THE BADGER In the FOX-TRAP, OR A satire upon Satyrs.  

COmus nor Momus, now must be my Theme,  
My Muse must Mourn in a more Serious strain.  
Since I, who ne'er could write to humour men,  
To humour Beasts, must now indulge my Pen.  
One April Evening, I alone did lie,  
In my Chamber Window, some three Stories high,  
To view the prospect of the welcome Spring,  
And hear Night's Choristers their Anthems sing.  
But all those Chanting Choir soon were scared,  
By a voice unhallowed, they and I both heard▪  
The more the Calm, the more the noise Increased,  
Voice like a man, but called itself a Beast.  
With Hemns, and Haws, and Groans, did thus begin,  
Did ever God Create so Vile a thing!  
Internal and External Hoddy-doddy,  
A perfect Monster both in Soul and Body.  
Besides my Names and Titles are as numerous,  
As all my Actions, various still▪ (and Humorous)  
Some call me Tony, some Achitophel;  
Some Jack a-dandy, some old Machiavil.  
Some call me Devil, some his Foster-Brother,  
And Turncoat Rebel all the Nation over.  
And some compare me to a Sneaking Snail,  
Who keeps its Shell in Storms of Wind and Hail.  
Some call me Hydra with a hundred Heads,  
And some a Monster, all of Matchless Legs;  
Others the Scab, from whence the Infection Breeds.  
Some call me Hedg-Hoge in a Prickly Skin,  
And that a treble Fiend is wrapped within.   

But a Badger now, caught by a Fatal Snap,  
By th' longest Leg, within the Foxes Trap.  
Which here was laid for some such Animal.  
When e'er I'm freed, I surely drop to Hell.  
The more I Lug, the more the Spring doth bind me,  
Nay one Tug more leaves all my Legs behind me.  
My Limbs and Sinews, are so Feeble grown,  
That were I lose I cannot stand alone.  
Each Member doth each others grief bemoan.  
Tho' I from God deserve this punishment,  
Why should the Devil such a Friend torment,  
Whom I have ever took for my Protector,  
And for ten thousand Souls he is my Debtor.  
Can he at last a Treacherous Guardian be,  
As I to all, that ever Trusted me.  
'Tis for his sake, that I'm Deformed and Hist at,  
As Wizards all their Life; like Rams-horns Twisted.   

But poor Devil, now perhaps suspected me,  
That I'd Recant to get my Liberty.  
And therefore Hampers me in this Cramped Jail,  
That I have scarce room to wag my poor old Tail;  
Which I'll ne'er do, to gain three Kingdoms more,  
Then my Ambition, hoped to make me sure.  
Who knows what Nick hath yet for me in store?  
Poor Fiend on me, used to have tender Care,  
And made me Eminent in Peace and War,  
And yet I have Sense, Children, and Fools to Scar▪  
By Teaching Ben and Frank to Write great Lies;  
How mighty Monsters quarrel in the Skies.  
Visions at Hatfield, either White or Green,  
Far more Prodigious than the Fairy Queen.  
To make them believe the Papists still are Plotting,  
To Cut the Throats o'th' Saints whilst they are Napping.  
And that they Burnt the City down about us,  
As sure as I was ever stout or Honest.  
And that they'll endeavour for to do't again,  
To lay the Land in Universal Flame;  
Tho' they themselves be stifled in the stream.  
And how to make the Neighbours Hate each other,  
And for Rvenge to Murder one another;  
And to make a King to Sell a Royal Brother;  
And to make the great Ones like Pikes in a Pond,  
To Devour the Smaller over all the Land.   

These are but petty Symptoms of the sham's,  
When my Familiar gave but single Drams.  
But when for sickly State we do contrive,  
Oh! Roger, Roger, Oh! my Dribling side  
Come bring a Spoon, before I am quite Spent,  
And from this Tap receive my Excrement.  
Why Roger, Harry, Tom, Will, Martha—  
Where's all the Rogues and Bitch's, some of you come forth a-  
The great Defluction of my Cankered Spleen,  
The Scum o'th' Poison will not stay within,  
But Drains from th' Conclave of declining Parts,  
And quite obstructeth my Etherick Arts;  
Well, I keep Curs, But I am the Dog that Barks.   

