THE MEDAL. A SATYR AGAINST SEDITION.  
By the Author of Absalon and Achitophel.  
Per Graiùm populos, mediaeque per Elidis Vrbem Ibat ovans; Divumque sibi poscebat Honours.  
EDINBURGH, reprinted Anno DOM. 1682;   

EPISTLE To the WHIGS.  
FOR to whom can I dedicate this Poem, with so much justice as to you? 'Tis the representation of your own Hero: 'tis the Picture drawn at length, which you admire and prise so much in little. None of your Ornaments are wanting; neither the Landscap of the Tower, nor the Rising Sun; nor the Anno Domini of your New Sovereign's Goronation. This must needs be a grateful undertaking to your whole Party: especially to those who have not been so happy as to purchase the Original. I hear the Graver has made a good Market of it: all his Kings are bought up already; or the value of the remainder so enhanced, that many a poor Polander who would be glad to worship the Image, is not able to go to the cost of him: But must be content to see him here. I must confess I am no great Artist; but Signpost painting will serve the turn to remember a Friend by; especially when better is not to be had. Yet for your comfort the lineaments are true: and though he sat not five times to me, as he did to B. yet I have consulted History; as Italian Painters do, when they would draw a Nero or a Caligula; though they have not seen the Man; they can help their Imagination by a Statue of him, and find out the Colouring from S●●●onius and Tacitus. Truth is, you might have spared one side of your Medal: the Head would be seen to more advantage, if it were placed on a Spike of the Tower; a little nearer to the Sun. Which would then break out to better purpose. You tell us in your Preface to the No-protestant Plot, that you shall be forced hereafter to leave off your Modesty: I suppose you mean that little which is left you: for it was morn to rags when you put out this Medal. Never was there practised such a piece of notorious Impudence in the face of an Established Government. I believe, when he is dead, you will wear him in Thumb-Rings, as the Turks did Scanderbag; as if there were virtue in his Bones to preserve you against Monarchy. Yet all this while you pretend not only zeal for the Public good; but a due veneration for the person of the King. But all men who can see an inch before them, may easily detect those gross fallacies. That it is necessary for men in your circumstances to pretend both, is granted you: for without them there could be no ground to raise a Faction. But I would ask you one civil question, what right has any man among you, or any Association of men, (to come nearer to you) who out of Parliament, cannot be considered in a public Capacity, to meet, as you daily do, in Factious Clubs, to vilify the Government in your Discourses, and to libel it in all your Writings? who made you Judges in Israel? or how is it consistent with your Zeal of the public welfare, to promote Sedition? Does your definition of loyal, which is to serve the King according to the Laws, allow you the licence of traducing the Executive Power, with which you own he is invested? You complain that his Majesty has lost the love and confidence of his People: and by your very urging it, you endeavour what, in you lies, to make him lose them. All good Subjects abhor the thought of Arbitrary Power, whether it be in one or many: if you were the Patriots you would seem, you would not at this rate incense the Multitude to assume it: for no sober man can fear it, either from the King's Disposition, or his Practice: or even, where you would odiously lay it, from his Ministers. Give us leave to enjoy the Government and the benefit of Laws under which we were born, and which we desire to transmit to our Posterity. You are not the trusties of the public Liberty: and if you have not right to petition in a Crowd, much less have you to intermeddle in the management of Affairs: or to arraign what you do not like: which in effect is every thing that is done by the King and Council. Can you imagine that any reasonable man will believe you respect the person of his Majesty, when 'tis apparent that your Seditious Pamphlets are stuffed with particular Reflections on him? If you have the confidence to deny this, 'tis easy to be evinced from a thousand Passages, which I only forbear to quote, because I desire they should die and be forgotten. I have perused many of your Papers: and to show you that I have, the third part of your No-ptotestant Plot is much of it stolen, from your dead Author's Pamphlet called, the Growth of Popery: as manifestly as Milton's defence of the English People, is from Buchanan, de jure regni apud Scotos: or your first Covenant, and new Association, from the holy League of the French Guisards. Any one who reads Davila, may trace your Practices all along. There were the same pretences for Reformation, and Loyalty, the same Aspersions of the King, and the same grounds of a Rebellion. I know not whether you will take the Historian's word, who says it was reported, that Poltrot a Huguenot, murdered Francis Duke of Guise by the instigations of Theodore Beza: or that it was a Huguenot Minister, otherwise called a Presbyterian▪ (for our Church abhors so devilish a Tenent) who first writ a Treatise of the lawfulness of deposing and murdering