Licenced,  
Ro. L'Estrange. February 17. 1687/ 8.   

MULTUM IN PARVO: Lately come to TOWN.  
WITH SOME REFLECTIONS UPON His Majesty's Late REGULATORS; OR, (As some do call them,) The Booted Apostles.  
With some other Observations, not unworthy (at this present juncture) any true English Man's Perusal.  
By T. P. An Orthodox and Loyal Protestant, though by some nicknamed, A Latitudinarian Trimmer.  
London, Printed in the Year, 1688.   

SOME REFLECTIONS UPON His Majesty's late REGULATORS, etc.  
THese Regulators some think were to Blame,  
And a great Blot unto their Christian Name,  
As they were such: But we deny the Fact,  
And here declare, it was a Noble Act,  
And truly Loyal, for their Country's Good,  
When once they are, but fairly Understood:  
(Though we have heard them much Traduced by those  
Who can't distinguish between Doves and Crows)  
What was their Aim, or what was their Intent  
In this Affair. Only a PARLIAMENT  
To get and Sat, as should with them all bring  
A Healing Spirit to our Lord and KING;  
Who did declare so just and fair that he  
Would give to all true Christian Liberty.  
And if the Country would Elect such Men,  
And them Return for his great Council, than  
Whatever they (as Sages) should Debate  
For England's Good, both in the Church and State,  
He freely would concur with all his Heart,  
Provided that His Subjects might not Smart  
After his Death, when mounted up on High,  
There to enjoy a Vast ETERNITY.  
This was his Care, and this was his Desire,  
To quench the Flames of that Unchristian Fire,  
By which his Subjects had been Scorched to Death,  
And still will be, so long as some have Breath.  
If Laws won't Bind us, what will Bind us then?  
Unless it be a Force of Armed Men,  
Who know no Laws, but all our Rights devour;  
The longest Sword, to them creates a Power.  
This is the Mode, and this the cursed Fate,  
When Armed Men do rule the Church and State.  
Heavens keep us all in Safety from all such,  
Whether English French, or hogan mogan Dutch.  
But when good Laws are made with one Consent,  
By Prince and People, in a PARLIAMENT;  
And these Good Laws extend to all Degrees,  
And none of them are mixed with Sour Lees.  
Of Penal Statutes, to Oppress all such  
As will not go unto their Parish-Church;  
And after this, the Prince will keep up still  
His Armed Force, and Rule by his own Will;  
In such a Case, the Prince is much to Blame,  
But till that's done, we must not all cry Shame.  
Our present Prince of all the Norman Race,  
Is come the nearest to the Christian Pace.  
Who ever promised Liberty before,  
As he hath done; their Conduct was to Gore  
Their quiet Subjects, by that ugly Fate,  
Truth to Defend, by Knock down Laws of State.  
His Conduct is, That Liberty may stand  
Like Mead and Persian Laws within his Land  
That so great Truth may get the Upperhand.  
Which doubtless will, when we do all agree  
To join with him for Christian Liberty.  
And to be plain, we must now here declare  
We may Bless God for such a Christian Heir  
As he hath sent us to ascend the Throne,  
For by his mild and gentle Hand alone,  
(Though backed with Human Force) he doth begin  
In this our Isle to pluck the Man of Sin  
Out of his Throne and may he still succeed:  
(Of such a Prince; we never had more need)  
And so make way for a more Christian State  
Which shall Treat all without a Broken Pate,  
Ho Antichristos then will have Jeck Mate.  
Once England's Prince with Resolution Bold,  
When he was King, the Pope himself Cajoled,  
Shook off the Mitre from his Supreme Head,  
And sent it Home to Tiber unto Bed:  
No more to Lodge within his Royal Bower,  
Because all Stuff and Anti-christian Power.  
So our Great Prince had he not broke the Ice,  
Some Dog-Stars still would here have ruled the Dice.  
A Second Cyrus! By his great Command  
To Build God's Temple in our Christian Land;  
Which was demolished then from time to time,  
When Christian Truths by Laws were made a Crime:  
And did declare (we knew) to Master Pen,  
His Judgement was a Freedom to all Men,  
In Sacred things; which was so fair and just,  
That in that word Ourselves did put our Trust,  
And many more of our most Noble Crew  
Though all Nicknamed, are Protestants true Blew;  
And all shall own that we are truly Loyal,  
If once the King of us should make but Trial.  
