THE CHARACTER OF A LONDON diurnal. Printed in the year, 1644. THE CHARACTER OF A LONDON diurnal. ADiurnall is a puny Chronicle, scarce pinfeathered with the wings of time: It is an History in Sippets; the English Iliads in a nutshell; the Apocryphal Parliaments book of Maccabees in single sheets. It would tire a Welsh pedigree, to reckon how many aps 'tis removed from an Annal: For it is of that Extract; only of the younger House, like a Shrimp to a Lobster. The original sinner in this kind was Dutch, Galliobelgicus the Protoplast; and the modern Mercuries but Hans-en-Kelders. The Countess of Zealand was brought to Bed of an almanac; as many Children, as days in the year. It may be the Legislative Lady is of that lineage: so she spawns the diurnals, and they at Westminster take them in Adoption, by the names of Scoticus, Civicus, Britannicus. In the frontispiece of the old Beldame diurnal, like the Contents of the Chapter, sits the House of Commons, judging the twelve Tribes of Israel. You may call them, the kingdom's Anatomy before the weekly calendar: For such is a diurnal, the day of the month, with what weather in the commonwealth. 'Tis taken for the Pulse of the Body politic; and the empiric Divines of the Assembly, those spiritual Dragooners, thumb it accordingly. Indeed it is a pretty Synopsis; and those grave rabbis (though in point of Divinity) trade in no larger Authors. The Country carrier, when he buys it for their Vicar, miscalls it the urinal: yet properly enough; For it casts the Water of the State, ever since it staled blood. It differs from an Aulicus, as the devil and his Exorcist; or as a black Witch doth from a white one, whose office is to unravel her enchantments. It begins usually with an Ordinance, which is a Law stillborn; dropped, before quickened by the royal assent: 'Tis one of the Parliaments by-blows, (Acts only being legitimate) and hath no more sire, than a Spanish Genn●t, that's begotten by the Wind. Thus their Militia, (like its Patron, Mars) is the issue only of the Mother, without the concourse of royal Jupiter. Yet Law it is, if they Vote it, though in defiance to their Fundamentals; like the old Sexton, who swore his Clock went true, what ever the sun said to the contrary. The next Ingredient, of a diurnal is Plots, horrible Plots; which with wonderful Sagacity it hunts dry-foo●, while they are yet in their Causes, before Materia prima can put on her Smock. How many such fits of the Mother have troubled the kingdom, and (for all Sir Walter Earl looks like a Man-Midwife) not yet delivered of so much, as a Cushion? But actors must have their Properties; And, since the Stages were Voted down, the only Playhouse is at Westminster. Suitable to their Plots are their Informers; Skippers and tailors; spaniels both for the Land and the Water: Good conscionable Intelligence! For however Pym's Bill may inflame the Reckoning, the honest Vermyn have not so much for Lying, as the public Faith. Thus a zealous butcher in morefield's, while he was contriving some Quirpo-cut, of Church-Government, by the help of his out-lying ears, and the Otac●ustion of the Spirit, discovered such a Plot, that Selden intends to combat Antiquity, and maintain it was a tailor's Goose, that preserved the Capitol. I wonder my Lord of Canterbury is not once more all-to-be-traytored for dealing with the lions, to settle the Commission of Array in the Tower. It would do well to cramp the Articles Dormant, besides the opportunity of reforming those Beasts of the Prerogative, and changing their profaner names of Harry and Charles, into Nehemiah and Eleazar. Suppose a corn-cutter, being to give little Isaac a cast of his Office, should fall to paring his brows, mistaking the one end for the other; because he branches at both, This would be a Plot; and the next diurnal would furnish you with this Scale of Votes. Resolved upon the Question; that this Act of the corn-cutters, was an absolute Invasion of the city's Charter, in the representative Forehead of Isaac, Resolved, that the evil councillors about the corn-cutter are Popishly affected, and enemy's to the State Resolved, that there be a public thanksgiving for the great deliverance of Isaack's Brow-antlers, and a solemn Covenant drawn up, to defy the corn-cutter and all his works. Thus the Quixotes of this Age