Kings, of a different Persuasion in Religion: But I am able to prove from the Doctrine of Calvin, and Principles of Buchanan, that they set the People above the Magistrate: which if I mistake not, is your own Fundamental: and which carries your Loyalty no further than your liking. When a Vote of the House of Commons goes on your side, you are as ready to observe it, as if it were passed into a Law: But when you are pinched with any former, and yet unrepealed Act of Parliament, you declare that in some cases, you will not be obliged by it. The Passage is in the same third part of the No-protestant Plot: & is too plain to be denied. The late Copy of your intended Association, you neither wholly justify nor condemn; But, as the Papists, when they are unopposed, fly out into all the Pageantry's of Worship; but in times of War, when they are hard pressed by Arguments, lie closely intrinched behind the Council of Trent: So, now, when your Affairs are in a low condition, you dare not pretend that to be a legal Combination, but whensoever you are afloat, I doubt not but it will be maintained and justified to purpose. For indeed there is nothing to defend it but the Sword: 'tis the proper time to say any thing, when men have all things in their power.  
In the mean time you would fain be nibbling at a parallel betwixt this Association, and that in the time of Queen Elizabeth. But there is this small difference betwixt them, that the ends of the one are directly opposite to the other: one with the Queen's approbation, and conjunction, as head of it: the other without either the consent, or knowledge of the King, against whose Authority it is manifestly designed. Therefore you do well to have recourse to your last Evasion, that it was contrived by your Enemies, and shuffled into the Papers that were seized: which yet you see the Nation is not so easy to believe as your own Jury; But the matter is not difficult, to find twelve men in Newgate, who would acquit a Malefactor.  
I have one only favour to desire of you at parting, that when you think of answering this Poem, you would employ the same Pens against it, who have combated with so much success against Absalon and Achitophel: for than you may assure yourselves of a clear Victory, without the least reply. Rail at me abundantly; and, not to break a Custom, do it without wit: By this method you will gain a considerable point, which is wholly to wave the answer of my Arguments. Never own the bottom of your Principles, for fear they should be Treason. Fall severely on the miscarriages of Government for if scandal be not allowed, you are no freeborn subjects. If God has not blessed you with the Talon of Rhyming, make use of my poor Stock and welcome: let your Verses run upon my feet: and for the utmost refuge of notorious Blockheads, reduced to the last extremity of sense, turn my own lines upon me, and in utter despair of your own Satire, make me Satyrize myself. Some of you have been driven to this Bay already; But above all the rest commend me to the Nonconformist Parson, who writ the Whip and Key. I am afraid it is not read so much as the Piece deserves because the Bookseller is every week crying help at the end of his Gazette, to get it off. You see I am charitable enough to do him a kindness, that it may be published as well as printed; and that so much skill in Hebrew Derivations, ma not lie for wast-paper in the Shop. Yet I half suspect he went no farther for his learning, than the Index of Hebrew Names and Etymologies, which is printed at the end of some English Bibles. If Achitophel signify the Brother of a Fool, the Author of that Poem will pass with his Readers for the next of kin; perhaps ' 'tis the Relation that makes the kindness. Whatever the Verses are; buy 'em up I beseech you out of pity; for I hear the Conventicle is shut up, and the Brother of Achitophel out of service.  
Now Footmen, you know, have the generosity to make a Purse, for a member of their Society, who has had his Livery pulled over his Ears: and even Protestant Socks are bought up among you, out of veneration to the name. A Dissenter in Poetry from Sense and English, will make as good a Protestant Rhymer, as a Dissenter from the Church of England a Protestant Parson. Besides if you encourage ayoung Beginner, who knows but he may elevate his stilea little, above the vulgar Epithets of profane, and saucy Jack, and Atheistick Scribbler, with which he treats me, when the fit of Enthusiam is strong upon him: by which well-mannerd and charitable Expressions, I was certain of his Sect, before I knew his name. What would you have more of a man? he has damned me in your Cause from Genesis to the Revelations: And has half the Texts of both the Testaments against me, if you will be so civil to yourselves as to take him for your interpreter; and not to take them for Irish Witnesses. After all, perhaps you will tell me, that you retained him only for the opening of your Cause, and that your main Lawyer is yet behind. Now if it so happen he meet with no more reply than his Predecessors, you may either conclude, that I trust to the goodness of my Cause, or fear my Adversary or disdain him, or what you please, for the short on't is, 'tis indifferent to your humble servant, whatever your Party says or thinks of him.   

