The GIANT Whipped by his GOD MOTHER; OR, A Loving EPISTLE Wrote to the most Notorious Observator, Monsieur L'ESTRANGE.  By the Anti-Papistical J. C. 
My dear G●d Son!  
KNeel down and ask my Blessing, thou Child of Threescore and upwards, that may'st be Grandsire to thy Godmother; but I say, my good Boy, thou shalt not want my Blessing, since thou wilt have me be thy Godmother: Rise up Sir Knight of the Lying Oracle, and may the Reward thou deservest, be bestowed upon thee, the Tripos of the E●ms, or Colemans' sanctified Ruff. Why, thou Spawn of Garagantua, thou Coloss of Iniquity, mounted upon the Pelion of thy own Wit, and the Ossa of Impudence, stretching forth thy Impious hands, like a true Titan against Heaven, that wouldst, with thy Observating Club, knock Jupiter out of his Throne, art thou not afraid at last to come to thy 12 Godfathers? But they, even they, my Giant Boy, will never appear more dreadful to thee than thy enraged Godmother, at this instant, with the Rod of Correction in her awful hand, breeching and slashing her irreverent Godson, in the Keen Fury of her Spleen: Dost thou know thou Tube-peeping Observator, thou Fly-flap of the Times: thou Maggot-blower of Sedition, what it is to stir the Rage of a Woman? Come on I say, my pretty Narcissus, that loves thy own Shadow so well, and dotest on the Image of thy own Wit, come on I say, and set thy Foot to mine, and thou shalt find I am an Amazon as you call me, and shall make thee a Pigmy, carry thee about in a Cage, and show thee with thy ridiculous Wit for a Monster, that hast already made all the Town to laugh at thee. Nay thou hast moved the British Blood; and by the Soul of Boadicia, I will smoak thee, thou Neitherlandish Sooterkin, that flies in the face of a Woman, out of all thy lurking holes, I will tell the World of thy tricks, thou tumbling Puppet that dancest to thy own Music: 'tis no wonder thou hast so great a Spite to Fleet-Bridg, a place fatal to thee and thy two Beaver Hats, whilst thou fattest bare to thy dear Misses; 'Twas then Fleet-Lane was more Beloved, when thou hauntedst all the little Gaming Houses without Licence; The loss of thy two Beaver Hats, thou Goat's Head, made thee ever since have a squinting eye on Goat-Ally; thy Brains then caught cold, and thou hast been somewhat enfeebled ever since: Then thou usedst to handle Women more gently before thou wert become the Pope's Spigot, to let forth Poison for the Whigs, when thou wouldst have excused a Whig for Printing of Treason, and have Licenced the Wife to have committed Adultery; o thou prime Faggot Stick of the Nation, and stickler for Justice and Government; but thou art since dwindled away to a Straw, and ●ailest at Virtue i● Women, and canst now only endeavour to beget Jealousy in the Husband, in railing against the Honesty of the Wife: but thy Spite and thy Malice is so well known, That thou art no more regarded than a Cha●tering Monkey; Thou railing puff of Vanity, thou bladder of Conceit, thou bubble of Wind and Water; thou Jack a-Lent of Straw, that struttest like the Giants in Guild-Hall, and hast as much dread in thee: is it thus thou showest all thy mighty parts against a Woman? Is this the mighty Gogmagog L'Estrange, that at last stoops to wrestle with a Woman? Are all your Polymical Volumes with all their high Rants and Rores, dwindled into a weekly sheet, that rails at and abuses a Woman? Well, have at you, with your own Weapon the Tongue, which most properly belongs to our Sex, thou scold in Breeches; you will find a Woman has Teeth as well as Tongue, and can by't as well as talk; there are She-Satyrs as well as Hee-Goats, thou Student in Goatham College, who with the Quintessence of Tom Thumb, and the Remarks of the Seven Wise Masters, setst up for an Observator, and assoon as thou seest any thing in Petticoats, criest out, a Amazon, a Sibyl, a Goat, and takest them all for thy Godmothers'. But since I was thy Godmother, thou man of an Hundred Names, which of them did I bestow on thee, when thou wast dipped in an Un-Christian Font? Was it Tory or Towzer? Crack-fart or Gim-Crack? Papist or Pragmaticus? Protaeus or the Pied-Piper? Fidler or the Flea-Catcher? 'Troth, 'tis so long since, I have forgot? Thou hast a Bead-role of them, which will serve thee to number thy Ave Maria's by, and will stick longer to thee than thy Mummyed Flesh to thy rotten Bones. Well Tory, what was it made thee to roar thus against thy Godmother Evidence, ha'? tell me thou shorthand of Belzebub, in whose ugly Character of thine is comprised more evil and mischief than in forty men besides; what was it that put thee into that Fit of undutiful rage and madness, as to provoke me thus to Chastise thee? Did Twenty Thousand Apprentices call thee Papist and Popish Observator? did they indeed? and therefore you'll be revenged of your Godmother, was that like a gracious Child of the Church of England? was that done like the Giant Don Rugiero? or like a Pigmy as thou art, poking thy Bodkin Pen at a Woman, whom thou takest to be a Crane with a long Bill, that will take thee by the Nose, and make thee Cry out, as loud as 'ere St. Dunstan made the Devil with his Tongues: But tell me, why dost thou wince so, and kick and fling at the Name of Papist, like an old Horse with a galled Back, that loves not to be touched in that part? Not a word, ha'? That won't stop Mrs. Evidences mouth, nor Mr. Witnesses neither, nor Mr. Affidavits, but therefore you will be angry with your God Mother? But know Sir Crack-fart, that she fears you not, and will not let you go like a Sneaking Cur without a pat from her Heel, or a Butt in the hams, that shall lay the Giant Hodge on his back sprawling, since thou hast made her a Beast and a Goat. You say, Godson, That I am good at applying, and since I am a Sibyl, sure I should be good at Prophesying too. O Godson, have a care I say of the Tree with three stumps, that every month bears Evil Human Fruit, for the time is coming, that the Five Hundred Headed Beast, and Monster as you have made it, the dreaded Senate will appear, and then barking Towzer will run away as if a Rattle were tied at his Tail, without so much as an Appeal or Godb'w'ye, and leave his Dear Friends, his Citts and his Bumpkins, his Zekiels and his Ephraim's, his Vindicators and his Replyers, his Dialoguers and his Observators, and his whole Litter of little barking Whelps, that used to follow the Heels, and attended the Finger's end of his Dogship, to the mercy of the Hangman.  
