THE Weesil Trapped: A POEM: Being a REFLECTION On the late Satyrical Fable.  

— Who can be secure from Wrongs,  
Or Slanders from Licentious Tongues?  
For though Geese saved the Capitol,  
By Cackling from th' Invading Gaul,  
And showed the Enemy was near;  
Yet had they all been Slanderers there  
The Roman Guard had been deceived,  
And not a Goose of them believed.   
Page 6, 7.  
LONDON, Printed for Abel Roper at the Mitere near Temple-Bar, and joseph Fox, at the Seven Stars in Westminster-Hall, 1691.   

THE Weesil Trapped, etc.  
The Argument of the Canto.  

The Hare deserts the Country Plains  
To Argue on Weesilion's Case,  
In his Defence takes mighty Pains  
To prove his Swearing no Disgrace.   
CANTO I.  

WIthin a happy verdant Vale  
Preserved, and bounded with a Pale,  
The Sweet demeans of some Grandee  
Blest with the World's Prosperity;  
Where Nature's choicest Fruits did grow,  
And Baron Buck with Lady Do,  
With a large Herd of Children Fawns  
In Pleasure tripped it o'er the Lawns.  
Old 
* The Hare.  Keyward, of all Brutes most Wise,  
Spent a long Life in Rural Joys;  
And though sometimes his peaceful Bounds  
Invaded were with Neighbouring Hounds:  
Inveterate Foes in every place  
To him, and all his long Eared Race;  
Yet his nice Wisdom understood  
By Shifts to make his Party good;  
With subtle Turnings foil the Scent,  
And Danger still by Wit prevent;  
When Thousands of his Tribe were slain,  
And Yearly hunted o'er the Plain.  
In Staticks and Philosophy,  
None e'er so Curious was as he.  
In Politics too nicely Learned,  
Amongst which of late having discerned  
Some Pamphlets written to disgrace,  
His dearest Friend, Weesilion's Case.  
Brim full of amicable Love  
Resolves from Mansion to remove,  
And some small time in Town to spend  
To right, and vindicate his Friend.   

Cold Winter now the Ground had froze,  
Which happy time wise Keyward chose;  
When those that loved to mouth his Knell,  
Could not pursue him by the Smell.  
And now to Town being safely come,  
Unseen came boldly to the Room  
Just as the Weefils, named of late,  
Left off and ended their debate:  
But finding by his sighing Friend  
The Visitant had been unkind,  
And Critically had made bold  
To touch too near his Copyhold;  
Resolved as Master of the Arts  
Of Argument to show his Parts,  
And a grave Look first putting on,  
Urged by his Friendship thus begun.   Keyward, 
By the concern that does displace  
The Smiles in dear Weesilion's Face,  
And what has passed between you two,  
I find the News i'th' Country true:  
That for his Reasons, late made known,  
He's teized by all the Brutes in Town;  
Horses of War, Bulls, Lordly Cats,  
Law-Foxes, and Poetick-Rats,  
The Courtier Boar, Fitchow Physician,  
Church- Weesil, and Ass Politician,  
In Railing Scrowls have rend his Name,  
And strove to blast his Reverend Fame.  
The City Sheep, too with dull Face,  
Prerends to state his Conscience Case,  
As if he Reason understood,  
Or that he thought his own as Good:  
But amongst all, it seems, your Tongue  
Has been most ready to do Wrong;  
You, as you were the Parish Mouth,  
Rail at his taking the late Oath;  
And though Sound Reason was his Guide,  
Dare Impudently vouch 'twas Pride,  
As if the Notions of his Soul  
You could Dispotickly control,  
Or had his Conscience in your Fist  
To turn, and vary where you list.  
When still, in spite of your pretence,  
The Cause is from your want of Sense,  
And modest patience in my Friend,  
That gives ye freedom to contend:  
For had you knowledge from above  
To understand what he does prove,  
Or would his Wisdom stoop so low  
To take the pains t'instruct you how,  
His Reasons would appear as plain,  
As now you think 'em slight and vain;  
And you had owned yourself a Brute,  
Of all most Senseless, to Dispute.  Visitant W. 
Tho in your nasty Country Phrase  
You throw this Dirt upon my Face,  
And Cavil at my Sense before,  
You know its Efficacy or Power.  
To you and all your long Eared Rout  
I'll make my late Objections out;  
And if Three parts o'th' Town can Judge  
Plainly, Demonstrate 'tis no grudge  
To grave Weesilion, nor his Place,  
That makes our Friends Condemn his Case;  
But Contradictions which we find  
In Writings of another kind.  Keyward, 

