THE CHARTER; A Comical satire.  
Writtten by an Unknown Hand.  Rumpatur quisquis rumpitur invidia. Mart. Epig. 
LONDON: Printed for Alex. Banks, Anno Domini 1682.   

The Charter: A Comical satire.  

Fire! Fire! Fire! Help, All's in Flames!  
Pray come, for the Lords sake of Three Names!  
Sons of Committee-men and Sequestrators,  
Old Rebels, and new Associators;  
Call the Cashiered Officers, and Justice,  
(Whose Mettle like to be eat with Rust is,)  
Step to the Synagogue, and Jenkins Pew,  
Call all the Gentiles and the Jew;  
For such Wildfires are amongst us thrown,  
(Worse than the Jesuits) 'twill burns quite down;  
A damned Fireball called Quo Warranto  
Will bring all our hopes to Acheronto.   

AS Sampson's Strength up in his Hair was tied,  
Rebellions Strength was in the Charter hid;  
Late in a Trumpet Treason every Punk  
Can speak; nowed must be whispered through a Trunk;  
By Charter, Brother Traitor we could free,  
Now there's no Privilege for Perjury:  
Next time my Lord, beware the Medal-house  
Though we'd be damned for't, we can't save your sauce;  
've done as much for you as men could do,  
Ventured our Souls, and lost our Charter too.  
And is that all? Come, bened crest-fallen, make shift,  
And bear up, I'll help you at a dead lift;  
Something may yet be done, though we darened touch  
On Meal-Tub Plots lest caught i'th' Bolting-hutch.  
How says your Lordship, (for your Honour's free)  
Capital Member of our Company;  
And you know well 'tis out of Fashion,  
For Tradesmen to sink in Desperation;)  
Methinks, though we broke at State (for Sins,)  
We may drive our old Trade of Coney-skins,  
And Kid-knapping? Sell Brock and Dog skin-Muff,  
And country Captains Cheat with Horse-skin-Buff?  
We must employ our Talents, still, devise,  
A hundred Prod'gies, and Prodigious Lies;  
The Hook of Popery won't take small  
Fish now, (fie of't) The French have quite marred all,  
The Whore of Babylon, and Antchrist.  
He hath ground to powder and spoiled our Grist;  
Who would have thought that  King  
Would stop our Mouths with such a Christian thing?   

But yet we'll sigh, and groan, and shake the head,  
In time Rebellion may be brought to Bed,  
With good Midwifery, and the good Wife's aid,  
To whom such Tales as these must still be said;  
How a Child spoke as soon as born we'll tell;  
(Perhaps before, to ears that could hear well;)  
Tell Nothern-men how Six Suns did appear  
At once i'th' South; to Southern, Eight Moons there.   

Then for a touch of Prophecies we'll say,  
The Isle O Brazeel but the other day  
Appeared to a good Master of a Ship,  
Where an old woman that gave Death the slip  
 since the Deluge, told him, that the Time  
Of the Saint's Government was now at Prime;  
Down goes Baalam, Ashteroth and Dagon,  
Down goes Bell, and then up goes the Dragon.   

But now let's gibe the Sail, and catch the Wind,  
And make a Tack to fetch you up behind.  
There was a time (they say) since the world stood,  
You had a Charter never to be good.   

Have you forgot your Routs and Riots, when  
You forced the best of Kings, and best of Men  
To fly from's Royal Palace, and betake  
Himself to Forest-shelter, and the brake?  
When the Divine Magicians of your Town  
Changed you to Wolves and Dogs to hunt him down?   

Have you forgot how you the Queen did force,  
And Highborn Issue to a sad Divorce  
From their Royal Father? Have you forgot  
How you made th' Crown and Mitre go to pot?  
First Clamour, then Petition, Last you bring  
Rebellion, a complete Sin-Offering:  
Say Obediah, tell me if you please,  
Had you a Charter for such Tricks as these?   