UPON THE AUTHOR of the following POEM  
ONCE more our awful Poet Arms, t'engage  
The threatening Hydra-Faction of the Age:  
Once more prepares his dreadful Pen to wield,  
And every Muse attends him to the Field:  
By Art and Nature for this Task designed,  
Yet modestly the Fight He long declined;  
Forbore the Torrent of his Verse to pour,  
Nor loosed his Satire till the needful Hour:  
His Sov'raigns' Right by Patience half betrayed,  
Vvaked his Avenging Genius to its Aid.  
Blessed Muse, whose Wit with such a Cause was Crowned,  
And blest the Cause that such a Champion found.  
With chosen Verse upon the Foe he falls,  
And black Sedition in each Quarter galls;  
Yet, like a Prince with Subjects forced t'engage,  
Secure of Conquest He rebates his Rage:  
His Fury not without Distinction sheds.  
Hurls mortal Bolts but on devoted Heads:  
To less infected Members gentle found,  
Or spares or else pours Balm into the Wound.  
Such generous Grace th' ingrateful Tribe abuse,  
And trespass on the Mercy of his Muse;  
Their wretched doggerel Rhymers forth they bring  
To Snarl and Bark against the Poet's King:  
A Crew, that scandalise the Nation more  
Than all their Treason-canting Priests before!  
On these He scarce vouchsafes a scornful smile,  
But on their Powerful Patrons turns his Style.  
A Style so keen▪ as even from Faction draws  
The Vital Poison, stabs to th' Heart their Cause.  
Take then, great Bard, what Tribute we can raise:  
Accept our Thanks, for you transcend our Praise.   

To the Unknown Author of the following Poem, and that of Absalon and Achitophel.  

THUS pious ignorance, with dubious praise,  
Altars of old to God's unknown did raise;  
They knew not the loved Deity, they knew  
Divine effects a cause Divine did show;  
Nor can we doubt, when such these Numbers are,  
Such is their cause, though the worst Muse shall dare  
Their sacred worth in humble Verse declare.   

As gentle Thames charmed with thy tuneful Song  
Glides in a peaceful Majesty along,  
No rebel Stone, no lofty Bank does brave  
The easy passage of his silent wave,  
So sacred Poet, so thy Numbers flow,  
Sinewy, yet mild as happy Lovers woe;  
Strong, yet harmonious too as Planets move,  
Yet soft as Down upon the Wings of Love.  
How sweet does Virtue in your dress appear,  
How much more charming, when much less severe  
Whilst you our senses harmlessly beguile,  
With all th' allurements of your happy Style,  
YE insinuate Loyalty with kind deceit,  
And into sense th' unthinking Many cheat:  
So the sweet Trhacian with his charming lyre  
Into rude Nature virtue did inspire,  
So he the savage herd to reason drew,  
Yet scarce so sweet, so charmingly as you,  
O that you would with some such powerful Charm  
Enervate Albion to just valour warm!  
Whether much suffering Charles shall Theme afford  
Or the great Deeds of Godlike James' Sword,  
Again fair Gallià might be ours, again  
Another Fleet might Pass the subject main.  
Another Edward ●ead the Britain's o●,  
Or such an Ossory as you did moan;  
While in such Numbers you, in such a strain  
Inflame their courage, and reward their pain.   