Then he himself unbuckled, and let fly  
Venomous Extraction, till his Pump waxed dry.  
Which he perceiving, tugged and Pumped the more,  
Till all his Engines he in pieces tore,  
Them like an Ass, the Badger he did Roar.  
He Snarled, and Cursed, and Swore he was undone,  
Exposed to the Scorn of every Mothers Son.  
Having lost the Sluice which many years had stood,  
And at his pleasure Drowned the Land in Blood.  
And tho' to's ruin it made the wider Gap,  
He found himself the Faster in the Trap.  
He Haled his Limbs, which had his Soul long hated,  
But the Badger's Fast, and Fears he shall be Baited.   

But am I now forsaken by my Friends,  
Fools, nor Knaves, Servants, nor none Attends.  
Hell's Damned Fiends, break off those Slavish Chains,  
Release your Friend, in these unpitied Pains.   

Where's my Companions, o'th' same Imputation,  
My Fellow Sharers in the Ruin o'th' Nation.  
Where's my Cabals, and Mercenary Men,  
Where's Silly Perkin, where's Frank, Dick and Ben;  
Where's my Nursery, that Pist all in a Pen?  
Where's all our Senate, with their loud Debates,  
Where's our Commits, those Imps, and Quaeks of States?  
What no Redress?  
Fiends, Furies, Goblins, Ushers of Black Shades,  
Infernal Hellhounds, I Conjure your Aides.  
Rise up and Tear my Tired Limbs asunder;  
Let me like Faustus be a second Wonder.  
Then one in Black came Limping with all Speed,  
I thought the Devil had been come indeed;  
So did the Badger, and on his Tail did Squat,   

Good Mr. Devil, do not take me yet.   

I am no Devil, but Chief Doctor in the Synod,  
Who came from Salamanca in a Minuit:  
Le's feel your Wounds, to Cure you I will try:   

Oh! Cursed R— thou'rt as foul within as I.  
What needst thou feel me Dog, thou wilt undo me,  
My Victim's gone, a man may see quite through me.  
I am passed the help of Doctor, or of Devils,  
Nothing but Death, can Cure these growing Evils.   

But since your Distemper is so Deep and Bloody,  
And I a Doctor both for Soul and Body;  
Prepare yourself to make a True Confession,  
Be it what it will, I'll give you Absolution.   

I am not like those common sort of Priests,  
Who Absolve none but their own Silly Geese.  
I Pardon all, both— Biter, Dipper, Pendant,  
Tho' Perjury and Treason hang at the end on't.  
All sorts of Rebels, Hypocrites and Atheist,  
I Pardon all, but Cavaliers and Papists.   

Some of my Sins are Forty years of Age,  
Must I bring those again upon the Stage?   

D. Yes those to choose, they are old, and now grown Hoary,  
Shake out the Bag, and make an end of th' Story.   

But how shall I begin this great Confession?  
Which in my Soul doth make this deep Impression:   

Not like the Papists with a Bleared Contrition.  
Speak boldly Sir, with Conscience like a Tanner,  
Make every Sin a Trophy of your Honour.   

Why in Forty one, and two, and three, and Four,  
I then began to Love a Handsome W—   

Very good Sir, well and how much more?   

The rest are State-Affairs, not to be disclosed▪  
And by Malignants, are too much supposed.  
And so all that, may well be thus Excused;  
I own I have, both Church and K. Abused.   

But you must Specify each dubious Query,   

Nay then 'twill last from June till January.   

Well, we must follow Order, Course and Form,   

Plague Damn the Order, I such Custom Scorn.  
It has been my Study, ever from my Cradle,  
To break all Formal Order, far as I was able.  
And must I now, to Save an Old Dam'd Soul,  
Go disimbogue, each Cranny, Chink and Hole.   

The more you own, your Crime will be the Lesser,  
Hear to your Reverend Father, and Confessor.   

