SCANDALUM MAGNATUM: OR, Potapskis Case.  
A satire AGAINST Polish Oppression.  — Veritas Odium parit. 
LONDON,  
Printed for jos. Hindmarsh, at the Black Bull, near the Roval Exchange in Cornhill▪ 1680   

EPISTLE TO POTAPSKI.  
MOrtuo Ladislao Rege Maximo, Princeps Invictissime, Poloni divino Numine afflati te Regem Suffragiis suis Elegerunt, For in what manner, Sir, can I better accost your Greatness than in the Method and Form which the Ancient Polonians used to Elect their Sovereigns? Your Eternal Fame has spread itself round the World: And doubtless that Head of yours, when first Moulded by Midwife Nature, was Predestinated to wear the Glorious Circle, and be lifted up to that conspicuous point and elevation that the Nations below might look upon it with fear and wonder, and with Satisfaction see the Effects of Popular Wisdom and Machiavilian Policy.  
Thus as your Propitious Stars Appoint you, in your Wane of Years, and approaching Evil days of Bitterness and Infirmity, to Possess and Rule, though not to Fill and Enjoy, the Regal Seat; so let your Soul be transformed from your Old Ambition to a New and more Exalted Model of Grandeur, and Commence an Arbitrary Government that may make you feared and hated by your People; for you know a Monarch never rises to the highest pitch of Greatness till then, and a Prince that is Elected for Internal Merit and Mighty Parts as you Expect to be, is rather to be feared than beloved, and consequently aught to depend upon the firm Basis of his more Successful Power and Policy.  
This Counsel, Sir, I am assured is very Natural and Obvious to your Mightiness' Understanding; for who ever knew a setter up of Anarchy, that had not withal a touch of Tyranny? Supreme Power is still the Mark, let the Politicians never so oft play booty, and shoot awry: And the Devil himself is not so Arbitrary in his Infernal Sway▪ as your true Staunch Common wealths-man, that has once got the Reins of Government into his hands. But after all this, if your Fate, according to the common Exigence of things, should be Retrograde, and you have only been dreaming of Royalty all this while, take my Advice and rest in your own Station, for you cannot move in a better Sphere than now you are fixed in▪ broach some Vessel of new Contrived Mischiefs, Tap on, Tap on still, you know well enough what will take with the People. And if at any time a Scruple of Conscience afflict or trouble you, look on it only as a fit of the Gout that pinches and girds for a Moment, but is presently gone, publish your own Vindication with your own hand, and let your own mother Wit dictate to it, trust no Poet with your Cause, unless you pay him well, for to my knowledge it cannot justify itself. And therefore he that undertakes it deserves a better reward than the single Guiny which you gave one of your Creatures that presented you with The Character of a Po—sh Succ— for, and whom I have heard since rail at you inveterately, facit Indignatio Versus— therefore take heed you fall not under the Lash of his satire, which if you should, Lord have mercy upon you; for, Sir, I am of Opinion though you are a very Lucifer at Subtilty and Politics— yet you are but a poor Devil at Poetry.  
Above all things, Sir, be sure to keep your Wit in repair▪ get your Head hooped round as Boroski's is, that your Brains may keep in a constant Motion, and not grow Addle by the unruly whirling of the Windmills in it, for we begin to suspect by the Shallowness of some late Projects of yours, that in all probability you are declining, which if should happen fatal to ye, Heavens! what a Consternation would be upon the People, and what weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth among the blessed Party! however for my part I should never fail to record your memorable Actions, but be always ready, as I am now and ever will be in all humility, to blazon your Greatness' never dying fame, which will doubtless fill a great part of History in our succeeding Ages.   

SCANDALUM MAGNATUM.  
A satire.  

