THE SECOND PART OF THE COLLECTION OF POEMS ON Affairs of State, Viz.  

A Dialogue between two Horses.  
On the Lord Mayor and Court of Aldermen, presenting the l— K— and the D— of Y— with a Copy of their Freedoms, Anno 1674.  
On the Prorogation of the Eighteen-years Parliament: Or, Club of unanimous Voters.  
On the Dissolution of the Club of Voters, Anno 1678.  
On the Lord Chancellor's Speech to the Parliament, March 1680.  
An Acrostic.  
The Commons Address to the K—.  
The Answer to the Acrostic.  
On the D— of Y— s Voyage into Flanders.  
Upon a Dispute in the Choice of Sheriffs.  
On the same Occasion.  
Forewarned, Forearmed.  
A Bill on the House of Commons Door, April 15. 1680. pursuant to a former Bill, jan. 26. 1679. fixed there.  
On Nell.  
Justice in Masquerade.  
A Copy of Verses flung into Justice S— s' Chamber.  
The Pope's Advice, with his Holiness' Benediction to his Judge and Jury in Utopia.  
A satire.  
On the Monument upon Fishstreet-hill.  
The D— of M— s Letter to the K— Transversed.  
The Answer to the D— of M—  
Letter.   
By A— M— l and other eminent Wits. None whereof ever before Printed.  
LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1689.   

A DIALOGUE Between two HORSES.  By A. M— l, Esq. 

The Introduction.  
We read in profane and sacred Records  
Of Beasts, that have uttered Articular Words;  
When Magpies and Parrots cry, Walk, Knaves, walk,  
It is a clear Proof that Birds too may talk.  
And Statues without either Wind-pipes or Lungs,  
Have spoken as plainly as Men do with Tongues:  
Livy tells a strange Story, can hardly be followed,  
That a sacrificed Ox when his Guts were out, bellowed.  
Phalaris had a Bull, which grave Authors tell you,  
Would roar like a Devil with a Man in his Belly.  
Friar Bacon had a Head that spoke, made of Brass;  
And Balaam the Prophet was reproved by his Ass.  
At Delphos and Rome, Stocks and Stones, now and then, S●srs,  
Have to Questions returned Articular Answers.  
All Popish Believers think somethings Divine,  
When Images speak, possesseth the Shrine:  
But they that Faith Catholic never understood,  
When Shrines give Answer, a Knaves on the Rood.  
Those Idols ne'er spoke, but are Miracles done  
By the Devil, a Priest, a Friar and Nun.  
If the Roman Church, good Christians, oblige ye  
To believe Man and Beast have spoke in Effigy.  
Why should we not credit the public Discourses  
Of a Dialogue, lately between the two Horses  
The Horses I mean of Wool-Church and Charing,  
Who told many Truth's worth a Man's Hearing,  
Since V— and O— did buy, and provide 'em  
For the two Mighty Monarches that now do bestride 'em.  
The stately br●ss Stallion, and white marble Steed  
One Night came together by all is agreed:  
When both King's weary of Sitting all Day,  
Were stolen off Incognito each his own way.  
And the two Jades after mutual Salute,  
Not only discoursed, but fell to Dispute.   