If any Contradiction was,  
'Tis only in th' Resistance Case,  
Which in his Preface late he owns,  
And for the small Mistake atones,  
With so much Modesty and Shame,  
It lays no blot upon his Fame.  
And as to what the Town declares,  
An unlicked Crew of Woolves and Bears;  
Their naucious Senses are so vile,  
True Virtue they can ne'er Defile:  
The Ermine will be White as Snow,  
In spite of all the Filth they throw:  
Besides to blast a Sacred Name  
On the mere score of public Fame;  
And awful Learning so Disgrace,  
Is equally Absurd as Base.   

But who can be secure from Wrongs,  
Or Slanders from Licentious Tongues?  
For though Geese saved the Capitol,  
By Cackling from th' Invading Gaul,  
And showed the Enemy was near;  
Yet had they all been Slanderers there  
The Roman Guard had been deceived,  
And not a Goose of them believed.   Visitant W. 
Your subtle Topick there is known,  
But, pray, Where is the Slander shown?  
If I should the Advantage take,  
Because you vouch your Coat is Black;  
And e'er I can affirm it true  
You presently shall Swear 'tis Blue.  Keyward, 
The truest Instance will be picked,  
When you can prove we Contradict,  
'Tis not by urging our Disgraces,  
Or bringing Cases against Cases:  
Merely relying on your Sense,  
Or putting off with Impudence.  
But solid Reason must be known  
More than you hitherto have shown,  
Your Prentices of unknown Trades,  
And your Replies of Kitchen-maids;  
Your Weesils squeaking far from home,  
And the sharp Scourge of Whipping Tom.  
With every other odd Remark,  
Serve but to leave us in the Dark:  
'Tis Conscience must the doubt untie,  
And no Man need to tell you why.  Visitant W. 
Then Conscience, by your Rule, we find  
An Ignis fatuus of the Mind,  
Instead of Grace that Souls enriches,  
It leads us into Bogs and Ditches,  
Where a poor traveller that came  
To find straight Paths out by that Flame;  
Perhaps was farther from his Inn,  
Than when he did first begin.  Keyward, 
To two Points you must Conscience bring.  
That's for, or else against the King;  
And you may Argue what you please,  
But 'tis Compliance must give Ease.  
If you resolve to stem the Stream,  
And to Mishaps yourself Condemn;  
Your Stubbornness intails a woe  
Upon yourself, and Country too.  
Now whether Conscience makes amends  
For all the Harm, I do my Friends,  
Or that I should admit the Case,  
According to the times Distress  
Shows scope for Argument; mean time,  
T' obey Superiors, is no Crime;  
And I no more ought to deny  
Allegiance and Supremacy,  
Then I should question from whence springs  
The Divine Right of making Kings:  
Thus he to whom this Sense appears,  
Knows always what, and when he Swears.  Visitant W. 
The Case is very hard to clear,  
If a Man knows not when to Swear?  
But wavering stands with a Demur,  
Sometimes against, and sometimes for:  
It seems as if he were in doubt,  
And wants a Cranny to creep out;  
Or were but yet half satisfied  
In Conscience which he calls his Guide.  Keyward, 

When it's upon the Souls concern,  
Is any Man too Wise to learn?  
Or can my care be my Offence,  
Because I would inform my Sense?  
How Insolent would be that Fool?  
How beyond Patience proudly Dull?  
That should with a vainglorious Huff  
Affirm that he has learned enough.  
That every Father was a Sot,  
And by his Tenets should be taught;  
Presuming he had all the Ground  
Of Learning from his proper Fund.  
If you should hear such Dialogues,  
Would you not think 'em prating Rogues;  
And that they were more Ignorant,  
The more they did of Knowledge vaunt?  
True Virtue ever noted was,  
The fruit of Wisdom and of Grace;  
And what a better Sign can be  
Of Grace, than Sacred Modesty?   

