Menippeus Rusticus. A Satyrical Epistle: From C. S. in the Country, to his Friend in the City.  Difficile est Satyram non scribere— 
LONDON: Printed in the Year 1698.   

Menippeus Rusticus. A Satyrical Epistle: From C. S. in the Country, to his Friend in the City.  
THanks, which is all poor Debtors can bestow,  
A grateful Heart, my Friend returns to you:  
To you whose kindness, though too much mista'ne,  
Invites me kindly up to Town again.  
But even Nature here, forbids consent;  
For Nature would condemn the Experiment.  
The Gluttons Stomach will past Surfeits shun,  
Nor can strong Hunger force the Potion down:  
No more can I, cloyed with its filth and noise,  
For the Lewd Town forsake my Country Joys.  
Here a few Books, supply my daily use,  
Since like my Friend's and Conversation, chose:  
Tho often Read they still will Reading bear;  
Not like our modern Lines, or those I send you here.  
For Writing's now a chronical Disease,  
And some aught less to fear the Plague, than Press.  
For though no Empiric with inverted Eyes,  
To the poor Authors swift destruction flies;  
Want, the old Poet's Vulture far exceeds,  
And he's by piecemeal starved, if no man Reads.  
Here, none dare Friendships sacred Virtue doubt,  
Tho like Joynt-Stocks with you 'tis jobbed about.  
Nor are our pleasures interspersed with Vice,  
Unless in Nooks, where your own Darnells rise:  
Here murdering Lords, who rob the poor Pultron  
Of merit and of mercenary crown,  
Seek no concealment, for they know 'tis in vain,  
Our Roofs, are like our Hearts, secure and plain:  
Nor has the Mobbs wise Vote entrusted me  
To Pennyworth out my Country's Liberty;  
Nor am I honoured with the ill good word  
Of some in Favour (but designing) Lord  
Whose generous Commendam holds it Just,  
I see him cheat my King and slight his Trust;  
Nay, though my Country, or Religion reel,  
I dare not hint the inward pangs I feel;  
But like a long vexed Slave to get me ease,  
Break like a Brute, through the most sacred ties:  
Nor am I loaden with the gives Law.  
Magnets which far beyond the 〈◊〉 draw;  
I wrong not any, and were all like me,  
None at a Law-Suits price, the Town would see;  
Then paltry Nokes in shabby daggled Gown,  
Like Oars (as once) might Ply for poor Half Crown,  
While now he struts, and with a Spanish fleer,  
Takes your Six Pounds, and whispers in your Ear;  
If ease and Claret will so far permit  
He'll read your Brief and sleep upon't at night.  
True Locusts on the Green's alone will prey,  
But with our quiet, These, take all away;  
Purchase our Lands, then get to make our Laws;  
Oh! how our Lambs thrive in the Lion's paws?  
Posterity itself may curse their Care,  
While, Tinker like, our Kettles they Repair.  
Then why should I, who sacred Virtue love,  
Forsake my Cottage and to Town remove;  
Want you new Shrieves? faith Sir, I shan ' not Fine  
Nor was the noble R yet fixed on mine.  
Your Sheriff Pollars, do it with respect,  
And to be theirs, we must be heavens Elect,  
Lie, though not Swear, and Cheat howe'er precise,  
The Christian now's known by his Tongue and Eyes.  
And show you not the Tallies of the Cause,  
Y'are no ways qualified to break the Laws;  
But THOSE apparent (the cant runs) we entreat ye  
Assume the CHAIR and banter God Almighty;  
Swear to be true to the Established Church,  
And though't be Cedar, Swear 'tis Birch▪ 'tis Birch:  
For Wiseman never yet took Oath, but when  
To his own mind he might that Oath explain,  
If otherwise, sure no man that has Ears  
But would consider somewhat, ere he Swears,  
And Sacrifice his Interest, to his fears.  
But would it not provoke all humane spleen,  
To view the Heads of these Electing Men,  
Where Pat— bustles with his empty pate,  
And of peculiar sweat compounds the Magistrate;  
Leaves Craving Lady, and the gilt Close-stool,  
To make his own Effigies, A Fool.  
Or Blinking Br— lie with his Crafty fleer,  
Leaves Wife more brittle, than his own cracked ware  
To prop up Cause and place a Knave i'th' Chair.  
Such Men, to their own Calves will surely bow  
Who not a GOD, above their INTEREST know.  
Mechanic Souls obey Mechanic Sense,  
Jack Straw would have a Thrasher for his Prince.  
