A satire AGAINST Commonwealths. Fallitur egregio quisquis sub principe credit Servitium: nunquam libertas gratior extat Quam sub rege pio. Claudian. de laudibus Stiliconis. LONDON, Printed for Joseph Hindmarsh Bookseller to his Royal Highness, and Francis Hicks, Bookseller in Cambridge, 1684, A PREFACE TO THE READER. IN vain do we give Kings the pompous Titles of Great and Mighty: In vain has Heaven allotted them a Power, resembling that of its own, free and uncontrollable, if like Billiard-Table Kings they are only set up to be shaken and thrown down by the saucy touches of their humble Vassals. If their Authority has such confinements, as some Men would have us persuaded it has, Princes are at best but glittering Pageants, all the professions of steady Loyalty but solemn impertinencies, and Heaven itself is a sharer in the gaudy Delusion. It is not long since this Isle was reckoned amongst the blackest instances of Treason and Rebellion, when the best of Kings and the best of Men fell by the rude violence of a consecrated Axe; ever since we have felt the unfortunate consequences of that dismal Blow; a Blow which like that that was given to the World's great Redeemer, rend the Veil of the Church of England in two, abolished all its pious Canons, and made them give place to the New-fangled Whimsies of Religious Hypocrites; a fact so horrid and unexampled, that if we may believe Salmasius, Cui simile nec praeterita secula vidêrunt, nec ventura forsitan videbunt. All this was done under the flattering disguises of Religion, by Men who had the impudence to boast of a more than ordinary Inspiration, and who pretended to have received more light from Heaven, than that Ass whom the Ancients fond accused for drinking up the Moon, who could throw themselves into all the Postures of Religion, with as great facility as a Skilful Tumbler can act the Italian Strades, and with a sort of popular Piety cheated three Nations into a belief, that whatsoever they did, was highly lawful, so true is that which Machiavelli says, fere omnes homines magis specie, & colore rerum, quam rebus ipsis permoventur & judicant. In vain do our learned Tribe go about to reclaim these Men by dint of Argument, all their sober reasonings are to them but important Trifles, and were always accounted too weak baits to catch the Carp of Geneva Lake. And who I pray would take the pains to convince a Tailor by a Syllogism, who perhaps after the consummation of a pair of Breeches, creeps into a Coffeehouse, where after he has lined his Pallet with that factious juice, he looks upon his long and limber Fingers to have been contrived by Nature for the handling of a Sceptre, and curses the bitter fates that had dwindled it into a Needle, away he goes home, and performs the Offices of distributive Justice upon his Apprentices shoulders, and fancies every piece of Parchment cut from an old Bond to make his measures withal, little less to be than clippings from of Magna Charta. Such a Knave as this deserves no other Logic than what the Pillory can afford him, to make his Ears pay for the petulancy of his Tongue. Another sort of Man there is, whom in the Country Language we may call Substantial, who perhaps has got fourscore pounds a year, and joys in having a little Dove-coat annexed to his Farm-house, who is famous all over the Neighbouring Villages for his little Chestnut Mare, who in a Race at a late Wake signalised herself by distancing a Carthorse; such a Man as this you can never convince by dint of Argument, he tells you roundly that at the first opportunity be'l draw his Yard and half of Rapier to defend his Religion and rusty Bacon from the rude insults of Arbitrary Power: You would laugh in your Sleeve (if you have any) to hear his brisk and debonair reasonings, about the Authority of the Commons of England, and you cannot imagine with what deference and regard he is entertained amongst the Mobile, because he gives them to know the transactions of State, and fills the whole Lordship with News; 'tis odds but you shall see him at the next Election of a Knight of the Shire, brandishing in his Campagn Coat and Mountero, at the head of a Troop of Dapper-Day-Labourers, on whom prodigal Fortune has munificently bestowed two pounds a Year, and who with complicated Interests are striving to set up their Idol Representative. Now