A POEM UPON THE Late Victory OVERDO THE FRENCH FLEET at SEA.  
By MAT. MORGAN, L. D.  
Quando repostum Caecubum ad festas dapes  
Victore laetus Caesare,  
Tecum sub altâ (sic Jovi gratum) domo  
Beat Maecenas bibam,  
Sonante mistum tibiis carmen lyrâ  
Hac eolium, illis barbarum.  
 nuper actus quum freto Neptunium  
Dux fugit, ustis Navibus  
Minatus urbi vincula, quae detraxerat  
Servis amicus perfidis.  
Io triumph, tu moraris aureos  
Currus, & intacta boves;  
Io triumph, nec Jugurthino parem  
Bello reportasti ducem  
Neque Africuno, cui super Carthaginem  
Virtus Sepulchrum Condidit;  
Terra Marique victus hostis, Punico  
Lugubre mutavit Sagum.  Horat. 
LONDON: Printed, and are to be Sold by the Booksellers of London and Westminster, MDCXCII.   

TO My much respected FRIEND, THOMAS LANGTON, Esq  
SIR,  
I Have long waited for such an Opportunity as this of manifesting the Sense I always had of your extraordinary Worth, and my own Obligations; I am extremely conscious that this Poem is not worth your Acceptance, and that it doth not rise up to the Dignity of the Occasion, which perhaps is the greatest that is extant in the Records of History; but I am as well assured that you will let my Zeal atone for all the Blemishes which are so conspicuous through the whole Texture of the Work; I need not tell you who make the best Reflections for yourself, what a Train of important Consequences this Victory draws after it; that it will double and inflame the Courage of our Army in Flanders, if that can be capable of any Accession, and that it will root all our Alliances the stronger: The Community of Danger doth usually draw People into a stricter Union; and methinks an escape out of it should still bind us with a firmer Cement; Nay, I don't doubt, but that it will terminate in this Event too, that it will proselyte our male Contents, and that the Coals of Fire with which we have burned the French Fleet will melt them down into a Charity with their Neighbours: If they had made a Descent no one can figure to himself what Miseries would have attended it.  
But tho' their Hopes were so very lively, they would not have found such tame work of it as they expected; for I am afraid our Renegades would have been sacrificed to the Resentments of the People. London, which is the Centre of Wealth, Loyalty and Courage would not have suffered their Wives to have been ravished, their Children deprived of their Birthrights, and Slavery entailed upon them for an Inheritance; for if they had succeeded Smithfield would have again blazed out with Martyrs, every day had produced a fresh Massacre; and it would have come to this fatal push, as it was in the Reign of Charles the Ninth, the most treacherous and bloody Tyrant that ever wore a Crown, except this present Lovis; ou la Mort, ou la Messe, either Death or the Mass; these without an Hyperbole are the natural Effects of the Temper and Principles which are infused into the Papists; the first words they are taught are to Curse; and like Hannibal are sworn at the Altar to extirpate Heretics.  
I should think myself very profane, nay almost blasphemous if I should call it a Religion, it is rather a Complication of all the Villainies that were ever acted under the Sun, coloured over with that Name: They consecrate Daggers for the Breasts of Princes, can poison with the Sacrament, have unhinged all Civil Society, and destroyed their Morals, have enslaved Spain with the Inquisition, and made Italy Atheists by their Examples, they make Murder lawful, and dispense with Incest; In short, it is an Usurpation upon the Rights and Consciences of Mankind, maintained by Interest and sooth, by Flattery.  
I cannot resolve some men's tarrying in that Communion, who are otherwise discerning enough, but into an implicit Education; they imbibe their Errors early, and then it is a difficult Task to unlearn what is riveted in and become habitual: They who are behind the Curtain, and play the Ressorts of the Machine, laugh at the Easiness of their Votaries, and cheat them of their Money.  
But for them, Sir, who distinguish themselves by the Name of Protestants, and yet gnaw out the Bowels of their native Kingdom, this is amazing to a Prodigy; had they lived in the rigid Commonwealths of an Athens, or a Sparta, Pillars of Infamy would have been erected upon their Houses, and their very Memories razed with Salt; the more exalted their Station hath been, the viler is their Apostasy, and the Gild of Schism is wholly upon their own Heads.  
Great Names serve only to amuse and terrify the Common People, but Men of quicker Penetration are never carried away by Popular Vogue, for as it is quickly gained, so it is as suddenly lost, and it is usually the Talon of designing and undeserving Men to be solicitous after it; they had never been advanced to those Heights, had they not given very sanguine Presumptions of themselves, and have now made them good, by so obstinately adhering to that Interest which preferred them.  