Once more Beloved; Have you forgot when Drums  
Beat up for Bankrupt and Religious Thrums?  
When Hungry Levites, and starved Prentices  
Sallied from their dark Cells and Penthouses,  
And like the Plagues of Egypt spread all o'er,  
Some for to stench us, all for to devour?  
Have you forgot how you did Stab the King  
And Church, with Bodkin, Thimble, Spoon and Ring,  
And like the Indians prostitute yourselves,  
For th' Devilish Idol of your Cause and Elves?  
Say Annanias, tell me if you please,  
Had you a Charter for such Tricks as these?  
Surely the Act of Amnesty is spilt  
On those claim Pardon, won't renounce the Gild;  
A Realm divided 'gainst itself can't stand,  
Nor City, if by such as You 'twere man'd;  
In vain are Oaths and Witnesses, if th' Shreeve  
Can pack a Jury, that will not believe:  
The Pope and Conclave sure have changed their Nests,  
And took their Quarters up within your Breasts;  
Their High Prerogatives to you resigned,  
Can Damn the Innocent, and Saint the Fiend;  
Or else your Conscience and Religion  
Are inspired with Mahomet's Pigeon,  
A Race of Chequer-work that's intertext  
With the worst Christian and worst Jew mixed,  
A kind of circum-uncircumcised kind,  
Can Swear the Body, and not Swear the Mind;  
(As Senators (for to get in) must Swear;  
Then keep their first vow, to depose the Heir;)  
And all this's done by virtue of the Bull  
Of Magna Charta, and a Tub-pulpit-full.   

Sons of Oedipus, we know you enough,  
The mark of Cain is graven on your Brow;  
Not for the Churches, nor for the Crown-Land,  
But for the Twelve Apostles 'tis you stand.  
St. Paul for London, St. Peter for Rome,  
Judas for th' Suburbs till the day of Doom;  
'Tis not the first time you have showed your Liege,  
How you hate Idols, but love Sacrilege;  
'Tis hard to say, to whom we're most in Debt,  
To the Jesus, or to the Judas-it;  
Lions and unicorns support our Arms,  
But these are th' Beasts that do support our Harms.   

Now to the Quo Warranto we must plead,  
Help P. W. T. lends all your aid,  
For if that be lost, we're all Bewrayed.  
O Divine Charter, It would burst our heart,  
If th' Ark from Israel should thus departed!  
But don't bring Pleas as vast as th' Book of Martyr.  
To Obstruct Justice, and prolong your Charter;  
Speak to th' point good Brother, what canst say,  
To keep this Charter ever and for ay?  
Please You my Lord, our Charter 's Sacred made  
By Grants so many, none can it invade;  
Of Twenty Kings and Senates hath the Seal.   

The Pope had more before he did Rebel  
Against the Law of God and of the King,  
He was confiscate for the selfsame thing;  
The Law's the rule of Peace, it doth not jar  
●●'t self, it hath no Repugnance, nor War.  
If Kings themselves can't give their Crowns away,  
Then Kings by Law can't Themselves betray.   

Look you Brother, here you have misused  
Your Charter, and the Known Laws abused;  
Riots and Routs, You that should them suppress,  
You have promoted to a great excess;  
You have picked Juries, packed them for your Cause,  
And this destroys the Fundamental Laws;  
You that should Schism and Faction quell, support  
Unlawful Meetings, and to them resort;  
What shall I say of Oaths? You Allegiance Swear  
To day, to morrow would expel the Heir;  
Whose Crimes beyond all Precedents go,  
Forfeit their Chattels, and their Charter too.   

To this we answer, Let the sinner die,  
A Tooth for a Tooth, and Eye for Eye;  
Let the Transgressor's of the Law be lashed,  
But do not let the Law itself be dashed;  
Things that have Sanction of long time, and great  
Authority, should not be lightly set.   

In days of old, when Subjects Innocence,  
Virtue and Goodness did oblige their Prince;  
The greatness of the Monarch's mind was such,  
They thought good Subjects could not have too much;  
But yet they ne'er intended public wrong  
By private Act, that's but an ill-tuned Song;  
They used their Charter merely to support  
The Government, You to betray the Fort;  
And 'twas not Sodom's sins, But 'twas the Men  
Cast Town and Charter in the Sulphurous Fen;  
Your Oracle hath spoke, and 'tmust be so;  
Carthago delenda est, down ' 'tmust go.   