the defections of such a Man as this from the Principles of Loyalty, we cannot think to obviate by the most improved reasonings; his Prejudices stop up all the Avenues of his Soul, hindering the least beam of Truth to enter in, and enlighten his Understanding: his too fervent Zeal for his Principles will not give him the leisure to be convinced, and his ignorance baffles all the attempts of Reason: as he does not take up any Opinion for the Affinity it bears to Truth, so neither does he relinguish any for its opposition to the same, if his interest invites him he easily accords with any thing, and his Reason finds no regrets in entertaining a profitable Error: as you cannot disengage him from his mistakes, so neither can you settle him in a Truth, although you bring all the Credentials of a firm Demonstration, and the reason is, because a Discourse to him is no more than it is to a Schoolboy, the jingling of a Noun and Verb together. If then any thing will do, it must be satire, and we may if we observe, find in the dullest apprehensions a quicker resentment of a Jest than of an Argument, the one renders that ridiculous, which the other perhaps cannot make appear to be false, and Satyrs are like those Indian Apes, of whom I have read, that when Alexander came into those parts, They strait rallied thelr deformed Squadrons, ranked themselves in Battalia, camped and decamped with all the moving Solemnities of a real Army, and brought greater affronts upon that all-conquering Army with their Martial Grimaces, than all the force of Darius and Parus, I have made the Comparison, let some courteous Reader make out the Application. For this cause it is that I have ridiculed all the Commonwealths that lay in my way, from great old Rome to little modern Geneva; What I have said on this Theme, if the Peruser be not too phlegmatic, must needs create in him some fastidious thoughts of that way of Governing. More especially I have hinted at our late pretended Republican Powers, and in particular at their monstrous innovations about Religions; where I have let any thing slip from my Pen, that may seem extravagant, I hope it will not be looked upon as an unruly Effort of my own, but only as an endeavour to expose the Giddy Enthusiasts of those times. I shall say nothing neither as to the matter or manner of the Verse, I know the whole Poem will labour under the imputations of uneasy roughness, yet I could never imagine that smoothness should be so absolutely necessary in the dressing up of a satire; it always seeming to me as disagreeable to see a satire Clothed in soft and effeminate Language, as to see a Woman scold and vent herself in Billingsgate Rhetoric in a gentile and advantageous Garb. I have no more to say, only to desire the Reader to be as favourable as he can to the first endeavours of an unexperienced Pen, which is all from H. P. A satire AGAINST Commonwealths. (1) I'll not forbear— for who can longer stay When Loyal Muses bid me not delay But nodding promise an auspicious way? Thus Caesar once Heaven's anger to atone Beck'nd to, by a God, passed Rubicon, To scourge his own Republic, haughty Rome. A Commonwealth! curse on that nauseous name Which from the Devil with damnation came; He first set up the cursed reforming Trade, And boldly sought Heaven's Empire to invade; Till blasted by Jove's Thunder, down he fell, State-holder to the Commonwealth of Hell. 'Tis a poor sneaking form of Government; Kings, Gods: but they, the People represent; Here Men with swinging Trowsers awe. And divine Collar-bands give Law. Tell me my Muse for thou knows best — Is it not worth a Jest? To see a pair of Representatives Leaving their charge of Children, and their Wives, Who th' other day in their noun Country sat As Referees about a broken pate? And talked Sedition over Table-Beer At the Next Sessions straight appear To manage Government's grand Affair? Would it not make a Stoic laugh to see Those Men of much Glee, Who in their Parish-Church all their devotion owe To a fringed Cushion or a matted Pew, Distinguished from the crowd of the Church-militant, By a gilt Bible of Alma Mater's print? And 'mongst the Rout for devoties do pass, 'Cause their Devotion's height'nd by their bass, At the next opening of a Parliament, Loudly dispute about Church-government; And with grave Speeches, tell you to an hair Where lies the Placket of the Roman Whore. Nay and unravel, with the greatest ease Rash Calvin's Mystical Decrees. Can tell the Intrigues of the Celestial Powers; And open Heaven as a Chest of Drawers: In this Box, they give out the Elect must lie, In that Reprobates damned to Eternity. (2) Lash satire, lash with furies hissing Snake Those Knaves, who killed their King for Conscience-sake. 