A Man, Sir, may be very mortified, and yet a great Hypocrite, and we may sometimes impute that to Zeal which is most necessary for his Constitution; for in some Cases Asceticks should be as well prescribed by the Physician, as they are enjoined by the Rubric: The false Bigot may look pale and discoloured, and yet be very malicious; for the Men of the Anvil will tell you, That the fierc'st Flame is always the whitest.  
God, Sir, hath permitted this French Tyrant long enough in the World to disturb the Peace of it, and though he was generally thought to be the Spurious Issue of a Cardinal, yet he hath suffered him to possess a Throne which doth not belong to him, and that with such Affluence and Splendour that Solomon in all his Glory was not arrayed like the French Lilies.  
But now, the Critical Juncture seems to be come, when his Glory must undergo, not only a partial Eclipse, but be totally extinct: We only want to hear the same good News from the Army as we had from the Fleet, that our Victory may be entire and all of a piece, that the last Hand may be given to consummate their Ruin, and so no Glean may be left for an After-Destruction.  
And now let me trespass so far upon your Modesty, as to give you your due Character;  
That you are Generous without Prodigality, Affable without Affectation, a prudent Manager of your Fortune, and a sincere Lover of your Friend.  
You pursue the Recreations of the Country without neglecting your Studies, those divert your Time, but these employ it.  
You were seasoned with an excellent Education, and you still retain so strong a Tincture of it, that you scatter a Perfume wherever you come.  
The Learning you have acquired doth not run out into quarrelsome Disputes and pedantic Quotations, but you manage it for the better Conduct of your Life, and the Scholar serves to acaccomplish the Gentleman.  
Besides, you are descended from a virtuous and obliging Family, your Father was a wise and a very beautiful Person, my own (whose Ashes still I moisten with my Tears) hath always spoke of Him with a more than ordinary Emotion, and I have often heard him say, That he thought Sir Thomas to be the finest bred Citizen not only in these parts, but in England, and perhaps in all Europe; as you carry his Features and Complexion, so you are more like him in the Endowments of his Mind which is the noblest Resemblance.  
The good Lady your Mother may be the Standard to her Sex, she is assiduous at her Devotions, Liberal in her Charity, and very courteous and discreet in all her Deportments.  
You had an Uncle, Sir, who was cropped off unnaturally in the Bloom of his Years, but he was the hopefullest Gentleman of his Age, so that this of Virgil might be properly applied to him, 
Ostendunt terris hunc tantum fata, nec ultra  
Esse sinunt;—   
That Heaven only showed him to the World, and then snatched him away; but Time hath drawn a Scar over these Wounds, and his Loss is the less regretted because the other Brother survives, who by the universal Suffrage of all who practise him, is allowed to be one who is versed in the Laws, understands the Interest, and loves the Welfare of his Country; his Oeconomy is magnificent, and yet with a just thrift. He is a great Patriot and a public Blessing to all about him, and you, Sir, do not in the least degenerate from this Ancestor, and these Relations.  
I wish that you may long continue to be an Ornament to our City, which though she is remarked even to a Proverb to be a fond Entertainer of Strangers, let their Merit or Extraction be never so obscure, yet now they deviate from their ancient Custom, and are all unanimous in placing their Respects upon you. If you design to marry again may you have a Lady worthy of your Embraces, of a corresponding Temper, and equal Goodness, and then you cannot fail to be the happiest Couple in the World. I desire the Continuance of your Friendship, and that you will still honour me with the Quality I now assume of being,  
Dear SIR, Your most humble and obedient Servant. MAT. MORGAN.   


A POEM UPON THE Late Victory OVERDO THE French Fleet at Sea.  
ASSIST me Chlio with a lofty Strain  
To sing the Conquest of the purple Main,  
With Carcases of flaming Vessels spread,  
And all its Waves, with drowned Egyptians, Red;  
Inspire my Breast with such a furious Heat,  
As that with which we did their Navy beat:  
Which Neptune's Kingdom with its Ruins fills  
After the Guns, we'll stab them with our Quills;  
One Death shall not secure them, they shall sink  
Like the Sepia, in Satiric Ink;  
For the French Sun hath in the Ocean set  
Out of those Depths he never up shall get,  
It's Glory is extinguished in the Streams,  
And past resource 've quenched his haughty Beams:  
A Genuine English Courage they have tried,  
And we in blood have all their Lilies died;  
The Guardian Angel of our British Land,  
The most Illustrious of that shining Band,  
A bright Commission did from Heaven receive,  
And with a low Obeisance took his leave;  
With Wings of joyful speed away he flew,  
That this decisive Combat he might view;  
Was carried in a Vehicle of Light  
And there he stood the Arbiter of the Fight:  
He in a rapturous Exclamation cried,  
And yet he was not partial to his side,  
Valour true English Spirits ne'er forsakes  
If. the contested Globe was now the Stakes,  
Undoubted Victory to them should fall,  
And so be Masters of the rivalled Ball.  