Profane Impostor, Reverend dost thou say,  
That hast been Perjured twenty times a day:  
In Capital and Mortal Bloody Cases,  
To Murder Innocents' with thy Disgraces.   

'Twas to Oblige our Sworn Fraternities,  
And to destroy the Causes, Subtle Enemies.   

Well Dr. now I find you are much Reformed,  
Since our Cabals have Faltered and Dissolved.   

'Twas still my Nature to Sail with the Wind;  
Come Scrape the Kettle, out with what's behind.   

Lord Father, you have such Influence o'er me,  
I would speak all, but that you'll quite Abhor me.   

Oh! you Little Bashful, Old Arch Wag,  
You know, I neither dare Divulge nor Brag.   

Why, in Forty Three, I then began to Feel,  
Which way Dame Fortune would bring round her Wheel.  
Then I laid hold on that great Instrument,  
And left the K. for K. and Parliament.  
Me they Embraced, and my Advice did Crave,  
Finding I'd Wit enough to be a Knave.  
Then I fell on, 'gainst Church, and King, and Heaven;  
And Still my Conscience with Times kept Even:  
And ne'er Recanted what I Undertaken,  
Till K was Killed, and ' th' Son the Land Forsook.  
And then the Sceptre fell in Traitors Hands,  
And I was ready to Assist Commands.  
Then I was made a Minister of State,  
And found a way, the Church to Extirpate.  
Then I helped Noll to set up Presbyters,  
And Pulled the Bishops Surpless o'er their Ears;  
And made the Clergy look like Privateers.  
As they went down, Tub-Preachers they did Rise,  
Preached Order, Altar down, and Sacrifice.  
I made him know, through States great Policy,  
Those were the men, to Maintain Tyranny.  
Noll being Safe, by what I had done for him,  
Suspected me, 'cause I Betrayed my King.  
Then to our Tribe he openly Proclaims,  
He'd never Trust a man that had three Names.  
He Smoked my Soul, from its Minority,  
Still to be Opposite to all Authority.  
Then I was forced new Measures for to take,  
With the King's Friends, some small Contracts did make.  
I Begged they would with Patience be contented,  
For the Kings Return, a means was just invented;  
But this was done, wh●n I could not prevent it.  
I put myself i'th' Front o'th' Sufferers,  
Tho' like to them, I had neither Wounds nor Scars.  
When he Arrived with Glorious Acclamations,  
And filled with Joys the Longing Expectations,  
All Loyal Hearted Souls of these three Nations.  
And every Heart that had been Musket Proof,  
For K. and Country under Fortune's Roof:  
Had Broke the Fatal Spells of Slaveries,  
With Joys did Meet the K. upon their Knees.   

ay, like a Spaniel-Whelp, did Lurk a Loof,  
And Squint quite through the Optics of my Hoof.  
Expecting when the K. on me would Call,  
And cry my Merits up above them All.  
But when I found He did mind me no more,  
Just to His Feet, I Crept upon all Four.  
Then Clutched his Royal Hand between my Paws,  
As if I'd never been for Good Old Cause.   

Then His Clemency, Remitted what was past,  
With Place and Title, he my Honour Graced.  
Which I Improved, till I was grown so High,  
That I again did Envy Monarchy.  
Which being Smelled by York, I was Degraded,  
And out of all my Dignities Defeated.  
And ever since my Brain has been a Working,  
For Sweet Revenge, my Soul hath still lain Lurking.  
To several Attempts I did Aspire,  
ere I could pitch on one that would take Fire.   

Till I had got this Fatal-Plot well grounded,  
With Seconds, and with Sham-Plots to Surround it.  
Which serves as Paint upon an Old Bawds Face,  
To Fill up Furrows, and to give a Grace;  
As Painters always Imperfection Blaze.  
And here we'll make Friendly, Fair Conclusion,  
I prithee Dr. give me Absolution   

Nay hold a while, your Crime's but now begin Sir,  
These were but Virtues to your later Sins Sir:  
You must rub up your Brains, and Face about,  
We have the Plot Mistick, yet to Hammer out.   