VAIN is the Man, and to himself unjust,  
That in frail Humane wisdom puts his trust;  
As base the Wretch that with Litigious strife  
Ruins his Neighbour's Fortune or his Life.  
This wise Potapski knew, the mighty he  
That stood confirmed in Rules of Policy,  
The Darling Genius of the Mobile.  
He knew it, and the Justice of the matter▪  
But cursed Ambition has no moral Nature;  
The mystery of Power did still control,  
And found the nearest passage to his Soul:  
Strife was his Province, Jars and lasting feud,  
A vile Incendiary, old and lewd,  
But sly as th' hissing Daemon that betrayed  
The yielding Soul of the first lovely Maid,  
Or that cursed Wretch that with a fatal Wor  
And fawning kiss deceived his sacred Lord.  
Amongst all the grave Caballing Polish Peers  
He was the Mouth, he saw the Nation's fears,  
And bred the Causes many fatal Years;  
Staunch in Sedition, obstinately Ill,  
And owned no other Master but his Will:  
Thus trained and fostered up in this black Art,  
Faction and Schism he loudly did impart;  
Carress'd all slavish Proselytes, and fed  
The Sons of Amaleck with his daily bread;  
Made 'em his Parrots, taught 'em how to prate,  
And act with him in the grand Scenes of State;  
Till hardened with success, and past all shame,  
They were made fit to swear, and then to damn.  
Through all the tracks of antiquated time,  
His fledged Ambition still would highest climb;  
Loyal as humble Honesty when raised,  
But Polish and implacable debased:  
In the late Civil Wars was often tried,  
'Twixt King and Commons could himself divide,  
But still had strongest zeal for th' strongest side.  
When the loud War Heaven's thunder did outbrave,  
Whoever met with danger he was safe;  
And sconced within his bulwark-saddle road,  
To peep who had the better on't abroad;  
Just like a Hare could sculk within his form,  
Squat, and lie close when clouds foretold a storm.  
But, when the gloomy Omens where dispersed,  
Bolt out to charge and plunder with the rest.  
When old gigantic Faction got a head,  
By pampered lust and Native venom bred,  
The buzzing Crowd the famed Potapski chose  
To counsel and assist against their foes,  
Well knowing what effectual merit lies  
In mischiefs that are villainously wise:  
And he that shifted with all sorts of winds,  
And changed his Politics to different kinds,  
Proposed and contradicted more or less,  
Just as he found their Arms had gained success.  
None canted better when Nol swayed the Nation,  
Or Coopeed finer at the Restauration:  
None knew the value of preferments more,  
Or Loyalty new gilt and varnished o'er;  
For when Potapski at the Helm was put,  
Who counselled the Exchequer to be shut?  
Or since upon omitting due rewards,  
Advised the Rabble to pull down the guards?  
Variety of Insolence each hour  
Confirmed at large his eager lust of Power,  
And though some crimes that justly merit shame,  
A while add lustre to their Author's fame,  
'Tis like a Meteors momentary light,  
Which when extinguished darker shows the night.  
Thus Necromancers that to gain their ends,  
Surrender Souls and Bodies to the Fiends:  
During their term sin safe, and, if suppressed  
In durance, are by trusty Pug released;  
But time expired, in horror end their days,  
And Hell that first employed their wages pays.   

The Good Old Cause and Popular Renown  
Soon spread Potapski's Fame about the Town;  
But th' baffled Party that had oft been bit  
By th' mental reservation of his wit,  
Now from their State-Camelion all decline,  
Nor longer trust him with their grand design;  
His late admired Counsel dubious grows,  
And friends suspect him false as well as foes:  
Warped Machiavile they now begin to doubt,  
Charmed by his fears was wheeling round about;  
For soon they found that he no aid would bring  
To any were for setting up the King:  
And now the People whom he taught in vain  
The juggling Trick of State-Legerdemain,  
Desert the Turncoat Pagods Interests,  
And leave him to his independent Priests;  
Abhorring as the satire did of old,  
The wretch that could at once blow hot and cold:  
But hardened vice with ease disgraces bears,  
Mischiefs like these made ripe his former years,  
And greater in his modern life appears:  
Rebellious fate to him made fond address,  
And honoured all his actions with success;  
For Treason, when confined with Infamy,  
She murmuring at his want of Liberty,  
A whole staunch Jury damned to set him free;  
And Hell that waited its reward, when due,  
Was straight possessed of twelve good men and true.  
Which done, the Crowd, t' express their hearts desire,  
Gave shouts, and made their Sacrifice of fire;  
Fame's Trumpet sounds, and Libels scattered were,  
Like him, malicious, cunning and severe:  
Potapski's Name arround the Nation rung,  
Potapski was the burden of each Song;  
Not songs of Triumph, such as with delight  
Welcomed victorious David from the fight,  
But Odes of slander Such as juvenal  
Used when he would at the times vices rail;  
And boldly show, in neverdying Rhimes,  
The Poet's Justice, and the People's Crimes:  
For Satyrs, just like Medicines, are designed,  
As those the body cure, so these the mind.   