Let false Achitophel the rout engage,  
Talk easy Absalon to rebel rage;  
Let frugal Shimei curse in holy Zeal,  
Or modest Corah more new Plots reveal,  
Whilst constant to himself, secure of fate,  
Good David still maintains the Royal State,  
Tho each in vain such various ills employs,  
Firmly he stands▪ and even those ills enjoys;  
Firm as fair Albion midst the raging Main  
Surveys encircling danger with disdain.  
In vain the waves assault the unmoved shore,  
In vain the winds with mingled fury roar.  
Fair Albiòn's beaureous Cliffs shine whiter than before.   

Nor shalt thou move, though Hell thy fall conspire,  
Tho the worse rage of zeal's Fanatic Fire,  
Thou best, thou greatest of the British race,  
Thou only fit to fill Great Charles' his place.   

Ah wratched Britain's: ah too stubborn Isle,  
Ah stiffnecked Israel on blessed Canaan's, soil  
Are those dear proofs of Heaven's Indulgence vain,  
Restoring David and his gentle reign.  
Is it in vain thou all the Goods dost know  
Auspicious Stars on Mortals shed below  
While all thy streams with Milk, thy Lands with Honey flow  
No more fond Isle, no more they self engage,  
In civil fury, and intestine rage;  
No rebel zeal thy duteous Land molest,  
But a smooth Calm sooth every peaceful breast,  
While in such Charming notes Divinely sings,  
The best of Poets, of the best of Kings,    

