FLAGELLUM POETICUM: OR, A SCOURGE FOR A Wild Poet.  
BEING An Answer to Dr. Robert Wild's Letter, Directed to his Friend Mr. J. J.  
Upon Occasion of His Majesty's Declaration for Liberty of Conscience.  
LONDON, Printed for J. L. Anno Dom. 1672.   

SIR,  
I Am so far from not believing you (as you say) a Merry Fellow, that I am desirous to dispossess all from that belief, from the relation you claim to a Beggar; and those sins you secretly exclaim against, which have registered you in the number of Cripples; but give me leave to tell you, you are more merrily disposed than the gravity of your Function can allow of. I do not see wherein you can further contribute to the jolly blush of your cheeks, than what you have done; had you been so much a lover of that pottage you pretend, you would have looked more like a milksop than you do: I like the man that carries in his face the tincture of that bloody banner he fights under, and would not have any man's countenance prove so much an Hypocrite to cross a French Proverb: 
His Nose plainly proves,  
What Pottage he loves.   
I am sorry you discover the worst symptom of a bad nature in your disrespect to Music; if that excellent Philosopher spoke true, he cannot be inclined to Virtue, that is not a lover of Harmony: And yet I perceive you are no enemy to Psalm-tunes well whistled; I pretend to no skill therein, wherefore I shall leave it to your judgement; it may be for the tunes sake you admire the Psalms too, so composed as if Hopkins had designed therein to justle out the liturgy.  
Psalms, which if David, from his seat of bliss,  
Should hear, he'd little think they're meant for his.  
And now Sir, with a bob at Hierarchy, you come to a good King for your money; I hope you do not intent thereby to revive the old trade of King-selling; but let that pass, and let us see what account you give of his Majesty's Declaration: but hold, I must traduce my observations on yours with this digression. The Gentleman, who read your Letter to the Company, wherein I was, had run over three Pages; but coming to that place, wherein you gave so exact an Account of the hour of the Day, by Mortals Maws yawning for Morsels, and how much concerned your own were, in the pains you took yourself, for their speedy satisfaction, I had then a brimmer of Claret at my Mouth; though that was full, my ears were open, & some small-head Louse entered, which tickled them so Violently, that being forced into a Laughter, open flew the floodgates of my Chaps, and drowned the Eyes of my gentle Reader with Claret; this un-advised Laughter made his Eyes look Bloodshot, and his Band looked as if it had been washed in the Red-Sea; not knowing how to take this accident, he asked, What might occasion this my strange disorder; I could not so compose myself, but my Answer was interrupted several times with Laughing; so that brokenly, I told him, that my fancy was fixed strongly on the Doctor's posture, as he sat holding the Pan over the fire; sometimes I resembled him to the hungry Ghost of Friar Bacon; sometimes a New-England grave Elder, who as he turned the Herrings, did patiently suffer the sparks of persecution to fly about him unconcerned, so that the appetite of Carnal satisfaction might have no cause to complain; but that which moved me most to laughter, was, the consideration of this Carnal man's fearful desertion; that that man, who was accustomed after the outrageous heats of the Pulpit were over, to be immediately put to Bed, with nine Caps to keep in his remaining Wit (too fleet of foot) and a quart of Mulled Sack to lull him asleep, now to be left alone to the fury of a sputtering frying-pan, without the commiseration of a tender— hearted Petticoat. However I am sorry for your slender attendance, and your being coarsely dealt withal as to a Tablecloth; look not on't as any great penance, to have your Table covered with an Horse-cloth, since it may be, at that very time when it belonged to your Horse, many Houses of God were then turned into Stables. But why so angry Dr. with the Bishops? What, is it because your Sleeves are not of the same complexion with theirs; if so, we have cause to believe that Holland hath raised all this difference; 'tis thought