The Dialogue.  Woolch. 
Quoth the Marble Horse, it would make a Stone speak  
To see a Lord Mayor and a Lumbard-street break:  
Thy Founder and mine to treat one another,  
When both K—s agreed to be each others Brother.  Chair. 
Here Charing broke forth, and then he went on,  
My Brass is provoked as much as thy Stone●  
To see Church and State bow down to a Whore,  
And the K—'s chief Minister holding th' Door.  Woolch. 
To see Dei Gratia writ on the Throne,  
And the K—'s wicked Life say, God there is none.  Chair. 
That he should be styled Defender of the Faith,  
Who believes not a Word what the Word of God saith.  Woolch. 
That the D— should turn Papist, and that Church defy,  
For which his own Father a Martyr did die.  Chair. 
Tho' he changed his Religion, I hope he's so civi●  
Not to think his own Father is gone to the Devil.  
To see a white Staff make a Beggar a Lord,  
And scarce a wise Man at a long Council-board.  Woolch. 
That the Bank should be seized, yet the Chequer so poor,  
Lord have Mercy, and a Cross might be set on the Door.  Chair. 
That a Million and half should be the Revenue,  
Yet the K— of his Debts pay no man a penny.  Woolch. 
That a K— should consume three Kingdom's Estates,  
And yet all the Court be as poor as Church Rats.  Chair. 
That of four Seas Dominion and Guarding,  
No token should appear but a poor Copper Farthing.  Woolch. 
Our Wormeaten Ships be laid up at Chatham,  
(Not ou● Trade to secure, but) for Fools to comeat'um.  Chair. 
And our few Ships abroad become Tripoli's scorn,  
By pawning for Victuals their Guns at Leghorn.  Woolch. 
That making us Slaves by Horse and Foot Guard,  Chair. 
The basest ingratitude ever was heard;  
But Tyrant's ungrateful are always afraid.  Woolch. 
On Henry the Seventh's head, he that placed the Crown,  
Was after rewarded by losing his own.  Chair. 
That Parliament-Men should rail at the Court,  
And get a good Preferment immediately for't.  Woolch. 
To the bold speaking Members of Bastards you add,  
What a number of Rascally-Lords have been made.  Chair. 
That Traitors to their Country in a bribed House of C.  
Should give away Millions at every Summons.  Woolch. 
Yet some of those Givers, such beggarly Villains,  
As not to be trusted for twice fifty Shillings.  Chair. 
No wonder that Beggars should still be ●or giving,  
Who out of what's given, do get a good livings  Woolch. 
Four Knights and a Knave, who were Publicans made,  
For selling their Consciences were liberally paid.  Chair. 
Then base are the Souls of the low prized Sinners,  
Who Vote with the Court for Drink and for Dinners.  Woolch. 
'Tis they that brought on us this scandalous Yoke,  
Of excising our Cups and Taxing our smoke.  Chair. 
But Thanks to the Whores who made the K— dogged,  
For giving no more the R— are Prorogued.  Woolch. 
That a K— should endeavour to make a War cease,  
Which augments and secures his own profit and peace.  Chair. 
And Ple●potentiaries send into Fra●ce,  
With an addleheaded Knight, and a Lord without Brains.  Woolch. 
That the King should send for another F— Whore,  
When one already had made him so poor.  Chair. 
Enough dear Brother although we speak Reason;  
Yet Truth many times being punished ●or Treason,  
We ought to be wary, and bridle our Tongues,  
Bold speaking hath done both Men and Beasts wrongs:  
When the Ass so boldly rebuked the Prophet,  
Thou knowest what danger was like to come of it,  
Though the Beast gave his Master ne'er an ill Word,  
Instead of a Cudgel Balaam wished for a Sword.  Woolch. 
Truth's as bold as a Lion, I am not afraid,  
I'll prove every title of what I have said:  
Our Riders are absent who is't that can hear;  
Let's be true to ourselves, who then need we fear?  Chair. 
Where is thy K— gone, (Woolchurch) to see Bishop Laud?  
To Cuckold a Scrivener in Masquerade?  
On such Occasions he oft s●rays away,  
And returns to remount about break of Day.  
In very dark Nights sometimes you may find him  
With a Harlot got upon my Crupper behind him.  Chair. 
Paul ●rother a while, and calmly consider  
What thou has● to say against my Royal Rider.  Woolch. 
The Priestridden K— turned desperate fighter  
For the Surplice, Lawn-sleeves, the Cross and the Mitre,  
Till at last on a Scaffold he was left in the lurch  
By Knaves, that cried up themselves for the Church.  Chair. 
Arch-Bishops and Bishops, Arch-Deacons and Deans;  
Thy K— will ne'er fight unless't be for Queans.  Woolch. 
He that dies for Ceremonies dies like a Fool.  Chair. 
The K— on thy Back is a lamentable Tool.  Woolch. 
The Goat and the Lion, I equally Hate,  
And Freeman alike value Life and State:  
Though the Father and Son be different rods,  
Between the two Scourgers we find little odds;  
Both Infamous in three Kingdoms Votes,  
This for picking our Pockets, that for cutting our Throats:  
More tolerable are the Lion K—s Slaughters  
Than the Goat making Whores of our Wives and Daughters:  
The Debauched and Cruel since they equally gall us,  
I had rather bear Nero than Sardanapalus.  Woolch. 
De Wit and Cromwell had each a brave Soul,  
I freely declare it, I am for Old Nol,  
Though his Government did a Tyrant resemble,  
He made England great and his Enemies tremble.  Chair. 
Thy Rider puts no Man to Death in his Wrath,  
But is buried alive in Lust and in Sloth.  
Woolch. What is thy Opinion of I— D— of Y—  Chair. 
The s●me that the Frogs had of I●piter's Stonk.  
With the Turk on his Head, and the Pope in his Heart,  
F●ther Patrick's Disciples will make England smart.  
If e'er he be K— I know Britain's Doom,  
We must all to a Stake, or be Converts to Rome.  
Ah! Tudor, ah! Tudor, we have had enough:  
None ever reigned like old Bess in the ●uff.  
Her W●lsingham could dark Counsels unriddle,  
And our Sir I—ph write News-books and fiddle.  Woolch. 
Truth, Brother, well said, but that's somewhat bitter,  
Hi● perfumed Predecessor was never more fitter:  
Yet we have one Secretary honest and wise;  
For that very Reason, he's never to rise.  
But canst thou devise when things will be mended?  Chair. 
When the bad of the Line of the St— are ended.   

Conclusion.  
If Speeches from Animals in Rome's first Age,  
Prodigious Events did s●rely presage  
That should come to pass, all Men may swear  
That which two Inanimate Horses declare.  
But I should have told you before the Jades parted,  
Both galloped to Whitehall, and there humbly farted:  
Which Tyranny's downfall portended much mo●e  
Than all that the Beasts had spoken before.  
If the Delphic Sybil's Oracular Speeches  
(as learned Men say) came out of their Breeches,  
Why might not our Horses, since Words are but Wind,  
Have the Spirit of Prophecy likewise behind?  
Though Tyrants make Laws, which they strictly proclaim  
To conceal their own Faults, and cover their own Shame;  
Yet the Beasts in the Field, and the S●ones in the Wall,  
Will publish their Faults and prophecy their Fall;  
When they take from the People the Freedom of Words,  
They teach them the sooner to fall to their Swords.  
Let the City drink Coffee, and quietly groan,  
(They that conquered the Fat●●r won't ●e Slaves to the Son)  
For Wine and strong Drink make Tumults increase,  
Chocolate, Tea, and Coffee are Liquors of Peace,  
No Quarrel or Oaths amongst those that drink them,  
'Tis Bacchus, and the Brewer swear damn me and sink 'em.  
Then C—s thy Edict against Coffee recall,  
There's ten times more Treason in Brandy and Ale.    

