A Satiric Poem AGAINST Those Mercenary WRETCHES, AND Troublers of England's Tranquillity, THE AUTHORS OF HERACLITUS AND OBSERVATOR.  
Infamous for their Scribbling throughout England.  
By PHILOPATRIS.  
LONDON: Printed for H. Jones. 1682.   

A satire ON HERACLITUS And the OBSERVATOR.  

I'LL Towzer sing, read it who list;  
A Blade as true as ever kissed  
The sweet enchanting Lips of any  
English Jug, or Irish Jenny:  
Or did enjoy the sweet Embraces  
Of buxham Girls with pretty Faces;  
Or ere was blest with Venus' sport;  
Or did all night with Doxy snort.  
He so much loves the Female Sex,  
That yet his Soul did never vex  
For spending all his Small Estate  
On those lewd Girls that Virtue hate.  
The Press it was his Drudge and Slave,  
Whereof, at will, he'd Money have.  
But all the Gain which it brought in,  
He lewdly lavished out in sin.  
At last he was a Jeast-ass made,  
Wherein he drove a Bedlam-trade.  
But since he had so little Grace,  
His Worship soon did lose his Place.  
Alas, quoth he, I'm quite undone,  
And have nought left but my old Gun!  
Therefore I'll employ my head  
To Write, and Print, and Rail for Bread;  
Whereby I'll both obtain my end,  
And serve the Pope, my dearest Friend:  
So I again shall be in Jeers,  
When I have paid my Whore's Arrears.  
The Pope, the D— and Broom I'll get  
Advanced by my pregnant Wit.  
I will endeavour, might and main,  
To shame the Plot yet once again;  
Or else I'll bring it to a Riddle,  
By playing well on my Bumfiddle.  
Against Dissenters, whom I hate,  
Great Jealousies I will create.  
To Church of England-men I will  
Seem a Friend, yet I will still,  
As formerly, remain their Foe,  
Whereby I'll work their Overthrow.  
And now he hopes in Blood to wade,  
By virtue of his Masquerade.  
But still there's some he stands in fear of,  
If they by chance should hap to hear of  
His Cit. and Bumkin, and the others  
That in the world have made such pothers,  
They should think fit, in Term Hillary,  
To send him guarded to the Pillory.  
Therefore thought it best to appease 'em,  
With sweetest words that sure would please 'em.  
August Assembly he them called,  
Tho' loud before the Whelp had bauled  
And barked against their just Proceeding,  
When they'd have lain the Plot a bleeding.  
But now he surely thought to coax  
These silly Heretical Folks:  
But Roger seeing 'twas not so,  
He thought it best for him to go,  
And fairly from them run away,  
To save his Neck or Ears, they say.  
At which he's mad, and in a fume  
Resolves to see the blessed Rome:  
Whither he's gone, you know the cause,  
And there's reserved with great applause,  
By a great man, they call him Pope,  
As well as he deserves a Rope:  
To whom he tells a mournful Ditty,  
Which was, though sad, yet wise and witty,  
Of the great service he had wrought,  
Whereby himself's to mis'ry brought:  
But here he hopes for such relief  
As will allay his pain and grief.  
The good old man could not forbear  
The shedding Tear, as some do swear.  
Which having done, he gravely said,  
For all those things you shall be paid  
Both in this world and Heaven too,  
If one thing more for us you'll do.  
Then prithee, Son, return again  
To England; for I'll tell thee plain,  
I fain would have thee work Revenge;  
At Protestants have t'other Swinge.  
My Blessing too I will bestow,  
If that you now will go: and so  
I'll command the Fates attend ye,  
To England they shall safely send ye.  
With that he made with Cap in hand, Sir,  
Unto the Pope this modest Answer:  
Father, I'd have you know that I,  
If you command, with speed will fly.  
Than the swift Wings of Boreas blast  
I now will make more speed and haste.  
Wherefore with speed he takes his way  
Direstly to Cathedral-bay;  
Where for his Voyage he Took Ship,  
A Man of War, not a small Skip.  
And as he sails, devoutly prays  
For Blessing on his murderous ways:  
O Fortune, now I pray be kind,  
And let me have a prosperous Wind.  