The Medal. A SATYR AGAINST SEDITION  

OF all our Antic Sights, and Pageantry  
Which English Idiots run in crowds to see,  
The Polish Medal bears the prize alone:  
A Monster, more the Favourite of the Town  
Than either Fayrs or Theatres have shown  
Never did Art so well with Nature strive;  
Nor ever Idol seemed so much alive:  
So like the Man; so golden to the sight,  
So base within, so counterfeit and light.  
One side is filled with Title and with Face,  
And, lest the King should want a regal Place,  
On the reverse, a Tower the Town surveys,  
O'er which our mounting Sun his beams displays,  
The Word, pronounced aloud by Shrieval voice,  
Laetamur which, in Polish, is rejoice,  
The Day, Month, Year, to the great Act are joined  
And a new Canting Holiday designed.  
Five days he sat, for every cast and look,  
Four more than God to finish Adam took.  
But who can tell what Essence Angels are,  
Or how long Heaven was making Lucifer?  
Oh, could the Style that copied every grace,  
And ploughed such furrows for an Eunuch face,  
Could it have formed his ever-changing will  
The various Piece had tired the Graver's Skill!  
A Martial Hero first, with early care,  
Blown, like a Pigmy by the Winds, to war.  
A beardless Chief, a Rebel, e'er a Man,  
(So young his hatred to his Prince began)  
Next this, (How wildly will Ambition steer.)  
A Vermin wriggling in the th' Usurper's Ear.  
Bart'ring his venal wit for sums of gold  
He cast himself into the Saintlike mould;  
Groaned, sighed and prayed, while Godliness was gain  
The loudest Bagpipe of the squeaking Train  
But, as 'tis hard to cheat a Juggler's eyes,  
His open lewdness he could ne'er disguise.  
There split the Saint: for Hypocritique zeal  
Allows no Sins but those it can conceal.  
Whoring to scandal gives too large a scope:  
Saints must not trade, but they may interlope.  
Th' ungodly Principle was all the same;  
But a gross Cheat betrays his Partner's Game.  
Besides, their pace was formal, grave and slack▪  
His nimble Wit outran the heavy Pack.  
Yet still he found his Fortune at a stay  
Whole droves of Block heads choking up his way;  
They took, but not rewarded, his advice,  
Villain and Wit exact a double price.  
Power was his aim: but, thrown from that pretence,  
The wretch turned loyal in his own defence,  
And Malice reconciled him to his Prince.  
Him, in the anguish of his Soul he served,  
Rewarded faster still than he deserved  
Behold him now exalted into trust,  
His Counsels oft convenient, seldom just.  
Even in the most sincere advice he gave  
He had a grudging still to be a Knave.  
The Frauds he learned in his Fanatique years  
Made him uneasy in his lawful gears.  
At best as little honest as he could.  
And, like white Witches, mischievously good▪  
To his first bias, longingly he leans,  
And rather would be great by wicked means.  
Thus, framed for ill, he loosed our Triple hold.  
(Advice unsafe, precipitous, and bold.)  
From hence those tears! that Ilium of our woe!  
Who helps a powerful Friend, fore-arms a Foe  
What wonder if the waves prevail so far  
When He cut down the Banks that made the bar?  
Seas follow but their Nature to invade.  
But He by Art our native Strength betrayed  
So Samson to his Foe his force confessed.  
And, to be shorn, lay slumbering on her breast  
But, when this fatal Counsel, found too late,  
Exposed its Author to the public hate.  
When his just Sovereign, by no impious way,  
Could be seduced to Arbitrary sway.  
Forsaken of that hope. he shifts the sail:  
Drives down the Current with a popular gale.  
And shows the Fiend confessed without a veil.  
He preaches to the Crowd, that Power is lent,  
But not conveyed to Kingly Government.  
That Claims successive bear no binding force.  
That Coronation Oaths are things of course.  
Maintains the Multitude can never err.  
And sets the People in the Papal Chair.  
The reason's obvious; Interest never lies  
The most have still their Interest in their eyes,  
The power is always theirs, and power is ever wise,  
Almighty Crowd, thou shorten'st all dispute,  
Power is thy Essence, Wit thy Attribute.  
Nor Faith nor Reason make thee at a stay,  
Thou leap'st o'er all eternal truths, in thy Pinbarique way.  
Athens, no doubt, did righteously decide,  
Whem Photion and when Socrates were tried:  
As righteously they did those dooms repent,  
Still they were wise, what ever way they went.  
Crowds err not, though to both extremes they run,  
To kill the Father, and recall the Son.  
Some think the Fools were most, as times went then  
But now the World's o'er stocked with prudentmen.  
The common Cry is even Religion's Test,  
The Turk's is, at Constantinople, best,  
Idols in India, Popery at Rome,  
And our own Worship only true at home.  
And true, but for the time, 'tis hard to know  
How long we please it shall continue so.  
This side to day, and that to morrow burns,  
So all are God-a'mighties in their turns.  
A Tempting Doctrine, plausible and new:  
What Fools our Fathers were, if this be true.  
Who, to destroy the seeds of Civil War,  
Inherent right in Monarches did declare:  
And, that a lawful Power might never cease.  
Secured Succession, to secure our Peace.  
Thus, Property and Sovereign Sway, at last  
In equal Balances were justly cast  
But this new Jehu spurs the hot mouthed horse,  
Instructs the Beast to know his native force,  
To take the Bit between his teeth and fly  
To the next headlong Steep of Anarchy.  
Too happy England, if our good we knew,  
Would we possess the freedom we pursue,  
The lavish Government can give no more:  
Yet we repine, and plenty makes us poor.  
God tried us once, our Rebel-fathers' fought,  
He glutted'em with all the power they sought,  
Till, mastered by their own usurping Brave,  
The freeborn Subject sunk into a slave.  
We loathe our Manna, and we long for Quails.  
Ah, what is man, when his own wish prevails.  
How rash, how swift to plunge himself in ill,  
Proud of his power, and boundless in his Will:  
That Kings can do no wrong we must believe,  
None can they do, and must they all receive.  
Help heaven. or sadly we shall see an hour,  
When neither wrong nor right are in their power  
Already they have lost their best defence,  
The benefit of Laws, which they dispense  
No justice to their righteous Cause allowed;  
But baffled by an arbitrary Crowd.  
And Medals graved, their Conquest to record,  
The Stamp and Coin of their adopted Lord   

