rex Italicus Ecclesiae praesul Laicus Europae praedo purpuratus Fortunam omnem ambiit , omnem corrupit , Erarium administravit & exhausit , Civile Bellum compressit , sed commovit , Regni jura tuitus est & invasit , Beneficia possedit & vendidit , Pacem dedit aliquando , diu distulit , Hostes cladibus cives oneribus afflixit , Arrisit paucis , irrisit plurimos Omnibus nocuit . Negotiator in templo , Tyrannus in Regno , Praedo in ministerio , Vulpes in concilio , Grassator in bello , Solus nobis in pace hostis . Fortunam olim adversam , aut elusit aut vicit ; Et nostro saeculo vidimus Adorari fugitivum , Imperare civibus exulem , Regnare proscriptum . Quid deinde egerit , rogas ? Paucis accipe , Lusit , fefellit , rapuit , Ferreum nobis induxit , saeculum sibi Ex auro nostro , aureum fecit . Quorundam Capiti nullius fortunis peperit , Homo crudeliter clemens . Pluribus tandem morbis elanguit , Plures ei coelo mortes virogate , Cui Senatus olim unam tantum decreverat Vincemini se arcibus inclusit moriturus , Et quidem apte Quaesivit Carcerem . Diu cedentem animam retinuit aegre reddidit , Sic retinere omnia dedicerat , Nihil suâ sponte reddere . Constanter tamen visus est mori quid mirum Ut vixit sic obiit dissimulans , Ne morbum quidem novere qui curabant , Hac una fraude nobis profuit , Fefellit Medicos . Mortuus est tamen infallimur , & moriens , Regem regno , regnum regi restituit . Reliquit Praesulibus pessima exempla , Aulicis infida consilia , Adoptiva amplissima spolia , Paupertatem populis , Successoribus suis omnes praedandi artes , Sed Praedam nullam , Immensas tamen opes licet profuderit , Id unum tantum habuit ex suo quod daret , Nomen suum . Pectus ejus post mortem apertum est , Tum primum patuit vafrum Cor MAZARINI , Quod nec precibꝰ , nec lacrymis , nec injuriis moveretur . Diu quaesivimus invenire Medici Cor Lapideum , Quod mortuus omnia adhuc moveat & administret ne mireris , Stipendia in hunc annum accepit , Nec fraudat post mortem Vir bonae fidei , Quo tandem evaserit forsitan rogitas ? Coelum si rapitur tenet , si datur meritis longe abest . Sed abi , Viator , & cave , Nam hic tumulus Est Specus Latronis . SATYR Unmuzzled . who 'd be the Man lewd Libels to indite , Yet fears to own what he ne'er fears to write . And meanly sneak his Lampoons into th' World , Which are i' th' Streets by Porters dropt and hurl'd , Or else by Iulian 'mong the Bullies spread , That and his Pimping brings him in his bread ? who 'd be the Wretch to hear himself abus'd , By some Men censur'd , and by some accus'd , For libelling the Town , with his sharp Pen , And they with Cudgels lampoon him again ? To name great Men is Malice grosly shown , As if they could not by their Crimes be known : For what Fool knew not , when you nam'd a Bear , Without a Comment Pembroke was not there . When we say Fool , then all Men must agree , V — to name would be Tautology . Who to the Sin of Pride does lay most claim , Need we say T — Arp — or Heningham . With these before the Wits have had a bout , I 'll pick out some the Poets have left out ; And yet not name the Men , but swinge their Faults , For so wise Satyr makes his best Assaults . One play'd at Dice all night , at Lockets door , Quarrell'd and cuff'd till he was Blood all o'er ; Nex day he sat at the wise Green-cloth board , And with great Gravity said ne'er a word , There fell asleep , then wak'd with angry Face , And swore G — damn him his throw was Ams-ace , So swept the Money that o' th' Green-cloth lay , And vow'd he dreamt he won it all at play . To cheat the King he has left off being brave , From Captain turn'd a formal Green-cloth Knave . Next comes a Wretch whom all Mankind does hate , Curst by his Servants for his Pride and State , Keeps Bawds , and has his Banco for the Gout , Which is a modest Word for Pox , no doubt ; No Lampoon ever thought him worthy yet , Having not matter to afford them Wit. Lewdly his out-side , as his Soul within , One that deserves to be , for his proud Sin , Toss'd up to Heaven , to tumble down agen . Fam'd for his Vertue and good Nature too , Yet both conceal'd , and never came in view , His Office shews the Devil and he are Twins , Being Privy-Purse to all the Privy-Sins . Search the whole Court , in all that blessed Race , Not one Man 's planted in his proper place ; Scarce one Man just or faithful found to be , Only Frank N — Henry K — w , Why did I name 'em since ye all well know When we say faithful , it implies them two ; Once faulty Men , but now as just are known , They mortgage Oaths , and lay their Honour down To every Footman lends them half a Crown . Now for a Brute whose Species is unknown , Like Man , but Hell best knows he is not one . Full as destructive as the Wind North-east , And much more ominous to Man and Beast . Swell'd like a Toad , his Soul just specled so , And poisons all things , where he does but blow ; Whose crooked Nature forces so much evil , 'T has chang'd his Species from Mankind to Devil . 'T is not the Form , but the brave noble Mind , That makes us worthy to be call'd Mankind . He left a Conquest that the Duke had gain'd , A greater Blemish England ne'er sustain'd . No more of that , let 's sleep out all the Rest , For Silence in this case is safe and best . He 's Cofferer now , in great Esteem and grace , But Sledge and Tyburn is his proper place . Our late Secretary fell into Disgrace And Ignoramus stept into his place . By our great Iilt-Royal he had his Fall , She that commands the Court , the Devil and all , To us who know these things , 't is no great wonder , For Court and Devil ne'er live far asunder . She that to th' Eye of State is such a film , Who sits in Pomp to guide and steer the Helm , And will in time the tall Ship over-whelm . The Fool of Honour , like a nimble Eel , Has wriggled through the Mud to Fortune's wheel , Slipt into Place improperly by Fate , Whose Parts were ne'er cut out to serve the State , But fawning well on Madam did the feat , She 's a great Bubble to a cringing Cheat. One thing I wonder at , and shall do still , To see a Fool act wise Achitophel . Could Booby think you 'd e'er be in a Plot , Whose stock of Brains would lye upon a Groat , But that was not his but the King 's great Fault . Had he for Murders hang'd him , in all reason We may believe he 'd ne'er committed Treason . Thou weak Achitophel , to undertake By thy wise Counsels a false King to make . But thou and Absalom thy weaker Friend , Your damn'd Ambition now is at an end ; Go , get thy Living with thy old Man Thomas , That lusty Drudge will prove thy best Mandamus . Now for a She-Buffoon , who , as 't is said , Crawl'd into th' World , without a Maiden-head ; It is most sure 't was never had by Man , Nor can she say where it was lost or when , We must conclude she never had one then . Her Mother griev'd in muddy Ale and Sack , To think her Child should ever prove a Crack ; When she was drunk she always fell asleep , And when full Maudlin then the Whore would weep . Her Tears were Brandy , Mundungus her Breath , Bawd was her Life , and Common shore her Death . To see the Daughter mourn for such a Beast , Is like her Life , which make up but one Jest , Of all her Jokes this Mourning is the best . As Jews , descended from the High-Priests Race , Were thought the fittest to supply that place , So she best satisfies lustful Amours , Whose Line from Adam have been Bawds and Whores . Now will I speak of all those foolish Duns , Who trust the Goths , the Vandals , and the Huns. Such as do run on every Tradesman's Score , Nay basely tick with every little Whore , And still tick on , till they can tick no more . When Dun comes each Man asks what he 'd be at , And swears and rants at the old Vandal rate , Then pays his Score off with a broken Pate . Bilks the poor Coach man , wretched Link-boy cheats , And brags next day of his Heroick Feats . Such mean base things the Goatish Gentry do , The English keep their Fame and Honour too . Most highly scandalous are all the rest , And proud , gay Fool and Fop includes the best . All Golden Out sides with false Tinsel Hearts , They only make a shew of worthy Parts ; The Name of Gentleman 's grown odious now , It is become great Honour's Overthrow . Full as reproachful to the Men we find , As Common Whore is to all Womankind . Here the whole Race of Gentry lies at stake , The guiltless suffers for the guilty's sake . Pity it is that Men of noble Fame , Should lose their Honour merely for the Name . 'Cause Tom's a Knave , must every Tom be so . Must we , Draw-Can-Sir like , slay Friend and Foe . No general Rule without Exception is , Those few unblemisht are not meant in this . THE HIND AND PANTHER TRANSVERS'D To the Story of The Country-Mouse and the City-Mouse . Much Malice mingled with a little Wit. Hind . Pan. Nec vult Panthera domari . Quae Genus . PREFACE . THE Favourers of the Hind and Panther will be apt to say in its Defence , That the best things are capable of being turn'd to Ridicule ; that Homer has been Burlesqu'd , and Virgil Travested without suffering any thing in their Reputation from that Buffoonry ; and that in like manner , the Hind and the Panther may be an Exact Poem , though 't is the Subject of our Raillery : But there is this difference , That those Authors are wrested from their true Sense , and This naturally falls into Ridicule ; there is nothing Represented here as monstrous and unnatural , which is not equally so in the Original . First as to the General Design , Is it not as easy to imagine two Mice bilking Coachmen , and supping at the Devil , as to suppose a Hind entertaining the Panther at a Hermit's Cell , discussing the greatest Mysteries of Religion , and telling you ▪ her Son Rodriguez writ very good Spanish ? What can be more improbable and contradictory to the Rules and Examples of all Fables , and to the very design and use of them ? They were first begun and raised to the highest Perfection in the Eastern Countries ; where they wrote in Signs , and spoke in Parables , and delivered the most useful Precepts in delightful Stories ; which for their Aptness were entertaining to the most Iudicious , and led the Vulgar into understanding by surprizing them with their Novelty , and fixing their Attention . All their Fables carry a double meaning ; the Story is one and intire ; the Characters the same throughout , not broken or chang'd , and always conformable to the Nature of the Creatures they introduce . They never tell you that the Dog which snapt at a Shadow , lost his Troop of Horse , That would be unintelligible ; a piece of Flesh is proper for him to drop , and the Reader will apply it to Mankind ; they would not say that the Daw , who was so proud of her borrow'd Plumes , lookt very ridiculous when Rodriguez came and took away all the Book but the 17th , 24th , and 25th Chapters , which she stole from him : But this is his new way of telling a Story , and confounding the Moral and the Fable together . Before the Word was written , said the Hind , Our Saviour Preacht the Faith to all Mankind . What relation has the Hind to our Saviour ? Or what notion have we of a Panther's Bible ? If you say he means the Church , how does the Church feed on Lawns , or range in the Forest ? Let it be always a Church , or always the cloven-footed Beast , for we cannot bear his shifting the Scene every Line . If it is absurd in Comedies to make a Peasant talk in the strain of a Hero , or a Country Wench use the Language of the Court ; how monstrous is it to make a Priest of a Hind , and a Parson of a Panther ? To bring 'em in disputing with all the Formalities and Terms of the School ? Though as to the Arguments themselves , those , we confess , are suited to the Capacity of the Beasts ; and if we would suppose a Hind expressing her self about these Matters , she would talk at that Rate . As to the Absurdity of his Expressions , there is nothing wrested to make 'em ridiculous , the terms are sometimes alter'd to make the Blunder more visible ; Knowledge misunderstood is not at all better sense than Understanding misunderstood , though 't is confest the Author can play with words so well , that this and twenty such will pass off at a slight reading . There are other mistakes which could not be brought in , for they were too gross for Bayes himself to commit . 'T is hard to conceive how any Man could censure the Turks for Gluttony ; a People that debauch in Coffee , are voluptuous in a mess of Rice , and keep the strictest Lent , without the Pleasures of a Carnival to encourage them . But 't is almost impossible to think that any Man who had not renounced his Senses , should read Duncomb for Allen : He had been told that Mr. Allen had written a Discourse of Humility ; to which he wisely answers , That that magnified Piece of Duncomb's was Translated from the Spanish of Rodriguez ; and to set it beyond dispute , makes the infallible Guide affirm the same thing . There are few mistakes , but one may imagine how a Man fell into them , and at least what he aim'd at ; but what likeness is there between Duncomb and Allen ? do they so much as Rhime ? We may have this comfort under the severity of his Satyr , to see his Abilities equally lessen'd with his Opinion of us ; and that he could not be a fit Champion against the Panther till he had laid aside all his Iudgment . But we must applaud his Obedience to his new Mother Hind ; she Disciplin'd him severely , she commanded him , it seems , to Sacrifice his darling Fame , and to do it effectually he publisht this learned Piece . This is the favourable Construction we would put on his Faults , though he takes care to inform us , that it was done from no Imposition , but out of a natural Propensity he has to Malice , and a particular Inclination of doing Mischief . What else could provoke him to Libel the Court , Blaspheme Kings , abuse the whole Scotch Nation , rail at the greatest Part of his own , and lay all the Indignities imaginable on the only Establish'd Religion ? And we must now Congratulate him this Felicity ▪ That there is no Sect or Denomination of Christians , whom he has not abused . Thus far his Arms have with Success been crown'd . Let Turks , Jews , and Infidels lock to themselves , he has already begun the War upon them . When once a Conqueror grows thus dreadful , 't is the Interest of all his Neighbours to oppose him , for there is no Alliance to be made with one that will face about , and destroy his Friends , and like a second Almanzor , change sides meerly to keep his hand in ure . This Heroick Temper of his , has created him some Enemies , that did by no means affect Hostility ; and he may observe this Candor in the Management , that none of his Works are concern'd in these Papers , but his last Piece ; and I believe he is sensible this is a favour . I was not ambitious of Laughing at any Persuasion , or making Religion the Subject of such a Trifle ; so that no man is here concerned , but the Author himself , and nothing ridicul'd but his way of arguing . But , Gentlemen , if you won't take it so , you must grant my Excuse is more reasonable than our Author 's to the Dissenters . THE HIND AND THE PANTHER TRANSVERS'D To the Story of the Country and the City-Mouse . Bayes , Iohnson , Smith . Iohnson . HAH ! my old friend Mr. Bayes , what lucky chance has thrown me upon you ? Dear Rogue , let me embrace thee . Bayes . Hold , at your peril , Sir , stand off and come not within my Sword 's point , for if you are not come over to the Royal Party , I expect neither fair War , nor fair Quarter from you . Iohns . How , draw upon your friend ! and assault your old Acquaintance ! O' my conscience my intentions were Honourable . Bayes . Conscience ! Ay , ay , I know the deceit of that word well enough ; let me have the marks of your Conscience before I trust it , for if it be not of the same stamp with mine , Gad I may be knockt down for all your fair promises . Smith . Nay , prithee Bayes , what damn'd Villany hast thou been about , that thou' rt under these apprehensions ? Upon my Honour I 'm thy friend ; yet thou lookest as sneaking and frighted as a Dog that has been worrying Sheep . Bayes . Ay Sir , The Nation is in too high a ferment for me to expect any mercy , or I'gad , to trust any body . Smith . But why this to us , my old Friend , who you know never trouble our heads with National concerns till the third Bottle has taught us as much of Politicks , as the next does of Religion ? Bayes . Ah Gentlemen , leave this prophaneness , I am alter'd since you saw me , and cannot bear this loose talk now ; Mr. Iohnson , you are a Man of Parts , let me desire you to read the Guide of Controversy ; and Mr. Smith , I would recommend to you the Considerations on the Council of Trent ; and so Gentlemen your humble Servant . — Good life be now my Task . Iohns . Nay Faith , we wont part so : believe us , we are both your Friends ; let us step to the Rose for one quarter of an hour , and talk over old Stories . Bayes . I ever took you to be men of Honour , and for your sakes I will transgress as far as one Pint. Iohns . Well , Mr. Bayes , many a merry bout have we had in this House , and shall have again , I hope : Come , what Wine are you for ? Bayes . Gentlemen , do you as you please , for my part he shall bring me a single Pint of any thing . Smith . How so , Mr. Bayes , have you lost your Pallat ? you have been more curious . Bayes . True , I have so , but Senses must be starv'd , that the Soul may be gratifi'd . Men of your Kidney make the Senses the Supreme Iudge , and therefore bribe 'em high ; but we have laid both the use and pleasure of 'em aside . Smith . What , is not there good eating and drinking on both sides ? you make the separation greater than I thought it . Bayes . No , no , whenever you see a fat Rosy-colour'd Fellow , take it from me , he is either a Protestant , or a Turk . Iohns . At that rate , Mr. Bayes , one might suspect your Conversion ; methinks thou hast as much the face of an Heretick as ever I saw . Bayes . Such was I , such by nature still I am . But I hope ere long I shall have drawn this pamper'd Paunch fitter for the strait Gate . Smith . Sure , Sir , you are in ill hands , your Confessor gives you more severe Rules than he practices ; for not long ago a Fat Frier was thought a true Character . Bayes . Things were misrepresented to me : I confess I have been unfortunate in some of my Writings : but since you have put me upon that Subject , I 'll show you a thing I have in my Pocket shall wipe off all that , or I am mistaken . Smith . Come , now thou art like thy self again . Here 's the King's Health to thee — Communicate . Bayes . Well , Gentlemen , here it is , and I 'll be bold to say , the exactest Piece the World ever saw , a Non Pareillo I'faith . But I must bespeak your pardons if it reflects any thing upon your Persuasion . Iohns . Use your Liberty , Sir , you know we are no Bigots . Bayes . Why then you shall see me lay the Reformation on its back , I'gad , and justify our Religion by way of Fable . Iohns . An apt contrivance indeed ! what , do you make a Fable of your Religion ? Bayes . Ay I'gad , and without Morals too ; for I tread in no mans steps ; and to show you how far I can out-do any thing that ever was writ in this kind , I have taken Horace's design , but I'gad , have so out-done him , you shall be asham'd for your old Friend . You remember in him the Story of the Country-Mouse , and the City-Mouse ; what a plain simple thing it is , it has no more Life and Spirit in it , I'gad , than a Hobby-horse ; and his Mice talk so meanly , such common stuff , so like meer Mice , that I wonder it has pleas'd the World so long . But now will I undeceive Mankind , and teach 'em to heighten , and elevate a Fable . I 'll bring you in the very same Mice disputing the depth of Philosophy , searching into the Fundamentals of Religion , quoting Texts , Fathers , Councils , and all that , I'gad , as you shall see either of 'em could easily make an Ass of a Country Vicar . Now whereas Horace keeps to the dry naked Story , I have more copiousness than to do that , I'gad . Here I draw you general Characters , and describe all the Beasts of the Creation ; there , I launch out into long Digressions , and leave my Mice for twenty Pages together ; then I fall into Raptures , and make the finest Soliloquies , as would ravish you . Won't this do , think you ? Iohns . Faith , Sir , I don't well conceive you ; All this about two Mice ? Bayes . Ay , why not ? is it not Great and Heroical ? But come , you 'll understand it better when you hear it ; and pray be as severe as you can , I'gad I defy all Criticks . Thus it begins . A milk-white Mouse immortal and unchang'd , Fed on soft Cheese , and o're the Dairy rang'd ; Without , unspotted ; innocent within , She fear'd no danger , for she knew no Ginn . Iohns . Methinks , Mr. Bayes , soft Cheese is a little too coarse Diet for an immortal Mouse ; were there any necessity for her eating , you should have consulted Homer for some Coelestial Provision . Bayes . Faith , Gentlemen , I did so ; but indeed I have not the Latin one , which I have mark'd by me , and could not readily find it in the Original . Yet had She oft been scar'd by bloody Claws Of winged Owls , and stern Grimalkins Paws Aim'd at her destin'd Head , which made her fly , Tho She was doom'd to Death , and fated not to dye . Smith . How came She that fear'd no danger in the line before , to be scar'd in this , Mr. Bayes ? Bayes . Why then you may have it chas'd if you will ; for I hope a Man may run away without being afraid ; mayn't he ? Iohns . But pray give me leave ; how was She doom'd to Death , if She was fated not to dye ; are not doom and fate , much the same thing ? Bayes . Nay Gentlemen , if you question my skill in the Language , I 'm your humble Servant ; the Rogues the Criticks ▪ that will allow me nothing else , give me that ; sure I that made the Word , know best what I meant by it : I assure you , doom'd and fated , are quite different things . Smith . Faith , Mr. Bayes , if you were doom'd to be hang'd , whatever you were fated to , 't would give you but small comfort . Bayes . Never trouble your head with that , Mr. Smith , mind the business in hand . Not so her young ; their Linsy-woolsy Line , Was Hero's make , half Humane , half Divine . Smith . Certainly these Hero's , half Humane , half Divine , have very little of the Mouse their Mother . Bayes . Gadsokers ! Mr. Iohnson , does your Friend think I mean nothing but a Mouse , by all this ? I tell thee , Man , I mean a Church , and these young Gentlemen her Sons , signify Priests , Martyrs , and Confessors , that were hang'd in Oat's Plot. There 's an excellent Latin Sentence , which I had a mind to bring in , Sanguis Martyrum semen Ecclesiae , and I think I have not wrong'd it in the Translation . Of these a slaughter'd Army lay in Blood , Whose sanguine Seed encreas'd the sacred Brood ; She multipli'd by these , now rang'd alone , And wander'd in the Kingdoms once her own . Smith . Was she alone when the sacred Brood was encreased ? Bayes . Why thy Head 's running on the Mouse again ; but I hope a Church may be alone , though the Members be encreased , mayn't it ? Iohns . Certainly , Mr. Bayes , a Church , which is a diffusive Body of Men , can much less be said to be alone . Bayes . But are you really of that Opinion ? Take it from me , Mr. Iohnson , you are wrong ; however to oblige you , I 'll clap in some Simile or other , about the Children of Israel , and it shall do . Smith . Will you pardon me one word more , Mr. Bayes ? What could the Mouse ( for I suppose you mean her now ) do more than range in the Kingdoms , when they were her own ? Bayes . Do , why She reign'd ; had a Diadem , Scepter , and Ball , till they depos'd her . Smith . Now her Sons are so encreas'd , She may try t'other pull for 't . Bayes . I'gad , and so She may before I have done with Her ; it has cost me some pains to clear Her Title . Well , but Mum for that , Mr. Smith . The common Hunt , She timorously past by , For they made tame , disdain'd Her company ; They grin'd , She in a fright tript o're the Green , For She was lov'd , where-ever She was seen . Iohns . Well said little Bayes , I'faith the Critick must have a great deal of leasure , that attacks those Verses . Bayes . I'gad , I 'll warrant him who e're he is , offendet solido ; but I go on . The Independent Beast . — Smith . Who is that , Mr. Bayes ? Bayes . Why a Bear : Pox , is not that obvious enough ? — In groans Her hate exprest . Which I'gad , is very natural to that Animal . Well! there 's for the Independent : Now the Quaker ; what do you think I call him ? Smith . Why , A Bull , for ought I know . Bayes . A Bull ! O Lord ! A Bull ! no , no , a Hare , a quaking Hare . — Armarillis , because She wears Armour , 't is the same Figure ; and I am proud to say it , Mr. Iohnson , no Man knows how to pun in Heroics but my self . Well , you shall hear ; She thought , and reason good , the quaking Hare Her cruel Foe , because She would not swear , And had profess'd Neutrality . Iohns . A shrew'd Reason that , Mr. Bayes ; but what Wars were there ? Bayes . Wars ! why there had been bloody Wars , though they were pretty well reconcil'd now . Yet to bring in two or three such fine things as these , I don't tell you the Lyon's Peace was proclaim'd till fifty Pages after , though 't was really done before I had finish'd my Poem . Next Her , the Buffoon Ape his body bent , And paid at Church a Courtier 's Complement . That Gauls somewhere ; I'gad I can't leave it off , though I were cudgel'd every day for it . The brisl'd Baptist Boar , impure as he . Smith . As who ? Bayes . As the Courtier , let 'em e'en take it as they will , I'gad , I seldom come amongst ' em . Was whiten'd with the Foam of Sanctity . The Wolf with Belly-gaunt his rough Crest rears , And pricks up — Now in one word will I abuse the whole Party most damnably — and pricks up — I'gad , I am sure you 'll Laugh — his predestinating Ears . Prethee , Mr. Iohnson , remember little Bayes , when next you see a Presbyterian , and take notice if he has not Predestination in the shape of his Ear : I have studied Men so long , I 'll undertake to know an Arminian , by the setting of his Wig. His predestinating Ears . I'gad there 's ne're a Presbyterian shall dare to show his Head without a Border : I 'll put 'em to that expence . Smith . Pray , Mr. Bayes , if any of 'em should come over to the Royal Party , would their Ears alter ? Bayes . Would they ? Ay , I'gad , they would shed their Fanatical Lugs , and have just such well-turn'd Ears as I have ; mind this Ear , this is a true Roman Ear , mine are much chang'd for the better within this two years . Smith . Then if ever the Party should chance to fail , you might lose 'em , for what may change , may fall . Bayes . Mind , mind — These fiery Zuinglius , meagre Calvin bred . Smith . Those I suppose are some Outlandish Beasts , Mr. Bayes . Bayes . Beasts , a good Mistake ! Why they were the chief Reformers , but here I put 'em in so bad Company because they were Enemies to my Mouse , and anon when I am warm'd , I'gad you shall hear me call 'em Doctors , Captains , Horses , and Horsemen , in the very same Breath . You shall hear how I go on now , Or else reforming Corah spawn'd this Class , When opening Earth made way for all to pass . Iohns . For all , Mr. Bayes ? Bayes . Yes , They were all lost there , but some of 'em were thrown up again at the Leman-Lake : as a Catholick Queen sunk at Charing-Cross , and rose again at Queenhithe . The Fox and he came shuffled in the dark , If ever they were stow'd in Noah's Ark. Here I put a Quaere , Whether there were any Socinians before the Flood , which I 'm not very well satisfied in ? I have been lately apt to believe that the World was drown'd for that Heresy ; which among Friends made me leave it . Quickned with Fire below , these Monsters breed In Fenny Holland , and in Fruitful Tweed . Now to write something new and out of the way , to elevate and surprize , and all that , I fetch , you see , this Quickning Fire from the Bottom of Boggs and Rivers . Iohns . Why , Faith , that 's as ingenious a Contrivance as the Virtuoso's making a Burning-Glass of Ice . Bayes . Why was there ever any such thing ? Let me perish if ever I heard of it . The Fancy was sheer new to me ; and I thought no Man had reconcil'd those Elements but my self . Well Gentlemen ! Thus far I have followed Antiquity , and as Homer has numbred his Ships , so I have rang'd my Beasts . Here is my Boar , and my Bear , and my Fox , and my Wolf , and the rest of 'em all against my poor Mouse . Now what do you think I do with all these ? Smith . Faith I don't know , I suppose you make 'em fight . Bayes . Fight ! I'gad I 'd as soon make 'em Dance . No , I do no earthly thing with 'em , nothing at all , I'gad : I think they have plai'd their Parts sufficiently already ; I have walk'd 'em out , show'd 'em to the Company , and rais'd your Expectation . And now whilst you hope to see 'em bated , and are dreaming of Blood and Battles , they sculk off , and you hear no more of ' em . Smith . Why , Faith , Mr. Bayes , now you have been at such expence in setting forth their Characters , it had been too much to have gone through with ' em . Bayes . I'gad so it had : And then I 'll tell you another thing , 't is not every one that reads a Poem through . And therefore I fill the first part with Flowers , Figures , Fine-Language , and all that ; and then I'gad sink by degrees , till at last I write but little better than other People . And whereas most Authors creep servilely after the Old Fellows , and strive to grow upon their Readers ; I take another Course , I bring in all my Characters together , and let 'em see I could go on with 'em ; but I'gad , I wo'nt . Iohns . Could go on with 'em , Mr. Bayes ! there 's no Body doubts that ; You have a most particular Genius that way . Bayes . Oh! Dear Sir , You are mighty obliging : But I must needs say at a Fable or an Emblem I think no Man comes near me , indeed I have studied it more than any Man. Did you ever take notice , Mr. Iohnson , of a little thing that has taken mightily about Town , a Cat with a Top-knot ? Iohns . Faith , Sir , 't is mighty pretty , I saw it at the Coffee-house . Bayes . 