THE Loyal Citizen: OR, SEDITION LAID OPEN. A satire Presented to all LOYAL Citizens and Subjects. Vivat Rex, Floreat Justitiae. By J. D. Gent. LONDON, Printed for Walter Davis, 1682. To all LOYAL Citizens and Subjects. COnsidering at this Grand Juncture of Time, the base Scandalous Pamphlets both against Majesty, and Orthodoxal Divinity, the private envy and Aspersions thrown upon so Worthy and Loyal a Person as the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor, and the rest of the Loyal Citizens, has forced me at last, to send forth this satire, under the Patronage of all well-wishing Subjects, that you may a little perceive the devout holy Zeal, which these envious Whigglanders bear both to Monarchy, Church, and People, wherein you may partly perceive the Miseries all Loyalists suffered in the late Rebellious Times, and what we are to expect and likely to undergo, in case (as God forbid) of a second Relapse. May Heaven of its mercy protect us from it, and that our preservation in peace may be both the continual care of Heaven, and all our Earthly Magistrates, is both the Prayers and Hearty Wishes of your humble, faithful fellow Subject and Servant, J. D. TO ALL Serious Dissenters. If such there be. IT is not out of Envy either to you or to any Christian Soul upon Earth, that I have writ this short Pamphlet, but my real Love that I bear both to you and all my fellow Subjects. That you may see how you are led by the Nose, drawn into Disloyal Snares by pretended Zeal, and an outside Form of Divinity, by those that will speak you fair and dissemblingly to the face, and endeavour your ruin behind your backs, by those that care not (so their interest be preserved) if all the rest of the World was destroyed. I will entreat so much, that you will patiently read it, and Seriously consider it, and then if you find me blame worthy, let some of your Scribbling Party Answer it, and you shall hear more from him that is both a Lover of his King and Country, J. D. THE Loyal Citizen: OR, SEDITION LAID OPEN A satire Presented to all Loyal CITIZENS and SUBJECTS. BRave Moor! thou glory of this Latter Age; How are we bound to thank thee for thy pity? Thy noble Spirit boldly dares t'engage Those Zealots of our once called Loyal City, Of Factions Fathers, right the Factious Son, Who would with Jealousies, and fears, o'errun Our happy Isle, till we were all undone. The Church's prayers, whilst they did all repent, Cut off the sin, 'gainst one Commandment: That plainly tells, the Father's sins shall fall Upon the Son's; Heaven still prefer ve our Nation; Therefore to memory those words recall, From Generation to Generation. Has Heaven been Kinder, than we could expect? And shall our Zeal Heaven's Kindness still neglect? And on our Prince (whom Heavens preserve) reflect. 'Tis not so long since, pray call back to mind, Murdering the Sire, then to the Son be Kind; And say once more your Zeal had made you blind 'Twas Zeal indeed taught by a homespun Tailor Doct●ing▪ that's next a K●n to what James Naylor In the late times did prea●●; 'twas Blasphemy That Naylor taught against our Heavenly King▪ But Subtle 〈…〉 dealt more craftily, He Sought the ruin of an Earthly King. Which to our future comforts, let all Know Created England Misery and wo. Look to great Moor, although our Father's s●ns Are taken from us, yet our Zeal begins. To draw us back unto our Father's blindness. Taught by pretended Zeal, dissembling kindness. We only want to make our Eighty Two A Forty Eight; then after have at you: Which if they should (Great Heaven protect us still) Out of the power of Zealots, and their ills. Yourself must then expect no greater pity, Then poor young Royalists from proud Committee, In the late Times; scarecly a piece of Bread To satisfy their Hunger; or a Bed To rest their weary Loyal Bones upon. They might as well to Hell have made their moan, As unto them, for i' faith it was all one; Here stands a Baron cringing to a Saddler, A Noble Man saluting of a Cobbler, Makes his Addresses to his Lady Wife, Who, at the first beginning of her Life, Was Dairy Maid unto his loving Mother, And once from Hanging saved her eldest Brother. A Gentleman with Hat in hand salutes A grave Old Broker, yet the Fool Co●nutes; For though that Sequestration, made 'em rich, It could not keep their Wives T— from