'Twas Conscience was the fatal Dog and Bell That led those blinded Bigots down to Hell. In outward Show they hated worldly Coin, Yet Conscience still, like Christmas-Box, took in Cavaliers Feasters, and without a Sin. They used the cutting Hanger of the Spirit; As Switz his Sword for Money, not for Merit. Had they seen Jove when Danae's lap he wet With Golden Showers, to heaven he near had got, Tho a God, to Guinies he had turned him straight. They made a Golden Calf without a Sin; Each Attribute had a Jacobus been. Conscience in them was very free, and kind, It was the Spaniel dictate of the Mind That leaped for every thing, that Rump ordained. What ever Government was framed by Fate, Shock fetched and carried still the Glove of State; O Conscience! Conscience! what thou art I'll tell; Thou art the Goodman's Goose, that with each yell, When Danger's nigh, saves the Souls Capitol. Thou art the bad Man's * A River Famous for its petrifying quality. Peak, that straightway turns All the Souls softer dictates, into stones. Like the prodigious Hebrews Rod, That turned the Egyptian Waters all to blood. (3) From Presbyter to Independent pass: We'll throw some Grains in Nol the Brewer's Face, 'Tis true he'd have his Beer both old, and strong, But his Religion always new and Young. HE abused the Catholic Faith in pious mock, And Primitive Religion, styled old Hoc. Yet for all his Zeal, to reform the Rout, He always wore a Popish Snout; The red upon his Nose as Poets tell; Looked like what we a Scarlet Hood do call, Couchant on Surplice Theological. Not in Hell his Nose more piercing flames could find Tipped with damnation, while on Earth he reigned: Prometheus did not his whole Man inspire, His Nose only was damasked with that fire. (4) This England once was thy unhappy State, When best of Monarches felt the worst of Fate. When they had sent the Martyr to his grave; They threw hay jinks what Government they'd have: They Filliped up what Powers should prevail, And stead of Head the Counter threw up Tail, For proof of which, to the English Rump was given, A pair of Span-new Breeches, sent from Heaven. These were their Arms, by which a Man may guests, Codpiece, and Conscience was the Good old Cause. Long had the English Nation been Fed with the Manna of a Monarch's Reign; Long had one Dish, their cravings satisfied, Their weak and squeamish Stomaches cloyed, At last, their vicious Palates, not content, Would have an Ollio of Government: Something of every thing they crave, An Anarchy or nothing they would have. The Gods, who never punish with remorse, Gave 'em their wish, although they wished a Curse. ' Stead of the Royal Oak, which long had stood, The top, the glory, of the Wood: From off the Poplar Tree, the giddy Rout Wedged their blockish Sovereigns out. From thence they hewed those Logs of Power, And whittled Sceptres, as you whittle Scures. A brace of Patriots from each County sent, Sat like the Ghosts of deceased Government. And without the House of Lords— Made but a Rigdel Parliament. These Aped their Sovereign with as good a mien As Dives' Guinies did the Lawful Coin. They robbed the Land, by Wars before decayed, And whilst they robbed they wept and prayed, T' atone the mighty sin they fast in Tears, They prayed by Sabbaths and rebelled by Years. Thus the Gods punished Charles' Foes, Thus the God's reparteed all their rebellious Vows. (5) Tame Tarquin! that so easily was won To part with all the splendours of a Crown; Unking'd he fell in Age and Glory green, When Rome was Young and in her Teens. The Latin Rebels pushed him from his Throne, And put a brace of Consuls in his Room: These clubbing in Conjunction did dispense Like Planets their united influence. A Snivelling Peer that loved his Spouse too well, Rather than be a Cuckold would rebel; For's Country's sake he thought it was no sin: For well knew he That Petticoat and Property With the same Letters did begin. Lucrece the chaste, the