What else gave thick-sculled W—lls the golden Chain  
And of a Tailor made a Gentleman;  
His Wives broad Haunches, never could pretend  
The awkard Thing, their Mistress to commend;  
Else some Court Planet, might have boar the shame,  
Which now our wise Electors safely claim;  
How else could sneaking AMSTERDAMUS slip  
The Pillory, as once before the Wip.  
When naughty Boy from a good Master ran  
And stole his Cash, to found the Gentleman  
Yet now they scratch the quondam beggar's Itch,  
Lord Rustic Neck and worship Brawny Breech.  
Oh L— n far thy ancient Glory's gone,  
Turned prostitute, and sold to every Clown;  
'Tis not the merit of the Patriots Care  
But 'tis five hundred Pounds that fill the Chair;  
Virtue or Vice admits not a Dispute,  
So frail i'll Man, his Lust so absolute;  
Witness that choice which thou may'st well repent,  
A choice by Heaven for thy correction meant:  
When Israel, by like headstrong Passion led,  
A choice less scandalous in CORAH made;  
The wise Election, on swift ruin drew,  
And is not Heaven the Seat of Justice now?  
Perjured and false and on a great Record,  
Well do his mighty Pillars call him Lord;  
Without a blush well do his slaves Revere  
The Dagon they advanced to grace the Chair.  
So Nebats Calves, the humble Type of this,  
Kept Gadly Israelites from Schism and Vice:  
For solemn Worship had the Saints misled,  
Heaven might have got the Converts, Hell had made  
His Wares, the cautious Tradesman to expose,  
Into back Shops the Cullyed Chapman draws;  
Their suited Lights his prying Eyes deceive,  
And keep the Tradesman, and his Trade, alive:  
But he more dubious of's conspicuous height,  
To show his Colours opens all the Light.  
Bribes not, but rather braves the breath of Fame,  
To tell the listening World, his growing shame.  
So Aetna stretching wide her fiery Jaws  
Frights nature, for she such a prospect shows;  
Scarce his own favourites threats, his hands restrain,  
From violating all he should maintain:  
He swallows Oaths like Pills as Jugglers would,  
Not for their Health, but to amuse the Crowd.  
Presto, 'tis gone; and yet Dissect his Heart,  
There's not its tract in the minutest Part:  
Then who can urge its obligation, were  
Not the first shadows of the Thing appear.  
Yet see, the pious Pageant stalks about  
Like Jew, to find his lost Messiah out.  
But first like Jew, he well resolves to sinned  
Nothing to fix the Weathercock his Mind.  
Divine CAMELEON! thou thy Colour takes 't  
From every Priest, and every step thou mak'st  
True in the Morning to thy solemn Oath;  
To Pride at Noon, but false at Night to both.  
Next Morn, if kindly sleep has purged thy Brain,  
To nothing true But the old round again.  
The cullied Tribe that raised THEE, hardly know  
Whether thouart TURK, MAHOMETAN, or JEW.  
Rejoicce Religious Patriots, 
Vox Populi Vox Dei. 〈◊〉  Rejoice,  
For now the People's, is the Almighty Voice;  
The Proverbs sacred— or the Author's lie,  
He wants the sketches of Divinity:  
But Patriot, he is, a staunch one too,  
Hear how his Heroes, swear him Litchfield Blew;  
You Laugh, and think they have mista'n the place  
When 'twas but Zeal, that led them in the race.  
For name a Bishop, and they faster run  
With sceptic Zeal, to pull the Dagon down,  
Then when at Michaelmas a Poll comes on:  
And should I leave, my friend, what I possess,  
In Country shades, to taste such trash as this?  
Is chatting Treason o●er a Dish of Tea  
Like living in the Country loved and free?  
What tho Republic Notions be the Theme,  
Which City Boobies, with authentic Hem,  
Applaud, and hug me dearly to maintain:  
Strait the grave Cod's-Head, takes me home to Dine,  
Kills me with Chatt▪ and Poisons me with Wine,  
Which to complete, (for I was born to die)  
He drinks fresh Healths to Newborn Liberty.  
O then what Visions swell his Rolling Eyes,  
While his Dilirium, in a Frantic Dress,  
Paints him SUCCESSION just expired or slain,  
And kindly turns (the better ' way) his Brain.  
May Country Converse, howe'er crude or dull,  
Be still my plague, ere thus I play the Fool.  
But since that fate is in my power to fly,  
I'll further wish my generous Friend and me.  
May no Divisions rend the weighty Peace  
Which WILLIAM'S Arms, through danger and distress,  
Procured those foes who yet regret his ease;  
May his great Smiles fall kindly on the Just,  
And only honest Heart's 〈◊〉 be placed in Trust.  
May you, with me, despise the Vicious Town,  
This is a wish which I will always own.  
FINIS.