On the Lord Mayor and Court of Aldermen, presenting the l— K— and D— of Y— each with a Copy of their Freedoms, Anno Dom. 1674.  

I.  
THe Londoners Gent to the K— do present  
In a Box the City Maggot;  
'Tis a thing full of weight, that requires the Might  
Of whole Guild-Hall Team to drag it.   

II.  
Whilst their Church's unbuilt, and their Houses undwelt,  
And their Orphans want Bread to feed 'em;  
Themselves they've bereft of the little Wit they had left,  
To make an Offering of their Freedom.   

III.  
O ye Addle-brained Cits! who henceforth in their Wits  
Would intrust their Youth to your breeding;  
When in Diamonds and Gold you have him thus enroled,  
You know both his Friends and his Breeding?   

IV.  
Beyond Sea he began, where such a Riot he ran,  
That every one there did leave him;  
And now he'll come over ten times worse than b●fore,  
When none but such Fools would receive him.   

V.  
He ne'er knew, not he, how to serve or be free,  
Though he has passed through so many Adventures;  
But e'er since he was bound, (that is, he was crowned)  
He has every Day broke his Indentures.   

VI  
He spends all his Days in running to Plays,  
When he should in the Shop be poring:  
And he wastes all his Nights in his constant Delights,  
Of Revelling, Drinking and Whoring.   

VII.  
Tho' out of Lumbard-street each Man he did meet,  
He would run on the Score and borrow,  
When they'd asked for their own, he was broke and gone,  
And his Creditors left to Sorrow.   

VIII.  
Though oft bound to the Peace, yet he never would cease  
To vex his poor Neighbour with Quarrels,  
And when he was beat, he still made his Retreat,  
To his cleaveland's, his Nels, and his Carwels.   

IX.  
Nay, his Company lewd were twice grown so rude,  
That had not Fear taught him Sobriety,  
And the House been well barred with Guard upon Guard,  
They'd robbed us of all our Propriety.   

X.  
Such a Plot was laid, had not Ashley betrayed,  
As had cancelled all former Disasters;  
And your Wives had been Strumpets to his Highness' Trumpets,  
And Footboys had all been your Masters.   

XI.  
So many are the Debts and the Bastards he gets,  
Which must all be defrayed by London,  
That notwithstanding the Care of Sir Th'— Pl— r,  
The Chamber must needs be undone.   

XII.  
His Word nor his Oath cannot bind him to Troth,  
And he values not Credit or History;  
And though he has served through two' Prenticeships now,  
He knows not his Trade nor his Mystery.   

XIII.  
Then London rejoice in thy fortunate Choice,  
To have made him free of thy Spices;  
And do not mistrust he may once grow more just,  
When he's worn of his Follies and Vices.   

XIV.  
And what little thing is that which you bring  
To the D— e, the Kingdom's Darling;  
Ye hug it and draw like Ants at a Straw,  
Tho' too small for the Gristle of Starling.   

XV.  
Is it a Box of Pills to cure the D—'s Ills?  
(He is too far gone to begin it)  
Or that your fine Show in Processioning go,  
With the Piss— the Host within it.   

XVI.  
And who could swear, that he would forbear  
To cull out the good of an Alien,  
Who still doth advance the Government of France,  
With a Wife and Religion Italian.   

XVII.  
And now, Worshipful Sir, go fold up your Furs,  
And Vyner turn again, turn again;  
I see who e'er freed you, for Slaves are decreed  
Until you burn again, burn again.    

On the Prorogation of the Eighteen-years Parliament: Or, Club of unanimous Voters.  

PRorogued on Prorogation, Damned Rogues and Whores,  
Who picked our Pockets, are now turned out of Doors●  
Have we our Country plagued, our Trust betrayed,  
Given Loans, Polls, Subsidies, and Royal Aid,  
Hearth-money, Impost, and the Lawyer's Fees,  
Ruined all Trade, tormented all Degrees,  
To b● thus served at la●●●s   

Have we more Money raised in twelve years' space,  
Than Norman Bastard had, and all his Race;  
Hurried up Money Bills against Dutch and French,  
And seen it spent upon a Dunghill Wench!  
Were we content the Kingdom to undo;  
To enrich an overriden Whore or two,  
And all for this!   

With Plague, War, and Fire was the Kingdom cursed;  
Yet of all Plagues were we ourselves the worst,  
All just Elections nulled, and took such Pain  
To make this Parliament a Rogue in Grain,  
Healed Co— y's ●lit Nose, and through our Fears,  
Stood to be pissed on by the House of Peers.  
Run to our Master's Cellar to Fox our Mace,  
And hundred more humble Acts like these,  
That we might not his Majesty displease,  
To be thus served!   

Well fare, true, V— n, H— d, O— n, C—rr,  
L— n, S— r, and our great Man of War,  
Wil G G —y, the Hector of our House,  
That always fetched his Blow to kill a Louse;  
For these great Patriots, Malcontent, did plot  
Their Country's Good, till they had Places got,  
Blustered and huffed till they were officered,  
But then of Country more the Devil a Word:  
They need not hector more against Hogen Mogen,  
And feel like Asses the Plague of a Prorogueing.   

Damned B— of a false Sire the Son,  
Did we for this dismount old C— n,  
And set thee up the mighty Man of State,  
And in thy Hands put the whole Kingdom's Fate?  
Did we forget thou truck'd'st with what was Trump,  
And paid'st Allegiance to the rotten Rump.   