Until this time they never fairly fought,  
But all their sordid Victories they bought;  
For Spanish Towns with Lovis D'ors they treat  
They can't corrupt, nor beat an English Fleet;  
Smarting with real wounds they dearly feel  
That Gold is not so prevalent as Steel;  
This time we as an Epoch will date  
In which they were so bold to tempt their fate,  
We taught the callow Novices to fly,  
And now they do rebel against the Sky,  
The Methods of our Fights they understood  
At the Expense of our dear Neighbour's Blood;  
'Tis we reformed the Genius of France  
Crusted all o'er with Ease and Ignorance,  
'Tis we the raw Pretenders up did train  
When they scarce knew to Sail upon the Main;  
But those we did instruct, we now can kill,  
We made them Valiant against their will,  
Or else they had continued Cowards still;  
In Triumph we will Io Paeans sing  
Now we have made them worth the Conquering;  
Tho' once their fulsome Mercuries did boast,  
That they pursued us flying to our Coast;  
Yet we did then in Policy retire  
That we might Charge them now with brisker fire;  
These Intermissions did our Courage whet  
That we a keener Appetite might get;  
Forbidden Objects do provoke our Lust  
Now the Ragoust goes down with smarter gust,  
But the next Summer them we never saw;  
They at safe distance did themselves withdraw;  
In vain the trembling Fugitives we seek,  
They sailed Incognito, skulked in every Creek.  
Of Lapland their Ally they hired a Wind,  
So to transport them we could never find;  
When we attacked they always did recoil  
Like to Olympic Wrestlers daubed with Oil,  
As idle Truants dread the Master's stripe,  
These supple Gamesters did elude our gripe;  
But now we them encompassed in the List,  
And Hundreds perished by a single Fist;  
In frightful Colours now the Battle draw  
Which all the World before us never saw;  
Antiquity did ne'er such News receive,  
And Ages after us will scarce believe;  
It only will their admiration raise,  
Like to a Legend in King Arthur's days.  
Petty Encounters were the ancient Fights,  
Like to the Pagantry of vulgar Sights:  
Grappling they one another then did charge  
And made the Sea a Continent of Barge.  
Xerxes who swelled till he was grown so great,  
And yet Themistocles did him defeat.  
Though the Historian on his Hero dotes,  
His Navy was a Set of Fisher-boats.  
The Romans often on the Waves did fight,  
Great was their Courage, but their Vessels slight;  
They had not Tires in which the Canon roars,  
But all the Noise they made was with their Oars.  
Their Storms were only an Etesian Breeze,  
The Ships, described by wise Thucydides,  
Were like low Houses upon narrow Lanes,  
They in Feluccas fought and weak tartans;  
A little Tempest would their Hulks devour,  
And Archimedes Engines had the Power  
With curious Art to hoist the floating Tree,  
And throw their Mariners into the Sea.  
The mighty Forests now begin to move  
Fear in the Deep, and wonder from above,  
Astonishment doth all the Regions fill,  
Stopped once again almost the Sun stood still,  
Splinters and flying Limbs obscured his Sight,  
And interposing Smoak Eclipsed his Light.  
They are the Pride and Burden of the Seas,  
Are floating Islands like the Cycladeses;  
They like to burning Mountains are, for thus  
Flames break from Aetna and Vesuvius.  
The horrid Noise spoils their luxurious Mirth,  
And Naples trembles with Sulphurous Earth;  
And yet this Hill rich Clusters doth refine:  
So we will celebrate our Joy with Wine.  
Here Thunder, Lightning here we do admire,  
And here do Currents run of liquid Fire,  
Which in black Streams flow from the melted Juice,  
Which stately Fires in Norway do produce.  
Dressed in the Pomp of Death they gaily ride  
This Fight at Actium Empire must decide,  
With the Propitious Omens of the Sky,  
Augustus' Triumphs over Anthony.  