Fair, of Noble blood Would not be bussed for all that's good, She would not truckle to her Love's decree, She would not kiss, poor heart, not she. Bravely the Noble Doxy strove, Though at last forced to pay her Tax of Love. When the lascivious Scene was done, And the Slut saw she was not made a Queen, She tore her Hair and dainty Quoif, With a sharp Poniard ended all the strife, And quickly did the little job of life. For this the Roman Bullies seized his Crown, For this they threw the mighty Lecher down, And in his stead two Consuls filled the Chair, Almanac Kings that lasted but a Year: They and their Senate all reformed anew From Cit and Bumkin to the Nobler Crew. The Alphabet itself was crossed, The Letters that made Rex were lost And S. P. Q. did Rule the Roast, Letters that often occur in Roman History for Senatus populusque. At last their Civil Wars made such a stir, They were forced to accept the Kingly Power A Monarch of three Syllables an Emperor. (6) Speak out Venetian Punk, thou that dost prate Of a Republic of so long a date; An Idle Commonwealth, that has These several hundred years been making Glass! Each puny Mortal there, pretends to Power, A calcined Cobbler makes a Senator. A Covey of Islands seated in the Sea, Make up this proud Venetiae: 'Mongst th' Quae-Genus-Monsters she is found, Only in th' Plural sense declined; Some bits of Earth from th'Continent purloined Make up the Wonders of that place; Famous for Bawds, and mighty pretty Lace; Each suppliant Punk unto her Lord does pay The glorious Tribute of Poynt-veny. Each Senator for's Crown a Thimble takes; And Hieroglyphic Bobbing Sceptres makes. A Duke they have, God-wot, so low in stock, That his Toes stink for want of Royal Sock. His stingy Meals, hardly deserve a Rhyme, He keeps an excellent House in Peas-cod-time; At second hand he buys his clothes, And runs on Tick for Hose and Shoes: Scarcely odd Money they allow the Crotchet, To keep the Devil out of's Pocket. (7) Stand off you little dwindling States, make room Holland the Buttock of the World is come Although not half so generous as the Bum That freshly does discharge its natural load Relieves the hungry Earth with dung and food: But they like greedy Leeches still suck in They drink, and eat, and drink again, Till like them too You'd think they'd burst their skin They love their ransacked, sordid Pelf so well That their Low Countries may be reck'ond Hell Pluto and they in the same Region dwell. Frugal they are beyond all measure, They'll damn their very Souls for Treasure. They hate free spending as they hate Freegrace And count it fond Arminianism in Purse Their Dortish Synod has determined thus. For Gold they search the World and traverse Indies, For Sickly Earth that has the Jaundice; They'll change their Athanasian Faith For a Rich Diamond or an Elephant's Tooth: Give 'em a China Dish or Persian Cap, They'll straight turn Turks and Nice for Mecca swap; Of an English Herring they make no bones, Their Commonwealth consists of Milts and Roanes; The Apostles here in great esteem are had Only because they practised fishing Trade, These Knaves those pious Anglers imitate, And boldly British Gudgeons captivate. To let you see what good they wish Unto the Commonwealth of Fish, Elziver prints with greatest care he can Fishmonger Hobs' great Leviathan, A Book which proves Men to be Whales, A state of Nature stuck with fins and scales, They are a People fit for satire, Their Low Countries are no better, Than the Pudenda of modest Nature. Those Netherlands of which they boast, Are but Creation below the Waste. (8) Cold Swissers that amongst your other ills Have planted a Republic upon Hills; Their Snow that on their Mountains lies, giveth them kib'd Heels and Consciences; That cold and dirty Clime puts them hard to't, They Ne'er can make a Law without their Boot, Neither do Justice without riding Coat. They fetch all their Dictator's from the Blow, Who scarcely any other Purple know, But when with Frosts their fire burns blue. A Cold and barren Soil's the reason why, Kind Heaven ne'er thaws 'em into Monarchy. 