Father— mouth, with a Bishopric, had been silenced for ever railing so bitterly against the Prelates; but I have more charity for you, than to believe that the wind of Profit can blow your Weathercock where it list. And now I must commend your manners in lowering your Top-sale to the King's Arms; sure 'twas no Steeple-crowned Hat you wear, having an aversion to Steeples, and therefore have left them with the Ropes to the Sons of our Church, for which I must Ring you a peal, for styling our Reverend Clergy Jackdaws, with other foul reflections, as if you intended to write your good old cause in Masquerade. What? upon the merry pin again, here's laughing with all my heart, but at what I pray? His Majesty's Declaration shorn, or clipped, and looking like a polled Amsterdam Divine, or one of the Geneva Cut; sure Sir, methinks this object should be so far from procuring laughter in you, that it should rather extract tears from the remembrance of your Quondam brethren's Sufferings, whose Busie-Heads, and saucy Tongues, were chastised by the loss of their Ears; I hope yours ere long will lie more open to a better understanding. But now let's see what he observes in this Declaration: Why he acknowledgeth 'tis all goodness to their Party; then why do you thus snarl Mr. Dr? Since the Royal Clemency hath given both you, & us, his leave to choose our way to our Everlasting Rest; let us not Justle one the other by the way, since we are all mixed (as in the Ark) together, let us not dispute who are the Clean, and who the . And now give me leave to Laugh too; I perceive, you highly applaud the Month of March, for introducing your Years of Jubilee, the Fifteenth of that Month you esteem above all other holidays; from whence I observe, that though you slight those the Church hath enjoined us to observe, yet you will not neglect the observance of one of your own making. But whither do I Ramble? Hold, let me see; what feats of Activity the Dr. hath learned; Bartholomew Fair, is not far off: 'tis well he gins to practise, and may act his well for aught I know; since he confesseth himself as nimble as the Gentleman that Dances on the High Rope; dancing on the High Rope is improper; yet though he is ignorant of the terms, he may better come to understand the Rope hereafter. And are you then so nimble? Had you been troubled with the King's-evil, it might have been stroked out of you; but of all the Remedies I have read of, that of a Plaster of Liberty of Conscience, applied hot to the Patient, is, I find the most speedy cure for a Gouty Distemper. This digression had like to have made me forget what account he gives of his Minister, a pious, and prudent Man, and discovers no grimace's at the liturgy, as if he were drinking a Potion, nor in his Sermons makes other make●faces as if he were giving them one. It is well that this good Gentleman's Face is not rumpled as most of his brethren's are, by drawing their mouths this way and that way, and opening their Jaws so wide, as if they would swallow the Lid of the Pulpit, and then suddenly shut them, as if they were snapping at Flies. Doctor, you may be ignorant of the Carriage & ridiculous Gestures of some of your Brethren in their Sermons, and therefore be pleased to mind in the concluding of this Pamphlet, what I lately observed in one of your Congregations.  
At last to conclude, you say mocking is catching, and that there is Dirt enough in every street to be dawb one another with; 'tis very true, and I am very sorry you fling the first Handful; you may be pelted with enough, if all were of a mind. The discharging of your Gun, in Garrison, at this unseasonable time, aught to Alarm the Vigilant to stand upon their Guard; have a care of overcharging your Blunderbuss, it may one time or other put your Shoulder out. Rail against the Pope as long as you please, it is safe enough, being far enough off; no Language is too bad for him, call him Crafty Knave (for he goes by several Names) 'tis all one to me; but trample not on the Ashes of the Reverend Prelates, lately deceased; nor do not go about to extenuate the Light, of those glorious Lamps, that in spite of Hell, will shine eminently in our Churches: 
De Mortuis nil nisi bonum,  
De vivis nil nisi verum.    