God Damn your Reverency, let that go by,  
You are as deep i'th' dirt in that as I;   

Pox rot your Honour, that's a Plaguy Lie.  
You have Confessed, you were the Engeneer,  
That Drawed the Lines, which way the Plot would Bear;  
That who should keep the Front, and who the Rear.   

And had not your Impudence, still overacted,  
Our Purpose long e'er this, had been Perfected.   

' Zounds 'twas for that, that I by you was chosen,  
'Cause I could Outface all the Truth in Heaven.   

But not to Snap the Council up like Peasants,  
And call them Rascals in the Royal Presence.  
Nor yet to call the Life-Guards Papish Traitors,  
As if we were their Makers and Creators.  
Nor to throw an Odium on them at their Inns,  
When you saw our party Totter like Nine-pinns;  
Too late to make the World esteem u● Kings.  
Nor to call Innkeepers Rogues, for entertaining  
The King's Life-Guards; those things divulged our meaning.  
Nor to call yourself the Saviour of the Nation;  
As if there had been Oats from the Creation.   

'S death, Have you not acted worse than this?  
You vex me so, I scarce have time to Piss.  
You have these seven years, made it your study  
To draw disgusted Parties to a Body.  
You held Communion with Tub-preachers juggling,  
And drawed their Brethren altogether, smuggling  
Their holy Sisters, with whom they Engender,  
And bring forth Brood that's light with th' same Tinder:  
Who are bred up in Fears and Jealousies,  
Wherewith you daily blind their purblind eyes.  
And thus you draw the hearts of silly Subjects  
From their own Sovereign, to be odious Objects:  
For this Impression in their Infancy  
Deprives them of the sense of Loyalty.  
Thus you seduce the Land for future Ages,  
To be a Den of Bruits; for wild outrages;  
Worse than wild Beasts, who still own some Supreme;  
Both Infidels and Indians do the same.   

Had you this Doctrine from Salamancha,  
Where you ne'er were, I know well, Sir, I thank ye?  
You need not instance these most biting twinges,  
Since our Designs are all flung off the hinges.  
You're ten times worse, were your faults summed together,  
Tho' thou pretendest to be my Ghostly Father;  
For thou art neither Prot. ' Byter, nor Papist:  
Best thou canst boast of is Inhuman Atheist.   