These Rogues I then will quite destroy,  
And neither leave nor Man nor Boy;  
But yet the Women I will spare,  
For them I greatly love, I'll swear.  
On Sea they sail as swift as Swallows,  
And plow the Waves as men do Fallows.  
And in less time than you can think,  
Or drinking down a draught of Drink,  
The Pope had ordered so the matter,  
That Towzer was blown o'er the Water.  
In London, the first thing he sees  
Is Proteflants, like swarms of Bees.  
O ho, quoth he, I'll be among ye;  
I'll swear I sound will bedung ye.  
But being worsted, stamps and stairs,  
Like Pope or Cardinal he swears:  
And being mad, and fretting thus,  
Away runs to Heraclitus.   

This Heraclitus, men some tell,  
A Monster is, late made in Hell:  
And fitted for to serve the Pope,  
And save his Children from a Rope.  
A Monster he is in each part,  
A Carcase foul, and a worse Heart.  
His Mouth doth laugh when's Eyes do weep;  
A Mystery 'tis profound and deep.  
He'll speak in Jest and Earnest too,  
And both at once, as Papists do.  
And more than this, he's such a Fellow,  
Can backward blow, like a Smiths Bellow,  
A day, a week, a month together,  
And by his farting bring foul weather:  
Blow Parliaments and all things down,  
And them and all Dissenters drown.  
Now Towzer's sure enough that he  
Of Conquest sure enough shall be;  
And that the Scribblers want be able  
To stand against a blast so stable:  
But Writing will be quite forborn  
By them, as men that are forlorn.  
And this he thinks agrees with Reason,  
Since now 'tis Heraclitus season:  
Who is become the mighty King  
Of all those Blades can huff, and ding,  
And whore, and drink, and curse, and swear,  
And blaspheme too, without all fear.  
He'll lie, I'll say't, with such a Grace,  
He's almost turned Truth out of place.  
To this same King our Towzer goes,  
And thus in flattering terms woos:  
Thou mighty King, whose potent sway,  
The lawless Scribblers do obey;  
Whose Nod the stobernest Whigs do dread,  
Although they be in Scotland bred:  
Thou whose imperious Empire reaches,  
And to all parts of England streatches,  
Hear poor Towzer's Request, and say,  
Thou'lt do't; for I must have no Nay.  
There are a few Tatter-de-malions,  
The surly Rogues wont be Italians:  
No, nor they want accept of him  
That in their blood would make 'em swim.  
And therefore if you'll undertake  
To ruin them, than I will make  
Your way to Honour and Renown,  
And Wealth and Plenty shall you crown.  
Nay, to encourage you the more,  
The Tories they will you adore  
For a great Wit, a man of Sense,  
Against the Whigs the best Defence.  
And more than this, I'll promise ye  
Shall be assisted too by me.  
And truly you must know, my Pen  
Doth guide inferior Clergymen.  
Brave generous Soul, be not afraid,  
All things shall be as I have said.  
For you must know I am no Doger,  
But I am true and trusty Roger.  
Heraclitus harkened to this Story  
With no small Pride, no little Glory,  
To have a Jeast-ass, gay and trim,  
Come thus to beg a Bone of him.  
But much more was he pleased, that he  
Should promise him so large a Fee.  
He listening stood, with's mouth wide gaping,  
Like an old Hag when she is yaping.  
And you must know, with Cap in hand, Sir,  
He thus returns a ready Answer:  
Towzer, quoth he, my Thanks are real;  
I hope in this we shall agree all:  
For I do hate the Roughs as bad  
As you, or any, or Pope our Dad.  
Now therefore I the work will do,  
And please myself as well as you.  
Pray say no more, the thing is done;  
I'll ruin every Mother's Son:  
I'll make 'em to all men appear  
The worst of men that ever were.  
I Dirt enough on them will throw,  
Some cannot choose but stick, you know.  
Among them such a stink I'll make,  
As bad as comes from Stygion-Lake:  
Whereby he hopes to save the Papish  
Byways that truly are but apish;  
By raising up a strange new Devil,  
That guilty is of far more Evil,  
As he will tell you, than the old,  
Which now is dead, laid out, and could.  