Licentia Poetica: or, Observations on a late Silenced Minister.  

IS, lately was, (I now may name the place)  
(A pretty Covert for the Babes of Grace,)  
Where silenced Ministers enough were met,  
To make a Synod; and may make one yet.  
Their blessed Liberty  found at last,  
And talked for all those years, of silence past.  
Like some half-pined, and hunger-starved men,  
Who, when they next get Victuals, surfeit then.  
In this Assembly, one, t'avoid contest,  
Did mount the Pulpit, there to teach the rest.  
Where that we men, more patiently might hear  
Nonsense, to Heaven at first, he spoke it there.  
First whined, then whispered, then aloud did roar;  
Now drew his long words, and then leapt'em o'er.  
Such various tones, that I admired, and said,  
Sure all the Congregation in him prayed.  
'Twas the most tedious Soul, the Divelest He  
That ever came to Doctrnies' Twenty-three  
And Nineteen Uses, how he drew his Hum,  
And quartered Haws, talked naught but Opium.  
No Fever a man's eyes could open keep;  
All Argus body he'd have preached asleep.  
For half an hour, nought but O Lord he cries,  
Puked warmness, and this melts the Sister's eyes:  
They snobed aloud, then did I loudly snore,  
Till a kind Psalm told me the dangers o'er.  
Being out of doors, one told me I must dine  
With him, and to encourage, he had store of wine.  
I by this friened to his large Hall was led,  
Where some Grave Clergymen I saw, well fed,  
But by a newer stile distinguished;  
Whether most renowned Bachelors they be  
Of Art, or reverend Sophs of no Degree.  
Now they discourse, some stories here relate  
Of bloody Papists, Plots against the State;  
But against Bishops they all railed, and I  
Said boldly I'd defend the Hierarchy.  
To th' Hierarchy they meant no harm at all,  
But root and branch 'gainst Bishops; too't we fall:  
I like a Fool, with Reasons, and these men  
With wrested Scripture; a sly Teacher then  
Thrust in his ears, so speaks th' Apostle too:  
How speaks he Friend? not through the nose like you.  
A hideous form was ready to begin,  
When by most blessed fates the meat came in.  
But then so long, so long a Grace was said,  
That a good Christian, when he goes to bed,  
Would be contented with a shorter Prayer;  
O how the Saints enjoyed the Creature there!  
Three Pasties in the minute of an hour,  
Large, & well wrought, they root & branch devour.  
They tooth o' nail fell to't; no lazy hand,  
In vain the lesser Pies hope to withstand.  
On Geese, and Capons, with what zeal they feed,  
And wondering cry, a goodly Bird indeed.  
Their stomaches crammed (as greedy as their eyes)  
All study now, who shall appear most wise.  
Their spirits warmed, yet from'em no Jests came,  
But what like Cripples halted, and were lame.  
At length says one, I think the Declaration  
Hath changed the doom of damning this whole Nation.  
Sweet Liberty of Conscience makes me hate  
All the supporters of usurped State.  
Our freedom is enlarged, and that's a thing,  
Will make me love, the once loathed Name of King.  
He spoke for all the rest, and now I-tro,  
'Tis time to feed our Souls; to Church we go.  
Sans compliment the pious man gins;  
The suffering Pulpit groans for Israel's sins.  
Sins, which in number many though they be,  
And crying ones, are yet less loud than Herald  
Half melted, but more out of breath, he cries;  
Not knowing what to say, he wipes his eyes.  
Then this pretends, prolixity to shun,  
But one word more beloved, and I have done.  
Would it were so, thought I, but much I fear,  
That all will not be done these two hours here.  
Now, now, he comes to't, as you will find it writ;  
Repeats his Text, and takes his leave of it.  
And straight to's Sermon in such furious wise,  
As made it what 'twas called, an Exercise.  
The Pulpit's his hot Bath; the Brethren's cheer,  
Roast Beef, and larded Turkeys break out here.  
He dares not now, as thirteen years ago,  
When superstitious decency did grow,  
He feared, too much in fashion, whet his fist  
Against the name of Altar, and of Priest.  
Paul and St. Peter sure had had their Doom,  
Had this same Frantic known they'd been at Rome.  
And now at last, that he may raise new fears,  
And make his Gang shake their mysterious ears;  
All is not well he doubts, and then gins  
To tell, great punishments attend great sins.  
If he don't put us into frights, 'tis much,  
And style those Judgements Ours, which waits the Dutch.  
At length, long Time, which doth consume and waste  
All things, t'an end his Sermon brought at last.  
Thus Sir, you have my Story, but am sorry,  
(Taunton excuse) it is no better for you.  
However read it, as you Pease are shelling;  
For you will find, it is not worth the telling.  
Excuse this boldness, for I can't avoid  
Thinking sometimes, you are but ill employed.  
Fishing for Souls, more fit, than frying fish;  
That makes me throw Pease-shellings in your dish▪  
You have a Study, Books wherein to look;  
How comes it then the Doctor's turned a Cook?  
Well Doctor Cook, pray be advised, hereafter  
Don't make your Wife the subject of our laughter.  
I find She's careless, and your maid a Slut  
To let you grease your Cassock for your Gut.  
You are all three in fault, by all that's blest;  
Mend you your manners first, then teach the rest.    

One use of Exhortation Doctor to your Sisters, and I've done.  

PRay don't complain, you now United are;  
And are not straited in your Gospel fair.  
Let not Pluralty's then be taken away,  
Though men learn thence, to keep two Wives, you say.  
And let not Scholarship I pray go down;  
O fie, your Sex so cruel to the Gown.  
You don't the kindness of some Scholars know;  
The Cambridg-Women would not have it so.  
Learning's the Lamp o'th' Land, which shines so bright  
Y'are not s'immodest to put out the light.  
These things y'are grieved at; but I pray what next?  
O with our Churches solemn forms y'are vexed.  
The Sign o'th' Cross, the forehead must not bear;  
'Twas only you were born to plant Signs there.  
No Surplices. Why none I pray d'ye crave?  
They're Rags of Rome. I know what you'd have.  
Y'oud Preach I warrant? Do so, for no doubt,  
A finer Preaching Age, y'oul ne'er find out;  
 got the Spirit, nay fiery tongues, I trow,  
And by your talk, they should be double too.  
O Times, O Manners! But methinks I stay  
Somewhat too long, take so much for to day;  
Hereafter more, hence be not thus beguiled,  
You'll find we've Muses too, as well as Wild.   
FINIS.