fight with the Windmills of their own Heads; quell Monsters of their own Creation; make Plots, and then discover them; as who fitter to unkennel the Fox, than the Tarryer, that is a part of him. In the third place match their Adventures; the Roundheads Legend, the rebel's Romance; Stories of a larger size, than the ears of their Sect; able to strangle the belief of a Soli-fidian. I'll present them in their order; and first, as a Whiffeler before the show, enter Stamford; one that trod the Stage with the first, traversed his ground, made a leg and Exit. The Country People took him for one, that by Order of the Houses was to dance a morris through the West of England. Well, he's a nimble Gentleman; set him but upon banks his Horse in a Saddle Rampant; and it is a great question, which part of the centaur shows better tricks. There was a Vote passing to translate him, with all his Equipage, into monumental-gingerbread: but it was crossed by the Female Committee, alleging that the valour of his Image would bite their Children by the Tongues. This Cubit and an half of Commander, by the help of a diurnal, routed his Enemies fifty miles off: 'tis strange you'll say; and yet it is generally believed, he would as soon do it at that distance, as nearer hand. Sure it was his Sword, for which the weapon-salvo was invented; that so wounding and healing, like loving Correlates, might both work at the same removes. But the squib is run to the end of the Rope. Room; for the Prodigy of Valour, Madam Atr●pos in Breeches. Waller's Knight-errantry: and, because every mountebank must have his Zany, throw him in Haslerigge, to set off his story: these two, like Bell and the Dragon, are always worshipped in the same Chapter: they hunt in their Couples, what one doth at the head, the other scores up at the heel. Thus they kill a man over and over, as Hopkins and Sternhold murder the psalms with another to the same, one chimes all in, and then the other strikes up, as the Saints Bell. I wonder, for how many lives my Lord Hopton's soul took the Lease of his Body. First, Stamford slew him: then Waller out killed that half a bar: and yet it is thought the sullen corpses would scarce bleed, were both these Man-slayers never so near it. The fame goes of a Dutch headsman, that he would do his Office with so much ease and Dexterity, that the Head after Execution should stand still upon the shoulders: pray God Sir William be not Probationer for the place. For, as if he had the like knack too, most of those, whom the diurnal hath slain for him, to us poor mortals seem untouched. Thus these Artificers of Death can kill the Man, without wounding the Body, like lightning, that melts the Sword, and never sings the Scabbard. This is the William, whose Lady is the conqueror; This is the city's Champion, and the diurnals delight; he, that Cuckolds the general in his Commission: for he stalks with Essex, and shoots under his Belly, because his Oxcellency himself is not charged there. Yet in all this Triumph there is a whip and a Bell: Translate but the Scene to Round-way-down. There Haslerigges Lobsters were turned into Crabs, and crawled backwards; there poor Sir William ran to his Lady for a use of consolation. But the diurnal is weary of the arm of flesh, and now begins an Hosanna to Cromwell, one that hath beat up hi● drums clean through the Old Testament: you may learn the Genealogy of our Saviour, by the names in his Regiment: The Muster-Master uses no other List, than the first Chapter of Matthew. With what face can they object to the King the bringing in of foreigners, when themselves entertain such an Army of Hebrews? This Cromwell is never so valorous, as when he is making Speeches for the Association, which nevertheless he doth somewhat ominously, with his Neck awry, holding up his ear, as if he expected Mahomet's Pigeon to come, and prompt him: He should be a Bird of Prey too, by his bloody beak: his Nose is able to try a young Eagle, whether she be lawfully begotten. But all is not Gold that glisters: What we wonder at in the rest of them, is natural to him; to kill without bloodshed: For most of his trophies are in a Church-Window; when a Looking glass would show him more superstition: He is so perfect a hater of Images, that he hath defaced Gods in his own Countenance: If he deal with Men, it