A52425	----	A murnival of knaves, or, Whiggism plainly display'd, and (if not grown shameless) burlesqu't out of countenance Norris, John, 1657-1711. 1683 Approx. 49 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 21 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A52425 Wing N1255 ESTC R10820 12535310 ocm 12535310 62841 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. A52425) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 62841) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 946:7) A murnival of knaves, or, Whiggism plainly display'd, and (if not grown shameless) burlesqu't out of countenance Norris, John, 1657-1711. [4], 36 p. Printed for James Norris ..., London : 1683. Reproduction of original in Huntington Library. Satire in verse on four prominent Whigs: Lord Shaftesbury, Titus Oates, Slingsby Bethel, & Sir Thomas Player. Advertisement: p. 36. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley Cooper, -- Earl of, 1621-1683. Oates, Titus, 1649-1705. Bethel, Slingsby, 1617-1697. Player, Thomas, -- Sir, d. 1686. Whig Party (Great Britain) -- Controversial literature. Political satire, English -- Early works to 1800. 2002-06 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2002-07 Apex CoVantage Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2002-08 John Latta Sampled and proofread 2002-08 John Latta Text and markup reviewed and edited 2002-10 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion A Murnival of Knaves : OR , WHIGGISM Plainly Display'd , AND ( If not grown shameless ) Burlesqu't out of Countenance . Aude aliquid brevibus Gyaris & carcere dignum , Sivis esse aliquis , Probitas laudatur & alget . Juv. Satyr . 1. London : Printed for James Norris , at the Kings-Arms without Temple-bar . 1683. TO THE Worshipful Mr. P. D. B. Most Worthy Patriots , I Presume to Dedicate this Pamphlet to you , ( for I can call it no more , and I presume you will stile it no less ) considering your coupled Loyalty ; and withal to inform you , that there is nothing contained herein , against the Loyal Party of that Emporium of Christendom , and Metropolis of London , but only the Dissenters : which I think I am in duty bound to do , and requires the Pen of a Cleveland , though never so Sarcastick , to reduce them to Obedience . I beseech you be not offended at my Endeavours , because they are honest , and no ways injurious , and little offensive , but what may pass the censure of a Scholastick tick without blame ; at least , under the notion of a Licentia Poetica , if Burlesque Rhythme may be allowed it . I do not in the least question your approbation primâ facie ; but if you disrelish any thing herein , I am so much a Stoick , that I value not your Censure or Opinion : yet however , with permission , give me leave to acquaint you , that if you disapprove of it , I know who will not . This is all at present from Your Humble Servant , PHIL ANAX . POSTSCRIPT . IF the Author's Name in the close of the Epistle cramps your Vnderstanding , let me advise you , as a friend , to consult the Worshipful Dr. OATES , ( who has been of most ( I had almost said all ) Religions : ) and if he has not forgot his Greek and Latine , as much as he has forfeited his Religion and Honesty , I believe he may be your Interpreter . A Murnival of Knaves , &c. WHen that the poor oppressed Press Groan'd under the Cacoethes Of Scribling ; when Baboon and Pug Skirmisht in Paper-Dialogue ; When Vile Tom's son did disembogue At one another Ruffian , Rogue , Profligate Villain , Fidler , Knave , Buffoon and Rascal , rail and rave In such foul terms as these ; a Pack Enuf to break a Porters back , Or sham at th' sharpest scolding rate The Wastcoteers of Beline's-gate : When one of these loose Pamphleteers Was very near losing his Ears , And did through Wood-loop-hole survey The Market on a welcome day ; Nay , had he not begg'd off close-keeping . And Fine , good faith , had paid for 's peeping : Then ' t was . I blush in Burlesque Rhyme To think on 't ; but I 'le tell the time , ( Lest that the Whiggs shou'd sneer and prate , And say this story is sans Date . ) New style ( to make no more ado , ) It was i' th' year Fourscore and Two , The Ape of five times eight and one ; And this to our stark shame was done , By Pladded Blow-Cap and Bog-Trotter , Whilst Resident here Haddu Ben Otter . Then Whig and Tory took the Field , Fought briskly , but would neither yield ; The one of Caledonian Race , T'other has an Hibernian Face ; True English Guelphs and Gibelines , Darting their Quils , like Porcupines . O how the Moor and Turk will fleer At Christians , when as once they hear , At one another how they jeer , And raunt and taunt and domineer ! Nay , Teaze and Scold , and Rail downright At Hodge and smiling Heraclite , When half a quarter of their Sense , Will baffle Whiggs Impertinence ; And all that Gang , except these two , Deserve to Hang , had they their due . Of these Dissentions what 's the Cause ? In truth a second Good old Cause , Started by some of Vxbridge-strain . ( May it be ne're started again ) Persons and Names of Men I 'le spare , But blame their Vices , that 's Play fair : As to their Tone , their Garb , their Gate , I 'le such a story true relate , And give Jack such a Character , That you 'l need no Interpreter . Have you not heard a squeaking Ape , Tire the Gods with shril-mouth'd gape , As if the Heavens cou'd not hear , Unless he rend the Hemisphere , Or that the Gods are now grown old , Or thick of hearing by catcht cold ? 'T is Prodigie all o're , yet true , Listen , you 'l hear what he can do . He can outgape bang'd unbrac'd Drums With sticks two , fingers eight , two Thums , Thunder - outnoise with 's deep-mouth'd Bass , Outbray the Phlegmatick dull Ass ; With a strange noise laying Hens outcackle , Gossips Out-chat in Prittle-prattle , ( Whose Musick , if compar'd to thee , Is pretty , taking Harmonie ; ) Outgrunt the Babe of Farrowing Sow , Outlow little Irish Runt or Cow , Outbellow too her Consort-Bull , Out-scold the strong-lung'd Drab and Trull , Outbay in full cry Packs of Dogs , Outcroak the ugly Toads and Frogs , Th' Inhabitants of Fens and Bogs ; Outhollow Huntsmen in full speed , Outhum the Bittern in a Reed , Outroar the Waves dashing 'gainst Rock , Outscreak the gay-plum'd Bird Peacock , Outbawl Ships Crew in Storms at Sea , Without a Peripneumonie ; Outhowl Hell's Hound with triple sconce , Outshout Routs yelping all at once ; Outsqwaul , by help of potent Tipple , The froward Infant wean'd from Nipple ; The Lion and great Gun outrore , Through his large , wide-mouth'd Cannon-bore ; Outscream a Holy , Zealous Sister , When with lips sanctifi'd has kist her , And tap'd and spigoted her Bung - Hole , neighbour to Confines of Dung ; Outmew grim Malkin can this Fop , Making Amours on the house top ; Outsqueak unoyl'd door , ungreas'd Cart - Wheel , in Gend Balads bearing part ; Outsound the Cataracts of Nile , Deafning all round they say a Mile ; Outyawn a wide Hiatus too With ease which you or I can't do . Nay this Clerks bawling , harsh-nos'd Tones , Are far more dismal than the Grones Of Men dying o' th' Foul Disease , ( Whose aking Bones disturb all ease ) The Racking Gout , the Stone or Colick ; But this in him 's a holy Frolick . Shou'd a Turk hear 't , by 's Fathers Beard He 'd swear 't was the worst voice e're heard ; By Alla and by Mahomet , He 'd not that hideous noise forget ; Papists by th' Mass ; the wandring Jew Pawns Tetragrammaton 't is true ; And with true Christians , all conclude , The Gentry , Commons , Multitude , 'T is but an hypocritick Tone , Mixt with a feigned Sigh and Grone , To gain their Parties great Applause , And to maintain the Good old Cause , Contrary to establisht Laws . And wonder too how it can be , They don't , who hear him constantly , Lose th' otocoustick Faculty . Thus you have all the various Notes , Warbled through Puritanick Throats , As deep-mouth'd Bass , soft Mean , shrill Treble , And all not worth small stone call'd Peble . 'T is the Dissenters new Sol Fa , And every Note above Ela ; Or if you please , 't is nothing but The Presbyterians Gamut . Now Railing Rabshakeh surcease , Leave off your Flouts for shame , Peace , Peace . His Auditors it plainly appears , Have all of them Sanctified ears . I 've done with his Stentorian voice , And glad I am out of the noise . But now I 'le launch into the Seas Of his rare other Qualities , His rich Endowments and his Arts , His Corporal and mental parts : He has Fingers Ten , and eke Ten Toes , ( A French Twang in an English Nose ) If not Adonibezeckt by Just Judgment for his villany . Spits forth in Pulpit Superstition , Bauls out Rebellion and Sedition , Belches more Flames and Fire too , Than Mongibel and Strombolo ; A Kirk-Buffoon , can wink and pray , And blindfold teach to Bliss the way : Heaven's Newsmonger , can tell a Tale , And bang't about with his Tong-flaile , Strengthned by Female-Candles , and Fortified with the fat o' th' Land ; Has good Church-vailes , but yet no sense , By white-apron'd Benevolence . Can squeeze his Eyes close ; shrivle up Nose , Th'Organ through which he sings in Prose ; Whose Canting makes some laugh , some weep , And some oft-times fall fast asleep . His Preachments stuft with Hums and Haws , And patcht up with the Good old Cause , ( That Babe of Grace , Brat of their Loins , Got 'twixt Scotch and Geneva Groins ) With Lord ! in Prayer , O Lord thou knowst We know nought , Lord , Great Lord of Hosts ! Thus breaking off , leaves sense and Wit To be found out by th'Hearers ; yet , Let the Prophane say what they will , He makes a Moving-Sermon still , And before th' end is left i' th' lurch , And People all drop out o' th' Church , But some awd Wives , 'bout six or seven , Just by the Pulpit , bound for Heaven , But God know's when , who all things know's , No body else ( as I suppose ) If they have none but such Guides blind , As these , to Cultivate the Mind ; Crying through zeal , Ah Pretious Man ! How plain , when as he first began , He made the Text and Context too , Both to weak me , and eke poor you ? What work he made on 't ? Oh such work , As might convert a Jew or Turk ! How he did tumble o'r the Text , Tho i' th' Original perplext ; And mine'd it small , to th' end it might Digest with th' weakest Appetite ? What Comforts , nay , what Truths Soul-Saving Flow from him , worth hearing and having ! It pierc'd my heart , and made me Grone , As well as Goody Such-a-one . But Aged Dames , go to , go to , You over-do , in truth you do ; For 't has been said b'unlucky spittle , You cou'd not hear one word or tittle ; For you were all born , or deaf grown , By Sickness not fit to be known . He , when the Spirit moves , can Pray Extrumpore three hours per day ; And if in all that time , of Sense One word drops from him , I from thence - Forth to hear him will b'always bound , Tho I 'd first be set quick i' th' ground . He can en cuerpo Prate , when Zeal Hath warm'd him throughly , and then ree● Cross Diameter o' th' Pulpit , role From th' Arctic to th' Antarctic Pole Of his Suggestum , teach you th' way Unto Terra Incognita . He 's th' walking Monument or Gin Of Actual and Original Sin , Who with starcht Gravity and Grace Moves to a holy Cinque-a-pace : Nay he can dance Geneva-Jigs To Bagpipes that outsqueak stuck Pigs ; Yet thinks 't is not when he does do 't , The Sensuality o' th' foot ; If you judge so , you 're much i' th' dark , 'T is a Zealous Frisk before the Ark , Lavalto , Capriol or Kick , No Mimies or Jack-Puddings Trick ; He 's no such Person , Sir , I ll vouch ye , But a Religious Mammamouchie . Bishop in Surplice , worse him scares Than Spirits in sheets , or Garden-Bears ; Hates Choristers with sweet Sol , Fa , His Tones being ten Notes 'bove Ela ; But twangs through th' Nose , like unset Chimes , Hopkins and Sternholds groveling Rhymes . Th' Organ well-tun'd brings him to Fits , And stare like one quite out of 's Wits ; Or in plain language , Sir ( a sig For gawdy words ) glares like dead Pig. His upper-Garment's Cap Calot , Tipt with white like black Jack or Pot , And lin'd with loggerheaded Sot : Serjeant Divine o' th' Cois that can Outspawl , outspit Asthmatic Man. The outer's a black Cloak to hide Knavery , Ells two long , three wide , Which swathes the Corps of Bigot Lad , Like Mangie Scot lapt up in Plad . Cloak , whose base Tenant ne'r was Loyal , Nor can endure Duke that 's Royal ! Cloak , that dost all Rebellion shrowd , In one that 's Spiritually Proud ! Cloak , that doth walking Treason wrap , And sometimes too a Swinging Clap ! Cloak , whose Jack-Pudding-Tricks we know Makes Monarchie a Puppet-Show ! Cloak , who dost hate each Ruling Thing , And woud'st set up a Grand-Dogue King ! Cloak , where all Vices crowded dwell ! Cloak , only for the Devil of Hell ! Therefore I leave thee sans farewell . Round Railing Throat he ever wore A Band , like that 'bout neck of Moor , Which by that Crew is call'd Round-Robin ; With Bandstrings small dangling like Bobin , Wherewith he play 's all 's Pratling while , Enuf to make your Worship smile ; Nay more , wer 't not before the Altar , Enuf to make Towzer break Halter . The ornaments round top of Fist , Which some more properly term Wrist , Are Cuffs , so call'd , in number twain , Just and no more , without Lace , Plain , Of Sleasy Holland so deep and wide , They 'd serve for Muckender hung by 's side , To wipe him in 's hot fit ( no harm , I hope ) and reach to keep him warm Fro' th' Carpus to the middle arm . I think I need not make more stir About this Linsey-Wolsey Sir , You 'l know him by this Character . I think I promis'd it before , And therefore I will do 't no more . But now I 'm come unto the A — Of this untoward Balad-Farse , He shall not dye the death of Dog , Sans Epitaph , or Epilogue , Call 't which you please , I don't much matter , I 'll say as Taffy does , Have at her . He is a Foe to Prophane people , And goes to Houses yclep'd Steeple ; A Skittish Jade , but he 'l not tire , Tho as Stew — Wh — he swinks for hire . A Pulpit-Boutefeu , Church-Cracker , A Fervid , painful Cushion-Thwacker ; The Kirks Fisgig , Wildfire , or so , The States new Cacafuego , And so resolve to let him go . Now that I have ranged thus far With General Particular , Pardon me cause'ts a foolish Trick , As well as Roman