He with a Look did keep the World in awe,  
T' other was rash, and dissolute, and raw:  
One Fortune courted, t'other at her rails,  
And fled away with Cleopatra's Sails.  
Neptune the Nymphs sent to their Chambers down  
As useless Mouths from a besieged Town.  
The Whales from Greenland hither did retire,  
That their spilt Oil might aggravate the Fire.  
And all the Sharks in Ambuskade did lie,  
As keen-mawed Vultures o'er Campagns do fly.  
They both rapacious prey upon the Slain,  
Those on the Earth, these slaughtered on the Main.  
The dreadful Combat pleasantly gins,  
With English Trumpets and French Violins,  
Their ancient Custom they cannot forget,  
He first will practise o'er a Minuet;  
A murdering Bullet in his Loins he feels,  
And now firm Land he wishes for his Heels.  
The Spartans' Harp's into their Battles brought,  
But they a rougher Discipline were taught.  
Orpheus did not entice, but did provoke,  
With his melodious Strains our sturdy Oak,  
Although he played so tightly well,  
A full Broadside did send him down to Hell.  
Now with a louder Music they are tore  
From the kind Dolphin Succour did implore,  
Who once Arion did transport to Shore.  
These empty Fops are of the Sea the Scum,  
From whence their Mother Venus once did come.  
You done't with Men, you do with Sponges fight,  
They swim like Pumices they are so light.  
Now the brave Russel doth advance with Speed,  
That by his side the tattered Ships may bleed,  
A Name that's worthy of so great a Deed:  
Russel! the very Word a Nation saves,  
Beloved at Land, and dreaded on the Waves;  
Russel! the greatest Man that e'er was born,  
He by the bloody Axe from us was torn,  
You Sir, defend the Land he did adorn.  
Pardon thy Admirer then, thou mighty Shade,  
Who an untimely Sacrifice wast made,  
If I some Tears a Tribute to thee pay,  
Never was Joy unmixed from some allay.  
Salt as the Brine let all my Sorrows flow,  
In which was struck this decretory Blow.  
Thy Noble Blood did for such Vengeance call  
When Hecatombs did on the Altar fall,  
And now a Vagabond is that cruel Cain,  
By whose contrivance thy best self was slain,  
Whose Praise doth exercise all grateful Tongues,  
But this brave Admiral hath revenged thy Wrongs.  
For when the French expired, he thus did boast,  
Sink down a Victim to great Russel's Ghost.  
The valiant Shovel doth like Lightning fly,  
And like a Shuttle weaves their Destiny.  
He on both sides their tawdry Ships doth spoil,  
Doth Charge, and fights it fair upon the Foil:  
Just so the Rhosne that runs into the 
* jemane by Geneva.  Lake  
The sluggish Waters turbulent doth make,  
The Stream doth very furiously divide,  
And passeth through it with a rapid Tide.  
Shovel this just Encomium still commends,  
The roughest Enemy, and best of Friends,  
He daring is, and fierce aboard a Fleet,  
Every where else you him obliging meet;  
He with an affable Deportment treats,  
Even the Antagonist his Courage beats,  
The Trembling Quarry, for this Eagle fled  
Fit to succeed great Narborough in his Bed.  
One thought by Marriage to possess great Sense,  
And wed with Tully's Wife his Eloquence;  
He, nipped with others Feathers hath not flown.  
He had a stock of Courage of his own.  
Carter and Hastings in the Fight are dead;  
Yet pale and speechless them they still do dread.  
They both look terrible within their Urns,  
Although the Sun is setting, yet it burns.  
With Whinings we lament the vulgar Rout,  
But a brave Soldiers buried with a Shout;  
For he hath loud congratulating Cries.  
The same with which an Hero fights he die;  
But they a Posthumus Honour both shall have;  
Laurel shall be triumphant on their Grave.  
As once it did bring forth from Virgil's Tomb,  
And they in Death are Conquerors become;  
Bellona's Minion Ashby doth survive,  
Spite of malignant Fame He is alive,  
He is discoloured, Slaughter doth him sta in  
He treads on shattered Sculls, is daubed with Brain,  
If any can be found in Men so vain.  