Where now do all our learned Chaldeans keep?  
Be all our Soothsayers and ‛ Strologers asleep?  
I'th' Blazing Stars Predictions was a Flaw;  
Or You said Antichrist for Anti-Law.  
Oft men of Art by Figure take that Scope  
To mean the Charter, when they named the Pope;  
Well, there's no help for't now, she must be stripped,  
That's caught a Whoring, and severely Whipped;  
The doubt of Tyranny late turned your Maw;  
How do you like this Governing by Law?  
When Lunatics are in their Frantic fits,  
'Tis the best expedient to reduce their Wits.   

Son of a Slave, is't not enough to cheat  
Fools of their Money, but you must defeat  
Them of their Souls? Duties to their GOD and Prince?  
Was this the Trade you're bound to 10 years since?  
Sell your Pole-davis, pack up your false Ware,  
And be content to cheat your Chapmen there;  
You ne'er were Apprentice to a Statesman sure!  
Say some Great Knave, (to draw thee to this Lure,)  
Should struck thee on the addle head, and cry;  
Come honest Tom, (thou knowst better than I)  
We're like to have sad times you see;  
Religion groans, and bleeding Liberty;  
The honest Subject he must be disgraced,  
And every sober Officer displaced;  
We can't keep Feast nor Fast for th' Nations good,  
But all's misconstrued and misunderstood;  
The Plot is vanished, and the Duke appears;  
Tom, han't we cause for Jealousies and Fears?  
Perhaps thou sighest then till thy Buttons Crack,  
And (as thy Soul was torturing on the Rack,)  
From the vesuvus of thy Smoking Zeal,  
Thou bellowst forth this lamentable Peal.   

‛ Ah! My dear Lard! Happy the Womb that bore  
‛ An heart so Noble, Israel can deplore  
‛ In such sad times as these, when Woes us shroud,  
‛ That Moses will conduct us in a Cloud!  
‛ We are all grieved with Extremities,  
‛ And Pharaoh's deaf to all our Plaints and Cries!  
Our Wills with Bridle, and our Mouths with Bit  
‛ Are held by force, our Sanbedrims shan't sit;  
‛ We can't stoop down to Baal; Saints that have right  
 Judge the Earth are Ravished of their might;  
Our Hands are Fettered, and our Hearts complain,  
‛ That Freeborn Spirits should be thralled in Chain;  
‛ These, and ten thousand grievances we have;  
‛ But you must save poor dying Souls from Grave.  
‛ Sweet Lord, But Orpheus, who should take the pain  
 bring Eurydice from Hell again?   

How, drooping? (quoth my Lord?) hold up good Tom,  
Of my Spirit of Sulpur take a Dram;  
Though at a 'Slight or two, wer'e almost gone,  
He's a poor Juggler, that han't more tricks than one,  
I'll call my familiar,— Presto appear;  
He comes,— and whispers in my Ear.   

Courage Mounsieur, and do not be dismayed,  
From Pluto's Councel-Board, I'll still bring aid;  
Stand but your ground, and doubt no overthrow,  
Whilst there's a Fury in the deep below;  
A thousand ways, a thousand Wiles' we'll try,  
In Town must set the Stygian Company;  
Whose Country Factors must retail their Wares  
From House to House as do the Scotchmen theirs:   

Complain of Taxes in time of Wars;  
In peace of Trade, and evil Councillors;  
Invetrate Lechers when their Lust departs,  
To keep the Sports up, they must use new Arts.   