All the Objections yet have rose,  
Are grounded on a mere Suppose;  
For though you Circumstances bring,  
You never yet could prove the thing;  
But Hang and Draw for an Offence,  
On mere presumptive Evidence:  
Thus like a Peasant Robbed, you draw  
From Circumstance severest Law,  
Who prosecutes without Remorse  
One, he supposes, stole his Horse.   Visitant W. 
Your Notions are absurd and vain,  
Where Matter of the Fact is plain;  
Suppose could ne'er a Verdict get  
From any Jury that had Wit;  
Nor Circumstances gain belief,  
With Force enough to hang a Thief.  
But he his fault does plain reveal,  
That gives it under Hand and Seal.  Keyw. 

That Confutations yet to know,  
Whither it be a fault or no;  
When Conscience promts us, and the Case  
Alludes to Union and to Peace;  
Tho Writings appear Pro and Con,  
The Writer's never the Worse Man;  
When what he does is understood,  
Consisting with the public Good.  
As Heaven is the State of Bliss,  
The nearest Path to it is Peace;  
And the best Branch of Peace is meant  
Submission to the Government.  
The Vulgar are too dull to know  
Th'Intent of all the Clergy do:  
Thus Some Sage Writings they Condemn▪  
Whilst others Contradictions seem;  
When they are really no Crimes,  
But Good and proper for the Times,  
As those they scurrilously Quote,  
Were for the Seasons they were wrote.   

Besides, how can we e'er Commend  
A Man to be his Country's Friend,  
That does not in all points agree  
To promote Peace and Amity?  
Which never can be planted here,  
Whilst we believe't a Crime to Swear;  
Or think it an opprobrious thing  
To own Allegiance to a K—  
Whose Merit so Divine appears,  
He ought next Heaven to have our Prayers.   Visitant W. 
Your Praise perhaps is less than due,  
If you said more, we grant it true;  
The Generous Lion we must own,  
As Brave as ever filled a Throne:  
Nor do we the Black Coats Condemn  
For the Allegiance sworn to him;  
But for their Kidskin Consciences  
That stretch for gain, what side they please.  Keyw. 
There must be a distinction sure,  
Some may be frail, but others pure;  
The Sect you mean, you should make known.  Visit. W. 
Troth of all Sects they're much at one.  Keyw. 
Nay, now y'are Cinical again.  Visit. W. 
Sir I am troubled with the Spleen;  
And e'er we Canvas more this Case  
Pray give me leave to speak one Phrase:  
Natural Religion first was plain,  
Tales, made it Mystery; Offerings, Gain;  
Fat Sacrifices Priests Prepared,  
They Eat, and th'Idol gaped and Stared.  Keyw. 
This Notion is Apocryphal,  
But suits the Matter not at all.  
With Pagan Priests what should we do?  
I hope they all are Christians now.  Visit. W. 
I hope so too.  Keyw. 
You cannot doubt:  Visit. W. 
Nor if I should, you make it out.  Keyw. 
You Rail, you Rail:  Visit. W. 
Yes, so you say;  
I must be blunt, 'tis still my Way;  
And have what thoughts of me you will,  
I'll keep my honest Method still;  
Which is not prone to Scorn or Hate,  
The Learned that at the Altar wait;  
But only fairly to require,  
All those that must my Soul Inspire,  
And teach it by their Rules to fly  
To its blessed Seat beyond the Sky;  
To make my Faith more firmly grow  
By good Examples that they show.  
Few of the Task, right Judgement make  
Of those this awful Function take;  
How strange a Vice appears in them,  
That does in others nothing seem?  
And though we common frailty find,  
Scattered abroad in all our kind;  
Yet a Church Weesiil's less forgiven  
Than any Vermin under Heaven.  Keyw. 
What their worst Vice do you believe?  Visit. W. 
Strong Avarice, for which I grieve;  
They love preferment, so they scorn  
One Benefice should serve the turn.  
— A Fault most Heinous.  Keyw. 
Have you none?  
Exposing there's, don't hide your own.  Visit. W. 