Within the learned Volumes of the Laws,  
Made to do Justice in the Subjects Cause,  
A Bugbear Statute stands in potent force,  
Strong, legal and destructive in its course;  
The Title Scandalum Magnatum bears,  
A Privilege of Princes, Prelates, Peers;  
By them enjoyed above 
* The 2d and 12th of Richard the Second.  Three Hundred Years.  
A Writ that signifies detractive wrongs,  
By Lies or Falsehoods from malicious Tongues;  
Enacted first to quell all strifes arise  
Between the Lords and Commons, or Allies:  
Thus mighty Damages are often found,  
Actions no less than Twenty Thousand Pound;  
Bless us! should Honesty e'er sink beneath,  
This ponderous Act would crush it sure to death:  
But some Allays are still to rigour due,  
And, though for Lies it does Offenders sue,  
There are some Scandalums are often true.  
Which lately proved with good success was crowned,  
And Peer, being known Defendant, Mercy found:  
Stung with Reproach, impatient of Redress,  
This Arbitrary Law does straight possess  
Potapski with large hopes of Damages;  
And from the careless, honest, Loyal Rout,  
Two grand Offenders soon were singled out,  
For tainting Peerage with a Traitor's Name,  
And mudding the clear fountain of his Fame;  
And now his Ravens of the Law appear,  
Ill Boders that foretell Misfortune near;  
But as mistaken in Prognostication,  
As they were after in their Declaration:  
Amongst these the hot Franceski he prefers,  
And florid Guiliam, Polish Senators;  
Two Champions that held up the People's Shield,  
And th' Charter against Prerogative did wield.  
Unhappy Nation whom most Ills attend,  
Shockt by her Laws that should her most defend:  
Law, with clandestine and perfidious might,  
Guided by Interest, can oppress or right;  
And if a Subject will a villain grow,  
Law is the safest way to make him so.  
Secure of seeming Friends, that with him join,  
That much his Person loved, but more his Coin;  
Potapski longs his Prisoners to disgrace,  
And to a Trial bring his mighty Case;  
But first consulting with his agent Devil,  
That in all Causes grateful was, and civil;  
Resolved to add his cunning to his might,  
And cull and pick a Jury, first, were right;  
Which in Out-skirts and quarters of the Town  
Associating by themselves he found,  
And to his aid as famed a Party draws,  
As e'er were damned to save a Brother's Cause.  
The first of these Sir Bernardenski height,  
Presumptive Foreman thought, because a Knight;  
And one whose Name did through the Nation ring,  
For heading th' Crowd against the late blessed King:  
The second was, if loud Reports are true▪  
Both a Man-hater and Man-stealer too;  
A strange Misanthropos, whose slight of hand,  
Presto, transports ye to another Land:  
He doubtless a new Commonwealth has laid,  
And if our Spies have any Progress made,  
We may discover Plots now worth revealing,  
And find a Colony of his own stealing.  
The rest with these did equal Virtue's share,  
Villains oft known by their Companions are;  
Whose Gibbet faces when Potapski saw,  
Moulding damned looks of gravity and awe;  
The Politician for his Cause grew bold,  
And thus in humble Tone his Story told.   