And that he may perform the work,  
He doth in ambuscado lurk.  
And sometimes fight and sometimes pray▪  
And thus unto the Saints they say:  
O all you holy Martyrs dear,  
That lately died, without all fear,  
Upon the cursed Gallow-tree;  
From whence you did to Heaven flee.  
Cast down an Eye of pity now  
On those that do you service, vow;  
And let us all preserved be,  
Our full desires for to see:  
And that we may at last be able  
To plot the Plot into a Fable.  
Pray blind the Eyes of Heretics,  
That they may not discern our Tricks;  
And that we may delude them all  
Into our fatal Snare to fall:  
Or that we may at last divide 'em,  
And then both ruin and deride 'em.  
Have you not seen the raging Wave,  
With hideous noises, roll and rave?  
Or have you seen the blust'ring Boreas  
Both huff and hector, rage and roar, as  
He would make all before him bend,  
Or else he'd them in pieces rend:  
Or like when Rain, Lightning, and Thunder,  
Threatens to rend the world asunder.  
Just with such fury he doth fall  
On those he doth Dissenters call.  
Or have you seen how Bottle-ale  
That's put up new, but opened stale,  
When first the Cork and Bottle parts  
The Liquor from the Bottle starts;  
It bounces, foams, it froths, and flitters,  
As though 'twere troubled with the Squitters.  
So when this Blade begins to vent  
His Malice which so long was penned,  
The Winds whirled out with such a rattle,  
As he had broke the Strings that twattle.  
They huff and ding, hector and rage,  
And threaten for to clear the Stage  
Of all who are not of their mind,  
And to the Papists want be kind.  
Through England they do swiftly wander;  
One T— he is their chief Commander.  
Who that he might perform the deed,  
He undertook, with care and speed,  
Associates unto himself;  
A mercenary sneaking Elf,  
A huffing Jack, and a great Railer;  
Some say his name is Rend-all T—  
Now Heraclitus, that he may  
Parliament destroy and slay,  
And rid the world of all Dissenters  
That will not quickly be Relenters,  
'Gainst them makes a general Muster  
Of all he had, could blow or bluster.  
Damned lying Scandals, and such things,  
Which now in rank and file he brings;  
And draws them up in warlike manner  
Under the Ship which is their Banner.  
Whence they march with clamorous noise,  
Much like as when unruly boys  
On Holy-Thursday march about  
Their Parish-limits to search out;  
And fight too with the like discretion,  
Dealing their blows where's no transgression.  
The modest Parson goes before;  
The senseless Boys, like Lions, roar,  
With massy Clubs threatening to beat  
Down all that in their way they meet.  
So these accursed infernal Fiends,  
With hellish Malice tear and rents  
All that will not join Issue, and  
For Babylonish Interest stand;  
Endeavouring with might and main,  
To bring in Popery again.  
And since the Parliament would not  
By any means to this be brought,  
But would endeavour by a Bill,  
The Romans Hope at once to kill;  
They are the first he will beat down  
Throughout both Country and Town:  
Affirming things ne'er heard before,  
That Parliaments should be no more  
But little Fingers of the State,  
And things that all men ought to hate:  
That their Addresses humble brought  
Unto the King's with Treason fraught;  
And that whatever else they do,  
Unless give Money, 's Treason too.  
And next he doth resolve to run,  
As to discharge from Towzer's Gun,  
With warlike force for to assault  
Those that are guilty of no fault;  
Unless it is a Crime to be  
Constant and firm to Loyalty:  
And they forsooth must be made Traitors,  
Because of Popery they're haters;  
Adversaries to the Church and State,  
Because they do Popish Plotters hate.  
Thus Loyalty's transformed to Treason  
By men of little brains or reason:  
Or rather men of small Religion,  
Which they do use but like a Widgeon.  
But yet of Loyalty much less,  
Unless't be Treason in that dress.  
And now to make their Party stronger,  
And camp more wide by far and longer.  