Catholick ; I 'l leave them quiet , and be gon , Resolving to assault poor Don. The first that treads this Burlesque Stage , Is the State-Mimick of our Age , A pretty Pigmy , lank with care , Like Jugler looks in Bartle-Fair , Or th' Chitty-fac'd poor thing appears , When Hors'd like Creature before Bears ; He winks to understand the Sense Of what is given in Evidence , With ominously Neck awry , Wou'd you know ? faith I know not why . On whom kind Nature did engrave The true proverbial mark of Kn — Who winks with one eye , looks with t'other , 'S not to be trusted , though nown Brother . All Creatures hear with Ears ? you lye ; For little Tony hears with 's eye ; No Treason's this , nor Blasphemy : A winking , pinking , dapper Don , Sire of th' Association ; A Brat o' th' little Lord's cold brains : Methinks th' Abhorrers of such strains At length shou'd shame this Pygmie-Elf To an Abhorrence of himself . The Issue both of 's Head and Tail ( If weakness can beget a Male , Or be so weapon'd with a Tool To make a Child , I shou'd say Fool ) Compare , and then let me prevale With you to hear me out my Tale. The Son 's Purse-proud and Fortune-fat , Now Fortune favours you kno what . The Sire 's a Crafty Chit , a Grave ( In plain unwelted Saxon ) Kn — So that 't wou'd strangely puzzle all The Rabble Astrological To Schematize to thee , or me , The Son's Wit , or Sire's Honesty . Yet the last some accursed Fate Doth ominously praedestinate , Or Haggard Witch , some Daemon Vile , Or the Ill Genius of this Isle Preserves this Bagatel to be The Tap'd Plague of these Kingdoms three . Yet he cou'd never ha' surviv'd So long , but that he is Cat-liv'd . His Soul 's a Blank ( pardon th' Expression ) Apt to receive any Impression Of Maxims fetcht from Rome or Hell , By Loyola , or Machiavel . A Charles to day , to morrow Nol ; Nay let them Queen Quean Orange-Mol , All 's one to him , let the World prate-on , As long as he can save his Bacon . By help of Bow-dy'd Conscience dapple , With all these Humours he can grapple , Nay with as many more as these ; O thou Brave , Pygmie-Hercules ! The spawn of him of whom 't was sed By Witty Peg of France since dead , More Heretics he did create In Church , than Florentine in State ! He has run through the Torrid Zone Of Forty eight , and Forty one . But here I think I err in time , Onely to gratifie my Rhyme . Hang 't , 't is but a Poetic Trick , And often us'd in Rhetoric , Which we dare say ( tho done perforce ) 'T is but the Cart before the Horse , And so is not a pin the worse . Has seen a Cobler Lordifid ' , Hath long Conversed with Count Pride , ( And as it hath bin lately said By States-man Sage , who is since dead , If it seems good to powerful Fate , A Dray-horse may be a Horse of State ; And some of them , who then did Rule , Had Reason less than Horse or Mule. ) Nay , he hath had the lucky fate To sit with the Council of State , And Committee of Safety too , Which was no easie Task to do ; The Jointed-Baby , Bartle-Bauble Adored by the Giddy Rabble , The prime Court-Puppet of the City , Both wise in their conceit , and witty ; Promoter of each Sect and Schism , The Directory , Catechism , Made by Westminster-Sanhedrim , And ( when with Zeal fill'd to the brim ) Their Orator , or rather Prater , Oracle , Grand Associater . The Hector of the Good old Cause , An Enemy to wholsom Laws ; A Friend ( if any ) unto those Who are the Nations Public Foes . None sitter is to Rule the Rost Than such a one , who hath engrost All the Intrigues of Politic In Monarchie and Anarchie . Where 's sleepy Conscience all the while ? Thou Jack o'both sides in this Isle ! With Conscience great , or Conscience small , Or Conscience sear'd , that 's worst of all , Or just like Conscience none at all . Nay farther , for I needs must tell ye , He has a Commonwealth in 's Belly , Which by some State-Emetics may Be violently purg'd away , Or otherwise he 'll lingring lie Of this State-Tympany , and die . Unto that end I 'll have a bout , And try to fright away his Gout ; Cowardly Gout ! for shame retreat , Rack not his Petitoes with heat And Pain ; for he God wot's grown cold , And Nature's crumbling him to Mold By thee , yet let him die in peace , Rather than live thus our disease ; No matter which way , so we 're rid Of this Sham-plotting Whirlegig ; This little Lord , but huge grand Whig , The People's Dagon , Demi-God , The Rabbles Darling , small Birch-rod Of Loyalty , a Whisling Blade , The Page of Honour , Lancepresade Of Valour , Pickaninny-Peer , Who minds his Hits , Fight Dog , fight Bear Patron of all Dissenters , and The Demogorgon of Whigland ; For which , 't is said , he must resigne His better share in Caroline ; Nay he shall be , and 't please the Pigs The Anti-Yorkist of the Whigs , Or else be