And those that will not join in such a Plot,  
May all their Names for ever Die and Rot:  
But if he was Imposed upon in this,  
Let Jesuits Pay for their own Rods in Piss.  
If underneath themselves did lay a Snake,  
Shall we blame Caesar for such Villain's sake?  
Let them now suffer in the name of Jove,  
But to our King let us return in Love:  
And if a Crime in these our Booted Men,  
Instead of one, we wish there had gone ten.  
And if a greater Force now set us Free,  
And shall redeem us from CAPTIVITY,  
Still thank our King and his great Orange-Tree.  
Next under God, though to some People Strange,  
For in Extremes God often works a Change:  
When Orphans Cries and Widows Tears do hap,  
Then Jove sends down his mighty Thunderclap  
For their Relief, and many Sturdy Oaks  
Must then fall down at such great Thunder-strokes.  
Those that here first with their strong Lion's Paws  
Did Tear from us our Liberties and Laws;  
Gave up our Charters, and Betrayed their Trust,  
These are the Men of all Men sure that must  
Now pay the Baker, none can them Defend;  
Our Regulators were the Nation's Friend:  
And what they did in their progressive Round,  
Was to get Members True, Sincere and Sound:  
And if the Country now send such as these,  
We fear them not, for they will give us Ease.  
No more expose us to the Rage of some  
Who would Enslave us till the day of Doom:  
We know them well, and to be plain, are such  
Who now look Pale by reason of the Dutch  
Upon our Coast, (and in our Land beside)  
To see them Sail both with the Wind and Tide:  
Nay some do fear they shall be made so Free,  
To take their Swing upon that Sovereign Tree  
Which Cures Men of all their Frantic Fits  
Before they run stark mad out of their Wits.  
We wish our Muse were not Prophetical  
At this Conjuncture, some cry Hang up all;  
Though we do hope, if some shall pay the Score,  
'Twill make Atonement for ten Thousand more.  
We wish it may, Trimmers are not for Blood,  
But for all things of Universal Good.  
Here's Multum in parvo for that noble Race,  
Though Honest Roger did them so Disgrace;  
Trimmers were worse Men in that Tory Day  
Than Popish Priests, or Dutch men at Tor-Bay.  
Our Trusty Friend did then so set them out,  
Nothing would serve him but a total Rout  
Of all such Men, who then were down the Wind;  
But since got up, Remember EHVER KIND,  
What he then told them, when at lowest Ebb,  
Their Tory Actions were a Spider's Webb.  
They ran so fast for to Advance the Pope,  
And would not stop, till they had Cracked the Rope  
Was not Ashamed to tell them to their Face,  
Their Church's Cause they would (at last) Disgrace:  
Though for his Pains they called him Fool and Ass  
Pray ask them now how much is come to pass.  
So Honest Bayss, who then did swear so high,  
May now sit down and sing sweet Lullaby;  
Lullaby Baby, Lullaby Baby,  
Lullaby Baby, sweet Lullaby.  
Nay in those times our Friend declared so plain,  
In his Dogmatic and Burlesquing Strain, etc.  
It was impossible for Whigs to see  
In England more a year of Jubilee.  
He w●●● Prophet when he Soared so high,  
But what has now God only knows not 〈◊〉  
But yet we'll do him all the Right we can,  
By reason now he is a helpless Man:  
His Aged years do now come on so fast,  
It is impossible he long should last.  
His Hoary Head should move us all to Pity,  
For by his Hand God hath preserved our City,  
And Country too, as we could make it out,  
But must reserve it for another Bout.  
In the mean while God Bless his Aged years,  
And keep us all from Jealousies and Fears:  
Though there was none when he did use to write;  
When some appeared, he bid us all Good night.  
Thanks to his Worship for the Care he took,  
When most in Danger, then to Close his Book;  
Left Church and State together in the Lurch,  
And yet remains a true Son of the Church.  
Had he stood right, they might have stemmed the Tide  
When to some Clergy was their Supreme Guide:  
He taught them Non Resistance in his time,  
But now they say he is a dull Divine.  