the Itch, But some of those poor Gentlemen through want, Was forced to be their Drudges, and supplant Number of Horns, to drain their good Wives purses▪ Their Zealous Wives, such was their fatal Curses, To work, tho' hard, for what they knew their own, So that to some at last 'twas all one grown: For they kept Servants, and yet paid no wages▪ Handsome Cash-keepers, Youthful, Grave, all Ages, But yet they was to their Cash-keepers, Pages. The grave Committee was their faithful Stewards, Their Zealous Wives were Cash-keepers; in few They had Estates, and yet they had no Land, (words▪ They had no Money, yet money could Command; They Servants had, yet Servants was their Masters▪ Although they Eat, their Servants are their Tasters▪ But this good Fate did happen but to some, The rest may Gang to France or else to Rome. Fine World i' faith, must certain Heaven please, on Had it reigned longer▪ we had been diseased With all the Plagues of the Antipodes. The Fools turned Wise, the Wise men turned Fools; The Children gone to Change, Old Men to Schools▪ Lie on the Floor, and on us laid our Beds▪ Wore Hat on Heels, and walked upon out Heads▪ Have Slept all day, at night got up to Work▪ Left to be Christians, and at last turnld Turk Doubtless a second Babel had been Founded, And heaven one more forced the earth t'have drowned; Or else confused their base blaspheming Tongues, Made them speak nothing right but all things wrong, Instead of Plalms, made them sing wanton Songs. 'Tis coming to't again (My Lord) beware We be not drawn into a Second Snare. There is just such illiterate Whining Fellows, Puffs out their Nonsense from their Plaguy Bellows▪ They talk of Heaven, of Angels, and of Saints, And in the end, against Kings make Complaints. They speak of great Jehovah and his Mercies, Then presently call out of Popish Farcies. They rail at none, but follows right their Text, Yet Bawls out Plaguyly, if they be vexed; They breathe you out (O Lord) an Hour together, Hail, Rain or Snow, in Sunshine or foul weather; Cries out, Beloved! Oh! Look to your Lives! But never tells 'em that they kiss their Wives. O Lord, look down on thy distressed Servants, His Plaguy Subjects long for great Preferments. They would not be called Bishops, but would fain Over their Lands create a Second Reign. They cry, Beloved, see poor England's Teachers, They're Glutton, Drunkard, Simmonaical Preachers. O my Beloved, are such men as these Fit to teach Souls, or great Jehovah please? Why, no, they are not, but must all Divines Learned, and worthy men their fold resign: For three or four, that's taxed with tippling Wine. They dare not speak of private sius thats sown But rip up other's fault to hide their own; Thy others faults in pulpit brave can O● it But never speaks of Caudles and Sack Posset, They with some Zealous Wives in Chamber toss it Slearing and Simpering as they were afraid▪ Stroking the bear Chin▪ cause they want a Beard▪ Drinking the Cu●koldo health, who waits below, And sends his maid, his wife's pleasure to know; At last the zealot to that height is wound, That down goes Mistri● Zeal on Bed, or Ground, They tickle one another to that height, Smiling and winking they fall to it straight▪ What, does he wink think you to save his eyes, Or cause he would not see her Dun-Skin Thighs? No 'twas the sin of Lerchery to hide, O Lord, forgive us, we saw not what we did. A pretty way both Heaven and Earth to Cheat, But 'twill not pass, when't comes at Judgement Seat. When they have done, poor Cuckolds called to prayers, Good man, for hast he breaks his shins upstairs, Devoutly Knelt at one side of the Room, And gravely bow's assoon as Prayers is done. Then sneakingly gives Short-Clock many thanks For his good Prayers; and also for his Pranks, Then Scrapes a Leg and calmly takes his leave. Thus the poor easy Cuckold they deceive. Let all be judge who is the greatest winner, The public or the private Cunning Sinner: Faith I think neither, both at last may have Another punishment besides the Grave? They preach against the Clergy take more pains, In hopes at last their Livings to obtain. But that must be when Monarches do not Reign. Then knowing Monarchy stands in their way It is no marvel they so faintly, Pray For Charles and James every good Sabbath day. Oh, could they get the Staff once more in Hand▪ They'd