Canoniz'd by me The Whigs little St. Anthony . This Polish-Kingling since , they say , Who scarce cou'd creep , is run away , ( ' Twou'd vex a Dog to lic and peep , And see a skewer'd Pudding creep ) To spend to 's monumental praise The ragged remnant of his days , 'Till 'mongst the Boorish Belgian Rout His stinking snuff of life goes out ; Where he may be of Devils the worst In all their Cacarchie accurst , Provided he proves moderate , And with his horns push not the State. I like his choice , 't is very well , He has the shorter cut to Hell ; For 't is the lowest Moorish Bog , That e'er was Tenanted by Frog : Now he and they can't but agree , Being Rebels ab origine . Yet if he c'er return again , And cross the Pond , which some call Main , May he and 's Myrmidonian Whigs Be sows't in 't , and made food for Grigs ; But he hath since cut such a Sham , That they ha' made this nocent Lam A Burgh-Master of Amsterdam . In Batrachomyomachie , Whether it be by Land or Sea , If Frogs and Mice once more fall out , Then he wou'd be , without all doubt , Chosen within those Countries Low , On one side Generalissimo . Now we have done with little Man Zachaeus , a right Publican , Exit ; and enter on the Stage The Mighty Anak of this Age ; Who first appears in fur-fac'd-Gown , Great Officer of London-Town , ( Or as some please to term it City ; But in good sooth , the more 's the Pity ) Of May-pole-Stature , high Renown , Who is so base and sordid grown , That some by old Tradition dare , And others positively swear , He 'd craving Colon satisfie With a Six-penny-Mutton-pie : Yet if he was resolv'd to Feast , And to Regale that Canine Guest , Th' Ordinary Club at height must be Inflam'd with sum of pence thrice three , ( But here 's the Devil on 't , good Sir , What will become o' th' Caterer ? Poor Rogue ! he 'll be harrast with care For to Adjust this Bill of Fare . ) So that this great Jolt-head of Veal Will die indebted many a Meal To his poor Carcas , that will crave Bread , for the Lord's sake , in the Grave . It might ha' prov'd a Gorgeous Prey Unto those Animalcula , Who Banquet in all Tombs on dust , But in his Monument Fast they must . The Phrygian Fabler all agree Taught Birds and Beasts their A B C , Might teach those Insects for to wish , ( Being depriv'd of such a Dish ) That Mighty Jove wou'd let him be The pendent Fruit of Fatal Tree , Devour'd , in answer to their prayer , By blood-beakt-Canibals o' th' Air. He 's fraught with nought but Plot and Sham , Disgrace , hoth of his Sire and Dam ; The Nation 's Shame and the Cities Stain , Which can't be rinsed out by the Main ; Scorn of his Sex , Nature's By-Blow , The Chief of Cuckolds all a row , Who has the cursed thirst of Gold , As naturally as he of old ; Nay and withal ( for all your Jeers ) His Punishment too , Asses Ears . Therefore some other thing will be Invented by the Deity To make this wretched Miser feel Nemesis angry Lash of Steel . The day after Simon and Jude , ( Saint I omit , to please the Rude Ill-manner'd Whigs , whom Jack doth teach To use the Irreverence of their Breech ( I 'll say no more t' avoid Commotion ) I' th' highest Act of their Devotion ) Were he on foot he wou'd appear The Gawdiest Pageant that is there ; But mounted on his Palfrey Stout , The onely Centaur mongst the Rout , And when on Steed once fixt and set , Looks like Baboon , not Marmoset . The latter is a thing too small To represent great Lout withal . In Ignoramus he 's well read , As some are in old Hollinshed ; And know's how to patch up the Pannel , For which some wish him lap 't in Flannel ; Or his Executors pay five pound , And break his heart , tho' under ground : For he that wou'd not Club his shilling For Corpse alive , will ne'er be willing , When dead , and laid among the Croud , Be charg'd with such a costly Shroud , Or give such a Prodigious Sum For 's Voyage to Elysium : Nay others judge he will not spare The Ferry-Man of Hell his Fare ; But rather wander all alone On gloomy banks of Acheron . He is the City's Demagogue , Whom some call Fool , but most call Rogue . Wit he has little ; but if any , 'T is onely how to turn the peny . But Rogue enuf ; a Sneaking Fop , A sordid Miser , mere Milk-sop . He 's very Caballistical In Tavern-Clubs , Harangues them all , ( For English-Prate , if you 'll afford Such a good , modish Gallic Word ) With whites of Eyes , expanded Hands , And Speech Larded with If 's , Buts , An ds , With gross Rebellion , horrid Treason , During all that Nocturnal Season , 'Bove Statute-Madness , gross Non-sence , And such a Stock of Impudence , That without rudeness of a Ly , Some of the Gang cry Pish , nay Fy ! This done , all 's done , and too much too , Yet not then without much ado . But when Bow 's Curfew rings thrice three , That doth