Then Delaval hath got immortal Fame,  
His Courage English is, though French his Name,  
He is our own, such a prodigious Worth,  
Like a rough Tempest issued from the North,  
As the Great Albemarl did once before,  
He came from thence our Kingdom to restore,  
Although it is an harsh and barren Ground,  
Yet with tough Minerals it doth abound:  
His Name with Terror through their Country flies,  
And Nurses with it still their children's Cries,  
As that of Talbot once their Land did tame,  
When with two Syllables he overcame;  
He with a Blast of air, their Cities took,  
He with a Sound, as Caesar with a Look,  
And then of Mariners the lowest Crew,  
Loud Strains of Praise are to their Courage due;  
Such Merit for strict Gratitude doth call,  
The Genius of the Nation thanks you all,  
You to their Shores the Runaways did chase  
By Tracts of Blood you did the Miscreants trace  
Who now were swifter than the scaly Race.  
Them in their proper Element you did outdo,  
They could not fly so fast as you pursue.  
Your Acts to After-ages shall be told,  
And their Recital shall make Cowards bold.  
Mothers your brave Achievements shall repeat,  
And by your Models make their Children great,  
To Schemes of War the hardy Infant trains,  
Stout by your Blood transfused into their Veins;  
Widows their husband's Deaths do not bewail,  
Their Eyes are dry, they scorn the puling Veil,  
Hearing their Fate, they all transported cried,  
They did their Duty, for their Country died,  
We yield to that as the much fairer Bride.  
If I the other Chieftains now should tell,  
This Poem would like to their Ocean swell,  
Which they perplexed into a Bloody Storm,  
The Scene where they these Actions did perform.  
Like Alexander's Army they were seen,  
All things undaunted were, and nothing mean;  
They all were carried upon eagle's wings,  
Their Soldiers, Generals, their Heroes, Kings.  
The eager Citizen listens to the Ground,  
He hears, and is transported with the Sound.  
All the dead thumps distinctly doth repeat,  
And with each Stroke a Legion we defeat.  
The Countryman forsook his painful Blow,  
And every one is a Dictator now.  
For their Descent they eagerly do watch,  
With weapons which their Fury first doth snatch,  
None of them are afraid, they all did laugh,  
And with their Flails would make them fly like Chaff;  
Unto the Shore they cheerfully did run,  
The homespun Baucis was an Amazon.  
Nay every Infant was an Hercules,  
And in their Cradles would these Serpents seize.  
Fame with the News did to their Court advance,  
And spoiled the Measures of an hopeful Dance,  
A most unwelcome Message them did greet,  
One Tongue did baffle forty pair of Feet;  
For Flamboys to retire they all did call,  
In Indignation they broke up the Ball.  
Lovis his gloating Eyes around did roll  
And darted thro' those Ports his guilty Soul.  
A sudden Palsy seized upon each Joint,  
And from his swelling Neck he tore his Point,  
Hot Rheims of anger both his Cheeks did scaled,  
Plucked off his hair, and like his Monks was bald.  
Morbleus and Jernies' were but common Sport,  
Oaths only for the Lackeys of the Court.  
He sent unto the Academies Mint.  
For those who never yet appeared in Print,  
He made them too refine upon the Theme.  
That in more hellish Strains he might blaspheme.  
For in worse Execrations he doth deal,  
Then Villainies vomit out upon the We'll.  
Baptist's Composures all the Artists play,  
But they the raging Flame cannot allay.  
If but a Valet through the Chamber runs,  
He stamps and cries it is the Noise of Guns.  
A whisper gives him a convulsive throw,  
A Rat behind the Hang is a Foe.  
He thinks each Cloud to be a thundering Smoke,  
He hates his Druids for the sake of Oak.  
Surer than Oracles our Canon spoke;  
An horrid Silence with such tidings suits,  
As in his Brother's Courts they all are Mutes,  
Each one by Nods another's Sense divines.  
They speak with Fingers and converse by Signs.  
Lewis incensed and overthrown like Saul,  
Now for his trusty Confidents doth bawl.  
Authors are travestied by smart Scarron,  
And Nature hath Burlesqued his 
* The Widow of Scarron.  Maintenon,  
With spite and wrinkles is an Endor Witch,  
Uglier than Hecuba when turned a Bitch.  
For he hath laid aside the Lion's Skin,  
Only with Distaffs he is fit to spin.  
Like the fond Hercules with his Omphale  
Lewis was near so valiant as he;  
He never him was like in bearing Arms,  
Only in Luxury and Woman's Charms,  
To Harlay send a Messenger away,  
And let him be disturbed though deep at Play.  
A most lascivious, crafty, cruel Man,  
Both like the King and Metropolitan:  
Let him depute a suffragan Antic  
Whilst he his Master's wounds doth softly lick,  
With spiritual Opium let him give him rest,  
And whisper in his Ears a smutty Jest;  
But he in vain his drolling Hours doth waste  
All his Buffonery now hath lost its taste,  
On Ships he in the Arras now doth fall,  
Makes it a race Campagne, a naked Wall,  
And bids them sink the Yatchts in the Canal;  
We with his Navy have sunk all his Hopes,  
He can't endure the sight of Masts and Ropes:  
Two painted Vessels do that Nation fit,  
A greater Fleet we never will permit.  