The Man who laughed but once, to see an Ass  
Mumbling to make the cross-grained Thistles pass,  
Might laugh again, to see a Jury chaw  
The prickles of unpalatable Law.  
The witnesses, that, Leech-like, lived on blood,  
Sucking for them were med'cinallie good,  
But, when they fastened on their festered Sore,  
Then, Justice and Religion they forswore,  
Their Maiden Oaths debauched into a whore.  
Thus Men are raised by Factions, and decried,  
And Rogue and Saint distinguished by their Side.  
They rack even Scripture to confess their Cause,  
And plead a Call to preach, in spite of Laws.  
But that's ●o news to the poor injured Page:  
It has been used as ill in every Age:  
And is constrained, with patience, all to take;  
For what defence can Greek and Hebrew make?  
Happy who can this talking Trumpet seize;  
They make it speak whatever Sense they please!  
'Twas framed, at first, our Oracle t' inquire:  
But, since our Sects in prophecy grow higher,  
The Text inspires not them; but they the Text inspire.   

London, thou great Emporium of our Isle,  
O, thou too bounteous, thou too fruitful Nile,  
How shall I praise or curse to thy desert!  
Or separate thy sound, from thy corrupted part!  
I called thee Nile; the parallel will stand:  
Thy tides of wealth overflow the fattened Land;  
Yet Monsters from thy large increase we find;  
Engendered on the Slyme thou leav'st behind.  
Sedition has not wholly seized on thee;  
Thy nobler Parts are from infection free.  
Of Israel's Tribes thou hast a numerous band!  
But still the Canaanite is in the Land.  
Thy military Chiefs are brave and true:  
Nor are thy disinchanted Burghers few.  
The Head is loyal which thy Heart commands:  
But what's a Head with two such gouty Hands?  
The wise and wealthy love the surest way:  
And are content to thrive and to obey.  
But Wisdom is to Sloth too great a Slave,  
None are so busy as the Fool and Knave.  
Those let me curse▪ what vengeance will they urge,  
Whose Ordures neither Plague nor Fire can purge:  
Nor sharp Experience can to duty bring,  
Nor angry Heaven, nor a forgiving King!  
In Gospel phrase their Chapmen they betray:  
Their Shops are Dens, the Buyer is their Prey.  
The Knack of Trades is living on the Spoil;  
They boast, even when each other they beguile.  
Customs to steal is such a trivial thing,  
That 'tis their Charter, to defraud their King.  
All hands unite of every jarring Sect;  
They cheat the Country first, and then infect.  
They, for God's Cause their Monarch dare dethrone;  
And they'll be sure to make his Cause their own.  
Whether the plotting Jesuit laid the plan  
Of murdering Kings, or the French Puritan,  
Our Sacrilegious Sects their Guides outgo;  
And Kings and Kingly Power would murder too.  
What means their Traitorous Combination less,  
Too plain t' evade, too shameful to confess.  
But Treason is not owned when 'tis descried;  
Successful Crimes alone are justified.  
The Men, who no Conspiracy would find,  
Who doubts, but had it taken, they had joined.  
Joined, in a murual Covenant of defence;  
At first without, at last against their Prince.  
If Sovereign Right by Sovereign Power they scan,  
The same bold Maxim holds in God and Man:  
God were not safe, his Thunder could they shun,  
He should be forced to crown another Son.  
Thus, when the Heir was from the Vineyard thrown,  
The rich Possession was the murderers own.  
In vain to Sophistry they have recourse:  
By proving theirs no Plot, they prove 'tis worse;  
Unmasked Rebellion, and audacious Force.  
Which, though not Actual, yet all Eyes may see  
'Tis working, in the immediate Power to be;  
For, from pretended Grievances they rise,  
First to dislik, and after to despise  
Then, Cyclop-like in humane Flesh to deal:  
Chop up a Minister, at every meal:  
Perhaps not wholly to melt down the King:  
But clip his regal Rights within the Ring.  
From thence, t' assume the power of Peace and War:  
And ease him by degrees of public Care.  
Yet, to consult his Dignity and Fame,  
He should have leave to exercise the Name:  
And hold the Cards, while Commons played the game  
For what can Power give more than Food and Drink,  
To live at ease, and not to be bound to think?  
These are the cooler methods of their Crime;  
But their hot Zealots think 'tis loss of time:  
On utmost bounds of Loyalty they stand:  
And grinn and whet like a Croatian band,  
That waits impatient for the last Command.  
Thus Outlaws open-Villany maintain:  
They steal not, but in Squadrons scour the Plain,  
And, if their power the Passengers subdue,,  
The Most have right, the wrong is in the Few.  
Such impious Axioms foolishly they show,  
For, in some soils Republics will not grow,  
Our Temperate Isle will no extremes sustain,  
Of popular sway, or Arbitrary Reign,  
But slides between them both into the best,  
Secure in freedom, in a Monarch blest.  
And though the Climate, vexed with various winds  
Works through our yielding Bodies, on our Minds,  
The wholesome Tempest purges what it breeds,  
To recommend the Calmness that succeeds.   