Did we continue spilling S— y's Life,  
That with more Freedom thou mightst Whore his Wi●e,  
And all for this requite ungrateful Wretch,  
May Pox and Plague and Devil hence thee fetch.  
Let some prorogued, incensed Felton rather  
'Scended his cursed Son to find his guilty Father.  
No other way couldst find t' attain thy Ends,  
Than by disgusting's Majesty with's best Friends;  
Turn off a Parliament, ne'er King before  
Had such a one, or ever will have more?  
Did we give Cause to Fear we would not do,  
What ever K— or thou command'st us to?  
If standing Army 'twas thou wouldst be at,  
(As well as others) we could have raised that;  
League Tripartite we could have broke, and dance  
Framed to the Measures and the Pipes of France.  
We could have yielded to have raised a Citadel,  
More our own City, than the Dutch to quell,  
Look through our Fingers, and sneer to behold  
New London flaming as we did the Old.  
We could Plots make like Oliver or Hewit,  
And make them guilty of't that ne'er knew it.  
And must we after all our Service done,  
In Field for Father, and in House for Son,  
Be thus cashiered to please a pocky Peer,  
That neither Round-head is, nor a Cavalier,  
But of some middle Cut, some ill Shape, that  
Fain would be something if he knew but what;  
And like light Butterfly much fluttering make,  
Sleep of one Judgement and another wake.  
He all things is, but unto nothing's true;  
All old things hates, yet can abide no new.  
Had we but harkened and the fore game played,  
We had prevented our being thus betrayed.  
But please your pocky Grace to give me leave,  
To ask you why you did your Prince deceive.  
Our first Prorogue might sure have stood till then,  
'Twas time enough to have been prorogued then;  
And not all in a Hurry seven Months before,  
The former was expired to add six more.  
Is Fob so full?   

Nell's in again! though, we are out;  
Methinks we might have met to give a Clout.  
Well, now the sacred Codpiece must keep Lent,  
If Saints lend not, or Cash from France be sent.  
Ah sweet Revenge! Let us but live to see,  
Such Rogues prorogued to be as well as we●  
Indulge our Envy but to see that Day,  
Though we be ruined by 't as well as they.  
We Tyrant's love, if we can Tyrants be,  
If not, next Wish is, We may all be free.    

On the Dissolution of the Club of Voters. Anno 1678.  

OH Heavens! we have Signs below,  
To let us our Destruction know.  
Eclipses, bearded Stars that range,  
Are needless to presage our change.  
When Monarches frown upon the Wise,  
And glibly swallow Romish lies;  
When Demonstration can't convince  
A deaf and unbelieving Prince:  
When K— by evil Counsels lead,  
Crushes the Trunk to raise the Head,  
And does the Members fiercely sever,  
To make them calmly lie together;  
When self ownness in State presides,  
And Ignorance our Council guides;  
When Y— compounded of Ambition,  
And the wrath of inquisition;  
When by the heat of Heart and Tongue,  
You'd guests a heap of Pigeons dung,  
And by fierce deeds rash and amiss,  
You'd think his Blood Spirit of Piss;  
When he the stubborn Charioteer,  
Takes his full unchecked Career;  
Whilst Brother Thoughtless of his Crown,  
Upon soft Carcase lays him down,  
And he's Postilion to the Crown;  
And on the Royal Lumber drives,  
protestants defend your lives:  
What can the Issue of this be,  
But loss of Subject's Liberty?  
When Crowns Revenue by bribes are wasted,  
And on vile Pensioners exhausted,  
When Honest Men receive disgrace,  
Turned out of Offices and Place;  
And Powers beckon from the Throne,  
To let the Nation stand alone.  
Thinks on new ways for new supplies,  
And damns the Parliament as Spies●  
Prorogues, and then dissolves their Heats,  
And gives no time to try Court-cheats.  
What can we think of these delusions,  
But loss of safety, and Confusion's  
When K— to Commons makes fine Speeches,  
And draws his Reason from his breeches,  
Declares our Nation wants but C—  
Which must be paid with Subjects Money?  
When Whores make Monarches; Drunk, and Rule  
By the idle grant of a dipped Fool●  
And Dissolutions may be said  
The Effect of Staggers in the Head,  
And Government is a Diseas●  
Made up of Vice and sensual E●se.  
When Cavaliers in Public Wars  
Against their bubbled Governors,  
Swear they'll no Assistance bring,  
To a lascivious Dildoe K—.  
When C— s by various Minds does draw,  
Ruling by Lechery not by Law;  
Who does his Pimps, not Statesmen trust,  
Spending his brains upon his Lust:  
When things are thus perversely sowing,  
Poor Nineveh is surely going.  
When French runs through the Prince's Veins,  
And he by theirs, not our Law Reigns.  
When French creeps into Royal Bed,  
First charming Codpiece, than the Head,  
And Monarch Sw—s on good behaviour,  
But as he'll show dear Monsieur Favour.  
When Female Buttocks dictate thus,  
Good Lord! what will become of us?  
Is there no end of Monarch's Itch,  
That dotes upon a fulsome Bitch,  
Who ranker than the Adder grows,  
Ferrets her Belly with his Nose?  
And swears upon her bawdy Skin,  
He'll let the Mass and French Troops in:  
Assigns his Crown and Royal Power,  
To be disposed of by a Whore●  
Beware unthinking C— s beware,  
Consider and begin to fear;  
For Pope and Lewis are untrue:  
Whatever I— declares to you,  
He's warranted by Holy Mother,  
To shame and gull his Elder Brother;  
When he's to work you to design,  
He first will soak you well with Wine,  
And then to your Incestuous Eyes,  
He'll show again her H—ss Thighs;  
Strip her of greatness for the Cause,  
And show her Scut to change the Laws;  
But this is no immodest thing,  
To have her Humbles viewed by K—,  
She may expose on such occasion,  
Her Popish A— to the whole Nation.  
Zeal wipes away all Impudence,  
The greatest crimes are Innocence,  
When for the Churches good intended;  
And thus her H—ss faults are mended,  
And Catholic Modesty befriended;  
This was a good attempt at first,  
Showed she ne'er bashfully was nursed;  
But rather lived amongst shamble Crew,  
Brought up in some Italian Stew;  
A Duchess in our Country, known  
A common Strumpet in her own.   