is when he takes them napping in an old Monument: Then down goes Dust and Ashes. And the stoutest Cavalier is no better. O brave Oliver! Time's voider, Sub-sizer to the worms; in whom Death, that formerly devoured our Ancestors, now chewes the Cud: He said Grace once, as if he would have fallen aboard with the marquess of Newcastle: Nay, and the diurnal gave you his Bill of Fare; But it proved but a Running Banquet, as appears by the Story. Believe him as he whistles to his Cambridge team of Committee-men; and he doth Wonders. But Holy men (like the Holy language) must be read backwards. They rifle colleges, to promote Learning; and pull down Churches for Edification. But sacrilege is entailed upon him: There must be a Cromwell for cathedrals, as well as abbeys: A secure sinner, whose offence carries its Pardon in its Mouth: For how can he be hanged for Church robbery, which gives itself the Benefit of the Clergy. But for all Cromwell's Nose wears the dominical Letter, yet compared with Manchester, he is but like the Vigils to an holiday. This, this is the man of God; so sanctified a thunderbolt, that Burrowes in a proportionable blasphemy to his Lord of Hosts, would style him the archangel, giving battle to the devil. Indeed as the angels, each of them makes a several Species; so every one of his soldiers is a distinct Church. Had these Beasts been to enter the ark, it would have puzzled Noah to have forced them into pairs. If ever there were a Rope of Sand, it was so many Sects twisted into an Association. They agree in nothing, but that they are all Adamites in understanding: It is the sign of a Coward, to wink and Fight; yet all their Valour proceeds from their Ignorance. But I wonder whence their general's Purity proceeds; it is not by Traduction: if he was begotten Saint, it was by equivocal Generation: for the devil in the Father, is turned monk in the son; so his godliness is of the same Parentage with good laws; both extracted out of bad Manners; and would he alter the Scripture, as he hath attempted the Creed, he might vary the Text; and say to Corruption, Thou art my Father. This is he, that hath put out one of the kingdom's eyes, by clouding our Mother-Vniversity, and (if the Scotch-mist further prevail) will extinguish this other: He hath the like quarrel to both; because both are strung with the same optic Nerve, knowing Loyalty. Barbarous rebel! who will be revenged upon all Learning, because his Treason is beyond the Mercy of the Book. The diurnal as yet hath not talked much of his Victories; but there is the more behind: For the Knight must always beat the giant; That's resolved. If any thing fall out amiss, which cannot be smothered, the diurnal hath a help at maw; It is but putting to Sea, and taking a Danish Fleet; or Brewing it with some success out of Ireland; and it goes down merrily. There are more Puppets, that move by the wire of a diurnal; as Brereton and Gell; two of Mars his Petty-toes; such snivelling Cowards, that it is a favour to call them so, was Brereton to fight with his Teeth as in all other things he resembles the Beast, he would have odds of any man at the weapon; O he's a terrible slaughterman at a thanksgiving Dinner, had he been a cannibal to have eaten those that he vanquished, his gut would have made him Valiant. The greatest wonder is at Fairfax; how he comes to be a Babe of Grace? Certainly it is not in his personal, but (as the State Sophies distinguish) in his politic Capacity; regenerated ab extra by the zeal of the House he fare in; as Chickens are hatched at Grand Cair●, by the Adoption of an Oven. There is the woodmonger too, a feeble crutch to a declining Cause; a new Branch of the old oak of Reformation. And now I speak of Reformation, vous avez Fox, the Tinker; the liveliest emblem of it that may be; For what did this Parliament ever go about to reform, but Tinker-wise; in mending one Hole, they made three. But I have not ink enough to cure all the Tetters and ringworms of the State. I will close up all thus. The Victories of the R●bels are like the magical combat of Apuleius; who, thinking he had slain three of his Enemies, found them at last, but a Triumvirate, of Bladders. Such, and so empty, are the Triumphs of a diurnal: but so many impostumated Fancies, so many Bladders of their own Blowing. FINIS.