'T is a Trifle hardly worth owning ; I was t'other Day at Will 's throwing out something of that Nature ; and I'gad , the hint was taken , and out came that Picture ; indeed the poor Fellow was so civil to present me with a dozen of 'em for my Friends , I think I have one here in my Pocket ; would you please to accept it Mr. Iohnson ? Iohns . Really 't is very ingenious . Bayes . Oh Lord ! Nothing at all , I could design twenty of 'em in an Hour , if I had but witty Fellows about me to draw ' em . I was proffer'd a Pension to go into Holland , and contrive their Emblems . But hang 'em , they are dull Rogues , and would spoil my Invention . But come , Gentlemen , let us return to our Business , and here I 'll give you a delicate description of a Man. Smith . But how does that come in ? Bayes . Come in ? very naturally . I was talking of a Wolf , and that supposes a Wood , and then I clap an Epithet to 't , and call it a Celtick Wood : Now when I was there , I could not help thinking of the French Persecution , and I'gad from all these Thoughts I took occasion to rail at the French King , and show that he was not of the same make with other Men , which thus I prove . The Divine Blacksmith in th' Abyss of Light , Yawning and lolling with a careless beat , Struck out the mute Creation at a Heat . But he work'd hard to Hammer out our Souls , He blew the Bellows , and stir'd up the Coals ; Long time he thought , and could not on a sudden Knead up with unskim'd Milk this Reas'ning Pudding : Tender and mild within its Bag it lay , Confessing still the softness of its Clay , And kind as Milk-Maids on their Wedding-day . Till Pride of Empire , Lust , and hot Desire Did over-boil him , like too great a Fire , And understanding grown , misunderstood , Burn'd him to th' Pot , and sour'd his curdled Blood. Iohns . But sure this is a little prophane , Mr. Bayes . Bayes . Not at all : do's not Virgil bring in his God Vulcan working at the Anvil ? Iohns . Ay Sir , but never thought his Hands the fittest to make a Pudding . Bayes . Why do you imagine Him an Earthly dirty Blacksmith ? Gad you make it prophane indeed . I 'll tell you there 's as much difference betwixt 'em , I'gad as betwixt my Man and Milton's . But now , Gentlemen , the Plot thickens , here comes my t'other Mouse , the City-Mouse . A spotted Mouse , the prettiest next the White , Ah! were her Spots wash'd out , as pretty quite , With Phylacteries on her Forehead spread , Crozier in Hand , and Mitre on her Head. Three Steeples Argent on her Sable Shield , Liv'd in the City , and disdain'd the Field . Iohns . This is a glorious Mouse indeed ! but as you have dress'd her , we do'nt know whether she be Iew , Papist , or Protestant . Bayes . Let me embrace you , Mr. Iohnson , for that ; you take it right . She is a meer Babel of Religions , and therefore she 's a spotted Mouse here , and will be a Mule presently . But to go on . This Princess — Smith . What Princess , Mr. Bayes ? Bayes . Why this Mouse , for I forgot to tell you , an Old Lyon made a Left Hand Marriage with her Mother , and begot on her Body Elizabeth Schism , who was married to Timothy Sacriledge , and had Issue Graceless Heresy . Who all give the same Coat with their Mother , Three Steeples Argent , as I told you before . This Princess , tho estrang'd from what was best , Was least Deform'd , because Reform'd the least . There 's De and Re as good I'gad as ever was . She in a Masquerade of Mirth and Love , Mistook the Bliss of Heaven for Bacchinals above , And grub'd the Thorns beneath our tender Feet , To make the Paths of Paradise more sweet . There 's a Jolly Mouse for you , let me see any Body else that can shew you such another . Here now have I one damnable severe reflecting Line , but I want a Rhime to it , can you help me Mr. Iohnson ? She — Humbly content to be despis'd at Home , Iohn . Which is too narrow Infamy for some . Bayes . Sir , I thank you , now I can go on with it . Whose Merits are diffus'd from Pole to Pole , Where Winds can carry , and where Waves can rowl . Iohn . But does not this reflect upon some of your Friends , Mr. Bays ? Bayes . 'T is no matter for that , let me alone to bring my self off . I 'll tell you , lately I writ a damn'd Libel on a whole Party , sheer Point and Satyr all through , I'gad . Call'd 'em Rogues , Dogs , and all the Names I could think of , but with an exceeding deal of Wit ; that I must needs say . Now it happen'd before I could finish this Piece , the Scheme of Affairs was altered , and those People were no longer Beasts : Here was a Plunge now : Should I lose my Labour , or Libel my Friend ? 'T is not every Body's Talent to find a Salvo for this : But what do me I but write a smooth delicate Preface , wherein I tell them , that the Satyr was not intended to them , and this did the Business . Smith . But if it was not intended to them against whom it was writ , certainly it had no meaning at all . Bayes . Poh ! There 's the Trick on 't . Poor Fools , they took it , and were satisfied : And yet it maul'd 'em damnably I'gad . Smith . Why Faith , Mr. Bays , there 's this very Contrivance in the Preface to Dear Ioys Iests . Bayes . What a Devil do you think that I 'd steal from such an Author ? Or ever read it ? Smith . I can't tell , but you sometimes read as bad . I have heard you quote Reynard the Fox . Bayes . Why there 's it now ; take it from me , Mr. Smith , there is as good Morality , and as sound Precepts , in the delectable History of Reynard the Fox , as in any Book I know , except Seneca . Pray tell me where in any other Author could I have found so pretty a Name for a Wolf as Isgrim ? But prithee , Mr. Smith , give me no more trouble , and let me go on with my Mouse . One Evening , when she went away from Court. Levee's and Couchee's past without resort . There 's Court Language for you ; nothing gives a Verse so fine a turn , as an Air of good Breeding . Smith . But methinks the Levee's and Couchee's of a Mouse are too great , especially when she is walking from Court to the cooler Shades . Bayes . I'gad now have you forgot what I told you , that she was a Princess . But pray mind ; here the two Mice meet . She met the Country Mouse , whose fearful Face Beheld from far the common watering Place , Nor durst approach — Smith . Methinks , Mr. Bayes , this Mouse is strangely alter'd , since she fear'd no Danger . Bays . Godsookers ! Why no more she does not yet fear either Man or Beast : But , poor Creature , she 's afraid of the Water , for she could not swim , as you see by this . Nor durst approach , till with an awful Roar The Soveraign Lyon bad her fear no more . But besides , 't is above thirty Pages off that I told you she fear'd no Danger ; and I'gad if you will have no variation of the Character , you must have the same thing over and over again ; 't is the Beauty of Writing to strike you still with something new . Well , but to proceed : But when she had this sweetest Mouse in view , Good Lord , how she admir'd her Heavenly Hiew ! Here now to show you I am Master of all Styles , I let my self down from the Majesty of Virgil , to the Sweetness of Ovid. Good Lord , how she admir'd her Heavenly Hiew ! What more easy and familiar ! I writ this Line for the Ladies : The little Rogues will be so fond of me to find I can yet be so tender . I hate such a rough unhew'n Fellow as Milton , that a Man must sweat to read Him ; I'gad you may run over this , and be almost asleep . Th' Immortal Mouse who saw the Viceroy come So far to see Her , did invite her Home . There 's a pretty Name now for the Spotted Mouse , the Viceroy ! Smith . But pray why d' ye call her so ? Bayes . Why ! Because it sounds prettily : I 'll call her the Crown-General presently if I 've a mind to it . Well , — did invite her Home To smoak a Pipe , and o're a sober Pot Discourse of Oates and Bedloe , and the Plot. She made a Court'sy , like a Civil Dame , And , being much a Gentlewoman , came . Well , Gentlemen , here 's my First part finish'd , and I think I have kept my Word with you , and given it the Majestick turn of Heroick Poesy . The rest being matter of Dispute , I had not such frequent occasion for the magnificence of Verse , tho I'gad they speak very well . And I have heard Men , and considerable Men too , talk the very same things , a great deal worse . Iohn . Nay , without doubt , Mr. Bayes , they have received no small advantage from the smoothness of your numbers . Bayes . Ay , ay , I can do 't , if I list : Tho you must not think I have been so dull as to mind these things my self , but 't is the advantage of our Coffee-house , that from their talk one may write a very good polemical Discourse , without ever troubling one's head with the Books of Controversy . For I can take the slightest of their Arguments , and clap 'em pertly into four Verses , which shall stare any London Divine in the face . Indeed your knotty Reasonings with a long train of Majors and Minors , and the Devil and all , are too barbarous for my style ; but I'gad I can flourish better with one of these twinkling Arguments , than the best of 'em can fight with t'other . But we return to our Mouse , and now I 've brought 'em together , let 'em ' en speak for themselves , which they will do extreamly well , or I 'm mistaken : And pray observe , Gentlemen , if in one you don't find all the delicacy of a luxurious City-Mouse , and in the other all the plain simplicity of a sober serious Matron . Dame , said the Lady of the Spotted Muff , Methinks your Tiff is sour , your Cates meer stuff . There , did not I tell you she 'd be nice ? Your Pipe 's so foul , that I disdain to smoak ; And the Weed worse than e're Tom I — s took . Smith . I did not hear she had a Spotted Muff before . Bayes . Why no more she has not now : But she has a Skin that might make a Spotted Muff. There 's a pretty Figure now , unknown to the Ancients . Leave , leave ( † she's earnest you see ) this hoary Shed , and lonely Hills , And eat with me at Groleau's , smoak at Will 's . What Wretch would nibble on a Hanging-shelf , When at Pontack's he may Regale himself ? Or to the House of cleanly Rhenish go ; Or that at Charing-Cross , or that in Channel-Row ? Do you mark me now , I would by this represent the vanity of a Town-Fop , who pretends to be acquainted at all those good Houses , though perhaps he ne're was in ' em . But heark ! she goes on . Come , at a Crown a Head our selves we 'll treat , Champain our Liquor , and Ragousts our Meat . Then hand in hand we 'll go to Court , dear Cuz , To visit Bishop Martin , and King Buz. With Evening Wheels we 'll drive about the Park , Finish at Locket's , and reel home i' th' Dark . Break clattering Windows , and demolish Doors , Of English Manufactures — Pimps , and Whores . Iohns . Methinks a Pimp or a Whore is an odd sort of a Manufacture , Mr. Bayes . Bayes . I call 'em so , to give the Parliament a hint not to suffer so many of 'em to be exported , to the decay of Trade at home . With these Allurements Spotted did invite From Hermits Cell , the Female Proselyte . Oh! with what ease we follow such a Guide , Where Souls are starv'd , and Senses gratifi'd ! Now would not you think she 's going ? but I'gad , you 're mistaken ; you shall hear a long Argument about Infallibility , before she stirs yet . But here the White , by observation wise , Who long on Heaven had fixt her prying Eyes , With thoughtful Countenance , and grave Remark , Said , or my Judgment fails me , or 't is dark . Lest therefore we should stray , and not go right , Through the brown horror of the starless Night . Hast thou Infallibility , that Wight ? Sternly the Savage grin'd , and thus reply'd : That Mice may err , was never yet deny'd . That I deny , said the immortal Dame , There is a Guide — gad I 've forgot his Name , Who lives in Heaven or Rome , the Lord knows where , Had we but him , Sweet-heart , we could not err . But heark you , Sister , this is but a Whim ; For still we want a Guide to find out Him. Here you see I don't trouble my self to keep on the Narration , but write white Speaks , or dapple Speaks , by the Side . But when I get any noble thought which I envy a Mouse should say , I clap it down in my own Person with a Poeta Loquitur ; which , take notice , is a surer sign of a fine thing in my Writings , than a Hand in the Margent anywhere else . Well now says White , What need we find Him , we have certain proof That he is somewhere , Dame , and that 's enough : For if there is a Guide that knows the way , Although we know not him , we cannot stray . That 's true , I'gad : Well said White . You see her Adversary has nothing to say for her self , and therefore to confirm the Victory , she shall make a Simile . Smith . Why then I find Similes are as good after Victory , as after a Surprize . Bayes . Every Jot , I'gad , or rather better . Well , she can ●o it two ways ▪ either about Emission or Reception of Light , or else about Epsom-waters , but I think the last is most familiar ; therefore speak , my pretty one . As though 't is controverted in the School , If Waters pass by Urine or by Stool . Shall we who are Philosophers , thence gather From this dissention that they work by neither . And I'gad , she 's in the right on 't ; but mind now , she comes upon her swop ! All this I did , your Arguments to try . And I'gad , if they had been never so good , this next Line confutes ' em . Hear , and be dumb , thou Wretch , that Guide am I. There 's a Surprize for you now ! How sneakingly t'other looks ? Was not that pretty now , to make her ask for a Guide first , and then tell her she was one ? Who could have thought that this little Mouse had the Pope and a whole General Council in her Belly ? Now Dapple had nothing to say to this ; and therefore you 'll see she grows peevish . Come leave your Cracking tricks , and as they say , Use not that Barber that trims time , delay Which I'gad is new , and my own . I 've Eyes as well as you to find the way . Then on they jogg'd , and since an hour of talk Might cut a Banter on the tedious walk ; As I remember said the sober Mouse , I 've heard much talk of the Wits Coffee-House . Thither says Brindle , thou shalt go , and see Priests sipping Coffee , Sparks and Poets Tea ; Here rugged Freeze , there Quality well drest , These baffling the Grand Seignior ; those the Test. And here shrew'd guesses made , and reasons given , That humane Laws were never made in Heaven . But above all , what shall oblige thy sight , And fill thy Eye-Balls with a vast delight ; Is the Poetic Iudge of sacred Wit , Who do's i' th' Darkness of his Glory sit . And as the Moon who first receives the light , With which she makes these nether Regions bright ; So does he shine , reflecting from afar , The Rays he borrow'd from a better Star : For Rules which from Corneille and Rapin flow , Admir'd by all the scribling Herd below . From French Tradition while he does dispence Unerring Truths , 't is Schism , a damn'd offence , To question his , or trust your private sense . Hah ! Is not that right , Mr. Iohnson ? gad forgive me he is fast asleep ! Oh the damn'd stupidity of this Age ! asleep ! Well , Sir , Since you 're so drowsy , your humble Servant . Iohns . Nay , Pray Mr. Bayes , Faith I heard you all the while . The white Mouse . Bayes . The white Mouse ! ay , ay , I thought how you heard me . Your Servant , Sir , your Servant . Iohn . Nay , Dear Bayes , Faith , I beg thy Pardon , I was up late last Night , Prithee lend me a little Snuff , and go on . Bayes . Go on ! Pox I dont know where I was ; well I 'll begin . Here , mind , now they are both come to Town . But now at Piccadille they arrive , And taking Coach , t'wards Temple-Bar they drive ; But at St. Clements Church , eat out the Back ; And slipping through the Palsgrave , bilkt poor Hack. There 's the Utile which ought to be in all Poetry , Many a young Templer will save his shilling by this Stratagem of my Mice . Smith . Why , will any young Templer eat out the back of a Coach ? Bayes . No , I'gad , but you 'll grant it is mighty natural for a Mouse . Thence to the Devil , and ask'd if Chanticleer , Of Clergy kind , or Counsellor Chough was there ; Or Mr. Dove , a Pigeon of Renown , By his high crop , and corny Gizzard known , Or Sister Partlet , with the Hooded head ; No , Sir , She 's hooted hence , said Will , and fled . Why so ? Because she would not pray a-bed . Iohns . aside . ' Sdeath ! Who can keep awake at such stuff ? Pray , Mr. Bayes , lend me your Box again . Bayes . Mr. Iohnson , How d' ye like that Box ? Pray take notice of it , 't was given me by a person of Honour for looking over a Paper of Verses ; and indeed I put in all the lines that were worth any thing in the whole Poem . Well , but where were we ? Oh! Here they are , just going up stairs into the Apollo ; from whence my White takes occasion to talk very well of Tradition . Thus to the place where Iohnson sat , we climb , Leaning on the same Rail that guided him ; And whilst we thus on equal helps rely , Our Wit must be as true , our Thoughts as high . For as an Author happily compares Tradition to a well-fixt pair of Stairs ; So this the Scala Sancta we believe , By which his Traditive Genius we receive . Thus every step I take , my Spirits soar , And I grow more a Wit , and more , and more . There 's humour ! Is not that the liveliest Image in the World of a Mouse's going up a pair of Stairs ? More a Wit , and more and more . Smith . Mr. Bayes , I beg your Pardon heartily , I must be rude , I have a particular Engagement at this time , and I see you are not near an end yet . Bayes . Godsokers ! Sure you won't serve me so : All my finest Descriptions and best Discourse is yet to come . Smith . Troth , Sir , if 't were not an Extraordinary Concern , I could not leave you . Bayes . Well ; but you shall take a little more , and here I 'll pass over two dainty Episodes of Swallows , Swifts , Chickens , and Buzzards . Iohns . I know not why they should come in , except to make yours the longest Fable that ever was told . Bays . Why , the Excellence of a Fable is in the length of it . Aesop indeed , like a Slave as he was , made little , short , simple Stories , with a dry Moral at the end of 'em ; and could not form any noble Design . But here I give you Fable upon Fable ; and after you are satisfied with Beasts in the first Course , serve you up a delicate Dish of Fowl for the Second ; now I was at all this pains to abuse one particular Person ; for I'gad I 'll tell you what a trick he serv'd me . I was once translating a very good French Author , but being something long about it , as you know a Man is not always in the Humour ; What does this Iack do , but puts out an Answer to my Friend before I had half finished the Translation : So there was three whole Months lost upon his Account . But I think I have my revenge on him sufficiently , for I let all the World know , that he is a tall , broad-back'd , lusty Fellow , of a brown Complexion , fair Behaviour , a Fluent Tongue , and taking amongst the Women ; and to top it all , that he 's much a Scholar , more a Wit , and owns but two Sacraments . Don't you think this Fellow will hang himself ? But besides , I have so nickt his Character in a Name , as will make you split . I call him — I'gad I wont tell you , unless you remember what I said of him . Smith . Why that he was much a Scholar , and more a Wit — Bays . Right ; and his name is Buzzard , Ha! ha ! ha . Iohns . Very proper indeed , Sir. Bayes . Nay , I have a farther fetch in it yet than perhaps you imagine ; for his true name begins with a B , which makes me slily contrive him this , to begin with the same Letter : There 's a pretty device , Mr. Iohnson ; I learn'd it , I must needs confess , from that ingenious Sport , I love my Love with an A , because she 's Amiable ; and if you could but get a knot of merry Fellows together , you should see how little Bays would top 'em all at it , I'gad . Smith . Well , but good Faith , Mr. Bays , I must leave you , I am half an hour past my time . Bayes . Well , I 've done , I 've done . Here are Eight hundred Verses upon a rainy Night , and a Bird's-Nest ; and here 's Three hundred more , translated from two Paris Gazettes , in which the Spotted Mouse gives an account of the Treaty of Peace between the Czars of Muscovy , and the Emperor , which is a piece of News White does not believe , and this is her Answer . I am resolv'd you shall hear it , for in it I have taken occasion to prove Oral Tradition better than Scripture . Now you must know , 't is sincerely my Opinion , that it had been better for the World , if we ne're had any Bibles at all . E're that Gazette was printed , said the White , Our Robin told another story quite ; This Oral Truth more safely I believ'd ; My Ears cannot , your Eyes may be deceiv'd . By word of Mouth unerring Maxims flow , And Preaching's best , if understood , or no. Words I confess bound by , and trip so light , We have not time to take a steady sight ; Yet fleeting thus are plainer than when Writ , To long Examination they submit . Hard things — Mr. Smith , if these two lines don't recompence your stay , ne're trust Iohn Bays again . Hard things at the first Blush are clear and full , God mends on second thoughts , but Man grows dull . I'gad I judge of all Men by my self , 't is so with me , I never strove to be very exact in any thing , but I spoil'd it . Smith . But allowing your Character to be true , is it not a little too severe ? Bayes . 'T is no matter for that , these general Reflections are daring , and savour most of a noble Genius , that spares neither Friend nor Foe . Iohns . Are you never afraid of a drubbing for that daring of your noble Genius ? Bayes . Afraid ! Why Lord you make so much of a beating , I'gad 't is no more to me than a Flea-biting . No , no , if I can but be witty upon 'em , let 'em e'en lay on , i'faith , I 'll ne'er baulk my fancy to save my Carkass . Well , but we must dispatch , Mr. Smith . Thus did they merrily carouse all day , And like the gaudy fly their Wings display ; And sip the sweets , and bask in great Apollo's ray . Well , there 's an end of the Entertainment ; and Mr. Smith , if your affairs would have permitted , you would have heard the best Bill of Fare that ever was serv'd up in Heroicks : but here follows a dispute shall recommend it self , I 'll say nothing for it . For Dapple , who you must know was a Protestant , all this while trusts her own Judgment , and foolishly dislikes the Wine ; upon which our Innocent does so run her down , that she has not one word to say for her self , but what I put in her Mouth , and I'gad , you may imagine they won't be very good ones , for she has disoblig'd me , like an Ingrate . Sirrah , says Brindle , Thou hast brought us Wine , Sour to my tast , and to my Eyes unfine . Says Will , All Gentlemen like it ; Ah! says White , What is approv'd by them , must needs be right . 'T is true , I thought it bad , but if the House Commend it , I submit , a private Mouse . Mind that , mind the Decorum , and Deference , which our Mouse pays to the Company . Nor to their Catholick consent oppose My erring Judgment , and reforming Nose . Ah! ah ! there she has nickt her , that 's up to the Hilts , I'gad , and you shall see Dapple resents it . Why , what a Devil shan't I trust my Eyes ? Must I drink Stum because the Rascal lyes ? And Palms upon us Catholick consent , To give sophisticated Brewings vent ? Says White , What ancient Evidence can sway , If you must Argue thus , and not obey ? Drawers must be trusted , through whose hands convey'd , You take the Liquor , or you spoil the Trade . For sure those Honest Fellows have no knack Of putting off stum'd Claret for Pontack . How long , alas ! would the poor Vintner last , If all that drink must judge , and every Guest Be allow'd to have an understanding Taste ? Thus she : Nor could the Panther well inlarge , With weak defence , against so strong a Charge . There I call her a Panther , because she 's spotted , which is such a blot to the Reformation , as I warrant 'em they will never claw off , I'gad . But with a weary Yawn that shew'd her pride , Said , Spotless was a Villain , and she ly'd . White saw her canker'd Malice at that word , And said her Prayers , and drew her Delphick Sword. T'other cry'd Murther , and her Rage restrain'd : And thus her passive Character maintain'd . But now alas — Mr. Iohnson , pray mind me this ; Mr. Smith , I 'll ask you to stay no longer , for this that follows is so engaging ; hear me but two Lines , I'gad , and go away afterwards if you can . But now , alas , I grieve , I grieve to tell What sad mischance these pretty things befel , These Birds of Beasts . — There 's a tender Expression , Birds of Beasts : 't is the greatest Affront that you can put upon any Bird , to call it Beast of a Bird : and a Beast is so fond of being call'd a Bird , as you can't imagine . These Birds of Beasts , these learned Reas'ning Mice , Were separated , banish'd in a trice . Who would be learned for their sakes , who wise ? Ay , who indeed ? There 's a Pathos , I'gad , Gentlemen , if that won't move you , nothing will , I can assure you : But here 's the sad thing I was afraid of . The Constable alarmed by this noise , Enter'd the Room , directed by the Voice , And speaking to the Watch , with head aside , Said , Desperate Cures must be to desperate Ills appli'd . These Gentlemen , for so their Fate decrees , Can ne're enjoy at once the But and Peace . When each have separate Interests of their own , Two Mice are one too many for a Town . By Schism they are torn ; and therefore , Brother , Look you to one , and I 'll secure the t'other . Now whether Dapple did to Bridewell go , Or in the Stocks all Night her Fingers blow , Or in the Compter lay , concerns not us to know . But the immortal Matron , spotless White , Forgetting Dapple's Rudeness , Malice , Spight , Look'd kindly back , and wept , and said , Good Night . Ten thousand Watchmen waited on this Mouse , With Bills and Halberds , to her Country-House . This last Contrivance I had from a judicious Author , that makes Ten thousand Angels wait upon his Hind , and she asleep too , I'gad . — Iohns . Come , let 's see what we have to pay . Bayes . What a Pox , are you in such haste ? You han't told me how you like it . Iohns . Oh , extreamly well . Here , Drawer . State Poems Continued . The Man of HONOUR . Written by the Honourable Mr. Montague . Occasioned by a Postscript of Pen's Letter . NOT all the Threats or Favours of a Crown , A Prince's Whisper , or a Tyrant's Frown , Can awe the Spirit , or allure the Mind Of him , who to strict Honour is inclin'd ; Though all the Pomp and Pleasure that does wait On publick Places , and Affairs of State , Shou'd fondly court him to be base and great . With even Passions , and with setled Face , He wou'd remove the Harlots false Embrace . Tho' all the Storms and Tempests should arise , That Church-Magicians in their Cells devise , And from their setled Basis Nations tear , He wou'd unmov'd the mighty Ruin bear ; Secure in Innocence contemn 'em all , And decently array'd in Honours , fall . For this brave Shrewsbury and Lumly's Name , Shall stand the foremost in the List of Fame ; Who first with steddy Minds the Current broke , And to the suppliant Monarch boldly spoke . Great Sir , renown'd for Constancy , how just Have we obey'd the Crown , and serv'd our Trust , Espous'd your Cause and Interest in distress , Your self must witness , and our Foes confess ! Permit us then ill Fortune to accuse , That you at last unhappy Councils use , And ask the only thing we must refuse . Our Lives and Fortunes freely we 'll expose , Honour alone we cannot , must not lose : Honour , that Spark of the Coelestial Fire , That above Nature makes Mankind aspire ; Ennobles the rude Passions of our Frame , With thirst of Glory , and desire of Fame ; The richest Treasure of a generous Breast , That gives the Stamp and Standard to the rest . Wit , Strength and Courage , are wild dangerous force , Unless this softens and directs their Course ; And would you rob us of the noblest part , Accept a Sacrifice without a Heart ? 