We must the Crowns Prerogative impair,  
The Negative Voice in th' Commons declare;  
'Slight all the King's Alliances, disgrace  
Foreign Ambassadors in every place;  
Say that Ben Hadu Otor's scarce half man'd  
(Though wiser far) than all our Knaves i'th' Land;  
We are all Brethren, and we now must Blow,  
With all our Heifers, Might and Main must bow;  
Every new Moon a new Parliament can't  
Re-mind the Folk; that they're the Government;  
We shall have one at last I'm sure, and then  
We'll make such Senators shall make Us Men:  
The Tide may turn, States have their Ebb and Flow,  
And we may catch them when the Water's low;  
Children must be provided for, and Wars  
May hap, (Crowns themselves are not free from cares;)  
Then Money must be had, our Silver Coin  
Shall buy good part of Pharoahs' Golden Mine;  
We are all Tradesmen now, and what we give  
IT shall be but Bartering for Prerogative;  
Fetch the Addressors up, and scour the Coast  
Of all the Tories and Abhorring Host;  
Hang up the Judges, and Grand-Juries clap  
Close in Goals, that stood i'th' Royal gap;  
Dawn but that day, (quoth Tom) and we will Sing,  
A Headless Council, and a Headless King.   

Hold quoth my Lord, too fast, now you ramble;  
(Quoth Tom) to keep pace we'y ' I must Amble.   

Bless me my Stars! Can such as these men be  
The Bulwarks of our Church and Liberty?  
Send them to the Morocco in Exchange  
For's Ostriches and Lions, they're Beasts more strange.   

The French 'tis said, Fees any one that's rare,  
Pray Cross the Waters, and to him repair;  
If there be any Spirits that excel  
You in Sedition, they must come from Hell.   

We know the Idol of your Charter's dear  
To you, as Laban's Gods to Rachel were  
In her pollutions, which she slily hid,  
Because all search there Modesty forbidden;  
But your pollutions in your Charter Reign,  
And hope it shall your Wickedness maintain.  
No Time, no, nor Authority can give  
Such Sanction as to make Corruption live.   

But Master Ignoramus, make right view;  
And sure 'tis not your Charter squints, but You;  
There's no such thing as the King's Friends shall bleed,  
And's Mortal Enemies for Treason freed.  
You're fine Fellows to Judge th'Twelve Tribes; I fear  
By Magna Charta you will scarce sit there:  
Cabbage twice boild's stark naught, and th' discourse  
(You know) in Pulpit still the same, is worse   

Consider Rabbi (You are wise and Sage)  
Rebels and Jubilees thrive but once an age:  
Alas you know it was but th' other day  
With Drum and Trumpet, Fool and Knave, this Play  
Was Acted to our cost of lives and Ore,  
Pack up your Nawls, we'll be deceived no more:   

Grant some great Lord or two did chance to jar,  
(With Cedars well as Shrubs, such Chances are;)  
But yet methinks, the Twigs should grateful be  
To th' Root that gave them all their Bravery.  
Malice ne'er vows for Mischief, and Revenge  
Is dearer much to Mortals, than the Fringe  
Of Heaven; The Soul of Body and ‛ State;  
And every Nerve's employed to serve its Hate.  
The Cunning and the Crafty must be bought,  
The Young and Sportive; they are easy caught;  
The Discontented must be left alive,  
With hopes of his ambitious Retrieve;  
Sticks of all sorts and sizes it must get,  
To make the Flame, and to increase the heat;  
And still Religion makes the Oven red,  
Or else quite spoild's the Batch of Gingerbread.   

Then crawls the Infects forth, their Kingdoms come,  
Still where the Carrion is those Creatures room,  
And buzzing up and down the Town they cry,  
For Liberty, and for the Truth we'll die.   

What Snake-haired Jury with Infernal Brand,  
Broke lose from Hell thus to Inflame the Land?  
Take a Survey of all the World beside,  
Subjects are Slaves, each English seems a Dried;  
If Heaven should bid a Subject to implore  
What Bliss we want, he could not ask for more;  
Oh the unhappy State of Happiness!  
They enjoy more that do enjoy much less;  
Rome in its Pomp and Pride could never show  
Men of that bulk of Wealth in England flow;  
And every Cottager lives frank and free  
As Jove, Here's a perpetual Jubilee:  
Hear one great truth an English Poet Sings,  
We have one Emperor, and a Million Kings.   