Go bid the Medalists their Tools withhold  
Lay an Embargo upon all the Gold,  
Contract this wicked, prodigal Expense,  
Raise all the Arrear-ban for the Shores defence;  
We with tough Iron have brought down their price,  
And downright blows have spoiled the acquaint Device:  
Go with their Salt the Plaits of Laurel sow  
Those Honour's don't become a French Man's brow,  
It is a Privilege we will ne'er allow;  
Tho' 'twas Apollo's Grove, ne'er stint your hand  
But let the mournful Ewe and Cypress stand:  
The Monarch's reason with his force is fled,  
Tie down the foaming Tyrant in his Bed,  
Him like another Chilperick let them shave  
Immured within a Cloister let him rave;  
But never let him on the Throne appear  
But shut him up with his belov'd Valiere;  
Now that his Glory a short Race hath run  
A Royal Friar with an holy Nun,  
An Ulcer on one half of him did prey,  
Let a Relapse the other eat away.  
Our Treasures once were most supinely kept  
When he that should have been the Dragon, slept;  
In Royal Ermines was a guady Moth  
Us fretted, and consumed himself with sloth:  
A sudden Repartee was all his Sense,  
And his good Nature was his Negligence.  
With Nero's Fate he did complaining Die,  
He neither had a Friend nor Enemy:  
When his health should decline we always feared  
Dread of a Successor his Reign endeared;  
Talked wittily, did very seldom think,  
Was very condescending in his drink;  
And then he had a soft relenting Heart  
Easily wounded, but with Cupid's Dart:  
Nothing to Martia ever did deny,  
Weapons against himself he did supply,  
With his own hands her craving stomach fed  
Guest at his Meals, and favourite of his Bed,  
And for whose sake the Axe with Patriots bled:  
She at the Price of Provinces always laughed,  
And dissolved Pearls drank for her Morning's draught:  
All pardoned Murders did a Tribute pay  
Abused his Body, did his Soul betray,  
He unconcerned could view the Widow's Eyes,  
Deaf as an Adder to the Orphan's cries,  
With cruel Rapine emptied all their Bags,  
For which Posterity will be in Rags:  
Objects of pity now they're sunk so low;  
This was the Livery he did bestow,  
Oppressed with Wine, and sleep he still did snore,  
And then the Harpies did devour our store;  
But when they came a second Theft to take  
They found another Guardian broad awake;  
Their danger past retrieve they then did see,  
He with a flaming Sword did guard the Tree;  
He is obliging, valiant and just  
All did submit to him, or they must  
His Armour never did contract a rust.  
Still in that shining Equipage was bright,  
Always in Counsel is, or in a Fight,  
Acts those dispatches which his Statesmen write.  
His Soldiers like to Tortoises do dwell  
In the Enclosures of an hardened Shell.  
Proof against all assaults their breasts are tried,  
Are not so slow altho' so fortified.  
But Lovis now is infamously poor,  
Sends to solicit Succours at each door;  
His suppliant Ministers do crowd the Gate  
Beg to relieve him they would Coin their Plate:  
As once with us, the zealous Matrons bring  
Marks of their Sex, the Thimble and the Ring.  
Now to protect him from all kind of harm,  
Their Thimbles against the Needle will not arm;  
The Pledge of plighted troth with joy she pays,  
And in that Circle she a War will raise:  
Chloe no longer glittering Jewels wears,  
But for his sake depopulates her Ears;  
Nay with her shining Lockets she will part  
Placed by her Lover on the panting heart:  
Thus they contribute all their wealthy Store  
To make the golden Calf they do adore;  
The Spirit of his Counsels all is fled  
Now Lovoy is deceased, and Colbert dead,  
Both to his base designs did aptly suit,  
One to raise Money, t'other t' execute:  
Now the discarded Minister Pompone  
Doth with mean shifts prop up his tottering Throne;  
Grown old in wickedness doth play his feats  
And multiplies his offices and cheats.  
In France a Vein of universal Pride  
Doth into lesser Tyrannies sub-divide:  
So that the haughty Kingdom doth appear  
Like to a barbarous Amphitheatre,  
Where Gladiators on each other fall,  
An the great Vulgar tramples on the small;  
And he's an huffing Tyrant over all.  