'T is much beneath the greatness of a Throne , To take the Casket when the Iewel 's gone : Debauch our Principles , corrupt our Race , and teach the Nobles to be False and Base ; What Confidence can you in them repose , Who , e're they serve you , all their value lose ? Who once enslave their Conscience to their Lust , Have lost the Reins , and can no more be Iust. Of Honour , Men at first , like Women Nice , Raise Maiden-Scruples at unpractis'd Vice ; Their modest Nature curbs the strugling Flame , And stifles what they wish to act , with Shame . But once this Fence thrown down , when they perceive That they may taste forbidden Fruit and live ; They stop not here their Course , but safely in , Grow Strong , Luxuriant , and bold in Sin ; True to no Principles , press forward still , And only bound by appetite their Will : Now fawn and flatter , while this Tide prevails , But shift with every veering blast their Sails . Mark those that meanly truckle to your Power , They once deserted , and chang'd sides before , And would to morrow Mahomet adore ! On higher Springs true Men of Honour move , Free is their Service , and unbought their Love : When Danger calls , and Honour leads the way , With Joy they follow , and with Pride obey : When the Rebellious Foe came rolling on , And shook with gathering Multitudes the Throne , Where were the Minions then ? What Arms , what Force , Cou'd they oppose to stop the Torrent 's Course ? Then Pembrook , then the Nobles firmly stood , Free of their Lives , and lavish of their Blood ; But when your Orders to mean Ends decline , With the same Constancy they all resign . Thus spake the Youth , who open'd first the way , And was the Phosphorus to th' dawning Day ; Follow'd by a more glorious splendid Host , Than any Age , or any Realm can boast : So great their Fame , so numerous their Train , To name were endless , and to praise in vain ; But Herbert , and great Oxford merit more , Bold is their flight , and more sublime they soar ; So high , their Virtue as yet wants a name , Exceeding Wonder , and surpassing Fame : Rise , glorious Church , erect thy Radiant Head , The Storm is past , th' Impending Tempest fled : Had Fate decreed thy Ruine or Disgrace , It had not giv'n such Sons , so brave a Race . When for Destruction Heaven a Realm designs , The Symptoms first appear in slavish Minds : These Men would prop a sinking Nations weight , Stop falling Vengeance , and Reverse ev'n Fate . Let other Nations boast their fruitful Soil , Their fragrant Spices , their rich Wine and Oyl ; In breathing Colours , and in living Paint Let them excel , their Mastery we grant . But to instruct the Mind , to arm the Soul With Virtue , which no dangers can controul ; Exalt the thought , a speedy Courage lend That Horror cannot shake , or Pleasure bend : These are the English Arts , these we profess To be the same in Mis'ry and Success ; To teach Oppressors Law , assist the Good , Relieve the Wretched , and subdue the Proud : Such are our Souls : But what doth Worth avail , When Kings commit to hungry Priests the Scale ? All Merit 's light when they dispose the weight , Who either would embroil , or Rule the State ; Defame those Heroes who their Yoke refuse , And blast that Honesty they cannot use ; The strength and safety of the Crown destroy , And the King's Pow'r against himself imploy : Affront his Friends , deprive him of the Brave ; Bereft of these , he must become their Slave . Men , like our Money , come the most in play For being base , and of a coarse allay . The richest Medals , and the purest Gold , Of native Value , and exactest Mold , By worth conceal'd , in private Closets shine , For vulgar use too precious and too fine ; Whilst Tin and Copper with new stamping bright , Coyn of base Metal , counterfeit and light , Do all the Business of the Nation 's turn , Rais'd in Contempt , us'd and employ'd in Scorn : So shining Virtues are for Courts too bright , Whose guilty Actions fly their searching Light ; Rich in themselves , disdaining to aspire , Great without Pomp they willingly retire : Give place to Fools , whose rash misjudging Sence Increases the weak measures of their Prince ; Prone to admire , and flatter him in ease , They study not his good , but how to please ; They blindly and implicitly run on , Nor see those dangers which the other shun : Who slow to act , each bus'ness duly weigh , Advise with Freedom , and with Care obey ; With Wisdom fatal to their Interest strive To make their Monarch lov'd , and Nation thrive ; Such have no place where Priests and Women Reign , Who love fierce Drivers , and a looser Rein. The Man of no Honour . AS the late Character of Godlike Men , ( Given , as it ought , by a Diviner Pen ) Will make the Race of chose I write appear Low as to Glorious Valour , wretched Fear ; So the smooth Lines in which those truths are told , ( Lines justly happy as they 're Nobly bold ) With Right from humble Muses bold Esteem , And show my Verse as distant as my Theme . Forgive me , you Betrayers of your Land , If I do scourge you with a wanting Hand ; My Will is good to give you all your due , The Pope will pardon want of Pow'r in you . Your Aid , my Muse , this once I humbly ask ; Exposing Villany's a Noble Task ; Assist my Story with such ample Phrase , It may find leave to live and see good Days . Stamp an Eternal Value on the Brave , By drawing to the Life a sneaking Knave ; Show him how justly he 's expos'd by all , And show him time may come when he may fall ; Show him on what Foundation now he stands ; Show him , instead of Rocks , mistaken Lands ; Show him it lately fail'd believing Man , And will do so when time shall serve again . When Oxford Prophesies were come to pass , And many a squeamish Church-man prov'd an Ass , Then blockish Honesty was made give ground , And foolish Knaves were much more useful found ; A search throughout the Senate pass'd for such , ( Since Fools would do , to find no more 't was much ) Vile Int'rest was oppos'd to Men of Sense , And many from that hour did Rogues commence . Besides , with Gold the despicable Slaves , Were willingly thought Fools ; they might be Knaves . Of these the Chief a Consultation call , Where they shall stop , or whether stop at all . Some faint Resistance Conscience wou'd have made , And Honour wou'd have spoke , but was forbad ; Int'rest with Impudence assum'd the Chair , And thus address'd to each Plebeian Fool was there : Of all Philosophers that plagu'd the World , And curious Brains in various Labyrinths hurl'd , None far'd so ill , and yet so justly far'd , As those Preach'd Virtue for its own Reward ; More useful Doctrines sprung from wiser Schools , They heard their Morals , and resolv'd them Fools . Mark those who strive the Multitude to please , Nice of their Honour , lavish of their Ease : How in the gazing Crowd they humbly stand , With their perplexing Honesty at hand , They dare not use the strength they may command . They prove their Grandeur from their humble Soul , But he is great who can and dare controul ; You 'll soar above , exhal'd by Princely Rays , And with contempt look down on rotten Praise ; Laugh at dull Notions of a Glorious Name , When Beggery's the Basis of its Frame . More useful Honour shall attend your Fate , You serve a Power can make you Rich and Great , Who scorns the Nations Love shall live above their Hate . Permit no Bugbear thoughts against your Cause , The loss of your Religion and the Laws , Trifles to those who dare their God defy , And can with copious Consciences comply . Contemn the foolish Threats of distant Time , 'T is plain that Honesty is yet a Crime ; If things hereafter turn another way , You 'll still be right , for still you can obey : Ne're fear the Brand of Knave will hurt you much , The best of Courts will stand in need of such ; Fools oft grow useless , and are laid aside , But Knaves of Conduct always will abide : Old Honesty some poor Employ may get , But he that sticks at nothing shall be great , The Villain wisely thrives in every State. Thus Int'rest spoke , and merits just Applause , The Judges first declar'd against the Laws ; Of Levi's Tribe not many went astray , ( Much wonder'd at , since they procur'd this Day ) But Men of Conscience oft in Judgment fail , Mistaken Loyalty did once prevail , But such Diseases now no more they ail . Become good Christians by Affliction 's Rod , Their King they Honour , but they fear their God. Of those that brand their Country with Disgrace , Noble in Title as in Practice base , Give underhand Pre-eminence of place , The sniveling Representer of the rest , Who in their Names the Monarch thus addrest : Most Glorious Prince , in whom all Virtues shine , Where every Worth in one great Soul combine ! You for your Gracious Deeds we come to bless , But most of all your Constancy confess ; Safe by your Word , in Peace your People sleep , Your sacred Word which you so nicely keep ; That Word so much throughout your Land renown'd , In which Equivocation ne'er was found . On this it is so firmly we rely , You cannot ask the thing we can deny ; As Heav'n has taught the Soul of Men to know , What e're it pleaseth to dispence below , Shall to advantage of Believers tend , And bless their blind Obedience in the end ; So we such awful Thoughts of you receive , What e're you 'll do , we for our good believe ; Our grand Ambition is our King to please ; We ne'er can want Repose while he 's at Ease . When by Obedience we have giv'n you rest , And blasted ev'n the frightful Name of Test , But smile upon us , and your Slaves are blest . Thus spake the fawning Minister of State , Poor in Esteem , and despicably Great ; The Monarch blest the Priesthood skill , Forsakes his Reason to perform his Will , Deserts his Noble Friends for slatt'ring Knaves , Neglects his Subjects while he favours Slaves . Rise up , brave Prince , attend your Nature's Course ; We know that 's Noble , when exempt from force ; Spread your relenting Arms , imbrace your Friends , They 'll help you to attain more Noble Ends ; You know their Love , the Rebels know their Force , Serve God with speed , annul th' unjust Divorce , Then shall you stand great in your Peoples Love , A lively Emblem of the Mighty Iove . Then shall your haughty Rival cease to soar , And tremble at the Neighb'ring British Shore ; The Senate's Bounty shall preserve you still , With cheerful Tribute all your Coffers fill . All Kings shall gaze with Envy on your Throne , Then with Contempt look down upon their own ; To gain your Smiles shall be their utmost Pride , And happy he who nearest is ally'd . Belov'd by God and Men you shall remain , Great without War , and undisturb'd your Reign . Then when the Remnant of your days are done , The Thred of Glorious Life at length is spun , Sincere in Grief your People all shall mourn , Some goodly Fabrick shall your Grave adorn With this Inscription , for Eternal Praise , Here lies the only Prince who left all Evil Ways . The VISION . 'T Was at an hour when busie Nature lay Dissolv'd in slumbers from the noisy Day , When gloomy shades and dusky Atoms spread A darkness o'er the Universal Bed , And all the gaudy beams of Light were fled ; My flutt'ring fancy ' midst the silent peace , Careless of sleep , and unconcern'd with ease , Drew to my wandring thoughts an Object near , Strange in its form , and in appearance rare . Methought ( yet sure it could not be a Dream , So real all its Imperfections seem ) With Princely Port a stately Monarch came , Aiery his Mien , and Noble was his Frame : A sullen sorrow brooded on his Brow ; He seem'd beneath some weighty Fate to bow ; Distrust and Grief upon his Eye-lids rest , And show the strugling troubles of his Breast . Upon his Head a nodding Crown he wore , And in his Hand a yielding Scepter bore ; Forlorn and careless did his strokes appear , And ev'ry motion spoke a wild Despair . This mournful Scene did all my Passions move , And challeng'd both my pity and my love ; And yet I thought him by the ruins made Above my pity , and beyond my aid ; Long did he in a pensive silence stand , For sure his thoughts cou'd not his words command : Too big for speech — Till sullen murmurs from his Bosom flew , And thus a draught of his Disorders drew . Almighty Pow'rs ! By whose consent alone Ordain'd , I did ascend the Regal Throne , Led by your dark Decrees , and Conduct there , I , as your great Vicegerent , did appear Beneath my Charge , whilst crowding Nations sate , And bow'd and did admire my rising Fate : 'T was then my Laurels fresh and blooming grew , And a loud Fame of all my Glories flew ; My willing Subjects bless and clap the Day ; The bravest and the best were all my Friends , Whilst Faction in Confusion sneak'd away ; At distance grinn'd , but could not reach their ends . Such Faith unto my Promises were shown , My Word they took , for Oaths were useless grown : My very Word compos'd their Hopes and Fears , Sacred 't was held , and all Serene appears : Until my Fate revers'd did backwards reel , Blurr'd all my Fame , and alter'd Fortune's Wheel ; Ye Gods ! Why did ye thus unconstant prove ? Was I the Envy of th' Abodes above ? Or was this stately Majesty but giv'n To be the Cheat and Flatt'ry ev'n of Heav'n ? Can ne'er a Saint implore Coelestial Aid ? Nor yet the Virgin Goddess intercede ? 'T was for her Cause engag'd I suff'ring lie ; 'T was to advance her just Divinity : Yes , I avow , the Quarrel and the Cause , 'T was for my Faith , and to out-cope the Laws . I 'd rather be forsaken and alone , Than sit a craving Monarch on a Throne : Let all my cringing Slaves at distance stand , Fawn on th' Invading Foe , and kiss his Hand ; Leave me their Prince , forsaken and forlorn , Expos'd to all their Slights and publick Scorn . Let after Ages judge the mighty Test , Judge the Magnifick Grandeur of my Breast . I saw my great Forefather yet afore Seal all his Sacred Vows with Martyr'd gore ; His Royal Issue branded with Disgrace , Saw all th' Efforts they us'd t' Exclude the Race : And yet these Terrors all I dare invade , Thus Conscience , thus Religion does persuade . I 'll stand or fall by both those Tenets still , And be the second Martyr to my Will : And then he stop'd ; his fiery Eye-Balls move , And thus with his resisting Fate he strove , And stood , like Capaneus defying Iove . When straight a noise , from whence it came unknown , Was heard to answer in an angry tone ; Dye then unpiti'd , Prince , for thus thy Fate Long since , by its Decrees , did antedate : To such perversness , what regard is shown ? What Merit could'st thou plead to mount a Throne ? To thy repeated Wishes Heav'n was kind , And pleas'd the wild Ambition of thy Mind ; It put a Scepter in thy eager Hand , Yet not t' oppose the Genius of the Land ; If Reason could not sway thy Actions here , Heaven 's not oblig'd by Wonders to appear . See how thy Creatures at a distance stand , Sculk from thy Troubles to a safer Land ; Those who their Beings to thy Bounty own , Forsake their fawning Cheats , and now are gone . Those who were Friends to thee and to thy Cause , Bold for their Rights , and for their Countries Laws , Thou , from thy darker Counsels didst remove , And want their aid , now they refuse their love . Some more imperfect Sounds did reach my Ear , But Sense return'd , and Day-light did appear . The CONVERTS . I Did intend in Rhimes Heroick To write of Converts Apostolick Describe their Persons , and their Shames , And leave the World to guess their Names : But soon I thought the scoundrel Theme Was for Heroick Song too mean ; Their Characters we 'll then rehearse In Burlesque , or in Dogrel Verse ; Of Earls , of Lords , of Knights I 'll sing , That chang'd their Faith to please their King. The first an Antiquated Lord , A walking Mummy in a word , Moves cloath'd in Plaisters Aromatick , And Flannel , by the help of a Stick , And like a grave and noble Peer , Outlives his Sense by Sixty year ; And what an honest Man would anger , Outlives the Fort he built at Tanger ; By Pox and Whores long since undone , Yet loves it still , and fumbles on : Why he 's a Favourite few can guess , Some say it 's for his Ugliness ▪ For often Monsters ( being rare ) Are valu'd equal to the Fair : For in his Mistresses , kind Iames Loves ugliness in its extremes ; But others say it s plainly seen , 'T is for the choice he made ' o th' Queen ; When he the King and Nation blest With Off-Spring of the House of Este ; A Dame whose Affability Equals her Generosity : Oh! Well-match'd Pair , who frugally are bent To live without the Aids of Parliament . All this and more the Peer perform'd , Then to compleat his Virtues turn'd ; But 't was not Conscience , or Devotion , The hopes of Riches or Promotion , That made his Lordship first to vary , But 't was to please his Daughter Mary ; And she to make retalliation , Is full as lewd in her Vocation . The next a Caravanish Thief , A lazy Mass of damn'd Rump Beef ; Prodigious Guts , no Brains at all , But very Rhynocerical , Was Married e're the Cub was lickt , And now not worthy to be kickt ; By Jockeys bubbled , forc'd to fly , To save his Coat , to Italy , Where Hains and he , that Virtuous Youth , Equal in Honour , Sense , and Truth ; By Reason and pure Conscience urged , Past Sins by Abjuration purged : But 't is believ'd both Rogue and Peer , More worldly Motives had to veer ; The Scoundrel Plebeian's swerving Was to secure himself from starving ; And that which made the Peer a Starter , Was hope of a long-wish'd-for Garter . Next comes a Peer who sits at Helm , And long has steer'd the giddy Realm With Taylor 's Motion , Mien , and Grace , But a right Statesman in Grimace ; The Sneer , the Cringe , and then by turns , The dully Grave , the Frowns , and Scorns , Promises all , but nought performs : But howe'er great he 's in Promotion , He 's very humble in Devotion ; With Taper Light , and Feet all bare , He to the Temple did repair , And knocking softly at the Portal , Cri'd , Pity ( Fathers ) a poor Mortal , And for a Sinner make some room , A Prodigal returned home . Some say that in that very hour , Convert Mall Megs arriv'd at Door ; So both with penitent Grimace , States-man and Bawd with humble pace Enter'd and were receiv'd to grace . The next a Knight of high Command 'Twixt London-bridge and Dover Sand ; A Man of strict and holy Life , Taking example from his Wife ; He to a Nunnery sent her packing , Lest they should take each other napping . Some say L'E — did him beget , But that he wants his Chin and Wit ; Good-natur'd , as you may observe , Letting his Tit'lar Father starve ; A Man of Sense and Parts , we know it , But dares as well be damn'd as show it ; Brib'd by himself , his trusty Servant At Kings-Bench-Bar appear'd most fervent Against his Honour for the Test , To him 't was Gain , to all Mankind a Jest. Blue-Bonnet Lords a numerous store , Whose best Example is they 're poor , Meerly drawn in , in hopes of Gains , And reap the scandal for their pains ; Half-starv'd at Court with expectation , Forc'd to return to their Sootch Station , Despis'd and scorn'd by every Nation . A paltry Knight not worth a mention , Renounc'd his Faith for piteous pension ; After upon true Protestant Whore , H 'had spent a large Estate before . A thick short Collonel next does come , With Stradling Legs and massy Bum : With many more of shameful Note , Whose Honour ne're was worth a Groat . If these be Pillars of the Church , 'T is fear'd they 'll leave her in the lurch ; If abler Men do not support her Weight , All quickly will return to Forty Eight . The humble Address of your Majesty's Poet Laureat , and others your Catholick and Protestant dissenting Rhymers , with the rest of the Fraternity of Minor Poets , Inferior Versifiers and Sonetteers of Your Majesty's Ancient Corporation of Parnassus . Humbly Sheweth , THat we your Majesty's poor slaves , Your merry Beggars , witty knaves , Being highly sensible how long And dull dry Prose addressing Throng , Have daily vext your Royal Ears With fulsom speeches , canting Pray'rs , Unanimously think it better T' address your Majesty in Meeter . Great Sir , your healing Declaration Has cur'd a base distemper'd Nation ; The Godly hug it for the ease It gives to squeamish Consciences ; And by the Mammonists , 't is made The grand encouragement of Trade ; But we must reckon it ( in our sense ) A gracious Poetick Licence . 'T is your peculiar excellency , T' indulge Religion to a frensy ; And our Religion is our fancy : For which , we judge 't would be a crime , Not to present our thanks in Rhime ; We , with all Subjects of our mind , To pay , like us , their dues in kind : That jealous Protestants would greet With Tests and Laws your Royal Feet ; That all would sacrifice in course Their stubborn Consciences to yours ; That th' Academies wou'd oppose On no pretence your Royal Cause , But quit their Oaths and Founders Laws That Corporations yield their Charters , And no more grudge your Soldiers Quarters ; That Borough-Towns would chuse such Men , As you shan't need send home agen ; That all right Members take their stations , Such as Sir R — and Sir P — That your new Friends stand every where , Of which we recommend one pair , Honest Will Pen and Harry Care. Dissenters will with all their heart-a Vote for a Gospel Magna Carta ; Your Judges too will over-awe The poor dead letter of the Law ; Your High Commissioners , from whom The obstinate receive their doom , For trusty Catholicks make room . Only one resty part o' th' Nation , Wou'd bound your pow'r of dispensation ; For which we 'll bait the Rogues agen , With second part of Hind and Pan : We 'll Rhime 'em into better manners , And make them low'r their Paper-Banners ; Nor is this all that we will do , No , Sir , we 'll pray like Poets too . May our great God Apollo bless you , May Iuno help your budding issue ; May you attempt no enemies To skirmish with but Butterflies : Nor exercise Your Martial Arms , But in Mock-sieges , false alarms . May you have long and peaceful days , And may we live to sing your Praise ; And after all , may you inherit The over-plus of the Saints merit . The LAUREAT . Jack Squabb his History in little drawn , Down to his Evening , from his early dawn . APpear thou mighty Bard , to open view ; Which yet we must confess you need not do : The labour to expose thee we may save , Thou stand'st upon thy own Records , a Knave ; Condemn'd to live in thy Apostate Rhimes , The Curse of Ou ts , and Scoff of Future Times . Still tacking round with every turn of State Reverse to Sh — ry thy cursed Fate Is always at a change to come too late : To keep his Plots from Coxcombs was his Care , His Policy was mask'd , and thine is bare : Wise Men alone cou'd guess at his Design , And cou'd but guess , the Thred was spun so fine : But every pur-blind Fool may see through thine . Had Dick still kept the Regal Diadem , Thou hadst been Poet Laureat to him , And , long e're now , in Lofty Verse proclaim'd His high Extraction , among Princes Fam'd ; Diffus'd his Glorious Deeds from Pole to Pole , Where Winds can carry , and where Waves can rowl . Nay , had our Charles , by Heav'ns severe Decree , Been found , and Murther'd in the Royal Tree , Ev'n thou hadst prais'd the Fact ; his Father slain , Thou call'dst but gently breathing of a Vein : Impious and Villanous ! to bless the blow That laid at once three lofty Nations low , And gave the Royal Cause a fatal Overthrow . What after this cou'd we expect from thee ? What cou'd we hope for , but just what we see ? Scandal to all Religions , New and Old ; Scandal to thine , where Pardon 's bought and sold , And Mortgag'd Happiness redeem'd for Gold : Tell me , for 't is a Truth you must allow ; Who ever chang'd more in one Moon , than thou ? Even thy own Zimri was more stedfast known ? He had but one Religion , or had none : What Sect of Christians is 't thou hast not known , And at one time or other made thy own ? A Bristled Baptist bred ; and then thy Strain Immaculate , was free from sinful Stain . No Songs in those blest times thou didst produce To brand and sham good Manners out of use : The Ladies then had not one Bawdy Bob , Nor thou the Courtly Name of Poet Squab . Next thy dull Muse , an Independent Jade , On sacred Tyranny five Stanza's made , Prais'd Noll , who ev'n to both extreams did run , To kill the Father , and dethrone the Son. When Charles came in , thou didst a Convert grow , More by thy Int'rest , than thy Nature so . Under his livening Beams thy Laurels spread ; He first did place that Wreath about thy Head ; Kindly reliev'd thy wants , and gave thee Bread. Here 't was thou mad'st the Bells of Fancy Chime , And choak'd the Town with suffocating Rhime . Till Heroes form'd by thy Creating Pen , Were grown as Cheap , and Dull , as other Men. Flush'd with Success , full Gallery , and Pit , Thou bravest all Mankind with want of Wit. Nay , in short time , wer't grown so proud a Ninny , As scarce t' allow that Ben himself had any . But when the Men of Sense thy Error saw , They check'd thy Muse , and kept the Termagant in awe . To Satyr next thy Talent was Addrest , Fell foul on all , thy Friends among the rest : Those who the oft'nest did thy wants supply , Abus'd , Traduc'd , without a reason why . Nay , ev'n thy Royal Patron was not spar'd , But an obscene , a santring Wretch declar'd . Thy Loyal Libel we can still produce , Beyond Example , and beyond Excuse . O strange return , to a forgiving King ! But the warm'd Viper wears the greatest Sting . Thy Pension lost , and justly without doubt , When Servants snarl , we ought to kick 'em out ; They that disdain their Benefactors Bread , No longer ought by Bounty to be fed . That lost , the Vizor chang'd , you turn about , And strait a True-blue Protestant crept out ; The Frier now was writ ; and some will say They smell a Malecontent through all the Play. The Papist too was damn'd , unfit for Trust , Call'd Treacherous , Shameless , Profligate , Unjust , And Kingly Pow'r thought Arbitrary Lust. This lasted till thou didst thy Pension gain , And that chang'd both thy Morals , and thy Strain . If to write Contradictions , Nonsense be , Who has more Nonsense in their Works than thee ? We 'll mention but thy Lay-mans Faith , and Hind , who 'd think both these ( such clashing do we find ) Cou'd be the product of one single Mind : Here thou wou'dst Charitable fain appear , Find'st fault that Athanasius was severe ; Thy Pity straight to Cruelty is rais'd , And even the pious Inquisition prais'd , And recommended to the present Reign : " O happy Countries , Italy and Spain ! Have we not Cause , in thy own Words , to say , Let none believe what varies every day , That never was , nor will be at a stay . Once , Heathens might be sav'd , you did allow ; But not , it seems , we greater Heathens now : The Loyal Church , that buoys the Kingly Line , Damn'd with a Breath , but 't is such Breath as thine : What credit to thy Party can it be , T' have gain'd so lewd a Profligate as thee ? Stray'd from our Fold , makes us but laugh , not weep ; We have but lost what was disgrace to keep : By them Mistrusted , and to us a Scorn ; For it is Weakness at the best to turn . True , hadst thou left us in the former Reign , T' have prov'd , it was not wholly done for Gain ; Now , the Meridian Sun is not so plain . Gold is thy God , for a substantial Sum , Thou to the Turk wou'dst run away from Rome , And sing his Holy Expedition against Christendom . But to conclude , blush with a lasting Red , ( If thou' rt not mov'd with what 's already said ) To see thy Boars , Bears , Buzards , Wolves , and Owls , And all thy other Beasts , and other Fowls , Routed by two poor Mice : ( Unequal fight ) But easy 't is to Conquer in the Right . See there a Youth ( a shame to thy gray Hairs ) Make a meer Dunce of all thy threescore Years . What in that tedious Poem hast thou done , But cramm'd all Aesop's Fables into one . But why do I the precious Minutes spend On him , that wou'd much rather hang , than mend . No , Wretch , continue still just as thou art , Thou' rt now in this last Scene , that Crowns thy part ; To purchase Favour , veer with every Gale , And against Interest never cease to Rail ; Tho thou' rt the only proof how Interest can prevail . On the Bishops Confinement . WHere is there Faith and Justice to be found ? Sure the World trembles , Nature's in a swound ; To see her Pious Sons design'd to fall A Victim to Religion ; Truth , and all The Charms of Piety are no Defence Against the new-found Power , that can Dispence With Laws , to Murder Sacred Innocence : Surely , unless some pitying God look down , And stem this Torrent , it will shortly drown Divinity it self . — The Bishops Prisoners ! Can we tamely see Those Reverend Prelates bow the Knee To Antichrist ? No , mighty Monarch , no , Though we must pay to Caesar what we owe , There is a Power Supream , by which you live ; Whose Arm is longer , and Prerogative Larger by far than yours ; whose very Word Can blast your Hopes , and turn your two-edg'd Sword ; Can make his Secular Vicegerent know , Virtue , like Palms deprest , do higher grow . Though Rob'd in all the Grandeur of your State , Courtiers , like Radiant Stars , about you wait : ' Midst of your glorious Joys , when you put on That awful Presence which becomes a Throne ; Belshazzar like , three Words upon the Wall Shall blast your Joys , and make your Glories fall . His Holiness , that Patriot of Strife , Though he can grant you Pardons , cannot Life . Arise then , Mighty Sir , in God-like Mien , As of thy Valour , let thy Truth be seen ; Free from Mistrust , let all your Words be clear ; By Actions let your Promises appear : Protect that Church which brought you to the Crown ; You know 't is Great and Honourable to own A kindness done ; but to reward with Death That happy Instrument that gave you Breath , Is mean , and might a Cath'lick's Conscience Sting , To cut the Hand off that Anoints you King. Advice to the Prince of Orange , and the Packet-Boat returned . Adv. THE year of Wonder now is come , A Jubilee proclaim at Rome ; The Church has pregnant made the Womb. Pac. No more of the admired Year , No more of Jubilee declare ; All Trees that blossom do not bear . Adv. Orange give o're your hopes of Crowns , And yield to France the Belgick Towns ; And keep your Fleet out of the Downs . Pac. We 'll wait for Crowns , not Interest quit , Let Lewis take what he can get ; And do not you proscribe our Fleet. Adv. Ye talk of Eighty Men of War , Well Rigg'd and Mann'd you say they are ; 'T was joyful News when it came here . Pac. Well may the sound of Eighty Sail , Make England's greatest Courage fail ; When half the number will prevail . Adv. But we have some upon the Stocks , And others laid up in our Docks ; Well fitted out , would match your Cocks . Pac. Talk not as if you 'd match our Cocks , And Launch your few Ships on the Stocks ; And if you can , secure your Docks . Adv. Besides , we 've call'd our Subjects home , Which in your Fleet and Army rome , But you , they say , won't let them come . Pac. Your Subjects , in our Camp and Fleet , Whom you with Proclamation greet , Will all obey when they think fit . Adv. Soldiers and Seamen both we need , Old England's quite out of the Breed ; Feather and Scarf won't do the deed . Pac. Of Men and Arms never despair , The Civiliz'd Wild Irish are Couragious even to Massacre . Adv. Now , if you 'd be Victorious made . Like us , on Hounslow Masquerade ; Advance your Honour , and your Trade . Pac. Then take this Counsel back again , Leave off to mimick in Campaign , And fight in earnest on the Main . Adv. Buda we storm'd , and took 't with ease ; Do you the same upon the Seas , And then we 'll meet you when you please . Pac. The storming Buda does declare , That you the glorious Off-spring are Of them that made all Europe fear . Adv. Such Warlike Actions will at least Inspire each neighbouring Monarch's breast , Till Lewis shall compleat the rest . Pac. Such Camp , such Siege , and such sham Shews , Make each small State your pow'r oppose , And Lewis lead you by the Nose . A Stanza lately put upon Tyburn . HAil Reverend Tripos , Guardian of the Law ; Sacred to Justice , Treasons greatest awe ! Do thou decide the Nations weighty cause , And judge between the Judges and the Laws . So shall no guiltless Blood thy Timber e're pollute , But Righteous Laws shall vouch all thou shalt execute . Harry Care 's last Will and Testament . NOT Hell it self , nor Gloomy Fate , can save The lewdest Sinner from his Destin'd Grave : But all the sooty Surges once must try , Old Charon's Boat 's a certain Destiny . This Harry found , whose mouldring Corps did call For Physick-props t' uphold the human Wall ; Thinking himself to Ne plus ultra come , He thought of Winding Sheets , and of his Tomb : Summon'd his glorious Kindred to appear , To see his last , and his last Will to hear ; The Weeping Crowd the mournful Chambers fill , While he in dying Accents makes his Will. Imprimis , For my Soul ( if such I have ) I wish it buri'd with me in my Grave : For if what great Divines do preach and tell , Be real Verities of Heaven and Hell , Down to the gloomy Shores I surely go , The same I serv'd above , must serve below . And next , for my dear Wife , who Weeps my fall , And is chief Mourner