Beloved Countrymen, You whom the Laws  
Invest with Power to protect our Cause;  
Your pious aid to your wronged Brother lend,  
And your kind Verdict give t'oblige your Friend:  
Two Foes to the Republic, and to God,  
Fate has brought under my avenging Rod;  
Who now in th' Court of Justice are arraigned,  
And fast with Scandalum Magnatum chained;  
On whom (and here the well bred Statesman bowed)  
You, if you please, may lay a Fine so good,  
As may hereafter fright the saucy crowd:  
The Cause by this shall thrive, and so shall you,  
None of our Tribe e'er grudged rewards when due;  
And for the Bugbear Conscientious part,  
Conscience you knows the Polititian's Art;  
A loose disguise which we put off or on,  
When any solid mischief's to be done:  
Therefore, my Friends, discard that Panic fear,  
And my good Angel in this Cause appear;  
So may your wish for Bishop's Lands succeed,  
So may those Magpies of the Nation bleed;  
And so may you in your new Trade have hap,  
Turning about to him that did Kid-nap,  
As you the Oracles of Law are found,  
And give me Damage Twenty thousand Pound:  
Examples from our enemies we have,  
Remember what a Jury lately gave  
To a proud Prelate in this very Case,  
And shall that insolent, that Silkworm Race  
Have cause to boast that they more justice gain  
Than I, the People's sinews, heart and brain?  
No, let the Laws by you run proper Courses,  
And plague these bold Delinquents in their Purses;  
In personal punishments the smart's soon gone,  
But give large sums, and then they are undone;  
Their tottering Cause they can no longer serve,  
They'll rot and die, their wives and children starve:  
Whilst we grown careless who the deed reviles,  
Shall thrive, grow rich, and fatten with their spoils;  
And crowds of Converts to our Party bring,  
He that has Gold enough has every thing.   

Here stopped the Orator, cramped with a Pain  
From smarting side— Nor was his speech in vain.  
The Gold their Hearts so well did undermine,  
The Devil soon entered to the Herd of Swine;  
And they as easily a Promise made,  
As he the treacherous Injunction laid;  
All take a binding Oath to do the deed,  
Hell and its Proselytes are soon agreed:  
And when vile Fraud would Justice intercept,  
A Villains Oath's inviolably kept:  
To further which, Piltonski straight appears,  
Who stewed with haste, and trembling with his fears,  
Tells 'em, his Foes his ruin did pursue,  
And fatal Scandalum had snared him too;  
And dreadful fifty Thousand Pound on foot  
Against him lay, at great Caesario's suit.  
Thus God plagues Rebels finding Graces lost,  
Like Grain that's wasted on some barren Coast;  
By Faction tainted they're designed for Ruin,  
And rail and prattle out their own undoing.  
Surprised at this, the Club proceedings stop,  
Frighted like Pigeons at a Thunderclap;  
Till sly Potapski, who could still prevail  
With some grand Wheedle, or smooth supple Tale,  
Proffered himself and Party for his Bail:  
At which, with smiling Leer, and bending low,  
The thankful Tribune gratefully did bow,  
Nor need he doubt a partial Jury now.  
Time for the wretched still makes too much haste,  
For now the doubtful hour is come at last,  
The Court being set, behold Potapski then  
Mounted on Cricket, that he might be seen;  
And quick dispatch of this grand matter begs,  
So confident of twelve substantial whigs:  
Each frozen Vein warm Tides of Pleasure Itched,  
He smiles to think his Foes thus overreached.  
But mortal Wisdom oft deceived we see,  
We are sure of nothing but uncertainty.  
Mischiefs found out by strange weak means we know,  
And Tares are sometimes Sown that will not grow.  
For as by too much speed Men lose a Race,  
By too much Zeal Potapski spoiled his Case.  
Solon was Judge, Solon the Good and Just,  
Chief in the Laws, and Worthy of his Trust;  
One that from Moral Maxims ne'er was driven,  
But ever kept the Scales of Justice even;  
Divinely Loyal, as Divinely Wise,  
Patient in wrongs,— a Friend to Enemies;  
Fixed like the Centre to the Royal Cause:  
He first extracted Honey from the Laws.  
To sweeten Faction and Dissenting Brawl,  
And quell the Rancour of the People's Gall.  
To Offenders plainly honest, not severe,  
Just to the lowly Peasant as the Peer;  
A Maiden Judge, never Debauched with Bribes,  
Both feared and hated by the Factious Tribes  
And what most Trophies to his Fame does bring,  
He Honour's Monarchy, and loves the King.  
Thus Solon was endowed, who silent sat,  
To hear learned Council the Grand Cause debate.  
Amongst whom bold faithful jaffier was the best,  
A man that with undaunted Zeal expressed  
His Loyal Principles, and took delight  
To plead his King's Prerogative and Right.  
The hissing Hydra was by him o'ercome,  
He struck the Many-headed Monster dumb;  
By Genuine Reason won the Prize from all,  
And made the Barbarous Law Rhetorical.  
When e'er he Pleads, the wronged still find redress,  
Cato for Wisdom, Caesar for Success.  
Hated by many for his pregnant wit,  
Snarled at by Bloodhound Curs but never bit;  
For maugre all their undermining Arts,  
His Foes still feel him in their aching Hearts.  
None more the shock of City malice stood,  
Nor more reproved or purged 'em for their good.  
He of their Plague the true Physician was,  
And when his milder Medicines would not pass,  
Applied the Laws severer Cupping-Glass.  
Strongly supporting Royal Interest,  
And great Caesario lodged him in his Breast.  
Thus the Defendants Prayers did well succeed,  
With such a Judge, and such a Friend to plead.  
How could Oppression vainly hope to thrive,  
Or mischief take effect so ill contrived?  
For Solon who perceived what course they ran,  
That well the Matter weighed, and well the Man,  
Had with his Nature well acquainted been,  
And found the Wolf for all the Ass' Skin.  
True Judgement now did careful Reason guide,  
To give his Vote on the Defendants side:  
Who from his Potent Foe was soon released,  
The Laws were made to succour the distressed.  
whoever has seen a furious Keeper rail,  
When any of his wretched Flock break Jail,  
Might the same Figure see Potapski now,  
Who scorched with fires, that in his Bosom Glow,  
Vexed to a fever, cries in eager Passion,  
Justice is fled to Heaven▪ no Law is in the Nation.  
But straight his train of Parasites appear,  
Infects that riggle in their Patron's Ear,  
And with the News-Intelligences swell,  
Published by Fiends not to be matched in Hell;  
Base crawling Worms, that hourly Venom shed,  
Slaves, to whom Treason's natural as Bread;  
That with dull Lies their sinking Cause advance,  
And Damn to get a wretched Maintenance.  
Yet these are the lewd Towns Sedition-Tools:  
But amongst all the Factious scribbling Fools,  
Shad— l's the worst, an unformed shapeless thing,  
That Nature never thought worth finishing;  
But from Creation's secret Storehouse kicked,  
Into the World a wallowing Cub unlicked▪  
Nature no Form has given, nor Heaven no Grace,  
The Man must needs be in a blessed Case.  
And when he Writes a Tale to please the Town,  
Should every witty Friend but take his own,  
How the laborious Nothing would be mauled,  
No Winter Cuckoo e'er was half so bald.  
From any Figure that his Fancy draws,  
From such a Poet, propping such a Cause,  
Amongst all Earth's dilatory Plagues, let me,  
(Heaven I beseech thee) be for ever free.  
Sick-men use Quacks, because they sometimes please,  
But trust 'em not to cure a grand Disease;  
So these Potapski used, and thought 'em fit  
For mischief, but durst never trust their wit.  
For when fierce Passion from his Breast was gone,  
And deposed reason repossessed his Throne.  
The Statesman home retired in discontent;  
Thus with himself revolving as he went.   