To the KING.  

Celestial Prince, descended from above,  
With Goodness, and the Wisdom of great Jove;  
Houring the Doves with thy Seraphic Wings,  
Still Shielding Church and State from Serpent's Stings,  
Accept the Addresses of our Humble praise  
'Tis all the Incense Men to God can praise.   

When Civil War three Kingdoms did enthral,  
You were the Saviour that Redeemed us all,  
And raised miraculously from their Graves,  
Three Soul-sunk Nations that were Slaves to Slaves;  
Mean Thanks do mighty favours quite disgrace,  
But dull Ingratitude becomes the base:  
How Justly may'st thou let thy Thunder fly?  
Both Giants and Pigmies doomed to die.  
What, will they War with Jove? in vain, in vain;  
Whom th' Gods have Crowned, in spighr of Worms shall Reign;  
Repent proud Dust before it be too late,  
Strike Sail; my Muse shall be your Advocate.   

Hear great Apollo, Phoebus lend thine ear  
To an unpolisht Muses humble Prayer.  
She lifts no Phaetontick Palm on high;  
Lo, her request is veiled with modesty;  
Thou that art goodness Essence, Thou that keeps  
Clemency waking that she never sleeps;  
Look on the Errors of Mortality  
With the Kind Aspect of your Godlike Eye.  
Though they have sinned (and certainly a Sin  
To death, had it against a bad Prince been,)  
And their Transgressions in an high degree,  
Are aggravated to sin thus against Thee;  
My poor Muse begs, (although their Sins be great,)  
That Thou wouldst not Forget, to forget.    

To the DUKE  
And Thou Great Hero of loud Flames first rate  
(Still partner of your Royal Brother's Fate)  
Who baffle Mischief, and her Dart despise,  
And stand the firmer, for her Batteries;  
Whilst Envy toils herself quite out of breath,  
You undisturbed can smile the Wretch to death.  
Malice is now in a Consumption grown;  
To see herself mistake in You alone;  
Still the more venom that You on they throw,  
Still You the Taller, and more Lovely grow;  
Can walk the Fiery Furnace, and no Hair  
Singed, no smell of Fire, no impair:  
Fond men! To hope they can destroy whom Jove  
Preserves by Wonders and peculiar Love:  
Well may they droop their Heads, and Necks incline,  
As Tulips Frost-bit with a Northern wind;  
To Prudence still and Piety you're Just,  
And will forgive, whom none will wish to trust.   

To the LORDS.  
You of the Constellation that maintain  
Your Starry Glories from Apostate Stain;  
You whose chaste Loyaly for ever streamed  
To th' Royal Lamp of Honour whence You beamed,  
You shall for ever share the Muse's Praise,  
Whilst Helicon hath Drops, Apollo Bays.   

To the GENTRY.  
Come Brothers of the Minor Stars, that are  
No wand'ring Planets, but fixed in Your Sphere;  
You that hvea vowed to be so true  
To Charles, that to yourselves you be so;  
(And sure I am your Oath will not be broke,  
You'll bow to Destiny, before the Yoke)  
We must not praise nor thank ourselves, that's vain,  
That were but Champarty (You know) in grain;  
But we'll so Loyal and so Faithful live  
That Church and Crown's Fees us no thanks shall give.   

To the Common Council & Court of Aldermen.  
And You brave Citizens, so Rich and wise,  
(The Boons of Heaven due to Loyalties)  
Heaven marks them who from Allegiance stray,  
(With Children, Wits, or Fortunes quite awry.)  
You that hold th' Rains, kerb the head strong Jaws  
Of Asses kicked at Governors and Laws;  
You know That Trade doth still most profit bring,  
To them are true to God, and to their King;  
Long may you live, and may the Town and Court  
Be happy in the prayers of my poor heart;  
May no King want such Citizens I pray,  
Nor Townsmen Prince, like him they now enjoy.   