They do persuade one Ashinton,  
Of England's Church a real Son,  
For to contrive a horrid thing,  
Wherewith some time the Town did ring;  
Which was their Creed and Paternoster,  
On Presbyter'ans for to foster▪  
Nat. T— they solicit to  
Something on their behalf to do:  
Who willingly, in hope of gain,  
Doth presently fall on amain,  
And doth, instead of Country News,  
Disperse false Stories to amuse.  
What matter is't, though false they swear,  
'Twill make the cursed Whigs to stare.  
Well done, quoth Towzer, very well;  
I think there never came from Hell  
Any that were more kind and true  
Unto the Roman Cause, than you.  
You do deserve each man to be  
Advanced unto some Dignity.  
Nay, I am sure that you shall have  
Whatever 'tis that you will crave,  
If once we can this Northern Evil  
Destroy, and send down to the Devil.  
Unto which end, I think there's need  
That I should write again with speed.  
Methinks the work goes on apace,  
I'll swear we will not bate an ace:  
But them pursue, till Victory  
Doth crown our great industry.  
We must, like faithful Pioners,  
Prepare the way by scattering fears  
Amongst those silly sordid Sots,  
That so our well-contrived Sham-plots  
May follow and perfect the matter  
Designed, and them to pieces batter.  
And thus this Blade again adventures  
To fall upon the poor Dissenters  
With fury, as when Boreas roars  
From off the North or Eastern shores;  
Or like when Bear bereved of Whelp,  
Her threatening out with rage doth yealp;  
Or like a Lion hunger bitten,  
That hath no Meat in two days eaten.  
His Gun is once more furbished up;  
And being charged up to the top  
With Lies and forged Narrations,  
Which he calls Observations,  
It is let fly with noise more loud  
Than that which comes from Thunder-Cloud.  
Thus Roger grows more fierce and surly,  
And makes a greater Hurly-burly,  
Than lately when he did appear  
In's Cit. and Bumkin, and such Gear.  
And that he may not want for Stories,  
Doth send unto his friends the Tories,  
Entreating them by all that's dear,  
That to his Cause they would adhere:  
And if the Government chance to be  
Spoken against by he or she,  
By Rogue or Rascal, Thief or Knave,  
Or those at doors that Alms do crave,  
By Lunatic, by Fools, or Idiots,  
That in their shallow brains have no guts,  
Or by the Worshippers of Baccas,  
When they as drunken are and mad as  
We sometimes, when meet at yonder  
Tavern by Ludgate, called Wonder;  
Pray be so kind as in a Letter  
Convey the News, or which is better,  
Bring it yourself; and I'll be sure  
To lay't at the fanatics door.  
And if by chance their mouths, for fear,  
Are stopped, so that you cannot hear  
Any such thing; yet Gild assures me  
You'll meet with some that will abuse me,  
And call me Rogue, Rascal, and Traitor,  
Because in truth I am a hater  
Of those that truly love the King,  
And fain would them to Tyburn bring:  
Whereby our way would be laid open  
For to bring in the banished Pope.  
Which if you chance to hear, my Friends,  
See that to me you quickly sends;  
And I as soon will have't in print,  
Whereby the Villains I'll torment.  
I'll say the Affront's not alone  
To me, but also to the Throne;  
And that the King is much abused,  
When I by them am thus misused.  
Nay, I'll direct my Worship's Order  
Unto the newmade brisk Recorder.  
Whereby I will command his care  
In punishing of those that dare  
Be still so bold as to be Loyal,  
And Popish Plots will not deny all.  
I will persuade him they are ill men,  
And would make nothing for to kill men,  
If they can get a fit occasion  
Upon our lives to make Invasion.  
It's true, this is a horrid lie,  
Which he doth know as well as I;  
And therefore will despise my Letter:  
Yet I thereby will be a getter.  
For in my next Half-sheet of Wit,  
I will be sure to insert it.  
And so though the Original  
Do me no good, yet Copies shall;  
Being through the Nation scattered,  
'Twill deleud men, whose Wits are shattered.  
A Whig shan't speak or look awry,  
But I on him will have a Spy;  
Who will take care it shall be sent  
To me, to put it into Print.   
FINIS.