at my Funeral ; My sole Executrix I do here make , And let her all my Goods and Chattels take : Besides , my Province too let her command , That undiscover'd lies in Fairy-Land . To her my unsold Pamphlets I bequeath , To buy her Brandy and Tobacco with : And if she do a Male or Stallion take , I hope he 'll use her kindly for my sake ; With equal Strength the Marriage-Yoke she 'll draw , If he but drench her well with Usquebagh . My Daughter next , the Off-spring of my Bed , I pour a double Blessing on her Head ; The only Legacy I can bestow , And more than Heav'n gave me here below : May she the Irish Witness wed , and raise , A Race of Evidences for our Cause . And for those kinder Folks that propt my Pains , I freely leave them both my Pen and Brains : May they my little Artifices use , To raise up Factions , and the Crowd amuse , Till being doubly dipt in Infamy , Like me unpitied , and unenvy'd dye . Now to the num'rous Crowd that do's survive , I only can my dying-Counsel give : The Western Emissaries I approve , And even dying do declare my Love. I charge them to stand firm unto their Trust , Accounting what 's their Interest , to be Just. The Females I commend to Brother Cox , Who if he cannot cure , can give the Pox ; And may he still the vigorous warmth retain , T' impart to stroaling She in Street or Lane. I 've nothing more to give to all the rest , But leave Ten Thousand Curses on the Test : And who do its Abolishing withstand , I leave upon them an Eternal Brand. And for the Penal Laws they like so well , I 'll write for their Repeal when I 'm in Hell ; And if Damn'd Pluto's Laws are like to these , I 'll quickly sue him out a Writ of Ease , I there will my Occurrence truly state , Whilst some Infernal Larkin Prints the Cheat ; I Hell's black Tyrant will both sooth and praise , And even in Sulph'rous Styx Sedition raise . A new Catch in praise of the Reverend Bishops . TRue Englishmen , drink a good Health to the Mitre . Let our Church ever Flourish tho' her Enemies Spight Her : May their Cunning and Forces no longer prevail , And their Malice , as well as their Arguments , fail . Then remember the Seven which supported our Cause , As Stout as our Martyrs , and as Just as our Laws . Protestantism Reviv'd : or the Persecuted Church Triumphing . IN Sable Weeds I saw a Matron clad , Whose Looks were grave , whose Countenance was sad ; Pensive with care , she musing sate alone , Her State too , too unhappy to bemoan : Deep bitter pangs I saw her undergo , And pay the tributary drops of woe , So wept Ducalion when he saw the State And face of Nature chang'd and desolate . By this dumb Elegy a while sh'exprest The gloomy sorrows of her troubl'd breast . Then heaving up her head , she silence broke , And with a heavy sigh dejected spoke . Good God! what grief surrounds my aged head ! What new distracting woes I daily wed , Who am by spiteful Foes in triumph led ! They pierce my side with wound , they break my rest , And snatch my sucking Children from my breast : My elder Sons inhumanly they treat , My weaker ones they bubble with Deceit . Thus they insult , thus put me to disgrace , And spit their frothy Venom in my face : My growing sorrows to compleat the more , I 'm flouted by a Babylonish Whore , Put me to death they can't , since Heav'n decreed I must not dye , though with my Saviour bleed , But humbly should in after-times succeed : What most my anxious Soul tormented hath , Is , he that should defend , betrays my Faith. Thus , thus abus'd , I 'm to all Griefs betray'd , Thus my Delights are double Sorrows made . Who e're was curb'd by such a Concubine ! Who so perplex'd ! Was ever grief like mine ! Then she bow'd down her head , and with her tears Bedew'd the parched Earth : when straight appears A Comforter by pitying Heav'n sent To raise her drooping Spirits almost spent : Who when he had respectful Homage paid , In terms obliging reverently said , Mother , I know the cause of all thy Grief , I 'm sent thy Succor , and thy true Relief : Thy God has heard thy Sighs , thy faithful Pray'rs , And graciously receiv'd thy flowing Tears : I 'll wipe them off , I 'll rugged Grief expel , And usual Joy shall in thy Count'nance dwell : I 've made thy haughty Domineerers bow , And own their Lives they to my bounty owe : I 've foil'd them all , I have disarm'd them quite ; They have the power to bark , but not to bite . To ease your pain , by th' God of Heaven I 'm sent , He acts , and I 'm the Honour'd Instrument . Then she arose , Joy smiling in her Eye , And with a cheerful Voice did thus reply : Thanks gracious God , thanks thou Victorious Son , By whom I have my wonted Glory won : Rejoice my Sons , and Hallelujahs sing Unto our Saviour , our Triumphant King. For I an Anthem will compose , and then , We 'll sweetly sound it to our God. Amen . The Council . To the Tune of , Iamaica . I. TWO Toms and Nat , In Council fat , To rigg out a Thanksgiving , And make a Prayer , For a thing in the Air , That 's neither Dead nor Living . II. The Dame of East As 't is Express'd , In her late quaint Epistle , Did to our Eady , Bequeath the Baby , With Coral , Bells and Whistle . III. With this intent , she to her sent Her Gold and Diamond Bodkin , That to conceive , She might have leave ; And is not this an odd thing ? IV. Then a Pot of Ale , To the Prince of Wales , Tho' some are of Opinion , That when 't comes out , A Double Clout Will cover his Dominion . The Audience . THE Criticks that pretend to Sense , Do cavil at the Audience , As if his Grace were not as good , To bow to , as a piece of Wood. Did not our Fathers heretofore Their sensless Deities adore ? Did not Old Delphos all along Vent Oracles without a Tongue ? And wisest Monarchs did importune From the dumb God to know their Fortune , Did not the Speaking-Head of late , Of matters Learnedly Debate ? And rendred without Tongue or Ears Wise answers to his whisp'ring Peers ? And shall we to a living Prince Deny the State of Audience ? What tho' the Bantling cannot speak ? Yet like the Blockhead he may squeak ; Give Audience by Interpreter , The wisest Prince can do no more . Then enter with a Prince's Banner Sir Charles , after the usual manner . Great Sir , His Holiness from Rome Greets your high Birth . The Prince , cry'd Mum ▪ The Consecrated Pilch and Clout , If you 'll vouchsafe to hear me out , And many other Toys I 'm come To lay them to your sacred Bum. So young , yet such a God-like Ray ! Phoebus , your Dad , was Priest Dad-a . Great Prince , I have no more to say . Conducted next , there comes , Great Sir , An Envoy from the Emperor , To Gratulate your lucky Fate , That gives to England's Throne new date ; We joy that any thing should Reign , To baffle Orange and the Dane . The Youth , to see them thus beguil'd , In token of his Favour smil'd . But at the Spaniard laugh'd outright , As shamm'd again in Eighty Eight . Next , having pass'd the inward Centry , The doubtful Monsieur made his entry : The King my Master , Sir , has sent Your Royal Birth to complement ; If you will make it but appear , That you are England's Lawful Heir . Here Lady Powis took him short , Have you a King ? Thank Maz'rine for 't ! Fr. man ] Whoe're the Father was , the Mother Was France's Q. ( P — is ) Who questions t'other ? At this Reproof he pawn'd a Purse , And parting made his Peace with Nurse . The Dane , the Swede , with other Nations , Come in with loud Congratulations . Upon the Swede so fam'd for Battel , He cast a frown , and shook his Rattle . And for the Dane , who took the part Of good Prince George , he let a fart . This put him in a sullen fit , Nurse scarce could dance him out of it . When an Ambassador from Poland , Knock'd at the Door , and Vel● from Holland , He crying suck'd , and sucking cry'd , When Lady Governess reply'd Peace , Prince , peace , Prince , peace , pretty Prince , And let the States have Audience . Dutch-man . ] From Holland I am hither sent , To Challenge , not to Complement . Prepare with speed your Twenty Sail , Your twice four thousand on the Nail ; Which by your Senate was enacted , With Orange , when your Sire contracted . The Name of Holland did affright , And make th'young Hero scream outright . But , Orange nam'd , the Royal Elf , The sweet , sweet Babe , beshit himself . Tyrconnel , who came o're no less Than to be made his Governess , To take her leave , by luck came in , She suck'd his Nose , and lick'd him clean . Last came the Lady H — from Play , Mov'd by Instinct he cry'd , Mamma , And posted to the Queen away . An Epistle to Mr. Dryden . DRyden , thy Wit has Catterwaul'd too long , Now Lero , Lero , is the only Song . What Singing , Dancing , Interludes of late , Stuff , and set off our goodly Farce of State ? Not Albevil can turn a deep Intrigue , Till first well warm'd with Bishop Talgol's Jigg . W — m cannot sleep , or if a Nap he takes , His Dream some Old Tressilian Ballad breaks . But was e're seen the like , in Prose or Metre , To this mad Play , or work of Father Petre ? At Court no longer Punchionello takes , Each Scene , Part , Cue , mishapen to the Mac's . Such Plot , and the Catastrophe is such , We must be either Irish all , or Dutch. Our very Judges in Westminster-Hall , Like their Old Roof , were Irish Timber all . And ( bless us ! ) Irish Wolves are brought to keep The Nation , grown now all such silly Sheep ; Such errand Asses , errand Cattle made , Or to be yok'd , or saddl'd , fleec'd , or flead . O Martyr's Son , thy Destiny is shown ; Such props are for a Scaffold , not a Throne : So Iuno , in her impotence of rage , By Heav'n deny'd , did Hell's black Pow'rs engage ; Yet sped the Heroe : Iove and Fate were strong ; Religious care ! He took his Gods along : But hark , O hark , the Belgick Lyon roars , And shakes afar the French and British Shoars : One Brandy drinks , one mad with Prophecies : Lord ! what they tell us of some Prince from Frize ; Arms , and the Man they sing , no French finess , But hearty blows , and Brandenburg Address . Hence Vigour , and our Figure comes agen , We rise , and walk , all true erected Men. The force of those Circaean Cups subdu'd And the wild Charms our new Armida brew'd , The Witchcraft he ( our true Rinaldo ) broke , And g●ubs the base pretenders to his stock . But oh ! what Spirit of deceit afar , Possess'd our Pulpits , and bewitch'd the Bar ! What Bane , what Mischief on poor Mortals shed By Vermin , from the Laws corruption bred . Tho to their Irish Roof no Cobwebs cleave , Below , what strife and endless toyls they weave : Wanting brave strength to strangle men to death , What Frauds they hide ! What Venom underneath ! And when some shorter course to Murder 's shown , Cry , O that ( luscious ) Point ! they gain'd the Crown . Sons of the Pulpit the same measures keep , And of that same stumm'd Cup have drunk as deep . Agog for some odd Transubstantiate thing , Chimera Reign , or Metaphysick King , Sublim'd to School-Divinity extreams , Their Brains would crow with Patriarchal Dreams . So high from solid honest Wisdom blow n , They'd have some Hippo-Centaur on the Throne , Not Law ordain'd , but by some God appointed , Not Lay-elected , but by Priest anointed . Away this Goblin Witchcraft , Priestcraft Prince ; Give us a King , Divine , by Law and Sense . Now Bar and Pulpit to Dragoons a sport , Their Cause is carri'd to the last Effort . Princes in more compendious method teach , Force is their way ; let Old Apostles Preach . What 's stablish'd Law , where standing Armies come , Or who'll talk Gospel to a Kettle-Drum ? When God would hear , where Giants did oppress , The several Nations had their Hercules . So were the Horns of grizly Violence broke ; So people freed from triple Geryon's Yoke . The various Snake in Lerna-Lough that bred ; That loll'd and hiss'd to Death , at every head , Nemaean Lion , Erymanthian Boar , In Bogs that wallow , and on Hills that roar : All by his God-like Prowess done away , Their Lawless Rule , and that Gigantick sway . In vain whilst this high Vertue Nations sought , The Nassau-House were never yet without . Nor is confin'd to Provinces their care , Their gen'rous labour neighb'ring Kingdoms share . Here the foul Herd flee from his lifted hand , That long had made a Stable of the Land. The Monster of the Lough , new Lerna-Plague But scarce in head ) the Bog-begotten Teague . The ravenous Kind , the Harpies sharp for prey , With Birds obscene , and uncouth to the day . No Den , no Ditch , no rousting for them more , Now , now is come our Hercules ashore . Vile Fraud dispell'd , and superstitious Mists : He from our Temple drives all Knaves and Priests . Then warmer Wallop , in due Scarlet shown , To Coffee - Dick bequeaths his rusty Gown . Oh Dryden , if this Hercules were thine , How wou'd his Club , and Atlas-shoulders shine : How wou'dst thou all our Maids of Honour fright . With naughty Tale , of Fifty in a Night ? Howe'er , no more let Xavier mar thy Pen , No Miracle to forty thousand men . When Law , and bald Divinity begins , Why then the marvel that a Poet sins . The DREAM . WEary'd with Bus'ness , and with Cares opprest , My Faculties were Doz'd , and fond of rest , An unusual heaviness did on me creep , My Soul indulg'd it , yet I could not sleep . Dreams short and frightful vext me all the Night , I found I was betray'd , and long'd for Light ; The first such Wonders brought within my view , And when I wak'd I almost thought them true . Methought I saw great Iulius sadly lye Bleeding from all his Wounds , and Brutus by . The ungrateful Brutus which he doted on , With Meager Cassius pleas'd with what he'ad done . Crying , the World and Brutus are my own . I nearer drew to view the Ghastly Trunk , But oh ! the Scene was chang'd , Caesar was sunk ; 'T was Charles the Second , which lay mangl'd there , The Sacrificing Tribe too did appear , Brutus and Cassius , York and Petre were . Charles weeping , grasp'd his Brother by the hand , I heard him sighing say , Within my Land A faithful Pious Mother thou wilt command , Who in the utmost of Extremity , When all but her , and much upbraided I Wou'd from the Crown have quite excluded thee , Preach'd up thy forfeit Title by our Laws , And in thy banishment maintain thy Cause ; Passive Obedience thou hast much in store , But do not urge it to thy utmost pow'r . Iames to preserve her most devoutly swore ; Charles dy'd , and Iames discharg'd his Oath next hour , I saw the Priests flock in : the Bishops out , Saw Petres cram the Wafer down his Throat , Tho' dead , it sav'd the Heretick no doubt . I saw him poorly buri'd in the Night , A wretched Train , and a more wretched sight ; To me it seem'd a Fun'ral in Disguise , For fear his Creditors shou'd his Body seize . I saw him shewn for two pence in a Chest , Like Monk , Old Harry , Mary , and the rest , And if the Figure answer'd its intent , In ten years time 't would buy a Monument . My Fancy brought me back again to Court , Where only Fools Advise , and Knaves Resort , Our Kingdoms Curse , and other Nations Sport. I heard the Iesuits in a grand Cabal , Resolve to Root out Heresy , or fall , Each his particular Opinion gave ; They cry'd , an Opportunity we have To fetter her , who kept us long her Slave . Immediatly they pitch'd upon a Rule , How to suppress it by a forward Fool ; A bawling blundering senseless Tool . Whose Mouthing at White-Chappel first began , Who regularly to his Greatness ran Thro' all the vile degrees of Treachery , And now Usurps the Court of Equity ? He said , If you wou'd bring the Clergy down , Erect a Court-Commission from the Crown , And for Dispencing Law let me alone . They hugg'd their bubble , and the deed was done . Petre grew Fat , and with Mandamus's , Canker'd the Worthy Universities . The seats of Learning Block-Heads might command , Yet the King's Promise to the Church doth stand . Next , Liberty of Conscience was Ordain'd ; The Bishops for Contempt were then Arraign'd ; The Nobles and the Commons Closetted , The Penal Laws must be Abolished : If you refuse , your Principles are base , Disloyal , and you lose our Royal Grace , And each that has Dependencies his Place . Rochester fell , the Loyal Herbert starv'd ; Each that forsook his God , his Monarch serv'd : Somerset lost his Troops , and Shrewsbury , Oxford was stripp'd . So Scarsdal , Lumbley ; And many more too tedious to relate , By whom in safety , Iames , thou now dost sit . When thou perceiv'dst no comfort from this Wild , Thy Dame immediately was quick with Child ; The Princess at the Bath when it was Born , The Bishops in the Tower , yet had he sworn The Church of England never should be wrong'd : Upon this News the Hot-brain'd Papists Throng'd ; I wak'd , and as I on my Dream Reflected , My reasonable Notions thus projected : O King , I cry'd , thy Measures run too fast , And thou wilt find the curse of it at last ; Why dost thou wrong thy Country , shame thy life , To please false Priests , and an ungrateful Wife ; A Wife , whose Character has always been A Fawning Duchess , and a Sawcy Queen ? How canst thou suffer Petre's Insolence , Who only makes a harvest of his Prince . A Slave , to Rule Three Kingdoms , Govern thee , Yet ne'er was Master of a Family ? This Serpent envying thy Happiness , Has crept into thy Eve , whose wilfulness Has certainly betray'd thy Paradise ; Discerning Hallifax thy Fall foresaw , And early did his slighted Faith withdraw ; He needs no pardon for the Advice he gave , Which shews him honester than some that have . Under the Rose Men use their mind to tell , But now Myne-Heir 't is under the Broad Seal ; O Nassaw , with thy promis'd Succours come , And be to us like Anthony to Rome : Thy Wife shall young Octavia's place supply , And those that have betray'd our Country fly ; Unless the King to prove the Prince his own , Shall to the Lyons Den present his Son ; And if the Royal Brute do not destroy , The Infant , By Christ 't is his none Ioy. Over the Lord Dover's Door . 1686. UNhappier Age who 're saw , When Truth doth go for Treason ; Every Blockhead's Will for Law , And Coxcomb's Sense for Reason . Religion 's made a Bawd of State , To serve the Pimps and Panders , Our Liberty a Prison-Gate , And Irishmen Commanders . O Wretched is our Fate ! What Dangers do we run ! We must be wicked to be Great , And to be Just , undone . 'T is thus our Sov'raign keeps his Word , And makes the Nation Great ; To Irishmen he trusts the Sword , To Iesuits the State. Over the Lord Salsbury's Door . 1686. IF Cecil the Wise , From his Grave should arise , And look the fat B — in the Face . He 'd take him from Mass , And turn him to Grass , And swear he was none of his Race . To the Speaking-Head . I 'm come my future Fate to seek , Speak then , Coelestial Block-head speak . Answer . Had'st thou not consulted with the Witch at Rome , Thou need'st not thus , like Saul , to Endor come To seek out ( Brother solid-head ) thy Doom . The Hearts of all thy Friends are lost and gone ; Gazing they stand , and grieving round thy Throne , And scarce believe thou art the Martyr's Son. Those whom thou favourest , merit not thy Grace , They , to their Interest , Sacrifice thy Peace , And will in sorrow make thee end thy days . Tempt not thy Fate too far , do not rely On force or fraud ; Why should'st thou , Monarch , why , Live unbelov'd , and unlamented dye ? Essay written over his Door upon an Institution and Induction . I. 'T IS a strange thing to think on , That old Tom of Lincoln , Who writ for the Reformation , Shou'd so basely submit , Without Honour , or Wit , To the Reading the Declaration . II. Whoever takes Order From this Satan Recorder , And thinks to go out a Divine , Will find it a Folly To expect the Ghost Holy , 'T is the Devil that enters the Swine . The Fable of the Pot and Kettle , as it was told by Collonel Titus the Night before he Kiss'd the King's Hand . AS down the Torrent of an angry Flood , An Earthen Pot , and a Brass Kettle flow'd ; The heavy Caldron , sinking and distress'd By his own Weight , and the fierce Waves oppress'd , S●ily bespoke the lighter Vessel 's Aid ; And to the Earthen Pitcher friendly said , Come , Brother , why should we divided lose The strength of Union , and our selves expose To the Insults of this poor paltry Stream , Which with United Forces we can stem ? Tho' different heretofore have been our Parts , The Common Danger reconciles our Hearts ; Here , lend me thy kind Arm to break the Flood . The Pitcher this New Friendship understood , And made this Answer ; Tho' I wish for Ease And Safety , this Alliance does not please ; Such different Natures never will agree , Your Constitution is too rough for me ; If by the Waves I against you am tost , Or you to me , I equally am lost ; And fear more Mischief from your hardned-side , Than from the Shores , the Billows , or the Tide : I calmer Days and ebbing Waves attend , Rather than buoy you up , and serve your end , To perish by the Rigor of my Friend . The Moral . LEarn hence ( ye Whigs ) and act no more like Fools , Nor trust their Friendship who wou'd make you Tools ; While empty Praises and smooth Flatt'rys serve ; Pay with feign'd Thanks , what their feign'd smiles deserve : But let not the Alliance farther pass ; For know that you are Clay , and they are Brass . Epitaph on Harry Care. A True Dissenter here does lie indeed , He ne're with any or himself agreed ; But rather than want subjects to his spite , Wou'd snake-like turn , and his own Tail wou'd bite . Sometime , 't is true , he took the faster side ; But when he came by suff'ring to be try'd , The Craven soon betray'd his Fear and Pride : Thence , Settle-like , he to recanting fell Of all he wrote , or fanci'd to be well ; Thus purg'd from good ; and thus prepar'd by evil , He fac'd to Rome , and marcht off to the Devil . A Lenten PROLOGUE refus'd by the Players , 1682. OUR Prologue-Wit grows flat : the Naps worn off ; And howsoe're We turn , and trim the Stuff , The Gloss is gone ; that look'd at first so gaudy ; 'T is now no Jest to hear young Girls talk Baudy . But Plots , and Parties give new matter birth ; And State Distractions serve you here for mirth ! At England's cost Poets now purchase Fame , While Factious Heats destroy us , without Shame These wanton Neroes fiddle to the Flame . The Stage , like old Rump-Pulpits , is become The Scene of News , a furious Party's Drum. Here Poets beat their Brains for Voluntiers , And take fast hold of Asses by their Ears . Their gingling Rhime for Reason here you swallow ; Like Orpheus Musick makes Beasts to follow . What an enlightning Grace is want of Bread ? How it can change a Libeller's heart , and clear a Laureat's Head ! Open his Eyes till the Mad Prophet see Plots working in a future power to be . Traitors unform'd to his Second Sight are clear ; And Squadrons here , and Squadrons there appear ; Rebellion is the Burden of the Seer . To Bays in Vision were of late reveal'd Whig Armies , that at Knightsbridge lay conceal'd . And tho no mortal Eye could see 't before The Battel was just entring at the Door ! A dangerous Association — sign'd by None ! The Joyner's Plot to seize the King alone ! Stephen with College made his Dire compact ; The watchful Irish took 'em in the Fact — Of riding arm'd ! Oh Traiterous Overt Act ! With each of 'em an ancient Pistol sided ; Against the Statute in that Case provided . But why was such an Host of Swearers prest ? Their Succour was ill Husbandry at best . Bays's crown'd Muse by Sovereign Right of Satyr , Without Desert can dub a Man a Traytor . And Tories , without troubling Law or Reason , By Loyal Instinct can find Plots and Treason . But here 's our Comfort , though they never scan The Merits of the Cause , but of the Man , Our gracious Statesmen vow not to forsake Law — that is made by Judges whom they Make. Behind the Curtain , by Court-Wires , with ease They turn those Pliant Puppets as they please . With frequent Parliaments our hopes they feed , Such shall be sure to meet — but when there 's Need. When a sick State , and sinking Church call for 'em , Then 't is our Tories most of all abhor ' em . Then Pray'r , that Christian Weapon of Defence Grateful to Heaven , at Court is an Offence , If it dare speak the untamper'd Nations sense . Nay , Paper 's Tumult , when our Senates cease ; And some Mens Names alone can break the Peace . Petitioning disturbs the Kingdom 's Quiet ; As chusing honest Sheriffs makes a Riot . To punish Rascals , and bring France to Reason , Is to be hot , and press things out of Season ; And to damn Popery , is Irish Treason . To love the King , and Knaves about him hate , Is a Fanatick Plot against the State. To Skreen his Person from a Popish Gun , Has all the mischief in 't of Forty One. To save our Faith , and keep our Freedom's Charter , Is once again to make a Royal Martyr . This Logick is of Tory's deep inditing , The very best they have — but Oaths , and Fighting . Let 'em then Chime it on , if 't will oblige ye , And Roger vapour o'er us in Effigy . Let 'em in Ballads give their folly Vent , And sing up Nonsense to their Hearts content . If for the King ( as All 's pretended ) they Do here drink Healths , and Curse , sure we may pray ; Heaven once more keep him then for Healing Ends , Safe from old Foes — but most from his new Friends ! Such Protestants as prop a Popish Cause , And Loyal Men , that break all Bounds of Laws ! Whose Pride is with his Servants Salaries fed , And when they 've scarce left him a Crust of Bread , Their corrupt Fathers foreign Steps to follow , Cheat even of Scraps , and that last Sop would swallow French Fetters may this Isle no more endure ; Spite of Rome's Art stand England's Church secure , Not from such Brothers as desire to mend it , But false Sons , who designing worse to rend it , With leud Lives and no Fortunes would defend it . On Easter-day 87. this was found fixed on the King's Chappel Door . WHEN God Almighty had his Palace fram'd , That Glorious shining Place he Heaven Nam'd ; And when the first Rebellious Angels fell , He Doom'd them to a certain place , call'd Hell. Here 's Heaven and Hell confirm'd by Sacred Story , But yet I ne'er could read of Purgatory , That cleansing-place which of late years is found , For sinning-Souls to Flux in till they 're sound : The Priest form'd that for the good Roman Race , Our Maker never thought of such a place . Oh Rome ! we 'll own thee for a Learn'd wise Nation , To add a place wanting in God's Creation . Upon K. J. Pistolling a Mastiff Dog at Banbury , in his last Progress . THE Poets tell us idle Tales to please us , Of mighty Perseus , Hercules , and Theseus ; And several other gallant Heroes too , Who ev'ry one their several Monsters slew . The Minotaur did Theseus bravely Slaughter , And then as bravely Sw — d the King 's own Daughter . Nemean Lyon bold Hercules did choak , And of his Skin made him a lasting Cloak . The far-fam'd Perseus kill'd a mighty Whale , And all t' enjoy Andromeda's brown Tail. Historians all the Great St. George admire , For murd'ring horrid Dragon that spit Fire . But what concerns us yet far more to tell , One of these Heroes slew the Dog of Hell ; Renown'd Attempts ( you 'll all confess ) if true , But our great I — s did more than this , ( Morbleau ) : He who before , t' immortalize his Name , Lost dreaded England all her Naval Fame ; He who return'd from Belgick Lions Roar , When Sandwich sunk in sight of Southwold Shore ; He who two Summers but of late sat down With all his Forces before Hounslow Town , And nothing else but bare Dishonour won ; He , when he saw his Loving Friend assail'd By furious Mastiff-Cur , Ear-snip'd , bob-tail'd , Eyes darting Fire , and with his Boo-woo's fierce , Ready to seize the Lord-Lieutenant's Horse : 'T is true , quoth he , to shew that wondrous Might Which I have long conceal'd from Humane Sight : With furious Tone pursuing then his Speech , Fanatick Dog , forbear my Royal Breech , ( He cry'd ) For know thou art but bluntly pointed , Though sharp thy Fangs , to touch the Lord 's Anointed . To which the Dog , who never Scripture read , And scorn'd to call an Earthly Monarch , Dread . I am no Dog ( quoth he ) to Fawn and Flatter , But I Address according to my Nature : However know I am a Dog of Sense , That 's more than may be said of many a Prince . With this the mighty I — a Pistol drew , Discharg'd , and shot the Mastiff thro' and thro : Some say that , Vulcan-like , he riv'd his Brain , No matter which , the Dog receiv'd his Bane , By Royal Hand for fancy Language slain , And both got Honour , Dog and Sov'reign , The Sov'reign had the Honour Dog to kill ; The Mastiff , that a Prince his Gore did spill ; Now then , come down from Heav'n ( ye Cur ) come down , Thou whom the sultry Summers so renown : Resign that Place of thine more justly due To this same Dog , whom God's Vicegerent slew : Surely a Dog so dignifi'd in Story , Is th' only Dog with Constellations Glory . And ▪ you , who in your Signs St. George advance , Trampling o're Dragon's Jaws pierc'd through with Lance , Alter your painting , and set up in place , The bravest Hero of the Scotish Race , Discharging Thunder from his gaudy Saddle , And Mastiff prostrate in a goary Puddle : So shall you Truth advance o're Fabulous Toyes , And Dog and Monarch both Immortalize . The Metamorphosis . HAD the late fam'd Lord Rochester surviv'd , We'd been inform'd who all our Plots contriv'd ; Authors and Actors we had long since seen , In sharpest Satyrs they 'd recorded been , Tho' Captain , Doctor , Lord , Duke , K — g , or Queen : His bold and daring Muse had soar'd on high , And brought down true Intelligence from the Sky . He oft the Court has of its Vices told , While Priests pretend they dare not be so bold ; Tho they 're Heav'n's Messengers , it 's Livery wear Receive it 's bounteous Salary , yet they dare , Neglect their Duty , or for Gain or Fear , Connive at what 's directly opposite , And e're they 'll give Offence , each turn a Proselite : Witness the dismal Change that now is come , Long since expected by the Church of Rome . The Calves of Dan and Bethel bleat aloud , And Ieroboam worships in the Croud ; Our upstart Statesmen turn with every Wind That blows from Rome , to Sense and Truth are blind . But yet , though ten of our twelve Tribes shou'd fall , And worship Dagon , Ashtaroth , and Baal ; A Remnant will remain , who firm will stand , To God , Religion , and their Native Land , Who will not bow themselves to th' Romish Yoke , Though they share Sydney's or brave Russell's Stroke , Nor can this Egypt's Darkness long remain , A Star of Iesse will once shine out again ; Scotch