From Dukes that are but little better,  
From a Whore by Nation and by Nature,  
From a King that Reigns by their direction,  
From Subjects guided by the Devil's Protection,  
From a soused Pilot at the Helm,  
Good Lord deliver this poor Realm.    

On the Lord Chancellor's Speech to the Parliament, March 1679.  

This is the Time.  
WOuld you send K— to P— l,  
Great james to be a Cardinal,  
And make Prince Rupert Admiral,  
This is the Time.   

Would you turn D— out of Doors,  
Banish Rebels and French Whores,  
The worse sort of Common-shores,  
This, etc.   

Would you unravel Popish Plots,  
Send L—le amongst the Scots,  
And rid the Court of Irish Sots.  
This, etc.   

Would you exalt the mighty Name,  
Of Shaftsbury and B— m,  
And not forget Judge Sc— s his Fame,  
This, etc.   

Would you our Sovereign dis-abuse,  
And make his Parliaments of use  
Not to be changed like dirty Shoes,  
This, etc.   

Would you extirpate Pimps and Panders,  
Disband the rest of our Commanders,  
Send M— after Teague to Flanders.  
This, etc.   

Would you send Confessors to tell  
P— s, St— d and A— l,  
They must prepare their Souls for Hell.  
This is the Time.   

Would you remove our Ministers  
The cursed cause of all our Fears,  
Without forgetting Turncoat M— s,  
This, etc.   

Would you hang those that take example  
By C— and Timber T—,  
For all such Rascals merit Hemp well,  
This, etc.   

Would you once more bless this Nation,  
By changing of P—'s Vocation,  
And find one fit for Procreation,  
This, etc.   

Would you let P—try her chance●  
Believe Oats, Bedloe, Dugdale, Prance,  
And send Berillon into France,  
This, etc.   

Would you turn Papists from the Q—,  
Cloister up fulsome M— n,  
Once more make Charles great again,  
This is the time,    

An Acrostic.  
C lose wrapped in P—'s Smock his Senses are;  
H eadlong he runs into Circe's snares,  
A and by her Charms is so besotted grown,  
R ather than quit her he will lose his Throne.  
L eve her for shame, cast off those idle Charms;  
E mploy yourself, like nighbouring Kings, in Arms,  
S ecure your Nation and yourself from harms.   

The Commons Address to the K. A. D. 1670.  
In all humility we crave  
Our Sovereign to be our Slave,  
Beseeching him that he would be  
Betrayed by us most Loyally;  
And if he please but once lay down  
His Sceptre, Dignity, and Crown,  
We'll make him, for the time to come,  
The greatest Prince in Christendom.   

The Answer to the Acrostic. A. D. 1670.  

C— at this time having no need,  
Thanks you as much as if he did.   

The House of Commons are the People's God,  
The country's Scourge, the Nation's Iron Rod,  
The Lord's Vexation, and the K— by G—d.    

On the D. of Y's Voyage into Flanders.  

R. H. they say, is gone to see  
The Princess of the Hague;  
But P— h's left behind to be  
The Nation's whorish Plague.   

Some say he is diverted thence,  
And sailed into France,  
Because the Wind at's going hence  
Stood Bedloe, Oates, and Prance.   

Some think he went unwillingly,  
And others say he's sent there,  
But most affirm for certainty  
He's gone to keep his Lent there.   

But those that can astrologize  
Do swear nothing more true is,  
The soleness of his Errand lies  
To fetch his Cousin Lewis;   

And both together, as they say,  
(If one may dare to speak on't)  
Through Heretics Blood will cut a way  
To bring in I— the Second.   

By yea and nay, the Quaker cries,  
How can we hope for better,  
Truth's not in him that this denies,  
Read Edward Coleman's Letter.   

Gar, Gar, the Jockey swears fou thing,  
Man, here is much work:  
Deel split his Wem, he's ne'er long King,  
Whose name does rhyme to Pork   

The Welshman swears, Cut splutter Nails,  
God send her from her Foes,  
Was never have a Prince of Wales  
That wears a Roman Nose.   

Whate'er Pretences offered be,  
Sure somewhat is contriving;  
And he is blind that cannot see  
The Plot is still a driving.    

Upon a Dispute in the Choice of Sheriffs there was a Paper spread abroad, directed as followeth,  
To the worthy Citizens of London. Respice & Cave. Gentlemen,  
Now is the time, acquit yourselves like Men,  
Else who can say you'll ever see't again  
Divide not, for your lives, their work is done;  
Down must the Papists go, and mouth must run;  
Let not his Imprecations us befool,  
He's worse than mad that trusts a Y— Tool  
Should he now choose us Sheriffs, and clodpate Juries,  
We fall as Victims to their Popish Furies.  
Oh, Heaven! direct us to unite, we pray;  
Old England's Fate depends upon this day,  
And those unborn to bless or curse us may.   