What strange Chimaeras is my Brain pursuing,  
Or what this Fifty years have I been doing?  
What signifies my tired Policy,  
England was ne'er cut out for Anarchy.  
But will in Circling Glories shine, when I  
Am dead and rotten Fifty Cubits high.  
Success is Omen of republic Rule,  
Th' unlucky Politician is a Fool.  
And Treason of all Crimes takes worst degree,  
A Rebel's Damned by the Church Liturgy,  
And then Heaven knows what will become of me.  
How long have I, the most remarked of Men,  
The subject been of every Tongue and Pen.  
Galled by sharp Satyrs to the very Bones,  
Like wand'ring Felons lashed through Country Towns.  
And yet what succour or redress have had,  
But made myself and all the Rabble mad.  
The Law is just to them against whom I sue,  
Nor will my Scandalum Magnatum do.  
Turn then, Old Man, and tempt no more thy Fate,  
Throw by thy Play-things, turn e'er 'tis too late.  
Some hopes Repentance to thy Age may bring,  
Mercy as well as Justice grace the KING.  
But I've already tried it— damned Offence,  
Thrice to be Pardoned by one Generous Prince▪  
The Law does oft excuse in a first Crime,  
But there's no Mercy shown a second time.  
Th' incorrigible wilful Reprobate,  
Suffers unpitied a most shameful Fate.  
Vices that blush at their own Infamy,  
In tender Bosoms meet with Charity;  
But hardened Impudence meets no relief,  
All will avoid one that they know a Thief.  
And I so famed for Faction in all times,  
Can have no hopes e'er to conceal my Crimes.  
The King and Nation all my Treasons know,  
I may Reap mischiefs but no more must Sow;  
Men may forgive, but none will trust a Foe.   