Vermine , Irish Frogs , French Locusts ; All That swarm both at St. Iames's and Whitehall ; Though now advanc'd to all Trust , all Command , All Offices enjoy by Sea and Land , Shall , when this Sun doth set , no more appear Within the Confines of our Hemisphere . A Pincely Branch remains will on us smile , And spread its goodly Boughs quite o're the Isle ; Confirm our staggering Hopes , remove our Fears , And turn to Balm of Gilead all our Tears ; The Church and State shall nourish as before , Just Judges to the needful Bench restore ; And thoroughly purge the Judgment-Seat from those Who make the Laws themselves the Laws Oppose . For such there are , and in the highest Place , Who their Profession do so much disgrace ; That many fear their Grievance to unfold , Where Law and Conscience both are bought and sold. Our Pulpits too shall be adorn'd with those Who turn not with each Blast of Wind that blows ; Who dare teach Truth , and dare that Truth maintain , Not mov'd by Threatnings , Frowns , Favour , or Gain ; That dare declare against the Sins o' th Nation , While others of that Tribe embrace the Fashion . Nor thenceforth shall those Black-Coat Vipers come , Who here are daily disembogu'd from Rome ; Where Sins of all Kinds , and of all Degrees , ( The Church Revenues , and the Office Fees Being Discharg'd ) Religiously are done , Tho''t be to murther Father , Brother , Son ; Ravish a Sister , with a Daughter do What Nature has a just abhorrence to ; For which , if Purgatory or Hell you 'l shun , Fee the Priests largely , and your Work is done ; They 're Delegates to him that keeps the Keys , And can't admit one Soul without the Fees ; For he , as God , in Heav'n and Earth has Pow'r To Crown and to Uncrown in the same Hour ; Unmake and Make , Create and Uncreate , To Torments after Death can give a Date ; From him proceeds inevitable Fate . These Imps do now in Crowds each other follow , And hope e're long Churches and Bells to hallow ; To teach you how to worship to the East , Prescribe us Fasts , while they themselves do Feast ; Whole Loads of Reliques they have got together , Ay , and Saint Peter's Shadow 's gliding hither ; In th'Abby shortly will be kept a Fair , Where you may buy such consecrated Ware , As England has not seen this hundred Year . For 't is not France , nor Italy , nor Spain , That can the thousandth Part of Saints contain ; For Saints , by Canonizing , do become , By an infallible Deception made at Rome , Not only Omnipresent , but beside , One into twenty thousand they divide : The like with other Reliques they can do , Ioseph's old Coat , the Virgin Mary's Shoe ; Saint Peter's Sword that cut off Malchus Ear ; The Hoof's o' th' silly Ass which Christ did bear ; The Right Eye of Iohn Baptist , and the Apostle St. Thomas's Shoulder Blade-bone , with the Gristle ; The Virgin Mary's Milk sold by the Quart ; Nay , th'Blood and Water , which from Jesu's Heart Was by a Soldier let out with a Spear , By Miracle kept 'bove sixteen hundred year : Besides all this , more Nails to shew there be , That fix'd our Saviour Christ unto the Tree , Than twenty Smiths in a whole Day can make ; Yet all these for the same the Church does take , Bless me , thought I , good Heaven ! What does this mean ? Such Trumpery by me shall ne're be seen ; No , nor the Monsters , that were nam'd before , Altho' a Trumpet stood before the Door , And , after dismal Sound on Ludgate-Hill , Where Porcupine of you did cast his Quill ; Where Crocodile , Rhinoceros , and Baboon , With other Prodigies are daily shown ; Invite me in , I wou'd not stir , I swear , To see those more Prodigious — there . Caesar's Ghost . T Was still low Ebb of Night , when not a Star Was twinkling in the muffled Hemisphere ; But all around in horrid . Darkness mourn'd , As if old Chaos were again return'd ; When not one Gleam of the eternal Light Shot thro' the solid Darkness of the Night ; In dismal Silence Nature seem'd to sleep , And all the Winds were buri'd in the Deep ; No whispering Zephyrus aloft did blow , Nor warring Boughs were murmuring below ; No falling Waters dash'd , no Rivers purl'd ; But all conspir'd to hush the drowsy World. When on my Couch in thoughtless Slumbers wrapt , I lay repos'd ; — My very Soul too slept In peaceful Dulness , silent and serene , Till 't was debauch'd and waken'd into Dream . Methought I saw a dark and dismal Vault , Whose Horror cannot be conceiv'd by Thought , And seem'd by some Infernal Magick wrought : So vast and so perplexing intricate , As if the dreadful Court of Death and Fate ; And yet of Kings the great Repositer , And only Royal Dust lies mouldering here . Amongst these Monuments of Sacred Fame , Great Caesar stood ; Caesar , whose deathless Name ▪ When Shrines decay , triumphant shall remain , While Sense , good Nature , Wit , and Love shall reign . While I with awful Fear and Trembling , paid Humble Oblations to the mighty Dead , Methought the sweating Marble did unclose , And from Death's Mansion the dead Monarch rose ; His Eyes o're all scatter'd a sullen Light , Such as divides the breaking Day from Night ; By whose faint Rays the Object I discern'd All pale — with ghastly Majesty adorn'd . His stiffen'd Loyns a purple Mantle bore , His Brows a Wreath of wither'd Lawrels wore , Such as had flourish'd there in Life before . Now forth he stalks , silent as Shadows glide , Or Clouds that skim the Air while they divide ; As quick as thought the faithless Town he past , And towards the Camp of wonderous Fame does hast , While Midnight Fogs surround his awful Head , And down his Locks their baneful Poyson shed ; The wandring airy Daemons at the View , And all the Ignis Fatuus's withdrew ; Heccate let fall her charm-preparing Weeds , Wondring what unknown Pow'r Earth's Surface treads Which more than that which she invokes , she dreads . She flies all frighted with erected Hair , And scarce her Broomstaff bears her thro' the Air , From his dread Presence every Evil ran , Except that more-exalted Evil , Man : Not the first Race of less corrupted Fiends , Till taught by Man , knew half their new-coin'd Sins . Thrice with Majestick pace he walks the round , Surveying the Pavilions utmost bound , And useless Grandeur every where he found . Philippi , nor the fam'd Pharsalian Field , Did not more signs of Glorious Action yield ; But this was all for show , not Terror made , 'T was Hounslow Farce , a Siege in Masquerade . More near he views it yet , and found within , All the Degrees of Luxury and Sin ; Alsatia's Sink into this Common-shore , Did all its vile and nasty Nusance pour ; Fat Sharpers , Broken Cuckolds , Gamesters , Cheats , What Newgate disembogues , find here Retrears ; The Groom and Footman from their Liv'ry stript , With Scarf , Gay Feather , and Command equipt . Promotion gives to Sauciness Pretence , And Greatness is mistook for Insolence ; And to evince their Valour every Hour , Bamboo the Slaves that bow beneath their Pow'r ; Yet to the Countrey Ladies these appear So Novel , witty , Beau en Cavalier , That scarce a tender Heart is left behind , Pray God a Maidenhead you chance to find ! The Phantom to that Quarter first resorts , Where the Illustrious Gen'rals keep their Courts . I. Great Fever — the Foremost of the Crew , Whose Uncle Tur●in well cou'd fight we know . He who so often do's repeat the Jest How he subdu'd the Monarch of the West , ( Or wou'd have done had he not been undrest . ) This rough stern Hero of the British War To Neighbouring Tents is always born in Chair , For fear of Incommodement from the Air. II. It wonders what did Chur — ll recommend , Who never did to Deeds of Arms pretend : Love , all his Active Youth , his bus'ness was , Love that best suits his handsom Shape and Face . But Armies are like Verse , whose Dogrel Lines Are here for Sense , and there for gingling Rhimes . ( Here where Bellona lays her Armour by , And learns to be more charming Company , Where the ill-manner'd God has nought to do : ) Some few for fighting are , but most for show ; Where rich imbroider'd Cloaks a la Campagne So often shine , unless it chance to rain . Then Lord how the Sir M. will fret and fling ! Undone , 't is spoil'd , e're shown before the King ; In perfum'd Beds adorn'd they 're basking laid , As fine as young Brides on Persian Carpets tread , That o're the spacious Floor in wanton Pride are spread . Like Feasting God's luxurious , and , they say , As arrant Fornicators too as they . None come amiss when Lust their Fancies lead , Alcmena , nor the sweet-fac'd Ganimede ; And , like those Gods , they all are giv'n to Love , But none we hear e're thunder'd but old Iove . III. Here one the Hero acts in Lovit's Arms , And calls his Passions out in warlike Terms , Tells of soft Sieges , Batteries and Alarms ; How the Artillery of her Eyes did wound , And how at the first Onset he gave ground : He who ne're yet did to a Conqueror bow , Yet kisses and adores his Fetters now ; While all the Batteries ever he assay'd , Have been against some Female Fortless Maid ; But Love-it , who has less of Love than Pride , Being with guilt Coach and Country-house suppli'd , Makes that atone for all Defects beside . IV. There lay a Youth of all his Wits bereft , Who this Campaign was by his Mistress left . A nauseous Strumpet , Insolent and Loud , False and Destructive , basely Born , anst Proud. Oh bubbl'd Fool , thou that hadst seen the Fate Of Cully Ba — she s quickly spent Estate : Collier undone , and forty Rake-hells more For an old common o're-grown flabby Whore , Whose Bastard-Son may vie with thee for Age , A Trader twenty years upon the Stage : What from th' expensive Folly couldst thou see , But shameful Ruine , laught-at Infamy ? Thy Eyes I know were open'd long before , But still the Jilt betray'd thee to the Whore ; Debas'd thy Noble Spirits to her Rule , And turn'd thy once fair Fame to Ridicule ; Debauch'd thy Sense with Conversation base , Whores , Eating-Pimps , Play'rs , a numerous Race , While thou the treating Cully art despis'd , And Cuckold by the Slaves thou Gormandiz'd . Return , thou Prodigal , from Husks and Swine , The Ruin of the first , was cause of thine : They say thou' rt brave , give us this Proof of it , And well believe thou can'st be braver yet : Thou 'st yet a Nobler Race of Life to run , Leave Her — d to her now to be undone : But her kind Keeper gone , his Flame will fade ; Love cools when 't is an Obligation made . V. Here an old batter'd Tangieren he beheld , More mawl'd by Love than e're he was in Field ; Yet wondrous Amorous still , and wondrous gay , Old Ianuary dizen'd up in May ; His Zeals as Trophies of his Victory Graces , But all adorn'd with many Looking-glasses , In which he practises Bon Mien and Faces ; How well to manage Ogling , and what Air He shou'd maintain , when cock , when frisk his Hair ; What Affectation best wou'd Youth express , And least the Ruins of his Age confess ; Half-choak'd with monstrous Crevat-string , Disputes What Colour best to his Complection suits ; And all in Middle Gallery to pore , And claim which is his Joy , some low-priz'd Whore. Vain self-admiring Fop , though every day Thou dost thy antiquated Form survey ! But to be well deceiv'd , cease playing the Ass Six hours each Morn before a Looking-glass , And trust the wiser Valet with thy Dress ; For whilst thou dost not that ag'd Face behold , Thy Dress may flatter thee thou art not old . VI. Chett , that Scoundrel , he whom Nature made An arrant Fool , although a Rogue by Trade , Which he industriously improv'd so well , He does in nicest Villany excel , And from the Trumpet rais'd the Colonel ; Yet lives a double Scandal in his Race , His Morals are as odious as his Face : Though Knave and Coward in his Front be writ , He has one Virtue recommends him yet ; A Passive Valour that can kicking bear , A Caution that secur'd him in his Fear Behind the Canon in the Western War. And farther to this Honour has pretence , Can cheat his Men with matchless Impudence : But that 's the gen'ral Cry , while no bold Tongue Is found to tell Augustus of their wrong . VII . Next a Grabesious Allonier , who sate Like Bacchus on his Tun in Drunken State , With all his mellow Gang encompass'd round , In high Debauch of Wine and Bawdry drown'd . VIII . That Monster G — dy of prodigious size , A Body fitted to his beastly Vice ; A Face to all more formidable far Than Gorgon's Head , or to that Coward War ; In Youth mean Cheats and Rooking was his Trade , Now ( starving ) got Command — for Drink — not Bread. IX . V — our new Troy's Hector , and its hope , Preferr'd from Tail of Coach to Head of Troop ; 'T was no true Valour got him first a Name , But some Welsh Fury did his Blood inflame , And sure he never fought when he was ta'en . No Brutal Coward Tyrant Algerine E're healed Slaves so ill as his have been ; As if to him Authority were new , It is but damn the Rascal , and a Blow . For they so oft false Musters we observe , Rather than follow him the Rogues will starve ; And wou'd , if e're indeed there came a War , Be justly shot like wry-neck'd Chevalier , By some of his own Soldiers in the Reer . But V — n's not alone , more of his stamp , That better merit Tyburn , rule the Camp. X. Among this Crew M — ll that Fornicator , Incamp'd with Grandam Doxy and her Daughter ; The good old Soul he loves because she 's handy , Can Joque and Smoak , and hold him tack with Brandy ; Full threescore Years in wise Experience bred , Preferr'd from drawing Aleto M — ll's Bed ; She 's old enough to Witch , and by her Art Has struck some crooked Pin quite through his Heart . Or has some damn'd Infirmity unseen , That makes him dote on such a rivell'd Queen . XI . Among this Drunken Club was Beau Sir Tom , Dub'd for his Brother's Merits , not his own ; From drudging City-Prig advanc'd to be Right Worshipful , in Place of High Degree , But knew not how to manage Quality ; And thought the nearest way was to be lewd , While all Degrees the Debauchee pursu'd ; But like true Cit did always over-do , As well in Lewdness as in Fashions too ; Drinking 's his leading Vice , his darling Sin , That pumps his duller Inclination in ; Then loud as Storms , incourag'd for all Evil , Swears and invokes by Healths his Guardian Devil . By chance the Poet Elkanah was there To make 'em sport , for 't was not yet the Fair ; With many more too scandalous to name , Whose Talents are to Swear , Whore , Drink , and Game ; At a large Table they were seated round , With Bottles , Snush , foul Pipes , and Glasses crown'd , Boxes and Dice — but whether false or true , I leave it to the Fools that Night shall rue ; For there was Country Squire and City Cully , That came to see the Show , look'd to by Bully , Where bubbl'd of their Coyn , they healed are A la Campagne , — that is , with Chear entire : Damme , cries Grab , each Prig his Buttock bring , And let us forthwith fall to managing ; When I am boozing , clear old Dudgeon's Drolish , Then let my Natural be a Iump , a Polish , I sink her down — Then makes some nasty Jest , And Crowns it with a Bumper to the Best ; ( And calls for Link-boy , swears his Pego's nice , And therefore cannot deal in common Vice. ) Then to the height of Lewdness they retire , And Venus must extinguish Bacchus fire . Thus 't is when Men forsake an honest Trade , How much a better Pedant thou hadst made ; Or ( bilking sharp ) hadst bulli'd up and down , And scar'd the Trembling Mortals of the Town ? This was thy Talent , this thy proper Sphere ; Yet still this Part of thee remains while here , That thou canst Cheat , Oppress , and Domineer . Though thus much by thy Foes must be confess'd , Of all thy roaring Tribe thou art the best . The rest such Cowards Sots , such hard'ned Rogues , Blasphemers , Villains , Rake-hells , Swines , and Dogs , Have newer Sins than were to Sodom known , And if just Heav'n shou'd send his Vengeance down , There 's not one Lot to save a sinking Town . But numberless and endless 't were to tell All the rank Vice that fills this Local Hell. All which the Phantom does in haste survey , He scents the Morning-Air , and must away , And on the Eastern Hill he views the breaking Day . Yet e're he goes with a Remorse extreme , Looks back and Sighs o're this Ierusalem ; Nor cou'd depart till like the Prophet too , In whispering Our pronounc'd thrice — Wo , wo , wo ; And then methought I heard a Hollow Sound , Like Ecchoes that from Caves and Rocks rebound ; And thus it spake — Full five and twenty Years I Reign'd , without the Noise or Toil of Wars , Bore all th' Indignities of Factious Power , And saw my Life in danger every hour ; Yet rather had resign'd it up in Peace , Than ow'd my Safety to such Brutes as these ; At best a Scare-crow Rebels to affright , Put them to Action , and scarce one will fight . Ah , great Augustus ! thou deserv'st an Host Of Heroes , such as Ancient Rome produc'd ; When each Commander should like Scipio be ; Or rather like the yet more Godlike thee , Brave , Temperate , Prudent to the last degree . The common Rout all Sceva's in the Field , Who bore a thousand Arrows in his Shield . At least they shou'd have Souls to be inspir'd , And by thy great Example to be fir'd ; Thy Constancy and Valour imitate , And raise at once thy Glory and the State. This said , and parting with a pitying Look , Tow'rds his Eternal Hope , his way he took , And blest his Fate he cou'd again return To the blest Confines of his peaceful Urn. The Fourth Satyr of Boileau to W. K. 1687. BElieve me , Will , that those who have least Sense , Think they to Wisdom have the sole Pretence ; And that those Wretches who in Bethlem are , Deserve it less than those who put them there . The haughty Pedant , swoln with Frothy Name Of Learned Man , big with his Classick Fame ; A thousand Books read o're and o're again , Does word for word most perfectly retain , Heap'd in the Lumber-Office of his Brain ; Yet this cramm'd Skull , this undigested Mass , Does very often prove an arrant Ass ; Believes all Knowledge is to Books confin'd , That reading only can inform the Mind ; That Sense must Err , and Reason ramble wide , If Sacred Aristotle ben't their Guide . While , on the other hand , a Flutt'ring thing , With a full Roll , and three pil'd Crevat string , Whose Life 's a Visit , who alone takes care To say fine things , write Songs , and count the Fair ; Laughs at the musty Precepts of the School , Calls the Learn'd Writer an Authentick Fool ; Swears that all Learning is a thing unfit A well-bred Person , or a Man of Wit ; Names proper only to the Sparks o' th' Town , And damns his Scholar to his Colledge Gown . The fierce Bigot , who vainly does believe His bantring Zeal can Heaven it self deceive ; With Saint-like Looks the bleer-ey'd Crowd does blind , And the Jilt Villain damns all Human kind . While the wild Libertine , that Beast of Prey , Who bears down all that stops him in his way , Ranges o're all , and takes his savage fill In the wild Forest of a boundless Will : Swears that Heav'n , Iove's , and Hell 's Eternal Pain , Are the sick Dreams of a Distemper'd Brain , Tales fit for Children , a meer holy Jest , To starve the People , and to glut the Priest. The sharpest Satyrist with Poetick Rage Strives to reform the Vices of the Age ; Laughs at the Fool , and at the Villain rails ; Yet Folly reigns , and Villany prevails ; While the crack'd Skull shows all that has been said , Leaves Marks on nothing but the Poet's Head : For partial Man , try'd by himself alone , Protesting every Sentence but his own ; Severe to all Men , to himself too kind , Sees others Faults , but to his own is blind . The sordid Miser , a meer lump of Clay , Form'd into Man e're from its gross Allay It was refin'd by the Soul 's Heavenly Ray ; Whose Thirst of Wealth encreases with his Store , And to spend less , does covet to have more ; Who Midas-like , to feed his Avarice , Starves in the enjoyment of a golden wish ; Thinks himself wise , boasts of being provident , And downright Scraping calls good Management . The Love of Wealth is madness , and I hate The very trouble of a great Estate : 'T is perfect Dirt , cries the vain Prodigal , Mad till 't is gone , and when he has spent all , The beggar'd Fool calls himself Liberal . Now weigh them both , and tell me , if you can , Which of the two seems the most prudent Man : The Gamester swears both shou'd in Bethlem be , That Fortune-monger , maddest of the three , Whose Life , whose Soul , whose very Heav'n is Play , At which the Bubble throws them all away ; Who every moment waits his Destiny From the uncertain running of a Die ; And , if he chance to lose , then how he stares ! Then how the Fury , with his bristled Hairs , Curses his Fate , Earth , Hell , and Heaven defies , And with Oaths heap'd on Oaths , he storms the Skies . I could name thousands more , but to draw all The Shapes of this false Reasoning Animal , Wou'd be as hard , as to count all that die Each Spring and Fall by Low'r and Mercury : Or say , how oft th' impatient Heir , to have The Old Man's Wealth , has wisht him in his Grave : A Drudgery so great my Pen declines , Content to sum up all in these four Lines . Greece boasts seven Sages , but the Story lies , For the whole World ne'r saw one truly Wise : All Men are Mad ; and the sole Difference Lies in the More or the Less want of Sense . A Congratulatory Poem on his Highness the Prince of Orange his coming into England . Written by Mr. Thomas Shadwell . OUR Glorious Realm , o're all the Earth Renown'd , Once with the Noblest Government was Crown'd ; By which all Foreign Tyrannies were aw'd , Easie we were at home , and Terrible abroad . All our wise Laws of Empire were design'd Not for the Lust of one , but good of all Mankind ; The great Prerogative was understood A vast unbounded pow'r of doing good : From doing ill , by Laws it was confin'd ; If Sanctions , Pacts , or Oaths , could Princes bind , By Ancient Usages and Laws they sway'd , Which both were by the choice of Subjects made . Old Customs grew to Laws by long Consent , And to each Written Law of Parliament , Freedom in Boroughs , and in Land Freehold , Gave all , who had them , Voices , uncontroul'd : But few new Rights were by new Laws obtain'd , Only some ravish'd Liberties regain'd . Who had no Voices , yet alike were bound By the Protection , which from Laws they found ; For every one in those had equal right , And no great Man could injure , or affright . Where Subjects in the Laws can claim no share , 'Twixt them and Cattle no distinctions are . This was the Constitution of our State , And true Religion flourish'd in its height : From lying Legends , false Traditions , free , From Monkish Ignorance , Schoolmens Frippery , From Idols , and from Papal Tyranny . Their building made of Stubble , and of Hay , Was by our Wise Reformers swept away ; Thus we enjoy'd a happy Union , Under the great Eliza , perfect grown , Hers and the Peoples Int'rests , were thought one . She , and the Realm , with mutual kindness strove , Great its Obedience , and as great her Love ; Long might such happiness have been enjoy'd , Had it not been b' Ambitious Priests destroy'd . Those haughty Priests cou'd not contented be With what remain'd from Popish Dignity , But would their Hierarchy have greater made , With cast-off Rights the Laity they invade , And call in Ius Divinum to their aid . With that invisible Commission arm'd Our Kings , with Sov'raign , and Inherent charm'd , With Sacred Person , Power without a Bound , Prerogative unlimited , no ground Whereof is in our Constitution found . Thus they , by Ecclesiastick Flattery , Turn'd Kings to Tyrants , and to Slaves the free ; These Furious Fools yet Wise Divines contemn'd , And their rash Doctrines , privately condemn'd ; None dare in publick say they were unsound , But Fines , and Pillories , and Brands , were found . For now Commission'd from above the Sky , Kings soon were deem'd for Laws and Oaths too high ; Hotly 't was taught , they were not bound by Oaths , Because no Pow'r above them to impose . 'T was now no Kingly Office , nor a Trust , No Laws to Rule by but their Sov'raign Lust ; And all the Land for their Estate they own'd , The Subjects were their Stock upon the Ground . At length , to rivet on the Chains we wore , Leud Knaves in Quoifs yield the Dispensing Power , Which never Tyrant here had claim'd before . The Scandals of the Bar must now be found To give the Government this mortal wound ; Which at one blow took all its strength away , And down in pieces dash'd , the Noble Structure lay . Ruin and Rubbish cover'd all the Ground , And no Remains were of the Building found . Monsters of Roman and Hybernian Race , With Phangs and Claws infect the wasted place : With one of British kind , who swallow'd more Than any other Bloody Beast of Pow'r ; Fiercely he goggl'd , his Jaws open'd wide , Louder he roar'd than all the Beasts beside . Some like Iaccals , before him prey'd for Blood , And to his Rav'nous Maw brought all they cou'd : Against the Rapine of these Beasts of Prey , First London's Noble Prelate stood at Bay ; One fit t' atone for all the Clergy's Blots , For three vile English Bishops , and twelve Scots . Then Valiant Fairfax and brave Hough made head , But by these Monsters were discomfited ; And now the trembling Church began to reel , And the effects of Non-resistance feel ; Where Ius Divinum was not on their side ; They strove to stop the firce impetuous Tyde ; Seven Suffering Heroes gave it such a shock , It seem'd to dash its Surges on a Rock ; But Showr's of Locusts came with thickest Fogs , From Tyber's Marshes , and from Shanon's Bogs ; Vast clouds of Vermin hasten to their aid , And intercepting light , thick darkness made ; All clouded was our Sullen Hemisphere , But Lo ! the Glorious Orange does appear ! And by his Universal Influence , Does to our Drooping Land new Life dispence ; His heat ferments that Lump was dead before , Which now in every part exerts its Pow'r ; To purge its self , that it may clean become , The Fermentation soon throws off the Scum. And ev'ry part does tow'rds Perfection move , Tow'rds Strength and Soundness , Harmony and Love. When Earth oppress'd , with darkness over-spread , From filthy Boggy Exhalations bred ; The Sun with noiseless Marches of his light , Discusses Vapours , and dispels the Night : With equal silence in his glorious Race , Our noysome Fogs does the Brave Orange chase ; Does all the Pow'rs of Darkness put to flight , And the Infernal Ministers of Night ; The Guilty Spirits shun th' approach of light . When undistinguish'd in the mighty Mass , And in Stagnation Universal Matter was ; Huddled in heaps the diff'ring Atoms lay Quiet , and had no Laws of Motion to obey : Th' Eternal Mover threw the Ferment in , The solid Atoms did their Course begin ; The quickning Mass moves now in ev'ry part , And does its Plastick Faculties exert . The jarring Atoms move into a peace , And all Confusion and Disorders cease : The ugly undigested Lump became The perfect , glorious , and well-order'd Frame . Let there be Light , th' Almighty fiat run ; No sooner 't was pronounc'd , but it was done : Inspir'd by Heav'n , thus the great Orange said , Let there be Liberty , and was obey'd . Vast Wonders Heav'ns great Minister has wrought , From our dark Chaos , beaut'ous Order brought : H'invaded us with Force to make as free , And in another's Realm could meet no Enemy . Hail Great Asserter of the Greatest Cause , Man's Liberty , and the Almighty's Laws : Heav'n greater Wonders has for Thee design'd , Thou Glorious Deliv'rer of Mankind ! A Congratulatory Poem to the most Illustrious Queen Mary , upon her Arrival in England . By Thomas Shadwell . MADAM , IMmur'd with Rocks of Ice no Wretches left Hopeless of Life , of Heat and Light bereft , Under the Influence of the rugged Bear , Where but one Day and Night is all the Year , With ne'er so much transporting Ioy could meet The dawning Day , as your Approach we greet : Your Beams reviv'd us from the Belgian Shore : Which now our long-lov'd Princess does restore . What could make us so rich , or them so poor ? The World nought equal to our Ioy can find , But the despairing Grief you left behind . We from the Mighty States have now gain'd more Than by our Aid they ever got before . When the Great Vere's and Sidney's won such Fame , That each of them immortaliz'd his Name . Not Alva's Rage would have distress'd them so As , MADAM , we have done , recalling You. Our ador'd Princess to Batavians lent , Is home to us with mighty Int'rest sent : For we , with her , have won the Great Nassau , Whose Sword shall keep the Papal World in awe . She comes , she comes , the Fair , the Good , the Wise , With loudest Acclamations rend the Skies ; Rock all the Steeples , kindle ev'ry Street , Thunder ye Cannons from each Fort and Fleet. To all the neighb'ring Lands sound out your Ioys , And let France shake at the Triumphant Noise . Bless'd be the rising Waves , the murm'ring Gales , Sustain'd the Mighty Cargo , swell'd the Sayls . Bless'd be the Vessel , as that was which bore The Sacred Remnant , when there was no Shore . Not the returning Dove they welcom'd so As we our MARY , who brings Olive too ; That only promis'd safety to their Lives , This our lost Peace and Liberty revives . Bless'd , bless'd be his Invasion , which made way For this most happy and Illustrious Day . So brave an Action , so Renown'd a Name , Was ne'er yet written in the Book of Fame . Let Parasites call Princes Wise , and Brave , Who bear inglorious Arms , but to inslave . Our Prince will break those Chains wherewith they bind : 'T is his true Glory to enlarge Mankind . In any Land You would Dominion gain ; And MADAM , in each Commonwealth would Reign . Where'er your God-like PRINCE from us should go . They would , like us submit without a Blow . In his short Sway more ▪ Wisdom He has shown , Than here before in Ages has been known . The Name of KING adds nothing to his Fame ; But his great Virtues dignify that Name . What Land can boast of such a matchless Pair , Like Him so wise , so brave ; like You so wise , so fair ? Where'er so many sacred Virtues join , They to a Scepter shew a Right Divine . Who are approv'd so Valiant , Wise and Iust , Have the best Titles to the highest Trust , Though from the Loins of greatest Kings deriv'd , That Title 's not so strong , nor so long-liv'd ; For Princes more of solid Glory gain , Who are thought fit , than who are born to Reign . The OBSERVATOR , Or the History of Hodge , as reported by some ; From his siding with Noll , and scribling for Rome . STand forth thou grand