THE Polititian's Downfall; OR POTAPSKI's ARRIVAL AT THE NETHERLANDS: And the Congratulation of the Protestant Joiner At their Meeting.  
Flectere si nequeo superos Acheronta movebo.  Virg. 
IS Tapski Dead? Why then the Statesman lied,  
Who would Immortal be and Deified.  
Strange Pride! th' exalted Lucifer is hurled  
By strong impulse of Fate from th' Belgic World.  
The Burgomaster's baffled in's intent,  
Descends from Watery t' a Fiery Element.  
But stay! could his vast Soul retire from hence?  
And quit the ruins of decayed sense,  
Without some prodigy in Nature shown?  
No swinging Thunderbolt from Heaven thrown?  
No dismal Harbingers of Fate come down?  
Sure Nature slept, when Fate did strike the blow;  
No Earthquakes; no Convulsion-Fits below?  
No Star or Fiery Comet in the Sky  
To Usher in this Man's Mortality?  
'Tis strange, that thus in Bed he took his Nap!  
Could all the Putrid Excrements o' th' Tap  
Support the hollow Cask no longer here?  
Was't so infirm the Lees it could not bear?  
Bless me! thus free from both th' extremes,  
From Tower-hill Sledge and Smithfield Flames,  
Serenely did he moulder into Dust,  
And Monsieur Catch he disappointed most.  
His busy, active Soul (that long was penned  
Within a Putrid, ill contrived Tenement)  
Is quietly retired; but clogged with Sin,  
And Treason, in Elysium can't get in.  
Denied his rest thus in the Seat of Bliss,  
He sinks below into the damned Abyss:  
There he roves now, and restless, till he find  
Some black mouthed Villain suited to his mind.  
Blessed be his Fate! in a Dark Prison nigh,  
Old Tapski does St. Stephen there espy.  
What Salutations past the Devil can tell,  
The loud report has circulated Hell,  
Of this great Man's Arrival here to Devil.  
And here he shows State-Gambols and his Tricks,  
(For Hell and Holland love good Politics)  
The Livery Men now meet with one intent  
To Choose this Feind-like Tapski Precedent  
The Carpenter transported laughs to see  
His Patron brought in Hell to this degree.  
He grins with his extorted ill-looked Face,  
And makes now Devil-like a damned grimmace,  
To see Old Tapski mounted in this Place.  
Brave Fortune sure! 〈◊〉 if it still run even  
Farewell our Saint, it will be Captain Stephen.  
The new State-Puppet does now Act with care,  
With damned Old wheedling Tricks grows Popular.  
He at the Helm sits, says all things sure,  
No dismal fear of Arbitrary Power.  
Puffed and exalted thus he hates those near  
Th' affections of his Master Lucifer.  
His Soul is like as 'twas when penned in clay  
Still forming black Designs for Anarchy,  
To Stab Hells well compacted Monarchy.  
He Swears by Styx and Acheron to see,  
That Hell like Holland a republic be,  
To this the discontented damned agree.  
In order to't this Pest of every Nation,  
Does sneakingly produce th' Association.  
The damned themselves start at the bold Adventure,  
Do there deny to Seal the Indenture.  
He frets at this, yet Swears he'l-use more Tricks,  
He'll win 'em with his City Politics.  
He'll buzz the Ignorant Rabble in the Ear,  
And them with's Rhetoric possess with fear:  
Tell 'em of Jesuits Plots and Plots forsooth,  
All which these credulous Hellhounds snap for truth.  
He bawls that Property may be secured,  
Without it all these Flames can't be endured.  
Their stench says he will Vex us when confined;  
We're doubly damned if once it be designed,  
That we should lose the Freedom of our mind.  
The Fundamental Laws of Subjects gone,  
When we can't range for satisfaction.  
When Chained in Dungeons we are past relief,  
Resolved by stratagem I'll be Hell's Chief:  
The Joiner with his Two Foot Rule draws near,  
Shows his fine Rareeshow 'gainst Lucifer.  
To hear his Wit about him they do throng,  
And in a Lord's Apartment there 'twas Sung.  
The Joiner Swears he came to this intent,  
To Square and Plain this Form of Government.  
They all Applaud this Man, a Man of parts,  
Well skilled in State, as in Mechanic Arts.  