On the same occasion.  
Lewis of France hath been the Protestant Scourge,  
And Lewis of London is the Papists Drudge.  
One plays the Tyrant to uphold his Lust,  
And London's Villain doth betray his Trust.  
Tyrant and Traitor L— is no less.  
And N— and Clod-pate maketh up the Mess.  
Close up the Poll, or L— by this Light,  
Your own shall off, to do the City right.   

Forewarned, Forearmed.  

M— Ninny's Case looks desperate,  
The Papists Cause the same,  
The Traitors struggle with their Fate,  
Then Patriots now beware their hate,  
Look to yourselves e'er't be too late,  
Or all is on a flame.   

A Country Hodge heard Tory say,  
As he was walking home,  
October's three and twentieth day  
Began the bloody Irish Fray,  
And then to Edge-Hill took its way;  
Remember Forty one.   

This trusty Roger told for true,  
'Tis odds he guesses right;  
M— had prepared his murdering Crew,  
At unawares to murder you,  
And by that blow the Land subdue,  
As you sit late at Night.   

Unless in time ye him prevent,  
Be armed against those fears;  
Ne'er trust to Rowly's Compliment  
When actions speak the ill intent,  
Who never yet loved Parliament,  
Whate'er he says or swears.   

What if 'tis said that M— shall go,  
The Fool the Knave may trust;  
Stand on your guard, prevent this blow,  
No matter whether he runs or no,  
'Tis you must Papists overthrow,  
Let Devil do his worst.    

A Bill on the House of Commons Door, April 15. 1680. pursuant to a former Bill, Jan. 26. 1679. fixed there.  
Gentlemen,  
When last you were here th' house ways to be let,  
But now to the Pope and the Frenchmen 'tis set,  
If you'll club in amongst them, be quickly resolv'd●  
Or else you must home again' roged or dissolved.  
We'll try for another may serve our intention,  
That England will betray for Place or Pension,  
That's the life of the Cause, and the end of Invention.  
We lost an old set would have done it no doubt,  
But— on ill luck, Rogue Tony was out;  
Could we get them again, we'd hug and cologue 'em,  
Nor D— nor Duchess should e'er prorogue 'em.  
(And honest endeavour to make us all Slaves,  
Pray which the worst evil, the Cause or the Knaves:)  
Old Albion looks ill, she was heard to complain,  
Her Head, O! her Head was the cause of her pain;  
It's all on a Lump, for it cannot discover  
'Twixt its Catholic Foes, and the Protestant Lover,  
Her empirics and Quacks, called Divine, and some Civil,  
Advise her to bleed again for the King's Evil.  
But better the Rogues were sent quick to the Devil:  
What! bleed an old Woman, Spring, Winter, and Fall?  
Don't you know she's too old to be practised withal?  
But if you do venture once more to attempt it,  
It's forty to one you're the first that repent it,  
For your Plots, and your Murders, and Treasons she'll try you,  
Though the Monsieur, and Tories, and Devils stand by you.   

On Nell.  
Hard by Pell-mell lives a Wench called Nell,  
K. C— the s— he kept her;  
She has got a trick to  
But never lays Hands on his Sceptre;  
All matters of State from her Soul she does hate,  
And leave to the Politic Bitch's.  
The Whore's in the right, for 'tis her delight  
To be scratching just where it itches.   

justice in Masquerade.  

A Butcher's Son's Judge Capital  
Poor Protestants for to enthrall,  
And England to enslave, Sirs.  
Lose both our Laws and Lives we must,  
When to do Justice we entrust  
So known an errand Knave, Sirs.  
Some hungry Priests he did once fell  
With mighty strokes, and them to Hell  
Sent presently away, Sirs.  
Would you know why, the reason's plain,  
They had no English nor French Coin  
To make a longer stay, Sirs.  
The Pope to Purgatory sends,  
Who neither Money have nor Friends,  
In this he's not alone, Sirs:  
For our Judge to Mercy's not inclined  
Lest Gold change Conscience and his Mind,  
You are infallibly gone, Sirs.  
His Father once exempted was  
Out of all Juries. Why? Because  
He was a Man of Blood, Sirs.  
And why the Butcherly Son forsooth,  
Should now be Jury and Judge both  
Cannot be understood, Sir.  
The good old Man with Knife and Knocks  
Made harmless Sheep and stubborn Ox  
Stoop to him in his fury  
But the bribed Son, like greasy Elf,  
Knelt down and worships Golden Calf,  
And so do all the Jury.  
Better thou'dst been at Father's Trade  
An honest Livelihood to have made  
In hampering Bulls with Collars,  
Than to thy Country be unjust,  
First sell, and then betray thy trust,  
For so many hard Rixdollars.  
Priest and Physician thou didst save  
From Gallows, Fire, and from Grave  
For which we can't endure thee,  
The one can ne'er absolve thy sins,  
And the other (though he now begins)  
Of Knavery ne'er can cure thee.  
But lest we all should end his life,  
And with a keen-whet Chopping knife  
In a thousand pieces, cleave him:  
Let the Parliament first him undertake,  
they'll make the Rascal stink at stake,  
And so like a Knave let's leave him.   