Impostor of our time , The Nation 's Scandal , Punishment and Crime ; Unjust Usurper of ill-gotten Praise , Unmatch'd by all but thy lewd Brother Bays ; How well have you your sev'ral Gallants chose , Damnably to plague the World in Verse and Prose . Like two Twin Comets : when you do appear , We justly may suspect some danger near . He lately did under Correction pass , Honour'd by that great Hand that gave the Lash , A doom too glorious for that cursed Head , And unproportion'd to the Life he lead ; But you are to a viler Fate design'd , To suffer by a vulgar hand like mine ; We 'll tear your Vizard , and unmask your Shame , And at each Corner Gibbet up your Name . Expose you to the Scorn of all you meet , As Dogs drag grinning Cats about the Street . Under Usurping Noll you first began To rear your Head , and shew your self a Man ; Unpitying saw the Royal Party fall , And Danc'd and Fiddl'd to the Funeral ; Disclaim'd their Int'rest , and renounc'd their Side , And with the Independent straight comply'd ; Officious in their Service , wrote for Hire ; A brisk Crowdero in the Factious Quire : Your nimble Pen on all their Errands run ; The Horoscope still opens to the Sun. There 't was in those unhappy Days , You laid foundation for designed Praise ; By disrespect ignobly purchas'd shame , And damn'd your Soul to scandalize your Name . When Charles at length by Providence came in , You fac'd about , and quickly chang'd the Scene ; Turn'd to new Notes your mercenary Strings , Began to play Divinity of Kings : Your former Master straitway is forgot , Stil'd Villain , Rogue , Thief , Murderer , what not ? Such recompence he doth deserve to have , Who for his Int'rest durst employ a Knave . Now 't was a time you thought to take your ease , After such great Exploits perform'd as these : Applauding to your self your own Deserts , You strait set up for a vain Ass of Parts ; Resolving that the Ladies too should know , What other Tricks and Gambals you could do . Was there a skipping Whore about the Town , Or private Baudy-house to you unknown ? Here for a Stallion , there for a Pimp you went ; To do both Drudgeries alike content . But ill success you had with Madam C — k , Whom in the Act her Husband took : Strong Bastinado o're your shoulders laid , Made you awhile surcease that letcherous trade , Till growing old in customary Sin , You with a Chaster Lady did begin , Whom when you found she all Assaults refus'd , And would not yield her self to be abus'd ; Down on your Knees you presently was laid , And thus ( O Righteous Heaven ) devoutly pray'd : Since you disdain the kind Request to grant , Dear Madam , let me lay my hand upon 't . This is the Man whose whole Discourse and Tone , Is Honour , Justice , Truth , Religion ; Was such a Godly Rascal ever known ? But now reform'd by indigence of Gold. Your former wanton course grew slack and cold , For 't was at first indeed too hot to hold . Now new expedients must employ your Brain , And other Methods for advance of Gain ; Something contriv'd in private , touch'd the State , Which made you timely think of a retreat ; Beyond Sea then the wretched Caitiff flies , A guilty Conscience has Quick-sighted Eyes . When you return'd you fell to work amain , And took up your old Scribling Trade again ; Some sorry Scandal on Fanaticks thrown , And viler Canting upon Forty one , You thought sufficient to oblige the Crown ; Then who but you , the World was all your own . Now for the Church of England you declare , A witty Zealous Protestant appear ; Your secret Spies and Emissaries use , To pay for false Intelligence and News : When nam'd in two Diurnals you dispence Equally void of Reason , Truth , and Sense . Guineas now from every Quarter came To pay respect to your encreasing Fame , While you at Sam 's like a grave Doctor sate , Teaching the Minor Clergy how to prate ; Who lickt your Spittle up and then came down , And shed the nasty Drivel o're the Town . Ay these were blessed Times and happy Days , When all the World conspired to your praise : He who refus'd and would no Token send , Must be traduc'd as the Dissenters Friend : And that your Greatness no regard might lack , You got a Knighthood chopt upon your Back . But something now has stopt that Rapid Stream , And you have nothing more to say for them ▪ Your piercing Eye discovers from afar , The glittering Glory of some further Star. Which bids you pay your Adoration there . Inconstant Rover , whither do'st thou tend ? When will thy tedious Villanies have end ? Whither at last do'st thou intend to go ? Of which Party wilt thou e're prove true , To Turk or Pope , to Protestant or Iew ? Should I here all thy Villanies recount , To what a mighty Sum do they amount ? Thy Solemn Protestations , Oaths and Lies , Devices , Shams , Evasions , Perjuries ; My Paper to a Volume would exceed , Of greater bulk than Hollingshead and Speed. For thou art now so scandalously known , And so remarkable in Vice alone , That every one can find a Stone to throw At such a snarling pimping Cur as thou . But Wretch ! if still thou art not past all Grace , And wholesome Counsel can with thee find place ; If thou at last sincerely wouldst atone , And expiate thy former Mischiefs done , Like dying Iudas render back thy pelf , Recant thy Books , and then go hang thy self . The Miracle ; How the Duchess of Modena ( being in Heaven ) prayed the B. Virgin that the Queen might have a Son , and how our Lady sent the Angel Gabriel with her Smock ; upon which the Queen was with Child . To the Tune of O Youth , thou hadst better been starv'd at Nurse . In Bartholomew-Fair . I. YOU Catholick Statesmen and Church-men rejoyce , And praise Heaven's Goodness with Heart and with Voice ; None greater on Earth , or in Heaven than she , Some say she 's as good as the best of the Three . Her Miracles bold , Were Famous of Old , But a braver than this is was never yet told ; 'T is pity that every good Catholick living , Had not heard on 't before the last day of Thanksgiving . II. In Lombardy-Land , great Modena's Duchess Was snatch'd from her Empire by Death's cruel Clutches ; When to Heaven she came ( for thither she went ) Each Angel receiv'd her with Joy and Content . On her Knees she fell down , Before the bright Throne , And begg'd that God's Mother would grant her one Boon ; Give England a Son ( at this Critical Point ) To put little Orange's Nose out of Joynt . III. As soon as our Lady had heard her Petition , To Gabriel , the Angel , she straight gave Commission ; She pluck'd off her Smock from her Shoulders Divine , And charg'd him to hasten to England's fair Queen . Go to the Royal Dame , To give her the same , And bid her for ever to praise my Great Name ; For I , in her favour , will work such a Wonder , Shall keep the most Insolent Hereticks under . IV. Tell Iames ( my best Son ) his part of the matter Must be with this only to cover my Daughter ; Let him put it upon her with 's own Royal Hand ; Then let him go Travel to visit the Land ; And the Spirit of Love , Shall come from above , Though not as before , in form of a Dove ; Yet down he shall come in some likeness or other , ( Perhaps like Count Dada ) and make her a Mother . V. The Message with hearts full of Faith were receiv'd , And the next news we heard was Q. M. conceiv'd ; You great ones Converted , poor cheated Dissenters , Grave Judges , Lords , Bishops , and Commons , Consenters You Commissioners all , Ecclesiastical , From M — the Dutiful , to C — the Tall ; Pray Heav'n to strengthen Her Majesties Placket , For if this Trick fail , beware of your Jacket . DIALOGUE . M. WHY am I daily thus perplex'd ? Why beyond Woman's patience vex'd ? Your Spurious Issue grow and thrive , While mine are dead e'er well alive . If they survive a nine days wonder , Suspicious Tongues aloud do Thunder ; And straight accuse my Chastity , For your damn'd Insufficiency : You meet my Love with no desire , My Altar damps your feeble Fire : Though I have infinite more Charms Then all you e'er took to your Arms. The Priest at th' Altar bows to me ; When I appear , he bends the Knee . His Eyes are on my Beauties fixt , His Pray'rs to Heav'n and Me are mixt ; Confusedly he tells his Beads , Is out both when he Prays and Reads . I travell'd farther for your Love , Than Sheba's Queen ; I 'll fairly prove . She from the South , 't is said , did rome , And I as far from East did come . But here the difference does arise , Though equally we sought the Prize ; What that great Queen desir'd she gain'd , But I soon found your Treasury drain'd , Your Veins corrupted in your Youth , 'T is sad Experience tells this Truth : Though I had Caution long before Of that which I too late deplore . I. Pray , Madam , let me silence break , As I have you , now hear me speak . These Stories sure must please you well , You 're apt so often them to tell . But , if you 'll smooth your Brow a while , And turn that Pout into a Smile , I doubt not , but to make 't appear , That you the great'st Aggressor are . I took you with an empty Purse , Which was to me no trivial Curse ; No Dowry could your Parents give ; They'd but a Competence to live . When you appear'd , your Charming Eyes ( As you relate ) did me surprize With Wonder , not with Admiration ; Astonishment , but no Temptation : Nor did I see in all your Frame , Ought could create an am'rous Flame , Or raise the least Desire in me , Save only for Variety . I paid such Service as was due , Worthy my self , and worthy you : Caress'd you far above the rate Both of your Birth , and your Estate . When soon I found your haughty mind Was unto Sov'raignty inclin'd ; And first you practis'd over me The heavy Yoke of Tyranny , While I your Property was made , And you , not I , was still obey'd : Nor durst I call my Soul my own , You manag'd me as if I 'd none . I took such measures as you gave , All Day your Fool , all Night your Slave . Nor was Ambition bounded here , You still resolve your Course to steer : All that oppose you , you remove ; 'T was much you 'd own the Pow'rs above . Now several Stratagems you try , And I 'm in all forc'd to comply : To Mother Church you take Recourse , She tells you 't must be done by force ; And you , impatient of delay , Contrive and execute the way . When mounted to the place you sought , It no Contentment with it brought : One Tree within your Prospect stood Fairest and tallest of the Wood : Which to your prospect gave offence , And it must be remov'd from thence . In this you also are obey'd , While all the fault on me is laid . Now you was quiet for a while , As flatt'ring Weather seems to smile , Till buzzing Beetles of the Night Had found fresh matter for your spite , And set to work your busy Brain , Which took Fire quickly from their Train . Some Wise , some Valiant , you remove , 'Cause they your Maxims don't approve ; And in their stead such Creatures place , Which to th'Employments bring disgrace : While whatsoe're you do I own , And still the dirt on me is thrown . Straight new Chimera's fill your Brain , The humming Beetles buz again ; A Goal-Delivery now must be , All tender Consciences set free ; Not out of Zeal , but pure Design To make Dissenters with us join , To pull down Test and Penal Laws , The Bulwark of the Hereticks Cause . The sly Dissenters laugh the while , They see where lurks the Serpent's guile ; And rather than with us comply , Will on our Enemies rely . The Chieftains of the Protestant Cause , We did confine , though 'gainst the Laws : But soon was glad to set 'em free , Fearing the giddy Mobile . Now all is turning upside-down , Loud Murmurings in every Town ; We 've Foes abroad , and Foes at home , Armies and Fleets against us come : The Protestants do laugh the while , And the Dissenters sneer and smile ; But no assistance either sends ; They 're neither Enemies nor Friends . Now pray conclude what must be done , Consult your Oracle of ROME , For next fair Wind be sure they come . On the University of Cambridge's burning the D. of Monmouth's Picture , 1685. who was formerly their Chancellor . — In Answer to this question , In turba semper sequitur fortunam & odit damnatos . By Mr. Stepney . YES , fickle Cambridge , Perkins found this true Both from your Rabble , and your Doctors too , With what applause you once receiv'd his Grace , And begg'd a Copy of his Godlike Face ; But when the sage Vice-Chancellor was sure The Original in Limbo lay secure , As greasy as himself he sends a Lictor To vent his Loyal Malice on the Picture . The Beadle's Wife endeavours all she can To save the Image of the tall young man , Which she so oft when pregnant did embrace , That with strong thoughts she might improve her race ; But all in vain , since the wise House conspire To damn the Canvas Traytor to the Fire , Lest it , like Bones of Scanderbeg , incite Scythemen next Harvest to renew the fight : Then in comes Mayor Eagle and does gravely alledge , He 'll subscribe ( if he can ) for a bundle of Sedge . But the man of Clareball that proffer refuses , ' Snigs , he 'll be beholden to none but the Muses : And orders Ten Porters to bring the dull Reams On the Death of Good Charles , and Crowning of Iames : And swears he will borrow of the Provost more stuff On the Marriage of Ann , if that ben't enough . The Heads lest he get all the profit to himself ( Too greedy of honour , too lavish of pelf ) This motion deny , and Vote that Ti●e Tillet Should gather from each noble Doctor a Billet . The Kindness was common , and so they 'd return it , The Gift was to all , all therefore would burn it : Thus joining their Stocks for a Bonfire together , As they club for a Cheese in the Parish of Chedder ; Confusedly crowd on the Sophs and the Doctors , The Hangman , the Townsmen , their Wives and the Proctors , While the Troops from each part of the Countries in all , Come to quaff his Confusion in Bumpers of stale . But Rosalin , never unkind to a Duke , Does by her absence their folly rebuke , The tender Creature could not see his fate , With whom she had danc'd a Minuet so late . The Heads who never could hope for such frames , Out of envy condemn'd Sixscore pounds to the flames , Then his Air was too proud , and his Features amiss , As if being a Traytor had alter'd his Phiz : So the Rabble of Rome , whose favour ne're settles , Melt down their Sejanus to Pots and Brass Kettles . Nulla manere diu neque vivere carminant possum , que scribuntur aque notoribus . By Mr. Ayloffe . T. C. C. HE that first said it , knew the worth of Wit , Lov'd well his Glass , and as he drank he Writ ; Vast was his Soul , and sparkling was the Wine , Which strangely did inspire each mighty Line . The wat'ry Springs of Helicon are Theams Fit for dull Freshmen , and dull Doctors Dreams ; Not Flood of Cam , or Well of Aristotle , Yield half the pleasure of the charming Bottle ; Poor Scriblers then that bread and water use , The slender diet of a Bridewel muse , As easily may Water Poets make , As Coffee Politicians does create , The Two Grand Whigs of Poetry and State. When Booths on Thames were built , and Oxen roasted , Poets the strength of waters might have boasted ; And might have made their frozen Verse to pass , As well as he that put out Ice for Glass : Though our good Proctor otherwise does think , Our Mother Cambridge kindly bids us drink ; She holds the Candle and the sacred Cup , And as the one wasteth , cries , Drink t'other up . 'T was drinking got our Ancestors Renown , And Claret first that di'd the Scarlet Gown . As well may Dutchmen without Brandy sight , As English Poets without Claret write . Not moderate Learning , nor immoderate Fees Are of themselves sufficient for Degrees : Wine , and the Supper , must the Act compleat ; And he does best dispute who best does treat : 'T is Carnival , and we 'll the time enjoy , This day , and next , while Wine and wit run high . And the forty days Preachers in vain may bid the Court repent , But Poets sure did never write in Lent. Now in the name of Dulness and small-Beer Ye Northern Wits of fam'd St. Iohns appear , That scarce taste Wine , or Wit throughout the Year . Had she who by the pow'rful Charms of Wine Transform'd Ulysses men to Gruntling Swine ; Had she and you the Experiment try'd again , By contrary effects ye had Poets been . Next the pert Fops by Title dignifi'd , Wise to themselves , and Fools to all beside , Whom Company nor Drinking can refine , Blockish and dull beyond the pow'r of Wine ; Who after the first Bottle still the same , Can never higher rise than Anagram , Or at most quibble on their Dowdy's name . When Whig Religious , Trimmer Loyal turns , When Cambridge Wives , and Barnwel Whores turn Nuns , When Curate's Rich , and the fat Doctor 's poor , When Scholars tick , and Townsmen cheat no more : When am'rous Fops leave hunting handsom Faces , When craving Beadle begs no more for Places ; Hopkins and Sternold with their paltry Rhimes , Shall please us now , and take with future Times : And Water-drinkers then shall famous grow Seile the Poet to my Lord-Mayor's Show Shall Dryden , Cowley , and our Duke outgo . To Mr. Fleetwood Shepherd . By Mr. P — r. WHen Crowding Folks , with strange ill Faces , Were making Legs , and begging Places ; And some with Patents , some with Merit , Tired out my good Lord D — t 's Spirit : Sneaking , I stood , among the Crew , Desiring much to Speak with You. I waited , while the Clock struck Thrice , And Footman brought out fifty Lies ; Till Patience vext , and Legs grown weary , I thought it was in vain to tarry : But did Opine it might be better , By Penny-post to send a Letter . Now , if you miss of this Epistle , I 'm balkt again , and may go Whistle . My business , Sir , you 'll quickly guess , Is to desire some little Place : And fair Pretentions I have for 't , Much Need , and very small Desert . When e're I writ to you , I wanted ; I always begg'd , you always granted . Now , as you took me up when little , Gave me my Learning , and my Vittle Askt for me , from my Lord , Things fitting , Kind as I 'd been your own begetting ; Confirm what formerly you 've given , Nor leave me now at Six and Seven As S — d has left Mun. St — n. No Family that takes a Whelp , When first he Laps and scarce can Yelp , Neglects or turns him out of Gate , When he 's grown up to Dogs Estate : Nor Parish , if they once adopt The spurious Barns that Strowlers dropt , Leave 'em when grown up lusty Fellows , To the wide World , that is , the Gallows : No thank 'em for their Love , that 's Worse , Than if they 'd Throtled them at Nurse . My Uncle , rest his Soul , when Living , Might have contriv'd me ways of Thriving ; Taught me with Cyder to replenish My Fatts , or ebbing Tide of Rhenish . So when for Hock I drew Prickt White-wine , Swear't had the flaver , and was right Wine : Or sent me with Ten Pounds to Furney - Vall's-Inn , to some good Rogue Attorney ; Where now , by forging Deeds and Cheating , I 'd had some handsom ways of getting . All this you made me quit to follow , That sneaking Whey-fast God Apollo . Sent me among a Fidling Crew Of Folks , I 'ad never seen or Knew , Calliope , and God knows who . To add no more Invectives to it , You spoil'd the Youth to make a Poet. In Common Justice , Sir , there 's no Man That makes the Whore but keeps the Woman . Among all honest Christian People Who e're breaks Limbs , maintains the Cripple . The Sum of all I have to say , Is , that you 'd put me in some way And your Petitioner shall pray — There 's one thing more I had almost slipt , But that may do as well in Post-script ; My Friend C — s M — ue's preferr'd , Nor would I have it long observ'd , That one Mouse eats , while to'ther's starv'd . The true and genuine Explanation , Of one King James's Declaration . I. R. WHereas by misrepresentation ( Of which Our self was the occasion ) We lost our Royal Reputation , And much against Our Expectation , Laid the most Tragical Foundation Of vacant Throne , and Abdication : After Mature Deliberation We now Resolve to Sham the Nation Into another Restauration ; Promising , in Our wonted Fashion , Without the least Equivocation , To make an ample Reparation . And for Our Reinauguration We chuse to owe the Obligation To Our kind Subjects Inclination ; For whom we always shew'd a Passion . And when again they take occasion To want a King of Our perswasion , We 'll soon appear to take Our Station , With the ensuing Declaration . All shall be safe from Rope and Fire , Or never more believe in I. R. I. R. WHen we Reflect what Desolation Our Absence causes to the Nation , We would not hold Our self exempted From any thing to be Attempted , Whereby Our Subjects , well Beguil'd , May to Our Yoke be Reconcil'd . Be all Assur'd , both Whigg and Tory , If for past Faults you can be sorry , You ne're shall know what we 'll do for you . For 't is Our noble Resolution To do more for your Constitution , Than e're we 'll put in Execution . Tho' some before us made a pother , England had never such another , No not Our own Renown'd , Dear Brother . We have it set before Our Eyes , That our main Interest wholly lies In managing with such Disguise , As leaves no room for Jealousies . And to Encourage Foes and Friends With Hearts and Hands to serve our Ends , We hereby Publish and Declare ( And this we do because we Dare ) That to Evince We are not sullen , We 'll bury all past Faults in Woollen ; By which you may perceive we draw Our wise Resolves from Statute-Law : And therefore by this Declaration We promise Pardon to the Nation , Excepting only whom We please , Whether they be on Land or Seas . And farther Bloodshed to prevent , We here Declare Our self content To heap as large Rewards on all That help to bring us to Whitehall , As ever did Our Brother Dear At his Return on Cavalier : Or we , to Our immortal Glory , Conferr'd on non-resisting Tory. Then be assur'd the first fair Weather We 'll call a Parliament together , ( Chuse right or wrong no matter whether ) Where with united Inclination We 'll bring the Interest of the Nation Under our own Adjudication : With their Concurrence we 'll Redress What we Our self think Grievances , All shall be firm as Words can make it , And if we promise , what can shake it ? As for the Church , we 'll still Defend it , Or if you please , the Pope shall mend it : Your Chappels , Colleges , and Schools Shall be supply'd with your own Fools : But if we live another Summer , We 'll then relieve them from St. Omer . Next for a Liberty of Conscience , With which We bit the Nation long since , We 'll settle it as firm and steady , Perhaps as that you have already . We 'll never violate the Test , Till 't is Our Royal Interest , Or till we think it so at least , But there we must consult the Priest. And as for the Dispensing Power ( Of Princes Crown the sweetest Flower ) That Parliament shall so Explain it , As we in Peace may still maintain it . If other Acts shall be Presented , We 'll Pass 'em all , and be contented . Let H — y , W — k , and old C — s Draw Bills enough to load three Barges , We 'll give them thanks , and bear their Charges : Whether they be for Partial Tryal , Dull Judges Pride , or Self-Denyal , For Royal Mines , or Triennial . What ever Laws reciev'd their Fashion Under the present Usurpation Shall have Our Gracious Confirmation , Provided still We see Occasion . Our Brother's Irish Settling Act , ( Which we 'tis true Repeal'd in Fact ) We 'll be contented to Restore , If you 'll provide for Teague before ; For you your selves shall have the Glory , To re-establish wandring Tory. But now you have so fair a Bidder , 'T is more than time you should consider What Fonds are proper to supply Us For that , and what your Hearths save by Us ; Therefore consult your Polyhymne To find another Rhime to Chimny , Or if I Bleed the Devil 's in Me. And lest a Project in its prime Should be destroy'd for want of time , We 'll soon refer the whole Amount To your Commission of Account . Thus having tortur'd Our Invention , To frame a Draught of Our Intention , By the Advice of H — ton , Wise Ely , Fenwick , and Tom D — And , of all Ranks , some Fifty One , Who have Adjusted for Our coming All Gimcrack's sit for such a mumming , And 't is their business , to perswade you We come to succour , not Invade you . But after this we think it Nonsence ( Besides it is against our Conscience ) To trouble you with a Relation Of Tyranny , and Violation , Or Burthens that oppress the Nation , Since you can make the best Construction Of what may turn to your Destruction . But since our Enemies wou'd fright you , Telling our Debt to France is mighty , As positively we assure you , As if we were before a Jury , That he expects no Compensation For helping in our Restoration , But what he gains in Reputation : And all must own that know his Story How far his Interest stoops to Glory : Whose Generosity is such , We doubt not he 'll out-do the Dutch. We only add , that we are come By Trumpets sound and beat of Drum , For our just Titles Vindication , And Liberties Corroboration . So may we ever find Success , As we intend you nothing less Than what you owe to old Qeen Bess. On the Death of the Queen . By my Lord Cutts . SHE 's gone ! The Beauty of our Isle is fled ; Our Joy cut off , the Great MARIA dead . We faint beneath the Stroak : But weep no more , Waft not our Sorrow to a Foreign Shore ; Lest ALBION's Enemies with impious Breath Prophane our Sighs , and Triumph in her Death . Tears are too mean for her ; our Grief should be Dumb as the Grave , and Black as Destiny . For such a Loss let universal Nature mourn , And all things to their first Disorder turn . Ye Fields and Gardens , where our Soveraign walk'd , Serenly Smil'd , and profitably Talk'd ; Be Gay no more ; but Wild and Barren lye , That all your blooming Sweets , with Her 's may dye , Sweets that crown'd Love , and soften'd Majesty . Blest Princess ! How distinguish'd , how ador'd ! How much above ev'n Her own Sphere She soar'd ! Whilst other Monarchs glory in their State , In Wealth and Power contented to be Great ; She , with a God-like and Heroick Mind , Pursu'd a Greatness of another Kind ; A brighter Diadem than Earth could give ; A glorious Name that should for ever live . And with unwaried Virtue pressing on , Gave Lustre to , not borrow'd from a Crown . Nor was this Angel lodg'd in common Earth , Her Form procaim'd Her Mind as well as Birth ; So graceful and so lovely ; ne're was seen A finer Woman or more awful Queen : The Gazing Crowd admir'd Her as a God , And reverenc'd the Ground whereon she trod . Ye gentle Nymphs that on her Throne did wait , And help'd to fill the Brightness of Her State ; Mourn over your dead Mistress , speechless mourn , Watch Her dear Ashes , and attend Her Urn. She cherish'd and adorn'd your tender Years , Preventing still the fearful Mothers Cares ; Whilst all with shining Gold and Purple grac'd , Your Beauties in the fairest Light were plac'd . How Majesty is fall'n ! As if the Great Were destin'd to short Days , and sudden Fate . O Empire ! Thou deceitful treacherous Good ! How false thy Smiles , tho' hard to be withstood ! What stormy Ills thy calmer Brow conceals , And what uncommon Stroaks a Monarch feels ! See where the glorious Nassau fainting lyes ; The mighty Atlas falls , the Conqueror dyes . O Sir ! return , to Albion's Help return ; Command your Grief , and like a Hero mourn . If you forsake us we are lost indeed ; Your Subjects now Lament , but then must Bleed . Think what a Task Your Virtue has begun , And be not weary e're your Race is run . That Power that form'd You in the tender Womb , Then laid the Scenes of all Your Toils to come , Decreed that you should Europe's Saviour be , And from fierce Monsters purge the Earth and Sea ; Monsters of Tyrants that oppress Mankind , And set no Bounds to their ambitious Mind . Success and Honour wait upon your Arms ; Heav'n guide your Heart , and guard you still from Harms . Maria has the Crown of Glory won ; And may you Late arrive where she is gone . Tunbridgialia : Or , the Pleasures of Tunbridge . In a Letter to a Friend . By Mr. Peter Causton , Merchant . THou best of Poets , and thou best of Friends , Best of that List which thy great Race commends , By Tunbridge noble Spring , much pleas'd , I lay , At Truce with Care passing the Summers day , When the Rich Present came in shining Verse ; Ye Gods ! how shall I half my Joy rehearse ? I once was thinking to return the same In Lines that might express an equal Flame : I try'd in vain ; my long-neglected Muse , Like Women past their Childing , did refuse , And cou'd not , to my mind , one Hint produce : For I was ne'er you know my Friend , at best , With a rich Vein by peevish Nature blest ; I made my Court to the coy Nymphs in vain , And blest the Bards that cou'd their Loves obtain . Howe're , at call of Friendship 's sacred Name , The faint Remains of my decaying Flame Exalt their head , ambitious now to try One Blaze , before they quite extinguisht dye . May your good Humour overlook Mistakes , And pardon all the Faults which Friendship makes : This Fountain then shall the fam'd Spring out-do , And Tunbridge for Castalian Waters go . You fain wou'd know how we employ the day , Which of it self makes too much haste away ; What Arts we use to keep our Grief and Care , ( Those Flies which in our Cup still bold Intruders are ) With what Receipts and Helps prepar'd we come To lose the thought of Families at home . Assist me , gentle Muse , to answer these In Lines that may my self and others please . Refresht with sleep , which Natures loss repairs . Soon as the day on the streak'd hills appears , Up with the Sun we mount and travel , We To the fam'd Spring , He to the Western Sea. Tobacco makes the Journey strangely slide , Ever the best Companion , walk or ride . Having now reach'd the Spring , a Country Lass Stands ready to present you with a Glass : Such Water tho' nor Rome nor Greece can show , Tho' here the Poets boasted Spring does flow ; Impregnate with such Virtues it does come , As to add heat to the cold barren Womb. To an expiring House it gives an Heir , And wretched helpless Women here repair , Who joyful Mothers prove within the year . It cures the raging Feaver's Calenture , And keeps that Purple Flood from boyling o'er . The sad Sisyphian Task , the Stone , which still Rowls back again , and mocks the Artists Skill ; It carries off with far less pains and cost , Than Hannibal with his Quack Arts cou'd boast : It steeps your Cares beyond the power of Wine , And does the Brain for thinking fit re●ine : Clouds of the Head , like those above we find , Dissolv'd in Water , both are at an end . An ugly numerous Rout of Feaverish Pains , Had seiz'd at once my Liver , Heart , and Veins , And made such quick and fierce Attacks , that I , Just on surrendring , thought I now must die . I sought the Sons of Art , who try'd in vain To raise the Siege , and force the pressing pain . Whatever Vertues Herbs and Drugs can boast , They found , alas , on me were meerly lost . The proud Disease became more rampant still , And laugh'd at all their baffled Art and Skill . 