bridle King and Kingdoms, Laws and Land, Nay if they durst, would Heaven next Command. O let them still by Heaven be withstood, And valued less than Lucifer's ill Brood. Those as a Parallel to them I bring, Both striving with this difference in the the thing, Those 'gainst their Heavenly— But they▪ 'gainst both their Heaven and Earthly King, But yet a King so gracious, good, and great, Makes all our joys and happiness complete. Those only are excepted that we see, Fain wou▪ d be Monarches, Kings as well as he▪ Go on (most Loyal Sir) to serve your King▪ Your City, Country, to us comforts bring▪ You have done nothing but what Law directs▪ Those that withstand you, may they find neglect Both from their fellow Subjects and their Prince, Till they beg pardon for their great offence. You have both Laws of God and Man to show For what you do; then let the factious know, They may to Hell after their Fathers go▪ 'tis you that next to Majesty▪ must stop The raging Zeal, 'tis you that are the Prop, Supporter and preserver of our ●ight● Go on, and may Heaven still you Candle Light▪ Increase your reason, and like Mordecai, Hammon withstand that would our Peace destroy. Base factious Spirits, what 〈◊〉 you'd see, Those ills which none but 〈…〉 Have you a mind to see intestine Thunder, The Plagues of eating Swords, Domestic Plunder. See the scorned▪ Father striking at his Sun, Who without Mercy on their Father runs▪ See the Sons base Revenge upon their Father, Who never leave till all lie Dead together. Friend fight friend▪ a brother killing 〈◊〉 Sparing his own blood▪ less than any other▪ Beware▪ beware I say take heed 〈◊〉, Before your Souls feed on such 〈…〉 Let your own reason clear your blinded eyes, And as you older are, still grow more wise. Beware those Monsters that have taught your Zeals, First to destroy your 〈…〉 Then brings destruction to) 〈…〉, Who never leave whilst all 〈…〉. All grieved Loyal souls weep bloody tears, To see you drawn by jealousies and fears, To act those things, must murd●ring sorrow bear. Is it so long since that you have forgot? Can you so soon wash out those Royal spots Of sacred innocent blood. O remember Your January was worse than damned November. One but contrived, the other Stopped that breath For which we suffered since, Fire, Sword and Death. Yet do your private Teacher dare to say It was the Hand of God, my Friends I pray: Behold Almighty's Judgements still are just, They speak you fair, and at the same time thrust A Sword quite up unto the Hilt, within Your Bodies; yet it does not pierce the skin. It is the sword of faction and Rebellion, Discord, Dissension, Plagues that lead to Hell on? They have tongues of adders, Serpents, Snacks; a●e evils That walk like Saints, demurely, grave and civil, Yet teach and preach damned Doctrine fit for Devils. Shall we be taught to disobey a Prince Whom Heaven protected (can the world convince) From Zealots' rage, and Traitors hands long since. Must we be led by th' Nose till Wars are coming, By zealous prayer created, preached by cunning, Holy Long wound fervent religious men, Who seem as innocent as the pretty W●en, Yet if well tried we easily may find They unto none but to themselves are kind: Envies all happiness but what's their own Have humble out-sids, inwardly o'er grown With pride, Ambition, and self-interest Longing with Crowns, themselves for to invest, Though to the ruin of all sacred breasts. For what is Monarchy to them that say, They are all Monarches, zealously can pray: Such deeds as these if not forbore will bring Once more the Judgements of an Heavenly King; Let not Religious Cloak your Bodies cover, And under that both Prince and Country Smother. To make yourselves more hateful and less good Than Oliver and his Rebellious Brood? Let not your Loyal fellow subject weep, And let my weary Muse retire to sleep, Who never can find rest until she sees Your Loyalty, too like the Northern freeze, Flame for your Prince in the warm South degrees. Let not fond zeal no longer blind our eyes In England to create new Tragedies. Let us not rest until our Souls we find More Loyal grown, and to our Prince more kind. Endeavouring still to imitate hose Quires That with their Hearts, and Harps and sacred Lyres, Sing to their Heavenly King, who can alone Set who he pleases (Kings) on Earthly Thrones. FINIS.