Pars Secunda.  
Since Justice S— P— and D— did bail,  
Upon the good Cause did turn his tail,  
For 2000 pounds to buy Tent and Ale,  
Which no body can deny.  
The Jury and Judge to shame the Plot,  
Freed the Traitors to prove it was not,  
But old England will stand when the Rogues go to pot,  
Which no body can deny.  
S— was at first a Man of the Blade,  
And with his Father followed the Butcherly Trade,  
But 'twas the Peter-pences made him a Jade,  
Which no body can deny.  
He'd stand by the Protestant's cause he said,  
And lift up his eyes and cried we'er all betrayed;  
But the Petty Fogger was then in a Maskquerade,  
Which no body can deny.  
When D— mentioned to the King his name,  
He said he had neither honesty nor shame:  
And would play any sort of Game,  
Which no body can deny.  
He swears he'd confound Bedlow and Oates,  
And prove the Papist's Sheep and the Protestant's Goats,  
And that they are all fools that on Property dotes,  
Which no body can deny.    

A Copy of Verses flung into justice S— Chamber.  
Here Lives the Wolf Justice, and Butcherly Knave,  
Who Protestants gaols, but the Papist's does save,  
He's a bold Persecutor, contrary to Laws,  
Of all that dare write for the Protestant cause:  
Since these were his Actions, in vain was his Prate,  
And false Imprecations he printed of late,  
'Twill one day be Proved (old clod pate) that you  
Were Bribed by the Court and Portugal too;  
When Parliament come to Town you'll receive such a Check,  
Not your Speech nor your Pardon) will save your Bull Neck:  
In the Interim go on and play England's story,  
You'll hang at the last as Tresilian before ye.  
For we'll have the Plot— come on't what can be  
In spite of old clod Pate, Y—, L—, D—:  
'Tis not Prorogations shall serve the Rogues turn,  
We'll die at our doors e oer in Smithfield we'll burn.   

The Pope's Advice; with the Holiness' Benediction to his judge and jury in Utopia.  
Well done, my Sons, you have redeemed my Cause,  
Beyond my expectation from the Jaws  
Of my Cursed foe's, the Protestant's their Laws;  
For had you not thus timely stepped between,  
They had endangered both my Cause and Queen,  
And then Past all Redemption had it been.  
From Tyburn they more Martyrs had me sent,  
Which I had rather Quick, to th' Devil went,  
Than my designs so well contrived be shent.  
Go on and Prosper never change you notes,  
The sign o'th' Cross direct your open throats  
To cry not guilty, so you'll baffle Oats.  
Forsworn, no matter, if you Perjured be,  
You are dispensed with, and aught to go free;  
'Tis mighty service to the Court and me:  
Who will Requite it and for certain know  
My Pardons and Blessings on you I bestow,  
Besides the Gold you have received, I owe  
Far greater Sums than e'er the Court yet gave  
To Pimp, or Cheat, to Traitor, Whore, or Knave,  
Might satisfy our lust, or sinking Credit save.  
But that's not all unless we do declare,  
And set our mark upon our favourites fair,  
That Heretics may know them which they are:  
And first dear Clogs with thee we shall begin,  
Although of late thou wert a man of sin,  
And didst abuse those (for us) put ye in.  
From which we now absolve ye as we're Pope,  
And do allow that Butchers by the Rope;  
Begin (not end) for that would mar our hope.  
'tis true at first 'twas prudent, witty, acquaint,  
To sergeant the Devil and the Saint,  
With zealous thunder against the Jesuits complaint.  
This gained your credit with the Rabble rout  
Confirmed the choice to such who wished you out,  
But now that's done its time to look about:  
And dare to act to set my vassals free,  
You shall receive from holy James and me,  
A Crimson Cap at least, my Legate be;  
Provided you escape Tressilians Triple tree.  
Next hated Ralph thou leader of the van,  
My Papal Power shall do all it can  
To make the next Election senate Man:  
And reason good, for then my cause would thrive,  
If all prove such, the Heretics we'll drive  
Till not a soul of them be left alive.  
They're all right Roman H— H— D— town,  
And D— together B— these H——  
Sworn to be true but false as jack of Leydon.  
Next were two Judges B— D— never right  
In rack and manger lay those Beast's delight  
Next three were monsters, a very whale that's white:  
Thus being collered, all together swore  
To do such Justice, ne'er was done before:  
Prostrate their Wives to save the common Whore.  
For which good service most did places gain;  
One made the Whales unto Charles' wain,  
And Tape maker, light man did obtain.  
Three more had places to their hearts desire,  
Which T— afforded; made them each Esquire,  
And all they were to do, was set the Land on fire.  
Informing D— that's Landlord to Sir W—  
To save his Tenent Golden Pills did take,  
Whose blessed guilt before did make him quake:  
The rest had Gold dropped by the Fairy Queen,  
Left in their shoes that she might pass unseen;  
Which expelled poison as't had never been.  
By this, my Sons, ye left them in the lurch,  
And swept the scandal of our Holy Church;  
Which e'rst stood tottering on a broken Crutch.  
Strangely revived my Lordly Sons i●th' Tower,  
Who now (transported) laugh to scorn the power  
Of Lords and Commons, from whom they feared a shower.  
And o'er the Heretics have 'dvantage got,  
Who stopped the blessed proceedings of my Plot:  
No oppositions left but th' Fanatic sot.  
For which good service debtors we remain,  
Till we get Britain in our Fist again,  
Then then be sure we'll well requite your pain.  
Till then adieu, He'll have you in its care,  
And ever dictate what you say or swear;  
May make you useful to St. Peter's Chair.  
Rome july 22 d. Stylo Novo. 1679.   

satire.  

His Holiness has three grand friends,  
O Great Britain's Shoar,  
That Prosecute his (and their own) ends;  
A D— a Judge, and a Whore.   

The D— is as true as steel  
To the Pope that infallib'e Else,  
Therefore no friend to the Common-weal,  
Nor no friend unto himself.   