'T was Here I found Ease for my mighty Grief , And where Art fail'd , kind Nature gave Relief ; This Fountain prov'd to me a Well of Life . Blest Spring ! what Praise and Honours can we give , Worthy the Favours we from Thee receive ? Thy lasting Name ( if Time's impartial hand But spare these Lines ) in Poetry shall stand , And round the learned World shall largely spread , With the fam'd Springs of Old together read . In the mean time , after we 've drunk a Glass Or two , to make the Waters better pass , We take a Turn i' th' Walks — Here in such crouds the Ladies pass , you 'd swear , The Cyprian Goddess and her Nymphs were there ; Hung round with all the Riches that the East Or West sends here , brisk , jaunty and well drest ; With what a Mein and charming Air they move , Creating Wonder , and inspiring Love ! Such was the beautious Helen's shining Train , When she was courted by the Phrygian Swain . And all the while , to entertain the Ear , Musick and Voices mixt , their parts do bear . Next for the Chappel , by the Fountain rais'd , Where its great Author is devoutly prais'd : And after Prayers , a Pipe can do no harm In drinking , good to keep the Stomach warm . For this design appointed places are , L●st Smoaking on the Walks offend the fair . And now we sit , after a careless rate , Over a dish of Tea , and fall to chat : Here one , forsooth , plays the Philosopher Upon the Wells , describes the secret power Of Spaws and Mineral Waters , how they come , With Steel impregnate , thro' the Earth's cold Womb ; Whence springs their force , that they so nearly can Make clean this foul Angean Stable , Man ; How first found out , and when the Mode began . Another turns the Talk to Westminster , And asks how Matters past last Term at Bar ; What Judges likely are to rise or fall , What Lawyers hang the best , and who the best can bawl . Warmly , a third takes up Religion's Cause , Gravely debates the Test and Poenal Laws . Another tells a Tale , or breaks a Jest , Inquires the Hour , or what comes uppermost ; How do your Waters pass ? O bravely , Sir , What News from London ? how does things stand there ? I hear Sir Iohn — is likely to be Mayor . Are the Particulars yet come by Post , What Prisoners t'ane , how many Men were lost On the Turks side , and what the Victory cost ? What , are the Pole and Moscovite asleep , Id'ly to let such fair occasions slip ? How do the India Actions rise ? what Ships , On the Plate-Expedition go with Phipps ? Follow'd by all the forward Youth of Greece , Thus Iason brought in triumph home the Golden Fleece : But what before was meer Romance and Lye , Shall henceforth pass for current History . This and Tobacco pass the time away ; Others there are that rather fancy Play : But me from Play , my better Stars preserve , The fatal Box devouring as the Grave ; Into Charibdis mouth as soon I 'd flie , As venture my Estate upon a Die. Having by this time fed the Eye and Ear , Next for the Belly is our greatest care : There 's nothing at our Lodgings to be got , Here we must cater both for Spit and Pot. Close by the Wells , upon a spacious Plain , ( Where rows of Trees make a delightful Lane ) A noble Market's daily kept , well stor'd With all the Countries round about afford . Fresh Fish a Neighbouring River does supply ; Soals , Oysters , and the like , are brought from Rye . Of Flesh and Fowl , no where more plenty's found , In Veal , Lamb , Pork , and Beef , we much abound ; And Tunbridge Mutton , fam'd above the rest . Of Fowl we have good store , and of the best ; As well-cram'd Chickens , Pidgeons , Ducks & Geese , With Teal and Patridge , nicer Tasts to please ; The Swan and Peacock you may add to these , On which tho' we but small esteem do place , The latter did an * Emperors Table grace . In short then , not to swell the Bill of Fare , St. Peter's Sheet , and Noah's Ark are here ; Whatever kinds the British World does see Of Beasts , Fish , Fowl , that go , or swim , or flie ; Fruits , Spice , and Indian Pepper too we boast , That here we hardly fancy Bantam lost ; Sugar from Maevis and Barbadoes brought , By wondrous Art to such perfection wrought : Italy sends us Oyl , Virginia Smoak , A better sort I — rys himself ne'er took . And after all , to crown the Work , the Rhine , France , Florence , the Canaries find us Wine . London , that noble Mart , can't furnish more ; London , for choice , compar'd with us , is poor . Were that * Imperial Glutton now at hand , Who a years Tax wou'd at one Supper spend , Who made each Land , and every distant Sea , Club to maintain his raving Luxury , On easier terms he here supply'd might be . This for the Belly ; and for other Ware Of every sort , we challenge Sturbridge-Fair . Having now drunk our Mornings Dose , and Cheer Provided , homewards we directly steer . After a Whiff of the fam'd Indian Weed , By way of Whet to Dinner we proceed ; Tho' , betwixt Friends , we seldom need a Whet , Or any Arts , to raise the Appetite : 'T is the Fresh Earth that makes the Plow-man feed , Water in us does the same sharpness breed . Now with a Friend , a Jest , and cheering Glass Of blest Bourdeaux , how glibly Victuals pass ! The Camp once victuall'd , then the Sport begins , Whether your fancy leads to Bowls or Pins . Here 's choice of Bowling-places to be seen , But Rusthall is by much the finest Green , All curious Carpet-ground : You know the play , One with the Jack , a small Bowl , leads the way : By throwing of a Dice who first must go , And who and who 's together , strait we know . Come , pray Sir , bowl away , this Ground 's your Guide ; That Cast is narrow , this as much too wide : Not home ! for want of strength your Cast you spoil ; Oh rub a thousand , now you 're gone a Mile . Here 's three ; to make us up , one more we lack : Thank ye for that , dear Sir , you kiss the Jack . The finest Archer's Bow , or Fowler 's Piece , As soon may fail , as a good Bowler miss . Are you for Cards ? here you may find enough Dispos'd for Cribbige , Gleek , or Lantre-lieu , A Game at Cards , a perfect Fight , you 'd swear , Maintain'd with all the Stratagems of War : Here 's Ambuscading , Routing , Rallying Men , And every thing but Wounds and Dying seen . After a long Dispute , with restless pains , One side besure a bloodless Victory gains . But if my Counsel in the case might sway , Beware how you become a Slave to Play. Some sit whole Nights together at the Sport , For which their Families and Lands must smart : Not that I blame any that undertake It more for Pleasure , than for Lucre-sake ; But playing deep , and squandring so much time , Is that in Carding I account a Crime . If this don't please , we have another Game Call'd Chess , at which the Gentry pass their time . Into the checquer'd Field two Kings descend , On each a Queen and Bishops two attend ; On either side two Knights their Post maintain , Two Rooks and Pawns twice four compleat the Train : The Signal given , both the Armies joyn To take the Adverse King , the chief Design : For this both sides in furious Charges meet , Proud of a Death before their Soveraigns feet ; That is a Law peculiar to the Play , The King must first be took , before you win the Day . Are you dispos'd to read a Poet , then Our old Acquaintance Horace is the Man ; He 'll please , which way soe'er your Humour lean ; Does it to Mirth and Gallantry incline ? His charming Odes are full of Love and Wine . He can be grave , not only please , but teach , As well as any Grecian Master preach . His Rules of Poetry the means impart How the best Genius may be helpt by Art. Here you may learn correctly how to Write , To a true edge your Style and Judgment set . His Satyr , form'd above the common size , Lays Railing by , and Jeers you out of Vice. But if your Thoughts are more devoutly set , Then for a Page or two in a Sacred Writ . This little Book does at one view contain What Grecian Sages blindly sought in vain , The Worlds Creation , and the Fall of Man ; And how the Tincture of his Sin could be Deriv'd on his Unborn Posterity : How he entail'd a double Death on Man ; Whence Physick and Divinity began : How after several rowling Periods past , With an Incarnate God the World was blest ; Who to poor Man , bowels of Mercy bore , And Death disarm'd of all its Sting and Power ; Redeem'd the captive Wretch from Sin and Hell , And plac'd him higher than whence at first he fell ; Remov'd his Seat from Earth to Heaven , with power Of never sinning , never falling more . With watchful Providence our gracious Lord , From Foes of every sort , his Church does guard . Heaven ha'nt indeed thought fit that we shou'd be From Sin , much less from Error , wholly free , Lest we , on disappearance of a Foe , Throw by our Arms , careless of danger grow . Thus vanquisht Carthage 't was thought fit to spare , To keep Rome's Martial Spirits still in fear . But if a Friend comes in , the Book 's thrown by ; A Bottle better suits in Company . Boy , reach that Flask here : Come , Sir , if you please , Here 's to the King , and both the Princesses . Another Health to the Establisht Church ; Hang him who does that or his Liquor lurch . Bless me ! it warms , I fell the potent Juice Its winged fires thro' every Vein diffuse . What Magick in the Grape , what Charms in Wine , That to such various Humours Men incline ! Pander to Lust , Midwife to Mirth and Wit , Thou mak'st old Friends fall out , and Cowards fight : The Captive full of Thee , forgets his Chains ; With Thee the Beggar flusht , in Fancy reigns . The Dutch at Sea , Death in the face will stare , Their Senses steept in Nants and Gunpowder . The Sun by this a good way on his Road , The cool and lengthned Shades invite abroad . Whether we ride or walk , through Woods or Plains , The winged Choir divert us with their strains . Here Sights to Citts , unknown , the time beguile Viewing the various kinds of Rural Toil : For one's a Haying , with unwearied Pains , Amidst a jolly crew of Sun-burnt Swains : Another plies the Plough for Grain and Food ; Some distance off a third's a felling Wood. The pretty painful Bee , by nature blest With foresight , is as busie as the best ; Along the Fields in bands they take their flight , Returning home laden with Spoils at night . Here 's one , i' th' School of Patience thro'ly try'd , Thoughtfully Angling by a River side ; After six tedious hours , lose or get , He still keeps on , half starv'd and thorough wet . Fishing , he 'll tell you , is its own Reward ; Give him but Bites , Fish is his least regard . But now a Pack of Dogs alarms our Ears , Musick , that Hunters say , exceeds the Spheres ; O'er Hill and Dale , with full mouth'd Cry they run , To the known sound of Hollow or of Horn. The Deer no safety in their Coverts find , And Reynolds stands to rights before the Wind. As for the timerous Hare , away she flings Before the Dogs , 't was fear first gave her Wings . From this Diversion strait we 're call'd aside To view the soaring Hawk's delightful pride , How thro' that Sea of Air the Bird of Prey , With Wings , instead of Sails , divides his way : The lesser Birds clap on more sail , and fly ; It looks just like a running Fight at Sea. At this mean Prize he makes his humble stoop , Like Algerine at some poor Pink or Sloop . Besides all this , to close the lovely Scene , Each Night there 's constant Dancing on the Green : Persons of highest Rank-stuck round the Ring , Lustre and Grace to the Diversion bring : While Lads and Lasses forth in pairs advance , Musick keeps time to the well-measured Dance . Not finer Virgins flockt to those feign'd Games , When Rome's bold Youth so roughly woo'd the Sabian Dames . Tir'd but not cloy'd , with this and such-like Sport , Home to our Rest and Lodgings we resort ; And here we lie free from the dismal noise Of Coaches , Midnight-Fires and Bellman's Voice : Here we in safe security are blest , And naught but Conscience to disturb our Rest. Refresht with sleep , next Morn again we rig . Nothing remains of Yesterdays Fatigue . Thus , Friend , from Grief and Care , we purge our Head , In such a constant round of Pleasures tread , That Mecca's Prophet , in his Paradise , Has hardly past his word for more than this . But Oh , my Muse , Oh whether wilt thou lead ? Forbear , 't is hallow'd Ground on which we tread . Methinks I hear the Poets of the Town Thus schooling me with a censorious Frown : Free of the Ham●urgh or the Guinea Trade , You ought not yet the Poets Rights invade ; Whose jealous Company no more allows Of Interlopers , than the India House . The Toleration Tradesmen may admit For the high Calling of a Preacher fit ; But Poetry no gifted Brother knows , Who from a Merchant strait an Upstart Author grows , Go home , fond man , and mind a better Game Than trading thus to the wild Coasts of Fame ; Go , count your Cash , your Merchandize pursue , At once bid Poetry and Friend Adieu . An Essay on Writing , and the Art and Mystery of Printing . A Translation out of the Anthology . WOrthy that Man to 'scape Mortality , And leap that Ditch where all must plunging lie , Who found out Letters first , and did impart , With Dextrous Skill , Writing's Mysterious Art , In Characters , to hold Intelligence , And to express the Mind 's most hidden Sense . The Indian Slave , I 'm sure , might wonder well , How the dumb Papers cou'd his Theft reveal . The Stupid World admir'd the secret Cause Of the Tongue 's Commerce without help of Voice ; That merely by a Pen it cou'd reveal , And all the Soul 's abstrusest Notions tell : The Pen , like Plowshare on the Paper 's Face , With Black and Magick Tracks its way does trace , Assisted only by that Useful Quill , Pluck'd from the Geese that sav'd the Capitol . First Writing-Tables Paper 's Place supply'd , 'Till Parchment and Nilotick Reeds were try'd : Parchment , the Skins of Beasts , well scrap'd and drest , By these poor Helps of old , the Mind exprest : But After-times a better way did go , A lasting sort of Paper , white as Snow , Compos'd of Rags well pounded in a Mill , Proof against all but Fire , and the Moths Spoil . What poor beginnings these ! The Silk-Worm there Had nought to do , no Silken-Threads were here ; But Rags , from Doors pick'd part , from Dung-hills part , Marsht in a Mill , gave Rise to this fine Art ; Which in an instant gives a speedy Birth To Virgil's Books , the rarest Work on Earth . But still an Art from Heaven was to come , ( From thence it came ) this Matter to consume ; Which cou'd transcribe whole Books without a Hand ; Behold the Press ! see how the Squadrons stand ! In all his Fights the Roman Parricide , With half the skill ne'er did his Troops divide ; Nor Philip's Son , who with his Force o'rerun , And mow'd the Countries of the Rising Morn : Not the least motion from their Post , but all Work hard , and wait the welcome Signal 's Call ; The Letters all turn'd Mutes , in Iron bound , Never prove Vocal , till in Ink they 're drown'd : The Lab'ring Engine their still silence breaks , And straight they render up their Charge , and speak : Now drunk with the Castalian flood , they sing , Arma Virumq ; gods , and god-like Kings : Six hundred Lines of Maro's , quick as Thought , Beyond the nimblest Running-hand are wrought ; Much fairer too the Characters do show ; For Grace , fam'd Cockquer's Pen , its Head must bow . Three thousand Births at once , you see , which soon Or'e ev'ry Country scatter'd are , and thrown , In every Tongue with which Fame speaks are known . These Types immortalize where e're they come , And give Learn'd Writers a more lasting Doom . Court Rites , Galenic Precepts , Moses Rules , Are Printed off , the Guides of Learned Schools : What Wonders wou'd Antiquity have try'd , Had they the dawn of the Invention spy'd ? The Offices of Tully were the first That came abroad in this new-fashion'd Dress . Imperial Metz her self wou'd Author prove ; And Venice cries , she did the Art improve ; Not Ancient Cities more for Homer strove . Goddess ! Preserver from the Teeth of Time , Who keeps our Names still fresh in Youthful prime ; What man was he whom thus the Gods have grac'd , Worthy among the Stars to have a Place ! Like Head of Nile unknown , thy bubbling rise Is hid , for ever hid , from Mortal Eyes . Prologue , by the E. of R — r. GEntle Reproofs have long been try'd in vain , Men but despise us while we but complain : Such numbers are concern'd for the wrong side , A weak resistance still provokes their Pride ; And cannot stem the fierceness of the Tide . Laughers , Buffoons , with an unthinking Crowd Of gaudy Fools , impertinent and loud , Insult in every corner : Want of Sen●e , Confirm'd with an outlandish Impudence . Among the rude Disturbers of the Pit , Have introduc't ill Breeding , and false Wit ; To boast their Lewdness here young Scourers meet , And all the vile Companions of a Street ; Keep a perpetual bawling near that Door , Who beat the Bawd last Night , who bilk't the Whore : They snarle , but neither Fight nor pay a Farthing , A Play-house is become a mear Bear-garden ; Where every one with Insolence enjoys , His Liberty and Property of Noise . Should true Sense , with revengeful Fire , come down , Our Sodom wants Ten Men to save the Town : Each Parish is infected , to be clear We must loose more than when the Plague was here ; While every little Thing perks up so soon , That at Fourteen it hectors up and down , With the best Cheats and the worst Whores i' th' Town . Swears at a Play , who should be whipt at School , The Foplings must in time grow up to rule , The Fashion must prevail to be a Fool. Some powerful Muse , inspir'd for our defence , Arise , and save a little common Sense : In such a Cause , let thy keen Satyr bite , Where Indignation bids thy Genius write : Mark a bold leading Coxcomb of the Town , And single out the Beast and hunt him down ; Hang up his mangl'd Carcass on the Stage , To fright away the Vermin of the Age. On Melting down the Plate : Or , The Pisspot's Farewel , 1697. MAids need no more their Silver Piss-pots scoure , They now must jog like Traytors to the Tower. A quick dispatch ! no sooner are they come , But ev'ry Vessel there receives its Doom : By Law condemn'd to take their fiery Tryal , A sentence that admits of no denial . Presumptious Piss-pot ! How did'st thou offend ? Compelling Females on their Hams to bend ? To Kings and Queens , we humbly bow the Knee ; But Queens themselves are forc'd to stoop to thee : To thee they cringe , and with a straining Face , They cure their Grief , by opening of their Case . In times of need thy help they did implore , And oft to ease their Ailments made thee roar . Under their Bed thou still had'st been conceal'd , And ne're but on Necessity reveal'd : When over charg'd , and in Extremity , Their dearest Secrets they disclos'd to thee . Long hast thou been a Prisoner close confin'd , But Liberty is now for the design'd , Thou , whom so many Beauties have enjoyed , Now in another use shall be employ'd ; And with delight be handled ev'ry Day , And oftner occupied a better way . But crafty Workmen first must thee refine , To purge thee from thy Soder and thy Brine . When thou , transform'd into another shape , Shalt make the World rejoyce at thy Escape ; And from the Mint in Triumph shalt be sent , New Coin'd , and Mill'd , to ev'ry Hearts content . Welcome to all , then proud of thy new Vamp , Bearing the Pass-port of a royal Stamp ; And pass as currant , pleasant , and as free , As that which hath so oft pass'd into thee . On Content . I. BLest he that with a mighty Hand , Does bravely his own fate command ; Whom threatning Ills , and flattering Pleasures find , Safe in the Empire of a constant Mind : Who from the peaceful Bench descries , Repining Man in the World Ocean tost , And with a chearful Smile defies , The Storm in which the discontented's lost . II. Content thou best of Friends , for those In our Necessities art so , Mid'st all our Ill , a Blesing still in store , Joy to the Rich , and Riches to the Poor . Thou Chimick good , that can'st alone , From Fates most poysonous Drugs , rich Cordial raise : Thou truest Philosophick Stone , That turn'st Lifes melancholy Dross to golden Days . III. Content the good , the golden mean , The safe Estate that sits between The sordid Poor , and miserable Great , The humble Tenant of a rural Seat. In vain we Wealth , and Treasure heap ; He ' mid'st his thousand Kingdoms still is poor , That for another Crown does weep ; 'T is only he is Rich , that wishes for no more . VI. Hence Titles , Mannors and Estate , Content alone can make us great ; Content is Riches , Honour , all beside : While the French Hero with insatiate Pride , A single Empire does disdain ; While , still he 's great , and still would greater be , On the least spot of Earth I Reign , A happier Man , and mightier Monarch far than he . V. I beg good Heaven , with just Desires , What Need , not Lux●●● , requires ; Give me with sparing Hands , but moderate Wealth , A little Honour , and enough of Health ; Life from the busie City free , Near shady Groves , and purling Stream confin'd ; A faithful Friend , a pleasing she , And give me all in one , give a contented Mind . VI. Tell me no more of glorious Things , Of Crowns , of Palaces and Kings ; The glittering Folly , nobly I contemn , And scorn the troubles of a Diadem . Thus Horace for his Sabine Seat , Did mighty Caesars shining Court refuse ; And in himself , compleatly great , Contentedly enjoy'd a Mistress , and a Muse. Tunbridge-Wells . By the Earl of Rochester , Iune 30. 1675. AT five this Morn , when Phoebus rais'd his head From Thetis Lap , I rais'd my self from Bed , And mounting Steed , I trotted to the Waters , The Rendevouze of Fools , Buffons and Praters , Cuckolds , Whores , Citizens , their Wives and Daughters My squemish Stomach , I with Wine had brib'd , To undertake the Dose , it was prescrib'd : But turning Head , a cursed suddain Crew , That innocent Provision overthrew , And without drinking , made me Purge and Spew . From Coach and Six , a Thing unwealdy roll'd , Whom lumber Cart , more decently would hold : As wise as Calf it look'd , as big as Bully , But handled , prov'd a meer Sir Nicholas Cully ; A Bawling Fop , a Natural Nokes , and yet He dar'd to Censure , to be thought a Wit. To make him more Ridiculous in spight , Nature contriv'd the Fool should be a Knight : " How wise is Nature when she does dispence , " A large Estate to cover want of Sence . " The Man's a Fool , 't is true , but that 's no matter , " For He 's a mighty Wit , with those that flatter ; " But a poor Blockhead , is a wretched Creature . Tho' he alone was dismal sight enough , His Train contributed to set him off ; All of his Shape , all of the self-same Stuff . No Spleen or Malice , need on them be thrown , Nature has done the business of Lampoon , And in their Looks their Characters are shown . Endeavouring this irksome sight to baulk , And a more irksome noise , their silly talk ; I silently shrunk down to 'th lower Walk . But often when we would Charibdis shun , Down upon Scylla 't is our fate to run ; For here it was my cursed luck to find , As great a Fop , tho' of another kind : A tall stiff Fool , that walk'd in spanish guise , The Buckram Puppet never stir'd his Eyes , But grave as Owlet look'd , as Woodcock wise . He scorns the empty talk of this mad Age , And speaks all Proverbs , Sentences , adage ; Can with as great solemnity buy Eggs , As a Cabal can talk of their Intrigues ; Master o' th' Ceremonies , yet can dispence , With the formality of talking sence . From hence unto the upper end I ran , Where a new Scene of Foppery began ; A tribe of Curates , Priests , Canonical Elves , Were company for none besides themselves : They got together , each his Distemper told , Scurvy , Stone , Strangury ; and some were bold , To charge the Spleen to be their Misery , And on that wise Disease bring Infamy . But none there were , so modest to complain Of want of Learning , Honesty or Brain , The general Diseases of that Train . These call themselves Ambassadors of Heaven , Saucily pretending a Commission given : But should an Indian King , whose small Command , Seldom extends t'above ten miles of Land ; Send forth such wretched Fools on an Embassage , He 'd find but small effect , from such a Message . Listning , I found the Cobb of all the Rabble , Was pert * Bayes , with Importance comfortable ; He being rais'd to an Arch-deaconry , By trampling on Religious Liberty ; Was grown so fat , and look'd so big and jolly , Not being disturb'd with care and melancholly , Tho' Marvel has enough expos'd his folly : He drank to carry of some old Remains , His lazy dull Distemper left in 's Veins ; Let him drink on , but 't is not a whole Flood , Can give sufficient sweetness to his Blood , Or make his Nature or his Manners good . Next after these , a fulsom Irish Crew , Of silly Macks were offered to my view ; The Things did talk , but hearing what they said , I hid my self , the kindness to evade . Nature has plac'd these Wretches below scorn , They can't be call'd so vile , as they were born . Amidst the crow'd , next I my self convey'd , For now there comes ( White-Wash , and Paint being laid , Mother and Daughter , Mistress and the Maid , And Squire with Wig and Pantaloons display'd : But ne're could Conventicle Play , or Fair , For a true Medly , with this Herd compare . Here Lords , Knights , Squires , Ladies and Countesses , Chandlers , Mum , Bacon , Women and Sempstresses , Were mix'd together , nor did they agree , More in their Humours , than their Quality . Here waiting for Gallant , young Damsel stood , Leaning on Cane , and Muffled up in Hood : The would be wit — whose business 't was to woo , With Hat remov'd , and solemn scrape of Shooe ; Bowing advanced , then he gently shrugs , And ruffled Foretop , he in order tugs ; And thus accosts her , " Madam methinks the Weather , " Is grown much more serene since you came hither ; " You influence the Heavens ; and should the Sun , " Withdraw himself to see his Rays out-done ; " Your Luminaries would supply the Morn , " And make a Day , before the Day be born . With Mouth screw'd up , and awkward winking Eyes , And breast thrust forward ; Lord , Sir , she replies : It is your goodness , and not my deserts , Which makes you shew your Learning , Wit and Parts . He puzzled , bites his Nails , both to display The Sparkling Ring , and think what 's next to say : And thus breaks out a fresh . Madam , I gad , Your Luck , last Night , at Cards was mighty bad At Cribbidge ; Fifty nine , and the next shew , To make your Game , and yet to want those Two : G — d — me , Madam , I 'm the Son of a Whore , If in my Life , I saw the like before . To Pedler's Hall he drags her soon , and says The same dull stuff a thousand different ways ; And then more smartly to expound the Riddle Of all his Prattle , gives her a Scotch Fiddle . Quite tir'd with this most dismal stuff ; I ran Where were two Wives , and Girl just fit for Man , Short was her Breath , Looks pale , and Visage wan . Some Curtisy's past , and the old Compliment , Of being glad to see each other , spent ; With Hand in Hand they lovingly did walk , And one began thus to renew the Talk. I pray , good Madam , if it may be thought No Rudeness , what cause was 't hither brought Your Ladiship ? She soon replying , smil'd , We have a good Estate , but ne're a Child ; And I 'm inform'd these Wells will make a barren Woman , as fruitful as a Cony-Warren . The first return'd ; for this Cause I am come , For I can have no Quietness at Home . My Husband grumbles tho' we 've gotten one , This poor young Girl , and mutters for a Son : And this disturb'd with Head ach , Pangs and Throws , Is full Sixteen and yet had never Those . She answer'd , strait , get her a Husband , Madam ; I Married at that Age , and never had 'em ; Was just like her , Steel Waters let alone , A Back of Steel will bring them better down . And ten to one , but they themselves will try , The same way to encrease their Family . Poor silly Fribble , who by Subtilty Of Midwife , truest Friend to Letchery ; Perswaded ar't to be at Pains and Charge , To give thy Wife occasion to enlarge Thy silly Head. Some here Walk , Cuff and Kick With brawny Back and Legs and potent — Who more substantially will cure thy Wife , And to her half Dead-Womb restore new Life : From these the Waters got their Reputation Of good Assistance , unto Generation . Some warlike Men were now got to the Throng , With Hair ty'd back , singing a bawdy Song : Not much afraid , I got a nearer View , And 't was my Chance to know the dreadful Crew : They were Cadets , that seldom did appear , Damn'd to the stint of Thirty Pounds a Year . With Hawk on Fist , or Greyhound led in Hand , They Dog and Foot-boy sometimes do command ; But now having trim'd a leash of spavin'd Horse , With three hard-pincht-for Guineas in their Purse Two rusty Pistols , scarfe about the Arse — Coat lin'd with Red , they here presum'd to swell ; This goes for Captain , that for Collonel : Ev'n so Bear-Garden-Ape , on his Steed mounted , No longer is a Jackanapes accounted , But is by Virtue of his Trumpery , then Call'd by the Name of the young Gentleman . Bless me ! thought I what Thing is Man , that thus In all his shapes , he is ridiculous . Our selves with noise of Reason we do please , In vain , Humanity's our worst Disease . Thrice happy Beasts are , who , because they be Of Reason void , are so of Poppery . In Memory of Joseph Washington , Esq late of the Middle Temple , an Elegy . Written by N. Tate , Servant to Their Majesties . CAN Learning's Orb , when such a Star Expires , No Notice take of it 's extinguish'd Fires ? Can Washington from Britain's Arms be torn , And not one British Muse his Hearse Adorn ? Since abler Bards his Obsequies decline , And They whom Art inspires desert his Shrine , I 'll trust my Grief his Fun'ral Dirge to Breath ; I 'll Crown his Tomb , tho' with a fading Wreath . Nor shall the boasting Fates have this to say , That unobserv'd they stole such Worth away ; No — since Mankind a Loss in him sustain , We 'll of that Wrong to all Mankind complain . O whither tend the famish'd Hopes of Wit , That do's whole Years in Brooding Study sit ! From Early Dawn , till Day forsakes the Sky , And Midnight Lamps the absent Sun supply ; Why should the Learn'd , with Chymist's Patience wait Their Works Projection , never gain'd till late ? If , soon as got , Fate 's riged Law must doom Them , and their rich Discov'ry to one Tomb ! Why should we Ancient Arts steep Ruins Climb , And backward Trace the Painful Steps of Time ? Why moil , and ransack , for a Golden Mite Past Ages Rubbish till we lose our Sight ? If baffled from the search we must Retire ; Or , having seiz'd it , o'er the Prize Expire . In vain do's friendly Nature too Combine , And with our Industry her Forces join ; In vain her Ablest Faculties are brought , Quick Fancy , Judgment to perfection wrought , And Memory , the Magazine of Thought ; Convincing Reason , Charming Eloquence , All these she did to Him we Mourn Dispence ; To Him who lies in Death's cold Arms enclos'd , And leaves his Sacred Fame — To such an Artless Song as mine , Expos'd . O for a Mausolaeum ! no less Tomb , Can for his Merit 's History have Room : Then let some Angel from the Realms of Light Descend , the shining Epitaph to Write ! No Mortal Wit his Character may give ; Our Verse can only on his Marble live . His Genius rival'd Rome's and Athen's Fame , Breath'd Virgil's Majesty , and Homer's Flame ; Touch'd the Horatian Lyre with equal Ease , Sail'd with success on Tully's flowing Seas . In Languages his Knowledge was sublime , From Modern to the Speech of Infant-Time . Thus from the sacred Oracles he drew Those Truths , which scarce the Patriarchs better knew . The Sages , by Antiquity Admir'd , ( Who justly to the Name of Wise Aspir'd , ) In Speculation ne're cou'd soar so High , Nor Contemplation to such Use apply ; For He , his Life adjusting to his Thought , Practis'd more Virtue than those Masters Taught . His Soul of e'ry Science was the Sphere , Yet Artless Honesty sat Regent there ; Bright Learning's Charms none better understood , Yet less he study'd to be Learn'd , than Good. To Truth , in Notion , as in Practice , just , Ne'er servily his Knowledge took on Trust ; Nor held for Sacred Custom 's doating Dreams ; Disdain'd to drink Tradition's muddy Streams : But to clear Principles had still Recourse , Nor rested , till he found the happy Source : And then , with gen'rous Charity possest , His Country with the rich Discov'ry blest . His Skill in Laws was less for private Gain Employ'd ; than publick Freedom to maintain ; While Mercenaries with the Current steer'd , His Country's constant Patron he appear'd . With Roman Virtue at the needful Hour , Oppos'd encroaching Tides of Lawless Power . His brandish'd Pen , in Liberty's Support , Cou'd Lightning on th' astonish'd Foe retort . Scarcely in Marvel's keen Remarks we find Such Energy of Wit and Reason join'd . Great Milton's shade with pleasure oft look'd down , A Genius to applaud so like his Own. FRIENDSHIP . I. WHen Souls unite , in generous Friendship joyn'd , By a Reciprocal Exchange of Hearts : The Ciment which do's the Contexture bind , Arises from a Sympathy in Parts . II. 