Next him a Bull-faced Lawyer here approaches,  
And with extended Lungs the matter Broaches.  
He there pleads high, makes tedious Speeches,  
Which pleased the miscreant Authors of the Breaches.  
Old Bradshaw with's Black Catalogue there stood,  
Of Rebel Whelps bedaubed with Monarch's Blood;  
Tho twinged with pains, tormented with despair,  
Yet smile to see their Brother Tapski there.  
These Quondam Judges, Lawyers, Clerks combine  
To alter Government, and the State refine,  
To Purge the Court from Councillors that are Evil.  
They're seeming kind to their Old Chief the Devil.  
Thus Tapski well surrounded with his Friend's  
Republic Daemons and stinking sulphurous Fiends,  
Slyly pursues his Interest and by ends▪  
At this the Hellish Brood begin to frown,  
They see this damned Committee're Factious grown,  
Their Principles and Practices they disown.  
But Tapski's cunning, still he laughs and leers,  
No disappointment in the matter fears.  
Infernal Government his squint Eyes view,  
But Beelzebub its Charter will renew,  
Lest Tapski look and find a flaw in't too.  
Suspicious Members of the lower House,  
By strong resolves the Statesman indispose  
From bearing Office in their Black Cabal.  
(Green-Ribbon Clubs are Epidemical▪)  
Tapski degraded thus! What now remains;  
What is the consequence but Links and Chains?  
A draught of liquid Brimstone 'mongst the Flames?  
Strange fate! He's seized and hurried off th' Stage,  
And can't escape the Daemon's Popular Rage.  
Infernal Officers do rant and tear,  
And drag him into Dungeons of despair,  
'Mongst Croaking Toads and Adders he's confined▪  
Which is but sad diversion to his mind;  
Their dismal noise can't lull the Fiend asleep,  
They are but frightful comforts in the Deep.  
Now Tapski racks his Brains for a release,  
And tries all methods which he thinks may Please.  
He Flatters and Collogues in hopes to gain  
Some Intervals of ease from lingering pain:  
But still his sly attempts are all in vain.  
Baffled by this his Kind, Persuasive way  
He'll vindicate himself by force of Law;  
The Hellish Precedents and Customs reads,  
And Bradshaw on his side profoundly pleads,  
To have an Habeas Corpus this they guess,  
Will Tapski's Wicked Grievances redress.  
But Pox! the Learned Sophisters of Hell  
These Artificial Cheats do know full well.  
The things denied; cast out, and in the sense  
Of Learned Men it's deemed an high offence.  
Tapski a mild recanting Paper brings;  
(He fawns still after disobliging Kings:)  
His flattering stile they jointly do refuse,  
His Treasonous Crimes admit of no excuse.  
He is impeached, to Trial he must come,  
But Tapski hopes for to divert his doom.  
If Bethel's Friends in lower Regions be,  
He doubts not but the Law will set him free.  
He'll laugh at Malice and Infernal Furies,  
If there he finds his Ignoramus Juries.  
And there's one picked to Tapski well affected,  
But they fail now, because not well directed;  
The Pilkingtonian Sneaking Tricks detected.  
Last thus; Old Tapski's Tongue begins to falter;  
And though by Knaves he hath 'scaped th' Axe and Halter,  
Yet now lies mute, dejected and forsaken,  
And all the Accomplices of th' Treason taken.  
In deepest Dungeons are these Traitors penned,  
For thus conspiring 'gainst the Government.  
A Fury Engines new and strange provides,  
To clapperclaw and thwack his Leach'rous sides,  
They're whipped with Rods well soaked in Devils Piss:  
(That's worse than Mother Creswells flogging is.)  
They loudly roar, and grunt like Hogs in Sty,  
Have burning Sulphurous Flames to drink when dry.  
They feel the strange variety of Evils  
What's worse, they're pissed upon by Tiny Devils,  
No Habeas Corpus can these Imps remove  
From dismal Bonfires or from burning Stove,  
For ever must they be confined to Chains  
No intermission from their horrid pains.  
Farewell Old Tapski, cursed at thy Birth,  
Thou public scorn of Hell, as well as Earth:  
Farewell Old Treason, since the Traitor now  
Is gone a Pilgrimage to Hell below.  Written by a Gentleman of Quality.  

London, Printed for Walter Davis in Amen-Corner. 1684.