The Judge is a Butcher's Son,  
Yet hates to shed Innocent blood:  
But for ten thousand Pound has done  
the Pope a great deal of good.   

He that villain W— cleared,  
Who was to have poisoned the King;  
As it most plainly appeared,  
For which he deserves a swing.   

P— that Pocky Bitch,  
A damned Papistical Drab,  
An ugly deformed Witch,  
Eaten up with the Mange and Scab.   

This French Hag's Pocky Bum  
So powerful is of late,  
Although it's both blind and dumb,  
It rules both Church and State.    

On the Monument upon Fish-street Hill.  
When Hodge first spied the Labour in vain  
Grown since he passed by Pudding Lane,  
To reach his Chin up as he gazed,  
Till levelly with his Forehead raised;  
With Face that Horizontal lies,  
With gaping Mouth and staring Eyes,  
Supporting on his staff his Jaw,  
He looked the height of what he saw  
As one that makes-an observation,  
Chapfallen he stood with admiration.  
Hodge was (although to Cart confined)  
A Virtuoso in his kind,  
And long he stocked up in his Crown  
Whate'er he saw or heard in Town  
Within his musty Fancy mewed,  
Heated into similitude,  
That whatsoever subject fell,  
He bargains ready had to sell,  
Though the similitude most pat  
Show that Men say they know not what●  
A new Spout to quench the fire,  
Or else to draw the smoke up higher;  
A model of a Pepper-box,  
Or Microscope to view an Ox,  
Or else a Candlestick to place a Light  
For such as travel in the night;  
Or Christmas Candle overgrown,  
Not to show Light, but to be shown;  
Or else a Torch with gilded flames,  
To steer the Boats that row on Thames,  
Or else a piece of Art and Labour,  
Of Hook out Architecting Babor.  
When long he thus himself had guessed,  
Nor could the swallowed sight digest,  
He asked a Wag at the next Stall,  
To whom belongs this House so tall?  
The City's Monument is this,  
In token that our Mayor did piss;  
It seems when London's Mayor doth stale,  
She by consent too lays her Tail;  
Bodies so great may bear th' expense  
Of such a vast Sirreverence;  
But 'tis a heap which would have rend  
All but the City's Fundament.   

The D. of M's Letter to the K. transversed.  
Disgraced, and one forlorn, made Fortune's sport,  
Banished the Kingdom first, and now the Court;  
Out of my place turned, and out of doors,  
And made the meanest of your Sons of Whores;  
The scorn and laughter of the common chat  
Of your salt Bitch's, and your silly Brats;  
Forced to a private life, to whore and drink,  
On my past Grandeur and my Folly think.  
Would I had been the Brat of some mean Drab,  
Whom fear or shame had made her choke or stab,  
Rather than be the Issue of a King,  
And by him made so wretched, scorned a thing.  
What little cause hath Mankind to be proud  
Of Honour, Birth, the Idols of the Crowd?  
Have I abroad with Battles Honour won,  
To be at home dishonourably undone?  
Mocked wit a Star and Garter, and made fine,  
With all those gaudy trifles once called mine;  
Your Hobby-horses, and your toys of State,  
And now become the object of your hate,  
But Damn me, Sir, I'll be legitimate  
I was your Darling, but against your will,  
Know, Sir, that I will be the People's still;  
And when you're dead, I and my Friends, the Rout,  
Will with my Popish Uncle try a bout,  
And to my trouble this one comfort bring,  
Next after you by G— I will be King.   

The Answer to the D. of M's Letter.  
Ungrateful Boy, (I will not call thee Son,)  
Thou hast thyself ingloriously undone,  
And thy complaints serve but to show the more,  
How much thou hast engaged thy Father's Whore;  
Resent it not, shake not thy addle Head,  
And be no more by Clubs of Rascals led.  
Have I made thee the Darling of my Joys,  
The prettiest and lustiest of my Boys?  
Have I so oft sent thee to the Coast of France,  
To take new Dresses up, and learn to dance?  
Have I given thee a Ribbon and a Star,  
And sent thee like a Meteor to the War?  
Have I done all that Royal Dad could do  
And do you threaten me to be untrue?  
Oh! that my P— when I thy Dam did—  
Had in some— A—, or Cow's been stuck;  
Then had I been, when that base deed was done,  
Sure to have got no Rebel to my Son.  
But say I did with thy fond Mother sport,  
To the same kindness others did resort:  
'Twas my good Nature, and I meant her Fame,  
To shelter thee under my royal Name:  
Alas! I never got one whelp alone,  
My Riches are to every Fop well known,  
And I still willing all their Brats to own.  
I made thee once ('tis true) the Post of Grace,  
And stuck upon thee every mighty Place,  
Each glittering Office, till thy heavy Brow  
Grew dull with Honour, and my Power low.  
I spangled thee with Favours, hung thy Nose,  
With Rings of Gold, and Pearls, till all grew Foes,  
By secret envy to thy growing state,  
I lost my safety when I made thee great.  
There's not the least injustice to be shown,  
You must be ruined to secure my Throne.  
Offices are but fickle Grace the Badge,  
Bestowed by Fits, and snatched away in Rage.  
And sure the Livery I give my Slaves,  
I may take from 'em when my P— raves.  
Thou art a Creature of my own creation,  
Then swallow this without Capitulation,  
If you with feigned wrongs still keep a clutter,  
And make the People for your sake to mutter,  
For my own comfort, but your trouble, know  
by G— I'll send you to the Rout below.   
FINIS.