As I am a true Sibyl this will come to pass, my dear Godson Crack-fart, and that before ever thou wilt be able to perform the Task thou hast undertaken, of Writing Canting and Libelling out of the King's Dominion. O Rhodomantado! this is a true Crackfart Rhodomontado, sure thou hadst mounted the Molehill Mountain of thy own Ability, and saw all the little whigs like Pismires crawling under thee, which thou intendest with one dash of thy Pen, to beat into the Earth, for strike them out of the La●d of Nature. Why thou shadow of a Giant, thou Thrasonical Hercules, with thy Observating Club upon thy Neck, thou braying Ass in a Lion's Skin, is it thus thou performest thy boastings in meddling with thy Godmother? I will tell thee, if thou wilt write Canting and Libelling out of the King's Dominions, you must write your Worship out of the King's Dominions, for Nonsense and Libels drop from thee continually, as naturally as Maggots from a Sheep's Tail, or Lice from a Beggar; I am sure the Sibyl does not overshoot herself in this. Now flourish your Mighty Pen against Petticoats, do English Don Quixot, do, tilt at a Woman, and see what a pat the twerling Tongue of a feeble Female, will take thy empty Noddle, that shall turn the Brains in thy Calves-Head, notwithstanding thy brazen Forehead, more Brass than Mambrino's Helms, or the Barber's Basin, Polished over with Impudence Ud's Splutter-a-Nails, let her come at this Fiddling Crackfart Godson of mine! Art running into the netherlands, art thou? I han't done with thee: thou Masquerading Scribbler, thou Mouse dropped out of the Snout of an Elephant, thou confounder of whigs, both he's and she's, thou Champion for the Cause, that threatnest Twenty Thousand Children, and then fallest foul of a Woman: thou Juggling Hocus Pocus of the Nation, that promises Wonders and perform'st nothing; thou Whigg-tail groper, I will pull thee out by the Heels, though thou wert locked up in a Chest in thy Book-sellers-Garrat, and show the World what a tumbling Baboon thou art, dressed in Doublet and Breeches, chattering against a Woman. Let me take breath, that I may reason a little with this ill contrived Godson of mine, that he may see all this Chastisement is not for nothing, but out of pure Love and Care, that he might forsake the Devil and all his Works; for I see alas! I see he is going the way of much Wicked flesh, running a full gallop up Holborn Hill, to the fatal place, without so much as calling on his Sibyl Godmother, in Goat-Ally, or taking a Bait at his own House: But perhaps my young Giant Godson, of Threescore, being so tender a stripling, and well Corrected by his Godmother, may forsake his Evil Courses, and take up ere it be too late, and not attempt the dangerous Adventure of attacking a Woman, and a bold Britain too, a more desperate act than running his Noddle into an Hive full of enraged Bees. Mrs. Sibyl advises thee, thou whiffler to the Devil's Regiment, to put up thy Pipes, and not fall a tooting at every whigs Tail that Wags, for thou wilt never be regarded, now thou hast been flashed by thy Godmother, who is able to manage thee without the help of Care or Janaway, two Giants, that have made thee Tremble, for all thy Crack-fart Thunder. Nay I will yet be more bitter to thee than the Weekly Packet of Advice, which makes thee disgorge thyself. I tell thee, thou inveterate sower of Sedition, I will be as opposite to thee, as Truth is to all thy Works, I will learn to write Dialogues as well as Epistles, and to compose Satyrs and keen iambics, to be revenged of thee; There shan't be a Whig, but shall wag his Tail at thee, in spite of thy Teeth, though thou thinkest to be Lycenser General of the whigs Tails, that none may wag without thy Licence and Observation. Godson, you must excuse a Woman if she be a little impertinent with you, and that she doth not fence with you according to your own Art of railing in Mode and Figure, she is only used to the downright natural way of speaking Truth, and correcting the Errors of her God-child, after the woman's manner, that is, laying it on according to her Female ability. I shall now conclude with this most seasonable Advice, though I have little hopes of thy amendment, thou hast been so long pickled in the Devils Powdering Tub, however, as a Godmother ought, I say, I do advise thee, to leave peeping after and observing the wagging of the Tails of the whigs: This is all I have to say to thee, and therefore without farther Ceremony, thou impotent, fumbling, overgrown, mercenary Scribbler; thou frivolous, foolish, Dialoguing Whig-Tail Observator, farewel and be hanged,  
So wishes the She- whigs and Your Sibyl Godmother in Goat-Ally, J. C.