But thou the pander of the people's hearts,  
O Crooked Soul, and serpentine in arts.  
Whose blandishments, a Loyal Land have whored,  
And broke the Bonds she plighted to her Lord;  
What Curses on thy blasted Name will fall!  
Which Age to Age their Legacy shall call;  
For all must curse the Woes rhat must descend on all.  
Religion thou hast none: rhy Mercury  
Has passed through every Sect, or theirs through Thee.  
But what thou giv'st, that Venom still remains;  
And the poxed Nation feels Thee in their Brains▪  
What else inspires the Tongues, and swells the Breasts  
Of all rhy Bellowing Renegado Priests,  
That preach up Thee for God: dispense thy Laws:  
And with thy S●●mm ferment their fainting Cause?  
Fresh Fumes of madness raise; and to isle and sweat  
To make the formidable Cripple great.  
Yet, should thy Crimes succeed. should lawless Power  
Compass those Ends thy greedy Hopes devour,  
Thy Canting Friends thy Mortal Foes would be;  
Thy God and theirs will never song agree.  
For thine, (if thou hast any,) must be one  
That lets the World and Humane-kind alone:  
A jolly God, that passes hours too well  
To promise Heaven, or threatn us with Hell.  
That unconcerned can at Rebellion sit;  
And wink at Crimes he did himself commit.  
A Tyrant theirs; the Heaven their Priesthood paints  
A Conventicle of gloomy sullen Saints;  
A Heaven, like Bedlam, slovenly and sad;  
Foredoomed for Souls, with false Religion, mad.   

Without a Vision Poets can fore-show  
What all but Fools, by common Sense may know:  
If true Succession from our Ifle should fail.  
And Crowds profane, with impious Arms prevail,  
Not Thou▪ nor those thy Factious Arts engage  
Shall reap that Harvest of Rebellious Rage,  
With which thou flatterest thy decrept Age.  
The swelling Poison of the several Sects.  
Whlch wanting vent, the Nations Health infects  
Shall burst its Bag; and fight out their way  
The various Venom's on▪ each other prey▪  
The Presbyter, puffed up with spiritual Pride,  
Shall on the Necks of the lewd Nobles ride:  
His Brethren damn, the Civil Power defy;  
And parcel out Republic Prelacy.  
But short shall be his Reign: his rigid Yoke  
An Tyrant Power will puny Sects provoke;  
And Frogs and Toads, and all the Tadpole Train.  
Will croak to Heaven for help, from this devouring Crane.  
The Cutthroat Sword and clamorous Gown shall jar,  
In shareing their ill-gotten Spoils of War:  
Chiefs shall be grudged the part which they pretend;  
Lords envy Lords, and Priends with every Friend  
About their impious Merit shall contend.  
The surly Commons shall respect deny;  
And justle Peerage out with Property.  
Their Gen'ral either shall his Trust betray,  
And force the Crowd to Arbitrary sway;  
Or they suspecting his ambitious Aym.  
In hate of Kings shall cast anew the Frame;  
And thrust out Collatine that bore their Name.   

Thus inborn Broils the Factions would engage;  
Or Wars of Exiled Heirs, or Foreign Rage,  
Till halting Vengeance overtook our Age:  
And our wild labours, wearied into Rest,  
Reclined us on a rightful Monarch's Breast.   
FINIS.