It's parallel an Algiers Captain meets,  
Where low ones are o're-topt by higher Streets  
By gradual Ascents it doth arise,  
And looking up doth tyre your curious Eyes,  
They two do in an equal Posture stand,  
They Pirates are by Sea, and he by Land.  
The Gibelines with Sadness are cast down,  
Now their expected Fleet is overthrown.  
They tear our Bowels with a Viper's rage,  
Pests of the Land, and Scandals of the Age;  
Not half so honest as a Suburb Stews,  
Then they Cabal, and scatter factious News,  
These Idiots do against themselves conspire,  
Like Indian Wives they leap into the Fire.  
On us these Contradictions cannot pass,  
They love the Church, yet would bring in the Mass,  
That Mischiefs like Pandora's Box contains  
Racks, Gibbets, Faggots, and the least are Chains;  
Such Tortures Heathen Emperors had amazed,  
And London by their Hands again had blazed,  
For Popery this Censure hath incurred,  
That it is cruel, impious, and absurd;  
The Priest doth like a Mounteback show his Tricks,  
He shakes his beads, and hugs the Crucifix,  
With mimic Gestures, doth extort a Tear,  
His Preaching is not worth one Soul a Year.  
Like a Jackcall he preys upon the Dead,  
And forceth Legacies from a dying Bed.  
Money for every Wickedness atones;  
They tax and lay an Impost upon Groans.  
The Rich are by their Passport upwards sent,  
But he that's Poor, is still impenitent.  
Madmen and Idiots for Coin they Saint,  
Fall down to Images, and worship Paint;  
They Heaven command with an imperious Nod,  
They mumble o'er the Bread, and 'tis a God.  
And once they say a Jew with envious Heat,  
Did with a Poniard stab into the Wheat,  
Roused with the Blow, an Infant started up,  
Bled from the Wound profusely in the Cup.  
So Huntsmen think they have a Hare in view,  
And do with eager Cries her Flight pursue.  
But when Sagacious Jouler comes so near,  
To seize her hinder Legs and pluck to tear,  
Comidia is Couchant in the Thorn,  
And by their half-spent Mouths a Witch is torn,  
All their Carthusians do with Darkness dwell,  
It is the Antepast and Type of Hell,  
Nothing's more damned than Friars in a Cell.  
They live a part, and only once a Week,  
They have a Dispensation to speak.  
The Women have an Order of St. Clare,  
Their Heads are muffled, but their Feet are bare,  
But first she like a pompous Bride is dressed,  
Then of her gaudy Plumes they her divest;  
Each Statue than they do with Garlands crown,  
She shines with all the Jewels of the Town,  
Her thus attired, they to the Altar bring,  
Her Lovers sigh, but all the Choir doth sing,  
Then as a Malefactor first is stripped,  
Before he by the Officer is whipped,  
The Nuns unclothe her to the very Skin,  
Rifle each Knot, and pluck out every Pin;  
Then she looks mournfully in dismal Black,  
Beads in her Hand, and Scourges on her Back;  
So she's thrown over to the Sisterhood,  
And spends her wretched Life in Tears and Blood.  
Sweeter Enjoyments all our Ladies taste,  
And they without Constraint can all be chaste;  
Without the Veil they can Religious be,  
The best bred humour still is very free.  
The Priests should out of all the World be hist,  
The Pope doth them as standing Legions list;  
All that they practise are Intrigues and Lies,  
They are on Families and Kingdom Spies.  
The Jesuits cursed Maxims do instill,  
They teach the Art to poison and to kill,  
Then of Confession they have the task,  
Make Women lewd by Questions that they ask,  
Judges of Conscience these rank Lechers sit,  
And first they hear the Sin, and then commit;  
With new Conceits of Lust they daily teem,  
Are sinful waking, and of Lust they dream.  
And once a devilish, sacrilegious Monk,  
Like an Italian raving when he's drunk.  
With heavenly Vision thought himself inspired  
With adust Choler, but was only fired,  
He said that to the Virgin he was joined,  
Who did bring forth the Saviour of Mankind,  
Thus was transported with a frantic Zeal,  
And did these holy gallantries reveal,  
The Father is assisted to his Chair,  
Looks like a Comment with his staring Hair  
And here the drivelling Votaries repair,  
They bow their Necks, and do his Gout adore,  
A piece of doting, ignorant fourscore.  
They think it next unto Seraphic Bliss,  
If they the Slipper suffered are to kiss.  