You cross old Cur, resolve me these few Questions,  
And I'll importune for no more Confessions.  
Who was the Cause of Scotland's late Rebellions?  
Who promised to assist their Force with Millions?  
Who was't drawed Perkin from his Royal Father,  
To he cajoled into the People's Favour?  
Who was't contrived the Plotting of Petitions,  
To gull the Nation into blind Seditions?  
Who was't contrived Caballing in the City,  
And to school Evidence chose a Committee?  
Who first contrived to Peach both Peers and Judges,  
And make them scrape before the Bar like drudges?  
All those in Eminent Places, and great Favour,  
Yet never could be brought in Guilty neither?  
Who told the Commons that, 'gainst every Trial,  
They must seclude all Members that were Loyal?  
That none might ever pass for due Elected,  
Unless approved on by the disaffected?  
Who was it first that cursed Maxim moved,  
That every Act for Money be reproved,  
Unless Prerogative were squeezed or shoved?  
Who was't contrived to have the Guards Indicted,  
When we ourselves the City-Guards united?  
Who was it cried, No money for the King,  
Till Kingly Powers into your hands we bring?  
Who was it cried, The King must not be trusted  
With his own Life, while we are thus disgusted?  
And that the People they were still in danger  
Of Native Papists, and of Popish Stranger;  
Till th' Militia, Cinque-Ports, Navy and the rest,  
Were all exposed unto our Care and Trust?  
Who was't that writ the Address for Shire,  
As if all had been Subscribers that were there,  
A voting for the Members, and had lear'd on't,  
Tho' ten in all the number never heard on't?  
Who was it first invented the Black Box,  
And the Black Bills which were to give such knocks?  
Who was made privy unto Godfrey's Death,  
For which three men already lost their breath?  
Who was't converted Law into a Cloak,  
To shelter Knaves, and Innocents' to choke?  
Who was't that gave the Synod Approbations,  
For to contrive Committees for vexations,  
And made a Conventicle Synod for three Nations?  
Who gave Advice to Libel Church and State,  
And none must mind the meaning, till too late,  
And the King's Friends made odious, out of date?  
Who was't persuaded those turned out of Places  
Of great Authority, to make strange faces;  
And cry out Popery is now approaching;  
Tho' they before conceived no such poaching?  
Who was't gave out that a thousand Watermen  
Had all conspired to Petition, when  
The Parliament to Oxford were convened,  
That they might sit at Westminster for them;  
But ne'er were heard of more from Smith nor Ben?  
Who was't endeavoured all that preparations,  
To guard the City Members in their stations  
To Oxford; which looked far more Arbitrary  
Than Forty One, or absolute Old Harry?  
Who was the occasion of the late obstruction  
Of the Addresses of the Cities Loyal Production;  
Was't not the Canker of your Taps defluction?  
Who schooled Fitz-Harris for two years together,  
And tanned his Conscience thick as Bullocks Leather;  
And kept him for reserve to sweep the Court  
Of King and Queen, and all that them support?  
And now the Fool begins to stink for fear,  
And is in danger quite as much as we are:  
But makes such scruples to put by the Choler,  
As if he meant to hang Sir W. W.  
Who hath influenced all this Perjury,  
Which hath outfaced both Law and Loyalty?  
Who is't that holds the Plot still by the tail,  
As Seamen tug, to tack about their Sail;  
And now by one small breeze of Justice breath,  
Fear to be shipwrecked to eternal Death?  
Who animated the wild Votes of late,  
To make themselves Comptrollers of the State;  
And that their Votes, without concurrence, might  
Impeach the Crown or Peers in spite of Right?  
Who was't destroyed both Monarchy and Law,  
And would make it lawful by a second blow?  
Who cried, These Visions and strange Revelations,  
Tells us for Wars we must make preparations,  
Whilst we know no danger but our own Damnation's?  
Who made the Speech burned by the Hangman's hand,  
Which did both Threaten, and the King Command?  
In short, Who was this Hellish Plot's Contriver?  
Who was its Plaintiff-Engine; who its Driver?  
If it was You, ingeniously confess't,  
And I'll give you Absolution for the rest.   

Nay, Doctor, now I find you'll not abhor me,  
For you yourself makes my Confession for me.  
Then nods and fleers, and at this motion grins;  
These are but Title-pages of my Sins.   

Nay, for the rest we'll ne'er stand to unhole,  
They're only symptom-Insects in your soul,  
Flaws of distinction between fair and foul.   

Well, since I find that all my hopes are past,  
ere to shake off what I pulled on so fast,  
But that I, at worst, can hang myself at last.  
Rather than live under this ill, true notion,  
After your kind Advice and friendly Caution,  
I must confess, tho' with a feigned Devotion,  
All these black Crimes which to my charge you lay,  
And many a thousand, ten times worse than they.  
Since I'm imperfect to perform the rest.  
He whispered then, and I suppose confessed;  
Thus far degenerated from a Beast.   

And then the Doctor, with his bended Chin,  
Canted some words, and so absolved his sin.  
And swore by the Holy Doom of his best Trade,  
Badger thou art a Papist now, as good as e'er was made:  
By this Canonic Salamancha Gown,  
I give to ' thee my best Benediction.   

The Badger then began to frisk and squail,  
As a Cow that's stung with Hornets in the Tail.  
Thou Popish Dog, had I but power to rally,  
I'd make thee know I hate all Christian Folly.   

But in the interval, to prevent new Broils,  
Aurora rose, and all the Sequel spoils;  
Whose splendorous looks, with Phoebus in the Rear,  
Drives all Malignants to a darker Sphere.  
Their Conscience then with fear began to crack;  
The Doctor holed, with the Badger at his back.   
FINIS.