No, I, even Bacon Gammon can defy,  
Or the Dear Pudding Crust of Turkey Pie;  
I'd not renounce my Honour or my Faith,  
For all the Cheer my Lord Mayor's Larder hath.   

Scarce had the Weesil time to tell,  
This last Bravado, when a Smell  
Of Luscious Fat Westphalia Ham,  
Across his Nostrils steaming came  
From a close Larder, which did join  
To th'Hall where all the Templer's dine;  
The tempting Scent, Savoury and Hot,  
So Charmed him, he had strait forgot  
His Arguments, and now was peeping  
To find some Hole that he might Creep in  
To dine on the most Luscious Dish,  
That gratefully e'er blest his Wish;  
Which th'other two, that well did know,  
The Bait, perceived, and let him go;  
When see the Short-lived happiness  
That still attends on Mortal Bliss,  
A Cursed Cook that long had Nursed  
A spite about some Pastry Crust,  
Late damaged, with a Devilish Gin  
Of Wood, and Wire, Snared him in:  
In vain he Squeeks, in vain he Tares  
His Witty Pate against the Barrs;  
In vain he calls the Hare for Aid,  
He of his Sorrows Mockery made.  
And knowing that his Doom was near,  
Augments his Sorrows with this Jeer.   Keyw. 
You that could Argue late so well,  
And Moral Rites to others tell,  
Rail at our vices and declare,  
How Innocent of all you were,  
I find with Frailty overtaken,  
And Virtue Battered down with Bacon,  
Which now a good Reflection brings  
On the frail state of Human things;  
That Honour, Wit, Religion, Law,  
Interest, can to its Party draw;  
And who this truth disguises best,  
Waits but his time to cheat the Rest.  
FINIS.   

The Bookseller's Advertisement.  
THere being lately come out a Poem called the Anti-Weesils, in the Preface of which the Author of the Weesils is very highly Arraigned, his Vindication against such scandalous Reflections being a Cause not worthy the drawing his own Pen; the Bookseller as obliged to be Champion for his Authors, and even with his little Sense being able to inform the Gentleman's Misunderstanding, has begged a Blank Page in this Poem, to tell him, that the Author of the Weesils is not that Enemy of the Government that he maliciously misrepresents him, nor intended or writ any Reflections upon it, nor thought the taking of the present Oaths Perjury; or has he any ways vilisied the Noble Deserters of the late Cause, as he Barbarously suggests; there being not one Line in the whole Poem that can justly be perverted into any such villainous meaning.  
Neither this Gentleman (would he be candid,) nor any Person else (can well believe the little Raillery of that piece of Banter, as he is pleased to call it,) can carry any such perverse Signification. And 'tis almost ridiculous to think it should have the power to nettle so many of the Reverend, whom (as intended) it should rather divert than disgust, there being nothing in it but what every Man has heard a Hundred times over in common Discourse. 'Tis a little odd (however like the rest of his Preface,) that the Anti-Weesilarian should be so dull, as to imagine that the naming of Freeborn Brute should be an affront to an English-Man, when the Scene is laid in a Forest, and Brutes are the Representters. Nor does he that way (as falsely charged) Impeach any Doctor of the Church for any Apostasy from King James, but only for prevaricating against his own formerly avowed Principles.  
As for his Accusation of want of Christianity, in relation to the Resurrection of the Knight's Templars in his 4th Line, if the Knights are not angry with him for his Raillery, I fancy this Gentleman might have spared his severe Sentiment; and I must freely tell him, he has more abused Mr. Dodwell in doubting his Church, who is known to be both a Learned and Religious Man, than the Author has in his Verses any of the Cross Legged Heroes.  
As for the Poetical part of the Anti-Wesils, 'tis supposed the Author of the former, if he finds it worth his while, has Genius enough to answer himself; for my own part I think I have done enough for him for this time. Vale.