Into the Camera they pay their Fees,  
Have in return, Pardons and Jubilees.  
They on all sorts of Crimes do lay a Tax,  
You must lay down for Parchment and for Wax.  
The Church of Rome is all hung round with toys,  
Fit to please women, and unthinking boys.  
When in that busy Scene of things you range  
And to be furnished walk in the Exchange;  
Variety of Merchandise there lies,  
And you are deafened with the Sellers Cries,  
Pulvilio, Snush, Essence of Oranges.  
So you from that Communion reap this Fruit,  
They to all tempers do their Order suit;  
To Debauches, the Bigot and the Fop,  
And for all Wares it is a Pedlar's Shop,  
This is that tinsel, gaudy, changeling thing,  
Which the  Gibeline here would bring.  
Yet of our Joy, in Policy partakes  
They should be glad for their own wretched sakes.  
For had there been a sinister Event,  
A furious Mob had been their Punishment.  
The stubbornest Spirits Mutiny confounds,  
Actaeon like, they had been torn by Hounds.  
When the invited Enemy invades,  
We'll under hatches put our Renegades.  
These thirsty Horseleeches shall have their fill,  
Let them begin the Combat when they will;  
Who their Religion and their Country sell,  
But we'll take Care our Slaves shall not rebel,  
So the Tlaxallans did with Cortes join,  
And against Montezeuma did combine;  
Those that they first obliged they did provoke,  
And all were brought under the Spaniard's Yoke.  
Their Treachery then too late they did implore,  
Were killed by Guns, nay by their Dogs were tore.  
The Women in the Quarrel do advance,  
Just so they side with Heroes in Romance;  
Though in his Cause they should like Furies fight,  
Their Bodkins he with Poniards will requite;  
His weighty Favours will on them bestow,  
For to that Sex he a Revenge doth owe.   

To the QUEEN.  
NOW, Madam, that the glorious work is done,  
Permit us to approach your charming Throne;  
Who are made up of Clemency and Love.  
And on your Royal Sceptre is a Dove.  
Just Heaven to you her choicest Gifts imparts,  
You have your Subjects Purses and their Hearts,  
Since by your Care we are from Danger freed,  
They will as freely pay, as now they bleed.  
For now that Age will see restored again,  
In which we humbled once the Pride of Spain.  
And then a Queen did save us in Distress,  
You have her Wisdom, blest with her Success.  
To late Posterity Records shall tell,  
That in your Reign a proud Armada fell,  
That Philip was made up of every Vice,  
Was like to Herod eaten up of Lice.  
Vengeance with Lewis equal pace doth keep,  
Vermin already do begin to creep,  
Him they corrode, and in his Ulcers lie,  
This cruel Nimrod shall by piece-meal die.  
He from the noise of Battles doth retire,  
But vile Assasines he can boldly hire.  
(Just as the Devil doth with Witches treat)  
To kill that Prince he dares not fairly meet;  
His General only enters in the List,  
A Poisoner, Son of a rank Duellist.  
Bouteville just Punishment did at last receive,  
For all his horrid Crimes upon the Greve.  
Vengeance o'ertook him, though with heels of Lead,  
And the Bourean struck off his guilty Head.  
Great William shall false Luxemburgh oblige,  
To fight his Troops, or else to raise the Siege,  
Further Advantages he then shall gain,  
Shall pierce him in the Bowels of Champaign;  
Then at his Feet whole Provinces shall lie,  
Shall by Reprisal seize on Burgundy,  
Shall shake him out of his precarious Throne,  
And this for ravished Hurange shall atone.  
Savoy in Dauphine his Sides shall gore,  
Till suppliant he for Mercy doth implore.  
His discontented Subjects all shall rise,  
And him they dreaded, now they shall despise,  
We will confine him to the Tvilleries;  
And there the barbarous Dioclesian like,  
The heads of drowsy Poppies let him strike;  
we'll shut the savage Beast within a Den,  
His Persecution doth exceed the Ten.  
we'll trample in the dirt his hated Crown,  
we'll crush and keep him under now he's down,  
Now let each Frown be changed into a Smile,  
Let Gladness be diffused throughout our Isle.  
Let mutual Joy our Quarrels reconcile.  
In Condescensions let us all be kind,  
Let Amity the Sheaf of Arrows bind;  
They cannot hurt us when together bound,  
Single, with them we one another wound;  
As when the Roman Soldiers change their Shields,  
The greatest Force unto that Union yields.  
In vain against them mighty Weights are hurled,  
So when cemented, we defy the World.   
FINIS.