refresh their memory ; 'T is late , and some Tory may say , They turn the Night into the Day . Then they arise with wearied Crupper , And some of them reel home to Supper ; But this same Chair-man scorns to be Guilty of such Extravagancie . Then he begins like Acres-wise To drop , as every one his size , So break up th' Evening-Exercise . And then they all shake-hands , and part With every one an aking heart , Saying , If Popish Heir appear , We all of us shall be , I fear , Involv'd in bloud up to each ear . Give me leave now tell y'a story Of a Mischievous Waggish Tory Who one night ( 't was not very late ) Palabrous was , that 's full of prate , And did Inveigh egregiously 'Gainst this same Alderman-Would-be . Now all the while that he did Chatter About this great and weighty Matter , It chanc'd in Kitchin-corner stood His Man , like Image made of wood , Who gap'd and suckt in the discourse , Took it for better or for worse , As Men do Wives . Torie , they say , His worth most truly did display , His Vertues , Parts , the great and less , As also his Closefistedness . His Man i' th' fire-nook , who heard all , With Patience very great , not small , Told's Master more , no doubt , than all . ( For stories Snow-ball-like do gain By being roll'd from brain to brain . ) At which enrag'd , he soon did leap From Newgate-street unto West-cheap , Where Tom and Dick , and Jack and Hal Keep their Rebellious Cabal . I wonder thou canst live among A Wicked Crew , a Whiggish Throng , Thus uninfected ( Faith and Troth ) Being near the Castled Behemoth , That Catabaptist Whig , that can Outly , outcheat each Mortal Man , And that same quondam Gate-hous'd Fop , That o're the way keeps a large Shop , Who is no Christian , nor yet Jew ; And that some will aver is true ; As well as Promise and Py-Crust , When made , that broken be they must . But to be faithful in my work , By 's Head you 'll guess him to be Turk . What makes thee prove a Tory still ? Faith ! 't is thine obstinate nown self-will . But to the Man , read him who list , A Trojan false as ever pist ; A Man , if he deserves that name , So Profligate and void of Shame , That he 'll pretend to any thing , But Fear God , and Honour th' King. As he grows old he will grow Bolder , ' Till's Head by th' Pole's higher than Shoulder . That Elevation of the Pole May much advantage his own Soul , And prove more grateful to the State , Than that of old , or this of late , If Souls access to Heaven have More from the Gallows than the Grave . He 's Skill'd in Mischief like Romes Pope , Or Priests with a Canonic Cope . He 's one of those that wou'd , in sum , Extirpate Kings as did old Rome ; And for a poor thing too , they say , A Suppos'd Chast LVCRETIA , Then set up a Democracie ( The Darling of the Mobile ) To Rule , and without more ado The Tyrants play , and Devils too . Next Father Gray-Beard he appears With inch of hair and Swaggering ears , But Peruqu't now shrowds like Man Sage The Baldness of his Lust and Age. Tom Popular , let me thee advise To hearken to the Orphans Cries ; 'Cause Charles does his , Tom Fool , must you Shut up the City-Chequer too ? Your Nest now sure well-feather'd is By serving our Metropolis ; Therefore the Babes will cry Pray Pay , For it is now past Twelvemonth-day . In City Maiden-Fields call'd More Lives one has bin a Bawd and Whore , ( And yet 's no Tenant of the Grave ) As long as he bin R — and K — A Haunter to Creswellian Stews , A shame to Christians , Turks , and Jews , Where he with Lustful appetite Revel'd , till past the Noon of Night , That Brisk Aurora 'gan to peep On slothful Mortals fast asleep , ( Except Gold-finder , or Black-sweep , Burse-Sentinel with Bandeleer , And Lanthorn'd , Rusty-Halberdeer . ) Casting her eyes about her , she Espi'd , and as soon blusht to see This Superannuated Satyr , White , hairless-pated Erra-Pater , Lockt in the Embraces of her Arms , Who had a Mine of Graceful Charms ; The Fulsom'st sight that e'er was seen , To see old Sixty grope Sixteen . City-Priapus , Campaigne-Bull , Prostitute to each Hackney-Trull , Hast thou the Impudence to think , Rank He-Goat , Carrion that does stink Above ground , that thou' rt fit to be The Guardian of Virginity ? Methinks the colder Snow of Age Sho'd cool at least thy Cod-piece Rage , If not quite quench thy Amorous Fire , Weak in the Act , strong in desire . Had he but Youth , and strength of Chine , He might contend with Messaline , Who , when o'er-rid by twice twelve , cried I 'm tired , but yet not satisfied : Nay some do groundedly Post-sage , That had he liv'd within that Age , When there was one , and one alone , Call'd Petticoated-Papess-Joan , He soon to Rome had made his flight ( Without what th' Adage says is light ) To try her Antichristian Charms . Old