'Tis strange that there a Commonwealth should thrive, Or that republic Weeds or Alps should live. These Men so much extolled by Fame, At first from Hannibal's Vinegar bottle came; When he to cut an easier way did use That acid, peevish, and ill-natured juice, The riggling Animals that thence did rise Leaped into Men, and made this brutish Race. (9) Of all the Commonwealths of greatest Fame Once more step forth Romulian Dame Let your Rebublick Consuls if they can, Match the Victorious Macedonian, A King, whese actions spoke him more than Man. Sauny the great who'th Race of Men subdued, Conquered the World was drunk and spewed. To th' furthest East he spread his Victories, His glories set where the Sun's Glories rise; A fight to him was but a drinking bout, With his Enemy's lives he paid the shot, Their Veins like Pitchers emptied out, He grudged over one World tippling to stand, He would have drunk a dozen in a hand, Finely faith he firked the Persian Ninny, Whose Father got his Kingdom by a Whinny, Mounted on Buceph'lus this Bully Cracked to ride Inch and half-stone with any King beside, Match him all Latium, match him if you can, Consuls you had when Commonwealths began, Conquered a lust or two but ne'er a Man. Poplicola of whom fame speaks so loud Demolished his Farm-house to please the Crowd, To pull it down he thought 'twas best, 'Cause 'twas a Cock-loft higher than the rest. For these and such like things by Livy told, Amongst records of Fame he stands enroled. (10) All hail Geneva! to thy Lake all health, Whom Calvin made a Commonwealth: Calvin a Bishop grudged to see Lord it in Robes of Sovereignty. He pushed the Mitred Moppet from his Throne, He threw the mighty Lawn-sleeves down: Bishop and Bible both believe me Got a Translation at Geneva. She cleansed away the filthy Rags of Rome, Landress she was to the Whore of Babylon; With Gospel-Soap she purged her Popish sins, Stiffened her Rites and starched her Disciplines; Women reformed there at their will, Women the strapping Sex that spells so ill. The City Dames more zealous far than wise Put the Apocrypha under their Pies, And made Bumfodder of the Maccabees. Judith they forced to stop a broken pane, And gave Holofernes his Head again. Christ-cross out of their Alphabet they turned Each Babe an Hornbook had true Protestant. Tell me Religious Roisters, tell me now Why you are so angry when the Organs blow? Our thoughts like Theban Stones disordered lie, Till that Religious Harmony Shapes and cements them into Unity. I hate that Commonwealth of all the worst, I hate their Prick-eared Senate and their Priests, Who love a common Whore, But hate the Common-Prayer. (11) Fain would I know eternal Dunces why You hate the Godlike sway of Monarchy? A Government in Heaven allowed, Where the bright Monarch makes his Throne a Cloud, And gently awes the Angelic lovely Crowd. Where Cherubins like glorious Muses sit, And praise the Almighty Power in numbers fit, In the Seraphic strains of heavenly Wit. Grossly then must they err who do affirm, That Commonwealths are of an heavenly Stem, And make an Hans-town of the New Jerusalem. No, base Republics you can ne'er agree With that delightful Unity. Your tide of Rule runs in divided streams. Glow-worm's of Power, you shine in separate beams▪ I hate that gaudy Sanhedrim of Lights, Who by Gommittees rule the Nights; I mean the Stars, whose short Commissions run All in the Name of the departed Sun. Give me the glittering Monarch of the Day; At whose approach those Tapers sneak away. He reigns by Day and all the Night he drinks, He sips and Revels on the Ocean's brinks, And like a Monarch never shrinks. The Epilogue being an Anti-Republican Catch. (1) Let the Speculative Sot, Who thinks and lives not, Tell the World what paps Alma-mater has got; Let him if he please his Appetite bilk, And Huzza the King's Health in a glass of her Milk: From the Nipples of the Vine (the wiser do know) That a brisk and more generous liquor does flow. (2) Would you be a Bard Sir, Of any regard Sir? Believe me Wine is the best Crambo word Sir. Homer was drunk as e'er Son of a Woman was, When he Hickupt so often 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, And the old Greekish Rhimer had been dabbling in Claret, When he made that reeling Verse we call Pindaric. (3) A Pox of old Noll, Who our Barrels did toll, And excised each Caviliers affluent Bowl. To be revenged of him, and his Council of Asses, Let's break on the Table all Commonwealth glasses, Boy, take that Venice Glass to Republican Saints; We'll drink the King's Health in true English Flints. FINIS.