These anxious thoughts so long his Breast did storm,  
The Statesman once was going to reform:  
But th' active Devil that at his Elbow stood,  
Admiring he should e'er incline to good▪  
Sent in some factious Visitants, and then  
Tapping the Treason made him safe again.  
Thus as lewd Sinners that from Virtue fell,  
That Roar and Burn in the hot Strumpet's Hell,  
Cursed the salacious Fiend, and hourly swore  
To hate the Sex, and waste their Healths no more;  
Charmed by false Beauty, are again inflamed,  
Again adventure, and again are Damned;  
So he that lately was half Convert made,  
And of new Virtue had foundation laid,  
Bewitched by Knaves, to his Old Vomit bends:  
The Plague is most Infectious from our Friends:  
And Villainy does ne'er so fatal prove,  
As when prescribed and taught by those we love.   

But now behold the cabalists are met,  
And round Potapski all in Order set;  
On modern Projects the State Prophet's dream,  
And a late fatal Shipwreck is the Theme.  
Where Heaven did in Miracles declare,  
That Prince's Lives are the Almighty's Care▪  
Making the Proud Insulting Waves obey,  
'Tis fit the Admiral should Rule the Sea.  
Particular Grief a Subject's Death may cost,  
But a whole Nation in a Prince is lost▪  
And what misfortunes to that Land may fall,  
Where such afflictions Reign in general?  
Methinks I see the fatal Accident,  
And th' Vessel by the Sands rough motion rend▪  
Confusion reigns, and now a horrid Crack,  
Threatens a dreadful and immediate wrack.  
From their warm Cabins roused from sleep they fly,  
Pale as their Shirts, add to the dismal cry,  
And scarce have time to pray before they die▪  
All help is vain, the ambitious Floods grow bold,  
And gushing Brine fills all the spacious hold;  
Each Billow now insults and swells up higher;  
Now Rolling Waves hiss in the Cook-room fire;  
Shrieks fill the Air, some that to sleep were laid,  
Chance to awake, start up and wade from Bed;  
But meet no succour or redress of fear,  
The Vessel sinks, and Death is every where.  
Mighty Caesario on the Deck appears,  
His manly Face more full of grief than fears,  
Thronged round with Friends, that to assist him strove,  
Frowning on Fate like discontented jove,  
His valiant Heart new Courage did bequeath,  
And taught 'em to despise approaching Death.  
But now th' Eternal ceasing his just Ire,  
Beheld the Prince through a bright Cloud of fire.  
And to his Aid dispatched a happy Bark,  
Guarded with Angels, in which saving Ark  
He and some Loyal Friends securely sat,  
But! ah! what Tongue can speak the others Fate.  
The dashing Billows their weak force repel,  
And Nobles with unthinking vulgar fell.  
But to your Memory, Renowned Few,  
In spite of Death is yet a Trophy due;  
That though just placed in Death's devouring Jaws,  
Could greet your Master's safety with Huzza's:  
For ever let the World Record your Names,  
For ever be Renowned your honest Fames;  
And may your generous Act a Pattern be,  
Of English Courage, Truth and Loyalty.   

But hark, the Cannon does loud welcomes make▪  
And Heaven has brought the Godlike Hero back;  
With him the Soul of Beauty and of Love▪  
The smiling Mother of an Infant jove;  
Whose Genuine Right will dash th' Ambition down,  
Of any false Pretender to the Crown.  
Welcome Ye Sacred Pair back to this Land,  
Welcome to those whose Hearts you do command;  
Seditious Rebels fright us every hour,  
But you are come to break their Rod of Power.  
'Tis you great Prince, that must our fears release,  
Right with such Virtue joined, ne'er wants success.  
And as in th' greatest dangers Man e'er knew,  
Heaven still preserved our King and You:  
So it for ever your true Claim shall own,  
And fix your just Succession to the Throne.   
FINIS.