'T is not the Work of Interest , or Force , But Nature all things to their Like does move : Love is true Friendships , Origine and Source ; Similitude the truest Cause of Love. III. Soon as each Object does its self display , At the first view such mutual Charms appear ; Tho' Distance , or Disasters stop the way ; Yet still they Wish and Covet to be near . IV. Their Motions and Desires are the same : This , no design to that unknown , does move . Both their Affections shine with equal Flame , By Nature kindled , and supply'd by Love. V. A Pair of Souls , in sweet Conjunction , One ! Safe in each others Bosom they confide : Have neither Joy nor Grief that 's singly known ; But both alike the common Care divide . VI. Friendship on such a Basis built shall grow , And like the Eagle still its youth renew . Time in the Building no defect can show , Nor Wit or Malice the strong Knot undo . VII . Thus sturdy Oaks from small Beginnings grow , Which when in Earth have deeply taken root , Play with those Winds that weaker Trees o'rethrow Whilst up to Heaven the Lofty Branches shoot . The WISH I. AS Leaves which from the Trees blown down Are scorch'd and shrivel'd by the Sun : Or Lillies which the Virgins crop Contract their Beauty die and droop . So when I on Dorinda look , I strait am with the Lightning strook ; But if I gaze a while and stay I melt insensibly away . II. But then as soft and gentle Showers , Renew old Life in dying Flowers : Or Dew shed on the Womb of Earth Does give the early Blossoms birth . So if Dorinda sheds a Tear New strength and motion does appear : But if she balmy Kisses gives , My Soul returns again and lives . III. Therefore my Dear , since Life and Death , Depend at once upon your Breath ; Since what your Eyes of Life deprive , Your Kisses heal and do revive ; Kill and destroy me as you please , For only then my Mind 's at ease : When your Eyes and Lips contrive , To make me often Die and Live. The Deliverance . I. CElia , now my Heart has broke , The bands of your ungentle Yoke ; Dissolv'd the Fetters of that Chain , With which it strove so long in vain . The Devil take me if I e're Am trapp'd again within your snare . II. In vain you spread the treacherous Net , In vain your secret Toils are set ; The Bird can now your Arts espy , And wing'd with Caution from 'em fly . Some heedless Heart your Prey may be , But , Faith , you 're too well known to me . III. I now can with Contempt despise The feeble Witchcraft of your Eyes ; Without concern can sit and hear , You prattle Nonsence half a Year : And go away as little mov'd , As you was lately when I Lov'd . IV. I wonder what the Devil 't was , That made me such a stupid Ass. To fancy such a Charming Grace , In your Language , Mein and Face ; Since now I nothing more can find , Than what I see in all your kind . V. Thus when the drowsy God of Sleep , Does o're our weary Senses creep ; Some curious Piece of Imag'ry By Fancy wrought delude the Eye . But when we wake th' Approach of Day , Scares the airy Form away . Song Ex Tempore . THey talk of Raptures , Flames and Darts , Of burning Feavers in their Hearts ; Of Gods of Love , in Womens Eyes , Which Please and Ravish , and Surprize : How they Admire , Love , Adore , With thousand other Wonders more . But I cou'd ne're in Woman-kind , Those dazling Charms and Lustre find ; Which shou'd , in spite of Reason , prove , Sufficient to engage my Love. Whilst Kind , I love ; but when Untrue , I leave 'em Faith , and grow so too . When once they Coy and Foolish be , They may go hang Themselves for Me , I Love my Bottle , and my Friend , No other Love I understand . Of Solitude . I. O! Solitude my swetest Choice , Places devoted to the Night , Remote from tumult , and from Noise How you may restless Thoughts delight ! O Heavens ! what content is mine , To see those Trees which have appear'd From the Nativity of Time , And which all Ages have review'd , To look to day as fresh and green As when their Beauties first were seen ? II. A chearful Wind does court them so , And with such amorous Breath enfold , That we by nothing else can know , But by their Height that they are Old. Hither the Demi-Gods did Fly To seek a Sanctuary ; when Displeased Iove once pierc'd the Sky , To pour a Deluge upon Men , And on these Boughs themselves did save , Whence they could hardly see a Wave . III. Sad Philomel upon this Thorn , So curiously by Flora drest , In melting Notes , her case Forlorn , To entertain me , hath confess'd . O! how agreeable a Sight These hanging Mountains do appear , Which the Unhappy would invite To finish all their Sorrows here , When their hard Fate makes them endure Such Woes , as only Death can Cure. IV. What pretty Desolations make These Torrents Vagabond and Fierce , Who in vast heaps their Springs forsake , This solitary Vale to peirce ? Then sliding just as Serpents do Under the Foot of every Tree , Themselves are chang'd to Rivers too , Wherein some stately Nayade , As in her native Bed , is grown A Queen upon a Chrystal Throne . V. This Den beset with River-Plants , O! How it does my Senses Charm : Nor Elders , Reeds , nor Willows want , Which the sharp Steel did never harm . Here Nymphs which come to take the Air , May , with such Distaffs furnish'd be , As Flags and Rushes can prepare , Where we the nimble Frogs may see , Who frighted to retreat do fly , If an approaching Man they spy . VI. Here Water-Foul repose enjoy , Without the interrupting care , Lest Fortune should their Bliss destroy By the malicious Fowlers Snare . Some Ravish'd with so bright a Day , Their Feathers finely Prune and Deck , Others their Amorous Heats allay , Which yet the Waters could not check : All take their innocent Content In this their lovely Element . VII . Summer's nor Winter's bold approach , This Stream did never entertain ; Nor ever felt a Boat or Coach Whilst either Season did remain . No thirsty Traveller came neer , And rudely made his Hand his Cup , Nor any hunted Hind hath here Her hopeless Life resigned up , Nor ever did the treacherous Hook , Intrude to empty any Brook. VIII . What Beauty is there in the sight Of these old ruin'd Castle Walls , In which the utmost Rage and Spight Of Times worst Insurrection falls ? The Witches keep their Sabbath here , And wanton Divels make retreat , Who in malicious Sport appear , Our Senses both t' afflict and cheat . And here within a thousand Holes Are nests of Adders and of Owls . IX . The Raven with his dismal cries , That mortal Augury of Fate , Those ghastly Goblins gratifies , Which in these gloomy Places wait . On a curs'd Tree the Wind does move A Carcass which did once belong , To one that Hang'd himself for Love Of a fair Nymph that did him wrong , Who though she saw his Love and Truth , With one Look would not save the Youth . X. But Heaven which judgeth equally , And its own Laws will still Maintain , Rewarded soon her Cruelty With a deserv'd and mighty Pain : About this squalid heap of Bones , Her wandring and condemning Shade , Laments in long and piercing Groans The Destiny her rigour made ; And farther to Augment her Fright , Her Crime is ever in her Sight . XI . There upon Antick Marble trac'd , Devices of Pastimes we see , Here Age has almost quite Defac'd , What Lovers Carv'd on every Tree . The Cellar , here , the highest Room , Receives when it's Rasters fail , Soil'd with the Venom and the Foam , Of the sly Spyder and the Snail : And th' Ivy in the Chimney we , Find shaded by a Walnut Tree . XII . Below there does a Cave extend , Wherein there is so dark a Grot , That should the Sun himself descend , I think he could not see a Jot . Here Sleep within a heavy lid In quiet sadness locks up Sense , And every Care he does forbid , Whilst in the Arms of Negligence : Lazily on his Back he 's spread , And sheaves of Poppey are his Bed. XIII . Within this cool and hallow Cave , Where Love it self might turn to Ice , Poor Eccho ceases not to Rave , On her Narcissus wild and nice : Hither I softly steal a Thought , And by the softer Musick made , With a sweet Lute in Charms well taught , Sometimes I flatter her sad shade ; Whilst of my Chords I make such choice , To serve as Body to her Voice . XIV . When from these Ruins I retire , This horrid Rock I do invade , Whose lofty brow seems to enquire Of what materials mists are made : From thence dissending leisurely , Under the brow of this steep Hill , It with great pleasure I descry , By waters undermin'd , until They to Palaemon's Seat did Climb , Compos'd of Spunges and of Slime . XV. How highly is the Fancy pleas'd , To be upon the Oceans Shore , When she begins to be appeas'd , And her fierce Billows cease to Roar ! And when the hairy Tritons are Riding upon the shaken Wave , With what strange sound they strike the Air , Of their Trumpets hoarse and brave , Whose shrill Report , does every wind Unto his due submission bind ! XVI . Sometimes the Sea dispels the Sand , Trembling and Murmuring in the Bay , And rowls it self upon the shells , Which it both bring and take away . Sometimes exposes on the Strand , Th' effects of Neptune's Rage and Scorn , Drown'd Men , dead Monsters cast on Land , And Ships that were in Tempests torn , With Diamonds and Amber-greece , And many more such things as these . XVII . Sometimes so sweetly she does smile , A floating Mirrour she might be , And you would fancy all that while , New Heavens in her Face to see : The Sun himself is drawn so well , When there he would his Picture view , That our Eyes can hardly tell , Which is the false Sun , which the true ; And lest we give our Sense the Lye , We think he 's fallen from the Sky . XVIII . Bernieres ! for whose beloved sake , My thoughts are at a noble Strife ; This my fantastick Landskip take , Which I have Coppied to the Life . I only seek the Deserts rough , Where all alone I love to walk , And with Discourse refin'd enough , My Genius and the Muses talk ; But the Converse most truly mine , Is the dear Memory of thine . XIX . Thou mayst in this Poem find , So full of liberty and heat , What illustrious Rayes have shin'd , To enlighten my Conceit ; Sometimes pensive , sometimes gay ; Just as that Fury does controul , And as the Object I survey , The Notions grow up in my Soul , And are as unconfin'd and free , As the flame which Transported me . XX. O! how I solitude adore , That Element of Noblest Wit , Where I have learn't Appollo's Lore , Without the pains to study it : For thy sake I in Love am grown , With what thy fancy does pursue ; But when I think upon my own , I hate it for that reason too , Because it needs must hinder me From seeing , and from serving thee . A Satyr against Brandy . FArewell thou Stygean Juice , which does bewitch , From the Court-Bawd , down to the Country Bitch . Down to thy Native Hell , and mend the Fire ; Or if you rather choose to settle nigher , Descend to the dull Clime from whence you came , Where Wit and Courage may require the Flame ; Where they Carouse in their Vesuvian Bowls , To crush the Quag-mire of their Spungy Souls . Had Dives for thy Scorching Moisture cry'd , Abraham in pity , had his suit deny'd . Or Bonner known thy force , the Martyrs Flood , Had sizz'd in thee , and sav'd the Nation Wood ▪ Essence of Ember , Scum of melted Flint , With all its native Sparkles floating in 't ; Sure the Black Chimist , with his Cloven Foot , All Aetna's Simples in his Lymbeck put : And doubly Still'd , nay , Quintiscenc'd thy Juice , To Charcoal Mortals , for his future use . Fire-ship to Nature , who dos't doubly wound , For they who grapple thee , are Burnt and Drown'd . So when Heav'n press'd th' Auxillaries of Hell , A scorching Storm on Cursed Sodom fell . And when its single Plague could not prevail , Aegypt was scall'd with kindled Rain and Hail , So Natures Feuds are reconcil'd in Thee , Thou two great Judgments in Epitomy . Gods past , and future Judgment breath in you , A Deluge , and a Conflagration too . View yonder Sot , I don't mean S — Grilled all o're with Thee from Head to Foot : His greasy Eye-lids show'd above their pitch , His Face with Carbuncles , and Rubies Rich : His Scull instead of Brain , supply'd with Cynder , His Nose turns all his handkercheifs to Tynder : His feeble Head scarce heave the Liquor in His Nerves , all crackle in his Parchment-skin : His Stomach don't concoct , but bake his Food , His Liver even vitrifies his Blood. His Guts from Natures Drudgery are freed , And in his Bowels Salamanders breed . He breaths like a Smiths Forge , and wets the Fire , Not , to allay the Flame , but raise it higher . He 's grown too hot to think , too dull to laugh , And steps as tho' he walk'd with Pinder's Staff. The moving glass-house lighten in his Eyes , Singes his Cloaths , and all his Marrow frys , Glows for a while , and then in Ashes dyes . But hold ; least I the Saints dire Anger merit , By stinting these Auxillary Spirits , I hear of late , what e're the wicked think , Thou art reform'd , and turn'd a Godly Drink : For since the publick Faith , for Plate did wimble , And Sanctified thy Gill , with Hannah's Thimble : Thou lefts thy old bad Company of Vermin , The swearing Porters , and the drunken Carmen ; And the lew'd drivers of the Hackny Coaches , And now take up with Sage Descreet Debauches : Thou freely dropst upon Gold Chains , and Furr , And Sots of Quality thy Minions are . No more shalt thou foment an Ale-house brawl , But the more Sober Riots of Guild-Hall . Whereby thy Spirits fallible Direction , The Reprobates stood Poling for Election . Go then , thou Emblem of their torrid Zeal , Add Flame to Flame , and their stiff Tempers real , Till they grow ductile to the Publick Weal . Yet one Word more , now we are out of hearing , Many have dy'd with Drinking ; some with Swearing . If these two Ills should in Conjunction meet , The Grass would quickly grow in every Street : Save thou this Nation from the double Blow , And keep thy fire from Salamanca T. O. A Prologue spoken by Mr. Mounfort , after he came from the Army , and Acted on the Stage . AS reading of Romances did Inspire . The fierce Don Quixot with a Martial Fire ; So some do think , my Acting Alexander , Gave me the whim of being a Commander . But then Reflecting that I had left behind me , An Audience rudely , that had us'd me kindly , My Conscience of Ingratitude accus'd me Bid me return , where you too well had us'd me , Ask pardon , and it should not be refus'd me . Thus relying on your Mercy I am come , Leaving Dundalk , to Act with you at Home . Forgive me then , and in return I 'll swear , Ever to be your most Obedient Player . On the Infanta of Portugal . I. HOW Cruel was Alonzo's Fate , To fix his Love so high ; That he must perish for her Hate , Or for her Kindness dye ? II. Tortur'd and Mangl'd , Cut and Maim'd , I' th' midst of all his Pain , He with his dying Breath proclaim'd , 'T was better then Disdain . III. The Gentle Nymph , long since design'd , For the proud Monsieurs Bed ; Now to a Holy Goal confin'd , Drops Tears for every Bead. IV. Tell me ye Gods , if when a King Suffers for Impotence ; If Love be such a Thing , What can be Innocence ? Pindarick . By the Lord R — r. 1. LEt Antients boast no more , Their lew'd Imperial Whore ; Whose everlasting Lust , Survived her Bodies latest Thrust . And when that transitory Dust Had no more Vigour lest in store , Was still as fresh and active as before . 2. Her Glory must give place , To one of Modern British Race ; Whose every daily Act exceeds The others most transcendent Deeds : She has at length made good , That there is Humane Flesh and Blood , Even able to out-do , All that their loosest Wishes prompt 'em to . 3. When she has Jaded quite , Her almost Boundless Appetite ; Cloy'd with the choicest Banquets of Delight , She 'll still drudge on in tastless Vice , ( As if she sinn'd for Exercise ) Disabling stoolest Stallions every hour , And when they can perform no more , She 'll rail at 'em , and kick them out of Door . 4. Mon — th and Can — h Droop , As first did Henning — m and Scrope : Nay Scabby Ned looks Thin and Pale , And sturdy Frank himself begins to fail : But Wo betide him if he does , She 'll set her Iockey on his Toes , And he shall end the Quarrel without Blows . 5. Now tell me all you Powers , Who e're could equal this Lewd Dame of ours ? Lais her self must yield , And Vanquish'd Iulia quit the Field : Nor can that Princess , one day fain'd , As wonder of the Earth , For Minataurus glorious Birth , With Admiration any more be Nam'd These Puny Heroins of History , Eclipst by her shall all forgotten be Whilst her great Name confronts Eternity . On the Return of K. Charles II. This should have been put next after the Poems on Oliver , but was misplac'd . JUre & Amore tui modo spes , nunc gloria regni , Qui regnando refers Numen , & esse probas . Laudibus & titulis major , majorque superbis Principibus , solo denique Patre minor . Maxime Rex , sed adhuc vir major : en accipe honores , Quos tu regales accipiendo facis . Regna patent , & corda patent ; sed latius ista : Omnia tu , praeter gaudia nostra , regis ▪ Sol novus exoriens quam claro mane refulges , Occasu rubuit dum prior ille suo . Rex uni genti , sed donum missus es orbi , Hinc in tam multis gentibus exul eras . Sors tua te Gallos divisit , & inter Iberos : Pluribus ut regnis te , populisque daret . Dum se interposuit regnum quinquenne Neronis , Oppositâ ornabat proximitate tuum Sanguinei , tua grata magis , post sceptra Tyranni Sic infert festos litera rubra dies . Quae rerum facies ! viduam dum Carolus urbem Intrat , splendoris pars quota Pompa suit ! O quàm plena dies lachrymis sine luctibus ! illum Sole vidente quidem , non faciente diem . Quis sine caede priùs tot strictos viderat enses ? Quisve sine effuso sanguine Victor erat ? Cùm modo utramque manum comitanti fratre venires Carole , visa mihi est utraque dextra manus . Mercurium & Martem medio Jove vidimus : Omen Terna solent faustum sydera juncta dare . Dicitur Alcides bis sex sub●isse labores Exul : totque annos Carolus exul agit . Jamque duodecimum peragit feliciter annum , Ultimus huic pariter sit precor iste labor . Exilii spatiis regnum mensuret : & exul Quem modo lustrabat , jam regat ille globum . R. South , A. M. ex Aede Christi . Thus Translated . God's and thy Right made thee our Hope before , And now conjoin'd our happy State restore . Thy glorious Reign two mighty Works can do , It proves a God , and represents him too . Proud Kings will to thy nobler Style submit , Only thy Father must above thee sit . Great King , but greater Man ! our Wreaths allow , Which may imperial by acceptance grow . Large are the Realms , our Hearts more large , thy hand May those , but not our boundless Joys , command . What chearful Beams our rising Phoebus crown , Tho yesterday's in bloody Clouds went down . One Nation 's King , to all a Blessing sent , His wandring Course through various Nations spent . While thee their Guest , both French and Spaniards made , More Realms , more Tribes thy gentler Beams survey'd . Nero our Lord five tedious years would be , Only that he might prove a foil to thee . His bloody Reign makes thine delightful all , As our Red Letters show a Festival . How smil'd the Town when Charles his Entrance made , More great himself than all the Cavalcade . Then griefless Tears within our Eyes could play , While Phoebus view'd , but never made the Day . Then first drawn Swords from Murders free we view'd And saw a Conqueror never stain'd with Blood. When , Charles , your Royal Brothers clos'd thy side , Nature no more could Left and Right decide . So Mars and Mercury round their Father move , And happy their divine Conjunctions prove , Twelve Labours banish'd Hercules sustain'd , Twelve tedious years great Charles in Exile reign'd . The twelfth is now with lucky Omens past , O may it be of all thy Cares the last . Vast may thy Empire as thy Wandrings be , And the wide Globe survey'd submit it self to thee . On the late Invention of the New Lights . — Velut inter Ignes Luna minores . — Hor. IN Dogrel Rhimes we seldom use To stay for any God or Muse : But in so nice a case as this I think it cannot do amiss : For all the Link-boys round the town , Have swore , I hear , to run 'em down : The Men of Tallow , Wieck , and Cotten , The Tin-men too the Cry have gotten . Whom , let me see shall we retain ? Phoebus , for once , shall be the Man. Great God of Lights ! we thee invoke , If not by t' other side bespoke ; The Stars above , to Men below , But like your Farthing Candles show : Whilst thou , with glorious Lustre crown'd , Dost hang like one of Six i' th' pound : Thou ▪ who'rt all Eye , cast half an one Down on this New Invention . 'T is new indeed to us below , But known in Heaven long ago . The Stars in just such Crystal Spheres , Have burn'd above Five thousand Years ; They fear no Storms by Day or Night , But thus hang wind and weather tight ; And so they 'll hang till Day of Doom , By that time they 'll their Oyl consume : And then their Glasses breaking round us , In flames they 'll fall and so confound us . Nay , we can prove the Milky-way ( For all Sir Sydrophel can say ) Is but a Street of some such Lights , To guide the Heavenly Folks a-nights . ' The Council-chamber up above , Is hung with such ; and Iove's Alcove . The sacred Ram can't furnish horn , For all the Lights that there are shown : Horners they 've none , and I dare swear There 's ne'er a Tallow-Chandler there . Prometheus once ( that Son of Fame ) Upon a Visit hither came ; And lik'd the thing so wondrous well , He strait upon the Tryal fell : But whether ( as some Authors say ) The Tallow-Chandlers shew'd foul play , Or Link-boys us'd to break his Glasses , ( For variously the Story passes ) The Project fail'd , and he ran mad , Such Luck the Virtuoso had ; That 's all the Bird , the Poets say , Lies gnawing of him Night and Day . May more propitious Fates attend Our present Art-improving Friend ! Were this Design but understood , T would be of universal Good. The Stars might go to sleep a-nights , And leave their work to the New Lights . The Midwife-Moon might mind her Calling , And noisy Light-man leave his Bawling : Men may pull in their Horns , and be From Officers and Summons free . Nay with such potent Influence Their streaming Rays they do dispense , That if the Sun should lie too long , Here he might have his Bus'ness done : He might indulge in Thetis lap , And while these burn , take t'other Nap. Oh! had you been the other Night In Cheapside at th' amazing sight , Where with their Sawcer Eyes they hung , And gather'd the admiring throng . The scatt'ring Light gilt all the gaudy way , Some People rose and thought it day . The plying Punks crept into Holes , Who walk'd the streets before by sholes ; The Night could now no longer skreen The Tavern-sots from being seen . The Light-men , they , began to rally , Who blush'd , and sneak'd down Grocers-Alley . The Tempest you have seen , no doubt , Just so the Candles all went out ; Those silly tools no more could burn Than Kitchin-fires before the Sun. The Quaker , with uplifted Hands , By Yea and Nay the Rogue commends ; Of all their boasted Lights , he said , These never enter'd once their Head. When we compare our times with those are past , We cry , this Age of greater Light can boast ; I 'll say so too , if this Invention hi● , Else swear , Our Age wants Wit as well as Light. On the late Invention of the PENY-POST , by Mr. Dockwra . Volvitur & volvetur in omne volubilis aevum . WHat Fools are they , who use to cry , Nature's grown crazy , old and dry , No new Inventions now can boast For that vast store of old was lost ; We know this is an Age of Light , Our Grandfires all were under Night , The sacred Story tells us , that Our Fathers Boys and Girls begat At nine hundred , so does too Past five thousand nature now . Imperial Ink , and dying Purple were Counted of old Inventions rare , With Napkins of peculiar Stuff , That could the Force of Fire rebuff , Throw'em into 't , they took no hurt on 't , Hot-brain'd Nero had a Shirt on 't . These with others fill the Roll , Writ by learned Panciroll . The modern Ages can produce , Inventions too of wondrous use , By which Dame Nature now may boast Her prolifick Force not lost . Printing , the Compass , and the Gun , And that lost Art which Marble run , Lacker , Mill'd Lead , the Sailing Carr , And the New Lights , surprising rare . All these have had their just Applause , Have made throughout the World a Noise . What God , what Man shall we accost ? Great Patron of the Peny-Post ? Worthy , fam'd Panciroll , to stand First in that List drawn by thy hand . Mercury , thou Post of Heaven , To thee the weighty Charge is given , Thou long ago didst found a Post All along the Heavenly coast , And daily thence thy journey takes O'er Hills and Dales , o'er Floods and Lakes , Wings at thy Head and at thy Heels , Thou like a Pidgeon-Carrier sails , Sometimes charg'd with Love and News , Sometimes from Iove with Billet-deux . Sometimes with Baskets , Boxes , Tickets , Thy Mail is most stuft with Love-pacquets ; The Clouds give way , as thou dost go , And full-charg'd Thunder makes a Bow. Ah! thou , who with thy charming ▪ Rod Canst controul the sleepy God , Vouchsafe to thy poor Foot post Race , That when the Day 's Fatigue is past , Into sweet Sleep they may be cast . To give the way let no Man scorn , Altho they carry ne'er a Horn : Their Task is greater than the Sun 's , He goes to Bed when he has done , They only rest an hour at Noon . As in the Soul of Man we find , Several fair Chambers are design'd ; The Heart , the Liver , and the Brain . The lovely Guest to Entertain . Five Port-hole Senses too were made , By which all Objects are convey'd , So that whate'er abroad was done Is within as quickly known ; What e'er is smelt , seen , felt or heard , As swift as flying Thought it runs , Through winding Paths , and secret Turns , And to the Soul's Apartment strait repair'd . This way great Dockwra forth did chalk , As a Parterre from the Grand Walk Leads many ways , his nimble Men , After their Round , return and meet again . For twenty Miles these nimble Mercuries Carefully convey advice . Not Letters grav'd on Sculls , or Pidgeon-post , Of greater Secrecy can boast . Hail mighty Dockwra , Son of Art , With Flavio , Middleton or Swart . In the foremost Rank of Fame , Thou shalt fix thy lasting Name . Nor new Inventors Fate thee hurt , To be damn'd or beggar'd for't . FINIS Notes, typically marginal, from the original text Notes for div A61352-e4530 * The Lord Protector . Difference betwixt a Protestant and Socinian , p. 62. Page 92. Page 90. Pref. Page 8● . Pref. p. 1. Pref. ib. Pref. ib. Page 5. Page 21. Ibid. Page 5. Page 1. Page 1. Page 2. Page 2. Page 2. Page 3. Page 3. Page 3. Page 3. Page 3. Page 4. Page 10. Page 11. Page 39. Page 11. Page 11. Page 12. Page 15. Page 16. Page 19. Page 23. Page 22. Page 84. Page 20. Page 23. Page 22. Page 63. Page 29. Page 16. Page 30. Page 30. Page 55. Page 31. Page 32. Page 32. † Poeta Loquitur . Page 63. Page 69. Page 37. Page 37. Spotted Mouse Loquitur . Page 69. Page 37. Page 54. Page 101. Page 111. Page 28. Page 133. Page 126. Page 130. Page 45. Varillas . Page 137. Page 3. Page 15. Page 38. Page 5. Page 129. Page 135. Page 115. Page 144. Page 98. Page 145. Medal . p. 41. Reher . Com. p. 31. Rehears . Comedy p. 52. Coll. Sac — l. * Vitellius . * Vitellius . * Parker