Livery-men.  
But You that are now of th' new Livery,  
And Old Leven, look for no thanks from me;  
Keep to your Gods; On damned Bradshaw call,  
Implore the shades of Ireton and Noll;  
To come improved from Hell, and be so good  
To set cracked men with Plunder up, and Blood;  
The Rabble shall no longer rule this Town,  
Rebellions Charter now must go down, down:  
But yet we'll beg the King that he would please  
To give another on good terms as these.   

Countries o'er grown with Beasts of Rapine, be  
Tied to destroy the common Enemy,  
And bound by Charter yearly to afford  
So many Fox or Wolf-skins to the Lord:   

London, once bounded in Walls, is now boundless  
Grown from a City to a Wilderness;  
More and worse vermin lurk in 't's Holes and Dens,  
Than Wolves in Tory-Land, or Frogs in Fens:  
If they renew their Charter, may they pay  
A Rebel's head for Quitrent every day,  
And a Whore's Liver, till the Town be found  
Honest, and (like the Loyal Country) sound.   

Now we have done, we have not done; what's there?  
See how the Mutinous women appear!  
Nip Insurrections in the bud; Drums beat  
A parl, and let us with the Females treat;  
What would the good wives have? Forbear slaughter!  
Then quoth the Amazons, we'll keep our Charter;  
And thus pleads first a Mouse-trap-makers Wife;  
Before we'll lose our Honour, we'll lose Life;  
Honour than Food or Raiment prized more high;  
For It we'll live, and for It we will die  
Farewell Charter, Farewell Gentility.   

Next comes a bouncing Butchers Wife i'th' Van,  
With a Cow-killing Pole-ax in her Hand,  
D'y ' think we'll lose our Charter? And be styled ●ro,  
As Fish-women be in Bore-Land, and well so?  
Master Punch Kills an Ox, and Twenty Sheep  
Each week i'th' year, and I the Stall do keep;  
Shall all this Blood (besides a Freeman's Wife)  
Now lose its Honour? By my Butcher's life,  
For our Noble Charter we will stand and fall,  
For if we lose our Arms, we then lose all.   

Then spoke a Chandler's Wife with Ale-stuft-Lungs,  
As big as Tun, foaming at all her Bungs;  
D'ye think I'll sit at Bar all day for th' Fees  
I get by Porter's Penny Bread and Cheese,  
And see the Slaves, like Clowns in Sussex, come,  
And cry Dame where is your Husband? at home?  
Shall double Drink place to Feeling so give?  
 be Madam Creswell, and not Miss Keeling?   

Quoth Mistress Fough, 'twould be a stinking life,  
If I were not Master Gold-Finders Wife;  
If farewell Charter, farewell to all  
The Nobility of Pin-makers-Hall,  
Stand to your Arms both Life and Limb shall go  
To save our Honour, and our Charter too.   

A Reverend Matron, in whose Loyal Face,  
Was every touch of Modesty and Grace,  
Hearing their Grievances, ventured the Crowd,  
And thus she spoke, and thus their Ears they bowed;  
‛ Dear Sisters of the Livery, appease  
‛ The boisterous bellows of your passions cease,  
‛ You know that oftentimes untimely fears  
‛ Unform the Men, and them transform to Hares,  
‛ And Jealousies our Sex's cursed Spell,  
‛ Transforms us Angels to the Hags of Hell.   

The last old Charter which you so deplore,  
Was granted to us in the days of Yore,  
And many an odd thing was in't; 'twas done  
When th' Land with Popery was overrun,  
And now by Law 'tis so repugnant found,  
That th' Law itself is in that Charter drowned;  
But there's another in the Mint for you,  
According to your hearts desire, New, New;  
Not after the old Superstitious Fashion;  
But New, according to the Reformation:  
For we that were but Mistresses before,  
Shall now be Masters, Lords, and something more;  
Moreover, 'tis provided, all the Geese  
In London shall have two Ganders apiece;  
Double man'd; And if that be not Satis,  
You shall have your Boys on Sundays Gratis,   

This said, they shout, and made the Welkin ring;  
Cried, Damn th' old Charter, and God save the KING.   
FINIS.