Soldiers love to be in Arms. And pray , why may not London-Knight , To sate Inord'nate Appetite , Venture as far for German Punk With credit , as a German Monk , Whose Vertue and Prolific Skill , If but as brisk as Lust and Will , He may depend o' th' Priests Success , And re-impregnate Holiness ? Who doubts it ? but by th' Haly-Rood , ' Twou'd prove a Monstrous , Spurious Brood ; A Holy , Anglo-German-Brat , Dutch Sooterkin , and English Rat , Which must , in spight o' th' Casuist , Be nam'd the Calvino-Papist . Well , Hugonot ! thou sneering Fool ! They 've now a Porphr'y Cucking-stool ; That , till the very Day of Doom , Shall no Tiresias be in Rome For to defile that Holy Chair With any false Priests , or foul Player . Rome ! the grand Mart of Pious Frauds , Th' Emporium of Pimps , Whores and Bauds Nest of a cursed Gaming Crew : Then Rome take P — or P — take you , For he 's or your's , or some Fiend's due . Others there are that dare assure , That when he 's in the Grave secure ( Being such a Prodigie of Lust ) He 'll Fumble with the Worms in dust , And get ( O pretty sight to see ! ) A numerous , crawling Progeny . There 's one thing more 'gainst him in charge , Wherein I will be brief , not large , Or rather an Advice , that he Wou'd learn to practice Loyalty . Know the vast distance , Sawcebox , come , 'Twixt Royal James and Rascal Tom ; What , make no difference , wretched wight ! 'Twixt a Great Prince and a Poor Knight ? A common City-Servant known ; Who e'er found him a Faithful one ? Unleader'd now thou mayst be made , Or turn an Aged Lancepresade . Die , Die for shame , thou 'st liv'd too long , Turbulent Commoner of the Throng , That we may all with good Presage From that time date our Merry-age . Thus you see Exit Dwarfish Don , The May-pole-Miser too is gon ; And eke also amongst the Herd Our most Salacious Dad-Gray-Beard ; Of all Sedition , Villany , And Mischief , the Triumviri . To make this Trine a perfect Square , Which Learned call Quadrangular , Hearken with reverence and Fear , Divinity brings up the Rear : Come Black-Coat-Bumpkin , Grave Fopdoodle , Shake ears affixt to empty Noddle . Of a Bad Father the Worst Son , The Proteus of Religion : Spawn of an Anabaptist Dipper , Of the Kirk's Catch an Vnder-skipper , Once a Lay-Saint-Audomarist , A Papist and a Calvanist ; Now this , then that , indeed what not ? E'en any thing but good , God wot . As stories tell , ( and 't is no Flam ) O' th' Famous man of Roterdam ; The Papists all so dubious were Of his Religion , that i'th'aer They hang'd his Corps 'twixt Heaven and Hell , Knowing not which t'allot him well ; Much more ought this Lay-Priest to be Serv'd so for his Inconstancie , Till the last Trump ( a dubious Case ) Summons him to his proper place ; There to receive his deserv'd doom , For kindness done to Vs and Rome . This Reverend Doctor of the Manca , Prudent as Quixot's Sancha Pancha , Did gravely foot it round the Town , In Doctors Scarf , and Doctors Gown , With Janizaries two at heel , Ty'd to Morglay's of Bilbo-steel ; Therefore you cannot but him grant , To be of the Church-Militant ; Now walks en Cuerpo , Honest Tite , Scorning to leave the Spaniard quite , 'Cause he being every where denied , Was by the Don Doctorified ; A Renegado ( we 'll go on ) Who wants but Circumcision , Asperse good store , and Pezants true , To make him either Turk or Jew This Learned Sage Philosopher , Needs not read Alec . Rosse over . For this Religious , Goblin Elf Has a Pansebeia in himself . He is Religions Tennis-ball , Bandied and toss'd about by all , From England unto France and Spain , And thence to England back again , A Dulman , a meer Clerk obese , A walking Quagmire of Grease , So Bladder'd by the Can and Pot , That he , like the Heraclot , Values no more the pricks of pins , Then Boys at Foot-ball kicks on shins : And for these Reasons they do say , He 's made Arch-bishop of Bum-bay , 'Cause his Posteriours large and great , Will very well fulfil that Seat. So that promoted to this place , He that had none is call'd his Grace . Though there were other Reasons store , Two , three or four , or less , or more , As followeth such as these are , ( And they indeed are very rare ) As wise as he that rode in quest Of 's Mother-Tongue , a pretty Jest , Or the four-footed Creature dull , Trotting nine miles to suck a Bull. In Travel he hath all out-done , Has Lacquay'd the unwearied Sun All Europe o're , like a Divoto , True by the Figure pars pro toto , Active as Guts and Garbage can Be in so great , though little Man. He has a Voice as loud and yerne , As any Swallow on a Berne , With which he in a squeaking tone Sawsily prates to every one ; Thinking , Proud Fop ! he has no betters , Because he is a Man of Letters . He was so once ; I must confess , When that it was his happiness To be Rome's Post-boy , and made choice Of to be Mercury from Artois . If this does make him Learned , so He is , but nothing else I know . He cannot say his Currat Lex , Nor , though he ought , O Vivat Rex . He frequently breaks Priscian's head , Inhumanely , though long since dead . In Holy Writ some Texts him gall , Particularly Swear not at all ; Besides , another seems but strange Unto him , Be not given to Change ; By which it plainly may be said , I' th Sacred Pages he 's Ill-read : Nay both these sentences would he Expunge , had he the liberty , Were it not for that dreadful Curse ( Than which there cannot be a worse ) Mention'd , which I suppose he knows , Of that Book , in the very close . More of his Vertues I cou'd tell , For which the Doctor knows full well , He 's curs'd by Candle , Book , and Bell , And damn'd by th' Pope of Rome to Hell. Yet now that I have done with all , Particularly the Murnival , I must i' th' Tories Vindication , Whisper a word i' th' ear o' th' Nation ; And that is truly only this , ( Dissenters , take it not amiss ) When Tories swear , indeed they swear , But only 't is because they fear , And know , and hear most certainly , Whigs Cheat and Lye most damnably ; Making Religion Noise and Buz , Enuf to vex a Man of Vz. But to excuse them from that Crime , ( If an Excuse may be in Rhyme ) I will assure you there may be Found 'mongst you as great Rogues as we , For Whoring , Swearing , Drinking too ; For Lying we have nought to do , Nor Shamming , 't is your constant Trade , And will be till the Earth be made A general fire , and it is true , As I said Hypocrite take thy due , And that I certainly thee tell , Thy portion 's th'hottest place in Hell. Thus Whig Damns Whig , and yet they all Are Innocent , both great and small , But I must tell you that 's a Lye , ( Whig , I 'm asham'd of you ) and why . For tho' through ignorance of late , It has been Tom's unlucky Fate To be abus'd , I 'le undeceive The Vulgar ( if they will believe ) 'T was whipping Zac — not whipping Tom , That first discover'd Maidens Bumb , And flogg'd it ; though he , Pious Soul , Design'd the opposite Port-hole To enter , but he first wou'd see How fair Posteriours might be , And then he rationally guest , The thing before was like the rest ; A pretty way in truth to try , Whether a Maid with man wou'd ly ; Next the Clare-Market Priest comes in , Who never counted it a Sin To lye with Woman , Wife , Maid , Whore , And has ( they say ) bored many a score ; But that the worst was when he tried To bless before he occupied ; Who caught the Maid in private room , With Benediction of the Womb , Where he upon the very place , Like Wanton Priest ' gat Babe of Grace , But 't was not ill to ly with her , Because a true Jack Presbyter . Now give me leave for to desine , The Son o' th' Handkercherd Divine ; Who swills until the Noon of Night , And gorges still his Appetite With Viands and Liquors ; but yet then For to avoid the sight of Men , Sleeps where his Drunkenness he got , Like , Holy Presbyterian Sot ; And then at last away he goes Upon his Feet , ( I think with Toes , ) But first 't is possibly he may For 's Lodging in the morning pray , And that is all ; welcome , well gone , Of Holy Father Gratious Son. I care not for the Bullian Jigs , That in Moorefields are danc'd by Whigs ; Of the same Coat , but will conclude , With one Lay-man o' th' Multitude . A Reverend , Grave Pythagoras , But in good sooth a very Ass ; That is endow'd with as much sense , And Learning , ( for all his presence ) As 'mongst School-boys is one and twenty , That can repeat As in praesenti . Yes he has been a Statist too , Yes certainly with much ado ; A Man of great Integrity , That will not pay , nor tell you why , Though a just Debt , only I won't , Is this your Honesty , pox on 't . One that shall sip from place to place , Until his Worship does disgrace His Worship and his Manhood too , And yet shall rail at me , or you , Though I have known him , that I le say , Take drunken Journeys thrice a day , And going home at night 't is verum , Hath Scarified his Index rerum . But in a Tory 't is a Crime Unpard'nable , a Fault sublime ; Yet in a Whig it is but small , A Failing , may be none at all . Great Monarch ! hear now the sad plaint Of your poor people , sick and faint For Parliament and Priviledge , Which nought can cure , but Ketch and Sledge ; Grant their Request if you think fitting , Or send them home to mind their knitting . FINIS . BOOKS Printed for J. Norris , In the Year 1683. A Satyr against the Association , and the Guild-hall Riot , 4 o. The Noble Stranger , a Novel , 8 o. A Tract against the Absolute Decree of Reprobation , in Lat. 8 o. An Idea of Happiness , in a Letter to a Friend .