And when he left them sole and all Forlorn  
Turned Cat in Pan to Men of Forty One.  
The Forty Eight Men were another thing,  
By armed Force they did cut off their King:  
The Forty One Men did not run so far,  
They only called Delinquents to the Bar:  
And if His Majesty had with them joined,  
To make him Happy their Souls had combined.  
If these were Rebels, some now are the same,  
Or else our Genius is but weak and lame;  
They both are Rebels, or they both are not,  
Here lies the stress of the new Orange Plot.  
No Circumstance can make an ill Cause Good,  
Malum in se, will never be Sweet Wood;  
No Orange Trees can have a flagrant smell,  
Which are produced near the Gates of Hell:  
You must compound, and for the future say,  
The Forty One Men did not run astray;  
You did not understand the Good Old Cause  
So well as now, for Liberties and Laws  
Which was in danger, so to make amends,  
You must them call your Old Reforming Friends:  
The name of Rebel now you must leave out,  
And so confess that they were Champions Stout:  
For Liberty and Property like you,  
A thing most strange, though not so strange as true:  
Our Eighty Eight Men, should they now proceed,  
So as to cause our Sovereign's Heart to bleed;  
We here declare, and do protest before  
Almighty God, we'll never trust them more:  
To Forty One they are already come,  
But Forty Eight was Devil upon Dun;  
To Forty One they run upon the straight,  
But let them have a care of Forty Eight;  
That is a Bog which will devour us all,  
Blow up the Thames, and drown our King's Whitehall:  
We wish them well, and as they shall proceed,  
we'll watch their water as we shall have need:  
The Mighty God, the everlasting King,  
To whom the Angels Holy Anthems sing;  
Be thou entreated for this sinful Land,  
Now save us all by thy Almighty hand;  
Let all our Wars and all our Feuds now cease,  
And let Great James proclaim a Happy Peace:  
Let our drawn Swords, our Guns and Battleax,  
Be turned at last into a whisking Tax:  
Let Soldiers be disbanded one by one,  
Save only those that guard the Royal Throne;  
And when he wants them, let a Parliament  
Open our Purses, to his Heart's content.  
Give him the Hearts of all his Subjects, than  
He never will want Money, Arms, nor Men:  
This we implore upon our bended Knee,  
That King and Parliament may thus agree:  
Then we will sing, God Save Great James the Just,  
And never more His Royal Word Distrust:  
This Plot is better than those Bloody Scrolls,  
Which some do Fear, from our Dear Joys and Shoals,  
May be transacted in our City Great;  
Great London know, this cannot do their Feat;  
If they shall come in the dark silent Night,  
Let them now know you are resolved to Fight,  
Not die like Dogs, by such Hobgoblin Elves,  
Killing's no Murder to Preserve yourselves.  
Se defendendo is a Point so plain,  
Dame Nature plants it into each Man's Brain;  
Which God forbidden should ever come to pass,  
By Talbot's Dog, or by Tirconnel's Ass;  
But if it should, this Doctrine will come true,  
The Sword must end what fair Means could not do;  
We do presume, in your Names, to declare  
Against such Hellhounds, here an open War;  
And those that will not join with you herein,  
They are all Rebels to our Lord the King.  
We are his Servant, and eat of his Bread;  
In all things Just; Our Royal Master's Head  
We must Trim up, as we have ever done,  
And so will do, whilst we can see the Sun:  
Were we his Tonsor, at this present time,  
Weed round his Royal Ears with such a Chime,  
Whom he shoull trust, and whom he now should Fear,  
No Orange-Trees, only the Roman Chair;  
Which we do hope he will, in God's due time,  
Then he'll be Nurse to the true Christian Line;  
Which God Almighty grant, for his Son's sake,  
That, in the Grass, he may discern the Snake  
Which some had laid, by their prevailing Pate,  
In this our Land, to blow up Church and State:  
heavens now protect Him from that Bloody Race,  
And in his Court, no more, may show their Face,  
Who did his Crown and Sceptre so much shake,  
God grant he may, now safer Council take. Amen.  
Post tenebras splendit, surgit post nubila  Phoebus. 
FINIS.